The Twilight Saga: Eclipse

Directed by David Slade
Summit Entertainment



Bella Swan has never been a character I’ve related to. She’s frustratingly timid, overwhelmingly insecure, and apparently has no interests or hobbies aside from her obsession with Edward Cullen. Sure, she’s had her redeeming moments, and yes, it was Bella who saved Edward from exposing himself to the Volturi in New Moon. But it wasn’t until the final moments of Eclipse that Bella became someone I can respect, and even admire.

The Twilight Saga has been heralded by many as a positive step for women in Hollywood, primarily credited for its representation of the female gaze. While I find this argument both positive and necessary, it is also problematic because it operates around a binary understanding of gender; if men do something this way, women will flip it and do it the opposite way. Feminist research and scholarship aim to disrupt this way of thinking and urge us to seek alternatives by exploring the gray area. It is in this gray area that Eclipse offers the most feminist perspective of all the Twilight films yet.

Consider the term twilight as a useful analogy: the time between day and night that can’t be classified as either, but is rather a little of both. The same is true for Bella’s struggle throughout the series, and it is never more apparent than in Eclipse. She is human, but has never felt at home in that world. With Edward, and the Cullen Clan, she feels things she hasn’t felt before: real, strong, and capable. But as any card-carrying feminist knows, leaving your “natural” world, seeking alternatives, and disrupting the status quo is never easy, and never without doubt.

Unfortunately, for Bella, her doubt comes in the form of a warm-blooded, hot-bodied fella, her best friend Jacob. While most of the film, and nearly all the witty dialogue, focuses on the jealousy and tension between Edward and Jacob, in the end it is Bella who makes the choice. And as she articulates at the close of the film, her decision is not based on pleasing Edward or Jacob, or anyone else for that matter, but rather on fulfilling her own desires.

Cinematically, the film has found balance amid the Hollywood effect; Eclipse lacks the low budget kitsch of Twilight without falling victim to the highly dramatized vampire visuals, and indulgent makeup, of New Moon. Though it is full of action and violence, the filmmakers should be commended for opting away from blood and gore, and instead crystallizing the vampire skeletons so they shatter like glass.

There are quite a few threads of social commentary being made throughout the film that offer plenty of fodder for further analysis, primarily around issues of choice. The ongoing battle between the dark-skinned, warm-blooded Quileutes versus the cold, soulless White people is an easy analogy for colonization. But when Jacob is injured during battle, Dr. Cullen is not only allowed on the Rez, but genuinely thanked by the tribe. We also learn the sad and violent story of Rosalie’s turning, and are provided insight into her disdain for Bella. “None of us chose this,” she reminds her, offering a subtle but important acknowledgment of the privilege of choice, and the power of having one.

Review by Alicia Sowisdral

No One Dies in Lily Dale

Directed by Steven Cantor
Stick Figure Productions



Spiritualism as a religion began in the 1840s in the "Burned-Over District" of Upstate New York. Taking elements of Christianity and shamanism, the religion is focused around mediums speaking to spirits that spiritualists believe continue to exist after one's physical death. The religion became a trend in the United States and Europe after thousands of young soldiers died in World War I. Looking for closure, families turned to mediums. Readings became entertainment and fraudulent mediums sprung up, as did debunkers like Harry Houdini, who used his knowledge of stage magic to reveal their tricks. After attempts by psychologists to prove mediumistic abilities authentic failed, the trend died down, and spiritualism faded from popular imagination.

As a religion, spiritualism has continued, with its stronghold back in the Burned-Over District in a small town called Lily Dale, which is thirty miles outside of Buffalo. Most people know nothing about spiritualism beyond seances and the turn of the century images of mediums, making it the perfect subject for an insightful documentary. The town of Lily Dale and its inhabitants seem like the perfect subjects: sincere, passionate, and eccentric. It’s too bad Stick Figure Productions didn’t make that documentary.

No One Dies in Lily Dale is a mess, with no salient points to make and no strong storyline. Too many characters to follow are introduced, including Greta Gehman, a Polish medium; Ronald Holt, a police officer grieving the loss of his teenage son; and Rebecca Frabricius, a young woman mourning the death of her fiance. Ronald Holt is the closest full story we get, as he begins to release some of the guilt he feels over not protecting his son and show signs of healing. No one else gets anywhere near a storyline at all.

The spiritualists are portrayed as warm, happy, new age-y people who see dead family members walking down the street, and the people coming for readings are, overall, seen as seen logical, normal people who are driven by their grief to readings. The readings follow a traditional script; only one is inaccurate, no one is told anything negative, and no one questions the mediums or their abilities.

No one except Susan Heinrichs, the born-again, evangelical Christian who lost her son eight months before coming to Lily Dale. Setting up an evangelical Christian, a group not known for their open mindedness, as the voice of reason would have been provocative, but that didn’t happen. Even the attempt to draw comparisons between both groups as providing answers for people’s grief is ignored. Instead, Susan is shown as a boorish, small-minded woman who wants to convert the town. Her actions invalidate her important question of one medium, telling him that answering whether he is correct or not is “not testing the spirit” or the medium. It’s an important point that is never raised again.

The community of Lily Dale, and the persistent popularity of Spiritualism, are wonderful topics for a serious documentary that focuses on the need for humanity to understand death and grief. No One Dies at Lily Dale is not that documentary, unfortunately.

Review by Taylor Rhodes

Premieres on HBO July 5th at 9p.m. EST

The 10 Absolute Worst Music Videos Of All Time

#10 "Nowiy God" By Steklovata - They're essentially the Russian version of The New Kids On The Block... on heroin.

#9 "Break It Up" By Carl Lewis - How does an editor fill up a three minute Carl Lewis music video? Well, he shows the same high jump footage over, and over, and over, and over, and over again.

#8 "Take You To Da Movies" By Banks - Because a real gangster wants to take a bunch of girls to the movies.

#7 "Hooked On A Feeling" By David Hasselhoff - When you're huge in Germany it usually means you suck more than most people and this David Hasselhoff classic is no exception to the rule.

#6 "It's So Cold In The D" By T-Baby - It may be cold in the Detroit, but making a music video this bad... well, that's just cold.

#5 "Ballad Of Bilbo Baggins" By Leonard Nimoy - Somehow I have a feeling that this is Pedo Bear's favorite music video.

#4 "I Want To Love You Tender" By Armi Ja Danny - And this is why you never, ever want to move to Finland.

#3 "Why Must I Cry" By Reh Dogg - The music video industry might make a comeback if more artisits we're willing to do music videos where they sing in the shower.

Reh Dogg-Why Must I Cry (www.musicvideo20.com)

#2 Elektronik Supersonik By "Zlad" - His blue jeans are tight, so let his love rocket climb.

#1 "Losing You" By Jan Terri - Fat, ugly and stupid is no way to go through life, Ms. Terri.

19 Epic LEGO Guns That Actually Work

Accuracy International Arctic Warfare

AK-47

Auto-Ordnance Thompson M1921 (Tommy Gun)

Barrett M82A1 .50 Cal

FNH M249 PARA

Franchi SPAS-12

Glock 17

HK416

HK416 CQB

HK G36

HK L85A2

HK MP7 PDW

HK UMP45

Lee Enfield Sniper Rifle

Magnum Research Desert Eagle

MAS FAMAS G1

Obliterator: The Minigun

Tavor CTAR-21

Steyr AUG

The Mockingbirds

By Daisy Whitney
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

I don’t know how many times I can say a book is one of the best I’ve read this year and maintain any credibility; we’ve still got quite a few months left in 2010, so I guess we’ll find out. The thing is, I’m pretty convinced that this is a golden age for YA, and Daisy Whitney’s The Mockingbirds really is a phenomenal debut novel–one of the best I’ve read this year.

Last summer, I took a Children’s Lit class at Cal State University, Northridge. During the course of a discussion on censorship, which everyone was unanimously against initially, we began to question whether there were any topics that people would really consider off limits for YA or children’s lit. When students started to consider what they might not want their own children to read, people discovered that they all had boundaries, each person has some point at which they would be uncomfortable having a kid or teen read a book. For many people, that boundary was rape. Now, I acknowledge the right of any parent to determine what is acceptable for their own child to read, but of course that is extremely different from determining what other people’s children should be allowed to read. The fact is that, according to several studies I found, about forty percent of reported rape cases occurred to people under the age of eighteen. Rape happens to teens far too often, and they have a right to read about it.

In The Mockingbirds, Alex is raped after a drunken night out at a club. She wakes up the next morning in a boy’s room, naked, and discovers two condoms in the trashcan. The trouble is that Alex can barely remember anything that happened that night, but her friends know that she was in no condition to consent. Alex attends a progressive boarding school where punishment is rarely meted out because the school believes the students can do no wrong, but a group of students called the Mockingbirds serve as the school’s vigilante justice system, taking students’ punishments into their own hands. After Alex’s rape, the Mockingbirds become protectors, judges, and jurors. As the investigation and trial are underway, Alex begins to remember bits and pieces of what happened to her, and she knows that the sex was not consensual.

Whitney’s book, inspired by her own experience of being date raped in college, is vividly and powerfully written. I was on the verge of tears throughout most of it. This is not to say that the book didn’t have light moments, because there certainly are some, but the overall intensity and my amazement at what I was reading kept me pretty emotional. In addition to Whitney’s beautiful capturing of Alex’s feelings throughout the book, she also did an impressive job incorporating details from Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, on which the school’s justice system is based. (However, those who haven’t read the classic will find that enough explanation is provided to understand everything in this book anyway. But they should still read Harper Lee’s book because it is truly one of the best of all time.) The book was clearly well researched all around, from the descriptions of the classical music Alex plays to Martin the science geek’s mini-lessons on bird intellect. Martin and the other supporting characters were also thoroughly fleshed out, each one with their own story that adds to the book’s strength.

The Mockingbirds shows readers that there can be consequences to stupid drunken behavior, but that if you are raped, you are still the victim and you still have options. It also portrays the importance of speaking out, because even if you will never be who you were before, you cannot let the rape eat away at you and define you forever. In Whitney’s book, Alex does not reach out to any authorities, but she still finds a support system within her school and makes it clear that you do not have to be alone. The novel is never preachy, nor does it stray into feminist manifesto, but it does lend a voice to those who often have difficulty finding their own. At the end of the book, Whitney shares some of her own story and provides resources for people who have experienced sexual assault.

Review by Melanie Goodman

Cross-posted at Reclusive Bibliophile

Mountain Man - Made The Harbor

Bella Union/Partisan Records

It’s deeply problematic that my first thought it is to compare the Mountain Man ladies to the men of Fleet Foxes. Why must my point of reference be boy bands, so to speak? But truly, Mountain Man sounds like a fusion of two bands, both gender-segregated, that I adore: Fleet Foxes and Au Revoire Simone. Simple, reverberating, mostly a cappella harmonies meet woodsy charm and the sparseness of a cold winter’s night, and these ladies sing about lovely, folksy evergreen topics such a soft skin, affectionate nicknames, sitting on the back stairs drinking good beer in the summer air, and dancing at the hall while the band was playing.

Song titles with animal themes are prominent—“Loon Song,” “Honeybee,” “White Heron”—and while they don’t necessarily nod to their namesakes, they certainly incorporate woodsy creature folklore.

The sweat will roll down our backs
And we’ll follow animal tracks
To a tree in the woods in a hole in the leaves where we’ll see
The bright baby eyes of a chickadee

“How’m I doin’” is the most adorably infectious track, a nod to perfectionism and doing the best one can. It even sounds like the women utter the word “yins”—shorthand for “you ones” where I’m from, a variant of “y’all.” Wishful hearing or not, I’m smitten.

Even their digital recordings have a nearly tactile quality, like an old LP spinning on a turntable, scratches and bumps clearly audible. These mountain (wo)men, though they met as Vermont co-eds instead of across a campfire, get so many things right on Made the Harbor and offer up truly inspiring gospel-tinged folk greatness. This is one of my favorite albums of the year so far.

Review by Brittany Shoot

The 10 Funniest Movies Scenes From The Last 10 Years

#10 Napolean Dynamite "The Dance Scene" - I think this is the part where I'm supposed to make a joke about how white people can dance.

#9 Wedding Crashers "The Dinner Scene" - Not only has wedding crashing gone up by over 50% since 2005 but under the table handjobs have gone up over 69%. This is according to a recent survery by the NHAA (National Handjob Association of America).

#8 Superbad "Drawing Dicks" - Who would've thought drawing dicks could be as cool as drawing a stick figure woman with saggy boobs and a hairy crotchal region.

#7 Talladega Nights "Baby Jesus Grace"- Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly really should do one movie a year together until one of them dies.

#6 Zoolander "Freak Gasoline Fight Accident" - R.I.P. Brint, Rufus and Meekus.

#5 Old School "We're Going Streaking" - All other streaking movie scenes will answer to Frank the Tank.

#4 Team America "The Puke Scene" - It doesn't get much better than gratuitous puppet vomiting if you ask me.

#3 The 40-Year Old Virgin "Chest Waxing Scene" - The scene that gave every man a newfound respect for women and their bikini waxing. This doesn't mean we want you to stop by any means.

#2 Anchroman "Massive Erection Scene" - One day boners will be just as fashionable as cleavage and what a great day that will be. Wait, what the hell am I saying?

#1 Borat "Borat Vs. Azamat" - Nobody can put into words their initial reaction to seeing this epic battle between Borat and Azamat because everyone was speechless. It is undoubtedly the greatest fat man fight scene in movie history.

Grannies Gone Wild

Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter

By Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough
Stewart, Tabori, & Chang Inc

Finally, a cookbook with some pizazz! Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter was written by Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough, food lovers, life partners, and exactly the kind of people who could breathe life into the sometimes stale world of food writing.

The recipes featured in Ham are solid, easy to follow, and delicious, but I was pleasantly surprised by how witty and well-written the book was. Along with the recipes, readers are treated to informative pig/ham-related tidbits sprinkled throughout, testers’ notes for many of the recipes, and personal stories from the writers. It was this last bit that I was particularly fond of.

I’ve never laughed out loud reading a cookbook, but after following the couple’s attempt to make their own dry-cured ham at home I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. If it’s done incorrectly and consumed, it can result in “respiratory failure and paralysis,” but even when the ham is drying properly, it goes through a period where it is regularly “dripping ugly bits of mucousy sludge.” Obviously, dry curing your own ham isn’t a good idea, but checking out this cookbook is. Follow Weinstein and Scarbrough on their endearing journey as they reveal all you ever wanted to know–and in some cases, some things you didn’t want to know–about that porky, fatty thing people all over the world call ham.

I already know this is one of those cookbooks I will go back to time and time again for family get-togethers, dinner parties, and plain ol’ good eatin’. I’m not one to spend a tremendous amount of money on meat when grocery shopping, but I couldn’t have done this book justice without trying one of the duo’s recipes for fresh ham. Thankfully, the book appeared on my doorstep just around Easter, which provided good reason to schlep a massive ham home from the local Mexican market. Which, by the way, was the only non-Whole Foods-like market around to have fresh ham; different than the variety you see at grocery stores around April that are pre-cooked. The recipe called for a ten pounder, which would reportedly feed “six teenage boys, sixteen adults, or twenty-six ‘twentysomething’ models,” so I knew my bone-in twelve pounder would be enough for my voracious family.

The roasted fresh ham with a maple-spice glaze was ridiculously delicious and so unlike the bizarre, overly sweet orange juice-glazed and pineapple-ringed monstrosity I grew up eating when my grandpa did all of the holiday cooking. No, this was crispy-skinned, moist, and had the perfect amount of sweetness thanks to a sugar, cinnamon, allspice, clove, and nutmeg rub down and a good basting of Grade A maple syrup.

All of the other recipes I tested revolved around prosciutto, that salty, fatty, delicious Italian ham that Weinstein and Scarbrough managed to work into everything from pizza to quesadillas–and I loved it all. Some of my favorites were the pizza with dry-cured ham and artichokes. Stubborn as I am, I refused to use store-bought dough as the recipe called for, but I think the dish was better for it because good lord, everyone needs to eat a homemade pizza laced with fatty Italian ham and artichokes.

When testing recipes on my parents, as I often do, my mom would always complain that I never used enough meat; the woman loved her some meat. She seemed excited to hear that I was testing recipes from a book devoted to pork, one of her favorite animals (to eat). One of the last meals I ever cooked for my mom before she died unexpectedly in early May was Ham's recipe for chive and cheddar ham biscuits with honey mustard. I threw some cheese on her biscuit for good measure because if there’s anything she loved more than meat, it was cheese. Needless to say she loved it and I love that a silly cookbook provided one of our last moments together as mother and daughter. Life–and food–is funny like that sometimes.

Review by Tina Vasquez

Theology of the Body

By Donora Hillard
Gold Wake Press

In Theology of the Body, Donora Hillard employs a variety of styles and structures to present a complicated picture of the body, desire, and heterosexual relationships. She makes use of the language of theology and an unrelenting physicality in order to create a sense of faith not beyond the body, but through it of a human divinity that is also at once diabolic. It is no accident that the opening epigraph comes from William Blake.

Within this sequence, Hillard manages to portray women with threatening sexualities as well as women who have been made victims. In portraying women’s surprising and, to some, disturbing strength, she does not erase the brutality. With the lines "You can see muscles/ in my legs from running/ after men like you," “Pursuit” is followed by “Remedy,” which concludes with a literal punch that the tight lines and simple imagery of the first two stanzas allow to have a particularly strong impact on the reader. Reading the last verse for the first time, I jerked back a little as if I had been punched. (This isn’t the only place where I reacted so strongly: take that as a trigger warning.)

The only thing that separates these two poems is a line from Pope John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, taken out of context in order to be made into an opportunity for poetic production and imagination. “Remedy” and the other poems interspersed with lines from this same source do more than dramatize or respond to the line which precedes each: poems and statements interact, forming machines that produce new possibilities for the spirituality of the body. The possibilities, no doubt, would have been heinous to the Pope from whom Hillard so skillfully appropriates. The spirituality of the body, after all, is really just the body and living in it. No need for robes, psalms, or Churches: "Every woman, by virtue of the nuptial meaning of her body, is called in some way to be both a wife and a mother."

This quote from the old Pope is followed by a poem that changes the meaning of the final two terms beyond anything he would have recognized. “Wife” opens, "My husband was a shotgun made of candy./ I wanted to kill his former lovers, especially/ the Strawberry Shortcake-looking one." The only allusion to motherhood made comes a few lines later, "On our anniversary,/ we made love in a kiddie pool full of sugar/ and afterbirth."

This strange and joyful sweetness, interrupted by scars and knives with uncertain intents goes beyond the bounds of traditional and restrictive theologies. In doing so, it represents (particularly since it blends sweetness and at least potential pain) the peculiar strength of Hillard’s theology, whether you take it as a theology or not.

Review by Elizabeth Switaj

Cross-posted with Gender Across Borders

Girl Parts

By John M. Cusick
Candlewick Press

I almost wrote realistic fiction for the category on this book—and it's basically about robots. I know that's a weird start to a review, but that's how I felt about the book. This story is about the Internet age and how it's keeping people connected online... but totally separate in real life. One company decided that the way to cure alienation for the many boys who waste their days online was to create a girl for them! A really hot, really devoted girl.

At first, my feminist sense started going off when I heard the premise. I mean, all a boy wants is a chick to love him? Really? That's all it takes? Surely there's a lot of fallout from that whole idea. And that is what Girl Parts is about: the fallout for one guy and his Companion.

I felt a little better about the idea when all of the problems started showing themselves pertaining to the idea of a robot girlfriend. I'm still a little bothered that there's no dude for the girls who spend way too much time online. I mean, we all know those girls exist (I'm trying not to look in a mirror), so it's hard to believe this company decided to only make girls instead of both sexes. But that's just me, I guess.

One of the reasons Girl Parts feels like realistic fiction is that it deals mostly with relationships and how people create and maintain them. I really liked seeing how all of the different characters interacted with each other. You see each of them from several different viewpoints, which makes the whole thing fit together really well and gives a more complete view of the characters.

I wish Girl Parts were a little longer because I feel like there were some things that could have been hashed out a little more. You get a really unlikely friendship toward the end and I would have liked to see more of how that worked out.

Despite being labeled as Young Adult, I think the subject matter is described in enough detail that it shouldn't be read by middle grade kids. It's a bit too graphic for them. For lack of a more in depth explanation, there's a bit sexual content. Oh, and some drug use as well. Just FYI.

Review by Emily @ The Ninja Librarian

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun: The Autobiography of a Japanese Feminist

By Hiratsuka Raichō
Translated by Teruko Craig
Columbia University Press

In the beginning, woman was truly the sun. An authentic person.
Now she is the moon, a wan and sickly moon, dependent on another, reflecting another’s brilliance.
...
The time has come for us to recapture the sun hidden within us.

These lines launched Seitō, a women's literary journal, in 1911 Tokyo. Hiratsuka Raichō was one of the founders, and she poured her emotions into this opening editorial. Her essay gave voice to frustrations felt by women across the nation, and is now considered part of the canon of Japanese feminism.

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is Raichō’s autobiography. Teruko Craig has translated the first half of a four volume set, with her own summary of the latter half of Raichō’s life. The book can best be described as a memoir, with more focus on experiences than facts.

Raichō did not intend to become a feminist icon. An atypical young girl, she went fishing with her father as a child, and later fought for permission to enroll in one of the few women’s colleges. Throughout her youth, Raichō squirmed under the oppressive dictates of school and family, conventions we would designate now as patriarchal, though she was not thinking in such terms.

Raichō was given a remarkable amount of freedom for a young woman. She walked alone to and from school and pursued her own activities. Passionate about attaining spiritual growth, she studied Zen for years. Her interest in literature came late, but when it did she began poring through the classics of European thought.

It was a male friend who urged her to found Seitō, "Bluestocking," a literary journal dedicated to fostering women writers. Raichō’s original drive was to inspire women to become their authentic selves. She did not think in terms of men and women, but of people who were denying themselves spiritually.

Raichō became a primary manager of the operation, with a team of other young women, and the magazine remained independent during the majority of its run from 1911 to 1916. Those involved were dubbed "New Women" by the newspapers, and their every action was scrutinized. The editorial team constantly walked the line between asserting their rights to act freely and avoiding the condemnation of society and the government, which banned several issues.

Raichō narrates her memoir in the voice of a confident woman, never apologizing nor boasting. I felt as though she was sitting near me, telling the story simply because I had asked to hear it. She explains her motivations, even when they are not quite what one might expect from a feminist icon. It was only later in her life that Raichō began to fight for the special rights and responsibilities women have as women, particularly as mothers. She describes this as a maturation of view.

Much time is spent on Raichō’s relationships with other writers. Though I was interested in the other women participating in Seitō, there were so many of them that they began to run together. I am sure that, to someone more familiar with the movers and shakers of Raichō’s time, the names will have more meaning, and these insights into their characters will be a gift. Craig points out that as an oral narrative, the text “tends to be repetitious and digressive,” but I rarely found this to be an issue except for these tangential stories.

The only thing missing is more of Raichō’s writings. The preeminent “In the beginning…” essay is only excerpted, allowing tantalizing glimpses into Raichō’s mind without allowing the reader to develop a sense of her full meaning. I feel it would have been helpful to have more of what appeared in Seitō as well. As such, In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is not a one-stop-shop for learning about Japanese feminism. There is a good sense of history and the larger changes in Japanese society at the time, but only in relation to Raichō and her projects. Her motivations and intentions are explained, but her work is not allowed to speak for itself. Nevertheless, the book sheds light on a time and a place that few would think of as progressive in terms of women’s rights.

Review by Richenda Gould

The 25 Funniest Sports Photobombs Of All Time