Empire: Where are all the ladies?

The British-based Empire Magazine is hands-down my favorite periodical about the film industry. With few adverts, a comprehensive look at British cinema, US blockbusters & art house indies, they always deliver to the sweet spot of my interests. Also the editorial crackles with a wry & smart sense of humor though unconventional interviews, in-depth looks at projects in production, and helpful reviews. There is also a palpable, unapologetic penchant for Tom Hiddleston. He's somewhere in every issue. Seriously.

Before, I'd only ever seen the magazine in London when I went to school there in the mid-90's. Then a few years ago, I discovered Pike Place Market Newsstand here in Seattle carried Empire so I would make the trek down there when I could to pick one up. But now as luck would have it, I was recently gifted a subscription so I can save myself some trips downtown.

The latest August edition features a compilation of the "100 Greatest Movie Characters" voted on by over 10,000 readers. I know I shouldn't put too much stock into these kinds of things. I know it shouldn't matter...but as I read through all 100 characters, and good number of which I agree with, I noticed how few female characters made the cut. Only 10 out of 100 in the history of all films. That's kinda sad, because there absolutely has to be more worthy female characters out there. Has to. One of my absolute favorite characters, Ellen Ripley of the Alien franchise, is in the top 5--as she should be. But it's a long walk to the next female character in the 20's. When I checked the list (twice even), I noticed some glaring omissions.

Princess Leia: Wow, in a list that includes Luke Skywalker #50, Darth Vader #9, Obi-Wan #51 and Han Solo #3 (& Yoda #38!) to leave out the one person who gets sh** done in the original three movies? Shameful.

Scarlett O'Hara: One of the most dynamic heroines from an era when women weren't supposed to do anything without their father's or husband's permission. Scarlett embodied a larger-than-life personality in a larger-than-life film production. Short memories, people!

Hermione Granger: So Harry Potter #67 makes it but not the person who continually saves everyone's skin every single time because she did the homework? Brits, this is one of your own. How could you let this happen?

Elinor Dashwood: Okay, this could be a little niche given that it's a Jane Austen character but this movie rates as one of my all-time top favorite movies for it's writing and acting. Everything about this character is impactful and Elinor embodies such restraint and loyalty--Gah! Pass the tissue.

Bridget Jones: A modern, funny, poignant, flawed British woman played expertly by a Texan--and she nailed it. It makes up for all the British dudes honing their American accents for roles over here.

Mulan: A truly kick-ass, non-princess female Disney character. She's a warrior in an epic tale about self-sacrifice for one's family and one's country. If you're going to include animated characters like Optimus Prime #98, Woody #82, Edna Mode #100 or even Gromit #88, Mulan has got to rate in there too.

So maybe there is a great undervaluing of work women have already done in film by Empire readers or maybe there aren't enough 'greatest-movie-character' caliber parts available to women. But if you look at it, this list is really male and really white so it probably has more to do with who answered this poll than anything else.

But these lists influence what people watch, especially when it comes to building cinematic foundations and back catalog. In future, Empire should reveal it's polling demographic data or aim for a 50/50 target representation of participants in future polls to make things really interesting.

On Writing

My New Year's Resolution this year was to read a book that had nothing to do with parenting. Just one was the goal. Mission accomplished and it only took 7 months!

I was once an avid reader, especially when I was in school--it also didn't hurt that I was an English minor with an emphasis in literary criticism. But since becoming a parent, I have found my time highly fractured and overcommitted.  The anguish of trying to read a novel or long-form story with that constant pressure, outweighed any perceived benefit. To fill the void, I consumed the snack food of the literary world: magazines, graphic novels, comics and fan fiction (some of the best-worst stuff ever written, btw). Of course, many of the moms I interact with participate in book clubs and I marvel at their ability to finish 'real' books. That should have been my first (and continuing) clue that I was making excuses. Also, I just need to step away from the Facebook, hours upon hours get sucked down that insatiable black hole.

Anyway, I set my expectations low on purpose because I didn't want to fail. But during our recent LA vacation, I read Stephen King's writing memoir On Writing. I discovered this book when I briefly considered signing up for an online class about writing adult fiction--a genre I have no experience writing. Well, that's not entirely true: there were earnest (though misguided) attempts in college where overwrought self-awareness and a profound lack imagination combined into a cringe-worthy mess. But while reading reviews about the online writing course offered by a prolific fiction writer (not Stephen King), many people instead praised King's memoir as being a superior, highly instructive awas a much cheaper alternative to the class.  By coincidence, my mom, who is writing children's fiction, credited the tools and advice in his book for helping her break though to a major revision and advancement of a story she's been working on for years. And after reading her energized and imaginative revision, I was all "I'll-have-what-she's-having." With enough mental reserves to appreciate King's solid advice, our kid-free, care-free LA trip proved to be a perfect time and place to read On Writing.

In high school, I devoured a sampling of King's work like It, Tommyknockers, Misery, The Dark Tower, The Stand and one of his short story collections. The accessibility of his writing was something I always admired even if the subject matter was unsettling. A few weeks ago when I was only half done with On Writing, we lunched in Santa Monica with a college friend who is a writer. I recommended this book to him in an "I've-discovered-something-new" way.  He assured me he'd read it 3 times since it came out 15 years ago. Oops, late to the party again. But the book still stands up, no question, which explains why I was #14 deep in Seattle Public Library's hold queue for it. 

One thing I always disliked about "writers" as opposed to actual writers, is that "writers" were people who debated, agonized and over-analyzed writing (I'm very aware that I'm toeing that line right now.) But the people who just sit down everyday and put in the time are the shit. Even if it's drivel. The output won't often be inspired and it's not guaranteed to be good but like anything else, you have to put in the time to practice. 

I think at this point, the audacity of writing a fiction novel is like deciding to run a marathon just because you bought new shoes. I haven't trained a lick but, by gawd, I have the shoes. Still there's something so plucky and fresh in that. Another thing King said, and I'm not spoiling anything here, is that a good writer reads. I think my English teacher in high school, Maggie Bates, mentioned that too. Seeing how others make ideas flow, develop characters and tell a story is the other half of "marathon" training. 

One main thing King emphatically championed was a writing space with a door to shut out the world. After a few years of envying everyone else's retreat space in this house, I finally commandeered part of our guest bedroom, which will continue to pull double duty but at least it's something. We'll see what comes of it. No excuses.

Immortalized by my Kindergartener on Mother's Day

My Kindergartner made this for me on Mother's Day and I love it.

I sure wish I actually had long eyelashes like that. The black mouth is definitely accurate for when I step on an errant LEGO and start spewing the Dark Tongue of Mordor. You know like, THIS.

And then there is an awesome Mad Libs-like "All About Mom" that is simply the best. (Click to Enlarge)

I love it Siddy! So proud to be your Mom.

Lee C. Leslie, a remembrance

This tragic event last week brought back these 20+ year-old memories of my friend, Lee Leslie. Despite not seeing him since 1991, I am incredibly sad to know he is no longer in this world and that his wife and 4 kids will have to go on without him. What remains for me are the memories of our unlikely friendship spanning 9 years and his antics that still make me smile.

Even as a 2nd grader, Lee stood out among the boys on the bus. He was a sort of a ringleader: charismatic, risk-taking and unpredictable. He’d be the one talking back to the bus driver and invariably the one being sent to the principal’s office.

I often overheard him and some of the boys who sat toward the back of the school bus talking about riding “cicles” (off-road motorcycles) during the weekend or admiring a neighbor’s “sweet” Camaro parked in a driveway as we passed by. The conversation shifted to the in’s and out’s of WWF professional wrestling and the merits of various “awesome” heavy metal rock bands. In no way did any of these topics interest me, but I listened anyway and one day on a ride home from school, something must have broken through so I laughed out loud and they noticed. Delighted to have an audience, they began to include me, trying to elicit laughs at their off-color jokes. Lee could also crack his knuckles so loud it was unreal. He and the boys on the bus loved nothing more than teaching me--an awkward, nerdy, naive girl--all the naughty words they’d heard from older siblings and metal albums. I came away from our bus conversations with a vastly expanded vocabulary and knowing more about professional wrestling than I’d ever care to admit.

We lived on the northern outskirts of Ridgefield Wash, once a sleepy, simple rural town that is now home to rolling estates. It was a place, when we moved there in 1982 and I started 2nd grade, where there weren’t many minorities in school except for a handful of Mexican laborers’ children and me. One day when I was in 3rd grade, Lee and his friends approached me on the playground and for no particular reason hailed me using the slur “Jap.” I had never been called that before (or since) but I knew it was fundamentally wrong. In retrospect, calling me that racial slur in the absence of malice or understanding of what they were doing felt more like the boys were ‘trying it out,’ rather than expressing a deep-seeded animosity for me or the Japanese race. Soon after this incident which included intervention by our teacher and a classroom presentation by my parents about Japanese culture, my talks with Lee on the bus resumed and we became even better friends. I know that’s weird to say but it never came up again.

I remember in 6th grade how Lee would rush to the swing set at recess and we’d all run over to watch him flip off the swings backwards or jump off with no hands. He performed the riskiest stunts and many of us were in awe of his fearlessness.

In 8th grade Social Studies class, we had a teacher known for saying such things as “You’re going to Hack City!” and “You want to play a game? I’ll play a game on your butt!” [That’s a direct quote by the way, etched in my memory forever.] Corporal punishment was in full effect and kids who got in-trouble actually got paddled (hard) in those days by teachers or the principal. But this ‘old school’ teacher, who was due to retire that year, was known for threatening (and carrying out) these ultimatums. I think it’s fair to say that everyone dreaded this class and because of that, defying him became a pastime for some of the more daring in our ranks. And that was where Lee came in.

In those days, the way the office and the rooms communicated was through a phone receiver/intercom. Because this teacher was hard of hearing and used hearing aids, there were times when he’d miss the quick BUZZ-BUZZ that indicated an incoming call. I was somehow appointed by this teacher to be the designated “phone answerer” during class. The problem with this was that the boys (i.e. Lee and the other guys) would yell “PHONE!” to disrupt the class even when the phone had not buzzed so then I would get chastised by our impatient teacher for not promptly jumping up to answer a phantom phone call. Another hearing aid ‘test’ would happen when the guys would start humming without looking like they were humming which prompted our teacher to adjust his hearing aid volume, sparking endless giggling and gloating at the achievement. It sure did make that otherwise boring class interesting. When not entertaining the masses, Lee was also voted the ‘Best Looking’ and ‘Best Dressed’ guy and landing in the top 3 for ‘Most Athletic’ and ‘Most Popular’ in our 8th grade yearbook. Impressive.

I searched in vain for the one photograph I knew I took of him in 1988 on “8th Grade Slave Day.” It’s where the girls ‘purchased’ the boys for a day and dressed them up in crazy outfits and made them do our bidding (within reason). I’m not sure who had ‘purchased’ Lee but he was dressed in a bikini and a grass hula skirt with a flower in his hair. He actually got off easy compared to the outfits some of the other guys had to wear.

When we crossed over into high school, Lee rode the bus less often, preferring to ride with people who had cars. I had less opportunities to talk to him and despite our small school, our social circles didn’t overlap much. By what would be our senior year, he had left Ridgefield HS and I didn’t know why or what he was doing. But I never forgot the roguish charm that won people over--that won me over--and all the crazy stunts, situations and conversations.

I looked through my old yearbooks last weekend, just--I don’t know, looking for something funny or optimistic. Instead I found something that I’d totally forgotten about in my 11th grade yearbook that he signed,

“I like you and consider you one of my best friends. I’m so glad that you are easy to get to laugh, it makes me feel good to make you laugh…”

"Your good friend, Love Lee”

From the boy I knew growing up, that was heart-breakingly high praise. Rest in peace, Lee.

(For anyone interested, there is a fund set up to help the family HERE.)