... that I have eaten the oranges in refrigerator after mistaking them for grapefruit. True story. (apologies to actual poets)
But honestly, life is hectic and wonderful and exhausting all at once. Two courses; six hours of rapid-fire latte-making; one car; two feet and one wandering girl. I have so much to say and so few hours before I need to get up for work and class and knitting and bubble tea. Suffice to say: I like life. As of now.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Bookstores are for (book) lovers
Just a quick post before I head off to go apple-picking at a nearby orchard (sadly, I am too old for pony rides) - I found this link to (someone's idea of) the top ten bookstores in the US. Admittedly, I've never heard of most of them... but I have been to a few.
The Strand - Let's be honest, The Strand is kind of the coolest place ever. Been there, done that, got the tote bag. I convinced my friend Molly, who lives outside the city (for the time being), to meet me in New York and take me to Strand. It is rather amazing, and I would like to live there, "The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler"-style.
Prairie Lights - I am super-jealous of my friends who go to school at the U of Iowa (Audrey and Michael, looking at YOU) because not only can they get coffee at the always-awesome Java House, they can also do their recreational book shopping at Prairie Lights. What sets this one apart is that it attracts all the literati who are students and alumni of the Iowa Writer's Workshop - readings are frequent and generally packed. They also have free water and pretended not to notice when Molly, Laura and I camped out upstairs with a bunch of journals and books we hadn't actually bought, and had no intention of buying.
Of course, I'm also a fan of giant, musty, overwhelming, old-smelling used bookstores, preferably in an old barn somewhere. I also love me some library (when I told the librarian at the branch near me that I was taking a gap year, here response was "oh, so we'll see you around often." damn straight.). But I would think that a bookstore road trip would be an extremely worthwhile use of one's time, gasoline, money, and carbon footprint.
Any favorite bookstores? What sets one apart for you?
--Julia
The Strand - Let's be honest, The Strand is kind of the coolest place ever. Been there, done that, got the tote bag. I convinced my friend Molly, who lives outside the city (for the time being), to meet me in New York and take me to Strand. It is rather amazing, and I would like to live there, "The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler"-style.
Prairie Lights - I am super-jealous of my friends who go to school at the U of Iowa (Audrey and Michael, looking at YOU) because not only can they get coffee at the always-awesome Java House, they can also do their recreational book shopping at Prairie Lights. What sets this one apart is that it attracts all the literati who are students and alumni of the Iowa Writer's Workshop - readings are frequent and generally packed. They also have free water and pretended not to notice when Molly, Laura and I camped out upstairs with a bunch of journals and books we hadn't actually bought, and had no intention of buying.
Of course, I'm also a fan of giant, musty, overwhelming, old-smelling used bookstores, preferably in an old barn somewhere. I also love me some library (when I told the librarian at the branch near me that I was taking a gap year, here response was "oh, so we'll see you around often." damn straight.). But I would think that a bookstore road trip would be an extremely worthwhile use of one's time, gasoline, money, and carbon footprint.
Any favorite bookstores? What sets one apart for you?
--Julia
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Miraculous
Another favorite poem, this one by Walt Whitman.
Miracles
Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the
water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with
any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--
mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old
woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships,
with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
I consider this poem a sort of love song to the world - to "every hour of the light and dark;" to youth and age, to endings and beginnings, to the lowly and to the lofty abstract. I have nothing new to say on this topic; I'll just repeat the idea that miracles are large and small, numerous and marvelous. Even the week or so I've spent on my gap year proper has reinforced this. I have a new appreciation for my hometown. I have time, now, to wander Marshall Street in search of the perfect Syracuse sweatshirt; to spin racks of postcards to find the perfect ones to send to friends in college; to drive with music so loud I can hear nothing else but my own heartbeat. I'm no longer a high school student or newspaper editor or Model UN delegate; I'm not a Syracuse (University) student now, nor a Yalie yet. I am, however, an appreciator of miracles: the brilliance of iced coffee on a sweltering day; the clean white of my MacBook; the tone of my cell phone when I receive a text; the way Felix swats at Casper's tail when they wrestle, the vibrant explosion of colors on the pillowcase I tie-dyed this spring; the pictures Scotch-taped to my walls; the poster my aunt sent me; the awkward street names my (British-speaking) GPS reads to me. Maybe these miracles are, in Whitman's words, "unspeakable" - or maybe they're worth mentioning, in late-night wandering words.
Miracles
Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the
water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with
any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--
mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old
woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships,
with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
I consider this poem a sort of love song to the world - to "every hour of the light and dark;" to youth and age, to endings and beginnings, to the lowly and to the lofty abstract. I have nothing new to say on this topic; I'll just repeat the idea that miracles are large and small, numerous and marvelous. Even the week or so I've spent on my gap year proper has reinforced this. I have a new appreciation for my hometown. I have time, now, to wander Marshall Street in search of the perfect Syracuse sweatshirt; to spin racks of postcards to find the perfect ones to send to friends in college; to drive with music so loud I can hear nothing else but my own heartbeat. I'm no longer a high school student or newspaper editor or Model UN delegate; I'm not a Syracuse (University) student now, nor a Yalie yet. I am, however, an appreciator of miracles: the brilliance of iced coffee on a sweltering day; the clean white of my MacBook; the tone of my cell phone when I receive a text; the way Felix swats at Casper's tail when they wrestle, the vibrant explosion of colors on the pillowcase I tie-dyed this spring; the pictures Scotch-taped to my walls; the poster my aunt sent me; the awkward street names my (British-speaking) GPS reads to me. Maybe these miracles are, in Whitman's words, "unspeakable" - or maybe they're worth mentioning, in late-night wandering words.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Intersections
I watched the 2010 cinema-vérité documentary "12th and Delaware" on HBO's HBOGO service last week during my documentary binge. Its premise is excellent - a crisis pregnancy center and a abortion-providing women's health clinic sharing a street corner in Fort Pierce, Florida and the filmmakers (Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady of Jesus Camp fame) have, again, produced a film that portrays a culture deeply devoted to its ideology and prepared to defend this ideology. Ewing and Grady coax out these defenses and, in the process, create an educational experience for their audience.
As a childhood-Catholic-turned-feminist (not that the two are mutually exclusive), I have complex feelings on abortion. I understand the pro-life's revulsion at what they see as senseless slaughter, although I may not always agree. I also understand the economic and social realities that prompt women to seek abortions. I believe that the term "pro-choice," in its truest form, respects the right of others to "choose" their own ideology. Many of my friends are conservative, religious, and pro-life. Whatever their opinions are, I respect their courage in expressing them, even if I don't agree. But I adamantly believe that women seeking abortions should not be subject to the sort of emotional blackmail that the protesters in 12th and Delaware dole out. Abortion is rarely an easy choice - some women may make the decision lightly, but all of the women (and, often, their partners) in 12th and Delaware agonize over the decision. Some seem fearless, some are fearful, but none have arrived at their position lightly.
The pro-life faction, as portrayed in 12th and Delaware, is quick to label women "abortion-minded" and those who perform or facilitate abortions "abortionists." Like the pro-lifers themselves, these simple identities often point to certain religious or social ideologies. The pro-lifers' instant moral judgments are, at best harsh and at worst un-Christian. When a woman reminds them that the Bible asks Christians to "judge not," they retort with more Scriptural references. The Beautitudes, apparently, carry less weight than an obscure passage in the Old Testament.
Their treatment of the women they encounter also leaves much to be desired. Under a veneer of concern, they offer false information and misleading "research." The center itself is run by a Catholic priest; this male leader clearly embraces the traditional gender hierarchy and the concept of women as "moral children" discussed in Jessica Valenti's The Purity Myth. This binary of male dominance continues among the protesters themselves, a surprising number of them male. The men are more likely to take a harsh, commanding style as they attempt to dissuade women from seeking abortion; the women appeal to emotions.
It's also worth noting that the female protesters are often elderly. As this generation - women raised in a pre-feminist era - dies off, it will be necessary for the pro-life campaign to find new members. Youth raised in evangelical or Catholic cultures are the obvious choice, and this pro-life message is reinforced with abstinence-only education.
There's an obvious racial divide between the staff of both centers and their clients. Not surprisingly, the clients are generally young (in their teens and twenties, although one 15-year-old does seek an abortion), often poor and frequently minorities. The crisis pregnancy center's staff is generally white and appears to be upper-middle-class; many are volunteers obviously don't need to work to support their families - in short, the very people who are more likely to be able to bear the financial and time costs of raising a child. They make a number of disturbing assumptions in dealing with the women they encounter. When a woman describes the abuse she has suffered at the hands of her boyfriend, the director of the crisis pregnancy center suggests that "the baby will change him," essentially condoning the birth of a child into an abusive environment. She also discusses a client's "options" over a McDonald's lunch - her treat. The client herself later remarks that she realizes that the director tried to "bribe" her. Similar "bribes" are made with a collection of children's clothing - a courtesy, but a pittance compared to the cost of actually raising a child.
When a Latina, Spanish-speaking woman appears, so do a group of Latino/a pro-lifers - the only appearance of a non-white, pro-life presence. They make a passionate appeal for her to reconsider, and make likely unfulfilled promises to help the woman provide for the baby and her five other children. The priest and other staff of the center do not speak Spanish and, insultingly, speak slowly and condescendingly to the woman in English.
A Woman's World, the woman's health center, is presented in opposition, if somewhat less detail. The film neglects to mention that it offers non-abortion and non-pregnancy services; namely, gynecological care. These are essential services for women's health, and were A Woman's World to not exist, another means of access to health care would be lost.
A Woman's World also takes pains to protect the safety and privacy of its abortion providers. The pro-lifers are not above violence - one man seems positively giddy at the possibility of tracking down, humiliating and possibly injuring one of the doctors. The death of George Tiller illustrates just how real this threat can be; all other concepts of morality are discarded in the process.
Do Ewing and Grady have an agenda? Of course. They've given interviews and confirmed their pro-choice views. But they make a courageous and mature choice to allow both sides of this complex issue to be explored. Rather than hide behind rigid dogma and moral shaming - which even pro-choicers are sometimes guilty of - they understand that every woman comes to 12th and Delaware via a complicated, and often difficult, journey.
You can find 12th and Delaware on IMDb here. The film's official HBO page offers plenty of background, interviews and other extras. If you're so inclined, you can also become a fan of 12th and Delaware on Facebook.
As a childhood-Catholic-turned-feminist (not that the two are mutually exclusive), I have complex feelings on abortion. I understand the pro-life's revulsion at what they see as senseless slaughter, although I may not always agree. I also understand the economic and social realities that prompt women to seek abortions. I believe that the term "pro-choice," in its truest form, respects the right of others to "choose" their own ideology. Many of my friends are conservative, religious, and pro-life. Whatever their opinions are, I respect their courage in expressing them, even if I don't agree. But I adamantly believe that women seeking abortions should not be subject to the sort of emotional blackmail that the protesters in 12th and Delaware dole out. Abortion is rarely an easy choice - some women may make the decision lightly, but all of the women (and, often, their partners) in 12th and Delaware agonize over the decision. Some seem fearless, some are fearful, but none have arrived at their position lightly.
The pro-life faction, as portrayed in 12th and Delaware, is quick to label women "abortion-minded" and those who perform or facilitate abortions "abortionists." Like the pro-lifers themselves, these simple identities often point to certain religious or social ideologies. The pro-lifers' instant moral judgments are, at best harsh and at worst un-Christian. When a woman reminds them that the Bible asks Christians to "judge not," they retort with more Scriptural references. The Beautitudes, apparently, carry less weight than an obscure passage in the Old Testament.
Their treatment of the women they encounter also leaves much to be desired. Under a veneer of concern, they offer false information and misleading "research." The center itself is run by a Catholic priest; this male leader clearly embraces the traditional gender hierarchy and the concept of women as "moral children" discussed in Jessica Valenti's The Purity Myth. This binary of male dominance continues among the protesters themselves, a surprising number of them male. The men are more likely to take a harsh, commanding style as they attempt to dissuade women from seeking abortion; the women appeal to emotions.
It's also worth noting that the female protesters are often elderly. As this generation - women raised in a pre-feminist era - dies off, it will be necessary for the pro-life campaign to find new members. Youth raised in evangelical or Catholic cultures are the obvious choice, and this pro-life message is reinforced with abstinence-only education.
There's an obvious racial divide between the staff of both centers and their clients. Not surprisingly, the clients are generally young (in their teens and twenties, although one 15-year-old does seek an abortion), often poor and frequently minorities. The crisis pregnancy center's staff is generally white and appears to be upper-middle-class; many are volunteers obviously don't need to work to support their families - in short, the very people who are more likely to be able to bear the financial and time costs of raising a child. They make a number of disturbing assumptions in dealing with the women they encounter. When a woman describes the abuse she has suffered at the hands of her boyfriend, the director of the crisis pregnancy center suggests that "the baby will change him," essentially condoning the birth of a child into an abusive environment. She also discusses a client's "options" over a McDonald's lunch - her treat. The client herself later remarks that she realizes that the director tried to "bribe" her. Similar "bribes" are made with a collection of children's clothing - a courtesy, but a pittance compared to the cost of actually raising a child.
When a Latina, Spanish-speaking woman appears, so do a group of Latino/a pro-lifers - the only appearance of a non-white, pro-life presence. They make a passionate appeal for her to reconsider, and make likely unfulfilled promises to help the woman provide for the baby and her five other children. The priest and other staff of the center do not speak Spanish and, insultingly, speak slowly and condescendingly to the woman in English.
A Woman's World, the woman's health center, is presented in opposition, if somewhat less detail. The film neglects to mention that it offers non-abortion and non-pregnancy services; namely, gynecological care. These are essential services for women's health, and were A Woman's World to not exist, another means of access to health care would be lost.
A Woman's World also takes pains to protect the safety and privacy of its abortion providers. The pro-lifers are not above violence - one man seems positively giddy at the possibility of tracking down, humiliating and possibly injuring one of the doctors. The death of George Tiller illustrates just how real this threat can be; all other concepts of morality are discarded in the process.
Do Ewing and Grady have an agenda? Of course. They've given interviews and confirmed their pro-choice views. But they make a courageous and mature choice to allow both sides of this complex issue to be explored. Rather than hide behind rigid dogma and moral shaming - which even pro-choicers are sometimes guilty of - they understand that every woman comes to 12th and Delaware via a complicated, and often difficult, journey.
You can find 12th and Delaware on IMDb here. The film's official HBO page offers plenty of background, interviews and other extras. If you're so inclined, you can also become a fan of 12th and Delaware on Facebook.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Confessions of a Mediocre Blogger
Thaaaaaat's meeeee! Um, yeah, so my post-every-day plans were thwarted by an impromptu trip to Tanglewood. I even Febrezed my Yale hoodie for the occasion, since I've been known to meet other Yalies in public just by wearing it, even though I am Way Too Lazy to actually wash it. My important things (see: car, hoodie, keys, bedroom) all have some kind of Yale on them, mostly because I think it imbues them with good karma and makes it less likely I'll lose my keys. Anyway, hoodies: alas, only Princeton (1) and Harvard (1) spotted. Also, sadly, it is nearly fall, which meant it got dark - and cold - before I anticipated it. Due to some citronella-scented miracle, there were no bugs, and the golden moon rising over the music shed was beautiful.
Classes start tomorrow - real college classes, not just AP classes which you're told are like college but are really, honestly not. I'm taking Sociology of Sex & Gender and Vietnam Through Film & Memoir. Since I like to fancy myself the love child of Tim O'Brien and Eve Ensler, this should be fun. Not sure if I mentioned that my eventual plan is to double-major in Anthropology and Women's, Gender & Sexuality Studies with plenty of creative writing thrown in.
I've been watching a wonderful YouTube video over and over - it's called How To Be Alone, by Andrea Dorfman (artist/animator/bird aficionado), and Tanya Davis (poet/singer/fellow knitter & coffeeshop dweller). In some ways, a gap year is an exercise in aloneness - it is a choice to abandon your peers, many of whom you have known since kindergarten (or second grade, in my case). It is a choice to jump off the rails of the educational and social train you boarded when you were too young to realize it. A loose year with few formal ideas can either be threatening or tranformative. I expect plenty of the former but, in the end, overwhelming doses of the latter.
I can only hope to produce art like this, simple and playful and peaceful all at once.
-- Julia
Classes start tomorrow - real college classes, not just AP classes which you're told are like college but are really, honestly not. I'm taking Sociology of Sex & Gender and Vietnam Through Film & Memoir. Since I like to fancy myself the love child of Tim O'Brien and Eve Ensler, this should be fun. Not sure if I mentioned that my eventual plan is to double-major in Anthropology and Women's, Gender & Sexuality Studies with plenty of creative writing thrown in.
I've been watching a wonderful YouTube video over and over - it's called How To Be Alone, by Andrea Dorfman (artist/animator/bird aficionado), and Tanya Davis (poet/singer/fellow knitter & coffeeshop dweller). In some ways, a gap year is an exercise in aloneness - it is a choice to abandon your peers, many of whom you have known since kindergarten (or second grade, in my case). It is a choice to jump off the rails of the educational and social train you boarded when you were too young to realize it. A loose year with few formal ideas can either be threatening or tranformative. I expect plenty of the former but, in the end, overwhelming doses of the latter.
I can only hope to produce art like this, simple and playful and peaceful all at once.
-- Julia
Friday, August 27, 2010
This Is Just To Say...
That I won dinosaur-shaped silly bands today at the (Great!) New York State Fair, playing the little kids' duck game. I'm an Upstate girl at heart.
-- Julia
-- Julia
Thursday, August 26, 2010
All Documentaries, All The Time
(Lest you think I have already cheated on my promise to post daily... here is a post at 11:39 pm.)
For some reason - I’m sick of reading, I’m sick of network TV, I am so enamored with my new toy/MacBook that I want to stare at it for hours on end - I’ve been watching (and, okay, torrent-ing) a bunch of documentaries lately. My fascination with all things non-fiction has found a new outlet in film; which is cool, ‘specially because one of my classes (more on them later) focuses a lot on film - HST 388, Vietnam Through Film & Memoir. But, anyway, quick recaps/impressions/opinions of my recent viewings:
Jesus Camp - OK, this documentary got all Sundanced up in, like, 2006, a year in which I was still struggling to find my way around high school and gave nary a thought to Pentecostal children’s summer camps. But it’s still very relevant, although I understand this minister (Becky Fischer) has since closed her camp. I don’t live in an area of the country where evangelical and Pentecostal churches have a lot of influence, but I can understand how strongly they shape the moral - and thus political - character of an area. It’s disturbing to see children indoctrinated at a young age into a fierce evangelism they can hardly understand; it’s difficult to see them issue blanket statements about “wrong” religions and “dead churches.” Being a Gender Studiez type, I was hoping to hear a little more about the strict gender roles the come about with this kind of training; they were briefly touched upon, but both a recent Jezebel post and Jessica Valenti’s excellent, if sometimes briefly hysterical (as in hysteria) The Purity Myth explore this in more detail.
Bye - This was a short documentary produced as part of the PBS series POV series. It follows a toddler boy named Jayden through his first few months of a specialized pre-preschool program for autistic children in the Bronx. It’s under ten minutes long, so it doesn’t delve into the whole vaccination debate or anything. It’s an honest look at the very real struggles the parents and teachers of autistic children face. It’s well balanced between the emotional and the clinical. I did find myself wishing that, if the subject were to be explored further, the issues around access to diagnosis and treatment were addressed. For example - largely, I’m assuming, because Jayden’s particular area of the Bronx was more Hispanic/Latino/a, the teachers, aides and students in the film were largely minority. While race is not necessarily associated with class, a more privileged family would have the resources to pursue further treatment - the major “question” of the film’s conclusion is what Jayden will do after he ages out of the program, since he hasn’t made appropriate progress to go to conventional preschool.
12th & Delaware - I think I’m going to devote a whole post to this. Suffice to say, it was wonderful and thought-provoking, especially for someone who plans on a career/hobby of feminist activism.
34x25x36 - another short from POV; this one is a look inside a mannequin factory. For a short piece, it contains a lot of wisdom about the body-image crisis in America. The factory’s owner hits the nail on the head when he explains that a mannequin - and the clothes it wears - sell a “fantasy.” An unattainable standard of perfection that, ironically, changes with the season - the mannequins’ features, poses and figures change with the trends, but continue to promote an “ideal” body.
Devil’s Playground - This was a fascinating look at the Amish custom of rumspringa, in which adolescents are allowed access to the “English” world before making the final decision whether or not to join the Amish church. I think the filmmakers got a little more drama than they expected when one of the teens became a drug dealer and was nearly killed after other dealers ended up in jail while he was “let off.” This overindulgence - heavy drug use, constant partying, enormous amounts of alcohol - has parallels in the “English” world as well, as seen in the debate over lowering the drinking age. The Amish teens, beside normal conflicts with their parents and angst over dating, face a major decision that will dictate the rest of their lives. They face the “English” world and decide if its offerings are a temptation they will deny themselves - or a way of life.
The Devil and Daniel Johnston - This was recommended by Andrew Rose Gregory on one of his covers of a song by Johnston based on the infamous “A Walk To Remember” passage from First Corinthians. I found the song incredibly moving so decided to check out the film. I didn’t have any background knowledge of Johnston’s music or his life story, particularly the intersection of his overwhelming talent and overpowering mental illness, so this inevitably put a damper on my experience of the film. Nonetheless, I found the use of primary sources - Johnston’s own cassette and film recordings - incredible. To a fan of Johnston’s music, I’m sure this would be an interesting insight. Me, I’ll stick to Sylvia Plath.
Anyway... has anyone seen any of these films? Any others you'd like to recommend?
-- Julia
For some reason - I’m sick of reading, I’m sick of network TV, I am so enamored with my new toy/MacBook that I want to stare at it for hours on end - I’ve been watching (and, okay, torrent-ing) a bunch of documentaries lately. My fascination with all things non-fiction has found a new outlet in film; which is cool, ‘specially because one of my classes (more on them later) focuses a lot on film - HST 388, Vietnam Through Film & Memoir. But, anyway, quick recaps/impressions/opinions of my recent viewings:
Jesus Camp - OK, this documentary got all Sundanced up in, like, 2006, a year in which I was still struggling to find my way around high school and gave nary a thought to Pentecostal children’s summer camps. But it’s still very relevant, although I understand this minister (Becky Fischer) has since closed her camp. I don’t live in an area of the country where evangelical and Pentecostal churches have a lot of influence, but I can understand how strongly they shape the moral - and thus political - character of an area. It’s disturbing to see children indoctrinated at a young age into a fierce evangelism they can hardly understand; it’s difficult to see them issue blanket statements about “wrong” religions and “dead churches.” Being a Gender Studiez type, I was hoping to hear a little more about the strict gender roles the come about with this kind of training; they were briefly touched upon, but both a recent Jezebel post and Jessica Valenti’s excellent, if sometimes briefly hysterical (as in hysteria) The Purity Myth explore this in more detail.
Bye - This was a short documentary produced as part of the PBS series POV series. It follows a toddler boy named Jayden through his first few months of a specialized pre-preschool program for autistic children in the Bronx. It’s under ten minutes long, so it doesn’t delve into the whole vaccination debate or anything. It’s an honest look at the very real struggles the parents and teachers of autistic children face. It’s well balanced between the emotional and the clinical. I did find myself wishing that, if the subject were to be explored further, the issues around access to diagnosis and treatment were addressed. For example - largely, I’m assuming, because Jayden’s particular area of the Bronx was more Hispanic/Latino/a, the teachers, aides and students in the film were largely minority. While race is not necessarily associated with class, a more privileged family would have the resources to pursue further treatment - the major “question” of the film’s conclusion is what Jayden will do after he ages out of the program, since he hasn’t made appropriate progress to go to conventional preschool.
12th & Delaware - I think I’m going to devote a whole post to this. Suffice to say, it was wonderful and thought-provoking, especially for someone who plans on a career/hobby of feminist activism.
34x25x36 - another short from POV; this one is a look inside a mannequin factory. For a short piece, it contains a lot of wisdom about the body-image crisis in America. The factory’s owner hits the nail on the head when he explains that a mannequin - and the clothes it wears - sell a “fantasy.” An unattainable standard of perfection that, ironically, changes with the season - the mannequins’ features, poses and figures change with the trends, but continue to promote an “ideal” body.
Devil’s Playground - This was a fascinating look at the Amish custom of rumspringa, in which adolescents are allowed access to the “English” world before making the final decision whether or not to join the Amish church. I think the filmmakers got a little more drama than they expected when one of the teens became a drug dealer and was nearly killed after other dealers ended up in jail while he was “let off.” This overindulgence - heavy drug use, constant partying, enormous amounts of alcohol - has parallels in the “English” world as well, as seen in the debate over lowering the drinking age. The Amish teens, beside normal conflicts with their parents and angst over dating, face a major decision that will dictate the rest of their lives. They face the “English” world and decide if its offerings are a temptation they will deny themselves - or a way of life.
The Devil and Daniel Johnston - This was recommended by Andrew Rose Gregory on one of his covers of a song by Johnston based on the infamous “A Walk To Remember” passage from First Corinthians. I found the song incredibly moving so decided to check out the film. I didn’t have any background knowledge of Johnston’s music or his life story, particularly the intersection of his overwhelming talent and overpowering mental illness, so this inevitably put a damper on my experience of the film. Nonetheless, I found the use of primary sources - Johnston’s own cassette and film recordings - incredible. To a fan of Johnston’s music, I’m sure this would be an interesting insight. Me, I’ll stick to Sylvia Plath.
Anyway... has anyone seen any of these films? Any others you'd like to recommend?
-- Julia
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