American Pie versus Technology, Part 2

(This is part 2 in a series - part one can be found in the archives over there (->) in November of 2010.)

The other characters suffer similar fates – Oz and Heather twice attempt phone sex in the sequel, and fail miserably both times. Oz in fact suffers an early embarrassment when he attempts to bed a “college girl” in Pie, this time a car serving as the modern chariot for his unavoidable failure. The sexual conquests of Chuck Sherman (whose alleged encounter with a woman starts the plot) are eventually unraveled over a speaker system at the school prom. (On a non-technology point, I would like to point out that Sherman suffers for a perceived slight that is in no way under his control; when leaving the morning following his assumed de-flowering, Sherman only says “It was just my time. It was just my time”. In fact, it is the four friends who make the logic jump that he has lost his virginity, a rumor that comes back to get him in the end. Granted, he does put on a mature show for the friends now, but he never explicitly says he is no longer a virgin.) Sherman is in effect a walking paradigm of anti-technology – he is the most awkward and geekiest of all the characters, and he constantly refers to himself as the Shermanator, a reference to the futuristic robotic killing machine from the “Terminator” franchise. That he does eventually get Nadia in the sequel comes only after he has a self realization at the end party. Though his last lines still reference his robotic alter-ego, he now has achieved an understanding about his place with technology. That the four friends study Latin only furthers the argument, Latin being so old a language that it is now “dead” - no more advancement can occur for it.

Oz and Finch both in fact represent how the abandonment of tech leads to success. Oz wins Heather's heart (and arguably finds himself) by joining the Jazz Choir – an activity that uses absolutely no tools or equipment of any kind. Oz's big moment, has him shedding his modern trappings of his lacrosse gear, so he can go sing “Do you believe in magic?” with Heather; magic substituting quite perfectly as a romantic notion that eschews scientific, modern reasoning. Finch, similarly, unites with Stifler's Mom by discussing the finer points of Scotch Whiskey (itself representing sophistication and refinement – two things that often run counter to modern trappings and technobabble) in the first film, and then in the second through the use of “tantric sex” – Tantra having roots in the early centuries of the common era, well preceding the industrial revolution. Finch, of course, has a problem going to the bathroom in public restrooms, saying: “Have you seen the facilities at this school?” Finch here has anxiety likely due to a phobia of cleanliness (or a lack thereof), likely specifically due to germs. In fact, had science not developed to the point of knowing about microscopic germs, Finch might very well not have any fear at all (thanks, Science). His approach to losing his virginity is to pay Jessica to spread rumors about his sexual prowess, which in itself is not a modern device, but is an artificial life – effectively foreshadowing today's “Second Life” (2003) or “World of Warcraft” (2004). In the same metaphorical sense, Jim having sex with an apple pie in the original is again representative of the failure of trying intimacy with something other than a living, flesh and blood human being, the pie standing in for the sex dolls and Fleshlights that seem to permeate today. Jessica on the other hand seems only to enjoy the simple pleasures, it her personable social connections that allow Finch's rumors to spread, and her payment for the task is spent on a hip flask and earrings, delightfully simple trappings.

Jim's first, Michelle, is a walking paradigm of how good life can be when one eschews technology – she talks constantly about band camp, which we discover is in fact “90% sex ed”, which is further detailed in two ways – band camp is in actuality a camp – an isolated, woodsy setting which immediately brings to mind the idea of living as the animals did – in the wild. Additionally, since it is for band geeks – the only equipment available are band instruments, which have had few, if any technological advances made on them in over 100 years. Jim, in proving his love for Michelle (the realization coming in a lighthouse, which while being a romantic set piece, is also a form of navigational technology that has largely become obsolete in the age of GPS) does so in what is an embarrassing situation, (ineptly) playing trombone, but his success can be assured because he is wielding an instrument that is a pre-industrial revolution throwback (he's not even playing it well – he clearly doesn't even need good musicianship). His connection is additionally underscored by the soundtrack - “If I Could Be Like That”, by 3 Doors Down, whose title seems to yearn for a return to simpler, past times. (On the subject of music, it should be noted that the song that plays during Pie when the boys lose their respective virginities (Big Runga's “Sway”) contains the chorus lyrics “Say you'll stay/Don't come and go”. Taken in the analytical framework of an anti-technology stance, one can't help but draw a parallel to rapid march of technology, with what seems to be a new technological gizmo replacing the last every month. This might be a bit of a stretch, but is worth noting nonetheless.) In fact, if anything, the films seem to promote any simpler act as being one that is more fun, a point that is especially underlined in the second film, when the entire impetus for their renting a beach house to have one last memorable summer with all the friends.

The Scripted Theater

I recently did a scripted theater show, which is a switch, because I have previously not done a single scripted show since I played Kenickie in my junior high school's version of “Grease” (called, wait for it: “Greasy”). Let's face it: scripted theater folk look down on us improvisers, seeing what we do as some sort of gimmicky party trick, mostly because the rapid proliferation of a myriad of poorly done short form shows have flooded the market – Sturgeon's Law at work. Improvisers on the other hand, look at the snooty “actors” (with the last syllable rhyming with “bore”) with a pretentious slant. I've probably met an equal number of actors who think of improv as just one of many tools in their belts as I have improvisers who see the artform as being substantially different as scripted acting, both of which are equal to the number who just think of improv as a type of acting. But are they really that similar?

The first thing I've noticed, is that scripted folk work way harder, and way more than the improv folk. I started rehearsals late in the game (England!), mostly as a favor to a friend in the show, and rehearsed three times back to back in my first week, three hours a piece. I even missed a practice that week because of my other group, and the group had already done two previous weeks of practice, three days each, three hours per. One of the people I've met practices every night of the week for one of three different projects (I know, because I've asked her out, and she foolishly accepted, save for finding a single night that she's free). Conversely, every group I've ever been in has rehearsed one night a week, usually for two hours. My group in college tried in vain every semester to get even one additional practice, and found that we didn't have one single other day of the week we were all available. My group right now tried a second practice for about two months on a Saturday, which worked great until everybody kept trying to miss practice so that they could do other things with their Saturdays. I'm playing a gay wedding planner in this show, and it is a workout being that flamboyant for three hours. I only now realize how lazy I am as a performer, as are most of my comrades – we show up to practice and we're not feeling well, or even just a little out of it, and we can stumble through some scenes and it not be a train-wreck. This scripted work requires 100% all the time. (Although the lesson here is that improv probably requires 100% all the time too, we just manage to get away with it.) Who would have thought something pre-planned would require such in-the-momentitude.

The second, is ego. Or rather, the lack of group mind that we improvisers pride ourselves so much on. The idea of “the most important person on the stage is the other guy”, of treating all mistakes as intentional, etc, don't really exist in a traditional theater troupe. Everyone kind of works together, because that's required (and to be fair, most of the folks are pretty cool), there are a few standout divas that really set the standard (the same statement could probably be made for some improvisers as well). But more importantl is the egalitarian nature of problem solving, discovery, and creativity that we have in an improv group that doesn't really exist in the traditional group. The other thing I noted was a wary, leering nature that I seemed to be receiving from the cast, all up until I delivered my lines for the first time – apparently I did well, because I earned accolades from fellow cast members, but I certainly had to earn their respect by showing “what I could do”. I would argue that most improv groups I have been a part of, I have been more warmly welcomed before “proving” myself.

Now back to the central issue – are acting and improvising related enough to be considered father-daughter pairs, or are they more like third or forth cousins? There is definitely some overlap, and the two crafts can lend some useful things to each other, but at the same time, I think there's enough differences for them to both be considered two separate entities (don't worry, they're still both in the family of “performance art”). I've been improvising for seven years, and I wouldn't come close to trying to convince other people that I could act because I've done the other thing (to be fair, I do O.K., but not great). I also wouldn't say that any of the folks in my acting group could walk in to an improv scene and kill it right off the bat. It's not a good thing or a bad thing – it just is. They both require different skills. One of the guys in the group asked me what I've done before this, and I said that I've never done scripted work, just improv, and mostly longform. He stopped me before I could go any further, stating that he was a theater major and knew all about it already. I personally think I know some things after specializing in improv that a theater major wouldn't know, but then again, I'm not an actor.

Resolved

New Year's is a funny thing – tis the season for reflection, to paraphrase, and its around this time that everyone sets to reminiscing, remembering their top five things they did, movies they saw, trips they took et cetera, but it's also the time for looking ahead. And even though in reality there will be no difference between you when you woke up on December 31 and you when you wake up on January 1 (barring any body switching or magic spells, a la “Freaky Friday” or “13 Going on 30”, respectively), there does happen to at least feel like there is a certain finality or changing from the old into new involved. It's also at this time we make our resolutions lists, though for some reason, resolutions don't seem to be done as much any more as they used to. Resolutions, no matter how quickly we may cast them aside – most probably not past the first few weeks of January – are a useful tool. We like to think about who we are, and who we'd like to be, and our resolutions are a guide for reaching that goal.

“I resolve to go to the gym three times a week.” The problem is, we usually let up here and there (“Alright, I can't go three times this week, but I'll go two this week and four next week to make up for it”) and then we just drop them altogether (“Whatever, I can't go this month. I'll try again in February.”) Improv resolutions are no different (“I resolve to do some sort of mime work in every scene I'm in.”) It's good to make them, as it encourages us to work towards something, which in itself is probably one of the biggest sticking points most improvisers have that keeps us from moving forward. So this lesson obviously isn't about resolutions, because the best I could do is provide you some of mine, which won't help you, the reader out, save to find out where I think I am and where I think I want to go – instead, the lesson I want to impart is that resolutions don't have to be so absolute. New Year's is the holiday of resolutions, but we put a lot of burden on ourselves by making only day a year set aside for them. When we run into trouble in a few weeks, we abandon them altogether and just move on. If you make a resolution to get better – at whatever, improv or otherwise – I recommend this: if you miss your goal in a scene or forget or whatever, just note it, and resolve to do it next time. Just because you missed it once doesn't mean it's over, or to adapt a saying, improv isn't a destination, its a journey. Take some of the burden off yourself, think about what you'd like to improve on, and just keep at it. You might forget the first few times, but such is the nature of adapting a new habit (or breaking an old habit, which is even harder). This really just falls under the more general heading of making your resolutions more reasonable. The guy who wants to go the gym three times a week when previously he went none is in trouble, because that's a huge jump, and the bigger you make your goals, the more willing you have to be in giving yourself slack.

“I resolve to be more willing to take risks, both on stage and in life.”

Polar Express

Back in 2004, I used to write movie reviews for the USM student newspaper, the "Student Printz". Because I occasionally feel lazy, and it seems a shame that all of five people ever read these, I've decided to repost them here, in the original versions that I emailed to my editor, Noel, all those years ago.

Truly, the unappreciated art in the world of filmmaking is the process of adapting a book to make the big screen. Some books are easy: “Lord of the Rings” had an enormous amount of source material, and with each installment running 3 hours plus, they still had to leave some stuff out. Our most recent arrival “The Polar Express” was much more difficult: try expanding a 32 page children’s book into a whole 96 minutes of holiday entertainment. “Polar Express” does an admirable job, but if you don’t have a tinge of the Christmas spirit, you’ll undoubtedly hate it, from the engine to the caboose.
“Polar Express” is all about renewing the holiday spirit in children who can see through the fake beard the department store Santa is sporting. It follows the story of Hero Boy, a young boy who is losing his faith in Old Saint Nick. On Christmas Eve, a train pulls up outside his house offering him a trip to the North Pole to meet the big man and get a taste of the Christmas spirit.
Tom Hanks definitely earns his paycheck in this movie: he not only does the voice of the main character and the conductor, but also Santa Claus, Hero Boy’s father, the Scrooge, and a friendly train Hobo. He and director Robert Zemeckis obviously put the most energy into the movie, and really try to harvest as much Christmas spirit as is humanly possible a week and a half before Thanksgiving. Surprisingly, they manage to generate a pretty entertaining movie, though its obvious that a lot of sequences were included to just make the minimum length.
Zemeckis’ vision in the movie has strangely dark undertones though, almost like there is some sliver of something sinister hiding behind the warm glow of the Christmas. His vision of Santa Clause is vaguely reminiscent of Big Brother, and worst of all, the only music in the North Pole is the same Christmas songs being played over the loudspeakers down at the mall.
Nonetheless, “Polar Express” is a fun film, just dripping with the joys of Christmas spirit.

Happy Holidays everyone!

The Lowest of the Lows

I haven't felt like a really crappy improviser in a long time; which as much as I promote remembering that improv is a journey and you should be thankful for the distance you've already traveled (and blah, blah, blah all the other stuff), is something that in a way, I've missed. Feeling really crappy is something that I and most of my iO classmates used to feel on a regular basis (generally on the order of every other level), and by feeling crappy, I don't just mean the feeling of “oh, man, that could have gone better”. What I mean is the soul crushing feeling of “oh, man. I absolutely destroy every scene I'm in and can't seem to get anything to work right”. You'd go to class just like any other time, but you'd leave feeling really shitty – like you can't believe you ever thought you could do this thing seriously, and that you should just give up. On top of the every-other-class feeling of being really shitty, I'd also feel little lows here and there. You'd have an O.K. class, but someone else would just rock it, and you'd feel like crap by comparison (thanks, other guy). The tradition of having these dramatic highs and lows is probably the second most practiced of all the unwritten improv traditions in Chicago, just behind the who's-going-to-get-on-a-Harold-team-who-won't-and-who-might game.

So what is my problem? Well, I was at an audition the other week (not auditioning – just observing) when I realized that I have been plateauing for a very long time. Plateaus are natural parts of any learning process: spots where we're just honing one or two techniques before we make the next breakthrough (most of which are probably the cause of the class blues; you're in a plateau, your classmate is in a climb), but I have been languishing for a long time. (Part of the problem is I'm worried my improv knowledge has become more academic than practical.) Basically, it boils down to me having been in this group that was holding auditions for a year and change, and I don't feel like I have moved ahead at all in that group. (That I was sent to this group for the express purpose of getting better doesn't help much.) I usually don't feel like crap after practices or shows for that group, though, so it's not the class blues. In fact, it's quite the opposite, I really enjoy the director and my fellow team mates, I feel like we have a great time, but I don't feel like I'm learning anything.

Class way back when had the (now what I see is) benefit of sometimes making you feel like you suck. Sure, you'd walk to the bar with your class and/or team mates for lunch and a beer and howl misery into the top of your pint glass, but at least you knew where you were. And there were those classes and levels where you would honestly go: 'do I want to spend another three hundred bucks and eight Saturdays feeling like crap?', but there were also those levels and classes, where you had the bug, big time. You were charged, and maybe it's just the manic depressive in me, but the highs and the lows left you at least feeling like your progress had some dynamism. The highs warranted more work and attention to keep you pointed in the right direction, and to encourage you to keep at that high, and the lows said “hey, don't do that, and work harder”.

So there I am, watching auditions, watching a lot of very talented people really putting it out there to try and make the team, and I can't help but think - “why am I still here?”. Or rather, being thankful that for the first time in a year, I feel a sharp, distinct low, one that screams out to me that improv personified thinks “You suck” (of course, it's improv personified, so he's only doing it to be supportive) to which I reply “Yes, and...” (obviously). Now that I'm in this low, there's nowhere to go but up.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

The New York Times ran an article this week about a study that found that people were more likely to be happy when they were focused and being in the moment as opposed to allowing their minds to wander and think about the past or future (which actually was more likely to cause unhappiness). Go figure, Team Improv scores another point for clean, happy living.

Here's the link to the article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/16/science/16tier.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=science

American Pie versus Technology, Part 1

The late 90's were an interesting time for the Internet – it was no longer a novelty, but it hadn't yet found its niche; most of the users of the internet found that it was useful for emails and pictures of naked women (remember that back in these days, few, if any, people had anything more than a 56k connection, so anything more than pictures or very short videos was largely out the question) and little else. Back in 1999, if you will remember, was the age before YouTube (not until 2005), Facebook (2004), MySpace (2003), or even Friendster (2002). Even Napster wasn't operational until 1999, so the years prior were a very untested time for the internet. Very little content had yet to be ported onto the web, for example it is estimated that in 2007 YouTube consumed as much bandwith as the entire internet in 2000. Even movies hadn't really decided what to make of the internet – only a handful of films even used the internet: “The Net” (1995) and “Hackers” (1996) being the more notable ones. The former envisioned a world where we were so disconnected by our digital selves that others could substitute themselves in for us, and a powerful computer program allows a well resourced group to control information. The latter promotes the web as a wild west, where information is the weapon, and a few rebellious hackers can use it to help protect the world from a powerful corporation. Both films extol information and the web that harbors it as a powerful tool, but in both cases any attempts to pigeon hole it as whole cloth bad, are countered by the fact that the internet is eventually used to win the day. Indeed, tech up to this point is merely a tool like a gun or a bomb – in the right hands, deadly, but useful when used responsibly.

It would therefore seem unlikely to find a powerful anti-technology statement in the film “American Pie” (1999) - but the film is surprisingly, and subtly, a condemnation of the permeation of technology in our lives. (That the film came out in the same year as three movies that all took stabs at the encroachment of technology and the potential for being dominated by it - “The Matrix” (1999), “Existenz” (1999), and “The Thirteenth Floor” (1999) shows that clearly by this point we were prepared to make statements about technology and networks and their power.) Indeed the three entries in the trilogy - “Pie”, “American Pie 2” (2001), and “American Wedding” (2003), take a staunchly anti-technology stance, more so than any other film previous or since. “Pie” and its successors, in fact take a far more Luddist view of technology than even “The Matrix”.

Every instance of technology that appears in the film (and the series as a whole) is associated with embarrassment and humiliation – even from the opening shot: a lone Jim sits in his bedroom, attempting to masturbate to scrambled-cable porn, he is quickly discovered by his parents – as a direct result of his attempts to use technology over bedding a non-digital woman. Indeed, Jim suffers the most as a result of his interactions with technology: during the first montage, where the four friends are organizing to lose their virginity, Jim uses an internet dating profile to get a prom date, and receives no responses. And of course, during the longest sequence in the film, Jim sets up a web feed to catch video of Nadia undressing is his bedroom, which then leads to his eventual embarrassment as he unknowingly sends the link to his entire school (the undressing ultimately becomes a chance sexual encounter with Nadia when Jim enters the room where she is undressed) – exponentially increasing his damage at using technology. The filmmakers make such a statement about how wrong this use of technology is that it is brought up by a high school party-goer in the beginning of the second film; indeed this incident has followed Jim well beyond his first year in college.

Similarly, the centerpiece sequence in the film's sequel is set around an increasing intimacy scene with two (alleged) lesbians, that again becomes broadcast, this time over walkie talkies. Another incident in the second act of the sequel comes as an attack from tech again – while watching a porn VHS, Jim inadvertently super-glues himself to himself while masturbating. In the opening scene of “Wedding”, Jim mishandles a wedding proposal, which leads to him receiving fellatio from Michelle in a crowded restaurant – which while not a direct result of tech, is notable because just before this act, Jim receives a phone call on his cell phone from his father, and now this highly common tech serves as a harbinger, signaling the embarrassment to come. And again in the third entry, he uses an electric shaver to shave his pubic region and peppers most of the wedding planning crew with his discarded pubic hair – becoming increasingly the victim of increasingly simpler technology. In fact, it may be his over-reliance on technology that makes him suffer the most; in an early scene in the original he is explaining to a fellow party-goer that he should be able to talk to women, because he got a “1600 on the SAT's”. Now while the SAT itself is arguably not a technological achievement, it represents a modern advancement into standardized testing and evaluation. He should know better, because in the AP universe, technology may not be mortal or even morbid, but it is the cause of humiliation. Even a startlingly good score does not help him lose his virginity or with his capacity to even talk to women. His excellent score on a modern evaluative method does not equal good social grace.