Hello world,
I'm finally returning to my blog after a couple of weeks. The seminar has ended, I'm back in Wisconsin, and I'm more or less taking a break before school starts again. I say more or less because I'm working at the grocery store again (39 hours of work next week), and I'm still reading and writing--some is leisure, others not so much. My play is in great shape. I'm currently at 97 pages, and I have three scenes left to write. I hope (crossing my fingers) that I will be done within a week, but it depends on how much I focus. I've finished writing the hardest scene (emotionally for the characters, and me through them), so these other scenes feel more tedious since they're not as emotionally wrenching for me. Argh! The struggles of the writer. Nevertheless, I've been thinking of writing a post, since I miss you, world. And it seemed appropriate now, because I've been writing this play, because I've been reading the Nightshade series, and because it's summer and my mind has wandered somewhat surprisingly to "Summer Nights" from Grease. The common theme threading these three activities/aspects together are romance (along with strength and independence).
DISCLAIMER: If you are totally and utterly in love with Grease, you may not wish to read further, since I'm about to bash this musical apart.
The truth is: I enjoy watching Grease.
The truth is: I enjoy some of the musical's songs.
The truth is: I've laughed at many, many moments during the movie.
The truth is: Grease is a socially/thematically problematic musical.
Grease is a cultural phenomenon. It's a movie (and now stage) musical that everyone of all ages know. Most people love it too. My RA (Residential Assistants) staff competed at a full-RA staff lip-sync competition with a Grease medley, and we won. Grease is a classic. When I was younger, I liked the movie a lot. I watched it with my parents occasionally, and I always thought of it fondly. The ending (the end of the car race and "You're the One That I Want") would always confuse me, but I never understood why when I was younger. I would think, "Huh...this is weird. Maybe I'm missing something." But then "We Go Together" would happen, and then the movie would end, and I never really thought that much afterwards. After all, the movie was over. Then, I went through my preteen and teen years not really thinking of Grease. I was busy with my other interests: theater, my TV shows (Lost, Grey's Anatomy, etc.), music, and school. Grease didn't reappear in my radar until somewhere in my recent college years, when I had an instant craving for the music, which surprised me, since Grease had never been one of my favorite musicals/movies. But some cravings, you have to satisfy, and this one was worth satisfying. Like chocolate.
Anyway, I watched the movie and listened to the music again. Still loved the music, but I finally figured out what confused me about the ending. I finally realized what I couldn't understand as a child. I have always thought (and still do think) that love is a reciprocal action, an equalizing force--true love has no discrimination and does not give one party advantage or preference over another. This is what I've always thought. It is what I was taught; it is what I grew up believing in. Obviously, over time, I learned that the world does not always work that way, and we do our best to overcome its--both love and the world--challenges. Nevertheless, I believe that fair, equal, and true love is possible. But I digress. My point in bringing Grease into this conversation is that Danny and Sandy's love does not strike me as equal. Oh yes, cute and romantic and heart-breaking, blah blah blah until the end when Sandy sits on the side of the canal (or whatever the place is), and she's singing the "Sandra Dee (Reprise)." She sings, "Goodbye to Sandra-Dee," bidding farewell to her pure, goody-girl two-shoes self, transforming into, as we see in "You're the One That I Want," the bad-girl in her black and tight-fitted outfit, smoking a cigarette (albeit, somewhat unsuccessfully). All Danny dons is an unbuttoned white sports shirt/jersey, in his continuing efforts to "change." Which, I might add, he is quick to remove during the previously mentioned song (John Travolta's tantalizing dancing aside).
Yes, some of you naysayers out there might insist that Danny made previous efforts to woo Sandy with his tryouts for the sports teams. However, he only tried out in order to win Sandy back and away from sports jock Tom. At the dance, Danny doesn't make a strong effort to stop dancing with Cha-Cha (the ex-girlfriend) when she butts her way into Sandy's dancing place. Then he starts making inappropriate moves on her at the drive-in movie. Danny makes many assumptions about what he assumes his behavior should be--which I realize is the whole point of the movie: assumptions and stereotypes, but I feel that the movie defeats its own purpose by forcing Sandy to make the biggest steps in transforming herself, or giving herself up, in order to stay in the relationship. Grease, instead of portraying Danny and Sandy as two completely different people who overcome their differences to have a happy ending to their relationship, has an ending that suggests that someone better sacrifice their personality, lifestyle, or priorities, if they want to be in a relationship. Some people may say that relationships require sacrifices, which yes, I believe is true and inherent in any kind of relationships--platonic, professional, or romantic. Regardless, why is Sandy--the woman--the one who's required to make this gigantic leap. It suggests that "good, pure" people can't be sexy or appealing, in the long run; that they have to "go bad" in order for them to be "worth it." Need I say, I find that notion disgusting.
Nightshade: I mentioned the series at the beginning of my post. This series is written by Andrea Cremer, a Macalester professor, which is how I became acquainted with the book. Honestly, I didn't have high hopes for the book, only because I thought it would be a werewolf-focused version of Twilight. Which it is, but it's so much better and more redeeming. Stephenie Meyer, author of Twilight, fills her book with a lot of looking and breathing (and when I say breathing, I mean, heavy breathing, although the sex doesn't come until book 4)--but there's not a lot of action in the books. Not really until book 3, when there's more fighting and bloodshed. Nightshade, on the other hand, has a lot of physical action and drama. And instead of a passive female human narrator, Nightshade provides a strong, leading female werewolf. And, Nightshade offers plenty of the discussions that occur around Macalester: autonomy versus hegemony, among other topics. Cremer's series also provides the diversity that Meyer's series lacks. Cremer's books have gay characters, black characters, and many female leaders. I just finished reading the second book today, and the third book of the trilogy comes out this coming February. I'm eager to read it and see how the series concludes.
So, I mention Nightshade because the narrator, Calla, is a strong leader, or at least most of the time. She struggles between the affections for and from two young men. One of the men (Ren), she has been betrothed to--it's an arranged marriage; the other (Shay) is a fellow student with whom she fell in love. Cremer sets up the romances as a struggle between loyalty/tradition and free will/autonomy. Calla is attracted to both Ren and Shay, and both stir something inside of her; however, Shay, whom she has, more or less, chosen to love (it's complicated, as usual) makes Calla feel things she's never felt before--freedom and new chances. The series describes at length these romantic struggles. Perhaps it is because I've been reading the two books (1 and 2) in a row over the course of three days in nearly every waking moment when I haven't had to work, but I finally got to a point in my reading when I thought, "Come on, Calla. You're a strong woman. Make a choice and stick to it. Why are you letting these men affect your emotions and life so much?" Now, maybe it's hard for me to empathize, since I've never encountered a situation where I've had to choose between two romantic interests. Or, on the other hand, maybe I'm tired of seeing strong, leading women submitting to the pressures of these "leading men." Where are the stories of men who have to submit to the women's wishes, do what the women want? I will say, Cremer also demonstrates a difference between Calla's relationships between the two men. Even though Shay is protective of Calla in many moments, he still respects her and submits to her, certainly more frequently than his competitor, Ren. Ren has a couple of times when he submits to Calla, but he is accustomed to the "traditional" way, in which the female leader has to submit to the male leader. Like I said, tradition versus change/evolution, which translates into equality. Gay love can't exist under the traditional ways, and female leaders are subordinate to male leaders. And love seems to make everything trickier and more complicated.
Which is a bit of what I deal with in my play. The story is of two friends: one black and gay, the other white and straight. Over 15 years of friendship, the two friends struggle with how their differences impact their friendship and encounters. The black gay character discovers that his friend has inherent fears and assumptions that stem from society's stereotypes about racial and sexual categories. My question with the play is, where is the line, where is the line between "tolerable" ignorance and harmful ignorance? Obviously, the answer is that all ignorance, in some way, is harmful; however, as I've mentioned before, if we are open to learning from others and their differences, then we can overcome ignorance and its harmful effects. It's when people are unwilling to learn that ignorance becomes more harmful and even hurtful.
"It turned colder, that's where it ends. So I told her we'd still be friends. Then we made our true love vow. Wonder what she's doin' now. Summer dreams ripped at the seams, but oh, those summer nights."
-"Summer Nights," Grease
