Avery tries to be a critic: 'Suicide Squad'

Somewhere out there, high up in a bar in Wayne Tower, surrounded by sycophants and scantily-dressed barmaids, an exec for DC Entertainment is sitting with an exec from Time-Warner, and they are doing consolation shots as they collectively wonder how in the hell Suicide Squad is failing so miserably. Perhaps they are comforted, if only a little, by the fact that so many DC fanboys and fangirls are lobbying to shut down Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic for panning the film so badly. At least they have the satisfaction of knowing that their steadfast fanbase of dude-bros, gamers, die-hard Batfans, and barely-dressed Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy cosplayers will stand by them no matter how ridiculous the films they keep putting out may get...

But what they can't figure out is why their new targets--the Marvel fanbase, or those in-betweeners who are loyal to neither DC nor Marvel but just like comic movies in general, or the people who couldn't give less of a damn and don't follow the comics at all but just want a fun movie to watch on their night off--are so opposed to Suicide Squad. They just cannot understand where they went wrong with their new would-be box office smash.

Wails the DC exec, "I did everything right! They complained our movies weren't enough like Marvel, so we made it like a Marvel film! We took a host of quirky, lovable outlaws and stuffed that cast with star power. We had Margot Robbie and Cara Delevingne for the male fanservice, and Will Smith and Jared Leto for the ladies. We had a kick-ass soundtrack! We packed our script with hilarious one-liners! We had a dozen recognizable comic-book characters in one movie! We gave a hero from another movie a cameo! We put in a mid-credits scene! We even degraded our artistic vision of doom and darkness and gave them a happy ending! A happy ending, of all things! The love interest didn't even die! We did everything right! And they still complain that it wasn't good enough!"

And the Time-Warner exec downs his shot, unhappily pats his comrade on the back and mumbles, "I know, buddy. I know. They're just damn unreasonable."

I wanted, so very very badly, to love Suicide Squad. Marvel fangirl as I may be, I have always had a massive soft spot for all things Batman. Christopher Nolan and Tim Burton awakened my love for comic-book movies in the early years of my adolescence. The Joker is almost single-handedly responsible for my fascination with villains, which began to develop around the same time. I have not yet gotten up the balls to cosplay as Harley Quinn...I just don't think I'm anywhere near cute enough to pull that off...but maybe someday, who knows? I love all the Batman villains, but Joker and Harley have always topped the list. Yes, I am and always will be loyal to Marvel; their films and comics are just plain more my taste than most of what DC offers. (And if one more person questions why I love Captain America but can't stand Superman, I will slap them.) But I would never have even started watching superhero movies if my dad hadn't sat me down one day to watch Batman Begins.

So as you can imagine, I was thrilled when I heard about Suicide Squad. Less thrilled when I found out that they were using Batman V. Superman as a vehicle to set up Suicide Squad. And even less thrilled when I found out that this was their answer to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Because here's the thing: as a film, on its own, Suicide Squad could have been bloody fantastic. But that just wasn't going to happen once DC hauled off and started blatantly competing with Marvel.

To accurately describe Suicide Squad to all the Marvel fans who were too indignant to see it, let me paint you a picture: imagine if, instead of beginning the Marvel Cinematic Universe with 2008's Iron Man, they had instead begun with Civil War. Actually, I stand corrected. Let's assume that in the DC cinematic universe, Superman = Captain America (ugh!), Batman = Iron Man, Enchantress = Loki, and Amanda Waller = Fury. So, accurately, they would have started with Captain America: The First Avenger, and then released Civil War (Cap vs. Iron man, right?) and then came out with Guardians of the Galaxy, but thrown in Iron Man and Loki cameos just for kicks. Okay, we all on the same page now? Good.

So, in this universe, Cap and Iron Man have no history, they just haul off and start fighting because...they can? And then Cap dies because...well, because they couldn't afford to stuff him into the next movie, I guess? And Fury decides the Avengers just aren't dangerous enough, so he decides to assemble the Guardians of the Galaxy instead. And for some reason he makes Loki part of the team. But then Loki goes bad, as Loki tends to do, so the shit hits the fan. And in the midst of all this, you've got a bunch of very, very confused fans wondering why exactly we should care about any of this.

As the intro to this review suggests, DC tried very, very hard to channel Marvel for this one. But they don't seem to understand that Marvel didn't just suddenly decide one summer to throw out Civil War, Avengers, and Captain America just because their fanbase was looking a little thin. They tested the waters with Iron Man and Hulk. When that went well, they gave Iron Man a sequel, to see if the fans really meant it when they said they wanted more. They did. So, Marvel gifted us with Thor, and they also managed to sneak in a Hawkeye cameo, which was considered one of the major hints that bigger things were ahead. By the time Captain America rolled around, they'd gained more than enough momentum to give us sneak peeks of The Avengers, and when that one finally hit theaters, the deal was sealed. Suddenly, Marvel wasn't just for boys or for nerds anymore. Suddenly, Marvel was universal. And they have since then proved that they are not only capable of walking the line between cute, laugh-along, family-friendly fare (Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-Man, for instance) and DC-esque grit (Daredevil and Jessica Jones come to mind).

But that takes time. Marvel didn't walk off the train and demand to sit with the popular kids. Marvel built up our trust first. Marvel took the time to establish that they did not only care about money and popularity, but quality and connection. Marvel didn't just want to make millions, they wanted to set a new standard--and they did. They became the Disney of comic book movies, and then Disney acquired them because even Walt Disney Company, the biggest media conglomerate to ever walk this earth, knew a damn good thing when they saw it.

So, back to Suicide Squad. Well, I have to say, DC, you pulled it off...almost. You tried, I'll give you that. Your sound was good. For once I could actually hear what the hell your characters were saying, even during the action sequences, so kudos for that. You managed to not sexualize every female character, though I would like to know why, precisely, Harley Quinn decided to go to battle in her underwear. (Because she's literally crazy? Ok, I'll let you have that one.) Your casting was fantastic. I had my doubts about Jared Leto, but my God did that man bring it. In fact, Batman aside, I can't think of one role that was miscast. And your soundtrack was killer. AC/DC? Panic! at the Disco? Eminem? Yes please! Bonus points for using all three kickass songs from the trailers. And in terms of characterization, especially for Harley Quinn, I must say you knocked it out of the park...for the most part, anyway...and you even managed to drag a non-showy performance out of Will Smith. (This makes two films of his that I've seen now that made me rethink my perception of him as an every-role-the-same celebrity actor...well played, DC. Well played.)

But the list of good points ends there. First of all, the story is ridiculous. The initial plot is a rip-off of Age of Ultron, substituting Batman villains for the Avengers. Amanda Weller wants to create a team of supervillains, "in case the next Superman is a terrorist" (sound familiar?) and control them via the Enchantress, a thousand-year-old infinitely powerful being who is currently trapped in the body of a doe-eyed archaeologist. Of course Enchantress escapes, because this plan has Bad Idea written all over it, and releases her brother, an equally old, equally powerful being with an equally big bone to pick with humanity. You see, they used to be worshipped as gods by the humans (huh...this sounds awfully familiar too) and now, big surprise, they aren't pleased to be recruited for dirty work instead, so they decide to destroy the world. (I think I've heard this before...) So from there, it turns into Guardians: Weller calls in her team of villains, including but not limited to a former assassin, a humanoid with limited vocabulary, a weapons-crazy loose cannon, and someone who's lost their spouse and seeking revenge, to save the world from a genocidal maniac. (Does that sound familiar? It should.) Can't possibly see how this can further go down the path of disaster, can we?

It's the kind of story that takes a lot of balls to pull off, this basic premise of Suicide Squad. Balls, and a lot of time. And really, really good writing. You see, this is why I compared it to Civil War and Guardians of the Galaxy, because that is exactly what I think they were trying to do. They wanted to build a team of lovable misfits, make a statement about how the government creates their own worst enemy, bring home the point that villains are the heroes of their own stories, sneak in a few Batman appearances, and hint at bigger things to come. But they didn't do it right. The plot holes alone are enough to take what could've been a great movie and immediately drag it down to average level. And don't get me started on the liberties they take with canon. If the Joker ever actually went after Harley Quinn to save her life just because he cared about her, it's news to me. Which is probably the thing that, truth be told, really fried my cheese because the whole point of the Joker-Harley relationship in the first place is that it's not romantic, it's abusive.

Speaking of which, what the hell was the Joker even doing in this movie? He's he's not part of the team, and he's not the main antagonist, or even really an antagonist at all. He, like Batman, needed to be left to teaser/cameo status. Ian and I were talking after the movie about how awesome it would've been if no one had even known the Joker was in the film, and at the end of the film he magically shows up to bust Harley out of her cell. That, we agreed, could have--and should have--been the mid-credits scene. But it wasn't, and the Joker came off in the film less like the Clown Prince of Crime and more like Jack Dawson from Titanic. Which is a massive disappointment, because as I said, Jared Leto knocked it out of the park. If Heath Ledger were here, he'd probably raise a glass to Leto's performance...and then bring that same glass down and smash it on the director's head for making the Joker into a romantic hero.

So overall, I see what they were trying to do with Suicide Squad, and maybe they could've pulled it off, but they rushed it. I don't think production was rushed--the technical elements were very good, and the editing and post-prod sound were probably the best I've ever seen in a DC film--but the pre-production stage must've taken all of about two days, because the story was just not there. And if you ask any screenwriter, aspiring, professional, or Oscar-winning, they will tell you the same thing: if the story isn't there, neither is the film. And that's a damn shame, especially in this case, because Suicide Squad could have been a slam-dunk...but instead, it's just another in the endless sea of summer popcorn movies.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Zootopia'

Okay, I'll admit what we can all already guess: I'm a Disney nerd. I have my Disney Likes and Disney Loves and Disney Don't-Likes and Disney What-Were-They-Thinkings, but on the whole, there isn't much that I don't love about the movies delivered straight from the Mouse House--and Zootopia damn near tops them all. What's that you say, Disney? Allegory for xenophobia and the dangers of the mob mentality, all wrapped up in the cute package of adorably-badass-bunny-meets-cynical-fox buddy-cop story, featuring Shakira as a gazelle and Idris Elba as a giant buffalo? I say...

In the world of Zootopia, animals evolved instead of humans. Now bunnies coexist with foxes, lambs work side-by-side with lions, and gazelles dance onstage with tigers--all without a single solitary fear of getting eaten. Well, almost. It's not quite a utopia; there are heavily-ingrained prejudices based on one's species (a bunny presumably can't be tough, a fox can't be nice, a sloth must be slow) and even in the metropolis of Zootopia, animals commute to work from housing development-style habitats like the "rainforest section" or "desert section." Judy Hopps is determined to break those barriers by becoming the first-ever rabbit police officer. She does indeed become an officer, but is immediately signed parking duty--that is, until she impulsively volunteers for a missing-mammals case and forces Nick Wilde, a cynical fox who hustles for a living, to help her find Emmett Otterton. What she doesn't know is that there's a political conspiracy behind the missing mammals...and if she can't figure it out, not only is she off the force, but the world of Zootopia will be turned upside-down.

So, we all know I'm going to love all up on this movie like a Supernatural fangirl on Misha Collins, so let's get the one negative out of the way first: when I was a kid, Zootopia would have scared the ever-living crap out of me. Cute little bunnies (oops, I forgot...just pretend I'm a bunny for the sake of this review, okay?) get threatened by giant stalking panthers. Nice animals suddenly go crazy for what appears to be no reason. In one scene that is such a blatant reference to Silence of the Lambs that Anthony Hopkins himself would have to stifle a giggle, we see dozens of animals locked up in a dark, neglected psych ward. It's great, yeah, but it's not necessarily for kids. There was some dark stuff here, guys--but hey, it's Disney. If they didn't try to at least throw in one or two emotional gut-punches, it wouldn't be a true Walt Disney Studios production.

But for all that darkness, Zootopia does a fantastic job of mixing humor for the kids with humor for the adults in a way that makes the film 100% enjoyable for all audiences. When I saw the film, the kids in the theater giggled hysterically at predictably-childish jokes like "What do you call a three-hump camel? PREGNANT!" while Ian and I laughed ourselves stupid at the pop-culture references--and boy howdy, were there a lot of pop-culture references. Silence of the Lambs, Breaking Bad (yes, in a kids' movie), The Godfather, Taxi!, and of course a few Disney hits like Frozen and Chicken Little (TELL ME Judy Hopps' dad doesn't remind you just a bit of Buck Cluck, I dare you) to keep the kiddies entertained. But rest assured, the allusions to other movies don't fall flat. There's a truly spectacular reference to Taxi! wherein a weasel yells "You dirty rat!" to an actual, um, dirty rat. It's brilliant, but it's subtle; like any real Easter Egg, you have to know the film to know the reference.

As per usual, the animation is lovely. We all know Disney loves to take things a step farther with every movie, and it should come as no surprise that Zootopia is no exception. It's a little thing, but example #1: Judy Hopps wears headphones...and they actually go in her little bunny ears instead of over her head. Seriously, that's a big deal. Not to mention that in the individual apartment-complex "habitats," they actually look like the rainforest, the savannah, the arctic, etc. The animators also seem to have snagged some ideas from Jon Favreau when it comes to putting human features on non-human creatures, because for all their human-ish characteristics, the inhabitants of Zootopia don't have that uncanny-valley, creepy "are they human or animal" appearance that plagues other CGI-animated anthropomorphic animals. (Yes, live-action Scooby-Doo, I absolutely am looking at you right now.)

But the real heart of Zootopia is in the story. Is it a little heavy-handed at times? Well, yes, but it's technically a kids' movie for crying out loud; what did you expect, 2001: A Space Odyssey? The themes of prejudice, fear-mongering, racism and segregation couldn't come at a better time. Let's be honest, fellow politically-minded artists: this year, we will in all likelihood be forced to choose between two extremists when we step into that voting booth. On the far right, we have Trump, who actually wants to deport ALL the Muslims (someone wanna fill him in on the whole "American citizens" thing?) and force the Mexican government to pay for a border wall to prevent illegal immigration. On the far left, we have Bernie Sanders, who genuinely believes that socialism is the way to go and has what I think are some pretty warped ideas of what's fair and not fair. In this day and age, that perfectly represents the two parties at this point: both sides believe in black and white morals and call anyone who doesn't agree with them evil. Don't think that private businesses shouldn't have the right to base their business practices on their religion? You're a bigot! Don't think that building a giant wall will keep out illegal aliens? You're a bleeding-heart moron! WATCH OUT, *INSERT OPPOSING PARTY HERE*, THE EVIL OTHER TEAM IS COMING FOR ALL YOUR BELOVED FREEDOM!

And what's so magical about Zootopia is that it conveys the danger of this type of fearmongering in a way that kids can understand. The film shows how easy it is to unintentionally spread fear: in a press conference, Judy Hopps stumbles over an explanation of why predatory mammals might "go savage," suggesting that it might be based in their biology. In reality, the predators are being shot up with a drug that makes them go nuts, but no one can prove it--yet--and thus the fear spreads. All it takes is one wrong choice of words, one incident of crisis, and the witch-hunt is on.

At one point, the prey species behind the conspiracy tells Judy, "The population is 90% prey, what if we were all united against a common enemy?" It's a great idea in theory, but in practice it means the majority is united against a minority that, in the grand scheme of things, is not really very threatening. It means assuming the actions of a few are the impulses of many, whether that's true or not. I've seen adult-oriented films that make this concept seem like String Theory, but Zootopia nails the problems with that mindset with comparable ease. And again, keep in mind, this is a children's movie. Made by Disney. It's not Anomalisa, it's not even Studio Ghibli, it's a freaking kid's movie made by the Mouse House--and it handles complex social issues like a damn after-school special, except half as preachy and twice as entertaining.

Kind of brings new meaning to the words "So simple a child could understand," doesn't it?

I have no doubt that when next year's awards are circulating, Zootopia will snag its fair share. But I truly hope that the good this film does goes beyond an Oscar or an Annie Award. The political climate is getting worse and worse. Let's hope that a few parents and older siblings take away the lessons that Zootopia so excellently aims at the kiddies. Let's hope that Judy Hopps inspires a wider audience than her target imaginative first-graders. Let's hope that not for the first time, art imitates life--except this time, let's keep that happy ending intact.

Dear #OscarsSoWhite

Full disclosure: I am a white 20-something woman. This comes from the perspective of someone outside the industry, who has not yet broken into the "real" festival circuit, who prefers making shorts and reviewing movies to practicing politics on Tumblr. So do with that what you will. Perhaps I would feel differently were I a black woman. I don't know. But this is what I think.

#OscarsSoWhite activists, I wonder what Sidney Poitier would like to say to you. You see, back in 1964, Poitier made history as the first black actor to win a competitive Oscar for his role in Lilies in the Field. We all know what was going on in America in the 1960s. We've all had history class; we've all watched newsreel after newsreel and read the firsthand accounts of the Civil Rights Movement. Some of us may even know people who participated in the marches, or have family members who saw the Detroit race riots, or have grandparents who heard Dr. King's "I have a dream" speech. We may not have been there, but we all know it happened. But I think some of us, in the current atmosphere of "if it's not PC, it should be illegal," may have forgotten some of the smaller victories of that movement.

Like, say, a wonderful actor winning the first Oscar ever given to a black person, during a time when he wasn't even allowed to drink from the same water fountains as the people who voted for him.

I wonder what Poitier would say to you, #OscarsSoWhite activists, for demanding what people have begun to call "Affirmative Action Oscars." Now, I will be first to say that, yeah, the Academy's criteria could be better defined, and their voting process could be improved, and overall the whole thing could be more transparent. I'm not debating that for a minute. But terrifying and guilting the whole band of them into submission will only feel like victory for a moment. Kicking up a fuss is all well and good, but let's think about what the consequences will be.

Let's think about what you're saying. You accuse the Academy of racism. You scream "more diversity, more diversity, we want diversity and we want it now!" You say that the Oscars are racist. Maybe that's true, maybe it isn't. But can we consider that a Mexican man won Best Director and Best Picture last year, and may well do it again this year? Have we forgotten about 12 Years a Slave, and all its victories? Have we forgotten Lupita Nyong'o, who not only kicked ass in that film, but is also the first Kenyan and first Mexican actress to win an Academy Award? Have we forgotten that "Glory" won Best Original Song last year? Let's also not forget Octavia Spencer, who won for her role in The Help, or Viola Davis, who was nominated for the same film. Hell, how about we remember that the freaking president of the Academy is a black woman? TAKE THAT, GLASS CEILING!

And speaking of women...do we count towards "diversity?" How about Kathryn Bigelow, beating out the biggest blockbuster of the year for Best Picture, and winning Best Director--the first woman to ever do so? No women have been nominated for Best Director since her win. Am I allowed to boycott the Oscars on the basis of sexism, purely because I'm furious--and I am, believe me--that George Miller was nominated for an allegedly "feminist" film (the quotation marks should tell you exactly how I feel about THAT description) instead of, oh I don't know, actually nominating female directors? And don't say there weren't enough to consider this year because there were. Marielle Heller. Maya Forbes. Sarah Gavron. I could go on, but I won't. Am I allowed to be angry about that? Not really, it seems, because when I mentioned in a post on Facebook how ridiculous it was that Miller was nominated, I was quickly shut down.

#OscarsSoWhite, I think you're overlooking some people in your quest for "diversity." Let's be honest, you don't want real diversity. You want affirmative action. You want a spectacle. You want the Academy to start phasing out older voters because you believe all old people are racist. "Get out of here with your white privilege!" you cry whenever someone points this out. "We just want what's fair! We want diversity! We want equality! We don't want affirmative action, we just want to make sure that some black people are nominated every year!" Um, yes, that does count as affirmative action. Don't pretend it doesn't. Whenever someone dares to point out that the Academy chose who they chose because of talent, not because of race, you scream WHITE PRIVILEGE! RACISM! YOU JUST DON'T GET IT! Maybe we don't "get it," but sometimes, I don't think you do either.

Where are all the Native American voices kicking up a fuss because none of their number were nominated for Oscars? While #OscarsSoWhite activists bemoan Hollywood's lack of inclusion, they're celebrating because Revenant actually treated them with a degree of respect, instead of pulling a Lone Ranger. (Not for the first time, I really, really questioned Johnny Depp's judgment when he starred in that stinker.)

Where are the LGBT community members yelping about Carol not being nominated for best picture? As Ian McKellen pointed out, there have been plenty of straight men to win Oscars for playing gay men, but where are the openly gay Best Actors? Should we be angry about that too? Apparently not, because aside from McKellen, no one else has really tried to point it out. Not recently, anyway.

And then there's Jada Pinkett Smith, who blasted the Oscars and then announced a boycott when her husband wasn't nominated. Now don't get me wrong, if it looked like Ian were up for an Oscar and then suddenly he wasn't, I'd be pretty damn upset. And considering my intense dislike of Eddie Redmayne, who you'll never convince me deserved the Oscar that Michael Keaton should've won last year (and he's nominated again this year--ugh!), maybe I'm the last person to talk about hating the Academy for the wrong reasons, but with that said, I think there's something a tiny bit petty about the way she handled it. (And for the record, I'm not the only one. Just in case you needed an opinion from someone who isn't a non-Hollywood-playing white girl.)

First of all, ma'am, you are the wife of a Hollywood superstar. You really are. Hell, I didn't even like Will Smith until I saw him in Concussion, but you can't deny he has pull at the box office. You're married to a millionaire who frequently competes with Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman, both of whom have twice his talent, for the title of Most Popular Black Actor in the History of Forever. You live in a mansion and have two beautiful children, both of whom seem on their way to having successful careers themselves when they're older. You yourself have a successful career as an actress and musician.

And yet you go on social media and say "We are not recognized for our artistic accomplishments." Ma'am, what we are you talking about here? Black people? Black women? All of the above? Surely you can't be referring to Lupita Nyong'o (who was voted Woman of the Year in addition to her Oscar) or Octavia Spencer. Can't be talking about Spike Lee, who was given an honorary Oscar by the very organization he denounces as racist. In fact, Mrs. Smith, you can't even be talking about your own husband, who has been nominated for 85 awards and received 45 over the course of his career.

"But he hasn't won an Oscar!" you may cry. Okay, but you can't chalk that down to racism, because guess what? Both times he was nominated, he lost to another black man. No, really. In 2002 he lost to Denzel Washington, in 2007 he lost to Forest Whitaker. Now, I may not be a data analyst, but that to me does not point in the direction of a racist Academy.

I loved Concussion. I loved it with all my heart. Had I seen it before I composed my 2015 Top 10 list, it would have snagged a spot in the top 5. It's the first Will Smith movie I've seen that I truly enjoyed purely because wasn't a WILL SMITH MOVIE, it was a truly amazing film in which Will Smith happened to star. He did a damn good job in that movie and I would have loved to see him get nominated. I fully expected him to beat Bryan Cranston out for the Golden Globe, and--boy, I can't believe I'm saying this--I was crushed when Leonardo DiCaprio took Best Drama Actor instead. You get it. I loved Concussion and I loved Will Smith in Concussion and I wish he'd been nominated.

But I can understand why he wasn't, and I don't think it has anything to do with race.

Hear me out. Let's think about the last twenty years or so of nominees for Best Actor. Hell, let's look at the winners last year: one played a guy with a terrible illness, and one played a guy who was a complete jackass. There's your pool of victors, right there. Look at the data. Data, as my very rational, analytic mother has taught me, does not lie. And if you look at who's won in recent years, you'll see a lot of guys with terrible illness and a lot of complete jackasses.

Film critics seem to have enormous soft spots for "complex"--a.k.a. "asshole"--characters. They're so complex, they say. They're so deep. They're so complicated. Give us more! We love evil geniuses, but we won't call them that! We as a species seem to have a love-affair with jerks who happen to be really good at their jobs. How else to explain our fascination with Steve Jobs? How else to explain why we love shows like Sherlock, or House, or Supernatural, all of which feature leading men who have skill to spare and an ax to grind? We hate "perfect" characters, because the way we see it, "perfect" characters must be boring. If your character is lovable, screenwriters, you'd better put him through a hell of a lot of pain. And if he's fantastic at what he does, you'd better make him a jerk with a heart of gold, or better yet a just plain jerk, if you want the actor who plays him to win Best Actor.

And I'm very sorry to say that the character Will Smith played in Concussion was not a jerk, nor a jerk with a heart of gold, nor did he have a horrible illness or undergo severe trauma with lasting results. He was charming, he was triumphant, he was lovable, he was resilient, he was skilled at what he did, he was intelligent, he was polite. He was just about the best damn role model a kid could have. (Parents, take note--as soon as your kids are old enough to hear a few curse words, do show them Concussion.)

So there was no way he was ever going to win Best Actor. He just wasn't. He wasn't "complex" enough, he was "too nice," he was too perfect. The fact that the actor who played him did a perfect job of portraying him just wasn't good enough.

Let's look at the guys who got nominated, instead. Michael Fassbender as Steve Jobs (jackass!), Eddie Redmayne as the titular Danish Girl (terrible pain and suffering--HE ALMOST DIES, YAY!), Leonardo DiCaprio as Hugh Glass (terrible pain and suffering--ALMOST DIES!), Bryan Cranston (jackass--lovable jackass, but still!), and Matt Damon as Mark Watney (pain and suffering--ALMOST DIES!). It sounds simplistic to put it this way, but Will Smith's character was neither a jackass, nor did he almost die. Therefore it's safe to say the Academy probably didn't think his performance was "dramatic" enough to be nominated.

Is this fair? HELL NO! But it's not an issue of race. It's an issue of the Academy having wack criteria when it comes to picking their nominees. That's a whole new bucket of worms to delve into, and it's one that won't be easily solved. There are ways, sure, but judging by the reaction from within the ranks when the Academy imposed new voting restrictions, those suggestions aren't going to go over too well and will take a long time to successfully refine. But there are changes that can be made, and these changes can and will, I think, happen over time.

But they shouldn't happen like this.

Really. They should not be the result of bullying, and demands for "diversity" that really are only coming from one sources, demands that are reactive and not proactive, demands that only benefit one target group and lead others in the wayside. And before you cry "your privilege is showing!" I'm not talking about white people. I'm talking about other ethnic groups besides black people. I'm talking about gay men and women. I'm talking about transgender actors. I'm talking about women behind the camera (for the love of God, women, get behind the camera and let's make some movies that are better than The Intern so we can get nominated next year). I'm talking about real diversity, not just a cry for more recognition.

No one is entitled to an Oscar. No one will get an Oscar just by demanding it...and if you do get an Oscar just by demanding it, just by scaring and whining and bullying and guilting the Academy into voting for you, that Oscar loses almost all of its significance.

At my high school, there was a girl in my department, the film department, who was very well-liked. She had a thing with one of the guys in the department at the beginning of the school year, and later got an important crew role on another person's thesis set. She confided in me, "I hate not knowing whether I'm getting attention because they like me, or because I'm pretty and made out with one of their friends."

Well, here's the Hollywood equivalent of that, I guess. From here on out, black actors who are nominated or win Best Actor awards will not know if it's because they're truly talented, or because the Academy will face backlash and shame if they do not nominate those actors. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I would really, really hate not knowing which one it is. That, to me, is truly awful--not one or two years in a row with a lack of color among the nominees.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Southpaw'

*sigh* I tried to sit down and write a nice, calm, orderly, nothing-to-see-here review for Southpaw. I really did. But I kept experiencing strange symptoms as I wrote. Like puking in my mouth a little every time I thought about all the gratuitous, gory shots of blood pouring out of Jake Gyllenhaal's mouth. Or my eyes involuntarily rolling themselves every time I recalled the lazy, expletive-heavy dialogue. Or experiencing mild headaches at the thought of seeing one more f-ing boxing movie with a training montage set to an aggressive guitar-heavy song what the hell can we please move on from that Hollywood thank you very much.

Like everyone else who saw Avengers: Age of Ultron, I was subjected to the Southpaw trailer. I saw the movie twice, saw the trailer twice, and both times nudged my movie-going partners and whispered, “Let’s see that when it comes out.” It looked like a really, really, really good movie, okay? I mean it had a great cast, looked like a heart-wrenching story, appeared to have some very solid editing, and just seemed like it would be an Oscars contender without even trying. You know. That kind of movie.

So imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be more like…well, like every movie ever where the arrogant character learns a great life lesson after he loses everything. Even if I hadn’t seen the trailer--which is a long shot, because if you’ve been to a movie in the last six months, you couldn’t help but see the trailer--I could have told you that something bad was going to happen to Billy Hope. That he was going to get his ass kicked. He was going to lose his money. He was going to lose his fans. Now, I hate to say “he was going to lose his family,” because that sounds mean, but you know what? Called it. It’s classic Oscar-baiting Hollywood: take a character who is on top of the world, rip away everything he has, insert Old Wise Man With Tortured Past (I swear that’s a character they have in a vault, just waiting to yank out and insert as-needed) who will invariably be just what Main Character needs to get back on top, and watch him rebuild his world from the ground up. It’s uplifting, it’s classic, it’s inspirational…and it is absurdly lazy writing.

Let me tell you something. This kind of movie, the one I just described? It is really easy to make. Well, comparatively, I should say. No movie, as we’ve already discussed here, is easy, per se. Every movie takes work; you need a script, you need actors, you need locations, you need a camera and a mic, etc. But compared to blockbusters or clever kids’ films, or even an independent or midbudget classic like Interstate 60 or any of the David Lynch classics? It’s cake. You can do it for no money. Angst is cheap. Unless it’s an Oscar bid, like Southpaw, but Jesus Christ, compare the budget for Southpaw ($25 million) to the budget for, say, Gone Girl ($61 million). Now, I’m not one to judge a film by its budget--again, we’ve talked about this--but this proves my point. Angst is cheap.

It’s very, very easy to play an audience for tears. No, really. If you hurt or kill a dog, take a child away from their parents, have one star-crossed lover die and leave the other alive, kill off a mentor, or have an undeserving athlete cheat a hardworking one out of a title, you are gold, my friend. What are the circumstances surrounding these events? Doesn’t matter. Unless your audience is comprised of 500 Ron Swanson clones, pull out any of these scenarios and you’ve got a certified sob-fest on your hands. Hell, I didn’t even like Southpaw, but I was in tears when Maureen died. It’s almost a reflex: decent people can’t stand seeing other decent people in pain. If your audience has any degree of compassion, any of the above scenarios will wrench an emotional response from them. It’s filmmaking 101.

You know what’s hard? Making a detestable character appealing to an audience. In writing classes, we call that “saving the cat.” It means that if your main character is at any point going to look shady, they had better have at least one defining thing that redeems them. But it has to be simple, saving the cat, and it has to be subtle or well-placed. You don’t want the audience to think they’re being forced to like a character; remember, we all want to root for the underdog.

You know what else is hard? Making an audience laugh. I hate cheap-humor movies like Scary Movie because it’s so easy to roll with potty humor when all else fails. But writing a movie like School of Rock or My Cousin Vinny, or a darker comedy like The Ref? That’s hard. Blending comedy and drama, as in Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, is especially difficult because if you go too far in either direction you lose half your audience, and if the contrast is too sharp no one will take your movie seriously. We all know exactly what will make an audience cry. Making an audience laugh is always a toss-up, especially in this day and age where just about everything under the sun is considered offensive.

And you know what’s just about impossible? Making a movie unpredictable. Getting the audience to go “Holy shit, I did not see that coming!” Slitting Neil Patrick Harris’ throat with a boxcutter instead of giving Ben Affleck the lethal injection. Killing Janet Leigh in the shower 45 minutes into the film. Unveiling Christopher Lloyd as a cartoon in disguise. Using little green aliens to rescue Buzz and Woody from the trash incinerator. Granted some of these are adaptations and if you read the book first, you know what’s coming, but if you haven’t, the point still stands. People insist there’s nothing original anymore. Maybe there isn’t, but you can always find a plot twist--if you look for it.

The point is, I have seen Southpaw before. I have seen attractive men lose everything and rely on a wise old learned man to help them get back to the top. I have seen arrogant characters cut down to size by tragedy. It’s fun seeing people get knocked down; it’s why we hone in on fallen celebrities, isn’t it? And it’s equally satisfying to see underdogs claw their way to the top; it’s why we love those rags-to-riches tales of people getting plucked from obscurity and dolled up for their winning moment on American Idol. Sure, Southpaw is formulaic, but it’s a recipe for success, right? It’s sure to snag Gyllenhaal (who is the best damn thing about that film, no contest) at least a few good awards, if not an Oscar nomination. And it definitely put tears in my eyes, even if I knew exactly how and why the film was playing on my heartstrings.

But the problem is that after you walk out of the theater and go back to your business, a film like Southpaw is largely forgettable. Now, before we go any further with this concept, a disclaimer is in order: everyone is different, and what packs an emotional punch for some will not have the same effect on others. For someone out there, maybe Southpaw changed their life the way Sleepy Hollow and Beetlejuice changed mine. Who knows? For the last time: the movie made me cry. I’m not saying it’s meritless or that you’re stupid if you felt something when you watched it.

But so much of Southpaw relies on shock value, like the small child dropping the f-bomb, or the predictably tragic, like the way Billy Hope falls apart when he loses his wife. If you can predict every event that’s going to happen, right down to the outcome of Hope’s climactic fight with the “bad guy,” that’s not going to have as much of an impact on you as...oh, for instance, the end of Gran Torino. Nobody who saw that film is ever going to forget it. You know why? Because when those guns come out, you think Clint Eastwood is going to magically become Clint Eastwood. You don’t think it’s going to go where it ends up going. And there’s something pretty damn magical about that in and of itself.

The most incredible experiences I have ever had with a feature film were, almost invariably, born out of surprise. The twist at the midpoint of Gone Girl? That was the exact moment I fell in love with Gillian Flynn and her unbelievable writing. The surprise at the end of Breaking Dawn 2? Hate the rest of the franchise, but I’m never going to forget the exhilaration I felt watching that battle. All of Interstate 60? I never knew what was coming next, and I loved every second of it. The Man Upstairs in Lego Movie? In my opinion, that was what took the film from meh to should have won the Oscar. Nothing in Southpaw gave me that jolt of surprise, because like I said, I’ve seen it before. I knew he was going to lose, I knew he was going to be rebuilt, I knew he was going to win. My guess is that either Kurt Sutter read a hell of a lot of C.S. Lewis as a kid (the Christian allegory is strong with this one) or that he was taught to follow the Hero’s Journey to the letter when he went to film school. Either way, it doesn’t work. A movie with this much tension should not induce boredom. So please, Academy, do us all a favor and don’t consider this one when you reward Hollywood’s finest efforts this year. Give those awards to movies that did surprise their audiences, because those are the movies we’ll still be talking about in 20 years.

The downward spiral of a broken media

I can't even count the number of times I've heard "Wow, you like a lot of violent movies, don't you?" Usually this is accompanied by a shocked face, or at least a raised eyebrow or two, or in a fair few cases a follow-up statement of "So why won't you watch Saw/Taken/Mad Max with me? Come on, it's not as bad as A Clockwork Orange." Okay, fair enough. Yes, I like a lot of not-so-G-rated media. Yes, A Clockwork Orange is one of my all-time favorite movies. Yes, I am absolutely in love with Marvel's Daredevil. Yes, I think that Gus Van Sant's Elephant is one of the most beautiful and haunting things I have ever seen. And don't even talk to me if you've seen Paranoid Park and didn't like it, because I'm not sure we can be friends. (Okay, that's an exaggeration, but seriously, go see it. It's a thing of beauty. Really.)

But here's the thing that all of those violent movies have in common: they all put an emphasis on the consequences of violence, not the mere act of violence. Think about it for a second. Think about how many films you've seen that treat violence as a given and brush off the consequences. Think about the films where superheroes take out entire cities and we're never told about collateral damage or civilian recovery. Think about war films where the hero takes out hundreds of enemies and we never even learn their names, it's just "the other guy" or "the bad guy." And then think about Daredevil. Not only is Wilson Fisk thoroughly humanized (we see montages of the guy waking up next to his girlfriend and making her a freaking omelet, for Pete's sake), but so are his victims--even the ones who are part of organized crime rings. Every time someone is killed on Daredevil, we see the fall-out. The death scenes may be violent and difficult to watch, but they serve a purpose. As a result, the message comes through loud and clear: your actions have consequences, even if and when you are acting for the greater good.

Now, here's the thing about Daredevil, and A Clockwork Orange, and all those other movies I just mentioned (Zero Dark Thirty, The Hurt Locker, Saving Private Ryan, Let the Right One In--I could go on and on). They are all R-rated, independent, or available only through specific providers. For example, Daredevil can only be seen if you have Netflix, you can't just come across it channel-surfing or scrolling through the free options on Hulu. You have to seek them out. They don't just fall into your lap--or at least, they usually don't. If you're a film student, or your dorm counselor is weirdly into Swedish horror, or your dad has very specific tastes in superhero TV, well, that's another story. But the point stands. It's very unlikely you'll wander across A Clockwork Orange in your post-work channel-surfing.

But you are likely to come across a lot of other things channel-surfing that are not R-rated, or obscure, or foreign, or Netflix-exclusive. Like Lord of the Rings, for instance. Or Harry Potter. Or Spider-Man. Or--and this is the worst of all--Fox News. CNN. MSNBC. Hell, Buzzfeed, Huffpost or the DailyDot. Pick a news outlet, any news outlet.

Let's tackle these one at a time, starting with movies that are widely considered to be kids'/teens' films. Lord of the Rings, for instance, where the Orcs are dismembered, stabbed, shot with arrows, hit with cannons--and that's just in one battle sequence--and entire armies are wiped out without so much as a "oh, shit." Let's talk about how the only deaths that are given any kind of due in those films are the ones where we know the characters' names. Otherwise, they're just there for the body count. Let's talk about all the supernatural battle scenes in Curse of the Black Pearl, or Harry Potter, or Chronicles of Narnia--that's the one that really grates my cheese, the Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, because we NEVER ACTUALLY SEE ANY DEATH. The witch turns someone to stone and it's undone by Aslan, who's just come back from the dead himself, and then to top it all off Lucy is given a magical cordial that brings back anyone who's on the verge of dying. I get that it's a fairy tale, but come on! Oh, and can we talk about the freaking battle scene in Breaking Dawn--you know, the one that was revealed to be NOT EVEN REAL? See kiddies, violence has no consequence! It's not even real! This stuff never happens! War is just a game and if you get stabbed, you have a special energy drink that'll bring you back to life!

Am I being a tad unfair here? Perhaps I am, but you know what, I'm done. I'm sick of it. Enough is enough. In a world where there are more mass shootings than there have been days of the year, America's parents are, I shit you not, more concerned with nudity than they are with graphic violence.  Let's just think about that for a second. People are actually, for serious, more afraid of their child seeing a naked body than graphic violence. Now, last I checked, was something that everyone had, and the mere act of being naked has never, in fact, hurt anyone; otherwise we'd be in serious trouble every time we took a shower...so what in the hell is that about?

Hey, MPAA, a little hint: if you normalize the shit out of violence by letting it creep into PG-13 and PG and even G-rated films, you cannot be surprised at the consequences.

"But Avery," you protest, "there's lots of evidence that violent movies aren't to blame!" Let me repeat, I do not exclusively blame violent movies. Did I not just say that A Clockwork Orange was my favorite movie? My problem is not that violent movies exist. My problem is that every film that I've ever seen where the consequences of violence are thoroughly portrayed and examined, has been slapped with an R-rating. Meanwhile films where killing someone has no consequence, or is justified because it's a "bad guy" (think Agent Cody Banks or, well, any Disney film really--but that one sticks out because in most cases, the hero-kid is not directly responsible for the death of the antagonist) get a free pass because it's usually bloodless. Now, isn't that just a little messed up, you think? Doing things that way literally removes the consequences of violence. In real life, when people get shot or beaten, there's blood. They die. In the movies...well, who cares?

And here's the issue I have with that. When I was a kid, I was convinced--and I do mean convinced, no one short of Jesus Christ himself could have persuaded me to believe otherwise--that Eeyore was stalking me from the hall closet. Back in the day, you see, there was a show called Pooh Corner and it featured Disney World-like full costumed characters instead of traditional animation. So in my mind Eeyore was real, he was in the closet, and he would not leave me alone. Why? Who knows. All that matters is that my parents had a lot of sleepless nights convincing me that there was not a depressed donkey hiding in our linen closet.

My point is that little kids cannot separate fantasy and reality. They're well known for it. For some kids it's a monster under the bed; for others it's Eeyore in the hall closet. Think about the effect that gratuitous violence has on kids who don't know whether it's real or not. That's exactly why my parents had the media policy they did when I was growing up: let her hear curse words, let her see a naked body, but anything more violent than a one-hit fistfight, we're going to have to talk about. Kids don't understand death. We really don't. I remember not understanding that when someone in a movie dies, the actor is still alive. A lot of kids I knew had the opposite problem and didn't get that when someone in real life dies, it's for good.

So there's one-half the problem, right there. And then we come to the other half: the news media. And by news media, in this day and age I don't just mean the New York Times, or Fox News. I mean TV, newspapers, magazines (ANY magazine, Time or Tiger Beat), online magazines and news sites like the Huffington Post, NPR, AM/FM radio, and--perhaps the biggest offenders--social media sites. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Buzzfeed, any of them. Now, I stand by the idea that news media is actually a worse offender in the violence department than film violence. Film violence is staged, and most rational adults realize that. But when you splash footage of violent killings over the news and talk about it at length, replay the clip in slow-motion, hire experts to analyze it while you replay it in slow-motion, reenact it with live actors or computer imagery...well, you get my point. It's real. That is a real person dying in that video clip. And now it's out there for everyone to see.

And what kind of message does that send to disturbed kids with access to weapons? It was bad enough back in the 1990s, when Columbine happened and round-the-clock coverage was on every news station of every TV in America. Now, shit's gone viral. Back then we relied on security footage. Now, you can whip out your cell phone as a gunman blasts into your school and film your last moments--there's a morbid thought, am I right? But it's true. In this day and age, I can google "ISIS beheadings" and find a video in the time it took you to read this sentence. We immortalize killers with TV, radio, and worst of all the internet. And then we're surprised when another psychopath with a gun and an axe to grind makes his attempt to go down in history...and every time, we give them exactly what they want. Roger Ebert said this a hell of a lot better back in 2003, and today it still rings true--maybe even more so than it did back then, because as I said, back in '03, we didn't have the viral video culture we do now.

But it gets even better, because that news media that I talked about, the one that will sensationalize killers with theme songs, catchy names and 24/7 motive analysis? They're excellent at putting the blame back on fictional media. The fictional media then turns right back around and satirizes the news media (see Gone Girl for a truly excellent example of this), the news media fights back by censoring and vilifying the fictional media, and the circle continues. Neither will accept their share of the blame, and neither will cease in throwing stones at each other. It's like watching a never-ending game of air hockey that nobody can ever win.

Now, I don't know what to do about gun culture. I don't know how to fight the NRA. Taking away all guns isn't the solution...we all saw how well that worked with alcohol in the 1930s...but the other extreme clearly hasn't done us much good either. Whatever your view on guns might be, I'm asking you to at least agree with me on this: letting kids think that violence has no consequence is a bad idea. Because, Jesus Christ, look what happens when those kids grow up. With that said, I don't know how to strike the right balance between freedom granted by the Second Amendment, the right to protect yourself, and the danger that guns present. Nor do I know the best way to talk to the next generation about this exact problem.

Here's what I do know and what I will do. I will continue to speak out against sensationalizing killers, thieves and terrorists in the news media. I will never, ever say or post the names of the Sandy Hook killer, the Columbine killers, the Planned Parenthood shooter, the Aurora Dark Knight killer...none of them. I will not be part of their immortality. I will continue to fight the glorification of violence and demonization of sex that we've seen in our culture. And I will ask, again and again, that my fellow filmmakers--students, amateurs, professionals and celebrities alike--do the same.

Let's talk about on-screen sex

Okay. I'm pretty sure any of my college friends who read this right now are laughing their asses off ("WHAT?!? the goofy, naive, hopeless romantic who wore a purity ring is writing about MOVIE SEX?!") but honestly, I really don't care. I mean, I've already covered death, feminism, awards-show politics and Dogme 95 - so really, how can I top that without talking about sex?

So, let's get to the heart of it: for a girl who's spent a long time swearing blind that she wants to wait until her wedding night, I have seen a lot of sexually provocative (and, in some cases, flat-out sexually explicit) movies. I've seen it all, from the fade-to-black cutesy scenes of movies like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants to the blatant hedonism of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. And yet all of these movies have something in common: the sex is all glamorized and romanticized and totally...well...staged.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting directors start pulling a Lars Von Trier every time they want to shoot a love scene. But there are a few things I'd like to address, Love-Scene Directors, and I think if we all work together we might be able to change the Hollywood standards of perfect sex:

1) What's up with the whole woman-looks-perfect-post-sex thing? I look like a hot mess after I carry two full laundry bins up the stairs, and I mean, not to get graphic or anything, but isn't sex a bit more strenuous than that? I get that it's Hollywood and you can't just let the woman look like she's recently been hit by the Sharknado, but could we get beyond the need to have everybody's makeup perfect 24/7 already? Isn't it a little sexier if her lipstick is smudged and she's a little sweaty and her hair's been messed up? I'm just saying, if you look like a model off the runway right after you've just finished getting busy, I imagine you must've had some pretty boring sex. And Hollywood, a little hint, boring doesn't sell.

2) Speaking of which, can we have more sex scenes that focus on the woman having a good time? Kimberly Peirce once got a hard time from the MPAA for having a girl's climax last too long in Boys Don't Cry. To which she helpfully replied, "Okay, but why? No one's ever been hurt by an orgasm that lasts too long." Good point, Ms. Peirce. Again, I'm not asking for a complete 180 - I'm pretty sure every straight girl in the movie-watching world would revolt if all the slow-mo shots of the men getting naked were removed from the cinematic experience - I just think it'd be nice to see more sex scenes like those in Boys Don't Cry and Gone Girl. (Seriously, is there a reason why good sex scenes have to be layered into movies that are choked with violence? I really don't think John Lennon would've approved.)

3) Do all the sex scenes have to be set-dressed to the nth degree? I get that you can't show nudity and still maintain a PG-13 rating (unless you're Tim Burton showing off Danny DeVito's naked ass, but believe me, that is an entirely different thing) but to go back to point #1, if your bed looks like it was just made by Cinderella's mice when you've just finished a roll in the hay, your sex life must be about as fun as reading IKEA instructions. I remember talking about this with one of my screenwriting professors once. We were talking about how to write a realistic love story and I made some snarky comment about how in movies, the woman is always wrapped perfectly in a sheet post-sex. To which he replied, "If those movies were realistic, the sheets would be on the floor." Couldn't have said it better myself.

4) Why do all movie climaxes sound the same? I swear to God if I cut out the sex noises from one standard movie love scene and pasted them into another, no one would be able to tell the difference. Now, given that I am not a creeper who goes around listening to other people get it on,  I'm clearly not an expert on the subject, but I am 99.999999% sure that in the real world, every big O does not sound exactly the same. Let's just try for some diversity here, okay? If you need inspiration check out Sweet Sweetback's Badassss Song, those actors made noises I didn't even think humans could make. Or, y'know, continue to show your actors Easy A, for How to Fake Sex 101. I know you know which scene I'm talking about.

5) Is it illegal to try the "less is more" approach? I'm not talking about the "fade to black" standard of most PG-rated rom-coms. Though I do tip my hat to them for throwing back to the Hollywood Production Code days without resorting to actual censorship...but that's another story. I mean the reason the scenes from Gone Girl and Boys Don't Cry (I'm going to go back to these two a lot because seriously, they are the best movie sex scenes I have ever seen) are so great because they're so intimate. No one is yelling "oh God! OH MY GOD!" at the top of their lungs. Clothes aren't torn off and hurled over inanimate objects. The pictures on the walls aren't rattling. But even though the furniture may not be rocking, it's clear that someone's world is. Sure, there are times when the story calls for a sex scene reminiscent of the one in Dark Shadows, but sometimes, subtle can be sexier than the alternative.

6) Is nudity actually required for every scene? Look y'all, I'm as happy to look at a shirtless Bradley Cooper as the rest of you, but let's return to that "less-is-more" principle. Especially for movies with multiple boot-knocking sequences, like Gone Girl, sometimes it's more about what we don't see. Again, I'm sure everyone knows exactly which scenes I'm talking about here. Did Rosamund Pike need to be naked in either of her big moments? Nope. We were still as interested or horrified, depending on which part we were watching, without the presence of boobies. And in some cases, it can be used as a character-layering moment. Another note about Gone Girl: Andie gets naked in her sex scenes, Amy does not. Amy is associated with class, sophistication and intensity; Andie is played as totally naive. See what Fincher did there?

Which brings me to the final point: let sex be part of the story. We live in a world where sex is used as a tool. It's an advertising ploy. It's a power-play. It's used to sell, to obtain, to negotiate, to get revenge. But it doesn't have to be that way in the movies, does it? That's what movies are about, after all: creating a picture of a world that's different from the one we live in. It's fleeting, but it's there. It can just be another part of the story. It doesn't have to be the defining part. Just another cog in a crazy, beautiful machine.

And here's my plea to you, the MPAA: stop criminalizing sex and normalizing violence. You're not fooling anyone with your "it's realism!" spiel. No, you're not. We filmmakers can't change standards unless you let us. We can try, but who'll see the movie if you stamp it with NC-17 because it depicts a woman getting off? Like Pierce said, it's not like someone's getting hurt. But you know what? I'd bet money that the reason sex scenes in movies are so shiny-pretty-glossy is because when they get realistic, you tag it as pornography and tell the filmmakers they should be ashamed. So let's chill out a bit, MPAA. Because I guarantee that when you do, we will too.

Finally: to all the filmmakers who are making cool movies with cool sex scenes...you rock. Don't ever change. (Seriously, don't.)

(...I promise that's not my desire to see shirtless Bradly Cooper talking.)

Theory: Your Scathing Condemnation of Fan Theories is Mean

I love fan theories, or headcanons, as some like to call them. I love them. I really do. I love the silly ones. I love the sad ones. I love the ones that could be true. I love the ones that are so insane they're perfect. I love them all.

Apparently, IndieWIRE critic Sam Adams does not agree with me.

Okay, I can see how fan theories might annoy some people. They're pervasive. They're divisive. They start fandom wars. They confuse the living hell out of non-fandom members when they come up in a random Google search. I get it, you don't like it, you wish people would just chill out or keep it to themselves.

Well, I have bad news for you, sir. That's not going to happen. Fan theories, whether you like it or not, are here to stay. I'm not going to even try to explain all the ins and outs of fandom culture. I'd need an entire blog for that. But I will tell you a story. Just bear with me for a minute here and I promise I'll explain myself.

My boyfriend is a huge dork. Not, like, smartest-kid-in-the-school, pocket-protector-wearing, makes-a-nuclear-reactor-out-of-paper-towel-rolls kind of dork, but, like, a pop culture addict kind of dork. And what a lucky girl am I, because guess what? Me too. We're total nerds together. It's kind of amazing. So, we went to Comic-Con together in May. He went to meet Roddy Piper. I went to meet Robbie Thompson. And I went in costume as Castiel, because to me, that was just the height of cool: going and meeting the TV writer who writes episodes based around your favorite character, dressed as that character? Once-in-a-lifetime experience, right there.

Now, in the weeks leading up to the con, we showed each other the movies/TV shows/wrestling matches starring our favorite people, just so we could understand why each of us wanted to meet those celebrities. He showed me Piper's best matches. I showed him my favorite episodes of Supernatural. But before I did, months before, when I was first planning my costume, I tried to explain to him the nature of Dean and Castiel and their relationship. "Well, Dean's a human, and Cas is an angel..." I began, about to do my usual lead-up of now this is just speculation it's not been confirmed yet but it's a very widely accepted fan theory...and then I realized, wait, Ian has never seen Supernatural. He doesn't know who Dean and Castiel are. He has no idea. I don't have to apologize for my views on this. I can just flat-out tell him.

"About half the fandom takes Dean and Cas's relationship at face-value, and believe they're just very good friends. But the other half - and I'm in this sector - interpret their relationship as romantic," I told him matter-of-factly. "We pick up on clues that the showrunners may or may not have intended to leave. It's not confirmed by the show yet whether their relationship is canon or not. It's just a very, very popular, intensely-believed fan interpretation."

"Oh, I see," was Ian's reply. And then we moved on to discuss costumes. I only brought it up because I wanted to warn him not to wear anything remotely Dean Winchester-like at the con, unless he was up for some serious teasing. When I showed him an episode of Supernatural, I made sure to choose one wherein Castiel interacted with both Dean and Meg, just to show him both sides of the debate. And that was that.

But when I hung out post-Comic-Con with him and his friends, one of them was very vocal about his opinion that the Dean/Castiel romance "is a load of bullshit." At one point I made a comment about how I preferred more subtle hints of their romance, because it let the fans truly interpret it for themselves, and I disliked more heavy-handed or obnoxious references and lines like "You know, the angel in the dirty trenchcoat who's in love with you." Before I'd even finished this sentence, the guy jumped in to insist "that's because they're trying to make fun of the idea that this relationship could EVER be romantic." "So basically, they're making fun of people like me," I translated. The guy shrugged it off. "Yeah, pretty much." And then the subject was dropped.

I hate incidents like that. Ian and his friend, without even meaning to, pretty much demonstrated the absolute best way to respond to a fan theory, and the absolute worst way to respond to a fan theory. The best way, even if you think the fan theory is ridiculous, is to just go with it. Let that fan, be it a super-fan or a casual fan, ramble about their interpretation of the story, and then let it go. If you agree with it, great. If not - let it go.

But when his friend insisted that the showrunners of Supernatural actively go out of their way to make fun of the fans who believe in the Destiel theory, it was more than just annoying. It hurt. I wanted to ask, "And what harm, exactly, is this fan theory doing to you? Like are you really so afraid that it might actually be true, that you can't even entertain the thought for five seconds?" It wasn't that he disagreed with me. He was entitled to his opinion. But the way he reacted with eye-rolling contempt, as if believing in the Destiel theory immediately demoted me to "mindless fangirl" status? That really stung.

People who forcibly oppose fan theories remind me of politicians. They really do. They will never be convinced that the fan who came up with the theory has a leg to stand on. They will not only go out of their way to let the whole world know that the theory is WRONG, but they will also go out of their way to discredit the fan who came up with the theory. I've seen comments on those Pixar movie posts ranging from "meh, nice, but it's too out there to be true" (reasonable enough) to "oh my god you are insane get a life you dumbass" (not so reasonable). I don't mind being disagreed with. And I'm sure no one else who supports a fan theory minds, either. What we do mind is being told that we are "crazy" or "stupid" or "fake fans" for coming up with the idea in the first place.

And that was the problem I had with Adams' indieWIRE piece. Is the guy entitled to his opinion? Sure. Fan theories aren't canon. They don't have to be accepted as fact - and they shouldn't be. It's a matter of interpretation. But guess what? You don't have to believe in a fan theory to respect the fan who came up with it. And slamming someone else's interpretation, or personally attacking someone for coming up with a theory you don't agree with, is mean.  The fastest way to kill someone's passion for something is to make fun of them. Snorting, rolling your eyes, and calling someone a "fake fan" (or, to use Adams' phrasing, a "so-called fan") because they dared to interpret something differently than you did is a douche move. It's a surefire way to make sure that person never speaks up again. And I know, because I've been there.

So, to all the people who agreed with Adams' take on fan theories: shut up. We get it. You are allowed to think that it's ludicrous to believe that every Pixar movie takes place in the same universe. You are not, however, allowed to say that someone is not a "real fan" because they do believe that.

And to all the people who come up with these fan theories: keep it up. But I beg you, don't waste your breath trying to convince the haters that it's true. They'll just blow you off. But don't let that stop you from putting yourself out there in the first place, because you know what? I met a Supernatural writer. I told him, "I believe in Destiel." I told him that while I was standing there, in front of him, dressed like Castiel. And you know what he said?

He told me, "You go right ahead. If that's how you see the show, you go right ahead and believe that. We put the show out there, that's our job. How you interpret it, that's up to you."

How you interpret it, that's up to you. Words to live by.