On the way home from a laundry-detergent run this evening, I passed by a bus with an United States of Tara ad plastered onto the side of it, just as I had finished listening to Louis XIV’s “Pledge of Allegiance.” This was undoubtedly a sign telling me to stop living and start updating my blog once in a while. It is also a sign that I apparently don’t own enough underwear and listen to the music of very bad men.
Technically, United States of Tara premiered on Showtime tonight, but I took a look last night, courtesy of Netflix, and was pleasantly surprised. When first I learned of the premise of the show — a woman and her family learn to function with her dissociative identity disorder — and that Juno-scribe Diablo Cody would be writing and Steven Spielberg producing, I thought gimmick. It’s not that I dislike those fine people — I don’t – it’s just that the combo struck me as too … something. Plus, I get very uncomfortable thinking about mean-spirited critics shoehorning Cody into some sort of cranny when she’s only just begun.
So, I watched, even though half of my brain was counseling, “If you don’t watch, you won’t have to feel all protective.” The other half reminded me how much I love to see what people are able to do with their bodies (ahem) — like, how magical it is to realize that Catherine O’Hara was just holding her face to look post-op at the end of For Your Consideration. I’m constantly undone by how many people, male and female, Amy Poehler was able to be on Saturday Night Live and with the Upright Citizens Brigade.
In Tara, Australian actress Toni Collette plays four very different roles — a “normal” mom, a housewife, a reckless teenager, and a somewhat backwoodsy dude — in 29 minutes. (OK, so actually it’s three “alters” in the first episode; we’ll see from here on out.) Collette, to me, is a bit like the female Ed Harris in that she’s been in everything, and yet, because she is such a generous and non-showy actor, she’s seldom remembered. Playing all over her range in Tara, I really believe she’s got a shot at the household-name status that she’s probably more or less uninterested in. That’s if she can continue to chew all she’s bitten off, and if the pathos generated continues to meet the level of acting gymnastics performed.
I wouldn’t buy a TV and subscribe to Showtime based on the pilot, but if you happen to have those things, and you like to be told stories, take a peek.
Critical Darling awoke today with a good feeling. And it wasn’t morning wood.
For all intensive purposes, I was still a zygote during the last presidential election. (Would you shun me if I told you I didn’t even vote in’04?) I was excited to send in my absentee ballot about a week ago, but as I watch the coverage of the election today, I wish I could be home to stand in line and vote with my fellow San Antonians.
On a number of occasions, I began composing a “Sarah Palin post,” but as friends know, I get pretty emotional. It’s late now, but I’m going to try to put it into words I’m happy with.
I think it boils down to the fact — and just this once I’m going to apologize for my crudeness — that she shat on feminism, journalism, and spirituality.
In the now legendary Katie Couric interview, Palin said she considered herself a feminist. However, on NBC Nightly News more recently, she refused accept such a “label.”(I wonder how she feels about being “labeled” as a Republican.) I don’t want to speak on behalf of all liberal feminist pinko lesbo elites here, but, um, don’t let the door hit you on your way out. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a bad well-reasoned feminism — there are many iterations, after all — but I can’t imagine a genuine, intelligent, feeling feminist who would refuse to think outside her own bubble by charging for rape kits, by desiring to make safe and rare abortions illegal, and by insinuating that abortion clinic-bombers are not terrorists as Palin did on Nightly News.
I also can’t imagine a feminist who would deal with the fallout of the Couric interview as Palin did. I was appalled by the way she lashed out at a woman she surely could identify with. Widely thought of as a walking joke in a traditionally male job, Couric, one of the few journalists allowed access to Palin, took the opportunity to practice good journalism. She was well-researched; she demanded answers to follow-up questions; she wasn’t intimidated by her high-profile interviewee. (Yep, all that from a woman who used to dress up for Halloween on the Today Show.) McCain-Palin reacted by holding her up as a “gotcha” journalist and a “filter” for their message (as though she had been expected to corroborate or something).
With the exception of Sean Hannity, journalists have been treated like a big elitist blob not worth talking to by the Republican presidential campaign, and some folks wonder why we seem to lean left.
My family always leaned right, incidentally. (Well, until recently.) I was raised by two intense, obstinate, good-hearted, amazing women who identify as Christians, my mother and my grandmother. They nurtured my creativity, encouraged my continued study, and promoted empathy as a positive value. It was painful for me to watch Palin make a mockery of their faith by wearing it on her sleeve as she lied, said mean-spirited things (such as misappropriating Madeleine Albright’s “There’s a special place in hell” quote), and promoted ignorance.
Here’s hoping the vote is successfully Barack-ed.
I’ll leave you with this, because I find Amy Poehler’s fearlessness inspiring.
