I feel absurd saying this, but I still feel just about as sad about David Foster Wallace’s death as it is reasonable for anyone to feel about the death of a famous person they’ve never met, three years after the fact.

It’s not really his style I miss, though of course he was an incredibly talented writer. What I loved about him was the way he saw the world — with an honest and endless curiosity. Like Vonnegut, he was one of those writers who remembered to notice the things we’ve long since forgotten to see. And like all of my favorite pop culture writers, he actively fought against snobbery and prejudice in favor of giving everything a real, fair look. He wasn’t perfect at this — who, in the history of the universe, has ever been totally faithful to his or her own philosophy? — but the important thing, in my view, was that he tried.

I can’t write like Wallace and I never will. But trying to experience the world with an open mind is something I can, and do, strive for. I recognize that it is ridiculous of me to pin all this heavy stuff on one guy, who despite all his gifts was just a person like any other. I also understand that I sound totally sappy right now. It’s tough sometimes writing about things you really, passionately, obsessively love or admire, because it’s too easy to just start gushing hyperbolic cliches. But if you’re really invested in art or culture, you know that every once in a while, you come across an artist or book or movie or whatever that really and truly changes you, makes you see the world differently, helps you understand what is possible. Well, Wallace was that for me.

Despite all that, I have yet to work my way through Infinite Jest or Brief Interviews with Hideous Men — my affection for Wallace comes from having read his essays. So that’s embarassing, and it also means that there is a chance, however slight, that I could change my mind about him. But it’s also kind of nice. It means there’s still more Wallace for me to read, and will be for a while yet. I just started Infinite Jest today (this is my second attempt). I’m annoyed but also secretly happy that that thing is huge and very very difficult and is going to take me forever to get through.

It'd be less obnoxious if Jay Chou's name weren't RIGHT THERE ON THE POSTER, two inches away.

FirstShowing tweeted today about an interesting error on IMDb’s Green Hornet page: Taiwanese pop star Jay Chou’s role as Kato has been credited to MILF-popularizing American actor John Cho. Uh, WTF?

In all fairness, yes, their names are very similar. Similar enough that anyone could easily get them confused. And it must be conceded that the two actors bear a passing resemblance. I am not saying this is (necessarily) motivated by racism, or that this would never ever happen to a white actor. Simply based on the amount of data that IMDb tracks, I’m sure this is far from the only error in there.

What I am saying is that Asian actors already have a pretty tough time in Hollywood, and things like this don’t help. While I have no reason to believe this is anything but an honest mistake, I can’t help but bristle because it reminds me of all the other times I’ve heard that Asian people “all look the same.” Or the way it seems like Hollywood can only handle a couple of famous Asian-Americans at a time, while a new crop of homogenous white starlets is rising every day. Or the fact that Americans still– still!– seem to have trouble understanding the difference between an Asian-American person and an Asian person from Asia. (Hint: when the Asian-American says she is “really from” California, she means it. She is as American as the asshat who is harassing her with stupid questions, and she is not “really from” Korea.)

Jay Chou is a very famous multitasker (“musician, singer, music and film producer, actor and director,” according to Wikipedia) in his native Taiwan. John Cho is an American actor whose biggest role to date is as Harold of Harold & Kumar. Similar names and bone structure aside, their histories and resumes couldn’t be more different. This incident, minor and accidental though it may be, denies Chou some portion of the credit and public recognition he deserves for his role in The Green Hornet, while reinforcing in some small way the notion that all Asian people are interchangeable.

I don’t want to blow this out of proportion. While it’s possible the misinformation was posted purposefully or maliciously, there is no evidence to indicate that it was. Personally, I’m inclined to believe it’s just your run-of-the-mill mistake. As someone who regularly has to pause to remember which one is Emma Thompson and which one is Emma Watson, I’m in no place to get all huffy because someone else got two similar names mixed up. As typos go, though, it is a pretty unfortunate one.

Yes. Just yes.

Here’s what I didn’t like about Conversations with Other Women: One, the continuous use of split-screen is effective about half the time and distracting the other half of the time. Two, lines like “She always was the type to see better in the dark”– no one talks like that, ever, unless one is a character in an amateur theater piece that’s been polished one too many times.

Here’s what I liked about Conversations with Other Women: everything else. It features two consistently impressive actors doing what they do best; a poignant little love story that unfolds like a striptease; and a soft, seductive soundtrack. Bad dialogue and annoying editing might be enough to sink a lesser film, but when the rest of a film works so well, the flaws are easy to forgive.

To rewind just a bit, Conversations is a little 2005 film that I assume no one saw, because as far as I can tell hardly anyone I know has even heard of it, let alone seen it. (Or perhaps my friends and I are just really out of the loop.) It stars Aaron Eckhart and Helena Bonham Carter as a man and a woman who encounter each other at a wedding reception. The sexual tension is obvious from the get-go, but the whys and wherefores are only revealed gradually over the course of the film.

At only 83 minutes long, with few characters and fewer sets, Conversations is a wisp of a film, but it’s exactly as big as it needs to be. It fits years of history into its brief running time, yet never feels rushed. In fact, one of the film’s strengths is an unhurried pace that allows the characters and story room to breathe. The split-screen helps a great deal here, as does the screenplay. Overwritten dialogue aside, it hits all the right notes at all the right times.

But the best part of Conversations by far is the performances. One reason it’s so easy to overlook the clunky lines is that Eckhart and Bonham Carter give the kind of beautifully fleshed-out performances you could understand if the entire film was in ancient Greek. Their electrifying chemistry needs no translation, either. Cinematical praised Bonham Carter for her role here, and rightfully so– in the hands of Bonham Carter and Eckhart, the tiniest gesture carries not just feeling and intent, but a lifetime of habit and experience.

Conversations is far from perfect, but it works where it counts. Even at its most self-consciously clever, the film feels true. Once I looked past the gimmicks, I found a textured, intimate romance that’s been surprisingly difficult to shake.

We had a mouse problem earlier this year, so cooking at my apartment was a little like this.

To say that cooking is one of my hobbies would be inaccurate, as that would imply that I actually know what I’m doing. It’s far more accurate to say that learning to cook is one of my hobbies. I’d literally never made anything more complicated than pasta and jarred sauce until 2007, and 2010 is the first year I actually made an active effort to try and become a decent cook. And you know what? I’m still clueless, but I’ve gotten better at faking it. I still get nervous about the slightest recipe modification, fear unusual (to me) ingredients like flour and kale, and take 50 minutes to make a 30-minute recipe. But I’m no longer subsisting off of Sabra hummus and pre-packaged salad, so that’s progress, right?

So for all the novice (or experienced but lazy) cooks out there, I’m posting a few of my favorite successes. All of these are doable as long as you are capable of chopping vegetables and turning on appliances, and most are relatively quick. Oh, and sorry about the lack of pictures– I didn’t know I’d be writing this when I cooked these dishes– but I believe all links have pictures if you click through.

Good luck!

1. Sassy sausage and black bean soup
This is literally my first unqualified success, from back in 2007. It’s still the easiest, most foolproof recipe in my rotation, and it tastes miles better than anything this simple has any right to. Basically, you sautee some onions and garlic, then dump in a bunch of canned things, and you’re good to go. If you need an easy win, this is the way to do it.

2. Brazilian black bean stew
Who’d have thought mango, sweet potato, black bean, and chorizo would go so well together? I mean, other than anyone who actually understands how cooking and flavors work? It’s simple to make, comes out hearty and flavorful, and freezes really well– seriously, it couldn’t be easier to love. I don’t bother with the ham, but I keep the chorizo. The recipe author suggests skipping both to make it vegetarian, but that just makes me glad I’m not vegetarian.

3. Sriracha buffalo wings (two recipes: one for sauce, one for wings)
Dear God yes. I love classic Frank’s Red Hot wings as much as the next gal– more, probably, as I really fucking love Frank’s Red Hot– but Sriracha is one of my favorite hot sauces as well. If you make this, keep in mind there is a huge difference between the amount of spice you can handle in tiny samples while you cook, vs. shamelessly slathered all over hot wings– I didn’t, and I just about died from the heat. (Worth it.) If you love Sriracha, you need to try this.

4. Tilapia with mango salsa
This is the kind of elegant dish that makes people think you know what you’re doing in the kitchen. In reality, it’s a little time-consuming, but pretty easy as long as you don’t mind a lot of chopping. (Tip: The salsa-making process is much less dangerous if you know the right way to slice a mango.) I like to bake the fish instead of broiling it, because I don’t know how to use my broiler. To bake, put the fish and marinade into a pan, cover it with foil, and bake at 350 for 15 minutes. Then uncover, and put back in at 375 for another 10 minutes.

5. Angel hair pasta with eggplant-tomato sauce
I made this dish for the first time this year, and it’s the exact turning point at which I realized I could eat way less meat and be happy. I used vegetable broth instead of chicken broth, which made it vegetarian. It turned out to be the kind of vegetarian recipe where you don’t even realize it’s vegetarian until someone points it out because it’s tasty and satisfying and doesn’t involve any suspicious meat substitutes. I’m still not vegetarian and probably never will be, but I have cut my meat intake by maybe 40%. I can’t say I’ve felt at all deprived.

6. Guacamole (from Joy of Cooking– scroll to bottom for recipe)
There is no excuse for bad store-bought guacamole when the homemade version is so easy and so much better. Yes, home-cooking advocates say this about everything, but in the case of guacamole it’s actually true. It’s almost unfair that something so amazing could be so simple, but I consider it payoff for all the times I’ve sunk my time and energy into complicated recipes that turned out to be crap. The other great thing about guacamole, of course, is that it involves no heat whatsoever– perfect for sticky August days when the stove is your worst enemy. Tip: To keep leftover guacamole green, put in a tupperware container and cover with plastic wrap, pressing down so the wrap is actually touching any surface of the guacamole that would otherwise be touching air. Then put the tupperware lid on.

7. Aloo phujia
The tastiness to effort ratio in this vegan(!) dish is off the charts. It’s also the kind of thing that makes for great leftovers the next day. I don’t imagine it’d freeze well (potatoes rarely do, right?) but I’ve never had leftovers for long enough to find out. It can get pretty spicy, so if you’re a spice wuss I suggest cutting down on the cayenne. But if you’re like me, the recipe made as is hits that sweet spot between kicky and painful.

8. Key lime pie
I’m not a dessert person. I love sour, salty, and bitter, in that order, but sweets have never been my thing. This key lime pie is sweet enough for people who actually like desserts, but lime-y (read: sour) enough for people like me. And if you don’t insist on making the crust yourself (I don’t), it’s very, very easy.

Honorable mention: Pernil
Pernil only gets an honorable mention because I didn’t actually make it myself; I’ve only watched the boyfriend make it. (His cooking expertise is probably similar to mine, which is to say, fairly low). If you have a slow cooker and can figure out where to get pork shoulder– like, say, the butcher shop– it’s a very simple recipe that makes a ton of juicy, flavorful pork. It’s also super versatile– you can use it in burritos, with barbecue sauce, in stews…

–

Guacamole (more or less as written in Joy of Cooking)

Ingredients:
- 2-3 avocados
- Juice of 1-2 limes
- 1/4 cup onion, chopped (I like red onion, but any kind works)
- 1/4 cup cilantro, chopped
- 2-3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1-2 dashes hot sauce (any kind)
- 1/2 cup diced tomatoes
- Salt & pepper “to taste,” i.e., until you have determined that it is salty and/or peppery enough.

Steps:
1. Mix everything together in a bowl.

Note to novice cooks: The wonderful thing about guac is that as long as you have avocados, it’s pretty impossible to screw up. So don’t panic if you add too much or too little of any one ingredient.

What a lovably ragtag gang of misfits!

Well, thank God that’s over.

The Walking Dead, in its first season, wasn’t a terrible show. It was something far, far more frustrating than that: an okay show that had the potential to be an incredible show. The series premiere was a wonder to behold– beautiful and eerie, humane yet brutal. And every episode since then did nothing but squander the promise of that first installment.

So I was very fucking relieved to hear last week that director Frank Darabont had fired all of his writers. I’m taking it as an acknowledgment on his part that the show hasn’t been everything it could be, as well as a sign that he has some idea of how to fix that. Much as I’ve complained about the show’s big flaws, I don’t think it’s irretrievably fucked up yet. In fact, if the first ten minutes of Sunday night’s finale proved anything, it was that the show can still be fascinating when it wants to be.

In the spirit of optimism, here are five things I’m hoping Darabont and his freelance staff will do for us next season. (Spoilers for the first season of The Walking Dead ahead.)

1. Introduce us to Rick, Shane, and Lori. I mean really introduce us.
Who the hell are these people? Oh sure, we know what they look like and what role they’re supposed to fill: the hero, the anti-hero, the female love interest whose job it is to keep the male leads from getting too bromantic. But as the main characters, shouldn’t they be more than two-dimensional types? There are occasional flashes of more compelling people there, as when we see Shane goofing around with Carl or Rick confessing to Jenner that he’s falling apart. Unfortunately, the show generally abandons these more intimate stories in favor of ones about the men yelling a lot and killing zombies. A couple of smaller, more personal moments could go a long way toward establishing what actually makes these characters tick– and why we should give a damn about them.

2. Bring back Morgan and Duane.
On a similar note, it’s killing me that the only characters I’ve connected with so far– the father-son duo from the pilot– have yet to reappear. I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t know if whether they’re planning a dramatic re-entrance or whether we’re just supposed to assume they’re dead by now. But I, for one, am still dying to find out what happened to them.

3. Do something about the laughably cheesy dialogue.
Sometimes, things that read cool on paper don’t sound cool when spoken aloud. Frankly, I’m not convinced that the obvious, overblown crap spouted by the characters on this show looks so wonderful on the page, either, but I’m willing to give the cast and crew the benefit of the doubt. At any rate, someone in the writers’ room needs to go back to second grade and learn about the art of showing, not telling. The characters on this show explicitly announce the themes of the episode and their motivations, which is hilarious some of the time and boring most of the time. There’s a place for dramatic, utterly stylized speech onscreen– no one talks like the characters from Sports Night, either– but the dialogue on The Walking Dead is both unrealistic and artless.

4. Show us some of the brutality that supposedly resides in the comics.
I haven’t read the books, but the one thing I hear from everyone who has is that they’re brutal. Like horrific, cruel, I-know-you-said-you-like-harsh-BUT-SERIOUSLY-ANGIE-this-is-off-the-rails brutal. The television show doesn’t reflect that at all. We’ve seen some human-on-human violence, but the scene with Lane’s dad on Mad Men was at least as disturbing than anything we’ve seen here. The Walking Dead clearly has aspirations toward being something original and meaningful, but has yet to show us anything we haven’t already seen in a thousand zombie movies or cable shows. Demonstrating a willingness to occasionally take the gloves off and bruise the characters– emotionally or physically– would add a welcome unpredictability to the proceedings, and might even provoke an emotional reaction from the audience, i.e., me.

5. Don’t ever bring up the Vatos again.
Seriously, what the hell was that?

No, Finn, I don't get it either.

This week’s Glee cemented an increasingly obvious fact: Will Schuester is the single worst thing about Glee. Somewhere along the line, Will has morphed from a flawed but well-meaning teacher to such a complete jackass that he needs Sue Sylvester– Sue Motherfucking Sylvester!– to act as his moral compass. I’ve begun to feel about Will the way Sue does: disgusted. And that is a problem, because the show does not seem to realize that one of its central protagonists has become the show’s nastiest villain. (Spoilers follow.)

The entire plot of “The Rocky Horror Glee Show” is built on the premise that Will is an asshole. Specifically, Will is the type of asshole who decides he’s justified in wasting other people’s time and money to put on a production of questionable appropriateness, all in order to ruin someone else’s happy relationship. And while the story ultimately has Will realizing he was in the wrong, this is the last straw for me. I can’t remember the last time a Will-centric plotline didn’t start with him being a jackass and end with him realizing he’s wrong and swearing he’ll never do it again… until the next Will-centric plotline, of course. The issue isn’t that I don’t buy the idea that Will would pull something like this, but that I absolutely do. How do you root for a guy like that?

Will’s issues aside, this episode actually wasn’t all that terrible. Which is increasingly the kind of “praise” I dole out to Glee from week to week, I’m disappointed to say. But the numbers were genuinely charming and had a sense of fun that sometimes gets lost in Glee’s flashier or soppier pieces. I particularly enjoyed the energy of “Time Warp,” and I got a kick out of seeing the characters dressed up in wacky costumes. John Stamos rocked the house with “Whatever Happened to Saturday Night,” as did Mercedes with “Sweet Transvestite.” “Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me” would’ve been a delightful showcase for the rarely heard Emma if I weren’t too busy squirming at Will’s creepiness. There was also a tiny moment during that number that I loved, where we see Brittany and Santana singing and goofing around in the hallway, a sweet vision of two teenage girls simply enjoying themselves. Finn’s subplot provided an interesting look at male body issues, an issue that’s rarely discussed on television, without falling victim Glee’s trademark hamfistedness. (The resolution was ultimately pretty dumb, but I suppose it’s consistent with how Finn’s solution to his Kurt problem last season was to don a Lady Gaga costume, and how he decided wearing sunglasses indoors was the key to popularity. Seriously, I think he thinks he can solve all his problems by wearing strange things in the school hallway.) These small touches reminded me of the Glee I like. It’s just unfortunate that the rest of the episode was given over to a nonsensical plotline lead by an unsympathetic madman.

And I do mean nonsensical. Looking for logic in Glee is like, as they say, “searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie,” but it’s hard not to roll your eyes occasionally. It’s cute that the show has Sue point it out in a meta moment– “None of this is plausible!”– but it doesn’t fix anything. How is it that New Directions is struggling to make ends meet, but has enough money to buy spectacular props and costumes for a play they don’t even end up putting on? Why are they so sure they’re going to Nationals when they didn’t even place in Regionals last year? Dare I even ask how a group of twelve kids and one teacher expects to put on a full-size theatrical production in the space of one week?

While I’m questioning things, why do none of the adult storylines make sense? If nothing else, this episode is proof that the faster the show wises up and drops the teacher storylines, the better. Much as I’ll miss Emma’s outfits and Sue’s one-liners– much as I’m rooting for Jayma Mays and Jane Lynch to enjoy long, wildly successful careers– I’d rather drop the characters altogether if it means never having to sit through another tiresome round of “Will likes Emma” and “Sue hates the Glee Club” plotlines. The previous episode, “Duets,” was the best of the season by far, and it’s no coincidence that it focused almost exclusively on the kids. But these are all complaints I could live with, and have been living with. Were the show able to make me give a rat’s ass about the central plotline and its douchebag of a protagonist, I might’ve ended up quite liking “Rocky Horror Glee Show” anyway.

…

On a side note, something about the costumes. One, Emma looks fantastic. The gray skirt and yellow belt she dons during Carl’s number was fabulous, and her green outfit from her musical number was very pretty as well. I wish I had the flair to pull that off.

Two, Will! For God’s sake! Enough with the goddamn vests! You are not Justin Timberlake, and those vests look sadder every week. I guess Will might be the kind of person who thinks trying to look like J.Tim is cool instead of douchey, but I get the feeling that Glee also thinks it makes him look cool instead of douchey. Which, no.

Do not mess with this chick.

Whenever the old “Are Judd Apatow’s movies sexist” debate gets dusted off again, someone inevitably trots out Freaks & Geeks’ Lindsay Weir as proof that Apatow and his roving band of merry potheads might not be completely allergic to decent female characters. Lindsay’s strong and smart, but has her flaws. She’s not just another generic girlfriend or sister type, but the three-dimensional protagonist of her own show. She’s a girl so many of us were (or felt like) in high school, but rarely see reflected onscreen. And for all those things, Lindsay deserves her place among Daria Morgendorffer, Veronica Mars, and Angela Chase in the pantheon of great female teen characters from the turn of the century. Bravo, Judd Apatow, Paul Feig, affiliated writers, actors, and assorted crew members!

But we’re not here to talk about her today.

No, we’re here to talk about that other underrated gem of female characterization from Freaks & Geeks: Lindsay’s friend Kim Kelly, as played by Busy Phillips. Now, I’ll admit straight off that Kim Kelly isn’t just my favorite Freaks & Geeks character, but one of my favorite television characters of all time, for reasons both personal and, uh, less personal. The personal reason is this: Kim Kelly is my id.

I was more Lindsay than Kim as a teenager, complete with my own adoptive gang of apathetic slackers, but it’s Kim that really strikes a chord with me. I’m loud and graceless like Kim is, but where I’m ruled entirely by my head, she’s governed by her heart. As someone so rational, I find something fascinating, even admirable, about that, and I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling that way. The things she screams at her boyfriend or friends are the things I think inside while out loud I say “Let’s just calm down and talk this over.” Her aggressive bullying is the kind of behavior I’d be tempted to engage in if I weren’t trying so hard to be a “good” person. And who among us hasn’t wanted to try to run over an asshole we catch hitting on our significant other? Sure, Kim’s often irrational, but what are you going to do about it? She’ll tear your head off and throw it over that fence.

There’s something gleefully subversive about Kim’s disregard for social norms. If females are socialized from birth to never impose, to stay quiet, to not take up space, you can see in Kim’s every move that the lesson didn’t stick. Busy Phillips nails Kim’s physicality perfectly. She saunters into any room (even Sam’s bedroom) like she owns it, raises her voice so she can be heard, and doesn’t mind shoving people aside if they’re in her way. It’s true that all the freaks defy conventional manners– much of the show’s humor come from just that– but it’s especially exciting to see a girl who does it. Think of, say, Apatow’s later work, or the female-oriented romcoms of Katherine Heigl. It’s almost always the men behaving crassly, while the women purse their lips in polite disapproval. I’m not saying Kim’s rudeness is model behavior, but it’s not so bad or unusual, either. Women like her exist, and it’s refreshing to see that acknowledged. Like Lindsay, Kim is a character we recognize ourselves in, but hardly ever see in mainstream pop culture.

Of course, there’s more to Kim than just her fantastic bitchiness– there’s also an innocence to her that’s funny at times, and poignant at others. She may be a hellcat, but she hasn’t hardened yet. To the contrary, she is, as her boyfriend Daniel puts it, “the rawest nerve there is.” This vulnerability is most clearly emphasized in Episode 4, “Kim Kelly is My Friend,” as we follow Kim through what I’d call the worst day of her life it weren’t painfully apparent that days like this are all too normal for her. She calls Daniel’s unfaithful behavior typical, but is still heartbroken when she catches him in the act; she’s quick to argue with her parents, but seems genuinely upset when an actual fight transpires. Kim is a girl who’s come to expect the worst, but has yet to stop hoping for the best, and that quality adds a depth to her bitchy-girl act that pushes it from amusing schtick to fully realized persona.

Notable, too, is the way Kim is framed in Freaks & Geeks– not from a male gaze, or even as a female protagonist’s accessory, but as an independent person with her own history, personality, and thoughts. It’s the difference between a bad girl stereotype and a strong, compelling character. Bad girls have been male fantasy fodder for ages and ages, when they’re not busy serving as punchlines or punching bags, but Kim isn’t any of those. Kim’s more in the vein of the more recent Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, who was lauded for defying all the usual notions of what a female character “should” be like, and for doing it as her own woman, rather than as some guy’s quirky plaything or a convenient plot device.

So I saute you, Kim Kelly. For being as obnoxious and lewd as any of the characters Seth Rogen’s ever played, for acting out all the evil that I couldn’t, for reminding the world that not all ladies are ladylike, for proving that a female character can be bad on her own terms. Lindsay may get all the praise– doesn’t she always?– but you’ll always be my favorite.

(Note: Photo credit for the above goes to Daydreaming.)

I’m of two minds on the ongoing “Is The Social Network sexist?” debate. Seeing as how it’s based on a true story, and misogyny is one of Movie Mark Zuckerberg’s traits (I cannot speak to Real Mark Zuckerberg, and henceforth “Zuckerberg” will refer to the cinematic version unless otherwise noted), I’m not going to argue that the movie should’ve been stuffed with awesome female characters. Much as I love to complain about the dearth of interesting female roles in mainstream American cinema, even I don’t believe that a story must necessarily include strong women or else be condemned as sexist. At the same time, there’s little to love about the way females are depicted when they do appear in the film, and it’s not always clear that it’s just the characters who are sexist. (Spoilers for The Social Network follow, although considering it’s based on a well-known true story I’m not sure how much I could really ruin…)

“It’s not hard to understand how bright women could be appalled”

Screenwriter Aaron Sorkin himself responded to the sexism question yesterday in Ken Levine’s blog. First of all, kudos to him for taking the discussion seriously instead of just getting defensive or simply ignoring it. However, his argument seems to boil down to “But it’s all real, I was just trying to be accurate, I swear.” And you know what? I’m not buying it. As a screenwriter, it’s Sorkin’s prerogative, his job really, to embellish or edit the truth as he sees fit, and that’s exactly what he does. Great. But he can’t then turn around and argue that his movie can’t be sexist because he’s just trying to be true to life. It was a decision to make Zuckerberg as sexist as he is, it was a decision to include the Fuck Truck and the Victoria’s Secret groupies, and I wish Sorkin would own up to that instead of arguing that events as portrayed in the movie are just plain old truth. It’s an especially disingenuous defense in light of the fact that Real Zuckerberg had a girlfriend during most of the events depicted in the movie. In fact, they’re still together. Does that mean Real Zuckerberg isn’t sexist? Would Movie Priscilla Chan have been a welcome feminist influence? Look, for all I know, Real Zuckerberg makes Mel Gibson look like Gloria Steinem and Real Priscilla Chan is a bitch from hell. But knowing such a significant part of Real Zuckerberg’s life was omitted in the cinematic adaptation suggests that Sorkin’s portrayal of Movie Zuckerberg as an unequivocally bitter, lonely man is probably somewhat simplistic, and perhaps also that Sorkin could’ve included a strong female presence if he’d wanted to.

Revenge of the nerds

Not that I’m upset Sorkin wrote Zuckerberg with a strong sexist streak. It’s an interesting character detail that fits with the narrative Sorkin’s chosen. And Sorkin is very aware of how problematic Zuckerberg’s (and his friends’) attitude is:

More generally, I was writing about a very angry and deeply misogynistic group of people. These aren’t the cuddly nerds we made movies about in the 80’s. They’re very angry that the cheerleader still wants to go out with the quarterback instead of the men (boys) who are running the universe right now. The women they surround themselves with aren’t women who challenge them (and frankly, no woman who could challenge them would be interested in being anywhere near them.)

Zuckerberg’s misogyny– and misanthropy, really– is painted as a big flaw that leads to his being alone and unhappy, and his guide to the soulless world of elite clubs and fast women is his deeply fucked up colleague Sean Parker. In some ways, The Social Network’s angry, woman-hating nerd is a refreshing change of pace from the more insidious sexism of, say, those romcoms where you’re supposed to believe that the self-absorbed jerk somehow deserves the intelligent hottie at the end. But Sorkin’s point is lost if the audience doesn’t understand that Zuckerberg is sexist, and that the unpleasant depictions of femininity seen in the movie are an artistic decision, not an objective reality.

In defense of Fuck Trucks and slutty college coeds

It’s apparent from the very first minutes of the film that Zuckerberg has issues with women, as evidenced by his treatment of his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend and his reaction to their breakup. There’s also the first final club party sequence, which represents what Zuckerberg thinks he wants out of life: prestige, acceptance, bitches, and hoes (completely irrelevant tangent: You know that not-entirely-necessary comma after “bitches”? It’s called a Harvard comma). The camera, reflecting Zuckerberg’s viewpoint, loves to linger on shots of superhot women slutting it up for rich, successful men, whether at final club parties or Facebook celebrations. I get that much of this leering is to show how Zuckerberg sees women, so I’m not entirely against it. And if the final club bash seems sensationalized, hey– for one thing, it’s Hollywood, and for another, I absolutely believe that this is how Zuckerberg would’ve imagined those shindigs. I won’t protest that it’s wildly inaccurate, either. Slutty college girls are a fact of university life, as are slutty college boys, and I mean that in the most sex-positive way possible. And that Fuck Truck? It’s definitely sexified for the big screen, but it’s not wholly made-up; my alma mater also had a “Fuck Bus” that connected our campus to the women’s colleges nearby. (We weren’t clever enough to come up with the more poetic “Fuck Truck,” but I guess that’s just the kind of brilliance you only see at Harvard.) Point being: The sexed-up depictions of young women have at least some basis in reality and, more importantly, they make sense for Zuckerberg’s perspective.

Marilyn, Erica, & Christy

However, there’s a fine line between indulging in misogyny to get inside a character’s head and indulging it for its own sake, and it’s not always obvious where that line is.  Zuckerberg may be the asshole who sees women as props or prizes, but there isn’t a whole lot in the film to suggest he’s wrong, either. Sorkin does offer a more positive view of femaleness in the form two characters: Marilyn, part of Zuckerberg’s legal team; and Erica, Movie Zuckerberg’s levelheaded ex. Whether they’re actually successful at neutralizing the misogyny is debatable. They’re not badly written– Erica, in particular, gets one beautifully incisive kiss-off line that I’m saving for the next time I hear a “nice guy” whining about his inability to score chicks– but isn’t much substance to them. Erica is more symbol than person, and Marilyn isn’t given enough time or space to demonstrate any sort of personality. In the end, they’re two minor counterexamples standing against a veritable sea of strung out, tarted up Barbies bimbo clones.

Moreover, the other significant-ish female character, Christy, is the ultimate strung out, tarted up bimbo clone, and a complete psycho to boot. She throws herself at Eduardo and, later, sits around dumbly while the boys create Facebook around her. Then in the middle of the film, she suddenly becomes an insane person who calls Eduardo a million times a day, sets his bed on fire, and then wonders why he doesn’t love her. Is she mentally ill, or are we missing a colossal chunk of character development? Without that answer, Christy’s erratic behavior invites us to assume that bitches be crazy just because that’s how bitches are. And either way, it’s an incredibly shallow portrayal of one of the few female characters who figure into the story. Contrast this to a major male character who’s portrayed in a mainly negative light– Sean Parker. It’s obvious there’s something off about him, and as it turns out, he’s an unhinged druggie and all-around jerk. But at every point, he remains recognizably human. We at least understand what makes him tick, even if what makes him tick is an overblown ego and a generous dose of cocaine.

A better way?

Because it’s based in fact, I’m not advocating that Sorkin invent a close female sidekick for Zuckerberg, or rewrite the Winklevosses to be female, simply for the sake of making it more “equal.” That would be unreasonable. But even with Erica and Marilyn tilting the scale, sane, non-skanky women are definitely the exception to the rule in The Social Network. I wonder if some subtle additions might have helped balance the misogynistic tone– a female competitor for the internship, for example, or a female programmer at the Bill Gates talk, or a female Facebook employee who doesn’t end up stripping down so Sean Parker can snort coke off her tits. The tech industry may be something of a boys’ club, but I don’t believe minor adjustments like this are so dramatically unrealistic that they would’ve ruined the film. Slipping in a few female extras who don’t fit Zuckerberg’s narrow-minded notions would’ve made Marilyn and Erica seem less like anomalies and more like part of a larger framework of competent, reasonable women. Of course, I’m not a filmmaker and I can’t say for certain how these adjustments would’ve affected the film as a whole. But I think they could’ve been a quiet way to emphasize that it’s Zuckerberg that’s the problem, not the women of Harvard or Silicon Valley, without distracting from the main character or the story at hand.

Whose misogyny is it, anyway?

As I see it, whether The Social Network is sexist depends heavily on how much of the film’s misogynist slant you attribute to Movie Zuckerberg’s perspective, and how much of it you think comes from Sorkin’s or Fincher’s. There’s no question that the film is full of “groupies, sexed-up Asians, vengeful sluts, and feminist killjoys,” but it seems reasonable to the extent that it’s the character’s attitude– and I believe most of it is. I also appreciate that sexism is not seen as a positive trait (it’s more common than you’d want to think), and that Sorkin at least tries to show examples of women who don’t fit these awful stereotypes. On the other hand, I can’t help wondering how a Movie Priscilla might have shifted the balance, and I wish the film had done more in general to present the sexism as Mark’s attitude and not unembellished fact. There’s also the fact that The Social Network is part of a greater culture that regularly demeans women to the level of prizes or props. Whatever Sorkin’s intentions, Zuckerberg’s attitude may not read as a problem to all viewers. In those cases, seeing these stereotypes reflected on the big screen would serve to perpetuate them instead of argue against them.

But you know? For a movie about an arrogant, sexist jerk, it’s not so bad. This is not a feminist film, and it doesn’t need to be. But an acknowledgment that the treatment of women as objects and prizes is problematic is a step in the right direction. So in the end, the question of whether or not The Social Network is sexist is not as simple as black or white. But then again, neither is anything else in the film.

Why are a bunch of high schoolers in a cubicle? Who cares? The important thing is that they look good.

Loving Glee has been a singularly frustrating experience. When it’s good, it’s brilliant, poignant, hilarious, and like nothing else on television. When it’s bad, it’s so cringe-inducingly awful that it’s embarrassing to admit you’re actually following this show. I keep watching because so far the good has outweighed the bad, and because despite the occasionally horrendous writing, I’ve come to like and care about the characters. But hot damn, this show needs to pull it together.

I’m sick of the repetitive “OMG Glee Club is getting shut down!” storylines, Sue’s decreasingly amusing and increasingly pointless vendetta against Glee Club, the completely unearned moments of treacle, and the ridiculous notion that Will is actually a good teacher. I hate that a breathtakingly talented cast is being wasted in musical numbers that are essentially glorified karaoke– what’s the point of a cover if it sounds exactly like the original? And most of all, I want to tear my hair out every time an episode like “Dream On” reminds me of what Glee could be if it actually tried to be good.

And yet, I am going to tune in tonight, because goddamnit, I’m hoping against hope that Glee will have learned its lessons and righted itself. At its very very best, Glee can make you cry and laugh and cry again in the same episode, and leave you humming a catchy tune that won’t leave your head for days. The effect can be powerfully addictive, and it’s the reason I’ve been willing to tolerate all the dumb parts. So I’m daring to hope that we’ll have more of those sweet Kurt moments and hilarious Brittany/Santana ones, and less of all that absurd shit I listed above. I’m dying for more “Run Joey Run”-style campfests and heartfelt “Defying Gravity”s to replace the lazy “Ice Ice Baby” numbers. Bring back Joss Whedon and Mike O’Malley! I want to spend another season cheering for these crazy kids and fawning over Emma’s cute outfits and quoting Sue’s one-liners. I just don’t know if I truly believe any of these things will actually happen.

If this feels familiar, it’s because this is just how I felt at the start of Season 3 of Heroes– and we all know how that ended. Then again, this is also how I felt about Season 3 of Friday Night Lights– and we know how that turned out, too. If I were the betting type, though, I’d put my money on the former. If the back half of the first season is any indication, it seems the writers have more interest in giving the fans and networks the superficial dazzle they think we want, rather than surprising us by raising the bar. But I’m begging you, Glee– please, please prove me wrong.

Scott and the gang wonder how this is gonna go down.

As you may or may not have read, I love the Scott Pilgrim series– I think they’re lovable, smart, and funny works. I don’t love the movie on the same level, but I nevertheless think it’s a breathtakingly original work of pop art, and a perfect summer movie to boot. So the last thing I want to think about are the ways in which Scott Pilgrim may be a tad problematic in its portrayal of people-who-aren’t-straight-white-men, but what kind of obnoxious humorless feminist would I be if I just let that go? Here we go with another battle: Scott Pilgrim Vs. The Three Evil -Isms.

Round 1: Scott Pilgrim Vs. Sexism

Ramona Flowers in business mode.

It’s not news that Edgar Wright’s Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (that’s the film version) been accused of misogyny by a handful of film writers. Personally, I think that’s a bit harsh, especially when you compare Scott Pilgrim to other mainstream films, and even more so when you compare it to movies aimed at young men. Think Sin City. Think Knocked Up– Katherine Heigl may be annoying, but it doesn’t mean she was wrong. Yeah. As I see it, the problem with Scott Pilgrim isn’t its hatred of women, but the somewhat lesser crime of being woefully typical in its thoughtless sexism.

One of my biggest problems with the film was how much the female characters, particularly Ramona, lost the complexity of their comic-book counterparts to become mere props in Scott’s tale. Book-Ramona may have started off as just a mysterious hottie that Scott’s suddenly crushing on, but as Bryan Lee O’Malley expands her personality and background, she becomes much, much more than that. The– let’s face it– pretty sexist conceit of a man having to defeat his beloved’s past lovers before he can claim her turns out to be anything but; instead, it’s just a unique way of explaining how our pasts follow all of us. (It’s worth noting that Scott’s exes come into play, too, if in a less organized fashion.) Book-Ramona has agency. While it’s Scott who initially pursues her, she gets to choose whether or not she wants to be with him– and for a time, she doesn’t. When Scott and Ramona finally get together, we know that it’s as much a leap of faith and love for her as it is for him.

Movie-Ramona, on the other hand, is unable to let go of Gideon primarily because of a creepy chip he’s implanted into her neck. It’s an irritatingly shallow way of explaining why a girl might go back to her ex: If a girl dumps you, it’s obviously not because she doesn’t like you or she still has feelings for her ex! It must be because he’s literally controlling her! Similarly, she remains frustratingly passive during Scott and Gideon’s big showdown. She only springs into action when she’s attacked by Knives, and then it’s merely in self-defense, not because she wants to fight for Scott. She does eventually land a final blow that helps Scott triumph, but it’s a very small gesture compared to the way she watched indifferently for most of their fight. Even afterward, she winds up with Scott not because she displays any specific interest in doing so but because he chases after her.

The film’s portrayal of Scott’s other love interests, Envy and Knives, aren’t much better. Envy’s a shallow femme fatale type who breaks Scott’s heart apparently just because she’s mean. Knives fits the little Asian schoolgirl stereotype to a T (more on that later) and doesn’t seem to have anything going on beyond her obsession with Scott. There’s a halfhearted attempt to flesh her out by having her move on, but we still don’t know who she is outside of her big Scott crush. Julie, Stacey, and Kim fare somewhat better, but they (like most of the supporting cast) are mere bystanders in a larger plotline. It’s not enough to make up for the way the more central female characters are treated. Like Ramona, Envy, Knives, Kim, and everyone else are much more substantial in the books.

Bottom Line: Calling Scott Pilgrim misogynistic is an exaggeration. It’s not so much malicious about as neglectful of its female characters, like Scott himself. But two-hour-limit or no, it’s disappointing that the cinematic versions of its female characters are a huge step– or several steps– down from the literary ones.

Winner: Scott Pilgrim for the books, Sexism for the movie.

Round 2: Scott Pilgrim Vs. Racism

Scott Pilgrim: the Justin Bieber of Toronto.

These are the facts: There are four Asian characters in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World. Two of them– the Katayanagi twins– literally don’t speak a single word. Two more– Knives Chau and Matthew Patel– draw heavily from stereotypes. Actually, I suppose there are five if you count Knives’ friend Tamara. But as she’s essentially a glorified extra, I don’t.

Let’s start with Matthew Patel. I’m pleased to see an Indian person in a movie who doesn’t speak with a comically thick accent, and who’s more ass-kicking hipster than clueless dork. However, I was a little less excited to see him bust out a Bollywood number. Correct me if I’m wrong, but in the books, there’s nothing explicitly Bollywood about his performance. Sure, it’s fun to watch, and yes, the film pokes at stereotypes of all sorts. But it’s an instance where I wasn’t thinking about the character in racial terms until the film brought it up.

Next, the Katayanagi twins. This is another instance in which the books’ length allowed these characters to breathe and grow, but the movie’s short running time demands that they be whittled down. The Katayanagis are possibly the least interesting of Ramona’s exes, but they nonetheless play a key role in the separation of Scott and Ramona at the end of Book 5. In the movie, not only do they have zero lines, we don’t even get their backstory as we do with Ramona’s other exes.

Knives plays a much larger role in the film than either Matthew Patel or the Katayanagi twins, so there’s more to unpack with her. Slashfilm’s Dave Chen posted a couple of discussions a while back about whether or not the film’s version of Knives was racist. I think it’s a little more complicated than that. There’s no denying that she’s an Asian schoolgirl stereotype– an innocent, giggly pixie in a Catholic school uniform. Scott also makes it a point early on to let people know she’s Chinese, and when she asks him to her house for dinner he asks, “Like Chinese food?” I should point out that the the story is told from Scott’s perspective. He’s the one who’s unable to see her as more than just an Asian schoolgirl, and his ignorance, not her Asianness, is what’s played for laughs. I get that, and yes, it is funny. But I cringe a little to think of the joke in the wrong hands. Will certain people not get the joke and decide that constantly referring to a character’s race is what makes the moment humorous?

It’s true that Knives’ race becomes less of an issue as the movie goes along, and as I acknowledged above, the movie pokes fun at all sorts of stereotypes. On the other hand, if Knives stops being so defined by her ethnicity, it’s only because she starts being defined by her fixation on Scott. The book gives Knives a pretty strong arc that lets her move gradually from a ditzy high schooler to a smart, interesting young woman. (Tamara, if you’re wondering, doesn’t have much more to do in the books than she does in the movie.) The film attempts the same, but it’s too rushed to be believable. Knives’ eagerness to forgive Scott felt forced and unnatural, and I found myself wishing she’d made him pay at least a little bit for being such a dick to her. As it was, the “white man screws over Asian girl, but all is forgiven” plot reminded me in a small but unpleasant way of the stereotype of the submissive Asian woman.

Of course I don’t think Wright or anyone else involved diminished the Asian characters’ roles for racial reasons. All of the characters’ parts were significantly reduced; a two-hour film just doesn’t have the luxury of time that a six-book series does. But it’s unfortunate that after everything they cut out, what they chose to keep was the stereotypes. It stings to see yet another missed opportunity to highlight interesting Asian characters in mainstream American* cinema.

Bottom Line: So, is Scott Pilgrim racist? As I said about its alleged misogyny– not more than any other big American film. And once again, the real tragedy is not that it’s worse than the other films out there, but that there was potential for it to be so much better.

Winner: Scott Pilgrim for the books, a draw for the movie.

Scott Pilgrim Vs. Homophobia (sorry there’s no catch “-ism” name…)

Wallace does not approve of how lengthy this article is getting.

I’ll say this straight off the bat: When it comes to Wallace Wells, Scott Pilgrim resoundingly gets it right, both on paper and on screen. He is a rare example of a well-done gay sidekick. As Film Drunk’s Vince Mancini notes, Wallace “manages to do a lot of stereotypically gay things (he’s a flirt, he’s a gossip, he’s always horny, etc.), without coming off as the usual, tired, gay stereotype.”

First of all, he’s most definitely gay. Not as in “effeminate” or “fashion-obsessed” or “inclined to refer to the straight protagonist as ‘girlfriend,’”– as in “attracted to men.” Demonstrably so. Unlike, say, certain gay television characters, he actually hooks up with other guys onscreen. Second, that’s not all he is. Sure, he has some stereotypically gay affectations, but it’s not the be-all, end-all to his persona. There’s an essential Wallace-ness that goes beyond those shallow mannerisms. In addition to being sassy and flirtatious, he’s pragmatic, caring, and clever. Were he to magically wake up straight– and “straight-acting”– tomorrow, he’d still be recognizably Wallace.

Third, Wallace’s homosexuality is a non-issue with the other characters. His friends are supportive to the point of being totally nonchalant; his homosexuality is no more impressive to them than Scott’s heterosexuality. And that’s refreshing. Look, the world needs frank discourse and public service announcements and tear-jerking episodes of Glee about Burt Hummel’s struggle to accept his son’s sexual orientation. Great strides have been made that way, and I’m not knocking them. But we don’t have to go through that every time. I’m not gay, but I suspect that for most gay folks, life is not actually just a series of teaching moments. So it’s encouraging to encounter a character who happens to be gay, rather than a character who’s defined by being gay.

The book series takes its gay-friendly stance even further with Stephen Stills’ plot arc, which was cut entirely from the film. In the novels, Stephen starts off as straight, but ultimately enters a relationship with another man and comes out to his friends. After the initial surprise wears off, both for Scott and for the readers, O’Malley goes back to treating it like it’s not a big deal. Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” was laughable in its attempt to portray girl-on-girl kissing as risque, years after it actually stopped being such. But the idea that men, too, might dabble in gay action is still rarely discussed (my love Tom Hardy’s casual admission notwithstanding), and the fact that O’Malley presents it with so little fanfare makes it that much more progressive.

Perhaps the female counterpart to Stephen’s relationship with Joseph is Kim and Knives’ drunken makeout session– also only present in the books. Contrary to the way mainstream television and film usually portrays girl-on-girl action, it’s presented as an experience that Kim and Knives have for their own pleasure rather than to titillate men. Although Scott catches them, O’Malley presents the incident as part of Knives’ character arc, rather than an apropos-of-nothing scene of two hot chicks making out.

Things get murkier with Ramona’s ex Roxy Richter. Ramona in the films refers to her lesbianism as “a phase,” while Scott calls it “a sexy phase.” But experimentation and sexual flexibility are part of the modern sexual landscape, and the story (in both forms) takes Roxy seriously as one of Ramona’s ex-suitors. Ramona may have decided to start dating men again, but it doesn’t invalidate her history with this woman. Nor does Roxy fall into the lame old stereotype of either the mannish butch or the sex-kitten femme. So far, so good.

Where we run into trouble is the big way that the Roxy battle differs between the book and the movie. In O’Malley’s version, Scott defeats Roxy by slicing her with a sword. It’s not too different from the way that most of Ramona’s other exes go. But in Wright’s, Scott hits a certain part of her leg to trigger a what appears to be an orgasm. My best guess is that Wright felt the image of the ostensible hero attacking a woman would be too troubling for viewers. I really wish he’d found a different workaround, because I think this sexual humiliation is even more disturbing. Don’t get me wrong– it’s a lighthearted scene, and Roxy’s treated with the same affection and humor as the other evil exes. But the idea that lesbians just need a good man is an old and dangerous one that’s been used to justify emotional and physical violence. While Scott Pilgrim certainly never goes that far, I’d rather not see echoes of it at all.

Bottom Line: Wright’s version deserves criticism for the way Roxy’s battle ends. Otherwise, Scott Pilgrim is very gay-friendly, and the fact that it doesn’t make a fuss about how gay-friendly it is makes it even more so. Once the Kurt Hummels are done making peace with their fathers, this is what we can expect to see: People accepting sexual orientation as just another character trait, rather than an defining characteristic or an challenge to overcome.

Winner: Scott Pilgrim, on both fronts.

The Final Analysis

Drumroll please...

By these measures, O’Malley’s original series is actually rather progressive. Asian men successfully date white women. (Kim Pine, at some point, also briefly dates an Asian man.) Women have inner lives as complicated and varied as the men. Homosexuality is a non-issue. Best of all, he doesn’t act like any of this is particularly groundbreaking. It’s heartening to think that this might become the new normal. O’Malley’s protagonist may start off a doofus who thinks of Knives as an accessory and and Ramona as a prize, but he eventually learns better.

Wright’s adaptation, on the other hand, is much more problematic. I honestly believe that it’s a differences are an issue of time and space rather than intent, but we can only judge what’s onscreen. The film’s problematic aspects are somewhat more forgivable if you take the view that 1) events and characters are portrayed as seen from Scott’s perspectives and 2) from the audience’s perspective, Scott himself is the butt of the joke because he’s the ignorant one. I, for one, buy both of those things. Based on the way the other characters are shown, we might gather that Scott is a little bit sexist, a little bit racist, and a little bit dismissive of lesbianism. Now, Scott is far from a perfect hero, and he’s not presented as such. But will audiences pick up that these ugly prejudices are part of his flaws, along with his laziness and whininess? Or are they so close to the stereotypes that we in the audience already have that we’ll giggle without giving them a second thought?

Wright seems to be presenting these stereotypes knowingly and with tongue firmly in cheek, but he never goes so far as to offer us any alternatives. At the end of the day, we’re still seeing the same tired portrayals of women as trophies, young Asian women as lovelorn schoolgirls, and Indian men as Bollywood stars. Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World may not be actively endorsing these stereotypes, but by showing them without refutation, it’s unwittingly doing its part to perpetuate them.

* If I’m not mistaken, despite its British director and Canadian setting, Scott Pilgrim is still considered an American production. IMDb, at least, agrees with me.