Déclaration de Mission

In a recent bout of not so uncommon laziness, Cherchez La Femme could not be sought, and I neglected to attend to this blog. I did not, however, neglect to think about this blog, and in doing so, think what this blog should be about. I have not yet found an identity, a niche under which to tightly huddle the subject matter that will be written about here. The two posts thus far have been similar, though. They are about people, profiles of interesting things those people have done, and how those things have come to fruit for me. In an unrelated bout of inspiration, I named the blog "Cherchez La Femme" in an attempt to rebut the term's assholey intentions and take it at face value, which is, in plain English, "seek the woman." So I guess I'll seek them out, women that is.

I know, I know, some of you are saying "But your last post was about Heath Ledger, and Heath Ledger is not a woman." To which I respond, "I know. And I don't care." If we're going to get really semantic about this, I would suggest, Matt McConaughey-from-A Time to Kill-style, "Imagine a blog called 'Seek the Woman.' Imagine that blog, defiantly making grand and sometimes erroneous generalizations about people and gender. Now imagine it called 'Seek the Man.'" When talking in generalities, referring to both genders of humankind, we tend to default to the male designation. The term "man" is often used instead of "human", and sometimes connotes a metaphysical notion of a collective soul (as in "man cannot live on bread alone" or "man is the cruelest animal"). So I will write about people. I think most of the time they will be women. I also think sometimes I will make things up about them.

Rest assured I will deviate from this frequently.

The Ordinary Death of an Extraordinary Person

I'm not so sorry to say that the passing of Heath Ledger was the first death of a public figure in my lifetime that I did not meet, at least partially, with somewhat feigned and dutiful grief. (I am a little sorry to be just another contributor to Ledger's "still-unfurling eulogy.") My sadness in this instance was, and is, plain and genuine. I am not devastated. I cannot and probably shouldn't be. Ledger was not even an acquaintance of mine. But I know who he was and I was impressed with his rise from the teen-themed margins from which he came to the role in Brokeback Mountain that (ironically) made him a house hold name. His portrayal of Ennis Del Mar (a name the meaning of which still baffles me with its pelagic foot, as the character remains in the middle part of this country throughout the movie) was lovely and distressing.

The same can be said of his portrayal of the Joker in The Dark Night. The character is typically limned with an angular grin full of teeth, narcissistic and quaffed. Though this new version of the Joker presumably cares about his appearance (we are told when he is finally arrested that his clothing is "custom" and has no labels), he is greasy and sweaty, reveling in his madness like a pig in its own shit. His makeup, referred to as "warpaint" at one point by an extra, creeps and drips into the creases of his face; his voice would sound sniveling if he wasn't so mean. But Ledger's Joker does not necessarily cause recoil. He is slim and ageless and slightly effeminate. These qualities, mixed with the character's spryness and unwavering commitment, supplies him with a dark sexuality akin to that of, say, Dracula.

But the finality of this role is what makes it so compelling. The movie, of course, was shot with a sequel in mind, and surely with a continuance of the rivalry set up between the batman and his new found foil. That would now be an impossibility unless Ledger was replaced. The franchise has done it before, replacing Katie Holmes as Rachel Dawes with Maggie Gyllenhaall. But Holmes, though possibly brainwashed, is not dead. The change was also an improvement; both actresses have tiny, smirking mouths, but that is where their similarities end. It will be interesting to see what Warner Brothers decides to do. There has been speculation that Ledger's death had as much to do with the movie's opening weekend success as anything else, but if he hadn't died, I suspect it might have done just as well.

I eagerly await The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, Ledger's for-real last movie. He looks extra good in it, and his mask reminds me of a penis.

You are missed, handsome.

Belles of Bellevue

Besides looking like a brunette Kim Catrall and a young Melanie Griffith, dressing brilliantly, and looking all around like they should be my heroes, the women in this picture happen to be sisters Ann and Nancy Wilson of the band Heart. Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering if I should have been a rock and roll star. Not at all a habitual video game player, I tried Guitar Hero recently at a friend's house. My meanderings were confirmed. Heart's galloping face-melter "Barracuda" jumped from the options list like a lean and toothy fish at my face. The Zepplinish single from their third album Little Queen is rumored to be a frustrated retort to a suggestion that the sisters' relationship was a bit more Sapphic in nature. (The ladies were also accused of being witches. How very retro.) Because of this, I like knowing that a Heart tune made it into Guitar Hero, particularly this song. It's refreshing to know that a generation of shy teenagers who dwell in the game's private and fantastic glory have no memory of the sexist inventions intended, thirty years ago, to drum up publicity. Instead, they accompany Ann's crystaly voice and feel justly insolent, which is something everyone deserves to feel once in a while.