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Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Misfits
An in depth review of this BBC show may be coming (mostly ranting about the writer's idiocy and disgusting didacticism, along with their flashes of brilliance), but for now, I really like this bit of music. Even if the scorers for the show have a tendency to sub in remixed classics (Barber's Adagio, some opera "most famous radio hits," etc). Which is better, I suppose, than the typical TV show, which relies on really ugly ostinatos.
Anyhoo, pretty musics, enjoy.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Afterwards, a Birds of Prey/Batgirl fanfic
Summary:
Stephanie muses on the Birds after their trip to Hong Kong (volume 2 issue 5 and 6).
Work Text:
Steph doesn't know sometimes how to describe Helena to people who don't know her, or have only seen her from a distance. “Statuesque” seems so...inadequate. And yet, having been with her both when off duty to see her teaching, and on missions where her capo persona is called for, the level of sophistication Helena exudes effortlessly, combined with her height, seems to have no other fit.
She's seen Helena in the most unglamorous situations, from the panicked, horrifying days of the earthquake when she was forced to save her rotten dad from a younger, much more violent and willing-to-use-lethal-force Huntress, to learning how to ride motorcycles with Helena breathing down her neck (literally, too) so that she doesn't scratch her beautiful Ducati (the civvie one, not the white-cross-on-purple one which would be...out of place in parking lots awkwardly fishtailing as she tried to make out Helena's instructions between bouts of muffled Italian swearing...at least, she assumed it was swearing, from the tone and rigidity of Helena's body behind her). Despite all this grime, spiritual and physical, Steph knows that there's something bright about Helena, something that shines whether she's gently but firmly instructing students on European history, arguing with others about the appropriate levels of force and actions, jumping across building roofs, or holding someone off those roofs by the neck three stories up and shaking them for threatening children. It's not white or silver, like the passion which you see in Batman or Babs – the concentrated cultivation of righteousness born of personal pain. It's not warm, firm, and yellow like Dinah's, full of the acceptance of experience and the strength of conviction. It's jagged, excruciating, furious, vulnerable – probably violet (which might explain her own draw towards Huntress – she has good taste in costume colors) – born out of the same pain, but without the kind of examples and love that allow Bruce or Barbara to see the better way.
She saw Dinah, Babs, and Helena out walking after the business in Hong Kong. Dinah had a cast and was smiling as usual, Babs was looking a bit frayed but also mysterious (the combined “new internet” thing and faking her own death must have been eating at her), but Helena... Steph knew it wasn't just the fact that Helena towered over her companions. Taped up like a mummy after Shiva's beating, limping, leaning over Babs to tell a private joke while Dinah wasn't looking, tentatively reaching an arm around Dinah's smaller shoulders, Steph thinks Helena has finally found her way back in.
Sometimes, Steph wonders if it's Helena's height that allows her to continue bucking Batman's strictures. Sure, Helena's ferociously intelligent, has access to similar resources and training, and has carved out her own reputation in Gotham. But there has to be something about being only three inches shorter than the scariest man ever that helped.
Of course, Dinah was shorter than even Steph, and she had kissed Batman. Steph shudders just thinking about that. Slapping Bruce for being a jerk is one thing, even if her hand still tingled in horrified amazement and humor at that. But actually planting a big one on that becowled visage (such an appropriate word for Batman's face, that)...that took guts from someone nearly a foot shorter.
Still, the height had to help.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Why
I've been thinking. A lot of the people around me (though not as much when I was an undergrad in a different state) don't see a problem with racist jokes and racist portrayals in books, films, video games, and comics. I've heard people I believe try to live lives of integrity argue that racist jokes help mock the teller's own racism and keep it in check. I've been told I take things too seriously. I've been told many things.
Now, to be completely honest, I do take things too seriously. Especially myself. I have a very limited sense of humor, and often attempt to impose that limitation on others.
But I think there is something wrong with racist jokes and portrayals. I am one quarter Chinese, one quarter Japanese, one quarter German, and one quarter Czech. I often tell people I am German because I don't like being identified as Asian, and I'm not entirely sure why I do that. I know it really bothers me when I'm known as "the Asian one," and that one of the first things many people ask me is "what are you." I'm me. Ian Miller. I'm not ashamed of being Asian. I love eating rice. I am a huge nerd. These things are part of who I am, and if they're related to being Asian, I don't disavow them.
But to single a trait that I have no control over, and identify me primarily as that trait seems extremely devaluing. I know most people who do it probably have no intention of doing so, but I don't think it's the right thing to do.
Even further than that, something that's just occurred to me (and prompted this post), when a racist joke or stereotype is promulgated, even if it's supposedly done in a way that's self-mocking, that idea, that devaluation and denigration are strengthened in everyone who hears or sees the joke or portrayal. And when I see or hear the joke or portrayal, part of me is thinking, "That's what these people think about me." Not because of anything I do (and believe me, I do many things to make people think badly of me), but because of where my grandparents were from and what I look like.
It's a sick feeling. And I wish it could go away.
(Wow, this is starting to feel whiny. Okay, I'm done.)
Monday, May 9, 2011
A Quote, perhaps a precursor
"I made a promise to my parents to rid the city of the evil that took their lives." Batman, Dark Victory, written by Jeph Loeb, drawn by Tim Sale.
I've finally finished the four main sources for the two most recent Batman films - The Man Who Falls, Batman: Year One, The Long Halloween, and Dark Victory. None of them are perfect, none of them are masterpieces - but each of them is incredibly powerful. Maybe sometime soon (after I finish my papers) I shall review them.
Friday, May 6, 2011
So...that was it?
Avatar is super lame.
And they killed the Latina chick. She was the most awesome character in the film, being the only one who wasn't a pathetic nerd, entitled whiner, scientist (okay, Dr. Augustine was cool too), or pathetic whiner's wish-fulfillment.
And they blew her up. Pointlessly. She didn't even accomplish anything.
Oh, and it was very pretty cartoon.
Stupid killing of Latina chicks...
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