Sexism At Its Finest

I hate calling people out on sexism.

I hate it because it happens a lot these days, often in relation to things that aren't really sexist to begin with. This social justice warrior culture is irritating and becoming ignorant in and of itself, which is, obviously, the antithesis of what it's supposed to be. Hate acts, don't hate people. Why is this hard.

And maybe I'm being ignorant here. Maybe I'm the one that's wrong.

But if you are demonizing Hillary Clinton, then you are sexist.

I don't mean that you can't criticize Hillary Clinton. Criticize everybody. Nobody's perfect (not even Bernie Sanders, of the "I guess I don't have to tell my supporters to stop sending death threats right?").

What absolutely sickens me is the rabid hatred that people have for Hillary Clinton. I mean, it actually disgusts me. I mean that my heart speeds up and my throat gets tighter just thinking about all the things that people have said in an attempt to make Hillary Clinton out to be the most evil and terrible person that ever ran for president.

It's so toxic, and it comes from people who are supposedly all for social justice, without them appearing to realize that it stems from internalized sexism.

I hate this idea that Hillary Clinton doesn't deserve the presidency. Because she really does. She has done a lot in politics. People talk about how involved Michelle Obama is in the White House? Hillary Clinton set the precedent for that. She was the first First Lady who was actually doing things, and doing controversial things, to boot. She once gave a speech in China about women's rights, to the chagrin of people who advised her against it. She does stuff like that.

"But she was against gay marriage!" Yeah. A decade ago. Look, I know how hollow it sounds to say that people have changed. I get that. But... sometimes opinions change. It isn't out of the question. And I think Hillary's opinion did. She's still the only candidate to date to have marched in a gay pride parade.

And her policies are actually very well researched. According to people who know more than I, her policies on her site are actually excruciatingly researched and well-written. She knows what she's talking about, she's realistic. And, oh yeah, SHE ISN'T ACTUALLY AN AWFUL PERSON.

It doesn't matter, though, because I think this idea that she's an awful person doesn't really have anything to do with the things she's done. I think it has to do with her being a woman. I think it has to do with the fact that she's expected to be a hard politician without being rebuked for not being a soft woman. She's expected to dress formally and fancily for speeches without being rebuked for exemplifying rich white-ness. Like all women, she is expected to be two conflicting things at the same time and is shot down when she fails to do this. She is held to an infinitely higher standard than her male counterparts and it drives me insane.

I also think people think she wasn't "a strong woman" during the scandal with Bill and Monica Lewinski. Never mind the somewhat catch-22 of a position she was in at the time.

I just. Am tired. I am tired and disgusted by this hatred for a woman who is one of the most involved women in American politics being demonized with the attribution to any number of mistakes she may have made but without any of the forgiveness because women don't deserve forgiveness. I hate it.

And I hate that people are blind to it because this hatred for female politicians has precedence. No one liked Margaret Thatcher either. Now, she was a conservative, and maybe people didn't like her policies. Maybe. But she was voted in, so her policies maybe weren't the problem. It isn't something that justifies playing "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead" when she dies. Amusing, yes, but also? A little disheartening.

I am tired of women not being able to win in politics. I hate it. And there's nothing I can do about it except yell into the void, apparently.

I'm going to say something super controversial:

I hope Hillary wins. I think she's earned it.

And also Bernie Sanders would probably be in office for a month before he died, so.

The Forever Man: An Unusually Mixed Review

WARNING: CRAWLING WITH SPOILERS

I recently (as in, this morning in bed) finished The Forever Man, which is Book 3 of the W.A.R.P series by Eoin Colfer.

Eoin Colfer who wrote the ever-brilliant Artemis Fowl series.

I talked a little about Book 1 of W.A.R.P, The Reluctant Assassin, in my three quickfire book reviews post, a while back. Long story short, the first book had amazingly detailed characters with remarkable stories and believable chemistry and amusing banter, and the villains were deliciously cruel and ruthless and, especially in the case of Garrick, endlessly compelling. It is really an exquisite read.

I didn't ever talk about the second book on this blog, but The Hangman's Revolution is pretty much just as good. The characters are at their height, the villain, though less enigmatic, is equally ruthless (more of a Hitler than a Son of Sam type) and the cliffhanger at the end had me begging for the next one.

So here we are. At the next one. And, judging from its ending, the last one.The Forever Man.

A.K.A The return of Garrick which I was low-key waiting for, because Garrick is the most delectably sadistic villain I have ever had the pleasure to read about.

Garrick had not lost his touch, as a villain. I'll admit, the beginning does not surprise anyone who reads the back of the book - you know from the get-go that the unnamed man who hides in the shadows and chuckles at Chevie's anachronistic accent has to be Garrick, because the back of the book tells you who they're running from, and who else could it honestly be?

He still manages to introduce himself with a bang though, what with dousing Riley in his supposed brother's blood and all-but killing Chevie. Oh, Garrick, truly you have an eye for the dramatic. He is a stage magician, after all.

And after that is where things start getting a bit zany. And I mean, zany for Colfer, who, as I may have mentioned, writes books about twelve year old child geniuses who kidnap fairies for their gold.

Essentially, they get sent back to the seventeenth century, where Garrick has already established himself as a Witchfinder, and he gets the poor town of Mandrake to turn against Chevie and Riley as a witch and her familiar. Chevie then gets rescued by a former F.B.I agent like herself who got stranded in the period. It's kind of funny that I brought up the Son of Sam, earlier, because guess who this agent's partner is?

A talking dog.

Well, actually, a person who became a dog after the time travel. But he can still talk like a person.

Also there's a ghost. Of a dude who died twice in the series so far. How he got in the seventeenth century is a bit iffy. Don't worry, though, he'll die for the third time, to make up for it.

Also featuring: a giant squid who is actually F.B.I, a giant boar who is not, and "It's not a wormhole, it's an inter-dimension!"

It's a fun book.

And I love Eoin Colfer. I really do. But despite the goofiness and amusing things and, naturally, tension, there was one thing that made this book a little less satisfying than his others in the series:

Chevie and Riley, our two heroes, who specifically contrast each other, barely interact in this book. Instead, as soon as one escapes, the other gets in grave danger, and the book is essentially a game of tug of war between who is saving who from certain death.

And it's a shame that they don't interact, because that is when they shine. Riley and Chevie are designed to be foil for each other, with Chevie as the cynic and Riley as the idealist, with Chevie from the twenty-first century and Riley from the nineteenth, with Chevie as head and Riley as heart. That, and their shared wit, makes them so much fun to read about together. Don't get me wrong, I love them both on their own, and would probably read books of one without the other in it. But when you're reading a book with both of them in it, having them not really interact just seems like a massive waste of opportunity.

What makes this even weaker is that Riley and Chevie yet spend the entire book thinking about each other. I believe it. It makes sense, considering they're constantly saving each other. It's just that it gets kind of tiring, when they don't even talk to each other.

Also, and I'll come right out and admit that this is largely my own personal bias: but Colfer threw in romance. And I am not one to look at a awesome, trusting, platonic friendship and say, "You know what this needs? Romance." I kind of really like awesome, trusting, platonic friendships as friendships, and I appreciate them even more when they're different genders because people apparently believe that isn't possible. Turning it into romance... it almost seems to simplify it. It's almost lazy.

And it irritates me that "Oh, this book is for a slightly more mature audience than Artemis Fowl was. Romance is a must." Because that wasn't so in the first books, and they were great! Why fix something that isn't broken?

That being said, I still kind of believe it. Because Riley and Chevie, platonically or otherwise, were kind of meant for each other. They were designed that way. And, kind of like in Avatar: The Last Airbender, where Aang had a thing for Katara - it's a younger, sweetheart of a boy who feels something for an older girl who is warm and kind-hearted but also a badass. It's understandable. Who wouldn't have a crush on Chevie, or Katara, for that matter?

And just like Aang and Katara, the older girl respects the boy and eventually falls for him, seeing past his age and, at times, naivete, because she's seen him through it all. Which also makes a certain amount of sense.

Also, Eoin Colfer did a pretty good job with that kiss on the pyre. Hot damn, literally. Surrounded by flames. That is an image to remember.

But... for all that? It didn't feel necessary. It didn't feel like it added something to the story that was missing before. It felt, as I've mentioned, like a simplification of the friendship that Riley and Chevie had already shared. And, yes, that is entirely my own bias (and bitterness about being single, probably), but it's my opinion nonetheless.

The other thing is that the ending seemed... abrupt. And I just know, from the way that all the bows were tied so tightly and neatly, that this was the last book in the series.

And I'm glad that Chevie and Riley got happy endings. God knows they deserved it. But it was almost too much to be believed. You mean to tell me that Chevie managed to go back to her own time before her dad died and save him? Then go back, no longer an old woman? Meanwhile. Riley goes back to his own time and becomes an ultra famous magician and marries an inexplicably-youthful Chevie from the future and has a kid and finds his brother and learns his true name and they all live happily ever after? And doesn't even have to end Garrick himself, despite it being almost entirely his fight? Despite Garrick literally putting Riley through psychological and physical torture for the entirety of his life, Riley isn't the one that gets to exact retribution? There would have been a certain delicious irony around Riley, the aforementioned Reluctant Assassin, using Garrick's training to bump off Garrick himself. Instead, you're telling me that both their hands are clean of anything that could have sacrificed their moral compasses, that they fell in True Love as teens and married and had a happy life in the nineteenth century with no unanswered questions?

It's a Disney ending. And as much as Disney loved fairytales, they didn't like them when they were violent, and this one was. So it seemed kind of abrupt, and kind of out of place.

So... maybe this isn't the correct reaction... but it kind of seemed like, what was the point?

And I'm not sure why that was my reaction. But it was. It just felt kind of pointless.

It's because it feels as though no one had to sacrifice anything. Even in Artemis Fowl, a kid's book, he sacrificed his life, because that was the point, that was the culmination of all he had learned, him learning to self-sacrifice for others. Connor Broekhart, of Airman, sacrificed years of his life and everything he was, so of course his eventual happy ending was earned.

Chevie and Riley went through a lot, but I'm very hard-pressed to tell you of a time when they actually sacrificed something of themselves for something outside themselves. I mean, yes, Riley leaped into fire for Chevie, but he would have done that regardless, because Riley is just like that, especially with his only friend. So what's changed?

Am I making sense?

I don't know, it's possible that I just like the taste of bittersweet too much. But it just seems... really, implausible that, after everything that happened, everything worked out perfectly for important characters.

Also on the subject of deserved endings, Constable Cryer's ending was a bit harsh. He was a bigot, and a zealot, and an extremely prideful one, but did he deserve to have his flesh burnt off my molten silver and no one helped or mourned? It's hard for me to think so. He was, after all, a victim of Garrick's indoctrination. It makes him weak-minded, and yes, a boot-licker, but it doesn't make him evil. I'm not asking for a redemption arc, I'm asking for recognition that he wasn't the sort of evil that his awful, unmourned death would seem to suggest.

That being said, Isles and Pointer? Handled perfectly. I almost cried. Charles Smart, too, come to think of it.

And really, all in all, I enjoyed the book. Like, a lot. Like, I couldn't stop reading it. It was hilarious and the characters were their wonderful selves and the new characters were instantly endearing. It was witty and it was an adventure and Garrick, who is quite possibly my favourite villain to hit the pages of a book, is wonderfully evil, as usual.

There was just some things that seemed, to me, like it could have been done more... suitably.

I know I've talked much longer about the flaws than about the good things, but I promise, it was a very good book. Colfer writes a good story, and I adore these characters. It's just A) unusual for flaws like these to appear in one of his books - I usually don't come out of one of his books feeling dissatisfied - and, B) easier to talk about what's wrong than what's right. How many times can I say the word "delicious" about a book?

No, but seriously, read the series. It's great. Yes, even this one. I love it a lot. It will be in my heart forever.

Hah.

The Forever Book.

I'm funny.

Character Writing, and Where I Stand

I've talked a little about writing on here before, but not that much. Which is kinda weird, because, like... writing is pretty much all I do. If I'm not singing or watching TV or stressing the hell out about everything I have to do to secure a future for myself, I'm writing. And I'm thinking about it even more than that.

So I'm going to talk a little about it now, because I've realized that my character writing has gotten very much improved lately and it's really exciting for me.

See, the odd thing about my relationship with stories was this disparity between the stories I consume and the ones I create. What you'll notice about the shows and books I like is that they're all extremely character driven. Buffy is all about the Scoobies, Community is all about the study group, Artemis Fowl is all about Artemis growing up, Heroes of Olympus is all about the Seven, Merlin is all about the relationship between Merlin and Arthur. Yes, there are adventures to highlight the relationships and characters, but that's just it - the plot highlights the characters, not the other way around.

The stories I write - although, this is becoming less and less true - were not the same. The first novel I wrote, way back in sixth and seventh grade, the as-yet-unnamed fantasy story based on a game that my friends and I used to play as children, was very much plot-based, to the point where, looking back on the story now, the characters' motivations made next to no sense at all. They would simply do things because the plot demanded it.

In the next novel I wrote, which began in seventh grade and ended in eleventh grade, I began to realize just at the end that my protagonist was hardly ever actively participating in her own destiny. This is a problem that I am still trying to fix in rewriting the manuscript.

Even some of my short stories had similar themes - one of the ones I was most proud of in middle school, a story based on the song Sunny Came Home, by Shawn Colvin, had the main character act as an audience member to the real story, rather than participating in it. The story was about Sunny herself. The character through whose eyes we see the story doesn't even know Sunny.

This is pretty odd, for someone who grew up with such unforgettable teams of characters such as those who feature in the Percy Jackson novels, or the Artemis Fowl novels, which are all about choices that the characters have to make. There's a weird disparity there.

And, honestly, I think this was because for all of my stories, I focused so much on plotting it that the characters always played second fiddle. When I took a brief writing workshop in grade five, I learned a lot about plots, and how to plot stories like a mountain (a technique which I still use on occasion), and making sure that the plot flows in a logical order.

So focused was I on writing the plot that the characters involved in said plot got less and less screen time. It was as if every page I spent developing the characters was a page where the story was at a standstill. I had not yet discovered that the most I could learn about writing did not come from a workshop, but from stories that I read.

This has begun to change extremely slowly, and you can begin to see a very slow burn of a metamorphosis in the novel The Blessing of Aphrodite, from grade seven to grade eleven. But this has begun to change much more quickly and much more dramatically just recently, and I feel it's something to celebrate. Small victories, and all that.

For instance, the first chapter of the newly rewritten version of The Blessing of Aphrodite is spent not, primarily, on the arranged marriages which features so prominently in the plot, but on the relationships between Cassandra and her brothers - the good-natured but not entirely harmonious friendship between her and her step-brother Merithos, and the belligerent and, at times, downright cruel fighting for power between her and her older brother Aerius (name subject to change). In my first draft, the establishment of these relationships were both lazy and simplified (the friendship between Cassandra and Merithos was idealized and perfect, Aerius was little more than an arrogant jackass), but these characters - who are both fairly important to the plot - are only introduced in the third chapter, because they are not important to the plot right away.

The moment this changed was the moment I decided to give Aerius a redemption arc. This was not in my original plan at all, and was a spur of the moment decision based on repairing the Problem of the Week (or, the obstacle that appeared in the chapter at hand). It was a good idea, though, because it forced me to stop simplifying Aerius into Generic Arrogant Jackass, Greek Edition and begin to think about him as a person, who has been acting this way for reasons of his own, and can begin to redeem himself for different reasons, but ones equally personal.

In order for Aerius to redeem himself, I had to begin thinking about all the things necessary for him to redeem. His arrogance was important, and his general meanness. His meanness, however, stemmed from misogyny that was common to the period. But the question I had to ask myself was, "Why is Aerius a misogynist?" and the answer "Because he is a male in Ancient Greece," no longer seemed to cut it. It was too simple. Yes, that is the easy answer, and it might even be accurate, but it doesn't provide any insight in how one would begin to redeem him. Yes, his environment makes it easy for him to express this, but there is something about him personally which allows it to fit.

So I began developing Aerius's character, and his backstory, and all the things that I know about him but will never be of any consequence in the book. And then, because I did it for him, I had to do it for the other characters. Merithos has history now. Cassandra, even, has far more history than I ever gave her before. Even her step-mother has history I had never bothered to consider before. Hell, I gave so little thought to Cassandra's step-mother that I only bothered to mention that she was pregnant about halfway through the first draft. Now she has a backstory.

And now my book is becoming far more focused on the interactions of these characters, and I love this. I love how I have grown with this.

The other thing I feel is important to mention is the progress I have made in a different, less immediate project of mine. There is a story idea which has been in my head since sixth grade, but which I have never begun to actively write because A) it is impossible for me to focus on two writing projects at once, and B) I could never figure out a plot to go with the concept in my head.

The reason I mention this idea, though, is because the characters, and one character in particular, has changed dramatically simply because I began writing about them.

This story I write sometimes when I have writer's block on everything else. I never seem to have writing block on this idea because I never write it, so there's always something in my head that isn't on paper yet. Now, in the early concept of this idea, it was essentially a Harry Potter trio. The main protagonist, a headstrong male, his friend, the comic relief but loyal-to-the-end guy friend, and the know-it-all female friend. However, this has changed as I began writing the characters in various situations (with little to no context), and problems began to emerge. One of the main problems I was having, for example, was the gender of certain characters.

The concept relies heavily on identical twins. It's very important. The problem I was having, though, was two-fold: 1) I had always, for some inexplicable reason, imagined the comic sidekick as male, but his twin as female, and 2) the the gender of the villains were fairly unbalanced, with three females and one male.

I began with the second problem. I wrote a couple stories in which one character was female in one, and male in the other, and it, of course, worked far better in the original plan. What I had been worried about, though, turned out to be a non-issue - despite the one male being more power-hungry than the others, I found that the power dynamic wasn't affected by gender, but by knowledge, which the females had plenty of. There was one problem dealt with.

As for the first problem, the issue of the comic sidekick, I played with a couple of ideas. I toyed with the idea of fraternal twins being involved, but it didn't fit with the rules of the universe I had created with such concreteness. I was still having trouble with the comic sidekick and his twin for a long time, until I came up with a solution which was surprisingly simple.

The comic sidekick was transgender. He had been assigned female at birth, with his twin sister, and had transitioned to male later in life.

As soon as I thought of it, I knew it worked. It fit him. It was THE solution.

So I began to write about him, with this new knowledge in mind. And the character began to change, morphing and breaking out from his Ron-Weasley-shaped shell. He is no longer the comic-sidekick. No one, in fact, is the comic-sidekick, though they all have their moments of wit. He is much more layered now, and has developed a disposition of optimism and hopefulness and sweetness which I had never anticipated, but which I adore. And the interaction between him and the other characters has so much more nuance to it now that I know him.

I'm just very proud of the place I've come to with my character writing. It was a long time coming. And I felt it necessary to share, to celebrate my victory.

The other thing I want to say is this: the character sheets aren't necessary. I know they help some people - I have a friend who lives by those character sheets, which determine the appearance of your characters and their background and their education and any other personal information about them.

But I don't live by them. They don't help me. The only thing that really helps me to know my characters is writing about them.

That's how I discovered that Aerius deserved redemption. That's how I discovered that my version of Hades is just as insecure as he is twisted. That's how I discovered all the little habits of my characters, such as Cassandra's lip biting and Callum's inability to speak to new people without saying the word "um" in every sentence and Aerius's tendency to touch the weapon hanging at his side. I learned it from writing them.

It's fine to know the background of your character academically, and have it all written down on a sheet somewhere. But, for me at least, I don't really know any of it until I have it in action, in a story somewhere, reacting like people.

And it was only from practise like that that my character writing has come as far as it has.

So... yay! Learning to write characters like people instead of plot devices! Go me!

Academic Meta: Antigone

As opposed to my not-as-academic meta which I write on a more regular basis.

It has recently occurred to me that I work up to twelve hours on an essay for English or Literature class, and the only one who ever gets to read it is my teacher. And that's just messed up. Surely my hard work and sweat and tears deserves more than that.

So I've decided to start posting the essays I'm particularly proud of on my blog. "But they're so long!" you say. Well, the joke's on you, because my essays average at about 2000-3000 words, and my Hamilton post was 1000 words longer than that. I've written Spike meta at 6000 words, I think. Point is, I'm writing stuff like this all the time. Just not as formally, or about things as academic.

But I put just as much work and just as much heart into my academic essays, so I want to share them with the world. This is the first one I'm going to post. It's about Sophocles' Antigone, the third play in his trilogy of tragedies about the house of Oedipus (whom you may know from the titular complex popularized by Freud. I have issues with this, but I'm not going to get into it right now).

Enjoy.

The War After the War: A Battle of Principles in Antigone

Throughout history, there have been many battles and many wars fought for reasons that were perhaps not so important as the principles they stood to represent. This concept of fighting more on principle than on the actions themselves, goes back for centuries, and perhaps one of the first recorded instances of this, fictional or otherwise, is in Sophocles’ Antigone. In Antigone, the titular character buries her brother ceremonially, in the traditional belief that this will allow him access to the afterlife. This is in direct defiance to a law which the newly crowned king of Thebes, Creon, put in place, claiming that her brother had been a traitor and did not deserve such a burial. Seeing his law disobeyed, he demands justice, and sentences Antigone to death for her crime, despite many people voicing their disagreement to him. At first glance, this would appear to be a relatively simple conflict between a king and his subject about civil disobedience. But looking closer, it is evident that there is more to this story than a woman’s defiance. In fact, their argument hinges on disagreement of a much larger issue, which is the importance of the law of their gods, and whether or not Creon himself, as king, must also obey these laws. Divine law was important for these characters, and though it is possible that neither Creon nor Antigone were exclusively concerned with this matter, it is evident from the structure of the story and the general beliefs of society that Antigone is the one fighting on the correct side of this issue, and Creon is not.

            Firstly, it is necessary to understand what divine law is in order to understand what it is that Creon and Antigone are truly arguing about. Divine law is the concept that aside from earthly, man-made laws, there are also a set of laws put in place by a god or many gods which dictate not only how to live a lawful existence, but also a moral one. In slightly more recent theology, one might think of the Ten Commandments as an example of divine law, as they were allegedly codified by a divine being, the Judeo-Christian God. Within the setting of Antigone, it was not this God, but the ancient Greek gods who were being worshipped, and whose words were divine. What makes this concept potentially difficult for a modern audience is that, in recent history, divine law and earthly law have become almost synonymous. For instance, in keeping with the Judeo-Christian God’s Ten Commandments, it is against earthly law as well as divine law to kill, or to steal. However, for a citizen of ancient Greece, earthly law and divine law were not so identical, making it possible to live a lawful life without necessarily always living a moral life. This was due to the fact that much of ancient Greek divine law was inherently ritualistic, which was not enforced by earthly laws (Le Bel). The most obvious example of this is the very thing which Creon and Antigone are fighting over, which is the question of how important it is to bury the dead. From a theological point of view, it was necessary to ensure passage to the afterlife, but from a purely mortal point of view, it was not. Another example is the more extreme case of human sacrifice. This features in a different series of plays written around the same time as Antigone, Aeschylus’s The Oresteia. In the first installment of The Oresteia, Agamemnon is punished for sacrificing his daughter to the gods, a punishment presumably orchestrated by the gods themselves for his despicable act (Talukdar). This is in contrast with the fact that there were actually no earthly laws preventing Agamemnon from doing such a thing – what he did was, at the time, lawful. However, it was also indisputably immoral, even in ancient Greece. Therefore, it is with the knowledge of these regulatory discrepancies that one must regard the conflict which Sophocles brings to light in Antigone, the principle which both Creon and Antigone are willing to die – or kill – over: the question, “Is it enough to live lawfully if one does not live morally?” or, put another way, “Does the unspoken, yet understood, law of the gods hold precedent over a law clearly codified by an earthly authority?”

            That being said, it is important to realize that neither Antigone nor Creon were driven entirely by the strength of their conviction on this issue when they acted. To understand the complexity of their motivations, one must first take into account the nature of the relationship between these two characters. Antigone and Creon are not strangers; in fact, it was Creon who enacted the exile of Antigone’s father, Oedipus. It was also Creon who, later, made to kidnap Antigone and her sister when Oedipus would not return to Thebes. With this in mind, there develops a new layer entirely to the conflict when Antigone hears of Creon’s law forbidding people from burying her brother. To Antigone, this is a move which, as well as dishonouring one of her own, also directly targets her and her sister, who, traditionally, would have been the ones most likely to bury one of their family with the proper ceremonial rites. Antigone says, “Such I hear is the martial law our good Creon lays down for you and me – yes, me, I tell you – and he’s coming here to alert the uninformed in no uncertain terms, and he won’t treat the matter lightly,” (Sophocles 37-41). Antigone feels that this law was not created to control Thebes, but to control her, which she does not take kindly to. It appears to her as though Creon has victimized her family, starting with her father, then she and her sister, and now her brother, all of whom she loves very much, and because of this history, it seems natural that she would wish to rebel against such a person. Antigone herself says, “If I had been the mother of children or if my husband died […] I’d never have taken this ordeal upon myself. […] But mother and father both lost in the halls of Death, no brother could ever spring to life again,” (Sophocles 995-1004).This all but confirms that Antigone is far more concerned with her family than with the principle. Similarly, Creon is also not innocent of ulterior motives. He claims that his law is based on the principle of not providing privileges to people proven to be traitors (Sophocles 222-231). This would have been unusual for the time, however, as the consequences of not being buried were so strong that generally, even ones enemies were buried with the appropriate ceremony (Retief and Cilliers). It seems probable, then, that Creon’s law had less to do with the etiquette of war and more to do with Creon’s opinion of Oedipus’s children. From Creon’s perspective, the house of Oedipus has been cursed due to Oedipus’s infamous crime, and Thebes has been paying for it with the war waged by Oedipus’s sons. Targeting Oedipus’s remaining offspring, his daughters, with such a controversial law would appear to be an effective way to remove them as potential problems immediately. This is not to say that Creon planned to murder the children of Oedipus – merely that he is an opportunist who wishes to free himself of a problem, as Oedipus and his children have, in the past, done nothing but jeopardize Creon’s various plans, which, until this point, were usually intended to be in the best interest of Thebes.

            Despite Antigone not being entirely pure in her motives, it is clear to see that it is she who must be seen as ultimately right, even if it is solely by chance of a miscalculated decision on Creon’s part rather than because she stands for justice in general. Regardless of what drove them, Creon directly disobeyed divine law, and divine law, more so than earthly law, was what kept order at the time. It is true that, not only as a subject of a king, but even more so as a woman, Antigone transgressed her rights – this is made reference to by her sister Ismene, who says, “Remember, we are women, we’re not born to contend with men. Then too, we’re underlings […] so we must submit in this, and things still worse,” (Sophocles 74-77). Nonetheless, it is Creon who overstepped further, as he did not only break a law, but a sacred law. Laws such as these were created in an attempt to unite society under a set of values, and Creon shows immense, reprehensible pride by placing his own ideas at greater importance than, essentially, common morality. There is one irrefutable fact about this situation which ultimately turns Antigone from a common criminal to a heroine – the people agree with her. This is shown when the Chorus of Thebans says, as Antigone is escorted from the palace to her death, “But now, even I would rebel against the king, I would break all bounds when I see this – I fill with tears, I cannot hold them back,” (Sophocles 895-897). The people of Thebes are sympathetic to Antigone’s plight because she held true to their common values, whereas Creon, even when told of the concerns of his subjects by his son, who outright tells him, “[…] the city mourns for this young girl,” (Sophocles 776) refuses to yield. Instead, he says, “And is Thebes about to tell me how to rule?” (Sophocles 821), showing that he does not wish to be a voice of the people. This is what makes the difference between Creon being wrong and Antigone being right – Creon defied the values of society at large, and Antigone upheld them. This makes for an interesting reversal of roles - despite their respective stations, it becomes Creon who did not know his place, while Antigone represents the people. Antigone is not a heroine because she is objectively right, but because her actions, far more than Creon's, align with the values of the people Creon rules, and is unafraid to confront him for that principle.

            Creon, for his part, seems to be either unaware of his fatal miscalculation of strategy, or too stubborn to repair it, and this is the wrong for which he is ultimately punished. In fact, when it is pointed out to Creon that the people of Thebes not only disagree with his verdict, but also that they believe the law itself to be unjust, he becomes indignant. Rather than fixing his mistake, he begins to make statements such as, “The city is the king’s – that’s the law!” (Sophocles 825), and when his son accuses him of offending justice, Creon responds, “[Is it] Wrong? To protect my royal rights?” (Sophocles 832-833). From these examples, it is plain that Creon is choosing not to believe that anything could come above the law that he created. This attitude remains even when he is told the gods themselves disagree – he replies with, “You’ll never bury that body in the grave, not even if Zeus’s eagles rip the corpse and wing their rotten pickings off to the throne of god!” (Sophocles 1151-1153). Here, he is no longer simply ignorant to the extent of the laws he has broken – he does not care. He is putting his own will above that of the gods, and this is his fatal mistake. It appears as though Creon expects to be protected by his kingship, knowing that as an authority, he is within his rights to make his own laws. But in the stories of this time period, kinghood rarely protects people if they have broken an important law of the gods. For example, in the story of Sisyphus, king of Corinth, he defied death, breaking a fundamental law of the gods – people are not meant to return from the dead. For this crime, he was severely punished, and faced an eternity of suffering (Salverda). As an alternative example, there was also the story of Tantalus, king of Sipylus, who broke the gods’ laws by bringing their food down to mortals, and like Sisyphus, was also punished eternally (Boedeker). These are fantastical stories, but at the time, it was stories like these which were integral to the beliefs of society. These are myths in which a king finds himself wholly at the mercy of the gods for not respecting the laws they put in place, and it is with the knowledge that these stories existed and were aplenty that one must realize the foolishness of Creon’s mistake. Kings before him had never been protected by virtue of their earthly authority – it appears to be pure hubris which gives Creon the impression that he could be the exception. It is for this refusal to humble himself, for his absolute certainty in his own infallibility, that Creon is punished – notably, a crueler punishment than even Oedipus received, as Oedipus ended his original ordeal with his children still intact and without blame, while Creon ends the play with both his wife and son dead, and loathing him in death. It is because Creon is punished so severely that one is certain that Creon was wrong in this argument, and Antigone was right.

            This is a complex story with many layers necessary to understanding exactly the implications of what is happening. Firstly, one must understand what exactly divine law was in ancient Greece, and that it was not as automatic as it is, arguably, in the present day. One must also realize that, though both Creon and Antigone claim to be warring about a principle, they are both also warring on the subject of something else: namely, their unforgiving opinions toward each other. This, however, does not eliminate the moral principles they represent – because Antigone represents the values of the people, she is in the right, while Creon refuses to even consider the concerns of his own subjects, an anti-democratic notion which the ancient Greeks would have abhorred, putting him firmly and relentlessly in the wrong. Therefore, despite the possibility that Antigone was doing the right thing for entirely the wrong reasons, it is still true that divine law outweighs the rights of kings, and Antigone becomes a courageous heroine of literature, while Creon, in the truest form of eternal punishment, is despised still, thousands of years later, by those who read the play. 

Endnotes

Boedeker, Deborah. "Drinking from the Sources: Tantalus, Epic and Myth."Didaskalia. Randolph College, 30 Oct. 2000. Web. 8 Mar. 2016.

Le Bel, Maurice. "Natural Law in the Greek Period." Web. 8 Mar. 2016.

Retief, F. P., and L. Cilliers. "Burial Customs, the Afterlife, and the Pollution of Death in Ancient Greece." Acta Theologica. African Journals Online. Web. 8 Mar. 2016.

Salverda, John R. "Sisyphus, the "Joseph" of Greek Myth." Academia. Academia. Web. 8 Mar. 2016.

Sophocles. “Antigone”. The Three Theban Plays. Trans. Robert Fagles. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1984. Print.

Talukdar, Monideepa. "The Patriarchal Nature of Justice in The Oresteia."Southeastern Louisiana University. Southeastern Louisiana University. Web. 8 Mar. 2016.

"It's beautiful! What is it?"

Do you ever come across a work of art and you're just really blown away by the artistry of it and whatever and it really made you feel something but you have no idea what the context of it is?

Like, when I first read The Hollow Men by T.S Eliot. That is an undeniably beautiful poem, a tragic poem, one that feels heartwrenching when you're reading it. I knew this the first time I ever read it.

But upon a first reading, I didn't have the slightest clue what it was actually about.

(It's about the lost generation that came about after WWI - they were the reason for the so-called "Roaring Twenties". Sure, it seemed like everyone was having fun, except that there was no drive to do anything else.)

But it doesn't really matter, because the way the words are chosen, the artistry of the piece itself, it makes you feel what you're supposed to feel without even knowing why. And that's really impressive.

Or, maybe, when you're looking at a piece of abstract art. And it makes you feel something. You don't know why it does, but you're staring at this mess of colours someone put to a canvas and you feel something about it. It's inexplicable, but that's art.

I love that feeling. I think it's one the most magical things. Because you know that it's coming entirely from the art itself and not from sympathy about the subject.

The example that got this tangent started isn't entirely applicable in the same way, but it still kind of brings that same reaction, of, "I'm touched! Why?"

So, my DELF test is coming up. That's kind of stressful, since it's essentially the culmination of thirteen years of French Immersion, and if it doesn't go well then I might jump out a window. So to prepare me, I've been looking up all kinds of French media. Watching French movies, finding French podcasts, watching Buffy in French because why not, and listening to French music.

One of the French musicians I've been getting into is Maitre Gims. It's more pop-ish than I usually go for, but it's the kind of pop I like because it isn't all romantic and stuff (despite French being the language of romance). He flip flops between being a singer and a rapper, and I tend to stick to the ones where he's more of a singer. I was first introduced to him because one of my French teachers once used his song Zombie as a grammar exercise in class. That song is super catchy, and lyrically interesting.

So as I was looking up more of his stuff, I came across his song "J'me tire".

That's the one that made me go, "It's beautiful! What is it?"

Well, maybe beautiful isn't the right word. It's pop/hip hop, which I have a hard time defining as "beautiful," because to me that's a really loaded word to be used for something more majestic. This song wasn't majestic.

The word I'm looking for is "powerful."

Looking at the title, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. What I got, though, was a rather personal, emotional song about the artist himself, Maitre Gims (or M-Gi, as he calls himself in the song) feeling helpless.

I don't have the full context of his feelings here, and that's where the feeling of, "What is it?" comes in. But the words themselves mean a lot. Roughly translated, the chorus goes like this:

"Im pulling myself out,
Don't ask why I left without a word
Sometimes I feel my heart hardening
It's sad to say, but nothing makes me sad anymore
Let me go somewhere far from here
To keep the smile, I'll say that there's worse
If it's like that, bah, fuck the life of an artist
I know it's cliche to say I've been targeted
But I'll say it for the rhyme"

That's a super rough translation, but that's basically what it says. He also talks about going somewhere where he wouldn't need to take the mic anymore, where no one cared about his life anymore. Possibly most telling, he thanks people who support him despite his being black.

As far as I can gather, though as I've said, I have zero information on the context behind this song besides what's actually in the song, he's been the subject of racism based on his art and the kind of music he makes, to the point where he feels like his only option is give up. At least, that's the message I'm understanding from it. What really makes me feel it is the bridge, which roughly translates to:

"I'll leave without a word
Without telling myself what I will become
Stop, don't think about it anymore M-Gi
Stop, don't think about it anymore, go on."

You really have to hear it, though. Guy's got a powerful voice, and a powerful delivery. I haven't been able to get this song out of my head for days, and that's not just because it's catchy. It's just one of those things that makes you feel something, even if you can't quite understand it (and I couldn't at first - I looked up the lyrics, and that's the moment that this song burrowed itself into my head and never left).

Interesting things that happen when you explore the pop culture of places you've never paid attention to before. I'm not even sure if my interpretation is entirely correct, though it wouldn't surprise me - I understand that France has a pretty big problem with racism.

Anyway, I hope I introduce you to one of those "It's beautiful! What is it?" feelings, because this did it for me, and I think it might be a nice feeling to spread around.

Things That Are Cool About "Hamilton" (With Recommended Listening)

The newest of my musical theatre loves.

So, Hamilton is a musical about American's founding fathers, specifically following the life of one Alexander Hamilton, who was especially young and especially prolific and often overlooked.

I don't personally know much about the founding fathers, but listening to this musical, you don't really have to. It plays itself out. It's cool, and you don't have to be an American History buff in order to enjoy the thing. The story itself will do that. And the music too.

Noteworthy: this musical was written by the same guy who wrote last year's school musical, In The Heights. Lin-Manuel Miranda is, I'm beginning to suspect, an actual genius. Because In The Heights is wonderfully rich in character and the music is absolutely unique, from song to song, and in comparison to any other musical. As a composer, the man is insanely talented, as well as as a rapper. Hamilton, naturally, shares that quality, but with an added bonus: the musical is essentially sung through.

Once you have the soundtrack, you have the whole musical.

It's pretty cool to have the entire plot to the musical ready for easy-listening.

Anyway, there are so many cool things about this musical that I just need to talk about because I am in awe. There is nothing, as far as I can tell, that this musical could have done better.

Cool Thing #1: Race

I'm just going to get this out of the way, though I doubt it'll make too many people uncomfortable.

Here's the thing. I think it's fair to say that, after In The Heights especially, which focuses a lot on Hispanic heritage, that Lin-Manuel Miranda is of Hispanic heritage. He's Puerto Rican, to be exact. Anyway, this doesn't matter, but it kind of does, because it adds an interesting layer to the fact that he's playing Alexander Hamilton onstage, since the founding fathers were fairly white.

And here's the thing: most of the rest of the cast are played by non-white people too.

Thomas Jefferson? Black. Aaron Burr (Thomas Jefferson's vice president)? Black. Angelica Schuyler, Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, George Washington? All black. Elizabeth Schuyler? Asian.

In fact, interestingly, the only character I can think of who was cast as the actual race of their character was King George III. Take from that what you will, having one of the only white people be the face of this detached arbitrary control that the Americans were trying to free themselves of.

Anyway, this has provided a lot of food for thought about the diversity of America inserting itself in its not-so-diverse history, and making people who are generally excluded from that history part of that narrative. And this wasn't casting "race-blind", either - it wasn't "we were going to find someone white but they were all so talented." This was a deliberate statement they made in casting. Lin-Manuel Miranda said something somewhere along the line that was essentially, "When people start doing this in schools, they'll have to keep this in mind. If they look like the actual founding fathers, they messed up."

I just think that's really cool, and a relevant statement to make, and a thought-provoking way to make it.

Okay, moving on.

Cool Thing #2: Ensemble as Greek Chorus

This is a thing you don't see that much in modern musicals. I think it's fair to say that, in general, the ensemble is only used in situations where there are conceivably a lot of people involved - for example, in Les Mis, during the scenes when the rebels are preparing for the revolution, or in Rent, when the songs are about Bohemian lifestyle in general, not one person's perspective.

Hamilton doesn't do it like that. And you could see a similar use of the ensemble in In the Heights, but this sort of takes it to the next level.

Much like the Greek Chorus of yore, the ensemble is used to provide background information (as in the song Right Hand Man) or provide insight into a character's motivation (doesn't happen as much because the characters tend to do that themselves, but sometimes - see It's Quiet Uptown), or comment on the situation themselves, possibly reacting as the audience is (see Say No To This). They also sometimes serve, if only briefly, as a character's inner monologue - usually with Aaron Burr's "Wait for it" mantra, or with Hamilton's "I am not throwing away my shot" mantra.

It's not a common thing to see in modern theatre, but this play makes a pretty good case for the Greek Chorus to reemerge as a modern convention.

Just listen to how effective the technique is in Say No To This. Believe me, we aren't meant to excuse Hamilton for his, hm, perfidy, even if he excuses himself.

Also Maria Reynolds has an absolutely gorgeous voice.

Or even better, this song is the best example I can think of, since it does a bit of all three - but um, fair warning, I cried like a baby the first time I heard this...

But just listen to how they use the ensemble! That's such a cool way to work it! The ensemble has such a good sound! Why doesn't every musical do this?

It kind of is part of the whole point of the musical - reincarnating things that are historical, and stereotypically dull, in a way that is new and fresh and riveting. Having the ensemble do its job as a way of providing various insights to the audience is, obviously, not a new idea, but it's old enough that it seems new, you know? And when it's modernized like this, it really does seem like a completely different idea. It's unique, and it works.

Cool Thing #3: The human side of history

Let me just say that I have honestly never spared a second thought for the founding fathers of the United States. In fact, I've barely spared a second thought for the founders of the country I live in. It's just never seemed that interesting to me, because it's so hard to humanize people that lived all that time ago. How can you think of these historical figures as anything but unattainable, unreal visions of achievement, you know what I mean?

Hamilton focuses a lot on the character flaws of everyone involved. Hamilton's pride, his ambition, his workaholism, Aaron Burr's reluctance to act, and his occasional jealousy, Eliza's self-esteem issues, etc. And this is a really great thing, because it makes them human. Honestly, what got me hooked on this musical was the song Aaron Burr, Sir, because of the goofiness of John Laurens, Marquis de Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan. Nowhere else are you going to get such a clear picture of the fact that these guys are.... just a bunch of guys.

The fact that they're beatboxing. The "eyyyyyyy" when Mulligan makes the your mother joke. The fact that he makes a "your mother" joke. Lafayette's "wow" at Mulligan's verse. Literally, what a bunch of doofs.

Not to mention how much emphasis it puts on the motivations of everyone involved. Hamilton gets a song about just what his plans are, as does Aaron Burr, both of which are kick-ass, in very different ways. I'll get to that in a bit, though.

But there are so many songs in here that emphasize the utter humanity of the characters. Nonstop is wonderful for the flaws it blatantly portrays in the character of Alexander Hamilton, as well as the jealousy in Aaron Burr. Dear Theodosia is wonderful and touching in both Burr's and Hamilton's love for their respective children. But the one I think is the most human is Take a Break.

I love this because it still has the flaws Hamilton has that were introduced in Nonstop - namely, his unstoppable ambition and his workaholism - but it also has the touching joy of seeing how his son is growing, AND, for a bonus, his rather conflicted feelings toward Angelica, his wife's sister. It's kind of an in-between song - it's dead-set between a couple of showstoppers - but I love it, because it seems really real and makes Hamilton more human and less imagined and idealized. I utterly adore the part where he's hearing his son's "surprise" he arranged - it might just be the most adorable parenting scene in the history of anything.

Cool Thing #4: Musical styles

He thought this through. It's a cool thing.

I'd give you a couple songs to compare and contrast, but luckily, in a slightly incredible feat of songwriting, Lin-Manuel Miranda manages to do so in a single song:

Things that are awesome about this: Samuel Seabury was an actual person who wrote a pamphlet called something like, "Free thoughts from a farmer on the workings of congress" or, you know, something along those lines, essentially placing himself as a royalist and explaining why the the revolutionaries are nothing more than reckless children. After three different versions of this, Hamilton wrote a pamphlet in response, calling it "Farmer Refuted". Seabury had no response.

Anyway, (here comes my actual point), aside from this awesome shout-out to history, listen to the styles of music. Seabury's lines (like King George's, in his solos) are slow, sung more classically, and rather old-fashioned, in its 3/4 waltz-like time. When Hamilton starts talking over him, he's rapping, a much newer, much more innovative style, and one which allows him to say more in less time. Miranda places rap and hip hop as the music of the revolution, and the contrast is never starker than it is in this song. This continues, by the way. When King George, who is everything the revolutionaries are fighting, has something to say, he says it in a more traditional kind of song, while Hamilton and Co. are usually rapping.

Also awesome about this: the fact that it's written so that Hamilton and Seabury can use the same sounds/words while saying completely different things, i.e Seabury's "They have not your interests at heart" while Hamilton says, "The have-nots are gonna win this, it's hard to listen to you with a straight face." That is such an intricate piece of song-writing, I can only imagine how long it took to figure those lyrics out.

But, see, the significance of music doesn't end with the traditional singing of the royalists versus the innovative hip hop of the revolution. Because after the war ends (yes, this musical goes through many years), we meet Thomas Jefferson.

Jefferson's a little trickier, because, as I understand it, he wasn't really part of the revolution, and was actually in France at the time (correct me if I'm wrong). He's also at least a decade older than Hamilton and Co., which adds another level of how his style maybe shouldn't be the same as the others, since he wasn't part of the revolution that their hip hop came to represent, as well as being a little too aged for that kind of thing anyway.

Instead, Miranda has him using something a little jazzier, a sound that no other character really has. It's a bit ragtime, a bit boogie-woogie, a bit jazz, a bit funk and soul - interestingly, the latter two being the predecessors of hip hop, representing his age. Compare:

Thomas Jefferson's introductory song, with:

Hamilton's introductory song.

Lin-Manuel Miranda thought this through. Take nothing for granted. Everything is symbolism. Like Lord of the Flies, but you can dance to it.

Cool Thing #5: Character foil

A.K.A the one thing that is a hundred percent guaranteed to make me love something if it's done well.

And what makes this especially interesting is how Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton are real-life historical character foil for each other. Lin-Manuel Miranda really capitalizes on that.

Essentially, you've got two orphans who are trying to work their way up to get themselves respectable positions, and they're going about it through the same routes - the revolution, and then politics, etc.

Except Hamilton had a childhood that was absolutely Dickensian, and Burr grew up with relative privilege.

And Hamilton is working on his legacy in order to make a name for himself, to make a better life for himself, and Burr is preserving the legacy that his respected parents had.

And Hamilton is all about taking every chance he gets to go for what he wants, not throwing away his shot, while Burr is all about waiting for just the right moment to promote himself or forward his agenda.

And a biographer whose name I can't remember (Chernow?) said something along the lines of Hamilton would talk for two hours straight, and Burr would say as much in a half hour. Both brilliant and intelligent, but Hamilton can't shut up, and Burr talks only strategically.

And yet here they are, both respected veterans of the Revolutionary War, both very competent lawyers, both ambitious politicians. And yet going about it in completely different ways, ways which set them apart from each other immediately, ways which ensure that they will never be able to understand each other.

Isn't that just fascinating? Doesn't that immediately make for a great story?

I just have a real weakness for character foil. Hence I adore: Artemis Fowl, Merlin, the W.A.R.P series, etc.

But the interesting thing about Hamilton and Burr is you get this distinct sense that, in a slightly less competitive environment, they could have been good friends. It's this kind of tragic sense of these two people who obviously respected each other but couldn't understand each other, which ultimately led to the historical fatal showdown. In the musical, even at the showdown Burr is struggling to understand what Hamilton's goals are.

It's just a really interesting story thing, because Burr and Hamilton are constantly going against each other without even trying, and it creates a lot of tension even as other story points unrelated to that rivalry happen.

(I mean, Hamilton can't open his mouth without making like eight new enemies, but still).

There are two songs that highlight this clash of personalities more than anything. You've heard Hamilton's introductory song, My Shot. Now listen to Burr's introductory song:

If that doesn't immediately emphasize the ultimately fatal difference between Hamilton and Burr, then I don't know what does.

Cool Thing #6: The intricacy/level of the music

It's not all absolutely eye-popping in its intricacy, but some of it... yes. Farmer Refuted, which I showed you earlier, is one which comes to mind for its intricacy of the lines, what with the timing and the incredibly cleverly written lyrics.

Nonstop too. Especially listen at the end, when it's reaching its climax and all the lines are overlaid. It's kind of awesome.

Or how about Guns and Ships, which is the fastest song in musical theatre history, reaching a staggering 6 words per second? And all in a cheesy French accent. Lafayette (Daveed Diggs) is freaking incredible. The struggle is when I get this stuck in my head and am unable to rap it because I'm not on that level. All I can do is Burr's part: "He's constantly confusing, confounding the British henchmen/Everybody give it up for America's favourite fighting Frenchman!"

And then I groove my face off to what is probably one of the fastest raps you'll ever hear.

Just imagine the skill of all the musicians and performers involved in this thing! And the brilliance of the writer (why yes, Lin-Manuel Miranda is kind of one of my heroes). Just, not only is it groovable, it's actually, like, really impressive.

Cool Thing #7: Themes 

In multiple senses of the word.

You could say that this musical manages to express its primary themes through various repeated themes.

Let's talk about the first "themes" in that sentence. Hamilton is very thematically heavy, mostly talking about the idea of legacy and the problems that arise when one focuses all their energy on creating one. Though we are undoubtedly meant to like and sympathize with Hamilton, the musical also spends a lot of time acknowledging how messed up his priorities can be sometimes.

So anyway, there are a lot of ideas that the musical spends a lot of time trying to communicate. The handy thing is that Lin-Manuel Miranda knows exactly how to effectively use repetition to get his ideas across. He did the same thing in In the Heights, and he does the same thing here.

So the first thing I can think of is from the opening number, Alexander Hamilton. His name, Alexander Hamilton, is sung with this very specific melody, and it's used many times after that, such as when Lafayette says they need Hamilton to win the war in Guns and Ships, and when Burr demands how Hamilton could make such a deal in The Room Where It Happens. Mostly, it tends to represent things that happen that only Hamilton could make happen. Interestingly, it isn't always exactly the same - when Hamilton makes the infamous mistake of publishing the Reynolds Pamphlet, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison use the theme, but it's rendered sort of atonal and strange, jarring to the ear. Yes, this was something only Hamilton could make happen, but only because he has no concept of the difference between professional integrity and personal integrity, and it isn't exactly a point in his favour.

Or, for a different example, I've mentioned that Hamilton is always working with the idea of a legacy in mind. That tends to be represented by the theme that George Washington sings during the war, and it follows Hamilton a while after that: History has its eyes on you. It's sung during Nonstop, and Hurricane, and I think a couple others. From the same song that George Washington sings, he says, "You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story" which, coincidentally (or not) is the name of the finale. The idea of a legacy follows Hamilton around, as do these themes.

Or, for even more examples, Eliza Schuyler has a particular line, and it comes to have slightly different meanings within different situations: "Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now." At first she says it in The Schuyler Sisters, which, while introducing the sisters, is just as much a love song to New York. Later, she says it to Hamilton when he finds out she's pregnant, and again during Nonstop, after the war. Her constant mantra is, I don't know, gratitude, I guess, which is directly in contrast to her husband, who, Angelica laments on multiple occasions (in yet another repeated theme), will never be satisfied.

Plus of course, the repeated themes that Burr and Hamilton have: Wait for it vs. I am not throwing away my shot.

The point is, yes, there's a lot of repetition going on, but it all serves a purpose for the story, and it isn't tiresome, as the different situations they're used in add levels to the meaning and just make the play richer as a whole. It's also very clever and effective.

Cool Thing #8: No, literally, this happens

Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton rap battle for George Washington's approval.

Angelica Schuyler says the words: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal/and when I meet Thomas Jefferson, Imma compel him to include women in the sequel" which could be one of the most badass things any woman has said in any historically set production.

"Whatever you heard, Jefferson started it." Hamilton, literally, are you five?

"Now Hamilton's skill with a quill is undeniable/But what do we have in common? We're reliable with thE LADIES"

"Oceans rise, empires fall/We have seen each other though it all/And when push comes to shove/I will send a fully armed batallion to remind you of my love." - George III

"SIT DOWN, JOHN, YOU FAT MOTHERFUCKER!" - Alexander Hamilton, about the John Adams administration.

I don't know why this line makes me laugh so much but it does: "Let's show these Federalists who they're up against!/Southern motherfucking democratic Republicans!" - Thomas Jefferson and James Madison.

"I'm a general. Wheeeee!" - Charles Lee at some point during the Revolutionary War.

And, of course, possibly my favourite stage direction of all time, even topping "Exit, pursed by a bear":

"Eliza Schuyler beatboxes maternally."

Cool Thing #9: Breaking the fourth wall

Hamilton does this a surprising amount, and I suppose it's hard not to be self-aware when you're a hip hop play about the Founding Fathers, but it's never done really with the idea of winking at the audience at how clever they are. As far as I can gather, there are three main occasions where this happens (there could be more I'm missing, I haven't actually seen the play unfortunately).

First of all, during the song The Reynolds Pamphlet, Thomas Jefferson, who is overjoyed with Hamilton's public failing of character, is dancing around the stage throwing these pamphlets at anyone he sees. He's making it rain with these pamphlets. Then James Madison gets involved, and somehow King George III does too, because why not, I suppose. They're running around with these pamphlets flying every which way, and Hamilton is standing in the middle of it all, in the eye of the hurricane, if you will. Jefferson then leans down and hands one to the conductor in the orchestra pit. That's the first breaking of the fourth wall that I can recall. It's kinda funny.

The next one is at the beginning of the song The Election of 1800. It's just been a real emotional few songs, with Stay Alive Reprise and It's Quiet Uptown, which has made me cry on multiple occasions. Then here comes Jefferson's theme coming in, asking, "Can we get back to politics?" And James Madison responds, dabbing at his eyes, voice cracking with emotion, "Please?" That's the second one I know about.

The last one I can think of is less humourous and more simply magical. In the very last song, Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story, it asks that very question, especially because Hamilton's story is a difficult one to tell, having been shot by a man who was vice president, having all his old enemies become president. How easy it is to destroy someone's reputation.

So in comes his wife Eliza, who he most certainly wronged, but she decides she forgives him, she puts herself back in the narrative, and she tells his story. She talks about how she speaks out against slavery on his behalf (he and John Laurens wrote many essays against slavery - cool guys, them) and how she talked about George Washington for him, as he was his mentor, and how she opens up an orphanage for them to take care of kids in need, the kind of care that Hamilton didn't have when he was growing up orphaned in the Caribbean. It's a beautiful song.

Anyway, at the very end, she asks, "Will they tell your story?" And then she gasps. Because she sees the audience sitting in the theatre, watching them, hearing his story, hundreds of years later. It's a beautiful, magical, totally theatre moment and it's one of my favourite things to ever happen on a stage.

Cool Thing #10: Who tells the story?

I've already talked a bit, briefly, about the themes of this play, but one of the subtler ones is the fact that the story changes a little depending on who's telling it. That's shown here, when Eliza and Angelica describe how they first met Hamilton (also please listen to them in order also please just LISTEN TO THEM because Eliza's song is the most adorable thing you've ever heard and Angelica's song is the most beautiful and badass unrequited love song in the history of musical theatre).

Or, on a bit of a different note, the song The Room Where It Happens. On one hand, it's super catchy and Miranda claims it's one of the best songs he's ever written, which I'll believe. But on the topic at hand, the interesting thing about it is that we're witnessing the deal Hamilton makes with Jefferson from the perspective of someone who wasn't there when it happened. Which, you can imagine, changes how it's told a little bit.

Also, I just really wanted an excuse to recommend these songs because they're probably my favourite off the entire soundtrack and I need to spread the love. If nothing else, listen to these three. They're awesome.

But on the topic, you'll see how the story changes, and how it's sort of as if Hamilton's story is being told by everyone but Hamilton. It's kind of interesting foreshadowing to the big Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story song.

Cool Thing #11: Groove your face off. 

I mean, if nothing else, that's one of the main reasons to like this play. Musical theatre has never been so irresistible to dance to (except, maybe, for In the Heights).

Have I sold you on it yet? Have I convinced you this play is awesome and thoughtful and clever and fun and progressive and everything you could ever want? I hope so. I hope you find a way to appreciate it as I appreciate it, even if you don't fall in love like me. Because even if it isn't your thing, you must see that it's a pretty cool, pretty amazing work of art.

Parked: Movie Review

I just watched the movie Parked. It was odd, artsy, indie, and almost entirely character driven, with a plot thin enough that if the characters hadn't been so strong the movie would have been nothing.

But the characters were strong.

So I really liked it.

A brief summary: A middle aged man named Fred is living out of his car. He's attempting to get some form of aid, but due to the fact that his dwelling isn't a "fixed abode", is continually getting refused. Then another car appears in his car park, and Fred meets Cathal (pronounced KA-hal, because Ireland), a young man also living out of his car, having been kicked out of his house by his father... I think (I missed a bit of the beginning dialogue because Cathal's accent took some getting used to). Also he's a total drug addict, but at least he doesn't inject, right?

Anyway, the two of course end up forming an unlikely friendship, one that helps Fred to see his life isn't over, and Cathal to see that his life isn't exactly on the road to success. Also Fred meets a lady he likes, but finds himself unable to be entirely honest with her because he's ashamed that he's living out of his car.

Here's what I liked about the movie:

The cinematography. I love indie films, because the way they use their cameras tend to be so much more interesting - I presume that being indie lends itself to a certain freedom to take risks. It worked here, and it added a certain poignancy to a few moments.

The characters. Fred and Cathal are a lovely foil for each other, but equally interesting people on their own. Fred was a surprise for me, especially, because pardon me for saying that a movie about a depressed middle aged man is not exactly top of my list. However, this character managed to get past that for me - I think it was the warm center the actor was playing for him, that he isn't a cynic by nature, but by circumstance.

And, of course, Cathal managed to hit one of my major soft spots - a troubled but essentially good hearted person with an aloof exterior but actually cares a lot.

But what I liked about it can be summed up by this statement I saw upon doing a little research: "It is the most gentle movie about homelessness and drug use you are ever likely to see."

Yeah, that about sums it up.

Because, see, it is about homelessness and drug use. Both those things play very large roles in the movie. As a result, it could have been very dark.

But it wasn't.

In fact, despite things not exactly working out for anyone in the end, at least not the way we the audience would have probably liked, it's extremely hopeful. And, often, joyful. No, Fred doesn't quite end up with the girl, and no, Cathal never makes up with his father. But that's because it is, simultaneously, a realistic movie - just one with an optimistic view.

Which is honestly so refreshing. I'm tired of people equating realism with cynicism, because those two things aren't synonymous. What this movie does is acknowledge that circumstances get crappy, but that the people in those circumstances aren't bad people because of it. Even the way the movie treats Cathal, who is arguably much more to blame for his problem than Fred is for his, as a victim of circumstance. Innocent? Maybe not. But human - the movie goes to lengths to point out everyone's human-ness, showing fears and flaws and passions as much as possible - and deserving of compassion.

And I just think that's awesome. It's maybe not terribly unusual, in terms of tactics to take for such a movie, but this movie manages to strike an almost perfect balance between the encroaching darkness and the light moments that not only temper it but pretty well define the film's tone. It managed to take some pretty heavy topics and go, "But here's the thing..." and turn it around so that, in the end, it was more about living than it was about all the things that could end up killing them.

Also, the acting was really on point. I've already talked about my surprise on actually finding Fred to be a likable character, and that is largely to do with the actor's playing of him. The actress who played his love interest was very good too, and of course, Cathal's characteristically jerky energy and his charisma and the wonderful way his softer moments were played was brought by the endlessly gifted Colin Morgan, who I will never not love as an actor.

Really, it was all just so good. I recommend this movie muchly. It's gentle without being patronizing and realistic without being pessimistic and sentimental without being flowery and just all in all extremely enjoyable. Please watch this movie. It'll make you smile. I promise.