I suppose I understand that it’s considered a sign of progress that we’ve moved from “My child is a freak; I’m kicking the kid out!” to “I’m grieving to learn that my child isn’t cisgender. Oh, woe, for my shattered expectations.” But I’m already pretty tired of the new narrative.
I noticed that Netflix had Boy Meets Girl on its list of recent additions and decided to check it out. It’s very indie and charming, but with occasional bits of dialog that were more awkward than I wanted.
There aren’t a ton of trans Rom Coms out there, but I suppose I’m thinking about it in terms of how solidly it constructs and/or adheres to a “trans story formula.” Perhaps one day I’ll write my autobiography in comic form and I’ll need to know the proper shape for such a story.
Take one trans woman. Well in to transition. Sporting the boyish name, Ricky. Ricky lives in a small town in Kentucky. That alone brings along a context. The townsfolk know who and what she it. We get flashbacks to conflict. But in the present, there’s… what? Uneasy peace? Mutual agreement to not mention the elephant in the room?
I’m reading my grandfather’s record of our 1985 trip to England/Scotland. 1985 was the year that I graduated from high school, and my grandparents and I, along with my grandfather’s brother, Jerry, and cousin Errol plus Errol’s wife Dorothy, took a trip together.
I had been eagerly anticipating this trip, it being my first international trip (excluding the States). I was also a total anglophile before this trip, but not afterward.
Here’s an entry from day 12, which appears to have started in Liverpool and ended in Bristol:
That night, [BC], Margaret and Don walked 3 blocks to a famous jazz bar, Dukes, for a drink, a look-see and listen to the jazz band there. It was great. (Jerry/Errol/Dorothy didn’t want to go — they missed out on a treat). Walking back 3 young girls are getting out of a black taxi cab, dress [sic] to kill and all with purple hair. [BC] likes them. Must be the hair.
I never thought I’d be the kind of person who believed that a crime against feminism was less important than a crime against storytelling, but in this case, they’re so interconnected that it’s hard to tell the difference. When you can’t write, you can’t write women.
Captain America: The Winter Soldier books Robert Redford as the heavy and makes a few halfhearted allusions to our own imperiled civil liberties, and everyone calls it a “’70s political thriller” with a straight face, forgetting that actual ’70s political thrillers seldom excused government malfeasance by blaming it on defrosted Nazi agents.
I’m sure we’ll continue to talk amongst ourselves about how to handle the current crisis. Cis people don’t get to lead that conversation. We don’t care what you think. We’re more concerned with what you do, or more often, what you don’t do.
I feel like it was a weak year for films. As I reflect on the films I saw in 2014, not many really stand out. I also feel like the whole “back-end loading” problem is affecting more and more every year. I’ve stopped watching films in theatres, and studios keep holding back their best films until the fall (when Oscar season starts), so I tend to see the best films several months after they’re released.
Anyway, here are my favourite films that I saw in 2014: