Author: yt2388

                                Image via DailyMail

That now infamous mess-up at the Oscars literally made my heart stop.

For some context, I had been anxiously awaiting 7pm all day. I stayed up late the night before, I finished all my work, I showered and ate dinner– nothing was going to come in my way of Hollywood’s most important night. As movie lovers will understand, the Oscars are the Superbowl of all things entertainment. And you don’t miss the Superbowl.

The night was going very well. I thought Jimmy Kimmel was an extremely tasteful host with a nice balance of political (but non-offensive) jokes and your average dig at Matt Damon. At one point, he even surprised a real LA tour group with a trip to the Oscars, a move which had me cursing my parents for planning our family vacation to LA at the completely wrong time. There hadn’t been any real surprises of the night by the time we got to Best Picture, with Emma Stone and Casey Affleck taking home the night’s top acting prizes, Mahershala Ali and Viola Davis taking supporting actor awards, and La La Land’s Damien Chazelle becoming the youngest person ever to win Best Director (he’s 32, even though you might think from first glance that he’s 15). Even though Lin-Manuel Miranda lost the Best Song award he so clearly deserved, the night went on pretty much without a hitch– until Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway took the stage to announce the night’s most coveted award, Best Picture.

From the start, Best Picture was really the only contended race of the night. La La Land was the early favorite, but Moonlight had recently begun to clean up at award shows, which left many wondering if it would steal the Oscar at the last minute. Plus, with all the backlash from last year’s #OscarsSoWhite, could the Academy really get away with awarding its top prize to an all-white film over an all-black one? Would they dare?

So when Dunaway announced La La Land as the winner, everyone took in a breath of confused emotions: Did Moonlight ever really have a chance? La La Land was great, but I guess I was kind of hoping for an upset. Is this racist? Am I happy right now? And then, when Oscar producers stormed the stage and we saw Emma Stone gasp and mouth the words “oh my god,” it was a whole different range of emotions entirely: Holy crap, did they say the wrong name? Holy crap, did La La Land not win? Holy crap, this is so awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved. HOLY CRAP.

Okay, maybe that was a little specific to my thoughts, but you get the picture. Next thing we knew, the poor producers of La La Land had to stop in the middle of their speeches and announce that in fact Moonlight had won, and then we all sat uncomfortably, not knowing how to feel, as the Moonlight crew took the stage and gave their own speeches. Luckily, Jimmy Kimmel was again extremely suave, jokingly taking full responsibility for the blunder and easing the tension. But holy crap, was that a way to end.

I’ve always looked up to the Oscars, as has anyone who’s ever dreamed of working in the entertainment industry. It’s the ultimate goal, the final sign that you’ve made it. It’s glittery dresses and fancy sets and funny hosts and golden trophies– it’s literally the night at the ball that every Cinderella dreams of. So it was a shock for everyone watching this year to find out that, in fact, the Academy Awards are not perfect. They are run by human beings– accountants who, like anyone else, could accidentally give Warren Beatty the wrong envelope. Famous actresses like Faye Dunaway could ramble off the name from a card which was clearly wrong, and just like that the magic of the night is lost.

I think, really, that my heart stopped that night because I was struck with this reality for the first time as well. Despite being twenty years old, I still thought the Oscars were a glittery and perfect night at the ball. Obviously, the Oscars remain a (likely untenable) dream, but this past Sunday, some of the ethereality and perfection dissipated. Now, when I look at the industry I dream of going into, I am reminded of its humanity, and that pushes me to work harder, but in a different way than I did before. Instead of striving for perfection, I’ve realized I have to strive for realness.

And, honestly, maybe that’s for the better.

The Must-Binge List: It’s flu season, so if you’re stuck in bed for a couple of days, try out Netflix’s Grace and Frankie: a comedy about two older couples who divorce upon discovering that the two men have been having a secret affair for years. It’s hilariously written and has an all-star cast (Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin, Martin Sheen, AND Sam Waterston!!) Check out the first two seasons online! My grade: A-

 

Well, friends, it’s been a hell of a week. Last Thursday, I accidentally scheduled two super important meetings for the same time and had to reschedule. On Friday, I lost my wallet and found myself stranded at a downtown grocery store with bags of chicken I could no longer pay for. Add all that to the typical CU/BC student stress-level and I’m sure you can imagine how I was feeling on Sunday, when I finally sat down to watch my beloved Jane the Virgin.

[If you’re a fan of Jane’s (as well you should be) and have not yet watched the past two episodes, stop reading now. I repeat: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD.]

For those of you who did watch, though, you’ll know that last week, the evil writers of television’s smartest comedy killed off Michael, Jane’s beloved, wonderful, sweet, cute, all-around-amazing husband. They were married for all of a few months, after they finally got back together at the end of last season and he survived a gunshot to the chest. And then, this happened.

I waited for the next week’s episode to cast judgement. Despite my heartbreak (and I’m talking literal crying on the subway), I still had hope that Jane the Virgin’s smart, funny writers wouldn’t let me down. The show had always been a satire of a telenovela, so I figured they might use this plot twist in a satirical, funny way to revamp the show’s lighthearted nature. (Of course, this was after I read countless interviews with the producer which assured me Michael was actually dead, because for a long time I was really hoping this was all just some kind of sick joke).

So, last Sunday, I turned on my computer, hoping desperately for another lighthearted episode to put me in a better mood. But I was disappointed. Instead, it was three years later, and Jane suddenly had a new life with her son Mateo and her baby daddy Rafael. Michael was gone, Jane was fine, Mateo was fine, Rafael was fine– everyone was FREAKIN’ FINE. And here I was, staring at the screen helplessly, desperately crying for Michael to come on screen and remind everyone that it was NOT FINE. The show had lost its sweetest, most genuine character, and they thought they could just move on? Skip ahead three years as if their fans weren’t still reeling from the loss of their number one guy?

Now, maybe I’m a little bit more invested than your average TV watcher. From day one, I’d always been Team Michael (Rafael is hot and all, but he was no match for Michael’s love for Jane). He made me cry, he made me laugh, and he felt so genuine that I found myself falling in love with him too. I saw traits in him I see in the people I love in real life, and in the hilarious but non-believable satire that was Jane the Virgin, he often felt like the only real person on the show. He had faults, but they weren’t overly dramatic, like the embezzlement cases Rafael was swept up in, or the premise that Jane was accidentally artificially inseminated. Michael was a normal guy, desperately in love with a woman, living a normal life.

As I watched this week’s episode, my heart ached for the one vein of normalcy I had experienced in this show. I cried for Jane’s sorrow, but I also cried because I felt the show had lost something– and I fear it’s something they can never get back.

The Must-Binge List: This week, I encourage you to watch Amazon’s new original series, Z: The Beginning of Everything. It’s a show about F.Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and their epic and completely insane love story. Christina Ricci is fantastic as Zelda– she’ll catch your ear with her electrifying Southern accent and hold your attention with her dazzling performance of the emotionally torn and conflicted woman who tried desperately to hold the attention of one of the greatest writers in our time. David Hoflin’s F. Scott has some trouble holding his own against Ricci, but when she’s on screen, who needs him anyway? Booze, dancing, and sexual exploits galore, this show is definitely worth your time. My grade: A-

 

Photo Courtesy of CNN Money

I was born to love film.

I was raised by a family who lived and breathed entertainment. My uncle is a movie producer, my cousin a stage manager on Broadway. My grandfather, a seventy-five year old man, has overflowing DVD piles of every Disney film, Oscar-winning movie, musical, and Olympic-record-setting video that ever aired on TV. My mother stays up until 2am every night watching her TV shows (she can compete with any binge-driven college student). The entertainment industry is an unspoken staple of my family.

So, naturally, television has always been a huge part of my life. As much as my father tried to enforce TV limits, I knew from a young age that “one hour of teletubbies” meant at least two when Mom was home. Some people blast me for watching so much television, but I know I always have my family on my side, and nothing is as stimulating nor as intellectually thrilling to me.

As I grew up, I slowly became the Roger Ebert of my friend group. I (whether asked or not) would tell my friends which movies to see, which actors deserved the Oscar, which television show was an overly dramatic waste of time. My past and current boyfriends have all gone through a “movie-education,” and I have never missed an awards ceremony (even when I was on the other side of the world and had to wake up at 2am and surf the web for hours before I found a live stream). I’m pretty darn serious about this stuff.

But enough about me. All of this was an introduction of sorts, a drawn out way for me to prove to you that I am indeed qualified to write this column. Sure, I’m a religion major who has yet to write that breakthrough screenplay that earns me a seat at the Golden Globes, but I’m opinionated, nonetheless, and born to movie-educate the masses. So, on that note, let’s dive right in.

It would be amiss not to begin this bi-weekly column with a post that addresses the insanity currently sweeping over Hollywood. This week’s SAG awards were filled with emotions– from numerous actors speaking out against President Trump’s executive order on immigration to Denzel Washington upsetting Casey Affleck and Ryan Gosling for best actor. (Who saw THAT one coming??) The Oscar nominees have been announced, snubbing Taraji P. Henson for her role in Hidden Figures and controversially allowing disgraced anti-semite Mel Gibson in the running. Questions surround the fate of Asghar Farhadi, the Iranian nominated director who may not be able to attend the February 26th ceremony due to Trump’s ban, and NBC’s Dick Wolf is trying to squeeze out more money by making yet another Chicago show.

You’ll notice that most of these have to do with politics. 2016 (and so far 2017) has been a banner year for the Hollywood-Washington crossover, with celebrities becoming more involved in a presidential election than perhaps ever before. Aside from the usual backing of presidential nominees, Hollywood stars have not missed an opportunity to share their feelings about the new president. John Oliver made it his life’s mission this season to convince viewers to vote for Clinton. Meryl Streep (who’s NOT overrated, Mr. President) called Trump out during her acceptance speech at the Golden Globes. Lin-Manuel Miranda (creator of perhaps the most overtly political show on Broadway– though also the most amazing) has been incredibly vocal about his hatred for the new president, and Lorne Michaels was awarded one of President Obama’s medals of freedom, arguably because of the recent politically-driven season of Saturday Night Live. On the flip side, celebrities like Kanye West and John Voight have come out in support of President Trump, though they are in the minority of Hollywood stars. In fact, political opinion in Hollywood has become such an expectancy this past year that celebrities who didn’t pipe in about the election (like my main gal, TSwift) have been getting a lot of flack.

Now, this column isn’t about politics. This column isn’t about the 2016 election, the current president or his policies, and this column definitely isn’t about my own political views. This is a column about Hollywood and the entertainment industry, but the two have become so mixed recently that I find myself wondering– is there a separation?

I truly believe that artists have a valuable and irreplaceable role in society. At times, I’ve found answers in film and television to questions so deep and personal that I didn’t even know I struggled with them until an actor or a writer put them in front of me– and the film industry could not do this without delving into the thick of things, attacking the personal and the relevant when no one else dares to. But, as I watched the nastiness of this past year’s election grow, I wondered if recognizing limitations was something Hollywood has yet to learn.

As much as intellectuals might deny it, celebrities have an enormous amount of influence in modern society. We may not realize it, but we look toward Hollywood as an escape. We see celebrities through our rose-colored glasses; when we hear about their lives and opinions, we hear them the way we hear lines on a screen or words on a page. We don’t know it, but we instinctively give them a reverence we don’t give the guy who lives next door, or even the news anchor who brings in an expert we’ve don’t recognize to talk about the election. And when we give them this level of reverence, we give them power. So much power that, when they tell us their opinions, we cloak them in veils of absolute truth. And, so, the question is: Is Hollywood sticking its nose into the political arena making the political climate better or worse? When do they step up and use their public platform for good, and when is it just a bully pulpit? Are actors’ opinions something we need to hear just because they have a mike and a camera beaming out to millions of people?

It doesn’t matter whether I (or anyone else) agree with the stand certain celebrities took and continue to take about the current President and his policies. The point is this: there are people who voted a certain way because John Oliver or Kanye West told them to, and that is freakin’ terrifying.

And so, Hollywood, as one of your most devoted fans, I make a plea: I ask that you recognize your influence, but also acknowledge your limitations. See where you can inspire, but also understand where you can hurt. Trust your audience to engage, but also trust them to be individuals. Remind us of the magic of the movies, but never try to rob us of our own thoughts. I think it’s time Hollywood began anew, forgot about politics for a little bit and focused on creating art on a more personal and nuanced level. And maybe then, the political climate (and also the comedy late shows) will begin to improve.

Keep on watching,

Yael
P.S. Stay tuned for my first pick on your Must See Binge list!

By Yael Turitz (BC ’19)

I have a confession to make. I’m an addict.

No, I don’t struggle from alcoholism, or drug addiction, or even the newly psychologically recognized video-game addiction. I’m addicted to television.

I don’t mean to delegitimize the mental illness that is addiction. Thank God, I have never suffered from drug addiction or anything of the like and do not begin to claim I know what it feels like. And yet, I believe I too am an addict.

Addiction: “An unusually great interest in something or a need to do or have something” (Merriam-Webster).

It’s 1AM on a Tuesday night and the man is turning his back on the only person who’s ever cared about him. His friend catches on, and suddenly it’s a brawl through the abandoned warehouse in Manhattan. With one knockout punch, it’s over. The screen turns black. I look over at my clock. 1:06AM. ABC’s Castle is over. My body is exhausted, but my mind is just getting started.

“Television is the bane of this generation.”

“The problem with today’s teenage population is that they spend too much time with their eyes glued to the television and never do anything productive with their time.”

“Studies have shown that people spend more time watching television today than they do working, or exercising, or having personal interactions.”

I’ve heard it all before. Grumbles of the men in my synagogue, the professors in my history class, my grandfather. But it can’t stop me.

My imagination thrusts into action. I take each individual character, major or minor, and imagine her background, his family life, his career plans, her goals. I forge relationships between characters, and I create new characters, to establish new bonds or to wedge distances between old ones. I get lost in my own mind.

I want to be a writer. Not a journalist, not an editor—a bona fide fiction writer. I know it’s crazy, idealistic, naïve- but nothing gets me going like a well-crafted story. My idols include people like Jane Austen and Aaron Sorkin.

When I watch an episode of the West Wing, I’m not aimlessly watching a laptop; I’m actively engaging with Josh and Donna and imagining just how beautiful Sorkin’s banter looked on a page. When I watched Downton Abbey each week (oh boy, here comes the loss-of-Downton tears), it wasn’t a time-waster; it was a gateway into a world of characters and story-lines I could mold in my mind. Episodes inspire me to do what I love.

It’s an addiction because it’s a need. Once I get going, there’s no stopping me. I need to see how my imagination from last week measures up against The Good Wife’s professional writers’. There’s an incredible satisfaction when I get it exactly right, and I get a bit smug if I think my story was better. Of course, many times I’m awed when the plot takes a twist I never saw coming. But I am only fully content when I’ve resolved this creative discourse going on in my head. Only then can I peacefully fall asleep.

Am I wasting my time? Sure, I could exercise more. (Actually, I probably should exercise more, but that’s beside the point.) And sure, sometimes I watch TV while procrastinating from doing work. But you know what? I resent the bad rap television has gotten. There are definitely shows out there- think Keeping Up With the Kardashians- that are a mindless waste of time. But quality television is not pointless. An episode of Homeland is just as gripping as Stephen King’s latest novel. Gilmore Girls’ script is as smart and creative as any Oscar Wilde play. And you can learn from shows like The Big Bang Theory or The Newsroom. I know many will hound me for attributing such greatness to the medium of modern television—but honestly, TV writers are some of the greatest creative minds of our time. And it’s not fair to them when we blatantly characterize their work as a “waste of time.”

I’m addicted to fiction, to plot-lines, to characters, to twists and turns. I get a high, all in my own mind, off of stories. Stories spark the creativity inside of me, and my passion for stories is fueled by shows on television. One day, I dream of being the one sitting behind the scenes as the cameras roll and the actors speak the words I’ve written. And one day, when you insult the medium of television, you’ll be insulting my hard work. TV writers deserve better than that. Our openness to creativity deserves better than that.

Also, if you need any series suggestions—hit me up.

 

The first time I heard “All About That Bass,” I was inspired. Here I was, sitting in the front seat of my family’s minivan, watching my forty-year-old mother rock out to an incredible beat. She was singing along and when I strained to hear the words, I was moved.

“Yeah, it’s pretty clear I ain’t no size two,” Meghan crooned in her wonderfully malleable voice. I couldn’t believe it. A mainstream singer on the hottest pop station in DC was celebrating her curviness. It was entirely different, wonderful, and… feminist!

Recently, an article from the blogger called “Ambitiously Living” was circulating around my Facebook newsfeed. It was titled “Why I Will Never Respect Meghan Trainor.” Being a fan, I clicked.

In the article, the unnamed author claims Trainor is going about feminism all wrong. “You have manipulated thousands of adolescent teenagers into a twisted ideology of positive body image,” she says to Trainor. As it continues, she goes on to discuss how, in her mind, Trainor’s music essentially damages young women’s body images.

And here’s where I’d like to disagree. In my mind, Meghan Trainor is an incredible role model and a modern feminist icon. Every argument this author put forward is, in my humble opinion, petty and narrow-minded. She casts judgement before judgement should be cast and attacks a woman for her own body image, the very same cause she is fighting against.

So, Ambitiously Living, here is what I have to say to you:

First and foremost, let’s address a statement you make in your piece: “You are a walking contradiction, and I do not respect you or your ideologies.” Woah. Hold up a minute. Regardless of your opinion of Trainor’s music (with which I adamantly disagree), you have no right to cast judgment on her as a human being. How could you know you do not respect her if you’ve never even met her? For all you know, Trainor could be the nicest, most respectful person you may ever meet. Do you automatically disrespect anyone who doesn’t agree with all of your ideologies? I certainly don’t. Those are the kinds of people who ruin the opportunity for peaceful talks and open debate. Please don’t be that kind of person.

Secondly, let’s break down your argument. You claim Trainor “tells [her] young and confused female listeners that a man’s acknowledgment is important, and the reason they should obtain a certain build.” Where you get this from her music, though, I’m not so sure. True, in “All About That Bass,” she argues men may appreciate a curvy body, but nowhere does she say this ‘approval,’ so to speak, is what inspires her to boast of her curves. It’s simply an acknowledgement of her reality- a proud acknowledgement at that, where Trainor points out she is happy and thriving in her relationships, and that her weight never holds her back.

“When you refer to these women as ‘stick-figure, silicone Barbie doll[s],’ you are belittling their lifestyle choices and their own self-image,” you say. But this is also mistake. When Trainor uses these words, she isn’t putting down women, she’s building them up. “Don’t be what society tells you you must be,” she is saying, “don’t be a stick-figure silicone Barbie doll, be whatever you want to be. You can be curvy, you can be petite- just don’t listen to the media when it tells you to look like a Barbie doll. Look the way you want to look because that’s how you want to look.” It’s a misunderstanding to assume Trainor is attacking thin women, and honestly, a step back in feminism.

The only slightly persuasive argument in the author’s critique of the talented Meghan Trainor is when she argues the singer has “even managed to degrade those 11 million individuals [who have suffered from eating disorders] by making light of their struggle in an interview with Entertainment Tonight. You told interviewers ‘you were never strong enough to have an eating disorder.’” Yes, at first glance, this statement is shocking, and possibly even offensive. But at the same time, we shouldn’t be so quick to judge. As someone who has lived at both sides of the scale—with an overweight and then a dangerously thin body- I am acutely aware of the struggles women face when examining their own body weight. And as someone who fought and beat an eating disorder, I also know that it is indeed a test of strength. I was overweight for years, and I toyed with the idea of bulimia for as long as I could imagine. The reason it took me so long to go through with it was not a testament to my will- I wasn’t “strong enough” because I had convinced myself I would be ugly forever.

Now, please don’t misunderstand me. Submitting to an eating disorder was the worst decision I ever made, and I do not condone nor make light of the struggle of bulimia nervosa or others like it. But there is also a seriously degrading self-image in the mind of a woman who says she is not “strong enough” to have an eating disorder. On that topic we should never cast judgment.

Ambitiously Living, you may have just degraded a woman for her body image to respond to what you call a degrading song. But that’s not right. Attacking an insult with more insults never solves the problem. Honestly, attacking a woman for her body-image should never be okay, no matter which side of the scale she’s on.

When I bought Trainor’s album Title, every track was beaming with feminist pride. In “Lips Are Movin’” and “No Good For You,” she decries abusive and imbalanced relationships. In “Walkashame,” she asserts a woman’s right to her sexuality. In “My Selfish Heart,” she values a woman’s career and right to choose her own path. And yes, in “All About That Bass,” she rallies for positive body image.

So, Meghan, I support you. I applaud you. Keep fighting the good fight and forget the haters. You are beautiful.

 

 

For the original article, follow this link: https://ambitiouslyliving.wordpress.com/2015/04/24/why-i-will-never-respect-meghan-trainor/