No, really. All I want is to give a guy rapey thoughts about me in a Thor costume.

So today, Marvel entertainment is having a big sale on Amazon. Awesome, right? They’ve got toys and action figures and clothes for all.

Except when you click on women’s clothing, this is what you get.

Two suitcases, a pair of heels (for some reason I still don’t get) and five sexy superheros costumes. Five. And only one of them is for a female character (that’d be the last one: sexy lab girl, Gwen).

And the girls section? All costumes. For Black Widow, Spider Girl, and some of the male heroes (which are just boys’ costumes put in the girls’ category). Yeah, skin tight faux-leather catsuits for your five year old. Try sending her to school in that.

When sexism and misogyny in marketing and consumerism are discussed, this is exactly the kind of bullshit which exemplifies targeted anti-woman marketing. I don’t usually get on a gender podium, but this bothers the shit out of me. In an age where Marvel, a multi-billion dollar company who could hire whoever they want, market themselves however they want, who has fostered the development of amazing female characters in its films and comics, chooses to have the only available products on the number one online marketplace be tight-bodiced, short-skirted (likely poorly constructed) costumes of its male superheroes, it is literally screaming: WE DON’T WANT WOMEN IN OUR CLUB UNLESS THEY’RE SEX OBJECTS.

It may seem petty on a surface level, but what companies make commercially available to consumers has a direct effect on how that demographic is perceived. If you don’t make it, if you won’t sell it, we can’t buy it. So you use the excuse that girls don’t buy superhero merchandise unless its this incredibly sexist bullshit. That, in itself, is incredibly sexist bullshit.

Don’t tell me a Gamora or Nebula tee won’t sell when you won’t make one to test that theory.

Don’t tell people a Black Widow movie won’t make money when you won’t try making any female-led superhero film (since Elektra *weeps*), and when your Black Widow actress had a hit film this summer that basically involved her running around and being badass to a terrible hole-filled plot. People still came and it was pretty bad. Imagine if it were really good.

Don’t hide behind suits and corporate hullabaloo when it comes to shilling out merchandise. You want to know what consumers want? Try ASKING THEM. Try LISTENING TO THEM. Try NOT PURPOSELY ALIENATING AT LEAST 50% OF YOUR POTENTIAL BUYERS BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE PENISES.

What Do You Mean No One Cares About My Problems?

Seriously. I'm awesome. At least I try to be. I work hard, especially doing the things I love. I even work hard doing things I don't love if they're necessary and/or I'm getting something useful from it. I may not work as hard, but my "getting by" with work is most people's excelling. That's not hyperbole, it's fact. If you look at my employment history, it's a clear cut distinction -- I work for you, I excel.
Except I can't seem to parlay that excellence into the fields that actually drive me. I keep excelling at doing stuff to just get by instead of excelling at what I know I'm meant to pursue.
But I forgot. No one cares. I'm one tiny speck of human dust among billions of other specks on this planet. Throwing pity parties for myself doesn't help me any more than it helps anyone else.
The issue is, as little as anyone else cares about my problems, they care the exact same amount about my abilities, talents, experience, knowledge, drive, passion, etc. How do you make your voice louder than others when no one cares what's being said? How do you stand out from the crowd when your number in the queue prevents you from being seen even when squinting into the distance? How do you go from excelling in a career that makes you hate yourself to excelling in a life calling?
Seriously, how?

50 Shades of No Way in Hell

There's a trailer out for that movie now... that movie based on a series of atrociously written books with derivative Twilight-esque plot which has done more for the bondage sex toy industry than any other piece of pop culture in years, while simultaneously flaunting a horribly abusive relationship as healthy, sexy, and desirable.
So yeah, I'm biased. There was a part of me, however, my own masochistic-for-terrible-things side if you will, which thought that maybe, someday, I'd sit myself down and watch this atrocity. Once it's out on streaming/DVD of course, where the drinks are plenty, the pause button at the ready for vomit-inducing moments, and there is a decided lack of horny housewives surrounding me. Then I saw Jamie Dornan in The Fall.
For those unaware, The Fall is a Netflix series starring Gillian Anderson as a detective who comes to Belfast from England to run an internal/external investigation on the police force and, particularly, a murder inquiry regarding a young woman. The one young woman turns into several by the end of the series, all fitting a distinct aesthetic the killer finds appealing. That killer is Jamie Dornan, and in a rare turn for what could be an extended storyline for a basic procedural, it isn't just the view of the cops we get. We see the killer in his everyday life, as a grief counselor for parents of children who have died in tragic circumstances. We see him at home with his wife, a nurse, and young son and (quite possibly burgeoning psychopathic) daughter. We see him running, stalking, breaking into victims homes, fantasizing about them, and you know, eventually killing them. We see the aftermath; we see his family and his marriage crumbling. We see him nearly kill the babysitter when she finds a token from one of his kills (and her skin-crawling attraction to him even after this incident). We see him wink knowingly at his creepy daughter when she asks if they're driving past a murder scene. We see him as a fully fledged person, and as a killer. It's unsettling to say the least and genuinely terrifying at times. And it is masterfully done. This is all eerily similar to the kind of guy Christian Grey would be in real life (sans the obscene amount of money) as opposed to the demented fairy tale version that appears in print and, likely, on screen.
The first look we have of Jamie Dornan as Christian Grey in the trailer holds that same intensity and predatory look he gets when he's getting ready to murder women -- women who look eerily like the "50 Shades" girl, Ana.

This is my plea to women everywhere: If you still think the idea of Christian Grey is sexy and desirable, if you think having your own uncertainty ignored in favor of a man taking control of you and 'teaching' you to be his object is a positive portrayal of relationships, even if you just think the idea of a little bondage and fetishism in a mainstream movie is naughty in a good way, before you see 50 Shades of Grey, or pick up one of those books again, watch The Fall. Really watch it. Pay attention to how this man acts in public and in private. You may still see something appealing in Christian Grey afterwards, but hopefully at least some part of your brain will register the difference between poorly- written fantasy and a more grounded portrayal of what control-hungry men are really like.

Only 41(ish) weeks until my next fix...

And I do mean fix. Like a drug. A horrible, abusive drug that I wish I could quit because the highs it used to bring me have dwindled to a scene or two per episode while I spend the rest of the time reaching my hands toward my television, repeating in agonized tones, "What the hell is going on? What are you doooooiiiing?!?"
This, is "Game of Thrones" withdrawal for an avid reader of A Song of Ice and Fire.
Full disclosure, I've only read through the entire series twice. I have read A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings three times now, and the Dunk & Egg tales thrice as well. I'm aware there are people who have read these books far more than I have (most of these wonderful people helped create and maintain sites like Tower of the Hand and the ASOIaF wiki) -- there's also a ton of people who don't reach my level of knowledge on book lore. I'm not here to school you all on that, and risk lots of spoilers in the process. I'm here to talk about addiction to something you know is not going to satisfy you.
They got their claws in fast and deep, HBO did. They crafted the first season of this show in such a way as to allow both the newly initiated and the casual reader to view and enjoy without innumerable changes to the source material. Then came season two, and the eyebrows started to rise. Then came season three, where some sequences lulled you into a false sense of believing things might even out again while somewhere in the back of your mind you knew this wouldn't be possible. Then season four... and not only are you wondering if you've even read the same books as the show's creators, you're questioning your sanity. Because as much as you rant and rail and are constantly appalled by the character assassinations and rapes (both literal and figurative) in the show, you keep watching -- not because you're invested. No. You're addicted, and that is far worse. It's worse because you know in your moments of lucidity that all the joy you once felt has turned into morbid curiosity about which one or two scenes they might get right in this episode. The anticipatory rush you feel when Sunday rolls around turns into rocking on your heels in the corner, staring at a clock until the hour arrives for you to jack in to your viewing.
The magic and wonder has been replaced with an empty, aching need, accompanied after viewing by a hunger for something better, something more deserving of your passionate pleas for great storytelling and dynamic characters and motherfucking ice zombies who are just ice zombies with no explanation of where they come from or what they want beyond the destruction of humanity. Yet this is all you have. You don't have the show, the show has you -- and you know it always will. So you grumble, you sigh, and you set up your countdown widget until next season, absentmindedly tapping veins in your arm every Sunday evening until your drug feeds you again. Winter is coming, but not for a long while...

Put a Stake In It, PLEASE

It’s over! It’s finally over! It’s over for good!
Wait, maybe not? Oh, Renfield save me…

Previously, I talked a bit about what prevented me from doing weekly recaps of Dracula, and it basically came down to how appalling the series became, and so quickly, both in terms of predictable tropes and character assassination.
Here’s the thing, though. I can move past the predictability and utter nonsense that was the plot of this series -- and only because I’ve become so jaded and cynical in my belief that no one cares about even trying to be original anymore; it’s all a facade, this trend of doing a ‘new twist’ on classics in an attempt to make something seem more 'original' than 'adaptation.' Except it’s not original when you simply borrow from other sources and mash things together. It’s like trying to fit puzzle pieces of different puzzles together and expecting a full picture. But I digress. I’ve become accustomed to this approach, so that part I can get over...ish.
What really astounds me (and confuses me on the part of people who actually seem to like the show) is how the creators of the show gave the audience a swath of characters who are all narcissistic, immature, bitchfacey douchewads with no ability to act like mature, responsible, compassionate adults for more than an episode. By the end of the series every single main character, with the possible exception of Renfield, is deplorable. There’s no one to root for, unless you enjoy rooting for self-involved sycophants and whiner babies.
(Granted, Dracula isn’t the only show with characters like this, but it is the most heavily populated…)

It's difficult to find vampires more narcissistic than The Originals family, but Dracula made ALL its characters as bad as they are...

These characters are taken from a novel wherein there is one wretched, narcissistic jerkface. Just one. And despite the fact that said novel is named for him, he’s not actually in the book a whole lot. This is where my righteous indignation over character assassination shades into outright fury. Not only did you do a mash-up of other stories to craft your plot for the season, rather than maintain any semblance of paying homage to the source material, you also managed to completely mangle every single main character. Not just mangle by giving them attributes and/or flaws and/or character arcs that have nothing to do with how they’re actually written, but turn them into genuinely dislikable people. All of them.
I’m just glad Qunicey was nowhere to be found in this show.
If the series does get renewed, it’ll be interesting to see how they move forward with these characters. And by ‘interesting’ I mean ‘good luck getting any of your audience to give a crap about anyone,’ because there’s a difference between having characters that are flawed and make bad choices, and just having a group of blundering assholes.

Dracu-ugh (Episode 1)

Alright. Now that I’ve sobered up from downing an entire bottle of wine in the span of an hour during the initial broadcast of the Dracula premiere, let’s get a bit more specific as to the reasons which caused me to consume an absurd amount of alcohol in such a short time frame.

We open with a couple of dudes seemingly Indiana Jones-ing their way into a crypt in Romania in 1881. As any logical person knows, things entombed in crypts this difficult to get to (and with bodies in caskets that have spikes driven through them) were buried so that no one would open them. People in vampire stories -- not logical. Also, not reliable as business partners as it’s only a moment until one of them is getting their throat slashed to awaken our Big Bad Vampire Daddy, and we have the first misinterpretation of a quote from the book, “The blood is the life.”

Cue transformation of stabnated corpse into Bloodface Rhys-Meyers… which quickly cuts to bathing, shirtless, dripping, sexy JRM surrounded by candles and by this point I assume the creators are hoping the female viewership just gave up caring about anything else other than gazing at tasty manflesh. His dressing is filmed like a Jaguar commercial -- close-up highlighted body parts and tailoring.

 

 

 

Finally the costume porn spell is broken by Dracula speaking to Renfield, presumably acting as a creepy voyeur butler to this costume erotica. (Also, I’m only going to say this once: changing up Renfield’s race to still make him Dracula’s bitch is not culturally inclusive. It is straight up racist.) Dracula casually asks Renfield if all his guests will be photographed on entrance as requested, as though we’re supposed to think that’s deviant yet acceptably weird. It’s not. It’s creepy -- and not in an ‘I vahnt to suck their blood’ way. In a ‘I’m planning who to systematically destroy based on their appearance -- kind of like Hitler’ way. There is a talk of a demonstration, then a casual jab at 1896 Americana as Renfield exits and Dracula ‘eases’ into his slightly Southern, slightly Midwest, slightly off American accent and introduces himself to… himself, as Alexander Grayson.

Cue carriages, grandeur, and ballroom dancing as we’re introduced to the young trio of Mina, Jonathan, and Lucy. Neither girl is wearing a dress even remotely era-appropriate and obviously designed to make them stand out. Lucy is immediately set up as vain, petty, flippant, condescending, and man-crazy. So there’s an immediate character assassination (and I think at this point I finished my second glass of wine).*

Jonathan and Mina express their disdain to each other at being brought to a fancy event where the likes of a journalist and scientist-in-training aren’t likely to find anything in common with the obscenely rich. Especially since the rich in this time period have more propriety than to kiss their not-yet-fiancees in public.

And yet, don’t think that Jonathan and Mina’s poo-poo-ing of the grandeur is only middle-class jealousy. The wealthy aristocracy, business barons, and their nose-up ladies are all a-chatter about how obscene this very American display of wealth is. They’re even surprised so many have come to this ridiculously decadent event… except it’s 1896 in London and at this point the city may as well have been renamed Decadence Central.

Renfield appears on the stairs to introduce the master of Carfax Manor (I hear the creators giggling at their clever book insert), mister Alexander Grayson. While everyone may think he’s an eccentric American making an obscene display of his wealth, that won’t stop them from clapping enthusiastically at his appearance. He saunters down some stairs, takes a cocktail, and then sees Mina. And the world around him disappears. And Mina senses it, too. And I sense a sudden urge to violently hurl my laptop out the window. There’s a flashback or flashforward or insight into their mind-melding or some ridiculous overly-romantic bullshit sequence of them cuddling and caressing in bed before we’re snapped back to the now, and I’m about to snap some writer’s neck.

We mangle Dracula’s initial greeting to ‘fit’ a roomful of people, and yet when his little moment is done, he goes back to staring at Mina. Like no one’s going to notice that. Oh, but wait. Lucy does. And so does Jonathan. And so does Mina. But does Alexula stop there? Nope, he saunters right over to Renfield and demands he find out everything about her and Jonathan.

Alexula’s first official introduction is to a woman named Jayne Weatherby, whose hair color is impossibly blonde, and eyebrows impossibly shaped. With her is her ‘friend’ Herr Kruger, who Alexula basically insults as a mask to hide that he probably hates continental Europeans with Germanic last names for reasons only someone who knows about vampire lore would gather.

Alexula then makes directly for some imperialist business-lords who chair a company he would like to obtain patents from. Stunned by his blatant talk of business in front of women, Alexula is shot down and his American status insulted. They leave him and we get the first shot of Alexula’s “I’m going to slaughter some bitches tonight” face.

Jonathan’s been observing this little moment and strolls up to offer Alexula some advice and dirt on the insulting lord, and is then joined by Mina. Alexula introduces himself to Jonathan, who introduces Alexula to Mina who is now gaping at Alexula like most female reporters currently gape at Tom Hiddleston (which I would, too, in their position). 

Mina apologizes for her behaviour by starting to say she thinks they’ve met before, but Alexula finishes that thought for her. Which is, you know, a pretty creepy thing to hear from a guy you’re just meeting even if he does look like JRM. Renfield cockblocks further interaction (as I have a feeling will become habit with him) by telling his master “It’s time.”

Somehow in the ninety seconds that have elapsed, Renfield has found out Jonathan’s name, job, leading traits, and boxing schedule for the month, as well as Mina’s name, lineage, degree program, favorite color, and status as a Byron fangirl.

A dramatic boom enters the music, as does OMG BEN MILES ILY SO MUCH! (I’m sorry, but I tend to fangirl horribly over any cast member from Coupling). 

He and his immaculately coiffed hair observe the same lords and ladies Alexula did, but before we can find out any more about him, Renfield announces it is time for the demonstration. He then saunters down to Jonathan and while initially chiding him for being a member of the press at a strictly no-press event, he quickly recovers by offering him an exclusive interview with Alexula, tomorrow, at the house, alone, no garlic necklaces allowed.

Now it’s time for the demonstration as Alexula hands out lightbulbs during a speech about the dark ages, war, and how not-evolved we still are, but may be with the help of his new invention -- magnetic power that can provide wireless electricity. Somewhere deep beneath the manor (one assumes), stage one is begun with lots of shouting men and steam and levers being thrown (because that’s how you dramatic science). The business-lords, now joined by Patrick Maitland (I’m sorry, but that’s what you get when you’re Ben Miles), are instantly concerned for their petroleum interests, but Patrick tells them not to worry. Meanwhile, nothing is happening yet, so to stage two we must go. More steam, more yelling, more levers. Then, like magic, Mina’s light bulb alights first. Then another, then another, then the room. Alexula gives his best maniacal laugh, but everyone is so awed by the lights that apparently I’m the only one who notices how creepy and over-the-top his reaction is. However, after a few seconds, things start to go wrong downstairs. Sparks are flying, men are getting zapped from a Tesla-coil-esque machine, and demented doubles of Hugh Jackman start appearing. The foreman requests to cut the power, but Alexula, through Renfield, demands a few more seconds to revel. So a couple more explosions happen and the coolant expels itself all over until the foreman does the intelligent thing and shuts everything off.

Alexula soothes the disappointed crowd by making a horrible pun with a long pause. He makes a beeline back to Mina but Lucy thrusts her hand out and introduces herself before he can flirt. Alexula chats to each of them in turn, and pretty much leaves them all enthralled. Jonathan notes that he seems quite taken with Mina, and Lucy is quick to second his assessment, while still being petty and insulting. Then she’s off for cordials. (Seriously, can we please stop making Lucy into a petulant debutante?)

The mysterious Lady Jayne slinks around a corner behind Dracula and comments on his extraordinary display, and his immediate retort is that he didn’t hear her approach -- and yet I heard the distinct sound of a heel hitting stone, so Alexula’s obviously deaf, as are the sound mixers. They walk, they insult-flirt, she invites him to the opera so he can get into her box… yes, really. Did I mention this woman is wearing a feathered choker? She departs and we get Alexula’s “I think I’ll sex that one before I kill her” face.

The ball ends with vague threats from one of the business-lords, and if you didn’t see the blinking ‘dead meat’ sign over his head, the music and Alexula’s expression should have clued you in.

Jonathan is typing with his photo of Mina beside his typewriter. His accented-roomie schools him to ask for Mina’s hand before someone else does, which segues directly into Mina and Lucy’s slumber party where Lucy is taunting Mina about the weirdo American leering at her, and yet seems to hold him in a better light than Jonathan whose biggest character flaw is being ‘boring.’ (And I want to cry with rage.) Mina begs Lucy to talk about something other than her dislike of Jonathan. Then there’s a random ‘whooshing’ sound that apparently all of London hears, except the drunk soon-to-be-dead lord, who gets yanked away from his doorstep and whose arterial spray splashes artfully on his numbered pillar.

Alexula justifies to Renfield ripping the man apart basically because he was rude (I think we just found Hannibal’s bff) as Renfield tosses the lord’s photo into the fireplace. Now we’re on to discussing Alexula’s plans to destroy the corrupt and powerful and entitled Order of the Dragon. The crux of it is they’re an elitist war council that murders, pillages, rapes, degrades in the name of… we’re not really told. Basically Alexula is planning a holy war against a group that engages in their own nebulous holy war. It’s really convoluted because it tries to both entangle itself with the actual Order of the Dragon while muddling everything that had to do with the actual Order’s real purpose -- especially the fact that the main inspiration for Dracula was a member of this Order, as were other members of his family. And let’s not forget the burning of peasants flashback. Alexula’s big plan however, is to stop their reign by directing the future of world power from petroleum to magnetic, and, you know, killing every member he can sink his fangs into.

At this point I’m drunk, angry, frustrated, and wondering how such perfect portraits of every person entering that party were taken.

It’s a foggy night in London town, and the dead lord’s house is being broken into by the Herr and his neck checked for signs of bite marks. Rather than make a thorough home exam, Kruger cuts off the lord’s head, carries it in a hatbox through town, and drops it off to Lady Jayne. Because obviously no one’s opening that man’s coffin again and won’t notice his head’s gone…

Lady Jayne brings the head to Patrick, all stuffed with garlic, onions, and sage, ready for roasting on a spit. There’s talk of the last time a vampire ravaged London and they had to cover it up -- 1888, which, for those not in the know, they illuminate us was the year of Jack the Ripper. Yup. The Ripper was a vampire. Because THAT’S original…

They decide to put Kruger on patrol to watch over the other business-council-lords, so long as, Patrick stipulates, no one knows he’s around -- because unexpected Germans make Brits nervous for some reason… (too soon?) And the official explanation for ‘unexplained’ death? Dog attack.

We enter a classroom where students are learning science via reading the tabloids. Mina covers for her male chatterboxes to their professor for reasons I don’t pretend to understand.

Meanwhile, Jonathan is waiting for Alexula and opens a giant shutter where sunlight then streams in. Alexula arrives and Jonathan extends a hand to shake, directly into the beam of light. Alexula hesitates, then gives a firm shake and gestures Jonathan to a chair. Alexula turns away to get a drink, and we see his hand is burnt. (At this point I am a) infuriated that Dracula is not sun-resistant and b) questioning his rationale in picking the house, room, and time of day to meet Jonathan knowing full well he could burst into flame.)

After Alexula casually pushes his chair out of direct sunlight, they have an interesting chat about why Alexula is here and the basic message is that Alexula is claiming to look out for the future of humanity by encouraging scientific developments while acknowledging his lineage as a member of the ‘old world’ privileged class. And while this is totally out of canon character for Dracula, it’s a well crafted moment, and my biggest annoyance was actually that Jonathan’s notes aren’t in shorthand. I don’t give a shit what his personal assessments of Alexula are, as we’ll likely get those when his story is published. I do care that he has journalistic integrity and knows how to properly notate for the time period.

We’re back with Mina at school where she’s meeting her professor in his very dark office. She’s concerned about being able to become her prof’s research assistant after exams. She’s by far the most intelligent in class, but she sucks at hands-on surgical work because cutting people makes her squeamish. So we’ve built Mina up as incredibly bright and engaging in a professional course not afforded to 95% of women at this point in time… only to strip all that away in saying that she’s a great scholar and bookworm but when she sees blood she practically faints.**

Her professor tells her to suck it up and have confidence while also giving her cryptic advice about the heart never lying. She leaves and goes outside, being passed by her male classmates all saying goodnight as she stands around waiting for who the fuck knows. Apparently we’re not supposed to think this is odd as Alexula creeps around pillars watching her with his coat collar turned up. Yes, really. 

She stands alone, reading a book in the dark as he stalks all around her, disappearing when she finally senses something. Then, a female (apparently a friend) comes up and murmurs something about sorry for being late and they walk off into the dark together. Another woman crosses past them, notices Alexula, and gives him flirty sex eyes. And since he can’t get his rocks off with Mina yet, it’s time for a quick fondle-bite-kill with this girl.

And now to the opera, where Alexula has donated his box for the evening to Jonathan and Mina (who is dressed like Belle for some reason). Lady Jayne hip-wags to her own box, the opera begins, and look who decided he wanted into her box after all. And look, her box is directly across from where Jonathan and Mina sit. So Alexula can sex up Lady Jane while looking longingly across the opera house at Mina. (And as gorgeous and enchanting as JRM is, the fact that we’re supposed to root for this guy to be with Mina is insulting.)

The Order lords are gossip-bitching about Alexula taking control of their dead buddies assets, though the elder one isn’t terribly concerned. Alexula stalks the younger from the rooftops when suddenly Kruger shoots him in the leg. What ensues is an insanely ridiculous semi-slow-mo fight between the two of them that predictably ends with Kruger suffering from a bad case of katana to jugular. (Yes, Dracula owns, carries, and fights with a katana.) 

Alexula can’t suppress the urge to speechify to him before he dies, though, promising to kill everyone in the Order.

Meanwhile, Lady Jayne twirls katanas of her own in a practice arena complete with punching bags she slices up (which is just a waste of good punching bags), and a caged female vampire. Jayne wants to know who her sire is, but the vamp won’t tell. So Jayne coos all about her known methods of torture to get vampires to talk. The vamp girl is unimpressed and there is a stalemate.

Back at Castle Carfax, Alexula tries to drink away his anger (because that always works), and into the room swans Professor Van Helsing… and this is where I downed the last ¼ bottle of wine. Basically, Dracula is on Van Helsing’s leash, and Van Helsing is the one leading and directing the crusade against the Order because they killed his family. Van Helsing is the brains, Dracula is the brawn. And my desire for vengeance against the creators of this show is almost as strong as theirs against the Order.

So what did I like?

I like the completely fabricated character Ben Miles is playing. Partially for his cool collectedness, and partially because it’s Ben Miles.

I liked the interview scene (aside from aforementioned attention to proper journalism note taking), because even though it takes Dracula in a completely non-canonical direction for why he’s in London, it’s one that does actually make sense in context of the show.

I like most of the cast, even when I can’t stand their character (or what’s being done with their character).

As a final note, I’m just going to keep track of how many people Dracula kills every week -- and what that total is when Mina finally, inevitably, falls for him.

Week one kill count: 3

* No offence to Katie McGrath. I genuinely adore her and really hope her character gets something more to do than is indicated in this episode. But I fear she’ll fall into the same trap set up for Morgana in Merlin (beyond season 3) where she’s written into a corner and has to find her own way in an increasingly poorly written role.

** If this is how you inject feminism into a character you didn’t think was feminist to begin with -- FUCK YOU. Canon Mina may hold to the strict, patriarchal ideals of her time, but she is intelligent, resourceful, brave, strong, compassionate, does not shy away from danger or blood, and is more modern than she would even think to give herself credit for. She also doesn’t fall in love with a mass murderer.

Come out and take your medicine!

Re-read The Shining before Doctor Sleep comes out, I said.
You'll want the refresher, I said.
Don't pay any attention to the terrifyingly accurate depictions of addiction, I said.
You won't be emotionally traumatised by the concept that Danny Torrance succumbs to alcoholism as an adult despite his absolute horror of it as a child, I said.
The relationship between Jack, Wendy, and Danny will not emotionally destroy you as it has the previous three times you've read this book, I said.

I'm an effing moron.

Dracula Bingo!

Or: Why I’m going to need gallons of alcohol in order to make it through this show. 

 (And yes, I've read the book. Repeatedly. So several gripes will be of a strictly canonical nature.)

 

Unchecked dramatic pauses such as: “Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you tonight… POWER!”

Dramatic pauses of such nature are only allowed from one person.
 

Dracula as sexy-romantic (anti)hero.
"Sometimes, the people we are meant for take us by surprise."
 

Lengthy tracking and/or close up shots of Dracula watching people
 

Overt attempts at inserting modern feminism ideals into female characters (who will still probably fall in love with the mass murderer known as Sexy-Drac)
 

Dracula licking/wiping his lips

Non-canonical romances

Dracula as over-protective stalker douche (but I’m sexy and ily so it’s OK, right bby?
 

References to immortal love of any kind (including the ‘immortality is a curse I would never bestow upon you’ spiel -- usually followed by making said beloved immortal)
 

References to Dracula not eating or drinking

Bosoms heaving for no other reason than boobs look awesome when stuffed inside corsets

Anytime a character comments on a new invention of the ‘modern age’

Dracula is talked about/portrayed as the ‘mysterious American’ (and if they don’t keep that facade for long, then being the ‘mysterious foreigner’)

Random shots of predatory/ominous animals (yes, including bats and wolves -- if they don’t actually interact with people ever and serve a real purpose but are just there for ‘mood’)
 

Dracula described as ‘unlike anyone I’ve ever met’ or any variation thereupon

Heavy fog orgy

Van Helsing being crazier/more manic than Renfield
 

Complete annihilation of canonical character traits (Lucy as a sex pot)

Insertion of contemporary music (this includes original score that features synthesizers and/or electric guitar)
 

Anyone seductively consumes food or drink

FLASHBACK

Bad vampire makeup

Recreational drug use

Use of creative ‘swearing’ or ‘cursing’

Ridiculous rationalizations/explanations for people dying

So, in order to cope with this insanity, I did what any rational modern viewer would do: I made a BINGO game! Copy it. Print it. Share and drink to it with friends

Thursdays: AKA The Uncle Willie Day of the Week

For those unfamiliar with the concept of an 'Uncle Willie Day':  In The Philadelphia Story, boozehound womanizer Uncle Willie wakes with a major sleep-deprived hangover and after several assaults by the farcical goings on utters, "This is one of those days which the pages of history teach us are best spent lying in bed."

I won't go into detail about all the crap leading up to the forthcoming rant, but suffice it to say the universe has been sorely testing the bounds of my patience and sanity today. Moreso than a typical shittastic Thursday. All I wanted was to escape the insanity for a bit and use the last $5 I have until payday to get a tasty sandwich (and then they were out of the usual bread and I had to get a different sandwich...). That's all I wanted. And then...

Open Letter to the Guy Who Has Apparently Never Seen Breasts Before:

Dear Sir,

  While I appreciate the fact that sometimes the wonders of nature appear to us at the least expected times, it is important to remember that people are not beautiful flowers. Your awe at seeing a wondrous sight such as my (fairly-concealed) cleavage is understandable. However, your open mouth and eyes glued to that one section of my body for the entire duration of our interaction is none of the following: flattering, gentlemanly, proper, polite, enticing, sexy, unique, justified, excusable, desirable or acceptable. Your inability to remove your Tex Avery-style bugged out eyes from my breasts while you perform the simple task of handing me my food and saying, "Have a great day," elicits in me only one desire: to punch you in your cock.
  If it had been a glance and a smile, I might have been flattered. I might also have been a bit creeped out, but I wouldn't have this lingering feeling, hours later, that when I stood up as you called my number and your eyes were drawn to one area of my anatomy and never left that this one insignificant body part is all you see. That it may be all ANYONE sees. Believe it or not, I've put up with that type of lingering stare which fails to acknowledge that my form is comprised of anything except breasts since I was twelve. Your behaviour is not new to me. That doesn't make it acceptable, and the repeated experience of it over time does not dull the tumultuous emotions stirred by being seen as a walking pair of tits. 
  We don't know each other. It's not like you're a man I've known for a time who has won a bit of my trust and is allowed to make the occasional boob joke. I have a great rack. I'm not actually shy about it, because it is a nice asset. I wear corsets and tanks and much more revealing shirts than this one, not to garner attention but because they make me look and feel good. Let me repeat: it makes ME feel good. A glance here or there from a stranger isn't terribly untoward. It's the complete disregard for ANYTHING ELSE ABOUT ME which makes me concerned for your education about human anatomy and basic manners.
  We are unlikely to ever meet again, and in this particular instance though you were a good looking young fellow who probably has several positive attributes, our interactions today leave me with a sick feeling and the intense desire to inflict violence other human beings. Why? Because you are a dick-leading, manner-less, ogling douchenozzle with no regard for another person's humanity beyond one physical characteristic. Eat shit, scumbag.

Sincerely,
Me

One of the few times I get snobbish and truly rant...

I thought I had included this entry in the early days of this blog, but upon review I found that I merely found another tangent to follow on the topic. However, with the advent of my first interview on vampire lore, I find myself tasked with amping up my rant quotient. Thus, my rant (to date) to end all rants. Even though it was written over two years ago, my feelings have not changed -- though I will say that Nolan's 'Batman' trilogy has advanced some of the cinematic ideas regarding baddies and those who just want to watch the world burn.


Writer's Block Query: Is there a book you really loved that was subsequently turned into a movie? Did it live up to your expectations? Why or why not?

Hoo boy... settle in, readers. You just opened the door for me to talk about 'the abomination' that is the film industry's attempt to ruin my favorite book. Over. And over. And OVER.(andaoveandoverandoverandover about 3,000 times -- number of times only slightly exaggerated).
For the newer peeps, random visitors, or those who just may not have been paying attention, my favorite book is Dracula. I blame my father. He told me at sixteen that this was 'the great unfilmed novel.' This is the last thing you want to say to a gothic-horror-loving teen who is a voracious reader, writer, film buff and has a passion for creative endeavors including film-making -- unless, that is, you want to create an obsessive monster.
Now, as movie adaptations of books go, I'm not a complete purist. I understand the need to clip some things, adjust others, creatively interpret descriptions and thoughts and situations. I get it. The execution doesn't always work for me, but I understand the need for it. So I want to make that clear before I start in on my rant. I also want to make it known there are some adaptations of books to film I think are great, one of which I'll close on after my scathing commentary. I love the 'Lord of the Rings' trilogy. I love (most of) the 'Harry Potter' movies (Seriously, what happened between OotP and HBP? How did the director go retarded in that short span of time? Different rant...). I adore the 2005 'Pride & Prejudice' film, as well as the miniseries with Colin Firth. There are also a lot of adaptations that make me twitch (*cough*Kubrick's 'The Shining'*cough*), but we'll avoid those this time since I'm about to go full-force snark on one of the 'greatest living directors' of American cinema.

Francis Ford Coppola, you raped my book.

What disturbs and angers me foremost about 'Bram Stoker's Dracula' is that it's the only film to carry the author's name in the title and is so obviously not the book. This is made worse by the fact that when you watch interviews or read literature on the film, Coppola actually thinks he DID film the book. Now tell me, scholarly director, where in that book does Mina go on a date to the movies with Dracula? WHERE? And when precisely does she profess her undying love for him and shaft her husband in favor of Drac's scary bouffant hair and red dress? You want to know what this movie is? It's the Karloff version of 'The Mummy' adapted with vampires along with the characters and some scenes from Stoker's novel. Granted it is, so far, the only version of 'Dracula' to include all three of Lucy's suitors. Unfortunately, as is the case with most of the characters, they aren't really the type of men they are meant to be (or, in the case of Billy Campbell's quite wonderful portrayal of Quincey, he's so 'actually the character' that he seems out of place next to everyone else's wackiness). Barring their titular inclusion, the characters are written and portrayed basically nothing like they are in the book. Mina's a blushing bride turned wanton love slave of Dracula. Lucy's a man-chasing whore. Van Helsing's a complete crack pot. Seward, a brilliant young doctor, can't possibly run an asylum on his own without being unbalanced himself (oh, and a morphine addict because everyone in Victorian society was addicted to sex, morphine, absynthe and/or opium). Jonathan Harker is a giant pussy (and Keanu? Seriously? WTF, casting directors?). Arthur is probably the only one besides Quincey who is somewhat true to character (and a complete waste of Cary Elwes who, in an ideal situation, would have been the PERFECT Arthur). Dracula himself is a whiny, manipulative, cuckolding bat-man who just wants to find love.
Excuse me? Dracula travels all the way from Transylvania to England to seduce and romance a girl who looks like his suicidal wife from 400 years ago? HE JUST WANTS TO BE LOVED?!? F that S! What the man wants is to settle in to a quiet life in England where he can blend in and kill people at his leisure in a society that, unlike those superstitious gypsies, embraces modern science and reason and therefore will dismiss his crimes as something rational and explainable. When this is threatened by the men in this book, he turns on the vengeance and wreaks havoc on their lives. Why? BECAUSE HE'S EVIL.
This is a huge problem I have with this movie (and a lot of movies, adaptations or not) -- the resistance to the concept of evil. It's not necessarily that bad people are glorified, or mistreated and misunderstood (though that happens), it's that there is a lack of ability in film-making, and in society as a whole: to believe that some things, some people, some entities simply desire nothing more than to kill, to hate, to destroy and ravage and wreak havoc. The reverse, sadly, is also true (though to a lesser extent) -- that no one can be good for the sake of just being good. No one is pure of heart. No one will fight for goodness simply because they are good and believe in the goodness of others. (Anyone understanding now one of the reasons I love Doctor Who?) Everyone has to have dark motives, want something selfish, be an addict, covet their neighbor's ass and go for it. I'm not saying people should be portrayed without flaws or dark deeds and always taking the moral and ethical high road. What I'm saying is there aren't enough Aragorn's and Samwise's in our media.
Those being the major issues -- and they are MAJOR -- there are lesser problems I have with the movie. For instance, the Dracu-babes making time with Harker in the castle, biting on him and nearly giving him a BJ... yeah. Never happens. Not even close. There are also so many minor-seeming adjustments to situations, and how characters react to them, that when you know the story simply point to the creative minds not knowing how to portray a moment and so masking it with over-the-top constructs (Dracula as the giant talking bat, anyone?).
I could keep going. For hours. Some people have seen/heard me do this. However, I'll spare you the minutiae of everything that's wrong with this movie. As a film, it's not terrible (it's not particularly good either). As an adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel, it's an abomination.
This is however, par for the course with Dracula interpretations. There is no film in existence, of the hundreds that have been made which are somehow connected to the source, which even remotely begins to resemble the actual novel. I attack this one the most because it's the highest profile, the most recent 'straight interpretation' of the novel made for wide release, and because its title should be stripped from the record and replaced with "Francis Ford Coppola's The Mummy with Vampires and Characters Loosely Based on Bram Stoker's Dracula."