In Which The Underdog Is Weakly Barking

Less Is Gilmore

by QICHEN ZHANG

People remember two types of TV shows long after they're gone for two reasons and two reasons only - a) those that are hilarious and b) those starring David Hasselhoff as a lifeguard. But one gem possibly eludes this rigid set of rules. Even though it's been a few years now since the Gilmore Girls series finale aired, recalling its place in the chronology of the CW-née-WB uncovers a sharp distinction between this show and its precedents that remains relevant.

The very first episode of Gilmore Girls did not win me over immediately. Granted, during that lackluster season of television, creator Amy Sherman-Palladino's script possessed enough charm to start bandaging the still-raw wound that Felicity left behind when she cut off her curls. But despite the rapid-fire banter between the two Lorelais in a schmucky breakfast hangout that somehow made a conversation about lip gloss flavors semi-fascinating, I was unconvinced that this show would remain anything worth watching after repetitive episodes of two women blaming each other for borrowing cut-off shorts without asking.

"Girl, I know you have my Bangles concert t-shirt too, so HAND IT OVER."

And yet I would flip past Judge Judy and forgo doses of completely sound legal advice to return to podunk Stars Hallow on a weekly basis. One would be logical to assume that watching a woman subconsciously pine for a diner owner who refuses to buy a razor - not even when his customers start confusing him for a bear - isn't entertaining. And it isn't. Until diner man speaks.

Lorelai: [Luke enters] Oh, thank god. Hey, I desperately need a maaassive cup of coffee to go, and--what happened to your face?  

Luke Danes: What do you mean? 

Lorelai: It's... visible. 

Luke Danes: Oh, I shaved. 

Nothing about the plot itself drew significant attention initially. At first, it appeared as formulaic filler that networks usually whip up last minute to take up space in that awkward time slot between 8 and 10, between the hit drama of the season and the local nightly news, when the tots have been tucked in but it's still too early for Letterman to be making jokes about Lady Gaga's ta-tas.

Fortunately, Lauren Graham and Alexis Bledel, even with their completely harmonious and laughably unrealistic relationship in which the biggest issue consisted of fighting over the new Macy Gray CD, never became too irritating. At least not so much so that I could veg on the loveseat in a heap, watching the WB for one straight hour. THE WB, PEOPLE.

Not saying that Gilmore Girls didn't include, at times, some of those moments of predictable vapidity that defined a channel catering specifically to teenagers living in cookie-cutter developments who probably thought Macy Gray was, "like, super alternative!" In the pilot episode, Lorelai swoops in to save her daughter after a man begins hitting on her at the local diner. (Let's not even talk about the 1950's, Nick-at-Nite-esque reference.) She starts sassing the guy, but only, you know, in that self-gratifying, self-righteous, "I'm a hip mom!" way. Eventually, she manages to pull off the telling off, but not before the script writers decide to imply incestuous group sex when the creepy cradle robber suggests that Lorelai and Rory pair up with him and his buddy sitting at the counter. NSFW, y'all!

"You think we look like sisters? Oh, just SHUT. UP."

And yet I was willing to overlook certain sappy aspects of the show. Set in the midst of a rural backdrop in middle-of-nowhere Connecticut, the mother-daughter dramedy exhibited a carefree tone unlike anything else on television at the time. It spat in the face of twisted plot lines that involved tangles of lies, tangles of bed head after a night out gone awry--not to mention people time traveling. 

The show's effervescence bubbled up to puncture its superficial veneer to simultaneously entertain and nonchalantly flip its hair at life's problems. "Who cares that I got knocked up at 16? Who cares that my daughter and I are closer in age than Woody Allen is to his most recent wife? Who cares that we might be cancelled soon?" Well, at least problems as seen on TV. Naturally, I wanted to root for it. The show's nondescript attitude was its strength. Its underdog status perpetuated its appeal. Without the tawdry references to "modern" sexuality and the nauseating angst that complemented those references in now-defunct WB shows, Gilmore Girls provided a simple respite from the complicated web of unreasonably volatile relationships. An hour per week of good ol' mother-daughter bonding, with the occasional flirty exchange with hairy diner man thrown in for variety. The show seemed made for television for people to escape television.

For countless weeks, I would opt for a night in Stars Hollow and would dwell on another episode without, surprisingly, wanting to pull a Dawson-post-Joey-breakup and slit my wrists. To be honest, the show became phenomenal. After a few seasons, Sherman-Palladino probably built up enough credibility with the network to begin creatively experimenting with writing, especially by melding an abundance of pop culture references with the characters' daily banter.

The moment of perfection for me came at the height of the velour tracksuit trend. Lorelai, hip mom that she is, prances into her living room wearing the trendiest sweatpants in 2003, only to meet her sour-faced WASP of a mother who thinks anything that's not sold at Saks Fifth Avenue should be outlawed. Television reached its peak when the following exchange aired:

Emily: You have the word "Juicy" on your rear end.   

Lorelai: Well, if I knew you were coming over, I would've changed. 

Emily: Into what? A brassiere with the word "Tasty" on it?

Just luv me 4 who I am~

Like all shows worth watching, they must come to a premature end. Gilmore Girls couldn't evade its fate. But no regrets, because I stuck with it long enough to let the charm of it get to me, even if it took me a couple of seasons to warm up to it. Not to mention that expecting the masses to appreciate a show without a complex love triangle that results in this screenshot:

 

... is probably unreasonable. Never forget.

Qichen Zhang is a contributor to This Recording. She is a writer living in Boston. She tumbls here. You can find her previous work on This Recording here.

"I Remember" - Yeasayer (mp3)

"Rome" - Yeasayer (mp3)

"Love Me Girl" - Yeasayer (mp3)

In Which We Start Feeling Protective of Dakota Fanning

Growing Up Is Hard To Do

by QICHEN ZHANG

No one really thinks about why the movie industry has leeched onto modern life. It's so easy to accept the fact that you're paying $10 to sit in the dark with a bunch of strangers, getting early stage diabetes with your box of Jujubes. But if given a moment to think about it, the answer is nothing new. Cinematic timelessness haunts us. Despite this being a pretty primitive way to signify its entertaining quality, it perfectly describes the contemporary obsession with movies.

Every time a soccer mom sits down with her glass of Arbor Mist to watch Now and Then after dumping Timmy off at the park, she is incredibly capable of ignoring Melanie Griffith's mullet and see past all the late '90s denim in favor of more important recurring themes - of growing up, of family issues, of pre-teen whoredom (sometimes known as puberty). Not only do we accept the universality of young experiences, but we extrapolate and start believing that the actresses themselves live in a world that operates free from the rules of time. Who cares about time when you've got Christina Ricci's forehead eternalized?

But at the same time, this unique characteristic of cinema could very well destroy its appeal. The shock of realizing that actors are under the same cruelties of time as mere humans sends every time-specific movie down a spiral of disappointment. The inevitable confrontation of actors separate from their characters is like shock therapy. "What do you mean Nicholas Hoult is going to look like Nick Nolte in 50 years? Stop yanking my chain!"

I command you to look like this forever, damn it.No one ever wanted Anna Paquin to grow up after The Piano. No one ever wanted to witness Macaulay Culkin get married and divorced, all within two years. And maybe I'm alone on this one, but I sure as hell never looked forward to Brad Pitt growing a beard. Further examples help emphasize the point.

Someone buy this man a razor--this can't be legal.Exhibit A: Thora Birch. As Teeny and the younger version of Griffith in Now, there is a more pressing question than "What the hell was the casting director thinking?" The issue crops up after considering her entire repertoire. Not only was Birch kind of crass to professionally experiment on her then-audience in American Beauty as a rebellious, tortured suburban teenager pining after a boob job, it was totally unwarranted. I liked you already, Thora. Teeny had an attractive innocence that Jane will never embody, no matter how big her chest got. If you really wanted to make a career statement, you could've just gotten the boob job yourself instead of veiling it under a fictional characterization. Don't be a pansy, T-bone.

Just doin' my thang, being a teenager, gettin' all angsty on you.Exhibit B: Katie Holmes. Oh, the virtue of Joey Potter. Give me one reason to not like her and I'll ask why there are two more guys in every episode chasing after her than after you. Those puppy eyes and angelic charisma easily made the WB audience of lonely fan girls forget how the entire six-season run revolved about sex (and no one ever getting any).

Figure 2. Angst continued.Had we just left Holmes as is - as a mere vessel for one of the most relatable characters in primetime history - everything would've been fine. No exposing Tom Cruise's dwarf status. No awkward bob haircut. No domesticity association and horrifying redefinition of what it means to be a modern mom, which apparently involves getting coiffure tips from Posh Spice.

The product of Spice Girls idolatry finally bubbling up to the surface, otherwise known as a new, all-time low.Exhibit C: Dakota Fanning. Okay, so maybe time wasn't so cruel after all. But I'm still not convinced that Foxy Fanning growing up is a good thing. Let's just talk about how one moment I'm being victimized by her playing games with my heart as retarded Sean Penn's adorable daughter in I Am Sam, and the next, she's practically playing the baby to Letterman's cradle robber on The Late Show.

Just want things back the way they were!Maybe the most important lesson to take away from these examples is that we should be more aware of a fictitious time frame and realize that, no matter how awesome and sassy Thora was as Teeny, "Mel with a mullet" had to replace her eventually. Facing time's reality can be painful. After all, isn't movie-watching supposed to be a way for us to escape conscious life? But while it's difficult to prevent ourselves from letting the character mask time's effects on the actor, maybe it's something we absolutely need to do to enjoy the paradoxically permanent yet temporary performances that we find memorable.

Or maybe Dakota Fanning could start wearing more clothes.

Qichen Zhang is a contributor to This Recording. She is a writer living in Cambridge. She tumbls here.

"Lifeline (Barefeet version)" - Citizen Cope (mp3)

"A Father's Son" - Citizen Cope (mp3)

"Keep Askin' (acoustic)" - Citizen Cope (mp3)

In Which Manic Pixie Meryl Streep Can Do Whatever She Feels Like

Be That Girl

by QICHEN ZHANG

Meryl, listen. You've got to stop doing things like this. It's enough that you basically doom any other nominee come Hollywood awards season in any year you make a movie, but I draw the line at being nominated twice in one category and then beating yourself for the trophy, shoving it down the real Julia's mouth. Come on. Now you're just being crass.

Neener neener neener!On a serious note, Meryl Streep is probably severely hated in Tinseltown, but not for the obvious Oscar-hogging reasons she's been known for. Although the camera always manages to pan to the losers' faces at the exact moment when they purse their lips in sour jealousy while golf clapping, everyone usually has too much champagne at the afterparty to stay disappointed for long. It's another kind of envy altogether, something less artificial and perhaps more threatening at the same time and stirred by a rare quality. In L.A., it's known as plastic surgery, but most people refer to it as perpetuity.

M-Dawg here does not fool around when it comes to embodying the kind of quirky woman with that certain effusive charm and those specific idiosyncrasies that are somehow not irritating enough to prevent a man from falling in love with her.

Take her role in Out of Africa, for example. A stretch on the definition of manic pixie, perhaps. But below the face value of her portrayal of Karen Blixen, the qualities of the enchanting ingénue are slyly yet clearly embedded. First, Karen leaves a privileged life in Denmark to milk cows in the middle of the Nairobi desert. Then, in a spontaneous fit of pixiedom, she decides to open a school to educate the native people and surround herself with the Maasai. Not to mention some casual sex with a burly, hunting Robert Redford. Adventure, open-minded initiative, and sexual liberation. Did I mention casual sex with Robert Redford, none other than the Horse Whisperer himself? THE HORSE WHISPERER, PEOPLE.

A girl's got mad skills when she can convince a straight man to double as her stylist.Not only does Meryl hold the title of the original manic pixie dream girl, but she does so at an age three times that of one of our generation's most well-known imp Kirsten Dunst (four, if you want to count starting with Dunst's role in The Virgin Suicides as her ultimate pixie performance). Women clearly start counting backwards after a certain age, but Meryl seems to transcend all of time's impositions and triumphs as the quirky maverick in a place where most actresses her age have already resorted to supporting roles as overbearing, shrill mothers who drink to escape the suffocating boredom of marriage.

The subtle and disarming features that she injects into her characters is something few have succeeded at doing (see: Diane Keaton). As a roving reporter on a mission to find the truth about flowers in Adaptation, Meryl flawlessly portrays Susan as a wildly intrepid thrillseeker and manages to perform a sex scene with a very bald Nicholas Cage. Props, girlfriend!

The original indie pixie, complete with romantic sensitivity. Um. Yeah.One caveat: can a character still be a manic pixie dream girl if she's been divorced? After all, in It's Complicated, no matter how easy it was for her to literally charm the pants off of Alec Baldwin, girl's still got too much game to evoke that certain charismatic innocence that loosely defines the woman who can exude that je ne sais quoi allure. But in this age of self-righteous feminism, I am probably obligated to say yes. But as a fan of evidence, I simultaneously offer everyone an example and Diane a redemption for being in a movie with Mandy Moore: Erica Barry in Something's Gotta Give.

You feel me? Alec does.So Meryl. Here's the thing. It's too bad you work the pixie dream girl thing like it's your job. (Oh, wait.) You've got to tone it down. Every woman in Hollywood over the age of 40 hates you. Don't be that girl.

Qichen Zhang is a contributor to This Recording. This is her first appearance in these pages. She is a student at Harvard University. She tumbls here.

"Geology" - The Knife (mp3)

"Tomorrow in a Year" - The Knife (mp3)

"The Height of Summer" - The Knife (mp3)

"Colouring of Pigeons" - The Knife (mp3)