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Category Archives: Feminism

huli jing [act i]

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in drama, Feminism, Humor

≈ Comments Off on huli jing [act i]

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9-tailed fox, Act I, androgyny, Chinese mythology, drama, Giraudoux, Huli Jing, Ondine

HULI JING: the 9-tailed fox

[a reworking of Giraudoux’s Ondine]

ACT I

Huli Jing, a 9-tailed fox-spirit.
Jinggu, a Wu-Shaman.
Niu and Qui (Huli Jing’s human parents)

][][

The scene is mythological China.
Nighttime inside a roadside inn.
Outside a forest storm rages.

NIU [at the window]
He’s out there … in the dark.

QUI
Indeed, Niu, dear. In the dark.

NIU [peering]
It’s a very dark night.

QUI
Indeed. If it was lighter it would be daylight.

NIU
Listen! The boy is laughing! No, that’s the wind. That sounded like the wind, didn’t it?

QUI
Well, if it isn’t the wind what else could it be?

NIU [uncomfortable, not wishing to state the obvious]
Shush your mouth. You know that I don’t know.

QUI
So, he’s out among the trees, singing with the wind?

NIU
Don’t laugh at me, old man!

QUI [smiling to himself]
I was merely remembering when I was a boy his age. But we lived in a city and there were no trees.

NIU
City-life would’ve taken the forest out of him. We’re too soft with him, Qui. It isn’t right, a boy running about in the woods at this time of night. I shall have to talk gravely to him when he returns.

QUI
If he returns. But why complain? He helps with the housework around the inn every day, doesn’t he?

NIU
I don’t know. Does he?

QUI
I’m the one in the kitchen. You’re the one seeing to the guests. I’ve yet to hear you complain that we’re serving meals on dirty dishes.

NIU
That’s not the point. Whether he has to wash dishes, cups or tables, it always the same time – I turn my back for a moment and everything is clean and shining.

QUI
Complaining about efficiency is odd, coming from you. Would you rather a layabout and a slob for a son?

NIU [not paying attention]
And then he brings things home. He says that he finds them in the woods. Queer bowls and cups that look like they’re fashioned out of roots. You know what he has been doing today?

QUI
Probably doing what a boy his age does. Do you remember a single day in all these years that we’ve had him that he has done anything expected of him? And yet, somehow, he makes everyone who comes to this inn happy.

NIU
Huh, except for the ones that he spooks away.

[The window suddenly flies open]

NIU [startled]
Whaa!

QUI [getting up and coming over]
Why so jittery? It’s only the wind.

NIU
Wind? It’s him! You know how he loves to play tricks on me. Making all those ghastly faces peer in at the window when my back is turned. That young girl with no eyes gives me the heeby-jeebies.

QUI
I like the old man with the beard, though. Still, if you’re frightened, shut the window.

[There is a flash of lightning, and the face of an young girl with unkempt hair and empty eye-sockets appears in the window.]

YOUNG GIRL WITH NO EYES
Hello, mama-dear!

NIU [shrieks]
Huli Jing, you scalawag!

[She shuts the window. It flies open again. The head of an old man with a long beard appears in another flash.]

OLD MAN [cheerfully]
Good evening, master Qui!

QUI [cheerfully]
Ah! Good evening, sir!

[The Old Man disappears. Qui goes to the door and peers out into the storm.]

QUI [calling]
Huli Jing, come in this minute! Your mother is very angry!

NIU [calling out the window]
Yes, in you come, Huli Jing! I’m going to count up to three, and if you’re not in by then, I’m going to lock the door! [To herself] The boy can sleep outside.

[A flash of lighting and crash of thunder comes as a response.]

QUI
Mother, you don’t mean that!

NIU
You see if I don’t. Huli Jing – one!

[A second roll of thunder.]

QUI
You’re only making the forest angry every time you speak!

NIU
It’s not the forest who is angry, is it? Huli Jing – two!

[A third boom of thunder even louder than the last.]

QUI
This isn’t how one keeps good neighbors —

NIU
“Neighbors,” my foot – three!

[Sudden magical silence falls over the inn. Even the wind cannot be heard.]

QUI [dryly]
Well, somebody heard you.

NIU [getting up and locking the door]
There! The inn is closed for the night, as far as I’m concerned. Now we can go to bed.

[Suddenly the door blows open and with it the sounds of the night. Niu and Qui turn, startled. Silhouetted in the doorway stands Jinggu, a female wu-shaman.]

JINGGU [cheerfully stepping into the room]
The door isn’t locked, I hope?

NIU
O! A guest. [Stepping forward.] Madam, my name is Niu, at your service.

JINGGU
Many thanks. I’ve been walking all day through these woods. Do you think that I might find a room tonight?

NIU
O, please, madam, make yourself at home.

JINGGU [sitting down and shaking rain water from her robes]
Buddha in heaven, what a storm! It’s been pouring down my neck ever since noon. Of course, robes are robes and these deserve to be burned, but there’s not much one can do. The one thing we shamans simply dread, you know, is rain. That, and rat-demons, of course.

NIU
Of course. Er, well, madam, perhaps you could take them off and I could see that they get properly washed?

JINGGU
Take my robes off? Have you ever seen a snail without its shell, Niu? Well, I suppose that would make it a slug, come to think about it. But the analogy still works. A shaman without her robes? A naked wu-shaman? Unthinkable! Well, except for when it comes to the licentiousness, of course. There is an awful lot of that, except in Court these days. It’s that blasted Confucianism that keeps saying that women need to leave their robes on. And now that the Empress is so keen on Confucianism there isn’t much a shaman can do except not take her robes off. You did say your name was Niu, yes?

NIU
Ah, yes, madam, and this is my husband, Qui.

QUI [bowing]
Please excuse us, madam. We rarely get Court shamans in these parts.

JINGGU
O, I’m not a Court shaman, my good man! I’m just a shaman from the Court. It’s the men who are all the ritual bureaucrats and moral metaphysicians these days. Especially now that the Empress is worried that her yin has somehow become polluted.

NIU
Polluted, madam?

JINGGU
I know, sounds crazy, doesn’t it? There’s that damn Confucianism, again. I use to be in charge of purifying mountain demons and now I’m reduced to purifying the Empress’ yin.

NIU
Does that work?

JINGGU
If I do it once a day it keeps her happy. It’s hard work, mind you. She keeps producing so much of it. Copious amounts. But she must be getting very cranky of late, I’ve spent a whole month in this forest, vainly searching for a mother-of-pearl comb belonging to a “hollow-cheeked young moon of springtime’s ebb with plumed clouds canopied about her.” Then it started to rain. Lucky for me I’ve stumbles on Niu’s and Qui’s quaint roadside inn.

QUI
That’s right, madam! Er, I know it’s not proper to ask a guest questions, madam, but may I just ask if you’re hungry?

JINGGU
Food? Food! I should that say I am. I’d be most glad for a meal.

QUI
I’ve got a rabbit in the kitchen. Perhaps you’d care for that?

JINGGU
I most certainly would! I have an unholy passion for rabbit.

QUI
Would you like it boiled, madam, or poached?

JINGGU
Ah, steamy lapin water. Er, no. I prefer fricassee, truth be told.

[Niu and Qui look at each other in dismay.]

QUI
O … fricassee? I usually boil them for twenty or thirty minutes, madam, they’re very nice that way.

JINGGU
But you just asked how I like rabbit, and I like fricassee.

NIU
He poaches them, too, madam.

QUI [sadly]
You would like me to saute and braise the meat, madam?

[In the far distance: thunder and lightning]

JINGGU
I don’t know, I just like the word, “fricassee.” It sounds rather indecent. An indecent rabbit, ha!

NIU [stiffly]
It certainly does, madam.

JINGGU
Then that’s settled then. I want fricassee.

NIU
All right, Qui. Go and … do that thing for the lady.

QUI [in the doorway]
It’s very nice simmered, madam, in a small amount of —

NIU [shooing him away]
Go on, old man.

[Qui goes into the kitchen. Jinggu settles back in her chair.]

JINGGU
You seem quite keen on Court shamans in these parts.

NIU
Well, madam, we prefer them to wild beasts and demons.

JINGGU
I rather like demons, at least the ones from the mountains. Not that I’m a monster or anything, it’s just what I was trained in.

NIU
It’s rare to find a woman with a trade, madam.

JINGGU
Thing is, you see, I like talking. I’ve got a talkative nature, I suppose. With demons there’s always someone to chat with. Most shamans are far from congenial, if you get my drift. Chimei demons are the best, of course, they’re thousands of years old and they’ll tell you their whole life stories. Some people say that their name means “hornless dragon,” which is odd because dragons are, you know, celestial, whereas Chimei aren’t. You’d think that was perfectly obvious. But scholars are a pretty thick lot, especially the Court ones, pfff. You see, the problem is, and I think it is a problem, that I don’t know anything about forest demons, certainly not enough to carry on a conversation. So I’ve spend a month lost in these damned woods, and I’ve yet to exchange a single word with anyone. Even my own echo finds me boring of late, which is a shame since I’ve got so much to say!

NIU
But whoever could have made you come to a dreadful place like this?

JINGGU
Who do you think? A man, of course!

NIU
Ah! Huh, well, I won’t ask you any more, madam.

JINGGU
Ha ha! Yes you will, this very minute! Lord Buddha and the Diamond Sutra, Niu! I haven’t talked about a man for a whole month! You don’t think I’m going to miss the opportunity, now that I’ve got you within earshot!

NIU [clearing uncomfortable about the subject but trying to be polite]
It’s fine, madam, I’ve never found the subject to be all that stimulating —

JINGGU
Come on, now! Hurry up and ask me his name!

NIU
Madam …

JINGGU
Do you want to know his name or not?

NIU [sighing]
What is his name, madam?

JINGGU
His name, good innkeeper, is Tsu Tia-Chua. Isn’t it a manly name!

NIU [dryly]
O … very manly, madam.

JINGGU
Other men are always called Bingwen, Huizhong, or Jianguo – well, I mean, anyone can be called Bingwen, or Huizhong, or Jianguo, but only someone special deserves a name so solemn and deep and thrilling. I expect you want to know if he’s handsome, dear Qui?

QUI [just coming in]
Who is handsome, madam?

NIU
The lady is talking about Tsu Tia-Chua, my dear, Lord Tsu Tia-Chua of the Court.

QUI
Er, yes. Handsome is he? I mean, is he handsome?

JINGGU
Is he handsome! But you’ll see for yourself, my dear friends, because you will both come to my wedding. I invite you here and now! Tsu Tia-Chua promised to marry me on the one condition that I returned from this forest; and if I do return, it will be entirely thanks to you. Well, Qui, my dear, I think you’d better go and fetch that rabbit of mine. We don’t want it over-fricasseed, do we? Wait, is that even possible?

[The door opens, and Huli Jing appears. He stands motionless on the threshold.]

HULI JING [marveling]
O, you’re beautiful!

NIU [standing up]
Why, you moss-tailed miscreant!

HULI JING [coming in, a wild thing from the wild woods]
Isn’t she beautiful?

NIU
Excuse me, madam, this is our son. I’m afraid he doesn’t know much about manners.

HULI JING
It’s just that I’m so happy to know that a mortal woman is as lovely as that. I’m not frightened of them now.

NIU
He’s still a child, madam. Please try to forgive him.

HULI JING
I knew there must be some good reason for deciding on being a boy today!

NIU
Huli Jing, please, you’re annoying the lady.

HULI JING
I’m not, you know. The moment I walked through the door she began to overflow with essence. I could smell it way out in the forest, that’s why I came home early. Look at her face! She’s glowing. What’s your name?

NIU [horrified]
For all that is holy, boy, you can’t address a shaman like that!

HULI JING [coming up to Jinggu]
What’s her name?

JINGGU
Her name is Jinggu.

HULI JING
I should have known. When it’s a dewy morning, and your breath goes out like a cloud, bearing all your sadness with it, you say Jinggu. That’s so pretty! Why have you come? To take me away?

NIU
That’s quite enough from you. Go to your room this minute.

HULI JING
O, take me! Abscond with me!

[Qui returns with the cooked rabbit.]

QUI
Here’s your fricassee, madam. Just you settle down to that. It’ll be better than listening to this mad son of ours.

HULI JING [twirling around in horror]
Did you say fricassee?

JINGGU [eating with gusto]
Yum – it’s magnificent!

HULI JING
Father, did you dare to braise a rabbit?

QUI
Be quiet. It’s done now, anyway.

HULI JING
O, my poor darling rabbit, you’ve slept all winter dreaming under the snow only to end up in a sauce pan!

NIU
Now you’re not going to start making a fuss about a rabbit!

HULI JING
They call themselves my parents … and they took you and threw you cut you up into little pieces and sauteed you!

JINGGU
I asked them to, little boy.

HULI JING
You did? Yes, I should have known that too. I can see, now I look at you closer. You stink of mortality, don’t you?

[Far away, but coming closer: thunder and lightning.]

QUI [bowing]
O, madam, forgive us!

HULI JING
You don’t know anything about anything, do you? You think dream interpretation really works? I’ve seen your “sacrificial rain ceremony,” what a joke! You lot are so eager for your Elixirs of Immortality but the moment something truly awe-inspiring comes by all you want to do is fricassee it!

JINGGU [her mouth full]
Try some, child! It’s delicious!

HULI JING
Well, it won’t be delicious much longer!

[Huli Jing takes the dish and throws the rabbit out of the window.]

HULI JING
Go on and eat it now! Good-bye!

QUI
Huli Jing! Where are you going?

HULI JING
There’s someone out there who hates mortals and wants to tell me all about them. I always refused to listen, because I’ve had my own ideas – but not anymore!

QUI
You’re not going out again, in this weather!

HULI JING
Yes, and in a minute I’ll know everything; what they’re like and what they’re capable of – the thought of what I’m about to hear sets my fur flying.

NIU
Young man, have I got to stop you by force, eh?

[Huli Jing slips away from his mother.]

HULI JING
I already know that mortals are all evil and liars and smell, and the beautiful ones are really grotesque, and the magical ones are plain and repulsive!

JINGGU
Really, child? What if one of them fell in love with you?

[Huli Jing stops, but does not turn round]

HULI JING
What did she say?

JINGGU [looking down at her chop-sticks]
O, nothing. Nothing at all.

HULI JING
Say it again.

JINGGU
Suppose one of them fell in love with you?

[Directly overhead: thunder and lightning. The Inn’s lights all flicker.]

HULI JING
I’d still hate them.

[Huli Jing vanishes into the night.]

[End of Act I]

][][

notes:

I am a firm believer in the Bechdel Test, which is a rating system based on that: (1) the work in question has to have at least two women in it, who (2) who talk to each other, about (3) something besides a man. Even though Jinggu seems to want to do nothing but talk about her man appearances can be deceptive.

At first I had the fox-spirit, Huli Jing, simply female, but then I began to think of the glories of androgyny; why not have a girl play an immortal boy who seduces an “older” mortal woman? It’s fascinating how generations of Western audiences have had no problem with Peter Pan always being played by, clearly, an adult woman, even when “he” is seducing Wendy Darling from the very beginning.

MEDUSA

27 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, Feminism, Poetry

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Atefeh Sahaaleh, Athene, feminism, Greek mythology, Medusa, menopause

“On a planet where for thousands of years, even today, a woman’s worth has been judged exclusively by the productivity of her womb, what the hell is the point of a barren woman?”
― Elissa Stein and Susan Kim

After the change they called you a monster.
Ain’t that the truth, Ruth, Ruelaine and Susan; Pat, Judy and Audre – –
That dying, drying, dissolving inside. Listen.
You had no child so you had no cradle and what woman can dance with ecstasy with no cradle?
Who can sing when they have no tongue?
They hang girls for less, body and mind.
The priestesses banished you to the island of Cisthene in the Red Sea (east of Ethiopia).
What man wouldn’t lose his erection at the sight of you? What woman wouldn’t cast you out?
Somewhere Athene laughed while plotting your murder, “Perseus, bring me her head.”
We love to be fruitful; outside spring rises; we even describe the world in terms of ovulation.
Ai, mama mine, winter time.

][][

No one wants to remember how the goddess of wisdom, courage and womanhood cursed you for getting raped.
You would think that your name alone would shatter a civilization built on pomegranates and sweet wine.
Today apologists say that you were prideful, that you boasted, that the gods moved in mysterious ways.
So do priestesses. So do judges.
Athene didn’t curse Cassandra when she was raped in her temple.
She was young, fertile, still a thing of beauty.
But you, mother mine, became the exception to the rule.
Rules change. Honey and harp strings. Swine and flies.
Here is the head of a woman with snakes in her hair.

][][

Lovely-cheeked and
ironic. Your blood spilled
out vipers, Pegasus
and me.

][][

Hysteria: suffering of the womb, madness of the womb, but still a womb.
That which defines, that which engenders.
“As long as men ejaculate they will try to control what comes out.”
That which they cannot possess turns them to stone.
The change; you were desired once, Poseidon cursed you, Athene cursed you, Perseus cut off your head.
Now you have no more use, you and your sisters on Cisthene.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”
“Myself.”
“Doesn’t that fill you with rage? Coil your hair in fury? Make every pleasure into a wasteland? What do you feel looking at yourself being slain?”
“Why are you still talking to me?”

][][

“I looked into her stony eyes and see only myself.”

No, they aren’t stony, that is just what you want to see in them.
I call her mother the way I call all who taught me ancestor.

“Speak earth and bless me with what is richest.”

“Queen/ we claim you.”

“I am here to take/ back my Mother that/ you just Othered.”

I do not look like you, but I keep looking.

][][

We stripped the old woman to prove that her body was once like ours.
A man passing as a woman is a double blasphemy.
Not only is he an oppressor but he has a face like ours.
What is a revolutionist to do when monsters come in so many forms?
That which cannot bear seed must be rubbed out.
How to silence the wailing from the monster?
When it is time to pray at dawn there is the wavering sound of a man singing from the slender phalli of minarets.
Today Iran hung 16 year-old Atefeh Sahaaleh for “crimes against chastity.”
That is to say, Iranian judge Haji Rezai bragged that he raped and tortured Atefeh then had her hung to silence the girl after she removed her hijab and threw her shoe at him.
There are ghosts – – there are ghosts that stay with me that I love
the old man in drag – the daughter with the broken neck – my mother who turned her back
hush now, listen as we sever their tongues.

][][

resistance to
domination is part
of the domination
itself, oppression
adapts, by the time
you’re done reading
this you too are
complicit and
part of the system

][][

What a drag; every time they tell your story it is always the same.
Even the priestesses – holy of holy – do not falter.
They have named your malady, mother: barrenness, death of the womb, a monster with nappy hair.
It’s always the same remedy: a man beheads you and places that which he despises before him.
Because a goddess commanded it.

][][

You’re loved, you’re loved, you are loved.

Once there was an island.
And on it lived three sisters: Stheno, Euryale and Medusa.
And that’s all you need to know.

without consent

28 Tuesday Oct 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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Ann Arbor, art keeps us in hell, bookstore, Frida Kahlo, honey slur, poem, Poetry, Shaman's Drum, sonnet, without consent

“I hope the exit is joyful — and I hope never to return.”
– Frida Kahlo

Translator of omens, chloroformer
of slurs, abductor of wickedness rare

and new; at Shaman’s Drum, in Ann Arbor,
not one poet posed naked, nightmare

of flesh, on their book covers. Perversion
was just a word. Strange eyebrows, broken shoe,

Blue House; you’re still naked, your alien
body, without consent, remains on view,

exposed, gets sold. Others make us monsters.
Others sell us. Others bring us back. You

ribbon around bomb. You jaguar. You grief
in sheets too thin to scab. Blasphemies, slurs,

omens; art keeps us in hell. Who knew
that ink damns painter just like knife damns thief?

what you call a pimp and a priest

28 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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Colonizers, Donkey Show, erotic poetry, Garden of Earthly Delights, Pasiphae, pimp and priest, Queen Tatana, sonnet, Tijuana, We the Other

Earthiness … “Rutting like beasts in the field” …
It’s hard when the squeamish Colonizers

(all those who never once blurred a line, squealed,
cried or howled) wail against the Others.

There are bars in Boy’s Town, Tijuana,
with their Donkey Shows; “See the Minotaur’s

Mother, Pasiphaë! See Queen Tatana
Seduce the Divine Ass!”
Down on all fours

in Bosche’s “Garden of Earthly Delights” …
We force others to perform all the time

and it’s never enough. If there is sin
it’s these selfish, unending appetites.

The pimp who praises himself in cheap rhyme.
The priest who sees hell in my naked skin.

Image

mariam abandian [age 12]

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Tags

Armenian Genocide, art, Mariam Abandian

coins

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Armenia, Feminism, Illustration and art

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hellbent

15 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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Armenian heroine, art, blood sister, hellbent, Mama warrior, Mariam Abandian, poem, Poetry, sonnet

MARIAM1

Tonight let the rat steal the rice. The moon
is in love and even the starving flea

will be pardoned. Tonight, hunger, roughhewn
like love, goes down smooth. We’ve all been hungry.

We’ve all wished somebody would speak secrets
that are simply obvious. Big sister,

where is your story? Why aren’t the poets
singing about you? Mama warrior,

let me braid up your hair. I have no tongue
for tune, but for you I’ll sing any song.

Tonight, saddle up. The moon is absent
and the rat is full. No one else has sung

what you do. Sister, you’re my blood, headstrong
fairytale made flesh; violent and hellbent.

SAVAGE: some thoughts on motivation and alien puppets

08 Thursday May 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in drama, Feminism, introduction

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drama, introduction, Lady Macbeth, Medea, puppet, Vicious, xenomorph

all mockery is laughing
all violence is cheap …
you savage.

— Eurythmics

When I started writing this retelling of Medea I wasn’t worried about how the alien Xenomorph that would represent the tragic heroine, precisely, come to life on a shoe string budget; rather, I was curious what she would say if given a voice. This age of multimillion dollar Hollywood CGI has made modern storytellers lazy, I feel. I would rather work with Old School break dancing team or a high school drama class with a budget of $50 because that requires thinking outside the box. However, since the entire play succeeds or fails on the strength of its main character a little in-depth examination about the source material and costume is in order.

… Come, you spirits/ That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,/ And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full/ Of direst cruelty …
… Come to my woman’s breasts,/ And take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers …
Come, thick night … That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,/ Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark/ To cry “Hold, hold!”
— Lady Macbeth, from Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 5

Like Lady Macbeth, Medea is a complex creature who loses what little humanity she had in order to do what she deemed necessary: commit murder. Perhaps it is easier to see these motivations in Shakespeare than in Euripides. Power, we are told, corrupts, and by the end of the play, Lady Macbeth, driven insane by guilt over the crimes she has committed, takes her own life. “Unsex me here,” she commands, so that she might not be burdened with all the scruples and morals that would normally prevent her from turning into a monster. She enters the play human but leaves it bestial. Medea, in contrast, was never human to begin with. She enters it a beast, temporary becomes human and leaves it a monster.

Before I reread the Greek play I thought I remembered it well enough. Medea is in exile; having fallen in love with a handsome stranger, Jason, and helped him to find the Golden Fleece. She leaves her family and travels, with their children, to a foreign land to live. Once there Jason quickly becomes bored with her, marries the king’s daughter, and casts Medea and his own children aside. It is a story of an innocent woman spurned who takes revenge too far. Except that there is nothing remotely innocent about Medea. In Euripides’ play, at least, one of the reasons that Medea fled into exile with Jason was because she brutally murdered her own younger brother, Apsyrtus, and threw his severed body parts around her father’s palace. Everywhere she goes, we are told by her nurse in the prologue, she brings death and destruction with her. In one kingdom she tricks the daughters of Pelias into boiling their father alive in order that Jason might usurp the throne and become king himself. Yes, Jason does leave her, and yes, this betrayal is what drives her to kill — not only Jason’s new bride and father-in-law, but her own children as well — but she doesn’t need to call upon the darkness in her heart to make her something less than human like Lady Macbeth does, Medea was never human to begin with; a fact that tends to get overlooked in many productions of Medea that I’ve seen.

I’m telling you all this because it is Medea’s inhumanness that I find the most interesting. By making her simply a spurned mortal woman being cast aside for a younger one Medea becomes a powerless victim, one who feels that killing is the only way that she can bring agency and control back to herself. Perhaps on one level that might make sense to some, but it also creates a giant plot-hole: Medea is a sorceress. She might even be a goddess. She leaves the play in a flying chariot driven by her own dark arts. She has necromancy powers Jason doesn’t even know about. Why, then, does she allow things to get so out of hand that total annihilation of her enemies seems the only choice open for her?

“Love for her man, no matter how vile,” some critics have argued, is her motivation and while that reading can certainly be found in the text it also cranks the misogyny factor up to 11 on the dial for me. It’s that old-gristle bone that a woman without a man is nothing. It reminds me a little too much of that one Billie Holiday song:

I’d rather my man would hit me/ Than to jump up and quit me
Ain’t nobody’s business if I do
I swear I won’t call no copper/ If I’m beat up by my papa
Ain’t nobody’s business if I do.

That is, indeed, one way to read Medea and the gender politics of the play. It’s a terrible way, granted, but others in the past have made this claim, so obviously there’s enough people who believe it. It’s not my way, though.

A much more interesting approach is to examine what befell the character of Jack Torrance. Author Stephen King has been highly critical of Stanley Kubrick adaptation of The Shining (1980) over the years, saying that by having the haunting of the Overlook Hotel coming from within Jack himself robs the character of any chance at redemption. Redemption is an interesting idea for Jack’s motivation, since it infuses everything he does with an agonizing desperation as the chance to be human moves further and further away. By simply having Jack get caught in a time-loop that he is forever doomed to repeat, Kubrick, while still making a very scary movie, strips any tension, any risk, any gamble with the Devil from Jack as well. But by making Jack a fallen rebel angel being given one last chance at salvation suddenly everything is at stake.

That is how I see Medea. She committed atrocities, ran away with Jason, put up with his betrayals for ten years not because she is a doormat but because this is her only chance to try and become the one thing she longs for but will never truly have. “Imagine, the darkness in love with the light,” the demon-girl Yazuha cries despairingly at the end of the Tenchi Muyo movie, Daughter of Darkness (1998). Jason’s crime wasn’t just cheating on her, it was casting her back into the dark; it was damning her and sealing her fate forever. At the end she destroys the world not because she’s a psychopath but because, from her point of view, everything within the human world around her is. She is the ultimate Other, desperately trying to pass for something she is not and failing. Jason didn’t just break her heart; he literally turned her back into the creature that she was before the play started.

This is why retelling this ancient story as set against an alien world, literally turning Medea into a Xenomorph (Xeno simply being a prefix for foreign or alien), seemed interesting. In the Horror genre the most famous alien, for me, is the bug-like monster of Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) that destroys the crew of the Nostromo. This nightmare was created by Swiss surrealist, H.R. Giger, who pioneered the whole concept of biomechanical, nightmarish life forms in art. As Charlie Jane Anders wrote:

”Biomechanics fused the impossible into a savage logic: metal and flesh, sex and death, hypnotic beauty and violation; its cool, corpse-silver colors pre-empting [Ridley] Scott’s industrial-tech aesthetic.” (2011)

As cool as all this might sound, the Xenomorph from the Alien franchise is a copyrighted image and, rightly so, Giger feels entitled to the artist’s royalties whenever one of his creations is used (going so far as to sue 20th Century Fox over failing to credit him in Alien: Resurrection). Other artists and film makers have taken the concept of biomechanics and expanded it over the years, from the New Flesh of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983) to the metal fetishist of Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo: The Iron Man. (1989) In later Alien movies, once Giger no longer had creative control over his creation, certain changes occurred: the aliens became a lot more muscular, some had skull ridges, they could spit their own acid-blood, many developed horrendous drool problems. Why producers thought an over active drool gland was scary I do not know, it is hard to feel terror when you keep wanting to wipe a monster’s chin with a handkerchief and put a baby bib around its neck. However the Xenomorph-Medea, Lyssk, gets developed, please, no drool.

Lyssk’s species, the Lingualandicis (“clitoris-tongues”), need to look simultaneously like human females and grotesque lizards without drifting into the silly; something as familiar as a mother’s naked breast in an exoskeleton, as common child-bearing hips and ass with a segmented, scorpion-like tail. This is what confused Jason, he thought he was dealing with a female of his species, someone who’d behave accordingly. Seven foot tall Xenomorph-Medea needs to look like she could twist Jason’s head completely off if she felt like it.

Finding a seven-foot tall Amazonian actress might be difficult, which is why making a seven-foot tall Lyssk puppet might be an interesting alternative.

The idea came from a sketch on Jim Henson’s television show, The Muppet Show, with a creation called a Clodhopper. While only one performer was required for each full-figured puppet, the Clodhopper’s feet were attached to the performers’ feet while their heads and hands were the performer’s hands. Invisible wires allowed for wings to flap or tails to twitch. The puppeteer was dressed in black to hide their body against the black background. Considering that the play’s action takes place outdoors, in the dark, an eerie, ghost-like Lingualandici might add a certain amount of strangeness that an actress in body paint and a mask might not.

][][

Works Cited

Anders, Charlie Jane. How H.R. Giger’s Brilliant Madness Helped Make Alien “Erotic” (10/11/2011)
Retrieved from http: //io9.com/5851618/how-hr-gigers-brilliant-madness-helped-make-alien-so-erotic

King, Stephen. Danse Macabre. Berkley, CA.: Berkley Press. (1981)

Parish, James Robert. Jim Henson: Puppeteer And Filmmaker. New York: Ferguson Pub. (2006)

Prucher, Jeff (ed.) Brave New Worlds: the Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction. Oxford: Oxford Press. (2007)

onna bugeisha: daughter mine

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, Feminism, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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art, daughter of love, Onna bugeisha, poem, Poetry, sonnet

March 19, 2014 (12)

March 19, 2014 (11)

March 19, 2014 (13)

Around the body, puddled, as you breathe,
I feel your heart beating softer, slower,

drying begins from heated bodies. We
play in puddles, this sweet-scented moisture

that glows, cools, as the friction-induced beads
of sweat evaporates. Sunlight slavers

upon hard muscles, what falls, slashed through, bleeds
through these dappled down drapes —- gypsum lovers,

soft, lithe —- our aftermath. The story we’re
leaving for new generations. Daughter,

learn the sword, battle plans, the dialect
of war, for then you’ll protect the queer,

daft and fabulous. A godling savior
no man has ever been: divine, perfect.

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Happy Birthday Simone de Beauvoir!

09 Thursday Jan 2014

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art, feminism, happy birthday, Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir

Jan 09, 2014 (10)

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Feminism, Illustration and art

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this is what a feminist looks like

24 Tuesday Dec 2013

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art, grrl power, katana, Onna bugeisha, this is what a feminist looks like

Dec 24, 2013 (7)

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Feminism, Illustration and art

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