Reviewing the Reviews: Woman in Gold

This weekend a friend and I went to see Woman in Gold. It was a rare pleasure. The story of Holocaust survivor Maria Altmann's struggle to reclaim a stolen portrait of her aunt from the Austrian government, it's tense and fiery, with a lot of heart and a genuine understanding of the family and cultural connections that were at stake during the Holocaust. Reviewers have dismissed it as melodramatic, hamfisted, lacking nuance, and so on. And they're right. It's not subtle! But much like Pacific Rim, the lack of subtlety isn't a bug, it's a feature. Woman in Gold is a tale about avenging a martyred culture, and that kernel of smoldering fury that lies at its heart has no room for subtlety. Woman in Gold is not melodramatic. It's concise.

Woman in Gold deals with cultural trauma with a level of empathy, insight, and clarity I've never seen before in a film. Though it's nominally about art restitution, the soul of it lies in its exploration of how something like the Holocaust, and the subsequent shattering of European Jewish cultural identity, can ripple forward in time and impact those born far later. I'm in particular a huge fan of the film's very conscious decision to evoke that trauma in form of the PURE ANCESTRAL WRATH which permeates every element of the film's construction, and makes the story a very personal one for every Jew who sees it.

It's also one of the rare movies about Jews that's actually about Jews. See, Jews are accustomed to seeing pretty much every movie that OUGHT to be about us - say, anything concerning the Holocaust - focusing instead on some Gentile standing tall with a shield and a cross. (I'm looking at you, Schindler's List.) The fact that a movie which is supposed to be about us for once actually is makes me really happy. (Though the decision to cast the stellar-but-still-very-Gentile Helen Mirren and Tatiana Maslany as very Jewish characters in a very Jewish film is...perplexing, and the decision to cast the mediocre-and-also-very-Gentile Ryan Reynolds is...dubious at best.)

I understand that giving the audience a Gentile they can identify with is an effort to broaden the appeal, but I'm unimpressed, to say the least. By viewing a Jewish story through a Christian lens, that kind of film loses out on any chance it had to inspire genuine understanding of and empathy for its Jews. Wisely, Woman in Gold chooses to focus on perspective and choices of actual Jews, forcing the audience into our shoes for a moment.

Of course, not a single review I read actually cared that Woman in Gold was about Jews. Most of them didn't even seem to notice.

Of the six or so reviews I read, EVERY SINGLE ONE very neatly sidesteps or sidelines the fact that this film is specifically about Jews and Jewish heritage. (The LA Times review doesn't even mention that Altmann is Jewish.)  Many bemoan the film's treatment of the obstructive Austrian government, much as reviewers bemoaned Selma's treatment of Lyndon Johnson. Their complaints, while arguably accurate from a historical standpoint, ignore the unique perspectives from which these films were written.

From the perspective of an oppressed minority, someone who understands your plight, who has the power to help you, but refuses to do so is a villain. Full stop. They may not be the worst you have to face, they may even be redeemable, but in the moment their utter apathy to your existence is horrific. As a uniquely black film, Selma therefore portrays Lyndon Johnson, who had the power to protect blacks with the stroke of a pen but chose to drag his heels, negatively. Woman in Gold portrays the Austrian government, which could have easily returned the plundered art pieces to their rightful owners but chose to hold on to them for its own benefit, in a similar light.

The worst reviews come from the most venerable publications. The New York Times, Telegraph, and Variety each pretend Woman in Gold is really about the concept of art ownership - the question of whether art can or should be a possession, the extent to which it should be democratized, and so on. It's an important topic, and would be a good critique to bring up if this were literally any other movie about art. In the case of Woman in Gold, however, shifting the discussion to the airy topic of art theory ignores the very pressing fact that A GENOCIDE HAPPENED, and the overriding demand for justice outweighs any theoretical, academic concerns about who owns art.

The damage of that singular attempt to plunder, enslave, and ultimately annihilate an entire people ripples forward through history in the form of a cultural scar that manifests as alienation, isolation, and a host of other insidious problems invisible to those who don't live with them. The enormity of the crime is such that it can NEVER be repaid. You can't give us back our grandparents and great-grandparents, our heritage, our homes, our ability to live our lives without the lurking suspicion that some day, for no particular reason, Gentiles might collectively decide it's a good time to murder us all.

You can never pay it back. But you can at LEAST admit what you did. You can at LEAST give us back the things you stole.

These critics' attempts to divert the discussion are painfully ironic, considering that Woman in Gold depicts the Austrian government of using the exact same tactics to ignore, belittle, and delay. Particularly striking was a moment early in the movie, when a minor Austrian functionary meets Maria to say - (pardon the paraphrasing, I'm working from memory) -  "Not everything is about the Holocaust. Why don't you people ever quit?"

But that's a code, and it's a simple one. It means, "Your existence is inconvenient to me. Can you please stop?"

And when a film critic tries to turn a conversation about the Holocaust into one about art theory, all I can hear is that. Just below the surface.


(By the way, I'm planning to start writing more reviews of reviews! If you liked this piece, and there's a review of a book/movie/show you want me to talk about...just comment right below!)

Jupiter Ascending gets smart about fairytales

You might have heard a lot of noise about this movie Jupiter Ascending. You might have heard it's awful, it's poorly written, it's very very pretty, it's awful (but in the fun way). There's a common strain here. Because this movie is openly glittery, absurd, fantastic, and ridiculous, because it embraces its tropes and archetypes so wholeheartedly, nobody seems to take it very seriously.

So let's try taking it seriously.

I mean what the heck, right?

A few critics have called Jupiter Ascending a fairytale, a Cinderella in space. They're half right - it's a fairytale, but it's not Cinderella. Well, not entirely. It's also Tam Lin.

For people who didn't grow up around a bunch of Celtic folklore nerds like I did, Tam Lin is the classic tale of a lord's daughter who wanders into the Forbidden Wood (because seriously has anyone ever done literally anything other than wander into that place?) There she meets hunky knight Tam Lin, sleeps with him, goes home, finds out she's pregnant, goes back, finds out he lives there because he was enthralled by fairies an unspecified number of years ago, and finds out ADDITIONALLY that the fairy queen plans to kill him in about a month. One month later she steps out to meet him and proceeds to save his life by yanking him off a horse and wrestling him to the ground as he transforms into all manner of wriggling wildlife. She then hauls off  takes home her young shirtless nubile prize noble knight and marries him. The end!

Make no mistake - Jupiter Ascending is a fairytale. Even though they're technically human the Abrasax are fairies, and even though he's a shirtless doggie on SPACE ROLLER SKATES Caine is Tam Lin. That's important, because in fairytales - the old fairytales - fairies are monsters in their just as vicious and vampires and werewolves. And the Wachowskis understand them better than almost any creator I've seen barring Terry Pratchett (may he rest in peace).

At the core, every monster we imagine up represents something dark in ourselves. Vampires represent repressed desire. Werewolves represent repressed fury. And fairies...fairies represent privilege.

As beings of privilege, fairies are Better Than You, and they'll do anything to convince you of that - trick and tempt you, bedazzle and beguile you - because if they can convince that your place is at their heel, they've won. You're theirs.

But here's the secret. Fairies can't create. They can't build, they can't craft, they can't cook or weave or write. All they can do is consume, so they build a world of glamour to convince others to feed their hunger. That glamour is a lie of course, but it's a lie strong enough to build empires on.

Privilege is the fairies' power, but it's also their weakness, because they're bound to follow its rules. They have to behave gracefully and glamorously, or they lose their grace and their glamour. And once you can see beyond all that glitz and glamour and power...they're really not that impressive. You don't have to serve them anymore.

You're free.

Let's take a look at that word. Glamour. It's no coincidence that we use it, a word once used for the magic of lies, to describe the rich and powerful in our own society. Much as the fairies shape beauty and lies, our elites use their power and their privilege to shape the definition of beauty to their own ends. We see them in magazines and advertisements in all their glory, and we want to be like that - and we can. For just a small monetary fee right now, and a larger fee over time in the form our diminishing self-worth.

It's a glamour more real than any fairy could cast.

But it's still just a lie.

Mass Effect 3: How It Ended, and How I Wasn't Angry

So if you know me in anything more than passing, you're probably familiar with my astounding lack of knowledge of most things pop-culture related. See, I grew up in absence of TV, and almost all of my media exposure was in the form of books and video games. 

I AM getting better at it, though! This partly involves working at a media and culture magazine, and partly involves furiously catching up on Things I Need To See. Mostly shows. Occasionally movies. And on very, very rare occasions, games. 

Specifically, certain very high profile games which I somehow missed.

Anyway, last weekend I went up to Boston to visit some friends who happen to possess a certain game system I lack, with a certain game I've been dying to finish for a year and a half. And as luck would have it, a certain winter storm trapped me there with little to do but finish that game.

So I'm happy to announce that in my latest round of Catching Up On Media Several Years Too Late For Anyone To Care...I finally finished Mass Effect 3.

(I know I often discuss at length the Nature and Meaning of whatever bit of media I'm analyzing, but I'm going to assume you know how Mass Effect 3 ends. I knew how it ended before I even started the first game. If it's not a spoiler to mention that Snape kills Trinity with Rosebud, this isn't a spoiler either. My point is, if you somehow avoided the colossal storm of angry nerds yelling after the game's release, and you don't want spoilers, now is your last chance to stop reading.)

(Okay, I can see you didn't. Good!)

Even after dying six or seven times in the grueling penultimate battle - even after dying several more times against the final (very weak) enemy because I had played as a Vanguard and this fight me to actually aim at something - I finished Mass Effect 3.

It was a wonderful and immensely experience, and...

(I'm now stuffing my ears with wax in preparation for the inevitable tide of Nerd Rage.)

(Speaking of Nerd Rage, I'm going to be consistently referring to Shepard as female. If that bothers you, you should probably do some serious thinking about your personal opinions on women and why you hold them.)

...I'm not counting the ending out when I say I iked it.

I can understand the problems that a lot of people had with the ending. It was imperfect. But I don’t think its flaws were nearly as serious as the bulk of the audience seems to think. All in all I’m about…80% satisfied with it.

But because the bulk of the audience seems to have developed an cultish dedication to shitting on the ending, I feel like I have to answer that.

So. Let’s talk about the 20% I didn't like.

There were two major I could see with the ending. First was the change in tone between the intense, emotional, and philosophical clash between Shepard, Anderson, and the Illusive Man and the almost serene atmosphere of the scene following it. As I saw it, this reflected nothing so much as Shepard's utter exhaustion. She's not just tired, she's so tired she can't even feel it.

That  worked because the Crucible was always going to be a moment of transcendence, and to accept that sort of moment, to really understand it, we have to be at our lowest. To accept the miracle, we have to first accept that the situation is beyond our control. Mass Effect 3 is about bringing the entire galaxy to this point. That's what the Crucible is. It's a shot in the dark, a prayer, because nothing else will work - and at the end, Shepard accepts it. She can rest.

But it is a change in tone, and it's a sudden one. Jarring, even. And for some people, that can break immersion.

The other problem was that the writers didn't seem to put much thought put into what Synthesis would actually mean.

I don't have any problem with the fact that Synthesis existed. The Crucible was this Big Thing We Don’t Know What It Does, which would naturally to several options, any of which would be drastic, even transcendent moments that altered the very nature of this universe

Destroy was always going to be on the table, because that was Shepard's original goal. Control was going to be an option too, because that was the Illusive Man's goal. But both are awful! The writers did well to recognize that. Destroy doesn’t fix anything in the grand scheme - it takes care of the Reapers in the short term, but does nothing to stop them from coming back. It's not a step forward; it's a step back. A Shepard who chooses Destroy is the one who looks over the precipice, sees the new world that could be, and backs away. It's passive, and it's cowardly.

Control is worse because, to quote the main villain of Fullmetal Alchemist, the whole point of it is to CAST GOD DOWN FROM THE HEAVENS AND BECOME A PERFECT BEING. It's the height of arrogance. There is a reason Control is the Illusive Man's goal, and it's the same reason he's a villain. Sure, you can say it’s better because Shepard is better, but that’s EXACTLY THE SAME ARGUMENT THE ILLUSIVE MAN MAKES. That he deserves to rule the universe  because he's BETTER than other people. Which should be a pretty big damn hint that it's wrong.

(And the less we say about Refusal, the better.)

No, the correct answer always had to be something truly transcendent. An active choice, a choice to move the world forward, but without arrogance. Synthesis was clearly supposed to be that option. It needed to be there.

But…I don’t think the writers really fully thought through what it actually entailed? Or if they did, they didn’t work hard enough to make those thought processes clear to us - basically, they got lazy.

Yes, there needed to be a moment of transcendent, universal change. But why did that moment of transcendent change SPECIFICALLY have to be the union of synthetics and organics? I’m sure there are arguments, good ones - but I’d like to see them within the actual game. And I'd ideally like to see them made by someone who ISN’T A REAPER.

I's okay though. It's okay.

I’m like 80% satisfied.

Writing is hard

God damn but it is hard.

The thing I've come to understand about my brain is that while it loves writing, it doesn't actually like it. At all. For me, writing is grinding, painful, hard, hard work, and my lazy brain will take literally any excuse to avoid doing it. 

A lot of those excuses are pretty good! I'm a busy person. I work 5-6 days a week at two jobs, have all sorts of chores to handle, as well as this burning and inconvenient need for a social life. There's a certain amount of give and take, but they're all important, and I can't just ignore them.

Sometimes, it's not quite like that. Sometimes, when I actual I sit down at a blank page, blink, shrug, and go "nah". Actually if my brain had its way that's how it would be all the time. In order to actually get to putting down words I more or less have to put my own brain in a headlock and wrestle it into a very talkative submission. Occasionally it drops into hyperfocus mode and I blaze through page after page, but more often it never stops being a struggle. It will take any opportunity to get distracted, think about something else, even just check out for awhile.

When I look at a blank page I see a trackless wasteland, obscured in fog. It's terrifying. I can look a certain distance ahead, but if I plan too much I end up being wrong and having to revise, and if I don't plan enough I look at that big white page and mumble "perhaps tomorrow".

But that's the thing about creation. It doesn't get done tomorrow; it gets done today. Tomorrow is this nebulous ideal time to write when the light is perfect and you're energetic and awake and the stars have all aligned in the house of Saturn or something. Tomorrow is a hypothetical. When the next day becomes today, you'll still be planning to write tomorrow, and then the day after that, and the day after that.

Don't do that.

Write today.

On Ferguson

How much more is there to say? And what can I, as a white Jew, add?

Very little. Very little.

I could mention that roughly 0.003% of grand juries fail to return an indictment...but that's been said.

I could decry Special Prosecutor McCulloch for scuttling a procedure slanted entirely in his favor due to personal interest in the case, for his tone-deaf, milquetoast statements blaming people who talk about things online. But that's also been said.

I could rail about the utter arrogance of white people in murdering blacks with impunity, then throwing them in jail for being angry about it. But that's been said too.

I just...I don't know. I don't.

Bottom line is, in a procedure so heavily slanted toward the prosecution, we cannot blame anyone but the prosecution for failing to charge Darren Wilson for his crimes.

But we can blame ourselves. Because we're all part of this fucked-up system. We're letting it happen. By sitting down, covering our ears, we're letting it happen.

A grand jury hearing is not a trial. A trial is meant  to find out whether or not the law was broken; a grand jury hearing is to see if we even want to find out. By failing to even charge Darren Wilson, we're shouting loud and clear that we don't want to know.

We're not saying that Darren Wilson didn't murder Mike Brown. We're saying we don't care if he did.

"I don't care" are the three most terrifying words I know.

Mini book reviews, and exciting news!

You might realize I haven't been updating this blog with my usual languid-but-steady pace. There are a number of reasons behind that, but it really amounts to a combination of real-life hassles, other writing projects which for various reasons cannot appear on this blog, and one bit of extremely exciting news that's taken up a good bit of my time.

You'll have to wait until the end for that one. Sorry. (Not sorry.)

One thing I have had time for is lots of reading! Public transit is like that. So here are the books I've read recently, in brief.

Words of Radiance (Brandon Sanderson): The second book of Sanderson's epic fantasy saga The Stormlight Archive. Imagine Game of Trones set to the soundtrack of Pacific Rim. Epic in every sense (including its weight), this series is a joy to read and a genuinely optimistic take on a genre that tends toward the cynical, especially recently. It's also refreshingly diverse: almost nobody is white. (Too bad nobody told the cover artist.)

Code Name Verity (Elizabeth Wein): The story of two young British girls, a pilot and a spy, best friends separated in World War II. It's beautifully written and brilliantly constructed, and the relationship between these two young girls - whether you interpret it as romantic or not - might be the most positive, wonderful, and human dynamic I've seen between two characters, ever.

American Born Chinese (Gene Luen Yang): First in my binge on socially-conscious graphic novels, this is the story of a young Chinese immigrant growing up in California in the '80s. Its depiction of cultural isolation, erasure, and racism resonate powerfully with anyone not cut from the White Straight Christian mold, and in simple but effective terms it reminds us that being who we are is not a bad thing. It's actually pretty neat.

The Rithmatist (Brandon Sanderson): Sanderson's YA novel, read because I needed a break from the heavy emotions of Code Name Verity and American Born Chinese. A murder mystery, The Rithmatist suffers from excessive simplicity (even by YA standards) and its failure to find much for the young protagonists to do. Sanderson's clever magic systems, likable characters, and subtle social consciousness make it an worthwhile read, but they're like strong horses pulling a squeaky carriage. Decent, but far from Sanderson's best.

Persepolis (Marjane Satrapi): A graphic novel memoir of the Iranian Revolution from a woman who grew up during it. It's teaches a lot about Iranian history culture, but aside from the delightful Marjane herself, few of the characters receive attention besides a nameplate and an explanation, which makes it hard to connect with any of them. Persepolis is entertaining and a very good history lesson; I'm not sure it works as a story.

Maus (Art Spiegelman): Another graphic novel memoir, this one detailing the author's father's survival of World War II as a Polish Jew. Interspersed with his father's narrative on the Holocaust are scenes in the United States depicting Spiegelman's tense relationship with his father. Maus is...intense. It doesn't editorialize; it simply presents the events as they occurred, and gives us room to empathize with the people experiencing them. Read it. That's all I can say without a lot more space, and time to parse it.

And now, the news! I'm very excited to say I've landed an internship at CBS's Watch! Magazine! Two days in, it's already amazing, and I'm meeting great people and learning a lot.

Cheers,
Simon

Swimming with the student loan sharks

Swimming with the student loan sharks

I'm from a very unhappy medium in the lower middle class. As an electrician my mom made just enough money to disqualify me for a Pell Grant, but nowhere near enough to fill the gap between scholarships and tuition at Brandeis University. The "solution" was $50,000 in loans.

The first monthly payment on my Perkins Loan hit just after I moved to New York, and was equal to roughly all my money. The kicker: I received the bill several days after it was due. I'd just moved, and their confusion as to my whereabouts was perfectly reasonable. It was still terrifying, but nothing seemed amiss. The obvious solution would be to get in touch with Campus Partners, the company in charge of the loan, to explain my situation and get everything squared away. That should be easy enough...if Campus Parners answered their phones.

Or, after taking half an hour to answer their phones, they didn't hang up.

Or if their phone operators weren't specifically instructed to obscure and omit relevant information, even when specifically and repeatedly asked.

Or if they made it possible to get in touch with someone with any authority.

Or if they had an email address, or any other way to get in touch with them online.

After several days of calling Campus Partners despite their determined resistance, I learned that I could submit a forbearance request. In paper. No electronic documents allowed, even though an electronic document would be far quicker and easier for everyone. Apparently Campus Partners was only willing to process urgent legal documents in the least efficient form possible, which seemed to match their “delay and ignore” M.O. just fine.

Putting together this forbearance application took time. It required documentation of income, which is hard to pull together when you've just moved twice in a single month and commute four hours a day day. It also required a printer, which I didn't have.

It took a few weeks to put this form together, but just as I was about to send it - while at the post office, just before I sealed the envelope - Brandeis financial services called me and told me I could submit it electronically, straight to them. When I mentioned Campus Partners' behavior to them, they were concerned, and said they'd look into it.

Brandeis also told me it might be a good idea to consolidate my loans, to which I replied, "Huh?" Campus Partners had left out the fact that I could mash my Perkins Loan together with my Stafford Loan (whose monthly payments were based on my income) so I wouldn't have to pay extra money each month. In short, I’d be home free, at least in the short term.

After sending out the forbearance application and the loan consolidation request, I felt a weight lift off my chest, followed immediately by suspicion. If Brandeis could accept the form electronically at a moment's notice, why did Campus Partners need a hardcopy and several weeks to process it?

                       

Ah well, it wasn’t my problem. My forms were in, and I was set, right? Right.

About three weeks later, I got another letter from Campus Partners. Looking at the envelope, I nodded. This would be the confirmation that they'd received and processed my documents. Still nodding, still smiling, I tore open the envelope to find a...

                                                 

final demand letter?

I blinked and read it again. No, it definitely said "FINAL DEMAND LETTER", and it was definitely threatening to send my loan to a collections agency if I didn't pay up now.

After freaking out for ten minutes, I contacted Campus Partners to check if they'd received the form I sent two weeks ago. They said they hadn't. I then called my mom, Brandeis's financial department, and my boss, looking for some sort of way out of this. I also contacted an old mentor of mine, who mentioned that student loan servicers have a shady reputation, and that this one seemed shadier than most.

That put me on edge. Since they'd started sending me letters in May, Campus Partners' correspondence had been continually late. Feeling a bit sick, I took a closer look at the letter, and more importantly, at its envelope.

 

Dated July 12th...

...and postmarked July 23rd.

As you can see, the letter is dated July 12^th, but postmarked July 23^rd. For some reason, Campus Partners delayed urgent correspondence by 11 days, and deliberately sending my loan into collections seems the only motive for doing so.

In the past three months, I've seen Campus Partners make themselves difficult to contact, obscure relevant information, deceive both me and Brandeis University, fail to acknowledge receipt of forms, and send forms late to prevent me from responding.

I was lucky. When I spoke to Brandeis again, I learned they'd already pushed through their forms, and I was in the clear. But what if I weren't? What if someone else, dealing with this company, hadn't kept hammering at their phones for weeks on end? What if their forms got stuck in the mail? What if Brandeis hadn't picked the exact right moment to call? I don’t want to think of that.

And frankly, I shouldn’t have to. If our education and our livelihoods depend on the good faith and credit of student loan servicers, it is Brandeis’s responsibility to ensure that we can rely on them. It is unconscionable that this university deals with a company that deceives and robs those students it should aid and protect. Brandeis needs to vet its student loan servicers carefully and actively monitor their behavior to prevent this sort of abuse.

         

Campus Partners is a loan shark in graduation robes. You shouldn't have to with them, and Brandeis University shouldn’t make you.

An abridged version of this story has been published on the Brandeis Hoot.