Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

"Political Animals" misses the Title Mark

Am I the only one to think that everything in this title should be in the same size font as "MOTHER"?

Within this election year (is it really a coincidence?) “smart” television shows have made a startling yet pleasing comeback, and one of those top shows is USA Network’s Political Animals. The series, now on its fifth episode, focuses on the struggles of a political family a cross between the Kennedeys and the Clintons, that lives in and out of an alternate universe White House in which Adrian Pasdar looks oddly presidential and it’s evidently plausible that Americans voted for an Italian to lead the greatest nation on earth. Apart from starring Sigourney Weaver, a feminist favorite ever since her iconoclastic roles in just about every science fiction movie since 1979’s Alien, the aggregate acting talent of the remaining cast smooths out a show that is still relatively rough around the edges. The heady ensemble of characters don’t have to be talking politics to hold the viewer’s attention or make an impact, as the scene-stealing Ellen Burstyn proves as the alcoholic mother of Elaine Barrish.
"They never let me speak on record," Burstyn's Margaret
proclaims, a martini in her hand. "I'm always too drunk, or
too honest, or God forbid, both."           
And it’s a good thing that the characters don’t talk politics, because that’s an evidently huge gap in the knowledge of the writers of the show. Elaine’s Secretary of State title actually seems to denote a dedication less to foreign affairs in and of themselves but rather “extreme humanitarianism” work that forces her to save others – one week, forced to go outside the payroll of the White House to save three kidnapped journalists, the next, convincing the president to provide aid to a woefully downed Chinese sub filled with a helpless crew (in both scenarios, Ellen is cast as  the only person to understand the importance of a human life, a singularity underscored by continuous references and flashbacks to her son TJ’s attempt at suicide). Had true political knowledge been bestowed on all Political Animals characters, then the show would have more to run on than what quickly becomes the fumes of antifeminism – for Ellen, as an unintentional figurehead for working women the world over, does not debate and take advantage of the machinations of the political system. Instead, she quickly goes outside the box of the government she could use to her advantage in order to “mother” away at foreign affairs difficulties, ardently proclaiming what is right and wrong in whatever situation happens to have reached her attention rather than lobbying, consulting her colleagues, or ever letting the viewer know just how much government power is at her disposal.  
Carla Gugino's journalist, Susan Berg, was clearly meant
to bring a context and translate politics for the viewer;
however, Political Animals lack of politics forces the
impression that  she's not the hardened reporter we want her
 to be, but little more than an empathetic gossip columnist.
Thus, the Political Animals title seems like a teasing misnomer as politics quickly takes a backseat to the dramas of Elaine Barrish’s life. Again, the writers have made the decision that it’s ultimately most important to Elaine’s story that we delve into her personal life as well, to understand what motivates and hinders such a powerful woman and to, perhaps, further remind the viewer that Elaine is indeed a woman who cannot step outside the bounds of traditional feminine roles. Elaine as a Politician is portrayed as inseparable from her role as Elaine the Mother, Elaine the Divorcee, and Elaine the Daughter, and the show becomes such a complex puzzle of those sometimes purposefully contradictory roles, that the most we ever learn of politics is that all politicians ever talk about is their former terms or their plans to run again. Even Elaine’s plans to run again for president have less to do with broad political decisions and more to do, again, with her “extreme humanitarianism” and her attempts to fulfill the role of moral center.
Why do I always have to be the one with a heart and feelings to guide
my hand? It's because I'm a typecast matriarch, isn't it? 
As the show develops, it’s likely that the requisite family dramas will become ever more intense, regrettably obscuring the powerful role that Weaver’s Barrish could take on. Practically speaking, we’re a nation obsessed with the American elite that the Barrish family is based on, so of course we find the “insider” drama of Political Animals irresistible. As long as we’re getting our gossipy fill of the meat of a political family dish, with skilled actors accomplishing the seasoning, perhaps we’ll be able to ignore the fact that Political Animals contains some disastrous substitutions for a few key ingredients. 
Stay tuned, my next Political Animals post will probably focus on the show's highlighted roles of sex, sexuality, and gender.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games Trilogy is Anti-war and Anti-government?


From the beginning of the Hunger Games, I imagine it’s fairly easy for readers to get caught up in the pageantry, the romance, the intrigue of the Games and Katniss Everdeen’s war against the Capitol. This is so much the case that readers tend to laud the books for their strong heroine, their encapsulated and far-fetched view of teen romance (more than one man wants me at once! Whatever shall I do? It’s a tale as old as time), that the same readers don’t see through to what is probably the most important messages of the trilogy: War is Bad and so is Controlling Government. According to Collins’ narrative, those two things actually go hand in hand, as when in the last book the Capitol’s power begins to disintegrate, District Thirteen takes an even greater interest in war-mongering. And Katniss has demonstrated through her regret at the death of her friends and countrypeople, the destruction of her homeland and the murder of her sister, that the violence and so-called casualties of war are exactly what makes war so undesirable.
Thus, at the end of the Hunger Games, we find Katniss in a position strikingly similar to that of a veteran who didn’t want to serve a second term after the horrors of a first. To carry this rusty metaphor further, Katniss began the 74th Hunger Games in the position of a drafted soldier, but a soldier grudgingly willing to follow orders (orders that she set herself, yes, but orders reinforced by the “kill-or-be-killed” rules of the Hunger Games) and she promises her sister that she will, in fact, “Really, really try” to win the Games. She consoles herself with Gale’s advice that if she forgets the other tributes are human, than she won’t have any trouble killing them at all. From there on, it’s perhaps too easy to excuse Katniss’s actions of murder: she’s defending herself, her sister, and the people she kills have been manufactured by Collins to be real villains, seen as fully-formed killers and baddies while Katniss retains her purity as a girl who’s been forced to grow up too soon in a situation one of her age should never be in. 
Old enough to kill people, old enough to become
reluctant figurehead of a rebel army, I always say.
As the novels develop, Collins allows Katniss to maintain this innocence and bewilderment towards horrors of violence, victimizing her character at every turn with the crushing control of first the Capitol, and then through a wary alliance with District Thirteen.
Thus, at the end of Mockingjay, the final book of the Hunger Games trilogy, veteran Katniss is quite literally battlescarred, a recluse, terrified of what the future may hold, refusing to play any part in the new system of government installed and well aware that more violence is likely just around the corner, for as Plutarch says, “We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.” In this way, Collins’ Katniss rounds off her argument about the horror of war and the unnecessary control of government.

What is the greatest challenge to Collins’ dilution of an anti-war, anti-government trilogy? There always is one. In this case, there’s going to be three huge ones: the movies. The small message Collins did create by her trilogy will not translate into the trilogy of Hunger Games movies, blockbusters though those movies may be, for the movies are at their basic level an insult to the readers of the books – by watching the movies, the readers become the very spectators of Hunger Games and violence, fans of the Hunger Games and supporters of the tribute Katniss, we've been educated by Collins’ trilogy to dislike. In an unfortunate turn of events, stardom, screenwriting, and popularity have tragically caused the Hunger Games books to be regarded with the same youth angst and enjoyment as Twilight and Harry Potter, examples that do not carry the same enduring message through their sequels. Collins spent three whole novels criticizing the controlling viewers of the Hunger Games; with the movies, we're all made into hypocrites.