The Problem of Jar Jar

So, I am a big fan of Star Wars. As such, I have a deep and abiding hatred for the prequel trilogy, which takes everything good and interesting about Star Wars and takes a giant, steaming dump on it. Everything from the nature of the Force to the origin of the Empire was destroyed. Continuity and narrative integrity were thrown out the window. However, none of these storytelling aberrations offend me quite so egregiously as that clumsy, movie-breaking monstrosity, Jar Jar Binks.

I know, I know. I know what you're thinking. "Preston, that's such a stereotypical thing to say! You're above petty grievances with Jar Jar!" First of all, thank you for thinking so highly of me. Second, I do not simply hate him because he is a childish character, and because he is annoying, although he is, and he is. No, the problems I have with Jar Jar run slightly deeper than that. There are three distinct problems I have with Mr. Binks, which I will herein discuss.

The first complaint I have with Jar Jar rests largely with his place within the narrative. Jar Jar is set up as comic relief, a little escape valve from the heavier portions of the film. I understand the purpose and, indeed, the value of comic relief. However, that being said, I have a few expectations for a comic relief character. These are not hard and fast rules, simply things that I like to see when I am presented with a character who is comic relief. Firstly, he should be funny, which, it should be noted, Jar Jar is anything but. Also, he should contribute, at the very least, one thing to the plot. In other words, if I were to remove the comic relief character from the story, it should, ideally, change. The hallmark of a bad comic relief character comes from his lack of plot contribution. Jar Jar does nothing particularly heroic, and in fact, does nothing in particular at all. He simply stumbles around and provides cheap laughter for the little kids in the audience. I would like to use, as an example of a good comic character, the original Star Wars trilogy. In it, we are presented with C3PO and R2D2, two droids who provide many of the trilogy's humorous moments. Yet, in addition to being silly gay robots, they are valuable members of our small band of heroes. C3PO acts as an interpreter, a vital job when dealing with the many foreign cultures that join the Rebellion's cause. And R2D2's skill with mechanics and ability to hack into Imperial machinery is indispensable to the underground Rebellion. Thus C3PO and R2D2 feel like important parts of the movie, and their antics make more sense, while Jar Jar's presence feels like the bad narrative device that it is. I cannot look at Jar Jar without knowing that he is a device for silly things to be said. Lastly, and this is somewhat less important than the other points I have made, I like when a comic relief character shows a bit of drama, has a moment of truth. Many good comic relief characters do not express this, and I do not begrudge them for it, but it is something I like to see. And the fact that Jar Jar does not have a moment like this (despite there being many opportunities for him to have them), simply makes me dislike him even more.

Now, what makes me dislike Jar Jar even more than the clumsy way he fits into the narrative? Well, I'm glad you asked, person I just made up. The awful thing about Jar Jar is that he is a black stereotype. I am certainly not the first person to make this claim, nor will I be the last. But let's look at the facts: Jar Jar walks with a shuffling gait, much like the old characters in minstrelsy. He speaks in a vague patois, a gross exaggeration of Caribbean dialects. And, in addition to the accent and speech patterns, his ears seem to resemble dreadlocks. Add all of that to the fact that he is a clumsy, buffoonish coward, and we are left with a very offensive portrayal, far worse than the crows in Dumbo (which is one of those "Fair for its day" matters, but that's neither here nor there.)

However, the third, and perhaps most galling aspect of Jar Jar's character, and of his racial stereotyping, lies in his introduction to the story. Let's set the scene. Qui Gon Jinn, portrayed by the wonderfully talented and shamefully underutilized Liam Neeson, is running through the jungles of Naboo. Jar Jar Binks, in his infinite clumsiness, bumps into Qui Gon. Qui Gon forces him to duck as invading forces make their way through the jungle, inadvertently saving Jar Jar's life in the process. Jar Jar begins blathering some nonsense about life debts and enters Qui Gon's service. Now, let us look at that a bit more carefully. Through no fault of his own, through no fault of anyone, in fact, but rather through a series of random circumstances, Jar Jar, for all intents and purposes, becomes Qui Gon's slave. This is shown to be for Jar Jar's own good, and he is, in fact, better off for it. And Qui Gon views him as a burden. In fact, Qui Gon tries to get rid of Jar Jar, but Jar Jar insists on being enslaved, claiming that it is demanded by the gods. So, we have the White Man's Burden, and we have this happiness in slavery along with it.

Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it. The Problem of Jar Jar.

Out, Vile Jelly!

Recently, I began reading William Shakespeare's famous tragedy, King Lear. Compounding this is the fact that recently, I have been hanging out with the Gamut crowd, and having a totally super awesome time doing so. And I am taking a Shakespeare course (hence why I am reading King Lear). Therefore, it is pretty safe to say that I have been itching to do some Shakespeare for a while now. And I have realized that one of the Shakespearean roles I would absolutely love to play is the Duke of Cornwall in King Lear.

My reasons are many. I think it would be interesting to play a violent sociopath, which I certainly believe the Duke of Cornwall is. I have all these little ideas about Cornwall. I think he is a man who never smiles, who finds few things funny, and the things he does find funny, no one else does. I believe him to be a most antisocial fellow, who, while taking great pleasure in using people for his own ends, remains cold and calculating about it. He is the sort of person around whom you tread very carefully, for if you say the wrong thing, he will put out your eyes. Consider the scene where Cornwall blinds Gloucester. Cornwall has already gotten the information he needs; there is no cause to blind Gloucester other than for the hell of it.

Though his role is relatively small, his characterization is, in my opinion, very rich. And some day, I will hopefully have the opportunity to take these little ideas out of my head and put them in a totally super awesome performance.

There is a violent sociopath in All's Well That Ends Well, right?

Seven Times Three

As many of you may know (or not know, depending on how closely you stalk me), I recently turned twenty-one. And this pleases me for a variety of reasons.

One, I am now able to go to bars. While I don't know if I plan on frequenting bars that often, the fact that I can is very liberating. If I decide to not go to a bar, it is no longer because of a societal restriction, it is because I choose not to.

Two, I am now able to go to bars. Wait, did I say that already? I suppose I'll elaborate. When I'm in plays, members of the cast will frequently go out after the show, usually to a bar. And when they ask me if I'd care to accompany them, my answer would always be, "I'm *insert number just barely under 21* years old." Now, if they ask me, my answer will be a resounding, "Yes!" I have already done this once or twice, sort of.

Three, I am now able to go to bars--Stop that!

Four, I am now able to drink in non-bar settings. For instance, this past weekend I went to see The Conqueror Worm: An Evening of Edgar Allen Poe at Gamut Theatre (a very interesting and well-done production, I must say), and they had some wine. So I got myself a glass of wine. Had me some chardonnay while watching some poetry. And afterward, I hung out at the Townhouse with the Gamut folks, which was pretty darn awesome. We drank and talked about Poe and Shakespeare and Chekhov, along with some more silly frivolities. Every time I hang out with them, I tell myself I should hang out with them more often. But they're always so busy, and I'm always so busy.

Ah, but now I ramble. Is there a five? No, I think four pretty much covers it. I suppose these past two weeks have caused me to realize just how silly a law it is, the whole twenty-one thing. I have a feeling my autumn is going to be pretty darn good. Now where did I leave that bottle of rum...?

My Eyes Are Fully Open

Well, after a long and undeserved hiatus, I come back with another blog for you!

I had a bit of an interesting experience last Friday. I went with some friends to a little get-together at a friend's house. All in all, I had a good time. However, suffice it to say, I partied a little too hard, and I ended up throwing up in this friend's backyard. Twice. Well, I felt absolutely terrible about it. I apologized, insisted I was an awful guest, and apologized some more. Everyone was very understanding about it, however, and in fact, they had encouraged me to throw up, insisting that I would feel better once I did.

The whole thing really surprised me, because the person who was the most upset by what I had done, the person who was most incensed by this breach of etiquette, was me. The one who had committed the breach. And afterward, it got me thinking.

Life is a curious thing. People are curious creatures. The group with whom I was spending time had lived their lives in such a way that throwing up was a relatively common occurrence. They had all experienced it several times themselves. The way their existence was created an environment that sharply contrasted with my own experience. I live in a world where that sort of thing is rare, and when that sort of thing does happen, it is closely scrutinized. And it made me feel incredibly grateful that while I learned my lesson the hard way, I didn't really alienate anyone in the process.

Life is a very curious thing.

Oklahoma!

Well, dear friends, I'm back, and I'm here to bring you a funny story.

I am currently in a production of the classic Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, "Oklahoma!", at the Fishing Creek Playhouse (shameless plug time: go see it, it runs weekends until May 9th, go to http://www.fishingcreekplayhouse.com for tickets). I play the role of "Persian" peddler Ali Hakim, and it's a lot of fun.

Our opening night performance was on Friday, April 2nd, which some of you might also realize is Good Friday. As some of you also might realize, I am the paid bass soloist at my church. So, suffice to say, I found myself in a bit of a bind.

I had organized with the director of the show that I would leave church slightly early, and she would hold the curtain for roughly fifteen minutes. My first entrance in the show isn't until about twenty minutes into Act I, so this was a viable plan.

So, here's the story: At 7:00, the church service starts. It's a lovely service, very solemn, we all contemplate about the Passion, all that good stuff, there's some lovely music, and basically, I don't leave until 7:45. The curtain for "Oklahoma!" is at 7:30. As I said, they were going to hold the curtain. So, I tore out of church, and headed down to the theatre. It took me about ten minutes to get there. Every red light I hit, every person I ended up stuck behind seemed to last an eternity. Finally, I got to the theatre. I ran towards the building, and one of the guys in charge, along with two of the cast, were waiting outside, acting as a sort of pit crew. They strapped my microphone on me, and put as much of my costume on as they could (coat and hat, as it turns out). Ado Annie was almost done singing "Cain't Say No", which is about a minute before I walk on. It's a good thing I was dressed as snappily as I was.

Afterwards, the stage manager told me that when I walked on, everybody on headsets started "giggling like they had just survived a plane crash." Their backup plan was to have one of the backstage crew walk on while the stage manager read my lines from the booth.

If I had arrived one minute later, I wouldn't have made my entrance. Miracles do happen.

Auto-Tune

So, the other day, my sister described a song she heard on the radio as being "very '80s" due to the prevalent use of synthesizers. And it got me thinking.

In the '80s, the use of synthesizers was at its peak, and it has since then, slowly declined in popularity. Sort of.

And, if history is as cyclical as I think it is, and if I'm as good a predictor of trends as I think I am, the same thing will happen with that worst of music devices, Auto-Tune.

See, right now we have all of these artists experimenting with Auto-Tuning, some of whom shamelessly display it (I'm looking at you, T-Pain). And we all bemoan the current state of affairs, wondering why, oh why, do we have to be aurally assaulted by these pseudo-robotic voices? Do we want our "Aughts" culture to be remembered by posterity for, of all things, this musical abortion? Well, I submit to you, that in a few years, this whole thing will die down. Auto-Tuning will still be around, I have no doubt, but it will be nowhere near as ubiquitous as it currently is. In thirty years, we will look back, and hear a song from this era on the radio, and decry it as sounding "so aughts" (or whatever we will refer to the decade as... early 2000s, perhaps? or the "o"s?). I dread this day, the day when my current generation's music is played on the "Oldies" station. But I digress.

Auto-Tuning will inevitably fade to the background, perhaps to be used as mere touching-up, or to achieve a specific effect (i.e. creepy, soulless-sounding singers(which, admittedly, could artistically work, depending on the song)). But, again, great predictor of trends that I am, a great deal of this generation's music will fall by the wayside. We pine for generations past, when there was nothing but good music, while we forget that there was plenty of bad music back then, it's simply that the good stuff survived, while the bad stuff faded into obscurity. One can only hope that the likes of Fergie will become that "faded into obscurity" music.

I have great hope for the future of music. Sort of.

Snow

So, it is currently snowing. This irritates me for a number of reasons. See, it just snowed. About fifteen inches, to be precise. I spent all of Saturday and Sunday shoveling this snow away from my driveway, porch, and cars, and clearing a path from my front yard to my back yard. This caused my back and arms much soreness. Now, the powers that be have decided that just as my poor, aching body has recovered from such aggravation, it is time to bring on the pain again. This batch is set to reach approximately ten inches total, which has now invalidated all of my hard work. All that pain was for naught.

Compounding the irritation is the fact that it is forecast to remain below 32 degrees Fahrenheit all week, thus making impossible the chance that some of the snow might melt. This does not please me. Not only will two feet of snow be on the ground, it will stay on the ground, until, I can only assume, April.

However, I do get off of school tomorrow, which is good, because there was a draft of an essay I was supposed to write. I never got around to it.

So, this was my very first blog post. Hate to start on such a downer, but, c'est la vie.

--Preston