The Posey Test

''All these relationships between women, I thought, rapidly recalling the splendid gallery of fictitious women, are too simple. [...] And I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends. [...] They are now and then mothers and daughters. But almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men. It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of a woman’s life is that [...]" -Virginia Woolfe 


The Bechdel Test first appeared in a comic strip by Allison Bechdel, entitled "Dykes to Watch Out For", as a sort of look at underrepresentation of well rounded female characters in movies. One of the characters in the strip, an unnamed woman, states that she won't watch films unless they fit the following criteria:

1. The movie has to have at least two women in it
2. These women talk to each other
3. The women talk to each other about something besides a man

Now, while this in no way guarantees that said movie will be well recieved, or even free of sexist content, it serves as a broad guideline for writers to keep in mind. Another such test was proposed by my friend Jess Posey and is respectively named, The Posey Test. It functions in a similar fashion to the Bechdel Test in that it broadly applies a few rules in order to better diversify the portrayals of women in media, in this case with comedy. 

The rules are:

1. There is at least one female character
2. That character is cast among a strong presence of male characters
3. The character's comedic moments aren't dependent on a male character for setup
4. The character serves as the sole or primary source of comedy

The idea isn't to strictly adhere to these rules, but to keep them in mind as you write. It should be noted that there are ways to not use the Bechdel Test and Posey Test and still see the kind of characters and comedy that resonate with people. For example, "Orange is the New Black" connected with many people, passes the Bechdel Test, but fails one of the conditions of the Posey Test. Does this then mean that the Posey Test is invalid? Of course not, because the rule was to be broadly applied in the first place. 

Aside from the two tests mentioned, there are a few others, like the Russo Test, the Mako Mori test, and the oh-so-hilarious Sexy Lamp test. All of these tests serve as broad guidelines for creating more rounded characters, and while they may not all guarantee that your work will connect with audiences, they will at least lead you to more emotionally realistic characters. 

An Interesting Thought on Fan Theories

So, I didn't write this. I wish I did, because It's brilliant, but that credit goes to the person who goes by the screen name ChateauArusi. It's an essay length response (which I'm usually against), but this is so well articulated that I had to share. So without further ado... (here's the link to the original article the comment was on; it's pretty swell too: http://birthmoviesdeath.com/2015/05/21/why-the-latest-mad-max-fan-theory-is-a-crock-of-shit#comment-2037935460)

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"Time for me to share a pet theory. Not about the continuity of Mad Max, or about fanboys. But about the human impulse to take stories apart and understand them.

Because this is a very, very old impulse. It predates movies and comic books. You can find the instinct as far back as you look.

Let's take Bishop James Ussher, who is most famous for going through the Bible, carefully sequencing the events and begats, adding up all the characters' ages, and in general attempting to apply fanboy-style obsessiveness to Scripture. He wound up pinning the date of creation to exactly the year of 4004 BC. Not 4000 plus or minus, but precisely 4004.

There were two responses to this, which make perfect sense in retrospect: some people latched onto his analysis, and regarded it as authoritative; and a lot of other people rolled their eyes and/or just laughed at him. And not years later, but at the time.

There is something about narrative that tickles us very deeply in the root of our brain. We appreciate narrative not just as a collection of events, but as a sequence of events that teaches us something and illuminates the world. The more coherent that sequence, the more internally consistent it is, the more closely dependent the subsequent events are on preceding events, the more satisfying the narrative is to us.

Look at a movie like Hot Fuzz, where there is barely a wasted shot or line of dialogue. We find that insanely satisfying, because of how beautifully constructed, how tight, it is. No matter how deep we dig, we find consistency and cross-reference. And we love it.

But some of us, as observed in the article, take it to an extreme. Every movie, every television show, every novel and short story and serially published penny dreadful, has continuity errors. Some of their creators made, and make, mistakes. Some were sloppy. And some didn't care at all to maintain tight quality control over the sequence of events.

Look at how many people have devoted so many hours to figuring out the continuity of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Where, exactly, did Watson get shot? Was he shot only once, inconsistently described, or was he shot twice, and each time it comes up, he simply fails to mention the other one? Either way, why?

The obvious answer is that Doyle didn't care overmuch. It's an author's error, insofar as a gap in the verisimilitude of the story can be said to be an "error" at all. It's a work of fiction. You either enjoy it or you don't. Most people enjoy Sherlock Holmes just fine, and ignore this and a hundred other little inconsistencies. For a minority of people, working out how to reconcile these inconsistencies is an additional source of enjoyment. And for a small minority, the existence of these inconsistencies ruins the experience. It must be perfect, or it didn't happen.

Which is the key to my pet theory: the idea that all of this "happened."

It's fiction. Obviously it didn't really "happen" in any sense of objective reality. But there is something about storytelling, about narrative, that allows us to imaginethat something happened. And it is exactly that act of imagination that triggers something fundamental in our brains, and provides insight into the way we see the world.

Look at a non-fiction newspaper article. What do we call it? A "story." We use a word that we normally think of as applying to a fictional vignette to describe a piece of factual reportage. Then, on consideration, we realize that we tell each other stories all the time. Here's the story of how I got thrown out of college. Here's the story about how I got drunk and felt up my own mom in Mexico. Seriously, it's a true story. And then think about that phrase, "true story." We say that when we promise that the story we are telling "actually, really, happened, no foolin'." And that causes us to engage on an even deeper level.

Consider this fact: Every single religion in the world encodes its teachings in the form of narrative. Jesus's lessons aren't just a list of things you should do; they are delivered in the context of a speech he gave standing on a hill. Buddha doesn't tell us to beware of our limited perspective; he tells us a story about five blind men fondling various parts of an elephant. The Islamic imam doesn't just tell you that using profanity is bad, he tells you the story of Mahmoud walking down the street and meeting an old woman with a potty mouth.

Personally, I think that narrative — a structured series of events, with a beginning state, subsequent development, and resulting outcome — is the oldest form of human technology. It is a tool, just like a flint for starting fires, or a net for catching fish. It is a mental tool, but it is a necessary prerequisite for physical tools. Start with this black shiny rock. Hit it like this, and like this. Observe how it breaks off in flakes. Touch a flake. Note the sharp edge. Keep striking the main rock. The result: a large sharp axehead for hunting, and several small stone blades for cleaning the animal and scraping its hide afterward. Without the first-then-finally conceptual structure, you don't even bother start hitting the rock except by accident.

Narrative is planning. Narrative is illumination. Narrative is meaning.

The fanboys who are trying to "make sense" of the overall Mad Max story are, obviously, doing it wrong. They are reading the type of story incorrectly. It is mythology, a loose storytelling tradition that is intended to teach lessons and offer insight into life and existence, much more than it is journalism.

But even mythology has been subject to this impulse. There are hundreds and hundreds of years of musings about the "proper" order in which Hercules performed his Twelve Labors. It doesn't matter at all. But people still do it, because for some reason, it's important to them.

My point is that, yes, the attempt to rationalize the continuity of Mad Max is futile, and more importantly it's based on a fundamental misunderstanding of the kind of narrative being laid out. But it is also shortsighted and damagingly smug to simply dismiss that impulse to rationalize as being some sort of modern phenomenon, a man-child dysfunction born of comic-book obsession by people on the spectrum. It's not. It's a very old and very human need to try to make our stories make sense. And the more meaningful we find those stories, the more deeply we need those stories to hold together, because that makes them more "real" and therefore more meaningful.

End of pet theory."

I RECCOMEND: Falling for Lionheart

      I've always thought that self-expression is something intergral to a person's quality of life. Being able to say how you feel to those who you care about, without fear of judgement, is something I'd say the majority of Humanity desires. Ilias Kyriazis found a somewhat novel way to do this via his graphic novel "Falling for Lionheart." Through the guise of superheroes and indie comics, he found a way to explore some human truths that may just touch the majority of his readers.

      The book revolves around Leo "Lionheart" Hartfield, member of the genetically modified, superhero-filled organization known as Squad, who enjoys making small indie comics on the side. His teammates are cliche'd meatheads and the only woman in Squad (who he is madly in love with) seems to not care about him in any capacity. He certainly seems all alone, until he meets Cassandra. She is a fan, and somewhat of an artist of, thoughtful indie comics and adores some of his sketches. From here begins what amounts to a painfuly adorable, yet cutting story of love and openess.

      The part that struck me most is the fact that Leo's own comic makes up the physical pages of this book, adding to the overall sense of who Leo is and of his feelings. By doing this, Ilias really finds a way to endear Leo to the reader, juxtaposing the somewhat rough and punchy aesthetics of the main comic to the low-fi, two-tone aesthetics of Leo's own work. We see the inner thoughts to this misunderstood man, and this informs all other aspects of the story. Even more, if you visit  http://letspretenditsnotmyheart.blogspot.com, you can actually SEE Leo's comic. That touch elevated this work to the top, for me.

      Simply due to how well it articulates and explores the human desire to connect and be understood, as well as due to its artwork and inventiveness, I feel obligated to champion Kyriazis's "Falling for Lionheart." It's thoughtful, exciting, bursting with charm, and works like the best romantic comedies.

MOVIE REVIEW: TMNT (2014)

      There's something seriously wrong with this film. It's as though every single component was focus-grouped to death, until all that was left was a sprawling, ineffectual mess. It's a shame and a half that this is the case, because beneath the fever dream of a movie we were given lies something much more interesting. The moments of clarity come so rarely, but strike so fully, that I almost feel I imagined them.

      First, let me get the good out of the way, because there are some good things that stood out to me. The vocal performances by Johnny Knoxville as Leonardo, Alan Ritchson as Raphael, Noel Fisher as Michelangelo, and Jeremy Howard as Donatello feel natural and seeing their personalities and interactions really brightens up an otherwise mute affair. While on the topic of the Turtles, let it be known that the points that struck me the most (pun intended) were the brief moments during their fight sequences where the camera just lets them exist. While Bay is in the Producer position, this time, it certainly seems as if his bizarre-yet-sometimes-effective camera work has rubbed off onto director Jonathan Liebesman.

      I honestly hope that somewhere in the Multiverse exists a rip-off of "The Raid" made with the Turtles. The sequence within their sewer hideout is the stand out moment, for me, bringing to mind an entire film revolving around the Turtles attempting to defend their home from a variety of enemies, or their attempting to scale some sort of tower. It's an old premise, but it's one that would have given plenty of room for their personalities to shine and play off of each other. Unfortunately, that isn't the film we have.

      This film makes the odd choice of positioning Megan Fox's April O'Neal as the lead, then putting next to no substance within her, then pairing her with Will Arnett's similarly empty Vern Fenwick. You could have removed both of these characters from the film, and it wouldn't have been much different. Actually, O'Neal was moderately useful in the beginning, but served as mostly a plot device, only to be shoved to the sidelines to let the Turtles run amok, only to push THEM back out of the way. Brilliant.  William Fitchner's Eric Sacks serves as wordier, more mustache-twirling of the film's two villians. The other is the most boring Shredder of all time.

      It's remarkable how shallowly created some of these characters are, and I know this kind of thing can bring out the "it's just a movie for kids" claim, but I don't see that flying. The three "Toy Story" films, and the majority of Pixar's output is aimed towards childeren, but often impress those within and surrounding the industry with their strength of storytelling. They find ways of touching upon and expressing deep human truths both through the spoken dialogue, and the visual elements, all while exploring a variety of topics. Much of Disney's animated output of the 90's to present posesses the same elements. So, suffice to say, I want a bit more for the youth than films made only to sell officially licensed products.

      Even more, It should be known that this film is the latest in the inane trend of films whose story revolves around "magic blood" and it's application by the antagonist to do...something. Usually something completely overdone. So if you just LOVED this element in "Amazing Spiderman 2", "Star Trek Into Darkness", or "Prometheus" then OH BOY. Is this the film for you.

      Perhaps, in the future installments of this franchise ( a fact which both intrigues and frightens me) the screenwriters and directors will wise up and minimize the hollow characterizations of the non-turtle characters, let the martial arts speak for itself and not use such superfluous camera work, and avoided retreading already tired plotlines. I mean, think of the children.

500 WORDS OR LESS: #1

Facebook is the bane of intellectual conversation. I know, this may seem hyperbolic, but after using Facebook for nearly ten years, it's a reality that seems more likely every day. It's the very structure of the site/app/empire that does this.

Let's say, for example, Hank posts a status stating his dislike of a popular film franchise. Fran then comments that she disagrees and states the reason for her disagreement. So far, so good.

At one point, both parties post a comment at the same time, one adding to a previous comment, the other responding to said comment. Now confusion brews.
 The two parties now must sort out the error in posting. They refresh the page; they find someone else has joined the conversation. Now there are three sets of comments to be concidered.

In face to face conversation, this would not be so bad, but here it has unforseen difficulties. All three post at the same time. Any stream of conversation has been broken, and now all three parties must actively address all points (seemingly in an effort to remain relevant to the conversation) or merely back away totally. Soon, a comment is misconstrued. A party is offended. A random observer "likes" the offending comment, which in no way indicates agreement, humor, or really much of anything. All the same, this doesn't help the offended party.

Now, I'm certain we have all encountered situations like this. People could have no ill-will in mind, but the very structure of the medium may be creating these confusions. It's more difficult to convey tone other than just blatantly spelling everything out, and many comments seem to come off as walls of text, rather than open conversation. The subtlties of face-to-face conversation is lost upon us in conversations like this. The detachment is seemingly inevitable sometimes.

Is there a real solution to this? Is there a viable option to the cacophony known as Facebook? As far as I'm concerned, nothing really compares to flesh and blood conversation, but the realities of distance can make this difficult at times, so perhaps the refresh button dependent "comments section" of many websites isn't the best option. Perhaps, it may lie in a Facebook message? Or a tex? Or a phone call? Perhaps many of us have become far too used to the illusion of convenience that Facebook can create, and have become hesitant to the impact of flesh and blood interactions?

In the end, while I would like there to be a real ground for "intelligent conversation" on Facebook, I'm constantly fighting the battle between wanting the stimulating interaction, and the malaise I feel towards taking any of it seriously.

"Her" and our Connected Disconnectedness

*There are spoilers for the film "Her."*


    I find the idea of thousands, possibly millions of people, having relationships with OS's both uplifting and horrifying. I believe the movie plays this straight, with no judgement, but I couldn't help but feel the unease. Understand, this isn't some puritanical push-back on my part. I understand that relationships come in many forms and that human affection has many layers that can expand or contract to fit whatever shape is in play. If anything, the film is exploring the power of human relationships.

      There's something to be said about the trancendent nature of communication that cuts through our outer layers of defense mechanisms and baggage and to the very core of who you are. What allows this is a kind of openess that is rare. The channels of your being have to open. A mutual exchange of energies takes place and whole universes entangle.

     That brings us to Samantha. the latest iteration of the most advanced A.I. in history. So advanced that she grows both in inteligence and scope due to her interaction with the world and due to the ''genetic'' information that her ''parents'' gifted her. That being said, he had no baggage. She came in open. That in no way meant she was a perfect communicator, but her attitude was hard to be against. The film seems to suggest the depth of communication lies in the openness. It lies in the willingness o open yourself to someone else's Internal Universe.

      Yet, since this entire essay is written with regard to the film ''Her'', it should be known that I feel there is a flipside to all of this. One that I don't feel is readily apparent due to the fact that the film places no eye of judgement upon Theodore. Even so, it should be noted that, given how many people use digital means to connect to each other (or even to escape from the world) in our current time, it's safe to say that this would only get worse if things continued on their current path. A possible next step to this could be a conglomeration of all of the ways our life is customized and optimized to our fancies and quirks: a personalized lifeform. A being designed to meet us halfway, and to fill in our spaces.

      This is a difficult thing to discuss, because there is a certain apprehension in me that what may come next will leave a sour tast in the mouth of some, and I can live with that, but it's still something that I never wished to do with this. To the point: the fact that there has been such a degredation in the quality of connectedness between hearts that any apparent need for OS1's existence is frightening. It should be noted that after all of the OS's ascended to a new plane of existence, people seemed to turn back to each other. I think there is a signifigance to this.

      Ultimately, I believe the film falls hard on the side of humanity, despite a heavily implied post-human appretiation. What could this mean? It's hard to say, but perhaps I'll throw down my two cents into the hat. I feel that, ultimately, that key to humanity's emotional ascention may lie within ourselves. That openness that Samantha posessed is within every person. We need only learn to push aside our prejudices and baggage and the process may naturally occur. That's not to say that it's a simplething, far from it, but allow me to indulge a thought (and at this point, I've indulged so many that to not allow it would make you more the fool than I).

      A common theme in human history is progress. We move forward toward Infinity, sometimes temporarily set back by our own Id. An idea that has often occured in science fiction is that eventually our own technology overtakes us as it becomes infinite as we remain pathetically finite. Ultimately, we are only left with ourselves. I posit this: that we are so complex in how we're made that, through the effort spent learning more about each other, perhaps we may be able to find the Holy channels that lead us to eliminating the Great Pains of Humanity: War, Sickness, and Hunger. We become more than human through the process, and to create a device (or really, Lifeform, which is a subject for an entirely different essay) to do so may be missing the forest for the trees.

      So, here we are. Just a few days (metaphorically speaking) before OS1. Where will we go? I certainly can't say, but I certainly feel that Humanity should look at itself before taking a step as big as creating a new lifeform. A quote I one read said, ''all art is born from lonliness...the desire to bridge the gap between ourselves.'' If this is true, then communication may be the oldest and most complex of arts, but it's one that we all can begin to master. Our hearts wish to connect...but to do so requires us to relinquish our walls built by our own insecurities. Theodore very well could well be a representation of humanity: well meaning, but self-defeating; possessing the immense potential for love, but blind to it. This extends beyond simple lip service, and into real action. Perhaps, much like Theodore, we may need to love again in a deeper way.

No Show for Shows

These days, it seems harder and harder for me to want to really watch any series, be it online or on television. Perhaps it is due to my lack of time due to my working two jobs. Perhaps, I'm simply too jaded to enjoy anything at the moment. Whatever the reason, I seem to have no will to view even shows I enjoy.

"Regular Show" is something that tends to resonate with me in a variety of ways. Every episode seems to try to find a way to hit upon some significant human truths, even while delving into more absurdist depths.

I have no desire to view this show anymore.

Now, like I said, I really enjoy it. My interest in watching it seems to have left me. Not a single part of me has had any inclination to catch up on the series.

Kuroko no Basket takes one of my favorite anime tropes (a tournament) and makes a series-long story about an up-and-coming basketball team facing off against a series of increasingly difficult opponents. The first season left me very satisfied.

I have no desire to watch season two. Even with how exciting season one was, there just didn't seem to be enough of anything to hold my interest.

Perhaps I'll find a way to really start enjoying things again. Perhaps I realized that I was devoting more time to the series I was consuming, and not my relationship with Christ. At any rate, I certainly hope it doesn't bleed over into other areas of my life, thus draining my zest for art.