Divorce

Dear Screenwriting,

I hate how bad things have become between us. It was a simpler time when we fell in love. I was young and idealistic (perhaps naive is a more apt description). You were riding high on the wave of early 2000s film making.

Remember Closer? I was 15, inexperienced and desperate to learn something, anything about love and sex. And, Jesus, were you ready to teach. I still remember sitting in that theater at The Spectrum (back when it was still Edwards) with my dad and my best frenemy forever. They didn’t get it, but I did. Oh, I saw your ways– the delicious sparseness of pages upon pages of dialogue, the beauty with which you could transform a play into such a visual thing. The rawness, the emotion, the guts. I didn’t realize it then, but I fell in love that day.

You had me that year. It was no contest. It wasn’t fair. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Sideways. The creativity, the visuals, the clever but not too clever twists of phrase. How could I resist? How could anyone? My friends, they didn’t get you. They didn’t get us. They wanted to watch Mean Girls and Saw. Commercial shit. Not art. Not what I knew we could have.

It’s not like you worked your charms alone. You had my the unwavering support of my father. I know, you’re the one who convinced him to buy all those silly books on screenwriting. Who encouraged him to take us to that used DVD place in Newport Beach (it’s a BevMo now. My how things change). You brought out the High Fidelity in me, convincing me my taste was more important than any of my other traits as a person. (How I wanted to be Max Fischer so damn badly).

Remember our first time? It was so messy but so damn earnest. I was knee deep in depression (and calf deep in an eating disorder), desperate for any escape from those awful voices in my head. It was some Crash knock off about art and teenage angst instead of racism. It was some 60 or 70 pages, a total train wreck, but beautiful it its own way.

Film school was tough. I hated every minute of it–they weren’t giving me enough of you–but I held out until my senior year, until I finally got to fill my schedule with screenwriting classes. You pushed away all the uneasiness in my gut, that little voice that screamed at me after my friend switched his major from film to computer science. He’s right. I hate production. I hate being on set. I hate everything except being behind a computer. I don’t want a job doing this. I don’t want to be in this industry. But you drowned out that voice with your glorious white space.

It was you and me against the world, baby.

We had a bumpy patch after I graduated. I couldn’t feel my future, my progress. I was patient at first, but a year of internships and shitty jobs later, that dread crept back into my gut. I was still so naive. I grabbed every opportunity my the balls–the bizarre management company, the incompetent producer, the clueless writing group. I tried it all, considered it all, convinced myself I’d be there soon. A couple months maybe. Just a little longer.

Things really clicked when the eHow shit dried up. I spent hours with you every day (what else was I going to do?), and I fell back in love. Hell, I was addicted. I told myself I couldn’t live without you, I couldn’t accept any job that took me away from you. And I did everything I could to stay with you, even sinking to some really awful deeps (really, going on dates with men for money, pretending as if I was single. That is low).

I did it all for you. For us.

But something has changed in the last year. I see what you are. No, where you are. See, it’s not you. You’re great. You’re still perfect. But you don’t have guts the way you used to. Female characters are nothing to you. Creative storytelling is nothing to you. Independent film– it’s all on TV now.

You promised so much. But that was a different time–back when Ebert and Roper was on the air, when Hollywood Video was still in business, when I was too young and stupid to consider making ends meet. Before I realized how much I care about women getting their say. You try, sometimes, but I can tell your heart isn’t it in. You’re more at home with Nolan and Sorkin and Fincher and their dead wives and pretty blonde murder victims.

I’m sorry, but I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t stand this damn industry. I can’t stand the incompetent people, the demands of work for free, the total lack of respect. I can’t stand this whole starving artist thing. I hate it. I always have. I want to have a job, to work 40 hours a week (instead of either 60 or 0), to feel like a functioning member of society.

Two years ago, we made a deal. I gave you until I was 25 to show me some real progress or get lost.

You’ve tried. The Nicholls placement was nice. And this new media thing. It has potential. But it’s too little, too late.

So, it’s time for us to part. I’m taking my writing elsewhere. To new adult and erotic romance novels. I know what you’re thinking–why them? Why not you? My first book made no traction. Hell, it costs me well over $1000. I could shoot a micro-budget feature. I could do the festival circut. I could try to keep this marriage alive.

But I can’t try anymore. My passion is gone. I know you can do better than these 40 year old tools who only care about MEN and their important male problems (and, God, aren’t women useless). Hell, I bet, deep down, you want to do better. But I can’t be the girl who saves you. I don’t have the patience for it.

I know. Romance is no better. Not really. Characters still need to fit inside narrow boxes. But there’s something there, something more… I have to pursue it, even if I leave it the way I left you.

At least there, I can make a product. I can be a business owner and not an aimless creative wannabe.

You won’t miss me for long. There are so many people who love you, who want you, who are begging to be with you. (And so many of them are 20 something year old tools, ready to grace your pages with shitty scripts about men, important, important men and their important male feelings. Be honest. That has always been your true love).

But, hey, we’ll always have Closer, Chasing Amy, and Sideways.

I’ll always love you, but I can’t bare to live with you for one more day.

Always,

Fiona Fire

P.S. You’re kidding yourself if you think I don’t realize all those excellent movies about about men and their important male feelings. You really don’t have room for women, do you?

Best of 2013

I am still trying to figure out what I want this blog to be. It’s anonymous, for now, and in equal parts about feminism, screenwriting, and snippets of my life. Expect more of everything in the coming year, even a few thoughts tying my past work as a domi to my feminist take on writing and media. An, of course, more thoughts about Death Note and my other obsessions. Now, without further ado, my recommendations from 2013!

My most popular posts- my take on working as a domi (karaoke hostess) in Koreatown in winter/spring 2012:

https://fionafire.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/domi/

https://fionafire.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/that-girl-karaoke-hostess-continued/

Best feminist analysis/writing advice, but plenty of Death Note spoilers:

https://fionafire.wordpress.com/2013/05/31/death-note-raye-penber/

https://fionafire.wordpress.com/2013/06/12/why-sexist-writing-is-lackluster-writing-death-note-pt-2/

Best slice of life:

https://fionafire.wordpress.com/2013/03/06/holy-awkwardness-batman/

https://fionafire.wordpress.com/2013/05/17/the-return-of-awkwardness/

Why Sexist Writing is Lackluster Writing (Death Note pt 2)

Spoilers for Death Note to follow.

Meet Misa. A strong, independent 19 year old model and actress. She has a gothic sense of style– fluer-de-lis jewelry, short skirts, red lips, and lots of black. Unlike the cold and calculating Light, Misa is impulsive, excitable, and determined. Misa wants one thing–to meet her hero Kira, the person who brought her parents’ killer to justice. She isn’t as bright as Light or L, but she manipulates the media with a series of Kira videotapes and a careful clue: a “journal page” with a dozen entries. One entry, only obvious to another who wields a Death Note, spells things out: we showed off our notebooks in Ayoma.

Once she finds Light’s identity, Misa immediately finds him. She tells him her tragic backstory–how he killed the man who murdered her parents–and offers her undying devotion. She wants him to… wait for it…

Be her boyfriend.

But surely it’s because she so admires Kira and his strong sense of justice. Right?

Nope. It’s love at first sight.

And, like any woman in love should, Misa loses any semblance of intelligence or independence  She happily obeys Lights commands, even offering to kill the friend who handled the Kira tapes for her. Light can’t be her boyfriend (can an emotionless psychopath be anyone’s boyfriend), but he can pretend. Like any good woman should, Misa compromises, accepts the deal, devotes herself to making him love her. Poor traumatized girl is only 19, doesn’t realize this never works.

But, at first, I feel confident for her. This girl is no dummy. She gets things done. She has a successful career as a model. She lives alone. Takes care of herself. I feel excited for interesting plot developments. Excited for the tension between the always calculating Light and the impetuous Misa.

But I am let down.

Misa is captured, loses her memory, and devolves into a whiny anime stereotype. Her only personality is in GASPS, upbeat cheer, and endless devotion. From this point forward, she follows Light’s command, never fighting with him or questioning him.

But people agreeing is not interesting. One character blindly following another is not interesting. CONFLICT is interesting. Dissenting opinions. Suspicion. Jealousy. Arguments. These are interesting.

The series throws away a scene with amazing potential. When Light asks Misa to relinquish her Death Note (again), she agrees. She is HAPPY.

Let me get this straight. This woman who wants more than anything to be useful to Light doesn’t object to giving up her spot on the Kira – Second Kira team. She’s happy to lose the memory of all the things (granted, most of these things are murder, but murder is still a shared experience) that brought them together? She happy to be a “normal woman.”

Where is the fight? Where is Misa screaming that she is doing this for Light. That she loves him. That she is unwilling to leave his side. That she is unwilling to give up this thing that binds him, to give up her memories. Sure, Death Note isn’t a romance. We don’t need an episode profiling Misa and Light’s non-relationship. We don’t need to see them making cold, heartless love.

And do you expect me to believe that the endlessly devoted Misa won’t take issue with Light “pretending” to date another woman? He’s meeting her in hotel rooms for Christ’s sake. But impulsive Misa does nothing rash to stop this. She never tries to break it up. Never gets in the way of Light’s evil plan.

Because Light is the smart one. Cold, calculating, asexual (or homosexual?) Light, a guy who can’t understand why women have these horrible feeling things, is the smart one. And the only people who truly stand in his way, his only true adversaries, are men: L and Near.

Thus, when (spoilers) L dies at the end of episode 25, the series serves up more of the same. We get an L knockoff–Near–an irritating kid with the same baggy white shirt and unkempt hair. He even has his own cool eccentricity–he plays with toys. Great. Settle in for the 12 most boring episodes of the series.

With a notable exception.

One episode is nearly Near free. The episode where Light beings his romance with/manipulation of Takada, a Kira supporting newscaster. Always the expert manipulator,  especially when he’s tricking women with their dumb feelings, Light convinces Takada Misa is a pawn–she doesn’t have enough brains for him (the IRONY).

This subplot serves up the only interesting scenes in the final arc. The best is a dinner between Misa and Takada. The women spar, Misa’s vitriol and desperation contrasting with the reporter’s calm exterior. Both believe Light loves them. Both are pawns in his machinations. It’s a fascinating scene. It’s a scene with emotion, subtext, hidden motivations.

These episodes had potential. If the writers had given Misa and Takada some agency, the writers could have written an interesting arc. What if Misa grew suspicious of Light’s late nights, his need to seduce another woman, and threatened to kill him with her Death Note? What if Misa refused to give up her Death Note, instead challenging L to a battle of will? What if Light, with all his endless logic, overlooked feelings, and Misa’s jealousy and need she was on the verge of turning him in? What if Takada and Misa realized they were pawns in Light’s scheme and worked against him, together?

There are hundreds of possibilities. We already saw Light beat L. We already saw the logic vs. logic battle. But, because the writers have so little regard for women, they never consider that the next adversary could be a woman. Could be someone completely unlike L. Someone impetuous. Someone rash. Someone who understands feelings.

No. Sexism tells them the only worthy adversary is a cold, emotionless man. A man who lacks empathy, kindness, emotion. A man behaving exactly like the stereotype of a man. (Except that he’s a coward).

After all, feelings are dumb. And girls should suffer from their dumb feelings. Light’s sister is kidnapped. Takada is killed (Light writers her name in his Death Note). Misa commits suicide (if the end credits are to be believed). 

Only the robotic Near can beat Light. He never allows feelings to cloud his judgement– something only a stupid girl, or a dude who dresses like a girl, or a total doofus (Matsuda), would do.

The writers of Death Note are as bad as Light. They have no regard for their female characters. Just read snippets of their quotes on the Misa Amane Wikipedia page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misa_Amane (although citations are sorely needed).

They created a unique, relatable character in Misa and flushed her down the toilet to prove that feelings are dumb and logic wins the day.

Death Note – Raye Penber

Ah, Death Note, old, unpredictable favorite of mine. Sure, it’s not quite as good the third time around. A girl can only take so much inner monologue on new iterations of the prisoners dilemma  But, god (shinigami I suppose), if I don’t love the over the top animation style and voice acting. Death Note takes anime’s visual and audio tropes so far that its English dub is intolerable. Sure, the acting is horrible, but it’s more than that. The English actors play every straight and flat, like a generic action film, and they clash with the epic chanting and the split-screen montages where pens bust out of their “box,” leaving sparkles over the screen.

It can only be seen, not described, but, sadly, YouTube has pulled most of the videos.

I say this all not to review Death Note. That would take hours. I say all this because I love Death Note. I dressed as Misa for Halloween. I have an L doll. My desktop background has been L for months. I don’t seek out sexist media for the purpose of deconstructing it. I seek out interesting storytelling and find it’s usually sexist.

Now, the first two times I watched Death Note, I didn’t REALLY notice the sexism. Yeah, Misa’s character starts off awesome and promptly becomes a screaming fan girl. But I missed sexist Raye Penber. They way the detectives treat women like they’re stupid. The way every female character is defined by her relationship to a man.

What can I say? I guess I’ve grown in the year since I watched Death Note. I’m much more comfortable as a feminist now. I don’t feel like I have to hide or qualify it with “I’m not one of those angry feminists.” And I shouldn’t. Because I am angry. I’m angry that women are constantly portrayed as one-dimensional figures who only care about men. I’m angry that women are treated as a prize to be won or a motivation to kill off.

Spoilers follow.

Death Note is a story about men. Mostly, it’s about two men–the brilliant, eccentric detective L ( also known as Ryuzaki), and Light Yagami (also known as Kira), a high school student using a death note to murder criminals and create a perfect world. We are led to believe that these two teenagers are smarter than the entire Japanese police force. That Light is so smart and careful in murdering criminals that only the brilliant L can go head to toe with him.

Whenever I think about these stories, I think, how much more interesting would it be if these characters were women? Or if one was a woman? It’s amazing how much life you can breath into tired cliches by flipping the gender. But I digress…

Everything is going well for Light until the FBI investigates in Japan. FBI agent Raye Penber is assigned to follow Light. Light orchestrates a bus jacking to get the agent’s name and plans to kill him later. (To use the death note, you need the victim’s name and face). After the incident, Raye goes home to his fiance, Naomi, an ex-FBI agent. Naomi asks Raye a few questions about the case. He effectively tells her to shut up and get back in the kitchen. She is his fiance now. She shouldn’t think about these things. Soon, they will have children and she will be too busy to think about investigating crimes.

Asshole.

So I am not too sorry for Raye when Kira murders him. Good riddance. Sexist prick deserved it.

And, without her chauvinist fiance in the way, Naomi returns to investigating crime. She goes to the police station to ask to join the Kira task squad. But, poor woman, she runs into Light. He manages to draw out what she’s deduced about Kira–things no one else is yet to deduce. When Light tries to kill her, he realizes she gave him a pseudonym. She is smart enough to protect herself. With minutes until Naomi returns to headquarters, Light panics. How will he kill her? He may be able to over-power her. She is a woman, after all.

But, no, he thinks of something better. He somehow manages to convince this intelligent  capable woman that he can recommend her for the task force… if he sees her ID. See, a form of ID is necessary for the task force. And even know Naomi suspects that Raye was killed because he showed Kira his ID, she shows Light her ID. Light writes her name in his Death Note and she walks away, doomed to commit suicide.

Sigh.

Create a smart, competent woman, only to have her manipulated and killed. Isn’t that what she deserves for doing a man’s work?

Okay, okay. I’m exaggerating. Light did kill manipulate and kill Raye. But it took an intricately planned bus jacking to get Raye to show an ID. And, at this point, Raye is no longer suspicious of Light. It takes ten minutes of conversation about Kira to get Naomi to show her ID, even though she believes her fiance died because he showed his ID.

Naomi is by far the most competent, developed female character in the series. And she is manipulated and killed off to prove the point that Light is manipulative and ruthless–a point that has already been made.

Is this bad writing? Is it sexism? Sometimes it’s hard to separate the two. Sometimes one causes the other. It’s hard to write developed characters. It’s hard not to use secondary characters as pawns for your main character. But, it’s unacceptable to treat ALL your female characters as second class pawns.

And it’s unacceptable to prove the sexist prick right–that Naomi should have stayed in the kitchen if she didn’t want to get hurt.