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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

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Let our cities burn. Let human traffickers fling smuggled toddlers over the border wall. Let Navy surgeons castrate newly-female recruits like Ginzu-wielding Benihana chefs on meth.

Just please: stop the deluge of drag queen content swamping our nation.

…

But Drag Queen Story Hour, of course, is all about enraging conservatives. After all, it’s no fun psychologically abusing toddlers unless earnest Christian mothers are outside shouting scripture into bullhorns.

(Tip: Truly radical parents wishing to expose their children to men in long gowns who have rejected mainstream society in favor of reading stories about love and humility can find that going on every Sunday at your local Roman Catholic church.)

Mercifully, the pandemic put a shiv into the bloated, hairy gut of the DQ story hour.

Unfortunately, post-pandemic, these freaks in fright wigs are back with a fierce vengeance—and the backing of every corporation in America.

…

I am old enough to remember the days when drag queens were pure adult camp, and they were all in on the joke. In ancient times, back in the ‘80s and ‘90s, performers like Lady Bunny and RuPaul became famous in the New York club scene with their caricatured costumes and kitschy personas. They were imitating women in highly exaggerated ways—like a minstrel show only with fake boobs instead of blackface.

Lady Bunny was hired to spice up parties, with her spirited wit and four-foot-high bouffant wigs. It was cool to spot her at a party; you knew it was the place to be when you glimpsed the platinum Dolly wig. The act was meant to elicit a knowing titter from the well-heeled crowd. I once partied with Blaine Trump, Linda Carter (the original Wonder Woman), and Lady Bunny at the Met Gala. (Don’t tell my kids.)

Drag in these ancient times wasn’t a sexual identity or a gender or a “lifestyle choice.” It wasn’t a kink or a fetish. It was simply a performance. Drag was a gag, and the person under the Tammy Faye wig was, always, a “cis” gay man, usually on copious amounts of snortables.

Today, the performers have been reduced to grotesqueries and progressive political hacks. The drag queens are tired, they look bad, and worst of all, they are painfully immune to the spark of wit that long defined the form. Instead of skewering celebrity culture and themselves, they aspire to be celebrities, with all of the lowbrow earnestness.

Never in my wildest imaginings did I think that these dudes would one day become corporate spokesmen for, among others, The Walt Disney Corporation.

…

After all, why limit the customer pool for $300 Elsa gowns to biological girls? It’s a move the CFO probably came up with. Now your little boy can live out his dream as Sleeping Beau! Ari the little Merboy! Mo the Polynesian prince!

Your little Princess Charming will not want to miss Amazon’s upcoming Cinderella remake for children starring “non-binary” actor Billy Porter as the “Fairy Godperson,” or “Fab G” as the character is called. “Magic has no gender!” Porter declared.

Magic isn’t real and binary gender is, you start to argue, but then you take the easy way out and toss yourself out a window.

…

Let me explain something to our refined culture overlords: drag is not counterculture, radical, edgy, shocking, interesting, or artistically relevant. Drag queens are lame. Drag is cringe. Drag is a huge bore.

These fools should heed the prophetic words of Barack Obama’s mentor, Saul Alinsky, who wrote as one of his Rules for Radicals: “A tactic that drags on too long becomes a drag.” Literally!

No one asked for drag to be our new national pastime. No one wanted this—especially not parents of little kids. But giant entertainment corporations no longer give audiences what they want; they simply comply with the loudest demands.

We don’t want it, we all hate it, so we’re going to get lots more of it: creepy middle-aged men wearing Spanx lecturing us about our children and their genital preferences.

…

The other reason drag is now ubiquitous is obvious: the LGBT lobby has moved on from caring about gay men, especially white ones. They are all on the trans train now. If you are a white, cis gay man, how can you stay relevant? How will you get an acting gig when the diversity quota drones are looking for anyone but you, a basic white male without talent, charisma, or discernible skill?

You do what you must to survive: you put on the hooker dress, grow out your beard, and strap on the triple-D prosthetics. Kids love those, after all.

Sorry, white gays: you will soon be replaced with the new drag queen, who like Billy Porter and Harry Styles is nonbinary, pansexual, and gender free, and not a prisoner of outdated ideas like “gay” or “man” or “performer.” These new drag queens are authentic. It’s not just a costume; it’s who they really are.

To this next-gen queen, drag is not just an act. It is pure self-expression of their truest form.

To us, drag is the terminal culture of a culture out of ideas.

Besides, if I want to watch talentless hacks pretending to have fun, I’ll just watch the Oscars.

#peachy keenan #the american mind

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bluestockingbaby · 4 years ago

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ThreepennyStar OperaCo

Yo, my boy Squiggle cooked up these theatrical arrangements. These aren’t in the chronological order of the show’s events, but I might run with this idea later. Also, can you imagine Berthold Brecht directing Succession? It would be even more perfect than it already is. Ballad of Mack the Knife- Gil Eavis singing about Waystar Royco, with the biographer taking notes and going around to all other main characters at various parts.

Peachum’s Morning Hymn- A duet between Logan singing to Kendall and Kendall, who hates his life, singing to himself

Instead-of Song- Everyone dunking on Shiv’s engagement to Tom

Wedding Song- Sadly and ominously sung at the TomShiv wedding after Kendall kills the NRPI caterer

Pirate Jenny- Marcia’s big song, Gerri gets a reprise of at least one verse at some point

Cannon Song- Kendall and Stewy being homoerotic corporate sharks

Love Song- Connor singing to Willa about his love and political aspirations, out of touch with reality

Barbara Song- Lady Caroline Collingswood, but everyone ignores her, and she only gets a verse or two in before she is superseded by the other characters.

Melodrama and Polly’s Song- Logan and Marcia, in a mostly cynical and detached fashion, Kendall and Rava, Kendall and Naomi Pierce

Ballad of Sexual Dependency- Shiv about all of her brothers's love lives

Tango Ballad- Roman acting pervy and bragging while Tabitha is like “lol never happened”

Ballad of the Pleasant Life- Roman’s snappy tension-breaking number

Jealousy Duet- Shiv and Rhea Jarell fighting over Waystar Royco

What Keeps Mankind Alive- Logan denounces the Pierces, Stewy sings it to Kendall as he betrays him.

Song of the Independency of Human Endeavor- The main song that runs through the show, sung by the trio of Kendall, Roman and Shiv, Tom sings it to Greg with romantic yet bullying undertones, Logan sings it to everyone at one point or another.

Solomon Song- Gerri but it's unclear whether she’s singing about Roman or Logan, Greg singing about the whole Roy family.

Call from the Grave- S1 finale of the failed corporate takeover, probably the series finale

Epitaph- Kendall snaps in the S2 finale, probably the series finale Third Threepenny Finale- Replaced with Kendall’s "The Ballad of L to the OG” which fulfills the same purpose as the Third Threepenny Finale even within the text, as it's an absurdist ending that satirically glorifies the current ruler, employs the techniques of the theatre of alienation by being incongruously awful and lazy, and plays on the audience’s expectations of a happy ending.

Literally no one asked for this, but I was listening to Threepenny Opera and I found that with a little tweaking and recontextualizing, the songs map really well onto parts of Succession, and I came up with a whole Threepenny Opera/Succession AU. I will elaborate on this.

I AM WAITING WITH BAITED BREATH

#succession #succession hbo #threepenny opera #aus and metafiction #threepennystar operaco #lesbiancolumbo #asks #my posts

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salmagundimagazine · 7 years ago

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DOWNTON ABBEY: ANGLOPHILIA IS EMBARRASSING by Katherine Fusco

from Salmagundi, Summer 2017 [The TV Issue]

A little past the show’s midway point, I began having the same conversation with all my friends about Downton Abbey.

“Are you still watching it?”

“Ugh. No, we got stuck in the rape plot.”

Finishing the show’s final seasons required a committed fortitude.

Sitting next to my husband on the couch, I reached for some popcorn.

“Are we still in the rape plot?”

“Mmm, I think it’s a murder plot now,” he corrected me.

The good maid Anna’s rape and its half-lives ended the show’s appeal for many.

It’s not that we’re so opposed to watching brutality on a weeknight. I’ve eaten many a taco salad while watching the women of Game of Thrones bent over the furniture; I’ve seen men shivved while coaxing the baby to nurse; and once, we watched a body dissolved in a bathtub while drinking boxed wine.

We watchers of quality television, we can stomach a rape.

And yet, Anna’s rape and the show’s many returns to the event throughout the later seasons elicit something ugly: “Why can’t they drop that?” “I’m so sick of the rape plot.”

The most justifiable version of our aversion to the rape is that we see the creators of Downton, along with the producers of the other, more violent television we consume, treating rape as a mere plot device.

And yet, I suspect it’s something else. My hunch is that Anna’s rape by a rakish footman felt like a betrayal to American viewers who had grown accustomed to the show’s other pleasures. Sometimes despite ourselves.

Ten or twenty years ago, I would not have watched Downton Abbey. I would have distanced myself from those who did.

On a recent visit to a grad school friend, I caught a flicker of that old feeling. She’d gotten herself on a mailing list that must have been taken from PBS or NPR donors, or the multitude of New Yorker subscribers, with issues perilously towered between toilet and sink. Maybe the targets were literature teachers like us.

The catalog sold Far Side “School for the Gifted” sweatshirts alongside mugs with the phrase “She who must be obeyed” lettering their shiny bellies. The kind of tchotchkes you might buy for your AB/Fab-watching mother for Christmas when you are a teenager and you don’t care to know anything very specific about your parents’ wants and desires. Have a Starry Nights umbrella; have a magnet of The David in a Hawaiian shirt.

My friend and I, too old, responsible, and inclined to acid reflux to drink and smoke as we did in school, lie on her living room floor, eating takeout, sipping beer, and playing a game wherein we have to pick one item from each of the catalogue’s embarrassing pages that we would be willing to own. Not surprisingly, amidst products both smugly literate and earnestly aspirational, a large Downton Abbey spread features a large cornucopia of goods we agree are the worst: lace-edged nightgowns, plated mirrors and hairbrushes, imitation jewelry, and DVD box sets detailing life in manor houses. “These are so horrible,” we whisper, “they aren’t even funny.”

The consumer of these Downton baubles, the glittering imitation brooches—she is everything I tried not to be as a young woman. When you are a girl and a bookworm, choices can feel limited.

Indeed, I still feel the limited possibilities for female identification whenever I watch a television show on which more than one woman appears. On the one hand, shows that pass the Bechdel test by presenting women with interests — as opposed to the singular “hot girl” amongst the boys — seem admirable, but I still feel the pressure of the typological when presented with a range of women: Are you a Carrie or a Samantha, a Marnie or a Shoshanna, a Lady Mary or, God forbid, a Lady Edith?

As a bookish girl, seeking others like me—readers of a serious sort—I was dismayed by the stereotype that came into focus: She loved kittens, wore dowdy pastels, ran to the mousy, would never be cool, never seem sexy or edgy. She was the girl who thought it would be fun to go to high tea. In my mind, there was one source and one icon to blame for the image of the female reader that so haunted me: England, and Jane Austen’s England in particular.

I became a student of American literature; like my country, I was too young and without enough of a sense of history to have paid much attention to either the cool or the ugly roughness that both had deep roots in England, or the pervasive and embarrassing middle-classness that was part of being an American. Instead, England remained to me the dreamland of girls who would never date.

My problem with England was a part of the sexually-anxious narcissism that accompanied my teens and twenties, so desperate was I to roll with the boys, to drink with the boys, and, once a literature major, to read with the boys: whether Palahniuk’s Fight Club, which was inspiring theme nights at the alternative frat—all whisky, Marlboro reds, and sloppy, scrambling boxing—, the strange macho sexuality of Miller’s Tropic of Cancer, or David Foster Wallace’s threatening challenge to all my would-be novelist friends. I remember people whispering intensely about Burroughs. Recently, novelist Claire Vaye Watkins has written about pandering to male writers through the tough, heartless, and heartbreaking prose of her short story collection. I see this period of my reading similarly, going shot-for-shot with the boys. But I wanted to be cool. American, edgy and cool.

This American cool continues, I think, in our recent prestige television, which offers bad boys you want to root for, the likes of Tony Soprano, Don Draper, and Walter White.

I still sometimes visit with American bad boys; I write about and teach the cruel works of Nathanael West, Fitzgerald’s more cynical friend. But as I’ve aged, I find that I have less patience for them. They can be a fling, but not my constant companions. Especially when the little things of my life seem hard and the big things of the world seem even harder, I want to return again to the coziness that was my youthful idea of England. And maybe this is true of the millions of other Americans who turned off HBO and tuned in to public television; after trying so hard to be crass and edgy, perhaps we do want to be that kind of girl after all.

What is it that we Americans want from the English? We want them to be vaguely like us, but better: we see them as politer and fancier, but we also like to think we’re more democratic, not so snotty. We also want not to have to know too much about the differences. Tea and knights, yes. Elaborate details about entailment, no, as the differences between the PBS and BBC explanations of the family’s wealth indicate.

We Americans see England as fundamentally belonging to the past, and thus soft and rosy. When my husband’s friend from London visited us in Nashville, the debutants were no match for him, so taken were they by his accent. The cost for him came in the form of bewildering conversations about jousting and whether “y’all have gyms there” and the terrible imitations into which the women slipped when the bourbon was flowing.

My sister’s English accent is also bad, somewhere between Foghorn Leghorn and Eliza Doolittle. It is also identical to the accent she tried when I moved to Nashville. I remember an early phone call home during which she filled me in on the day’s business. She’d been out shopping: “I went to Target; wait, do you have Target there?” Her view of the South is not unlike the debutant’s view of England, a place distant spatially and perhaps temporally as well. My current students in Mountain West feel similarly; they explain to me that they could never go to the South because they are Mexican. Meanwhile, my Anglo students refer to the rapidly gentrifying Hispanic neighborhood in town as “sketchy,” “the ghetto.”

My sister’s bad accent isn’t unique. We all have them. In a theater class at my arts magnet high school we memorized a little poem to practice the two relevant English accents: high-class and Cockney. A room of fifteen-year-olds, we chanted together, “If to hoot and to toot a Hottentot tot were taught by a Hottentot tutor, should the tutor get hot if the Hottentot tot should hoot and toot at the tutor?”

Not high-class, working-class, or English, we middle-class white American children—progeny of good liberal parents committed to public school education, if not neighborhood schools—happily swallowed our “Hs” and gulped out the bit of nonsense, so far from our knowing as to be scrubbed clean of racism’s taint. With our sense of Englishness as accent, and feelings of Africa and Europe as far in time and space, the little rhyme seemed to have nothing to do with our sense of racism as a real and pressing American problem.

The vagueness of Anglophilia is, I think, at least part of why the series’ second half felt like such a betrayal. Belonging too much to the world of problems Americans consider “the real,” the rape of Anna left a bitter taste that lingered, curdling our feelings about the series.

With the exception of that troublesome rape, Downton has offered the coziness that is the American idea of Englishness, the one I once rejected but now seek. As a new mother, I gaze longingly at the teas in the library during which the nanny parades by babies in sailor suits and then sweeps them neatly away, leaving their parents to drink and chat. My Anglophilia, you see, is not just about class as well as cozyness—the upper-class comfort and self-assuredness towards which we in the American middle class doggedly strain.

My embarrassment at retaining an idiot Anglophilia is somewhat assuaged by the knowledge that my American ancestors have been similarly foolish and aspirational in their views. In her book Anglophilia: Deference, Devotion, and Antebellum America, scholar Eliza Tamarkin reminds us that even way back when, in what my students would call the olden days, “Anglophilia [was] about paying respects to the symbolic value of England.” Among the more bizarre aspects of antebellum Anglophilia was the abolitionist argument that the English had done away with slavery because it didn’t fit with their overwhelming politeness. Owning people simply wasn’t seemly.

Politeness and impropriety are similarly behavioral big tents in Downton, covering all manner of progressive and regressive attitudes. Rapes, murders, blackmailing, and defections aside, on Downton, breaking with good manners is the clearest marker that a character is a baddie.

In the fifth season alone impoliteness covers, among other social failings, class snobbery (the aristocratic Merton boys), a genocidal rising power (Herr Hitler and his brown shirts, who will be revealed as the killers of Edith’s Michael, described in the show as beer hall unruliness), strident socialism (Miss Bunting), being a grouchy sad sack (Princess Kuragin), abuse of servants (Lord Sinderby), and anti-Semitism (Lady Flintshire, the Mertons again—naughty boys, those). Interestingly, the Dowager’s old flame Prince Kuragin also appears guilty of anti-Semitism and proximity to the genocidal murder of the pogroms when he bursts out at cousin Rose’s Jewish love interest, “you’re no Russian;” however, the show doesn’t present the outburst as something to hold against the man, perhaps because the transgression occurs in a soup kitchen, rather than a drawing room or library.

To be a hero, then, is to make others feel comfortable, to ease their embarrassment and smooth the way. A phrase I’ve learned to love from the show, “shall we go through?,” often comes from the wonderful Cora, the American matriarch committed to living lightly and lovingly, for whom guiding family and guests politely from potentially awkward conversation to pleasantly formal dining and drinking appears a life’s work.

“Shall we go through?” The show goes through with amazing rapidity, throwing forward plot twist after plot twist, the bulk of which are resolved neatly by banishing a rude interloper from the great house, or easing over unpleasantness, as when Cousin Rose pretends that her father-in-law’s mistress is an old friend, thus explaining away the uninvited guest. When the housekeeper Mrs. Hughes confesses to Mr. Carson that she has no money to retire with him because she’s been paying for her mentally disabled sister’s institutionalization, she worries, “Oh no, now I’ve embarrassed you.”

Coming from a nation with only loosely codified manners—which we occasionally boast of and are only occasionally shamed by—I find myself fascinated by a world in which all errors, all crises, all sins might be so beautifully papered over. Or, to put it otherwise, I long for a world in which I’ve been taught to behave beautifully and this beautiful behavior means that I am good.

This, too, as our own new rich fill TV screens: whether real housewives, basketball WAGs, or Kardashians, the idea of England as cozy past when people were polite stands as contrast. As does Kate Middleton, whose big shiny teeth and big shiny hair and tiny formal hats and tiny, tidy pregnancies make her a simulacrum of a princess. So too, The Great British Baking Show, which introduced Americans to a world of reality television in which no one declares “I’m not here to make friends” and the pastries are inscrutable. “Pudding,” “biscuit,” and “pie” take on strange new meanings.

The Anglophile’s imaginary England is a kind of mirror world. Like a grandfather—a relative in whom we see resemblance, but who clearly hails from another time. We feel affectionate toward him and maybe a little superior. Watching Downton, it’s lovely to see a plot in which the patriarch gets drunk, and rather than starting a brawl or bedding a scullery maid, he begins an awkward toast—a potential embarrassment that quick-witted chauffeur-turned-son-in-law Tom covers over by leading the household in rounds of “for he’s a jolly good fellow.” And the “good” characters’ foibles are so soft that it’s easy to feel a little wiser than those Granthams while also envying their outdated lifestyle.

A different program might show the wealthier classes’ predation upon the poor, but the violence within Downton Abbey remains reassuringly within class. And though we all hate the rape plot, what a relief that the storyline remains snugly downstairs. It allows the show’s commitment to the idea of noblesse oblige to remain an inviting temptation, leading to imaginings of how lovely we might behave if only we had a bit of nobility to be obliging with. Like Lady Sybil taking the red-haired maid under her wing. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a maid? Of course, one must not imagine being the maid.

With so much expansive politeness and correctness forming our idea of the English—“Keep Calm and Carry On!”—it’s surprising to hear missives from the real Britain, the one that exists in the now with us. The interviews during the Brexit vote give a nasty shock, as even good old England takes its place in a Europe increasingly Islamophobic and nativist. Grandfather has done worse than slip up and use the out of date “colored”—he’s said something truly awful and not cozy at all.

This is not how we like to think of our grandfathers. It’s not why we Americans turn our faces to gaze across the Atlantic. Instead, we wish to see the slightly fusty but well-meaning and well-mannered behavior of the Dowager Countess and Lord Grantham. Though they miss the old days (the first season features the Dowager cringing away from electric light), they are adaptable. Lord Grantham admits the nature of warfare has changed and nods to the feelings of his cook Mrs. Patmore, making a special monument off the beaten track for her nephew who was executed for defecting during the war.

I recently watched a bit of Manor House, a reality show in which modern people are cast as members of a grand Edwardian home. Some become the Lords and Ladies of the house; the tall and good-looking young man becomes First Footman, and the unlucky become scullery maids. The effects of a rigid upstairs-downstairs class system set in with breathtaking speed. After the initial meeting between the family and the staff, one of the maids confesses to the camera that though she knows her master and mistress are just normal twenty-first century people like herself, she hates them. In contrast, the mistress relates how lovely it is to be cared for; “it’s almost like I’ve slipped into childhood again,” she coos.

Such animosity between staff and family receives little screen time on Downton. Generally, class resentment is nothing but a misunderstanding, as when kitchen maid Daisy, who has been educated just to the point of dissatisfaction, misinterprets the characteristically vague kindness of Lady Grantham and tries to force a position for her tenant farmer father-in-law on the estate.

Instead, class hostility appears in the mouths of malefactors such as ladies’ maid O’Brien, a villain marked by truly terrible hair, or the blackmailing hotel maid who threatens Lady Mary and Lord Grantham with the prediction that her kind are coming up in the world. These instances of class outrage both come from maids and are directed at the eldest daughter Lady Mary for her sexual peccadillos, whether the ill-fated night with the exotic Mr. Pamook of the weak heart or her trial marriage hotel weekend with Tony Gillingham. Meantime, the matter of hygiene in manor houses’ downstairs extend to moral uprightness, to which the series nods, occasionally emphasizing the separate men’s and women’s quarters, but not to the near-prurient degree with which the sexual activity of maids would have been scrutinized, with the housekeeper examining their sanitary belts for evidence that the staff was staying chaste and not getting in the family way.

What comfort, then, in Downton’s somewhat relaxed morality. “We’re all becoming so modern!,” is a constant refrain. Lord Grantham, bless his ulcerous Lordship—what won’t he accept under the name of being a good host? He oversees one daughter’s marriage to a chauffeur, one daughter’s love child entering the household, and one daughter’s blackmail for her sexual intrepidness---not to mention his gay footman and multiply–murder-accused valet Mr. Bates. Downton is what Americans want from their betters, it’s what we see in the photographs of celebrities shopping at Trader Joes, playing on the beach with their children—Stars! They’re Just Like Us!! They are better looking, go on better vacations, and rich, but they use detergent!!! With Downton, we peek in on the nobility and see they make mistakes! Like us!

And I must admit, the more tired I am; the more panicked I feel as I forget to put sunscreen on the baby or to provide the daycare enough steamed finger foods diced into ¼ inch pieces; the more I long for time to work rather than time to spend with my husband and child; or the more I wish to spend time at home and quit my job, filled as it is with student emails and meetings; the more, stupidly and against what I know, I hunger for Downton.

The light touch of the series which makes it all come out right in the end—the deaths, the war, the murders, and yes, even the rape—it’s a warm blanket that feels wholesome even when that niggling voice reminds me of its near offensive flimsiness. It’s best not to think too seriously about the show. One is bound to have an unpleasant realization, like learning that eating bran muffins is just having unfrosted cupcakes for breakfast.

I recently heard the women of Another Round explain that only white people enjoy the “what past decade would you have rather lived in?” hypothetical. I get what they’re saying—and this is also Downton’s frivolous genius. Polite, like the Abbey’s denizens, the show doesn’t remind us of the footmen’s and maids’ more unpleasant tasks—the emptying of chamber pots, the pulling threads of hair from brushes to build elaborate false pieces—or that a hallboy gets his name because he has no room, and in fact sleeps in the hall. We don’t miss this granular detail because it’s not Daisy or Mrs. Patmore, or even good Anna, with whom the show means us to feel a likeness. We who play the game of transporting ourselves backwards through time don’t make that journey to light the morning fires for the big house or to do other people’s dishes. No, as we traverse the decades, running them backward, it’s the three lovely sisters we imagine as our kin and precursors.

Now I am mistress of my own house. (Lord Grantham, I too have a sweet old dog and I am sorry about Isis.) And I am, though I am loathe to write the phrase, its debunking as much a cliché now as its invocation, “having it all.” And my response to middle class life, motherhood, work, homeownership, marriage, is a low level panic I feel running up my spine, a fit on the verge of spilling out that is my constant companion, babyish and humiliating: But who is going to take care of meee?

And so, like many others of the American middle class, I fantasize about Downton. Together, America and I are over being cool and uncomfortable. We want to be cozy and rich. We want to turn on our TVs, gaze upon all that polished brass, and not think too hard about who is doing the polishing.

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hsrsports · 4 years ago

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Myth of the small town and the cult of MS Dhoni - Click on link to subscribe my channel https://ift.tt/34vXvMA Facebook - https://ift.tt/2Vjiyz6 Twitter - https://twitter.com/HsrSports Pinterest - https://ift.tt/2ywdZIH Tumblr - https://ift.tt/2z5qwmL Blog - https://ift.tt/2VlBDRu #Sports #Sports_News #Tournament MS Dhoni. (TOI Photo) From Jharkhand's Ranchi to playing under the bright lights of international cricket before retiring at 39, MS Dhoni's journey has been punctuated by many milestones. But the further he has travelled on that remarkable journey, the closer he has remained to from where he began. In analysing the phenomenon, there is an almost immediate attribution that the cricketer's rise is indicative of a New India and the surge of the small town. However, cautions sociologist Shiv Visvanathan, there is a problem in locating Dhoni's success wholly in his small-town origins. Because the small-town myth is dying out, he says. "Something happened to the myth of the Indian mobility. We pushed it too far. I don't see the small-town make it big anymore because I think there is a reconsolidation of elites. At one level, there was this expectation and that was what made India look beautiful for while -- small town and mass society. But that is over. "The small-town idea, which could have been nursed by a different kind of economy, or a different idea of aspiration and mobility hasn't really worked. In fact, if anything showed it didn't work, it was Sushant Singh Rajput. He made all the money, but it didn't work as a myth. Don't forget when you talk about the small town, these small-town people are migrating abroad, not to other parts of India. The migrant inside India has failed. If the Covid taught us anything it is that the migrant inside is an anomalous citizen." Still, Visvanathan acknowledges that there are exceptions. "Dhoni makes sense because he remains Dhoni despite now being a legend. He's still a Ranchi boy, and in that sense, helps to retain a certain kind of small-town style. We have to look at the fact that we had four myths -- Cricket, Bollywood, Science and Democracy. Dhoni is the cricket myth. Dhoni made it because in a way we created and moved into an unreal world of a media. Cricket is not a real sport, cricket hyphenated with TV creates one of the most mythical roles one can think of," he adds. But can you really separate the roots from the man? Those who have observed Dhoni have often spoken of both his calmness and his inner confidence, two traits that seem to have never forsaken him. Is that famous confidence reflective enough of some sense of a small-town mindset? Media observer Santosh Desai feels his confidence is both small-town and unique to Dhoni. "It's to the extent to which, there are certain freedoms that you have in the smaller town, the talent from the smaller town not having too many benchmarks around them and not being burdened by too many expectations. They do not carry the load that the middle class does," says Desai. "Great ability as an explosive batsman is one thing," he adds, "but think about the fact that at a very young age, leading a team that has people like Sachin Tendulkar, Sourav Ganguly, Rahul Dravid. All the stalwarts in Indian cricket, and you had this guy coming from nowhere, without any background and any pedigree as such, having that innate sense of confidence to not only manage but get along and carry everyone with him. It is a quality of being very involved in the action, but very detached from the consequences of those actions and focusing on process or an outcome, that characterises him in a way that is distinct." Maybe it is this unique amalgamation that has endeared Dhoni to Chennai, a metro and layered with its own small-town ethos. "If you look at local news reports on Dhoni," says Visvanathan, "they actually call Dhoni 'an honorary Tamilian'. How many people have ever got that label in recent years? No one." "Cricket becomes a substitute for Kollywood in this," he explains, "Chennai is a place that dies for leaders, of charismatic leaders, of a certain romantic type. Dhoni fulfils the function beautifully. He's in fact constructed like a film star who's a cricketing star. So far, the Chennai Super Kings thing has worked like a political party for him. Sitting in Chennai, you almost feel some regional party has begun on the streets for him. But one shouldn't liken it to a following for, say...

#Sports

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adawneveryday · 5 years ago

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In The Fog

[Another short story I wrote yesterday - I can see a series in this or something larger coming from it - It takes place inside the mind of one of the imaginations of an imagined couple - you know how people have conversations in their head or imagine alternative outcomes - what if we could watch their thoughts and what if their thoughts were out of sync completely with our perception of them or with what really was their reality.]

The fog rolled in like any other: thick, dense, languid, like it wasn’t inclined to leave. The sun was just the glow of a cigarette. The sky was smokey plumes (*I refuse to spell it smoky - idc). The airport was a lot of canceled flights and its irritated cargo.

No more irritated were Paul and Marie.

Paul and Marie were a marriage that did best on the move, preferably in seperate directions. But during the holidays they made a show of being together, decades of togetherness. Ask anyone, they were a solid couple occupying the same pew for eons. Their children based their marital aspirations on their mother and father, mostly their mother because father worked so much. Mother and father made it look so easy. They were a delight at the dinner table. They never showed a short fuse or made scene at a company party. They were a partnership. They were incorporated. They even went out for their anniversaries and birthdays. No one needed to know it was show and chaperoning. They were chaperoning their marriage.

But they were a couple who only did well on a stage and for only a few hours at a time.

They had developed coupling techniques and coping hobbies.

In public, they appeared polite people, so that no one would know absence of public displays of affection were normal. They didn’t burden others with their emotions. He always opened her door in public. He drove the car around to the door if it was raining and they were caught in the rain. She always said thank you when he did these things, even if she never met eye contact anymore. He always let her order first. She always ordered only one glass of moderately priced wine. He never drank anything but water with lemon when they were together in public. Her drink ensured she wouldn’t find him irritating. His lack of drink ensured he wouldn’t say anything about her irritating habits, like her nail checking, and ever shortening hair cuts, and larger costume jewelry. Her large expensive handbags were ridiculous. Caricature of a woman. And him, with his pot belly and supposed gym trainer. He had gone soft years ago. As soon as she had started to lose her battle with gravity. And why he had chosen to buy a new golf cart just to go look at his boat at the marina was crazy. His golf carts were the equivalent of her handbags. He just didn’t know it. They knew they judged each other. The lack of looking said it all. And they had more coping techniques.

He enjoyed a good, long smoke with a very good cigar and glass of bourbon.

She had allergies and enjoyed instead long shopping trips in nearby cities when not taking off for a beach vacation or other get-away with girlfriends. She limited herself to two glasses of wine on a shopping trip, but she never kept track of the margaritas.

When they traveled together, which was regularly (a great gap of not being seen together is a no-no in their set), it was to see relatives and their children and their grandchildren. Or appear at his company parties. Or their clubs fundraisers.

Sometimes they came on separate flights.

Sometimes they traveled together.

Had they been cell mates, one may have shivved the other, if another option hadn’t presented itself, like an early heart attack.

Marie sometimes admitted, like most woman, that Paul drove her crazy or she could just kill him, but it was the exasperation of a typical wife. And soon they were as peaceful as apple pie. He never said he’d kill her. Men are advised never to do that, and it is too obvious to say why.

Their marriage was a death do us part kind of affair. A family mausoleum of fidelities.

And they had found ample ways to cope.

Like her confiding in girlfriends who were just out of their standard circle of friends so she could excommunicate them easily and not worry about not being invited to cookouts. She never kept a hairdresser longer than a couple of years. And she always selected ones on their way out, with dreams of becoming something more. The ones that talked more about themselves and barely listened. The ones with the occasion track on their arm or sinking look in their face. Those were her favorite. They would disappear forever quickly from the salons and spas.

Paul the same. Except his was the male version of caddies and bartenders and boat repairmen. They never listened or asked questions. It mattered little who they were or how long they stayed. He couldn’t even tell you if any were married. God forbid he be asked to give a detailed descriptions. He asked enough questions to make them feel he was a nice guy, but cared very little about their answers. And this suited them.

But the fog was encircling them now, and the VIP lounge was deserted enough that they had to face each other if only temporarily.

“We should get a hotel,” she said.

“I have enough of those,” he said.

“A room. Or two.”

“The airport hotel is a dump. I’m not staying there. The fog will be lifting.”

Marie scrolled her weather app.

“No, it isn’t lifting anytime soon. We’re stuck here. And I’d rather do it lying down.”

“With your feet up. Of course. I’ll get you a room.”

“I’ll get it myself. You can stay here.”

“Stay,” Paul said.

Marie stopped and looked at him for the first time.

“Why?”

He pursed his lips.

“The fog is going to lift and we’ll be able to go. Too much trouble to get a room. They’re booked up, anyway.”

The anxiety on his face was strange. It was like a halloween mask, the kind with the elastic band around the back, the kind that got sweaty.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“No.”

Their marriage closed in around them. Paul was thinking about it even before the fog rolled in.

“We aren’t going to live forever, and I don’t want to live unhappily.”

“The fog will lift,” Marie said. “This is only temporary.”

Paul saw his life

beginning to end.

“We’re doing it wrong,” he said.

“We’re fine, Paul. Everyone is doing it. You have your bourbon. I have my credit cards. The fog will lift and we’ll see our grandchildren.”

“And you will be overly affection to our son-in-law who irritates me and take our daughter for a manicure, and I’ll buy our daughter a SUV and spoil our grandson by sending him to camp. We’ve learned to cope, but coping is not enough, is it?”

“You mean we only have one life? And we should live it to the fullest? I don’t want to hear that. We have eternal life after it all.”

“Really? Because of how well we have behaved? Or because you think we will be forgiven because we confess?”

“Of course. This isn’t all there is. Couldn’t be. What a waste if it were.”

“What a waste if it isn’t. What if we end up together forever? Is that really what you want? For all eternity?”

“Like we won’t have freedom to do what we like? We are not angels. We do as we please. So, Paul, enough. The fog will lift. Go to the bar. I’m getting a room. I’ll see you when the fog lifts and they have our flight ready.”

“Marie. Marie,” Paul said from the window while looking out at the fog.

Marie came out of her daydream of words and emotions and drama.

“Hmmm?”

“Let’s get a room. The fog isn’t going to lift soon. Maybe we should just go home.” Paul hadn’t spoken since they had entered the VIP lounge.

“I don’t want to chance a drive in this fog. I’d rather stay in the hotel. I’d hate for us to get in an accident. The roads have too many bends. Our flight will just take off late today or tonight.”

“Alright,” Paul said thinking how much he enjoyed the sound of a few ice cubes in an old fashion glass before pouring is favorit amber colored drink over them. It was the simple things. His life had order and purpose and quiet. Marie was the perfect partner. He was so blessed he sometimes felt guilty not reflecting on it.

“Well, lets go.”

“Alright.”

#shortstory #writers on tumblr #justforfun #original #aded #adawneverday

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bharatiyamedia-blog · 6 years ago

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The parable of a monolith - Nation Information

http://tinyurl.com/yyfvd3zo Mumduha Majid Saheba, an govt member of the All-India Muslim Private Regulation Board, had lengthy been a insurgent in her neighborhood. Daughter of an officer who labored on the Indian embassy in Iraq for 20 years, she by no means wore a burqa, inspired different Muslim girls to empower themselves by training and talent growth, ran an NGO for them in Delhi and a faculty in Odisha, her house state. The ulema (clergy) would typically take offence to her ideas and actions. Shia mosques had been out of bounds for her, a Sunni. But, earlier this 12 months, when she travelled to Hyderabad, she was allowed to enter a Shia mosque. The ulema now give her a affected person listening to. She now finds various Muslim groups-earlier bitterly opposed to every other-reaching out for dialogue and a unified stand on points associated to Islam. Mumduha is now satisfied that Muslims within the nation are getting united and the catalyst is an existential concern. “The previous 5 years underneath Narendra Modi have been a testing time for Muslims. That is why I preserve joking that Modi is essentially the most unifying chief within the nation. He has not solely received Mulayam and Mayawati collectively but additionally introduced various Muslim teams underneath one umbrella,” she says. The umbrella Mumduha is referring to is termed the ‘Muslim vote financial institution’ in election-speak. It’s primarily based on the idea that Muslims vote en bloc throughout the nation for a specific agenda. In latest occasions, that agenda has been to defeat the BJP. It’s on this pursuit that Bahujan Samaj Social gathering chief Mayawati is interesting to them to vote for the alliance she has fashioned with the Samajwadi Social gathering and the Rashtriya Lok Dal in Uttar Pradesh. Although different events are much less open about their motives, all anti-BJP forces are hoping to nook a share of the Muslim vote. However do Muslims actually vote as a homogenous group? Muslims represent greater than 20 per cent of the inhabitants in 100 districts or 80 of the Lok Sabha’s 543 constituencies. (Graphics: Tanmoy Chakraborty) Political students use empirical information to bust the parable of the Muslim vote financial institution. The neighborhood, they are saying, is geographically dispersed throughout the nation and isn’t a monolithic group. They’ve by no means voted with a singular nationwide Muslim aspiration. Muslims represent not less than 20 per cent of the inhabitants in 80 of India’s 543 Lok Sabha constituencies. In 2014, Hindu candidates received in 59 of those 80 seats. The BJP, which is perceived to be an anti-Muslim social gathering, received 38 of those seats. Of the 882 Muslim candidates who contested within the nation, solely 23 received. “Muslims have at all times voted primarily based on native points and candidates and never as a block. The parable of a Muslim vote financial institution will not be supported by information or historic patterns,” says Mohammad Khan, assistant professor of political science at Ashoka College. Ali Hossain Ghusi, 78, Milk dealer in Palta, Barrackpore, West Bengal stated, “There is not any Muslim chief who has thought of us or voiced our considerations. We do not assist Muslim leaders like Azam Khan, who’s a disgrace for the neighborhood.” (Picture: Subir Halder) The Muslim voter, many argue, is pushed by constituency-level politics, not the narrative of concern created by anti-Muslim rhetoric and incidents. Just like the Hindus, the Muslim identification on the bottom can also be extremely fragmented, various with spiritual denomination, language, caste and sophistication. Whereas the previous few elections have seen a consolidation of Hindu votes underneath the BJP, Muslims votes have remained break up between the Congress and powerful regional events. In states the place the Congress is in direct competitors with the BJP, it will get nearly all of the Muslim votes. In others the place there are sturdy regional parties-UP, Bihar, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, West Bengal, Assam and Delhi-the general Muslim assist for the Congress has considerably dropped and moved to the strongest regional participant. “A Muslim chief would not must be a Muslim by faith. Anybody who fights for the constitutional rights of Muslims is their chief”– Aman Wadud, 34, lawyer, Gauhati Excessive Courtroom. (Picture: Mintu Boro) A number of political specialists imagine that 2019 will probably be a defining 12 months for the Muslim citizens. The quite a few incidents of lynching over cow slaughter, the bans on beef commerce and consumption, narratives corresponding to ghar wapasi and love jihad and vitriolic feedback by political leaders corresponding to UP chief minister Yogi Adityanath, who turned the electoral battle into one between Ali and Bajrang Bali, have bred an unprecedented sense of isolation inside the Muslims. “I might anticipate a coordinated voting sample this time. They may maybe again the social gathering or candidate who can defeat the BJP in each area,” says Gilles Verniers, assistant professor of political science on the Ashoka College. However the larger dilemma earlier than the Muslims is that there is no such thing as a social gathering to signify their considerations. The larger political events are in an unstated competitors to woo the Hindu vote. If Congress president Rahul Gandhi has declared himself a janeudhari Shiv bhakt and has been publicly temple-hopping since 2015, SP chief Akhilesh Yadav’s response to the BJP’s Ram temple rhetoric has been the promise of an enormous Vishnu temple and a metropolis named Vishnu Nagar close to house turf Etawah. A 60 ft statue of Lord Krishna has already come up in Etawah. “The events and leaders do not even discuss giving rights to Muslims,” says Syed Arshad Madani, president, Jamiat-e-Ulama-e-Hind. “The Nehru-Gandhis by no means talked about faith. However right now they’re making a show of their Hindu identification.” Muslims have largely backed secular formations just like the Congress, SP, BSP, RJD and TMC, however have been denied proportional illustration. (Supply: Lokniti-CSDS) That is seen as a direct response to the RSS-BJP accusation of “secular events” taking part in “Muslim appeasement” politics. This has helped the BJP consolidate the Hindu vote and made different events cautious of risking the Hindu majority vote. “The BJP is sweet at creating pressured binaries, and different events have fallen into this lure. That is why the Congress has brazenly stated it must dispel the notion that it is pro-Muslim,” says Verniers. However Muslim leaders maintain the Congress equally answerable for creating this binary. “Throughout UPA rule, when Shivraj Patil was house minister, there have been many blasts and the federal government blamed HuJi (Harkat-ul-Jihad-al-Islami) and SIMI (College students Islamic Motion of India). A number of Muslims had been rounded up and the impression created was that Muslims are terrorists. It’s the most damaging factor the Congress has performed to Muslims in 60 years,” says Madani. Most political observers agree the pathetic socio-economic situation of the Muslims is a results of sustained apathy of the political class in the direction of their points. “The so-called secular events and the Muslim political elite who declare to signify the neighborhood, exaggerate identity-based victimhood and ignore the true points. Muslims, like another neighborhood, are extra involved about poverty, employment and training. The menace to spiritual identification does have an effect on them psychologically however would not solely decide their aspirations as residents,” says Hilal Ahmed, affiliate professor on the Centre for the Examine of Creating Societies in Delhi. “The BJP is ideologically communal and the Congress opportunistic,” stated Arshia Ahmed Ayub, 51, Battle administration counsellor in Hyderabad. (Picture: A Prabhakar Rao) WHITHER MUSLIM LEADERS? In 2012, whereas interacting with a gaggle of Muslim youth, Rahul Gandhi requested them why the neighborhood has been unable to supply a pacesetter of the stature of India’s first training minister, Maulana Abul Kalam Azad. To reply the query, his social gathering, too, must share a big a part of the blame, say political observers. “There was a deficit of elites amongst Muslims since Partition when most of them left for Pakistan. This has been compounded by two different elements. The Congress, which dominated the post-Independence electoral panorama, was able to take Muslim votes however unwilling to supply them satisfactory illustration. This pattern lasted a number of many years,” says Verniers. Asaduddin Owaisi, chief of the All-India-Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen (AIMIM), agrees: “A pacesetter can’t emerge out of the blue from the sky or the bottom, he has to evolve. Political events are usually not prepared to provide Muslims house and tickets. Then how can now we have Muslim leaders with a pan-India enchantment?” Since Independence, Indian Muslims have largely backed secular formations such because the Congress, SP, BSP, Trinamool and the Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD). However whereas these events have talked about defending Muslim pursuits, they’ve been much less forthcoming in giving them proportional illustration. Muslim illustration in Parliament within the Congress-dominated years of 1952-1977 was 2-7 per cent. The very best it touched was in 1980 when it reached 10 per cent, nonetheless lower than the share of Muslims within the general inhabitants. In UP, Muslim illustration within the meeting touched the highest-17.1 per cent-in 2012, underneath the SP, however was wanting its complete share of the inhabitants. In Bihar, dominated largely by the Congress, Janata Dal (United) and RJD, the best illustration was 10.46 per cent in 1985. The lack of religion within the Congress and the following failure of regional secular events has resulted within the progress of a number of Muslim-centric events such because the AIMIM, the Indian Union Muslim League and the All-India United Democratic Entrance. However these events have remained region-specific. AIMIM often is the most vocal about Muslim points and making an attempt to increase its footprint into Maharashtra, UP and Bihar, however has remained a Hyderabad-based social gathering. On the identical time, the start of a number of Muslim events after 2008 has led to an extra fragmentation of the Muslim vote. There’s additionally discontent over Muslim leaders failing to spotlight the true points confronting the neighborhood. “The Muslim leaders in several events are usually not consultant of the Muslims as a result of they typically toe the social gathering line as an alternative of elevating considerations about Muslims,” says Navaid Hamid, president, All India Muslim Majlis-e-Mushawarat, a physique of 16 Muslim organisations. Although he categorically says he isn’t a Muslim chief, Owaisi has emerged as the most important star in Muslim politics right now. He and his social gathering at the moment are in enlargement mode-two AIMIM candidates received within the Maharashtra election and dozens had been elected in municipal elections. To broaden his base past the Muslims, he has created an alliance-the Vanchit Bahujan Aghadi-with the Bharipa Bahujan Mahasangh, led by Prakash Ambedkar, grandson of B.R. Ambedkar. “I’m working with Prakash Ambedkar as a result of the problems confronted by the Muslims are the identical as these the Dalits face. It’s good in a democracy if the marginalised come collectively to tackle right-wing politics and those that are discriminating towards us,” says Owaisi, who’s regularly attracting the eye of the younger and upwardly cell Muslims. “The BJP is working to safe its Hindu vote financial institution like different events do to get Muslim votes. Nevertheless, the situation of Madrasas in UP has improved through the BJP regime,” stated Mohammad Ashfaq Quraishi, 50, Meat store proprietor in Lucknow. Picture: Maneesh Agnihotri) MUSLIMS AND THE BJP In 2014, the BJP got here to energy with not even one elected Muslim member of Parliament. The social gathering received 71 of the 80 Lok Sabha seats in UP-a state the place one-fifth of the inhabitants is Muslim-without fielding a single Muslim candidate; not one of the 55 Muslim candidates from different events received. Within the 2017 UP election, the BJP once more didn’t subject a single Muslim candidate, but received 325 of the 403 seats. Curiously, Muslim consolidation, or the impression of Muslim consolidation, even helps the BJP not directly. A examine by Congress information cell head Praveen Chakravarty reveals that the BJP’s vote share really will increase in districts which have considerably extra (1.5 occasions or extra) Muslims than the common in that state. The distinction in vote share, too, is important sufficient to swing elections. Deoband, the place 70 per cent of the inhabitants is Muslim, is a traditional instance. The BJP’s Hindu candidate, Brijesh Singh, received in 2017 with a 46 per cent vote share whereas the Muslim candidates fielded by the SP and BSP received 31 per cent and 24 per cent of the votes, respectively. It’s on this context that BJP leaders really feel that the BSP’s aggressive marketing campaign for Muslim assist may finally assist their social gathering. “By instantly interesting to the Muslims to vote for his or her events, massive opposition leaders are doing a terrific disservice to the neighborhood. This provides the bulk Hindu voters a sense that the appeasement of minorities will proceed within the title of secularism. They may, in fact, vote for the BJP,” says BJP chief Shazia Ilmi. Whereas the BJP might not be the social gathering of alternative for many Muslims, one in each 10 votes in 2014 was from the neighborhood. The social gathering hopes for additional beneficial properties it claims have ensued from its welfare schemes and the assist of Muslim girls on triple talaq. “Can anybody say that the advantages of welfare schemes launched by the Modi authorities haven’t reached the Muslims?” asks Ilmi. There are a number of myths in regards to the voting behaviour of Indian Muslims-how clerics affect their alternative and the way they’re extra involved about spiritual points whereas voting. This 12 months, too, round 700 ulema, representing totally different sects, have requested the Muslim citizens to vote for “secular events” to defeat the BJP. This sort of politics, nevertheless, misplaced its significance within the period of coalition politics because it grew to become troublesome for spiritual leaders to interpret the region-specific fragmentation of the Muslim electoral opinion. Varied research additionally point out that although Muslims defer to the ulema’s opinion in issues of faith, their participation in political discourse will not be welcome. A 2015 CSDS examine says that 43 per cent of Muslims disapprove of spiritual leaders supporting political events. Sensing this transformation, Syed Ahmad Bukhari, the Shahi Imam of the Jama Masjid in Delhi who is thought for his election sermons, has determined to not supply assist to any political social gathering this Lok Sabha ballot. The triple talaq debate in Parliament additionally highlighted how “secular” political events have began distancing themselves from spiritual discourse to maintain tempo with the favored narrative. Owaisi recounts how the Congress didn’t let its Muslim member communicate on the topic in Parliament. “Throughout the first debate in December 2017, solely 4 of the 23 Muslim MPs spoke on this. For the Congress, there was the late Maulana Mohammad Asrarul Haque Qasmi, a scholar from Deoband and president of the All India Milli Council. After I requested him why he didn’t participate within the debate, he stated that the Congress didn’t permit him,” he says. There have additionally been requires introspection from inside the neighborhood. Former vice-president Hamid Ansari has criticised Indian Muslims for having a culturally defensive mindset that hinders self-advancement. Mufti Mohammad Mukarram Ahmad, the Shahi Imam of Delhi’s Fatehpuri mosque, agrees: “As a neighborhood, if we have to prosper, we should transfer past religiosity. The most effective device to empowerment is training. Let’s entry it the place it’s accessible and demand it the place it’s not. “What’s encouraging, although, is that the low illustration in Parliament and assemblies and the numerical drawback haven’t bothered the Muslim voters, who typically outnumber their Hindu counterparts in participation within the electoral course of. “The communal violence and stress of the ’90s didn’t result in the radicalisation of Indian Muslims, it elevated their participation within the electoral course of as voters and as candidates,” says Verniers. In 2019, too, Indian Muslims are gearing as much as make their considerations and anguish felt with their vote. This political engagement is essential for the survival and strengthening of Indian democracy. (With inputs from Amarnath Okay. Menon, Romita Dutta, Ashish Misra) Source link

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filmcave · 6 years ago

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HBO’s Succession: TV or not TV

(Yes, there are spoilers in this)

This is a deviation vrom my stated purpose of this blog but without conventions there would only be a riot of non-conventional styles - which would in turn then be the convention.

I’ve already broken a maxim of my blog (no reviews) and now will be doubly at fault in reviewing a TV episode. Sacré bleu

Succession, season one episode seven - otherwise known as - Austerlitz was a virtuoso presentation. It was greek tragedy and Shakespearean drama all wrapped into one. It was a hologram of the history of a family, a Haiku and a stand alone “slice of life” movie at once. I haven’t seen this kind of high quality work on TV, behind and in front of the camera collaboration, since the early days of The Sopranos and the better days of Six Feet Under. SS1E7 might even surpass those.

Its not TV, its HBO in this instance is more than a catchy marketing line.

In SS1E7 we learn more about the characters, their relationships and dreams and fears than at any previous time. It was entirely captivating nearly start to finish. The characters really came to life because gone were the veils, deceptions, proxies and covers for the sublimated emotions that were hinted at in prior episodes.

We also have the pleasure to see the actors talents and the production skills, restrained and nuanced. At work is an incredible stylistic dynamic both the bold and raw set against a pastoral setting. A smoldering kindling on which a splash of psycho-therapy gasoline hogwash sets off a wild ride.

Logan, Marcia, Connor, Roman, Shiv and Kendall all have a new stage and unknown surroundings here in the middle of New Mexico - at Austerlitz, Connor’s newly renamed ranch. The familiar physical environment is no longer the polished steel city or lustrous posh of the Hamptons and we see how this new environs affects them. The environment is all highly symbolic but at the same time part of the natural aesthetic.

The dialogue is sparse but precise. The direction moves the story forward but doesn’t get in the way (There seemed to be far fewer annoying zoom jump cuts, for example). The dialogue was snappy, emotion filled, poetic and well balanced. The family joking and jostling ranging from mean and cutting to tender and toying.

What is most compelling and what elevates this simple TV episode to a higher level - nay a filmic level - is the extraordinary way it exists as a stand alone artistic entity while it fits in perfectly with the series narrative, arc and history. It advances the prior story lines yet could easily and satisfyingly be enjoyed as its own single entity,

What also helps this stand in stark relief are the fullness of the performances. We learn so much about each character and how they relate to each other. We see Logan railing, fuming, frustrated, patriarchal. Shiv - confused, frustrated, ambitious, Roman as lost, dismissed, sardonic, mean and desperate. Connor seeking solace and connection, peace and harmony, family unity and relationship building. Kendall as jilted, angry, posturing - and resentful. Deeply resentful.

This stew of these personalities are seasoned with the orbit of “satellite significant others” who play out their own personal turf battles. Tom Wamsgans, Marcia Roy and Willa

To this all we add in the “well known, highly respected, Harvard educated corporate therapist” Alon Parfit who does a fabulously good job of doing a fabulously terrible job. This performance by Griffin Dunne is understated, completely serious and comically perfect. He starts the session off with a ditty/limerick that is more stand up than kickstarter for insightful therapy.

While there are lots of rich and interesting moments in the “family unity event” but the one that really helps the wheels come off are when Logan, un-ironically states: Everything I have ever done, I’ve done in the best interest of my children.

It is one of the most stultifying and astonishing statements which no one but Logan believes is truthful. From here the kids start to figure out there is an alternative agenda. Pictures of everyone becomes pictures and interview (“its optional” says Logan) and as a fraudulent and deceptive connivance.

This whole vignette becomes a kind of “who’s afraid of Virginia Wolfe” for the whole family.

And then...things really start to unravel. Dr. Parfait (how symbolically perfect of a name) suggest they get into their “good bodies” and go for a swim and then everyone follows their genetic code. Shiv runs off to Santa Fe for a job interview as a political consultant,

Connor tries to corner Willa to kind of, sort of, maybe being together with him..in New Mexico, but no not maybe all the time - so she could be in New York, uh..and have an allowance,,,and uh, uh, uh...”we’d be together but in a different way”.

Roman hangs around for the photo op with Daddy (“sure, I give good cheek”) and Kendall (which just sounds so much to me like “Ken doll”) well, in addition to his aspiration of becoming a meth head decides he’s no wheres close to done with his failed palace coup in the boardroom.

But the pieces that really powers and accelerates this super charged race car of a family are the exceptional direction/cinematography/editing and Lucy Prebble’s script. Miguel Arteta‘s direction shows us what we need to see, how to see it and tells the visual story. Even simple moments like Kendall’s car rental and subsequent slide from sobriety at the bar tells us a lot about the character. There’s the aloof, voyeuristic distant camera shot and angle as he finishes up with the rental guy underscored with equally aloof and sarcastic throwaway lines:

Rental agent: “Its gassed up and ready to go. Big plans while you’re here?”

Kendall: “ Maybe. Patricide? Fratricide?”

In addition there is an incredible soundtrack that adds to the mood. Haunting, foreboding, lyrical, sad. The score too really adds to the flavor of this episode in a clear but subtle fashion.

The music and scoring is really complimentary to the entire aesthetic of Succession. Brilliantly done by Nicholas Britell (of Moonlight fame) it sets the mood for the soundtracks of the show episodes and the Roys family. As it should it adds to the storyline.

Its unfortunate that thus far the combo of Prebble and Arteta only collaborated in this one episode because their efforts truly reveal the inner lives of the story and characters versus the intriguing but more mundane soap opera like quality of most the other episodes. Prior to this episode the primary quality was a kind of prolonged exposition with the foreplay teaser of things to come. From SS1E1 through episode 6 each one ends with a kind of cliffhanger.

As I’ve already suggested even the non characters have meaning here. Austerlitz for example (Connor’s renamed house).

I had to look it up but was surprised and amused to learn it was the site of Napoleon’s greatest battle victory. According to Wikipedia:

also known as the Battle of the Three Emperors, was one of the most important and decisive engagements of the Napoleonic Wars. In what is widely regarded as the greatest victory achieved by Napoleon, the Grande Armée of France defeated a larger Russian and Austrian army led by Tsar Alexander I and Holy Roman Emperor Francis II

How perfect the symbol of a battle as foreshadowing for a family battle. That’s the historical part, even with echos of King Lear. The hysterical part is as Marcia and Willa explain:

Marcia: Austerlitz? Was this the name when you bought it?

Willa: Oh, it was racially insensitive, so he picked a new one.

Ha! How perfect, how prescient. They’re dropping hints before anyone’s even walked into the house (called a ranch but which is really an estate)

Its all brown, as Shiv puts it, but if you look a bit closer the accoutrements, nick-knacks and decorations are anything but vintage old world west. The furnishings, art work, ersatz homage to the history of the land, all “put together”. Very Pottery Barn meets Restoration hardware, meets Sam Shepard.

Connor, at this point the most self deluded of the bunch, even welcomes them by saying “Welcome to the real America”. How innocent and ignorant.

But Connor is an aspiring maven and bon vivant so he delights in his cursory knowledge of history.

So he doubles down as he proudly introduces everyone to his “humble” Abode and that the chapel next door dates to 1878. While he gives no context for the importance of 1878 (or his reason for mentioning it).

A bit of research seems to suggest this was an important period for New Mexico, commerce and local history. According to the National Park service and other online sources, this was the timeframe when the Santa Fe trail (the primary commercial route between Independence, MO and New Mexico) was being developed (possibly through hostile means) from “highway” to railroad way. The war with Mexico (over territory) had ended just thirty years earlier and the Republic of Texas had seceded from Mexico about a decade before (1836 Texas revolution). Again, signs of war, conflict, antagonism..could this be an over interpretation of a line of dialogue. Sure, but who goes to the length to not only name a house for Napoleon’s greatest victory but the entire episode and stop with the clues there?

Theres so much layering of elements in this episode, its hard to pick what to highlight.

However I am also drawn to another unique interplay of moments. There are two occasions when Shiv, beginning to sow her seeds, compares her father to the earthly elements of Fire and Water. At one point exclaiming in reference to the chapel: “do you think he can cross the threshold or will he spontaneously combust? And later explains why her father won’t take a dip in the pool, “he doesn’t even trust water..its too wishy washy”. But in the end we see the ramifications and scars from the encounters...

Shiv is brought to tears

Kendall climbs a mountain to gain perspective and snort some drugs

Connor realizes his illusion of family unity was never to be and

Logan, Logan goes into the pool (a very high end infinity pool) amidst the mountains, and cactus, tumbleweeds, dirt with steam rising to wash away the stress and as he emerges crawling out of the depths we see what appears to be lashes or scars in his upper back with Marcia there, his protector and defender to wrap him in a towel as an acoustic guitar melody plays under the scene.

Succession Austerlitz Haiku

Roys go West together

seeking salvation in sand

No one’s left unhurt

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