Chelsea's blog

My professor mentioned today that she's trying to get our class a guest speaker; the speaker wrote a college grammar textbook. This didn't exactly thrill us, but when she mentioned that this author used to teach at Folsom Prison, we all got a little more interested. In fact, I couldn't concentrate for the rest of the class; I was too busy drafting new lyrics to Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues" in my notebook.

With apologies to English teachers everywhere and especially Mr. Cash, I present:

 I absolutely adore animated movies. My mother bought nearly every Disney movie on videocassette as they were released, so as a kid I had a pretty complete collection. They were the only videos we had had in the house, and I watched them over and over again. Ever since Snow White, Disney has made movies with gorgeous animation and entertaining stories, so I was conditioned as a kid to associate animated movies with a good time. It helped that I was just the right age to really experience that Alan Menken/Howard Ashman Golden Age. The Little Mermaid premiered the month I turned three (I can remember seeing in the theatre, too, making it the earliest memory I can associate with an approximate date), and was followed by one of my all-time favorite movies of any type, Beauty and the Beast. There was a stretch of four awesome movies-Mermaid, Beauty, Aladdin, and The Lion King. When Howard Ashman died, though, the touches he had brought to the stories faded away. Pocahantas had a great signature song in “Colors of the Wind,” but didn’t have much for a child to latch on to other than the animal sidekicks, and the historical inaccuracies make it hard to appreciate as an adult.

Still, Disney kept its supreme reign over animation and crushed all challengers, like Dreamworks’ Prince of Egypt. Early in the computer animation game, Disney’s ties with Pixar made Disney look like the innovator because they had the name recognition. But as Pixar kept making awesome movies, and Disney turned out stinker after stinker, including Brother Bear and the unwatchable Home on the Range (Lilo and Stitch and The Emperor’s New Groove are fantastic, however; which gives me hope for Disney yet), the public’s recognition of Pixar as a separate entity grew.

Pixar movies are great because the writers there have found the well of stories that Disney seems to have forgotten. These would be great movies in any medium, although the vibrance and capabilities of 3D animation certainly make them even better. But did the other studios, witnessing the floundering of Disney and the rise of Pixar make the connection about story-telling? No, of course not, this is Hollywood. Instead, it’s as if they figured it was the technology that was drawing audiences. To some extent that’s true, but it isn’t true enough to excuse the sorry state animation finds itself in today.

Non-Pixar 3D animated movies generally suck on either one or both counts: the visuals and the stories. I’ll allow for some exceptions. Shrek had a great, irreverent story, and good enough animation (though it certainly wasn’t Pixar-level). The second one was redeemed only by Antonio Banderas as Puss-in-Boots and Jennifer Saunders as the Fairy Godmother. Otherwise, it relied on current pop-culture references to an even greater extent than the first one, and I can’t see it aging well. I liked Hoodwinked well enough; the animation was cheap, cheap, cheap, but the script was tight. I’m sure there are others, I haven’t seen every recent animated movie (some, like Barnyard, I refuse to see on general principle). I guess Aardman, though not CGI, could be classified as 3D, and I love Wallace and Grommit and Chicken Run. But stuff like Shark Tale? Augh.

 I was home for college on fall break this weekend, and my family went to see a movie. My mother wanted to see Open Season, my dad wanted to see The Guardian, my brother is still waiting to see Snakes on a Plane, and we all have to consider that my sister is nine years old. So Open Season it was (I guess this is part of the reason animated movies are pretty much guaranteed to find an audience, in a sea of horror sequels and teen comedies, they are easily recognizable as “family friendly.”) It was the longest 70 minutes of my life. Pokemon 2 still remains the stupidest movie I ever saw in a theatre, but Open Season gives it a run for its money. What laughs there were were pretty forced, and I found myself getting madder and madder as the movie dragged on. Full disclosure time: I was raised hunting, fishing, and camping, and this movie just wasn’t good enough to overcome my background knowledge and install in me that all important suspension of disbelief. Unlike Bambi, which wins me over with its beauty, sense of nostalgia, and message of “life goes on,” Open Season just pissed me off. I started cataloguing flaws about five minutes in.

1) Let’s start with Beth, a.k.a the stupidest employee ever in the history of the parks system. Sometime in the past, Beth rescued an orphaned bear cub. Instead of rehabilitating it with the intention of releasing it; Beth turned Boog, our hero, into a unicycle riding sideshow attraction that lives in her garage, eats out of a dog dish, uses a toilet, and snuggles down with a teddy bear every night.

2) The second big issue I had was with the portrayal of the hunters, particularly the main baddie, Shaw. Now, I did like Gary Sinise’s vocal performance as Shaw. But my god there has never been an uglier animated character, and animated villains usually tend towards ugly. He’s a hunch-shouldered, beer-bellied, rotted-teeth, gun-clutching, pickup-driving caveman. He’s also a stereotypical asshole hunter: he’ll shoot anything that moves with no regard for the laws and regulations that govern hunting. Sure, there are hunters like that, but they’re surely outnumbered by the law-abiding citizens.

3) Somebody please tell me: on the North American plains, why would the ducks be French and the squirrels be Scottish?

4) Elliott (Ashton Kutcher’s hyperactive mule deer) was kicked out of his herd. Looks to me he’s better off without it: a herd of twenty mature bucks and a single doe cannot be a fun place during the rut. How does this herd expect to reproduce itself? Giselle, the doe, can only be pregnant by one buck at a time, leading to one, maybe two new fawns to replace the deer that die due to hunting, predators, and winter scarcity. Now, twenty does, all pregnant by the dominant buck, voiced by Patrick Warburton? That means at least 20 new fawns.

Yes, it’s a kid’s movie. It probably wasn’t intended to put forth any propaganda; it’s there to make money. But kids are smart, and just like with Barnyard’s bulls with udders, they can figure out when something is stupid (my brother turned to me during the movie and whispered “why would anyone mount a skunk’s butt on their wall?”). And is there really that much humor value in repeated squirrel nut jokes and the situation of a bear that really can’t shit in the woods?

Luckily, The Little Mermaid was released on DVD last week and I'll be discussing it in a later post.

10. Hazel, from Watership Down by Richard Adams. I might as well get the weirdest of my literary crushes out of the way in the number ten slot. Yes, Hazel is a rabbit. And as far as fictional animals go, he’s not even particularly anthropomorphized. I don’t care. Hazel is smart, brave, kind, and a great leader.

9. Huck Finn, from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. Coming in at number nine is my second most disturbing literary crush. Huck Finn is at least human, but he is pretty much a child. In my defense, I read the book when I was thirteen. Huck was perfectly acceptable then. My love for Huck Finn stems from the fact that, although he is on the outskirts of his community- the son of the town drunk, lazy, wild, and uneducated, Huck is a better person than most of the folk that turn up their noses at him. His decision to follow his heart and help Jim escape, while all of his cultural knowledge is telling him that this is the sin is one of most touching moments in American Literature.

8. Zaphod Beeblebrox, from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. One of three characters on this list that could be considered non-human, the two-headed, three armed president of the galaxy is reckless and dashing, goofy and insane. He’s not unintelligent, but he isn’t quite all there either. I waffled between choosing Zaphod or Arthur Dent, but ultimately had to go with the one who’s been called “the best Bang since the big one.”

7. Mercutio, from Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. Although Romeo has become synonymous with romantic lovers, he never did much for me. Far from being loyal, he actually strikes me as inconstant; if it hadn’t been for the forbidden nature of his and Juliet’s relationship, they would have been over each other within two weeks, tops. But Mercutio- there’s loyalty. He’s well aware of the stupidity of the feud but remains loyal to the Montagues nevertheless, ultimately laying down his life. The cynical bitterness of the character is also intriguing, as is his obvious intelligence and his sharp sense of humor.

6. Rhett Butler, from Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell. Rhett Butler is the only traditional romantic hero to appear on this list; he’s pretty much the prototypical rakehell that’s starred in every Harlequin or Mills & Boone romance since then. Scarlett was absolutely crazy not to recognize what she had; Rhett may not be perfect but he was perfect for her. Like he said, they were both “scoundrels.” His devotion to his daughter was also charming; his brokenness after the death of Bonnie Blue remains one of the most heart wrenching things I’ve ever read.

5. Inigo Montoya, from The Princess Bride by S. Morgenstern abridged by William Goldman. Westley is nice, I suppose, but at his core he’s pretty dull, and why he loves Buttercup (who may be beautiful but is as dumb as a box of hair) is beyond me. Give me the tortured soul of Inigo Montoya, seeking to avenge his father by killing the six-fingered man. Inigo’s athleticism, skill, and dedication are all worthy attributes.

4. Lemony Snicket, from A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. Lemony Snicket started out as the pen name for author Daniel Handler, but it soon became apparent that Snicket was a character in his own right. Smart and dryly humourous, Lemony Snicket’s narration makes the Baudelaires’ woeful story bearable. And his undying devotion to the dearly departed Beatrice is very romantic, if not a little morbid.

3. Atticus Finch, from To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Atticus Finch is crushworthy because of his upstanding strong sense of morality. He is also one of the best fathers ever represented in literature. He’s a legal genius (though he loses his big case), and truly compassionate.

2. Remus Lupin, from Harry Potter by JK Rowling. I could crush on Harry or one of his schoolmates, but the time between each book means I grew up faster than they did. Their teenage angst-fests didn’t kill the emotional connection and sympathy I feel for the characters, but it does make it hard to crush on them. Meanwhile, the third book, when Harry was thirteen, coincided with my own thirteenth year, but I was instantly drawn to one of the adult characters in that book: Remus Lupin. Even before I knew he was a werewolf (yeah, I don’t catch onto plot twists so well), I loved him: he was kind and smart and an absolutely awesomely talented teacher. I knew then that teaching was what I wanted to do, and while I won’t be teaching any magic, Lupin is the sort of teacher I want to be. After the twist was revealed, I loved Lupin even more, for his strength in the face of tremendous obstacles, and although Lupin himself probably won’t like this reason, I liked him because he was a werewolf. His façade of emotional control covers a wild animal- and that’s pretty exciting.

1. Sherlock Holmes, created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. My biggest literary crush often seems like the most incomprehensible (yes, even more incomprehensible than the rabbit and the alien). His physical description (and the illustrations inspired by it) aren’t particularly attractive. He isn’t very nice; in fact he’s condescending and arrogant. He’s addicted to cocaine and is terribly moody. His regard for women is even lower than his regard for the human species as a whole. He can certainly put on a civilized veneer and act chivalrous, but he isn’t particularly romantic; in fact you get the sense that he may have never been with a woman and may never feel the need to be. Maybe that’s the attraction; maybe it’s wrapped up in the feeling that maybe he could just be changed if the right person came along. His most attractive quality is by far his intelligence, and somehow, that’s enough for me.