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"Belonging" pushes that sex-slave theme to its limits. It bubbles over with unsettling insights into the Dollhouse's ethical status, fueled by brilliant performances by both Dachman as Sierra and Fran Kranz as Topher, whose status as Sierra's creator/brainwasher is given tremendous complexity (he's regretful, he's complicit, he's innocent, blood is on his hands).
"The cold reality is that everyone here was chosen because their morals have been compromised in some way. Everyone except you. You Topher were chosen because you have no morals. You have always thought of people as play-things. This is not a judgement; you alwasy take very good care of your toys. But you're simply going to have let this one go."
Topher's character arc (as Epipath One showed us) will be to deal with this newfound conscience as the searing revelation of what his technological prowess has done (and will do) to everyone inside and outside the Dollhouse becomes clearer and clearer. Is the Dollhouse simply a fancy prostitution agency which manages to disavow human consent by instilling/imprinting a 'real' desire out of nothing? Or is the question an even bigger one: what are the expectations of desire and consent in a world that is already so invested in performance and make-believe? Priya/Sierra may be able to go back to the Dollhouse as a clean slate (maintaining only her love for Victor) but Topher is left alone in his geek quad to live with what he has done and what he must do every day: 'help' these dolls. But at what price? At whose bidding?
If the last couple of episodes have shown us anything is that the better Dollhouse is as a series, the more uncomfortable are the ideas/questions it (re)presents. We have to wait til December 4 for the next couple of episodes, but I personally can't wait for what Whedon & co. have in store for us.
Can you have a pure reaction to a movie if you've already heard a thousand opinions about it? Probably not, as the annual conversation cycles of awards season illustrate. It starts with "my god it's amazing!" which quickly turns to "it's everything you've heard it was and more!". Eventually the "I liked it but..." hedging and the angry "it ain't all that!" begins. Well, you know how it goes. You've probably joined in dozens of these conversations yourself.So, I have to wonder: do we have to have these conversations? Is there no way to talk about Where the Wild Things Are in terms of its approach to Sendak's book: what does it mean to translate a slim children's book into a hipster Oz-like parable? What does it say about the American audience its aimed at? About its place in a studio/auteur-based economic model? About its place in Jonze's filmography (clearly, Keener isn't the only thing it shares with Adaptation and Being John Malcovich)? Just as I think too much is made of "Oscar" films conversations during the Fall ("Will/Should it be nominated?") I think there are plenty of more conversations to be had about films these days that move beyond "good/bad"/"was what I expected/not what I wanted/expected." Does An Education not spark more interesting conversations regarding May/November romances than about Mulligan's Oscar chances? Does Precious not raise more challenging discussions when framed in terms of its subject matter rather than its press backlash?
Here’s the thing, though – when writing a review, why not make it a good read? Ebert’s recent review of Amelia isn’t just a think piece on himself and why he’s right that the movie sucked and where it doesn’t work and why it is going to bomb — most importantly, he doesn’t yarn on about how he would knew it would fail and how right he has now become – is there anything more annoying than that?And really, we could all be doing worse than aiming to be as entertaining in writing reviews than Roger Ebert (who, even when he raves about a film I hate - see his adoration for Crash, he does so in a way that doesn't feel like he's trying to persuade me to think like him or join in whatever buzz he aligns with, but to make me watch the film itself).