Anna Paquin – Bitch Flicks

Lessons from Underrated Coming of Age Flicks

Something about summer always makes me nostalgic. I think it’s that when you’re a kid, when you’re a teenager, it all seems so significant. You tend to measure time in summers, those long unstructured months that melt together in your own dream world where your parents have no authority. How many coming of age stories begin with something akin to “It was the summer I turned 16”? In honor of the summer months, I thought I’d take a look at some underrated coming of age films and what I learned from them.

Something about summer always makes me nostalgic.

Remember riding your bike around town? Remember waiting at the ice cream truck, or trying on new looks in front of the mirror, driving aimlessly around with a new license, or just listening to music in your room alone and having multiple epiphanies? ‘Tis the season to come of age. To be forever changed.

I think it’s that when you’re a kid, when you’re a teenager, it all seems so significant. You tend to measure time in summers, those long unstructured months that melt together in your own dream world where your parents have no authority. How many coming of age stories begin with something akin to “It was the summer I turned 16”?

In honor of the summer months, I thought I’d take a look at some underrated coming of age films and what I learned from them.

Slums of Beverly Hills

Like many coming of age classics, Slums of Beverly Hills is both semi-autobiographical (for writer-director Tamara Jenkins) and set in the recent past. 90s indie darling Natasha Lyonne plays Vivian Abromowitz, a girl struggling with her dysfunctional family, burgeoning sexuality and uncomfortably large breasts (an unusual teenage girl problem in a genre full of girls praying for big boobs), all while constantly moving between seedy apartments in Beverly Hills as part of her father’s plan to allow her and her brothers to attend prestigious schools. Through the course of the film, Vivian not only has her period and loses her virginity, clear markers of ascent into womanhood, but also realizes sex can be pleasurable and she has a right to demand that it is. She also comes to appreciate her eccentric father (Alan Arkin) for the sacrifices he makes to give his children the best futures possible.

Lesson: Learn to be amused, not afflicted. Practice saying, one day this will all go in my memoir.

Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael

Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael, like Heathers, Beetlejuice, and Mermaids, stars Winona Ryder back when she was the patron saint of “weird girls” who liked to wear black and didn’t talk much in class. Her unfortunately named character, Dinky, is a social outcast who prefers animals to her peers, who constantly taunt and torture her and disappoints her adoptive mother by rejecting feminine clothing. Though sometimes its hard to figure out whether Dinky is ostracized for being antisocial or has learned to be antisocial after years of being ostracized. Stuck in a quirky indie film style town where the childhood home of minor celebrity, Roxy Carmichael, is preserved as a museum, Dinky sets out to validate her existence by proving she is Roxy’s long lost daughter.

Lesson: You can’t develop in a vacuum. Spending time alone is valuable, but you really learn who you are from living in the world you have and getting to know the people around you, not from escaping into the world you wish you had.

Lisa’s whole understanding of the world is changed when she watches a woman die in her arms and knows she is partially responsible.

Margaret

Despite hitting some familiar beats (loss of virginity, teacher-student relationship, first encounter with death), Margaret is a very different type of coming of age story, and to my mind, a truer one, than I’ve seen before. As it begins, Lisa Cohen (Anna Paquin), a privileged Manhattan teenager, is just coming into her own. She has new and serious opinions about war and politics and passionately argues them in class and charges around the city casually flirting and testing out her new power. When she distracts a bus driver, contributing to a fatal accident, her grief and guilt lead her to seek the driver’s dismissal, which she feels is the only fair consequence. Here, Lisa shows how young she still is, as she doggedly seeks fairness, blind to the interests of the other parties involved and to any other option. She still sees the world as one where the guilty are always punished and the innocent rewarded, and in the moment where she learns things will not work the ways she imagined, she breaks down into a child-like tantrum.

Lesson: Life isn’t fair, it’s really not fair and sometimes there is nothing you can do to make things right.

Dirty Girl

Danielle Edmundson (Juno Temple) thinks God made her purely for sex. Known as the “Dirty Girl” at school for her promiscuity, Danielle looks down on the girls in her class who fuss over their appearance and wish for their Prince Charmings, and uses the boys to prove to herself she has a talent. In Clark (Jeremy Dozier), a shy, gay boy who also sticks out like a sore thumb in their 1980s Oklahoma town, she finds a kindred spirit and the two hit the road, ostensibly to find Danielle’s father, but really to find themselves. Neither Clark nor Danielle have it all figured out. At first she’s the cooler-than-thou mentor who ups his confidence, but in the last moments he’s the one who helps her figure out who she wants to be. Refreshingly, the narrative doesn’t suggest Danielle’s sexual experience is wrong or that she needs to be celibate, but that it’s not the only thing she has or only way people should define her.

Lesson: The people you want in your life are the people who like you for who you are–the people that encourage you to be yourself, but only the best version of yourself.

Danielle appraises her peers and dislikes what she sees.

Haunter

Most teenagers feel bored and trapped at some point, in their small towns or in their families. Haunter twists teenage alienation into a ghost story centered around Lisa Johnson (Abigail Breslin), another 80s teen, the only person in her family who realizes they’re dead. I chose to read Haunter as coming of age story, despite the fact that the central character will never get any older because it’s all about what Lisa learns. She becomes responsible for her family as the only one that knows the truth and her world becomes a nightmare none of them are aware of, as she is tormented by an murderous spirit. Unlike most alienated teenage girls she also finds herself through taking on the mission of trying to save the family currently living in the house from being the murderer’s next victims. And Lisa also grows in the expected ways for a coming of age heroine, as she goes from blaming her parents for their weaknesses and feeling superior, to allowing herself to understand, and walk in their shoes.

Lesson: Some of your angsty feelings are legitimate, some are self-indulgent. It’s a great skill to know the difference.

Lisa’s clarinet practice fills her time as she remains stuck in her house, the same day repeating endlessly.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Portrait of a Girl: Reflections on the Role of Flora in Jane Campion’s ‘The Piano’

What is clear is that Campion is interested in the strategies women use to survive in patriarchy. But she is not only interested in the fate of women. She is also interested in how girl-children negotiate their way in a male-dominated world. It is through Ada’s daughter as well as Ada herself that Campion explores the feminine condition in the 19th century. Her rich, multi-layered characterization of Flora is, in fact, one of the most remarkable features of The Piano. She is as interesting and compelling as the adult characters and, arguably, the most convincing. The little girl also has huge symbolic and dramatic importance. This is, of course, unusual in cinema. There are relatively few films where a girl plays such a significant, pivotal role.

Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

It has been 20 years since its release, but The Piano has lost none of its unsettling power. An intense, provocative tale of an “imported” Scottish bride in 19^th century colonial New Zealand, Jane Campion’s finest film still stimulates debate about the nature of female identity and sexuality in patriarchy. Both written and directed by the New Zealand filmmaker, The Piano won the Palme d’Or at the 1993 Cannes film festival and picked up three Academy awards at the 1994 ceremony. Holly Hunter won the Best Actress Oscar for her memorable performance as the bride, Ada McGrath, and Jane Campion was awarded Best Original Screenplay. There was another award that The Piano took home that night–that of Best Supporting Actress. Anna Paquin won the prize for her role as Ada’s young daughter, Flora McGrath. The award was seen as unexpected by many pundits. Paquin plays a child of 9 or 10 and she was only 11 when she won the Oscar. It should not, however, have been that surprising to anyone who had seen the film. Flora is a richly complex as well as hugely important character in the story. As for Paquin’s performance, it is, simply, exceptional. Roger Ebert rightly called it “one of the most extraordinary examples of a child’s acting in movie history.”

Let’s first take a closer look at the story and central characters of this original Victorian tale. From the very start, its heroine is portrayed as a remarkable, enigmatic soul. Ada McGrath is a mute widow whose identity is clearly bound up with her beloved piano. The most important person in her life is her spirited, headstrong daughter. Mother and child are exceptionally close. They are given no back-story. Their past remains a mystery. Although Flora expresses interest in learning about her father, she does not, it seems, even know his name. Neither does the audience. At the very beginning of The Piano, we see Ada married off by her father to Alistair Stuart (Sam Neil), a colonial frontiersman in New Zealand. It is manifest from the moment she arrives on the expansive shores of that beautiful land that Ada will never accept Stuart as her husband. When he refuses to transport her piano to his home, she protests spiritedly (Flora interprets Ada’s sign language) and continues to express her discontent. It is also obvious that Stuart, a staid Victorian gentleman with a severely limited imagination, will never understand Ada. Flora, for her part, declares that she will not accept him as her father.

Another man enters Ada’s life, a neighbor and overseer called George Baines (Harvey Keitel). Illiterate, earthy and sexual, he is characterized as the very opposite of the conservative, repressed Stuart. Baines offers Stuart an exchange: some of his land for the piano. He says that he wants to learn to play the instrument. Stuart’s wife is to teach him. Baines is, however, only interested in Ada. Their association is initially exploitative: Ada is coerced into giving Baines sexual favors in exchange for earning back the piano. Their relationship changes dramatically when they fall in love. Motivated by a belief that her mother is committing a wrong as well as, no doubt, by a fear that she is no longer the most important person in her life, Flora effectively exposes their affair and gives Stuart (whom she now calls “Papa”) proof of Ada’s enduring love for Baines. What follows changes all of their lives.

The Piano is a film of arresting visual beauty. It is, however, a rose with thorns. Strange, unsettling, powerful and problematic, it can be interpreted in a variety of ways. It does invite feminist readings. Its heroine is a sensual, romantic rebel who does not conform to culturally sanctioned norms of feminine behavior. As much as men try and control her, it is clear that her body and soul can never really be owned. It also acknowledges sexual coercion and patriarchal violence as an historical reality for women. The Piano, can also, however, be interpreted as dangerously regressive in its understanding and representation of female sexuality. At the end of the day, there’s no getting around the fact that Ada falls in love with a man who has exploited her. Baines himself is transformed into a romantic hero. Then again, we may ask if Campion is perhaps trying to underscore that Ada’s psycho-sexual state is the lot of female identity and sexuality in patriarchy? Her portrait of Ada is, ultimately, extremely complex. She portrays her heroine as a victim, sexual subject, self-directed woman, and survivor.

What is clear is that Campion is interested in the strategies women use to survive in patriarchy. But she is not only interested in the fate of women. She is also interested in how girl-children negotiate their way in a male-dominated world. It is through Ada’s daughter as well as Ada herself that Campion explores the feminine condition in the 19^th century. Her rich, multi-layered characterization of Flora is, in fact, one of the most remarkable features of The Piano. She is as interesting and compelling as the adult characters and, arguably, the most convincing. The little girl also has huge symbolic and dramatic importance. This is, of course, unusual in cinema. There are relatively few films where a girl plays such a significant, pivotal role.

Flora McGrath is an extremely smart, perceptive, imaginative and articulate child. She likes to get involved, to meddle even, and loves to tell stories. ‘”My real father was a German composer,” she tells fascinated colonial women at one point. Perhaps because she has been fatherless, Flora has not been shackled by patriarchal norms of femininity. She is lively and headstrong, the very antithesis of the archetypal meek Victorian girl-child. As Ada is, also, not an authoritarian mother, her childhood has been blessed by a great deal of love and freedom. In an early scene in The Piano, we see her tearing through her grandfather’s home on roller-skates.

Flora is also not afraid of speaking to adults, even paternal figures. She shares her mother’s innate, autonomous spirit and rightly perceives that her new father is a threat to their special bond. Amusingly, the closeness of the bond is even recognized by the dull Stuart. He is always tentative when he approaches Ada and her child. At the beginning of the story, Flora tells her mother that she does not want another father. She declares, “I’m not going to call him Papa. I’m not going to call him anything. I’m not even going to look at him.” Although she wants to hear stories about her own father, Flora is conceived, at least at first, as an anti-patriarchal child. The love between Ada and Flora embodies a utopian, gynocentric ideal and, as Flora is aligned with Ada, she too represents the feminine state.

From the very start of the film, Ada and Flora are shot together. Campion’s camera recurrently emphasizes their similarities–their brown eyes, extreme pallor, and sober style and color of dress–and makes them mirrors of each other. We see them tilt their head in the same way and when someone unfamiliar crosses their path, they alternate in standing behind each other. Mother and child are in the same portrait, and the same story.

Flora serves a concrete as well as symbolic role in the story. She is, literally, Ada’s voice. Although she may sometimes fancifully embroider her mother’s unvoiced words, she interprets her signing for others. If the piano is Ada’s non-verbal means of expression, Flora is her only human instrument of communication. The child also represents Ada’s freedom and female freedom in general. This is beautifully illustrated in a scene where we see Ada joyfully play the piano on the white sands while Flora dances with supreme self-confidence for her mother.

Flora is, however, not only her mother’s helper and beloved child. She is also her adversary. It is Flora who effectively reveals her mother’s transgressions to Stuart. “I know why Mr. Baines can’t play the piano,” she tells her stepfather. Although her view was limited and she did not, of course, fully understand what she saw, she was once a witness to the adults’ curious activity. She does, however, sense that her mother and Baines were doing something her stepfather would not like. Stuart soon learns the truth and attempts to rape Ada when he discovers her making her way to Baines’ home.

Flora is not an evil little girl. She loves her mother but simply does not understand the consequences of her words. Her betrayal should not, in fact, shock the viewer. Flora most likely feels like she has been betrayed. “I want to be in the photograph,” she says with a scowl when her mother’s wedding portrait is being taken. She fears that she will no longer be in her mother’s photographs. When Baines and Ada are together in the cabin, Flora plays alone outside. Hurt and angry, she fears that she has been replaced in her mother’s affections. Perhaps she even harbors feelings of hate towards her. That is why she starts calling Stuart “papa.” The fatherless child begins to side with convention and patriarchy. Interestingly, we hear Flora judge her mother like a fanatical Puritan. She calls her mother’s observation that people talk rubbish “unholy.” At one point, she screams that her mother is “going to hell.” When Stuart boards up their house to prevent Ada from visiting Baines, Flora gives him helpful directions. She betrays her mother a second–and last–time. Charged with giving a romantic message to Baines, she decides instead to give it directly to Stuart. Flora will, however, be traumatized by her stepfather’s brutal, life-changing punishment of her mother and will soon return to the fold. She becomes, once again, the loyal, ardent voice of Ada. Her mother’s lover, Baines, will be her new father.

Campion’s portrait of Flora is as fascinating and complicated as her portrait of Ada. Flora is a strong-willed, non-conformist girl-child allied with her mother in a land of male strangers. The close bond she shares with her is unique. Flora is Ada’s very likeness, as well as instrument and expression of freedom. Yet she reproduces the lines of preachers to condemn her mother and chooses–at least, for a time–to accept her austere stepfather’s ways. Flora’s disloyalty issues from feelings of abandonment and insecurity but it is also indicative of the insidious ideological power of patriarchy. Campion shows how girl-children may reproduce its values.

Holly Hunter, Jane Campion, and Anna Paquin at the Oscars

Campion’s take on childhood itself is unsentimental and truthful. Flora is a charming, expressive child but she is not Hollywood cute. Paquin’s performance is hugely charismatic. She perfectly captures her character’s individualistic, insubordinate ways. She also, however, embodies girlhood. Flora may be intelligent and imaginative but she is also a child. While she may have spent a great deal of time in the company of adults, witnessing adult anxieties and brutality, she does not yet fully understand the adult world. Like most children, she is self-centered and like most, she wants to monopolize her mother’s love and attention. Children can also, of course, be cruel as well as affectionate–almost in the same breath, on occasion. Flora is no exception. In one scene, we see the little girl torment then comfort a dog outside Baines’ cabin. With her mother, she can be both sweet and censorious in a darkly comic way. When Stuart locks Ada in the house upon discovering her affair, Flora says to her mother, “You shouldn’t have gone up there, shouldn’t you? I don’t like it, and nor does Papa.” Almost immediately, she makes the pleasant suggestion, “We can play cards, if you like.” She scolds as well as mothers Ada, in the same way she scolds and mothers her dolly and the dog. In the final scenes of The Piano, we see Flora busily attend to her mother’s needs.

Campion not only makes Flora a real child; she is also drawn as an emotionally complex human being with her own needs and wants. Thanks to her inspired, multi-layered characterization and Paquin’s natural, fully realised performance, Flora is consistently credible and authentic. Campion’s portrait of Flora is also a political one. The writer-director is interested in her place in the world. Through Flora, she explores the distinctive nature of the mother-daughter relationship as well as the hold of fathers. Flora is an intelligent, resilient child. Like her mother, she is portrayed as a survivor and sovereign spirit. We last see her cart-wheeling in the garden of her new home. Ultimately, her fate is fascinating one to contemplate.

‘True Blood’ Season Six Kick Off!

Written by Rachel Redfern

***Spoiler (or more aptly called, rumors) alert

With the passing of one great HBO show comes the dawn of a new one. While we all cry for the season finale of Game of Thrones and the subsequent nine months without Peter Dinklage, it means now we have True Blood to look forward to.

Starting June 16th, the next great gratifyingly guts and love HBO show will be up and running with ten episodes pleasantly filled with Eric Northman (Alexander Skarsgard), Bill Compton (Stephen Moyer), and Alcide Herveoux (Joe Manganiello); while the show has a normal run of twelve episodes a season, it’s been shortened to a soul-crushing ten due to Anna Paquin’s pregnancy.

As a little recap, season five ended with Eric yelling, “Sookie, Run!” after the creation of Billith, the lovable Bill turned into a religious vampire fundamentalist who drinks the ancient blood of Lillith and becomes an evil liturgical nightmare.

Artwork of Lillith

As a feminist, I find it fascinating that Lillith was chosen as the starting point for the vampire religion. In the original legend of Lillith, she was created before Eve to be Adam’s wife, but she refused to be Adam’s “slave” and so rebelled against god, left the Garden of Eden and then slept with Satan. She gave birth to many children by Satan, but when god demanded she give them to him she refused. Therefore, like so many female mythic figures (and modern day ones) she has been cast as either a demonic prostitute or as a great mother figure who protects children, more commonly known as the angel on the hearth.

This obviously transitions into the use of religious themes from season five, and that will be carried over into season six. (According to the season six trailer, an incredulous Sookie tells Bill, “You really do think you’re god.”) Whether True Blood intends to cast Lillith as a demon or an angel hasn’t been entirely determined (though my money is on demon); however, it’s incredibly unique to have a woman as the savior figure in a religion (the only other film/tv show I can think of is Dogma, and I’m not sure that counts). Unfortunately though, it seems Lillith can’t just stay a woman; Bill drinks Lillith’s blood and effectively becomes a part of her, either taking on some part of her divinity or just becoming her in flesh. While it was a bit frustrating to have her become a man at the end of the season, it’s also still interesting to have a possibly androgynous religious figure.

True Blood is a show that has consistently dealt with some of the more mythological and pagan representations of women: Holly (Lauren Bowles) as a good witch; Marnie (Fiona Shaw) and Antonia in season four as the sometimes bad, sometimes good witches; Maryann (Michelle Forbes), as the evil ancient maenad in season two; and a whole host of good, bad and flighty fairies throughout the entire show.

Of course on the surface, True Blood gets a reputation as a vampire romance with lots and lots of sex; however, the show in general has powerful themes: religious fundamentalism, terrorism, racism, homosexuality, and even PTSD. Todd Lowe and his gentle search for earthly normalcy provided a great counterpoint to the search for supernatural artifacts or dominion of the other characters. Also, Lafayette (Nelsan Ellis) is one of the most interesting homosexual characters on television; Ellis plays the role with a physical masculinity but with a more feminine wardrobe and a flamboyant sexuality. For me, Ellis’ masterful acting as a playful joining of genders and stereotypes is able to move away from a trite rehashing of more mainstream representations of homosexuality. (Note: The following clip, while representative of Ellis’ fine powers of gender melding, also contains explicit language. NSFW.)

True Blood also did an amazing job with firmly insinuating a real sense of place into the series; there is a gritty realism to its deep south with the humidity, rich and poor suburbs, accent, clothing and behavior. Ultimately the show portrays poverty, varying levels of education, spiritual communities, even a few crappy old cars, and unlike many other shows, characters are of varying beauty and body type, have unstylish hair cuts and ill-fitting jeans (except for a lot of the vamps–most of them are just dripping sex). So at least the show maintains some sense of realism while the main cast runs around staking vampires and strip dancing with fairies.

We also have to recognize the incredibly kick ass soundtracks that the producers bang out over every season: Beyond the bland mixes of generic pop music of most shows, True Blood features punk rock, country, folk music, fabulous jazz and sleazy hip hop in a brilliant mashup. It also has in my opinion, one of the best, if not the best, opening sequences of any tv show.

The cast of True Blood

So, on to season six: what can we expect? Spoilers and rumors to follow.

Sookie and Jason: Looks like Sookie and Jason are on the trail for Warlow (Rutger Hauer), the mysterious vampire who killed their parents and to whom Sookie was apparently promised. Sookie also looks like she’s coming in to her own and letting someone (Bill? Eric?) know she doesn’t belong to anyone and that she’s getting sick of the way her life is going.

Eric and Sookie: Eric and Sookie look like they’re getting it on in a few scenes and beyond that, Eric looks sweet, and sexy and amazing. Perhaps this season we’ll get to see him in the heroes’ role as he realizes the best parts of himself? Also, apparently Nora isn’t just his sister? Supposedly, there’s a little bit more of a secret there than we originally thought. Bigger than all of that though, is the rumor that Eric might meet the true death in this season, which if that happens, would entirely change the course of the show.

On a side note however, the show has received some criticism for its unwillingness to kill off major characters, so while I think that Eric dying is a low possibility, (though Skarsgard’s career has been gaining recently; he might want to move on to other projects) perhaps that’s why the show might be ready to take the plunge of major character death? Also, consider this season’s tagline “No one lives forever.”

True Blood Season 6 and tagline

Pam and Tara: Pam and Tara will continue their relationship and the two definitely seem to be going it alone. However, I have heard that Tara has a near-true-death experience, which we hope will only be an experience and not a permanent change.

Evil: The humans might just be the villains in this season, along with Warlow, since rumors have been leaked of scary anti-vampire weapons (one of which might end up hurting Tara). It also looks like there’s some intense secret lab where humans have been conducting experiments on vampires and other supernaturals. Perhaps a vampire/werewolf alliance will be on the horizon this season?

On a happy note, everyone’s favorite pastor family is back with Sarah Newlin (Anna Camp) and Steve Newlin (Michael McMillian), and Sarah looks like she’s probably gonna be a badass.

Trailer #2

Trailer #1

What do you think will happen this season? Is it time for a main character to die?

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection; however, she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

Oscar Acceptance Speeches, 1994

Leading up to the 2011 Oscars, we’ll showcase the past twenty years of Oscar Acceptance Speeches by Best Actress winners and Best Supporting Actress winners. (Note: In most cases, you’ll have to click through to YouTube in order to watch the speeches, as embedding has been disabled at the request of copyright owners.)

Best Actress Nominees: 1994

Holly Hunter – The Piano

Angela Bassett – What’s Love Got To Do With It?

Emma Thompson – The Remains of the Day

Debra Winger – Shadowlands
Stockard Channing – Six Degrees of Separation

Best Supporting Actress Nominees: 1994

Anna Paquin – The Piano

Holly Hunter – The Firm
Rosie Perez – Fearless
Winona Ryder – The Age of Innocence
Emma Thompson – In the Name of the Father

**********

Holly Hunter wins Best Actress for her performance in The Piano.

Anna Paquin wins Best Supporting Actress for her performance in The Piano.

See nominees and winners in previous years: 1990, 1991, 1992, 1993

Ripley’s Pick: Season One of ‘True Blood’*

*That’s right, I said Season One. I haven’t seen a minute of Season Two, and won’t until it comes out on DVD. If Season Two contradicts everything I’ve said here, please bite your tongue–or leave your links in the comments section!

Here’s a secret: I love TV. Even more than I love movies. A television series can develop characters and story lines that are impossibly complex for a two-hour movie, and can really dig into themes and issues in ways movies can only touch upon. The high-quality television series is our generation’s answer to the 19th century serial novel–an excellent vehicle for cultural analysis and a popular genre (although most quality television is currently the domain of premium cable, which is, I admit, a problem).

A rare thing happened at work a few weeks ago: three of us (it’s a small business, and none of us has cable) started watching True Blood on DVD at the same time, allowing us to discuss a cultural object a little bit more complicated–and rewarding–than standard reality show fare.

To begin, in the words of my employer, since the show is on HBO, it’s already light years beyond anything else on TV–so even if it’s flawed, it’s hard to argue against watching (and enjoying) it.

True Blood, for the final few people unaware of the current vampire craze in the U.S., is set in small-town Louisiana a couple of years after vampires officially “came out of the coffin.” Supernatural figures and those with more mundane talents–like mind-reading and curing alcoholism & anxiety with fake exorcisms–populate Bon Temps. While the latter refers to the voodoo line True Blood refuses to cross, the former is the powerful ability of the main character, Sookie Stackhouse. (The show is based on Charlaine Harris’ series of novels about the heroine, which I haven’t read. But might.)

Rather than write a complete review of the entire first season (twelve 50-minute episodes), which I’m not sure how to do in the first place, I’ll highlight a few of the female characters and why I choose this series–despite its flaws–as a Ripley’s Pick.

Sookie Stackhouse (Anna Paquin)
Sookie, the star of the show, is a waitress who can read minds–unless she concentrates on not listening. What draws her most to Vampire Bill is that she can’t hear his thoughts, even if she tries. Now, Sookie conforms to a lot of vampire story tropes: she is chaste (at first), in a kind of distress that warrants supernatural intervention (mostly), very pretty, and scantily clad. She is all of these things, yet she subverts so many expectations that I think the show plays with these tropes more than conforms to them. Sookie is a virgin when the show begins, but it doesn’t take long for her to run for Bill (literally) after–in a Like Water for Chocolate moment–eating a pie her grandmother made (with love). She enjoys sex, and isn’t shamed by the ‘fangbanger’ accusations hurled at her. She’s strong, independent, smart, and ultimately powerful; and even if she does wear tiny, tiny dresses, she still beheads a serial killer with a shovel.

Tara Thornton (Rutina Wesley)
Sookie’s best friend, and my favorite character. Unlike most female characters on TV, Tara is a real woman with real problems. Aside from her shape-shifter boss/love interest, Sam, and her origins-yet-defined adolescent crush, Jason, Tara deals with isolation, loneliness, and an alcoholic Jesus-freak mother. She is independent and abrasive, and despite her best efforts, falls to the defense mechanisms of her mother (her go-to accusations of racism and sexism, drinking, demon exorcism for melancholy). She’s also wicked smart–the show opens with her reading Naomi Klein’s Shock Doctrine, and reminds us again and again that she reads for knowledge. She doesn’t always know what to do with her knowledge, however, as evidenced in her lashing out at the customer who interrupts her reading of Klein. Tara is legitimately angry, but hasn’t figured out how to direct her anger at anything but herself.

Amy Burley (Lizzy Caplan)
Amy Burley is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. On the surface she’s a beautiful, free-spirited wanderer who opens Jason’s eyes up to the wonders of the natural world–and vampire blood, an illegal substance with LSD qualities. While we’re charmed by her indie good looks and hippie-stuck-in-a-perpetual-summer-of-love ways, there’s something dark and evil underneath. She’s selfish and nasty, and will stop at nothing–including manipulating born-follower Jason, kidnapping, and murdering–to indulge her desire to escape into a drug-induced euphoria. Though her storyline isn’t a major one, it offers some straightforward cultural critique. Like some actual hippies in the ’60s, interested only in indulging selfish desires while Vietnam raged and the Civil Rights casualties mounted, Amy ignores reality in service of continuing her fantasy. (Those who critique the show as ultimately regressive might use her character as an example; selfish hippies are a conservative bugaboo. Or, she might just be an example of the destructive nature of human desire.)

This barely scratches the surface of True Blood, and I do think there are some legitimate critiques of the show–despite couching many of its themes in camp. My least favorite moments in the show involve its romantic plots, which are, frankly, boring and soap opera-esque, and pale in comparison to the show’s other interests.

True Blood–like creator Alan Ball’s previous series, Six Feet Under–definitely feels like a guilty pleasure, but both shows exhibit intelligence along with entertainment. I hope Season Two, which wraps this coming Sunday night, delves further into Southern identity, sexuality, and desire–rather than losing its smarts in a storm of supernatural battles.