The convent nuns weren't the only one who had a problem with Maria. The Sound of Music is going to be on TV this weekend and while Geeky Splendor, generally likes it, we've always felt for The Baroness, who totally got the short shrift.
Despite her brains, beauty, breeding, superior fashion sense and way with a chignon, Captain Von Trapp tossed her aside like last year's ankle boot in favor of some cloying, chipper mus ... mus ... (Oh God, we can barely write it. Deep breath.) Muslin-wearing nun with an awful haircut. So what if The Baroness wanted to send those brats to boarding school? We hear they have absolutely superior institutions of learning tucked far, far away in the Alps. They were annoying enough when they were merely petulant pranksters, but once they got to the singing and puppet shows, it's a wonder The Baroness didn't just stab herself in the heart with one of those blingtastic brooches.
It's so typical to marginalize the self-possessed, bluntly practical, emotionally mature glamazon who doesn't go starry-eyed over refrigerator art while deifying the selfless, wishy-washy (I'm-a-nun-no-I'm-not-yes-I-am), passive-aggressive sexually neutered earth mother.( If you want to catch a glimpse of the unduly maligned Baroness, she's about three minutes in.)
Well, fine. The Baroness was too good to be saddled with that lot. Let The Captain and Octo-Nun have them. I like to think that The Baroness settled down with a very wealthy widower with only one or two well-behaved children and they all lived far away from Nazis. And nuns. In any case, she can console herself with the Great Underrated Fashionista of Fiction Award.
Showing posts with label in praise of. Show all posts
Showing posts with label in praise of. Show all posts
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
In Praise of ... Jasmine
If there is one thing we love here at Geeky Splendor, it's an all-powerful goddess. Another thing we love is just about anything that springs from the mind of Joss Whedon (excluding the original Buffy movie and Dawn Summers a.k.a. "The Key", of course). In Season Four of Angel, the show brought us Gina Torres as Jasmine.
As we've touched on before, goddesses are imperfect and they do have their challenges, so let's get a few of Jasmine's flaws out of the way. As it turns out, Jasmine's "true face" wasn't astonishingly beautiful, but I've seen plenty of gorgeous actresses before they get into Hair and Makeup and while they aren't exactly decaying and maggot-covered like Jasmine, they sure do benefit from proper lighting and a quality foundation, if you know what I mean. Then there was that whole eating people thing, but it's not like they suffered. They were just happy to be in her presence. She didn't even chew, it was more of a glowy absorption process.
A thornier issue was that Jasmine-worship tended to curtail free will. But seriously, if you could be totally blissful in a happy, peaceful world and wear pink and listen to Pet Sounds, but not have much choice in the matter, wouldn't you go for it? Or would you be a stickler for the free will in a gloomy, violent world sans pink and peppy tunes? Have you noticed that people only talk about free will in relation to bad things? It's never about the free will to nuzzle puppies and sip mimosas and take a spa day. All in all, I feel the whole eating people and marginal mental enslavement thing was blown way out of proportion.
Misunderstood Jasmine was a real leader, brainy, cultured (fluent in multiple languages), had fabu hair and makeup skills (the way she applied her lipcolor is a lesson to us all) and she made everybody happy and achieved virtual world peace. Within days of her arrival, she was presented with a divalicious hotel suite and later she subtly suggested to her worshippers that a temple would be nice, too. That's my kind of girl. So she ate a couple of dozen folks a day. Did I mention the world peace and pink and Pet Sounds? Jasmine's dulcet tones, fashion sense, determination and ability to inspire genuflection earn her a Great Underrated Fashionista of Fiction Award.
I really wish I had great Jasmine clips for you, but most of what I found was montages set to Evanescence. While, I'm willing to rationalize the eating people, some things just can't be excused.
As we've touched on before, goddesses are imperfect and they do have their challenges, so let's get a few of Jasmine's flaws out of the way. As it turns out, Jasmine's "true face" wasn't astonishingly beautiful, but I've seen plenty of gorgeous actresses before they get into Hair and Makeup and while they aren't exactly decaying and maggot-covered like Jasmine, they sure do benefit from proper lighting and a quality foundation, if you know what I mean. Then there was that whole eating people thing, but it's not like they suffered. They were just happy to be in her presence. She didn't even chew, it was more of a glowy absorption process.
A thornier issue was that Jasmine-worship tended to curtail free will. But seriously, if you could be totally blissful in a happy, peaceful world and wear pink and listen to Pet Sounds, but not have much choice in the matter, wouldn't you go for it? Or would you be a stickler for the free will in a gloomy, violent world sans pink and peppy tunes? Have you noticed that people only talk about free will in relation to bad things? It's never about the free will to nuzzle puppies and sip mimosas and take a spa day. All in all, I feel the whole eating people and marginal mental enslavement thing was blown way out of proportion.
Misunderstood Jasmine was a real leader, brainy, cultured (fluent in multiple languages), had fabu hair and makeup skills (the way she applied her lipcolor is a lesson to us all) and she made everybody happy and achieved virtual world peace. Within days of her arrival, she was presented with a divalicious hotel suite and later she subtly suggested to her worshippers that a temple would be nice, too. That's my kind of girl. So she ate a couple of dozen folks a day. Did I mention the world peace and pink and Pet Sounds? Jasmine's dulcet tones, fashion sense, determination and ability to inspire genuflection earn her a Great Underrated Fashionista of Fiction Award.
I really wish I had great Jasmine clips for you, but most of what I found was montages set to Evanescence. While, I'm willing to rationalize the eating people, some things just can't be excused.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
In Praise of ... Cinderella
If there is one character who has gotten an unfairly bad rap, it's Cinderella, feminism's whipping girl. Cinderella's name is tossed about willy-nilly to disabuse women of happily-ever-after "fantasies." (And wait, isn't happily ever after what we should all be going for here? Or are we going for, "Meh ... he'll do, I guess" until we snap out of it and file for divorce? Are we supposed to just presuppose that we'll live bitterly ever after, shacking up with chardonnay and five cats?)
For some women, Cinderella is a symbol for a sister who only thinks her life is complete when she lands a prince. Well, what movies were they watching? Cinderella is a solid heroine. She's imaginative, talented, kind-hearted, hard-working and a thrifty little thing, who could probably school us all in how to survive tough economic times. (And in the animated version, at least, she's very devoted to caring for animals.)
It's not the prince who victimized Cinderella by falling in love with her, it was that awful stepmother, who held all the power and was aided by those fugly stepsisters. If anyone deserves a lecture here, it's those three for being too envious to support other women. Don't hate on Cinderella because her beauty, grace, charm and ability to rock a ballgown ended up with her settling down with a handsome sweetie from a good family with more money than God, moving in to a primo piece of real estate and never having to lift a diamond-laden finger again if she didn't feel like it. Cinderella earned that after all the years she toiled for that no-good stepfamily. And she earns herself a Great Underestimated Fashionistas of Fiction Award.
For some women, Cinderella is a symbol for a sister who only thinks her life is complete when she lands a prince. Well, what movies were they watching? Cinderella is a solid heroine. She's imaginative, talented, kind-hearted, hard-working and a thrifty little thing, who could probably school us all in how to survive tough economic times. (And in the animated version, at least, she's very devoted to caring for animals.)
It's not the prince who victimized Cinderella by falling in love with her, it was that awful stepmother, who held all the power and was aided by those fugly stepsisters. If anyone deserves a lecture here, it's those three for being too envious to support other women. Don't hate on Cinderella because her beauty, grace, charm and ability to rock a ballgown ended up with her settling down with a handsome sweetie from a good family with more money than God, moving in to a primo piece of real estate and never having to lift a diamond-laden finger again if she didn't feel like it. Cinderella earned that after all the years she toiled for that no-good stepfamily. And she earns herself a Great Underestimated Fashionistas of Fiction Award.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
In Praise of ... Rebecca
Such taste, such style, such beauty. We can only imagine what she looked like, but Daphne Du Maurier's 1938 novel and Hitchcock's 1940 film always leave me yearning for a glimpse of Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter, who gets this week's Great Underestimated Fashionistas of Fiction Award.
Yeah, yeah, by the end of the story we're supposed to view Rebecca as a lying, cheating bitch. Maybe she was, but maybe that's just Maxim's view. He's a bit shady himself. Like his fellow romantic figures in the pantheon of English Lit (I'm looking at you, Mr. Rochester. You too, Mr. Darcy), Maxim de Winter is a little douchey. The way he snaps at, dismisses and condescends to his second wife, I'm guessing Rebecca did not brook that nonsense. What if she was a bitch? To paraphrase Tinay Fey: bitches get stuff done. That ginormous estate wasn't going to run itself, you know. Rebecca was confident enough to keep that Danvers in check and she clearly had healthy self-esteem with the gigantic "Rs" etched, engraved. monogrammed and embossed on everything, marking her territory and announcing herself to the world. If her meek successor had a bit of gumption, she'd have saved herself some grief and maybe dealt with Danvers before she could pull a Left Eye. Just saying.
Tipping Point: Due to the success of this film in Spain, the specific jackets that Joan Fontaine wears during the film began to be known as "rebecas". The word "rebeca" is still used nowadays to refer to this item of clothing. Source: IMDb.
Yeah, yeah, by the end of the story we're supposed to view Rebecca as a lying, cheating bitch. Maybe she was, but maybe that's just Maxim's view. He's a bit shady himself. Like his fellow romantic figures in the pantheon of English Lit (I'm looking at you, Mr. Rochester. You too, Mr. Darcy), Maxim de Winter is a little douchey. The way he snaps at, dismisses and condescends to his second wife, I'm guessing Rebecca did not brook that nonsense. What if she was a bitch? To paraphrase Tinay Fey: bitches get stuff done. That ginormous estate wasn't going to run itself, you know. Rebecca was confident enough to keep that Danvers in check and she clearly had healthy self-esteem with the gigantic "Rs" etched, engraved. monogrammed and embossed on everything, marking her territory and announcing herself to the world. If her meek successor had a bit of gumption, she'd have saved herself some grief and maybe dealt with Danvers before she could pull a Left Eye. Just saying.
Tipping Point: Due to the success of this film in Spain, the specific jackets that Joan Fontaine wears during the film began to be known as "rebecas". The word "rebeca" is still used nowadays to refer to this item of clothing. Source: IMDb.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
In Praise of ... Glinda
I've really warmed up to this whole bloggy thing. And so I'm kicking off a salute (which I just made up) to the Great, Underestimated Fashionistas of Fiction. To begin, I'm giving a shout-out to my girl Glinda from The Wizard of Oz. Notice how serene and upbeat she is when she makes her grand entrance.
It's because she knows how to travel in style: descending in a private, personal, pink bubble. As she journeys, her admirers can worship her from afar — which is certainly how I prefer my devotees to behave. No need to get all uncomfortably up-close and personal. That leads to all kinds of clingy shenanigans, whiny cries for personal attention, baleful expressions, pouting and eventual banishment from my sight.
That bubble gives Glinda much-needed alone time to think, which is crucial since Oz is really just a hot mess in terms of government, infrastructure (You have to leave by hot air balloon? Really?), animal control, a likely heroin industry and don't get me started on the social unrest. Sometimes a sister needs to just tune everyone out. That's why I love my iPod. When my earbuds are securely in place, I can just glide through the streets of Manhattan listening to my theme song and blissfully removed from the rest of the world.
Just because a chick is pretty, positive and popular, does not mean she's a pushover. Glinda delivers a Mona Lisa smirk in the face of bullying. When the Wicked Witch of the West tries to intimidate her, the Good Witch responds, "Be gone, you have no power here." And she gets in a dig by gently implying that a house just might fall on the Wicked Witch of the West, too. Well-played, Glinda.
We can all learn from Glinda's brand of no-frills nurturing. Glinda is caring and supportive, but doesn't mollycoddle a friend in need: She pointed Dorothy in the right direction, then basically let her sort things out for herself. Dorothy, a sweet girl, strikes me as the type who might need excessive hand-holding and reassurances; Glinda set boundaries, assuring that she wouldn't be pestered with a lot of weepy, soul-searching three a.m. phone calls.
Glinda saves her frills for where they belong, on that snazzy gown, of course. Yards and yards of tulle and pink and glitz and glam. That Glinda is not afraid of her femininity, she revels in it — unlike a certain green sourpuss I could name. And at the end of the day, who comes out on top: the gloomy, Bitterella with no sense of fashion or home design, sneering at everyone and surrounded by sycophants or Glinda, who isn't afraid to play dress up, graciously accept mass adoration, and carry a big, ol' Bedazzled magic wand?
Glinda, I hereby declare you, a Great Underestimated Fashionista of Fiction.
The Tipping Point: In honor of Glinda and her pink bubble, I encourage everyone to sink into a luxurious bubble bath. I like the Bath Bombs by Pretty Girl Makeup, and one of The Pigeon Sisters gifted me with the Happy Pill Bath Bomb by Lush Cosmetics. They both cost around a recessionista-friendly $6.
It's because she knows how to travel in style: descending in a private, personal, pink bubble. As she journeys, her admirers can worship her from afar — which is certainly how I prefer my devotees to behave. No need to get all uncomfortably up-close and personal. That leads to all kinds of clingy shenanigans, whiny cries for personal attention, baleful expressions, pouting and eventual banishment from my sight.
That bubble gives Glinda much-needed alone time to think, which is crucial since Oz is really just a hot mess in terms of government, infrastructure (You have to leave by hot air balloon? Really?), animal control, a likely heroin industry and don't get me started on the social unrest. Sometimes a sister needs to just tune everyone out. That's why I love my iPod. When my earbuds are securely in place, I can just glide through the streets of Manhattan listening to my theme song and blissfully removed from the rest of the world.
Just because a chick is pretty, positive and popular, does not mean she's a pushover. Glinda delivers a Mona Lisa smirk in the face of bullying. When the Wicked Witch of the West tries to intimidate her, the Good Witch responds, "Be gone, you have no power here." And she gets in a dig by gently implying that a house just might fall on the Wicked Witch of the West, too. Well-played, Glinda.
We can all learn from Glinda's brand of no-frills nurturing. Glinda is caring and supportive, but doesn't mollycoddle a friend in need: She pointed Dorothy in the right direction, then basically let her sort things out for herself. Dorothy, a sweet girl, strikes me as the type who might need excessive hand-holding and reassurances; Glinda set boundaries, assuring that she wouldn't be pestered with a lot of weepy, soul-searching three a.m. phone calls.
Glinda saves her frills for where they belong, on that snazzy gown, of course. Yards and yards of tulle and pink and glitz and glam. That Glinda is not afraid of her femininity, she revels in it — unlike a certain green sourpuss I could name. And at the end of the day, who comes out on top: the gloomy, Bitterella with no sense of fashion or home design, sneering at everyone and surrounded by sycophants or Glinda, who isn't afraid to play dress up, graciously accept mass adoration, and carry a big, ol' Bedazzled magic wand?
Glinda, I hereby declare you, a Great Underestimated Fashionista of Fiction.
The Tipping Point: In honor of Glinda and her pink bubble, I encourage everyone to sink into a luxurious bubble bath. I like the Bath Bombs by Pretty Girl Makeup, and one of The Pigeon Sisters gifted me with the Happy Pill Bath Bomb by Lush Cosmetics. They both cost around a recessionista-friendly $6.
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