Review of the ‘Mammals’ episode of

All nature shows anthropomorphize their subjects, often to the degree that they tell us as much about our values and morals as they do about animals. And so it is that Life, the successor to Planet Earth now appearing on the Discovery Channel, tells us an awful lot about Oprah Winfrey’s values and morals.

Winfrey narrates the show and appears to have influenced its content as well, if its ‘girl power’ overtones and fixation on motherhood are any indication. While the show’s visuals are spectacular, its writing is weak, especially when compared to more cerebral nature programs like David Attenborough’s Life of Mammals. Life’s script is light on science and heavy on generalisms. Whereas Attenborough would tell you why an elephant shrew evolved nipples on its front as opposed to its underside (the answer: so that it can feed its young and still remain in a position to sprint off should danger appear),  Winfrey merely  gushes about how the shrew’s “maternal instincts” make it devoted to its babies.

‘Mammals,’ definitely the weakest of the four Life episodes so far, is sometimes so lightweight that its scenes come off not as illuminating segments about animals but as parables. Most of these parables are about motherhood and gender: a scene of a reindeer herd escaping a swarm of mosquitoes, for instance, turns into a cautionary tale about child abduction, as one female loses her baby in the scuffle. “The mother may search for her kid for days,” Winfrey intones over footage of the female bleating in panic, “but she won’t see it again—not alive. Predators have already gotten to the baby.” Hear that, Vixen? You’re a negligent mother. You left your child alone for two seconds, and see what happened?

Then, as if to provide a foil for deadbeat Vixen, we get a series of vignettes about good animal moms: a seal who teaches her calf to swim; an elephant struggling to free her baby from a mud hole (Grandma Elephant—I kid you not—comes by to save the day); a polar bear who (in a scene that tells us nothing new whatsoever about polar bears, but does manage to introduce the specter of global warming) considers fighting off competitors to get her cubs a piece of beached whale meat.

On Wednesdays, we wear tan.

There’s also a scene about rival cliques – I mean, lionesses and hyenas. A starving hyena tries to move in on a carcass some lions are chomping on, with the predictable result that they chase her off. The hyena alerts its pack, who outnumber the lions, run them up a tree, and take the carcass for themselves. A pretty typical scene out on the savannah, you’d think, but Life’s script turns it into something out of Mean Girls. The female gender of the combatants is mentioned prominently; the hyena is described as greedy (“She shouldn’t have tried to eat that,” Winfrey even says, as if chiding the animal for not being sufficiently diet-conscious) and her summoning the pack is construed as revenge.

This silly reduction of animal behavior to mini-morality plays isn’t fair to Life’s videographers, who brought both incredible talent (my husband, no slouch in the photography department himself, was consistently agape at the shots they managed to capture) and grueling hard work to this series. (Thankfully, the other three episodes to air so far aren’t nearly as egregious as ‘Mammals,’ perhaps because it’s harder to see yourself as a fish or a lizard than as a cute meerkat.) And it’s not fair to the viewers who tuned in hoping to learn something about the natural world and only got an Oprah-style lecture about parenting instead.

He throws himself into his dancing with great enthusiasm and no trace of irony whatsoever. It’s pretty awesome. The good stuff starts around 5:20:

So the questionable fashions and “funky” dancing of the 80’s weren’t just limited to the U.S. and Europe — not by a long shot. No, the 80’s left their pastel-and-punk mark even on Red China.

This performance, my husband tells me, launched Fei Xiang’s career, as pop stars were something of a rarity in China back in the 80’s, especially those who danced. Fei Xiang was quite the heartthrob back in the day, and is still active in the music industry. His Wikipedia page, obviously written by a fan, contains such adorable details as his reunion with his grandmother (“When she met her grandson the first time, she was surely surprised by his looks and his height, however there was instant love between them and they accepted everything of each other.”), the change in his appearance over time (“Fei Xiang has greyish blue eyes which won thousands of his fans’ hearts. Although he was pretty fat as a young boy, he is well-built and muscly now as an adult.”), and his return performance in 1997 (“[W]hen Hong Kong came back and was classified as a part of China again, at the congratulations concert he returned to sing in China in public for the first time since he left and entered Broadway. This caused many mature women to remember their youths and their frantic love for him.”). Though the page doesn’t exactly meet Wikipedia’s standards for objectivity, it’s so cute that I kind of hope they leave it up.

In the 90’s, Fei Xiang hit Broadway, appearing in Miss Saigon and (erp!) The Songs of Andrew Lloyd Webber. There are plenty of clips of his performances up on YouTube, including many in English, and I have to say he’s quite the charismatic performer. I especially like his rendition of “Unexpected Song,” which shines despite the poor sound quality of the video:

But while this year had its share of cheesecake, in the form of Megan Fox and the blouse-doffing women of GoDaddy.com, men were the ones who got caricatured into inanity. Advertisers, who for the past few years have been encouraging men to embrace their inner bro, are now telling them to throw in the towel. The fight’s over, guys, they’re saying. The women have won, and all you can do about it is buy yourself a bunch of cool gadgets.

First there was Chrysler’s “Dodge Charger” ad, which features men staring glassy-eyed into the camera as the narrator intones all the things their wives and bosses makes them do. And, in most cases, this ad would have us believe, “wives” and “bosses” are pretty much interchangeable. “I will eat fruit with my breakfast,” the narrator says. “I will sit through two-hour meetings. I will say yes when you want me to say yes. I will carry your lip balm. I will watch your vampire TV shows. I will keep the seat down.” The sole way these pathetic schlubs can retain their masculinity, the ad states, is to buy the car they want to buy, in this case a Dodge Charger.

Then there’s FloTV’s eyeroller, “Injury Report,” in which a guy is mocked for clothes shopping with his girlfriend instead of watching the game. “Change out of that skirt, Jason,” the announcer scolds. How’s Jason to do so? By making a compromise with his girlfriend? By telling her he just plain hates shopping with her, but that there are other things they can do together? No, Jason is advised to take the passive-aggressive way out by buying a miniature TV so he can watch the game wherever he goes! A word to Jason’s girlfriend: Dump him now, or he’ll be watching FloTV at your wedding.

Are men really feeling this emasculated? If so, I don’t think American cars, more TV, and sport-scented body wash are going to help. But most of the guys I know aren’t that defeated. Heck, some of them even enjoy spending time with their wives and girlfriends, and see their jobs and household tasks as responsibilities to live up to, not drains on their vital masculine energy. Back in the day, masculinity used to be defined by responsibility, not buying yourself toys. For a lot of men, it still is, something advertisers need to wake up and realize.

But don’t worry, guys, Dove knows that you still feel “comfortable with your skin” and that you need to celebrate that fact with regular old Dove body wash in a gunmetal gray package Dove for Men! I snark, but the Dove ad actually subtly makes fun of all the “you’re not a REAL MAN unless you do/buy X” commercials out there: It follows a guy from conception to fatherhood through a number of split-second vignettes (climbing the rope in gym class, getting married, mowing the lawn, etc.), while the announcer sings about all the things you’re supposed to accomplish to be a man. “Be tough, be strong, be good at sports,” he says, to the tune of the William Tell Overture. “Don’t show your sensitive side. Go out and have fun with your friends but be a gentleman, too. Check out that noise at night and never be afraid.” The humorous visuals — a nervous husband, armed with a pot, checking out that ‘noise at night,’ a guy getting slapped for ‘not showing his sensitive side’ — subtly poke fun at the list of requirements the narrator sings, and make the point that we’ve seen most of these cliche requirements before, in other ads aimed at men. It’s a fun, self-aware look at how advertisers portray manhood, and it slyly points up the fact that society asks a lot of contradictory things of men. And the relaxed, feel-good tone is much more appealing than that of the insulting Chrysler and FloTV ads.

An Armchair Sociologist’s Field Day

Hulu.com has added a fun feature to its Super Bowl ad videos: you can vote on whether you like each or not, and you can see what other Hulu viewers thought of the ads, too. Hulu also allows you to track the voting on each ad by gender, age group, and location, providing lots of room for speculation. A few observations:

• We’re a nation of saps. The top five ads (at least on 9 PM EST on Monday night) featured a cute kid defending his mother, an international love story (with marriage and baby), more babies, and a dog. Oh, and Betty White getting tackled.
• Men and women chose the same favorite ads, with one glaring exception: Motorola’s Megan Fox-in-a-bathtub ad. Interestingly, a substantial proportion of men disliked this ad, and very few liked the GoDaddy ads at all. Give us more credit! guys seem to be saying.
• And men and women largely disliked the same ads, with the controversial Tim Tebow ad and the annoying Taco Bell and Boost Mobile Shuffle ads coming in among the most hated. The Megan Fox ad was also one of the women’s top 5 disliked. And, giving me hope for the future of this country, one ad everybody detested was the trailer for  that wretched-looking romcom The Backup Plan.

Also Worth Mentioning

• Most memorable ads: Audi, “Green Car.” If Al Gore had been Big Brother, 1984 might have read a lot like Audi’s “Green Car” ad, in which nerdy “Green Police” arrest people for such infractions as failing to compost their fruit peels and requesting plastic bags instead of paper. When the Green Police set up a roadblock, the guy in the “clean diesel”-powered Audi gets to zip right by. At first, this ad seemed counterintuitive: If you drive a hybrid or other green car, you probably worry that other people see you as an eco-Nazi, not that the Green Police are going to bust down your door. The more I thought about it, though, the more sense this ad made. It sends the message that if you buy an Audi, you can absolve yourself of environmental guilt, and safely ignore the Green Police in your life (presumably, your Bobo neighbors or fellow Whole Foods shoppers). The ad’s parody of COPS is pretty funny, too.
• Most memorable ads: In Bridgestone’s “Whale of a Tale,” three guys speed a killer whale to safety, “Free Willy”-style . . . in a station wagon. Two guys pour bottled water over its head to keep it cool, while the driver skids to a stop on a pier, crushing the railings and ejecting the whale into the water. It’s quirky, charming, and it makes the point that Bridgestone tires (supposedly) let you stop on a dime.
• Most memorable ads: Cars.com, “Timothy Richman.” The hero of this ad is a genius who delivers Bengal tiger babies, speaks perfect Italian in junior high, and uses his knowledge of meteorology to rescue a bus full of cheerleaders from a tornado. But, the ad tells us, he’s still nervous about buying a car, so he goes to Cars.com. This ad reassures people that there’s no shame in not knowing much about the car buying process, and does so in a gentle, tongue-in-cheek manner with the spirit of an indie film.
• Worst ads (beside the masculine anxiety ones mentioned above): In “Driven Crazy,” FloTV once again suggests a miniature TV set can solve all your problems. Here a mom ineffectually warns, “Who wants a time out?” as her three kids brat it up in the backseat. One even hits her in the head with a stuffed animal. (Forget time outs; if I had done that to my mom I would have been cleaning for a week!) But does she give them something to read? Shoot them The Look Of Certain Grounding, Or Possibly Death? Actually follow through on her idle threat of a time out? Nah, it’s easier just to shut ‘em up with Spongebob!
• Worst ads: Emerald Nuts and Pop Secret’s spot went for weird for weird’s sake, featuring humans doing dolphin-like tricks for the nuts and popcorn their “trainer” threw. All I could think was, “Wet, chlorine-soaked popcorn. Ew.”
• Worst ads: Vizio, “Forge.” Giant cranes pluck people and objects out of their homes in an ad that evokes an apocalypse in which humanity is enslaved by robots. Even Beyonce looks robotic. Surrender to the machines!
• And, finally, monkeys!

And, once Stargate really took off, Trek actors jumped on the bandwagon, gladdening the hearts of sci-fi geeks everywhere. Even when they weren’t well-suited to their roles, it was still fun to see those familiar faces once again.

Armin Shimerman (Quark)

Shimerman was the first Trek alum to crossover, appearing as a member of a quirky, tree-dwelling alien society known as the Nox. No Ferengi, these cuddly, be-fro’ed pacifists were one of the most appealing alien races to feature on Stargate: They seemed like simple villagers at first glance, only to turn out to be so evolved they no longer needed technology or weaponry to thrive. Shimerman brought charm to his role as Nox dad Anteaus.

Marina Sirtis (Counselor Troi)

I have a hard time differentiating Sirtis from ditzy Troi, so it was pretty amusing to see her featured as a “brilliant Russian scientist.” Her Russian accent was . . . interesting, and at times indistinguishable from her Troi accent. Sirtis wasn’t the only “crossover” here: the plot of “Watergate,” the episode in which she appeared, is a blatant ripoff of “Home Soil” from Season 1 of TNG. I half expected the Enkarans to refer to SG-1 as “ugly bags of mostly water” . . . and then for Sirtis to use her telepathy on them.

Dwight Schultz (Reginald Barclay)

I didn’t even realize Schultz was in this episode at first — it was not until later I discovered that the guy who played Reg appeared in it. It’s not that Schultz looks very different from his TNG days; it’s that Reg’s nervous mannerisms were so much a part of his character that it was hard to recognize him without them. That’s a credit to Schultz’s acting abilities: the character he plays in Stargate, the Gamekeeper, is also a quirky, jittery fellow, but somehow Schultz makes him utterly distinct from Reg.

Rene Auberjonois (Odo)

Auberjonois is excellent as Alar, the leader of a corrupt and genocidal society in “The Other Side.” The crisp diffidence he brings to the character appropriately recalls the Nazis or General Dyer: it’s evil cloaked by bureaucratic pleasantries, undercut by barely detectable anxiety.

John DeLancie (Q)

DeLancie played one of the suits over various sorts who threatened to shut down the Stargate program (not without reason). But the role never seemed to fit him all that well: It forced him to be a boring bureaucrat, with none of the puckish humor Q was known for. Though it was fun to see an ex-Trek star again, his role could have been filled just as well by a lesser-known actor.

Jolene Blalock (T’Pol)

Blalock wasn’t really well-suited for her role as Ishta, leader of a renegade group of female Jaffa: She just doesn’t have the physical prowess and imposing manner the role requires. Her big fight scene with Teal’c, with its numerous distracting cross-cuts and gymnastic gyrations done by a stunt double, was the most ludicrous display of fisticuffs to appear on Stargate. On the bright side, though, it was nice to see Teal’c get a girlfriend, and to finally find out what happened to all the female Jaffa. And Blalock looked amazing. I never realized how unflattering the T’Pol makeup was until I saw her as Ishta. She is stunning (which, doubtless, is why Christopher Judge wrote this episode with her in mind).

John Billingsley (Dr. Phlox)

Billingsley plays Simon Coombs, an SGC scientist and SG-1 fanboy, in “The Other Guys,” one of the most Trek-centric episodes of Stargate. (He’s the one who dropped the line about feeling like a redshirt.) Alongside fellow nerd Fetzer, he goes on an ill-fated mission to “rescue” SG-1, getting to don Jaffa armor and fire a zat along the way. Billingsley hams it up and sometimes overacts, but overall is very funny as the bumbling Coombs.

Ronny Cox (Captain Jellico)

Cox, who appeared in two episodes of TNG (“Chain of Command,” a two-parter) is great as the corrupt Senator Kinsey, one of the SGC’s biggest foes back on Earth. He’s perfectly believable as a politician who talks about God and country with a smug sincerity, then turns his hand to backroom dealings with clandestine organizations once the cameras are off.

Robert Picardo (The EMH)

Another great villainous bureaucrat is Picardo’s Richard Woolsey. Woolsey’s character arc is similar to the EMH’s, actually: He starts out crusty, huffy, and petty, and little by little shows his warmer side, until eventually he’s accepted by the people he once antagonized. Sure enough, Picardo’s now found a regular role for himself as Woolsey on Stargate Atlantis. I haven’t watched Atlantis yet, so I can’t tell you about Connor Trinneer’s performances either, but I look forward to seeing the charmingly uptight Woolsey on it when I do.

Tony Amendola (Chorus #1 on Voyager episode “The Muse”)

And, finally, Amendola doesn’t really count, as he only had a bit part on one forgettable VOY episode, but I had to include him because, well, he plays Master Bra’tac, and Bra’tac rocks.

In a way, I have to admire these women. There’s something cool about an actress who, when planning her outfit to wear to the Oscars, thinks, “Should I do a little black dress? A slinky slipdress? Nah, let’s go for a dirndl!”  They may have failed mightily, but at least they failed memorably. And so here are 10 of the most memorable gowns of the ’00’s:

Top Ten Worst-Dressed

10. Angelina Jolie, 2000

On the heels of Jolie’s coruscating performance in Girl, Interrupted, everyone wanted her to wear something edgy and dramatic — not look like an extra from Twilight. Objectively, this dress isn’t too bad — it’s the “too cool for school” attitude Jolie was pulling that makes this look so irritating. She was like that Goth kid back in high school who rolled her eyes when the principal handed out Honor Roll certificates, even though you knew she was secretly glad to get one.

9. Tilda Swinton, 2008

Swinton prefers understated, haute couture-inflected looks, and has established this so firmly as her personal style that it’d be downright weird to see her in, say, a slinky red slipdress. Still, there’s good couture and bad couture, and this shapeless bag of a dress definitely falls in the latter category. It reminds me of nothing so much as Armus, the oil slick with a bad attitude from “Skin of Evil,” one of the worst Star Trek episodes of all time.

8. Anne Hathaway, 2007

Rarely has one detail so thoroughly ruined an outfit as in Anne Hathaway’s ‘07 gown. Without the outsized bows, it would have a nice, if somewhat bridal-looking dress, but with them, one wonders what she was thinking. The back bow takes the dress to twee levels, and the front one, which registers as a Rorschach pattern rather than a bow, puts it over the top. Fortunately, Hathaway, like Nicole Kidman and Kate Winslet before her, learned from experience and wore a prettier gown in ‘08 and an absolute show-stopper in ‘09.

7. Heather Mills, 2002

This ensemble looks like something your wacky aunt would wear to casino night on a Carnival cruise.

6. Jessica Biel, 2009

Last year, Jessica Biel forgot about the Oscars until the last minute and just put on the first thing she found when she stepped out of the shower — which, alas, happened to be her towel.

5. Jennifer Connelly, 2002

The hemline of Connelly’s droopy Balenciaga looks like it had a run-in with a wood chipper, and that shade of old-lady beige puts me in mind of pantyhose. Some bling would have perked it up a little, but Connelly inexplicably went for a scarf instead. I wish she’d revisited one of her career’s greatest hits and gone in something like this instead:

4. Cameron Diaz, 2000

One good rule of thumb when choosing gowns: If it makes other women cringe in sympathetic pain or embarrassment at what you’ve done to your bosom, it’s a bad gown. This is a bad gown.

3. Kirsten Dunst, 2007

Dunst, 25 when this picture was taken, appears to have raided her grandmother’s wardrobe to find this mother-of-the-bride-style creation. But even a grandma would probably nix the feathers on the hem and the pseudo-Peter Pan collar.

2. Gwyneth Paltrow, 2002

Even Goth or would-be Goth girls (ahem, Angelina) can’t pull off Goth at the Oscars. Cher can, but she’s Cher. When a very non-Goth, nay, an anti-Goth celeb like Gwyneth Paltrow tries to do so, the results are disastrous. This dress is like the sartorial version of a depressive episode.

(Also: See rule of choosing gowns, above.)

1. Uma Thurman, 2004

I can’t make heads or tails of this outfit. Was Uma’s stylist deliberately trying to sabotage her? That’s the only explanation for why she’s got on a dirndl over a oversized work blouse, trimmed with a blue ribbon. This outfit could have worked if only she had tightened up the figure-erasing looseness of the fabric, lost the slit in the skirt, done something about those awful puffy sleeves, and . . . never mind. There’s no fixing this outfit.

The Runners-Up

These gowns might not be as egregious as the 10 listed above, but they come pretty close.

Miley Cyrus, 2009

Miley might have made the top 10 had she not been underage. Really, was there no one around to tell the poor child that, as cute as looking like a Christmas tree sounds when you’re 16, it’s something you’ll regret three or four years later?

Beyonce Knowles, 2009

This is not the best way to advertise your family’s fashion line. I think I may have found the inspiration for this dress, however:

Anika Noni Rose, 2007

Wearing deep cleavage to the Oscars is fine, and going along with the metallic fabric trend is fine, but combine the two and you risk looking too, uh, ‘working girl.’ That or ‘engineering student who made her own dress out of duct tape.’

So Bad They’re Good

And then there are the dresses so outrageous they deserve a category of their own.

Tyra Banks, 2000

Tyra totally indulged her inner child on this one. I imagine her saying, “I want to look like a princess, dammit!” — and when are you going to get to wear this poofy a dress, except at the Oscars or possibly your wedding? — and picking out something from the Glinda the Good Witch collection.

Faith Hill, 2002

Inspired by Toucan Sam, this would be a nice enough dress, were it not for the fact that it’s four different colors.

Dolly Parton, 2007

The crocheting! The chiffon! The baby pink color! The implants! The tiny bow! This dress is pure Nashville cheese, and Dolly knows it, and she just doesn’t care. She had more fun than anybody else on the red carpet that night.

And, finally (you knew it was coming):

Bjork, 2001

Only someone from a country like Iceland, where they still believe in elves and consider months-old rotten shark a delicacy, would think to wear a giant stuffed swan — complete with white, egg-shaped purse — to the Oscars. Is it witty or just weird? Either way, Bjork singly-handedly punctured the pomposity of the Academy Awards with her take on Tchaikovsky.

The Trouble With Wicked

Contains spoilers.

My husband and I went to see Wicked over Christmas break. It’s a big, baroque spectacle of a musical, with soaring songs, intricate sets, and steampunky costumes in a Venetian palette. What sets it apart from other Broadway juggernauts like Phantom of the Opera are its attempts at political commentary. Wicked sends a valuable message about accepting moral ambiguity and not blindly following those in power; the problem is that it grafts these messages too clunkily onto a crowd-pleasing template, making for an entertaining but less than intellectually satisfying experience.

The most clever thing Wicked does is to overturn all your childhood perceptions. In its opening song, citizens of Oz, grateful that the Wicked Witch of the West has been killed, sing:

No one mourns the wicked,

No one lays a lily on their grave,

The good man scorns the wicked,

Through their lives our children learn

What we miss when we misbehave.

The “children” they’re singing about, we come to learn as the play progresses, are us: Americans who grew up watching The Wizard of Oz. From that movie—which, before the age of VCRs, DVDs, and TiVo, used to appear on television as a once-yearly event—we learned that “only bad witches are ugly,” that villains are absolute, and that it is perfectly safe for teenage girls to enlist the help of random grown men they meet on the road.

But Wicked’s message is that such a binary view of good and evil is only suitable for children. When adults adopt it, the musical implies, the consequences can be devastating.

In Wicked’s Oz, the Wizard is a dictator, the talking animals a persecuted minority, and the Tin Man a McCarthyite finger-pointer. The Witch of the West, Elphaba, is a would-be reformer used as a scapegoat by the Wizard when she resists his plans, and Glinda’s no longer a “good witch” but a spin doctor for the powers that be.

It can be disconcerting to see beloved characters acting in cruel ways: the Tin Man, for example, sings, “I’m glad I’m heartless / I’ll be heartless killing her [Elphaba],” but it’s thought-provoking, too. What other “truths” about people and values, the musical forces us to ask, do we accept without examination? And who sold us on these “truths,” and for what purpose?

As the Wizard himself sings in one particularly clever song, “Wonderful,”

A man’s called a traitor,

Or liberator,

A rich man’s a thief,

Or philanthropist.

Is one a crusader,

Or ruthless invader?

It’s all in which label

Is able to persist.

Sadly, though, Wicked doesn’t always make its points so cunningly. At times it’s downright anvilicious; ironically, its message that “good” and “evil” aren’t always the absolutes they appear to be is drummed into the audience’s heads in an awfully moralistic fashion. Consider the song titles alone, for example: “No One Mourns The Wicked,” “No Good Deed,” “Something Bad,” “Thank Goodness,” “For Good.” (As a former resident of Southeastern Massachusetts, I was holding out for a song called “Wicked Good,” but, alas, it was not to be.)

Elphaba’s unexpected survival also weakens the play’s impact. Had she been offed by the Wizard and his coterie, she could have become a martyr to principle. Instead, the play’s authors opt for a wishy-washy, feel-good ending in which Elphaba, apparently melted by Dorothy and presumed dead, escapes to freedom with her lover, Fiyero. By doing so, they sell out their audience, whom they don’t believe tough enough to accept the harsh consequences that often arise when people stand up to power in the real world.

Regime Change Comes to Oz: Wicked and the Bush Administration

Though Wicked at times gestures towards Nazi Germany (through its scapegoated and persecuted minority, the talking animals) and racial discrimination (Elphaba is shunned because of her skin color), for the most part its targets are generic: corrupt officials, mercenary famemongers, and a frightened and closeminded populace. Still, it’s hard not to see some parallels to the war on terror: the musical, which premiered in 2003, was developed in the early 2000’s, during the early days of the war, and Glinda even drops the phrase “regime change” when the Witch of the East is killed.

To begin with, Oz is a realm governed by fear, in which rumors gain currency with frightening speed. “I hear she has an extra eye that always stays awake,” one citizen sings of Elphaba, and then another joins in, and another:

I hear she can shed her skin

As easily as a snake

I hear her soul is so unclean

Pure water can melt her!

From there it’s but a short step to: Please! Somebody melt her! And it’s the Wizard and his spin doctor, Madam Morrible, who step in to reassure everyone that the Wicked Witch will be dealt with. Meanwhile, they’re taking away the rights of the Talking Animals, banning them from teaching, and, finally, speaking. Elphaba morphs from a single woman to an embodiment of Evil itself, one who must be eradicated for the realm to regain a state of Edenic purity.

Sound familiar? The creators of Wicked, I believe, are not criticizing the war on terror so much as the morality-play rhetoric and symbolism underlying it. The terrorists may indeed by “wicked” (and what’s a better example of black-and-white moral thinking than Jihadism?), and should be stopped, but by painting them as “evil” and ourselves as “good,” we can fail to take a close, critical view of them and the leaders we count on to protect us.

It’s All About Popular: Sarah Palin as Glinda

And, though the authors couldn’t have foreseen the rise of Sarah Palin back in 2000 or so, they must have shared a wry chuckle or two over Palin’s resemblance to Glinda. A celebrated beauty, Glinda is beloved wherever she goes, owing solely to her looks and charm. She is almost utterly lacking in talent or intellect, but that matters to her far less than popularity. As she tells Elphaba,

Think of celebrated heads of state

Or ‘specially great communicators:

Did they have brains or knowledge?

Don’t make me laugh!

They were popular!

It’s all about popular.

Glinda becomes so addicted to popularity that she can’t bear to let it out of her grip, even when that means joining forces with people she knows to be corrupt. In one particularly underhanded and catty move, she sells out Elphaba—her erstwhile “best friend”—to the Wizard because Fiyero has chosen Elphaba over her.

With a better script, Wicked would have been Glinda’s tragedy as much as it almost was Elphaba’s. For Glinda does become self-aware by the play’s close. She’s less happy to spread the Wizard’s lies than she is afraid not to, lest she lose her adoring public. As she mollifies the Munchkins with assurances that the Wizard has everything under control, one can almost hear her thinking, “This isn’t right, but if I speak out, then they won’t like me anymore.” That basic desire to be liked is what humanizes Glinda, transforming her from the ditzy comic relief into a sympathetic character.

But the play goes too far in trying to vindicate Glinda. After Elphaba’s “death,” Glinda tries to redeem her friend’s reputation — but doesn’t try so hard that she’d get herself in trouble with the Wizard. Despite being so weenie and weasely, she gets to end the play on a soaring duet in which she and Elphaba proclaim, “Because I knew you / I have been changed for the better / I have been changed for good.” Schmaltz, once again, wins out over substance.

I don’t know what goes on in Sarah Palin’s head, and so I can’t say whether she believes some of the more inflammatory things she says, but I see her as a Glinda: someone who’s in love with popularity and will hold onto it at any cost. Palin’s been blessed with good looks, charisma, and a gift for coining phrases that resonate with her base. When I hear her spouting rhetoric about “death panels” or Obama’s “palling around with terrorists,” I look at her winks and smirks and think, “There’s no way she can really buy that tripe,” partly because I don’t believe that Bump-It-covered head has ever held an idea in its life, and partly out of an inborn suspicion that all politicians*, of whatever party, are glib hucksters. Palin’s speeches are conglomerations of catch phrases, unfettered by logic or even grammar; they say nothing, except for the fact that she all too often has no idea what she’s talking about. But as long as she manages to push the right buttons — maverick! homespun hockey mom! Obama=the end of America! — she remains popular.

Does doubt ever creep into her mind, as it did for Glinda, making her think that maybe her irresponsible statements are causing harm, or, failing that, that maybe she shouldn’t be blathering on about subjects she knows nothing about? There’s been no sign of it so far, but one can always hope.

* For the record, I don’t think Obama cares nearly as much about hope, change, or health care reform as he does the awesomeness of one Barack H. Obama.

10. Metafictional Modesty

“A Fistful of Datas,” Season Six

When Crusher asks Picard to appear in the play she’s directing, he replies, with a diffident smile, “I’m not much of an actor.” But the glint in Patrick Stewart’s eyes gives him away — he’s an awesome actor; he knows it; we know it; and he proves it here by uniting his real and fictional personas in a single classic line.

9. I Love You, Lwaxana

“Menage a Troi,” Season Three

Picard’s declaration of “love” for Lwaxana Troi is one of the funniest scenes in all TNG. He starts off awkward and halting, and then warms up to the role, hamming away while the rest of the crew cracks up. Even when the camera’s on Tog and Lwaxana, he’s audible in the background, quoting lines of British poetry. Once again, in a treat for admirers of Stewart’s acting, all three “layers” are detectable here: Steward playing Picard, who’s playing Lwaxana’s love interest.

8. The Universal Language

“Darmok,” Season Five

This episode makes use of a classic — and often hackneyed — sci-fi trope: the character who must communicate with an alien who doesn’t speak his language. Usually, this plot point is terribly annoying to the viewers (which is why most aliens conveniently speak English): we’re force to watch characters grope, gesture, and point to themselves, repeating their names until the alien finally gets them. Then the characters talk in monosyllables until the end of the episode, by which point the alien’s learned an astonishing amount of English, though not enough to make things remotely enjoyable.

But “Darmok” is able to turn this cliché into something special, due in part to Stewart’s acting and in part to the fact that Dathor does have an intelligible language, albeit one that needs a little deciphering, and so he doesn’t just speak nonsense words the writers have concocted for him. By the end of the episode, the characters have genuinely begun to care for one another, making us care for them as well.

7. Live Long And Prosper

“Sarek,” Season Three; “Unification,” Season Five

Picard mind-melds with one of the show’s most memorable guest stars (Mark Lenard, putting in a formidable performance himself), and Stewart delivers a devastating glimpse into the Vulcan’s helplessness and frustration. In the completion of the arc, Picard convinces Spock — Spock!  — to forgive his estranged father. You know you’re good when you’re helping Vulcans with their family problems.

Bonus: “Sarek” is the episode where Crusher slaps Wesley “really hard!” But it wasn’t her fault, as she was being telepathically influenced by Sarek’s anger at the time. Sure she was.

Bonus 2: When K’vada implies that humans aren’t as tough as Klingons, Picard doesn’t let it get to him. “You’ll sleep Klingon style,” K’vada says. “We do not soften our bodies by putting down pads.” And Picard thumps the board that serves for a bunk, exclaiming, just a little too heartily, “Great! That’s the way I like it!”

6. The Bald Badass

“Starship Mine,” Season Six

Picard shows that he’s not just a cerebral captain by single-handedly taking back the Enterprise from a group of mercenaries. He engages in hand-to-hand combat, scours Worf’s quarters for weapons, shoots a crossbow, administers a Vulcan nerve pinch, concocts a homemade flare, and blows up the thieves’ getaway ship, all while his hapless crewmates struggle to escape from two klutsy Arkarian guards.

5. Two Roads Diverged . . .

“Tapestry,” Season Six

So much goodness here: increased insight into the events that formed Picard; a chance for Stewart to riff on his character by playing Picard as an average redshirt; Picard’s interactions with Q: “No, I am not dead. Because I refuse to believe the afterlife is run by you. The universe is not so badly designed!” (This episode always makes me feel bad for the “average” crew members, though; I suspect most of us, in the Trek world, would have been the “boring” junior-grade officers and not the Rikers, Datas, or Picards.)

4. Today Is A Good Day To Kick Butt

“Sins of the Father,” Season Three

Picard shows his deep loyalty to his crew members by traveling to Kronos with Worfto help him defend his family’s honor, and later becoming his cha’Dich. He proves his mettle by cursing in Klingon and even fighting off a Klingon warrior. This is a great episode for Worf as well, who’s forced to make the difficult choice to sacrifice his father’s honor for the good of the Empire.

3. I Am Locutus of Borg

“The Best of Both Worlds,” Seasons Three and Four; “Family,” Season 4

The Locutus arc is classic TNG: Stewart is so affectless in his Borg persona that we wonder, briefly, if anything of Jean-Luc remains behind the machinery. It’s chilling to hear the Borg warnings intoned in that familiar British accent. Picard’s breakdown, complete with real tears, in “Family,” is another great acting moment on Stewart’s part.

2. The Most Precious Time

“The Inner Light,” Season Five

In what many consider the single best episode of TNG, Picard lives an alternate lifetime as a man from the dying planet Retaan. He enjoys everything his position as a Starfleet captain has denied him: a wife, children, grandchildren, life in a settled community, free time for his music. In contrast to “Tapestry,” the life Picard lives in “The Inner Light” sorely tempts him: his buried desires come to the surface in the episode’s last scenes, where he mournfully plays the Ressikan flute, meditating on what might have been.

1. There Are Four Lights!

“Chain of Command,” Season Six

Those four words alone, so powerfully delivered, drive this episode to the top of my Picard list. Patrick Stewart brings the agony of a Lear to the scenes in which Picard is tortured by the Cardassians. His heroism is underscored, not diluted, by his later admission that he was “beginning to see five lights,” but denied his own perceptions out of iron-clad principle.

Honorable Mention

And I Thought The Cardassians Tortured Me!

“Final Mission,” Season Four

Picard survives harsh desert conditions, being injured by a rockslide, and the continual presence of Wesley Crusher. He is forced to watch Wesley be a Super!Kid!Genius!, listen to Wes blather about how he admires him, and thank the brat for saving his life. It’s a mark of Picard’s heroism that he’s able to do all this without killing Wesley — or himself.

Best. Boss. Ever.

“Hide and Q,” Season One

In this early episode, Picard shows his softer side when Tasha, upset by Q’s machinations, begins crying on the Bridge. “Don’t worry, there’s a new ship’s standing order on the Bridge,” he tells her. “When one is in the penalty box, tears are permitted.” Tasha will recall this tenderness in her farewell hologram in “Skin of Evil,” when she reveals that Picard was a father figure to her.

Have A Happy Microsecond!

“Timescape,” Season Six

Picard’s goofy “temporal narcosis” is the best thing about this mediocre episode — who can forget the smiley face he draws in the cloud of steam? It’s funny and touching to see him act so out of character.

“Bohemian Rhapsody” is featured on the channel MuppetStudios, which I discourage any Generation Xers from visiting unless they want to waste the next couple of hours watching Beaker’s soulful rendition of “Habanera” or learning about the latest developments in pumpkin-carving technology. YouTube is an ideal format for the Muppets, who are at their best in short skits. Each 2- to 3-minute video’s a shot of goofy, nostalgic fun, liberally dosed with the manic bizarreness and blithe defiance of logic (What do you get when you blow up two pumpkins with a bazooka? Pumpkin pies, complete with eyes and mouths.) that have made the Muppets famous. The musical numbers, like “Habanera” and Beaker’s “Ode to Joy,” are enjoyable in such a random, meme-like way–they’re unselfconscious and don’t overstay their welcome–that they seem poised to go viral. In fact, “Bohemian Rhapsody” already has, having been featured on BoingBoing and viewed over 10 million times.

Of course, one of my favorite all-time Muppet moments is still the “Happiness Hotel” number from The Great Muppet Caper. It and the England sequence from National Lampoon’s European Vacation remain two of the most indelible images of British hotels in American popular culture. My husband and I are visiting London next fall, and I’ll be crossing my fingers until we get there, hoping that our hotel doesn’t remotely resemble the good old Happiness (though, I suppose, if it does, we can always sneak out in the middle of the night).

But platitudes won’t help anyone up the promotion ladder and, as a highly placed officer, I feel it is my duty to let my younger compatriots in on a few of my tactics. Sure, I’m pretty intelligent, not too shabby in a firefight, and I can hold my own on the deck of a Klingon cruiser, but so can most folks who make it to Lieutenant without becoming cannon fodder. No, the real reason I am where I am today is a little something I like to call “positive reinforcement,” or, as it is more unkindly known, brownnosing.

Brownnosing gets a bad reputation, but what is it, really, except reminding your superiors of their talents and accomplishments? And so what if you exaggerate those talents a bit? You’re only inspiring your shipmates to become the best Starfleet officers they can be. As I see it, everyone profits.

Besides, brownnosing can reap you rich rewards: promotions, better quarters, freedom from unpleasant duties like cleaning out the plasma vents. You can also think of it as insurance in case anything goes wrong.  As a Starfleet officer, there will be times you’ll end up in a little scrape by, oh, violating the Prime Directive, or having the ship get stolen while you’re in command, or wrecking a First Contact by sleeping with the leader of an alien planet. Then will be the time to cash in on all those brownie points you’ve been so carefully been building up.

So, you’re probably asking, “How do I go about working positive reinforcement into my routine?” Here’s a few tips, illustrated with examples from my career:

1. Remind your boss of his accomplishments. Don’t let him be modest about them!

Always be aware of your boss’s brightest moments, and keep on the lookout for opportunities to mention them. When Captain Picard started reminiscing about his time on the Stargazer, for example, even though I sensed he was going a little crazy, I took the chance to remind him about the Picard Maneuver. I hinted, “Then, with your shields falling, sir….,” prompting him to take it from there and finish the story. When he insisted that blasting into warp, making the ship appear as though it was in two places at once, was “only what any good helmsman would have done,” I gave him a big smile and said, “But you did it first, sir!” Doubtless, when the Ferengi mind control wore off, he remembered how his Number One had reminded him of his great achievement.

2. Your boss is never wrong. Always have his back.

Picard came under a lot of criticism for his brilliantly unorthodox strategies, mostly at the hands of admirals. I made sure to always back him up, even when I didn’t know what the hell he was doing. When some Ferengis tried to frame him with faked logs that “showed” he attacked a ship flying under a flag of truce, even though I was almost convinced he did give the order to fire, I was sure to say, “Sir, I don’t believe you could have ever said that!” And when Commander Remmick was giving him grief, I stood by him once more, telling him, “Regardless, sir, I should realize that whatever your reasons are, they’re valid. Whether or not I understand them.” In these cases, luckily, my blind loyalty paid off. Your boss may not be as awesome as Picard, but you’d do well to take his side anyway. (Unless he screws up royally, in which case, distance yourself from him as quickly as possible! You see, brownnosing’s not just about flattery. There’s strategy involved.)

3. Imply that your boss is your greatest role model. Do this even when he’s not around – it’ll be sure to get back to him anyway.

Your boss will be even more appreciative of your admiration of him if hears about it second-hand. Once, when young Wesley Crusher was nervous about leading a mining survey team, I gave him some invaluable advice. “In situations like this,” I told him, “you only have to do one thing: Ask yourself, ‘What would Picard do?’.” And when the boy protested that he was no Picard (and who is?), I asked him, “Would anyone argue with the Captain once his decision was made?” I made sure to say this really loudly, in the middle of Ten Forward, so that everyone could hear just how much I looked up to the Captain and bowed to his authority.  I advise you try the same in the break room (or whatever your century’s equivalent of Ten Forward is).

4. Praise everything your boss does to the skies – even if he just got promoted or transferred (you never know – he might hire you in the future!).

Once, some bigwigs wanted to make Captain Picard Commandant of Starfleet Academy. At first, I panicked at the thought of having to serve under another captain who might not be so lenient about my busy social life. But I quickly recovered my composure and remarked, “Congratulations! What a wonderful choice, sir! You’ll be able to shape the minds of the future leaders of Starfleet.”

As it turned out, Picard got to stay aboard the Enterprise, which was lucky for both of us. But, had he gone, I’m sure he would have warmly remembered my parting words – and maybe gotten me a cushy gig teaching something like business or education.

5. Get your boss some action.

The life of a Starfleet captain is a lonely one: regulations prevent you from dating anyone under your command, and you’re usually stuck on board ship during away missions, meaning you rarely get the chance to meet any sexy aliens. But captains are a stoic lot, who don’t want admit they need a break – or some “intimate companionship,” for that matter. It took a lot of hard work and quick thinking for me to get Captain Picard into the arms of a beautiful woman on Risa. I had to conspire with Deanna and Dr. Crusher to get him off the ship in the first place, and then I had to make sure he picked up a horga’hn in case he tried to spend his whole shore leave reading or something like that, but I think it paid off. (Actually, I’m not exactly sure what happened down on Risa, but I know he was a lot a happier once he got back!)

I have to warn you, this is brownnosing of a very advanced caliber, and if you live on one of those repressive, pre-utopian planets that still has things like lawyers and HR departments, you may need to tread very carefully. But pull this off, and you’re all but guaranteed a promotion. Who wouldn’t think kindly of an underling who got him (or her – remind me to tell you about that time I served under Commander Palmer on the Endeavor) a little fling? I know I would.

So, my fine young friends, go forth and butter up those Lieutenants, Commanders, and Captains! (Not literally, of course, unless you’re enacting suggestion #5 and they’re into that kind of thing.) And if anybody mutters that you’re “slimier than an oil slick on Vagra II,” remember my motto: Brownnosing is the deuterium that sets promotions in motion!

Christopher Judge does an admirable job portraying this character. Teal’c is very matter-of-fact and stoic much of the time, and doesn’t always get to display the same emotional range that the other characters do. This requires Judge to convey Teal’c’s feelings through very subtle, almost undetectable, facial expressions. He can do an awful lot with just the twitching of a cheek muscle or the raising of an eyebrow.

Teal’c is so self-contained that, when he does break out in a laugh or smile, it’s a little surprising — and usually very funny. It’s hard not to get caught up in his amusement yourself. With that in mind, here’s a little tribute to some of Teal’c’s funniest moments from the first four seasons of SG-1:

And Then, We Can Cast Pearls Before Some Swine

Much like Data, Teal’c has trouble understanding human idioms. In “The Serpent’s Lair,” when SG-1 discovers they can take out two Goa’uld motherships with one explosion, Teal’c proves he’s finally learned one, observing, “We can kill two birds with just one stone!” As with many things Teal’c, the line itself isn’t that funny, it’s the way Christopher Judge delivers it that makes the scene work. Teal’c has the barest hint of a smug smile on his face, as though he’s just so proud of himself for finally figuring out a human cliché, and has been waiting months for the opportunity to use it. I can’t find a screencap that does it justice, but watch the episode and you’ll see what I mean.

Three System Lords Walk Into A Bar . . .

In “Seth,” we learn that, contrary to popular belief, Jaffa do understand the concept of humor, and that their “jokes” resemble the corny ones your great-uncle tells at Thanksgiving dinner. “An Apophis guard, a Horus guard, and a Setesh guard meet on a neutral planet,” Teal’c relates. “It is a tense moment. The Apophis guard’s eyes glow. The Horus guard’s beak glistens. And the Setesh’s guard’s . . . nose drips!” And he busts out laughing, while the rest of SG-1 gives him befuddled looks. The contrast between his unbridled laughter and his team’s discomfiture is priceless. I especially love how Jackson hides his face behind a cup of coffee:

Other fans must love this moment too, considering how often it pops up on YouTube:

The Happiest Guest Ever To Visit A Motel 6

All the time that Teal’c has spent in the service of the Goa’uld has given him a keen appreciation for the little things. Things like Vibra-Beds, for example. In “Point of No Return,” he and O’Neill hide out in a crappy motel, where he bums quarters off O’Neill, fires up the Vibra-Bed, and lies down on it with a huge smile of satisfaction. Sure, Vibra-Beds are an old joke, but Teal’c’s pure happiness at experiencing something so mundane makes it work this time. Perhaps my husband put it best when he said, “Well, Teal’c doesn’t get out much . . .”

The One That Got Away

Something Teal’c definitely doesn’t love? Fishing. When O’Neill drags him along to the ol’ fishin’ hole in British Columbia Minnesota in “The Curse,” Teal’c fails to see the point of casting a rod into some water, over and over, while being eaten alive by mosquitoes. He’s actually relieved when Daniel Jackson calls and offers him a way out (“No, we have caught nothing! . . . . I would be glad to return to the base”), and then is disappointed when O’Neill nixes that suggestion. Judge’s subtle facial expressions hint, to great comic effect, at the frustration lurking beneath Teal’c’s patient exterior. Plus, Teal’c in hats is always funny.

Whack-A-Nerd

In “Window of Opportunity,” Teal’c and O’Neill are stuck in a time loop, reliving the same ten hours over and over again a la Groundhog Day. Eventually, it dawns on them that they can get away with doing just about anything, as no one else will remember their actions once the loop resets itself. So Teal’c finally gets back at the nerdy staffer who keeps bumping into him in the hall (whom he’s already warned, in Worf-like fashion, “Next time I will not be so merciful”), by flinging a door open and crushing him into the wall. Teal’c’s expression of utter satisfaction is hilarious. It’s a moment of pure id: I’m sure we’ve all, at some point, wanted to smack someone who got on our nerves.

And, as a potter, I would be amiss if I did not call this episode out as the one in which O’Neill learns to use the wheel. Somebody on the Stargate staff must be a potter for these scenes to look as accurate as they do – complete with sponges, muddy clay towel, mound of well-wedged clay, and Kemper tools!

(It’s at 1:52:)

I Love The Java Jaffa Jive And It Loves Me

Speaking of id moments, how about “Urgo,” in which Teal’c, under the influence of an alien computer program, drinks an entire pot of coffee straight from the pot? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten up groggy in the morning, gone to Starbucks, and wanted to do just that.

This one’s also on YouTube. For your caffeinated delectation:

He Who Gloats Last . . .

When you’re a big, powerful warrior and the rest of your team is composed of two nerds and one hothead, you know you’ll be the one to save their butts on numerous occasions. That’s got to be gratifying – and all the more so when they’ve just been granted superpowers and one of them has knocked you out in a sparring match (“Upgrades”). O’Neill, Carter, and Jackson apologize in turn to General Hammond for wreaking havoc and going offworld without his permission, and then Teal’c says, with the tiniest possible intimation of smugness, “I have nothing to apologize for.” Judge’s delivery, again, is spot-on: you can tell Teal’c is inwardly gloating, but the only sign is an extra brightness in his eyes and a very small upward turn to the corners of his lips.

In other Teal’c news, dude likes saying, “Indeed.” A lot: