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It’s ass freezing outside and only going to get colder. Ugh. Which means my butt is staying indoors as much as possible and eating my way to spring.
This week, we’re going with the theme of being hungry/thirsty in more ways than one. We’ll start off with a look at Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion (1997), because Lisa Kudrow and Mira Sorvino are the perfect cure for the winter blahs. We’ll then recommend Raw (2016), because there’s nothing like hate watching a self-righteous college student. Dan’s going to take a break on Hail to the King this month. Honestly, as the site is going to be quiet, we might not be seeing more of that column for a bit. I’ll keep you posted.
Fantasy collaboration moment: I’d love to put Justin Benson,
Aaron Moorhead and Shane Carruth in a room together and see what happens. I
think that the sheer amount of scientific know-how of Carruth combined with the
grasp of human emotion Benson and Moorhead demonstrate would give us something
terrifically human and wonderfully speculative. Until that moment, we have the
collaborations of Benson and Moorhead – the recent one is The Endless (2017), a film centering around two brothers who return
to the cult they fled. Weird stuff ensues. Here are five reasons to watch it
#1 – Benson and
If their names sound familiar, these two are the ones
responsible for Spring (2014), which
remains a darling of many horror circles. They also did Resolution (2012) and a segment of V/H/S (2014), both of which were well-received. In this film, they
play brothers who escaped a cult and are struggling to carve out identities and
livings. Watching the pair interact – especially after seeing what they can do
with their writing alone – is strangely moving. The closeness of their
chemistry onscreen is enough to make you wonder if they’re even acting because
they come off as believable siblings. If this is the result of them working
together, I hope they’re together forever.
#2 – Floundering
after a scary step
The brothers, named Justin and Aaron as well, have left a
cult. Their perspectives of the cult are different, but the fact remains that
they both left after youthful involvement and questioning. What leads them to
return for a visit is equal parts sad and pitying: they’re having trouble
fitting into society and can’t seem to nail down decent jobs. If you’ve ever
had to leave something toxic, you’ll recognize how hard it is to escape
something you know is bad for you. I’ll be honest, watching someone return
because life hasn’t gotten better breaks my heart.
#3 – It’s a cult!
There’s an odd cultural fascination with cults. We think
they sound weird; we think they look weird. And yet time and time again, people
fall for it and we don’t know why. The differing perspectives mentioned above
are enough to make you wonder which of the brother is right: Justin, who thinks
it’s a UFO death cult, or Aaron, who characterizes it as a bunch of nice
hippies on a farming commune. And here’s the thing: some days, after driving in
rush hour traffic and dealing with people who are absolute assholes in grocery
stores, I can totally see why someone would join up with either one.
#4 – The science
Oh the places this film goes. I won’t spoil it, because it’s
thought-provoking and fun. I will say that it’s totally Benson and Moorhead’s
baby here, with some sly nods to Spring:
it’s got many conversations, a lot of interpretation, and some curious points
of faith and nature having bigger things in store for us.
#5 – Dat ending
The note this film ends upon makes me want to hug someone.
If you’ve ever dreamed of a better life that didn’t happen no matter how hard
you tried, or just wanted to fit in someplace, or just wanted a life less
complicated and more meaningful, this ending will stick with you. You’ll feel
The Endless if
available for streaming on Netflix.
One of the most striking aspects in The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003) stems from its
sheer dedication to battle. A lot of time and love very obviously went into the
sets, costumes and props alone, but once those aspects get coupled with the
writing, it’s next level. Yes, there are moments of heroism, such as Gandalf (Ian
McKellan) riding into battle on his beautiful horse to save the day. However,
some of the harsh realities of war get explored – particularly the complete and
utter fear going into battle unexperienced, as typified by Merry (Dominic
Monaghan) and Éowyn (Miranda Otto). In fact, it’s this complete fear coupled
with the fact that they’re nontraditional soldiers that really make them the
rousing faces of courage in war.
Much like Dante Hicks in Clerks (1994), Éowyn and Merry weren’t even supposed to be here today. The pair are told in a rather patronizing manner that their place is not in battle, as Merry is of a petite stature and Éowyn is female. However, each has their own reasons for wishing to enter the fight. For Merry, it’s both as a member of the Fellowship – a mark of his dedication to the cause of destroying the one ring – paired with his desire to be closer to his best friend, Pippin (Billy Boyd), who is in Minas Tirith because, well, he screwed up and peeped into Sauron’s battle plan to destroy the Gondor city. The thought is that Merry is just going to get in the way, and therefore, he should just stay out of it because he’s got a history of screwing things up (see: the fireworks debacle in the first film). Éowyn’s cause is driven far more by sexism: her uncle, Théoden (Bernard Hill), tells her to stay home and look after the women and children. The implication: she should keep the fires whilst the men folk go and fight, despite that she can handle a sword and felt poorly sitting out the Battle of Helm’s Deep. Feeling salty, she concocts a plan with Merry to disguise themselves and join the fight.
Here’s where it gets both real and inspiring. The pair looks petrified as the battle begins, clutching onto one another and assuring each other that they’ll stick together. You can tell that they are way the hell out of their depth as the reality of going into battle looms by the looks of pure terror on both Monaghan and Otto’s faces: they’re wide-eyed and clenching their jaws and weaponry. It’s not much better once the fight starts. They fight orcs double to triple their size. They encounter armed elephants. And then it happens: Théoden gets the crap kicked out of him by the Witch King and is moments away from being dragon food when Éowyn steps in and starts fighting for her uncle. She’s visibly terrified and shaken as she starts the fight, wearing an “oh shit” expression if there ever was one. When the Witch King informs her in a cocky manner that no man can kill him, Merry sneaks up behind him and delivers a sword to his back, giving Éowyn enough time to unmask herself as female and stab him in the face (which is really sort of the dream when dealing with a villain that thinks he’s unstoppable).
Total honesty: when I saw this film opening night, the applause at the moment of Éowyn’s “I am no man” pronouncement was thunderous. People in the entire cinema cheered and clapped and hollered for her. You don’t get that kind of reaction with a character that doesn’t strike a chord, and she does so for a reason: she refuses to sit down and be quiet when she’s told, and even though she’s scared, she keeps with it to fight for the people who matter to her. We get to see someone completely scared take a stand, and it’s realistic because scary things happen and we’re not always wearing a brave face throughout the experience. When someone is entirely brave and stoic without flinching, it means that they have no fear – there’s nothing to conquer within themselves. When someone is terrified, that places us on the same level as them; much as we don’t want to admit it, many of us would be equally terrified at taking that stand. The fact that the head of the Nazgûl gets taken down by a scared woman the king told to stay home and a ballsy Hobbit who likes food and fucking around with fireworks just makes the whole thing even better: not even the best warriors could take this guy down, and yet these two scared people wiped him out.
Even more touching: after the Witch King has been dispatched and her beloved uncle has kicked off, Éowyn crawls on the battlefield toward Merry, still intent on keeping her promise to remain close to him. It would have been far easier to collapse and let him be found by another fighter, but she still managed to go after him; she still had his back, even when there was pure carnage and chaos around them. The long-held definition of courage entails continuing on even when you’re scared; Éowyn and Merry certainly have that attribute down to a science. We should look to them as a reminder that even if someone says you’re not up to the task – and even if the task terrifies you and you’re tiny and supposedly insignificant – you should keep going if you’ve got the drive. That’s the kind of person you want going into battle with you.
If you’re anywhere in the United States, chances are, you got hit with snow this weekend. We’re currently clobbered in a white blanket of the stuff and all I can think of are the jokes Dan makes about coke.
This week, we’re going to explore such happy subjects as the uprising of the little guy and cults. We’ll start off with a look at Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003), known to some as that point in time when Peter Jackson was still hitting the quality control button. What can I say? They can’t all be sparkling slices of sunshine in the dead of winter.
The recent uptick in 90s nostalgia is real, man. Part of that might come from the fact that in terms of entertainment, everyone is either dissatisfied with the same old crap getting rehashed/updated (I firmly believe that Clueless can’t be remade because it’s fine as is and a complete time capsule of that era) or they want the comfort of the good old days. Which, frankly, is fine by me when it comes to some of the glorious 90s cinema we were lucky enough to get. Exhibit A: Empire Records (1995), a stunning snapshot of life in a record store on one really eventful day. Here are five reasons to watch it this weekend.
#1 – Corporate
One of the larger plot points of this film is the looming
buyout of the titular Empire Records – a sweet, welcoming indie shop with
quirky employees and personality coming out the wazoo – by the larger record
chain Music Town. I feel like this is a thinly-veiled slam against Media Play
in the 90s, but really, it’s a recycling of the 80s film trope of having to
save the youth center. This time, instead of skiing competitions, we get Lucas
(Rory Cochrane) gambling and fast-talking his way into making sure The Man
doesn’t get his mitts on the little guy. If that sounds like snark, it’s not –
I love this trope so goddamned much.
#2 – Rex Manning is
Where there’s a teen idol – no matter the age or era that has passed – there will always be hangers-on. Nothing is more painfully honest than this truth, as presented to us by the way people cling to Rex Manning (Maxwell Caulfield). You still see it to this day, with the way people fawn all over the Backstreet Boys, New Kids on the Block, and the Spice Girls (while we’re at it, can we please fucking please admit to ourselves that that Spice Girls aren’t that great?). And yet these past figures will continue to ride that wave of success – and excess – as far as they can. Watching Rex is a bit of an uncomfortable experience in the renewed era of hero-worship long after the peak of success. Keep that in mind.
#3—Joe’s a really
For every boss from hell – for every person who’s made staff
cry, tight-fistedly denied raises, and barked that your job should come before
your family (those are always fun) –
you have at least one Joe in your back pocket: someone who’s got your unconditional
loyalty. Joe (Anthony LaPaglia) is good to his employees: he cares, and he
makes a point to learn and accept the quirks of everyone’s personalities. If
you’ve got a Joe in your past, you’ll get those happy feelings of having a
really good boss. There’s a reason the Empire Records crew is so loyal.
#4 – The soundtrack
Oh man, this soundtrack was life when I was a teenager. The best part: for every song that made the official soundtrack, there’s like three or four that didn’t make the official cut (that’s what Spotify playlists are for, my friends). I double dog dare you not to dance along while watching this film. The wild part though comes in the realization of how much music is packed so effortlessly into his film – it really is like being in a record store. You just want to groove along while doing your thing (shout out to my friends that did time in Media Play). That’s a fun way to spend your workday, and the film really nails that sense of good tunes getting you through a mundane workday.
#5 –Perfect casting
Shout out to Gail Levin, who did the casting for this film: she hit every role perfectly. Liv Tyler is sweet and really apple pie good girl Corey; Renee Zellweger has a fantastic edge as bad girl Gina; LaPaglia is everyone’s favorite boss Joe; Johnny Whitworth’s A.J. is equal parts funny and charming (the gluing of the change to the floor is a personal favorite moment); Brendan Sexton III nails the pissy teenage delinquent role Warren; Ethan Embry is so out-there as Mark that no one else could have played him (coincidentally, head on over to his Twitter page – THIS is the guy we need to run for office); Caulfield’s Rex Manning is delightfully washed up and displeased. The highlight for me is Robin Tunney, who manages to look vulnerable and edgy simultaneously. Plus, everyone wanted to be Lucas. This movie is magic, I tells ya. Magic. And that cast’s chemistry is a huge reason why.
Empire Records is
available for streaming on Netflix.
Cards on the table: I am not a fan of AMERICAN CITIZEN Reese Witherspoon. I have not been a Reese Witherspoon fan since 1999, when I saw her get snarky with a reporter who wished her well on her upcoming wedding. I don’t trust people who portray themselves as balls of cotton candy and light when they let that level of utter contempt for others fly out in the open; it’s manufactured and fake. Which means that Reese is the perfect person to play the perky-yet-conniving Tracy Flick in Election (1999). Election sees Tracy square off against teacher Jim McAllister (Matthew Broderick), a man who snaps and decides to undermine the ho-hum class president election of the resident go-getter. Normally, I’d be rooting for Jim all the way, but there’s something sly in the script that makes me go Team Tracy on this one: Jim’s motivation is slut-shaming in nature, and he threatens Tracy via implied blackmail.
Early on, we learn that Tracy is fresh off an affair with another teacher, Dave Novotny (Mark Harelik). Dave used his position at school to get some alone time with Tracy, who he describes as a “loner” — Tracy, for her part, acknowledges that she doesn’t have much time for friendship. Right off the bat, there are warning signs on both sides: she’s a vulnerable kid from a workaholic single parent household, and he’s seeking to appeal to a lonely 16-year-old via praise and flattery. From there, they embark on a sexual relationship, which meets an abrupt end when Tracy’s mother discovers a note from Dave asking the teenage girl to run away with him. Dave winds up losing his job, his marriage and his access to his child. Jim’s voice over lets us know that Dave had to move in with his parents. At the tail end of the film, we get an update on Dave: he’s working at a grocery store, and looks completely miserable.
Now back to the scene at hand: Tracy is accused of meddling in the election, and Jim attempts to extract a confession from her via guilt tripping and saccharine lecture. During this interaction, he tells her, “there is, for just one example, a certain former colleague of mine, who made a very big mistake,” then follows that statement with, “I… think that certain young and naïve people need to thank their lucky stars and be very, very grateful that the entire school didn’t find out about certain indiscretions that could have ruined their reputations and their chances to win certain elections.” Let’s stop there for a moment, because Jim throws up some major red flags. Internally, I always scream, “Bitch, you did NOT!” at Jim because of the way he deflects blame. While Tracy participated in the affair, she was a teenage girl in the care of a teacher. Currently, age of consent in Nebraska — where this film takes place — is 17, which means Dave was in massive legal trouble for screwing around with her… legal trouble that went away when he resigned (I’m side-eying the hell out of that school district because every school district has those skeletons, and it’s gross. As someone who worked in a school district, I can attest.). This girl was placed in a situation where she was manipulated by an individual in a power position — the onus rests on the adult who should have known better, not the vulnerable teenage girl who got tricked and groomed into developing feelings for and fucking a man that was a good 20 years her senior (and for the record, if this was gender-reversed, I’d be just as angry). And yet Jim brushes off his buddy’s horrible, calculated course of action by calling it a mistake on Dave’s part, making it sound like Dave accidentally face planted onto Tracy’s cooch. As if that’s not enough, he then goes on to deliver a thinly-veiled threat to Tracy: he can make her life a living hell by letting everyone at school know about her illegal affair with a teacher. That’s even more disgusting because he’s essentially telling her that she’s lucky he didn’t go blabbing that his friend committed a sex crime against a teenage girl, thereby leading to harassment by her peers for being the victim of a sex crime. Let’s be clear: ordering a chalupa when you meant to order a quesadilla from Taco Bell is a mistake; transposing numbers on a cheque is a mistake; wearing black underwear underneath thin white pants is a mistake; buying a Nickelback album is a mistake. FROSTED TIPS ARE A MISTAKE. Grooming and sleeping with a 16-year-old girl and asking her to run away with you isn’t a mistake — that’s being a predatory creep. You can’t call those actions a mistake and then threaten the victim into being quiet because you’re still angry that your garage band buddy lost his job where he had access to more teenage girls he could try to fuck.
However, this is where Tracy gets back into the game: she does not take this shit lying down. After Jim’s little smile-filled, After School Special-style speech to her, she fires back the following:
And I think certain older people, like you and your colleague, shouldn’t be leching after their students, especially when some of them can’t even get their own wives pregnant. And they certainly shouldn’t be making slanderous accusations, especially when certain young, naive people’s mothers are paralegal secretaries at the city’s biggest law firm and have won many successful law suits. And if you want to keep questioning me like this, I won’t continue without my attorney present.
Damn, Skippy. Here we have Jim, smiling while trying to coerce a teenager into silence via sexual blackmail with dulcet, paternal tones, and Tracy throws right down. She metaphorically takes off her earrings, removes any valuables, and sucker punches Jim without a second thought. Now at this point in the film, the audience already knows that Tracy is a backstabbing, fake-as-hell, conniving person, but in this instance, we cheer for her. We cheer because it’s the realization that Jim wants to see her fail as a form of revenge for his friend committing a crime and having to go away. We cheer because — while a complete phony and a total pill that’s written in a way we’re not supposed to fully embrace — we recognize that Tracy was not only the victim of an adult who took advantage of a young girl, but someone who showed way more drive to achieve things than most adults. And we cheer because she calls his bluff. She isn’t about to take shit from Jim McAllister, who is busy defending the actions of a sexual predator and teaching the same crap year after year while holding on to the vestiges of his youth. Tracy won’t be blackmailed – if you try to take her down, you’re all going down with her. If I had to pick someone to be in my corner, you bet your ass I want methodical, unsentimental Tracy Flick kicking the shit out of my opponent.
There’s no scarier thing sometimes than a person who owns their scandal. The act makes attempting to manipulate or control the person far more difficult. That’s precisely what Jim tries to do, and he fails miserably at gaining the upper hand. Sometimes, you don’t get to throw around that you have very private information that could hurt someone’s reputation; sometimes, you have to be prepared that the person you’re trying to control via sexual blackmail has no fear about firing back at you. The real fun starts when the wild card owns it.
Oh, the road to accomplishing stuff on the weekends is paved with good intentions, I tell you…
This week, we’re heading back to the 90s. We’ll take a look at something that’s always bothered me in Election (1999). Thursday will see a recommendation for Empire Records (1995), a slice of nostalgia that’s available for streaming. Grab your brown lipstick and your best pair of Delia’s shoes. It’s going to be a blast.
Okay, so I’m recommending something that pretty much
everyone has seen. Still, Jordan Peele’s Get
Out (2017) is one for the books. People are going to be talking about this
film for ages to come, and with good reason: it’s excellent. So instead of
giving you first-timer reasons to rewatch it (or watch it for the first time),
I’m going to go a bit more abstract. Here are five outside-of-the-box reasons
to watch it this weekend.
#1 – Jordan Peele
kicked down a door
Writer/director Peele pitched the story producer Sean
McKittrick without the expectation that the film would get made; McKittrick
loved it and optioned it. The end result: Peele was the third individual
nominated for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay for his debut
film by the Academy, and he was the first black individual to take home a Best Screenplay
Oscar. If this means we get more storytellers of color out there in the
mainstream – or at least get them recognized for the stellar work they’re doing
– then I owe this film.
#2 – The
There’s a scene in this film where the bodies of people of
color are fetishized and spoken of in terms that seem flattering on the surface
but are pretty shitty in practice. There’s a big difference between saying that
someone is good looking and slobbering over a bodily stereotype like you’re at
the meat counter of an upscale deli. It’s not how you treat a real person in
front of you; fuck, you shouldn’t even act like this in private. It’s gross,
but it’s something that needs to be observed and stomped on more often.
#3 – Microaggressions
Microagressions piss me off. They’re the snarky little comments that are said with a smile and shrugged off with feigned surprise – the old, “Why are you being so sensitive?” defense. They’re the insults and questions lobbed at someone, then brushed off as being perceived by the other person as being inappropriate, not actually inappropriate in nature. It’s class and race snobbery that’s deflected onto the feelings of the person who’s being crapped on. It’s alive and well at several points in this movie. Your blood should rightfully boil.
#4 –The original
ending was dark AF
Look away if you don’t want to know the original ending. Still with me? Okay: Chris (Daniel Kaluuya) sits in jail after he’s arrested for trying to strangle Rose (Allison Williams), pretty much resigned to the fact that he’s going to rot in prison while the real aggressor is out there. It was supposed to be a statement on the real-life scenarios that unfold based on racism, but then police brutality got more press, and a happier ending was provided with the express purpose of providing some hope. I kind of like that Peele went that route, but the fact that he also had a darker ending in his back pocket means that he was willing to show a reality some didn’t want to see. I have to admire him for that.
#5 –The meaning of the song title
This is more so trivia than a full-on reason, but I think it’s cool. One of the songs in the film, “Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga,” is Swahili, and translates to “listen to your ancestors”. The song is a bit of a warning – telling the listeners heed their elders and move away from danger. It’s little details like that that make a film for me. And is it ever relevant.
Get Out can be
purchased digitally, on Blu Ray or on DVD. This one is worth the investment.
Candyman (1992) has been in the news of late, thanks to the announced remake coming in 2020 from Jordan Peele. The original was written and directed by Bernard Rose, based off Clive Barker’s short story, “The Forbidden,” from one of his Books of Book installments. The DNA of the story has remained consistent: woman seeks to document local urban legend and summons the vengeful spirit to her own detriment. People are seriously excited to see Peele’s take on the subject matter – I know I certainly am, for a reason that many have expressed all over social media: as a white woman seeking to understand perspectives outside of my own, I want to see a black filmmaker take on this story so that I can learn more from a different perspective I have not experienced. Articulating this further, I feel that a major point of the first film gets overlooked in favor of the gentrification theme: the entire mess of summoning the Candyman (Tony Todd) has its roots in white grad student Helen (Virginia Madsen) trying to take a story that belongs to another culture and use it for her own purposes without truly seeking to understand it.
Backing up a bit, one of the main points of criticism, rightfully, is the look at gentrification in this film. The theme comes to us from the original short story, which sees the character Helen investigating the graffiti of a rundown part of town (based in Liverpool, England, and lacking the distinct racial overtones of the film) for her graduate thesis; Helen starts poking around and finally meets the Candyman, who claims her as his latest victim. The film elaborates a bit more on that, placing the action in the notorious Cabrini-Green housing project of Chicago – a place known for its crime and racial stereotypes – that saw an increase in upscale high-rises in the 1990s, further highlighting socio-economic gaps. Between Mayor Byrne’s publicity stunt to prove the area crime-ridden and the push to make the area a mixed-income (read: massive economic gap that pushes out the poor) section of town, the place came to symbolize the struggle to improve living quarters without the residents getting pushed out and further fucked over. There’s no one that personifies that tone-deaf approach to a problem more than Helen, a well-heeled graduate student who strolls into the projects to get the inside scoop on a local legend so that she can write the best thesis in her department.
Here’s where it gets problematic: the Helen of the film doesn’t perform her research out of a desire to help the community have a voice for the influx of crime and the further victimization caused by socio-economic disparity. Helen wants a thesis that’s not like every other thesis out there: she wants to capitalize on the story of people she insinuates as less educated and brightly-futured than she. Helen tells her hesitant friend of the project, “we can write a nice little boring thesis regurgitating all the usual crap about urban legend. We’ve got a real shot here… An entire community starts attributing the daily horrors of their lives to a mythical figure.” Helen doesn’t believe for a second that there could be something behind the story, as most folklore is rooted in an explanation of a traumatic event; to her, the residents use the Candyman as an excuse for why things are bad for them and nothing beyond that excuse, which includes mutilations and murders. Helen isn’t in this for the plight of the residents – she wants a thesis that is going to make her look good, that’s going to set her apart from other students, that’s going to snare her a great job offer and academic accolades. She doesn’t want to listen when a child tells her about another kid who was castrated by the Candyman. She doesn’t listen to the desperation and distrust of Anne-Marie (Vanessa A. Williams), who implores, “What you gonna study? How we’re bad? We steal? We gang-bang? We’re ALL on drugs right?… We ain’t all like them assholes downstairs, you know. I just wanna raise my child good.” She doesn’t listen to the blatant statement, “White people never come ’round here except to cause us a problem.” Helen keeps going, even when she’s assaulted, because she thinks she’s got a good lead on a thesis that could bring her professional glory. She’s thinking about being hailed as an original for relaying the legend that grew out of a man being lynched for having the audacity to achieve financial success and a sexual relationship with a white woman while being black. Helen does not give a shit about the realities of poverty for the people of Cabrini-Green, not their concerns, their stories or their safety until a baby gets kidnapped and she gets blamed for its assumed death. While some may argue that she sacrifices herself for the baby to live in the end, the audience is left with two distinct pieces of evidence that contradict this heroic action: she dies with a clear name – that she was not a murderer – and she carries on as part of the legend by killing her adulterous husband. Helen isn’t a folk hero – she’s an opportunist thirsty for attention and the need to be right.
That is where the film makes a stunning point: Helen takes a story that belongs to the black community and seeks to use it for her own gain without really paying much attention to what it means to the keepers of the tale. That’s the definition of cultural appropriation right there: she borrows without thinking of the cultural significance for the express purpose of meeting her own needs and desires, which falls squarely into the territory of unthinking exploitation rather than dissemination of information and tradition. She essentially waives the concerns of the community members, some of whom are extremely hesitant to speak with her on several different levels: the nature of the lynching story involving white aggressors tormenting a black man; Helen’s socioeconomic and education differences, marking her as distant and separate from the daily realities and experiences of the community; the need to only intervene when she herself is in danger of being perceived as an evildoer. Helen wants the story without delving into the true histories and concerns – she can always walk away from Cabrini-Green while everyone else must keep on living there with the literal boogeyman stalking their bathroom mirrors. She doesn’t have to get in the mind frame of the urban warrior to survive because she can go back to her cozy apartment and write a thesis that will procure a respected position in academia, all while her colleagues applaud her for having the courage to walk around a bad part of town to write a glorified term paper. If she had listened to the stories she studied, she would have realized the levels of racial and socioeconomic distrust reflected in the tale’s history and themes – she could have made someone’s life better by bringing attention to issues that desperately needed correction. Instead, she cherry-picked and exploited local lore, then complained when her safety was threatened for being treated like an outsider trying to take advantage of a community’s hardships. She’s the white savior figure that falls flat on her face because she can’t make an effective difference by using her platform to do something good for the group – she merely exploits, then whines when the piper calls to be paid.
The takeaway from Candyman in 1992 is the need to allow people of color to tell their own stories. Don’t swoop in and tell those stories for them – let them have that voice, because the perspectives brought differ in ways that can educate in areas we sorely need. So often, the voices and perspectives of artists of color are shut out. And so I leave you with a reading list – here are some excellent writers of color who deserve to be read; it’s time we listen.
When I first started this site back in 2015, it was as a stress reliever. I looked forward to talking about movies and analyzing them because it brought me joy. And while it still is something I enjoy… I’m finding more and more that it’s bringing me less joy. There are two ways I can approach this: work through it and hope it gets better, or take a break. I’ve been working through it for the past three months now, and I’m feeling that I need to step away from it for a little while. As of February 15th, I will be taking a break from adding content to this site. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone; it could be anywhere from three months to a year. I do know that it wasn’t an easy decision. I’ve loved hearing from people who have felt that a voice has been given when they couldn’t find the words; I’ve loved making new friends; I’ve loved getting to converse with some fantastic filmmakers. Thank you for giving me a great run.
Until next month, you’ve got some analysis goodness heading your way. This week, we’ll be taking a look at Candyman (1992), then recommending Get Out (2017). It’ll be a week with some heavier subject matter, but one we hope you enjoy.