Madonna, Glee and Critical Thinking

A big reason a lot of what I talk about here on the Guide involves elements of pop culture is that, as I may have said before, pop culture is far and away the dominant formative paradigm for most Americans under the age of, say, thirty-five. For both the Gen-Yers (me and my friends) and the children of the Gen-Xers, who are now reaching adolescence, popular movies, TV, pop fiction and, most fervently, the internet, which aggregates and ties it all together, effect a level of seminal influence that—again, this is my opinion—outshines ‘traditional’ institutions like school, church and even the family dynamic.

Yes, yes, this is a generalization. Not every person I or you know is a walking-talking cultural compendium. I’m not talking about day-to-day pop culture references. You know, the ‘we’re brainwashed by corporations into feeling a specific kind of emptiness that can only be filled by certain consumer products’ angle. That’s tired, and it’s just not that true. I’m not talking about that, ever.

Early in the life of this blog, I wrote about Sarah Connor and feminist iconicity in action films with strong female leads. What I like most about that piece—and the method of argument in it—is its insistence on critical thinking. Now, before you start the eye rolling, please indulge me by stripping ‘critical thinking’ of its pretentious subtext and take it as a simple descriptive term. I’m not putting anything on a pedestal here. I want to compare the critical thinking done in the Sarah Connor piece against the feminist didacticism oozing throughout in the now famous “The Power of Madonna” episode of Glee that aired last month.*

Glee’s writers have, during the show’s first season, made a habit of tackling a variety of issues facing American teens, pregnancy, divorce, ostracism, homosexuality, etc. So it’s really not all that surprising that the show decided to discuss feminism. Like most forward-thinking viewers, I will admit that it was—at first—nice to hear these choice sound bites on one of today’s most popular hour-long network dramas:

Tina: “We just have to accept that guys don’t like our feelings.”

Quinn: “The fact is a woman earns 70 cents to every dollar a man earns for doing the same job. That attitude starts in high school.”

Will: “What this is really about is teenage girls feeling like they have no power.”

Tina: “And my growing feminism will cut you in half like a righteous blade of equality.”

Nearly thirteen million viewers watched this episode. That’s a hell of a lot of people exposed to progressive feminist language and sentiment. Misogynist, insensitive, objectification, equality—all of these dropped at one point or another, all in the name of empowering young adult women. And the episode was soundtrack’d and inspired by the music of the most popular American feminist icon of the last quarter century, Madonna (sorry, Oprah). There’s really no downside to this, right?

This is where things get tough—this where the whole act of critical thinking becomes vital.

A large portion of Glee’s audience consists of young children and teens. Even in the media, buzzword saturated world we live in, I think it’s safe to assume that “The Power of Madonna” episode was the first time many young females and males heard the word feminism. I’m not implying that this was the first time these young viewers had experienced instances of gender inequality—I know young girls feel the pangs of gender inequality as early as the pre-school playground—but rather that this was the first time these kids heard and understood feminism in a kind of institutionalized sense. Feminism means X (“because that’s what they said on Glee”).

Pop culture is instructive in this way; it always has been. Here, one of the most popular forms of American teenage entertainment introduces and teaches its viewers—and I’ll put all viewers in this pot now, not just the young ones—about the vital and important topic of feminism. If I stop right there, nothing appears wrong. In fact, Glee seems almost noble, like it assumed a great responsibility to make a positive influence on its young audience.

But it’s wrong to stop there. Why? Because there is absolutely no critical thinking involved. Feminism, like all issues that really matter, cannot simply be absorbed. This is not a soapbox statement, this is a fact that too often gets forgotten because of the effectiveness of popular forms of entertainment and reference: TV shows, cable news, Wikipedia, etc. There is a value to all of these forms of media, one of which is ease. The answer is always there for a person to absorb in an almost instantaneous fashion. Consumption and absorption, though, are not the same thing as thinking. The first two are easy, passive; the latter is hard. Feminism is hard.

So what comes next when thinking of “The Power of Madonna”’s depiction of feminism? One simple question, really: In the episode, what is the version of feminism defined by the writers of Glee used in the service of? For the sake of length, I’ll refrain from a full analysis of the episode. Suffice it to say, the one thing feminism does not serve in the episode is credible character development. Feminism is introduced conceptually to the show’s characters and is reduced to sound bites like those mentioned above. And while sound bites can be seductive, they’re empty without a meaningful context. The concept of feminism does not change the show’s characters in any meaningful way. Feminist sentiment directs them to say certain things and act certain ways at various points during the episode, but, again, it in no way changes them. Bluntly put, feminism is a mere plot device used to forward the action, nothing more.

The cynical part of me would go farther and say that feminism in Glee works purely in the service of selling iTunes singles and copies of Madonna’s Celebration record. But even if that is true, I’m not going to damn Glee for doing so. After all, it is not Glee’s—or pop culture’s—responsibility to teach its audience about vital social issues. It is the audience that endows pop culture with this responsibility. In other words, it’s the audience that allows passive consumption to overtake active thinking.

In my Sarah Connor piece, I took a film character that I always admired and asked myself, simply, why is Sarah so goddamn awesome? Why do I think of her when I envision a power feminist icon? And I thought, rigorously and critically, and formed an answer.

This isn’t about patting myself on the back. This is about a method. Am I’m happy that more young people know about the word feminism now than did before “The Power of Madonna” aired? Yes and no—mostly no. I’ll be happy when these same young people begin asking questions about the gender inequities around them and think themselves to an answer.

*Let me go on record by saying that Glee has kind of lost me. I still watch each new episode, but my enthusiasm for the show is gone and, honestly, Glee is just really bad now. This of course is a discussion for another day, but given that I wrote pretty glowingly about the show on this blog last fall, I feel it best to make my current feelings clear.

"Amplification Through Simplification"

I was so excited after watching the first episode of Glee a month ago that I immediately started brainstorming for reasons or excuses I could use to justify writing about it. Needless to say, Glee is my favorite new show of the season. It’s off to the most promising start of any major network show since Friday Night Lights debuted a handful of years ago. Luckily for me, only five episodes into its run (six if you count the pilot episode that aired early in the summer), Glee has given me numerous reasons – so many, in fact, that I’d be remiss if I didn’t write about it (or so I tell myself).

Glee’s main strength is that it is an effective pastiche. The show mixes and mashes generic teenage television show and movie conventions (and the stereotypical stock characters that populate these shows and movies) with musical theater tropes like characters bursting into song during moments of spontaneous emotional expression.

But unlike the High School Musical’s of the world, Glee refuses to downplay dark undercurrents that affect both the teenage characters and the adults that surround and influence them. In fact, the show revels in its darker elements in a unique way. The more edgy and serious a moment becomes, the more likely bits of wry, pointed humor will be layered in, at once undermining the drama of the moment and, interestingly, enhancing it. When Quinn Fabray (Dianna Agron)—captain of McKinley High School’s Cheerios cheerleading squad and the leader of the school’s Celibacy Club—becomes pregnant and is confronted by the father, Puck (Mark Salling), she tells him matter-of-factly, “I only slept with you because you got me drunk on wine coolers and I felt fat that day.” It’s a funny moment, and it’s played that way. But it’s also heartbreaking because, with all melodrama and lofty explanations removed, the fact that the honest truth as to why Quinn slept with Puck (and thus severely altered the course of her life) can be whittled down to one line is brutally clear. Quinn really did sleep with Puck because she got drunk and felt insecure. It’s really that simple, that sad.

In the second chapter of his book Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud describes how abstract cartoons are often better able to focus a viewer’s attention on an idea than, say, realistic presentations like photographs or live-action films:

Why would anyone, young or old, respond to a cartoon as much or more than a realistic image? Why is our culture so in thrall to the simplified reality of the cartoon? … When we abstract an image through cartooning, we’re not so much eliminating details as we are focusing on specific details. By stripping down an image to its essential “meaning,” an artist can amplify that meaning in a way that realistic art can’t. … Cartooning isn’t just a way of drawing, it’s a way of seeing! The ability of cartoons to focus our attention on an idea is, I think, an important part of their special power…

“Amplification through simplification” is how McCloud sums up the power of cartooning. It’s a brilliant deduction and one that is clearly at work in Glee.

Though it is a live-action program, Glee works in cartoon-esque contexts. Much like the MTV cartoon series Daria, the Cheerios in Glee are always dressed in their cheerleading outfits and the football players look and behave like the simpleton jocks we remember from ’80s teen films. Similarly, the glee club is a collection of misfits, openly mocked and ostracized, the lowest of the low. But rather than parade around such stereotypical characters only to thrust them in predictable and contrived situations—in other words, rather than do what nearly all teen-driven television dramas do—the producers of Glee amplify the show’s emotional resonance by making conscious use of the simplicity of these stereotypes.

Using this method, the show’s take on teenage masculinity is fresh, moving and, yes, accurate. The two males lead characters I find particularly interesting and, well, just damn awesome are Finn (Cory Monteith), the stud quarterback and budding glee star, and Kurt (Chris Colfer), a gay glee club member and fashionista who lacks the confidence to come out to all but a couple of people. Both Finn and Kurt embody well-established teenage stock roles: Finn the time-tested jock, Kurt the twenty-first century flamboyant gay teen. As well, both are subjected to the obstacles and anxieties offered up by the modern American high school.

But beyond the clichés, the producers of Glee ratchet up the depth of each of these characters by exploiting the stereotypical, one-dimensional facades that seemingly define them. Kurt, for example, flaunts a stunning array of designer outfits, showing up in Marc Jacobs one day, Dolce & Gabbana the next. His manner of speech and use of make-up, as well, leave absolutely nothing to question: this guy is gay. The interesting twist here is that Kurt exists in world of (for the most part) acceptance. It is clear that nearly everyone at McKinley High knows that Kurt is gay. And the surrounding high school environment is not hostile about this fact. Really and truly, it just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. This set of circumstances amplifies Kurt’s internal struggle, his own coming-to-terms with his sexuality. When Kurt asks Finn for a favor during glee rehearsal and Finn says “Thanks, but I already have a date to the prom. But I’m flattered. I know how important dances are to teen gays,” Kurt immediately and instinctively responds, “I’m not gay,” which leaves Finn with a confused ‘Huh?’-look on his face. This simple use of stereotypes highlights the struggles of gay teens like Kurt. Even in safe environments of acceptance—Finn is Kurt’s friend, as is all of glee—Kurt still is unable to come out. Kurt’s apparent one-dimensionality is actually crucial to his pathos.

Finn, like Kurt, has hard time reaching a comfortable level of self-definition. He negotiates the customary struggles of the high school star being pulled in various directions—is he a football jock or a glee star or both? In many ways, Finn is like the Paul Metzler (Chris Klein) character from Alexander Payne’s film Election: hard-working, naïve, heart-of-gold, almost too good to be true. Finn, unlike Paul Metzler, is not spared his fair share of faults, be they hilarious, devious or a combination of both. He may date the cheerleader, but he has a very real problem with premature ejaculation. He may truly like Rachel (Lea Michele), the glee club’s resident star and erstwhile diva, but he’s not above manipulating her talents to help him potentially earn a scholarship.

The point is that the producers of Glee thrive on locating chinks in Finn’s armor. And by exploiting these flaws in comedic ways, Finn takes on a very human, very sympathetic character. He’s not the hypermasculine jock with “a problem” that exists solely for purposes of moving a plot forward. While Glee does not deny that Finn is a football star, that he is a male who embodies masculinity in a very traditional sense, the show successfully humanizes him by keeping him so aligned with the stereotype.

I feel bad not speaking about the girls of Glee, especially the wonderful and complex Rachel. That analysis will be coming shortly, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, Glee is a breath of fresh air for network television which, at least at the moment, lacks in programming that attempts to explore emotional ambiguities and resonances of American high school life honestly. By successfully applying the “amplification through simplification” edict, Glee adds a little heart to the predictable lives of its teenage characters and a little bit of flavor to the predicable social, gender and sexual dynamics of high school.