Monday, January 31, 2011

Maybe Freud's onto something with Hamlet?

Freud famously derived his theory of the Oedipal complex--the idea that all men subconsciously wish to murder their fathers to marry their mothers--from two literary works: Sophocle's "Oedipus Rex" and Shakespeare's "Hamlet." The fact that King Oedipus and Prince Hamlet are both fictional characters has endlessly provoked hoots of derision from psychologists and literary critics alike.

But lately, I've started to wonder if Freud was on to something, with "Hamlet" at least--not validating the ridiculous Oedipal complex mind you; but at least understanding where Freud is coming from.

It comes down to Hamlet's peculiar form of grief, you see--he spends most the play ignoring the plot. When he should be plotting revenge on his uncle for his father's death, he is instead desiring that "O that this too too sullied flesh would melt," and contemplating suicide with "To be or not to be..." The ghost has to make an appearance in Act III just to keep the plot moving.

Any one who's grieved can understand this impulse--all our daily routines, obligations, responsibilities, the "plots" we're all likewise expected to perform, seem frivolous and trivial compared to the awful mystery of death. Hamlet's moody because his father died recently; he's grieving, he's depressed, and with all due respect, he'd prefer not to participate in your banal little revenge-tragedy at the moment.

However, Hamlet isn't just depressed, he isn't just moody--no, he's downright a prick. The hostile way he treats his girlfriend Ophelia, or his old friends Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, rise well above mere ennui. I've known grieving people, I've grieved myself, and I can testify that though the grieving can sometimes be glib, even irreverent, they typically aren't pricks about it. In this sense, Hamlet's behavior is almost inexcusable.

But, his behavior is understandable--if you consider Hamlet as not just grieving, but heartbroken.

To explain: I once caught up with an old roommate, and asked him how a mutual friend was doing; he responded our friend had been more prickly lately, harder to live with. This surprised me, since our friend was usually very good-natured. "What do you think is the cause?" I asked him. "What do you think?" he replied facetiously, "what is the one thing that has always driven men mad?"

"A woman," I said. He nodded and smiled.

Hamlet's peculiar form of prickishness is uncharacteristic of the grieving--but it is characteristic of the heartbroken. Again, I've been around the heart-broken, and been heart-broken myself, it's an experience as universal as humanity, and I think we can all testify that the times we are hardest to live with, the times when we say and do the things we're least proud of, the times we aren't just moody but actively wish to hurt everyone around us, is when we're heart-broken.

The question then becomes: who is Hamlet heartbroken for? True, Polonius instructs Ophelia early on "to make something more scarce of your maidenly presence," to not dote so much on Hamlet. So, Ophelia is the most obvious candidate for Hamlet's heartbreak.

However, Hamlet was wishing for this "too too sullied flesh to melt" well before Polonius gives Ophelia these instructions, and when at last she appears to Hamlet with "remembrances of yours/That I have longed long to redeliver to you" and make up with him, he treats her like a distraction, an interruption. Again, this feels consistent: the heartbroken resent romantic attention from people they would otherwise be flattered by. If it was Ophelia Hamlet was heart-broken for, he would be overjoyed to have her back. But he isn't. Because she's not who he's heart-broken by. She's interrupting his heart-ache and he's angry about it.

Which leaves us Gertrude, Hamlet's mother, the only other female character in the play. And the same soliloquy where Hamlet yearns "that this too too sullied flesh would melt" (like a heart-broken emo kid), is also the same where he muses on his mother's quick re-marriage: "But two months dead--nay, not so much, not two...yet within a month--Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman--A little month, or ere those shoes were old, with which she followed my poor father's body...O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason would have mourned longer--married with my uncle..." (Act I, sc. ii) (emphasis added).

"Frailty thy name is woman" is exactly the sort of misogyny that a heartbroken guy, even the best ones, finds himself exclaiming in the fury of his heartache. The message is clear; the woman Hamlet loves more than any other, even more than poor Ophelia, has remarried, quickly, without any thought for him, while he's still working through his grief. Hamlet, then, is a jilted lover. Consider, if we substitute Hamlet's father for Hamlet himself, then Hamlet's grief and prickishness at her remarriage makes perfect sense, is even understandable.

Again, I must emphasize I in no way endorse Freud's ridiculous Oedipal complex theory; all I'm saying is that it's not a stretch for Freud the psychologist, who would've known what a man driven mad with heart-ache looks like, to see in Hamlet not just a man morose with grief, but a lover enraged with heart-ache. "Hamlet" the play, then, is not just a portrait of a grief, but a profile on the heart-broken.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Fixing the Star Wars Prequels in 500 words or less

So, I have fond childhood memories of Star Wars trilogy, but you ever notice how the first one starts off as "Episode IV"? That implies that there are three whole episodes before the main trilogy! A... "prequel" trilogy, if you will. Wouldn't it be awesome if George Lucas made a Star Wars prequel trilogy? I bet it would be impossible to mess up!

I mean, c'mon, the original trilogy is hardly "original"--it's all written in broad archetypes (wizards, princesses, hero's journey, etc,)--frankly, you'd have to work hard just to mess it up.

Sticking with these broad archetypes, they frankly would only need to make this hypothetical "prequel" trilogy a mirror image of the originals. For example, in Episode III, you have Anakin Skywalker get in a light-saber duel with evil Jedi (for convenience, let's call him "Darth Maul" for now). Anakin's dressed in black and hiding in the shadows, when the Maul senses that Anakin has a love interest, and says "if you won't turn to the dark side, perhaps she will..." Anakin flips out, releases his anger, and beats Maul senseless.

It would be the exact same showdown as between Luke and Darth in "Return of the Jedi," except this time, when the Emperor goads him with "release your hatred," Anakin actually does the dirty deed and kills Maul. He realizes the power of dark side that alone could kill his enemy, becomes Darth Vader, goes on rampage killing the unsuspecting Jedi, and finally has to be defeated by former-master Obi Wan Kanobi.

All this would add greater pathos to the identical scene in "Return of the Jedi," as we now come to realize how close Luke was to repeating his father's greatest error. Such a scene would do what prequels, at their best, are supposed to do--deepen our appreciation for the original, help us see a well-worn flick with new eyes.

Of course, in order for this hypothetical Episode III scene to work, the entire prequel trilogy would have to follow similar mirror patterns. As such, Episode I would need to feature Anaken as a restless teenager yearning to escape his desert farm for some adventure. (The temptation might be to cast the future-Darth Vader as a precocious little 9-year-old, in order to make the film more "kid-friendly" and "maximize ancillary revenue streams" through toy sale tie-ins; but I think we can all agree that since the "Star Wars" franchise is already so insanely marketable, George Lucas could easily exercise the minimal self-restraint required).

But where's the existential threat, you may ask? The "evil Empire" is just so broadly archetypal that any origin story can't help but be hopelessly convoluted and ridiculous.

Easy, I gotcha covered: Princess Leia mentions "the clone wars" in episode IV--boom, you have a bunch of clones trying to take over Republic by replacing key leaders. They've already taken control of entire star-systems that have seceded from and declared war on the Republic; the Republic's key-leaders are being killed and replaced with clones who purposefully wage the war incompetently, threatening the Republic. Only the Jedi, using the force, are able to detect and kill the clones.

In fact, I would start off the cold-opening with a high-profile political assassination of, say, the Prime Minister, by Maul. The PM's clone is detected and killed by young Jedi knight Obi Wan, who quickly finds Maul, chasing him recklessly throughout the capital (remember that Obi Wan tells Yoda that he "was reckless once too, if you remember," so this scene would be consistent with his character, and again add pathos when we meet Obi Wan as an aged old man in Episode IV). Maul escapes but Obi Wan tracks him to distant Tatooine.

There, Obi Wan enlists restless young Anakin as a desert guide, recognizes Anaken's potential with the force, and convinces him to join the Jedi. Anaken's brother Owen discourages this, saying he has a "bad feeling" about this, immediately making Uncle Owen's character more sympathetic in episode IV; again, what a good prequel should do. Let's call Episode I "The Dark Side of the Force," both cause it sounds awesome, and would mirror the title of "A New Hope."

(Sadly, the first Star Wars must now forever be known by that unfortunate moniker; we must therefore be careful not to saddle any other episodes with such lame names as, say, "The Phantom Menace" or "Attack of the Clones" or anything laughable as that).

As a mirror of Episode V "Empire Strikes Back," let's call Episode II "The Rise of the Empire," so called because a retired Jedi Master has taken on emergency powers as PM, and declares Martial Law until this "crisis" is pass. Need I mention that the former-Jedi-master-turned-PM is actually the future-emperor, that he had his apprentice Darth Maul kill key-leaders so he could become PM, and engineered the clone-wars to distract the Jedi and create a state of emergency wherein he could consolidate power? No, I don't think I need to. Easy-peasy.

Also, let's avoid having Maul be a one-note, flat hit-man type by making him suave, debonair, eloquent, and seductive (that way, when Yoda says the dark side "isn't more powerful, only more seductive," we understand better what he means; again, what a good prequel should do). For example, let's have a meeting between Maul and Anaken, wherein Maul points out that the very tyranny he thinks he's fighting is occurring on his own side. Why, then, is Anakin so sure that he's fighting for the right side? Is there a right side? Maul argues that all that matters is gaining power, and "if only you knew the power of the dark side" and so forth. Anakin doesn't convert then, but his first doubts are planted.

Let's call Episode III "The Fall of the Jedi," to better set up the "Return" later. The emperor mercilessly crushes his own manufactured clone-revolt, and declares an empire that will not tolerate rebellion or dissent "that threatens the galactic peace" (there always has to be a rationale). Several star-systems secede in protest (otherwise, how does Leia's statement of "The more you tighten your grip, the more systems will slip through your fingers" make any sense?). A galactic civil war begins.

The major powers are united for a big confrontation with the empire, and, just as in the end of "Return of the Jedi," they are unaware that they are falling into a trap; and, that without the help of the recently-killed-off Jedi, are about to be resoundingly crushed. All this makes us realize how precarious the Rebel Alliance's position really was, and thus makes their eventual victory all that much sweeter (again, and I can't emphasize this enough, what a good prequel should do).

There also needs to be a love-interest (let's make her a fellow Jedi knight, to break away from this tired Princess-in-distress trope), and some sort of Han Solo character--not a carbon-copy mind you, just an outsider/normal-guy to keep everyone else grounded. And seriously, Obi Wan and Anakin's final duel should be, like, 20 minutes long and epic.

Now, the critics might write something like, "The new prequel trilogy performs the rare feet of enriching, instead of distracting from, the pathos of the originals. Nevertheless, one can't help but wonder what, in some alternate universe, a braver prequel trilogy might have looked like--one that was willing to take more creative risks with its own mythology and play more wildly with its origin stories. What would a truly unexpected prequel trilogy look like, one that didn't just echo and mirror scenes from the original?"

But believe me, alternate-universe movie critics, you don't want to know, you just don't want to know...

Saturday, January 15, 2011

A Night at the Jazz

Long story short: Last summer, I was the last-minute substitute auctioneer at a "ward service auction." We traded services we each could off, i.e. book-repair, home-cooked meals, editing, etc, in exchange for canned foods for the homeless. A member of my Bishopric offered two free regular-season Jazz tickets (he works for the Jazz).

I saved all my canned food specifically for those two tickets. It came down to me and a dude from Russia. I lost. I was crushed. I suppose as MC I could've cut off bidding while I was still ahead, but us substitute-auctioneers live by a code of honor. But all's well that end's well, for the same Bishopric guy told me later in the parking lot that since I was such a good sport about it, he could still hook me up with Jazz tickets.

This was last summer. When the NBA regular season finally started again, I was a little hesitant to broach the subject with, "hey, that pair of $80-$400 tickets you mentioned off-hand you could get me once? Could I still get those?" But, he was cool, and actually reminded me--multiple times--that he still owed me a pair of tickets.

So, last night I finally followed through in getting those tickets from him, when the Jazz played Cleveland at home. I assumed he'd just meet my date and I in the lobby, hand 'em off, and then she and I would seat ourselves up in the rafters somewhere. I was wrong.

Apparently there are catered meals for VIP ticket-holders down below, and he invited us down to eat with him there before tip-off. Been awhile since I've had a decent marinated steak. The Spurs-Bucks game played on big-screens while we chowed down. The silverware and center-pieces were all so nice I was almost afraid I'd break something. Well, that is till I filled up my paper-cup at the fast-food-style soda-fountain.

We sat about 15 rows away the court; normally at pro sporting events I spend as much time watching the jumbo-tron as I do the court itself, since I'm normally so far away that I can ironically see the game better on the TV. Not this time. Utah blew out Cleveland (clearly losing Lebron did them no favors), but it was still a fun game to watch just by beholding up close and personal all those marvelous displays of athleticism.

I once taught English in China, and though there's a Chinese Basketball League, even they prefer watching the NBA--Yao Ming was their hero for making it over. My students picked English names; I taught at least a half-dozen Kobe Bryants. Also taught a couple Steve Nash's and Alan Iversons (this was '06).

So yes, I can confirm that games really are funner to watch up close. (And yes, "funner" is and should be a word; if "bigger" is a word, there's no reason to deny other adjectives the same construction.) And I don't even like to play basketball. Haven't even tried to follow the NBA since the Sonics moved to Oklahoma. Couldn't tell you the names of Utah's starters if my life depended on it.

We hung our coats in the same waiting room as friends and relatives of the players hang out in. Overheard Andrei Kirilenko's Mom and sister talking in Russian. Actually saw Kirilenko in person. Didn't talk to him though; couldn't think of anything to say besides "ya ni gabaru pa ruski," which didn't strike me as particularly clever.

I was told the Russian guy in my ward did in fact go up and talk to him--I read "The Brothers Karamazov" last Fall, and from it I've realized that general gregariousness, talking loudly and at length with whoever, even (and especially) total strangers, with great conviction about things one perhaps does not fully understand, is in fact quintessentially Russian.

When we went to go get our coats back after the game, the security guard wouldn't let us pass, but then my Bishopric guy said casually "They're with me." And good thing we were with him, cause I couldn't have found that coat-room on my own; that building is absolutely huge and all the gray corridors look the same. Of course, it's like my Bishopric guy said, "If you have to work for a living, this ain't a bad place to do it." He attends almost every home game. Free. He's a contract lawyer for the Jazz. For the first time in ever, law school suddenly don't sound too bad.

But then, it's also like my High School English teacher once said: "You can be rich, or you can have rich friends. I prefer the latter."

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Some Thoughts On Meetings

"It has to be a really good meeting to be better than no meeting at all."
-Jeffery R. Holland

"Every word is an unnecessary stain on the silence."
-Samuel Beckett

"A meeting between two beings who complete one another, who are made for each other, borders already, in my opinion, on a miracle."
-Adolph Hitler (note that even Hitler hates meetings; you'd think he'd call meetings just to be evil!)

"A meeting is an event where minutes are taken and hours wasted."
-James T. Kirk (that's right, the Captain of the Enterprise hates meetings! you keep reachin' for that rainbow, Shatner!)

To paraphrase Ecclesiastes, Let us hear the end of the matter:
Meetings should be like abortions; rare, infrequent, undesirable, and only performed when absolutely necessary and unavoidable.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Last Year's Man

The rain falls down on last year's man,
an hour has gone by
and he has not moved his hand.
But everything will happen if he only gives the word;
the lovers will rise up
and the mountains touch the ground.
But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend
and all the rain falls down amen
on the works of last year's man.
-Leonard Cohen

Happy New Year!