Lost (2x01-2x09)

I watched all of the first season of Lost, and though I enjoyed it enough to watch every week, I had a lot of issues with the series, and the constant critical acclaim heaped on such a deeply flawed show grated on me. I didn't watch the second season because I just didn't think the first was good enough to justify the viewing However, having a bit of downtime, I decided to catch up on the second season and see what had happened so far, and if the show was able to truly live up to its reputation. In short, the answer is no, but it is better than year one.

The first scene of the second season was probably the best scene in the whole series. We're down in an odd bunker-type place and all of a sudden The Mamas and the Papas' 'Make Your Own Kind of Music' starts playing and we see a guy going about his daily routine. Great music choice and just a really surreal way to open the season.

The first three episodes of the season are all pretty good, revolving around the opening of the hatch and the discovery of this compound. There's some nice shifting of chronology, building up the tension around the showdown between Jack and Locke for three episodes. This is the kind of thing that probably plays better watching it all in one go, and could seem annoying spread out over multiple episodes. Down in the hatch, they discover a whole bunch of strange stuff, my favorite of which is the button and Dharma Initiative film. The button raises a lot of philosophical issues. I'm sure eventually we'll see what happens when they don't push the button, and already Michael has potentially screwed things up by reprogramming the computer.

The best thing in the entire series is the Dharma Initiative film. Even though I would have liked to see them spring for real 16mm film instead of just doing a filter in post, it's still very cool and raises a lot of questions about what the island is and what this whole Dharma Initiative entails. I always enjoy 'black science,' experiments taken too far, exploring the limits of peoples' mental endurance, and I liked the reference to BF Skinner, of the infamous Stanford Prison Experiment. So, there's a lot of potential with that.

Unfortunately, there's still a fundamental flaw in the show, and that's its structure. With over 15 main characters, it makes absolutely no sense to spend half the episodes on flashbacks. You may say that they need to spend time on the flashbacks because otherwise they're going to run out of stories to do on the island, however that's pretty ridiculous. If you run out of stories on the island, end the show, or have them get rescued and then you can do all the land-based drama you want. However, at this point, the flashbacks are just a waste of time.

But it's not just the screentime that bothers me, the flashbacks are symptomatic of the show's whole approach to narrative and characterization. A longform narrative, no matter how well planned, is something that has to grow and evolve over the course of its run, and that growth is usually guided by how the characters change as a result of the events they experience. However, rather than choosing to develop the characters through the events they experience, the producers have chosen to do so through these flashbacks, revealing what their lives were like before they got to the island.

This choice is quite idiotic. The first flashbacks episodes for everyone were pretty interesting, but at this point, how many times can we watch a series of awful events happen to characters in the past. How many more bad things are there left for Locke or Jack to go through at this point? But more importantly, in theory, the whole point of the show is to demonstrate how these people's lives change as a result of their experience on the island. For most of these people, whatever bad stuff happened to them in the past should pale in comparison to the fact that they're stranded on an island!

This is symptomatic of two major problems with the series. One is that the island is just too comfortable. Other than the stuff with the Tailaways, there's no real sense of danger or any real sense of deprivation. Everyone has good looking clothes, plenty of food and generally just seems to spend their days hanging around. So, it's like any other TV show. Considering how little this crash seems to have affected their lives, the show might as well be set in an apartment building. Consider finding the hatch. Yes, it's a major thing in terms of fighting this guy and the button and stuff, but other than the one scene with Kate and the candy bar, there's been very little dwelling on the creature comforts it provides. People should be ecstatic at finding the record player, considering they never thought they'd hear another piece of music in their lives. Obviously, this could be overdone, but I think it's worth doing because it's something that only this show could do.

Also, maybe they're saving it for future seasons, but I want things to get a little bit more Lord of the Flies. They're so caught up in their own plots, why not have a food shortage on the island, creating serious question about the viability of supporting more than forty people. This would turn everyone against each other and put the leaders in an uncomfortable position, something that would lead to a lot of dramatic intrigue. But even without going that extreme, let's show a bit of strain for these people, if they just wanted to do a show set on the beach, you've got plenty of it in California.

The other big problem demonstrated by the flashbacks is the fact that the show approaches narrative and character development like a puzzle. Everything is a question, "What's up with the hatch," "Why is Locke so mysterious," and the answers lie somewhere in the past. This is the sort of thing that works well for a film, where you can build a narrative around a central question, resolve it and leave. However, in TV, you end up with a lot of teasing, and a sort of dance with the audience of trying to keep secrets while still holding their attention, and ultimately this dance always falls apart.

A much sounder way to build a series is to allow it to get push forward by character development. Once again, I've got to say, they're on a goddamn island, shouldn't this be changing their lives massively. Yet, there's very little strong character development, pretty much everyone is just the way they were at the beginning of the show, with some of the edge shaved off, as is typical of characters on a longform series. Everyone moves a bit more towards a bland, likable center. Nobody has been heavily altered by their island experience, and that's because the producers are obsessed with showing us where these people have been, and if you're constantly focusing on how someone became who they are today, you're going to forgot about changing them into someone different tomorrow.

The nadir of the season is Shanon's death. One of the major issues never really discussed in the show is sex on the island. At this point, people are probably realizing they're not leaving, and as far as we know, it's been forty lonely days for most everyone on the island. Yet, this is never mentioned, nor are the practicalities of birth control, and such. In six, sex is finally had, between Shanon and Sayid. I believe they got together around episode 18 of last season. Shanon appeared in two episodes before six, and had, I believe, one scene with Sayid. So, this was clearly a deep, challenging relationship. This is the sort of thing where the time spent on flashbacks could be better used showing us some of what's up with Shanon and Sayid, rather than only going to them when something bad happens and expecting us to care.

Joss Whedon frequently used the start relationship, then die motif. However, he usually earned it. When Tara was killed, it was devestating. However, the death of Shanon is just sort of there. Despite the best efforts of that episode to make us care for her, it's not enough. The whole point of making a TV show is long term development, you can't take a stereotype, show some bad stuff happen to her and expect us to be sad when she dies. Pulling a Joss only works if you've earned it through character development. Lost did not earn it in this case.

Enough negativity however, it's clear that this is a deeply, deeply flawed show. Yet, there's still a lot of good stuff going on. I really enjoyed the B plot with Sawyer, Michael and Jin journeying back to the camp. Jin is really interesting, the language barrier makes him inherently fun to watch and Sawyer is the closest thing this show has to a Spike. Mr. Eko is excellent as well, I particularly enjoyed the stuff with him and Locke once they make it back to the camp. Also, episode 7, with the tailaways, was fantastic. I loved the end, which showed how all the stuff we'd already seen fit together in the bigger the picture.

The show falls into a catergory I've mentioned before, deeply flawed, but inherently watchable. The show goes down easy, even as it's constantly frustrating me. I think that's because it has so much potential to be great and yet it never quite makes it. Yet, they always give you just enough to string you along. And even watching it in one chunk, it's obvious that the show moves at a glacial pace. Nothing much happens for episodes on end, and when you don't bother with character development, that's actually a problem.

Watchmen: The Perfect Diamond of Comics

A while back I did a piece on the Top Ten Works that Changed My Life and Watchmen came in at number three. If you check out that article, you can hear the story about what happened when I first read the book and a bit on it, but having just completed a reread, it's time to go a bit more in depth into what makes this book one of the most astonishing pieces of fiction ever produced.

If you haven't read Watchmen, go out, get the book, then come back and read this article. It's one of the best works of fiction ever made and absoultely revolutionized comics. But twenty years later, that revolution is accepted fact and we're left with the book itself, which definitely holds up. Anyway, spoilers from here on out.

The first thing that's noticable when reading Watchmen is its structure. Moore's work always uses the medium in different, interesting ways, frequently by placing limits on himself. In this case, the limit is the nine panel grid, the fact that every page in the entire book is based around a nine panel, three by three structure. It's the same thing that Moore used in From Hell, and it's clearly a way to create unique rhythms, as well as being flexible enough to support nearly anything he'd want to do. The sheer density of the text means that every splash page, or even a three panel spread makes a big impact. When you reach issue twelve and see the five full pages devoted to showing the devestation in Manhattan, it's overwhelming because it's the first time the book has broken out of this grid structure and given us a full view of events.

Within this structure we get a very disciplined series of juxtapositions of image and text. Watchmen is a work that could only be made in the medium of comics. Sure, you could tell the story in a film, but to fully experience Watchmen, you need to experience the way that Moore effortlessly weaves together multiple plotlines, often layering three or four different lines of narrative within a single panel. While at times this can be almost overwhelming, as in the case of the pirate comic scenes, which seem to be designed almost entirely tos how off Moore's skill at integrating these different narratives. However, on the whole it works wonderfully and really makes you feel like everyone else in comics isn't even trying. There's so much symbolism and double meaning in every moment of the book it's humbling. Gibbons art also deserves a lot of credit, for the way he is able to build an entire world on the page.

One of the greatest things that Moore and Gibbons do here is to create a fully realized world. You get the sense that every person on the street is a character, with something going on in their life, and through the supplementary materials and ads saturating the streets, you get an idea of the society in which the characters live. There's no moment where the entire alternate history is laid out, but over the course of the book, you can piece together all the events that occurred to bring things from where our world was in 1940 to their world in 1985. This is one of those rare fictional worlds that feels entirely credible and entirely right. It doesn't even seem like Moore made creative choices, it's just that this is the way things happen and he only recorded the real events. Obviously a ton of effort went into the book, but you never get the sense of Moore struggling to create this world, it's like it was there for him to find.

In terms of the story, I think there's a tendency for a lot of people to view Watchmen as more a marvel of construction than as an emotional journey. Marveling at the way the book is put together, it's easy to distance yourself from the events, but I think it all works together to create a really powerful story that touches on a ton of very important issues.

Watchmen was created as a deconstruction of superhero archetypes. Much like Moore's Miracleman, which sought to explore the existence of a real Superman, this book decides to explore what would happen if superheroes were real and does so in a way that I think is very compelling. I would argue this isn't solely a deconstruction of superhero archetypes, but actually functions as the ultimate superhero story. Moore famously remarked that no more superhero comics would be needed after this and that's true not because he's razed the genre to the ground, rather it's because he so brilliantly captured everything that makes the superhero comic flawed and great that everything else just pales in comparison.

He attacks a lot of genre conventions, reconfiguring the two biggest superheroes, Superman and Batman. Superman here is reconfigured as a true alien being, someone who just doesn't care about humans because they're so insignificant. In terms of addressing the realities of a Superman-like being, I think Miracleman: Olympus is a lot more interesting, but that's largely because Dr. Manhattan transcends being a Superman archetype and becomes a really interesting character on his own.

Here, the character of Batman is split in two, each representing a different part of his psyche. Dan is the rich bachelor who enjoys creating toys and generally views the whole superhero thing as essentially a suspended adolescence. There's the notable fact that he's completely reliant on the costume for confidence, without it, he is impotent. Then, we've got Rorshach who represents the darker side of the dark knight. Rorshach is a vigilante who goes after criminals supposedly in the service of justice, but primarily because it makes him feel good. He too is only alive when he's wearing the mask. Rorshach is essentially Batman taken to his darkest extreme.

But besides just riffing on these archetypes, the characters have a lot of other layers. The most popular character to come out of the book was Rorshach, who takes the vigilante style justice of a character like The Punisher to an extreme. He's very much from the 'Death Wish' school of justice, viewing the city as a corrupted sewer of moral decay that he must clean up. Issue 6, in which Rorshach reveals his past to psychiatrist Malcolm Long is one of my favorites in the series. I love the way that Kovacs builds Rorshach into an entirely seperate entity in his mind. The mask, and the symbolism it contains truly changes his perception of himself. Clearly, Kovacs has a lot of issues with his childhood, self loathing for his mother and all she represented. Rorshach is essentially an ultra-conservative character, for whom his prostitute mother is the nadir of morality. This conception of things was likely fueled by the teasing he took as a result of his mother's profession. Looking at the flashback where he's teased, we can see an innocent little kid changed into the violent person who would one day become Rorshach.

So, disdaining his mother, young Kovacs builds up his father as a fantasy figure of everything he wants to be, an aid to the government, fighting for justice and against communism. Looking at the supplementary material in issue 6, you get a sense of just how tragic his life is, with the way that Moore stresses how he's a "bright kid," and he clearly has a lot of potential. It's just that he's scarred and never finds someone he can really emotionally connect with. His bad experiences early on have discouraged him from attempting to have any form of emotional connection with anyone. When he gets older, he sees vigilantism as the way to follow in the footsteps of this constructed father image that he created. And as part of this process, he constructs an identity break at that moment, leaving Kovacs behind and becoming Rorshach.

By doing this, he is essentially erasing his past, a major source of shame for him. So, Rorshach can exist free of the emotional shame and trauma that handicapped Kovacs. When he goes to reclaim his costume and reveals to his landlady's children that she is a prostitute, he is reminded of who he was and is clearly uncomfortable, for the only time in the book, a bit guilty. However, most of the time, Kovacs lives in this Rorshach persona.

Because he's such a tough, single minded character, the few times we do see him express himself emotionally are very powerful. The exchange in Chapter X, where Rorshach tells Dan he's a good friend is one of my favorite moments in the whole book, and the final scene sees Rorshach at his most human. Even though he frequently does bad things, I still have a lot of empathy for the character and the stand he takes at the end.

There's a lot of different ways to read the taking off of the mask before he's killed. On the one hand, you could argue that it's Kovacs giving up the Rorshach persona and returning to his human self in his final moments. I think this is just part of it, by taking off the mask, he is allowing Kovacs to be killed, but not Rorshach. Rorshach is more important as a symbol, and as we see later with the journal, it's clear that the symbol lives on, even if the man does not.

Addressing the moral question of the end of the book, the events of 9/11 reaffirmed the feeling I had on the first read. I think what Rorshach did, even though it may cause those deaths to be in vain, is the right thing. The peace that Veidt created would not last forever, much like our own period of national togetherness was not very long after 9/11, and I know that if I someone within our country engineered those attacks, I would want to know.

A lot of this is due to Moore's brilliant characterization of all the local people in the area. Even though they only appear briefly, on the periphery of the story, you really get a sense of who these people are and what their lives are like. This all culminates in issue 11, where we see the mini arcs resolve themselves. Malcolm, seemingly introduced just as a device to reveal Rorshach's backstory, remains a fully realized character and chooses his duty as a human being over what would be most comfortable for his wife. He does not see helping people as an option, it is something he must do, he is willing to sacrifice his own happiness to help others. The small acts of kindness here are what are so striking. The whole book we've seen the boy and the newsvendor sitting next to each other, barely speaking, but here they strike up a conversation and forge a connection, and when the attack comes, the older Bernard does what he can to shelter the younger, an incredibly powerful series of panels.

It's the fact that these people are so well developed that makes Veidt's actions very troubling. We've all seen disaster movies where millions of people die, and there's usually some rote attempt at characterization, but here, we've been living with these people for a long time, we understand them, and to watch them suffer for Veidt's peace is unbearable. Thinking about what they went through, and the lie they died for, I have to support Rorshach's conviction to go back to Manhattan and expose the truth.

However, that is the sort of character he is, uncompromising. Dan and Laurie aren't so committed to justice, they fall into superheroics for different reasons. In Dan's case, it seems to be an idolization of the previous heroes. He saw their fantastic exploits and decided to go into it for himself. Like Rorshach, he seems more alive, and liberated, when wearing the costume. However, because he's a more stable, rational person, he does not go against the Keene Act and continue adventuring. He's more like a retired athlete, reflecting back on the glory of his past exploits, while not doing much of anything in the present.

As is alluded to at numerous times in the text, there's clearly a fetishistic aspect to the superhero wear, and as chapter VII shows, the connection between his youth and vitality, and the costume is more than just mental. For Dan, it's almost like the costume liberates him to be the person he actually wants to be. It's only after putting on the costume and going out and saving people that he can have sex with Laurie. It's a rebirth essentially. I really enjoy that thematic exploration, it's echoed in Batman Returns' examination of the impotent civilian characters versus the hyper-sexual costumed heroes. I feel like Batman Returns captures more of the issues that Watchmen discusses than any other superhero film to date.

For Dan, it's so much about the gadgets and toys that he's put into an uncomfortable position when the fate of the world is at stake. Much like Hollis, he finds himself rendered irrelevant next to the plans and skills of Adrian or Jon. Rorshach is able to compete at their level because he's so committed to what he's doing, however Dan has always been a bit more ambivalent and self conscious, so he finds himself deferring to Adrian's will and making a moral compromise at the end of the book. It may have been the right thing to do, but it's clear that Dan is not a 'superhero,' he is merely an adventurer, who seems insignificant when the fate of the world is at stake.

Laurie is also ambivalent about her place in the superhero world, but that's primarily because she never wanted to be there to begin with. She is pushed into action by her mother, and never really takes to the life. I think the reason she re-embraces adventuring during her time with Dan is that it's a chance to be free and unpredictable. After the highly structured life with Jon at the military base, the opportunity to do what she wants and be free is refreshing. So, she doesn't care about her safety, it's more about being alive in the moment.

One of my favorite issues is IX, where Laurie tracks back through her past. I love the way Moore gradually builds up the backstories, this issue paying off a lot of existing threads and revealing to Laurie, and to us, the great secret of her existence. Looking at Laurie and Blake next to each other, there's clearly a resemblence. It's interesting that at the end of the book, Laurie hints that her new costume will be based on her father's look, rather than her mother's. So, she has basically reconciled her identity and is now claiming it for her own. By being with Dan, she is accepting the fact that she cannot escape adventuring.

I've got an essay I did for my class on time that goes into Dr. Manhattan, so there's no need to cover his part of the story here. But, he's critical to the book and has some really interesting stuff to say about the place of the superhuman within humanity.

I would consider Watchmen one of the three essential superhero works, along with Moore's Miracleman and Morrison's Flex Mentallo. Watchmen deconstructs the archetypes and plays them out on the large scale they always demanded. It one ups Miracleman by creating an entire universe of heroes, rather than just the one, and by further exploring the logical extensions of superhero mythology. Though Moore has done a number of other phenomenal books, I would still consider Watchmen his masterpiece, an unparalleled combination of narrative and form.

X-Men 222-229

I'm back moving forward through X-Men history and these issues see a bunch of important stuff happening, including the famous Fall of the Mutants storyline. I've been following Claremont's stories for a long time now, I started reading Essential X-Men Volume 1 back in August and I'm still going. That's a testament to the quality of Chris' writing, it's amazing that after over 130 issues, he can still keep things fresh and interesting.

222 is the wrap up of the Marauders attack storyline and it's pretty solid. There's some good stuff with Havok and Lorna Dane, as Malice takes a lot of joy in messing with Alex. Over the course of these issues we see Alex become arguably the core of the team, taking over where Scott left off. He's the first one to voice his approval for the sacrifice in 227. We also get some interesting stuff with him and Maddy Pryor, as they become closer after he stops her from kiling herself in 223.

During this chunk of issues, the X-Men are based in San Francisco, which is described as a place more tolerant of mutants than elsewhere in the country. I don't think it takes a genius to see the allegory here, more than ever before, Claremont is pushing to the fore the idea of mutant as allegory for oppressed minorities. This is commonly regarded as the essential theme of the series, but it's only since the Mutant Massacre that it's really become an issue. I think it's very interesting stuff to address, and is something that only this comic can do. I love how the X-Men are constantly on alert, struggling to stay ahead of numerous threats. That lack of a status quo is a large part of what makes this chunk of the run so strong, we really do get the sense that the X-Men are always in danger.

Concurrently with this stuff is Storm's journey with Naze. This is one of those subplots that has some interesting stuff, but is ultimately too long for its own good. It seems to take forever for Storm to reach Forge and as she travels along, all that happens is she runs into a bunch of mystical foes and we hear Naze make vaguely threatening prophesies. I do like what it does for the character of Storm. Storm has gotten the most interesting development over the course of Claremont's run and this stuff is essential, as she's forced to confront her feelings about Forge. It's a testament to the strength of LifeDeath I that it's still able to fuel storylines roughly forty issues later. But, there was a really strong connection between the characters and you do want them to resolve their differences and finally get together. So, there's tension about what will ultimately happen, but too much of this subplot just seems to be filler, so that the climax of that storyline will coincide with the Fall of the Mutants stuff.

Back with the other X-Men, a prophecy states that they will die and something bad will happen in Dallas, so they're drawn to Dallas. I really liked the scene in issue 224, where Mystique warns Rogue about what Destiny had seen, she's still looking out for Rogue even if they're fighting on opposite sides of the law. The other cool thing in these issues was the return of Colossus, who had been MIA since the end of the Mutant Massacre. I was wondering what had become of Kitty, Nightcrawler and Piotr, so it was good to finally get some followup on that. Colossus is one of Claremont's better creations and it's good to have him back.

Even though I really admire the decision to bring on a new team of X-Men and keep things fresh, none of those characters are as strongly developed as the original Claremont team. Part of this is due to the fact that they are new, the original team had over 100 issues to develop, and perhaps in 100 issues, these new people would be just as interesting. But at this point, the character subtleties just aren't there.

But that's not that big a problem because Claremont has moved to a more plot based storytelling style than the character based soap opera stuff of the Paul Smith era. I loved that stuff, but it came about as the result of a long time in development for the characters, so in this case it makes sense to rely on stronger stories driving things forward. Still, I would like to see some more romance and interpersonal intrigue among the characters.

The most interesting character stuff happens to Wolverine and Storm. Here we see Wolverine in a different sort of role, as the tough love leader of the X-Men. This is quite a development for the character, as he moved from being on the fringe of the X-Men to leader, sculpting the team to match his pragmatic attitude towards violence and risk. He's always willing to sacrifice himself for the good of the team.

And it's Wolverine's leadership that brings them to Dallas where there's a three issue standoff outside the Eagle building. I really enjoyed this storyline, though there are some issues with it. I liked the way that we see Freedom Force and the X-Men team up, their logic overwhelming any natural adversarial tendencies between the groups. There's a great moment where Rogue thinks 'mom' and Mystique thinks 'daughter.' It's one of those moments that's a bit cheesy but still works on an emotional level.

The stuff surrounding the Eagle building is a bit nonsensical. In fact, I wasn't sure exactly what was going on for most of the storyline. It's clear that some being, the Adversary, is trying to make his way into the world and destroy it. However, the fact that this results in dinosaurs and weather distortion seems like unneccesary spectacle thrown on top of the story. And bringing in Roma, a god, is one of those fantastic things that doesn't mesh so well with the relatively realistic X-Men universe. In a work of fiction, you can get away with one major twist of reality, the conceit of your work, in this case the idea of mutants. So, someone like Roma doesn't fit into this twist and as a result feels like a deux ex machina.

However, the emotions of the showdown in 225 and 226 work well. Particularly in 226, you really get the sense of this showdown as an apocalyptic event, something massive on a scale the characters have never faced before. This is supported by the presence of Neal Conan, the NPR reporter. His presence was needed for the fake deaths, however it works well within the story to allow for some espousing on the need for tolerance for mutantkind. This theme is backed up by a really odd sequence where a bunch of Indians ride in to help the X-Men, only to be gunned down by some redneck hunters. This predates the red state/blue state divide by nearly 20 years, but it's right along the same lines, the actions here showing the legacy of intolerance on which the nation is built and must struggle to overcome. 226 is definitely the high point of the storyline, as tension builds to a huge level and the sense of doom is inescapable.

Over with Storm, 226 sees a really odd sequence in which her and Forge are transported to another world where time passes independently of ours. So, Storm goes off on a year long journey around the world, going to Africa where she ponders if on this world she might be the goddess she's constantly asking for help in ours. I really like that idea of someone becoming the thing that they pray to through a quirk in time, very Invisibles. So, she wanders back to Forge, who has built a device that can give Storm her powers back out of the materials in his bionic arm and leg. That sounds a bit ridiculous, but it makes sense in the story. We finally get Storm and Forge together here, having apparently overcome the issues that separated them in the first place. There's some crazy stuff going on here, and a lot of really interesting concepts. Claremont is tossing off ideas here that could form the basis of entire series.

So, Storm gets her powers back. Even though this is a bit of a step back, I preferred Storm without her powers, it makes sense in her character arc. Once she learns how to function without her powers, she can finally have them returned to her, now able to integrate Ororo the woman with Storm the goddess. It's a great moment as Storm opens a gate in the sky and returns them to the world they left, leaving the Eden they could have flourished in for the problems and trauma of our world.

While the buildup to everything was strong, I was a bit disappointed by the payoff in 227. In this issue, the adversary finally shows himself and Forge has to cast a spell to bind him. Everything here happens a bit too fast, dulling the emotional impact of events, plus the nature of the threat is still a bit unclear. It all seems so arbitrary. In 226, the events were played like the X-Men could really die, however here, the choice of the X-Men to sacrifice themselves happens so fast, you don't get any sense that they're actually in danger. In one page they're dead and a couple down the line we're with Roma and they're back. So, while the plot point is served, we get no emotional impact from the death of the X-Men. I believe that the crossover titles did play this out, and we get a little bit with Kitty Pryde, but I think it would have been cool to do an entire issue showing the impact of Neal's broadcast and addressing the fact that the X-Men are dead, then bring them back after that.

However, that's not what happened. There is a certain coolness in the fact that they're all so willing to go to their deaths. Wolverine is the first in line and the rest follow suit. I love Madelyne Pryor in this storyline. She's a regular human, but has nothing left in the human world and as a result, she's fighting alongside the X-Men, totally commited to what they're fighting for. The most emotionally relevant moment of the issue is her message to Scott before she dies. That's a fantastic moment. I'm not usually one to become particularly attached to one character, but Maddy Pryor has been a favorite of mine since her first appearance.

Another nice emotional beat is Forge walking out of the building, shamed. It would seem that the public is now in support of the X-Men. This is another reason I'd want to see an issue about the reaction to their death, they head off to Australia and that means that we don't get to see what their sacrifice does for the perception of mutants in the US. It would seem to be cutting out of this storyline at its most exciting time.

228 is an awful issue, the story is weak and while reading it, I was really anxious to see what had happened to the X-Men, so I was impatient. This reminds me of the Buffy episode 'Anne,' which seems deliberately designed to annoy the viewer by spending a lot of time away from the main characters, even as you want nothing more than to see what's up with our crew. So, in terms of building suspense, it works, but annoying your audience along the way isn't the best way to create suspense. I can't imagine this issue went over too well back when there was a month long wait between issues.

However, with 229 we're back and start to see the X-Men's new status quo. The X-Men have been dumped in Australia after being reborn and they are now invisible to scanners, so they can move about unharmed, what with the public thinking they're dead. Here, they fight a bunch of man/machine hybrids called the Reavers. This is a pretty strong issue, the fight is satisfying and more importantly, the end of the issue introduces yet another really bizarre concept, in the form of the siege perilous. After defeating the Reavers, the X-Men are debating what to do with them. They can no longer bring criminals to the authorities, doing so would expose them to the public. So, Roma brings them the siege, a device that will send people through some kind of dimensional warp and give them a just fate on the other side. It's a very cool concept and has a lot of story potential.

I really liked the debate between the X-Men over whether or not to kill the Reavers. Wolverine and Psylocke are all for it, but Storm proves the voice of reason here. She seems to be the X-Men's moral compass, if she is willing to kill someone, then they can get killed, but otherwise, it will not happen. So, the Reavers go through the siege and the X-Men are left with a new tool for dispensing justice.

This is a really tumultuous period in the book and the death at Dallas brings to a close stuff that had been developing since the Mutant Massacre, if not earlier. It's not as strong or cohesive stuff as that first crossover, but it's still really engaging storytelling, full of crazy ideas and a constant messing with the status quo. I love the fact that the X-Men haven't been at the mansion since the Mutant Massacre, the constant moving around has made things more interesting. I constantly want to know what happens next and that's a great testament to Claremont's storytelling.

Six Feet Under: Nate

In my last post, I covered one of the series' more insignificant characters. Maggie, while she does have some intriuging characteristics, is most interesting in the context of her relationship to Nate and what she tells us about him. So, rather than continuing this elliptical analysis, I shall go straight to the source and discuss the show's central character, its tragic hero, Nate Fisher.

The first time we see Nate is on a plane going home for Christmas, and in that scene, he meets the person who will dominate his life for the next five years, Brenda. However, the series gives us glimpses of what Nate's life was like before this. As a child, he seemed to have a deep fear of death, whether it be his dead dog, or the bodies his father was working on, Nate had an understandable fear of the dead. Living in a funeral home, this caused a problem, and is likely one of the major reasons that he left home. He didn't want to live in that atmosphere, bound by the restrictive rules governing behavior in the Fisher family. The person who most like was his father, however Nathaniel always maintained a distance from his family, so Nate was never able to get close to him. He learns more about his father in the first few episodes of season one, most notably 'The Room,' than he did in all his childhood.

So, Nate runs away and winds up in Seattle, where he apparently lives a life devoted to his own pleasure. He doesn't expend himself to get a great job or a committed relationship, instead he takes easy work, at the food co-op and drifts from person to person, with Lisa serving as a frequent stop along the way. Nate had moved away from the rules and regulations of family and made a new life for himself, literally, a life that would provide him with the greatest pleasure for the least expense of effort. He had always vowed never to become his father, and this seemed to be the biggest move he could make from the funeral business.

However, when he goes home on Christmas after his father's death, Nate will never again really leave his family and the life he ran away from once. At the end of the first episode, after realizing his skill for counseling the bereaved, Nate agrees to stay and help with the business temporarily. However, considering his name comes first in the credits of the show, we know that this is not a temporary arrangement.

Nate at first enthusiastically embraces the role of funeral director, even stopping David from selling the home to Kroener. Had he allowed the sale to go through, his whole life would have been different, he may have returned to Seattle or at least found a job that was less taxing. However, he stopped the sale and as a result, wound up drawn further and further into a life he never really wanted in the first place.

I would argue that it's largely Brenda who's responsible for him agreeing to stay in L.A. They have an instant connection, and there's a fire between them. This same fire that first attracts them is ultimately what makes it impossible for them to stay together. But in the early years, Nate is the responsible one, apparently seeking a long term, committed relationship with this woman he'd just met, and he continues to pursue her even after the peculiar events with Billy and the naked Australian guy.

Two years later, Nate would blame Ruth for keeping in L.A. He says it was her fault that he stayed and as a result, she was responsible for the awful events that befell him in year three. I think right to the end, Nate longed for his old life, even as he knew that it was impossible. Once Maya was born, there was no way he could go back to living solely for himself, and he accepted that.

Season two sees Nate once again placed in close proximity to death, as a result of his AVM. 'In the Game' ends with Nate sitting on the beach with his father, who asks him if he's in the game. Nate imagines walking out into the water, disappearing into the waves, but we flash back to him on the beach, deciding that he will make that journey later, for now, he is in the game. This is another trying season for Nate, as he attempts to work a relationship with Brenda that she is rebelling against through her sexual escapades. Nate here is seen as the one who wants to settle down and get married, but Brenda distances herself from him, and in one of my favorite scenes from the series, he throws the ring at her, the passion that fueled them now turned on each other in a vicious emotional assault.

Nate ends season two getting on a bus, and at the start of season three, we see him wandering through a variety of parallel universes, each one holding a different vision of what his life could be. I think this sequence is stunning, but it's illuminating in the way it reveals Nate's fears. None of these lives are good. He has the choice of being mentally ill, struggling to relearn basic language, a white trash middle aged guy with a big gut watching TV, married to Brenda with kids, smoking up before visiting Ruth, or married to Lisa with Maya, or dead.

Now, this episode is rather ambiguous in that it is unclear whether Nate is given a survey of all the lifes he could lead and chooses the life with Lisa, or if he just peeks into some alternate universes and winds up on the path he would have been anyway. The way the episode is structured implies that in one reality, Nate did die. However, he passes into some kind of nexus between worlds and winds up with Lisa. Considering the state of things at the end of season two, it makes sense that he would go with Lisa. Nate always had a strong sense of moral obligation, he wants to do the right thing, and that's what makes him initially agree to help Lisa with Maya. Considering the other realities, the only potentially appealing one is life with Brenda, but at the end of season two he was very unhappy with her, and would not likely want to go through with marrying her, and in the process give up his commitment to Lisa.

At this point, the series splits off into a parallel universe, this is just one direction that could have been taken. I suppose you could say that about every choice, in both reality and fiction, but the start of 'Perfect Circles' is what makes it even more apparent. Regardless of the parallel universe stuff, we can still consider Nate's choice to marry Lisa. This is a classic example of Nate wanting to do the right thing. He gives Lisa what she wants, and though he may not really love her then, I think he figures that he'll eventually get used to this life.

Here is when Nate takes another step on the road to exactly what he didn't want to be, his father. Clearly, this was a major thing for him, Tom Wheeler mentions it in season five, the irony of Nate of how Nate ended up being exactly what he claimed to not want to be when he was in high school. Much like Nathaniel, Nate impregnated a woman and married her because it was his obligation. And now he finds himself trapped in a marriage that he finds imprisoning, and as the season progresses, he starts to recede from Lisa and have his own secrets, much like his father did. This comparison is made most apparent in 'Nobody Sleeps,' when Lisa throws Ruth a birthday party and the two of them bond, blending in Nate's mind. He removes himself from the festivities and stands outside alone, hearing his father remark on how similar to the two of them are.

I think season three is the best of the series, largely because of how Nate struggles to preserve his self identity against the overwhelming pressure that is Lisa's desire to be very close. Lisa too is living something of a lie. She used her pregnancy as a way of finally locking Nate into a committed relationship, and in light of what happens later, it's quite possible that Nate is not even the father of Maya. However, she saw an opportunity to get what she wanted, and assumed that Nate would learn to love her like she loved him. Nate finds himself being smothered in a life he didn't really want, unable to live up to what Lisa expects of him.

At this point in season three, Brenda re-emerges and causes some major jealousy issues with Nate and Lisa. She seems to be giving him a way out, but Nate rethinks things, likely still stung by the way that he and Brenda parted. this lead to perhaps the best chance Nate ever had for a viable relationship is after he meets with Lisa in the pyramid at Claire's art show. They both acknowledge that they are never going to be a perfect couple, and instead choose to just embrace what they do have. I think this is pretty much what Nate wants, someone who will be there when he needs her, but will also give him the space to do his own thing. A large part of why he resents Lisa early in season three and Brenda in season five is the fact that they both are trying to make him conform to the role of traditional husband, to subordinate his individuality to the family unit, and he's not ready to do that.

If I had to guess, at some point when Lisa was angry with Nate, she restarted the relationship with Hoyt, and this would be where the conversation he refers to in 'Untitled' occurs, where Hoyt says that Lisa told him how hard it was being with Nate. Most likely after he was drawn to Brenda, Lisa went up to Hoyt for a chance to get out her anger. However, after the pyramid discussion, I think she went to break things off, she wanted to come clean so that she and Nate could move forward from a good place, but Hoyt didn't like this and as a result, he kills her.

What this does for Nate is set up an incredible three episode journey, as he goes closer and closer to the edge, consumed by guilt that his wish that he would be free of Lisa has led to her going missing and eventually winding up dead. Nate has got what he wanted, but it destroys him. This is when the conversation I referred to earlier occurs and Nate lashses out at Ruth for keeping him in L.A. and leading him down the path to this pain. Nate seeks comfort from a customer at the funeral home, then lashes out at her when she asks to see him again. He inflicts similar pain on Brenda and his family, pushing them all away and isolating himself. He uses his pain as something distance himself, as if they are not worthy of interacting with him, their problems all petty in comparison to the pain that he is going through. The cycle of degrading events leads to the bar hookup with a woman at her dingy apartment, and ultimately culminates in Nate allowing himself to be beaten by one of the bar patrons, and ends up taunting him, asking for more pain to make up for the guilt he has about Lisa. Only by suffering himself can he be absolved of his sins.

This leads to the astonishing car scene, where Nate drives with Nathaniel and Lisa in the car, urging him to kill himself. His guilt is manifested in Lisa, who says the least he can do is kill himself. However, Nate survives and winds up back at Brenda, once again drawn to her at a moment of extreme grief. These two characters are inexorably drawn to her, and the return of Brenda in mid season three helps to make Nate's marriage more tolerable. It gives him an out. Anyway, he winds up at her door because there's nowhere else he can go, no one else who understands him, and though it is degrading for her, she still willingly goes along with helping Nate.

Season four sees things inverted for Brenda and Nate, as Nate is now the one who has to deal with issues, tempting Brenda from a stable, potentially workable relationship. For Nate, the entire season is about overcoming his guilt about secretly being happy that Lisa is gone. This is a vulnerable, broken Nate, in a way we haven't seen before, most notably when he is rejected and recedes into the Arctic in 'Parallel Play,' and in his psychic dog episode in 'Can I Come Up Now.' He definitely seems to be losing it, however, by midway through the season, he gets things together and gets on the road to getting back with Brenda.

As I mentioned before, Nate and Brenda have a very passionate relationship, and this passion can be destructive. Brenda has casual sex with Nate, but they both know that between them, there is no such thing as meaningless, casual sex. They have been through too much and are too deeply emotionally committed for that. So, Brenda begins to distance herself from Joe and they break up in a great scene where Joe calls Nate "a cripple."

Is this characterization accurate? In light of what happens in season five, it does seem prescient. Nate is unable to make the emotional commitments he would need to maintain a long term relationship. He cannot give of himself in that way, and that probably does make him a cripple. His greatest flaw is that he constantly finds something to distance himself from emotional involvement. With Lisa, it was the fact that he was more attracted to Brenda, and in season four, it is his need to mourn Lisa that prevents him from fully embracing the new relationship.

This conflict is particularly evident in 'The Black Forest,' when Nate, Maya and Brenda travel to Idaho to inter Lisa's ashes. Nate keeps Brenda seperate from the events, as if her presence there will somehow surry the proper mourning. This is not an entirely bad idea, and when Barb and Brenda cross paths, it's evident that they feel that Nate has not mourned Lisa for long enough.

This all comes to a head at the end of the season. In light of Nate's improper burial of Lisa, Barb is attempting to take Maya away from him. Considering his character, I'd imagine if Maya actually were to be taken away, on some level, he would view it as a blessing, because that would allow him to live for himself again. However, I think he genuinely does love Maya, and for all his flaws, he was a great father to her. Maya is the only person he always values over himself.

But what Barb's effort does do is force Nate to confront the direction of his own life. He continually pushes Brenda away, even as it becomes more and more apparent that she can be a mother to Maya. So, he leaves Maya with Brenda and goes North to confront Hoyt about the picture of Lisa.

This scene provides the emotional closure that finally allows him to get over Lisa. When he finds out she was having an affair, it essentially absolves him of the guilt over wanting Lisa gone. It was not his fault at all, Lisa was flawed, and it was her bad choices that led to her death. When Hoyt shoots himself, what really happened that day is resigned to mystery. Nate can never know for sure, and at that point he can either dwell on the mystery or move on. So, echoing the end of season three, Nate once again returns to Brenda, this time deciding that is time for them to get married and have kids.

When I first watched the show, I thought that the Lisa arc was primarily designed to show that Nate really belongs with Brenda, and that the reason he was unhappy with Lisa was that he loved Brenda more and actually wanted a life with her. This would imply that things would go well in the last season. That was not the case.


'A Coat of White Primer' is the first in a series of brutal emotional assaults in this final season. In this episode, Nate has to be a rock to Brenda, who is emotionally distraught over her miscarriage and fear that she can never live up to Lisa in Nate's head. Nate remains cool throughout the episode, telling David that he wants to give Brenda a baby because it will make her happy and he seems to have things worked out. Here we get flashes of the charismatic, together Nate from seasons one and two. However, at the end of the wedding, we're left with the ominous image of a bird eating their wedding cake. And in the final scene of the episode, we finally see Nate break down, his facade of strength crumbling when he's finally left alone. The thought of all the pain they will go through on the road to parenthood and the loss he has already experienced is too much.

'Dancing for Me' sees Nate is confronted with memories of his youth and a reminder of his own mortality. His friend Tom Wheeler talks about how seeing his daughter's friends awakens some lost youth within him. Justifiabily, Nate is disgusted by this and tells him it's wrong. Here, Nate claims that his life is right where he wants it to be and that he's not worried about turning forty. So, Nate is still keeping up this facade of everything's fine. I would argue that the reason Nate cannot relate to Tom's feelings is that Tom is locked into an apparently stable, boring relationship, and has consigned himself to that life. Nate still does not see himself in that role, he never did when he was with Lisa and he doesn't this time. It's evident when he imagines yelling at Brenda that she's a rebel and shouldn't conform to this role. He doesn't need to imagine being young, because in his mind, he still hasn't grown up.

The next major event for Nate is the breakdown at his fortieth birthday party. This is when the facade starts to crack, when he gets angry at Brenda because she gets angry at him. She is starting to sense that he doesn't really want another kid, he's just doing it for her, and this bothers her, and Nate doesn't really have a defense. As he told David, he is giving her this baby, and though it is his child, I don't think he has any particular desire to have a second kid, which is a bit ironic in light of the fact that Maya may not even be his. Nate keeps up the facade throughout the party, except for when he talks to Maggie.

Nate sees his homelife as something that's chaotic and troubled, and he can never seem to live up to Brenda's image of what he should be. However, Maggie is a sanctuary for him, she can share his pain and because she's alone in L.A., she demands nothing of him but companionship. Nate, though he is an understanding person who usually tries to do the right thing, seems to want relationships where nothing is expected of him. That's why he and Brenda work the first time, because they were both so self conscious about not wanting to conform to expected social ideals that they could remained distanced from each other. Asking for real commitment would be 'so cliche.' With Maggie, it is her calm demeanor and willingness to listen that makes her an essential outlet during this troubled period in his life.

Another outlet is beating a bird to death with a broom, and that's what Nate does at the end of the episode, his resolve finally cracking and his rage getting fully expressed. In the series' symbiology, birds are synonymous with death, so after staring down death at his wedding, Nate fights back and destroys this bird before it can destroy him.

The next episode sees Nate make a logical decision and fully embrace Brenda as Maya's mother. This is crucial in light of the events that happen later. However, this brief peace does not last, and in the next episode, Nate is making overtures to Maggie, telling her that Brenda and Maya are out at his mom's house and he's home alone. Nothing comes of it, but things come crashing down in the next episode when Nate finds out that their baby could be born with Downs or another genetic disorder.

Nate has so far managed to maintain a modicum of independence, kept his free spirit despite being married and a father. In Brenda, he hoped to find someone who would strive to be a rebel, unlike Lisa who was an entirely traditional mother, much like his own. Yet, Brenda neglects her old ways and fully embraces the new life she has leading. This means that Nate is left out as the one who's doing things wrong and unable to commit. Back in their first go around, she was always the one screwing things up, he was morally in the right, but here, he's the one unwilling to commit. The prospect of a 'special needs' child strikes fear into Nate's heart. This would completely alter his life, and he's seen in Maggie the pain that such an experience could cause. At this point, Nate is about seeking peace in his life, and he seems reluctant to go through all that potential pain. He doesn't want to suffer any more, while Brenda is ready to suffer whatever it takes to ensure that she has a child.

One of the notable scenes here is when Maggie tells Nate that, though it was hard, she never regrets having her son. Yet, Nate skews the information, telling Brenda that Maggie said it was very difficult and trying. Nate sees Maggie as a pure soul, someone who seeks the same peace that he is after, largely because she is the only on who has been through comprable suffering. The fact that he thinks so highly of Maggie, and speaks of her as an authority, is what bothers Brenda and causes her to lash out at Nate for the relationship they have. Maggie has the purity that she is so self conscious about lacking.

This leads to 'Singing for Our Lives,' where Nate is drawn to Quaker spirituality, the quiet, introspective moments he spends in the Quaker church a refuge from the troubles he has at home. Even though he brings Brenda with him to the church, he is more engaged with Maggie while he is there. This irks Brenda, and causes her and Nate to discuss her views on spirituality. Her confirmed atheism seems so hollow next to Maggie's deep spiritual commitment, and with his new peace-seeking incarnation, Nate cannot respond to the negativity inherent in a view of the world where nothing we do matters. Nate is always searching for a higher purpose, that's what drives him away from home, and it's what makes him unable to sustain longterm relationships.

In 'All Alone,' Brenda tells Maggie that Nate wanted someone who would make him feel like a better man than he was, and that's a large part of what draws him to her. He idealizes her, much like he idealized Brenda when he was with Lisa. Maggie is peaceful, giving not demanding, and seems to genuinely like him, whereas Brenda seems only to demand things from him. When Nate finally does sleep with Maggie, they both see it as a sacred union. It's not tawdry adultery, it's the merging of two souls in a peaceful place. However, Nate's decision to sleep with Maggie is another example of him running away from problems. Even though Brenda had nothing but disdain for the Quaker church, she saw how important it was to Nate and decided to make a sacrifice and go to the service for him. Nate is unable to make a similar sacrifice for her, he acts on his own selfish impulses, never content with where he is, always searching for a better, more fulfilling life.

Nate's collapse at Maggie's is timed such that it seems to punish him for what he's done. In breaking his bond with Brenda, he has been struck down. However, he survives and with this second chance, he would have the opportunity for redemption, to apologize to Brenda and heal his life.

However, in one of the most controversial things surrounding the character, even as he lies in a coma, Nate imagines another alternate life, one where he and Maggie are together and he breaks up with Brenda, deciding to move to a place of peace. I think Nate genuinely believes that he and Maggie are perfect for each other, even more so than he once thought Brenda a perfect partner. However, in both cases, he has constructed idealized images to suit what he needed at the time. In seasons one and two, Nate was getting drawn into a more and more conventional life and it is Brenda who provides the rebellious fire that keeps the drifting part of his soul alive. By the fifth season, Nate has been through so many awful occurrences and is continually confronted with strife at home, so he turns Maggie into this peaceful sanctuary. In the long term, it's likely her own insecurities would come to the surface and cause Nate to seek someone else, however, part of me wants to believe if Nate did survive, he and Maggie would have made it. They are both at a similar place in their lives and want the same thing.

The events of 'Ecotone' clearly demonstrate that Nate is not sorry for what he's done. He flirts with Maggie in his hospital bed, and then, in a very cutting scene, breaks up with Brenda, his pregnant wife. His points are logical, they have been through so much trauma, maybe they aren't right for each other. Brenda tells him that he's just a narcissist, and will never be happy with anyone but himself. In light of past experience, this is probably true. His two long term relationships have failed miserably, all because Nate was unwilling to give of himself to make them work.

So, this brings us to the inevitable, this show's driving force, death. The final scene of Ecotone is one of my favorites in the whole series. Continuing the birds as death motif, we see David and Nate watching a nature documentary about bird migration. From there, they enter into an odd shared dream sequence. The meaning of this dream is rather unclear, but I'll give my interpretation of it. The world we see is another parallel universe, but like in Perfect Circles, Nate has memory of the 'real world,' in which he lived during the series. However, the Nate of this world seems to be one who hasn't been through all the traumas that Nate has been throughout the series, it's a fantasy of a world where he and David have no problems and can go surfing.

He's wearing the running clothes that he wore a lot at the beginning of the series, and very rarely in the later years. So, this indicates a younger, freer Nate. Perhaps this is the life he always really wanted. The version of David here is a bit tougher to figure out, I think he's partially meant to be a composite of David and Claire. The orange hair and weed smoking indicate Claire, though she's not quite that surfer. So, perhaps this is David's fantasy as well, that he could be freed of the inhibitions and guardedness that locks him during the series.

These characters actually seem to belong to a younger David and Nate. Despite all that's happened to them, I don't think that David or Nate would actually want to undo the past five years, Nate for Maya and David for Keith. But at the same time, they can relax into these old fantasies, visions of a simpler life, and together in the back of the van, they're happier than we've ever seen them. I'm pretty sure the van they're driving in is the same van from 'That's My Dog,' and the reconfiguration of it here as a tricked out hippie van indicates more revisionism, undoing the dark events of recent years, replacing it with this idealized fantasy version.

They reach the ocean and here we return to the metaphor of 'In the Game.' Land is the life they live, their world, the ocean is the great unknown that is death where "there might be sharks." This time, Nate cannot return to reality, he is done with that and instead moves beyond, into what they've been waiting their whole lives for. In this moment, Nate consciously chooses not to hold onto the pain and suffering. While I wouldn't say that Nate is happy to die, I do think that at this moment he is at peace. He is no longer trying to live through the conflict with Brenda, he has freed himself from that relationship, and no longer has the energy to fight.

It's sad, but Nate is really worn down over the course of the series. The person who feared death so much early in the series, because he had so much to live for, has been reduced to someone who runs from the fire. That is why he goes off into the water. The implications of this are made clear when we see regular David return and get offered crack by Nathaniel. So, refusing to go into the water, he's again confronted with the pain of this world, the worst thing he ever experienced. I think it's this moment that causes him to have a whole bunch of problems in the next couple of episodes rather than the pain caused by Nate's death.

But, that's for another post. So, it would seem that Nate's journey has reached an end, he's willing to accept death and goes off into the great unknown. A critical character point is revealed in 'All Alone,' when Maggie goes to apologize to Brenda, but Brenda tells her "He didn't really love you, he only loved himself." I'd consider this central to the character's failings, he was enchanted with her becuase she was everything he didn't have, but once he did have it, then he would want something else. He was always searching, never content to compromise and live with what was given to him.

I don't think this is such a bad trait, and even though what he does to Brenda at the end is extremely harsh, it's the first time he's really being honest, he's telling her what he could never tell Lisa, honestly expressing his feelings about their relationship in a peaceful manner, rather than a shouting match.

As the series ends, we see everyone making compromises to create relationships that work. George may not be perfect, but Ruth finds love with him. Brenda has to give up some of herself to raise Maya and Willa, but she does it. At the end of the series, we see a new family constructed. Nathaniel's absence cast a shadow over the entire series, and Nate was continually being forced into the role of patriarch, a role he did not want. He was not a family man, he was an idealist, always searching to better himself, and that meant he could not make a relationship or family work. He needed more. In his absence, a new family is built, and only when Nate died could that happen. Ruth and Brenda connected in his absence, and the Chenowiths and Fishers finally really came together.

While Peter Krause does appear a whole bunch of times in those final episodes, there are only two appearances I would consider to be the real Nate. One is the scene where we see Nate holding Willa, and telling Brenda how much he loves her. Because Nathaniel is there, and specifically mentions that Brenda had never seen him, it implies that this isn't her mental projection, it's a visit from the spirit of Nate, telling her what she really wanted to know, that he loved Willa and was glad that Brenda had the baby. Telling her this, Nate assuages her fears and allows her to mvoe forward.

The final appearance of Nate is in Claire's rearview mirror, when once again we see the young Nate, running. This is the crucial image of the character, encompassing his flaws and attributes. He was never content to stand still, he ran from his family when he was young, he ran from Lisa and he ran from Brenda, and while this running hurt him, it also shows that he was never content to stay with what was known, he wanted to move forward into the unknown, and wading into the water, that's what he did.

Six Feet Under: Maggie

I'm going to do a couple of posts about some specific elements of Six Feet Under that I find interesting, and this one is about the character of Maggie. Maggie is someone who's full of contradictions and mystery, and even after spending a season with her, we have a better idea of what Nate sees her as than who she really is. So, what does our limited time with her tell us about Maggie and who she is?

The primary trauma in Maggie's life was George abandoning her and Brian when they were children. Clearly, they were close, as evidenced by their song in 'Untitled,' but in 'Static,' we get an idea of what has really lingered from her childhood. Maggie was abandoned by George and that scarred her deeper than she'd like to admit.

Maggie turned out ok though, got married and had a son. Here is where her life once again goes bad, her son died and she is once again deeply scarred. This is the kind of traumatic event that can destroy a life and what it seems to lead to is Maggie distancing herself from her emotions and immersing herself in a job that keeps her travelling all over. With no real home, she's never forced to reflect on her life, instead she runs from her problems, and has an essentially meaningless relationship with a doctor in Phoenix that dissolves by the time she makes it to L.A.

The start of season five sees George getting worse and Maggie drawn to a permanent residence for the first time in a while. George's mental illness has pushed Ruth to the edge and that means that Maggie has to stay in L.A. to ensure that George is ok. It's what she has to do and once again responsibility is forced on her. She's forced to care for the man who abandoned her, all the while keeping up a happy exterior to keep her dad feeling okay. He's so proud of her, she feels unwilling to let him see her flaws.



As the season continues, Maggie is drawn closer and closer to Nate. In Nate she sees a kindred spirit, someone who has also suffered misfortune at every turn. With Nate at a crisis point in his life, getting drawn more and more into a life he doesn't really want, he sees an out in Maggie, someone who shares his desire to move past the problems of the past and find some peace.

What is it that drawns Maggie to this damaged soul? It's primarily her loneliness in L.A. She knows no one there, except for George, and that means she's very alone. You can see this in the extremely sad scene in 'The Rainbow of Her Reasons,' where Maggie is sitting in her car alone, calling Nate because he's the only person she can relate to. The two of them are drawn closer together and though she knows it's a dangerous path, her loneliness draws her closer and closer to Nate.

To Nate, Maggie peace, someone who has life figured out. She can counsel him on the prospect of having a disabled child, though he alters his advice when he conveys it to Brenda. Part of the attraction for Nate is that Maggie has no other responsibilities, she can be solely devoted to him, demanding nothing but companionship. This is a stark contrast to Brenda, who is increasingly demanding of Nate.

So, her loneliness draws them to the fateful night where her car breaks down and Nate agress to give her a ride to the service. I wouldn't be shocked if the car breakdown was just an excuse to draw Nate closer to her. I think Maggie felt guilty about what she was doing, but also wanted more from Nate. He's the only person she has. When he kisses her, she initially resists it, but quickly that resistance fades and she sleeps with him. She doesn't really know Brenda, she has almost always seen Nate without her and without Maya. That's part of what allows Maggie to go through with what she does.

And when Nate collapses, she winds up at the hospital and is forced to acknowledge what she's done to everyone, most notably Brenda. There's the brilliant exchange where Maggie says they were talking and Brenda replies "About what, his daughter and pregnant wife?" Maggie, who has always presented herself as a moral person, it is her strong morality that draws Nate to her, is now forced to sit there, the guilt of the adultry mixing with guilt about apparently killing him.

However, while she is sorry, I think she does have strong feelings for Nate. This is one of the few people who can understand what she's been through, and her final scene with Nate, I think she imagines a future with him, the life of peace he's been seeking. They've found each other in the same place, just with the unfortunate fact that Nate is married to Brenda. Maggie never apologizes for what she's done because she knows that it's what Nate wanted at that moment. Would it have worked long term? I don't know, but at that time, Maggie acted on what she wanted.

With Nate dead, Maggie finds herself completely alone, and goes to Brenda seeking some absolution for what she did. She wants Brenda to say that it's ok, and forgive her, but instead receives only harsh words and the promise that Nate didn't really love her. Brenda refuses to grant Maggie clemency and instead brings to light the fact that Maggie has broken up a home, the same thing she could never forgive George for. She has become that which she hated most.



That's why in 'Static' she rails at George. When she criticizes him she is actually criticizing herself for becoming George. And the scene also reveals that the peaceful character we've seen over the season is a facade that has broken down in light of the horrific events. She won't lie to George anymore, smooth over the past, instead she confronts him with the impact of his actions, much like she just had to face the impact of what she had done to Brenda.

When last we see Maggie, she has again moved on, back to the solitary drifter life she lived before the brief stopover in L.A. Her final scene raises the question of whether she is pregnant with Nate's child. She is a pharmacutical rep so there's certainly logical reason for being in a doctor's office, however, the way she's called indicates that she's a patient. It's left ambiguous, but I would say it's quite possible she is pregnant, which would mean that Nate has given her what she lost years before, and another chance at being a mother.

Watching the drama with Maggie unfold was harrowing because it seems that Nate has finally found the perfect person, except that it means betraying his wife. She becomes a sanctuary for Nate, someone who he can share his problems with, and he becomes her only companion. They both make a bad choice, because even if they should be together, that wasn't the way to do it, and seeing the two of them together juxtaposed with Brenda alone in the Quaker church is heartbreaking. These are two people who strive to be good people, yet continually stumble. I really liked Nate and Maggie together, and part of me wanted them to get together, but seeing it actually happened, I hated Nate in that moment, and that's the problem. Maggie wants something she knows she shouldn't have, and the fact that she never steps back and looks at what she's doing is what dooms her.

Would Nate and Maggie have made it? Probably not, as Brenda said, Nate was always looking to the next thing, and Maggie's darker side would eventually well up, destroying the peace. But as Maggie tells Ruth, in that moment, Nate was happy, they both were happy. They were at peace.

Nip/Tuck: Season Three Develops

We're now up to, I believe the tenth episode of Nip/Tuck's third season. I reviewed a couple of episodes from the beginning of the year, and I feel like those episodes were a bit too self consciously pushing the envelope, trying to present the most outre, controversial things, sometimes at the expense of the story. However, the most recent episodes have done a better job of making the characters relatable and continuing to push the characters forward.

One of the biggest problems with ongoing TV series is the tendency of the shows to always return to the status quo. So, change may last for a few episodes, or even a season, but in most cases you'll hear some interviews about how the show is going back to its roots, at which point everything will return to the status quo and the characters will be back where they started. After a lot of turmoil in season two, season three could have been an easy chance to get Sean back with Julia and return things to roughly the season one status quo. However, the producers didn't do this, they chose to continue moving the story forward, instead of retreating.

The story I've really liked is the De La Mer recovery spa development. Earlier in the year, I commented on how Julia was doing absolutely nothing, so this story was a good way to give her purpose and further mess with Sean's identity. She didn't need him emotionally before, but now she doesn't need him at all. She's completely independent. It was a bit ridiculous that she was so surprised Gina was having sex with people to get them discounts. It seemed pretty obvious that's what was going on. But that aside, it's a nice new development for the series and has a lot of dramatic potential.

The best character by far on the show is Christian, his stories are always much more interesting than what's up with Shawn. It's interesting that he's the more over the top and ridiculous character, yet almost all of the show's really strong emotional moments are his. Sean's story with the mob wife was alright, but the most affecting scene this year was when Christian was shut out of the graduation party. He's stuck in an unlivable position there, because no matter what he does, his mother will never love himor even be able to spend time with him. Another strong sequence was when he was left at the altar. The episode as a whole was a bit cliche, but it was pretty tough when Kimber left him.

But still, the show suffers from the fact that there's essentially no boundaries on the characters, so nothing can be that shocking. Drama, or comedy, usually comes from a character doing something they're not supposed to do. But these characters have no real ethical boundaries, so some of the stuff they do might be surprising, but nothing is as shocking as something like Lorne shooting Lindsey in the last episode of Angel. That worked because it wasn't something we'd expect from the character. There's definitely a desire to go after that shocking feeling all the time, but if you do, you wind up with a show where the audience is left numb and removed from the action.

That's still the show's basic problem, it's well made and always entertaining, but I'm never really drawn into the world, I watch it distanced from everything.

Education: Part II

So, last time, I discussed my vision for a new method of schooling. Now, I'm going to get in some of the issues surrounding it.

The problem with the write about what you want approach is the fact that whatever the school approves, students are not going to react against. So, even if they can write an essay about whatever they want, they'll still complain about the fact that they have to write an essay at all, and you'll still get the complaint that this has nothing to do with 'the real world.' And you'll also be getting a lot of complaints from parents, that students are missing out by not reading the classics. I'm not saying eliminate books from the curriculum, just expand out into films and graphic novels as well. We're not in a one medium time anymore, telling stories has moved beyond just the accepted books and theater

The other major problem is the fact that screening films in a 45 minute period is difficult. To really understand a film, you cannot watch it broken into chunks, that destroys all sense of pacing and momentum. So, I would say schools should offer mandatory additional screenings after school, so have class three days a week instead of five to make room for the screening. You could also try having students take out a DVD, but that would probably lead to a lot of people not watching the film, undermining the whole point of the initiative.

Obviously this whole plan is a bit centered on my interests and what I'd want from a school. I'm sure there's people out there who would say scrap English and get back to math and science at the core. I would argue that starting with high school, students should be broken into seperate math/science and English/history tracks, where you'd still get a bit of the other, but would primarily focus on your track. This way everyone can accelerate in their area and get more in depth, with the assumption that you actually want to learn about the stuff you're studying. This is much closer to college, where I take an occasional science course, but pretty much focus on film stuff, and it seems like high schools just want to be colleges, so it makes sense to emulate this model.

This would also alleviate some of the issues arising from a generalized acceleration track. Rather than creating a strict division between smart/'normal,' you'd end up with people doing what they're best in, and as a result somewhat evening the playing field. Obviously there's still discrepancy, but if you're in the English track, and aren't particularly strong in science, the science classes you take would be easier.

But what we'd probably see is people wanting to take the toughest courses in all subjects, either because they legitimately love learning, or more likely because they think that would look best on a college application. It's very difficult to create a new kind of curriculum because the need to teach AP courses means you're basically stuck to whatever they give you. Having gone to college, an AP course is nothing like a college course. You may learn roughly similar stuff, but the structure is so different, it's not at all comprable in terms of experience. So I would say remove APs and instead emulate a real college model and offer students more choice in terms of elective.

So, rather than have people learn general American history six times in twelve years, offer courses spotlighting specific chunks of history more in depth. And with English courses, you could do specifically targetted things, some focusing more on books, some on films and throw in a graphic novels course as well. I think that this would allow people to better develop their interests and engage more with the texts.

One of the biggest problems with my approach is it assumes that you have stuff you care about to begin with. If you're given the assignment to write whatever you want, you have to want to write about something, or else you're just back in the mode of getting assigned to do stuff. I'm someone who really likes writing, as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this essay fro no apparent reason. However, I don't think most people really enjoy the act of writing, so even if they could write about their favorite thing, they wouldn't really enjoy it.

And then there's the fact that most people just don't care that passionately about things. I love films, so I make them, I did the film series at the library, backyard screenings, worked making a film, this summer was all about that. I'll call people and ask them to go see a film screening I set up, but I never get approached by other people for something they really care about. The closest thing to a passion most people have is for poker, and unless you really stretch it, I don't see an analytical essay coming out of a poker game.

So, perhaps a more targetted class system would allow people to better develop their interests. I think the other critical thing would be to not have a hierarchy, so don't offer Shakespeare as the class people 'should' take and then have film as a remedial type thing. It's got to be a total equality of the mediums.

However, even if administrators went for this, right now we've got a student population that's more concerned with getting into college than learning anything. That's what bothered me the most about high school, nobody really cared about the stuff we learned, they just wanted to get good grades and put stuff on their resume. I tried to 'keep it real,' and only do stuff that I actually enjoyed, nothing to just throw on the resume, and I pretty much succeeded. But going to a curriculum where learning is actually valued would likely upset the balance demanded by college admissions, and students are not going to endanger their chance to go to a good college just to learn something. And now at college I'm starting to hear more people worry about grades and grad school. I swear this was just happening, the past four years have gone by in a blur.

Bringing things to a close, one of the most striking things I remember about high school was towards the end I was hearing so many people say I wish I'd studied more, actually gone to class. At the end, they saw that there is merit in learning, but for a lot of them it was too late to really change things.

It's a strange time, high school, you spend your whole time there waiting to leave and once you leave, you can't help but lament not appreciating it while you were there. The experience you have at school is so much determined by the people in your classes and the teachers that it's impossible to institute a cure all curriculum, and what works for me might not work for other people.

I will say that things worked out well for me. Most of the science classes were extremely laid back, with a heavy emphasis on free periods to go on the computers, and that worked for me, it wasn't stuff I wanted to learn. My favorite classes were English classes, particularly senior year English, which is the closest to my fantasy curriculum. I got to write essays on pretty much whatever I wanted and there were some memorable learning related moments. In that class there were two assignments, one where you had to write about a song and one creative writing one where everyone got to share something of themselves with the class and there was a mutual respect in a critique of the pieces. I loved hearing peoples' creative writing pieces, the variety of subject matter and there was none of the usual not caring attitude, in that moment it was acceptable to be passionate about something and that's ultimatelly what life's about, finding something you're passionate and doing it.

So, if nothing else school should help people along that road, to find what they love to do and pursue it, so that you have a rewarding life. That's what school is really about, giving you the tools to learn for yourself.

X-Men 214-221

Essential X-Men is only up to issues 213, so with this review I move onto material I've been reading in the original issues. I'd read some early New Mutants stuff and I remember the coloring being absolutely awful, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that the colors in these issues were actually pretty good, and added a lot to the book. While it would be easier to just read the Essential volumes, I don't really mind having to pick up the singles.

Anyway, in a lot of ways X-Men 213 and the Mutant Massacre are the end of the story begun when Claremont started the book. 214 is the last we see of Kitty, Nightcrawler and Colossus, as they're shipped off to Muir Island to heal and eventually pop up in Excalibur. However, since I'm not reading Excalibur, it's pretty much it for them. I've always thought that Kitty was Claremont's favorite character, and though she isn't that well known, she's one of my favorites too, the way he wrote her was great and she's clearly a huge influence on Joss Whedon's writing. And Nightcrawler is a great character too, it's tough to lose them, but mutant means change and in this next chunk of issues, the book definitely changes.

214 is sort of a coda for Mutant Massacre, and leaves our heroes in a really desolate state, questioning the very existence of the X-Men. I always love these 'all fall apart' type issues, when plots converge to destroy things for the characters. This issue brings back Dazzler, and adds her to the X-Men team. However, the real highlight in this issue is how Malice's attack messes with Wolverine, causing him to question his senses, and as a result really doubt how effective he can be as an X-Man. It's a great use of Malice as a device to mess with the status quo.

The next couple of issues have an arc that takes Wolverine and Storm out to the wilderness to duel with a group of retired superheroes who decide that they have to kill these mutants. I'm not a huge fan of the woods setting and contrived action setup, but thematically it works really well to show the ways that the X-Men have evolved from traditional humans, and from the traditional idea of the hero. These people are World War II vets who are out to kill a yuppie couple. Storm finds herself protecting a drug addled woman, even though protecting her may get both of them killed. It plays a lot with how Storm's moral code has developed, she's got no problem killing her enemies, and is even contemplating killing a civilian if it will protect her.

At the same time, Wolverine is reduced to savage status upon smelling the scent of Jean Grey at a crime scene. I like the way Claremont is able to use the ridiculous plot contrivance that brought back Jean Grey to his advantage, gradually teasing her eventual revelation to the X-Men.

The next couple of issues follow the new X-Men team that has been assembled after the Mutant Massacre. It's got Rogue, Psylocke, Longshot and Dazzler, all of whom are actually pretty interesting characters once they get their time in the spotlight. The way Claremont writes Dazzler reminds me a bit of Boy from The Invisibles, in that she's a reluctant hero, someone who seriously questions their place on the team and what she's doing there. Her power isn't as impressive as some of the other X-Men, and more importantly, she wants to be a musician, not a hero. So, she seems to be putting herself in danger by doing something she doesn't really believe in.

This is all addressed as she battles Juggernaut. I'm not a fan of Juggernaut, so it's not good that he continuously pops up in the book. There was a funny bit when Juggernaut is very sad when he thinks he's killed Dazzler because he's a fan of her music. This little story chunk is mainly about showing the new team bonding and it works well. By the end of things you get a sense of who the characters are. Longshot is pretty funny, and reminds me a lot of Anya from Buffy, with his humorous observations about our world from the point of view of an outsider, notably with the line about them eating "burned animal flesh and unborn baby birds" for breakfast. Longshot is also notable for boldly rocking a mullet.

The next issue sees another addition to the new team, Havok. Havok is another reluctant hero, dating way back to Claremont's first couple of issues, he's constantly been at odds with the X-Men, trying to live an isolated life as a mutant. However, he ventures to New York and finds the X-Men. This issue is most notable for the first appearance of a solution to the problem the X-Men are facing. My favorite thing about this era of the book is the sense of constant turmoil the characters face, this truly is a world that's out to get them, and there's nowhere they can escape from this world that's out to get them. They're outlaw heroes not fighting for good, just fighting to survive. That's what makes it such a strong book right now, all morals are compromised and people are just struggling to survive, this is most notable with Storm and Wolverine, both of whom are the senior members of the team, and most aware of what's been lost.

Next is another really strong issue with sees Storm journey to Forge's residence, and relive some of the events of LifeDeath from a new perspetive. Having read Lifedeath only a couple of months ago, I didn't really need the recap, but it was probably needed at the time because over three years had passed since the issue. I really like the fact that she seeks her powers because she feels she needs them to lead the X-Men, it's not about her own personal desire to fly again, though she clearly still has that desire.

The most recent issue I've read, 221 is a really strong one, picking up on one of my favorite plot threads of Claremont's run, the journey of Maddy Pryor. The sequence in 215 where she relives the plane crash and gets taken to the hospital is great. Here, we get the first appearance of Mister Sinister, a villain I was a big fan of as a kid, mostly because he was cool looking. I still have his action figure up in my room, so it's good to see him in the comic. I love the idea that Sinister has erased Maddy's indentity, it further emphasizes the us vs. them feeling of this segment of the book. The X-Men have to break the law to protect Maddy, and in the process make themselves even more estranged from society.

I think the reason I love the Maddy Pryor stuff is that she's so neglected in X-Men history, having been literally bumped out of the way by Jean Grey, abandoned by her husband. It's tragic stuff, and I sympathize with her more than I do with Scott. The idea of someone who falls through the cracks struggling to make her way is really interesting, who does Maddy have left now, she's almost completely alone, and I already know that things do not lead to a good place.

The other thread that comes to a head in this issue is the return of the Marauders, now led by Polaris. There's a lot of dramatic potential there, and there's not too much in this issue, it's mainly set up for the future. The marauders remain a constant threat on the characters, the primary thing keeping them always on the edge, and that's where these people should be. X-Men is a book that should never have a status quo, it should be constantly evolving, and that's why I'm glad to see Claremont taking the book in a new direction, even if it means losing Nightcrawler and Kitty.

I've now been reading this book since the summer, it's probably going to take until the end of the semester to finish Claremont's run, and I'm constantly surprised by just how good it is. He's writing one of the greatest longform works in comics history, consistently entertaining, with strong, consistent thematic and character development and long building plot threads over more than 125 issues. I'm rereading Watchmen for a paper now, while I wait for the next set of issues to arrive, but after that, the journey through X-history will continue.

Samaritan Girl

Samaritan Girl is a film from Kim Ki-Duk, one of the premier directors of the Korean New Wave. He dropped The Isle and 3 Iron earlier, and Samaritan Girl is his latest. I was actually supposed to see this film at the Asian Film Festival earlier this year, however I cut my finger and went to the hospital, so I missed that. But some months later I'm back and have seen the film, and it builds on the work that Kim has done before in a really interesting and challenging way.

The basic premise of Samaritan Girl is two teenage girls become prostitutes to finance a trip to Europe. So, in a typical telling of this story you'd start off with some scenes showing them in the act, building up to the one client who pushes things too far and hurts them, which leads them out of the life of prostitution and back into regular society. That's pretty much the arc of Mysterious Skin, which I watched a few days. It's not a bad story, but what Kim does is really different.

SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT

I think the thing I most admire about this film is the way it constantly defies your expectations. The film opens with the two girls already involved in their prostitution business. You would think most of the drama in the film would come from how they wind their way around to prostitution, and particularly in witnessing them crossing that initial barrier. However, this way actually makes more sense because if you're watching the film, you probably already know the basic premise, and that would render those moments irrelevant. That's one of the problems with a lot of movies, the trailer will tell you everything that takes the film twenty minutes or so to set up, so for those first minutes, you're just waiting for them to get to it already.

So, this film jumps right into their lives and through a couple of clients, we get an idea of their routine. There's something a bit disturbing about how carefree Jae-Young is in approaching prostitution. She sees no danger in what she's doing. We get no sense of her home life, so it's like she's a kid, but has the freedom of an adult, and she uses that freedom to sell herself, with no apparent consequence. The arrangement they have works and it's only Yeo-Jin who confronts the morality of what they're doing.

It's never made explicit, but there's a pretty clear implication that Yeo-Jin is on some level in love with Jae-Young and by helping her to these prostitution deals, it's like she experiences vicariously the sexual connection she can't bring herself to ask for. Even though it is not the two of them having sex, with each job, the emotional connection deepens. This is why Yeo-Jin is so angry when Jae-Young becomes emotionally connected with her clients. She can tolerate sexual betrayal, but wants Jae-Young to herself emotionally. This is reinforced in the bath house scenes where Yeo-Jin tries to cleanse Jae-Young of what she's done. The kiss the two of them share is further evidence that they are more than just friends.

There's definitely a film there, touching on issues of sexual jealousy and ultimately on a traditional one partner sexual paradigm Yeo-Jin would want versus the moral liberated sexuality of Jae-Young. However that is not the film that Kim chooses to make. Instead in an extremely shocking development, Jae-Young jumps out of a window to avoid the police and winds up severely injured. When she's up on the ledge, you really get the sense that she could jump and be safe, and that's largely due to the way Jae-Young has behaved throughout the film. She's been in so many potentially dangerous situations and escaped unscathed, why should this be any different? However, it is different and it's a shock to see her bloody on the ground. This was not a plot twist I saw coming at all, certainly not twenty minutes into the film.

At Jae-Young's request, Yeo-Jin goes to look for a musician that she had been with earlier, that is her last dying request. Upon finding him, she is unable to tear him away from his composition, the previously tender, nice man is cold to her. So, she agrees to have sex with him, offering up her own purity to save her friend. It's disturbing to see her make this concession, and is a testament to the extent that she loves Jae-Young. When they do get to the hospital, Jae-Young is already dead and in one of the most brutal scenes in the film, Yeo-Jin sobs while the musician takes a cell phone call in the background, completely oblivious, or not concerned, with Yeo-Jin's suffering. It's a great conceit to show how little the people she was with actually cared for Jae-Young. They saw her only as an object.

So, in a rather arbitrary twist, Yeo-Jin decides that she will have sex with all of Jae-Young's clients and return their money. This is motivated by a desire to purify Jae-Young, by having sex, then giving the money back she can undo the acts that doomed Jae-Young and absolve her of her sins. When she is approaching the men, she refers to herself as Jae-Young and impersonates her up until the actual meeting. This touches on a similar dynamic as the latter half of Mulholland Drive, where Diane simultaneously wants to be Camilla and wants to be with Camilla. Yeo-Jin plays Jae-Young for the men, and by having sex with them, she is vicariously getting closer to her friend, and sharing the intimacy that they were never able to share during her life.

Through her encounters, she does bring happiness to people. One middle aged guy she's with ends up calling his daughter and reconnecting with her after the happiness that she brings to him, and another is stunned when she not only refuses to take his money, but actually pays him. This transaction serves as the bridge to the second half of the film, in which Yeo-Jin's father sees his daughter prostituting herself and becomes obsessively driven to vengeance.

The first half of the film doesn't exactly condone what the girls are doing, but it's all consensual, and the men they're with really seem to enjoy it, so it would seem like no harm done, but here we realize that even if Yeo-Jin isn't hurting herself, what she's doing is destroying her father. His actions begin by asking one of her clients what he was doing, and how old she was, but it gradually escalates, leading to two incidents of extreme violence. This film, much like Kim's other work, relies on extremely violent acts as punctuation mark, the ultimate expression of a character's emotion. In his films, violence is frequently equated with love, as in The Isle, when the girl shoves fishhooks where they should not go to show her love for a man, or in 3 Iron when a golfball assault on her husband serves to free the woman from a domestic prison.

Here, Yeo-Jin allows herself to be violated to show her love for Jae-Young, while her father relies on violent action against her clients as a way to preserve his daughter's purity. One of the most disturbing scenes is when the father goes to one of the client's house during a family dinner. He chastises the man for sleeping with a girl younger than his daughter and proceeds to walk out, only to find that the client has killed himself. The blood seeping into the frame is a harrowing image and shows the power of the guilt these men carry over violating the societal taboo. This scene is a marked contrast from the earlier scene when a man's experience with Yeo-Jin causes him to reconnect with his family. The entire prostitution arrangement exists in a perilous fantasy world that can be easily broken by an outsider, such as the father. His story culminates when he beats one of the clients to death in a public restroom and goes home to take a shower and wash the blood from his clothes. It's a really powerful image, serving to show just how far this man has fallen, while at the same time bringing to the fore the fact that he is unable to actually confront his daughter on the issue. He seeks to punish the entire world because he is too afraid to really admit to himself what his daughter is doing. By seeking revenge against the clients, he makes her the victim of a wrong, when in fact, she is the one seeking them out.

This leads in to the third section, titled Sonata. Concurrent with her father's breakdown is Yeo-Jin's decision to throw away Jae-Young's diary and give up her quest to undo her friend's actions. She has moved on, and has realized that what she's doing is just bringing guilt upon herself. Father and daughter drive out to her mother's grave where they quietly reflect on what's happened. The waterfront setting is classic Kim, and for a while here, I felt like the film was not exactly dragging, but not quite up to what it had been. The senile old man is a decent character, but it felt more like a distraction. Things pick up with Yeo-Jin's cleansing out by the water, as she cries, the enormity of her actions finally catching up with her.

The final sequence of the film is brilliant, working on a bunch of symbolic layers. At a stop on their way home, Yeo-Jin is pretending to drive the car. Her father sees this and realizes that his daughter isn't a child anymore, he needs to let her grow up. So he decides to teach her to drive, and they drive out to the middle of a swamp, in a shallow body of water. This leads to the blue tinted sequence, in which her father buries Yeo-Jin in the mud. This sequence was disturbing, but all the while I was hoping it was a dream, because I didn't like the idea that her father would actually want to kill Yeo-Jin for what she'd done. After all she'd been through, he clearly still loved her. So, I was happy when she woke up and it was a dream. We cut from an image of total cruelty to one of selfless love, as Yeo-Jin looks out a driving course her father has made for her, out of hand painted yellow stones. Seeing the love he lavished on her, all represented in this one image is very powerful and great filmmaking. Everything we need to know is contained in this image of his labor.

This leads to her father letting Yeo-Jin drive on her own, without his guidance, and she struggles calling for him. However, he's taken away by a mysterious car, apparently the police picking him up for the murder he committed. He empowers her, acknowledges her status as an adult, then is forced to leave her to fend for herself. She struggles to reach him, but is not skilled enough to catch up with the other car and finds herself alone on the road. The sequence addresses the issue that every parent and child face, the inevitable moment of separation, when a parent realizes that they can't protect their child from the world, and the child then has to fend for themself. The father thought he could save his daughter, but in the end he realizes she has to make her own choices, he can show her how to drive, but she has to choose the road. The ending lacks the overt enigmas of Kim's other films, but it really resonates on an emotional level. The film has moved from an outre story of those outside the norm to a relatable theme that applies to everyone.

What's so strong about the film is the way it subverts your expectations, avoiding the traditional payoffs in favor of more subtle, and real moments. The emotional dynamics always feel right and the story takes you in a lot of unexpected places, gradually evolving with each step and skillfully juggling multiple characters.

I still think 3 Iron is Kim's best film, because it worked so strongly on an emotional level, but this is a close second, also drawing on emotions and going a bit further thematically. Kim's use of music is really interesting in both films, usually it's silent, but when he does use a piece, it's frequently repeated to add thematic value. There's some heartbreaking musical moments here, perfectly accenting the scenes they're placed in.

On the whole, this is a really powerful film and yet another testament to the great stuff coming out of Asia at the moment. I feel like Asia today is Europe in the 50s, pushing the medium forward through its genre reconstruction, with a dynamic level of filmmaking that most American films don't even touch.