No Animals were Harmed in the Writing of this Blog

That's your cat now.

I wanted to talk about violence against animals in film.  If you’re a fan of horror films, there’s just no way to avoid violence against animals in the movies you watch.  This is part of a theme in horror movies where the filmmakers are subjecting you to something you don’t want to see.  It’s a warning shot that if the filmmakers would make you watch this, what else will you be dared to sit through in this scary film? 

The American Humane Association (AHA) is an organization, founded in 1877, is committed to ensuring the safety, welfare, and well-being of animals. The AHA’s leadership programs are first to serve in promoting and nurturing the bonds between animals and humans. It was previously called the International Humane Association, before changing its name in 1878. In 1940, it became the sole monitoring body for the humane treatment of animals on the sets of Hollywood films and other broadcast productions. American Humane is best known for its trademarked certification "No Animals Were Harmed,” which appears at the end of film or television credits.

I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that in my research, I, unfortunately, came across articles like this one, which were obviously very troubling.  Now you know about it, too.  I should also mention that it's obvious to me that violence in movies is disproportionately exacted on cats, because of the myth that cats are aloof and don't care about you, makes it easy for many to find humor in said violence.  This makes me very angry, but, like the failings of the AHA,  it's a topic worthy of a whole separate blog, so I'll digress.  

I am an animal lover, and I have been all my life.  There have only been brief periods of my life when I didn’t own something adorable and furry, and in those periods, I usually still had something that receives oxygen in water.  Not as cuddly, but still a living thing I took care of.  At one point, we were the proud parents of three cats, one rabbit and two hermit crabs.  That was a lot of maintenance and I will not do that again, but I wanted to illustrate my love and need to care for a pet.  My favorite veterinarian once said to me (when I brought in my fourth animal for a check-up) that I can’t save them all.  (This statement seems to piss off my husband, which makes me love him more if that’s possible.)

Personally, and I’m sure I’m not alone here, I can’t stand to watch animal violence on screen.  There are several movies that I’ve turned on because of “that one scene.”  (I’m looking right at you, Drag Me to Hell. That wasn’t the only problem I had, but you lost a full letter grade after that kitten incident.)  Even watching the latest Planet of the Apes movies upset me, and I know full well that there are no real apes at all. 

Animal violence in horror films is supposed to be hard to watch.  Many times it serves as a plot device to make the viewer dislike the characters they are supposed to dislike. Since we discussed it in the latest podcast, I’ll use IT as the example.  Henry Bowers almost shoots a cat (and I almost gave it a B- for that stunt). These scenes make it easier, and almost enjoyable for the viewer to watch that awful character’s ultimate gory demise (no, Henry Bowers isn’t dead in the rebooted movie…..not yet).

I couldn't bring myself to add a real still from the movie.  They break my heart.

It’s interesting the way animal violence can affect people more than violence against humans.  For me, it’s probably because animals are always innocent.  Cujo is scary, but it wasn’t Cujo’s fault that he was able to wander alone into a hole filled with rabid bats.  Watch your dog better, Cujo’s Owner.  Now we have to kill him because you let him wander around (ugh, don’t even get me started on dogs off the leash.  You’ll really wish you hadn’t).  It’s also more effective because animals can’t consent to be in your movie.  It’s not like they reviewed their contract and struck things they weren’t comfortable with. They are essentially at the mercy of their handlers and agents. 

You might be wondering why this is on my mind (even if you weren’t, idc, it’s my blog, so here we go). 

A few weeks ago, I had Scout put to sleep.  All five of the people who read this blog probably knew her.  I’ve written about an animal I’ve lost in this blog before, but I really didn’t think I could bear writing about her.  I didn’t want to share this pain with anyone else; it’s mine.  Because she was mine and no one else’s.  I got her in 2003 when I was still new to the city, and when I’d moved into my first real apartment (I’d been living in a hotel room with a friend previously).  I was alone in this apartment a lot, and Scout and I saw lots of movies together.  Because she was mine and I was hers and no one else’s.  And I was never scared, because she was there and she was never scared of anything ever. 

Here are some movies we watched together when it was just us alone in a great big city:

Freddy vs. Jason (We agreed that we needed more Katherine Isabel in our lives)

Ginger Snaps (Because we needed more Katherine Isabel in our lives.  Then we were like, “WHY HAVE WE NEVER SEEN THIS??” and then Scout remembered she had just been born this year, so what’s my problem?)

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003) (Scout always wondered if Jessica Biel would be able to make the transition from twee WB show to A-list actress. I guess she sort of did.) 

Final Destinations 1 &2 (I told her about how I’d been warm for Devon Sawa since Casper.  She wasn’t really into him, but to be fair she really liked Idle Hands and Seth Green is the one who shines in that film)

Bride of Chucky (She never said it, but I could tell she thought the doll giving birth at the end was totally unnecessary)

I was 23, and I remember telling my mom that I was not going to declaw her, because I don’t have anything nice, anyway.  My mom reminded me that she could live until I was 40 years old.  She lived until I was 37.  So close.  And in that time, she burrowed a hole in my box springs, and in the back of my easy chair, and mauled the arms of not one, not two, but three couches. Like, I can see the wood underneath the fabric, and that wood also has scratch marks on it. So violent.  Maybe I shouldn’t have let her watch all those horror movies when she was a baby. 

I wasn’t ready for her to go.  She wasn’t old enough.  We had so many more movies we should have caught up on. 

Those of you who love animals, and always have one in your home, you know that there are some who belong to you more than others.  Scout was mine and only mine.  She belonged to me more than any other animal ever has.  And I belonged to her. 

Anyway, where was I?  Animal violence in movies.  I hate it, but I have to admit it can serve a purpose to advance the story.  Just don’t get greedy, Movies Like Drag Me to Hell.  I’m watching you.

What do you want to tell people about it?

I’m proud to announce that I am officially a co-host of the podcast, “My Bleeding Ears.”  The executive producer (aka my husband, Larry) asked me last week and I was honored to accept.  One of the job requirements is that I write a blog once a month that maybe has something to do with the podcast.  He suggested that the first one focus on “our dynamic.”  My inner teenager (let’s call her Jeva) rolled her eyes because she’s the part of me who knows that feelings are stupid and admitting to them leaves your soft underbelly exposed.  She hates anything that isn't sarcasm.

Ugh even just then I took a pause from writing this to look at Buzzfeed because I don’t like telling you this stuff.  Did you know the Honey Bunches of Oats lady is retiring?  She is, and I for one am really happy for her.  It’s unclear from the article whether she’ll receive royalties when the commercials air in the future, but she better. 

Ok, our dynamic.  When Larry first suggested that topic, I had no idea what I would write. When he asked me to write a blog, I thought he was asking me to report out on the horror movies I watch without him, or the ones we talk about on the podcast. I felt better about having those boundaries.
 

Because, what do you guys care about who we are as a couple?  You don’t. Why would you? You have your own stuff. 

Then today, I watched The Incredible Jessica James. The title character is a struggling playwright who teaches theater to grade-schoolers. At one point, one of her students, Shandra, tells her she can’t write about how she feels regarding [whatever subject; doesn’t matter] because she doesn’t feel anything.  Jessica encourages her to write four sentences about that lack of feeling. Shandra does this, and after Jessica praises her for articulating a very complicated state of mind that anyone can relate to, she says, “This is your one and only life.  What do you want to tell people about it?”  

Out loud on the train to work, much to the confusion of several other passengers, [Jeva] said, “Ugh, fine.”  I do want to tell people about it. 

I met Larry when I was 25.  I had decided to take a break from dating, and yeah it’s not like anyone was outside my window protesting that life choice, shut up.  It’s still a decision I made.  Then I met him.  You know how when you like someone, you project all kinds of things onto them to assure yourself that you belong together because otherwise you are clearly going to die alone?  Do most people do that, or am I the weirdo?  Well, I wasn’t going to do that with him.  Yes, he had nice teeth. Yes, he was a movie nerd.  Yes, he mentioned an obscure movie that I actually owned in our first conversation.  I wasn’t going to read into any of that, because that’s what I do, and then I have to undo all that crazy emotional stuff I did to myself once the relationship is over.

That was some private stuff I just wrote.  I’ve never written that or even said it out loud.  Jeva wants me to delete it and start again, but I’m not going to.

Men and women of science define love as an intense feeling of familiarity. I like that definition.  It puts a very large and labyrinthine feeling into a kind of perspective for me.  Makes it seem logical.  Like I can exist without it. 

When I met Larry, I really believe I had reached a point where I was ready, even looking forward to, living without that kind of romantic love. Also, he was Star Wars and I was Star Trek, so nice teeth or not, it couldn't work, duh. That made this blossoming whatever-it-was seem safer still.  What I didn't know then is that Larry had already done a good amount of individual soul searching just before we met. I don't know if he would call it that, but I would.

Everyone exists in this world alone, and no one will ever truly know anyone.  I lifted that from any number of authors; the one that comes to mind first is Mary Shelley, the last is Bret Easton Ellis, but that doesn’t make the sentiment any less true. 

Our dynamic.  So, how do I write about our dynamic?  Well, we are really different people.  I’ve known that since the beginning and accepted it.  I didn’t try to force us into an identity as I’d done in past relationships.  I think we work because I don’t know FEELINGS BLECH STOP. -Jeva

In our podcast, we are going to have similar and differing opinions.  I’m pretty sure that’s all he wanted me to focus on when he pitched the idea to me, but I have defied both him and Jeva to give you a teeny insight into who we are together. We’ll almost always agree about practical effects over CGI.  Maybe that makes us purists, but practical effects are usually better and if you disagree, you are the worst.  We both grew up watching horror films with our parents. Larry’s mom loved Army of Darkness; my dad and I have watched Fright Night countless times together. (And, Mom, we totally watched Invaders from Mars together, I remember.) We both love documentaries about horror, but not when the documentarian didn’t get the rights to show clips of the movie.  How can we assess the practical effects without clips? Be better. 

Different things scare/entertain us (and that statement is not exclusive to horror movies). Like how Sucker Punch didn't offend him to his very core and that almost hurts my feelings. Or that he didn't think Suicide Squad was that bad, like HOW CAN YOU NOT HAVE A STRONG REACTION TO A MOVIE LIKE THAT. Or that his genre of horror is squarely in the 80s realm, and while I have a few favorites that I watched with my dad, my true loves are horror movies from the 90s. He’s The Thing to my I Know What You Did Last Summer.  The Blob to my Urban Legends.  We work because that last sentence really means something to me, and I know it will mean the same thing to him.  We all live and die alone, but sometimes we are really lucky and get to spend a lot of time with someone who makes us feel like we’re not. Alone. Larry is my someone.

And in the spirit of our mostly horror-themed podcast, we also die alone when we say things like, “I’ll be right back,” or partake in alcohol and drugs, or run up the stairs instead of out the front door, or enjoy sex out of wedlock, or investigate a strange noise, or make proclamations that the serial killer is totally dead now and we can all go back to camp, or generally trust anyone ever.  So we’re probably not out of the woods yet.  (I promised Jeva she could end with a bad horror movie-type pun.

BOOM.)  

#YOTOOYELO

Today I’m celebrating my Frankie Angel’s first re-birthday. One year ago today, his soon-to-be foster mom would get a text that he survived a surgery he was not expected to live through and was ready for life.  Three days earlier, he’d been found emaciated, anemic from fleas, with two large abscesses on his chest from wounds that hadn’t healed. The “nine lives” joke about cats really is based in truth. 

I was lucky enough to bring him home a few months ago. He may only have eight lives left, but this guy has a zest for it that rivals yours. His personality reminds me that when life randomly selects you for a beat down, you can come back more optimistic than ever. (And also that indoor plumbing is a fascinating miracle that shouldn’t be taken for granted, but mostly the first thing I said.) Happy Rebirthday, Frank.  (Yes, I got him presents.  Plural.  You only turn one on your eighth life once.  #YOTOOYELO)