Willfully Misinterpreting Jessica Jones

Due to the possibility of spoilers, our dear editor is sitting this one out. Be warned. 

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the comic series Alias, and it's upcoming adaptation to visual Jessica Jones. Jessica Jones is a risky proposition for Marvel Studios, not because of its female lead, but because of its subject matter. There's some seriously mature ideas being explored, both on the show and in the original books, and it's down to the finesse of the showrunners to handle those ideas appropriately. So, did they?

Did they ever not!

Jessica Jones is a highly, deeply problematic adaptation of a comic book that featured an almost non-existent female character in a male-dominated medium. Before Jessica Jones, there was no female comic book characters that didn't exist solely to serve as eye candy for a presumed white male audience. Problematic depictions of female characters were on every page of comics, with unrealistic breast sizes and vapid dialogue, constantly put in peril for the male protagonists to rescue. Then along came enlightened male author Brian Michael Bendis and gave us Alias, in which a working woman and survivor of trauma co-opted a traditionally male role as private investigator and did the job while dressing halal-protecting herself from the male gaze by dressing sensibly.

Manspreading! And this isn't even the worst! 

The series, however, is a trainwreck of harmful tropes, stereotypes, and dangerous ideas. Jessica herself, to start with, is nothing more than a Ms Male Character, with an abusive backstory and lack of agency being the driving force of the series. Jessica is defined by her trauma, unable to perform basic tasks like riding the subway without being visited by the mental ghost of her abuser, while at the same time using violence to solve her problems. Anything from a client getting physical with her to her alarm going off too early can be solved simply by smashing something. Jessica reeks of toxic masculinity, from her childhood scenes of being a tomboy 'not like other girls' to her modern habit of manspreading. The cinematography doesn't do her any favours, either, with the camera replicating the male gaze by lingering on her otherwise-sensibly dressed rear end longingly and thus invalidating her conservative wardrobe choices, and showing us lots of flashes of her in intimate positions in her scenes with Luke Cage.

MALE GAZE!

The series takes a dim view of minority characters as well. The protagonist and antagonist are, of course, white, but one of the main characters is a black man who is a junkie. There's only one Hispanic person in all of Hell's Kitchen, apparently, and she's a drug dealer. There are a whopping three lesbian characters, but one of them is an unfaithful spouse, the other the mistress of said spouse, and the last is cruel and vindictive in return. With so few LGBT characters, it's harmful to show a negative depiction like this, leading only to the stereotype of the promiscuous gay character. And when a support group is set up to help victims of the white male villain, Jessica steadfastly refuses to participate, painting her as someone who would rather keep her victimhood instead of seek help.

And finally, there's a heavy theme of domestic abuse in this show, which is reinforced by the relationship between Trish “Patsy” Walker and Officer Simpson. While 'allegedly' under Killgrave's control, he attacks her and tries to murder her, and mere days later he returns to apologize, irresponsibly providing her with a dangerous firearm, and she rewards him with sex. In fact, the series seems to simply revel in physically abusing its female characters. I have never seen such a misog

-sounds of a struggle-

Ok, I'm done with that part. Jessica Jones was really quite good, wasn't it? For anyone that's ever been in a miserably bad relationship, it'll be really hard but sort of cathartic to watch. The casting of Luke Cage was spot-on brilliant. I was a bit on the fence about Krysten Ritter having only ever seen her in Breaking Bad and a sort of terrible sitcom, but she really delivered here. David Tennant was wonderfully sinister. Much like other MCU properties, I feel it did a really great job capturing the spirit of the source material while telling a new story, and I sincerely hope there's a series 2, providing everyone's not so entirely exhausted from making the show to do it. It was certainly tiring, in a good way, to watch it.

I would also like to say that yes, I have read Anita Sarkeesian's take on the show. I tried not to replicate any of her ideas here, as I've had this one brewing for a while but scheduling conflicts and a social media flood of alternating anti-Muslim and anti-gun propaganda sent me into such a tizzy that I had to focus my efforts elsewhere for a short time. Next week I'll be analyzing a Huffington Post piece, tentatively, and outlining the idea of “not even wrong.”  

The 5 Most Disgustingly Oversexualized Costumes I Saw When Walking Through "Spirit Halloween" Monday Night.

Outrage! Click the link and be outraged! 

It's that time again, the time of year when innocent people go shopping for costumes so they can have a good time sitting and discussing Important Things with Special People at Halloween parties (and definitely not getting plastered and making out with a complete stranger). And with that comes the societal pressures that the Patriarchy puts on women to dress as "sexy" versions of costumes. Fine thinkers such as Laci Green and the folks over at Jezebel have pontificated to a great extent on the oppression laid bare by our society. So, in that spirit, I took a stroll through the Spirit Halloween store (located in just about every city in America for the next week or so) and have documented the five most disgustingly objectifying costumes I could find.

1: Sexy Cat In The Hat

That's right. Even Dr Seuss isn't safe from the disgusting objectification of our society. Note the clear differences between the male version (displayed in the picture and obviously not included in the package) and the female version. See how the male version looks completely normal and accurate to the source material, while the female version accentuates the female form and bares so much more of that filthy flesh.

2: Sexy The Walking Dead Michonne

Michonne is a beloved female lead character in AMC's The Walking Dead. On the show, she tends to wear body-hugging clothing, but it's still functional, as it's meant to make it harder for zombies to grab loose clothing. Her one concession is to modesty, where she covers that form-hugging clothing with a loosely draped cloak, often imbued with zombie viscera to throw them off of her scent. See here how the costume completely misses the point, instead sexualizing her struggle to survive in the zombie apocalypse.

3: Sexy Dottie The Clown

Even beloved childhood entertainers are not safe here, as this ladiess clown costume obviously veers wildly into the 'sexy' territory. I mean, look at those bared elbows! Those exposed ankles!

4: Sexy Baby Jammies

And speaking of childhood, not even children are safe, as this takes an adorable baby's pajama outfit and cuts it down to nothing but a mere slip of a costume, exposing things a baby should never be exposing, and coupling it with a huge phallic object.

5: Sexy PBJ

And the coup de grace, a Halloween costume that blatantly perpetuates Patriarchy, insinuating that a woman's costume is incomplete without a complementary man's costume. Literally a sexualized piece of bread with jelly that is clearly a menstrual metaphor, and useless without the man's sticky contribution.











I'm sure I don't have to explain that this is completely satire. The purpose for writing this is that I'm getting a little sick of hearing about sexualized Halloween costumes. Yes, there are a lot. Yes, some of them are sexualized versions of other costumes that aren't. But you know what? They sell *really* well. And it's not guys buying them. If you're bothered by what a woman is wearing, that might be a problem with you and not with the women that enjoy wearing them, with the companies making the costumes, or with the society that gets a laugh out of it. There's plenty of well-made, non-sexualized costumes available in lots of stores. Even non-sexualized versions of sexy costumes. So please. Do yourself (and the rest of us) a favour and go buy one of them, go out to a Halloween party with some friends, and enjoy your evening. I'd love to say that's what I'll be doing, but I'll be at work. 

A quick Monday Gunday thought

I just don't understand people who feel the need to wear seatbelts or motorcycle helmets. It must be an awful existence, constantly being afraid for your life when you go out on the road. What do you have to be afraid of? Why are you so paranoid?

We have posted speed limit signs for a reason. They are there so that people won't drive too fast and get into accidents, but paranoiacs like you see danger everywhere, even where there isn't any, and want everyone else to be as afraid as you are so that you can push your agenda. Besides,  if anything does go wrong, you can always call 911 for a rescue. 

What are you, a NASCAR wannabe? Do you drive fast because you have a small penis?  Do the seatbelts make you feel like a professional driver? I bet you're just looking for a reason to drive recklessly and get into a crash, and then you can say you were justified in your fear. If you're that worried about getting into a crash, maybe you should move to a neighborhood where people drive slower. 

Seriously, go get therapy before it's too late. Only professional race car drivers and rescue personnel need safety gear like this. They're trained to drive fast, you aren't.



TL;DR for the sarcasm impaired: Trusting gun free zones to keep you safe from criminals is like trusting traffic laws to protect you from accidents. But you don't, do you?  You drive defensively and use proper safety gear, because you realize that keeping yourself safe is primarily your responsibility.

On this Labor Day...

... I give you a slightly edited and improved (for clarity) commercial I had in a dream, probably inspired by the day and this news item. 

Interior: a ledge of wooden rafters against a wall with high windows. We are made to think this is the interior of a church, perhaps Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow.

Vladimir Ilyich Lenin (hereafter VIL) steps into frame from stage left. Instead of his traditional black suit he is wearing a tight t-shirt with slacks and dress shoes, hipster-style. The shirt is festooned with colorful designs that simultaneously suggest Tetris blocks, political graffiti, and Soviet-era art. 

VIL thoughtfully takes a few steps onto a crossbeam, then notices the camera to his right. He stops, carefully turns, and addresses the audience. 

VIL:  Modern political fashion can be a bit of a balancing act. On the one hand, a dedicated revolutionary should make every effort to convince other workers that his cause is just. On the other...

Cut to: a scene depicting a bourgeois capitalist pigdog, finely dressed, getting rich off the honest labors of the working man by selling Che Guevara t-shirts to noble, hardworking proletariat for literal buckets of money.

VIL (voiceover): ... one does not wish to give aid and comfort to one's political enemies simply because they control the means of distribution.

Back to VIL, looking straight down the camera, face-only.

VIL: That is why, on this Glorious People's Day of Labor, I, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, am proud to announce...

Cut to wide shot. VIL's arms spread wide. To either side of him are large workmen, dressed in equally tight t-shirts.

VIL: ... the Second October Revolution! (SFX:  echo and reverb)

(Back to 3/4 shot of VIL)

VIL: Yes my friends! Today is a glorious day! Today, the workers take back style! From each, according to their sense of design! To each, according to their sense of fashion!

VIL begins stalking across the beam towards stage right, knocking over the workers in his way. Those further back, seeing the trend, dive off into oblivion.)

VIL: The workers control the means of production! Without the workers, you have no shirts! Do you truly wish to be seen as ideologically naked in this political struggle of class versus crass?

VIL stops again; head turns to the right to address camera once more.

VIL: (roaring) NO! Down with the industrial bourgeoisie! Up with the industrial  proletariat! Buy Second October Revolution apparel TODAY!

VIL stalks off-camera as the Second October Revolution logo appear: a dollar sign, a hammer and sickle, and a profile of Lenin, each indicative of the letters S, O, and R. 

Voiceover: Available at these fine outlets.

Fade-in logos of stores carrying the SOR brand, such as Aeropostale, Hot Topic, and Banana Republic. Linger for three seconds, then cut. 

Yes, even my dreams are full of satire.

Please tell me that all of you get this. I hate having to explain my humor...

Tiny Sutures

I am a big fan of Howard Tayler's Schlock Mercenary. Last Sunday he had the following strip (follow this link so you don't have to squint to read the text):

The phrase "tiny sutures" really stuck with me for a reason which will become apparent in a moment. I regret that it took me four days to come up with this, but now, with apologies to both Howard Tayler and Don Ho, I present...

Tiny sutures (tiny sutures )
In my eye (In my eye)
Make me happy (make me happy)
Make me not die (make me not die)

Tiny sutures (tiny sutures)
It's not rocket science
Oh, Tailor, aren't you gonna
Sew some beauties in my eye?

So here is an injury
You have a chance to shine
Why don't you get a-stitching
In my brain?

Tiny sutures (tiny sutures)
In my eye (In my eye)
Make me happy (make me happy)
Make me not die (make me not die)

Tiny sutures (tiny sutures)
It's not rocket science
Oh, Tailor, aren't you gonna
Sew some beauties in my eye?

If you aren't familiar with the tune, I have provided it here for your convenince. Please forgive me for not attempting to filk the Hawaii'an lyrics.

The Perfect Political Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!

As you slip further into your tryptophan-induced postprandial coma, take a few moments to read the very amusing "A Conservative's/Liberal's Guide to the Perfect Thanksgiving". I regret that I wasn't the one to write this, but at least it frees me from any real creative duties so that I can have another helping of pumpkin pie.

Enjoy your feasting, and for those of you brave enough to face the hordes of rabid shoppers, I leave you with this benediction:

"Better you than me, you crazy bastards."

Much Ado Aboot Nothing

Well, then.

It would seem that yesterday's post stirred up a bit more controversy than I intended. Indeed, the proverbial hornet's nest was given a good solid thwack.

I'm not going to bother explaining the intent of my post, because if you didn't get it, you'll just think I'm trying to cover my ass. All I have to say is, those of you who were offended by it probably came here looking to be offended.

I'm not going to apologize for it, either. From all the ad hominem attacks I've received, you might think I'd managed to personally insult every single person in Canada and their mothers. It wasn't my intent for you to feel insulted, but I have no control over how you folks choose to feel and react.

I will also say that it's the purpose of a writer to elicit an emotional reaction from her readers. Judging by the volume and intensity of the comments I've gotten, I'd say I've succeeded in that regard.

Speaking of comments, I'm quite enjoying the spirited discussion that is occurring in the comments section. I currently have no plans to intervene in the discussion or close comments. However... insults and personal attacks will no longer be tolerated. The moment this becomes a flamewar, I'm deleting those comments and quite possibly locking the section.

Additionally, anonymous posts are disabled. If you want to leave a comment, you have to put your name to it and own your words, just like I own mine. Registering with Blogger takes all of 30 seconds so I doubt that's an impediment to anyone with a serious desire to let their opinion be known.

And finally, to those people who have informed me that I have lost them as readers: well, I'm certainly sad to see you go, and I hope you change your mind at some point once you've cooled down, but the honest truth of the situation is that over the course of my writing career I'm bound to offend someone, and if you didn't leave over this then odds are very good that you'll leave over something else that I write.

So fare thee well, my Canadian readers. I truly do like you, truly meant no offense, and truly wish you all well, regardless of what you have said to me.

An Open Letter to Canadians

Dear Canadians:

I like you. I really do. I can't easily prove this, of course, so I hope you'll take me at my word when I say that I actually, honestly, sincerely like you and your country. In my mind, I see America and Canada as brothers, so when I say what I say, please know it's out of love and respect.

But seriously: shut the fuck up about American politics, okay? Please. You're trying my patience.

Look, I get the fact that our Conservative Republican Texan President rubs you the wrong way. I understand that American Foreign Policy essentially pisses in your poutine. I realize that as gross generalizations go, you are far more liberal and left-of-center than we, and that's why you're frequently so appalled at our actions.

But you've got to stop bitching about American politics. It's not a healthy mindset. I mean, you care more about our politics than we do, and there's precious little you can do to change our government. You can shake your fists and stamp your little feet and it will do bugger-all in the grand scheme of things.

You want to change our government? Immigrate, become an American citizen, and vote in elections. Then you can bitch all you want, and you might actually change something.

As it stands now, though? You're like the bitter ex-boyfriend who can't let go of being angry at his ex for breaking up with him years ago. You obsess about us, write screeds and diatribes and blogs about us, and it's really quite sad because, overall, we barely know you exist. Look, I'm not proud to admit my ignorance, but I will to make this point:

• I know that Felipe Calderón is the President of Mexico, a nation which doesn't share our language.
  
• I know that Gordon Brown is the Prime Minister of England, a nation which not only doesn't share a border with America but is also on the other side of the Atlantic.
  
• But Canada and America share a common language, a common border, and most (though not all) of a common culture, yet I still don't know who your Prime Minister is without Googling him.
  

In fact, I can only name two Canadian PMs at all: Trudeau and Diefenbaker, and I only know of the latter because of Due South (an excellent show which I enjoyed because it managed to poke fun at both American and Canadian stereotypes while at the same time celebrating our common bond of shared heritage).

So please, for your own mental and emotional health, let it go. Or dial it down a notch, at least. I mean, I couldn't stand Chirac, but I can count on my fingers the number of times I gave him enough thought to warrant even a slightly annoyed mood, much less a high dudgeon or good old-fashioned spleen venting. And when he lost the election to Sarkozy, I didn't throw a party; I merely nodded my head, smiled, and said, "Oh, good, I can like France again," and that's all the thought I gave it, because that's all it deserved. Much like psycho unstable exes, who are also better ignored than fretted over.

So please, Canada, I am imploring you: let it go. Let us go. We aren't going to change to suit you, much like you refuse to change on our account. Find a hobby, watch a hockey game, get drunk on your awesome Canadian beer; but if you keep obsessing about American politics, you're just going to end up on the White House lawn at three A.M., playing Peter Gabriel at top volume and begging us to take you back.

And no one wants that.

Love,
Erin Palette