Song of the day: Do the Hippogriff - The Weird Sisters
So here's the thing. I hate romantic comedies. Always have, always will. Even Titanic, which is not exactly comedic, does not escape my wrath; while my cousin was watching it for the fifth time and still crying, I could barely last all the way through. That was the first and only time I watched it.
It's just the fact that there never seems to be any deviation from the formula: A man and a woman meet, instantly dislike each other (not always the case, but happens disturbingly often) and would rather eat a live snake than be in the same room as each other. Then something MAGICAL happens and suddenly they can't keep their hands off each other, no real explanation given aside from sexual tension. Which, you know, is far from impossible, but unlike what TV executives want us to think, wanting to have sex with someone and loving them isn't necessarily the same thing -_- It is what my friend refers to as the 'I hate you!' 'I hate you!' 'Love me.' pattern.
Theeeen something convoluted happens (it looks like one of them is cheating but they really aren't and the other doesn't give them a chance to explain/there is some stupid misunderstanding/one of them has to leave and doesn't want to 'hurt' the person by actually admitting that they, you know, love them/they get attacked by a rouge platypus and suffer extremely selective memory loss) and they want us to think oh no tragedy how will this ever be fixed aaaand then it's easily fixed in about the last ten minutes of the movie. Done.
At first, I wasn't quite sure why I disliked romantic comedies so much (a lot of genres are formulaic and that's often even a part of the charm). I thought that romance just couldn't carry a whole story by itself because it focused too hard on just those two (or more) people involved, but that couldn't be it because a lot of stories do that with no romantic intent involved. Then I thought it was just because I'm not a particularly romantic person (or so they tell me) or at least not traditionally so, and that's probably a part of it. That and western culture tends to... well, I don't want to say 'overvalue' romantic relationships, but that's essentially what I mean, at the cost of familial and platonic relationships (which are just as important as romantic ones.)
I was even under the impression that my aversion extended all over the romance genre, up until I read Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. And that's when I realized that this story is essentially the formula of romantic comedies before it became a formula, only done right.
So let's do this as a case study:
Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy meet, and their first impressions of each other are not very flattering (and for a good reason.) They assume that they know all there is to know about each other from those brief glimpses, and continue to happily despise each other for some time. Their Pride (Darcy) and Prejudice (Elizabeth) prevent them from realizing their mistakes.
Then, starting first and foremost with Darcy, they began to understand that their first impressions were erroneous, limited and incomplete (as most first impressions are). As he has, in the words of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries all 'the social skills of an agoraphobic lobster,' he is able to see her as she really is, but she is unable to see him, due to the aforementioned lack of social skills and also her prevailing prejudice.
It is only after he confesses her love to her (a scene which I love not just because of the excellent writing but also because of how she rejects him, which of course made perfect sense given what she knows of him so far) that she later gets the opportunity to see him as anything else but prideful, snobbish and lacking in empathy. This is primarily through his actions towards others, unrelated to her. She now knows that he is in fact a good man, if an awkward and slightly bad-tempered one. Then she begins to love him, as he loves her, and by acknowledging their mistakes and learning from them, they both become better people.
On top of that, a huge part of the charm is that it's not just a love story in the romantic sense of the word, but a love story about the whole of the Bennett family (in a familial way - not the creepy incestuous kind of way). You get invested not just in the leads, but also in the other characters and their trials and tribulations.
(And I will always love Jane Austen for writing Darcy as a genuinely good man that respects Lizzie's boundaries. Even after he confesses his love to her and she almost cruelly rejects him he doesn't bring it up again, up until the moment when he has reason to believe he does have a chance with her. And even then he promises never to bring it up again if her feelings towards him remain unchanged. And this is in 18t/19th century England, people! Contemporary so-called 'friendzoned' men could learn from this.)
And that brings me to the conclusion that romantic comedies are in fact not about love. They are about what society wants love to be - a whole lot less complicated and much more dramatic than real life tends to be. But think of the stories that could be made (that are being and have been made) if romantic comedies contained anything close to resembling real people.
Well, that's my two cents on the subject. Now excuse me while I go and explode from feels at all the new Spirk fic materializing on the internet.
P.s. Jane Austen will make it to the UK 10 pound note! Huzzah!
Showing posts with label badass ladies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label badass ladies. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
On death and dying (and the good things about black humour)
Song of the day: 'A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal (Noble Maiden Fair)' from the soundtrack of Brave.
So, my grandmother just died. Which is sad. Uh, not to state the obvious, or anything.
And when the family got to know about it, there was grieving, and crying and generally being miserable but still a bit glad because she had been sick for so long and died in her sleep. I suppose that you could call it a good death, if there is such a thing. But more importantly she had a good life, or at least a life worth living, which is the most any of us can ever ask for.
So I stayed over with my sister and her family for the night to comfort them (for them to comfort me), and it was nice. But I kinda got this feeling that I would also have been fine alone at home by myself. And at first I wondered if that was callous, but no. I simply seem to have skipped right to the final stage of grief, if those can be considered accurate to the human experience. I mean, I didn't even cry. And then I realized that I had already done most of the grieving before she even died, because we all knew it was going to happen, although no-one said it out loud.
I think the story I have been writing throughout April (finished on time, by the way. Woohoo!) helped a lot. I didn't realize it at first, but the protagonist was experiencing the same crippling fear of death that I used to have when I was younger, and also dealing with my own grief of my other two grandmothers, which also died only last year. I wrote it without realizing that it was also about me, in a way, and dealt with the feeling that I had about being left alone. I mean, now a whole generation of my family is gone; all six of my grandmothers and grandfathers. And in the end, I realized it by writing it thus:
‘The moments leading up to death may be horrible, but the end itself just is. It’s neither good nor bad. There may be people left behind and there may be people who leave, but if life does anything, it goes on, and so does death. Don’t be afraid, Martha. People may leave, but that doesn’t mean that others don’t arrive.'
It was a pretty cathartic experience, and a good one.
So all in all, my grandmother was an awesome lady. I mean, she put up with my grandfather, for one (long story) and she raised like six or seven kids. She had my mum, which, not to brag or anything, is kinda important to my existence (and also happiness). She never went to what we would think of as a school in present time, but she was wonderfully smart and read like she was racing against someone (and had so many books I can't even count them). She had a wicked sense of humour, and in the tradition of our family a pretty gallows-oriented one. I think she would have appreciated what my best friend said to comfort me when I told her. I hesitate to write it, though, because of the chances of it being misunderstood by, well, everyone.
Ah, screw it, no-one reads this anyway.
'What's up with your grandmothers dying all the time?'
'And here I thought you had made it perfectly clear to your grandmothers that they should stop that whole dying thing. Tch, hipster grandmas.'
I just find this hilarious. But then again I do come from a long line of gravediggers.
Rest in awesome, grandma. We will meet again.
So, my grandmother just died. Which is sad. Uh, not to state the obvious, or anything.
And when the family got to know about it, there was grieving, and crying and generally being miserable but still a bit glad because she had been sick for so long and died in her sleep. I suppose that you could call it a good death, if there is such a thing. But more importantly she had a good life, or at least a life worth living, which is the most any of us can ever ask for.
So I stayed over with my sister and her family for the night to comfort them (for them to comfort me), and it was nice. But I kinda got this feeling that I would also have been fine alone at home by myself. And at first I wondered if that was callous, but no. I simply seem to have skipped right to the final stage of grief, if those can be considered accurate to the human experience. I mean, I didn't even cry. And then I realized that I had already done most of the grieving before she even died, because we all knew it was going to happen, although no-one said it out loud.
I think the story I have been writing throughout April (finished on time, by the way. Woohoo!) helped a lot. I didn't realize it at first, but the protagonist was experiencing the same crippling fear of death that I used to have when I was younger, and also dealing with my own grief of my other two grandmothers, which also died only last year. I wrote it without realizing that it was also about me, in a way, and dealt with the feeling that I had about being left alone. I mean, now a whole generation of my family is gone; all six of my grandmothers and grandfathers. And in the end, I realized it by writing it thus:
‘The moments leading up to death may be horrible, but the end itself just is. It’s neither good nor bad. There may be people left behind and there may be people who leave, but if life does anything, it goes on, and so does death. Don’t be afraid, Martha. People may leave, but that doesn’t mean that others don’t arrive.'
It was a pretty cathartic experience, and a good one.
So all in all, my grandmother was an awesome lady. I mean, she put up with my grandfather, for one (long story) and she raised like six or seven kids. She had my mum, which, not to brag or anything, is kinda important to my existence (and also happiness). She never went to what we would think of as a school in present time, but she was wonderfully smart and read like she was racing against someone (and had so many books I can't even count them). She had a wicked sense of humour, and in the tradition of our family a pretty gallows-oriented one. I think she would have appreciated what my best friend said to comfort me when I told her. I hesitate to write it, though, because of the chances of it being misunderstood by, well, everyone.
Ah, screw it, no-one reads this anyway.
'What's up with your grandmothers dying all the time?'
'And here I thought you had made it perfectly clear to your grandmothers that they should stop that whole dying thing. Tch, hipster grandmas.'
I just find this hilarious. But then again I do come from a long line of gravediggers.
Rest in awesome, grandma. We will meet again.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Marvellous People Monday: Angela Burdett-Coutts
Song of the day: Something Wicked - Vernian Process (uh, not meant to reflect our subject in any way.)
So, think that badass ladies are a thing of the present? Well, guess again! Today our subject is the fantastic Angela Burdett-Coutts, 1st Baroness Burdett-Coutts. Born in 1814, she became the richest woman in England in 1837 when she inherited three million pounds sterling from her grandfather (which was considerably more then then it is today.) And she did some remarkable things throughout her life, proving once again that money is probably the best superpower of all (or at least the most practical.)
Some may have read about her in Terry Pratchett's most recent novel, Dodger. At least I think it's his most recent novel. *goes to check* Yupp, told you. Still, that man is ridiculously prolific.
A trait she is most notable for in the book is that she helps people by helping them help themselves, which is something we can all respect, I think. Reinforcing the belief that 'with great power comes great responsibility' she became a dedicated philanthropist. One of her first works was establishing, with the help of her good friend Charles Dickens, the Urania Cottage, which helped women escape a life of theft and/or prostitution. A lot of her wealth (most of it, really) she spent on scholarships for other people, and established the so-called 'ragged schools' to provide education for poor children which could not afford it.
She was notable for not not taking sides politically, but, to quote wikipedia, '...she was actively interested in phases of Imperial extension which were calculated to improve the condition of the black races, as in Africa, or the education and relief of the poor or suffering in any part of the world.' I'll just leave that here, since I'm not actually sure what to make of it.
Other of her philanthropic projects included giving help to Turkish peasants and refugees in the 1877 Russo-Turkish war, which won her the Order of the Medjidie, a knightly order of the Ottoman Empire (which was also the only instance of it being presented to a woman.) She also established soup kitchens, the Temperence Society, and financed the first archaeological survey of Jerusalem to improve its sanitation. She even provided financial banking for Charles Babbage's Analytical Engine, the forerunner of the modern computer!
She was, as mentioned above, a good friend of Charles Dickens, Michael Faraday, and also the Duke of Wellington. She even proposed to the latter despite the forty year age difference, although the Duke rejected her on the basis that she probably oughtn't marry someone old enough to be her grandfather. She later also became a full member of the Royal Society.
Essentially I can't hope to do her life and accomplishments justice, but I respect her immensely for her seeming determination not to die rich. You can find a more complete account of her here and here. Take heart, people. If someone like Angela could be this awesome in the Victorian Era, we're probably just starting.
So, think that badass ladies are a thing of the present? Well, guess again! Today our subject is the fantastic Angela Burdett-Coutts, 1st Baroness Burdett-Coutts. Born in 1814, she became the richest woman in England in 1837 when she inherited three million pounds sterling from her grandfather (which was considerably more then then it is today.) And she did some remarkable things throughout her life, proving once again that money is probably the best superpower of all (or at least the most practical.)
Some may have read about her in Terry Pratchett's most recent novel, Dodger. At least I think it's his most recent novel. *goes to check* Yupp, told you. Still, that man is ridiculously prolific.A trait she is most notable for in the book is that she helps people by helping them help themselves, which is something we can all respect, I think. Reinforcing the belief that 'with great power comes great responsibility' she became a dedicated philanthropist. One of her first works was establishing, with the help of her good friend Charles Dickens, the Urania Cottage, which helped women escape a life of theft and/or prostitution. A lot of her wealth (most of it, really) she spent on scholarships for other people, and established the so-called 'ragged schools' to provide education for poor children which could not afford it.
She was notable for not not taking sides politically, but, to quote wikipedia, '...she was actively interested in phases of Imperial extension which were calculated to improve the condition of the black races, as in Africa, or the education and relief of the poor or suffering in any part of the world.' I'll just leave that here, since I'm not actually sure what to make of it.
Other of her philanthropic projects included giving help to Turkish peasants and refugees in the 1877 Russo-Turkish war, which won her the Order of the Medjidie, a knightly order of the Ottoman Empire (which was also the only instance of it being presented to a woman.) She also established soup kitchens, the Temperence Society, and financed the first archaeological survey of Jerusalem to improve its sanitation. She even provided financial banking for Charles Babbage's Analytical Engine, the forerunner of the modern computer!
She was, as mentioned above, a good friend of Charles Dickens, Michael Faraday, and also the Duke of Wellington. She even proposed to the latter despite the forty year age difference, although the Duke rejected her on the basis that she probably oughtn't marry someone old enough to be her grandfather. She later also became a full member of the Royal Society.
Essentially I can't hope to do her life and accomplishments justice, but I respect her immensely for her seeming determination not to die rich. You can find a more complete account of her here and here. Take heart, people. If someone like Angela could be this awesome in the Victorian Era, we're probably just starting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)