Like Neon

In my misspent youth during the early days of the internet, I created and helmed what was ultimately a ridiculous number of celebrity fan sites. The first and one of the biggest of those was The Altar to Audrey, a top-heavy, unfortunately named behemoth of a site dedicated to Audrey Hepburn. I’ve been an Audrey Hepburn fan since I was a teenager in the early Nineties. She was to me the epitome of a specific and enviable brand of feminine grace, and I longed to be more like her.

It should come as no surprise, then, that I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s innumerable times: It was one of the first Hepburn films I ever saw, and it seems as though I’ve kept it readily on hand in one form or another ever since. Barring the inherent discomfort of the racial issues (Which I’ll expand on later), I adore the film.

Color me surprised, then, that after finally getting around to reading Capote’s original novella, I find myself wishing more than ever that the film version had been handled differently. Don’t get me wrong — I don’t want to attack Blake Edwards or tear down the legacy of the film. For its faults, it remains a solid piece of filmmaking, worthy of being beloved. But the crux of the whole story — The tone, the motivation — were lost in the transition to the big screen. [read more]

Dubious though the method of delivery may be, the fact remains that True Blood has inherited a formidable legacy from Charlaine Harris’ novels. I’ve never been crazy about Harris’ writing, but her characters and stories remain compelling. Beyond that, though, and probably more important, is the ease with which Harris has portrayed strong female characters and seamlessly interwoven modern sensibilities and social metaphor into her world. This is a place where women are the focal point, where they are empowered and do for themselves. They carefully balance a sense of pride and humility, and while they may choose to allow men into their lives and hearts, it is always clearly and decisively a choice, and made without losing their sense of self.

For what are essentially silly throw-away novels, it’s quite an endowment, and True Blood is fucking it up.

Don’t get me wrong — I am a fan of the show and always have been. It’s pulling down the mantle of many taboos (If only within the relatively safe space of premium cable television), and I absolutely give it credit for that. The current arc, however, is disturbing to that fundamental part of me that recoils at strong women being turned into sexist cliche for the sake of entertainment. [read more]

It’s strange to think that we’re currently living in a time when the name John Hughes isn’t automatically recognized by everyone I know. Never fear, I’m not going to get all maudlin about getting older or anything ridiculous like that (And being only 31, it would definitely be ridiculous), but the fact remains that Hughes’ sudden death this past Thursday feels distinctly like the closing of a critical chapter of cinematic history.

If you weren’t alive for most of the Eighties, it’s probably going to be difficult to comprehend the impact of John Hughes’ work. The decade was permeated by memorable films that he had some hand in creating, either as a writer, director or producer. Gems that came directly from Hughes’ brain include Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, not to mention all three National Lampoon Vacation movies — Films that were instant classics and linger in our social consciousness even now, over twenty years later. [read more]

I have a love/hate relationship with Charlaine Harris’ Southern Vampire series. I’ve read most of the books (Having skipped a couple for dubious content above and beyond the norm), and while the writing is only marginally better than something like Twilight or a mediocre fan-fic, I can’t deny that the books are kinda like potato chips: You can’t stop reading them even though you know they’re bad for you, and you end up feeling vaguely guilty for enjoying them as much as you did. The plot lines manage to feel contrived even when they’re about bizarre circumstances, and the heroine is the sort of self-righteous Southern stereotype that I (and hundreds of other Southern women) would smack the shit out of in real life.

That said, I didn’t read the books because I’m a masochist: Harris has a knack for creating secondary characters who are easy to love. This made the leap to the television counterpart, True Blood, which is fortunate, because precious Sookie Stackhouse and her old-fashioned vampire boyfriend Bill are becoming more tedious with every episode. [read more]

If you haven’t seen the new Star Trek movie yet, surely you’re one of the few left. It grossed $72.5 million in its opening weekend, and if the buzz on the internet is anything to go by, that success is only going to continue through the summer. As someone raised in a family where Star Trek was practically a religion, I was both surprised and delighted to find that the Trek fan reactions within my social strata were overwhelmingly positive despite the liberties taken with the original canon and time line.

Of course, there are still plenty of hardcore fans out there who are displeased with what is becoming known as the “reboot.” It’s got me thinking about the validity of the complaints when held against the importance of revitalizing a franchise that has become an integral part of our cultural awareness. [read more]