Saturday Songs - Sept. 24

1. “I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man” – Prince

Prince, for whatever reason, is one of those prominent artists I’ve never run into. Whether that’s due to my sort-of-estrangement from popular music or simply a freak oversight in my musical taste, I can’t really say. All I can say is that this song appeared on essentially a mystery-mix-CD in our college mail van CD player and it sort of hooked me. Later I discovered that the CD is the property of my friend Jack and, subsequently, that the third track was a Prince song.

While the song has a super-catchy chorus and some great (cheesy) verses, what really attracted me to the song is the breakdown that begins around 3:48. That breakdown, which might be a gimmick in another pop song, becomes a neat little experiment with some jazz-rock fusion-sounding material, culminating in a return to the main guitar riff for a mere ten seconds and then fading out. The great strength of that bridge section is that Prince doesn’t feel the need to go back into another verse or even chorus, just the guitar riff and then fading out.

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2. “The Battle of Hampton Roads” – Titus Andronicus

I couldn’t think of a more appropriate name for this punky, fascinating band—their namesake may be a Shakespeare play, but it’s also one of the Bard’s most notorious, difficult plays, so violent (similar, though, to many revenge-tragedies of the day) that modern audiences are disinclined to study it. As a result, it’s rarely considered an important work…but it’s still there, like a sore thumb you can’t ignore.

The band, I think, reflects that exact position in the current world of indie music. This is not a happy band, nor is it one that sounds particularly great. Even the production values on their tracks come off as a little lackluster—there is grit and a sort of informed carelessness rubbing against every track. That said, they are hard to ignore in today’s indie world. Their phenomenal second album The Monitor was, at turns, about growing up in New Jersey and (hopefully evidenced by the title of this featured song) the Civil War. Their work is full of weird binary oppositions and anger and a profound sense of longing and restlessness.

A Note: While I love these recordings and this album, Titus Andronicus is definitely a band best seen live. They have an absolute blast on the stage…and you have an absolute blast in the crowd.

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3. “Fire In The Canyon” – Fountains Of Wayne

A band that, sadly, continues to be best known for their snarky pop song “Stacy’s Mom,” there is way more to Fountains of Wayne than Top 40 aficionados can tell you. Adam Schlesinger and Chris Collingwood, the two songwriters of the band, have a knack for writing hooky little pop songs like “Stacy’s Mom” but far more carefully constructed and clever. (If you think that “Stacy’s Mom” is the pinnacle of clever pop songwriting, then you ought to listen to the rest of Welcome Interstate Managers.) The chorus of this song rings with a buried uncertainty and sadness: “Believe us to be born into a path straight and narrow /
on every crooked road we travel down.”

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4./5. “Tecumseh Valley” / (“Tecumseh”) – Townes Van Zandt

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Sometimes I feel as if I mention the semi-namesake (he wrote the song “Pueblo Waltz”) of this blog not as often as I should. In my mind, Van Zandt is the foremost modern songwriter, second only to Bob Dylan. (I’m disinclined to comment on the prowess of Irving Berlin, the Carter Family, or Stephen Foster.)

The song tells the story of Caroline, a woman forced into prostitution by some hard luck, who eventually kills herself in her misery. Not a pleasant song, but Van Zandt relates the story with startling compassion and insight. Part of the beauty of the song is that we never know what Caroline looks like; we receive one breathtaking comparison and that is it. “It seemed to me that sunshine walked beside her,” claims Van Zandt’s narrator. It is these bright, clarifying details that elevate his songwriting above his peers.

But while Van Zandt’s skills as a songwriter have been long recognized, his performing talents have been more or less entirely underappreciated.

The best way to understand this might be by looking at the separate performances of this song—the first “Tecumseh Valley,” on Van Zandt’s debut album For the Sake of the Song and the second (alternately titled “Tecumseh”) on his second album. The cut on the first album, a faster, snappy version of this song, does not tug at the heartstrings quite at the way the cut on the second album does. The long, lonesome notes in that second version yield something like an infinite sadness, while the first version sounds clipped.

Katy Perry Rubs Shoulders With MJ?

Yesterday afternoon, when I heard "Firework" for the umpteenth time, Katy Perry again confirmed herself as my very worst musical fear: an empty, vacuous pop star with little to no redeeming talent. Maybe that’s somewhat of an exaggeration—I will make no pretensions to the-end-of-popular-music-as-we-know-it or similarly morose observations—but an explication of this view ought to be saved for another post. (You’ll notice, however, that despite my dislike of her, this is the second time I’ve mentioned Perry on Pueblo Waltz; while not my favorite musician, she does provide fertile ground for the musical criticism.)

All of that, however, is preamble to the fact that on August 17, Perry became the first female artist and only the second musical artist in history to have five singles off the same album all hit the #1 spot on the Billboard Hot 100 charts—“California Gurls,” “Teenage Dream,” “Firework,” “E.T.,” and “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)” off of her album Teenage Dream.

 The only other artist that can claim that honor is the late Michael Jackson, off his album Bad. Those singles? You’d probably be able to pull those out of the memory banks far faster than the five duds from Perry; in their order of release: “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You,” “Bad,” “The Way You Make Me Feel,” “Man In The Mirror,” and “Dirty Diana.” Note that FM-radio favorite “Smooth Criminal”—and, retrospectively, one of Jackson’s greatest songs—it hit #7 on the charts.

Perry’s next single “The One That Got Away” is slotted for a release date of October 11, just a little less than a month away. If it charts (which it will), it stands a serious chance at hitting the #1 spot.

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It makes me uneasy to see Perry sitting in statistical equality with Michael Jackson. Of course, no one out there is explicitly offering any blow-by-blow analysis of why Perry’s music itself is the equal (or even anywhere close) to that of Jackson’s, but—in our society anyway—statistics tend to hold not a status as markers of something like “cultural value.” If she/he/they sold that many albums/songs/books, [blank] must be good, right?

Let’s speak statistics—briefly. I think we’re all very comfortable with the best-selling artists of all time. You can debate them all you like, but the top three are certainly Elvis Presley, The Beatles, and our aforementioned friend Michael Jackson, not necessarily in that order. Musical snob that I often am, even I am comfortable with that trifecta; they are all visionaries of modern musical history, each artist, I would contend, with an influence comparable to the other. The statistics, in other words, reinforce our conception of what it means to be popular. We know The Beatles are the greatest band of all time almost implicitly…but it helps to see them right at the top in terms of album sales. It’s almost like a professor patting us on the back after a correct answer. We knew we were right, but we feel so much more right with that last little confirmation.

I should insert here that I am in no way suggesting that Perry is closing the ranks on these three in terms of either album sales, influence, or musical talent. She is still far, far away and, if anything, I would argue, based off her current body of work, that she’ll never even come close. Even formidable acts like Led Zeppelin and The Eagles still stare disconsolately at those large album sale.

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But let’s look again at that ominous statistic now split between Perry and Jackson. While I find some statistics (see above) “comforting” in that semi-absurd way, some of them need to be taken down to size. They never mean as much as we'd like them to. Sadly, these notions of "cultural value" aren't entirely vested in album sales...despite how much easier that would make musical arguments for some people. "Cultural value" usually takes other forms.

For instance, no one needs to be told that Radiohead is one of the most influential bands currently in existence…and yet in terms of album sales, their album sales are dwarfed by those of The Spice Girls (an estimated 75 million albums to an est. 30 million albums). Not even Marshall Mathers (with an est. 80 million albums sold as Eminem) would lay a claim to the popular influence currently held by Yorke and co. 

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So what to do with this troubling statistic being battled for by Perry? Personally, I’ll be hoping that Adele’s fantastic “Rolling In The Deep” will make a late-game comeback up the charts and take over the #1 spot so that Perry can’t steal the statistical spotlight entirely away from Jackson. Take that, Katy. And oh…if we’re playing the statistics game…how many has Teenage Dream sold? It’s hit platinum? Cool! Oh… Thriller sold…what? only 110 million? Don’t worry, Katy…someday you’ll catch up! (...)

Saturday Songs - Sept. 17

Before heading off into Saturday Songs territory, I’d just like to acknowledge my appreciation of Jayne, of the Suburban Soliloquy blog, for recognizing me with a Liebster award. As someone new to the blogging world, it may take me a few months to figure out whom exactly to pass the award along to myself, but for sure, I’ll pass it along.

Anyways, if there are new readers out there, welcome to Pueblo Waltz and I hope you enjoy what you find. Having missed Saturday Songs last week, I promised readers five free songs they could enjoy from not-so-well-known bands from all over the place. I could only muster four, so for that you’ll all have to forgive me. Enjoy!

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1. “The Shot” – Gum Creek Killers

Almost clearly borrowing a melody line from Bob Dylan’s “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere”—listen to the verses of “The Shot” for the similarity—Gum Creek Killers still manage to write a song more drenched in Americana than even the classic recording from Dylan and The Band on The Basement Tapes.

Not only that, but Gum Creek Killers boast two lead singers—Duquette Johnson (who sounds a little like Deer Tick’s John McCauley) and Janet Simpson. The intertwining of male and female voices is particularly striking on “The Shot,” creating a careful tension between lines.

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2. “Concrete Moon” – Josh Doyle

(Apologies—but you’ll need to sign up as a ReverbNation user—which is free!—in order to download Doyle’s song)

Beginning with your typical mopey acoustic guitar and careful, almost feminine voice, sounding eerily like singer-songwriter David Mead, Doyle’s song nosedives into rock a minute and a half in, with crashing cymbals and overproduced guitars. Doyle’s adventure into rock—even if it skews too much towards early Coldplay (think of lower-quality A Rush of Blood to the Head)—distinguishes him from so many other acoustic troubadours hoping for notice solely on the basis of a solid acoustic guitar line and some wispy lyrics. In particular, his voice at the end gestures more towards the grit of Paul Westerberg than the smooth sailing of David Mead.

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3. “Despite All That’s Happened” – Brentley Gore

(Again—a ReverbNation post! …you should probably just join at this point…)

Better known as a television actor—Gore has a role in NBC’s California Dreams—Gore has also been pursuing a career in music. Although he heads the indie band King Straggler in L.A., he just recently released his first solo album Up Until Now, including this song. Marked with the world-weary sadness I’ve come to expect from L.A. singer-songwriters, this Gore song is also inflected with a Texan taste of sadness.

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4. “Miles of Skyline” – Uncle Mountain

(Apologies if you haven’t yet signed up for ReverbNation…)

With weird instrumentation and spot-on harmonies, Uncle Mountain sounds a little like circa-The Shepherd’s Dog Iron & Wine (weird enough to be interesting, but not so much that you can’t take it seriously). The production on this song is understandably excellent and pulls out all those little details that might otherwise be missed in concert or in a more lo-fi recording. 

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5. “Born Again” – Maren Morris (and Band)

Like I’ve already mentioned, I promised four free songs, but I’ve only managed four (although you’re free to explore on your own…on ReverbNation and Noisetrade, to mention two great sources…), but I think you ought to hear this single from Maren Morris’s latest album. I’ve included a solo version above, but it’s definitely worth checking out the full-band version if you can find it.

It’s got a full, warm sound really reminiscent of Larkin Poe—a band I may or may not have featured previously…if not, then I’ll give you all an introduction in next week’s Saturday Songs! For now, enjoy these four freebies and Maren’s fantastic single…

Kenneth Anger And Artistic Struggles

In my avant-garde film class the other day we watched a trio of Kenneth Anger films. For those out there who aren’t familiar with Anger’s work, he is considered one of the leading lights of American avant-garde cinema and also, surprisingly, one of the filmmakers associated with the birth of the music video. Anger has also been cited as an important influence by a wide range of filmmakers, including Martin Scorsese.

In discussing Anger’s film career the other night, my film professor, Scott MacDonald, referenced an interview he did with Anger in which he questioned the structure of Anger’s famous film Scorpio Rising, asking Anger if the seeming dissipation of interest in the subject that occurs halfway through the film was intentional. The way in which MacDonald read the film was such that after the audience views the long scenes of preparation and ritual—the polishing and maintenance of the motorcycles and the subsequent dressing up in motorcycle attire—the rest of the film feels like somewhat of a letdown, as if the emotional force had already been expended.

Anger explained to MacDonald that life, sadly, is somewhat like that. It’s one great set-up for one great let-down. Maybe, MacDonald pondered along these lines, the “preparation for the party” is more fun than the party itself. (That insight itself might account for the confusing, bizarre nature of Anger’s “party” film Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome.) Artwork, MacDonald went on, was like that for Anger. Anger would start out with a fantastic idea—a 100-minute film about something or other, which would subsequently be whittled down into something a fraction of that length. The result, more often than not, would have been impressive, but would be nowhere close to Anger’s original vision.

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Anger’s work and MacDonald’s interpretation of it certainly have a bearing on my own life. As someone who struggles with the art of writing fiction, I have had more than my fair share of fantastic beginnings coupled with lackluster plots and conclusions. Stories or novels start with a bright, wonderful idea and decline from thereon. Sometimes the idea is the beginning of the story, sometimes the middle, and even sometimes it’s at the end. But the trouble is building off that energy. Anger may well stuggle with the same problems.

Everything, it turns out, is so much easier in your head. There are even days when I have this great sentence stuck in my head that I can’t seem to place. It has no specific characters or plot attached to it; it’s simply out there. The other day this sentence was roaming around my head:

“Romance is a fairy tale of false pretenses.”

Of course, there are problems with that sense—pretenses are usually, if not necessarily false, so to qualify them as being specifically “false” would seem unnecessary. And why so negative? Seriously—that sentence makes me sound like I was down in the dumps! (Not the case, I assure you.)

It’s not worth trying to parse out where the inspiration comes from, of course, but rather where I go with it once I have it. Sometimes I write it down and try to drop plot elements around it. Sometimes it’s not a story, but something more imagistic. I’ve always had this idea of a man emerging from a building into empty streets with snow falling—something unconsciously drawn, I think, from “The Dead” by James Joyce. But that image, no matter how I contorted it, would not work in my favor.

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I’m jealous of those writers and narrative artists who start with a premise and then see it all the way through, as if they were using Legos or Lincoln Logs, not the elements of their own spontaneous (and oddly logical) imagination. Take, for instance, the style of John Irving.

Irving’s approach to a novel begins with the composition of the last sentence. For that reason, there’s somewhat of a cult with Irving’s last lines:

“In the world according to Garp, we are all terminal cases.” (from The World According to Garp)

“O God—please give him back! I shall keep asking You.” (from A Prayer for Owen Meany)

To begin with one sentence—with a single, bold brushstroke—and work from there…that, it seems to me, is the height of artistic prowess. Irving had not just the style, but also the guts and determination to see the story through to the end.

Currently, I’m working on a novel, which will not see another reader’s eyes for some time. Here is that image I start with—on which I am betting, so to speak, the rest of the story:

She left long before the sun.

Long before Buster, still curled up and paws twitching with dreams, started up from his dog mat and tugged on the corner of the quilted comforter on her parents’ bed. Long before her father filled the teakettle and set it to boiling, long before he looked in the garage and saw that the motorcycle was gone, long before he raced up the stairs to her room and found her bed empty, a careful note pinned to the pillow.

A Discussion Of The Art Of The Trailer (II)

So why do I watch trailers? And why do I love the trailers of some films, but not the films themselves?

I think a lot of it has to do with what one of my professors says about trailers: once you see the trailer you don’t even need to see the film. That’s somewhat of an exaggeration, but he makes a fair point. Most of the time, trailers tell you all you need to know. If there’s a plot twist, the trailer either directly hints at it or plain gives it away. If it’s a comedy, the trailer provides all the biggest laughs. If it’s a romantic comedy…well…we already know how those plots work anyway.

The point is that trailers, in some small way, prove to us that films aren’t about the plots. Films are about the experiences. What marketing firms have figured out about mainstream audiences is that they want to know what they’re going to get. They don’t want surprises. That’s part of the reason that trailers tell you everything you need to know about a film.

Could I—in any way—claim that to be wrong?

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This argument dives directly into a fun area of literary theory that follows out of Russian Formalist theories derived from the work of Vladimir Propp. Although not a literary theorist himself, Propp has become famous in literary circles thanks to his in-depth analysis of the elements in Russian fairy tales, breaking down the stories into recognizable “morphemes.” These morphemes, according to Propp’s arguments, could theoretically be used as building blocks in the construction of fairy tales. Naturally, people who could not have cared less for Russian fairy tales took Propp’s work and applied it across the broad spectrum of literary fiction.

Whether or not one agrees with the Proppian notions of narrative construction (I, for one, am fascinated by his ideas, but not wedded to them), they present a clear method of discussing popular fiction and film—particularly when looking at common plotlines, such as romantic comedy, in which I indulged in the last post in that brief comparison of Friends With Benefits and No Strings Attached. Two different films, for sure, but the trailers seem to disagree. They seem the same, because that sameness is what the marketing world thinks we want.

And maybe they’re right?

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As a study case, however, I seem to represent a tacit failure on the part of these marketing ventures. By watching the trailer of Our Idiot Brother over and over again (I’ll probably see it one more time before the night is over), I won’t need to see the film. I’ll know pretty much how everything turns out in the end. I can picture the good-natured stoner played by Paul Rudd pressing his heartwarming life-view on his three sisters and I can imagine the three of them—each faulted in their own way—changing thanks to his tireless good humor. So it turns out that I don't need to see the film at all! The film trailer did that for me!

In that way, trailers become mini-films for me. For some people, they save, I think, quite a bit of time in the long run. Unless, that is, you watch one of them upwards of 40 times...in that case, you might as well just watch the damn thing.

A Discussion Of The Art Of The Trailer (I)

Firstly, my apologies for a slow week on the blog—homework and newspaper(work) have been somewhat of a slog recently. I’ll be sure to keep the content updated this week. Secondly—I know some of you out there look forward to this feature—but there will be no Saturday Songs feature for this week. Next week I’ll try to make it up to you in assembling a five-song collection of fun, free music from a bunch of different artists. Until then, enjoy the first of my two- or three-part discussion of film trailers!

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Confession: I have been a film trailer addict for a long time.

I wait for new trailers with an almost religious fervor; I watch my favorites over and over again; I spend hours on trailer websites poring over the minutia of romantic comedy plots and mindless action sequences. I like to compare old trailers with their resulting films. I like to compare the textual teaser sometimes on the side with the trailer itself. I hate teaser trailers. I hate trailers that don’t tell you anything about the film they’re supposed to be advertising. Either tell me the twist or don’t—don’t only tell me that there is a twist.

But more than anything, I hate trailers that make a film into what it is not.

In the wide world of marketing, the film trailer is the one form of advertisement that most people don’t find bothersome. My family, at least, makes a special point to arrive at the movie theater on time just to make sure that we don’t miss the previews. Even I subscribe to that movie-going requirement…despite the fact that I’ve usually seen all the trailers already.

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So what is at the root of my obsession?

Consistency. Security. Sameness. Those are some answers as to why I (and many others) turn to film trailers as a pastime. Film trailers, despite the humongous amount of different films and types of cinema that they represent, are usually more or less the same. That’s partly because there aren’t that many ad agencies out there that make trailers (you can usually tell when it’s not one of the professional outfits working with the trailer) as well as because the form of the trailer has, for the past 20 years or so, been more or less agreed upon.

What’s so fascinating about the trailer is that there are some strict qualifications attached to them. The first, most important one is that trailers have been designated by the MPAA (Motion Pictures Association of America) to be no longer than two minutes and thirty seconds if they are to be shown in theaters. Secondly, trailers have their own specific rating system, which has come into use over the past couple years. This trailer rating system, it turns out, works a lot like traffic lights. There are three colors used to designate the appropriateness of trailers: green, yellow, and red—which work together in a loose kind of severity.

“Green-band” trailers, as the industry usually refers to them, are for general audiences of all ages. They can be shown before any film in a theater. “Yellow-band” trailers are only for the Internet and connote age-appropriate trailers for whatever website they’re posted on. This seems to be a generally lackluster effort to provide some racier material than the usually inoffensive “green-band” trailers but still avoid the kiss-of-death “red-band” trailers. “Red-band” trailers, as you’ve probably guessed, are approved for only restricted audiences, meaning that they may be shown for R-rated or NC-17-rated films.

All this, however, is a roundabout way of pointing out that those people out there who assemble film trailers have quite a series of guidelines they have to work around. A lot of the dirty humor included in film trailers is extraordinarily indirect or aloof; they cannot reference anything explicitly or the MPAA will be all over them.

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But back to that sense of security—why do I feel so safe and comfortable watching film trailers? What’s the psychological pull for me behind those “green-bands”?

Some literary theorists subscribe to the notion that there are a very limited number of plots out there in the world. Some of them are obvious—how many times have we seen the “outsider enters a native population being destroyed by the outsider’s civilization (for fill-in-the-blank-reason) and decides to help them and resist own population”? To the unwary eye, that sounds like a pretty darn specific “plot”. But stop and think a second. That plot—or subplot—exists in dozens of films; two major Hollywood film—Avatar, Dances with Wolves—immediately appear as prime examples. So there’s something to this theory of plots. The real interest to some of these theorists is how the plots differ in terms of context (in this case, alien plant vs. the American West) and, for instance, how that resulting contrast ends up being revealing about our culture.

The best example in popular culture right now is the link between the much-derided “fuck-buddy” films Friends With Benefits and No Strings Attached. The two films not only share the same basic plot, but an eerily similar ad campaign. I stumbled across a mash-up of the two trailers and was struck by that eerie similarity. I noticed then that the individual film trailers—not necessarily because they’re incapable of showing specific details in the film, but because they’re interested in appealing to that basic plot—are the same thing. Check out the trailer below.

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What’s so laughable about my obsession is that I don’t ever end up watching most of these films…so why do I watch the trailers? And why do I love the trailers of some films, but not the films themselves?

Saturday Songs - Sept. 3

1. “It’s Better To Spend Money” – Quiet Company

Beginning with infectious keyboards and a cheer from the band, you know from the start that Quiet Company is a band to reckon with. But not only that, there are lyrics that jump out of the melody with a snarling comedy—“all the whores that you’ve had won’t make you a man.” They’ve got the same careful balance and sense of song structure as the pop geniuses Guster, but not yet the mature cachet. Perhaps someday?

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2. “Odds of Being Alone” – Amy Stoup and Trent Dabbs

This delicate song of love and loss is right up there with “Paperweight” (Joshua Radin and Schuyler Fisk). Consisting largely of the repeating lyric “wouldn’t you like to know?”—a question explicitly directed at the problem of the song’s title. With a gentle, acoustic rhythm, the song sounds just as sad as the lyrics are.

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3. “Harlan County” – Jim Ford

One of the most famous songs from a man who is now considered a “lost” songwriter—in the same vein as Blaze Foley—“Harlan County” is a tragic, funny anti-ode to the coal-mining county in Kentucky. The song is filled with arch character sketches, including of Willie, who marries his mother:

“He stood five-six

his brother was a shovel and a coal mine pick

with the heart of a lion and the soul of a man.

He worked twelve hours a day,

seven days ever’ week,

forty days ever’ month,

diggin’ for a bone in a hillside.”

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4. “Welcome to the Working Week” – Elvis Costello

Classic Costello, this was also the first song on Costello’s debut album. You have a template for so much of his work to come all in this one track. You’ve got the stirring of white-collar rage here (Costello had previously worked a number of office jobs—data entry clerk, etc.) and the suggestive wordplay that would become his trademark.

Additionally, in his first line, he has the audacity to make a masturbation reference: “Now that you’re picture’s in the paper being rhythmically admired” (my emphasis); how many artists have that kind of gall?

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5. “Amassed Complications” – Food Will Win The War

LISTEN HERE

Saddled with, as they admitted at a show I saw, “one of the worst band names in history,” Food Will Win The War starts off their five-song debut EP with this rollicking track. The rest of the EP, unfortunately, finds the band losing steam over the last four tracks, but this two-and-a-half-minute song is a real gem.

10 Things: A Tamer "Taming"?

Sometimes—not very often—we all have the good fortune to stumble upon a literary work and its filmic adaptation within days of one another. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I find it immeasurably helpful, bringing about the unintended consequence of useful parallels and contrasts. We cannot, of course, miss these watching a filmic adaptation (or, vice-versa, read a textual original).

Over the past week, I had the fortune of both reading The Taming of the Shrew (this, I admit, was for class) as well as seeing the film 10 Things I Hate About You (which is, I think it’s safe to say, mainstream Hollywood’s favorite Shakespeare adaptation). As wildly different as they are, the two still create a substantial dialogue when placed side by side.

The character of Kate, for one, is seen in an entirely different light thanks to some careful backstory in 10 Things; Kate’s having slept with the sleazy-greaser-like Joey Donner ends up serving as a somewhat plausible explanation for her “shrewish” behavior. Kate (Katharina) in the play is never provided with any similarly compelling backstory for her behavior in the Shakespeare version of the story. From the first time she appears on stage, she is a sharp-tongued, often-angry woman.

In light of these two different characters, my temptation is to respond to the fuller (at least by first perception) character of Kate in 10 Things. Part of human nature, I think, is to look for rationale behind strange behavior; once writers/directors provide us with the reasons for why characters do the things that they do, we are often attracted to that resulting fullness.

Thinking in this manner about Kate in 10 Things led me, however, towards an examination of Katharina and her curious attitude and “shrewish” behavior in The Taming. When I reread the first scene of Act I, it appears as if Shakespeare sets up Kate’s character as a kind of stereotype rather than a “full” character. This Kate, being a stereotype, forces the reader to re-imagine the intended effect of the blatant sexism and cruelty endured by Kate. In a way, I think that the mere presence of stereotypes often points not only to farcicality, but also to critical satire.

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Whether or not I buy that interpretion of The Taming of the Shrew as not so much a display of egregious sexism but rather a carefully (and maybe not so openly) constructed critique of gender relations, I think that it’s fair to say that 10 Things does not offer any sort of critique along the same lines as Shakespeare.

This lack of critique in the film adaptation is due partly to the absence of the Induction in the play; the Induction helps distance the audience from the actually plot of The Taming and provides a frame by which we can perceive the satirical nature of the roles. Viewing Katharina as a stereotype, however, also helps us to visualize that satire.

The issue here is that while The Taming is overtly sexist and makes a big show about that in order to push the satire home, any sexism in 10 Things is hiding beneath the surface. However, once you start to pick apart the character of Kate in the film, the underlying sexism is obvious. Why has Kate been angry and “shrewlike” for her high school career? According to the backstory provided by the writers, Kate is angry because she (prematurely?) lost her virginity to Joey Donner thanks to the fact that “everybody was doing it” back in the ninth grade. Her essential "wickedness and rebellion," she goes on to explain to her sister Bianca, is because she never wanted to do something just because everyone else wanted to ever again.

That sounds fair enough…but the fact is that the reason for her rebellion is not just peer pressure and the desire to be different—but peer pressure about having sex and endorsing sexuality with her boyfriend. None of this seems all that sexist until we consider what brought her back out of this “shrewish” behavior: Patrick Verona. Verona—the character of Petruchio in the play—eases her out of her mode of rebellion such that, by the end of the film, we are left with a Kate who seems more acceptable and less “shrewish.” She lacks the stark obedience and submissiveness of Katharina in the play, but she has still been changed...or "tamed" from earlier in the film.

It is such that the film actually “tames” women far more than the original play does (so long as it is read as a farce/satire). Perhaps Shakespeare adaptations for the big screen aren't so simple as they seem?