H'Elio, Anybody There?

So, I have a question, but it’s a bit of a complex one that needs a lot of context for it to make sense, so please bear with me.

I recently saw Elio and my overall impression of it could best be summed up in a single word: Solid. It doesn’t excel in any areas, but it doesn’t fall short anywhere, either. Another film I use the word “solid” to describe is The Last Starfighter, and Elio has a nice little nod to that film I appreciated. I do share the sentiment with a number of Pixar fans that their films simply don't pack the same punch as they once did. For me, I think they peaked with The Incredibles and they’ve simply never been able to recapture that special something. To be fair, I haven’t seen Coco, and that seems almost universally loved by all who’ve seen it. I also rather enjoyed Elemental, though that was more for its visuals and world building than anything else it had to offer. Even Lightyear had its moments despite being an overall lackluster execution of an ill-conceived afterthought. Maybe there’s a paradigm shift at Pixar, or maybe I’m just getting older. I mean, it couldn’t possibly be the latter, could it?

The criticisms of Elio seem to come in two flavors. One has to do with the art style being too similar to past entries, namely Luca and Turning Red. As much as I see the point, I can’t help but wonder if we’re not dealing with a little bit of cherry-picking here. Okay, Elio’s characters look like they could fit in right alongside those in Turning Red and Luca, but could you say that about Elemental, Soul, Lightyear, or Inside Out 2? Those all seem to have pretty distinct art styles from one another. Frankly, if Pixar movies are starting to blur together, it’s got more to do with the number of sequels they make than anything else. After all, why shouldn’t The Incredibles 2 have the same art style as The Incredibles? It would be rather odd if they took it in a drastically different direction. The same goes for the Toy Story films as any changes to the art style seem to have more to do with technical innovations since the first film came out all the way in 1995 than any creative decision from on high. 1995? Damn, I am getting older.

The other flavored critique of Elio’s reception is in its marketing. There didn’t seem to be any shortage of YouTubers and social media influencers insisting they didn’t even know the movie was out because they never saw any ads for it. Well, that’s easy enough to explain. Elio was delayed by almost a year because of the SAG/AFTRA strikes, so chances are most if not all of that initial marketing budget was spent pushing a date that’s no longer valid. Marketing a movie is expensive and it’s not easy to make sharp right turns or pump the brakes. If the movie’s release date is pushed further down the pipe, that’s more money Pixar has to ask from Uncle Walt to get the movie out in front of people prior to the actual release date. That said, this is where I start to approach the initial question I brought up at the start. I use YouTube the way most people probably use Netflix or Hulu or HBO Max. It’s rare for me to binge a show or series of movies on one of those platforms, but I’m rather embarrassed to admit how many hours I’ve spent binging retro videogame reviews or story time animations or ASMR content. My point is that I’ve been seeing plenty of ads and trailers for Elio leading up the release date. I don’t know where these people are getting this idea that they don’t know the movie’s coming out because I’ve sure been made aware the past several weeks.

So, here’s the question at long last: Are you guys all using adblockers?

Can you really complain about not knowing when a movie is coming out if you’ve cut off the mainstream means of marketing? How did you know about all the other movies you might have seen instead of Elio? I mean, I saw Superman the day before I saw Elio, and just like that film, there were plenty of trailers in front of YouTube videos. That movie doesn’t seem to be doing so bad in theaters, so what am I missing here? I don’t think the art direction critique has a lot of credibility, and the lack of marketing is only understandable to a point when you consider how many people are consuming content in the first place.

Pixar and Disney have released a statement effectively blaming moviegoers for Elio’s lackluster box office performance, insisting that they go out of their way to make these original stories only for people to not go and see them, all while complaining about there being too many sequels, reboots, and remakes. I don’t want to say they have a point, but I also don’t think they’re completely wrong. We turn out in droves for the latest entry in a long-running series, then say we’re tired of sequels, and finally add insult to injury by ghosting those movies that do try to be their own thing rather than part of some legacy.

There’s some study out there about how what people say they want doesn’t always match up with what they really want. It goes something like this, a group of participants were asked how they like their coffee, either rich and dark or milky and weak. Overwhelmingly, people said they liked their coffee rich and dark. However, when it came to their real world spending habits, overwhelmingly the drink of choice was milky and weak. So, what’s going on here? One conclusion drawn was that people said they liked rich and dark because it sounded more appealing in their heads. Maybe they wanted to avoid some social stigma of not being able to handle this adult beverage like adults. In the end, when it came to actually having to drink coffee in their daily routine, they went with milky and weak because they didn’t want to deal with the harshness of the alternative. Speaking only for myself, when I used to drink coffee, if I ordered from Starbucks, I would order a Tall Blonde. I did this for two reasons. For one, it’s fun to say. For two, I’d take that Tall Blonde over to the counter with all the sugar and cream, and add each until it tasted just right to me. In other words, I didn’t trust the baristas to know exactly what I wanted (I mean, I barely knew), so I took the basic foundation and built on it to my own tastes.

There’s no adding cream and sugar to a movie, not unless your theater has a liquor license and you’re really good at coming up with drinking games on the fly. Considering how expensive it can be to go to the movies these days and the economy being in and out of the drunk tank since January, your only real choice is to potentially have a bad time at a movie where you don’t know what to expect, or play it safe with a franchise that’s never let you down.

Much like my original question, the issue is complex and requires a lot of context to understand. Are people really unaware of certain movies coming out and saying as much, or are they sticking with what they know to avoid taking a risk?

Oh, Not Funny When It's You

So, some time ago, Star Wars Kinect was released for the XBox360, and it was met with what could charitably be described as mixed feelings, with most of the negative feelings strangely centered on a rhythm and dance portion of the game wherein much-beloved characters dance in well-known locales to popular songs made into parodies by a slight tweaking of key lyrics. "Princess in a battle" instead of "genie in a bottle" is one example.
As to why this has many fans outraged, there's no official answer, but if one were to be culled from the general consensus of the gaming community, it's that Star Wars Kinect is an officially licensed Lucasfilm product. In other words, Star Wars fans can make fun of their beloved franchise to their heart's content, but heaven forbid the people behind it have a sense of humor as well.
I could get into the psycho-socio-cultural underpinnings of this phenomenon, but The Escapist's MovieBob already did, and in reading his analysis, I remembered something from my own childhood that perfectly exemplifies the situation.

It was really hard for me to make friends after I moved to New Mexico in 1991. There's a lot of reasons for this I won't go into, but probably the most important one was that my sense of humor didn't gel with everyone else's. I understand that friends take digs at each other, call each other names, and even play mean little tricks on each other. Really, I get it; it's part of the trust, it's something you can do because of the comfort zone. The thing is, where I saw it as being "part" of the whole "friendship" paradigm, some people saw it as "the whole" and that struck me as just downright conceited. I kid you not when I say that I actually lost a really good friend because I told him to stop calling me a certain name because it genuinely bothered me. For years afterward, I thought there was something wrong with me because I just couldn't take a joke, I couldn't separate "laughing with" from "laughing at." Years later, I got a second opinion. The good news is that there wasn't really anything wrong with me, that sometimes people were just jerks. The bad news is that the number of jerks turned out to be higher than I'd thought.
My 7th grade history class had some class clowns in it. Trouble was, it was a de facto role as they weren't very good at it, as most of their jokes relied on me to be their punchline, whether I wanted to be or not. How exactly they made fun of me or laughed at me or generally had fun at my expense varied and changed almost daily. For about two or three days, though, the fixation was on the fact that I was the only boy in the class who wore glasses. Right away, I thought, "they're really desperate for a laugh." Seriously, the last months 7th grade, a year between us and high school, and I felt like I was living out an uninspired episode of Full House.
Anyway, we were all doing some sort of art project that I don't remember any details of, except that we'd have to stop about five minutes before the bell so we could all go wash up in the bathrooms. So, here's the scenario: everyone walks a little faster than me so they can get there first. When I step in, everyone turns away from the sinks and starts flicking their hands at me so water beads on my glasses, carrying on until I literally can't see and have to take them off to wipe them clean, and the process repeats when I put them back on until I get out of the bathroom, my hair wet enough that I can slick it back.

This goes on for two days. I don't get angry. I don't lash out. I don't confront anybody about it. I don't say a word.  I just stand there and seethe quietly to myself, because it's the seventh bloody grade, we're in our early teens, and flicking water at my glasses to where I can't see is the funniest damn thing in the world to these guys. On the third day, I figure that maybe I'm taking this too seriously, that I'm not having fun with the whole thing. So, I decide to give this "laughing with you" idea a shot. Again, everyone walks a little faster than me to get to the bathroom first. Before I step in, though, I take my glasses off and put them in my pocket. I make sure not to squint, because that would just give them something to laugh about. I walk in, knowing what's going to happen next, and I'm smiling. It's not a toothy, ear-to-ear grin, it's more like a Mona Lisa, at the risk of sounding pretentious. The funny thing is, I'd never felt more confident in my life at that moment. The sad thing is, no one else found it funny, made apparent when they turned away from the sinks with hands at the ready.

Awkward silence.

I'd see some turn away from the sink and watch a smile disappear almost like someone flipped a switch. Instead of knowing nods, playful shrugs, or even indifference, I saw, despite the blur, frowns and eye rolls. I hadn't gotten in on the joke, I'd ruined it. I'd ruined it by not ignoring them or getting angry or annoyed or anything like that. I'd ruined it by wanting in on it and playing along. They weren't making fun of me to be friendly or chummy, they were making fun of me because they were that desperate for a laugh. How dare I, apparently.

Maybe I should have grabbed a fire extinguisher before going in instead.

I Blame You, Kim Kardashian!

(Actually, no, that's as true to the topic on hand as it is fair to her.)

I rarely keep up with any reality shows. In fact, the only one I ever liked and watched consistently was the original Joe Millionaire. As for the others like Big Brother, Survivor, or anything with Celebrity in the title, I really couldn't care less. Then again, there are reality SHOWS, and there are reality SERIES, and the latter does hold a bit of interest for me. Bear in mind, this distinction is almost completely arbitrary, but I'll try and qualify it. A reality show like America's Next Top Model is essentially a game show where contestants compete for a grand prize, the "reality" aspect referring mostly to co-habitation during filming. Meanwhile, a reality series like The Osbournes is more straightforward, a condensed glimpse into the daily life of The Prince of Darkness, his wife Sharon, and two of their three kids. There's no prize, very little structure, and casting is irrelevant because it's about a family and their close friends, not some cross-section of living stereotypes hand-picked to appeal to various key demographics.
I loved The Osbournes, but just like Joe Millionaire, I thought I'd seen the best the format had to offer. Suddenly, along comes Keeping Up With The Kardashians, which, in a manner similar to The Osbournes, seems to have sprung from an episode of MTV's Cribs. I won't go into details about the show itself as most of you are probably more familiar than you want to be with this (in)famous family. Instead, I want to focus on a particular event involving the show's centerpiece (second, in my book, behind Bruce Jenner), Kim Kardashian, and her mother. I'm working from dead reckoning as it's been a good three years since I saw this episode and I don't feel like sifting back through the various seasons to try and find it again (Thank you, Netflix), so I may get most of the details and context wrong, but the meat and potatoes of the situation will be otherwise unseasoned.
The family Kardashian had gone up to the mountains for a family ski trip, with matriarch Kris strictly emphasizing the "family" aspect of the sojourn. This led to an incident in which bratty Kim's cell phone was taken away and potentially damaged in the process. This led Kim to take Kris' phone and throw it from the upstairs loft onto the living room floor, all under the premise of, in her own words, "Treat others as you want to be treated."

If your reaction to this is anything along the lines of, "That's not really what that phrase means." then congratulations are in order as you are officially in the other 10% of Sturgeon's Law. Granted, I don't expect Kim Kardashian to be any sort of sage authority on how to implement The Golden Rule in daily life, but there's a difference between Karl Popper's addendum (the Platinum Rule, as it's been called) or Kant's Categorical Imperative, and an outright contradiction. The justification for this petty squabble isn't just circular logic, it's outright bent, and it seems more people are walking that crooked road in defiance of all the situations wherein most of us probably heard that phrase (especially if you grew up with siblings).

Fast-forward a few years to a few days ago when I happen upon this comment from a YouTube user on her own profile:

"Treat others the way you want to be treated. I give back what people throw at me, negative or postive (sic)."

Let's forgo the formalities and just break this idiocy down mathematically:

If A = B and B = C, then A = C.

Let's make the first sentence A and the second sentence B, as the person who said this wants this phrase taken as one cohesive and equitable whole.

"Treat others the way you want to be treated." = "I give back what people throw at me, negative or positive."

However, what shall be C? How about we take B and use synonyms to make a new phrase that retains the same meaning, but with a different vocabulary. Actually, for the sake of fairness to this person, let's pattern the vocabulary for C after the one used for A, that of treating others. Since positive and negative have the same value, that won't need any qualifications, so let's focus on converting "giving and throwing" to "treating."

"Treat others as others treat you."

Sounds close enough, though it seems we're bypassing A's conceit of "how one WANTS to be treated" as opposed to "how one IS treated by others." Hold on, we may be on to something:

"Treat others as YOU WOULD HAVE others treat you." = "Treat others as others treat you."

Well, that doesn't sound right. Seems A actually has relative degree of self-sufficiency compared to our newfound C, given that C involves giving back what's thrown in the first place, whereas A simply needs an awareness of what one would prefer be thrown at them. This sounds more like Newton's third law of physics, where actions have equal but OPPOSITE reactions.

Given this, we can deduce that A does not equal C, or A ≠ C. If anything, A is the opposite of C, just as a positive 1 is the opposite of a negative 1, and 1 ≠ -1.

Wait, now, if that's the case, then how can B = C and, per our initially given statement, A = B? The answer is that it can't, and the only way A ≠ C and B = C is if A ≠ B.

"Treat others the way you want to be treated." ≠ "I give back what people throw at me, negative or positive."

Treating others as they treat you is not treating others as you want to be treated. It's modifying your own behavior to match the actions of another, adjusting your reaction to match another's action, effectively removing yourself and your autonomy from the social situation in favor of being another's mirror.

So can we please stop pretending that being mean or unkind to someone is not only giving them what you feel they deserve, but what they may actually want? If that's the case, then how do you expect them to treat you how you wanted to be treated in the first place? You don't have to be a doormat, but you don't have to be a shadow to someone else just to interact with them. Failing that, just be yourself.