Wednesday, February 2, 2022 — 3
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
The basement in my childhood home
was equipped with a Magnavox box TV,
a GameCube and a PlayStation 2. The
furniture was old, and the basement
was prone to flooding, but it didn’t mat-
ter so long as my older brother and I had
the TV and at least one console. Before
the days of homework and exams, my
brother and I would spend every day
after school in the basement: He would
sit on the ottoman in front of the televi-
sion while I curled up in the armchair
behind him and, for hours, watched
him play video games. He played any
number of games — “Super Mario Sun-
shine” or “The Legend of Zelda: Twi-
light Princess” were the most popular,
and if I was lucky enough, he’d let me
play “Lego Star Wars” with him.
I spent years consuming games but
spent hardly any time playing. By the
time I reached my tween years, I had
gotten decent at “Lego” games, “Ani-
mal Crossing” and “Super Smash Bros.
Brawl,” and I was familiar with the
mechanics of the Wii and PlaySta-
tion. But I intimately knew “Legend of
Zelda” and “Infamous” games and oth-
ers less suited to a little girl than “Ani-
mal Crossing.” I knew how to solve the
puzzles in those games. I knew the lore
and character biographies, and I knew
that if you fell in water in “Infamous,”
death was immediate, so steer clear.
I watched the early days of YouTube
gamers like ChimneySwift11 and iHas-
Cupquake, and in recent years, I fell in
love with Polygon’s “Unraveled” series.
I had all the theoretical knowledge it
took to be a “real” gamer, but my broth-
er was the gamer, not me. No matter
how much interest I showed, the video
games underneath the tree on Christ-
mas morning weren’t addressed to me.
So what was a young girl to do?
She gets smart. She learns every-
thing she can about video games since
she can’t afford to buy them herself,
and she flexes that knowledge at every
opportunity. And it surprises people —
men, mostly. After they undergo a brief
period of wondering how a woman
could have so much knowledge about a
sphere mostly exclusive to them, there
are generally two ways they follow
through. One, they accept it and carry
on the conversation with me. Two, and
perhaps the more common option, is
the testing.
If I know so much about one video
game, then they want to see if I know
everything about its predecessors and
spin-off games. As a young woman, I
am not new to men’s attempts to trip
me up in an arena they do not deem
suitable for me, but I never face it quite
so poignantly as I do within the gaming
sphere. Their singular desire is to act as
gatekeeper to the academia of the video
game community — meaning I am not
allowed in unless I prove myself intel-
ligent enough and otherwise ought to
be kept on the fringes of their culture.
And while I don’t mind saying that I
can hold my own when it comes to dis-
cussion about a game’s story or char-
acters, I will also admit that I begin
to trip up when it comes to gameplay.
If someone asked me to speak on the
particular mechanics, special items or
battles in, say, “The Legend of Zelda:
Twilight Princess,” I would be at a loss
because even though I watched my
brother play through the entire game,
I have never laid hands on a “Legend
of Zelda” game. All these years later, I
still find myself wondering why?
That why has a number of answers,
but advertising is at its core. Before the
1980s, video games were pretty neutral
due to a lack of data. Yes, the industry
was still largely male-dominated, but
“
there was hardly any player research
being conducted.” No developers knew
who exactly was playing the games, so
the games were made for everybody.
Enter the 1983 video game crash:
a recession in the industry caused by
over-saturation. Consumers stopped
purchasing games, and the industry
lost money by the billion until a little
company called Nintendo stepped in.
Aiming to avoid repeat over-saturation
and to create a more niche market, Nin-
tendo conducted wide-scale market
research into who was buying and play-
ing the most video games — or toys, as
they were marketed at the time to avoid
the defunct title of “video game.” And
what did they find? Boys were play-
ing more. It follows that, in the ’90s,
“Video games were heavily marketed
as products for men, and the message
was clear: No girls allowed.” Marketing
images and campaigns often featured
hypersexualized women, the notion
that increased gaming skill could win
you more female attention and the
age-old joke that video games were an
escape from the old ball and chain.
This is why video games under the
Christmas tree were never addressed
to me as a child. They were good gifts
for my brother — tools for him to be a
regular little boy —while I was given
baby dolls, which were tools for me to
be a good mother.
As a future homemaker, I was repre-
sented in countless Disney princesses
rescued from the clutches of evil only
to become wives and mothers. The only
kind of women I saw in the video games
my brother played were these same
damsels in distress. To my child-mind,
Zelda and Princess Peach were prin-
cesses locked away in towers, waiting
for Link or Mario to come save them
from Ganon and Bowser. Even when
the rare strong female character, like
Lara Croft or even Samus Aran, did
make an appearance, she was hyper-
sexualized and seemingly animated for
the male gaze.
The “gamer girl” identity is reflected
in this representation. Somehow both
fetishized and scorned, the internet’s
definition of a gamer girl is, like Lara
Croft, welcome in the gaming commu-
nity, yet is more ornament than player
and is non-threatening enough to be
held at arm’s length within the commu-
nity. She is an unfortunate, unrepre-
sentative catch-all term that has been
applied far too liberally to myself and
other female gamers.
In 2014, Gamergate — the online
harassment campaign in which “thou-
sands of people in the games commu-
nity began to systematically harass,
heckle, threaten, and dox several out-
spoken feminist women in their midst”
— revealed just how dangerous video
game culture actually was for women,
and particularly for transgender gam-
ers. The campaign produced transpho-
bic memes in order to push its agenda
and highlighted just how long trans-
gender women had been speaking
against sexism and harassment in the
community. When Gamergate pulled
back the curtain on the utterly violent
misogyny embedded in video game
culture, it was no longer surprising
why women were always kept on the
fringes. If the games weren’t marketed
towards us, if we didn’t see ourselves
represented in them and if men would
resort to violence to keep us out, then
what was the point? Why try to indulge
in a culture that obviously didn’t want
us when there were so many other are-
nas in which we could be experts? Like
cooking. Or child-rearing or homemak-
ing, if that’s more your speed.
Well, “hell hath no fury like a woman
scorned” and all that. Men in the gam-
ing industry can try to keep women out,
but there will always be some who slip
through the cracks. Women like the
members of Dignitas, “regarded as the
world’s best all-female ‘Counter-Strike:
Global Offensive’ team,” who practice
for six hours every day in order to keep
fighting for their place at the esports
table. Women like Twitch streamer
Pokimane, who in 2021 was revealed to
have made 1.5 million dollars over 26
months, not accounting for merchan-
dise or sponsorship revenue. Women
like Kim Swift, who developed 2007’s
hugely popular “Portal,” or Alyssa Fin-
ley, the executive producer of “Bio-
shock” and “Bioshock 2,” the first two
games in a franchise that has sold over
34 million games as of 2019.
Women will continue to pursue
video games, and video game culture
will continue to make us feel that we
are not “real” gamers or reduce us to
“gamer girls” because of our gender
identity. Time and time again, I have
faced men that want to keep me out of
gaming because they do not deem me
serious enough — and this is a univer-
sal experience for women in the video
game community. That is the upsetting
truth of our current time. However, I
maintain that women do not have to
be esports champions or top-earning
streamers or developers of some of the
most popular video games of all time
to prove that they are “real” gamers.
Consider this a call to arms: All you
have to do is play the games you like
and keep pushing. When a man claims
that you have no space in the gaming
community because you play “Animal
Crossing,” I want you to double down
and devote your skills to building your
dream island. When a man quizzes you
on your “Call of Duty” knowledge, I
want you to challenge him to a game
and beat him.
Or, if you’re like me, learn every-
thing you can about video games and
then ask for your first “Legend of
Zelda” game for Christmas. It will be
the second-ever video game addressed
to you under the Christmas tree, both
received in the year and a half since you
turned nineteen, and both will be from
your big brother.
Gaslight, Gatekeep, Gamer Girl
Ricky Gervais’s bewildering brand of sentimentality in ‘After Life’
Hear me out: ‘Dora and the Lost City of Gold’ is an unexpected masterpiece
Content warning: death, suicide
Ricky Gervais (“Scooby-Doo and
Guess Who?”) is not widely known for
having a big heart. He is perhaps most
famous for his rant against the hypocri-
sy of Hollywood elites at the 2020 Gold-
en Globes, or maybe for his scorching
standup comedy, in which he mercilessly
dissects touchy subjects, most notably
religion. The edgy elements of Gervais’s
persona are certainly on display in the
third and final season of “After Life,”
which he writes, directs and stars in.
However, the numerous tear-jerking,
emotionally
devastating
and
heart-
warming moments that accompany his
blunt sense of humor are truly surpris-
ing. What’s even more puzzling is how
well these features complement each
other.
“After Life” season three is the culmi-
nation of Tony Johnson’s (Gervais) emo-
tional journey following the loss of his
wife, Lisa (Kerry Godliman, “Frayed”)
to breast cancer. Throughout the series,
Tony battles suicidal thoughts and
struggles with finding his purpose on
earth now that his soulmate is gone. His
friends at his workplace, the local news-
paper the Tambury Gazette, and out-
side the office do their best to help Tony
while simultaneously striving to find
happiness themselves.
In the first season, Tony’s coping
strategy was to say whatever came to his
mind and treat others however he want-
ed, because without Lisa, nothing mat-
tered anymore. Unsurprisingly, this way
of life did not make Tony feel any better,
and he barely escaped suicide, thanks to
the love of his dog, Brandy (Anti, “Hit-
men”), and a few other friends. Over the
course of season three, Tony finds a new
strategy: trying to achieve contentment
by making the world a better place. He
gives beneficial advice to his friends and
performs acts of kindness for deserving
strangers without abandoning his signa-
ture fearless insults when dealing with
genuine assholes.
According to Gervais himself, the
overarching message of “After Life”
season three is to make the most of life
while you can. It is no doubt a challenge
to convey such a broad and universal
idea through any artistic medium, let
alone a six-episode season of television.
However, Gervais cleverly imbues the
theme by using several tactics, including
story structure, character development
and humor.
The first is the subtle, slice-of-life
nature of the show. Gervais does not
hammer down the worldview with pre-
cise and heavily structured plotlines in
which Tony might learn something new
at the end of every episode. Instead, he
lets the idea breathe in the natural and
deep conversations between charac-
ters, in addition to spending time on
seemingly mundane activities, such as
walking the dog or joking around with
friends. Importantly, Gervais also makes
clear that living life to the fullest is not
an easy task. Tony often struggles to get
out of bed in the morning and can do so
only after watching old home videos of
his wife. Gervais is also careful to avoid
preaching, keeping his message relat-
able with his aforementioned style of
comedy.
“After Life” takes advantage of Ger-
vais’s comedic personality to create a
satisfying ending to the series in which
Tony’s transformation is palpable. It
is rewarding to see a character who
started off the series so cynical (even
willing to lose his life in order to per-
sonally ridicule two petty thieves)
ultimately become a relatively selfless
individual. Without spoiling too much,
one of the most touching scenes in the
season occurs when Tony puts aside his
fervent atheist beliefs to make someone
feel better in the moment.
Through “After Life,” Gervais expert-
ly demonstrates that you never have to
put limits on your creative work. Why
not juxtapose gut-busting inflamma-
tory humor with the themes of depres-
sion and the meaning of life? Who says
that you can’t create a captivating show
without proven structure? The show
therefore serves as both an inspiration
for viewers and creatives through its
beautiful and innovative story.
My earliest exposure to Nickelodeon
was confined to Nick Jr., their children’s
programming channel. Turning the
channel to Nick Jr. meant getting plenty
of “Blue’s Clues,” “Dora the Explorer”
and Face, the sentient Nick Jr. mascot and
cartoon screen. Although “Blue’s Clues”
has semi-recently slid its way back into
pop culture relevance, and any kind of
Face revival seems (tragically) unlikely,
I feel the need to pivot everyone’s atten-
tion to a groundbreaking, seemingly
unnoticed “Dora the Explorer”-related
phenomenon that burst into the world in
2019: the live-action “Dora” adaptation
“Dora and the Lost City of Gold.” People
don’t talk about this movie enough, and I
would like to change that.
I saw “Dora and the Lost City of
Gold” in theaters with my friend from
high school. We have a long tradition of
going to weekday matinees of movies
that at least one of us is skeptical about.
I can’t remember which one of us picked
“Dora,” but I do know that we were both
somewhat hesitant. We walked in with
the lowest of expectations but were
greeted with 102 minutes of entertain-
ing adventure and, admittedly, excellent
humor. We were the only teenagers in a
theater full of kids and parents, and we
were laughing harder than anyone else.
It was, for us, an unexpected master-
piece.
“Dora and the Lost City of Gold,” while
based on the animated show, moves into
a realm beyond Dora’s formulaic animat-
ed world. The film follows Dora (Isabela
Merced, “Sweet Girl”), now 16, as she
moves from her home in the Amazon jun-
gle to the LA area to live with her cousin
Diego (Jeff Wahlberg, “Cherry”) — an
iconic animated character in his own
right. Having spent her entire life in the
jungle raised by her (hilarious) archaeol-
ogist parents, Cole (Michael Peña, “Tom
and Jerry”) and Elena (Eva Longoria,
“Desperate Housewives”), Dora is bril-
liant, enthusiastic, curious and totally
naïve. As expected, she has some trouble
fitting into her new high school. But the
film takes a turn when Dora is kidnapped
by mercenaries — along with Diego and
two of their classmates, Sammy (Mad-
eleine Madden, “The Wheel of Time”)
and Randy (Nicholas Coombe, “68 Whis-
key”), who inadvertently end up in the
box with Dora and are flown back to the
South American jungle. Dora must lead
her ragtag bunch through the jungle to
find her parents, who have gone missing
looking for Parapata, a fabled lost city
built by the Incas.
What a plot, right? Because there
are so many moving parts throughout
“Dora,” it tends to pull from a number of
different genres. It’s a comedy, but there’s
a touch of high school identity crisis, and
a touch of dramatic Indiana Jones-esque
adventure. There’s also a, ahem, trippy
scene where they get caught in a spore
field — a scene that, frankly, has to be
seen to be believed. And it ends with a
musical number. There’s a lot going on.
The film has layers, different things
that can be enjoyed by different audienc-
es. Yes, there is a song about poop. Yes,
there is a scene where Dora dances like
various animals in a high school audito-
rium while dressed like the sun. But what
personally caught me off guard about the
film was how self-aware it is. The film is
entirely aware of its roots as a children’s
show and is aware of its position as a film
meant to be enjoyable rather than life-
changing. (I mean, I found it life-chang-
ing, but that’s just me.) Our first glimpse
of teenage Dora shows her moving deftly
through the jungle in her iconic pink
shirt and orange shorts, naming species
and pointing out wildlife. She points out
a golden poison frog (whose skin is coat-
ed in a toxin that causes paralysis) on a
branch, stares straight into the camera,
and says, in the spirit of her younger ani-
mated counterpart, “Can you say severe
neurotoxicity?”
This was the moment that “Dora and
the Lost City of Gold” had me. This was
the moment where, in that theater, I was
completely sold on this movie. “Dora”
was all-in on its premise and its source
material, and I was all-in on “Dora.” And
it only got better from there.
Part of what makes this movie work is
that, even with the poop song, the themes
of the film are shockingly strong. Dora’s
parents initially send her to live with her
cousin’s family because of an incident
involving jumping across a ravine. As
it turns out, even believing in yourself
doesn’t alter the Earth’s pesky gravita-
tional pull — a direct challenge, almost,
to the animated show’s attitude toward
danger. The film establishes real stakes
and real danger: There is no illusion of
invincibility the way that there is in the
animated show. No one dies in the film,
but between the armed mercenaries,
natural hazards and ancient Incan booby
traps, the threat of death is there. (Luck-
ily for our mostly fearless crew, Dora also
used to sit around and think about what
to do about quicksand).
Within the external stakes, “Dora”
also sets up effective internal stakes. At
the heart of the film is the relationship
and dynamic between Dora and Diego.
Despite being best friends when they
were young, ten years is a long time: Dora
hasn’t changed at all, but Diego has. (You
know how everyone becomes jaded and
ashamed of themselves as soon as they
hit middle school? Well, Dora never went
to middle school, and Diego did.) While
some of the other characters are a little
one-dimensional, Diego and Dora are
strong and complex, and their charac-
ters’ relationship reflects that. When
they’re at the high school, Diego is ter-
rified of how people think of him and is
embarrassed by how unapologetic Dora
is. In the jungle, though, the only thing
that matters is their loyalty to each other,
and the ability to have each other’s back.
Design by Sarah Chung
Design by Meghan Tummala
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AIDAN HARRIS
Daily Arts Writer
MADDIE AGNE
Daily Arts Writer
KARI ANDERSON
Daily Arts Writer