Since Nat King Cole's classic holiday standard, "The Christmas Song," ended up at #25 on my Hot 101 countdown, pairing it with the classic holiday film, Home Alone, seemed only fitting. Interesting aside regarding the year of the movie's release, 1990. Several other notable reflections focus on pieces specifically tied to the very same year, namely "Escapade," Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation 1814, "Freedom! '90," Northern Exposure, "Nothing Compares 2 U," World Clique, and "Groove Is in the Heart." That this smattering of posts only covers the first fifteen days of my Countdown to 40, it stands to reason that a few additional 1990 relics may appear before the big day on March 12. The popularity of the year and its apparent influence on my taste in movies, television, and music also helps to explain my fondness for the entire decade, though I suspect my love for the 1990s relates more to my emotional and psychological stages of development than a sudden awareness of the pop-culture world around me. Enough pontificating on 1990, at least for now.
Much like my adoration for Janet Jackson, my love for Christmas and winter comes as no surprise to anyone. I proudly wear my Christmas-is-my-favorite-holiday badge twelve months a year. Drop by my office or jump in my car any day between August 1 and January 31, and you are likely to hear a few carols, both sacred and secular, emanating from the speakers, despite Bryce's (and the general population's) liturgically-based and fully justified disapproval. If it's November or December, you will only hear Christmas music in those two locations. Beyond that, you can catch me humming "Let It Snow" or "The Christmas Waltz" on any given day of the year. I giddily welcome snow between the months of November and April, using any measurable amount as an excuse to play my Pandora Classic Christmas radio station or sneak in a holiday-themed episode of one of my favorite television shows. Heck, I even remember when one of my best friends, Debbie, and I celebrated Christmas in July once during high school, complete with decorations, cutout cookies, festive music, and holiday movies. Clearly, my love for the December holiday borders on obsession, and I'm perfectly okay with that. Where did my obsession come from? For me, Christmas conjures up so many magical and wonderful memories that stretch back in time as far as I remember. To be clear, it does not at all revolve around gifts. Sure, when I was younger, presents elicited quite a bit of excitement and giving gifts has brought me a lot of pleasure as an adult. But my passion for Christmas completely comes from the feelings and nostalgia the holiday season recalls, like the crisp, cold Minnesota air and the twinkling night sky greeting me and my family as we left Grandma and Grandpa's house on Christmas Eve. The warmth of a crackling blaze in the fireplace. The peace, hope, and light promised by the message delivered at late-night church services. The meals and parties bringing together friends and family, some not seen in far too long. And the love, the love that abounds in every single memory. And what does Home Alone have to do with all of that? For one thing, the movie evokes many of the same feelings that make Christmas so special to me, particularly when Kevin wakes up on Christmas morning to a blanket of fresh snow and his family returning from a very short trip to Paris. For another, Home Alone arrived at precisely the right time in my life to leave an indelible mark. I had reached the age when my parents allowed me to see a movie with my friends and without requiring an adult chaperone, something I remember longing for. I was always in a hurry to grow up, connecting more with adults than the kids around me. I felt stymied by my age and therefore well beyond my years, ready for any experience or responsibility that made me more like an adult. When given the opportunity to see Home Alone without adult supervision, I did not hesitate for a minute to seize it. I proudly felt I had turned some major corner in the aging process. Today, I think back on my desire to grow up as quickly as possible and shake my head. What was I thinking? While I don't wish to go through adolescence and high school again, I long for the innocence, unbridled imagination, and wonder that accompanies childhood. In an attempt to hold on to as much of that as I can, I tend to identify myself as "still a kid" in many situations, whether it be through a video game, a book, a game of make-believe with nieces and nephews, or a movie. So, in addition to conveying the feelings of Christmas and symbolizing a stepping stone in my aging process, Home Alone also transports me right back to 1990, when I stood on the precipice straddling the awkward and confusing transition from child to adult. Plus, I've seen the movie so many times, I can pretty much quote it word-for-word.
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What is a motion picture without its score, I ask you? Not much different, I suppose, than macaroni without cheese. Or Ben without Jerry. Or Mary-Kate without Ashley. Or Laverne without Shirley. Or Bert without Ernie. Or C-3PO without R2-D2. I could go on listing famous pairs almost indefinitely, but I think you get the point. In each example, one of the individuals can most definitely stand alone; however, something magical happens when the two join forces. Together they create a whole much greater and sometimes more powerful than the sum of their parts.
The same symbiotic relationship holds true for movies and their music. When you think about it, could you imagine Jaws without the music of John Williams? It certainly amped up the film's suspense level (...and convinced me never to swim in the ocean, but that's another story for another time). What about Braveheart without James Horner, The Lord of the Rings without Howard Shore, and American Beauty without Thomas Newman? No, I would venture to bet you could not separate a film from its score, not in a way that would keep intact a movie's connection with an audience. For, as in each example listed above, the composer interprets a film's narrative using music, thereby establishing the emotional core of its accompanying motion picture and conveying its tone. Fairly early on, I recognized the power of film scores to leave their lasting impressions on me, largely because of John Williams and his work in Jaws, Indiana Jones, and Star Wars. It was his soundtrack for Schindler's List, though, that stuck with me the most, so much so that I went out and bought the original score on CD. When listening to it, the film's haunting theme, played on violin, prompted equally haunting images and scenes from the film, eliciting many of the same emotions I experienced while watching the movie. The soundtrack evoked such an emotional response, it intensified my personal connection to the film and marked the beginning of a new appreciation for the power of movie music. Before long, my newfound appreciation for film scores turned into more of a fixation, particularly as my love for movies intensified. From that point on, it seems I could not get enough of movie music. Over the years I amassed quite the collection of film scores, both digitally and on CD. Along with the soundtrack to Schindler's List, several others join an elite group of all-time favorites, including The Last of the Mohicans (Randy Edelman and Trevor Jones), Braveheart (James Horner), The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (Howard Shore), American Beauty (Thomas Newman), Gladiator (Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard), Atonement (Dario Marianelli), The English Patient (Gabriel Yared), Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (John Williams), Elizabeth (David Hirschfielder), Shakespeare in Love (Stephen Warbeck), Brooklyn (Michael Brook), and Finding Neverland (Jan A.P. Kaczmarek). Beyond and within those full scores, many individual pieces stand out in memory and importance, like "The Park on Piano" from Finding Neverland, which served as the processional music for our wedding ceremony. Additionally, about 10 years ago, my love of movie music even inspired me to create a set of compilation CDs for a good friend of mine, Carrie. The resulting collection spanned twelve discs and featured many of what I considered to be the greatest film score selections at the time, grouped according to quality, mood, or emotion and showcasing just how deep my passion for movie music ran. Since undertaking that project, I've continued to expand my collection of motion picture scores, further highlighting the importance movie music plays in my life and sense of cultural identity. And because I couldn't spend an entire post waxing on about such wonderful pieces of music and not share them with you, below you will find a Spotify playlist with highlights from the 12-disc collection I mentioned as well as several more recent pieces that have joined my iTunes library during the intervening years. My slight, er, obsession with Disney movies dates as far back as I can remember. Whether animated, live-action, or a cross section of the two, whether classic or modern, whether musical or otherwise, I possess a tendency to gravitate towards the studio's library of films without prejudice. When thinking about my childhood Disney experiences in particular, gems like Mary Poppins, The Apple Dumpling Gang, The Love Bug, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Pete's Dragon, and Dumbo come to mind. None stick out among the classics, however, as much as my personal favorite, Bedknobs and Broomsticks.
If you've never seen the movie musical, it blends live-action with animation, much in the style of Mary Poppins, and stars Angela Lansbury as a witch by the name of Miss Eglantine Price and David Tomlinson as Professor Cornelius Brown. Set in 1940s England with an impending threat of attack by Nazi Germany always looming, Bedknobs and Broomsticks focuses on Miss Price, Professor Brown, and three children (Charlie, Carrie, and Paul) as they track down a much sought-after spell that could help England with the war effort. Their adventures take them to London and Naboombu, an animated island filled with enchanted, speaking animals before returning them to Pepperinge Eye, Miss Price's fictional hometown on the English coast. Shortly thereafter, Nazi troops invade the island and commandeer Miss Price's home as their headquarters. Using the Substitutiary Locomotion spell found on the Island of Naboombu, Miss Price brings an army of British Isle soldiers to life and forces the Nazis back to sea. I do not recall how old I was when I first saw Bedknobs and Broomsticks, but I always connect my earliest memories of the film to my older sister, Melissa. I can only assume, therefore, that she introduced me to the movie a few decades ago, and for that I will be eternally grateful. Of course, I immediately fell in love with Bedknobs and Broomsticks and have seen it perhaps more times than I've seen any other film. I'm actually watching it now, as I write this post. I simply cannot get enough of its fantastical premise, historical setting, and delightfully catchy music. Truth be told, not a week goes by without songs from the soundtrack, "The Age of Not Believing," "Portobello Road," or "The Beautifully Briny," getting stuck in my head at one point or another, a pleasant byproduct of repeated viewings and the earworm nature of the songs. Beyond my affinity for the film as sheer entertainment, Bedknobs and Broomsticks helped to establish my fondness for fantasy and most probably served as an early spark to my interest in history, particularly in regards to Germany and World War II. In fact, it may have been my first introduction to the topic, proving that inspiration can spring from the most unassuming and unintentional places. The scene in which the little girl dressed in a red coat winds her way through the chaos and terror of the Nazi liquidation of a Jewish ghetto sticks out as one of the most indelible ever filmed. And that says a lot, considering the film confronts audiences with scene after scene of unimaginable violence. Truth be told, no single movie made a more lasting impact on my high-school brain than Schindler's List.
Generally speaking, I knew about World War II and Adolf Hitler's crusade to rid Europe of its Jews. History books and classes had offered introductions to the topics as early as elementary school. But not until I watched Schindler's List in 1993 did I start to realize the extent and horror of the Holocaust. Like everyone else I knew who experienced the film, I found what I saw on screen heart-breaking and unbelievable. But it also raised several questions. How could people commit such atrocities against one another? Why didn't the German people stop the Nazis? What did the rest of the world know about Hitler's Final Solution? What took the Allies so long to intervene? How did and do Germans and Germany overcome this part of their history? Recognizing that films about the past--even those based on actual events--should not be confused with history itself, the questions prompted by Schindler's List served to further pique my interest in history and deepen my fascination with Germany, the Holocaust, and World War II. And though the answers may seem obvious at first glance, they proved much more complex and typically led to an entirely new set of questions. So much so that Schindler's List and the questions it posed laid the foundation for my eventual pursuit of a graduate degree in history and for informing the research topic of my grad school thesis paper, in which I examine the confluence of popular film, victimization, cultural memory, and history. It's no wonder Schindler's List made my list of most influential elements of popular culture. A common slogan in the aftermath of World War II has been "Never Again," usually plastered over images not unlike ones seen in Schindler's List. Yet victory over Hitler failed to prevent genocides in Cambodia, Bosnia, and Rwanda, among others. In today's current political atmosphere, with demagogues and nativists rising to positions of power the world over, remembering the Holocaust and other genocides as well as acknowledging the xenophobic and authoritarian rhetoric that compelled almost entire societies to commit genocide against themselves seems timely and important. When facts, science, the arts, compassion for humankind, and the freedoms of speech, religion, and press come under attack, films like Schindler's List remind us what can happen when humanity lets fear, apathy, and anger rule the day, thereby not only justifying hate crimes and intolerance but condoning them, too. And therein lies the danger. I couldn't think of a more fitting way to officially kick off my Countdown to 40 than with Entertainment Weekly, a publication that has fueled my proclivity for best-of lists and kept me in the pop culture loop for more than 20 years.
After moving to west-central Minnesota from suburban Saint Paul, I felt acutely aware of how rural and disconnected from any sense of culture I was. Sure, we went to the movies and watched television, but as an over-dramatic and angsty teenager, I thought our new geographical location severely limited our access to what I considered the outside world. After all, I thoroughly enjoyed and had grown accustomed to the variety of programming offered by cable television in the Twin Cities area. The four local stations, or sometimes five, depending on the weather and position of the antenna, therefore just didn't cut it. Then there was our town's cinema. Though it gradually increased to include seven screens by the time I graduated high school, only three existed when we moved to the area. Adding insult to injury, many friends and relatives, including my older sister, still lived near our old hometown, and trips to visit them only exacerbated my sense of cultural isolation. Looking back, it's not surprising, then, that I often romanticized living a more suburban lifestyle, which would bring with it many of the cultural opportunities such a lifestyle could provide. When Entertainment Weekly came along, it superficially granted me access to the sense of suburban belonging I so badly wanted, and suddenly I felt much less alone and culturally uninformed. I eagerly anticipated the arrival of each weekly issue, without which I may not have heard about or seen films like Dazed and Confused, Trainspotting, or Velvet Goldmine. Nor would I have given Gilmore Girls or Sex and the City a chance. But the magazine also did more for me and my sense of self than I ever realized at the time, something subtle and perhaps wholly unintentional. In covering all things popular culture and generally throwing its support behind the entertainment industry, Entertainment Weekly introduced and reinforced the idea that being gay was okay, if not normal, and homophobia simply was not. For a not-yet-out teenager--heck, for a not-yet-aware teenager--those sentiments made a huge impact, even if only subconsciously at the time. I still read my Entertainment Weekly every week, though I've transitioned from print to electronic copies over time, and consistently rely on the movie reviews, often agreeing with them before ever seeing (or not seeing) a film. It doesn't hurt, either, that the magazine always seemed sympathetic if not approving of Janet Jackson. Still, the year-end double issue remains my favorite annual EW offering, primarily because it recounts the best (and worst) in the year's pop culture releases. A no-brainer for a pop-culture geek and list enthusiast, right? This March I turn 40. That's right, the big four-zero. An age that greeting cards, popular culture, and American advertising companies would have us believe marks the crest atop some proverbial hill of adulthood. One on which life and life experiences steadily decline afterwards, so much so that when we reach 50 years of age, society declares us officially over said hill. But you know what? I say phooey to that and refuse to subscribe to such an outdated and obsolete narrative. Truth be told, I'm neither nervous nor anxious for March 12th to arrive. Dare I say I'm slightly excited?
I have been thinking a lot about my looming birthday over the past few months--especially as more and more friends from high school and college cross that bridge ahead of me. Curious about their journeys, I like to follow my wishes for a happy birthday with a question about their newly-turned-40 perspectives. They consistently report the view from the other side of 39 is just as good, if not better, and brings with it a clearer vision of one's self. Which makes sense, when you think about it, as meaningful introspection tends to deepen with age. Maybe that's a good thing, too, since navigating the unmapped road of adulthood is singular to each person and takes years to figure out. Still, several questions keep returning to mind: what does it all mean, this aging process? Who am I, and how did I get to the brink of 40? Of course, the answers to these questions are equal parts exceedingly simple and immensely complicated. I am a son, a brother, a grandson, an uncle, a husband, a nephew, a cousin, a friend, a coworker. I grew up in Minnesota and lived there until I moved to Virginia in 2011 with my husband, which also tells you I am gay. I identify as Christian and believe with every fiber of my being that my religious beliefs and homosexuality are absolutely compatible. I think education is the single most important asset to a person's life. My favorite color is orange, my favorite season is winter, and my favorite foods are tacos, popcorn, and chocolate chip cookies. These are the easily identifiable answers to the questions I've been pondering about age, experience, and identity. Each simple answer also forced me to question the assumptions and understandings I held about my sense of identity and purpose. Then, to complicate things further, every time my path seemed straightforward and I thought I had figured out which way I was heading, I hit an unexpected turn. Or a switchback. Or a speed bump. Or a series of potholes. Or a five-point intersection. Maneuvering such obstacles, both seen and unseen, took and takes a certain level of maturity and perspective that only come with age and experience. Along the way, many family, friends, coworkers, and contemporaries helped me navigate the road before me. Sometimes they held my hand. Other times they pointed the way or offered suggestions and alternate routes. I think that's true for everyone, even if not always obvious and intentional. After all, one person never gets very far alone. Many wonderful people aided me on my journey and continue to do so. (A number of not-so-wonderful people pushed me along, too, but I'm an eternal optimist and like to focus on the positive.) There are also many people I've never met--some real, some fiction, some not even people--that helped me along the way as well, and I am not afraid to admit that they, as elements of pop culture, helped me through this life and world, too. Books and publications, movies, music, television, and video games all provided moments of self-discovery, motivation, reflection, and pure, unadulterated joy. It's an attribute specific to our late-twentieth and early-twenty-first century society that popular culture invades our lives, admittedly not all for good. But every once in a while a movie comes along that changes the way you see the world. A television show teaches you the value of friendship. A song tears at your heart, inspires you dance, or makes you believe you have perfect pitch, no matter how often you hear it. A book provides a passport to a world that pushes the boundaries of your imagination. A video game transports you to an alternate yet fantastic reality. An album gives meaning to your struggle and by doing so also gives that struggle a much needed voice. Yes, it is hard to deny the power of popular culture and its ability to shape and reflect our sense of self. And that's where my Countdown to 40 comes in. On the eve of this culturally-defined milestone, I want to take a look back at the movies, books, albums, songs, television shows, video games, and publications that carried me along the way or that I carried with me. So, beginning February 1st I will be reflecting on 40 of the most important, influential, and favorite pop references of my life so far. Then, each day until March 12th, the big day, I will post my thoughts on a particular movie, book, album, television show, video game, or publication that influenced my sense of self and why. Concurrently, I'll be counting down my Top 40 favorite songs of all time (as of January 2017--the list is never entirely set in stone). Because, let's face it, I'm a sucker for a best-of list and couldn't narrow things down to a single countdown. |
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I am a self-proclaimed pop culture geek and list enthusiast who is celebrating the big four-zero by counting down the most important, influential, and favorite music, movies, television shows, books, and video games of my life so far. Categories
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