Getting Started

The Adoption of Johnny Depp from the 1491s: The 1491s are a Native comedy troupe I first encountered while reading We Had a Little Real Estate Problem: The Unheralded Story of Native Americans & Comedy by Kliph Nesterhoff (see previous newsletter for more on this title). I ended up spending some time checking out their sketch comedy on YouTube. Some of the jokes went over my head—not surprising, considering the group’s goal is to create comedy by Natives for other Natives. This particular bit, though, sends up Johnny Depp in a Dateline-esque “reenactment” and eyewitness account of that one time he was adopted by the Comanches. Funny on many levels, all the more so post-, well, you know, the big brouhaha.

Recent Reads

Accountable: The True Story of a Racist Social Media Account and the Teenagers Whose Lives It Changed by Dashka Slater: An account of a truly awful and deeply racist Instagram account started and followed by a small number of high school students in Albany, California—all in the name of so-called “edgy” humor. (One part of this book that I appreciated—a fulsome explanation of how at least some kids these days, especially boys, use social media and how many adults do not understand this.) Slater carefully and thoughtfully details not only the perplexing motivations and thought processes of the individuals creating and liking posts and/or scrolling through without intervening but also the heartbreaking—and predictable—effects on those targeted.

The author also details how the school district bungled its response to the situation at every step of the way, including an attempt at restorative justice that went horribly awry, in large part because the single session was not conducted according to best practices. In my view, one of the most interesting aspects of the story were the tensions that erupted between the parents of the account followers and the parents of those targeted in racist posts. On the one hand, the sometimes white parents—genuinely horrified by the racist actions of their children—made misguided attempts to explain that they themselves were not racist. On the other hand, some of the parents of those targeted insisted in an (in my view) equally misguided way that the racist attitudes expressed in the online posts must have been learned in the students nuclear households. (See above about adults not always understanding and/or taking into account how social media works or the pervasive influence it can have over young people—or ask any elementary school teacher about the influence of Andrew Tate over their young male charges.)

Slater carefully and thoughtfully details how adults in a small community added to already boiling-over tension by saddling onto the actions of…well, stupid teenagers their (justified) anger over centuries of systemic racism, their own white guilt or desire not to be seen as racist as a result of the racist actions of their children, or deeply-held beliefs about free speech/how legal protections should work—including with regards to the privacy of minor offenders. (Without losing sight of the fact that the specifically anti-Black racism expressed in the posts would not even exist if not for the centuries of systemic racism.) Actually YA Nonfiction, the book interested me on a formal level as well—the shorter chapters, the voice, and occasional use of verse all led to meaningful impact but with enough depth and breadth to maintain my adult interest.

Podcast

There Are No Girls on the Internet hosted by Bridget Todd: I’ve really enjoyed listening to various episodes of this podcast detailing, well, life online. Among other things, the host has chronicled Elon Musk’s series of self-inflicted wounds over in the Twitter-as-was/X-as-is space, but the episode I enjoyed most was inspired by Ashton Kutcher’s letter in support of Danny Masterson during the penalty phase of the latter’s rape trial.

A little context—I am much less online than I used to be and haven’t paid too much attention to the ensuing controversy. My basic understanding is that these letters are a normal part of the penalty phase, something I have zero problems with though I have witnessed some outrage on that count alone. Nor does Todd seem interested in litigating that. The host is most concerned with a different aspect of Ashton Kutcher’s identity—his anti-trafficking work. (On a side note, I did manage to see no small number of people defending his letter because of all the work he does in that space. Okay, maybe I’m still a little more online than I’d like to be.)

In the episode, Todd points out that it’s really important to take a closer look when anti-trafficking comes up and details the history of Kutcher’s so-called anti-trafficking activities under the umbrella of his foundation—first founded with Demi Moore, then rebranded after their very messy public split. Todd carefully shows how Kutcher’s work has done little to prevent harm to children even as it has done real and lasting harm to consenting adult sex workers. I also appreciated the breakdown of harmful SESTA and FOSTA laws, which Kutcher’s foundation supported and a discussion about how the numbers anti-trafficking organizations use to support their fund-raising activities (cha-ching!) are thoroughly inaccurate.

Film/Television

Corsage: Marie Kreutzer’s phenomenal take on Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1837-1898) with Vicky Krieps in the starring role. The figure of Elisabeth (AKA Sisi/Sissi) may be familiar to many in the English-speaking world from the Netflix series Die Kaiserin. The Netflix show’s first season follows fifteen-year-old Sisi’s courtship with the young Kaiser, then her struggle to adjust to court life where the freedoms she enjoyed as a girl in Bavaria are revoked and her high spirits are less appreciated. Her every move also faces enormous public scrutiny. (For a number of reasons, Sisi and Princess Diana have earned a comparison.)

Corsage, though, follows an older, more jaded Elisabeth. At forty, she struggles to maintain her impossible thinness and suffers under the (literal) weight of her famously long hair. On the domestic front, whatever romance that may have existed at the beginning of her relationship with Kaiser Franz has long since soured. Mostly, Elisabeth seems overwhelmed by an existential case of ennui, her only sanctioned role to show up and look pretty. Always unsuited to life in the nineteenth-century Austrian version of The Firm (supposedly how the British royal family refers to itself), she also suffers the indignity of being criticized by her children for not keeping up Kaiserin-like appearances.

Corsage details—in a somewhat ahistorical fashion—Elisabeth’s slow escape from her gilded cage. Backed by an ethereal soundtrack from Camille, the film operates along the lines of wish fulfillment by offering the central character the oblivion she seeks even as any audience familiar with Elisabeth’s story knows that—in reality—true escape was never a possibility.

Another Look

Prime Suspect: When this groundbreaking British police procedural starring Helen Mirren as Detective Chief Inspector (later promoted to Detective Superintendent) Jane Tennison first aired, I was a teenager, well able to pick up on all the misogyny and institutionalized sexism the protagonist faced. As she slogged through and solved case after case, she became kind of a hero of mine. Because she didn’t take shit from anyone. Because she gave as good as she got. Recently, at the much wiser and more worldly age of forty-eight, I sat down and watched (almost) all seven seasons through again and, well, I have some thoughts. The first thing I noticed? She may have been a trailblazer, gender-wise, but first and foremost, Jane Tennison was a cop. And for all the ground the series purportedly broke, it’s easy to see how the series also laid the foundation for so many of the toxic policing myths foisted upon the ever-growing number of viewers of a genre that keeps so many of us riveted in our seats, even when deep down inside, we know better.

A few things I noticed…Jane is doggedly determined. She always gets her man (or woman) in the end, but in a lot of ways she goes by her gut even when there’s no evidence to support her theory. In other words, it’s the detective’s hunch that’s going to solve the case, not the careful gathering and analysis of evidence. Of course, in TV-land, hunches lead to the apprehension of the real criminals rather than tunnel vision and railroading—real-world problems. In another instance of damaging crime-drama mythology, Jane stubbornly refuses to revisit a case she closed when questions of innocence arise. Again, of course she turns out to be right, whereas this kind of recalcitrance in the real world can have devastating effects.

This rewatch also had me picking up a lot more with regards to sexism. As a teenager, again, I viewed Jane as some kind of feminist hero. Mostly, I think, because she was a trailblazer. This time around, I noticed Jane could—at times—be something of a queen bee. (Why women operate like this—or perhaps more accurately feel they need to—is worthy of an entire essay or book on its own, one that’s probably been written many times over.) On the other hand, I felt genuine rage on Jane’s behalf as a result of a first season domestic subplot. See, Jane has a live-in boyfriend, Peter. As the show kicks off, she is presented as a loving and supportive partner. But then— on account of getting a once-in-a-lifetime big break at work—she suddenly has less time for him. This eventually results in Peter dumping Jane because for some reason she needs to be the one to boil water, cook noodles, toss the finished pasta with (prepackaged!!) smoked salmon, seasoning, and cream, then serve fruit and cheese for dessert. To impress his boss. Peter can’t even seem to bring himself to do the shopping to help prepare for the big dinner despite the fact that he seems to be only nominally employed and have a lot more free time than Jane. His final accusation boils down to: BuT JaNe I jUsT wAnTeD yOu To Do SoMeThInG fOr Me! Don’t get me wrong. Obsessed with the case, Jane does slack off at home. But the consequences she faces as a result only left me with questions (and rage) about the expectations weighing on her shoulders in the first place.

Full disclosure: At the time of this writing, I haven’t yet finished watching the series. I hit pause in the middle of the final episode. Series Seven is utterly devastating—at least so far—in that Jane comes so close to finally finding some care and comfort for the awful wear and tear multiple decades of police work have worn on her psyche. But then—in an awful twist—tragedy rips away that care and comfort at the very moment it’s needed most, leaving Jane to flounder on her own. When I left her, she was well on her way to alienating anyone at all who might offer some small bit of emotional succor.

The final episode also plays on Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s short story, “The Pledge,” about a detective on his last case who promises a victim’s family that he will find the perpetrator, a decision which will haunt the detective. (For a full-fledged retelling of this Dürrenmatt story and examination of this trope, see the 2001 film The Pledge, directed by Sean Penn and starring Jack Nicholson, Robin Wright, and Benicio del Toro. Bonus: Helen Mirren also appears.) The truth is, I probably will finish Prime Suspect. Narrative is a powerful drug and I would like to see Jane’s story through to the end. For better or worse, I’ve learned so much from watching—from the reality of the lives of women during a certain time period to the way tropes begin and spread until they take on lives of their own.