{"id":1457,"date":"2015-12-29T21:25:23","date_gmt":"2015-12-29T21:25:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/geneseymour.com\/?p=1457"},"modified":"2019-10-07T15:32:00","modified_gmt":"2019-10-07T15:32:00","slug":"my-own-private-top-ten-of-2015","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/geneseymour.com\/?p=1457","title":{"rendered":"My Own Private Top Ten of 2015"},"content":{"rendered":"

Here’s what I liked most about last year, period. \u00a0No added explanation necessary, though you’re going to get a LOT of it as we move along. So without further ado, in no particular order, etc…<\/p>\n

Black \u201cBlack Comic\u201d Novels<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\"Sellout<\/a>\"Oreo\"<\/a><\/strong>\u00a0I\u2019m already on record declaring this to have been a banner year for African American writing<\/a>, especially in this sub-genre. So I have only a few things to add: 1.) I wish I could have found a way to have included in my CNN piece God Loves Haiti<\/em>, Dmitri Elias Leger\u2019s cunning and deeply moving romantic roundelay set against the backdrop of Haiti\u2019s devastating 2010 earthquake though 2.) what I really wish for is a the chance to have met Fran Ross, author of Oreo<\/em>, if only to reassure her, as others had before she died in 1985 at age 50, that she was neither alone nor wrong in her artistic foresight and socio-cultural insurgency. 3.) If Paul Beatty\u2019s cheeky, incendiary and laugh-out-loud Sellout<\/em> had gotten even half of the attention afforded Ta-Nahesi Coates\u2019 Between the World and Me<\/em>, we\u2019d all be a lot further along than we are now because 4.) these and many other novels, poems and memoirs are so far ahead of where everybody else is on race and culture, especially what used to be called \u201cThe Press,\u201d that their authors don\u2019t have the time or the patience to look behind them. It\u2019s up to the rest of us to catch up\u2026and I\u2019m not feeling especially hopeful about those prospects as I write this, especially today.<\/a><\/p>\n

Comic Book Superheroes on TV<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\"MARVEL\u2019S<\/a>

MARVEL\u2019S JESSICA JONES<\/p><\/div>\n

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\"supergirl-tv-show-premiere-date\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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You could probably fashion some kind of algebraic formula out of this theory and make yourself quite obscure, in more ways than one: Something about the comic-book superhero genre diminishes whenever contemporary Hollywood seizes one of its properties and blows it up on for big screen while, on the other hand, the smaller the screen, the greater weight and dimension are allowed for these stories. It could just mean that there are better people writing for television than for movies; a thesis that may not need too complex an algorithm to prove. Whatever the reason, TV, with or without its water-based delivery systems (clouds, streams, etc.) has provided the only superhero \u201cproduct\u201d (I really need to slap myself stupid every time I use that word) with depth, breadth and, most especially, shadows. I\u2019d previously thought the DC stable led the way by several lengths with Arrow, Gotham, The Flash<\/em> and its latest sweet surprise, Supergirl<\/em>. But with the exception of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D<\/em>. (which, for all its on-the-fly tinkering, still seems as though it\u2019s fumbling in its pockets for magic and momentum), the Marvel Universe caught up big-time by going urban-neo-noir on Netflix with both Daredevil<\/em> and the remarkable Jessica Jones<\/em> coming at you as if every Law and Order<\/em> episode came down with a severe case of the DTs. (And yes, that is a MAJOR compliment!) The relative success of small-screen super-heroics evokes simpler times when the original TV Superman<\/em> was charming and cheesy while the first TV Batman<\/em> was campy and cheesy and both took themselves seriously without being too solemn. Maybe the Fantastic Four franchise, having whiffed in two multiplex-targeted incarnations, would be better off lowering its expectations and looking for a cloud, or stream, to carry it forward. Or not.<\/span><\/p>\n

Carol<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

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\"Rooney-Mara-Cate-Blanchett-Carol-Movie-Still\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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I suppose there was a small part of me that wished Todd Haynes had given in to his inner Douglas Sirk with as much abandon as he had in 2002\u2019s Far From Heaven<\/em>, his previous exploration of \u201cforbidden love\u201d in the 1950s. There were many critics, even those who otherwise praised this movie, who felt the same way. The more I think about it, however, the more I believe Haynes was correct in opting for a mood of smoldering insinuation and rectitude since those are qualities most associated with Patricia Highsmith, who wrote the novel, The Price of Salt,<\/em> from which the movie is adapted. She is a writer I will never love as much as I admire \u2013 and even then, from a shivery distance. If the movie leaves one cold, well, so did Highsmith. I\u2019m not sure if anybody else could have done the material justice as well as or better than Haynes. Maybe the younger Kubrick since the movie at times evokes a colorized version of his 1962 take on Lolita;<\/em> or, even better, the Alfred Hitchcock who made such gauzy dreams out of Vertigo<\/em> or Marnie.<\/em><\/p>\n

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To Pimp a Butterfly<\/strong><\/em> (in the approximate, or relative context of Straight Outta Compton<\/em>)<\/strong> \u2013<\/p>\n

\"To<\/a><\/p>\n

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\"Straight<\/a><\/p>\n

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The overlap of Kendrick Lamar\u2019s most variegated testament (thus far) with F. Gary Gray\u2019s astonishingly successful biopic\/infomercial about N.W.A. made one ponder how much things have changed, if at all, between \u201cDo I look like a muthafuckin\u2019 role model\/To a kid lookin\u2019 up at me\/Life aint nothin\u2019 but bitches and money\u201d<\/em> and \u201c\u2026[T]he world don\u2019t respect you and the culture don\u2019t accept you\/But you think it\u2019s all love\/And the girls gon\u2019 neglect you once your parody is done.\u201d<\/em> The latter quote from Butterfly<\/em> is, of course, more contemplative and lyrical than the more belligerent assertion of \u201cthe strength of street life\u201d from the 1988 album that gives Gray\u2019s movie its name (and, really, its reason to exist.) Yet both these statements, and the records they come from, are stalked, even haunted, by the vulnerability of black lives as framed within the seemingly impregnable \u201cWhite Problem\u201d in America. Their shared response, in so many words: This is who I am, mothafuckas!! Deal with it because you got to change before I do!<\/em> Both Butterfly<\/em> and Compton<\/em> (the album) also share the imperative to sound like nothing else that came before them. And their respective makers have profited from that make-it-new impulse; though it\u2019s clear from both the movie and the story it tells that N.W.A. has gotten over with its members\u2019 sometimes harrowing practice of rugged individualism while Lamar\u2019s still probing for something deeper and more messianic to carry himself and his listeners to a new, yet-to-be-defined phase of The Struggle. The real bridge between these two works is Lamar\u2019s \u201cAlright,\u201d which stomps in with the \u201cGangsta Gangsta\u201d swagger before morphing into an assertion of self-worth powerful enough to have made the song an anthem of the \u201cBlack Lives Matter\u201d movement \u2013 and, potentially, of movements, or just \u201cmovement,\u201d to come.<\/p>\n

The Americans<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

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\"25AMERICANSWEB-tmagArticle\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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There were so many shattering revelations and shameful double-dealings in this series\u2019 third, and best, season that one feels derelict in highlighting only one episode. But the season\u2019s ninth episode, \u201cDo Mail Robots Dream of Electric Sheep?,\u201d was one of the peaks of series television, not just of the year, but also of the century so far. Its main action takes place in a repair shop late at night where Elizabeth and Phil Jennings (Keri Russell, Matthew Rhys), Russia\u2019s most stylish spy tandem, have taken a broken mail robot to dig out some needed Intel. An unexpected surprise materializes in the form of an elderly woman (the great Lois Smith) who was married to the shop\u2019s original owner. She\u2019s just as surprised to encounter the Jennings and her bewilderment gradually evolves to a weary acknowledgement that she will not survive the night. Her presumptive executioners share in the gnawing awfulness of the situation especially Elizabeth, who attempts to ease the woman\u2019s impending fate with some intimate, reassuring conversation about family life and then with an excessive injection of drugs. It\u2019s an interlude that makes the audience feel somewhat like intruders \u2013 and co-conspirators. Even in a golden age of cable television drama, no other series could pull off such an emotionally searing sequence. I can\u2019t wait to see what the fourth season\u2019s going to submit for our approval.<\/p>\n

Blooming Again\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\"Bloom_County_2015-07-17\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It took a while for me to cozy up to Bloom County<\/em> in its original 1980s incarnation. At the time, it seemed as though Berkeley Breathed\u2019s strip was trying too hard to conflate an assortment of influences from Peanuts<\/em> to Pogo<\/em>, from Lil\u2019 Abner<\/em> to Doonesbury<\/em> (especially) without developing a clear identity of its own. I also thought the comedy was too schematic and not terribly interesting (i.e. aging frat boy Steve Dallas hurling brazenly sexist overtures to super hot feminist schoolteacher Bobbi Harlow. Quelle Topique!<\/em>) By mid-decade, though, the strip established its own blend of down-home whimsy, magical realism and soft-boiled satire distinctive enough to win a steady, fervent following \u2013 and a Pulitzer Prize!<\/p>\n

Of course, The Penguin had almost everything to do with it. Breathed knew this since Opus was, for a while, the only character who made it to two sequels following the strip\u2019s closure in 1989. This past July, Breathed came out with a made-for-social-media revival of Bloom County<\/em> with deeper shadows, broader effects and the same antic impulses. Smartass savant Milo Bloom and his irresolute, monster-haunted school chum Michael Binkley have barely aged beyond pre-adolescence while Steve Dallas is still a self-loathing dick and (thus) a Trump supporter. Binkley has fallen in unrequited love with an enchanting pint-sized yogi named Abby. Bill the Cat is still\u2026Bill the Cat, only more so. And Opus is very much the sun around which the rest of the cast revolves, if not evolves. I didn\u2019t know how much I missed having these guys in my life until I started catching up with them on Facebook. And when I say the shadows are deeper this time, I refer to a recent storyline involving a small boy with an apparently life-threatening illness to whose elaborate space-opera fantasies the Bloom County gang caters. Breathed says he has no intention of bring his troupe back to newspapers and I think it\u2019s a wise move on his part.<\/p>\n

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\"Bloom<\/a><\/p>\n

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I still wonder, though, whatever became of Ronald-Ann Smith from Breathed\u2019s Outland<\/em> sequel strip. Is she the same age as well? Or did she grow up to become a semiotics professor at a Midwest college? I\u2019m in no hurry to find the answer. I\u2019d rather invent my own.<\/p>\n

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\"ronald_ann_bloom_county\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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The Black Panthers: Vanguard of the Revolution<\/strong>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

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\"Black<\/a><\/p>\n

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My favorite documentary of the year may well be the most balanced, comprehensive and intensely felt history we\u2019ll ever get of its oft-misunderstood topic. Director Stanley Nelson\u2019s companion piece to his comparably thorough and illuminating Freedom Summer<\/em> (2014) deftly weaves all the scattered, twisted fragments of Panther history from the group\u2019s epoch-making, armed-to-the-teeth appearance at the California legislature (which resulted in then-governor Reagan signing the country\u2019s first gun-control legislation) to its think-globally-act-locally agenda that both scared and thrilled the rest of America to its active harassment under the odious COINTELPRO scourge to its violent confrontations with police and the murder of Fred Hampton \u2013 who scared authorities, it\u2019s clear here, more for having his political act together at a very young age than for any largely imaginary danger he posed to civilization. Nelson doesn\u2019t shy away from the internal friction among the Panther hierarchy \u2013 and he\u2019s taken some heat for doing so<\/a>. But none of whatever happened between Huey Newton, Bobby Seale, Eldridge Cleaver and others diminishes one\u2019s abiding admiration for what this cadre tried to accomplish \u2013 or the persistence of what they challenged, against terrible odds, almost a half-century ago.<\/p>\n

Kate McKinnon<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

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When Kristen Wiig left Saturday Night Live<\/em> in 2012, I almost did, too. She gave the show a jolt of danger reminiscent of John Belushi, Eddie Murphy and (yes, even) Adam Sandler. As these examples suggest, such bomb-throwers are rare and I wasn\u2019t expecting anyone to come along that soon to provide a similar did-I-really-see-that buzz to the franchise. Then this ball-of-fire roars into 30 Rock\u2019s fun house and once again, America\u2019s on the edge of its seat wondering what this crazy person will do next. She had me, so to speak, at Justin Bieber. But her take on Hillary Clinton so thoroughly and scarily encompasses the aspects of Madame Secretary\u2019s personality feared by millions that you feel your own worst imaginings being held at gunpoint. (And that they deserve to be, too.) Madame Secretary\u2019s appearance on stage with her perversely avaricious doppelganger was one of the show\u2019s highlights, as much for showing the real-life candidate\u2019s impressive composure in not breaking character, or breaking-up during the routine; something that couldn\u2019t be said for Ryan Gosling a couple shows later. Enjoy her while she\u2019s there because, if past history is any guide, she\u2019s going to get so huge that she\u2019ll outgrow the fun house.<\/p>\n

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