The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, September 18, 2018 — 5
I always assumed that I
would get married someday.
Until
recently,
I
never
questioned
my
reasons
for
assuming it; marriage seemed
like an inevitable stepping stone
between birth and death, like
something that happens to a
person rather than something a
person does. It wasn’t until my
brother’s wedding that I realized
the terrifying enormity of this
thing that, up until that point, I
thought everyone stumbled into
one way or another. Watching
someone I loved, someone who
in my mind was still only about
17 years old, commit the rest
of his life to another person, I
was forced to reckon with how
poorly the love stories of my
childhood prepared me for the
realities of marriage. Beyond the
fairy tale, beyond the wedding,
my media education had left me
pathetically in the dark.
It’s
no
surprise
when
you realize how heavily the
“marriage plot” figures into
our
pop
culture
narratives,
especially
those
targeted
towards young women. The
marriage plot is at the core of
virtually any romantic comedy:
boy meets girl, boy and girl
circle around each other for
the better part of the story, boy
and girl overcome all obstacles
and realize they’re meant to be
together forever. The defining
feature of the genre is that the
story ends in a wedding (more
traditionally) or some other
kind of presumably permanent
coupling for the protagonists.
Once you become aware of the
marriage plot, it’s difficult to
unsee it. Think of every Disney
movie you watched as a kid,
every rom-com and sit-com
you’ve seen in the past year and
virtually anything starring Meg
Ryan. The marriage plot is one
of the few basic formulas by
which we know how to consume
and
understand
narratives
about women. And, like any
formula that distills a wide
range of human experiences
into a narrow set of possibilities,
it fails to tell the whole story.
One reason the marriage plot
fails to accurately or insightfully
represent real relationships is
that it is, quite literally, archaic.
The genre was encoded in
Shakespeare’s comedies, which
were defined less by humor
than by their wedding finales,
and then popularized in the
19th century novels of Jane
Austen. But there’s a significant
disconnect
between
what
marriage meant for women in
a pre-feminist age and what it
means now. For Shakespeare,
Austen and their respective
contemporaries,
marriage
was essentially an economic
contract between the groom and
the bride’s father. The bride’s
consent was largely irrelevant
and, whether or not there was
any real love involved in the
match, her position relative to
her new husband was servile at
best. I was always struck by how
much less interesting I found the
heroines of these stories after
their weddings; take Beatrice,
the heroine of Shakespeare’s
“Much Ado About Nothing,”
who, despite being one of the
more opinionated and spunky
women of English literature,
ceases to have any lines at all
after her wedding. She is literally
silenced
by
marriage,
her
identity completely obfuscated
by that of her husband.
What’s more, the marriage
plot
and
its
prevalence
in
female-centric
narratives
suggests that marriage — or
more accurately, a wedding — is
the most significant event of a
woman’s life. In Shakespeare’s
or Austen’s time, this might have
been true; women were denied
entry into most professions,
couldn’t own or inherit property,
and had virtually no economic
or reproductive rights, making
marriage the climax of their
lives even though they had very
little say in the matter. These
stories end in weddings because,
beyond that point, the woman
more or less ceases to exist with
any degree of independence.
So why is it that the marriage
plot is still the most popular
template for romance today,
when by all accounts we should
know better?
I’ll
admit
that
I’m
as
susceptible to a good romantic
comedy as the next person —
so susceptible, in fact, that
I’ve been under the spell of the
marriage plot for a long time
without even knowing it. The
media available to me as a child
and teenager taught me that
romantic love was the most
important pursuit of my life. But
the key word here is “pursuit.” I
was supposed to pursue love, or
more accurately to be pursued
as a passive object of someone
else’s love, and then the most
interesting part of my life would
be over, the rest of my story left
to vague conjectures of “happily
ever after.” On the screen, or in
the pages of the book, that kind of
narrative offers a rush, but when
I stopped to imagine it applying
to my own life, it became deeply
unsatisfying. I doubt that the
media directed at young men
contains the same message.
Their narratives have problems
of their own — the glorification
of mindless violence, enforced
heterosexuality and emotional
constipation to name a few — but
they also tend to be stories about
taking action and fighting in the
pursuit of an ideal rather than
passively waiting to be chosen.
Romance, if it shows up at all, is
secondary to or conflated with
sex.
This isn’t a hopeless case.
As much as the marriage plot
continues
to
dominate
the
popular
imagination
around
romance, we’ve already begun
to see a shift in the focus of
women’s
narratives
in
the
media; “Lady Bird,” “Big Little
Lies,” “Moana” and “Hidden
Figures” are only a few recent
examples of stories that are
more interested in the ambitions
and
platonic
relationships
of their protagonists than in
their marriage prospects. The
marriage plot also faces an
interesting challenge from the
increasing
representation
of
non-heterosexual
romances.
While some gay love stories
have
erred
towards
the
ostentatiously
tragic
(see
“Brokeback
Mountain”)
and
others conform to marriage-
plot conventions in an effort
to normalize non-heterosexual
experiences
(see
“Love,
Simon”), these narratives are
inherently less tied down by
the limitations and ingrained
inequalities
of
heterosexual
marriage, and therefore open
up a third possibility for the
portrayal of romantic love: as
one event in the complex web
of factors that make a person
who they are, rather than the
sole defining aspect of their
life. I hope that the generation
after mine takes their cues from
these stories, and doesn’t make
the mistake of sitting around
waiting
to
be
chosen
just
because John Hughes and Walt
Disney told them to.
Women’s stories and foiling the tired marriage plot
JULIA MOSS
Daily Arts Writer
COLUMBIA PICTURES
BOOKS NOTEBOOK
After eight months of release
push-backs and a screening
at the Toronto International
Film Festival last week, Yann
Demage’s “White Boy Rick”
has arrived, only to, sadly, not
live up to the expectations set
by
its
(pretty
outstanding)
trailer. I couldn’t help but put
“Rick” beside “Boyhood” in my
mind, as both features are led
by young, inexperienced actors
who struggle to carry the weight
of the film on their shoulders. In
the case of the latter, directed
by Richard Linklater, the father
figure is given enough room
in the script to pull the film
back and bring it into an even-
better-than-just-redeeming
place. Matthew McConaughey,
the father figure in “Rick,” isn’t
able to fill those same shoes, his
relatively minor role in the film
not giving him nearly enough
time to rise it out of the ashes.
Now, of course the two roles are
different, but there is something
to be said about hiding your
headliner too much behind the
rook.
“Rick” doesn’t try to do
enough for the audience. It’s not
heartwarming, it’s not especially
active, it doesn’t provide for
many gut-busting lines — the
film just sort of plays, sitting on
your palette but lacking flavor.
Some of this can be attributed
to the strange, push-and-pull
relationship
the
protagonist
Richard Wershe Jr. (Ritchie
Merritt, newcomer) has with
his father, Richard Sr. (Matthew
McConaughey,
“Interstellar”).
McConaughey’s character is a
deadbeat from the drop-of-the-
puck, his “lion’s pride” attitude
not materializing into anything
that might stave off poverty and
self-destruction for his family.
By the end, after young Rick has
gone through multiple fazes of
FBI informant, to gun trafficker,
to drug trafficker, back to FBI
informant, we are supposed to
see the Junior’s misguided ways
as some glaring fault of the father
— even though McConaughey
had been trying to hold his son
back from getting in too deep
the entire time. The film makes
it hard to get into young Rick’s
head,
making
his
eventual
life-sentence outcome hard to
attribute to anyone but him.
Sure, his dad could have moved
out of Detroit instead of trying
to stay and turn things around
— but no one forced young Rick
to get in too deep, eventually
so deep that he can’t get out.
There’s not enough consistency
in
theme
surrounding
the
prodigious crack dealer. Had
the film taken a firm stance on
the morality of Rick Junior’s
actions — possibly portrayed
him as more of an anti-hero
than a lamb to the slaughter — it
would have been easier to access
the emotions of the character for
both the audience and for the
actor himself.
“White Boy Rick” lacks a
defining
texture
throughout.
The sound design and score
never hit quite right. There
are lapses in the story where,
from
one
moment
to
the
next, it doesn’t feel like the
narrative is approaching any
final destination. Many have
already touted McConaughey’s
performance,
which
was
standout amongst the rest of the
unaffecting acting suite, but it
even feels that he at times isn’t
sure what type of movie he’s
in. For how fun and interesting
the
preview
material
made
“White Boy Rick” look, it doesn’t
manifest in the final product.
Score one, LBI Productions
marketing team, I guess.
‘White Boy Rick’ doesn’t
live up to expectations
STEPHEN SATARINO
Daily Arts Writer
FILM REVIEW
Fred Armisen (“Big Mouth”)
and Maya Rudolph (“Big Mouth”)
are probably the single most
prolific duo one could dream
up in the world of TV comedy.
Along with Alan Yang of “Parks
and Recreation” and “Master
of None” fame, they team up
wonderfully in “Forever,” a short,
easy Amazon series that tackles
some familiar themes with a
surreal touch.
The
show
launches
into
the
exposition
of
Oscar
(Armisen) and June’s (Rudolph)
relationship immediately, telling
the story of their entire lives
together in the space of a short
montage
minimally
backed
by Miles Davis’s “It Never
Entered My Mind.” Rudolph
and Armisen’s vast experience
in stage and sketch comedy is in
full display, with their expressive
facial and bodily expressions
(as well as Armisen’s trademark
awkwardness) replacing the need
for any other forms of dialogue.
Their
story
is
a
well-worn
one (albeit told in the space of
roughly five minutes). After years
of marriage, the pair finds their
relationship stale and detached,
without the spark of young love.
Despite
the
façade
of
contentedness with the state of
their lives, their relationship has
deeper problems, which June
takes an admirable first step
in repairing by suggesting the
couple refrain from their annual
fishing trip to go skiing instead.
And then Oscar dies. Thankfully,
the show takes only an episode
to show how June grieves before
she, too, kicks the bucket and
joins her husband in the afterlife.
From this point, the show
seems
to
take
a
familiar
direction, focusing once again on
the relationship between Oscar
and June, except now in the
afterlife. The afterlife depicted
here is slightly less whimsical
than “The Good Place” (in which
Rudolph stars as well), but still
provides a cast of memorable
and hilarious side characters,
including a young man who died
in the 1970s and still uses terms
like “orientals.”
Unfortunately, it is difficult to
fully understand why the story is
set in this world in the first place.
The same issues that seem to be
explored could just have easily
been examined in the real world,
and the situation makes the
first two episodes — especially
the second — feel superfluous.
For the most part, the afterlife
is exactly the same as the real
world, despite a few quirks. It
feels more like the backdrop of
a surreal “Portlandia” sketch
rather than a fully thought out
one fit for a longer, multi-episode
series.
Nonetheless, “Forever” makes
for short, yet still worthwhile,
viewing due to the overabundant
comedic
talent
of
Armisen
and
Rudolph.
Somehow,
anything these two actors do
can somehow turn out funny.
While Armisen’s character is
much of what we expect from
him, he and Rudolph maintain
incredible chemistry, and their
witty dialogue and interactions
are constantly entertaining. The
pair also exhibit moments of
skillful dramatic acting as well,
making the explorations of the
progression of romantic love
more effective.
“Forever”
does
not
do
anything groundbreaking and is
certainly not the strongest work
of its stars. However, at eight
short episodes in length, it is a
bingeable, entertaining watch for
fans of the style of comedy that
Rudolph and Armisen execute so
effortlessly.
‘Forever’ is only worth
watching for the talent
SAYAN GHOSH
Daily Arts Writer
TV REVIEW
“White Boy
Rick”
Sony Pictures
Michigan Theater
“Forever”
Amazon Video
Season 1, Episodes
1-4
AMAZON VIDEO
SONY PICTURES