#HAS ENCYCLOPEDIC MEMORY LIKE YOU LITTLE DUDE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 3 years

Text

Magnolia

I don’t know much about Magnolia or Paul Thomas Anderson, but I do know that it takes someone paying me to get me to watch a 3-hr+ drama that doesn’t star Kate Winslet, Leonardo DiCaprio, and a really big boat. This is one of my mom’s favorite movies which is why she requested it for me to review. It’s packed with a balls-to-the-wall star-studded cast (Tom Cruise! Julianne Moore! Phillip Seymour Hoffman! John C. Reilly! William H. Macy! Felicity Huffman!) and I’m genuinely excited to see how they all fit together. Cause they have to all fit together in some coherent way, right? Well...

Do you remember in Sorry to Bother You when the Equisapiens came out and things just took like...a real turn? That’s kind of what this was like. Whereas StBY pushed a thought to its most extreme, but logical, conclusion, what Paul Thomas Anderson has done here feels like a magician doing a lot of impressive illusions - sawing a lady in half, making a motorcycle disappear, pulling smaller things out of bigger things - and then for his final trick, walking onstage amidst a grand plume of smoke, dropping his pants, taking a gigantic shit, and then saying, “You’ve been a great audience, thanks a lot and goodnight!” It’s not like you can say the experience was BAD. Everything up to the finale was a really great time! But when you’re left on a note that is that bafflingly odd, it kinda colors the way you’ll remember the whole thing.

Magnolia is the story of one long day in the life of 12 people living in Los Angeles who are all connected via an extensive web from acquaintances to married couples to parents and children to paid caregivers and beyond. It’s a day that has the same kind of ups and downs as any other day until it, well, turns into something else entirely. I’m not sure how else to explain it, but if you want to know more, spoilers will be spoiled below.

Some thoughts:

Patton Oswalt cameo! I am a massive fan and thought I knew his whole filmography and OMG how did I not know that he was in this!!

Ok, in spite of my skepticism this entire opening sequence about coincidence had me hooked IMMEDIATELY. Like, this is some damn good storytelling, if this were a novel, I would not be able to put it down - that pull, that’s what it feels like.

Am I the only person whose encyclopedic memory of character actors/roles gets distracted when they see someone from something that is wildly disparate compared to the role you’re currently watching? For example, I had to pause the movie and confirm via IMDB that I did just see Professor Sprout from HP scream “Shut the fuck up!” at her husband while brandishing a shotgun.

Would people really recognize a grown ass man from being a successful child game show contestant? I’ll tell you the answer, no they wouldn’t, because no one realizes that Peter Billingsley (aka Ralphie from A Christmas Story) is the head of the elf production line in Elf.

I knew this was a stacked cast, but holy SHIT this is a stacked cast. If I had $1 for every fantastic character actor I recognize in this, I would have at least $37, and these are people in the film who have maybe 2-3 lines each. It’s a deep bench is what I’m saying.

This makes me miss Phillip Seymour Hoffman so, so very much.

Watching PSH care for and be so compassionate and gentle with his hospice patient, Earl (Jason Robards),makes my heart ache terribly. All of the people who have been unable to perform this kindness, this type of compassionate care for their closest loved ones as they lie dying in isolation of Covid...it’s overwhelming.

OMG I’m counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Very Good Dogs in the old man’s house!

I know Scientology is evil and he’s undeniably a complicated and morally grey person. I know all that. But goddamn I just love watching Tom Cruise COMMIT. Particularly when he commits to just absolute fucking sleazebag slimeballs. And boy oh boy is Frank Mackey an absolute fucking sleazebag slimeball.

Related - I know Frank looks like Tom Cruise, so he could get people to sleep with him no matter what, but I honestly feel like as a human being, this flesh suit is WAY more attractive balding and fat in Tropic Thunder than he is in this shiny brown shirt/leather vest/long hair combo.

I’m getting an uncomfortable vibe about these black characters being written by an artsy white dude, because I don’t know any young black kids who want to hang around with cops and offer up information about who committed a murder in their building. In fact, the way all of the black characters are treated in this film - as liars, criminals, the disingenuous “main stream media,” and thieves - feels rooted in some racist ass bullshit. We see a lot of nuance in our white characters, but even in a film that has, shockingly, more than one key black role, we don’t get that spectrum or nuance.

There is nothing I would love more than to learn that Frank Mackey is 1) gay 2) impotent or 3) both. He’s so disgustingly over-the-top misogynistic, it honestly feels like it should all be a complete act.

I confess I am on the edge of my seat trying to figure out how all these narrative threads tie together. It’s compelling as hell, even though half the time I don’t know why these people are having these long, meandering conversations. The pacing feels so deliberate, like a puzzle coming together. There’s real craftsmanship in how every scene is plotted to feel connected rather than manic or disjointed.

This pharmacist is being unprofessional as hell. Judgy McJudgerson, mind your fucking business, Julianne Moore’s father is dying! [ETA: ope, that’s embarrassing, Earl is actually her husband.]

NO THE DOG IS EATING THE PILLS OH NO VERY CONCERNED ABOUT THE DOG.

I think I knew this, but this soundtrack is fantastic. All Aimee Mann and Supertramp, and Jon Brion’s score is this thrumming, anxious thing full of strings that underscore all these nervous conversations, and then it shifts into these low, mournful horns when things start to take a turn and everyone is reaching their lowest points.

I love this interviewer (April Grace) who is taking Frank (Tom Cruise) to task. I think it’s particularly noteworthy that she is a black woman, because the kind of misogyny Frank peddles is rooted in white supremacy.

Stanley (Jeremy Blackman) is breaking my goddamn heart here. I think he and Phil (PSH) are my favorite characters.

Jim (John C Reilly) is the perfect example of how even a cop with the best intentions, with absolute kindness and love is in heart, is abusing his power and sexually harassing a woman he encountered in the line of duty, who is eager to appease him because she doesn’t want to be charged with a crime. This movie reads a LOT differently than it did in 1999.

I normally really love Julianne Moore, but she is a screeching mess in this. I can’t stop staring at her mouth and all the contortions it makes as she delivers every line in hysterics. She’s one of the few weak spots for me here.

Listening to Frank go on his whole diatribe about what society does to little boys to break them and victimize them HAS to be the source of where Keith Raniere got at least half of his NXIVM bullshit. Like, some of these points are word-for-word.

Also if Frank makes as much money as he seems to, there’s no way he would drive a shitty Saturn sedan.

It feels like the common thread of this movie is everyone is terrible and cheats on their spouses, and you should come clean when you get cancer so you can die peacefully. Weird moral, but ok.

If Jim is a cop, how does he not see that this woman he’s interested in (Melora Walters) is coked out of her mind?

Y’know for being a quiz kid, Donnie (William H. Macy) sure is kinda stupid.

I confess I’m not taking many notes throughout this because I’m just kind of sitting breathlessly still watching all these conversations unfold because I am on the edge of my fucking seat to find out how all this is gonna come together.

Secret MVP of this movie is the mom from A Christmas Story (Melinda Dillon) who is giving the performance of her goddamn life as Jimmy Gator’s wife.

Did I Cry? On the surface it appears ridiculous, but when Tom Cruise is having his breakdown at his dying father’s bedside, I admit, that really got me. If you’ve ever been faced with that kind of hysterical, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening, it feels like the whole world is ending kind of shock and hurt and anger, that’s what the crying looks like.

Are those......frogs?? That landed on Jim’s car? It’s raining fucking frogs???? OK for those of you sensitive to frog harm, this movie is going to take a real hard left turn for you, because I swear that came out of NOWHERE.

Um.

What.

Pray tell.

The fuck.

The climax of this movie - is when literal frogs rain from the sky.

And we finally got resolution about the dog, and the dog DID die, and I’m pissed about it. It’s offscreen but still.

I'm sorry - I know I’m fixating. But how is it possible that I knew about all the characters performing a sing-along to Aimee Mann’s (excellent) song “Wise Up” but I did NOT know that the climax of the film involves literally thousands of frogs falling to their death from the sky? How is that something that escapes entry into the cultural zeitgeist? I’m with it, you guys. I have been Very Online for over a decade, and before that, I read a lot of Entertainment Weekly, and like it just seems that this is something that pop culture really should have told me.

I think the funniest moment of this movie might be the credits in which I discovered that not only is Luis Guzman playing a man named Luis, he’s actually playing himself. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop laughing about it. That was a 189-minute setup to one dumb punchline.

I think I loved this movie but I don’t quite know. The frog thing really threw me. What I’m taking away from it is that even when it doesn’t feel like it or seem like it, we are all connected to each other, always, in ways we can’t see or know. As Wife astutely pointed out, it’s reminiscent of the pandemic - we’re all in the same storm, but we each have our own boats and our own experiences within that storm. And it’s kind of nice to remember that right now, that connection still exists even when it feels so far away. Just not if you’re a frog I guess, cause they really got the short end of the stick here.

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

#121in2021 #magnolia #magnolia review #paul thomas anderson #tom cruise #julianne moore #phillip seymour hoffman #John C Reilly #william h macy #movie reviews #film reviews #patreon review

5 notes · View notes

destroyyourbinder · 4 years

Text

the day i was a man

In the summer of 2019, I decided to fully shave my head into a buzzcut, something I had never done before. I had a lot of feelings emerge and re-emerge at the time. While I was still visibly female in my day to day life- something that felt uniquely frightening given the utter dykeyness of my haircut- I accidentally discovered one day in August that my haircut could allow me to pass as male. While I had deliberately tried to “pass” in an earlier life, at the height of experiencing gender dysphoria, I was never taken to be a man except by chance (such as from behind or from afar). So potentially being able to pass as male was a new and disorienting experience, one I felt compelled to explore out of multiply perverse kinds of curiosity. As a context note: I mention my partner frequently in this piece, who has detransitioned from her transition from female to male, but chooses to handle her situation through continuing to pass as male at work and in public. Her experiences unavoidably framed my experience trying to pass for a day, and this experiment changed permanently how I see both her passing persona and the public presentation of female transgender people. If you can pull it off, and perhaps even if you can’t (a different, but also nervewracking experience), I recommend women try this at least once, especially if you claim to understand the experiences of transgender female people. It is a female experience to which there are truly few comparisons, and to which even the majority of living gender non-conforming lesbians cannot relate. Having largely recovered from gender dysphoria, I cannot imagine having to permanently live my life this way nor finding it affirming to do so, and I am disturbed that this experience was one I once aspired to and envied. However, I am glad I had it, and I plan to try again sometime in this upcoming summer when I can cut my hair without freezing. My partner now knows I did this, and I am especially curious what it might be like being seen together.

I wrote this the day I chose to do this experiment. My goal was to take public transportation to a shopping center so I could check out some shoes I was considering buying. The first part (in present tense) I wrote before leaving the house and while dressed in preparation, the second part (in past tense) was written after I returned, using my memories of the experience. It has been mildly edited for readability and to include a few details and pieces of context.

----

I am scared of what happens not if I pass but if I don’t pass. In trying to become a man I have become a woman I am afraid of and afraid for. It’s often the same thing when you are a woman watching women. I am having trouble breathing under three sports bras when I usually wear none. My chest is flat unless I actually stand up straight and proud. I have to be ashamed to become a man, although they say men are confident and becoming one will make you so. I debate whether or not to put some kind of fake dick in my pants, although I doubt that will do anything, and I shudder to think what will happen if I do and it doesn’t work. Being a woman with a dick stuffed in your pants: at best I’m pathetic, at worst I am a monster.

I don’t know how to explain this to my girlfriend. I don’t know how to explain that I had to do this, at least once. I don’t know how to explain to her something she already knows.

I wonder if I’ve been watching too many music videos. I wonder if this is about sex. I don’t know how I can wash our dishes while being a man, but I decide I should try before I try something bold like letting people look at me.

The danger of not passing is violence. The danger internally is that it would be deserved. I realize there’s no real way to justify wanting to do this, nonetheless actually doing it. I think wanting to transition is sublimated fear. I wonder if this will help me with my social anxiety, because this fucking sucks. This is not the exposure therapy the doctor ordered. It feels familiar to be ashamed of myself and hold my body this way, like an old chair molding around my butt, like stepping into old shoes. Dykes go to the outdoor store but do bulldykes go there? I realize I don’t know anything about bulldykes. I understand why so many trans people are so preoccupied with being fake vs. real, false vs. genuine. There is something intrinsically very fake about passing. You are faking the other sex. Of course you feel fake. It is a pretense. It feels very odd to pretend so seriously, so people pretend that they are not pretending after all. I am fixated on the small things all over again. I find myself wondering when I tie my girlfriend’s boots to my feet whether or not men have ankles like mine. My laces are too wide at the bottom, too small at the top. I worry that this will lead me to be discovered or worse, mocked. I know this is absurd but in this state I don’t feel like I can take any chances, like I would even know what chances to take. When I went to get the bus I thought I saw my coworker. It ended up not being her, but I crossed the street and circled back because I didn’t want her to see me so strange, doing something so weird and incomprehensible. I understand now why people change towns, friends, abandon their family. This is difficult to explain, even if you say you are “trans”. It doesn’t make sense, fundamentally, to anyone with a grounding in their body. The bus driver was a big black woman, serious face, tattoos. I think she was a dyke. I got the sense she was looking at me out of the side of her eye when I got on the bus, but that might be paranoia. I didn’t know because I didn’t want to look her in the face too hard. I get why my girlfriend’s so avoidant in public. You don’t want people to know what you’re doing, you don’t want people to see your face. It’s real hard to know what emotion to put on there when you’re a dude. It’s real scary to not have the barrier of a woman’s smile or laugh anymore. It almost feels nice to not have to do it, but how do you handle anything? I’m the type of woman who’s been able to get away with this gender weirdo shit throughout my life because I gave an oh-shucks smile at the end of it, that little woman’s laugh that means I’m not a threat, not serious, not anything at all. When you’re “a man” you can’t do that anymore. You’re naked under six layers of clothes. When you can’t do that anymore you’ve got nothing except sheer bravado and nothing to back it up. What if it doesn’t work, what if you suddenly become the type of girl who doesn’t smile? I get why my girlfriend doesn’t look anybody in the face, even though she looks real fucking shifty sometimes. You can’t look a man in the face and not be able to back it up. Men are like reactive dogs. They’ll get fucked up if you look them in the eye. On the bus I realized all of the sudden even though I’ve read a billion passing guides, and I’ve stared down dudes real jealous my whole life I do not know how a man sits. I had fixated so much on the legs and where they go that I didn’t know what they did with hands, elbows; how do you look out the window if you’re a guy? What do you look at? I snatched glances at the dude up front, an ambiguously brown teen who could probably pass as white in the right places but not the wrong ones, a dude with a big mop of floppy curly dark hair and what looked like a serious case of apathy. He was scrolling on his phone, and I could see the divots of acne scars forming on the side of his face. Guy didn’t look like he could grow a lot of facial hair but probably made up for it with encyclopedic knowledge of Fortnite or some shit. I knew he had a life, but he seemed like most men, kind of constitutionally dull. He wasn’t looking at anything, really, I guess only kids and women really look at stuff. Which made it hard to do the whole clandestine observation thing, I decided, a guy who looks at stuff is not really a dude. I tried to look kinda dumb and wasn’t sure where my jaw should go. The girlfriend does this thing sometimes with her mouth that makes me cringe when she does it at home. Sometimes she phases in and out of her passing persona if she’s talking about work or feeling threatened for whatever reason, if she’s in a different place and time than the place and time where she’s home and a wife and all that. She does a little underbite, doing that thing that internet FTMs do in the pictures they take; I figured she learned to do it like a little bird puffs itself up, it makes her little head look bigger and squarer. I tried to do it when out and about; my teeth don’t fit together that way. I’m sure I looked like a moron. But men do dumb shit all the time.

I transferred to the train, and when I got off at the station I ended up walking kinda the wrong way for a while. I imagined all the people in the cars staring at me. I hate walking on the sidewalks along highways and strip malls. I dunno if they look, and if they do, what they see. I was real nervous but I figured I didn’t know any of them anyway and made it into the shopping center where the store was. It occurred to me that if this was an adventure it was quite a stupid one, but it was an adventure nonetheless, complete with the actual lack of excitement and the actual presence of fear. I had never been in this particular store before and everything was displayed so tastefully. I was dismayed to notice the presence of a million salespeople, and realized I didn’t fucking know which gender of shoe I even wanted to try to look at because I didn’t know how I was coming across. I was not going to be a dude who asks for women’s shoes, a.k.a. a woman who’s obviously doing something real weird asking for women’s shoes nonetheless. And at this store you gotta ask for the shoes, and I didn’t want to use my voice because I’m pretty sure I’m obviously female by voice. So I just stared awkwardly at the shoes, mostly, I checked the prices and the clearance racks, and they were too expensive anyway. At one point I realized I was looking at the women’s shoes (which seemed like a huge fucking big deal) and I went to cross over to the men’s shoes, there was a group of bros standing in front of the men’s shoe wall and they parted like the red sea when I went over. I think this was passing because frankly I’ve never had men ever get out of my fucking way. I ended up circling around the store and leaving because no way was I going to afford any of the shit in there, and they didn’t even have very many shoes of the kind I was looking for. I went into the chain pet store next door and wandered around in there. There was a young person working the register who was a young lesbian or a trans kid or something. Every time I saw a woman I felt guilty, it was real weird to be separated so much from women. I had thoughts of jumping out, you know, and saying “boo”, following a woman a bit too close to see what would happen, even though I knew that would be real fucking mean. But it would be the test. See how women react to you: are you still a woman yet? What happens when you’re not a women to women anymore? It seems real fucking lonely. I was already lonely, and it had been maybe three hours. Men are real rude to other men. Some old white sales guy was like,“excuse me”, real curt and direct in a way I’d never got before, not gentle but not with the contempt-force they use towards a fucked up woman. It was empty of all the shit I’d learned to expect. How men deal with the emptiness I don’t know. They must fill it with all sorts of nonsense just to pass the time, just for kicks, is that why they want to hit each other and fuck things? There was a little girl with her family outside the stores, she had a floppy autistic hand and was wearing cargo shorts, I wished her luck inside my head but couldn’t smile at her and my heart broke.

I walked around and tried to find the other location of a store I used to work at. I knew it was around there somewhere but couldn’t find where the building was. My stomach was grumbling and it occurred to me that if I needed to use a bathroom I’d be screwed. Even if I was still plausibly visibly female I was female in the way that’d get me bathroom trouble, and I wasn’t quite dudely enough to stride into the men’s. The store I used to work at had gender neutral bathrooms, and I realized a hell of a lot of trans people must be in a huge pickle all the time. I understand the bathroom resentment even if trans people project their validation shit onto it. It’s easier to believe you’re being invalidated than that you’re scared because you’re doing something real weird and you’re in hiding all the time. I don’t know how people live like this full time. There’s got to be a lot of grief, nihilism, resignation when you finally make it so you can’t go back. The tension’s unbearable: I imagine a lot of trans people think that the tension will be resolved if they make themselves undiscoverable, if they just push themselves more towards perceptibly male.

The sports bras were hurting me. It was hard to walk so much in this get up. I found I was breathing with my mouth open a lot to get enough air, and the word “mouthbreather” kept occurring to me. I realized the shit that I had to knock out of me as an autistic woman was double-edged as someone trying to pass. A lot of it actually helped, a healthy and hamhanded disrespect/disregard for etiquette is very male, but I realized I was still real weird with weird motivations and weird in ways that would make me stick out even as a dude. I understood why the girlfriend has a persona-- she says he’s some nobody, a stoner dude, a guy who doesn’t have all that much to say and of course it’s kinda stupid if he did-- to cover the incongruities. Before I got back on the train there was this young black woman with a swagger, wearing what looked like men’s pants, wandering around the platform. I figured the universe was fucking testing me today because she might be gay too. She was talking on her phone in a video chat, getting way too close to the edge. She wobbled over the edge a couple times, then decided to sit on the fucking platform with her legs out over the tracks . Some shady white guy wearing gloves was doing some weird shit with the ticket machines, a lot of coins were coming out and he was rustling around. I figured he had some kinda scheme and decided to leave him very alone because I didn’t know how the fuck I was supposed to react as a fellow guy if he wanted something from me. The woman didn’t look up when the train coming the opposite way signaled, and I got scared I was gonna have to drag her off the tracks, like maybe she wasn’t doing good and she was gonna try something. I realized I didn’t want to die as a man, didn’t want that woman to be saved by me as a man, what if they called up my girlfriend and said I was some dude, what if she found me in three sports bras and three shirts in the hospital, what would everyone think. Swagger gal jumped the hell out of her skin and scooted away when our train was coming, so I didn’t have to worry about it. When I got on some family plopped down in front of me, and I felt that grief again. If I was a man I couldn’t look at kids with the same gentleness, there was no solidarity with the mom and her weariness, I couldn’t take the load on my hips alongside her. I didn’t want to do this any more. I had planned to catch the bus on my way back but the bus wasn’t going to come for a while. I decided to walk from my home train station and see if I could catch my girlfriend at work but realized I didn’t want her to see me like this. I didn’t know who I was, walking through the dark back into the neighborhood. I peeked into a dark bar with sports on the televisions, a lot of normal heterosexuals doing their thing. But back on the main drag it was trendier heterosexuals everywhere. I stopped beside a dark park to take off two of the bras and tucked them in my pockets. I had no idea what the fuck I looked like when I was walking somewhere more familiar, didn’t know where to put my chin, didn’t know whether I was incongruent, incomprehensible, or I was just myself. My clothes were all mine except the beanie and the boots. It was nothing crazy but I felt crazy, I felt split in two, schizophrenic in the old-school definition way. If my coworkers saw me they’d know me, but maybe I wouldn’t know me in return. When I got to my girlfriend’s workplace I realized she wasn’t in the building; she had stepped across the street to take a break and get some air. I don’t think she recognized me coming across the street. I felt all fucked up for a long hot second until she broke into a smile. I couldn’t tell if she was astonished I was out and about in the area at that hour or that that body was me. I wandered on home, got an Arizona iced tea, went up to the corner pharmacy all weird in the head and high on drag to get some mascara to see if I could make me a beard someday. The people at the pharmacy usually know me, and I didn’t want to be some weirdo who was trying to be a guy in front of them. The guy who I think’s a manager was around, then a barely-outta-adolescence woman with a bob of orange hair and strange makeup and a big old nose ring. These days they make eyebrow mascara, in each brand there were a million different kinds. Who knew, and who knew it cost 12 bucks for a little tube. I went around the corner feeling lucky: there was some in the clearance section. Why someone like me’d buy mascara for your eyebrows, who knows. I was titillated by the tiny brushes. The young woman at the counter wanted to talk to me about my nose ring, hers was only a tad bigger, and she told me she must’ve hit a nerve when she stretched. Her piercings were nice, I was happy to have a conversation with a woman as a woman of some sort even though she was a different kind of woman all in all. When the wall comes down it’s terrible. I can’t imagine that wall all the time and what that must do to women behind it.

#writings

45 notes · View notes

ffwriteradvisor · 4 years

Text

Self-Insert Characters And Their Sub-types.

Self-Insert (or SI) characters are interesting. They come around when a writer or artist decides to use the person they theoretically know best to act as the main character of their story; themselves.

There’s a few sub-types and, often, overlap between them. It’s not uncommon for a Self-Insert to qualify as more than one at any given time and a few cases might even go on to check almost every single box (this isn’t something you should go out with an intent to do, just saying). Seeing as I have an article on Writing Self-Inserts already, I’ll use this one to focus on the pros and cons of the various sub-types.

The Friend Insert (FI)

Slightly more removed from the self as your typical Self-Insert character, this is when the writer uses a friend of theirs as their story’s focal point. These are usually the stars of collaborative projects that take advantage of both the writer’s superior fandom experience and their friend’s fresh-eyed approach to the material.

These have an advantage of being less susceptible to the most common weaknesses of the Self-Insert in being too knowledgeable about the setting and ‘plot’ they’ve been inserted into and being able to side-step most of the temptation of immediate wish-fulfillment... though they have their own disadvantages in that, as a collaborative work, any upsets in the relationship can affect the story, and that schedule conflicts might cause update times to get pushed back.

The Self-Insert OC (or SI-OC)

Technically speaking, they’re not a Self-Insert proper - they’re an OC that functionally acts like a Self-Insert without betraying too many details about the Author’s actual life. They have the advantage of being less close to home in terms of personal issues and make it easier to deal with strangers reading your fic, but you also have to put more effort into them than you would with a regular Self-Insert because now you can’t just copy down your own personality and backstory now.

The thing about SI-OCs is that every Self-Insert becomes one sooner or later. Your SI is getting character development you’ll probably never get because you’re - hopefully - not going to actually go through the shit you’re putting them through.

The Connecticut Yankee (or CY-SI for convenience, because Connecticut is kind of hard to spell off the cuff)

One of the oldest sub-types, if mostly because Mark Twain managed to get the spirit of the Self-Insert with his story, A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court, back in 1889. The CY-SI is a character who’s main weapon is knowledge. Specifically, an encyclopedic expertise on... well, pretty much anything the author has an interest in, combined with the ability to make it, allowing them a ‘unique’ edge in the new world they’ve found themselves in.

Yeah, you can already guess at how easy it is for this one to go horribly wrong in the hands of a writer without a strong sense of restraint. Even Twain fell prey to this one with the original Yankee, allowing band of 52 boys and one average 19th-century dude military victory over 30,000 knights with the power of electrocuting the fuck out of everyone. Even the most clever ways of evening the odds can become really obnoxious in practice if taken that far... hell, even 52 versus 3,000 would have been unbelievable, even without taking into equation the actual science of why that wouldn’t have worked.

The most important thing about writing this sub-type is believability.

You need to do your research on what the technology and tactics your character is bringing to the table is really capable of. Twain’s work suffered from several misunderstandings, mostly on the point of how armor worked - not only was the armor he was using inappropriate for the period of time he was working with, he didn’t understand the weight and freedom of movement plate armor really had or that the leather and cloth layers separating a knight from his metal armor would have offered protection from electrocution.

Not only that, it has to make sense for the character to know these things. The average human being does not know the exact blend of ingredients needed to make gunpowder, what molds can be used to produce penicillin, how to make dynamite, or any number of other things, much less be a veritable encyclopedia on all of those possible subjects. However, if they are a highly specialized researcher or have structured their entirely life around a specific subject - gun history enthusiasts are a good example of this -, it makes more sense. There is also the merits of having some manner of computer or database to remember the finer details for them.

There is also the suspension of disbelief to take into equation. Like as was mentioned with the 52 untrained boys + 1 regular 19th century dude winning vs 30,000 trained knights thing mentioned earlier, there’s a balance between believable science and what you can believe as a reader if the narrative grants too much success to too small an effort. There’s a sense of proportion to be respected there and having a perfect, no-fail, flawless victory run isn’t reasonable or entertaining for a story.

I’m not saying your character has to fail constantly or regularly, but there’s no drama or tension in battles where there was only ever one contender on the field.

The Ghost Self Insert (GSI)

One of the rarer types I’ve personally seen is the Ghost. This is a Self-Insert who has little to no physical impact on the world they’ve been sent to because they don’t have a physical form. This can be because they are a ghost or, in other cases, a secondary personality for a canon character or OC.

Usually, they don’t have much ability to affect or change things, as they are limited to advising the few people - usually only one or two, with any others being a surprising revelation - that can perceive them, though a few have exhibited the ability to ‘take over’ their hosts/victims for short spans of time.

An interesting way to give a canon character or OC a sounding board for their plans or even a second hand source of common sense, this sub-type can also cross over with Reincarnation-type Self Inserts.

Reincarnation-type Self-Inserts (RSI)

Slightly trickier than the average bear. While the RSI neatly sidestep the usual issues of how the SI is able to adapt to the setting both socially and physically in the most natural way, often leading to them becoming SI-OCs thanks to either memory loss or character development especially if you pick the Reincarnated As Canon Character Sub-subtype, they often fall victim to other problems.

The biggest one is the threat of the Slow Crawl Start. Not every Reincarnation-type gets hit with this one, but there are enough that decide that the story has to start immediately before the rebirth of the character and cover the infancy and toddlerhood of the character. This is usually a pretty big turn-off for most readers unless you can make these relatively boring things more interesting... which I’ve seen done pretty much once by someone who decided a baby with the mentality of an extremely bored young adult would be a great person to give Killing Intent to.

They were right. It was hilarious. But I wouldn’t recommend this approach to anyone else except under very specific circumstances. Skip to an age where your character is speech capable and actually interacting with the world in a meaningful way, because spending multiple chapters following a very smart baby that is very much confused by their lack of mobility and sensory capability isn’t very interesting.

I’ve also seen variants where the SI reincarnates as an animal. This is even trickier, because it adds in a further aspect to the Slow Crawl Start - the process of learning how not to be terrible at being a dog/cat/lizard/dragon/owl/whatever.

#characters #self inserts #ocs

4 notes · View notes

clonerightsagenda · 6 years

Text

It’s 8pm and I’m fielding emails because apparently the article my students needed for an assignment due tonight is in a database with a user limit, so that’s been fun. Since I’m tied to my laptop atm, this seems like a good time for a recap!

Having now seen the source material, I am really impressed by how faithful of an adaptation it is. Mostly what was cut out were little moments, nothing important to understanding the plot. Now, some of those little moments are really nice - character stuff like Hohenheim teaching the other slaves to read, Brosch (?) with his siblings, the gang attempting to hypnotize Al - and they definitely add flavor, even if they're not necessary. I await the messages informing me that all of these were actually in the animated version and I just missed it, so please, just fill in actual accurate examples as necessary. I do not have an encyclopedic memory of this. Homestuck took up all my RAM.

I already made this post, but I think the one adaptation thing I'd take issue with is the defanging of the Ishval story. I do get why they wanted to fit it all in one episode, but it did cut out a lot of more incriminating scenes relating to the main characters. They come off a lot worse, and I think that's important. It also bolsters my argument that I still don't think Roy should get to be in *charge* - well it would be reasonable to pardon him for services rendered, it would just be insulting to tell an ethnic group that was hit by a major genocide that the guy who charbroiled thousands of their people is now their leader. Demote him and sit him in a nice quiet office somewhere where he can effect the same kind of change without the bad image. The only thing that suffers is his ego, and I consider that an acceptable loss. It’s 100% worthwhile to have his story be ‘I did terrible things that can never be forgiven, but stewing in that or dying isn’t productive, so I’ll dedicate my life to doing better, because I owe that to the lives I’ve destroyed’, but that doesn’t have to involve holding the highest political office. Yeah, his justification is ‘because that’s the only place I can be where I can protect everyone’, but said office comes with its own vulnerabilities as well, and there are optics to consider.

(Sidenote: This is just a hunch based on experience in other fandoms, but I suspect if I had been here 10 years ago I would've gotten a lot more flak for ragging on Roy. Now, absolutely no one has come into my inbox to throw down about it. Instead, I have gotten a few responses to my mockery of Greed and Hohenheim along the lines of 'you don't have all the facts... which are... I love them' which in my opinion is much preferable.)

Speaking of deadbeat dad, this version has impacted my opinion of some of the characters.

Al, Hohenheim, and Olivier come across better, I think. I liked how this version plays Olivier’s true allegiance close to its chest a bit more. She’s still not a character type I *love*, though I respect that it’s not one given to women very often - the ice queens tend to get ‘fixed’ by Learning To Be Soft and Feminine, usually involving hooking up with a dude, but she owns it. If Father hadn’t gotten hit by the reverse transmutation circle immediately, she would’ve gnawed through his brainstem from the inside and that would’ve been that. The woman goes 0-60. She’ll sit there looking bored until she’s decided she’s Done and then she’ll stab you. While still looking bored. I can respect that.

I suspect my view of Hohenheim would have changed anyway now that I know everything (he’s one of those characters with rewatch value) but he’s got some really nice bits. He’s a sweet dude who should never have had children or who at least should probably have started out seeing if he could successfully remember to feed a gerbil first. He’s made like 2 good decisions in his life but he’s trying?? Still gonna judge his parenting tho. And also wonder how the man ever managed to ask Trisha out. Maybe some enterprising Xerxian grabbed the wheel like ‘hell no we’re not letting this one get away’

It’s really a bummer the show cuts out some of Al’s snarky asides. The kid has some really sassy thought-bubble commentary while he’s silently judging his brother’s excesses - he may be Too Good For This Sinful Earth but he’s also just as much of a smartass; he just knows how to hold it in. You had to love Al in the show because he’s the most lovable being in Amestris but now he’s also way funnier. Also I respect him using his hollow body to hold cats. Third, I respect him because he’s been up for four years straight and once I was up for 36 hours, couldn’t read, and wanted to kill everyone and everything. What a trooper.

Greed comes off a little worse I think, although part of that may be because his VA nailed the Moist von Lipvig ‘I’m a certified bastard who’s probably stealing your wallet right now, but I’m a good talker so you may not remember in time’ vibe that you don’t get in print. Ling seems far less indulgent of his bs in this version. He actually seems miffed when Greed poo-poos his country when iirc in the anime Greed’s like ‘sure emperor’s fine but you know what’s better? king of the world’ and Ling’s like ‘you know what?? you’re so right’.

Also, Father was already dull, but without music cues and dramatic zooms he’s even worse. He just *sits* there, looking bored or mildly constipated. He’s not a good final boss. I get how he functions thematically as a way for Ed to rebuke his prior attempts to fix everything with alchemy as he instead embraces his network of friends and family and shit, ok, I can see the clashing worldview metaphor, but he just sucks. Nearly all of his kids have more personality and more interesting motivations. (I get that this in-universe is because that’s where his personality *went*, but that doesn’t make for a good villain. He has no presence or menace.) I’m not even sure why any of homunculi follow his orders. Pride stabbing Father in the back and taking over as the big bad would’ve been way more compelling. As would literally anything else. Father is like a cardboard standee they dug out of the generic villain depot and occasionally gave lines to.

So, that’s where we’re at. Bad decision dinosaur just made their comeback which they will swiftly regret. The zombie army is on the move. The coup is underway. The absurdly unkillable president is not yet back by unpopular demand. Father is about to vore Hohenheim, making him appear even LESS threatening. Everyone's problematic fave is back on his bullshit being predictably shady. Roy can currently still see. So we're batting pretty high at the moment. Things will only get worse. But we will have to wait for them to do so. This tag is officially retired until spring break. If only I could do the same.

#kat reads fma

16 notes · View notes

idthellyeah-blog · 4 years

Text

“Quiltheads” by Bill Latham

(In May 2017 my good friend Bill Latham passed away. It knocked me on my ass and put me in a spiral for a few years. Bill was a legend, in every way possible. We'd been friends since playing in bands together at The Cog Factory and had some wild misadventures later in life. He was the dude I would call when things were grim. He headbutted a bro dude at a bar once and rode another dude down a flight of stairs like a sled. Legend. I hate that we grew apart, but that's what happens with most friends. I was left with messages between each other trying to eventually meet up in Austin and a very old email of a sketch idea Bill wrote. Here it is in its entirety. I hope to someday make it a real thing. Miss you Bill.)

QUILTHEADS

A script

by Bill Latham

[Scene 1]

[Camera fades in on a dusty, country 2 lane highway. The sky is red with the dawn of early morning. The trees along the road are green and full]

["Sugar Magnolia" by the Grateful Dead fades into the scene as a beat up VW Microbus rolls down the road.]

[The camera hovers over the VW Microbus as it rolls down the country road past farm houses.]

[Slowly the camera passes over the bus and the shot cuts to a front view directly facing the driver and front seat passenger. The people are both quite visibly old hippies with long hair, beards, beads, rose tinted shades, and buckskins.]

[The camera cuts to an inside view of the van. The driver [GRIZZLY] is smoking a joint and tapping with one hand on the steering wheel. The woman in the passenger seat [HALO] is cross stitching something.]

["Sugar Magnolia" fades out slowly]

[The camera cuts between side shots of GRIZZLY and HALO as though the camera were looking from the listener's point of view in the conversation.]

GRIZZLY

We need to stop for gas, babe.

HALO

How much do we have left?

GRIZZLY

Less than a quarter tank.

[HALO begins to put her cross stitch work into a tote bag.]

HALO

I'll check the map and see what town's next.

[HALO unfolds a well worn map. She studies it very quietly for a moment. GRIZZLY hands her the joint and she takes deep toke off of it, holds her breath, exhales, passes it back to him, and resumes looking over the map.]

HALO

Where are we anyway, man?

GRIZZLY

In the van, babe. In the van.

[They camera cuts to a view of a green road sign showing several different towns and distances.]

HALO

Looks like we have five miles 'til Arbor Junction.

[GRIZZLY inhales the last bit of the joint and places the roach in the Microbus' ashtray along with several others.]

GRIZZLY

Arbor Junction it is, babe.

[Grizzly scratches his beard and thinks to himself for a bit.]

GRIZZLY

Where are we catching the Quilt at again?

[The camera cuts to an outside view of the VW Microbus as it continues down the road.]

[The Highway scene fades out.]

[End scene]

[Queue the Jimi Hendrix version of "All Along the Watchtower"]

[Title sequence and credits for the movie begin as "QUILTHEADS" fades into the shot]

[credits, etc.]

[Scene 2]

[The camera cuts into a very tidy and orderly looking office.]

[Text appears on screen: Grand Forks, North Dakota]

[The camera pans around the room revealing several bookshelves full of encyclopedic looking books, potted plants, and a large embroidered, psychedelic square on the wall in black matted frame.]

[The camera pans to a door and a man in a blazer, slacks, with a well trimmed beard enters the room.]

[Text appears on screen: John Naughton, Professor of Historical Studies, University of North Dakota]

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON reaches toward the camera and shakes the hand of the off screen INTERVIEWER.]

INTERVIEWER

Thank you for meeting with us today Professor Naughton.

[The camera maintains a focus on PROFESSOR NAUGHTON at all times and never shows the INTERVIEWER.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

It's my pleasure. Now what can I do for you?

INTERVIEWER

Well, as I said on the telephone yesterday, I was looking for someone to give us some background on the AIDS quilt and the people who follow it around the country.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON looks outwardly, very stern, but manages an amused smile.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Oh you mean the Quiltheads?

INTERVIEWER

Yes, the Quiltheads.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON chuckles to himself a little bit and regains his composure.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

We'd better have a seat then.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON walks towards his desk and takes a seat. He clears some papers aside and places them in a drawer. He reaches under the desk and pulls out a bottle of Wild Turkey Whiskey and sets it down in view of the camera. He picks up the telephone at his desk and hits a number.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Send in two glasses of ice, Irene. Thank you.

[The camera stays focused on PROFESSOR NAUGHTON as he sits and waits without saying anything. The interviewer is silent as well.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

I'm sorry for the delay.

[There is a knock on the office door and the camera pans towards it. IRENE the secretary enters the room with two glasses full of ice and the camera follows her as she sets them down on PROFESSOR NAUGHTON's desk.]

[The camera pans back to PROFESSOR NAUGHTON]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Thank you, Irene.

[The camera follows Irene as she leaves the room and closes the door and then pans back to PROFESSOR NAUGHTON who is now pouring the Wild Turkey into the two glasses. He hands one to the INTERVIEWER and they clink glasses.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Ah, Kentucky...now where were we?

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON sips on his whiskey as the interview begins.]

INTERVIEWER

First off, what can you tell us about the AIDS quilt.

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

The AIDS quilt is a memorial for people who have died of AIDS related causes. It began in 1987 and has continued for over 20 years now. It's the largest community art project in the entire world. The panels in the quilt are sized at 3 by 6 feet, to represent the standard size of a human grave. The panels are grouped into 12 by 12 feet sections called Blocks. Usually there about 8 panels in one block.

INTERVIEWER

And why is this?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, when the project began, many funeral homes would not handle the bodies of deceased AIDS patients and many were cremated rather than buried. The project represents a graveyard in the form of a patchwork quilt, but without the morbidity of a graveyard as it is a celebration of the lives of people who have died from AIDS. Currently there are 44,000 reported panels. The quilt itself weighs over 54 tons.

INTERVIEWER

That's fascinating. Now, what subcultural groups have been involved with the quilt in the past?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, there have always been a wide variety of folks involved with this project. I mean, what else can you really expect from a disease that can affect every human being regardless of race, gender, economic status, or sexual preference? Honestly, when you have a disease that affects everyone, you see a sampling of literally everyone represented.

INTERVIEWER

So, why Quiltheads? What makes the Quiltheads different?

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON has a deeply concerned looking stare.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

I'm trying to find a polite way to say this...

INTERVIEWER

Feel free to take your time.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON scratches his chin]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

It's clearly a sensitive issue and I don't want to appear callous and I don't wish to generalize...

INTERVIEWER

...but?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, Quiltheads tend not to, well...

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON struggles for the words and sips his whiskey.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

...it's just, they don't...

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON stares above and sort of beyond the frame of the camera.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

...they usually don't have AIDS or much association with anyone who does. They aren't coming out to see the AIDS quilt in support of anything. In fact, many of them that I have met may not even be aware what AIDS actually even is. This may be for the best as they would probably describe it as "a bummer" or "harshing their mellow".

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON finishes the whiskey glass in a gulp and begins to pour another.]

INTERVIEWER

[long pause]...How can they have missed out on that information?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, as I understand it, up until 1995 the vast majority of Quiltheads spent their summers following the Grateful Dead around on tour as many of them had been doing since the 1960's. As you can imagine, these people have consumed massive- and I say that in the way that the universe is massive- massive amounts of lysergic acid diethylamide. I mean, they've been dosing themselves for years with LSD. That's bound to effect perception of reality quite a bit. Now, I understand that was exactly what many of them were going for, but there comes a point where everything has become so disconnected from reality for these people- the disconnect is so great- they're utterly divorced from reality... they...they...oh Christ...I can't believe I'm even letting you interview me about this.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON takes a giant gulp from the whiskey glass.]

INTERVIEWER

And I thank you very much for doing so, sir. Your assistance has been greatly appreciated.

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

What I'm trying to say is that the Quiltheads are an anomaly unto themselves. In 1995 Jerry Garcia died and these people were left with a large gap in their lives. Many of them began asking themselves who or what they would follow around from city to city next? Some of them happened across a viewing of the AIDS quilt while loaded on acid and then found out it was a touring exhibition. Suddenly, they had a new purpose in life. They had a new experience. They had something else to follow around the country that would allow them to peddle shoddily made Hippy crap in the parking lots of every civic center and arena from the Atlantic to the Pacific. And ever since they've continued to grow.

INTERVIEWER

Thank you very much Professor Naughton.

[Professor Naughton nods and begins to pour another drink.]

[Scene ends and fades to black]

[Scene 3]

[Segue to "Teach Your Children Well" by Crosby, Stills, & Nash]

[Camera fades in at a mom and pop diner in dusty little country town. GRIZZLY and HALO's VW Microbus is parked outside.]

[The camera zooms in towards the door and follows it's way past diners, waitresses, and tables to the dining couple.]

[The camera frames GRIZZLY and HALO from a side view allowing us to see them as they face each other.]

[They munch away on plates of food without saying anything.]

[The camera time lapses while they eat. A waitress walks in and out of the frame. Several diners walk past them. Finally they pay the waiter and get up and leave. The shot fades to black and the music goes silent.]

[end scene]

[Scene 4]

[Camera fades in at a craft table in a crowded parking lot.]

[Queue "Gimme Shelter" by the Rolling Stones]

[The camera pans across the tables' wares revealing hackey sacks, dream catchers, small glass marijuana pipers, beanies, and hemp necklaces.]

[The camera cuts across different scenes in the parking lot: hippies playing hackey sack, families walking together towards the civic center, elderly folks, gay rights banners, extremist christian protesters, etc.]

[The camera cuts back to the craft table in the parking lot where a man is standing at work]

[Text appears on screen: Denver, Colorado]

[The camera pans up to the man selling the products, an old acidhead Hippy with a scraggly beard, wearing a dye tyed t-shirt.]

[Text appears on screen: Benjamin "Wolfy" Johnson, Salesman]

[The camera zooms in on a sale that WOLFY is making. An old woman hands him a twenty dollar bill and he passes her back a hemp necklace.]

WOLFY

Peace, man.

[Wolfy flashes her a peace sign.]

[The old woman smiles and walks out of frame.]

["Gimme Shelter" fades out.]

INTERVIEWER

We're here in Denver, Colorado with a peddler of small trinkets that calls himself Wolfy outside of an AIDS Quilt viewing. Wolfy sells handmade items in the parking lot at these displays and follows the AIDS Quilt all over the country. Wolfy, when did you first discover the Quilt?

[Camera zooms in on WOLFY. His eyes are very glassy and his pupils very dilated. He looks stoned out of his mind.]

WOLFY

It musta been about...I dunno...'96, '97... everything was kind of a blur after Jerry died, man. I was wanderin' around DC one afternoon and I'd just taken a few hits of this Batman blotter acid...I'm from Baltimore originally and I was hanging out in DC a lot in those days...

[The camera stays focused on WOLFY who is not particularly focused on much of anything. His eyes wander when he isn't speaking and he plays with his hands and fidgets like a scared child.]

INTERVIEWER

In 1996, Washington, DC hosted the largest display of the AIDS Quilt on record at the Capitol Mall. Is this the display you saw Wolfy?

[WOLFY's attention returns to the camera and he looks directly into the shot.]

WOLFY

Whoa?! Far out! I was at the biggest display?

[WOLFY is once again distracted.]

INTERVIEWER

Well, I can't necessarily say for certain, Wolfy...

[WOLFY resumes his stare into the camera.]

WOLFY

Duuuuude... yeah, it was outside. I remember seeing the Washington Monument and thought I needed to stop and worship it...I was pretty zonked dude...I'd taken a few hits of this Batman blotter acid...and see, I'm from Baltimore originally, but I was hanging around in DC a lot in those days...

[WOLFY is still staring at the camera and talking as he interrupted.]

INTERVIEWER

Uh, yes- you already told us that, Wolfy. Now, about the Quilt-

[WOLFY holds his stare into the camera and looks visibly excited.]

WOLFY

Well, dude, the Quilt totally blew my mind. I still don't even really understand what it's all about. But if I drop a few hits of acid or eat a fistful of mushrooms, I can walk around staring at it all day long. Sometimes you see the most fucked up things and sometimes you see things that make you feel so sappy you want to cry because your heart feels so moved. It's insane dude!!! Ever since that afternoon I understood that I was meant to follow the Quilt around. I started selling merch in the parking lots for gas money & food to keep up with it. I've been on the road following the Quilt now since '98.

[WOLFY begins to stare off camera again.

INTERVIEWER

And you have friends who do this too, correct?

WOLFY

Oh yeah, man. We live for the Quilt. The Quilt is like God for us, man. When we look into the Quilt we see things that we never thought we'd see in our entire lives. It's a really positive experience over all, man. I love the Quilt.

INTERVIEWER

Wolfy, do you know what the Quilt represents?

WOLFY

It represents a lot of things man. Each one of those panels is different.

INTERVIEWER

Well, yes, that's true, but what I was asking about- just a little more specifically was "do you know what the Quilt is a memorial for?"

WOLFY

Well...I'd say people. Yeah, it's definitely about people, man.

INTERVIEWER

...And there's something that all of those people have in common, right Wolfy?

WOLFY

Everybody's got something in common, man. I heard Keith Richards say once that "blood is red and bones is white".

INTERVIEWER

...And while I agree that's an interesting point, Wolfy, I'm kind of asking you what we reporters call a "leading question"...

WOLFY

You lead and I'll follow, man. I think I get it.

INTERVIEWER

[with growing agitation in his voice]

What kind of people are being memorialized, Wolfy?

WOLFY

It seems to be about everybody, man. I can dig that.

INTERVIEWER

[Explosively]

Do you even know what a Memorial is for??!

WOLFY

For remembering, man. For remembering.

[Camera follows WOLFY back to his craft table as someone hands him money.]

[The camera pans from the view of the table to a view of the grass as though the camera man has tossed it in a fit of irritation.]

INTERVIEWER

Goddamnit!

[The shot fades to black.]

[End scene]

[Queue "Brokedown Palace" by the Grateful Dead]

[The camera fades in on the side of the two lane highway that we have been following HALO and GRIZZLY down.]

[Their VW microbus is pulled over on the side of the road and the front driver side tire is clearly flat. There is a jack propping the vehicle up. GRIZZLY is busily working at the lugnuts with a tire iron while HALO sort of dances to a song that no one else can hear.]

[The camera zooms in on GRIZZLY who continues to turn away on a lugnut.]

[He stops turning the tire iron for a moment and looks over to HALO.]

GRIZZLY

Hey, babe, it's "righty-tighty-lefty-loosey" right?

[The camera pans to HALO who turns to him still sort of dancing.]

HALO

Yeah, man. "Righty-tighty-lefty-loosey" it is.

[The camera cuts back to GRIZZLY.]

GRIZZLY

Oh good. I was gettin' worried there for a minute.

[GRIZZLY successfully removes one lug nut and holds it up in front of his face a little bit and then peers through the hole in the center. He sets the tire iron down and stands up. He stretches his arms out and opens the driver side door of the microbus. Seconds later he emerges from the microbus with a joint and sparks it up. He holds the lugnut back up towards his eye and looks through it and then takes another toke.

[The camera pans to HALO.]

[HALO dances over towards GRIZZLY and the camera follows. She takes the joint away from him and takes a couple of puffs herself.]

HALO

Hey man, you've only gotten one of those lugnuts off that tire! You still got 3 more to go and then you gotta put all of 'em back on before it's time to party!

[GRIZZLY smiles sheepishly.]

[He gets back down on the ground, picks the tire iron up and gets back to work.]

[Halo sits down beside him on the road and continues to smoke the joint.]

HALO

What do you think the Quilt's gonna be like tomorrow?

[GRIZZLY removes another lugnut. He sets it down on the side of the road next to the first one. He begins to remove a third.]

GRIZZLY

We haven't caught it in a couple weeks, Babe. I expect it to be pretty intense. Where are we catching it at anyway?

[HALO thinks for a moment and her stare is intense. A smile creeps across her face as she remembers.]

HALO

Omaha, Nebraska, man. At some auditorium.

[GRIZZLY continues to unfasten the lugnut.]

GRIZZLY

Far out, man! I wonder if Omaha's ready for us?

[HALO holds the joint in front of GRIZZLY's mouth so he can take a drag too.]

HALO

I think it's the same place we saw the Dead in '78, man.

[GRIZZLY stops. He drops the tire iron. His eyes are wide with excitement.]

GRIZZLY

WHOOOOOOOA! Far out, babe! It'll be like...what's that word...synchronicity!

0 notes

racingtoaredlight · 3 years

Text

Random Thoughts on Performance Psychology

My father has an encyclopedic knowledge of music that I haven’t experienced in numerous professors with doctorates teaching at graduate levels in college. It’s truly remarkable the sheer breadth of understanding he has...not just of music history, but the science of recording, the way sound waves behave...basically almost everything that happens in music. From the nanosecond the soundwaves leave an amplifier or instrument, my father knows just about everything there is to know about what’s going on...and knows the history of how it all came to be.

His knowledge and experience has been a godsend for me. I’m not as intelligent as he is, nor do I have his voracious appetite for understanding how to put the logistical aspects of creating music into place...and having him around to learn from has been the most significant contributor to my own love of music.

But there are grains of salt.

He’s not a good musician. He’s played a variety of instruments with little success, though he does have a great voice. For all his knowledge and experience, it’s missing a critical ingredient...actually doing it.

***

For all the laughs Fire Joe Morgan brought us...for ushering in a statistic revolution to provide some level of objectivity to the game...Joe Morgan did have a salient point, in all those pieces the FJM guys ripped apart. He played the game. That doesn’t make him unimpeachable in terms of analysis, but it gives him a layer of expertise that can’t be gleaned from a spreadsheet.

The biggest lynchpin in this argument is the idea of “clutch,” or whether statistical variance can explain performance during critical points. And the idea that clutch is something that doesn’t exist is completely asinine from a psychological perspective, a perspective that Joe Morgan understood more than Ken Tremendous.

“Clutch” is just a different term for a lack of stage fright, or anxiety. I’d love to see a psychological peer-tested review of athletes considered clutch, because I’d be willing to bet that there’s a greater than 50% correlation to “clutch performance” and psychopathy.

Psychopathy isn’t inherently bad, despite what you might think based on things like Law and Order or serial killer movies, shit like that. Simply put, psychopathy is an inherent lack of emotional response...something you could equally see benefit a hitman and ruthless vulture capitalist, but also a firefighter or ER triage surgeon.

A lack of emotional response to a situation brings things more in line with statistical variance in large sample sizes. Someone on a psychopathic spectrum would likely be less impacted by the crowd, by thoughts of how important this moment is, wouldn’t be thinking of impacts on legacy, team success, potential for a big pay day...their minds would more likely be blank or thinking technical things, rather than concerning themselves with ancillary stimuli.

***

For a non-psychopath, the easiest way to become more calloused to the onslaught of emotional stimuli is experience. Lots and lots of experience.

My personal favorite memory of this was when I was at North Texas. Technically, I had a lot of shit going on in a big way, but there was always something missing. During a performance for one of the guitar ensembles (5 guitars, keys, bass, drums), my teacher took a video of my performance...camera on me the whole time.

Our next lesson, he fast forwarded through the video to the probably dozen or so mistakes I made. Every one of those mistakes was punctuated by a obviously self-angry gesture and mouthing the word “FUCK!” That night, I probably played a total of 1,500 notes. I made...lets call it 15 mistakes. Incredibly minor mistakes in the middle of passages where nobody would’ve noticed.

Nobody would have noticed, except I visibly reacted each time.

***

That’s one example of clutch being a real phenomenon. Psychology...it’s hard to express this...trumps every other aspect of actual performance, when all things are relatively equal. It can tilt the scales even when they’re not.

And as someone who’s not a psychopath, it’s a learned skill to just say “fuck it, I don’t really care.” When my teacher showed me that video, my questions were...how could I not care? I worked on this for ten hours. My parts have to be perfect for the other guys. My performance here can determine next year’s ensemble and teacher assignments.

To put this in some psychological perspective, play this below for 1 minute (you won’t make it 5 seconds, but that doesn’t matter)...

youtube

I missed roughly 1 note per minute, something truly barely even noticeable...and yet because of my psychological reaction internally, I externally made sure that everyone in the audience knew I was fucking up all over the place. Musically speaking, I was not clutch. I was a weird angry dude. Which isn’t too different from now, but I digress.

***

I’m sure we can all think of examples similar to this through our lives...

Maybe the valedictorian who gets caught cheating because of pressure to be perfect. Their statistical being would be more than good enough to get full rides to any Ivy League, but they needed to push farther and fucked themselves over.

Ooo! Schwimmer’s character in Band of Brothers is another good example. Whether it’s imposter syndrome or knowing deep down he’s not up to the challenge, it’s psychologically impacted his decision making (assuming the character study from the book is fairly true-ish).

youtube

It can be a drive for personal wealth/fame/ego that undermines performance...maybe someone hogs the ball trying to juice their numbers, impacting the rest of the team’s abilities to compete (or make things extremely predictable for opponents during those important minutes in a sport like basketball where they can double-team). Or maybe, in the case of the greatest bassist of all time Jaco Pastorius, they charge on stage to kick other bassists off and then showboat the audience away.

When things are all relatively equal, psychology is that intangible ingredient that means the difference. Obviously psychology isn’t going to put you in the Berlin Philharmonic if you just picked up violin, all because you’ve convinced yourself that. But it might convince you to keep practicing when your fingers hurt, or you think it’s boring...and that shit compounds.

***

I don’t really remember too much about their stance on clutch, or if FJM did a statistical analysis of it or anything, but I’m a huge believer in the importance of performance psychology from my own experience.

It definitely helps having played bass for 3 years before picking guitar up again, and helped trading intentionally-difficult jazz fusion stuff for blues and rock, but truthfully I make more mistakes playing less difficult stuff now than I ever did in my 20′s. I don’t have anywhere near the technical skills I used to...nowhere close.

But, when I picked up guitar again, I made the conscious decision to play like Eddie Van Halen...not the style, genre or tone, but in the sense he was a kamikaze. He didn’t give a shit if he fucked up or played sloppy...it was the bigger picture that mattered. That kamikaze psychology...I am going to fly as redlined as possible and if it ends up in a fiery explosion, so be it...was something that would’ve been incredibly useful in my musical prime when I still had a chance to actually play.

And it makes for a better band experience when those fiery explosions happen. Instead of getting ripshit pissed, I just don’t really care anymore. Plus, statistically speaking, I’ll fuckin’ get em on the next go around. Shit, maybe there is psychologically something to the analytics after all.

***

Anyways, just some random thoughts.

0 notes