I took Wildflower Child to the movies to see Miss Peregrine's. I actually had to bribe her with the promise of metric tons of popcorn and dinner out to go to a movie. My child is a monster. Regardless I had been very excited about this film as earlier this year I devoured the novels by Ransom Riggs. They are some of most creative and unique writing I've read in years. The entire concept of creating a believable world inspired by strange black and white photographs found at yard sales and flea markets is just wonderful. I have recommended these books to everyone I know who reads fiction. They are an easy read, though not simple, and some of the concepts and "rules" he created for his world are completely original. There is a method of traveling through time that blew my mind. So, yeah, I was excited to see this movie. Especially with Eva Green as the fantastic Miss Peregrine and Tim Burton directing.
I wish I could be more excited after having seen it, then I was when buying our tickets. The movie is gorgeous and I've tried to view it through the eyes of someone who didn't read and love the books, but I'm struggling. I should point out that I am okay with book to movie adaptations. I understand that there will always be changes and sometimes they aren't changes I want, but they made sense to the director or for the time restraints or capabilities of special effects, or whatever. Understanding that, I do not understand why the characters of Emma and Olive were essentially reversed. Emma is still the love interest and a "teenager" (why didn't they get into the relative ages of the children so Jake understands how young he is comparatively?) but instead of being a fire starter, she's now the floater. Olive is aged to teen years and linked to Enoch romantically and is the fire starter. What the hell? There was NO REASON for this change at all. Emma's heat in the books is important, and having Olive be very young and constantly putting herself up there to help the children illustrates how brave and capable all these characters are. The other character change that killed me was Bronwyn. In the book she's another teenager and almost foster mother to the youngest children. In the movie, she is a little. Bronwyn's strength in the books is not just her ability to literally carry them through danger, she is brave and compassionate and very gentle with the younger ones (Claire and Olive particularly). She is very underutilized in the film and more a sight gag than anything else. Fiona was also made much younger in the book than the movie and she talks. In the book she is silent until traumatized and there is a rudely funny moment when no one can understand her through her thick accent while speaking rapidly. Let's not forget that the main setting of the book revolves around a date during WWII. The evil "peculiars" use the cloak of the war and the mantle of the Nazis to move around Europe hunting Jake and the other children. The stress and fear of living and moving during that time is palpable in Ransom Riggs' writing. There is virtually no reference to the war other than the Nazi stamped bomb that falls when Miss Peregrine's time loop closes. I have taken two days to try to process how I feel about this movie and what I can say about it to those who have, and have not, read the books. Honestly, I am just sad. This was a unique and beautiful story that was frankly begging to be adapted. It was directed by one of my favorite directors, and cast very well. And it was one of the most disappointing films I've seen in a long time. Including Suicide Squad. I felt like it was simply expected that the other films would not be adapted and therefore the ground was scorched and salted. And I'm not sure anyone involved in the production actually read the books. Even if you haven't read the books, I'm fairly certain the final reel will have you saying "what?" to yourself. I know I was. Though with all that said, Wildflower Child loved it and hopes they make more. But what does she know? She's seven.
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For the first time in the Wildflower Child's three years of public schooling, she brought home an assignment that I simply couldn't get behind. I'm not talking about core curriculum math or something about religious tolerance or Columbus Day (I've come close with Columbus day). This was something that probably most people don't realize can be a traumatic subject. Family Tree. My daughter had a three page handout from the teachers that she was to fill out "with your parents help" about her birth story and her family tree. The birth story part asked who was there and the family tree was a blank template that was ordered like this: SELF: SISTER: SISTER: SISTER: BROTHER: BROTHER: BROTHER: MOM: DAD: MOM'S MOM: MOM'S DAD: DAD'S MOM: DAD'S DAD: And that's when I started to have an anxiety attack. Any readers of this blog know there aren't many good feelings about my daughter's father. That extends to his family as well. Having to write down the names of people I want NOTHING to do with and have that included in her school project was not fun. I debated for two days before sending the following email to her main teacher. Dear Ms. Pawlowski, I was very nervous about how this note would be received. And I know it isn't as polished as I would have liked if I had written it in a less emotional state. I got much less worried when I received the response this afternoon. Hi Ms. Williams, I didn't want to make a huge issue, but this was so very important to me to point out to a second grade teacher in 2016. Family doesn't mean one thing. Family comes in all shapes and sizes and colours and combinations. It is vital to recognize the delightful variety that family can be. I did respond immediately. Dear Ms. P-, Yes, I have aired a lot of personal issues in these notes, but I felt it was important to make a point of why a project like this can be damaging. I am very pleased to see that my note has made an impact and perhaps other families can avoid the discomfort that I've experienced due to a simple blank template that made assumptions about my child's life.
So that's how I became "That Mom" and made a little difference. I hope that other parents aren't hesitant to stand up to what they think is right. As long as they aren't being dicks. Because, don't be a dick. Best part of this whole experience was talking to Wildflower Child in bed tonight and her saying that she has "A mom, and grandparents, and... kind of... but not really... a dad. He's not around much..." She's getting it. But she's okay. As I tell her often, it's her and I, forever, and always. I might have avoided discussing the election on this blog had not Donald Trump existed. (I am voting for Hillary without reservation or regret.) After this past Friday I cannot keep silent.
Donald Trump, in case you've been living under a rock, was taped 11 years ago talking with Billy Bush on a live mic about how he could get away with anything with women because he was rich. He actually said he could "grab them by the pussy." Much of the media and GOP have labelled the language "lewd," and he "apologized" by saying it was "locker room talk." This was not "boys will be boys" bragging. This was discussing his ability to perform sexual assault with impunity. This is a man running for the highest office in our country talking about assaulting women. Then he went to the Sunday night town hall style debate and loomed threateningly behind Hillary during her talk time, and regularly interrupted and again, threatened her. And I have been sick to my stomach since. I remember hiding in corners to keep my step-father away as he would use his height and size to intimidate me. How he would ask me a question and then not let me answer. How my father-in-law would trap me in hallways or against counters with his body and also talk over me. What Donald has done, and continues to do, is abusive. Straight up, undeniably, abusive. My daughter is seven-years-old and she is being told by kids on the bus that Trump will be our next president. She doesn't know the difference between Democrat and Republican, but I have told her that he is not a good man and explained as best I can how he threatens people who are different than him and how he hates and mistreats women. I don't want her excited to see his name because she recognizes it. I want her to understand that just because he is on TV, does not mean he is a good person. I want her to understand that just because someone is famous, does not mean they can do what they want. And I want her to understand that I will use my vote to try to protect her future. Earlier this year I was in a casual relationship with someone who had no interest in having children, didn't have children, and was diagnosed bi polar. We had a lot in common, but there were obviously issues (otherwise I'd still be in the relationship one can assume). One problem was that he saw my anger and frustration at the various battles I was fighting at the time as innate negativity.
I was fighting for sole legal custody of my daughter. Trying to get her school to put a 504 plan in place for her due to ADHD accommodations. And was filling out applications for financial relief for her summer camp. It was an expensive, stressful, terrifying time. There were moments when I was overwhelmed and terrified. So he dumped me. He felt that I was too negative and I was bringing him down. That's fine, we weren't a good fit anyway and ultimately I met someone wonderful and we're doing well. But this whole issue brings to mind the difference between appropriate anger and frustration, and being negative and how tone policing is bullshit. Stress happens. Life is complicated and messy. No one has a perfectly cheery disposition at all times without either pharmaceutical help or a deep habit of self-delusion. Being angry is a normal response to being treated badly or going through a hard time. Expression of anger is one way to help reduce the stress that makes positive action difficult, if not impossible to implement. Telling someone that their situational anger is a part of who they are is abusive and reductionist. It tells the angry person that they have become nothing but the reaction to the situation that has caused an emotion. And there is nothing positive to be gained by that. I've seen this expressed on a larger scale when communities protest an injustice. Commentators say that the protesters "would get more done if they weren't so angry!" This is tone policing. An external observer is telling the angry person/community that their response isn't valid. Even though the observer (or partner) isn't experiencing the emotion themselves, they feel entitled to tell the person(s) having the experience HOW they should have the experience. I repeat, this is bullshit. I'm currently in another rage inducing situation with my ex-husband. This time I'm in a relationship with someone who not only listens to me vent, but encourages me to do so, and has agreed with the core awfullness of the situation. He has even parsed out the details in a way that both validates, and clarifies some of my more strictly emotional responses. This is how to react to someone angry at an unjust situation. Listen, respond when appropriate, listen... Then the anger can be turned toward action, and a positive response. So I finally got around to watching Suicide Squad. With my boyfriend. Just going to drop that there. Anyway... The one thing I can say about the film is, it is better watched with someone to look at in moments of confusion and disbelief and ask, "What?" or "Why?" or comment on how a brief viewing of Harley Quinn in hot pants is delightful, but watching her fight her way through... whatever that was... wearing heels and essentially red panties started to make us sad. I actually thought that if we wanted to get an idea of her exhibitionism and lack of shame, the shot of her in the bright red undies, before she pulls on something more asskickingly appropriate would have been fine. But the continued exposure of her body was gratuitous and even made me uncomfortable. That's saying a lot. Though her run around the elevator was awesome and Margot Robbie clearly put the work into getting into Harley's skin.
The real problem with this movie wasn't the casting, although it obviously leaned very heavily on having gotten big names, it wasn't the special effects or visuals, which were spectacular. It was simply the writing. There was no story there. There was lots of flash backs and attempts at creating a reason behind why each bad guy was picked and why they were who they were, but honestly, there was no reason to give a shit about anyone. Except maybe Harley because inherently her story is so brutally sad. On a side note, when I was on vacation in Wildwood NJ this summer, the boardwalk t-shirt stores were liberally stocked with "couple shirts" saying "I'm his Harley Quinn" and "I'm her Joker." Every time I saw them I wanted to cry. There is nothing good about the relationship between Harley and the Joker. It is straight up psychological abuse and torture. She is completely insane, because of him. If anyone thinks their relationship is romantic, they might want to get some therapy. Stat. I really wish I could delve deeper into why this film was so disappointing. But there's nothing deep to discuss. It was sad, boring and heartless. There was ZERO chemistry between Cara Delevigne and Joel Kinnaman. And Viola Davis just seemed like a one note "mean lady." Seriously, skip it. Unless you're watching it with someone else who can distract you from the ridiculousness of this big budget sack of sadness. I'm going back to my Marvel Cinematic Universe. Gladly. Now we can add David Becker, an 18-year-old Massachusetts student to the list of privileged white boys convicted of rape who don't get sentences that make sense. MassLive.com
I don't even want to get into the details as I find this all so completely depressing. Google him. Talk about the injustice. Talk about the victims. Create a culture where they are respected and their "college experience" is untainted by rape. Work on a future where the victims of rape actually receive recognition and justice instead of condemnation and insults. I'm so done with this shit. The latest duo that have illustrated exactly how prevalent and damaging rape culture continues to be in our society are Austin Wilkerson and Judge Patrick Butler, of Colorado. Austin Wilkerson, a student at the University of Colorado-Boulder, told people he would "take care of" a fellow female student who was inebriated. Instead, he raped her while she couldn't maintain consciousness. He was convicted of his crime. This is important. Wilkerson was convicted. Judge Butler however, decided not to send our poor little rapist to prison even though in Colorado his conviction would carry a sentence of four years to life in prison. Instead, he decided that two years of work release and twenty years probation was enough. Again the argument by Wilkerson's supporters was that HE had suffered enough and his future life shouldn't be negatively impacted by this one event. Again the focus was on what would happen to the perpetrator, not what has happened to the victim who has admitted that she has been physically, psychologically and financially traumatized. But that didn't matter to the judge who ignored prosecutors pre-sentencing memo stating that Wilkerson has shown absolutely no remorse and changed his story as needed. How many times is the future of the criminal going to trump the future of the victim in our court system? How many times is the victim going to be re-victimized by the trial that questions whether or not she deserved or invited what was done to her (or in many cases, him)? How many times are we going to be outraged, with no options other than to sign petititions and continue to rail against his vile reality. How many more times am I going to open Facebook and discovered it has happened again? Fucking end this people. Just fucking end this. I promise that at some point I will go back to reviewing super hero stories or babbling about Doctor Who or Sci-Fi books I've loved for years... But right now I'm going to talk about something most people don't want to discuss. And even less people want to hear. Especially from a stranger.
I am a sexual abuse survivor. You can use the word victim if you like. I try not to "feel like a victim" on a regular basis. But it is always there. I do prefer to use the term survivor when I think of it though. My story is not unusual. But it is long. When I was nine my mother met the man who would become her second husband. I would rather not call him "step-father" as he was not at all parental. They were married very shortly after my parents' divorce was finalized and my mother was in fact pregnant at the time. Also, their little wedding was in the living room of our house, and two days after my tenth birthday if I recall. Make note of that age. Ten. I was ten-year-old. The abuse in the household started virtually immediately. He would throw my pregnant mother around, spank my six-year-old sister excessively, and make sure to catch me changing. He would tell me we needed to conserve water, so we would have to shower together. My mother's second husband, made his new step-daughter shower with him. Around the same time they got married, I started my period for the first time, and right out of the gate that was a horrible experience with debilitating cramps that nothing would help. I was also in severe physical pain all the time (later found out that was stress and depression). He would offer to give me back rubs. These massages included my breasts, ass, and right up to the edges of my panties. He was particularly fond of a black turtleneck shirt I'd been given in a hand-me-down bag and told me that if I ever wanted to seduce a man, I should wear that... I was 11. This man never penetrated me, he exposed himself to me, touched me, isolated me, terrified me, and was actively grooming me. But I knew he was wrong. I knew he was a monster. I'd bar my door the best I could (wasn't allowed a lock) and almost never slept. One night after witnessing him violently abuse my mother again and scare my younger siblings, I almost killed him, but I was afraid I'd go to jail and my mother wouldn't be able to take care of the little ones. Eventually he left, we kicked him out, but even in that last day he made me walk him to the car, and for a year afterward he stalked me. I was 15-years-old. I reported the abuse. The exposures, the showers, the comments, the touching... I spent hours in court hallways and being interviewed in rooms with cameras. Ultimately, my case was "Closed, unfounded" because he was friends with people in the court system. And I learned right there, there was no point in saying anything. In high school after I moved from that house to live with my father, I met a tall and dashing boy who wowed me with his martial arts skills and sexy car. He also called me a tease and tried to take my clothes off and said he deserved it. I locked myself in the bathroom until he stopped banging on the door. I don't remember how I got home. Luckily later in high school I did date a couple of wonderful boys who were not monsters. My sophomore year I learned what it is like to bond over being geeks and had a fantastically fun and rather innocent relationship with someone who continues to be a great friend and got himself a wonderful life with love and adventure and a gorgeous kitty. My junior year I dated a wonderful person for a little while who was way ahead of his years when it came to relationships and sex. I wish I had treated him better and I hope that his life turned out to be everything he wanted and that he has a fantastic partner and maybe some kids and a job he loves and that he's still rocking a colourful mohawk. In college I was a "party animal" and was still trying to process the years of molestation and the anger boys would show if I didn't "give them what they wanted." I think I was also starting to try to understand my own innate sexual nature. I understand not all people are sexual or sensual. And that's fine, I am a sex positive person, I want everyone to have the CONSENSUAL sex that they want and need to feel fulfilled. Even if that's no sex or not much sex, or a whole lot of cuddling. I happen to not be entirely straight and have known that most of my life (first girl crushes; Barbara Eden, Elizabeth Montgomery, Kirstie Alley). I also really like sex when I'm in on it. It can be fun and funny and satisfying and intimate and all sorts of good things. As long as everyone is on the same page of course. So I made some choices in college I wouldn't have made if I'd been older and wiser, which I'm pretty sure everyone who has ever gone to college can say. I destroyed some relationships because as much as I wanted to be close, my body and mind were still so damaged and reactionary, I didn't know how to act with kindness toward myself or my partners. I was burning through the pain and causing more pain. But this in no way excuses the person I thought was a friend, drugging me and letting his friends do what they want. I had gone to a frat one night, a place I'd been to a dozen times before. A place where I had a friend, or thought I did, who respected me and would keep me safe. But that night, it all changed. I know I drank too much. That was fairly common at the time. I was still maintaining my grades and taking two entire majors and working at campus jobs. I remember sitting in the little seating area of a crowded room, on the table because there was no where else and I didn't want to sit on a stranger's lap. I remember the feeling of the cold bottle of beer in my hand. This was more than twenty years ago, yet I remember it. I remember the lighting in the room and how random things stood out and others were completely obscured. I remember the sheet hanging from the wall, hiding one corner of the room. I remember my friend saying something about how lucky they were I showed up because they could have some fun. I vaguely remember being guided behind that sheet, confused and tired, and a pledge being told he could have me. And I remember waking up next to a complete stranger, naked, laying on top of a jumble of his clothing and mine, and possibly other people's as well. I lost an earring. I picked up what I could find and got dressed and tip toed out of that room, down the hall, down the stairs and out the door to the bright sunlight. And I went back to my dorm and I took the hottest shower. And I said nothing. But I never went back to that frat. Why didn't I say anything? Because why should I? I was drinking. I went there voluntarily. HE WAS MY FRIEND. Who would believe me? No one did anything when my mother's husband molested me for five years, what would benefit from trying to say anything about one drunken night that was probably "my fault" anyway? So I never said anything, and I tried to forget. And then years later someone made a very poor "roofie" joke and I almost burst into tears. It's still there. Still lurking in the dark. That violation has become part of my reality. And then I got married. You'd think that there'd be a time limit on how long you let past violations affect your behavior. And maybe there is. But for each individual that time limit is different. Turns out for me, it was thirty years. My marriage was challenged by the start, but within the first few years there were signs. I rarely wanted sex after we were married because I was so stressed all the time over money or health insurance or how he was treating me. I didn't "feel sexy." I felt tired and confused and put upon and unhappy. And there was the afternoon he flipped me on my stomach and took me. Not in a hot sexy romantic "this is what we're doing!" kind of awesome way. No. In a silent, "I don't care if you want this I'm taking it" kind of way that left me crying into the mattress. That's rape. I didn't fight back, I couldn't. He's 14" taller than I am. Later on in our marriage as things got worse he would offer me a back rub so he could masturbate on me. The sound of his zipper would make my stomach hurt. He would push me against the counter in the kitchen and grind himself against me. He would tell me he had needs and I wasn't helping him. And accuse me of cheating on him. He would tell me about the young girls he saw at work and that they were dressing like whores and trying to get his attention. Trust me when I say, that's not true. He was slut shaming and objectifying women everywhere, and I was raising our daughter, terrified of what he would teach her about her body and her self worth. Eventually I left him. Much too late, but I did leave. In the couple of years since I left him, I did end up in one more relationship that had abusive tendencies. He was a narcissist and sex addict. But it took me much less time to recognize the signs and I cut it off. And now, at 41, I finally feel strong enough to see when a person is being predatory and manipulative and abusive. Thirty years after my mother's husband started grooming me, I am shaking off the effects. Thirty fucking years. So... With that in mind, I read the reports of Brock Turner's unbelievably short sentence and I rage. His victim has not been considered at all in his sentencing. Her damages, her trials, her lingering affects, not recognized by the very system that should be getting her justice. I read about Alexander Rodriquez and Austin WIlkerson and wonder if rape is taken seriously at all and I want to scream and find the judges and shake them. I will speak frankly about my own experiences so that those who read this don't forget. And because one of the main problems around rape and sexual abuse and assault is that people don't understand how it happens and what it looks like. It isn't always a stranger behind a dumpster. It can be the monster you live with. Rape is rape is rape and rapists are rapists are rapists. The actions and the environments may change, but the results are the same. Someone chose a target, and someone was a target. And the victims need to be heard. Let me introduce you to Alexander Rodriquez, 34, from Tennessee. He's a (former) school bus driver who has admitted to raping a 15-year-old student. Not only did he rape her, he kidnapped her, moved her from the location of the assault (a motel), ordered her to lie to police if questioned, and told her during the assault he was trying to hurt her. WTVC Guess how much prison time Rodriquez will be serving? Guess. None. Initially Rodriquez was sentenced to four years, but his attorney, Johnny Houston, argued that the victim had "credibility issues." Distractify Let that sink in for a minute. A 15-year-old girl was taken to multiple locations, raped in a motel room by a man who admitted he wanted to hurt her, and the attorney argued she had credibility issues because the "evidence" didn't support her claim that the oral sex was forced. Did he expect her to have black eyes and a broken nose, or ripped lips, or teeth knocked out, in order to believe that a man more than twice her age forced her, in an unfamiliar place, to do things she didn't want to do? Oh and not to mention Rodriquez had "already served 100 days in jail." He will spend 10 years on probation with a GPS monitor. She will spend the rest of her life processing what happened to her. Again, the victim is re-victimized by the justice system. And the worst part is, this is no longer surprising, at all. She's a 15-year-old girl. Fifteen. Year. Old. Girl. Fuck you Johnny Houston. Fuck you Alexander Rodriquez. Fuck you judge who let this sentence happen. Fuck you all for continuing the culture of rape and rape apologists, and victim shaming and all the bullshit that has failed this girl. The Secret Life of Pets turned out to be even better than I thought it would based on the teaser trailers I've been stalking. Max, voiced by Louis C.K., is a sweet brown and white terrier who is absolutely in love with his owner Katie. He has a network of friends in the pets in his building and the one next door (NYC). His life is good. Other than the hours that Katie is away and he pines for her, Max loves everything about his situation. Then Katie adopts Duke (Eric Stonestreet), a huge shaggy brown mop of destruction, and all hell breaks loose.
This is essentially another "find our way home" film with the main characters getting over their initial differences and animosity through surmounting adversity. We've seen these stories over and over and over, and it would be easy to add The Secret Life of Pets to a long line of similar films and forget it. And I've seen some criticisms by viewers who only focused on that aspect of the film. I have to disagree though, as a life long animal lover, a rescuer, a mother and a human with a really twisted sense of humor, this movie was fantastic. There are several lines going through the movie that are all happening at once. Max and Duke are lost and trying to avoid going to pound, where Duke will be euthanized. Gidget (Jenny Slate), Max's neighbor from next door, is trying to rally their mutual friends, and her newfound not terribly trustworthy hawk friend Tiberius (Albert Brooks), to find and save Max who she's starting to realize she's completely in love with. And Snowball the adorable but evil bunny (Kevin Hart) is leading a revolution of "flushed pets" to destroy humanity, while also trying to find and kill Max and Duke for accidentally killing "The Viper." This is supposed to be a children's movie. These are the best kinds of children's movies. The ones that are really written for the adults. I have to tell you, there weren't that many kids in the audience. And I was laughing so hard, my kid told me to stop it. Things that the grownups would enjoy:
The Secret Life of Pets is a brightly coloured, fast paced, romp of an adventure film with some very dark undertones. I did mention the amount of potential death, involuntary snakeslaughter, and attempted homicide right? Lots of death. And a walk over bones. But the kids in the audience didn't seem phased by any of it. They enjoyed the adventure and the gags and I know that the adults that watched it with me enjoyed a lot of the higher level writing. And you cannot watch Chloe (Lake Bell) and not see the true catness of her character. There was so much done with her supporting part that made me laugh I can't even list them all. I've had cats all my life until the last couple of years and she was perfect. The stray cats were one note villains for the most part, but Chloe, she's fantastic. I can tell you that I would enjoy seeing this movie again. It isn't my favorite of the children's animated films from the last several years, but it sure was worth going out to see and I did enjoy it completely. I will own a copy at some point for repeated viewing when I need a laugh. |
AuthorI'm Kirsten. Some things you could label me with; tattooed, geek, mama, animal lover, weirdo, nerd, writer, movie and TV addict, lazy, ambitious, insomniac, feminist, LGBTQ+. Archives
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