I’ve seen a lot of people celebrating the casting of Hermione for the newest Harry Potter adventure.
I’ve also seen a lot of people getting upset.
I side with the author:
Movie Hermione being white doesn’t mean anything, book cover Hermione being white doesn’t mean anything. Historically speaking, both book covers and movie adaptations are frequently wrong and authors rarely get a voice with either. Black characters and historical figures are often turned white on book covers and in their films. (Cleopatra anyone?) Like, a disturbing amount of time. On a lesser scale, hair colors and eye colors are changed all the time. Harry Potter’s eyes for instance, Elena Gilbert’s hair, eye color, and basic personality in the Vampire Diaries, Ella Enchanted’s age, Breakfast at Tiffanys changed a characters sexuality to make him a romantic lead, entirely new characters and subplots were added to the Hobbit, the list goes on forever. A voracious reader learns to get over the covers vs. film vs. book description contradictions pretty early on. They may whine about it (I’ve complained about Ella Enchanted ad nauseam) but these types of changes provide a good opportunity for introspection. When do the changes from book to film upset you? Should they?
There’s a pretty disturbing trend of when people get upset over changes. Within the Harry Potter film universe, Lavendar Brown was played by a black girl until the sixth movie when she got dialogue and was cast as white. Comparably there was minimal outrage. When Orphan Annie was cast with a black girl instead of a spunky redhead the internet lost their collective minds. Ghostbusters was cast with three women, men pitched a fit. Katniss Everdeen is canonically vague when it comes to race, however the casting call specified the access playing her MUST be white and while a few people called out the studio for that overt bit of racism, a much larger percentage of the population was pitching a fit about Rue being cast as black. For every example like Gods of Egypt, where enough people got upset about the white washing to draw attention to a major problem in hollywood, there are thousands of Rue’s. Literally, there are thousands. There was a study done showing that over the past seven years, 73.1% of actors in major films are white. Given the number of these films that feature historical events or books that were praised for diversity THAT number means a large number of races were changed with barely a ripple.
S0 if you’re upset about the casting take a moment and examine your anger. Consider other instances of that happening. Did they upset you then? Were you as vocal about it? Don’t get defensive, don’t get uncomfortable, get introspective. And if you are just upset because it’s a change from the movie, pitch as big of a fit over the next Lavender Brown.
Here’s a sneak peek at a project I’ve been working on called “Blood and Other Matter” Let me know what you think:
Hours after my mom left for work, I still hadn’t finished studying. Homework didn’t usually take that long, but I’d been really distracted tonight. It took me a while to figure out I was listening for the sound of Josh’s entitlement-mobile bringing Tess home. My books sprawled across the table, open to the pertinent pages and weighed down with pens, sticky notes, and whatever else I could find to keep the pages down. Not that I could remember a single thing I’d read.
Stupid, I thought, giving up on my AP History essay on the evolution of labor laws after the Triangle Shirt-Waste Fire and checking my watch. Way too early for the eclipse. I headed to the back porch anyway, turning off all the lights as I walked through the house and grabbing the telescope, binoculars, and an assortment of snacks. Might as well get comfortable. One major benefit to living in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere was a lack of light pollution. We didn’t even have streetlights.
Binoculars in hand, I laid back on the splitting cushion covering my lawn chair. Telescopes were great and all, but the field of view was limited. I found the giant rectangle of twinkling stars in the Pegasus Constellation and moved my binoculars southwest until they landed on the bright blur of an oval that was the Andromeda Galaxy.
I grinned, shifting to the telescope. There was something deeply satisfying about this celestial scavenger hunt. I enjoyed piecing together the puzzle of the constellations to find the big picture then zooming in on a thousand year old flicker of light to find the devil in the details.
Fascinating as the night sky was, I had a ton of time to kill. As the minutes ticked into hours, the cushion beneath my back felt ever softer and more inviting. My eyelids drooped. The binoculars clattered to the deck as I bolted upright, heart slamming in my chest. Had I drifted off? I glanced upward and saw a red shadow covering the moon. I’d missed half the show.
My hair prickled on the back of my neck. Stiffening, I fought down the irrational idea that someone, something stood behind me breathing down my neck. A sound caught my ear, something between a hushed breath and a sob. I spun around. Nothing, I was alone on the wooden porch.
“Derrick?” The wind whispered my name in voiceless desperation. Derrick!
Needles of white hot pain slammed through my skull with so much force I hit the deck with a strangled cry. The voice, it wasn’t in the wind it was inside of me. Pain washed over me in waves then just as quickly faded. I crouched on the splintered boards breathing hard, cradling my head in my hands.
“—the hell?” I muttered. What was I doing hunched over on the porch? I stood, surprised to find I was shaking. Above me a crescent of white broke free of the moon’s shadow. I’d missed the eclipse. Dampness drew my hand up to wipe my nose, and I started at the sight of blood glimmering darkly on my fingers. “Did I just have a stroke?”
The doorbell rang. What time was it? I glanced at the phone, still fuzzy with confusion. Just after midnight. Who would be—Mom. Had something happened to Mom?
I rushed into the house and nearly tripping over the threshold in my haste. In a matter of seconds I was at the front door, fumbling with the latch and fighting back the memory of two deputies standing at my door. And suddenly I was right back in that moment when everything changed. My mother’s wail and the thud of her falling to the floor echoed through my head on repeat. Only this time I wasn’t too numb to understand what was happening.
You’re the man of the house now, our pastor told me at the funeral. Who the fuck puts that kind of pressure on a seven year old? I gained the presence of mind to glance through the peephole, but there were no deputies on my front stoop. Just a slim girl, whose very shadow I would always recognize no matter how dark the night.
“Tess?” I flung open the door unable to keep the aggravation out of my voice. First she’d ditched me for Josh Worthington, then she’d nearly given me a fucking heart attack knocking on my door and bringing back all that–The sarcastic greeting I had prepped fled from the tip of my tongue and left me speechless.
She was covered in blood.
Covered in blood. That expression gets tossed around a lot, but I’d never really considered what it looked like. Her clothes were red and matted to her body, her face, arms and legs were slathered in red flakes, like skin that got sunburned and peeled into those clumps you could brush off. Most of the gore was dry, but some wet patches glistened in the porch light.
She wasn’t wearing shoes.
“Der,” she sobbed. “Please.” Her voice sounded distant somehow, like she was speaking from somewhere far away. “I couldn’t get in my house.”
That snapped me out of it. “Come inside, quick.” I pulled her through the doorway, shocked brain registering the way her clothes squished under my palm. Bits of dried matter flaked off of her and onto my entryway. “What happened? Are you hurt? Hang on, I’ll call Mom.”
“No!” She clutched at my shirt with clawed hands. “You can’t call anyone. It’s not…” She swallowed hard. “It’s not mine.”
“Then whose is it?” Since when were her nails that long? What did that mater? Why did I keep noticing all these stupid details like they could possibly matter while puddles of gore dripped on my floor. Could one person produce all of this? I glanced out to the street, confirming what I already knew. No car. “Tess, was there a wreck? Did Josh’s car–”
She shook her head, clinging to me with an anguished moan. “They just kept screaming. I didn’t mean to do it, but they just kept screaming.”
I slammed the door and locked it, surprised when my hand left a wet print on the gleaming white paint. “Didn’t mean to do what, Tess! Who was screaming? Your mom?” My gaze turned to her house but all of the lights were off and her mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway.
“No. Oh God, Derrick! I tried to stop it.” She wrapped her arms around me, trembling like an autumn leaf, red and cracked and frail. “I tried, Derrick, you have to believe me. You have to help me.”
“I believe you,” I assured her, holding her tight. God, she was shaking. Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, tickling my neck in the same spot I felt my pulse pounding. “And I’m trying to help you, but you have to let me call somebody.”
“No!” She flinched away like I’d struck her. “You can’t, Derrick. Promise me, please!”
“Why not!” I demanded, in frustration, then took a breath and tried a calmer approach. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s not mine!”
The blood? “Then clearly someone else is hurt. Just…tell me what happened and we’ll figure out where to go from there. Start with the bonfire.”
She went rigid in my arms at the word bonfire and I drew back in confusion. “Tess? Is that it? Did something happen at the bonfire?” She couldn’t have come from the bonfire. It was too far away. She couldn’t have walked all the way from Bankhead Forest. Not at night. Not barefoot. Could she? “Tess!” I grabbed her shoulders. “Come on! What happened? Who was screaming?”
A feverish light gleamed in her eyes. “Everyone,” she whispered.
A chill went up my spine when her lips split into a blood-soaked grin. “Tessa?” My voice turned hesitant as the girl I knew better than anyone in the whole world transformed into something I didn’t recognize. Her expression, that smile, those eyes: the only way I could describe it was gleeful malevolence. I fought the urge to push her away from my house and lock the door. That was ridiculous, this was Tess!
In a flash her expression morphed from glee to terror. “No, no, no, no!” She moaned, pushing away from me, voice stuttering and quaking in fear. “I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to. I can’t–” Tess clutched at her head, fingers hooked into claws like she was in pain. Her eyes met mine, wide with terror. “Help me,” she gasped, before she collapsed, eyes fluttering closed.
Grimacing at the overwhelming smell of salt and copper, I caught her on impulse. “Tess!” What was I supposed to do? Call 911? Not until I got some answers. I looked around, trying to figure out what to do, where to set her down, but she was so slick in my arms anywhere I put her would–why didn’t she want me to call anyone? Had she done something? Hurt someone? My mind flashed to that maniacal grin as I considered something worse. Could Tess kill someone?
Never. I took a deep breath and considered what I knew. This was Tess. The girl who used to cry after every class trip to the library because she loved animals and still hadn’t caught on that every animal in every book written for children dies. Tess, who would cross the street and come to my house if she saw a cockroach. There wasn’t a violent bone in her body.
She’s in shock. The smart thing to do would be to tell my mom. Tess probably needed medical attention and–
Her voice echoed in my head. It’s my fault. All my fault. I didn’t mean to.
I froze. Move, do something! But I just couldn’t seem to commit myself to an action. If I did call Mom, would Tess say something incriminating to Mom’s deputies? They didn’t know her as well as I did. Her grin flashed into my head and my throat went dry. What if she did do something?
But what if she was in shock? Josh, and anyone else who’d ridden with him could be bleeding out right now while I stood here like an idiot.
Wait. If she was in shock, then she could actually be hurt. I rushed into the bathroom and laid her in the tub, yanking the first aid kit from underneath the countertop, just in case, and set to work searching for an open wound.
There’s no way she’d still be alive if she lost this much blood. My fingers probed at her skin as though a wound big enough to be responsible for this much bleeding could be subtle. Arteries? No, any of the major arteries would’ve bled out before knocked on the door. I didn’t even find a paper cut. Unless…I swallowed hard and pulled her weird, new, dress-like thing over her head. What was this thing, anyway? And um…wow, why wasn’t she wearing anything else under it?
Okay, back on task. I couldn’t find a wound that could explain all the blood. My hands shook as I draped a towel over Tess’ middle; normally I’d sell my soul to see her naked, but there was nothing even remotely sexy about this situation.
I turned on the faucet, grabbed a towel, and washed the gore off of her. Time passed in a weird haze as I spent what felt like hours scrubbing the dried, hardened crust off her skin. Scrub, rinse, repeat until the sanguine water ran clear. My mind fell into some kind of dumbfounded stupor as I focused on the task with an almost clinical dispassion. If I didn’t think about what I was doing this was easy.
I kept expecting Tess to wake up and tell me this whole thing was just some stupid prank. Maybe one of those TV shows. “What would you do? Well, Derrick here would not call 911 when a girl covered in blood passed out on his porch. Care to explain that logic?”
She’d asked me not to.
Maybe I was the one who needed to wake up. What if I was dreaming?
If this is a dream, when you wake up, tell Mom you need some serious therapy. In the meantime, get under her nails.
I scraped the congealed gunk free from beneath her fingernails. That…was flesh. My stomach lurched, and the fog in my brain fled with a burst of adrenaline as her bloodstained lips and fingernails took on a new light. She’d fought. Tess had used her teeth and nails and she struggled against….what? But I hadn’t found any sign of bruising. No cuts, no scrapes. Nothing to indicate that whatever she’d fought against struck back.
“What happened, Tess? Please, please just wake up.” I begged. What am I doing? I sat back on my heels, hands shaking as I dropped the marred washcloth, abandoning her fingernails. She should be in a hospital, the logical side of my brain argued. She’s unconscious. That alone warrants a 911 call.
Her pulse was steady, her breathing even. If she got worse at all, I’d call 911, but otherwise…I covered my face with my hands. What had I done? Could I get in trouble for not calling the police? What would that go down as? Tampering with evidence? Aiding and abetting? Who the hell knew?
Say you were in shock. That you weren’t thinking at all. You’re on honor roll, your mom’s a public figure. They’ll believe you. I looked to Tess. I’d heard what people said about her when they didn’t think I was listening. The assumptions people made because of her mother, the way she looked, because she was poor, because she missed a ton of school, because of her grades, the list of strikes against her was miles long. If something had happened at that bonfire, and any student there was to blame, the Josh Worthington’s of the world would walk scot-free. The news had proven that time and time again. Girls like Tess made great scapegoats.
No, I wasn’t calling the cops until I found out exactly what happened. Some part of my brain resisted that plan enough to know it didn’t make sense. That this was a bad idea. But I couldn’t acknowledge it. This was too much. I’d been pulled from sleep into some kind of crazy nightmare. Something horrific had happened to my best friend and I was sitting in a bathroom that looked like a crime scene straight out of Dexter. My brain couldn’t handle logic. Couldn’t listen to the voice screaming in my head that she might be hurt in a way I wasn’t qualified to diagnose. That she might not wake up if I didn’t get her help right now. Or that she might not be the only person who was hurt.
Instead I followed instructions. Like there was a list being rattled off in my brain of how to make all of this disappear. I finished scrubbing beneath her nails, then everywhere else. When I was sure she was clean, that not a speck of blood remained on her body, I bleached everything in the bathroom, stripped out of my clothes and scrubbed myself down. Check. Check. Check. Moving on autopilot, I tossed everything cloth I’d interacted with into the wash and finished off the bottle of bleach and hydrogen peroxide.
I almost threw her dress into the washing machine then thought better of it and stuffed the garment into a plastic bag and tied it off. We might need it later for evidence. Of what?
Instead of giving into the temptation of thinking, I moved on to the next item on the list. Finish cleaning the bathroom. After scrubbing the bathtub with hydrogen peroxide, I plugged the drain and poured half a bottle of bleach into the basin, then filled it with water and let it sit while I mopped the floors with what was left.
I took bleach wipes to the bathroom counters, even though I didn’t think I’d touched them, then got Tess and me dressed. Once she was tucked into the bed, I went through the house and the front porch.
Bone weary and more than a little sick from fumes, I walked back into the house and opened every window and turned on every fan. The house still wasn’t forensic proof, but it was enough to fool mom. I pulled the plug in the bath and checked on the clothes. White as snow. I’d have to close all the windows later and throw the clothes in the dryer. Not to mention replacing all the cleaning stuff I’d used before mom realized her once a year “subscribe and save” one click buy hadn’t lasted as long as it should have. But for now, I could rest.
Exhausted and numb, I sat on the chair next to my bed and studied Tess. Her chest rose and fell, so at least she was breathing, even if her face was way too pale.
You did good.
I was too exhausted to care that I didn’t recognize that voice as my own.
I love Inside Out. I could talk about all tiny touches they put into that movie to make it great, but to me, the crux of that movie, the absolute best part, is the “Belly of the Whale” moment (more on that in another Writing on Wednesday) in the memory dump.
It’s a perfect scene. Not only does it work perfectly for its place in the hero cycle, but the scene, from Joy falling to her escape almost works as a short. It has all the elements of a story on its own, and it would be a good one. But the context of the movie, the setting, the stakes, the character building, make it so much stronger. That moment when Joy is looking through all the memories and tearfully asking “do you remember…” is so incredibly powerful because the movie has done such a good job of establishing Joy’s character. Seeing her broken and sad packs such a powerful punch.
Then the whole sequence where she figures out that there’s a value to sadness is such incredible character growth. That’s the loud message and it’s important enough, but the quieter one, that acknowledging the way you feel gives you the tools to seek help is every bit as powerful.
Then the burst of optimism with the rocket and the sacrifice at the end, the whispered “Take her to the moon,” it’s just an incredible scene. A lot of people have analyzed that scene as Riley (after all, they’re all Riley) letting go of her past so she can have a future, which is symbolic in the context of the movie, but it’s more than that, on two seemingly conflicting levels. One, Joy was saved by Imagination, which is a pretty cool thing in itself. But on another level you could say Joy was being weighed down by Imagination. Only when she let go of imagination, was she able to soar.
Sometimes the imaginary scenario, what life could be, prevents us from experiencing any joy with the way things are. Imagination can be a powerful coping mechanism, it can give you the tools to make the best out of a situation, after all, the vehicle of Joy’s escape was an innovation created entirely from imagination. But there comes a point when imagination can be the very thing that’s stopping you from coping. And that’s a pretty powerful message for a kids movie.
I’m always late. Generally about 5-10 minutes anywhere I go. It’s annoying, but I promise it’s more stressful for me than whoever happens to be waiting on me. Mostly because I try really hard to make sure that people know never to wait on me.
My typical introduction goes something like this: “Hi, I’m Kaitlin. I’m late all the time, so for future reference, if you’re ever waiting on me, don’t. Go do the fun thing. I’ll catch up, and I swear I won’t hold it against you.”
But I get that people feel bad and it’s not cool to put them in that position.
I disagree with the many blogs out there that say that being late is a sign of disrespect and selfishness. Look, I was late to my own wedding. It’s really not personal. Mostly it’s because I have 9,999 thousand things on my to-do list and the temptation to squeeze just one more thing in before I go is overwhelming. Consequently, when people are late to meet me, I’m not annoyed, I use the time to get one more thing done while I wait on them. But I do get that not everyone is as lax about being on time as I am.
So this year, I’m making an effort to change all that. For once I’m not resolving to lose weight or work out every day. I’m resolving to be on time. We’ll see how it goes.
I ended YALLFEST by attending the closing keynote with Brandon Sanderson and Brandon Mull.
Brandon Mull is the author of the FableHaven series. He and Sanderson live up the street from each other and they know each other really well, so their dynamic was really entertaining.
They told stories about when they were little and man did I relate. Sanderson tried to start a detective agency after reading a bunch of mysteries, but after three whole days he had to close down because there were no mysteries. I did the same thing, only I decided to MAKE a mystery and finger painted the neighbor’s car with mud then offered to help them figure out who did it.
The police were called. It was bad. Really, really bad.
Mull was really into Narnia. One time, he went to his Grandmother’s house and realized that she was a mysterious, old person. So he went through her closets. In one closet he found a door in the back wall. Heart beating in trepidation, he opened the door, ready to step through to a new and fascinating world. Instead he found a small room full of canned peaches. But he went back and told his friends that he really did go to Narnia and told them all about his adventures there.
I once convinced my kindergarten class I was catwoman’s daughter. In second grade I convinced my babysitter’s kids that I was actually an elf who was going to die unless they believed in santa. I convinced my third grade class I had telepathy. In fourth grade I had baby twin sisters, until my mom put a firm stop to that rumor, and in fifth grade I matured enough to realize I could just write this stuff down instead of lying to everyone. It’s crazy, and probably a bit self-absorbed, how much of myself I saw in the writers at the conference. The way they talked to each other, the way they talked about writing, about reading, about their nerdy childhoods. That was me. Every bit of it was me. Except this one story.
Mull got a call from the Make A Wish foundation about a little boy who wished to hear the end of the series before he died. Of course he told the boy the ending, but the entire experience changed him forever because books are an escape for everyone, but he never thought about what everyone might be escaping FROM. And if the only thing his books ever accomplish is THAT, he’ll die happy.
They were both really amazing. YALLFEST was a great conference. I highly recommend it.
This is a somewhat recent movie, so warning, spoilers ahead.
Max opens with a slice of life of a Marine in Afghanistan. Kyle, Max’s person, and a group of soldiers search a town for a hidden weapons cache. Max finds it and everyone’s super happy.
The scene cuts to Loralie Gilmore, I know she has a real name, but I don’t feel like looking it up right now, talking in the fakest southern accent imaginable on the clearest computer screen ever. Seriously, it’s like Kyle is in the room with her. Grouchy grandma, oh wait, that’s supposed to be her husband. Sure. Is behind her, fixing a perpetually broken sink, and mopey teen is in the living room playing video games. Kyle recaps Max’s heroic feat, Mrs. Gilmore declares “Ya’ll botha desurve a mehdle or somethin.”
Why? Seriously, why? Why is hollywood incapable of realizing that not everyone with a southern accent talks like a caricature? Agh! I’m going to have to sit through an entire MOVIE of this.
Oh, wait, they’re in Texas. Maybe…nope, still annoying, still fake. Also, why is she the only one with an accent? Literally no one else in the movie had one?
Anyway, Kyle is interrupted by another soldier saying that the brass needs to talk to him right now. Turns out, some of the weapons they found are missing. It’s been going on for awhile. Kyle swears he just handles the dog and is excused from the room. On the way out he confronts his best friend from childhood, Tyler, and says he didn’t know what he was doing before, but he knows now and he can’t cover for him. Come clean, or he will.
That night, Kyle is sleeping, Tyler is ominously getting ready for something, and Max is watching. Always watching.
The next day, things go south when Tyler insists they ignore Max’s signal to wait, which by the way looks no different than his all clear signal. Thank goodness Kyle is there to interpret. Kyle agrees and sends Max forward for some reason when boom, bang, explosions. Kyle rushes into the fray, Tyler ducks behind a rock. The smoke clears and Kyle’s been shot and Max is going nuts. Tyler’s about to shoot Max when other soldiers come in and subdue the dog.
Cut to pouty teenager, apparently named Justin, pirating a video game. He gives the copy to his friend Chuy, and says he two-hundred for it. Grumpy Dad rounds the corner and Chuy takes off. Grumpy dad chastises mopey kid for not coming to work this morning, this incredibly awkward and poorly acted exchange is blessedly cut short when soldiers come to the door bearing bad news.
At the funeral, a group of marines come about midway through the service, and because being late isn’t bad enough, walk right up to the front row and apologize to Mrs. Gilmore for being late. Max is barking and going nuts and eventually gets free so he can curl up beside the coffin. I know it’s supposed to be a touching moment, but when Mrs. Gilmore nods at the paster, indicating he can continue the service, all I can think of is how rude it was that they literally just interrupted a funeral! Wait until the part where everyone is lining up to pay their respects like a normal person. I can see the dog getting loose from he back of the church, but what were they doing walking up to the front like that?
To make matters worse, while the family is trying to mourn, Max is resisting leaving the coffin. He’s barking and growling, but as he passes Justin, he grows strangely calm.
“Who are you?” A true idiot of a marine asks in a slightly amazed voice.
Yes, who could the child standing between Kyle’s parents be?
“Our son?” Mrs. Gilmore asks, gradually dropping the accent as the movie progresses.
“He must be able to sense it. Can you help us get him in the cage? I mean, I know it’s your brother’s funeral and everything, but it’ll just take a minute.”
So the family leaves the casket to walk the dog until he gets to his cage.
Look, I’m not saying the dog shouldn’t have come to the funeral, but why did they try to make him leave while everyone was still milling around? Like, it’s bad enough they got there late and disrupted the entire funeral once, can’t they just wait? Maybe the family wanted a minute? My god, have some respect.I mean, this family has been through enough. Do they really have to watch their sons dog cry and fight as he wrestled into a cage and muzzled?
The scene shifts to Justin pirating another game, but his heart just isn’t into it, so he goes to explore his brother’s room. His dad interrupts with a speech about how Justin has so much to learn from his brother about “being a man.” The two get into an argument, and my hatred for grumpy dad increases, because seriously, your son is allowed to mourn to. If you can’t manage to say something comforting, shut up.
Their argument is interrupted by Mrs. Gilmore telling them that “they’re going to kill Max.” Again, WHY would they even tell the family that right now? There son just died! It’s like the screen writers are trying to make this movie about mourning and moving on, only they’ve forgotten that death is something that needs to be mourned and moved on from.
Despite the dog being dangerous and unstable, the family gets approval to take him home. “Kyle’s gone,” grumpy dad snaps when Justin points out that he doesn’t want to do this. “This is your dog now.”
Please don’t eat me
Okay, but maybe he doesn’t want a dog. Maybe he doesn’t want HIS BROTHER’S dog. Even ignoring the fact that it’s a huge, unstable dog with flashing teeth that they have to keep chained up in the backyard so he doesn’t hurt anyone and that’s a hell of a lot of responsibility to lay at the feet of a child, there’s an emotional component there, a living, breathing reminder that this dog is somewhat nice around you because it basically thinks he’s his dead brother. Or senses something of his dead brother in him, or I don’t know. Dead brother. Like, it’s a lot. And I’m not saying he shouldn’t keep the dog, but it’s really disturbing to me that Justin doesn’t have a voice in this. That his grief and his feelings aren’t respected.
Also, not cool having your dog chained up in the front yard in the heat of a Texas summer. No.
The next day, Justin goes off with his BMXing group of friends and meets Chuy’s cousin, Carmen. She got kicked out of her house because she got a tattoo. She’s not impressed with anyone. She has a snarky answer for everything. And she’s a dog training expert. She’s also really hung up on respect. Respect your dad, don’t let him disrespect me, respect Max. It’s like her buzz word. I want to like her as a character because given proper development, she could be interesting, but she’s just this over the top caricature. I don’t know that it’s her fault though? It may just be that she’s the only character that has a laugh track. Every time she says anything, there’s a group of boys in the background going “ooh! Dang!”
Cue dog training montage. Max makes progress, yay! As a thank you, Mrs. Gilmore invites Carmen to THE most awkward family dinner ever. First Mrs. Gilmore cries because she overcooked the food because she was distracted thinking about Kyle, then when Carmen reveals she knows so much about dogs because her father and brother trains pitfalls, Grumpy Dad goes “to fight?” “Um, no, jerk. He rescues them.”
I feel so bad for her character. She just keeps being put in SUPER awkward situation after situation.
Also, commentary on family dynamic. The parents feel like they should be set in the fifties. Maybe sixties. Like maybe they’re the generation that raised Kitty and Red Foreman. But the kids are “modern” only it’s actually like they’re an old person’s idea of what kids are like these days. All sulky and disrespectful and pirating video games on giant screens with complex codes and numbers flashing by. Carmen is your modern girl that doesn’t need anyone’s approval but her own, tough as nails, tons of attitude who by the second act of the movie is following Justin’s lead and wearing dresses and makeup.
Who the hell are you?
Anyway, Tyler randomly shows up. Without calling. After dark. In the middle of dinner, to pay his respects and asks “I’m sorry, who are you?” to Carmen when she asks a really logical question about him being discharged. Does no one have manners? Max goes nuts and lunges at him. “Dogs are pretty good judges of character,” Carmen points out later, just in case we didn’t get the piling heaps of hints that maybe Tyler is a bad guy.
The next day, Justin and Max go on a bike ride, seeming to be relaxed and happy, and settled in a routine. They head to their biker friends and Justin flirts with Carmen and shows off what an awesome bike rider he is.
Their happy mood is dashed when they get home to find a huge metal cage in the middle of their yard.
“Your father doesn’t want to argue about it,” Mrs. Gilmore says as she scrubs dishes.
Why would anyone argue about putting a dog in a metal box in the middle of a sun filled yard in the heat of a Texas summer. What is wrong with these people?
The scene shifts to a Fourth of July Parade. The parents are having a moment of quiet grieving together while Justin realizes that maybe the dog that has PTSD and can’t stand the sound of explosions or gun shots may have a reaction to fireworks and rushes home. In a truly touching moment, he climbs in the cage with Max and there’s this sense that they are there for each other. Which is good. Because Justin’s parents sure never stopped to think that maybe all the military pride stuff might make their other son think about his dead brother.
I think this is one of those thinks that bothers me because I’m a parent. I could have enjoyed this movie so much more pre-Bella, but now that I’ve had her, I have to look at things from a parent’s perspective, and I just can’t help being mad at them. I can’t imagine the grief they’re going through, I honestly can’t. It’s too terrible to think about. But it’s like the narrative never even acknowledges that Justin might feel it to beyond a passing moment of sadness when someone mentions his brother. Actual grief. Like, it would be okay if at any point in the movie the adults acknowledged “we haven’t really been there for you, I’m sorry,” but they don’t. And the narrative treats that like nothing odd happened.
The scene shifts to Tyler who is now working for Grumpy Dad. Grumpy dad listens to Tyler and has a more real conversation with him inside five minutes than he’s had with his son the entire movie. It’s because they’re both real men.
Tyler implies that Kyle died because of Max, so in a truly ridiculous move, Grumpy Dad goes home and tries to kill Max. To his credit, he tries to take him somewhere else first, but when Max doesn’t comply, he pulls out his gun and gets ready to shoot.
“Dad? What are you doing.” Justin demands.
“Go inside.”
Right. Because it’s totally cool to shoot the dog your son has bonded with as long as he’s INSIDE the house. The dog that senses something of his brother in him, his dead brother. The dog he’s been responsible for and worked hard to train.
“It’s his fault,” the dad explains. And I get its grief, I do. But…
Justin talks him down, pointing out that Kyle would never put people in danger by working with an unstable dog (I mean, YOU would totally put your family, your son, and your neighbors in danger by bringing a dog you KNOW is unstable to our house than not sticking around for five minutes to make sure your chain can hold when Max lunges once (it didn’t, for the record)) But KYLE would never do that.”
Dad relents with…and here’s the thing I can’t forgive him for “If he messes up ONCE, he’s gone.”
YOUR SON JUST LOST HIS BROTHER. This is ALL he has left of him and he didn’t even WANT the dog! And now you’re going to put THAT kind of pressure on him! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!
Anyway, Justin knows something is fishy about Tyler’s story, so he seeks out the funeral interrupter and asks for the scoop. Tyler was discharged by the administration, not because of a medical issue though, he’ll look into it. (Aren’t these records supposed to be private?) And he gives Justin a classified DVD to watch.
Justin takes the DVD to Carmen, figuring it’s dog training tips from the army or something, and instead is treated to a montage of amazingly filmed footage between his brother and Max, from puppyhood to adulthood. It’s ridiculously gorgeous and sentimental, and Justine wasn’t the only one getting weepy during it.
BTW, cue another super awkward situation for Carmen.
This is a gorgeous shot. The colors! Wow!
Then Emilio shows up and ruins the moment by demanding more pirated video games. He insults Carmen, basically implies that it’s a good thing Kyle is dead, and takes a phone call from…Tyler.
Justin demands his money up front, and as soon as Emilio drives away, uses the money to give Max a scent to follow. They ride through the forest and find Emilio, Tyler, a Deputy, and two members of a Mexican drug Cartel talking about a weapons exchange. Tyler is selling weapons across the border. Color me surprised.
Two dobermans catch on to the fact that they have company and chase Max and Justin through the woods. Max leads the dogs away from Justin. Justin crashes his bike and leaves it behind, getting to the highway with Max and catching a ride to the vets office to treat Max’s bite wounds. When he gets home, the police are waiting to take Max away for biting that deputy. Justin starts to object, but Kyle takes him to the side and after an actually deeply interesting exchange that implies that if Justin doesn’t keep his mouth shut his whole family is going to die.
“I’m just a small fish in a big pond. The big fish sell weapons all over the world and then send wide-eyed hicks like me and your brother over there so we can get shot and killed by ’em so they can cry their crocodile tears, salute the flag, and then sell some more.”
I actually liked the dynamic they had between Justin and Tyler. There was a bit of the cliche “you’re just like me,” but more than that, there was a sense of fear. This is a kid. He’s what, nineteen? And he’s in way over his head with scary people who will kill entire families to get what they want. What he’s saying to Justine isn’t from a place of being evil, it’s from a place of fear. And it’s an interesting departure from his role in the movie so far as the cartoonish villain trying to kill the dog before it can “tell” on him. I wish they’d approached it like this from the get go.
They take Max away to euthanize him, but he escapes once he gets to the pound. Meanwhile, Grumpy dad catches on that something is amiss with Kyle when he catches Kyle and the Deputy taking a bunch of guns out of a storage unit. Dad is kidnapped, but manages to call home and tell his wife “I’m hanging out at the hunting cabin, don’t worry.”
“We have a hunting cabin?” Justin demands.
“No. We do not have a hunting cabin,” Mrs. Gilmore explains.
Cue a wild and crazy rescue mission with Max, Carmen, Chuy, and most importantly Grumpy Dad and Justin working together. Mrs. Gilmore gets a shining moment when she yells at the police for tearing up the neighborhood looking for a missing dog when her husband is missing and they won’t even consider looking for him until he’s been gone over forty-eight hours. Other shining moments she had include when she finally pointed out to her husband that he should ask what’s going on with his son because she doesn’t want to lose another one. I’m actually kind of glad Justin didn’t open up to him though, because that would have been really unrealistic after the way he’s been raised. She also has a moment where she tells Justin she’s “been keeping the peace between you and your father for too long,” that felt realistic, yet annoying, because her husband is clearly the one in the wrong. Yes, the kid is sulky and has a bad attitude, but he’s not even treated like a person, so who can blame him.
For a minute it looks like the dog dies. SPOILER, he doesn’t. And we get a touching moment with Justin talking to Kyle’s headstone.
It wasn’t an awful movie. In fact, according to Bella, it was “The goodest movie ever! I didn’t know you could walk a dog without a leash or ride a bike with your dog.”
But the weird out of sync with time feel, the flat characterization, and the ineptitude of the parents left a lot to be desired. If you want the feel good highlights without the angst, watch this instead.
From Dothraki to Drones: Sci-Fi Fantasy Mashup was easily the coolest panel I attended during YA Lit Fest. This panel featured Marie Lu, Richelle Mead, Brandon Sanderson, Brendan Reichs, Scott Westerfeld, and Mindy McGinnis. I’ve talked about most of those authors before, but let me tell you, listening to Richelle Mead, Brandon Sanderson, and Scott Westerfeld talk is amazing. Listening to them talk TO EACH OTHER is a level of Epic I didn’t know my life was lacking.
About the authors:
Richelle Mead wrote the Vampire Academy series, the Bloodlines series, the Glittering Court, Gameboard of the Gods, the Georgina Kincaid series, the Dark Swan series, and she just released a book based on eastern fairy tales called soundless. She was another person I was super excited about seeing at the conference. I did get her to autograph my copy of Vampire Academy, but unfortunately I chickened out on asking her to sign my notebook because she was on her way out the door and there was a line.
Brendan Reichs wrote the Virals series, which I know nothing about. He was hysterical though, so I may have to check it out. But it’s related to the Bones series, which I really wasn’t a huge fan of (book wise) so maybe not.
Mindy McGinnis wrote Not a Drop to Drink, in a Handful of Dust, and a Madness so Discreet. I haven’t read them, but I’m loving the titles! She had a funny story about how she had a lightbulb moment when she realized that her world could have any animal on it she could imagine. It didn’t even have to be carbon based life forms. Literally anything she could imagine. So she made domestic cats the size of tigers.
I’m going to be honest, I spent most of my time reveling in the fact that I was breathing the same air as my favorite authors, but I did manage to get a few notes down.
Brandon Sanderson said the way he writes such amazingly long books is that he treats each book like it’s a trilogy. So he basically writes three books then writes an anthology of short stories that get woven in, and then during edits everything gets smoothed over and perfected. Sanderson also talked about his laws (check out Sanderson’s laws if you’re interested in world building or magic systems at all, it’s worth the read) and the strange attractor, where you take two familiar things and combine them in a way that makes them unfamiliar.
They talked a lot about setting and how in Science Fiction and Fantasy the setting is basically a character and as a writer they have to figure out what the setting wants when they world build. They need to figure out what is the thing everything needs to get by, like in Dune it was water. Figuring out the limits of a setting makes you get creative. The physics of that world have to follow the scientific method, including the magic systems. One difference they mentioned between “magic” systems in sci-fi and fantasy is that magic cares who does it, science works for everyone. So in Star Wars, the force = a magic system, plasma blasters = tech. Science fiction is implausible, fantasy is impossible.
Both genres reflect contemporary issues, like I’ve said a million times, if you want to know what a society fears, read their stories. Fiction is the truth inside the lie. Only in sci-fi and fantasy those contemporary issues are set against the backdrop of implausible new landscapes.
Best panel ever. I really can’t even capture how I felt listening to it. It was amazing.
Want to get in the Holiday spirit? Here are the Christmas movie I watch every year without fail.
While You were Sleeping
I love this one. It’s so sappy and romantic. It’s the perfect holiday film. I remember wanting to adopt Sandra Bullock. I was six. That’s how well she pulled off acting cute and lonely.
Love Actually
The Christmas chick flick to end all Christmas Chick Flicks. I love the way all the plots come together.
Rise of the Guardians
Also works great as an easter movie. Seriously though, this is a really good cartoon. I can watch this one over and over again. Which is good, given my six year old who also loves it.
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
It must be watched every Christmas. No matter what. Sure, it’s kind of painful to sit through,but it’s a classic. This year I’m going to see it at the Center for Puppetry Arts, so hopefully that will help.
The Santa Clause
Just the first one. But it’s a great Christmas movie.
Elf
This movie should irritate the life out of me, but it doesn’t. It’s well on its way to becoming a classic, and it’s kind of cool to have been around when a classic was in theaters.
Any made for TV holiday movie I saw growing up
Whenever I can find them, I watch them. My favorites were the one about the mannequin coming to life to be the girls new mom and the Groundhog day one about Christmas. The new ones I don’t like as much. But that’s because I didn’t grow up with them.
Any Christmas episode of any show I watch
It’s fun to watch my favorite characters do Christmasy things! Particularly when there’s a dark twist on it (Buffy was always good at that).
My daughter turned six last month and we went to Disneyland for her birthday. I love Disney, she loves Disney, we are a Disney family. I know disney isn’t perfect, but frankly, I’m getting tired of hearing about how letting my daughter look up to princesses is going to make her weak, needy, entitled, or obsessed with princesses.
First of all, my daughter is a modern six year old. Yes, she loves princesses but she also loves Toothless and Darth Vader. But even if she didn’t I wouldn’t be worried about her looking up to Disney characters, and here’s why.
These are the Disney princesses and notable female characters (not from sequels or minor characters. I’m also not counting Studio Ghibli, Marvel, or Star Wars because Disney only recently acquired them) that have existed in her lifetime.
All of these women made things happen. They weren’t passive. They all exhibited bravery, intelligence, a good work ethic, and all kinds of positive character traits for a young girl to model herself after. They all have flaws, yes, but overall not horrible female role models. And they aren’t cookie cutters of each other when it comes to being feminine or tough or having identical caring and sweet attitudes.
But, yes, they have flaws. I don’t just mean character flaws, I mean there are some flaws in the choices that were made when constructing these characters. And since these movies were made for today’s children, by all means pick them apart for the messages they send. It’s important to do so because there’s always room for improvement.
I turned 29 last month. This set of princesses and notable characters came out between my birth and Bella’s.
I had an awesome childhood.A bit more passive, but for the most part, strong, brave female characters who get stuff done. Less so with Belle, Ariel, and Jenny, but they were created REALLY early in my lifetime. These can be picked apart for content because they are new enough in terms of messages sent, but with the fact that many of them are over 20 years old in kind. So yes, when we watch these movies, I’ll pause and talk to Bella about misconceptions and foolish choices.
My mom is 56. The third set of princesses and notable female characters came out when my mom was a little girl.
Aurora is pretty passive as are the vast majority of these characters. But can we maybe agree that a princess intended for the audience my mother belonged to as an infant maybe won’t hold up to the feminist values of today? Why would a princess intended for an audience in 1959 meet today’s standards of ANYTHING? When Bella watches these movies, we have LONG talks about how princesses can do anything princes can, but that not everyone is like Rapunzel or Tiana. Some people are more passive and that’s okay to. They still deserve to live.
My Grandmother is 80. The fourth set of pictures is from my grandmother’s pre-kid lifetime. Snow White came out when she was four. 1937.
We talk a lot about manners and being nice when Bella manages to sit through one of these movies. We watch the 2003 Peter Pan instead of the Disney one, we talk about how Cinderella was brave because she survived a really negative situation with grace. When she’s older we’ll talk a bit more about how Cinderella lived through some pretty serious emotional abuse and as one awesome blogger pointed out, sometimes being strong is just surviving until you can get out of a really bad situation. We watched Once Upon a Time in Wonderland and talked about how Alice grew up and kept her curiosity and wonder. And we haven’t made it through Lady and the Tramp because it’s in the vault and I honestly don’t remember it, but I bet there’s a dialogue we can have.
Look, I get that Cinderella, Aurora, and Snow White are on every piece of disney merchandise, but every time I hear someone start in on how horrible disney princesses are as feminist role models and that person starts talking about those three, I feel like hitting my head against a wall. 1937. Times have changed a bit since then. Compare Rapunzel to Snow White and you’re going to see a massive difference. I couldn’t even sit through Snow White as a kid. My daughter definitely won’t. Again, there are some issues with disney princesses, but can we stick to the ones intended for kids born this decade to pull those examples from since we’re talking about their impact on children?
That whole “Cinderella ate My daughter” thing drives me nuts because seriously, why would you expect a princess created in 1950 to teach your daughter anything other than the ideals of 1950?! Just have a dialogue with your kids and stop expecting Disney to do it for you. If you honestly can’t see SOMETHING in each of these women to hold up as a positive attribute, that’s a real problem because it’s not like any of these characters are bad people.
Also, why don’t we hold boy characters to the same standards? “Most girls aren’t princesses.” Yeah, most boys aren’t written by radioactive spiders, but you know, at least princesses EXIST. “They just wait around for their princes to save them.” Not since the 50’s. “They all revolve around relationships.” So does life, but okay, name me a super hero who doesn’t have a girlfriend/or a tortured backstory completely defining his character that involves a girlfriend. “They’re pretty.” And every super hero is hot and strong, or a hot nerd. But we don’t pick them apart. “They’re too girly.” No. First of all, no they aren’t. Not even in my grandmother’s generation were the princesses/female characters uniformly anything. But secondly, what is wrong with girly? I’m girly. My daughter’s girly. Girly is a spectrum. The existence of girly shouldn’t offend us, being limited to only being “girly” should.
Super heroes are allowed to exist without constant criticism. What does it say to our girls that their heroes are constantly being thrown under the bus for being too girly while their male counterparts are never called into question? What does it say to our BOYS that female protagonists are constantly being criticized while their heroes actions and attributes are never called into question.