(5) If you're the object of trauma, you remember many of the circumstances, and you remember who did the deed. This is said repeatedly, now, but it merits (even more) repeating. And there's generally an element of irrational shame, particularly if the action involves sexual assault--so, over and over again, the victim not only opts against doing any reporting, but also makes a concerted effort to give the appearance of "everything is perfectly normal." This ground was covered in Krakauer's "Missoula," several years ago, and in several other places. Given this information, it's really stunning to me that people like Susan Collins can continue to seem as (willfully?) ignorant as we've been observing.
All that said, I have to mention a Tweet Adam Goldman recently issued: "You either believe women or you don't." I disagree. Life isn't that simple. Women are not a monolith. Different cases require different interpretations. Which makes life interesting and upsetting and also a source of rich storytelling material.
(4) Tamara Jenkins's "Private Life" is not as good as "The Savages." Her script for "The Savages" was a masterpiece. I'm noticing something distressing in the world of fiction. Writers harvest their childhoods: This yields Story I, "The House I Grew Up In." The story is dense and colorful and bizarre and unpredictable. It has an aura of lived experience, and it often has fun ethnic detail that the writer has absorbed from years and years of careful study. This was Jenkins's "The Savages." This was Emma Brockes's "She Left Me the Gun."
Then the writer searches for new material. The second (or close-to-second) story becomes: "My Efforts to Have a Baby via Scientific Intervention." The story is still funny and smart, but it doesn't feel as lovingly "kneaded and baked" as the "House I Grew Up In" Story. Also, the plot unfolds in a way that seems less than organic; this time, we go (predictably) from IUI to IVF to chat about adoption to personal breakdown. All that aside, I like "Private Life," and I recognize the Linney and Hoffman templates; I recognize these templates in the work Kathryn Hahn and Paul Giamatti are doing. And I see the same interest in absurdity: The nurse who hears Halloween devil ears while prodding Hahn's inner organs, the moment when Hahn becomes deranged and screams, "Go and f**k anyone!" even as an elderly woman passes by. It's nice to have Jenkins back.
(3) Among my favorite political masterworks, from the Taylor Swift canon, is "Dear John." This is the moment when she crucifies John Mayer. The title alone is delightful: A "Dear John" letter can also be a "Dear John (Mayer)" letter. A song is what you invent as you're driving away, looking in the rear-view mirror, says Swift, and that is what we have here.
In an ABBA song, the melody often seems to match the verbal content perfectly. Think of that orgasmic "TAMBOURINE OH YEAHHH!!!" I see a similar skill in "Dear John." The lines climb up and up, then fall down in a great moment of deflation, disappointment. "Deaaaaaaar.....JOOOHHHH-oooohhhhnnnnn....I see it all now that you're GOOOO-oooonnneeeee...." And that insidious, smart kicker: "Don't you think I was too young to be messed with?" Poor, poor John Mayer.
(2) "The Witch Elm," by Tana French, is now available. And P. Pullman has a book of essays on fantasy and storytelling.
(1) Have you re-watched, recently, the very first scene of the very first episode of "Girls"? It's a classic. First shot: Dunham is shoveling noodles into her mouth, and we sense she is maybe too old to be acting the way she is acting. A game of chess: Mom has an agenda, and she believes she has enlisted Dad to carry out her plan, but Dad is clearly rebelling in his own quiet way. And clever, insufferable Hannah goes in for the kill: "I could be on crack. Do you know how lucky you are? My friend, Jill, her parents cut her off, and she had two abortions last summer. One after the other. And no one came to sit with her..."
Mom is right to observe that these abortions are irrelevant, and we might wonder, if Hannah is Jill's friend, why didn't Hannah herself do the visiting-and-sitting? Every moment is as bright and funny as this. A tonic and a salve, and an inspiration.
All that said, I have to mention a Tweet Adam Goldman recently issued: "You either believe women or you don't." I disagree. Life isn't that simple. Women are not a monolith. Different cases require different interpretations. Which makes life interesting and upsetting and also a source of rich storytelling material.
(4) Tamara Jenkins's "Private Life" is not as good as "The Savages." Her script for "The Savages" was a masterpiece. I'm noticing something distressing in the world of fiction. Writers harvest their childhoods: This yields Story I, "The House I Grew Up In." The story is dense and colorful and bizarre and unpredictable. It has an aura of lived experience, and it often has fun ethnic detail that the writer has absorbed from years and years of careful study. This was Jenkins's "The Savages." This was Emma Brockes's "She Left Me the Gun."
Then the writer searches for new material. The second (or close-to-second) story becomes: "My Efforts to Have a Baby via Scientific Intervention." The story is still funny and smart, but it doesn't feel as lovingly "kneaded and baked" as the "House I Grew Up In" Story. Also, the plot unfolds in a way that seems less than organic; this time, we go (predictably) from IUI to IVF to chat about adoption to personal breakdown. All that aside, I like "Private Life," and I recognize the Linney and Hoffman templates; I recognize these templates in the work Kathryn Hahn and Paul Giamatti are doing. And I see the same interest in absurdity: The nurse who hears Halloween devil ears while prodding Hahn's inner organs, the moment when Hahn becomes deranged and screams, "Go and f**k anyone!" even as an elderly woman passes by. It's nice to have Jenkins back.
(3) Among my favorite political masterworks, from the Taylor Swift canon, is "Dear John." This is the moment when she crucifies John Mayer. The title alone is delightful: A "Dear John" letter can also be a "Dear John (Mayer)" letter. A song is what you invent as you're driving away, looking in the rear-view mirror, says Swift, and that is what we have here.
In an ABBA song, the melody often seems to match the verbal content perfectly. Think of that orgasmic "TAMBOURINE OH YEAHHH!!!" I see a similar skill in "Dear John." The lines climb up and up, then fall down in a great moment of deflation, disappointment. "Deaaaaaaar.....JOOOHHHH-oooohhhhnnnnn....I see it all now that you're GOOOO-oooonnneeeee...." And that insidious, smart kicker: "Don't you think I was too young to be messed with?" Poor, poor John Mayer.
(2) "The Witch Elm," by Tana French, is now available. And P. Pullman has a book of essays on fantasy and storytelling.
(1) Have you re-watched, recently, the very first scene of the very first episode of "Girls"? It's a classic. First shot: Dunham is shoveling noodles into her mouth, and we sense she is maybe too old to be acting the way she is acting. A game of chess: Mom has an agenda, and she believes she has enlisted Dad to carry out her plan, but Dad is clearly rebelling in his own quiet way. And clever, insufferable Hannah goes in for the kill: "I could be on crack. Do you know how lucky you are? My friend, Jill, her parents cut her off, and she had two abortions last summer. One after the other. And no one came to sit with her..."
Mom is right to observe that these abortions are irrelevant, and we might wonder, if Hannah is Jill's friend, why didn't Hannah herself do the visiting-and-sitting? Every moment is as bright and funny as this. A tonic and a salve, and an inspiration.
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