Our Oscar

I just got back from the gym where I heard an interesting post-Oscars conversation between two men. One was railing about Avatar having lost out to The Hurt Locker for best picture. “Did it make too much money,” he sniveled, “so they couldn’t give it the Oscar too?” His friend agreed, “Avatar was a great film. It lept technology so far forward things will never be the same.”

I was with them up till this point. I loved Avatar. I thought it was a wonderful adventure and a thrilling first step into the world of movies to come. I thoroughly enjoyed myself for the two plus hours it played. I whole-heartedly agree that it deserved to win all the effects and technical awards it won. But – and here is where my gym friends and I differ – while I loved the story and the environmental theme, it is a story we’ve seen before. It didn’t break new ground in that area in terms of emotional themes and character arc. As with Titanic, even though you know how it’s going to end, you still stick around because it’s a great ride to get there. As with Titanic, you have James Cameron dialog which is often heavy-handed at worst, on-the-nose at best. (Sidebar: why do successful film makers stop thinking they might have areas of weakness when they turn into film powerhouses? It’s akin to thinking that just because you own a Porche you are suddenly a great driver. No! Now you can just drive like an idiot even faster.) My point is, while wonderfully fun, entertaining and visually stunning, Avatar, due to writing issues, is not best picture and the Academy, it would seem, agrees with me.

Here is where my gym friends started to rile me. The sniveler continued “And the Hurt Locker, I mean just because it’s a war movie directed by a woman…” and here was where I couldn’t hear him anymore for the angry blood rushing in my ears. I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on my workout. Whereas before I was considering inserting myself into their conversation, now I could not do so without inserting my wrath into their faces.

We’ve been waiting a long time for a win in the Best Director category. Eighty two years to be exact. Scores of talented women make wonderful pictures against the odds every year and repeatedly we are ignored by the Academy. Infuriating? Yes. Discrimination? Maybe. We’ve earned that award time and again and I am so proud of Kathryn Bigelow for finally winning it. The moment they said her name I jumped off the couch in exhilaration and shouted “the girls won!” to my startled cat. There is no question that director’s gender aside, the Hurt Locker is a taught, intense thriller with an amazing character journey, and deep, thoughtful dialog. That is the point of Best Picture. At long last, this was our Oscar.

But listening to these two whine about the film’s win, asserting it was just some political crap for the fact she’s a woman I was chilled. Oh no, I thought. Was this how it was out there in the world? Were there people (and by people I mean men) who thought Kathryn hadn’t deserved to win? That it was a politically motivated hand-out? Then a second thought froze me. Were there people (men) who devalued her win as a woman just the way there were whites who devalued Hallie Berry’s Best Actress win? Oh no.

I have long been one of those de-valuers. I hated Monster’s Ball. I hated Hallie Berry’s performance. I thought it was a self-conscious, shock value movie that acted like it was much deeper than it was by playing to cheap, overblown emotions. These overblown emotions, I felt, were chiefly overacted by Ms. Berry. People talked about her courage. I feel it takes more courage to hold those emotions in and underplay them. Those are the far more interesting, intelligent performances and the ones I am interested in seeing and in seeing rewarded. (See Monique’s amazing performance and well-deserved win for Precious) I too would have thrilled for the beautiful Ms. Berry and the black community if she’d turned in a deep and deserving performance. Berry’s win that the black community cheered, lots of whites including myself felt was undeserved, unearned and only given to Ms. Berry as a political, PC move. What was worse was her gloating, “it’s about time” attitude in her acceptance speech. (Kathryn and Monique’s acceptance speeches were classy and humble.) It would be too easy to write it off as a simple race issue. I cite Denzel Washington’s Oscar win that same year that no one de-valued, black or white. Then again, it was for a nuanced, well-played performance so who would dispute it? If we’re looking through the race lens, his was the true achievement of the year; earning the nod by turning in solid, good work. Yet I dismiss Berry’s Oscar nod as an Academy PC misstep. And now with the tables turning it deeply saddens me to know that there are those out there who would dismiss Bigelow’s win by the same rubric.

But again I have to look at my own judgments. Would I have reacted to Berry’s win the same way if she’d been a white actress? Probably. I’ve never been a fan of over-hyped emotions in performance. Truthfully I doubt I would have even remembered it this many years later if she’d been white as white people undeserve Oscars regularly. I remember and chafe at it for the historic significance that was conferred upon it. I would cheer a best actress win by a black actress that was riveting and real just as I cheer those won by white actresses for performances of high caliber. (Sidebar: though I adore Sandra Bullock, I agree with her – she didn’t really earn it, she just wore them down.)

Would I have been as excited by The Hurt Locker’s win if it had been directed by a man? Hmmmm. I would always have liked that it was a smaller indie winning against a media behemoth. The underdog appeals to me. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have seen it if it were directed by a man. I’m not interested in war movies in general. But I wanted to see how a woman would handle such traditionally male ground. The answer: like a human.

I admit, though I loved The Hurt Locker, it wasn’t my favorite of 2009 (An Education, anyone?) and I was rooting for Bigelow to win out of sisterhood. And here we risk falling into the same politically dismiss-able category as women who rooted for Hillary to win just because of her gender. So starved for our chance at the reins are we that there is a mindset of “any woman in charge will be better than another man.” And yes, I wanted Hillary to win.

I didn’t just want Kathryn to win because she’s a woman (doubt it? See my thoughts on Diablo Cody’s screenplay win). At the end of the day, every oppressed group wants to see one of their own winning gold, sitting at the top desk or leading the best team. I can understand the rallying for Hallie because it is the same pride by association I feel for Kathryn. I take her win personally and knocks against that win personally too.

The dividing line for Oscar should not be race or gender. It should be deserving versus undeserving. And the pro and con reactions beyond that are emotionally-driven ones based in our pre-judging, generalizing, reductive selves both on the positive and negative sides of the argument. As a woman, I find it exciting that a woman finally won after eighty-two times not winning. But it’s important because a deserving woman and her work won. If she had been undeserving is would have been a meaningless win – not a true victory for women. It will probably always rile me to hear men who have a negative, gender-biased reaction to her win. Hopefully they’ll take a look at the film (or another look) and realize that a great director won a well-earned Oscar. And that great just happens to be a woman. Get used to it, boys.

Pride and Prejudice

I stepped in it today. I offended and insulted a friend - a new friend whom I like and respect and have been enjoying getting to know. I was trying to make a joke. Sort of. But really I was trying to get away with knocking a certain religion I’ve always enjoyed railing against. In most rooms a conversation about ‘those wackos’ is sure to illicit laughter and agreement.

My friend was looking over an apartment rental contract and was struck by the fact that it asked for a potential tenant’s religion. “That’s weird. Isn’t that weird?” She turned to me.

“Yeah. And I think it’s illegal. Discrimination,” I answered. “Still I can see from their point of view. If I had a place to rent I would want to make sure I wasn’t renting to…” For a moment I paused, reaching for a fill-in-the-blank of a comic, commonly-held dislike. I scrolled through possible punch lines and finally settled on my old stand-by. The word hung there just out of my mouth like a toxic bubble.

Her smile faded. “I am one, Heidi,” she said as she turned back to her desk.

For a moment I thought – I hoped – she was joking. I knew in my heart she wasn’t. I managed to stop myself from blurting “but you can’t be; you’re smart…” I scanned her desk for their symbols: nothing. Was she really? Oh dear. What had I just done?

It’s an interesting comic compulsion to know when you’re in a ‘safe room’ and can make fun of one group or another without getting in trouble. We all do it. Just as we all generalize and rely on stereotypes to shorthand us through the day. Yes, they can be inaccurate and cruel but on the other hand, stereotypes often exist for a reason. Don’t they?

I gingerly stood up and went to my next meeting and she went to hers. As I walked down the hall I ran through next steps. I could play it off as a joke. I could apologize. I could explain my point of view. I could even try to convert her; explain all the ways in which it had been proven that her religion was absurd and hurtful. I could never talk to her again because hadn’t I vowed never to have any of them in my life?

‘That’s it then,’ I thought as I mentally prepared myself to let go of the friendship. ‘We just won’t be friends anymore.’ It would be awkward as we share an office some days but it would just have to be. I trudged the last few steps to my meeting with a heavy heart. I was going to miss her.

I couldn’t focus on the meeting. I kept thinking about how deeply I had hurt my friend. Because she was a friend, not just a stereotype or punch line. I was mortified. I felt for a moment like I was living a scene from “Crash” where one is faced with the prejudices they thought were OK to have. And I was an ass. Then the bigger picture opened up to me. What if she’d been a member of another religion? Granted I’m not a fan of organized religion in general but as I mentally replaced her religion with others as the punch line in my joke, I cringed. Bashing someone’s religion was something mean people did. I was a prejudiced, judgmental ass.

I slunk back to the office after my meeting resolved to apologize. There was no way I could play it off like a joke or pretend it hadn’t happened. I was going to have to face the fact that I had insulted my friend’s belief system. I felt raw and exposed.

She walked in and I didn’t wait. I apologized whole-heartedly for having been a jerk. She smiled and said she understood. She often got negative reactions to her religion. “That’s why I don’t go waving a flag about it. It’s just what works for me.”

And then I saw I’d been given an opportunity. “There are a ton of prejudices and beliefs about it out there. I’d like to know the truth.” I went on to explain how, over the course of my life, I’d had close relationships or friendships with people of just about every major religion on the planet but I’d never met anyone from hers and I wanted to understand. I genuinely meant it and she knew it. She told me how she’d come to make her choice and said she’d love to talk to me more about her religion, not in a proselytizing way but an informational one. We made a coffee date.

I can’t say I’ll come out the other end of our conversation praising her religion but I am looking forward to the chance to shed my own prejudice. Even deeper, I am looking forward to getting another human’s point of view on a subject dear to her heart. If I can understand, then it follows that I will respect and honor even if I don’t agree.

So my friend surprisingly of a religion I’ve always ridiculed will allow me to become a better person. In giving up that punch-line, I will also get to work harder for my comedy and therefore grow as a wit. I am humbled by her generosity and thankful for her friendship. God knows who else she’s saving me from offending.

The Ex Factor

My first engagement did not end well. Which is to say that it did and then it didn’t.

We’d both been afraid to admit we were growing apart but when we went to visit my family for Christmas the built up misery came crashing down on me and I knew I couldn’t get back on the plane to go home with him. What followed was a grey area of ‘are we or aren’t we’ during which we discussed ways we could keep the us alive; make that next step, maybe try Los Angeles, he came out and interviewed in my mountain town even. One week after a tearful profession of his love for me I agreed to give New York another try. The next day he admitted he cheated on me, in my bed. Her name was Erica. Needless to say I never went back to New York and after some quietly subdued negotiations he packed up our shoebox of an apartment and shipped me my stuff.

We kept in touch, always civil. Even friendly at times. I think we were a bit lost without each other. We’d been each other’s first real loves. We’d met on a cruise and been instantly smitten. As we were both vacationing with our families, the various parents and siblings met and it was like six months of dating condensed into a week. He flew out to visit me in California a month later. Two months after that I visited him in New York. We looked at apartments and I moved out that Spring.

We had originally planned to marry a year to the day that we met. We started looking at wedding cruises, I found a dress, picked out invitations, a caterer. But even though we pressed on, he never gave me a ring. I started to feel false about the whole thing as every woman I mentioned my wedding plans to inevitably looked at my finger and then I had to explain. It wasn’t really a money thing although he claimed it was. His sister in law had given us a diamond and his best friend was the scion of a diamond district jeweler. A ring would not have been difficult. I lost it when I discovered charges on his credit card to a strip club the day after the last money excuse. He’d left the statement open on my book and in a way I think he wanted me to find it. To see what was real for him.Still by the end, he’d been my best friend for three years and it hurt to just let go of that. I sat in the snow outside my mother’s house and cried my eyes out.

At the time I never thought it would be so long before I found my next Mr. Right.
As time passed we kept up a friendly contact. Loosely at least. He eventually started dating someone and moved to LA with her. When I decided to move to LA for the movie business he was supportive. Said he couldn’t wait for me to meet his girl, that I’d really like her. As several of my best friends were next girlfriends of exes I had no doubt I would. He even offered me help in finding a job when I landed. I was happy to have at least one trusted face in the sea of unkept promises that is LA.

But then I did land. He didn’t return my emails. Then he didn’t return my calls. I left an angry message with his assistant that his ex-fiance wanted to speak with him. I wasn’t just some acquaintance fluff to be brushed aside. I had been engaged to this man. Did not that confer a certain status of intimacy with him? Of entitlement to connection?

And then it dawned on me. It must have been her. She must have been uncomfortable with the idea of a friendly ex being back in his life. I got it and I felt for her. I wished I could tell her I was no threat but he’d have to do that. I wrote him a heartfelt letter saying I was sorry for not having gotten the clue earlier and understanding her point of view but hoping she’d understand. I really did need his help after all. I was running out of savings and still had no job on the horizon.

It was his response that was the truest moment of our break-up. Two years later. He was clearly upset with me and I don’t know if it was because I’d seen the uncomfortable truth of the matter or if he was frustrated with her attitude toward me and was taking it out on me, or if, like so many in Tinseltown, he was only paying me lip-service about being friends and helping me get a toehold here. Either way his tone was terse and cold. He informed me that I was wrong about his beloved and had no right to comment on the matter. He told me he had other priorities in life now and I was not one of them. I sat back from the keyboard stunned and hurt. We were broken up now for real and true.

I never responded to his email and have never spoken to him since.

Now a decade since our breakup and my snowy cry I have returned to the state of engagement. And now the shoe is on the other foot. My fiancé has an ex who is out here and lonely and looking for help getting her toehold. I should be inclined to be generous but I find I’m not. Not that I have any fear of him going back to her or her turning his head. Trust me when I say it is not possible. But I find her desperation repugnant. Like a fly circling our calm spring day. She is a nuisance I don’t want to deal with and he’s happy to use my irritation as his buttress for his No.

I’ll never know what really went on between my ex and his next regarding my presence in LA. But at least now I understand the state he was in when I came beseeching. Despite the love he once had for me and the promises once made, a new love simply doesn’t leave room. You can only create one life at a time and by rights it’s the one you’re creating together.

I’ve been so angry at him for so many years. I’ve laughed at my cousin when she says she’s seen him at work things and he’s asked after me. He hates me, clearly, I counter. If he’d cared he could have lifted a finger. Since the day of his last email I’ve held a big ‘screw you too’ in the space in my heart where his love once lived. Now I see I was off base. For him it was never hate. It was just the view from a different state.