Here we are, at the end of all things. Well, at least at the end of my Countdown to 40, anyway. I may turn the big four-zero today, but life certainly does not end here. No, many more adventures and memories await me, my family, and my friends. Because, after all, that's what it's all about.
I truly believe I've saved the best for last, though it probably surprises no one that The Lord of the Rings earns the number one spot on my list of most important, influential, and favorite pop culture moments. On the whole, the trilogy employed several different mediums to make an impact on my life--through the books and movies, of course, but music and video games also came into play. Combined, then, the truly multi-media series thus represents a quadruple threat. I will confess that before Peter Jackson released his cinematic interpretation of The Fellowship of the Ring in 2001, The Hobbit was the only book set in J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle Earth I had read in its entirety. I thoroughly enjoyed the fantastic tale of Bilbo's adventures, which serve as a prequel of sorts to The Lord of the Rings saga, and I expected I would react the same to Frodo's quest to destroy the One Ring. I found, however, the trilogy books difficult to navigate, mostly because I tend to read at night before I fall asleep and am therefore prone to miss things. Like with any true literature, Tolkien's masterworks require a reader's full attention, but as a result of my (questionable) bedtime reading habits, I initially thought The Lord of the Rings confusing and had to reread a number of chapters just to grasp who was who, what those characters were doing, where they were, and when everything was happening. I generally felt lost. After The Fellowship of the Ring hit theaters, everything changed. Jackson's virtuosic film drew me into Middle Earth and provided me with such clarity about the characters, history, and lands that I began Tolkien's books anew. The movie truly helped me to understand The Lord of the Rings in a way I probably never would have without it. In true Chris fashion, I became obsessed. I read through the trilogy quickly, feeding my newfound passion and priming my anticipation for the release of the next two films. I then roped my friends into attending midnight screenings of The Two Towers and The Return of the King when they arrived in December of 2002 and 2003 respectively. In fact, I ended up seeing The Return of the King in the theater a total of eight times, more than any other film. (Though I will admit I probably only paid full admission for four of the viewings and may or may not have left on occasion after Aragorn tells the Hobbits they bow to no one.) My escalating craze for all thing Lord of the Rings led me to buy Howard Shore's brilliantly scored soundtracks, multiple movie posters, t-shirts, and several video games. This is all because of Peter Jackson's motion picture trilogy, the importance of which has only deepened with time. A year or so after The Return of the King came out on DVD, I invited some close friends over to watch all three in succession and make a day of it. We enjoyed tasty food and drink throughout the day as we lost ourselves in Middle Earth. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I initiated a tradition that continued annually for a few years. Now, every odd numbered year, Bryce and I host a Lord of the Rings movie marathon the first Saturday in January, complete with food and drink to make any Hobbit proud. We even switch out the theatrical releases for Jackson's extended versions every other marathon. The viewing parties have become much beloved events for Bryce and I, and we start looking forward to them well beforehand. Because what is better than sharing your love and passion for something so intrinsically linked to your sense of identity with dear friends and family? Nothing, I tell you. Nothing. Blogging these past 40 days about the music, movies, books, television shows, and video games that played a role in shaping the person I am today has been fun and enlightening for me, and I hope the same holds true for anyone who read/reads the posts as well. The exercise proved cathartic and revealing at times, especially when the writing process prompted new revelations about my path of self-discovery and sense of identity. I look forward to rereading my Countdown to 40 in the near future and perhaps pondering some of the items a little more deeply. And who knows, maybe new insights will inspire me to expand on some of the posts, create and share new Spotify playlists, add entirely new entries, or even turn this little project into a book. Only time will tell.
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My great-aunt Althea introduced me to the wizarding world of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter in the spring of 2000. Not quite a year after graduating from the University of Minnesota Duluth, I packed up my belongings and moved in with Althea, who graciously opened her spare bedroom to me as I sought work and a place of my own in the Twin Cities metro area. I had been living at home after college, but soon realized rural Minnesota was not the place for a young twenty-something who recently came out to himself and his friends. I needed the support of a wider, gay-friendly community and wanted to establish a place for myself among my network of friends already living in and around Minneapolis-Saint Paul. Consider it my insurance plan so when the time came to come out to family I would have cast a fairly secure safety net. Turns out I didn't need to worry about my family rejecting me, but contingency plans are always important...just in case.
Not long after settling into Althea's apartment in Edina, she handed me a paperback copy of The Sorcerer's Stone and recommended I read it. She recently finished it for her book club and could not stop raving about it. As I tucked myself into bed that evening, I flipped to the first chapter. In a matter of minutes I was hooked, and I tore through Rowling's first Potter novel in a couple of hours. Never before had a book captivated my imagination to such a degree, though perhaps I should not have been surprised owing to my already-established general appreciation for the fantasy genre (see Bedknobs and Broomsticks and The Legend of Zelda). Still Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone took things to a whole new level, and I ran to the bookstore the following day to purchase Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. That night I sped through the second Potter book in a matter of hours. I simply couldn't get enough of Harry's adventures with his two closest friends, Ron and Hermione, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry. So, I went back to the bookstore the next day and grabbed book three, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The third in Rowling's series may have taken me two nights to finish, but I voraciously attacked it with the same fervor of the first two. If possible, Prisoner of Azkaban made me fall more in love with the Potter books. In many ways, the first two books follow similar conventions, which I appreciated but also questioned whether or not Rowling could sustain her planned seven-book series by repeating the same basic patterns. Azkaban introduced several new and important characters to the Potter universe and diverged paths from the one set forth in Sorcerer's Stone and Chamber of Secrets. Harry was maturing and the stories along with him. It was a brilliant move on Rowling's part, one she kept up through the final book, Deathly Hallows. Unfortunately for me, when I got through Prisoner of Azkaban, Rowling had not yet published book number four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I was therefore forced to wait for its arrival. Around the same time, Harry Potter emerged as a pop culture phenomenon. Everywhere you turned, people of all ages seemed enchanted by the Potter books. When Goblet of Fire finally arrived, I grabbed a copy and jumped right in. Because the books typically came out in June, I also started gifting them to my niece, Brittani, who also became a fan. (You should see the drawings she made of the main characters for me once upon a time.) Again, the book explored Harry's aging process by tackling the complicated and challenging obstacles confronted by teenagers as they learn how to navigate the tricky transition between adolescence and adulthood, complete with trials and tribulations often left for them by adults. This translated into a novel much thicker than its predecessors, and I therefore needed a few extra days to read Goblet of Fire. In less than a week, I plowed my way through and was summarily faced with having to wait an uncertain amount of time for book five's publication and release. (It was at this time I discovered Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time saga.) During the interim between Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, several of my close friends, Dianna, Kara, and Allison, and I bonded over the Potter books. We shared a mutual infatuation with Rowling's works and eagerly anticipated the release of the first Harry Potter movie in November of 2001, a much needed respite in the wake of the 9/11 tragedy. When The Sorcerer's Stone hit theaters, we braved the crowds and late hours to catch a midnight showing. For the most part, the cinematic interpretation of book one met our expectations and set in motion a tradition for us to see as many of the new films and purchase as many of the forthcoming books at midnight as possible. We even made our own t-shirts for the Prisoner of Azkaban movie, and I wore mine to most (if not all) subsequent midnight release events. The books posed an interesting conundrum for us as each new one arrived. The four of us, occasionally boosted in number by other Potter-head family and friends, excitedly attended book parties to ensure we'd have our pre-ordered copies in hand as soon as we possibly could. We'd all get home and start ripping through the new volume. Inevitably, one or more of us would spend the rest of the night and early morning hours rushing through the most recent publication to learn what happened next for Harry and his friends. The problem then became having to wait to discuss the book's events until everyone else finished, too. No spoiler alerts allowed! Text messages would zip back and forth. How far are you? Did you sleep? Did you eat? Are you done yet? Call me when you've finished chapter 18. Thus, we collectively motivated each other to coordinate our reading efforts, often putting us on the same page. Our midnight movie traditions continued even after publication of the final book as well, eventually adding more family, friends, and fiancés to the party: Kelly, Jason, Bailey, and Bryce. The Harry Potter series proved amazing in every way, shape, and form, packed with magic, adventure, and the always timely message conveying the importance of tolerance and love in the face of hate and prejudice. For my friends and me, Rowling's masterpieces and their cinematic counterparts became much more--they served as focal points around which we gathered and grew closer, thereby strengthening our friendships. On the eve of turning 40, I look back on all of our experiences with an overwhelming sense of joy and happiness. I even commemorated our shared Potter time and love of the series with a Deathly Hallows tattoo last fall. The experiences remain infinitely meaningful to me, and I cannot divorce my memories of the decade-long journey my friends and I took together from the Potter books and movies.
I'm sure the inclusion of a Madonna album in my Countdown to 40 comes as no surprise, especially considering I am a child of the 1980s. And gay. It's one of the stereotypes I wear proudly. Truth be told, though, I know several gay men who could take or leave Madonna and her music. Not many, mind you. But there are some. Ultimately choosing Music as the one of her many albums to include may, on the other hand, surprise you.
You may have expected to see her quintessential, star-making album Like a Virgin here, which would not be a stretch by any means. I remember slipping quarters into the juke box at the local bar and grill near my grandparents' summer home to listen and dance to "Material Girl." Singing along to the title track with no concept of the meaning behind the song's lyrics whatsoever. Blaring the cassette tape from our garage and practicing my color guard routine in the driveway. (My brother and I joined a Drum and Bugle Corps for two whole days--he wanted to play drums and I wanted to twirl flags...to think it took me another decade or so before I realized I was gay is beyond me sometimes.) Then there's Ray of Light. Madonna enjoyed a renaissance of sorts in the late 1990s following the birth of her first child and her starring role as Eva Peron in the movie musical version of Evita in 1996. Many consider 1998's Ray of Light the pinnacle of Madge's career. Motherhood and a newfound passion for yoga and the Kabbalah seemed to give the Queen of Pop a more mature perspective, while coaching for Evita strengthened her voice in both tone and quality. The lead single, "Frozen," hinted at Madonna's new electronic sound and more introspective sensibilities. I grabbed my copy of Ray of Light on CD when vacationing in Orlando with my family, and I may or may not have forced them to listen to the entire thing with me for the first time. They may not have appreciated it much, but it turned me into more of a Madonna fan than I was before. Impressed with her new sound and direction, I eagerly anticipated Madonna's follow-up to Ray of Light, 2000's Music. The title track had me hooked well before the CD's release, and I think I even ventured to Wal-Mart shortly after midnight that September to purchase my copy as soon as it became available. I quickly fell in love with the entire album, listening to the CD on my drive to and from work for weeks. In addition to "Music," I developed quite a fondness for "Don't Tell Me" and "Nobody's Perfect," both of which made appearances on earlier compilations of my Hot 101. Beyond remaining one of my favorite Madonna albums in the years since its release, Music holds the distinction as the sole CD to survive an apartment fire my roommate Maggie and I experienced in October of 2000. We lost practically all of our material possessions that day, with the exception of the things we had with us. For something so tragic, Maggie and I managed to stay level-headed and kept our sense of humors about the whole thing. Though I had to leave a message with her parents informing her of the bad news, as soon as she could she returned my call. When I answered the phone, she asked in a tone clearly meant to mock infomercials: "Did you or anyone you know recently lose everything they owned in a fire?" I couldn't help but crack a smile. Maggie's attitude and support along with the comfort and familiarity of Madonna's Music album helped me cope with what could have otherwise been a complete and utter disaster. Surprise! I bet no one saw this post coming. Timely, too, as Netflix just revealed it was in very early talks with show runners about the possibility of producing more episodes as a follow up to last fall's "A Year in the Life." Let's just say the news has me cautiously optimistic, considering I liked but didn't love the Netflix limited series but thought it showed promise. The original Gilmore Girls series that ran on network television from 2000-2007, on the other hand, is one I absolutely adore.
For the uninitiated, Gilmore Girls follows the story of single-mom Lorelei Gilmore and her daughter, Rory, in the fictional yet enchantingly quirky small town of Stars Hollow, Connecticut. When the series starts, Rory learns she's been accepted to Chilton, a private New England school that all but assures her Ivy League college dreams will come true. Faced with the high rate of Chilton's tuition and a lack of money, Lorelei turns to her rich, socialite parents, Emily and Richard, for financial assistance. Asking for help proves difficult for Lorelei, as the relationship between her and her parents is rocky at best. Still, she swallows her pride to improve Rory's future and agrees to a loan requiring Lorelei and Rory to attend weekly Friday night dinners with Emily and Richard until which time the loan is paid off. Over the ensuing seven seasons, Lorelei and Rory attend many lively Friday night dinners, exchange quick-fire banter laced with obscure pop culture references, fall in and out of love numerous times, and exceed and fall short of their own expectations as well as those placed on them by others. Throughout the entire time, the Gilmore girls traverse the tricky waters of high school, starting a business, and going to college, all while surrounded and supported by a bevy of eccentric townspeople. As much as I adore Gilmore Girls, I cannot honestly say it led to some revelation about my sense of self or my life's journey. I simply love the show and consider it a close second in all-time rank behind The Wonder Years. What became clear as I embarked on my Countdown to 40 quest, however, was just how much Gilmore Girls really serves as a conglomeration of all the best qualities of the other shows I've written posts about. (Save Game of Thrones, that is. I got nothing on similarities with that series, though I'm sure Lorelei and Rory talked about it during the revival episodes.) I think I started realizing the similarities between Gilmore Girls and other shows when I wrote about Northern Exposure earlier in the project. Like that show and Pushing Daisies, Gilmore Girls takes place in a small town populated by some of the quirkiest characters and stories on television. In many ways, Gilmore Girls is also a coming-of-age tale like The Wonder Years, though the process is not limited to Rory navigating late adolescence. Lorelei, Emily, Richard, and several additional supporting characters undergo significant growth, too. One likeness I often used when the show originally aired was to Will & Grace. The endless one-liners and lightning-fast repartee exchanged between Gilmore Girls characters echo those traded between Will, Grace, Jack, and Karen, pop-culture references included. On that note, the whip-smart scripts and their flawless delivery by the actors similarly liken Gilmore Girls to The West Wing, too. And, at its heart, Gilmore Girls offers a very clear message similar to the one practically introduced by The Mary Tyler Moore Show and reproduced by Sex and the City: The outdated paradigm of defining women through men no longer applies to characters like Lorelei and Rory Gilmore. They represent strong, intelligent women who work hard and achieve their goals independent of men. Sure, they have men in their lives, but their lives are not singularly focused on those men. Nor do they succeed solely because of men. In fact, anything the men of Stars Hollow can do, I'm confident Lorelei and Rory can do better. So, Gilmore Girls reigns as one of my favorite shows by being all of my favorite shows at once, wrapped into sometimes neat, sometimes messy, 45-minute packages. I teetered back and forth between Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan for the focus of today's post, ultimately settling on the HBO miniseries for its sheer magnitude and undeniable role in propelling me to pursue a graduate degree in history (and despite my general estimation of Steven Spielberg's 1998 World War 2 magnum opus as one of the greatest films ever made).
I knew about the critically acclaimed Band of Brothers miniseries well before I ever saw it, largely thanks to Entertainment Weekly. The magazine's coverage and reviews intensified my overall interest, already piqued by the comparisons made to Saving Private Ryan. Without access to HBO, though, I waited to watch Band of Brothers until I found a deal for the boxset I couldn't pass up. DVDs in hand, I binged my way through all ten episodes in a matter of days, and to say the series surpassed my expectations would be an understatement. In fact, Band of Brothers made such an impression that when I rewatched the series again a year or so later, it motivated me to finally start the process of obtaining my Masters degree in History, something I had been stewing over for years. Based on the work of historian Stephen Ambrose, Band of Brothers depicts World War 2 from boot camp to war's end through the eyes of the US Army 101st Airborne's Easy Company. Throughout the series, viewers witness the company's involvement in such momentous events as D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge, and the liberation of a concentration camp. In fact, the image above comes from episode nine, "Why We Fight," which deals with Easy Company's discovery and subsequent liberation of a Nazi Concentration Camp and represents one of the most heart-wrenching hours of programming ever to air on television. Not surprisingly, a strong bond of brotherhood develops between company members based on the intensity of their shared experiences over the course of the war, not unlike the kind identified by the character of Upham in Saving Private Ryan. And while Spielberg's war film certainly introduces the idea, the miniseries format allows Band of Brothers to expand on the groundwork laid by Ryan, flesh out a broader cast of characters, and incorporate recollections from surviving Easy Company veterans. Brothers therefore provides audiences with a much more intimate glimpse of what the war was like for soldiers fighting in Europe. If you've been keeping up with my Countdown to 40 blog, my fascination with World War 2 does not come as a surprise, and I can think of two specific reasons why the it interests me so much. First, as I recounted in my post about Schindler's List, the Holocaust and its socio-political repercussions in Germany raised several historical questions for me, ones I eventually explored in grad school using films like Downfall. The second reason, one I have not yet shared, relates to my grandfather. Like many people my age and around the world, my grandparents lived through the war. And like many men of his generation, my mother's father fought in the war. I was not yet fifteen when my grandfather passed away, and I often regret not learning more about his wartime experiences. That's not to say I am completely without knowledge of his time in the Navy. When putting together a video memorial of my grandfather's life shortly after his death, my older sister and I came across a set of letters he and my grandmother exchanged during that time. Based on what my relatives told me, I also learned that Grandpa returned from the war a changed man, one who no longer believed in the existence of God. Taken as a whole, that pretty much sums up what I know about my grandfather's wartime perspective. Of course, given the intense nature of such experiences, perhaps he wouldn't have wanted to talk about them with me. Nevertheless, I still wish I would have asked him, and I think things like Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan offer a way for me to imagine the war through Grandpa's eyes. And maybe, just maybe, my desire to know the world and time of my grandparents better was the real impetus behind initiating my graduate studies. In honor of today's Breath of the Wild release, I present you with Nintendo's incomparable The Legend of Zelda, which, as far as I am concerned, represents the best video game series. Ever.
I originally became entranced by The Legend of Zelda series when the first iteration arrived for the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) in the late 1980s. (Remember the gold cartridge? Ah, the good old days.) It didn't take long for the game to grab my attention and stimulate my imagination. I remember sneaking out of my bedroom late at night, after everyone else was asleep, to solve just one more puzzle, find just one more secret lair, or play through just one more dungeon. Then came The Adventure of Link for the NES and A Link to the Past for the Super Nintendo (SNES), and I eagerly returned to saving Hyrule from the evil Ganondorf. While those early games turned me into a series fan pretty quickly, Ocarina of Time for the Nintendo 64 (N64) changed everything and converted me to a true Zelda superfan. The new adventure retained all of the familiar characters and story arcs I grew to enjoy and expect from earlier games while perfectly utilizing the 3-D capabilities offered by the N64 to fully immerse players in the land of Hyrule. (I could even ride a horse!) The puzzles, quests, dungeons, and bosses of Ocarina of Time kept me challenged and engaged by offering the perfect balance between difficulty and solve-ability. By the time I maneuvered through the final dungeons and defeated Ganon at the game's end, I knew I had experienced something special, and from that point on, no matter where Zelda console games went, I was sure to follow. Considering my already-professed love for the fantasy genre (see Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Game of Thrones and The Wheel of Time), I suspect my declaration in support of Zelda throughout this entry is not all that surprising. That assumption may, however, relate more to the order in which I wrote my Countdown to 40 posts than the order in which those featured items impacted my life. In reality, The Legend of Zelda serves as one of the biggest and most important influences to nurture my growing interest in the vast and magical worlds of fantasy film, literature, and video games. And if you are trying to get a hold of me this weekend and don't get a response, know that I'm probably puzzling my way through Breath of the Wild.
My introduction to the Dixie Chicks came in 1998 with the band's release of "There's Your Trouble" from Wide Open Spaces. Before that time, I likely would not have paid any attention to them as I avoided their brand of music almost entirely (save for a few Garth Brooks hits). I generally considered country antithetical to what I saw as my more sophisticated and suburban pop music sensibility. I therefore thought country was out of touch with my reality and world perspective. Until the late 1990s, that is.
The times were a changin' during my sophomore and junior years at the University of Minnesota Duluth (thanks for the quote, Bob Dylan). Some of my close friends and roommates convinced me that my preconceptions of the genre lacked substantial justification, and soon I found myself in the midst of a country music baptism. Shania Twain initiated the mind-changing process with "Any Man of Mine" and "No One Needs to Know," which really sounded more like pop songs than down-home twangy ditties. Regardless, I thought maybe this stuff wasn't so terrible after all, and perhaps I'd been a little too quick to pass such harsh judgment on an entire genre of music. With a new and burgeoning appreciation for country music, I eagerly sought out popular recording artists like Trisha Yearwood, Deana Carter, Tim McGraw, Jo Dee Messina, Mindy McCready, and, of course and probably most of all, the Dixie Chicks. After I picked up Wide Open Spaces in 1998, it entered frequent rotation in my car and residence hall room CD players. I quickly learned each of the songs, and you could often find me singing along with the tracks from start to finish. When the Dixie Chicks' next album followed in 1999, I rushed out to purchase that CD, too. A little more edgy and confrontational, Fly sounded different from Wide Open Spaces but still largely fit into the country-pop genre and what I expected from a Dixie Chicks record. Then came Home. Even before the release of Home, the lead single, "Long Time Gone" enticed me. The song kept a thread of the group's signature country-pop sound but also teased another change. This further fueled my anticipation and excitement for Home, and I did not hesitate to add their 2002 album to my collection as soon as I could. Upon first listen, the evolution "Ready to Run" hinted at became clear--the band all but dropped their pop crossover status and traded it for more of a bluegrass sound. It was their most country-sounding album of the three I knew, and I loved it, I really loved it. More mature than the previous two albums, Home tackled the feelings of loss in the wake of September 11 while also exploring love and the promise of hope. It was both timely and timeless, a feat achieved by very few albums, and therefore established itself as one of my most favorite albums of all time. The fact the CD also holds "Truth No. 2," #11 on my Hot 101, only buoys my affinity for Home. I used to say I liked all kinds of music except country. In fact, you may have even heard me say as teenager that I hated country music. But like the Dixie Chicks, and thanks to them, I matured and no longer make such sweeping and disparaging comments about entire genres of music, especially considering I could not get enough of country for a brief period of time (and there are always exceptions to the rules). This transformation in my feelings for country music also helped to change my world view by encouraging me to open myself to new things more willingly. In fact, now when people say they hate any specific type of music, I raise my eyebrow ever so slightly, and whether or not it's warranted, I take those blanket statements as symbols of a person's unwillingness to try new things. Of course, we all have preferences in terms of what music we connect with the most--and there's nothing wrong with that--but closing ourselves off entirely from certain types of music, movies, books, and/or television shows effectively prevents us from growing as a person and developing a sense of empathy. So thank you, Dixie Chicks, for helping me become a better version of myself. I love Pixar movies. The end.
In all seriousness, I could probably and justifiably start and end this post with only those two sentences to accompany the graphic above, but that would do little justice to the pantheon of Pixar features I adore so much. Stopping there would also fail to provide an explanation for why the post covers a collection of films rather than a single stand-out. When Toy Story debuted in theaters during the fall of 1995, I was still adjusting to my freshman year experience. Moving away from home and finding my way through those first few months at college helped nudge me further along my path of self discovery. While continually expanding my knowledge of the world around me and discovering more about myself, I also retained several core tenets of my identity that developed over the preceding 18 years. One of those essential attributes was my love for Disney movies, a truth I established early in posts about Bedknobs and Broomsticks and The Lion King. So, because previews for Toy Story advertised the film as a joint venture with Disney, I was initially excited, even if Pixar was a relatively unknown studio at the time. As Disney released more information about Toy Story, I will confess one thing had me a bit worried--Pixar's well-publicized breaking with the Disney Renaissance film convention of characters breaking into song, a convention I had grown accustomed to and loved dearly. I need not have worried. Pixar's groundbreaking first computer-animated film exceeded all expectations. Toy Story proved winsome, heartwarming, and beyond infinitely entertaining. (See what I did there?) With a single film, the studio's creative team effectively changed the landscape of animated motion pictures and established the medium as worthy of well-developed stories that appeal to adults on multiple levels and every bit as much as they engross children. With the subsequent releases of A Bug's Life, Toy Story 2, Monsters Inc, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Ratatouille, Wall-E, Up, and Toy Story 3, Pixar delivered a string of near-perfect and brilliant movies, raising the bar for live-action and animated films alike and setting ridiculously high expectations for themselves (perhaps unfairly). In fact, prior to the release of Cars 2 in 2011, each new contribution to Pixar's oeuvre either improved upon the achievements of its predecessors or further solidified the studio's foundation with pure and honest emotion, poignancy, imaginative storytelling, and beautiful animation. Originally, I planned on writing today's post strictly about my favorite Pixar film, Finding Nemo. But then I got to thinking, if I only focus on Finding Nemo, what happens to Toy Story 3? I decided, okay, I'll write about that instead. But wait. What about Up? Maybe I should pick Up. No--that leaves out A Bug's Life, and I can't leave out A Bug's Life! I'd be fired, courtesy of Tuck & Roll. I mustn't forget Inside Out, though, either. I loved that movie. And Wall-E. How could I write about a Pixar movie and not include Wall-E? Or Ratatouille? Or The Incredibles? My gosh, I almost forgot about The Incredibles! Not to mention Monsters Inc and Cars. Jeez. What was I thinking, picking just one of Pixar's films? Clearly, then, when I say Finding Nemo is my favorite, I mean that very loosely, and primarily only make the distinction because the summer when Brave came out, Bryce and I challenged each other to rank all of the Pixar films released at that time. Afterwards, we compared our lists. Turns out the exercise proved more difficult than it seemed at the outset. We both agreed on which two movies rounded out the bottom of the list--Cars 2 and Brave--but the remaining 11 movies were practically interchangeable, with mere minutiae separating them. And that was before Pixar added Inside Out and Finding Dory to their arsenal. Which, at the end of the day, is why I couldn't settle on just one of their outstanding offerings for today's post. Downfall first hit theaters in the United States during 2005, following its release abroad in 2004. Advertisements and previews touted the film as the first German-made film starring German actors to depict the final days of the Nazi regime from within Adolf Hitler's Berlin bunker. (A claim I later discovered ignores certain historical facts.) Largely based on the memoirs of one of Hitler's personal secretaries, Traudl Junge, and a book written by historian Joachim Fest, Downfall also promised to provide a rather intimate portrait of Hitler, dangerously bordering on sympathetic. My predilection for films dealing with World War 2 and Nazi Germany practically dictated I would see it. What I did not realize at the time was how influential Oliver Hirschbiegel's motion picture would become in just a few short years.
Watching Downfall for the first time, I immediately started questioning its presentation of Hitler as a man rather than a monster. Like you, I knew what history says about the author of Mein Kampf and man behind the Final Solution--he was a xenophobic demagogue who exploited fears, employed powerful propaganda, and utilized an armed paramilitary to coerce ordinary citizens to commit extraordinary crimes. So it should not surprise you that scenes hinting at Hitler's softer side made me rather uncomfortable, whether through his love for his dog, his romance with Eva Braun, his gentleness towards Junge, or his sadness at being abandoned by Albert Speer. Why? Because those scenes challenge the image of Hitler solely as a monster, and I wondered how someone responsible for the systematic extermination of so many millions of people could also possibly be the guy next door. When finding myself sympathizing with the character of Hitler on screen, even if only for a scene or two, I wondered if that meant I connected to Hitler on some level. And what does that mean? Could I be Hitler? Perhaps the filmmakers intended Downfall to pose such questions to audiences, a strong statement to be sure. Still, the exercise proved not all that pleasant and therefore resulted in an unsettled feeling, at least for a while. In the following months and years as the film's subject matter sank in more deeply, my perspective changed a little, and the thing that stood out to me most about Hirschbiegel's Downfall was not its presentation of Hitler as the man but rather its portrayal of Germans as victims of National Socialism. This theme of victimhood appeared perhaps most provocatively in one of the most disturbing scenes of the film. Frau Goebbels enters her children’s sleeping quarters, where they are reading a nighttime story. With the help of a doctor, she administers a sleeping draft to her six children, telling them it’s to help them stay healthy in the dampness of the bunker. Having successfully drugged all six children, Frau Goebbels then wishes them a good night’s sleep and leaves them in the darkness of their cement room. She returns to the sleeping children a short time later, and one by one Frau Goebbels inserts a cyanide pill into each child’s mouth, killing her own children because she cannot fathom they live in a world without National Socialism. I made several important observations because of this scene. By denying her children the chance to live in a Germany free of Hitler and the Nazi Party, Frau Goebbels chose ideology over life. The children, in a way, symbolized the German conscience, unable to combat the oppressive influence of the Nazi party, and the murder of the children therefore represented the killing of German innocence, in which fanatical Nazi leaders misled the German public. Narratives like this one piqued my interest and inspired a certain degree of historical inquiry. I wanted to know, how could Germans now claim victimization, especially considering those specifically persecuted by the regime? How accurately does the film portray the German wartime experience? What are the implications of placing German civilians among Hitler's victims? How do Downfall and several other post-2000 German films that depict Germans as victims fit into German society's larger, over-arching process of coming to terms with their Nazi past (ie. A Woman in Berlin and Sophie Scholl: The Final Days)? These questions about victimization in the postwar period eventually formed the base of my thesis research, which centers on the confluence of history and popular film as purveyors of cultural memory. And while I certainly recognized the problems posed by Downfall when I left the theater that day in 2005, I had no idea it would help lead me to graduate school and a Masters of Arts in History. If I am being totally honest with you, Will & Grace almost didn't make my Countdown to 40 list. I initially thought it would be all too cliché to pick a show that very clearly spotlights members of the gay community, living in New York City no less. I figured people would read the post and think to themselves, "well, that was an obvious and easy choice." Except, settling on Will & Grace proved anything but obvious and easy for me, and until today, this post was set to focus on The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
As my good friend Erin can attest to, I waffled on which of the two television shows to write about as late as this afternoon and struggled to explain why The Mary Tyler Moore Show and not Will & Grace should be today's feature item. Yes, The Mary Tyler Moore Show was groundbreaking for centering on a single woman establishing a career as well as an identity independent of men, marriage, and children. Mary Tyler Moore's character of Mary Richards confronted several tricky topics in addition to gender roles, like abortion, sex, divorce, and homosexuality...during the 1970s. In so doing, the show truly challenged many of the social norms of the time and helped change the definition of what it meant to be a woman, all while setting a gold standard for television sitcoms. Quite revolutionary, if you ask me. When you think about it, Will & Grace followed much the same revolutionary trail blazed by The Mary Tyler Moore Show. At a time when more and more people were confronting and struggling with the reality of homosexuality, either their own or that of gay family and friends around them, Will & Grace featured two out men, one as a title character. This groundbreaking concept was made all the more groundbreaking by the show's portrayal of Will as a normal, down-to-earth, guy-next-door type. Through the complicated but entirely relatable (and often times hilarious) relationships between Will, his straight BFF Grace, his gay BFF Jack, and his drunk BFF Karen, the show helped to normalize homosexuality and gay people, thereby challenging society's stereotypes of what it meant to be gay. Neither Will nor Jack were creepy, perverted guys who lived on the fringes of society, mired in drugs and sex. Instead, they lived rather mundane lives, just like everyone else around them, trying to find the perfect balance between work, life, and relationships, with one another as well as their significant others. As a young man coming out, I very much needed Will & Grace and its humorous brand of normalizing the lives of gay people, for I felt alone during the early stages of accepting my own homosexuality. Of all the people in my life at that time, I knew no other members of the GLBTQ community and therefore had no one in my inner circles who really understood what I was going through or what was in store for me. I had my friends and family, of course, who surrounded me with nothing but love and acceptance, and I will be eternally thankful for that. (We all know the heart-breaking and horrible realities many people of all ages face after sharing the most beautiful and honest truth about themselves.) What Will & Grace helped offer me to supplement the love and support of family and friends was permission to accept my homosexuality as simply a part of who I was but not solely who I was. After all, I was still the same son. The same brother. The same friend. The same uncle. The same cousin. The same nephew. The same grandson. The same college graduate. The same Janet Jackson fan. The same lover of Christmas and snow. The same connoisseur of popcorn. The same Chris. Actually, acknowledging and accepting my homosexuality as just another part of myself made me a better, truer, stronger Chris. So, at the end of the day, my own life experiences and path of self-discovery connected more with Will & Grace than with The Mary Tyler Moore Show, no matter how much I love them both. |
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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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