"Do you do this every night?"
TSCC 2.05 - "Goodbye to All That"
This was the episode where Derek tells stories. He lies to Sarah, promising her that he and John are only going to hide Martin when he really plans a bigger operation, because a Martin who doesn't become a soldier isn't any use to John Connor in the future. He borrows one of his father's stories to tell the cadet, to make a point about the ugliness of war, because he can't make his real point: that wanting to fight other men looks like an abomination from where he's standing. And he only tells John the complete story at the end: that Martin teaches him tactics, but also dies rescuing John and Kyle. "We all die for you"--it's a terrible burden for John to bear. John, on the other hand, doesn't want to believe that the story of his future is set, that they're all just acting out predefined roles. He has to believe in the possibility of change, because otherwise, he has no agency in his own life; he is nothing but the stories that Derek and Sarah have told him.
Derek and John use the name Baum when they infiltrate the military school, and L. Frank Baum wrote The Wizard of Oz, the story Sarah reads to the other Martin. Sarah's ultra focused on getting away, on establishing a place of safety, and only when they're back at home, when she doesn't feel like they've been followed, can she relax enough to react to Martin as a scared little boy. (She is, however, a font of maternal warmth compared to Cameron, who doesn't seem to make any distinctions between children and adults.) There's a subtle and interesting contrast between the way Sarah treats Martin and the way she raised John: she doesn't lie to him about the danger he's in, but she also tries to assure him that they're keeping him safe, and when his book report becomes a stand-in for the normal existence that's been suddenly snatched away from him, she tries to give him that one little normal thing. She raised John to believe that he's never safe, which is both harder and more true. And it seems she's realizing the things he needed that she didn't give, just as he's realizing it himself.
Because for both John and Derek, the military school is like a vacation: a neat, orderly place where the ethos feels like home but the stakes of all of the exercises are laughably low. It's a window onto a different kind of boyhood for both of them, and a tactical full circle, as Derek teaches Martin the tactics he learned from him in the future, and John knows his escape routes at all times because of his mother's training. Even when the stakes get serious--when the terminator finally shows up--Derek and John control the ground, they got to plan and ambush rather than reacting, and the plan worked and that in and of itself felt like a relief. And Martin Bedell survives this ambush so that he can die in a later one, and that's the whole point.
I'm not as sure as I was last week that Ellison suspects Catherine Weaver. He gave her everything he found in his investigation of the nuclear plant accident. At the same time, though, he's doing what a good cop does: bending his theories to fit the evidence, rather than making the evidence fit his theories. And the evidence is starting to show that the machines have different agendas.
I have a 9pm conference call starting next Monday. CURSE YOU, GLOBALIZATION! You're ruining my TV watching!
* * * * *
I'm halfway through Season 2 of Carnivàle, and not feeling that inclined to post thoughts about the plot and character developments. I'm not sure it makes sense, and I'm not sure I require it to make sense, if that makes sense. But the way the show is made--the music and the cinematography and the show's look--are something I've been thinking about.
One of the things that is so striking about Carnivàle is that it is steeped in Depression-era visual aesthetics, in ways that go beyond the sets and the costumes (where the attention to detail is truly excellent) to the way--in Season 1--it presented standards of beauty that ring true for the time but that differ wildly from anything I'm used to seeing on television. But that seems to be something that changed quite a bit in Season 2. Most of the women in the show don't even seem to be wearing makeup; their hair isn't perfectly smooth; they have freckles and crow's feet and sometimes look tired; they dress in sturdy, conventional clothes. The ones who are careful about their appearance, who curl their hair and wear makeup, do so for professional reasons--and that includes not only the sex workers like the Dreifuss women and Samson's "friend," but Lila, whose trade is the contrast between her beard and her femininity. But more than that, Rita Sue is unambiguously fat, and also very striking, and is shown as desirable, and aware of her desirability, and capable of using it to both support her family and take some happiness for herself. Libby seems skinny and young by contrast, and is overshadowed in the show by both Rita Sue and Dora Mae, although Libby's body type is exactly what modern viewers are trained to think of as right. There's a scene toward the end of the season where the new cooch girl, Caterina--who also fits the modern convention of beauty much more closely than Rita Sue--becomes too enthusiastic and starts showing more than she should at that point in the show, and Rita Sue wades out into the crowd of men with two helpers, a bucket of water, and a very thin dress, and draws all of the attention away from Caterina, not only with her body but with the way she also uses talk to create a sexual performance. It's a much more layered and complicated vision of female desirability, and of male desire, than I'm used to seeing on television.
But then, in Season 2, Rita Sue seems to have lost a bunch of weight and gotten a boob lift; Iris got a makeover; Sofie's smooth hair swings neatly around her face; and the gaze of the camera privileges Libby on stage. (And, in general, the nudity comes across as much more traditionally male gaze, much less subversive or point-making. There are a lot of interesting, subversive themes in the show, particularly when it comes to women and family; I have a whole other thing I'm working out in my head about the Dreifusses and how relatively functional they are for a television family, but that's something I'm not sure is carrying through as well in Season 2 either.) The show is still mesmerizing; sdwolfpup called it creepy and moving, and I can't think of a better way to describe it. But it's definitely different, more polished, faster-moving, more caught up in big events and less focused on the minutiae of everyday life as a vehicle for character development, and I miss the rough edges of Season 1 some. I also apparently missed the part where Stumpy has had a long-term major gambling problem all along? What?
I love the music without reservation, though. It's brilliant.
This was the episode where Derek tells stories. He lies to Sarah, promising her that he and John are only going to hide Martin when he really plans a bigger operation, because a Martin who doesn't become a soldier isn't any use to John Connor in the future. He borrows one of his father's stories to tell the cadet, to make a point about the ugliness of war, because he can't make his real point: that wanting to fight other men looks like an abomination from where he's standing. And he only tells John the complete story at the end: that Martin teaches him tactics, but also dies rescuing John and Kyle. "We all die for you"--it's a terrible burden for John to bear. John, on the other hand, doesn't want to believe that the story of his future is set, that they're all just acting out predefined roles. He has to believe in the possibility of change, because otherwise, he has no agency in his own life; he is nothing but the stories that Derek and Sarah have told him.
Derek and John use the name Baum when they infiltrate the military school, and L. Frank Baum wrote The Wizard of Oz, the story Sarah reads to the other Martin. Sarah's ultra focused on getting away, on establishing a place of safety, and only when they're back at home, when she doesn't feel like they've been followed, can she relax enough to react to Martin as a scared little boy. (She is, however, a font of maternal warmth compared to Cameron, who doesn't seem to make any distinctions between children and adults.) There's a subtle and interesting contrast between the way Sarah treats Martin and the way she raised John: she doesn't lie to him about the danger he's in, but she also tries to assure him that they're keeping him safe, and when his book report becomes a stand-in for the normal existence that's been suddenly snatched away from him, she tries to give him that one little normal thing. She raised John to believe that he's never safe, which is both harder and more true. And it seems she's realizing the things he needed that she didn't give, just as he's realizing it himself.
Because for both John and Derek, the military school is like a vacation: a neat, orderly place where the ethos feels like home but the stakes of all of the exercises are laughably low. It's a window onto a different kind of boyhood for both of them, and a tactical full circle, as Derek teaches Martin the tactics he learned from him in the future, and John knows his escape routes at all times because of his mother's training. Even when the stakes get serious--when the terminator finally shows up--Derek and John control the ground, they got to plan and ambush rather than reacting, and the plan worked and that in and of itself felt like a relief. And Martin Bedell survives this ambush so that he can die in a later one, and that's the whole point.
I'm not as sure as I was last week that Ellison suspects Catherine Weaver. He gave her everything he found in his investigation of the nuclear plant accident. At the same time, though, he's doing what a good cop does: bending his theories to fit the evidence, rather than making the evidence fit his theories. And the evidence is starting to show that the machines have different agendas.
I have a 9pm conference call starting next Monday. CURSE YOU, GLOBALIZATION! You're ruining my TV watching!
* * * * *
I'm halfway through Season 2 of Carnivàle, and not feeling that inclined to post thoughts about the plot and character developments. I'm not sure it makes sense, and I'm not sure I require it to make sense, if that makes sense. But the way the show is made--the music and the cinematography and the show's look--are something I've been thinking about.
One of the things that is so striking about Carnivàle is that it is steeped in Depression-era visual aesthetics, in ways that go beyond the sets and the costumes (where the attention to detail is truly excellent) to the way--in Season 1--it presented standards of beauty that ring true for the time but that differ wildly from anything I'm used to seeing on television. But that seems to be something that changed quite a bit in Season 2. Most of the women in the show don't even seem to be wearing makeup; their hair isn't perfectly smooth; they have freckles and crow's feet and sometimes look tired; they dress in sturdy, conventional clothes. The ones who are careful about their appearance, who curl their hair and wear makeup, do so for professional reasons--and that includes not only the sex workers like the Dreifuss women and Samson's "friend," but Lila, whose trade is the contrast between her beard and her femininity. But more than that, Rita Sue is unambiguously fat, and also very striking, and is shown as desirable, and aware of her desirability, and capable of using it to both support her family and take some happiness for herself. Libby seems skinny and young by contrast, and is overshadowed in the show by both Rita Sue and Dora Mae, although Libby's body type is exactly what modern viewers are trained to think of as right. There's a scene toward the end of the season where the new cooch girl, Caterina--who also fits the modern convention of beauty much more closely than Rita Sue--becomes too enthusiastic and starts showing more than she should at that point in the show, and Rita Sue wades out into the crowd of men with two helpers, a bucket of water, and a very thin dress, and draws all of the attention away from Caterina, not only with her body but with the way she also uses talk to create a sexual performance. It's a much more layered and complicated vision of female desirability, and of male desire, than I'm used to seeing on television.
But then, in Season 2, Rita Sue seems to have lost a bunch of weight and gotten a boob lift; Iris got a makeover; Sofie's smooth hair swings neatly around her face; and the gaze of the camera privileges Libby on stage. (And, in general, the nudity comes across as much more traditionally male gaze, much less subversive or point-making. There are a lot of interesting, subversive themes in the show, particularly when it comes to women and family; I have a whole other thing I'm working out in my head about the Dreifusses and how relatively functional they are for a television family, but that's something I'm not sure is carrying through as well in Season 2 either.) The show is still mesmerizing; sdwolfpup called it creepy and moving, and I can't think of a better way to describe it. But it's definitely different, more polished, faster-moving, more caught up in big events and less focused on the minutiae of everyday life as a vehicle for character development, and I miss the rough edges of Season 1 some. I also apparently missed the part where Stumpy has had a long-term major gambling problem all along? What?
I love the music without reservation, though. It's brilliant.