Multiple Possibilities -- Same Old Trick

I really, really wanted to like Diablo Cody's new show United States of Tara. The half-hour series about a suburban mom with Multiple Personality Disorder debuted on Showtime last week.

Here's why I expected to like it:

-- Showtime series are usually smart and edgy.

--Toni Collette is a genius. (Little Miss Sunshine, Towelhead, Sixth Sense, etc.)

--John Corbett (the guy who played Aiden on Sex and the City) is adorable.

--Juno-writer Diablo Cody created the series.

As you can see from the picture, Collette's character, Tara, has three alter egos: the 15-year-old girl (T), the white trash war-vet (Buck), and an uptight, domestic goddess (Alice). The trouble is, Collette's no Jim Carey, and her portrayal of the alters felt unusually forced and cartoonish.

Tara morphs into an alter when she's faced with a situation "she can't deal with." So, when Tara discovered her teenage daughter Kate's morning-after prescription, she turned into T, the teenager alter. As T, Tara painted her toenails black, smoked pot, and raided her daughter's closet for thongs and low-rise jeans. Though initially it was funny to see classy Collette play the ditz, the act got old. Diablo Cody had the opportunity to portray a unique teenage experience; instead, the character was rifled with [annoying] cliches.

The first episode is full of exposition. Tara's husband doesn't NEED to tell Tara's sister how long the two have been married. Diablo Cody seemed to be ramming exposition down the audience's proverbial throat -- I wish we had learned the back story in a more interesting way. The first episode also left me wondering: Why are we starting at this point, this exact point, when the family is already familiar with her alters? Where are we going? We know Tara has had the disorder since childhood, but it's hard to believe she truly functions and can raise a family. Her characters are downright irresponsible and dangerous. (For instance, Buck starts a fight with her daughter's boyfriend and grabs Kate's friend's butt.)

The match-up between Corbett and Collette wasn't right either. Maybe it's because I loved Aiden in Sex and the City (though he's let himself go since then), but you get the sense that Collette's just a little too old for Corbett, and it's hard to believe he has a 16 and 13-year-old kid.

But I'll keep watching, and here's why. There were a few moments that made me believe this show is more than a cheesy gimmick. As Buck, Tara calls her effeminate son a fag. As T, Tara tries to have sex with her husband, even though Tara doesn't want him to sleep with her alters. These two moments were chilling. How does a son respond when a form of his mother throws homophobic slurs at him? How does a husband respond when his wife's body with a 15-year-old mind seduces him? These moments forecast some potential in this series, and while I felt the first episode was 90% hokey, I'll tune in next week.

Please stay tuned for:

1. Review of Diablo Cody's (writer of Juno) new Showtime series featuring Toni Collette and the guy who played Aiden on Sex and the City.

2. Response to the much buzzed about self-help book "Why Men Love Bitches."

3. Tasty tour of Baltimore with Rocket to Venus' head chef David Carleton.

AND MORE! (All coming in the next couple of days)

Sexist Drinking Games

Everyone loved "Milk." Though Sean Penn's performance was phenomenal, I have to admit that I preferred "Slumdog Millionaire" and "The Reader" to "Milk." (I'm still looking forward to seeing "Doubt," "Revolutionary Road," "Frost/Nixon," "Gran Torino," and "Rachel Getting Married.")

Anyway. I saw "Milk" with three straight guys and my best friend Audrey. The story was moving and the acting was well-done. Though I found the film a bit preachy and predictable, I think it's a powerful piece of art that calls for change, and I wish it had come out before the November Prop 8 vote in California. (An early opening could have just been preaching to the choir, but it likely would have inspired more people to get involved in the cause.)

So where am I going with this?

Last night I was out to dinner with a group of straight guys (and Audrey). In one breath they were talking about enjoying "Milk," in the next, someone suggested we play "Slap a Ho" drinking game later that night -- which involves plastic cups and ping pong balls.

True, "ho" is more of an innocuous term than "fag" or other homophobic terms brought up in "Milk." My friend would never have suggested playing "Slap a Fag" or "Slap a [N-word]" Why then, is it okay to use a derogatory term about women? Its repetitive usage, especially under the influence of alcohol, only makes the term more acceptable to use. (And don't give me bullshit about how a whore is a profession that some women choose. Think for one minute how lucky you, your sister, and your girlfriend are to NOT have to sell their bodies.)

I constantly hear people say: "That's gay..." "He's gay..." "That movie's gay..." The best way to respond in these situations is to ask, "Why is that gay?" or, "Why is it called "Slap a Ho?" I've found that just asking the question has an unbelievable effect and generally leads to a thoughtful discussion -- plus, it's a nicer and more effective way of calling someone out than shrieking "DON'T SAY THAT!"

When you see a movie like "Milk," let it change you. Realize the amount of cruelty that exists in the word in the form of racism, homophobia, xenophobia, and sexism, and choose not to fuel it... even by playing what seems to be a harmless drinking game.

Artist of the Week: Ingrid Michaelson

I should probably mention my preference for female singer-songwriters. It's not that I don't enjoy the male voice, but I grew up listening to artists such as Sarah McLachlan, Indigo Girls, and Liz Phair and have always enjoyed listening to songs and attending concerts of female rockers. (My first concert ever was the 1998 Lilith Fair)

Ingrid Michaelson has been in the music scene for some time now. The 29-year-old has been featured on Grey's Anatomy and One Tree Hill soundtracks as well as a popular Old Navy Commercial. "Youuuu take me the way I am."

Ingrid is a classically trained pianist and songwriter. Her voice is quirky but strong, and so are her lyrics. I didn't become a such a big fan of Ingrid's until I saw her play this summer at Towson's Recher Theater. I was blown away by her live performance; the music was stripped down to just a piano and guitar which highlighted her voice more so than her instrumental and heavily produced albums. She also has great stage presence and told cute stories to introduce her songs.

I'd recommend the album, "Girls and Boys" (2007). Every song on that album is beautifully written and produced, especially: "The Hat," "Corner of your Heart," and "Starting Now." My favorite tracks off her albums "Be Ok" (2008) and "Slow the Rain" (2005) are "Mosquito" and "The Chain."

Here's a live video of "The Chain." The video's a little blurry, but the sound is great. Pay attention to the rounds in the chorus...

Books, Periods, and Cars

There are three pieces of work that I can't get off my mind: The Reader (still in theaters), Towelhead, (recently released on DVD), and How I Learned to Drive, a 1997 play by Paula Vogel. I highly recommend checking out each piece of work.

The Reader -- a film that spans about 40 years in Germany -- was phenomenal and has already garnered Golden Globe nominations; Towelhead, is a quirky dark comedy about a half-Lebanese teenager growing up in Texas; How I Learned to Drive, is a must-read and 1998 Pulitzer Prize winner about a Maryland girl's adolescence and sexual awakening.

**Spoiler Alert: Plot Reveal**

These works explore the tension between good and evil, black and white, and binary relationships in general. It's not until an hour into The Reader that we discover that Hannah Schmitz (Kate Winslet) was a former S.S. Guard during World War II, who aided in the deaths of more than 300 women. Writer David Hare begins with the relationship between Winslet (in her 30's) and 16-year-old Michael Berg (played by David Kross and then Ralph Fiennes). Their age difference is not mentioned in terms of right or wrong; rather, clashes in their personalities and male hormones lead to the demise of their relationship. Though critics have brought attention to the statutory rape, the film does not view Winslet as a predator, and their age difference receives significantly less attention than their difference in literacy.

Years after Hanna abandons Michael, he attends a hearing of the S.S. guards and spots his past lover. Michael faces a tough decision and contradicting feelings. Does he offer the details of her illiteracy to help defend her case? Is he disgusted by her actions? Is he bitter that she left him? These precise feelings aren't addressed. The audience anxiously waits for a scene when Michael explicitly confesses his situation to his law professor -- who'd surely point Michael in the right [moral] direction -- but the conversation doesn't happen. The Reader isn't The Curious Case of Benjamin Button or Marley and Me; it specifically doesn't offer explanations to feelings. Though Michael sends recordings of classic novels to imprisoned Hannah (hence the title), he doesn't respond to her letters and consequential new found writing abilities. When the prison matron asks Michael to help Hanna once she's released, it appears he wants nothing to do with her. He decides to help, but when he finally visits, his coldness likely leads to her suicide. The Reader jumps through time, ignoring narrative consistency, in the same way the film rejects the notion of logic. The worst question you can ask after you see The Reader is: why? Why does Hanna kill herself? Why doesn't Michael write her back? Why does Hanna let 300 women burn in a church? The film specifically does not want to provide its own answer to those complex, disturbing, and heartbreaking questions.

My parents prefaced Towelhead as being a film I "would have written." Even though Towelhead deals with racism, pedophilia, and parental abuse, I take it as a compliment. Towelhead is unapologetic. Case in point: the first scene opens up with Jasira (Summer Bishil's) stepfather offering to shave her bikini line.

Similar to The Reader, Towelhead explores the concepts of right and wrong. Clearly an older man and Army reservist, Travis, (Aaron Eckhart) wanting to have sex with a 13-year-old is wrong, but the film introduces Jasira as a sexually mature girl who wants sex -- and begs for pornography. Melina (an excellent Toni Collette) is constantly prying into the strange relationship between Travis and Jasira, and she's the voice over the shoulder that says "this is wrong!" a voice that is absent during the pedophilia between Hanna and Michael in The Reader.

But besides sex, Towelhead explores the "right" kind of parent. Jasira's father (standout Peter Macdissi) reprimands Melina and her husband for thoughtlessness after finding out Jasira had sex in their home; however, he slaps his daughter when she shows up to breakfast in boxers and a t-shirt, locks her out when he finds out she's using a tampon, and beats her when he discovers her pornography.

This film provides a vivid glimpse of hypocritical judgments and beliefs. Though Jasira's father constantly laments the fact that Texas locals think he's un-American because he's Middle Eastern, he refuses to let Jasira be with a black boy because of her reputation. Towelhead is an excellent coming-of-age film, especialy since it explores the experience of a a girl not usually seen in pop culture. It reminded me of Ghost World, American Beauty, and Slums of Beverly Hills. Check it out.

How I Learned to Drive is one of the most haunting plays I've ever read. The play explores sex in the way that Pillowman by Mark McDonagh explores violence. It didn't occur to me when I first selected these three works that they all deal with pedophilia in such a similar way; in each, the the younger partner (the victim, by law) is intrigued and attracted to the older partner and the sex is, to some degree, consensual.

In How I Learned to Drive, Li'l Bit (a family-given named for a small patch of pubic hair at bitch) is sought after by her uncle-by-marriage, Uncle Peck. The play considers the possibility of Li'l Bit instigating the relationship and egging him on. The narrative is reverse-chronological, so we watch the relationship develop from her college years back to her adolescence. Much like The Reader, How I Learned to Drive refuses to use logic to define its characters' actions.

It's easy to see why Li'l Bit likes Uncle Peck. Her family thinks her boobs are a bigger asset than her brain, and only with the encouragement from Uncle Peck does she apply to college. Plus, Peck isn't related by blood. Vogel specifically describes Peck as an innocent and attractive looking older man.

It's not until the final scene that we discover that Uncle Peck molested his niece at 11-years-old.

Vogel requires that an older woman play Li'l Bit's character throughout the play. Vogel purposefully toys with the audience's expectations, and it's not unusual for an audience member to ask with shame, "Would I have had the affair as well?"

In Spring 2007, I had the privilege of seeing my monologue Baby Girl produced by Johns Hopkins University's Witness Theater. In the play, 35-year-old Rick lives alone with his "baby girl." He takes care of her, watches TV with her, and loves her with all his heart. It just so happens that his baby girl is a dead fetus living in a tank that Rick "saved" after his pregnant wife killed herself.

"Now I’m no fool. I know some folks might say I’m as sick of a man as Sachs* by the way I treat my baby girl. But all I’m doing is loving her like anyone would love their baby girl. People love all kinds of things, things that make you sick. Things that make you broke or mean. I just think a person ought to be able to keep what’s theirs. Ain’t that right, baby girl?"

*Phil Sachs slept with his teenager daughter.

Many people will say that the three works I mentioned -- and also my own work -- are sick, disturbing, and wrong. I've always thought that instead of immediately labeling art, characters, or people as "good or bad," it's important to examine the motivations and back-story that lead to their choices. Material about pedophilia, incest, and abuse in general that doesn't directly point out the "villain" is important because it challenges our notions of the moral and ethical "right and wrong." Works such as The Reader, Towelhead, and How I Learned to Drive reveal that people can't be labeled as simply as heartless S.S. guards, oversexed teenagers, horny uncles, or "terrorists," but human beings with complex motivations and objectives, and often, sad sad lives in which they were victims once themselves. We need to engage with the disturbing in order to challenge our own perceptions and avoid making binary claims. There's a little bit of "right and wrong" in all of us, and being able to explore complex and disturbing characters takes us one step closer in understanding and exploring our own lives.