Monday, October 10, 2022

Dahmer: art doesn't need to be understood to be great, but should it be responsible?

I confess, I'm confused.

Within days of release, Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story was being watched and talked about with a kind of eager respect. I love to follow hype but I hesitated, conflicted. I don't know what we are supposed to learn from digging so deep into this terrible story — something inside of me was whispering that maybe it's not a healthy thing to spend time and energy on. 

My 20-year old daughter, who is fairly well versed in the true crime and serial killer genres, said that she already knew so much about Jeffrey Dahmer that the show bored her and she stopped watching it. She said perhaps it's good to understand mental health and the circumstances that could lead a person to such monstrosities — but that she's disgusted that there are already "thirsty edits of Evan Peters as Dahmer" out there.

I was still having an internal debate. It's not like Hitler. Learning about the Holocaust is important to remember and understand what happened to millions of people and, in fact, the entire world. So is it a numbers thing? Dahmer only killed 17 people. This series is an exploration of one single man with one single psychological profile, I'm not really sure if there is a warning for us all to be found? He's not an anti-hero that we can get behind, either. We have become accustomed to watching "bad people" be heroes. We still want some good to come to them, even if it's criminal we tend to root for their success. Redemption and victory, overcoming dangerous odds. But this is too real, gross, terrifying, and unthinkable.

Finally, curiosity got the better of me. I watched several episodes. I struggled because it's not enjoyable (which is a relief). It shouldn't be enjoyable. Mostly, I find it sad. I'm sad for every single character in the show. Sad for Dahmer, for his mom, his dad, his grandmother, the victims, even his neighbors and the police who didn't know what to do with him. I suppose sadness is appropriate. I mean, when you set out to make a series like this, what are you trying to evoke? 

As of today, it's one of the most watched shows that Netflix has ever streamed. I'm still confused, undecided as to whether I should finish watching — maybe if I do, some of my questions will be answered. So far I did learn how Dahmer tried to ask for help, but his family and the community didn't really know what to do with him — and that there were real opportunities to catch him but lax law enforcement, racism, and homophobia all contributed to Dahmer slipping through the cracks much longer than he should have. Are those lessons good enough reason to invest so much energy watching something so dark and depressing? 

As an artist I think it's a strong, beautiful piece of work. It showcases the era interestingly, Evan Peters is absolutely stellar, the mood is steady and unhinging at the same time — it's difficult and that's not a bad thing. I just want to know if it's responsible to have made this, or for me to watch it. There's a lot of press about victims' families being unhappy because they weren't consulted. It has unearthed the subject, emotions and memories for many who are angered to see it part of the popular culture.

So I'm confused. Why was this series made? Is it enriching anyone's life? Why am I okay with almost any fictional work that is dark and disturbing but not this all-too-true telling? What say you all?

Monday, September 26, 2016

Insta-logos: the trail of Instagram copycat logos

You may hate or love Instagram's new logo — there's definitely enough commentary out there from every level of expertise imaginable — or you might not care about it at all. While there is much debate as to whether it is a great, modern logo or a total design fail, one thing is for certain: Instagram is so big that it really doesn't matter. No one is going to stop using Instagram because they hate the garish, childish icon. Conversely, I doubt Instagram is picking up any new users who fell in love with the simplistic, flat, colorful bauble.

Instagram is a giant owned by the landlord of the entire land of giants, Facebook. No matter what the logo looks like, the app is already an indispensable tool for the masses. This kind of power is inevitably trend-setting and creates followers who jump on board hoping it will gain them some of the riches that flow in the wake. While imitation is a form of flattery, I say it's just unoriginal. Photo Collage Editor and Life360 followed Instagram's unveil with copycat logos. Even if they are all under the same corporate umbrella (which as far as I see, they are separate companies) they are still completely different brands.

I've spotted these "flattering imitations" because I use the apps... maybe there are more out there. Have you seen any? Post in the comments if you have!




Thursday, April 21, 2016

Generation Prince

He was Generation X's Elvis, and so much more. Flaunting a new look, a new sound, and a lifestyle that was too sexy and edgy for the mainstream masses. Which is exactly how legends are made – by bursting through safety barriers to open minds and hearts to something new, and in the process, creating a deeper creative-awareness in the world than was there before.

At age 14, I screamed and cried for him at the Purple Rain concert, just like an Elvis fangirl would have done back in her day. Larger than life, Prince epitomized love, sex, romance, racial harmony, philosophy, musical genius, fashion forwardness and free-thinking. He had psychedelic ideas and he conveyed them in beautifully honest ways. I imagine that he created many of his dream worlds to escape his harsh and boring reality. There was no one and nothing like him in the world, and there never will be.

I don't even know how to process Prince's unexpected death, right after losing David Bowie — I feel like part of me, part of my generation is crumbling back into the earth. It's time to let go and make way for new legends, and to understand that they all get their own time.

Goodbye from this generation, from this time, Prince. Thank you for everything you gave us, which was nothing less than your entire self. 


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