Ian Thomas Malone

Thursday

15

December 2022

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COMMENTS

A Charlie Brown Christmas

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Our holiday coverage concludes with a merger of our pop culture and personal programming. A Charlie Brown Christmas is one of the most perfect holiday specials in existence, but it’ll also occupy an odd place in Ian’s life. Ian talks about how she watched this special mere minutes before a four-year relationship ended, days before Christmas. Ian really didn’t like the idea of such a good special being tied up in trauma, making a vow to reclaim the Peanuts and all their glory. Those efforts ultimately shaped her year of mischief and healing, the promise of Christmas manifested in the heart of a chaotic transsexual.

Enjoy your holidays and have a very happy New Year.

 

 

Monday

12

December 2022

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Classic Film: Le Bonheur

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The unwritten rules of the social contract that governs humanity have long frowned upon the idea of polyamory, ignoring a key tenant that defines love in its infinite mystique. All the sonnets in the world that hoist up the potential of love to exist forever as undying, eternal flame forget that the beauty of love draws its power from the same impermanence that defines a flower or a poem. Marriage is a union entered into by two people, but it only takes one to alter the basic framework one might hope could govern their idea of a perfect life.

The 1965 French film Le Bonheur captures love on its idealistic precipice, a magnificent house of cards basking in its perfection right up to the moment when it all comes crashing down. François (Jean-Claude Drouot) enjoys a comfortable life working construction at his uncle’s company and a beautiful family. François loves his wife Thérèse (Claire Drouot) and their children dearly but starts to develop feelings for Émilie (Marie-France Boyer), an attractive young woman working at the local post office. François quickly begins a relationship with Émilie, never trying to hide the happiness he feels with his wife and family.

Director Agnès Varda takes great care with each frame of her lusciously shot film while presenting a nuanced perspective on polyamory that eschews the pearl-clutching ethics of non-monogamy that consumes far too many narratives on the subject. Varda isn’t particularly interested in explaining why François, with his wonderful life and wonderful wife, would pursue a course outside his marriage that could put of all that in jeopardy. Plenty of people struggle with the idea that some hearts long for more love than one partner could provide, but Le Bonheur accepts that basic reality while acknowledging that not everyone is built that way.

Working opposite his real-life wife, Jean-Claude Drouot portrays François in a relentlessly upbeat manner, practically challenging the audience to feel anything other than joy at his good fortune. Even as the film takes a more tragic turn, Varda insulates her protagonist from undue accusations of treachery. Le Bonheur never pits Thérèse or Émilie against each other, dispensing with the tired love-triangle trope in favor of a more potent reality. Every adult in the film possesses full agency over their own actions. There are no heroes and villains in the game of love. The Mozart-heavy score underlies this point quite well through its melodic depth that delivers emotions that are hard to put in a box.

Society has often scoffed at love that exists outside the normal parameters of convention, whether homosexual, interracial or ethically non-monogamous. It’s easy to judge people who make decisions outside of their own wants or desires. Varda is solely interested in crafting a narrative that dares its viewers not to shake their fists at her characters. One person’s utopia could be another person’s nightmare. Our hearts all have their own individual needs that others may not understand.

Varda throws shade at the idea of a perfect life. Love is not a programmable equation. The heart wants what it wants, even when that doesn’t make any sense to anyone around us. Le Bonheur dazzles with its gorgeous cinematography, but its narrative packs a quiet punch that doesn’t quite hit you until you start to try and unpack all the themes that Varda stuffed into her brisk 80-minute runtime. Sometimes people do bad things for reasons that are neither good nor bad. Life is messy.

Friday

9

December 2022

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COMMENTS

The First Christmas: The Story of the First Christmas Snow

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Continuing our Rankin/Bass holiday coverage with what might be their most normal special of them all. Despite its unwieldy title, The First Christmas actually tells a relatively cohesive story, albeit a fairly mundane narrative about a young shepherd who regains his sight through the magic of a Nativity play. Oddly secular given its church setting, The First Christmas is a good case study for how other Rankin/Bass specials might have turned out if they didn’t try to pad out their runtimes with bizarre filler.

Be sure to check out our other episodes covering the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe! 

Thursday

8

December 2022

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COMMENTS

Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey

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Have you ever watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and wondered if all the bullying might be better with a firmer helping of Jesus? That’s basically Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey, a shorter ripoff of Rudolph with a truncated plot and fewer compelling characters. One of the more forgettable entries into the Rankin/Bass canon, Ian struggles to understand the point of this mess.

Be sure to check out all of our other holiday episodes, including coverage of most of the Rankin/Bass stop motion specials. 

Wednesday

7

December 2022

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COMMENTS

Jack Frost

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We are back in the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe with a special that’s mostly Christmas adjacent. Jack Frost mostly identifies, for whatever reason, as a Groundhog Day special. Despite its incredibly annoying narrator, Jack Frost stands out as one of the most cohesive holiday specials in the Rankin/Bass canon, a tragic narrative that shines above its abundant filler. Maybe Ian just really likes Jack’s sparkly outfit.

 

Be sure to check out all of our other Rankin/Bass holiday episodes.

Tuesday

6

December 2022

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COMMENTS

Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town

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We are back in the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe for another December full of overanalyzing bizarre children’s television. Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town is a fairly straightforward (at least by Rankin/Bass standards) origin story, albeit one that spends a bit too much time explaining every single facet of Claus lore. Ian looks at the special’s legacy against some of its popular contemporaries and its peculiar underwhelming third act.

Be sure to check out all of our past holiday coverage, including episodes on most of the Rankin/Bass stop-motion specials. 

Friday

2

December 2022

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COMMENTS

Ghosting

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We’re back with an episode on a controversial relationship practice that ITM happens to love. The Irish Goodbye of dating gets a bad rap, but life is not a journey that always requires closure. People come and go in each other’s lives all the time, not necessarily for reasons that take things like fault or rejection into the equation. As shitty as ghosting can feel, the alternatives are often far more unpleasant for both the recipient and the executioner. 

Christmas coverage will begin in the next few days! Please leave a rating or review for EI on Apple if you enjoy our show. 

Monday

28

November 2022

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COMMENTS

Hadestown celebrates the impermanence of joy against the tides of capitalism

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There is a certain false comfort that modern storytelling aims to provide its audiences. We embrace happy endings not necessarily because we believe that love conquers all or that individual people can beat back the tides of fate or capitalism’s all-encompassing clutches, but because it’s nice to dream that we could. The somber parting emotions that tragedies leave us with at their conclusions can often supersede the joys of the journey that the narrative exists to illustrate.

The musical Hadestown captures the essence of this dynamic perfectly in one of its first act numbers. In the middle of the song “Livin’ it up on the top,” Orpheus raises a toast, “To the world we dream about, and the one we live in now.” The play intertwines the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with the romance between Hades and Persephone, dueling storylines that compete for attention in a manner that leaves the former pairing little time for an organic courtship, but that’s also part of the beauty of their story. Too many people struggle with the distance between their grandiose dreams and the reality that consumes their present.

Hadestown’s Orpheus is not an epic hero. He is a charming starving artist, the kind of pretty face who can win you over with his smile and his song, without any existing infrastructure to sustain a life beyond pheromones alone. Eurydice quickly learns that the beauty of spring is not built to survive the brutality of winter. Hades, king of the underworld, functions in the role of antagonist with an easily presentable defense against his own villainy. Eurydice consents to an eternity of indentured servitude not through Hades’ lies or deception, but largely because she is hungry and Orpheus cannot provide sustenance for the body as well as he can illuminate the soul with his song.

Capitalism is the true villain of Hadestown. Hades is not a soulless monster, himself open to the charms of Persephone to remind him of the man he used to be before time stripped him of everything besides the carnal urge to propel the means of production through his factory. America’s entire financial structure is built on an identical premise to Hades’ trial presented to Orpheus, the illusion of choice that covers up the near-impossibility of success.

Each and every day, banks hand out predatory loans to children not even old enough to buy a beer, promising tomorrows no one will ever see under the weight of the student debt they’ll spend a lifetime drowning in. The fantasy that capitalism tries to sell is the idea of agency, a dream of tomorrow hidden beyond the perpetually moving goalposts. Orpheus and Eurydice operated on two different wavelengths, reality and the dream forced to confront their own incompatibility.

Love does not conquer all. Love is not permanent, but a covenant forced to battle the demons of capitalism each and every day. The marching tides of capitalism wait for no one, not Orpheus, not you. Countless souls who dream of a better tomorrow lose that fight as their bodies and souls are depleted in service to the means of production. The legend of Orpheus and Eurydice remains as timely as ever, love taking its best shot against the machine and coming up just short. You can muster up all the wind at your back, the magic and beauty lining up perfectly in your favor, but sometimes that’s just not enough.

The kind of joy that tragedy offers often requires a harder road to travel. One could writhe in frustration at how close Orpheus and Eurydice came to eternal happiness, in doing so overlooking the simpler beauty in the time that did belong to them. Art does not derive its use value by capitalism’s criteria, but through the beauty in its crafting and its execution. Hadestown presents Orpheus and Eurydice’s love in a timespan more comparable to a one night stand than eternity, but there’s great magic to be found in the embrace of the present, even when facing the reality that nothing lasts forever. 

Tuesday

15

November 2022

0

COMMENTS

The Crown wallows in an annus horribilis of its own making

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The general logic behind rotating the cast of The Crown every two seasons was to give the show a chance to cover the spread of major events in the Royal Family across the long and storied reign of Queen Elizabeth II. The transition in practice is a bit clunkier, with the need to reacquaint the audience with the characters gunking up the narrative flow of the show. A further complication stems from the reality that The Crown is slowly creeping up on recent history, particularly one saga that’s been covered ad nauseam for the past few decades.

Season five centers its narrative on decay. The Crown is quite preoccupied with positioning the decommissioning of the royal yacht Britannia as a broader narrative for the downward trajectory of relevance for the Royal Family as a whole, a notion that might confuse viewers fresh off the triumphant Platinum Jubilee, as well as the global outpour of affection following the death of Her Majesty in September. The fairly rosy outlook for the monarchy was hardly a given in the midst of 1992’s infamous “annus horribilis,” which saw the breakdown of 75% of the Queen’s children’s marriages as well as a tragic fire in Windsor Castle.

The overabundance of doom and gloom illustrates season five’s predominant shortcoming, a textbook example of showing without telling. Bad things happen to the monarchy and the Queen (Imelda Staunton) is very sad about it. She loses her boat, her kids get divorced, and Diana is tricked into going on national television to pull back the curtains as to what an uncaring and unsympathetic family the Windsors really are. That’s kind of it. The Queen doesn’t really do anything other than mope and cling to the past, even with regard to her choices in cable television. 

Previous seasons of The Crown, particularly the third season, struggled with Her Majesty’s place in a narrative that often found her relatives far more interesting to depict. Philip (Jonathan Pryce) and Margaret (Leslie Manville), once primary focuses of the series, are reduced to idle background characters, the former seeing his primary arc consumed with carriage riding and a friendship with Penelope Knatchbull (Natascha McElhone) that the show rather openly wishes was more than that. The Crown retains its contempt for the Queen Mother (Marcia Warren), one of the most interesting members of the family who’s been reduced to a window draping for the entire course of the series.

The Crown also refuses to let its fascination with the Duke of Windsor slip away, giving the long-dead former monarch an epilogue in the form of his valet Syndey Johnson (Jude Akuwudike), who later served Mohamed Al-Fayed (Salim Daw) in his efforts to ingratiate himself to the Crown. Episode three perhaps best highlights the main issue for the season as a whole, a narrative so strapped for plotlines that it would dedicate a full episode to the father of the man who died in the same car crash that killed Princess Diana. Such screentime might have been better deployed to the Queen’s three other children. After a season of relative prominence, Anne (Claudia Harrison) is reduced to almost complete obscurity, while Andrew and Edward barely exist at all.

Unsurprisingly, season five dedicates much of its runtime to the end of the marriage between Charles (Dominic West) and Diana (Elizabeth Debicki). The biggest problem with this dynamic is the reality that the show brought upon itself. The irrevocable breakdown of the marriage was already defined throughout season four, leaving this season with little but the epilogue. There are interesting moments here and there in the saga, particularly toward Diana’s mindset heading into the Panaroma interview that was solicited under false pretenses, but there’s not enough meat here to carry a season. Debucki does a fabulous job as Diana, but she’s hardly given many moments to define the Princess of Wales as her own like Emma Corrin was able to manage.

West is perhaps in the most strenuous position among the leads, portraying the future King of England in the midst of his most unlikable era. Along with Pryce, West suffers from an inability to truly sink into the role, neither actor able to deliver an accent that sounds much like their subject. Charles is fundamentally correct in most of his concerns about the future of the monarchy, but nothing can change how insufferable and entitled he fundamentally comes across as. Late-season remarks by Tony Blair (Bertie Carvel) lay out the challenges with Charles quite well.

The Crown spends its own annus horribilis oddly bored with itself, a meandering season without the passion it once evoked toward its privileged subjects. There’s nothing new to explore and nothing fresh to say about Diana and Charles. As much as stagnancy may have defined this chapter of the Royal Family, it’s hard to forgive the show’s exceedingly boring delivery. As an institution, The Crown will always have to deal with the “why” of monarchy, an existential moral question with real-world implications. As a show, The Crown might want to take a more deliberate approach to its own execution and present a better thesis for its own existence. 

Monday

14

November 2022

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COMMENTS

Mickey: The Story of a Mouse presents a corporate-approved perspective on an American icon

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It would impossible to overstate the cultural significance of Mickey Mouse. The greatest modern example of the commodification of art into product, Mickey has spent the past hundred years reinventing himself as a Rorschach test for whatever capitalism needs him to be. Mickey is everything, everywhere, all at once. 

The Disney+ documentary Mickey: The Story of a Mouse chronicles the mouse’s rise from mere cartoon short to a monolithic leviathan, occasionally with a keen sense of self-awareness. Born out of a loss to Walt Disney, who saw the rights to his initial creation Oswald the Lucky Rabbit snatched away by the clutches of capitalism he would eventually learn to wield for himself, Mickey was a cultural force straight from the get-go. The documentary does a fabulous job explaining Disney’s early technical prowess, one of the first to bring sound to cartoons.

Director Jeff Malmberg does a good job bouncing between Mickey’s storied history, and the present day he continues to dominate. Mickey superfans will undoubtedly love the behind-the-scenes glimpses into Disney’s animation studios, particularly its revered archival department. Malmberg manages to provide some perspective into Disney’s importance to shaping animation without ever diving too deep into the weeds. The documentary never loses sight of its primary objective of serving as a victory lap for Mickey’s century of innovation and excellence.

The doc does spend a bit too much of its 89-minute runtime on a rotating series of interviews from Mickey superfans stating obvious platitudes about the mouse, often carrying the aura of a Trump administration cabinet meeting. With all the beautiful archival footage and behind-the-scenes perspectives, the laymen’s perspectives on Mickey’s status as a cultural behemoth grow a little tiresome after a while. There is a certain irony in the sequence covering Walt’s time creating wartime propaganda for the U.S. military, this documentary serving a similar purpose for the house that Mickey built.

The propaganda does grow a bit tedious in the third act, when the time comes to admit fault for some of Mickey’s past depictions, particularly in blackface. Mickey has not always been everything to everyone, a shining example of Disney’s core center-right conservative leanings that the company still embodies to this day. Malmberg does not shy away from the implications of Mickey’s commodification, albeit without an iota of self-awareness for the reality that this is truer today than ever before with soaring ticket prices to Disney Parks and an incrementalist approach to inclusivity that puts Disney far behind several of its corporate peers.

Mickey: The Story of a Mouse is entertaining propaganda that should appeal to Disney superfans while only superficially engaging with the realities of Mickey’s status as the bastion of American capitalism. Malmberg made a beautiful documentary, crafted with obvious love for its subject. There is little artistic merit to this work, not with the strings of Disney’s corporate overlords never far from the frame.