Medium is the Massage

I decided to make my page about animation and the process behind making an animated film, because it's something that a lot of people are ignorant to, and it's something I feel very passionate about. The fact that the Oscars complete dissed animation and VFX last night doesn't hurt, either.

Lolita

Lolita was written and published in 1955 by Vladimir Nabokov. It is possibly one of those most fascinating books I have ever read. However, despite the perfectly written text, which I would find very easy to read under any other circumstance, I'm still forcing myself to get through Nabokov's novel. We were told the subject matter wasn't meant to be pleasant, and that it would make us uneasy. I had no idea how bad this would be, until I started reading. Usually, I have no problem reading books that the K-12 school system has banned. In this case, I could barely read, or listen to the audiobook, as I did try both, without feeling sick to my stomach.

Lolita is about a man named Humbert Humbert, who is sexually obsessed with young girls around 12 or 13 years old, whom he refers to as "nymphetes". The novel is supposed to be an account of his life that he writes in prison, and is told in first person. Humbert is one of the most unreliable narrators I have ever experienced, though he reminds me somewhat of Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye. The beautiful way he writes is meant to convince his audience that this could be a love story, and is also meant to make such an ugly subject palatable. To a point, I could almost buy these things. There were times, though not many, when I would look at what I was reading and think that he truly cared for Lo. He often said he loved her. For example, at one point he specifically says: “It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.” But then, the true perverted nature of Humbert's thoughts would come out again, and I would need to put the book aside for a while.

Lolita, or Dolores, is 12 years old when she's introduced. From the start, it's clear that Humbert does not love her so much as he loves what she is. She embodies everything that he personally finds appealing in a nymphete. Lo is just beginning to reach puberty, and I think that is why she toys with Humbert and allows his flirtings and touches the way she does. To her, or, according to Humbert's view of Lo, she simply finds him to be an attractive, older man, like a Hollywood star. However, because this is Humbert's writing, I couldn't trust this at all. Humbert stays with Lo and her mother, Ms Haze, in their house, renting one of their rooms. I have just reached the part where Ms Haze has told Humbert that she is madly in love with him, right after Lo has left for camp. The details leading up to this section, particularly when Humbert licked Lo's eye, and when he later satisfied himself with Lo's legs across his lap, left me feeling nauseous. I will try to finish this novel, because I do think it is incredibly well written, as well as an extremely important literary work, but I can't say I enjoy it much at all.

Pulp Fiction: Women's Barracks

This week, I read Women's Barracks by Tereska Torres. The novel, which is the first of it's kind, belongs to a sub-genre of pulp fiction known as "lesbian pulp". These novels, which would be available for cheap with the rest of the pulp fiction novels, rarely featured men, and were more often than not meant as a stimulant for men, as opposed to a "pro-lesbian" pulp for homosexual women in the 1950s. The plot usually revolved around a young, innocent, heterosexual virgin girl that was swayed momentarily into "sin" by a more matured, experienced lesbian woman. The stories would often end in some sort of retribution; the lesbian woman would either die, or be lost forever, and the heterosexual girl would find herself a man.

Women's Barracks is one of the very few exceptions to the world of these lesbian pulps written for men. It is considered a pro-lesbian pulp because, while the ending isn't necessarily a happy one, it doesn't end in the death or exile of the homosexual women. One of the lesbian couples, Petit and Ann, even end up with each other for good. Women's Barracks is also much more tastefully written than some of the more erotic lesbian pulps. The sexual experiences, while implied in detail, are never explicitly discussed.

The novel is a fictionalized account of the author's experiences in the Free French Forces during World War II. While the narrator, who is only referred to by name once in the entire book, is supposed to be the author herself, Tereska has actually used the character Ursula to describe her own experiences. Ursula, a timid girl who is repulsed by men, quickly falls in love with an older woman named Claude during the first half of the book. Claude, who flirts and sleeps with women, but has no desire to actually love one in return, is fairy horrified by Ursula's affection, and lashes out at her more than once. In the end, keeping to a sort of standard set by the lesbian pulp genre, Ursula falls in love with a young soldier named Michel. Even with this ending, I thought some of the relationships set up in the book were much more complex than the standard lesbian pulp would usually provide. First, of course, there is Ursula, who seems to be asexual at times, and questioning of her sexuality for a good part of the book, until she "chooses" to lead a heterosexual lifestyle. Claude is in love with her homosexual husband, but is open to giving affection to everyone as a way to cope with the loss of her aborted child. Jacqueline falls in love with an older married man, and ends up pregnant with his child. Mickey is simply out to get a lover, and, even once she finds one, she sleeps with Claude many times just for the fun of it. Ann, Lee, and Petit are the "true lesbians", and aren't attracted to the more feminine women whatsoever.

All in all, I didn't think the book was the greatest thing I've ever read, but I thought it was enjoyable, and easy to read. I also thought it was interesting that the "judgmental narrator" of Tereska Torres, who was barely present throughout the book, was only added for the American audience in the 1950s, so that the homosexuality wouldn't be thought of as too normal. The narrator was also added by Torres's husband, as opposed to Torres herself, as he was trying to sell the book in New York while she was in France with their children. Torres herself was not at all homophobic; she says that this was simply the way women lived during the war, and that the affairs were all incredibly common. She once said she thought she had written "a very innocent book. [She] thought, these Americans, they are easily shocked". I would very much like to read an unaltered translation of the original French book, and hopefully one day this will become available.

Great Gatsby Screenplay

FADE IN:

EAST EGG NEAR BAY - EVENING

The elaborate red and white Georgian Colonial mansion comes into view. There is a powerful-looking figure of a man standing on the front porch.

NICK, West Egg resident and friend of TOM and DAISY, drives up and parks his car.

TOM, a straw-haired, stern, and fairly overwhelming man of 30, greets NICK on the porch. The two men shake hands and are shown talking for a few minutes amongst the beautiful scenery of the property.

CUT TO CLOSE SHOT:

TOM

"I've got a nice place here. It belonged to Demaine the oil man."

TOM directs NICK to look at the property with one large, sweeping gesture. The area is beautiful; in it is a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of roses, and a motor boat that rests in the bay. NICK nods in agreement.

TOM

"We best go inside."

CUT TO INT. MANSION:

The mansion is just as beautiful inside as it is out. The space is bright and rosy, with high ceilings and French windows that have been left ajar to let in the breeze coming off the bay. The curtains twist and flutter, as do the dresses of the two young women seated on the enormous couch in the living room.

DAISY is a beautiful young woman with yellow hair, bright eyes, and a sad, lovely face. She is accompanied by MISS BAKER, a slender, slightly older girl with an errect carriage and grey sun-strained eyes.

DAISY attempts to rise, before laughing and leaning back again. Her reaction causes NICK to laugh as well.

DAISY

"[Laughing] I'm p-paralyzed with happiness!"

DAISY takes NICK'S hand and gestures vaguely to her companion.

DAISY

"[Murmurs] Miss Baker."

MISS BAKER nods slightly in NICK'S direction, and then resumes her fairly extreme posture. NICK takes a seat on the couch beside DAISY, his hands folded.

NICK

"I stopped in Chicago for a day on my way east. Over a dozen people send you their love, Daisy."

DAISY

"Do they miss me?"

NICK

"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore."

DAISY

"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!"

DAISY

"[Suddenly, to NICK, as an afterthought] You ought to see the baby."

NICK

"I'd like to."

DAISY

"She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

NICK

"Never."

DAISY

"Well, you ought to see her. She's--"

DAISY is cut off as TOM rests a hand on NICK'S shoulder, changing the subject without hesitation.

TOM

"What do you do, Nick?"

NICK

"I'm a bond man."

TOM

"Who with?"

NICK

"Edward Jones."

TOM

"Never heard of them."

NICK

"[Somewhat irritated] You will. If you stay in the East."

TOM

"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry. I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

MISS BAKER

"[Suddenly] Absolutely!"

NICK, TOM, and DAISY all turn to look at MISS BAKER, surprised by the outburst. MISS BAKER seems just as surprised by it as the rest of them. MISS BAKER glances around at the others, before quickly yawning and getting to her feet and stretching.

MISS BAKER

"I'm stiff, I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."

DAISY

"Don't look at me, I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon!"

MISS BAKER

"No, thanks."

MISS BAKER seems to be speaking to the four cocktails that have just arrived.

MISS BAKER
"I'm absolutely in training."

TOM stares at MISS BAKER incredulously, before TOM sighs impatiently and throws back his cocktail in one quick swig.

TOM

"How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

Miss Peregrine's: Short Story

The old car came and went with the tide. My friends and I liked to guess where it had come from, and why no one had taken it out of the water. The more practical of us said it was just a piece of trash that was too heavy to be bothered with. They were probably right.

I know I spent several weeks at the beach that summer just waiting for the water to recede and reveal what was hidden beneath it. Sometimes, on days when the water was still, I wouldn’t have to wait. I could walk in a few feet, stay very still, and look down to watch little silver fish dart between my legs, then to the car, and back again to me.

I would have been quite content to have these peaceful moments to myself, but, on one particularly warm day, my friends joined me. Their splashing and shouting scared away the fish, until the only sea life I had for company were the clumps of swaying seaweed that couldn’t care less about such noise.

Night fell, but we weren’t expected home for another few hours. The old car came back little by little, and then suddenly all at once, in very much the same way that the sun had dipped below the water. The usual speculations about it returned, but this time there was something different. Two boys dared another to wade out and get inside the car. There was protesting, some scuffling. I quickly grew irritated with them, and said nothing as I went out to the car myself. The ground beneath my bare feet was littered with sharp rocks and bits of trash, but I kept my eyes focused on the car. I had always thought of it as sad, sitting alone here in the water, rusting away into nothing. But the closer I got, the less separated it seemed.

My friends called my name, and I did not reply. I crawled through the passenger seat doorway, slipping once on the algae covered seats and hitting my elbow on what was left of the dashboard. Ignoring the stinging cut, I sat down, and looked to my left, out where the window once was. I expected the same old things I’d always seen in the same old way: the distant strip of land that was the county across the bay, the bay itself, the stars, the moon. This time, I saw through new eyes.

A wall of sea provided the pane of glass to look through, and when I tilted my head back, I saw the moon rippling up above. The tiny silver fish that had so often darted through my legs became the stars above me. I looked down. The car was new again, the color of glazed porcelain. I took a breath and felt the steering wheel beneath my fingers. The salt water burned my throat, and I was home.