Billy on the Street, Difficult People in the Sheets

In between discussing the scholarship behind pop culture phenomenons, I want to take some time to also chat with all-- 7+ of-- you other artifacts and texts that sort of work to help blur our perceptions of queer thinking in the media. I know. This sounds daunting, because as we have sort of established, what is and is not considered queer? Good news! This is totally up to you! What's most important is that we are transparent (not to be confused with the series) about our choices and our interpretations. Sometimes it may get messy, but who ever said that what we do should be easy? Got it? Shall we press on?

You know how it is- every once and a while you choose to watch a new series on a whim. You may not know much about it, but you think, "What the hell? I've got 20 minutes to spare," so you press start and watch as the magic unfolds.

I had such an occurrence happen to me during this summer. I had been familiar with Billy Eichner's work on Parks and Recreation, and I had always been tickled by Billy on the Street. It felt like a natural progression to begin with Difficult People, the story of two cynical and narcissistic wannabe comedians trying so desperately to make it "big time" in New York City. It stars Eichner and creator Julie Klausner as... you guessed it! Two characters named Billy and Julie. They are selfish. They are obsessed with pop culture. They are damn near hilarious. And the central conceit is that they are talented and clever, but perhaps too into themselves for their own good. And as they maneuver through the tricky terrain of hitting it big in comedy, we realize these two are never destined for success, and that makes the series all the more enjoyable.

We are nearing the home stretch to season two, and I am already dreading the season finale next week. Having introduced my friends to this nutty world last night with episode 2x09 entitled "Cedar Cove" (yes, a direct reference to the Hallmark series), I feel certain that this episode alone could jettison a spot on my top 5 series of 2016. It's a classic sitcom setup: Julie somehow gets selected to be a model in a Christian Siriano (guest starring as himself) fashion show, but succumbs to a Shining level case of the flu-- complete with fellating dogs and Capotes. Meanwhile, Billy gets into the hip, cool NYC clique of gay men called the Ten Tens, a group of 10 gay men who are all a 10, all the while dressing up as a giant potty-training beaver to help pay for his health insurance. Typical plot line, am I right?... Yes, I am being facetious.

But what works so well from this series is... well, basically everything. Extend each episode to an hour and it would run the risk of overstaying its welcome. However, at a breezy 20 minutes, the episodes run like water. And let's be real here, I could watch Billy and co. demoralize and belittle a CPR expert all day. But, at the end of the day, the show is all about Billy and Julie, just as the good lord intended. Sure, they each have their own separate storylines, but once the focus is on their friendship, it is clear that this show transcends what we would expect from a humdrum Hulu series. I won't give away the ending to this particular episode, but suffice it to say, I will never look at beavers and/or diapers the same way again. Coming together, sacrificing yourself for your best friend who is choking on a cough drop on the middle of a fashion runway? Now that's something special.

Someday I am going to go back and recap every single of its (current) 17 episodes for you, telling you all the best lines and discuss how wacky and dynamic their capers are. But to do that would spoil the magic for you. My only recommendation for those reading now? WATCH THE DAMN SHOW. Even if you take your sweet time with it, you can knock it out in a week, and you will only wish for more. Let it be known that Difficult People is not for the faint of heart. If you are looking for a sunny, cheerful expose on how to become a successful blogger, recapper, tweeter, comedian, list maker, then clearly... Billy and Julie are not your people. That said, if you are looking for vain, selfish, failures... well then, you've come to the right place. And what a whirlwind it is.

Denying the Formula & Molding Identities: What I Learned in One Introduction!

Welcome back to another fast-paced edition of my blog. As you can tell, things are still in a work in progress. School recently started back up, and in between training sessions for new grad students and orientation for other on-campus positions, life has left me to the wayside to die. But surprise! I'm not dead yet.

This week began more with a whimper than with a bang. It's syllabus week, which is simultaneously relieving and groan-inducing. Gone are the hectic clamoring to finish assignments, and here are the dos that move by at a snail's pace-- where we try to muster up the energy to even go to class. I can't be alone in thinking this. Thankfully, though, this gave me some time to sit down and read. And when I say read, I really do mean Read... with a capital R. What with thesis work and this independent study, I needed to buckle down and get to work.

Without divulging my personal weekly agenda, let's stick to the content of this study, shall we? I tried to keep it simple and straightforward for the first week. If you noticed below, I ordered my own book for this course and I really challenged myself in what I read: the whole introduction. A whopping nine pages. But immediately, I knew that this independent study I chose to tackle would not be as easy as reading and then writing about what I read. Quite the contrary, actually. In those nine pages, Thomas Peele challenged the very foundation on which I thought my study was built around.

He opens by discussing a formula, one that I am sure we are all familiar with in some capacity. He points to recent works of literature that write a narrative that supports a cultural narrative, that "once people know better, they will change their views" (Peele, 2011, p. 2). He relates this to texts that ask for the acceptance of queer characters. Instantly, he regards these characters as the Other and that they must be welcomed into the dominant community. Ummm hello?! This is entirely problematic, and it aligns itself with plenty of other readings I have witnessed in the past few months. It could go without saying, but Peele then urges his readers to understand that we are constantly shaped by what we see on television, what we see in the theater, what we read. We are taught about our own identities and the identities of those around us. What is so troubling about this idea, especially in relation to queer acceptance, is that by creating this dichotomy of wanting to be accepted vs. accepting others is that, as Michael Warner points out, it "overlook(s) the desirability of queer culture" (xxi). Essentially, when we think of something that is merely something that should/could be accepted, we eliminate any examination of the queer identity beyond one that can be tolerated, rather than can empower.

Listen, y'all. I get it. On some level, it was important for gays, lesbians, everyone to be accepted into a mainstream audience in order for them to garner any exposure. But then again, this has to happen with any community. I could go on a spiel about how this seemingly simple notion of "acceptance" is damaging in so many ways to so many people, but in order to save you all from potential rants, let me clarify. As Suzanna Walters states, "The complexity and diversity of the gay and lesbian community needs to be represented, not promoted as simply heterosexuality with a twist" (p. 24). Peele incorporates these thoughts into his introduction for a reason: to expose the readers to this idea that maybe, just maybe, we still don't understand queer texts. Which is totally okay! One some level, we are never going to completely understand how queer identities function in the dominant ideologies, particularly those that are represented through the media. You guys, it's okay not to know everything.

Look around you. We are surrounded by queer texts and queer artists everywhere. Peele turns to Glee, Modern Family, The Hours, Boy Meets Boy, Richard Hatch from Survivor (which, by the way, HUH?). Some of these texts are beautiful, some are problematic, others are entertaining. But ultimately, as Peele urges us to consider, there is no "right" way to do queer. That is impossible. It is the antithesis of what queer is. The more we try to figure it out, the less is actually queer. But what we should take into account, and what I hope you take from this first article, is that it is okay for ideas, identities, and concepts to be blurred, to remain ambiguous. This works beyond the level of acceptance, but rather, it functions as one of molding. And not the gross kind. I mean shaping, developing, and understanding by our own terms.

Queering it Up

Extra, extra! Read all about it!

You heard it here first, everyone! For the independent study side of my writing this semester, I have selected a book to use as the crux of my posts here. Although the general ideas surrounding this blog are about media, I still want to queer it up a little. I want to see what is different about the series we watch and the movies we go see. Therefore, my book will be pulling generously from these texts and will analyze it through the lens of the queer identity.

Queer Popular Culture, Edited by Thomas Peele

Stay tuned later in the week for my first official post, where I look at the Intro for this book. I am super excited and I hope you are too!

Nosebleeds, Flipped Trucks, and Alternate Realities, or: How Stranger Things Set the Bar for the 'Other'

Talking about Spielberg's classic sci-fi phenomenon E.T. is especially difficult for me... mostly because I haven't seen E.T. That said, I do know that this film is a cornerstone of Amblin Entertainment, responsible for films such as The Goonies, Gremlins, and even Super 8. All involving kids, these movies combined fantasy and hints of terror to entertain it audiences. But what I can talk about with some bias is the 80's horror genre, consisting of films such as Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and The Evil Dead. Decades later, I would argue these films are not particularly scary, but are representative of a time in cinema where horror was celebrated. Today, I admire these films for their campiness and dated fashion choices.

Let me set a scene for you all: it is 2016. It is the middle of the summer, and we are being subjected to reboots, sequels, and spin-offs out the wazoo. Wherever we turn, nostalgia is prevalent, pulling us back into a time period, urging us to indulge in that Independence Day sequel (spoiler: I didn't). Uniqueness is a diamond in the rough. Where can we turn to successfully feel like our nostalgia is paying off? But more importantly... how can we ensure that the time period from the 80's, with unabashed horror and fantasy mixed together, somehow stays alive?

In strolls Stranger Things, another entry into the Netflix canon. Created by the Duffer Brothers, this series tells a simple story: a young boy goes missing due to unforeseen circumstances (could it be aliens? could it be the government? Too soon to tell), and his friends and family rally around this boy's disappearance to uncover the answers. And get this! It takes place in rural Indiana in the 1980's. Heralding back to films such as E.T. and The Goonies, the show manages to encapsulate the time period, without ever choking on its use of nostalgia. Rather, it uses the wheel to further reinvent itself.  And you want to know something? It works.

I could go into an extensive review of the series, complimenting the Duffer Brothers for taking us back to the 80's. I could fawn over the cast, particularly Winona Ryder, who plays the missing boy's mom. Seriously, she plays every single scene she is in for the audience in the back and she goes for broke in all eight episodes. I have tweeted and posted endlessly about side character Barb, but she's for another day. I could especially reward the main child actors, who manage to create whole, well-rounded characters and carry this story with ease. But this is not what I want to write about. All you would have to do is go to Metacritic and read reviews to your heart's content. Because this blog will work in tandem with my school's independent study, I wanted to make this a bit more scholarly (and don't worry- once school actually starts, we will be getting into nitty gritty scholastic).

"Other." What exactly does this word mean? In school, I hear it thrown around carelessly. At first, I came to view it as: if you are different, you are the other. And while that is true in a sense, I have since come to realize that there is so much more nuance to be unpacked from this singular word. In 1959, Kenneth Burke coined the phrase Other, or the concept that there is a distinct binary between the majority and the minority. Essentially, the Other functions as that minority, as those who have been historically and consistently marginalized. Anywhere you look, and the process of "Othering" is there: racism, sexism, homophobia, and the list goes on. In other words (no pun intended), in some capacity, we have fallen victims to being the Other.

And if you take a quick look at Stranger Things, we are subjected to a world surrounded by those who have been marginalized. We see a mother who many feel is unhinged. We see a police officer, consumed with his own grief. We see three boys, viewed as outcasts at school, who are bullied and shamed for their appearances and social status. It's there, we all see it. One character, however, challenges the downtrodden writings of the Other. And she comes in the form of Eleven.

Eleven (played by Millie Bobby Brown)

Named as a science experiment gone awry, Eleven escapes from a government facility that is training her to use her mind for evil, and finds the boys who are trying to locate their missing friend. Speaking only a few words total in the first season, Eleven is a pure mystery. She knows little in the way of social cues, and she also has an affinity for Eggo waffles. Yet, she has the power to make things move with her mind. When this happens, she starts bleeding from her nose and ears and she loses stamina. Matched with being the only person who knows how to find the missing boy, we as an audience need Eleven. She takes us on this journey with her; her fears and anxiety seem practically palpable. She is an outsider, even to the characters in this show. But that is precisely where the beauty in Eleven lies. Conveying so much with so little, Brown manages to create this young girl who is struggling to feel accepted from others as well as with herself. She does not know who she is, and season one takes us on this slow quest towards self-acceptance.

Therefore, the Other is established in a sense. Clearly, Eleven is different from everyone else. But there is a strange power that lies dormant within her, and I actually did not try to make a joke here. Sure, she has powers that move things (some of which include entire trucks), but it is this inner struggle she experiences- as seen through the blood leaking from her nose and ears, that truly demonstrates this character's inner struggle for acceptance. Who is she? It's hard for us to know, because she doesn't even know. And there is unique beauty in that revelation. It is coming to terms with her uncanny abilities that we, as audience members, recognize how the Other can take many different forms. Here, in Stranger Things, Eleven is a central figure of empowerment. How refreshing it is that someone so marginalized, misunderstood, and cast aside can still enrich its viewers (in the series and outside of it) to take a look at their own distinct differences.