Theatre: A Jury of Her Peers (1916)

The play's new title is "Trifles". Barely six pages long, it depicts two detectives and their wives visiting the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wright in the early twentieth century. Mr. Wright has been recently strangled. Naturally his wife sits in prison as the prime suspect to murder.

But Minnie Wright, pleading innocent, has acted so apathetic toward the whole affair that the detectives have been called back to the scene to uncover a motive. Their wives accompany them out of respect for their old friend.

The first of the play shows the women sitting in the kitchen, discussing the sad, cold place Minnie's house had become--regretting that they had not visited more. Mr. Wright was a good man. Never had any debts. Did she really kill him? They look about the kitchen and her well-kept preserves, but notice that one of the jars was spoiled. Minnie would never have let her preserves spoil, the women say. The men, searching about the house. laugh off these comments, saying women will always have their trifles.

The women find an unfinished quilt on the table, sewn erratically and unfinished. An empty birdcage sits in a corner. It had once held a beautiful canary that sang just like her, Mrs. Hale remembers. She wonders if the cat had gotten it. That is, until they discover it wrapped in silk in Minnie's opulent sewing box. 'She was going to bury it in this box,' one says, clearly disturbed. Upon closer inspection, they find the bird's neck had been wrung. They stare at each other. Then, without a word, they put the bird back in the box, the preserves in the garbage, and the quilt into a closet. They men return grumpily, their own search fruitless. The women say nothing.

Our class was asked if the women did the right thing in hiding the evidence. Without it, Minnie Wiright could not have been convicted of her husband's murder. Those who thought it was right sat on the left side of the room, and those who thought it unethical sat on the right. I confess I sat proudly on the left side.

The debate was heated. All but two were female on our side; the men packed on the other side, sending horrified looks our way. Their argument was basically, "just because he was abusing her did not mean she could kill him" and "she could have left" and "it was murder! It was NOT okay, no matter what". Our group had a very different view. The 1910s had juries devoid of women serving, so all women's cases were decided by men, most of whom believed women to be flighty, ridiculous, prone to faints and spells and overall emotional hysteria; essentially, the word of the man trumped that of the woman every time. Because of this poor view of women, most received poor treatment in the courtroom.

My argument? If the men in those days were disinterested in protecting Minnie Wright from her Husband's violence, then why would the women be interested in protecting John Wright from his wife's violence?

Review: Invictus

He looks just like Nelson Mandela. When Morgan Freeman brought the president of South Africa to life, we see through the eyes of his bodyguards that he has a lot more to worry about than rugby.

Heavy into political discussions and skimpy on playing ball, the film is not for those interested in a testosterone-induced football flick. There are very few scenes of the entire country, leaving out the epic feel of a more melodramatic blockbuster. It is more intimate than that, discussing the character of one man who happens to find himself the president of an angry, disjointed country.

One thing I really appreciated was the low-key white prejudice and display of general distrust from both sides. Obviously there were a few donkeys here and there, but they were visible in black and white--a very mature way to approach the race situation in apartheid S. Africa. There was a similar occurrence within gender roles and how men and women in both races dealt with a new black president; the lines seemed to blur together and make the people very much in common with one another by showing very similar human traits.

But the real meat of it is found in beautiful politics of forgiveness and unity, crafted through the film's portrayal of a man who believed in his country more than he believed in himself. It may sound cliche, but he's right. I think the film hits home because it is based very accurately on real events that happened less than twenty years ago, and we in hindsight can see the effects of those decisions. Reminiscent of Lincoln's second inaugural, Mandela asked only forgiveness of people who deserved it most and puts a MORTAL label on the word "deserving" itself.

In postmodern fashion, Mandela believes that replacing selfishness and pride with communication and love is the only way to make this world a liveable, just place. If any man deserved justice, he did--and he rose above himself to earn the respect and admiration from 46 million+ individuals who saw that he did what was right and human.

Overall, an uplifting and educational film meant to inspire the audience to be better than themselves. Sure to be a Morgan Freeman classic.

And he hasn't done a single audio book.

Bedtime Stories and Library Cards: The Socially Unacceptable

As a female and an English major, I constantly find myself caught in awkward conversations initiated by the phrase, "What are you going to do with that?" as though I were in possession of a half-drowned cat.

This honest question has inpsired tears, blogs, flippant remarks and sincere research into respectable fields; law school, teaching, and publishing are much more appropriate answers than the honest truth. No one wants to hear about my aspirations to be a writer and someday give soem truth about the human condition.

They think I have not acquired the skills necessary to pursue a career. What a waste of an education. These days, societal norms dictate that reading for pleasure is unacceptable whilst there is work to be done and parties to attend. And writing? Best pick out your cardboard box and harmonica sooner rather than later. How can any English major compare to the prepared and oh-so-charismatic business major? How can we expect to succeed in a recessive economy without any "practical" skills? We are, after all, nothing but anti-social bookworms who write for fun and are never hired.

One can thus imagine my delight to discover, though fictiously rendered, a monarch who finds reading more compelling than her duties as Queen of England. Rather like the skeptics in my classes and concerned friends back home, Her Majesty's advisors found this particular habit worrisome and attempted to stamp it out in favor of (what they considered) more worthwhile activities. But the Queen--a clever, hardworking woman in constant review of her duties--found that reading was much more important than anything else she would do. A higher calling, one might endeavor to say. She becomes alive and vigorous through her new education, and more frequently full of dread at the mundane tasks of her entitlement. Her life changes rapidly in just a few short pages, overturning years of habit and so-called esperience.

But the Uncommon Reader's true delight lies in its very last sentence. Suddenly I felt the urge to cheer for her, admire her courage, and wish for her clarity and deliberation. If I had the bravery to abdicate a throne in the name of writing! Once upon a time, I woudl have echoed the prime minister's alarm that the Queen was throwing away everything--to write?

But I realize now, it is just as the Queen says: "One must be tough to be a writer." Her words would contain dangerous and uncensored truths--and publishing those truths would be more important than anything she would ever accomplish as queen. It is difficult to explain to the "pratical" majors that writing is not to be quantified by its salary or recognition. It never was. Writing demands our selves, our experience, our beliefs--and leaves behind a legacy unmatched by any CEO, prime minister, or queen. For Her Majesty, writing was a sacrifice, as it is for those who choose that road; it transforms us from what we once were into something much greater.

How many could say the same about their majors?

Review: The Uncommon Reader

A postmodern delight to anyone with just a tiny passion for reading, Alan Bennett's novella is a whopping 143 pages and boasts some real belly laughs. .............................
It opens with Corgis. The Queen of England's dogs have escaped in to a traveling library on the far side of the palace. Trying to restore order and maintain dignity, the Queen feels it her duty to "take an interest" in her subjects' hobbies and borrows a book.

An autodidact at seventy years old, the Queen returns every Wednesday to borrow anything from Austen to Henry James. Within weeks, her butler, driver, and maids are deeply concerned with Her Majesty's new "interest" that they attempt to distract her, hide the books, set them on fire, anything--because the Queen has essentially lost interest in being the Queen.

Constructed as a reader and a human being in the company of Cordelia and Thoreau, the Queen realizes that her life as monarch of the United Kingdom has been a complete wash. And on her eightieth birthday, she abdicates the throne to become a writer.

..............................................................................

The title is a marvelous play on words, and a telling insight into the nature of postmodern fiction. The Queen, clearly royal and not a commoner in any way, is different from any other reader. Leaving the predictable bemoaned masses of poor library-mongers and cafe napkin-writers, Bennett jumps to the margins and chooses for his protagonist Her Majesty, Queen of England. Her servants and advisors do not like her reading one bit. It is changing her too quickly--making her, dare they say, common?

The book asks some stern questions of us: How has our reading constructed us? Who are we? What is really important? Is reading all that important, and if so, why? Why write about life, the world, humanity, reading, ourselves, the others? Did she do the right thing in the end? Would we, given the same circumstance? Why?

Bennett is a treat to read. In simple, British prose, he ties real people, events, and artists together to make us wonder and believe at once. Essential reading for anyone with an itch for the literary.

A Modest Introduction

Dear Reader,

In an attempt to prove that I am learning heaps at this university, I am dubbing these treasures Sparrows and Spuds. An odd title? Some are birds, the ideal, the poetic--and others potatoes, the less-than-ideal, the crass, the common? Not at all!

Potatoes are hefty, keep one well-fed (a diet of potatoes will keep you alive for three+ months), and are versatile within many forms. Entirely useful purposes.

Sparrows are beautiful, metaphorical, and work well within literature. But I wouldn't want to eat one. Just saying.

It is my opinion that a good piece of art maintains a balanced ratio of reality (accessible elements) and aesthetic forms (metaphors, symbolism, etc.)

The following posts are meant to review films, songs, plays, and books encountered at BYU. Such a blog will help me synthesize my thoughts such that others can understand reasons to appreciate (or otherwise) societal art products.

So, without further ado, enjoy, if you so choose, the lens of a college student who is trying to grasp patterns within art forms today and understand how we see the world today.

Yours respectfully,
Katie