Princess Mononoke

 

This has always been my favorite Miyazaki and one of my favorite movies, but its been years since I've seen it. Now that I'm further along in actually practicing paganism and witchcraft, seeing the Gods as manifestations of the forest and the film's Ragnarök-like ending (perhaps the most beautiful sequence in any film I've seen) are deeply spiritual.

It's an emotionally mature film, one that I loved and also found challenging at age 16. My first instinct is to side with San and the Forest Gods, to take up arms in their declaration of war against the humans. But they are not wholly good themselves, the different tribes conflicting with each other, and the Boars' blind rage leading to their extinction.

Lady Eboshi makes the movie. The nuances and sympathies the film gives her character are a large part of what elevate it over one-dimensional takes on similar stories like Dances With Wolves or Avatar. She houses and gives work to former sex workers and similarly (though there is room for a Marxist reading of their new labor as well) treats Irontown's leprosy patients with humanity. She is a compelling and often admirable matriarch, blinded by her anthropocentrism.

The nuances in their conflict formulates an invitation of deep love and compassion, echoing Buddhist and Daoist ideals, to both Nature and humanity. I've always had a hard time with the latter, but for the first time in my life I feel like I am ready to fully embrace that love and compassion to humanity, as well as continuing my relationship with the Natural world.

Ultimately, it's ending reflects the cyclical nature of things, a sentiment also found in both Paganism and Buddhism. Despite our best efforts and technological advances, we can never truly destroy or outsmart Nature. It will always grow again, perhaps in forms we don't recognize and/or in different parts of the cosmos. Our war on the forests is only a war on ourselves. The death of the forest is the death of us. The real question to be asked is not if we need to save Nature, Nature will be fine without us, but whether we want to save ourselves.

A Nightmare on Elm Street

 

I first saw Nightmare in my teenage years and have seen it many times since. I’ve always really liked the movie, but never realized until this rewatch how perfect it really is. Craven’s vision is a near-flawlessly executed horror that gets better with age. Why? Because pretty much every scene is one that sticks with you for life.

To start, I don’t think Heather Langenkamp gets enough credit. Don’t get me wrong, she’s well-liked, but still isn’t held in as high regard as she should be for being one of the most badass heroines in horror history. Is there anything more awesome than her using booby traps to capture Freddy? (That hammer gag is priceless). And the white hair streak? Iconic!

Another actress who doesn’t get enough credit is Ronee Blakely. Perhaps I’m biased because portrayals of alcoholic mothers resonate strongly with me, but I think she delivers one of the most memorable performances in the film. She’s so compelling and significantly upstages Saxon (who is also very good, don’t get me wrong). The film’s biggest flaw in my opinion is that it feels like there’s a missing scene of Mrs. Thompson hitting the bottle prior to her argument with Nancy. Our first real indication of it is when Nancy articulates it verbally.

Slashers are often seen as horror films that center around an external threat. A Nightmare on Elm Street is interesting because it doesn’t really fit into that box. It’s a film that showcases how external threats become internalized fears, nullifying the entire binary between internal and external. External threats can only live on if they are able to parasitically take hold of the mind. Mrs. Thompson’s attempt to kill Freddy in the flesh failed, showing the futility of external destruction. Only by realizing that Freddy himself is not the real danger, but the idea of fearing Freddy that lives in her head can Nancy truly defeat him.

While Halloween was the first to explore ideas of the plasticity of safety and community in the American suburb, it’s killer’s invincibility and flirtations with the supernatural ultimately portray the threat as exclusively outside the individual. Since Nightmare takes four slashing fingers to the internal/external binary, it is able to expand upon themes of suburbia, safety and class much farther than Carpenter’s film was capable of.

In many ways, the film is antithetical to Marxist ideas because it shows that the comforts of class still can’t erase the internal fears, nightmares and existential terrors that are a fundamental part of the human condition. Perhaps they even allow more room for them to harbor. As Dr. Melfi says, “when the desperate struggle for food and shelter is finally behind us, we… turn our attention to other sources of pain and truth.”

The title is not something I’d given much thought to before as it’s so ubiquitous, but it’s clearly meant to draw our attention to the film’s setting. The emphasis on a generic sounding suburban street name in direct relation to the “nightmare.” This fear of life in the suburb is a sentiment that I find particularly relevant to queer viewers. As a trans woman who’s lived in both, I can genuinely say that I’ve always felt safer living in a city environment. Especially now with the tide of thin blue line flags lining America’s sprawl.

Part 2 is often seen as “the gay one,” but that movie’s ending has always irked me by showing Mark Patton’s character choosing to remain closeted. Not that making that choice isn’t an issue that queer people face, but I don’t think the way it’s handled is very affirming or empowering. It feels like a renunciation of everything the character learned throughout the movie. (And yes, I’m fully aware that choosing that ending probably had to do with studio approval/market factors, if anyone knows for sure, lmk!)

By contrast, the fact that Nancy conquers her fear internally is empowering. It causes us to reflect on what scares us and realize that we are the ones enabling them. While I’m particularly interested in the threat of danger queer people feel in suburban environments, this really is universal. Acknowledging that fear for what it is and that we’re the ones in control of it inspires us to say “you’re nothing, you’re shit.” In contrast to Halloween, Laurie confronts Michael whereas Nancy confronts herself.

Also of note is the failure of the nuclear family structure to protect you. Mrs. Thompson dives deeper into her alcoholism after realizing that her attempt to save her daughter didn’t work. Saxon doesn’t believe his daughter and only comes around after she’s already gotten the job done.

Craven occasionally uses symbolism of the Cross and there are mutterings about the failures of morality. Nancy realizes that acting like a puritan won't mean she's safe, unlike in other slashers where that is the necessary prerequisite for survival. This commentary on Christian morals is placed in relation to The Family and the American suburb. It’s not meant to be viewed on its own, but as a background image of a morality and institution that goes hand-in-hand with the others the film is commenting on.

Nancy smashing the bottle in front of her mother is a turning point. It’s her smashing the suburban dream, her faith in her mother and God. There’s no possibility of being lulled back into any promise of false security. She has to go inside herself now to take on Mr. Fredward. Therefore, despite not showing any signs of deviating from cisheteronormativity, Nancy is a queer hero (“queero?”). She is the image of an empowered individual in the face of fears of suburban life, family structures and Christianity, all of which stand in opposition to queer liberation.

So, despite the surface level subject matter (alright perhaps teetering just below it) of Part 2 being ostensibly more “gay,” Nightmare 1 will always be “the gay one” to me because it speaks to the underlying emotions and fears of the queer experience on a much deeper level than its sequel.

Jesus won’t save you, morality won't save you, The Family won’t save you, the economic comforts of suburban life won’t save you, utopian visions of the future that are a compensation for your fears won't save you. You can only save yourself. There is no Kingdom of Heaven literally or metaphorically, but each individual has the strength of will to defeat their own nightmares if they know where to find it. The nightmare of marginalization can be overcome if we stop playing into its narrative of victimhood. To quote Laura Jane Grace, “we all are stronger than everything they taught us that we should fear.”

The ending is a sobering reminder that conquering our fears is not a one-and-done task. They will continue to haunt us, and only through continuous, conscious action can we rise above them.

And that’s how Freddy helped me stop worrying and conquer my fear of fascism. “I take back every bit of energy I gave you.”

Kiki's Delivery Service

This is the perfect movie to watch the day after Halloween. When you still have decorations up, candy wrappers on the floor and the trashed jack-o-lantern from last night looking at you. It’s witchy, but not scary or even spooky. It also takes place in Midsummer, which reminds us that although the dark days of Winter are ahead, we shouldn’t lose sight of the Spring that will soon come after.

This has always been one of my favorite Miyazaki movies and I didn’t know how I would respond upon revisiting it. Needless to say, I was so overcome with emotions watching it and think I like it even more now. This movie makes my eyes water, not at scenes of any huge emotional climax, but of just being. My body just naturally responding to the overwhelming amount of joy that seeing these images move brings me.

This is a film about the quiet moments. The spaces in-between. The film takes time to show us Kiki staring at dust and sighing. It’s also a film about quaintness. Kiki uses an icepack to reduce her fever and the prospect of popping a couple Tylenol is never mentioned. The architecture of the town and the lines on the bread are not just tertiary background noise, but central to what gives Kiki’s Delivery Service its magic.

Kiki’s journey is universal regardless of age. As we grow into adulthood, we learn that the cycle of putting yourself out there, being shot down, getting discouraged and then lifted up again is never-ending. Same with losing your inspiration and needing to find it again. Kiki’s age is merely the first time we encounter this experience. (Actually 13 is pretty young to be living on your own for the first time!) Her story speaks to both the allure of independence, and the unrealistic expectations we have of it as kids.

The movie portrays the realities of how we have to navigate the world through a market economy that, like it or not, we do live in. However, it shows us a view of work that is different from the one most of us find. The village bakery and delivery service both provide types of work that the characters like doing. They speak to a time before industrialism, when the work-play binary was not so rigidly defined. The film's quaintness offers a glimpse into a more idyllic world where industrial capitalism, while still present, maybe hasn't run so rampant. All of this is emphasized by the use and aesthetic of witchcraft, pop-cultural though it may be.

This is my favorite “girl goes down the rabbit hole” movie from Miyazaki (Princess Mononoke being my favorite of his “fantasy epics”) and one of my favorite movies overall. And that opening credits sequence, how can that not bring a smile to your face? :)

Farewell Zac Bertschy, You Will Be Missed

Zac Bertschy is the reason this blog exists. He's the reason my old blog exists. He's the reason I was able to score a gig writing for My Anime List a few years ago. In case you couldn't tell, my style unabashedly takes notes from him. His written reviews and preview guides were always so fun, personable and engaging to read and I knew that's how I wanted to write too. Zac was a damn good writer, on top of all the other contributions he brought to anime fandom. And now that he's gone I'm fucking numb. I've cried several times over the past few days.

I first came across Zac's work through the ANNCast "Revenge of the 00's" Episodes. I was pretty new to anime at that time and was looking for shows to watch. I was already a fan of Jacob Chapman's, through his prior work at the site that shall not be named and his appearance is what led me to the podcast. Many of my favorite shows of all-time came from my first introduction to Zac, like Wolf's Rain and Revolutionary Girl Utena. Many of my current favorites are also because of Zac, like Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! and Ready or Not. I became a loyal listener of ANNCast from that moment on and always looked forward to Zac's written reviews.

Zac was pretty much the main catalyst for me starting to try my hand at media criticism. However, he also had this amazing ability to seep into your mind. His combination of childlike awe and dry, sardonic humor create this effect to where you subconsciously try to pinpoint what Zac's take on a particular show or movie would be. This is undoubtedly because Zac burned with a passion for the beauty of art more than anyone else I can think of. He breathed his passions and unashamedly professed his love for the stuff that makes life meaningful. Indeed, much of the way I view and critique media is uncontrollably influenced by how Zac saw things. Not only that, but how I view life. Zac told me that it's okay to wear your passions on your sleeve and be unashamed about what you enjoy.

At the same time, he did this with an unflinching dedication to being a morally and socially responsible human being. He may not have seen himself this way, but Zac was an incredibly professional and respectable person who influenced and inspired many. His bravery in allowing ANN to tackle the Vic Mignogna story, calling out bigotry and generally gross shit in both shows and fandom, even when it meant virulent backlash, it all speaks to one of his central characteristics: Zac had a genuine and vocal empathy for others, especially of marginalized communities. Empathy was something Zac never seemed to lack, it was an unmovable part of his DNA.

I briefly met Zac, Jacob and Mike Toole at Otakon 2013, where I asked him a question at the live ANNCast taping and hung around for a bit after to chat. He gave me and all the other folks who asked questions some truly dreadful crap he was trying to offload. I got a couple random gaming magazines from the early 00's. Thanks. The audio was lost from that taping, but the memory still carries with me as one of my favorite moments of my fandom. I saw him and Jacob walking through the halls of the Baltimore Convention Center the next day, but was too shy to re-introduce myself. I also couldn't muster the courage to say hi at Otakon 2017, my first attendance after actually moving to the area. I often partook in the CYS streams as "Moonchild" (after the Iron Maiden song, which I'm sure Zac would also appreciate). I'm kicking myself now for my shyness and social awkwardness and not fully participating in the community or telling him that he influenced me. He'll never know just how much his contributions to this world meant.

It's really fucking tough to hear about the demons Zac was battling. His Black Mass blog was a creation of incredible bravery and I could really relate to a lot of what he wrote about. Once you've had crippling depression, that darkness is always looming below the surface. Every day is a battle to keep it at bay and sometimes it just becomes too powerful. It hurts to know that's what happened. It hurts because I, and many others, know what it feels like to be there and I just wish Zac knew he wasn't alone. But you're brain doesn't think like that when you're in the pits of its darkness. Knowing that he was going through that torment, I truly just hope he was able to find peace. It's not much for solace, but it does bring me joy to think that he's kicking it with Roger Ebert and Jim Henson right now, roasting The Love Guru. Take it easy breezy on the other side.

"In peace now rest

The weight of the world is off your chest"

Promethea (Issues 1-12)

Promethea has the potential to be Alan Moore's finest work. Is it though? After digging through the first volume of Vertigo's new reissues, I have to say, not quite. The fantasy context and incorporation of myth and occultism appeals directly to my taste and make the book's shortcomings that much more disappointing. Alan Moore is my actual father, however, so I'm definitely going to keep reading through the rest of the series as the hardcovers come out and see how things progress.

Chapters 1-3 are very infodumpy and are an alienating start to the series. There's a lot of expository set up and the whole concept is hard to wrap your head around (in typical Moore fashion). To give you an idea, the series starts with a piece of prose detailing the fake history of the titular character from her (non) inception in the 1700's. This history is entirely an invention of Moore's to give a fictional context of how the character has been interpreted in the world of the comic. Really cool and inventive when you think about it, but tough to sink your teeth into.

Chapters 4-9 are where this book really hits it stride. This is where the story is the most character focused, letting Sophie's emotional journey take precedence over the complexity of the plot. Here is where we get the most development of the hinted at lesbian romance between Sophie and Stacia. The relationship between these two and the subtext (sometimes main text) of their queerness is the best part of the comic. Issue 4 begins with the two of them waking up next to each other in bed and after realizing their position, derisively calling each other "an enormous lesbo." There's so much good stuff here. The repression of homosexuality leading to self-deprecation and hostility, especially in a fantasy context, is unique and compelling drama. Unfortunately, even in its best chapters, Moore seems reticent to bring their relationship to the forefront and develop it fully. There is certainly room for fanficcers to resolve the classic queer anger the series provokes – "why can't they just fuck already!" But more than that, the backseat the emotional content of this relationship takes in service of the story leaves me wanting mo(o)re.

In what is probably my favorite chapter so far, Issue 5, Sophie is brought under the wing of one of Promethea's former incarnations. This version, Margaret, brings Sophie through World War I and details how soldiers used the character as a vehicle for their imagination in the trenches. This issue is not only tightly written, it is a thought-provoking treatise on fantasy fiction as a tool for the imagination. The backdrop of the war shows us that fantasy can be used to imagine a world beyond capitalist realism. To quote Moore, "fantasy... is a way to look at the real world through a lens." In this framing, Promethea embodies the greatest potential that fantasy has to offer, a pseudo-psychedelic experience that broadens our imaginations to envision a better world beyond the constrains of hierarchy and domination.

Chapter 6 continues Moore's meta-textual commentary of fantasy and spits in the face of all the cynical critics who misunderstand his work as not being feminist. The incarnation of Promethea, Grace Brannagh, Sophie meets here, teaches her strength while adventuring through a Howard-esque fantasy kingdom. The environment changes around them at the dictation of Grace's pulpy authors. Despite their penchant for "misogynistic bondage scenes," Sophie and Grace are able to use the fantasy environment to their advantage and reduce the authors into powerless heads. The implications are pretty obvious, but no less interesting: despite a troubled history of misogynistic writing, antifeminism is not an inherent trait of fantasy fiction and the genre can be absolved from it. Moore is performing his own absolution through Promethea.

Chapter 7 is another favorite of mine, an absolutely bonkers ride through cheesy experimentation and a near tear-jerker. This issue uses live-action photography to entrance us into "the path connecting matter and imagination." The photos are really hokey and Promethea's outfit looks like the cheapest Xena costume Halloween stores sold in the 90's, but I kind of love it. I admire the experimentation and think the blurring of lines between medium specificity is awesome.This version of Promethea, William Woolcott, was a comics artist who drew Promethea in the world of the story. Bill fell in love with another man, Dennis Drucker, while transformed as Promethea, hiding his real identity until they had already been romantically involved. When Dennis finds out Promethea is actually a man, he murders Bill with a bullet through the head. This story made my mouth drop when I first read it. It's so poignant and again touches on the theme of repressed homosexuality leading to hostility that reflects Sophie's relationship with Stacia. This chapter is unfortunately where Moore's expression of that theme ends, at least for this volume.

I don't know if I've ever seen a series absolutely kill my interest in one issue the way Promethea seems to have done with Issue 10. Earlier on, the character of Jack Faust tells Sophie that he will teach her the depths and inner workings of magic if she sleeps with him. This is played as a tasteless joke and I really didn't think much of it when reading this scene. However, Chapter 9 ends with Sophie turning up at Jack Faust's saying, "okay." Issue 10 is little more than the author trying to recreate one of his greatest hits, the psychedelic sex scene from his run on Swamp Thing. There's a bunch of weird art, references to mythology and abstract conceptions of sex Moore uses to portray Faust and Promethea doing it, but I just don't care. It's fucking gross. Sophie's age is never explicitly revealed, but she looks really young. She's a college student, so presumably of age, but she's drawn to look much younger and Faust is depicted as a withering old man. Despite ham-fistedly decrying the misogyny of fantasy fiction in Issue 6, Moore devolves into the author who doesn't understand women's issues that critics accuse him of. This one issues robs Sophie of all her previously triumphant agency and strength, caving into not only to patriarchal pressure, but a fuckin' creep.

The two issues that close out this edition do nothing to resolve how vile Chapter 10 is. There's a lackluster send-up of 50's sci-fi films in #11 and a prosaic description of every single Tarot card to make up Issue 12. The latter of which's text is so exhausting and uninteresting that I couldn't bring myself to read all of it and just skimmed the art and Sophie's dialogue until I could finally close this thing.

The ups and downs of the story are compounded by art of fluctuating quality. J.H. Williams III's illustrations are never bad, the problem is that the panels are so damn busy. There are exceptions, like in Chapter 5, but more often than not, I don't know where to look after flipping the page. Much like the writing. the panel layout is highly experimental. This approach sometimes results in interesting ideas, but often just comes across like a mess. The messy layout is never helped by Moore's exceptionally proliferate dialogue panels and thought bubbles, which further clutter the page.

Alan Moore is probably my favorite writer ever, which is why my loves and hates for Promethea are both so strong. Conceptually, and in its most finely written moments, Promethea can be some of my favorite stuff ever penned by Moore. At its worst, it's hard to follow (visually and intellectually) and plays into misogynistic pinnings that I know the author is better than. There's still two more volumes and 24 issues to go and I plan on reading all of them. Hopefully, the "messiah of comics" will pull it all together.

Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken!

When Kurt Cobain said that all movies about making music sucked (except Spinal Tap), he was right. Although I have a soft spot for movies like Almost Famous and School of Rock, I would never say that they accurately portray the realities of being an artist. Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! is the best thing about making a thing ever made, succeeding even Adaptation. and Inside Llewyn Davis. The reason so many movies/shows/books/etc... about the artistic process fall short is because they're not like Eizouken!, and even the most successful portrayals are not nearly as fun. I've watched this whole show twice already and will continue to revisit it for the rest of my life.

Throughout both my viewings, I consistently found myself having to take screencaps of the most resonant dialogue about artistry I've ever heard. What exactly about its portrayal makes it so effective? Eizouken! expresses the realities of creating art under capitalism without ever endorsing that mode of production. Not only does it show the conflicts, deadlines and inhibitions on creativity that result from the profit-motive being the determining factor of all art, it shows us that the labor of art is valuable.

This conflict is embodied boldly in the character of Kanamori. I haven't had an anime crush in many years, but goddamn, let me admit that I am now hopelessly in love with Kanamori-san. Although she might ostensibly seem to be the show's representation of the cold-blooded capitalist producer, she's actually sort of a leftist. In the first episode we hear her say: "Why, Asakusa, did you expect to get my labor without compensation?" Later on she says, "Pay exists to ensure a quality standard for labor." Although she shows no hesitation when it comes to conniving or scheming to advance the prospects of the Film Club, she does so from a belief that their labor has value and that they are entitled to create free from exploitation. On the one hand, Kanamori's perspective is bleak when she suggests that "given the situation we were in" there is no "alternative" to capitalist realism. On the other, she is an incredibly inspirational tough-loving hand that tells us artists are entitled to a life of dignity and to create the best life for yourself you can given the hopeless "boot stamping on a human face forever" of capitalism's persistence.

The show doesn't offer the prospect of a revolution, but who's to say its wrong for that? Early on we see The Boiled Tofu Club call for the Carbohydrate Revolution in the face of the fascist tendencies of the Security Club. Their appeal is quickly shut down by the bureaucratic authority of the Student Council. Later on, Mizusaki poses the question, "wouldn't not having to worry about money and just making anime be the best?" To which Kanamori answers, "Absolutely not!" Eizouken! pulls no punches in showing how far from liberation the artistic process is under a capitalist system, but it also tells us not to wait around for the rev. Given the failed history of left revolutions across the globe, I'm inclined to agree with the show's perspective here when I'm at my most blackpilled (i.e. right now). To quote Lindsay Ellis, "existing in a system is not the same as endorsing it."

Anime comedy doesn't really work for me. Although there are many series with comedic elements that I love, I often find the humor to be distracting, tonally inconsistent and just not funny. Nearly every damn episode of Eizouken! has at least a few moments where I was genuinely in hysterics. The comedy just feels natural with this one, like jokes the characters would actually make, not the writers. The over-stylized deadpan face, a staple of anime humor, is not overused and only appears at the most precisely timed moments, to where it's genuinely funny anytime we see the characters's faces like this...

Similarly, I think most anime openings kinda suck. I find that they often have atrociously over-produced music that doesn't fit the tone of the show and are better off skipped. Although it just wrapped, I feel confident in saying Eizouken! undoubtedly has one of the best OPs of all-time. "Easy Breezy" is just so damn irresistible and the animation is so much fun. A screenshot of Kanamori getting down with the groove is currently my phone background.

Despite the weightiness of the themes, Eizouken! is always tremendously light-hearted and fun. Many of my favorite shows, like Cowboy Bebop, are my favorites because they instantaneously transport me to the world and make me feeling like I'm hanging out with the characters. I feel like I'm on the Bebop, chilling with Spike, Jet and Faye, just trying to scrape by with the next bounty. Eizouken! gives me the same feelling. I'm right in there creating anime with my best buds (or lover) Kanamori, Asakusa and Mizusaki. I can't really think of any criticisms to direct at this show and it will continue to live on in my heart and on my screen until the end of my days.