The Marvel-ous Debate

One of the reasons I hit burnout this month was that my lifestyle left plenty of room to get mad over nothing. This, unfortunately, hasn’t changed. Be it the world continuing to frustrate and disappoint me, or having way too much free time, I’ve resolved to not write something for the duration of the month unless it really bugs me. This is that.

I’m sure you know of the exchange between Martin Scorcese and James Gunn by now. I briefly touched on it, but it hasn’t exactly mellowed. We’ve since had Francis Ford Coppola double-down in his defence of Scorcese, Gunn get defensive again and Bob Iger, CEO of Disney, make everything worse. It’s exhausting, and it refuses to go away.

Now, I’m an MCU fan, having criticized its detractors frequently. But what makes this unique is that Scorcese and Coppola aren’t young snobs who want to put down what they deem “lesser”. These are two of the most-important directors of the last 50 years, introducing new directing techniques and refining old ones. They aren’t slouches, essentially. So when they open their mouths, you’d better believe the world listens.

That said, they shouldn’t get a free pass simply because they’re well-respected. On one hand, I get it. When you get older, your filters become faulty, so you say stuff you wouldn’t have said earlier. I have two living grandparents, so I see that a lot. But while seniority might explain their remarks, it doesn’t excuse bigotry or ignorance. Nor does it exempt them from pushback.

This especially applies to film veterans like Scorcese and Coppola. They may not deserve to be shamelessly bashed by Marvel fanboys, that much is true. But I don’t think a blind eye should be turned, either. Because, like Steven Spielberg and Netflix, their remarks on The MCU are incredibly ignorant and ill-conceived. And that’s getting lost in the crossfire.

I’m not saying that either director has to love every kind of film. I’m not big on sports movies myself. But that doesn’t mean that I automatically get to write them off, because that’s ignorance. Rather, it means that sports movies have to try much harder to impress me.

And, to be fair, some have. I’m not big on racing, but Rush was an excellent character study. I think baseball’s boring, but I loved how 42 dissected the sport’s racist past. Even Battle of the Sexes, which is about tennis, managed to serve a mean game about sexism. Sports movies usually don’t interest me, but I keep an open mind anyway.

That’s what Gunn was arguing in his rebuttals to Scorcese and Coppola, by the way: that they shouldn’t be so quick to write these movies off because they’re not Goodfellas or Apocalypse Now. They’re definitely “not on the same level”, but they don’t lack artistic merits. If art’s sole purpose is to invoke feelings and spark conversations, even if it’s not always good, then shouldn’t The MCU, which does both for many people, qualify? This argument can even be thrown back at Scorcese and Coppola: I think Scorcese’s best work is experimental, while I’ve yet to see anything Coppola’s done. That doesn’t make either of them “bad”, though, because they’re inspiring their intended audiences.

You know what doesn’t help? Iger’s response to this whole mess. In recent a statement, the Disney CEO had this to say:

“I’m puzzled by it. If they want to bitch about movies it’s certainly their right. It seems so disrespectful to all the people who work on those films who are working just as hard as the people who are working on their films and are putting their creative souls on the line just like they are…[a]re you telling me that Ryan Coogler making Black Panther is doing something that somehow or another is less than anything Marty Scorsese or Francis Ford Coppola have ever done on any one of their movies? Come on.”

Make of that what you will.

It’s become pretty clear by now that the debate will never resolve itself. To quote my cousin, everyone has an opinion, it’s incredibly divisive, and we’re all shouting over one another without hearing what people actually have to say. Personally, it’s also exhausting to listen to. Because the film world has real issues, and arguing over which movies are true art isn’t one of them. If it is, it’s pretty low-ranking.

I’ll spare my “this is why everyone’s wrong” rant. It’s pointless, it adds nothing to the conversation and it’d be me repeating myself. But, like how biopics are often unfairly slammed because they’re “awards movies”, superhero films, particularly Marvel movies, get routinely shafted because they’re fluff pieces. They’re mostly not all that deep, their stories are paper-thin, their plotting is littered with holes, and they’re frequently overlong. But that doesn’t mean they’re “not art”, especially when they manage to please filmgoing audiences.

Yes, your ideal diet of movies shouldn’t end at superheroes. (Nor should it end at dramas.) I’m a film omnivore, I’ll consume whatever interests me, yet even I know that arguing the technical merits of the franchise that Iron Man birthed in 2008 isn’t only unhelpful, it’s reductive. We already have enough issues in the world without debating something that’s this trivial. Not to mention, my poor head can’t take it anymore.

Now then, if you’ll excuse me...

Keeping It on the Download

It was recently announced that Studio Ghibli would be exclusively streaming their entire library of films on HBO Max come Spring 2020 in The US. This quashed long-time rumours that their movies would never be on a digital service. It also got me thinking about how HBO Max is another streaming platform slated to launch alongside Disney+ and others. And I’m starting to get concerned. Because, in the end, is digital really the best option for content?

Let’s get some misnomers out of the way: I have nothing against digital conceptually. I remember the days of physical media. I remember how bulky and inconvenient, not to mention frustrating, it was to insert a VHS tape or floppy disk into a VCR or computer, set it to the appropriate output and pray that it actually worked. It was fickle, sensitive and often led to headaches. This doesn’t even factor in said media breaking or becoming corrupted.

Digital removes that hassle, and thank God! No more worrying about a piece of plastic breaking, now you can stream online. No more worrying about shelling out money on physical media, now you can stream online. And no more worrying about having to upgrade your media players every few years, now you can-you guessed it-stream online. This is all great!

So why am I concerned? For starters, digital streaming’s heavily dependent on the streamer. It’s not enough to have the option to stream, you also need a good-quality device. This means shelling out money on something state-of-the-art and praying that it never crashes or breaks. Because if it does…well, you’re screwed.

This is especially frustrating when your item’s downloaded to a specific source. This could be a computer, a drive, or an account. If you can navigate the source, you’re fine. But if you can’t, you’re in trouble. And since some downloads are source-sensitive, it’s even more of a hassle.

That’s another problem: a lack of true portability. Say what you will about physical media, but at least you have something tangible. At least it can be carried around wherever you want, and at least you know it’s there. It’s reliable.

I can’t say the same about digital. I own a Switch, and three of my games are download-only. I love them, but do I really own them? Considering they’re size-limited and can easily be archived, I’m not so sure. And what if my Switch is corrupted, or I have to transfer information to another one? Am I guaranteed to have my information remain intact?

Then there’s the issue of whether or not I really own downloads. With physical media, even of cruddy quality, I own it indefinitely. It sounds silly to be proud of my DVD collection, for example, but I really do take pride in it. I know that the DVDs are all mine because I paid for them, and I know that they’re mine because I don’t have to jump through hurdles to prove that. There’s no need for renewal, no need for contracts and no need for shelling out cash for subscription fees. I buy it once, and I own it forever.

I don’t have that same luxury with digital. With digital, I’m often saddled with DRM complications that restrict my downloads. With digital, I have to sign waivers that restrict who I can share with. And with digital, I’m forced to spend monthly fees to keep my membership intact. Sometimes, that also extends to what I want to consume.

To top it all off, there’s the issue of diversifying memberships in order to properly view or enjoy everything. With physical media, it’s one-stop-fits-all. With digital media, I have to dabble a little here and a little there, all-the-while praying I don’t rack up excessive bills. This is especially an issue because some media’s only available on specific streaming services, making keeping on top of all of them exhausting. Even with the aforementioned Studio Ghibli, only 21 of their movies will be available on HBO Max. The exception, Grave of the Fireflies, is currently on Hulu, because licensing issues.

I don’t want to come off as unfairly negative, though. I like the possibilities digital offers, especially on an eco-environmental level. But when it becomes needlessly complicated to use it, for all of the above reasons, then there’s a problem. And it’s one I’m not entirely sure has an easy, one-size-fits-all solution.

If it makes people feel better, I’m not against the option of HBO Max streaming Studio Ghibli’s repertoire entirely, which is where my frustrations began. I merely think that, like with anything entertainment-related, there should be the option to choose. People who like physical media should be allowed to buy physical media, while people who like digital should have the option to do so. Because, in the end, that’s not so unrealistic a compromise, right?

But what do I really know about this?

The Joke's on Me?

(Warning: The following contains uncomfortable information and spoilers for Joker. Read at your own risk.)

I was debating whether or not to see this movie. Initially, I was intrigued by a grittier reimagining of a beloved DC character, even at the expense of some dubious feedback. Then the reviews poured in, were increasingly mixed and turned me off. Then I heard a full synopsis via The Big Picture, and my curiosity was piqued. But I wasn’t sure if it was worth getting a ticket, until my grandfather called me up the day before Sukkot and asked to see it that afternoon. Between the confusion and constant questions, I was fully-convinced I’d walked out of one of the most-perplexing experiences ever once it was done.

That was several days ago. I’ve since had conversations with family, heard it referenced by my Rabbi in his sermon and mulled over my thoughts more. I knew I wanted to write about it, but what to say: do I discuss how it misunderstands the philosophy of Anarchy? Do I mention the “we live in a society” rhetoric it keeps banging the viewer over the head with? Perhaps the ableism with its stance on dwarfism? Maybe how it lazily critiques the 1%, all-the-while clumsily retconning Batman’s origins? These are all valid, but what strikes closest to home is its stance on mental illness.

When I was 7 years-old, I was sexually assaulted by an older boy who was supposed to discuss my ADHD diagnosis. I didn’t think much of the games he asked me to play, so I buried the event for nearly 20 years. Unfortunately, because of how the mind copes, my assault manifested itself as a bad addiction that spiralled out-of-control in university. From 2009 to 2017, I remained in a state of semi-denial, finally attending an addiction support group following a seminar at a local synagogue.

I mention this because while the support group proved unsuccessful, my history with addiction, anxiety and medication should’ve made me sympathize with Arthur Fleck. But I don’t. Because while Arthur is a mentally-unwell individual with a history of abuse, his transformation into a comic book villain is fetishized without much to say. It’s a futile exercise in sympathizing with a bad role model, and it doesn’t work. It, in some ways, actively angers me.

Take Arthur’s condition: he has a neurological disorder that makes him laugh uncontrollably. The film links it with the childhood abuse he received from his mother’s partners, but the film never expands on this causation. Wouldn’t it have made for an interesting angle to delve more into? The movie doesn’t quite agree, instead using it to justify the suffocation of his mother.

Arthur’s condition’s also never properly explored beyond its surface level. When he’s amusing that child on the bus, to the mother’s annoyance, it’s mentioned that his laugh is uncontrollable, but that’s never elaborated on. Arthur’s condition keeps resurfacing, but instead of using that to discuss how mental illness is a serious issue, it’s instead factored into his, rather repetitive, spiral to Joker-levels. Arthur never gets help, and while that’s “the point”, I also think it hampers potential subtext.

Additionally, I was mixed on Arthur’s kill count. Some of his victims, like the drunk businessmen and Murray, I understood, while others, like his co-worker and the psychiatrist in the final scene, confused me. And even when his murders were “justified”, the movie went out of its way to make their deaths unpleasant. I never once felt like they weren’t played up for any other reason than shock-value.

Arthur also became increasingly difficult to sympathize with. I get that we’re supposed to be “rooting” for an anti-hero whose life’s falling apart. I also get that we’re supposed to sympathize for someone who’s unwell. I’ve seen Taxi Driver and Memento, so I know that both can be done well. But Joker fails because, in my mind, I can’t get behind his choices. And that saddens me.

The point of no return was when Arthur tells his co-workers that he’s off his meds, and that he feels better without them. As someone who’s been down that road, that’s the wrong decision to fetishize. Going off my meds might’ve seemed like a good idea back in 2010, but it quickly spiralled my emotions out-of-control. I became verbally aggressive, I constantly got into arguments with friends and family, and I lacked good judgement. I might’ve had an uptick in my appetite, but that’s one gain for a dozen losses. It wasn’t worth it, and I’m disappointed that that’s positioned as “character growth”.

The weirdest part about Arthur’s transformation is that he becomes a symbol for the anti-1% movement. I have no love for the ultra-wealthy, but “eat the rich” was never meant to be conflated with “support complete chaos”. It’s true that the 1% hoards wealth, but the answer isn’t murder. There’s a reason why wealth taxes and jails exist, after all!

You know what doesn’t help? How unpleasant the experience is. Joker runs a little over 2-hours, but the only part I smiled at was a clip from Modern Times. Ignoring how a crowd of wealthy people laughing at it didn’t get the chuckles it was looking for, I was happy because it was Charlie Chaplin. It’s sad when I’d much rather watch that than Joker.

That’s my problem: there are semblances of good ideas, but the film doesn’t know what to do with them. The theme of anti-1% fervour could’ve gone somewhere interesting, but it didn’t. The other theme of mental illness goes places it shouldn’t. Even the whole “we live in a society” speech that Arthur gives on Murray’s show before murdering him feels more condescending than appropriate. Joker, essentially, is a movie off of its meds. And while you could argue “that’s the point”, it never feels sincere.

If there’s one saving grace, aside from the camerawork, it’s the performance of Joaquin Phoenix. True to what even the detractors have claimed, he’s mesmerizing. He really gives it his all. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t receive an Oscar nomination, as he’s earned it. I’m merely disappointed the material was elevated by his acting, as he deserved better.

As for the rest of it? I’m not biting. The performances are all solid, including Robert De Niro, but nothing about Joker is elevated to greatness like Phoenix. It’s a mediocre movie trying to be a great one, and it fails. If you want a better examination of anti-heroes or mental illness, there are plenty of options to choose from. And while it’s “good” that superhero properties are taking risks, I prefer conventional stories if the results keep producing films like Joker. The superhero sub-genre deserves better.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to detox…

In Which I Finally Hit Burnout and Vent My Feelings...

I was debating what to write about: do I discuss Joker, and how its director has been stoking the flames to keep the conversation in circulation? Maybe Martin Scorcese’s criticism of Marvel movies, as well as the response of James Gunn? Perhaps the outrage over HBO’s Sesame Street deal? Or should I tackle C-List comedians complaining that “PC culture is ruining comedy”? I sat on it, and the answer came to me: why not discuss how everything’s affecting me?

The past few weeks have seen intense frustrations, there’s no denying that. But while everything has been aggravating to deal with, I think over-stressing has taken a toll on my well-being. I wrote a piece recently on how Kiki’s Delivery Service spoke to me as someone struggling to make it in the world. In it, I stated the following:

“While I’ve never been in Kiki’s situation to help rekindle my creative spark, her fight with herself is still a universal one. Far too often, our greatest critic is us. We feel we’re not worthy of respect or adoration, and it makes us feel awful.”

I realize now that I was being too modest. Because I often feel like I’m struggling with Blogger’s Views counter for relevancy, relying on hot topics, missing out on what I want to discuss. And it’s showing, as, despite my recent stuff doing well, I’m not pulling in the numbers I was even late last year. Part of it could be that I promised myself I’d up my output on The Whitly-Verse, and now that I have…well, it’s not so exciting. I’m my own worst enemy.

The above is also still weighing on my mind, too. I think, for example, that Todd Phillips is using his insecurities to drive a divisive film. I think that Martin Scorcese, talented though he may be, was out-of-line, and that James Gunn’s taking flak for words he never uttered. I think the ordeal with Sesame Street, though not disastrous, will hurt its ratings. And let’s not get started on the comedy scene, which is depressing in its own right.

But even with sharing my thoughts, the aggravation won’t disappear. If anything, it’ll only get worse! Because although writing about my concerns is great therapy, it’s also been a challenge when it’s not monetized. It also isn’t as much fun to discuss anything when I have to beg for people to read my work in five different places. That’s a crapshoot with mixed results.

Actually, let’s discuss that: whenever I write for The Whitly-Verse, I share a link to the same five places. The first is my new writing job’s Slack channel, where the odds of it being read are close to nil. From there, I go to my old Discord buddy, hoping he’s awake or responsive. Then I go to the old Infinite Rainy Day Discord server, where the odds of it being read are also close to nil. Then I go to Facebook, where most of my viewership is. Finally, I Tweet about it, Tag my 7 most-trusted readers and wait.

It’s a lot to maintain, and I’m a small fish. I may have a dedicated readership, I’ve had people remind me of that, but I often crave more. I’ve unintentionally set my ambitions way too high, hoping that, with the right piece, I’ll go viral. I guess, in that sense, I’ve already peaked with my Korrasami rant 4 years ago.

Still, a part of me wants the old days of IRD to return, where I could be guaranteed to make waves and have those waves hit me in return. Was the pay great? No. But given the circumstances, making reliable money each month was enough to keep me happy. It gave me spending cash.

I miss that. Even now, as I write paid columns for Nintendo Enthusiast, I often feel like I’m undervalued. My pieces are frequently manicured, and while they regularly explode in popularity, they also feel heavily divorced from my general writing style. Plus, none of the traffic there flows back to me, namely because I go by a different alias. It’s frustrating when I’m the “pot stirrer” because of a controversial piece I wrote, yet no one connects it to my more-restrained work on The Whitly-Verse.

Basically, I feel like Kiki, getting by with little and making no headway. I feel like that one scene where she comes home exhausted, heads to her room and faceplants on her bed in exhaustion. That’s not a great feeling. But I know that the world has to continue, so who am I to give up? Who am I to throw in the towel? That’s pretty selfish, right?

That’s been my overlaying concern. I also realize this feels like a disjointed rant about nothing. I’m not out of ideas, that’s not my style. But since the Jewish holidays are eating through my energy, I guess cutting back this month might be for the best. I’ll hopefully have another piece or two ready by October 31st, but my output will be more spaced out until I get my life under control again. Or until I really feel a passion to write something, whichever comes first.

The Brie Larson in the Room

If there’s one area I get called out for a lot, it’s being overly-critical of what I love: “Batman’s a boring character”. “I don’t like this, and here’s why”. “This person was wrong because __”. I get it, and it’s somewhat exhausting. So I figured that I’d change it up and defend Brie Larson, who currently seems to be the biggest, most-undeserved punching bag celebrity.

I’m sure Larson needs no introduction. Ever since the age of 12, she’s always been someone to look out for. She even made the acquaintance of film nerds in Scott Pilgrim VS the World in 2010, and her first Oscar win came from 2015’s Room. Her prestige also helped her break into comic book fandom when she was announced to play Captain Marvel, and she hasn’t looked back since. Essentially, Brie Larson’s career has been on-fire.

Sadly, this popularity comes with backlash. In June of 2018, while at the Crystal + Lucy Awards, Larson used the opportunity to make a statement. This is nothing new: Hollywood talents love using their 5 minutes of fame for statements, some of them not the most-educated. But Larson’s address mentioned how underrepresented film criticism was, suggesting that 20% of future film screening passes be handed to minorities. This was followed up in February of this year, when Larson stated that she didn’t only “want to hear interview questions from straight, white dudes.”

I don’t really think this is such a bold statement: film discourse has always been dominated by straight, white men. One need only look Rotten Tomatoes for that. But while Brie Larson’s phrasing could’ve been more refined, I don’t think the backlash from the nerd community was warranted. Movies about women and minorities can’t exist as is without people calling them “an unnecessary political statement”, so why can’t women speak without getting hounded as well? Aren’t they entitled to be unfiltered like their male cohorts?

But yes, people got upset. Like, really upset. They got so upset that there was a “boycott” of Captain Marvel when it came out (even if it didn’t end up mattering). It got so bad that The Daily Stormer, everyone’s favourite Na-I mean, PewDiePie-loving website, wrote an article talking about Larson’s toenail fungus (I’m not linking that, look it up). It even got so bad that when Nintendo Enthusiast published an editorial about how Larson would make a perfect Samus Aran, the comments immediately ripped into it because “Brie Larson hates white men”.

I don’t get it. Not only did Brie Larson never say “I hate white men”, she wasn’t even that offensive compared to other actresses. Even amongst the Marvel ensemble, Scarlett Johansson has put her foot in her mouth more frequently than Larson. When did Larson ever defend her whitewashed casting? And when did she defend Woody Allen’s predatory behaviour? On a scale of one-to-yikes, Larson asking for more unique voices isn’t that big of a deal. If anything, it’s great to hear that from a white woman!

But I guess that’s not enough for insecure nerds, is it? Besides, why’s nerd culture that exclusivist? Why do nerds, who’ve had a history of being picked on, feel so threatened by their hobby being accepted by the mainstream? Have the tables turned so drastically? Because it’s pretty depressing if that’s the case!

I wouldn’t be perturbed if this outrage weren’t selective. Especially since Ronda Rousey, a long-time wrestler with extremely controversial views, managed to snag a role in Mortal Kombat 11. Forget the woman who wanted unique voices at the table, the transphobe receives no backlash? What world are we in where a milquetoast feminist receives more outrage than a TERF? If nerds are mad over anything, it should be that!

I guess it’s asking too much from a group of people who centred a controversy around a games’ developer “cheating” on her ex-boyfriend, though. Or who thought it was “censorship” to change the cover of a Batgirl comic because the original artists didn’t like it. Or who got mad that a director was back at Disney because of his “pedophile behaviour”, even it was simply poor-taste Tweets he’d long-since atoned for. Or-you get my point.

The level of anger arising from Brie Larson wanting diversity is astounding when juxtaposed with celebrities who’ve never experienced backlash for anything. I get that it’s not healthy to be mad at everything all the time, but that’s still an extreme case of selective outrage. If anything were to come from Larson’s words, it’d be an actual desire for change. And not only change, but legitimate, positive and healthy change. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, or that it’ll happen overnight, because it won’t. But that doesn’t mean it’s not long-overdue.

I also wish nerd-dom would stop letting paranoia get in the way of real concerns with Larson’s filmography, like Captain Marvel. Regardless of what your stance is on her or that film, there’s no denying certain sections of it have been used as military recruitment porn. Or how the juxtaposition of Veers’s Kree life with Carol Danver’s military life raises more questions than it answers. Or, on a personal level, how the movie’s quality is kneecapped by the audience knowing how it turns out, since it’s a prequel film in The MCU. These are all more troubling than “white girl hates white men”.

But I guess that it’s not worth talking sense online, what with how headache-inducing it is…

Digimon, 20 Years Later

The late-90’s were a time of technological advances. The internet was quickly becoming democratized, with its initial pay-per-use model developing into something more easily-available. The movie industry was adopting computer-generated imagery, allowing for possibilities and avenues not previously possible. Even video games, still in their relative infancy, were transitioning to the third-dimension, allowing for new possibilities. The late-90’s, essentially, were exciting, and little me was happy to play along.

Perhaps the craze that best-exemplified this was the emergence of the Digimon franchise. Beginning life as male-centric Tamagotchis, it quickly became popular enough to receive a feature film, with a TV show following shortly afterward. Said show would initially see four iterations over four years-Digimon Adventure, Digimon Zero-Two, Digimon Tamers and Digimon Frontier-with their titles dropped in the West in favour of a four season show called Digimon: Digital Monsters. Marketed and treated as a direct competitor to Pokémon, it’d quickly gain a cult-following with slightly older kids. Said kids would slowly taper-off in the years that followed, culminating in low ratings, but the early years would give it the “Sonic”-like edge to Pokémon’s “Mario”.

Digimon: Digital Monsters, or its first season, follows 7 Japanese kids during a fateful snowstorm at Summer camp. They’re slated to head home, but that plan’s derailed when they receive digital devices, are swallowed by the sky and land in a Narnia-meets-Wonderland realm called “The Digital World”. It’s here that they meet their Digimon companions, all of them taking heads in their basic forms, and find out that they were destined to save this world from evil. As the show progresses, the kids learn about The Digital World, bond with their Digimon and reconcile their own experiences. And all of this in 54 episodes.

What made Digimon: Digital Monsters unique was its kid characters. Narrative marketing had many variants of the everyman hero leading the pack, but here we had multiple heroes. Each one was also distinct in personality, and while said personality was basic, it was enough for the audience to connect with them and pick favourites. The kids’ insecurities also were addressed in character-arcs, allowing for real problems that anyone could relate to. In short, the show was unafraid to “let its hair down”.

I think this is why the show was so appealing, especially to me. As I’ve stated before, my childhood was unpleasant. Seeing a show tackle divorce, adoption and inferiority complexes, and all maturely, was a welcome education for my ignorant, sheltered mind. I cherished each and every opportunity presented.

The show was also unafraid to shake up the formula. After spending its first two story-arcs in The Digital World, it threw a curveball and had the shenanigans come to Japan. These episodes are considered some of the show’s best, as we saw how people reacted to these creatures ala the Godzilla films. When that was over, the Digidestined, now a group of 8, travelled back to The Digital World for a darker, final arc.

Being intensely popular, it made sense that more entries would follow. The first of these, the aforementioned Digimon Zero-Two, took place in the same continuity as its predecessor, except three years later. The next iteration, Digimon Tamers, would be penned by Cthulhu fanatic Chiaki J. Konaka, being disturbing while it was grounded, while Digimon Frontier would be where show would end. Despite coming close to teenage-hood by that point, I still stuck with Digimon: Digital Monsters. It was my hope at sanity in a world I deemed cruel and unkind, and it let me feel like I mattered. It didn’t bother me that the English releases of these shows were hammy and heavily-censored, either, as it was clear everyone involved in production cared.

That’s not to say the shows were perfect. Aside from most iterations never properly addressing death, they were written with story arcs that routinely felt retconned. This allowed for many contradictions and unanswered questions. The villains, at least early on, were also shallow and uninteresting, with one not even making sense. And the production value was pretty low, with lots of reused animations and character model inconsistencies.

Digimon Tamers, while the admitted high-point, also had tonal and plotting issues that bug me as an adult. This particular entry was the most-grounded, but with that came drastic breaks in logic. The retconning of its arcs was equally-offset by the show being slower and more atmospheric, making its inconsistencies much more noticeable. And it suffered tonal whiplash, changing from light and campy to dark and serious in a heartbeat. This ignores that it coincided with 9/11, making much of its subject matter, while interesting, feel too real.

But I loved these shows anyway. Even now, as an adult, I admire how daring and ambitious Digimon: Digital Monsters was in its writing. It (mostly) holds up, too, which is something I can’t say about many shows based on toys. So while it’s not winning awards, I still recommend giving the franchise a try. It truly captured The Information Age better than most shows, and, like The Matrix, is a perfect snapshot of late-90’s nostalgia.

That, and Digimon Tamers was something special. I’m not kidding, it was!

On Kiki's Delivery Service and Creative Burnout

Being an adult with a disability is frustrating. Despite having a social security net, I still regularly feel life burnout. Even with two part-time jobs, I routinely struggle with budgeting and constant feelings of inadequacy. It doesn’t help that I have addiction issues and anxiety, either. These complications routinely creep into my writing, making something I otherwise love doing feel like a chore.

This is why film, particularly the works of Studio Ghibli, has been so empowering. A while back, I wrote a piece discussing the relationship I have with Hayao Miyazaki and his studio, having discovered their work as an adult. I’d have more nostalgia if I found them as a child, but seeing them in my 20’s allows me to appreciate their subtexts. This is definitely true for Kiki’s Delivery Service, a movie that, while not my favourite, has resonated strongly as a creative trying to mark his mark.

Kiki’s Delivery Service is the story of a 13 year-old witch, Kiki, who leaves home to refine her magic. Settling in town of Koriko, she meets a kind, pregnant woman named Osono, who, with her busy husband, runs the city’s bakery. She and Kiki set up a delivery service inside said bakery, operated entirely by Kiki herself. She’s initially excited, but as the stress of work begins setting in, Kiki realizes that she may be in over her head.

What makes this movie work is how human it feels. Kiki’s Delivery Service, essentially, portrays the working experience in an authentic and genuine manner. There’s something surprisingly on-point about losing packages because of unforeseen circumstances, or even helping to deliver a personalized gift, only to be rudely shafted by its recipient. Even Kiki’s frustrations surrounding her inability to fly, or no longer understanding her cat, that surface in the second-half feel real and troubling. As someone whose first real job was as a courier, this hits home really hard.

So does the burnout that Kiki experiences. There’ve been many instances where I’ve doubted my own writing abilities and felt like giving up because of it. And not only as a blogger or casual writer, either. I’m currently trying to write a graphic novel, which has been a passion project of mine for close to three years. I have a finished script, but the refining and funding process has proven tedious and frustrating. My first editor, whom I’m incredibly grateful for, also cost me a lot more money to compensate than I initially thought. This doesn’t account for later revisions that’ll inevitably take place, either.

In Kiki’s Delivery Service, shortly after losing her magic, Kiki asks for time off to go camping with Ursula in the woods. Ignoring how unrealistically nonchalant Osono is about it, this allows Kiki time for self-care. She models for Ursula’s next portrait, and she listens to Ursula’s own stories about burnout. Ursula, essentially, explains how talent is self-motivated. It can’t simply happen, you need to find the right spark. This spark eventually comes when Kiki’s forced to save her friend, Tombo, from falling to his death. She struggles with her own inadequacies, both literally and metaphorically, to do this.

While I’ve never been in Kiki’s situation to help rekindle my creative spark, her fight with herself is still a universal one. Far too often, our greatest critic is us. We feel we’re not worthy of respect or adoration, and it makes us feel awful. When Kiki’s broom breaks, that hurts to watch. And when she’s flapping about rescuing Tombo, I’m on the edge of my seat. Forget any and all Hollywood blockbusters, Kiki trying to rescue Tombo makes me anxious!

What makes Kiki’s Delivery Serivce work is that it’s the “creator’s dream” film. How ironic, given the behind-the-scenes complications that arose during production. Hayao Miyazaki wasn’t even originally supposed to be the director, only taking on the role because he didn’t feel like it was working. The film was retooled in a year, with large chunks of the storyboarding reworked on the fly. The budget was tight, and certain shortcuts, like shortening the length of Kiki’s hair, were almost necessary. The movie was also allegedly stopped partway through production when the source book’s author expressed dissatisfaction over the adaptation, only changing her mind after visiting Studio Ghibli. And Studio Ghibli’s parent company was threatening to pull support to the studio should the movie fail at the box-office, having already had several financial flops under their belt.

I’m not surprised, therefore, that the end-product was a film about a teenager who doubts her own abilities. It feels semi-autobiographical in that way, fitting for a studio that takes such big gambles. But such is the nature of Studio Ghibli films. If Whisper of the Heart celebrates the spirit of creativity, a coming-of-age tale for any visionary artist, then Kiki’s Delivery Service is its companion piece, showing how it’s not always that simple. It recognizes that the youthful experience is trying, routinely results in burnout and should be treated with respect and dignity. This is, in essence, the definitive movie about work stress.

Oh, and Jiji’s also the funniest character in a Miyazaki film. I thought I’d point that out. (Rest in peace, Phil Hartman.)