Titanic

There can be a some major issues in creating a fictionalized movie based on a historical event, but none more, well, titanic, than that facing James Cameron's 1997 blockbuster Titanic. No matter what sort of curve-balls and snaking twists he threw into the plot, you knew there was no chance this boat wasn't going under. There's zero likelihood of a surprise ending with this one, particularly if you saw the movie after you listened to the spoken verse in Britney Spears' "Oops I Did It Again."All the character development in the world couldn't quell that sinking (pun intended) sense of dread that our heroes were just hours from facing imminent catastrophe. Considering hordes of young girls a la Twilight saw the movie three or four times in theaters, it clearly had an X factor that transcended predictability.

In the wake of endless Avatar buzz, some of us forget that this isn't Jame's Cameron's first go at billions-earning film endeavors. Incredibly, Avatar and Titanic are currently ranked as the top two highest-grossing films, suggesting that Cameron's Titanic-inspired "I'm the king of the world!" chalks up to far more than presumptuous chutzpah*. This guy has obviously earned his cinematic clout, particularly in piquing the interest of not just critics but the general public. It's one thing to wow critics, but another realm altogether to convince the millions of the huddled masses to drop ten bucks for a screening.


While Titanic garnered innumerable accolades for its visual splendor, it's possibly more impressive that such a major contingency of people were willing to sit through the full 192 minutes. We're talking three point two hours here, especially long for those of us who hate to leave a movie even for a much-needed bathroom break. Consider the following equation: a large movie theater soda plus 192 minutes plus continuous rushing water onscreen. This did not bode well for the weak-bladdered among us.

Titanic even performed best on Valentine's Day of 1998, taking in over $13 million. Kudos to Cameron for convincing us not only to sign on for three plus hours of screen time but that this disastrous tale of a doomed trans-Atlantic voyage was the most romantic date movie choice. Well played, James Cameron. Well played indeed.

To the movie's romantic credit, it has a certain Romeo and Juliet-type appeal. Our romantic leads are not just star-crossed but downright predestined for separation. The subject matter was also arguably compelling enough to warrant such popularity; shipwrecks also have an elusive allure, captivating us with their unforeseen tragedy and trauma. Let me tell you, though, that it lacks that charm when your cruise line chooses to play it on continuous loop on the in-ship movie channel. Your fears of seasickness will pale in comparison.




The movie opens on then-present day excursions of undersea treasure hunters. Bill Paxton and friends set out to find the famed "Heart of Ocean" blue diamond, rumored to have been on board at the time of the ship's sinking. The underwater excavation doesn't yield any jewels, but it does unearth a drawing of a nude woman wearing the much sought-after necklace. Rose Dawson Calvert, a 100-year old survivor of the wreck, comes forward as the subject of the drawing in question and travels to meet with the excavation team. In typical old person fashion, she gets way off track, launching into a 3-hour detailed chronicle of her experiences onboard. They're just after the diamond, lady, really.

Rose reflects on the outset of her voyage, recalling her 17-year old self boarding the ship for its maiden voyage in 1912. Her family brokered her engagement to the son of a wealthy steel capitalist as a last-ditch hope to save their dwindling hold on the upper class. Rose sees no way out of her impending nuptials and heads to the ship's stern, from where she plans on jumping into the ocean. A scraggy but undeniably handsome steerage passenger, Jack Dawson (Leonardo DiCaprio), spots Rose just as she is about to jump to her death and interferes. Her fiancee hears Rose's screams and suspects Jack tried to take advantage of her, but Rose stands up for Jack and the two forge a friendship.

Jack takes Rose to the third-class quarters where she partakes in some raucous partying featuring folksy instruments, fur hats, and a fair amount of do-si-do-ing. You can't deny this looks far more enjoyable than the stuffy upper decks' humorless dinners.



Rose's fiancee finds out about her minor act of rebellion and forbids her to see Jack. Rose defies his wishes and continues to spend time with Jack, culminating in his suave artistic maneuvering that results in some good old fashioned nude sketching. Things get completely R-rated here, from Kate Winslet's bare breasts to their steamy tryst in a Renault, but somehow Titanic wrangled a PG-13 rating.

Long, long, long story short(ened), Rose's betrothed Cal is pissed, he frames Jack and has him arrested, rendering Jack handcuffed to some pipes. The ship makes troublesome contact with an iceberg, Rose manages to free Jack, and we begin our long drawn-out saga of limited lifeboats and probable hypothermia. The ship splits in two, our heroes end up chattering away in the chilly ocean, there are some heartfelt teary-eyed promises to "never let go", and Jack freezes to death. Rose is saved, and the movie brings us back to the present day for the close of Rose's story. Rose secretly tosses the Heart of the Ocean into the water and the whole thing ends rather ambiguously but sweetly with our witnessing the reunion of teenaged Jack and Rose.

Oh, and how could I forget that this onscreen saga featured a bestselling soundtrack chock full of instrumental James Horner and this epic ballad by the ever-overblown Celine Dion?You just couldn't escape this song in the late 90s; it was everywhere.



If after all that you still need a Titanic refresher course, the internet is teeming with conveniently condensed versions of our favorite movies. Observe, exhibit A:



Titanic went on to sweep the awards shows. I have a distinct memory of keeping a steadfast tally of its wins on Oscar night (for the record, an impressive 11 wins for 14 nominations). My friends and I rushed out to purchase the two-VHS edition of the film for our own viewing enjoyment, though few of us kept up with our initial mania to the point of sitting through the full thing at home. To be fair, though, many of us had seen it multiple times in theaters and had earned our titles as tween fanatics.

The movie may have been fictionalized, but it did have an uncanny manner of drawing us into an interest in historical events. Any film that has the power to interest angst-ridden teenagers in nautical history is right up there with winning 11 Academy Awards: a feat achievable by few. Whether or not you liked the movie, you've got to admit it takes a special type of movie to impel young people to take an interest in any event featured in their history textbooks. I'll concede that the salacious love story and some light nudity may have helped, though. I doubt a documentary would have piqued our interests so readily.

*There's not really any other kind of chutzpah, but for those of you without a strong background in Yiddish, I thought I'd throw you a bone on that one.

The Babysitters' Club

In light of the late-breaking 90s news that the Babysitters Club* is being revamped for a new generation of kids, it seems only appropriate to give the BSC some well-deserved Children of the 90s fanfare. I occasionally pick up some flack for my coverage of girly topics, but this time around you're just going to have to deal with it. Things are going to get downright feminine here, so don't say I didn't warn you. We're going to talk about slumber parties and crushes on boys and young female entrepreneurship and you're going to like it, dammit.

The Babysitters Club was a formidable 90s franchise, spawning a series of books, a TV show, a feature film, and countless items of allowance-worthy tie-in merchandise. The series focuses on a group of business-minded middle-school aged girls who form a well-organized club to process and dispatch sitters for local childcare requests. As a child, I revered their detail-orientation and maturity, but as an adult, I find it harder to believe that people would trust these 12- and 13-year olds with their easily breakable infants. Youth notwithstanding, it's probably more impressive that the girls managed to get the whole neighborhood to cave to their demands for hourly rates. These girls were good.

Author Ann M. Martin pumped these books out at regular intervals from 1986 to 2000, producing 213 books selling over 176 million copies. This woman is a veritable BSC-producing machine. She had a unique sense of appeal to tweenage girls, piquing their interest with wholesome stories of everyday obstacles.

That front cover offer to join the Fan Club? Totally did that

Martin gave us all of our favorite stock characters, forever categorizing each of us as "a Mary Anne" or "a Kristy". I always wanted to be a Claudia or a Stacey because of their keen fashion sense and model beauty, but I had a nagging suspicion growing up that I was more of a Mallory. If you've ever read the series, you know this to be a huge bummer. You'll be glad to know I managed to escape the Mallory route by never growing curly red hair, getting glasses, or being born into a family of 10, but it was a close one there for awhile.

It's possible I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, as I have yet to properly introduce you to our cast of characters:

Kristy Thomas: Our fearless leader and self-proclaimed tomboy. In 90s young adult books you could always tell if a girl wasn't particularly into her looks if she wore her hair in a ponytail, and Kristy was no exception. I call it the curse of the Elizabeth Wakefield; God forbid a girl has a bad hair day, these YA authors will forever relegate her to being the serious one. Everyone knows all the real fun-loving girls of YA lit wear their hair flowing and loose. It's pretty much the only symbol we have for the personality of a middle-school aged girl.

But enough of Kristy's lamentable ponytail. Kristy is bossy, outspoken, and sporty. She's generally a fair and benevolent ruler, though occasionally she lets the glamor of her presidency of a suburban middle-school babysitting club cloud her better judgment.


Mary Anne Spier: The requisite quiet and shy girl, Mary Anne is Kristy's best friend. The two are initially neighbors until Mary Anne's dad marries Dawn's mom. At the beginning of the series, her single father is very protective and strict, but all that fizzles out once they integrate with the hippie Schafers. Mary Anne is the first of the girls to have a boyfriend, and let me just say that based on the actor in my Scholastic Book Order's VHS copy of Mary Anne and the Brunettes, Logan Bruno is definitely a catch.


Stacey McGill: Our fun, stylish, blonde model friend. I dotted my i's with hearts for probably six months after I read that was Stacey's signature style. I was hoping I would morph into a Stacey on the merit of my bubbly handwriting alone, but the undertaking was generally fruitless. I guess I just wasn't permed enough.

Stacey is a the club's resident exotic sophisticate, with her New York City nativity, modeling career, and diabetes. I was actually jealous of Stacey's diabetes as a kid. She's special in every way, plus she gets a lot of bonus outpourings of attentions due to her periodic hospitalizations. That's the way my 7-year old mind interpreted it, at least. Some people have all the luck.


Claudia Kishi: The artist of the group. Claudia is funky, candy-addicted, and terrible at all things academic. She's also Asian, giving the group a much-needed breath of diversity, at least until Jessi comes along. If you've ever seen the movie, you know that her poor grades warrant summer school and a hearty performance of the chant, "The brain, the brain, the center of the chain!" Her family is pretty by-the-books, so they're naturally bothered by her outlandish appearance. Treble clef earrings and fringed vests? For shame.


Dawn Schafer: The hippie do-gooder of the group. Dawn is a blonde vegetarian Californian, descriptors that the books treat as generally interchangeable. She and Mary Anne are step-sisters, which causes some rifts from time to time but is generally pretty cool. She eventually moves to California and gets her own spin-off book series, but not before the TV show's Dawn got to hang out with Zack Braff. No, really. He was there when Dawn saved the trees. I've even got the video evidence to prove it:





Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey: Our junior members, meaning they are a grade younger than the other girls and thus vastly inferior according to the club's rigid membership standards. Mallory comes from a huge family of freakish gingers and Jessi is black and a ballerina. I'm sure they have other traits, but these are the main ones the books tend to dwell on.


When the TV show premiered, I was decidedly heartbroken that my house's sub par cable didn't include HBO or the Disney Channel. Luckily, through the aforementioned magic of Scholastic Book Orders, I got the full set on VHS. I'm still bitter at whoever taped Oprah over the second half of Stacey's Big Break. You know who you are. Anyway, whether or not you were a fan of the show, hopefully you knew the incredibly catchy theme song:



I'm not embarrassed to admit this song graced a few of our pre-gaming playlists in college. Okay, it's totally embarrassing, but I sacrifice myself at the altar of your collective bemusement at my expense. You're welcome.

There was also an eponymous full-length film starring Rachael Leigh Cook, Larissa Oleynik, and some less famous people. The movie wasn't exactly a box-office blockbuster, but was generally pretty satisfying to fans. I know I'm still heartbroken that I no longer have any technological apparatus on which to play my VHS copy. I did, however, recover this song from the soundtrack for your listening enjoyment. Again, I take full responsibility for my terrible, terrible taste in music as a child.



These girls may not have been extraordinary in any way, but children in the 90s took to them for that reason: they were decidedly ordinary. I imagine if the revamped books catch on, an entirely new generation of girls will fall in love with them all over again. Only this time around, they'll all have iPods and cell phones instead of Walkmans and their own phone lines. A small price to pay for some good old-fashioned wholesome fun, don't you think?


*And yes, I heard about Diablo Cody's Sweet Valley High movie project, but that will just have to wait its turn. Honest to blog. See, I can say that here, cause it makes sense.

Barney the Dinosaur

When you look back wistfully on beloved characters from your childhood, you may notice that some of their back stories were a bit questionable. As a child, I would never dare have questioned the existence of a towering overly jolly purple dinosaur who resided in the abstract realm of our collective imaginations. He could only spring to life from his miniature plush toy existence if we just believed. Too bad when our parents bought us an official licensed Barney stuff toy and we tried to imagine him to life, nothing happened. The power of our actual imaginations had been dulled by the glittering allure of television entertainment. It was a lot easier to watch kids imagine something than to go through the whole ordeal ourselves. So thanks a lot, Barney and Friends. Our parents spent $24.95 on this stuffed Barney and it won't even come alive and interact with us. Sheesh.

Truth be told, Barney's habitation of our imagination was nothing new. Kid's shows have been featured imaginary characters for generations. It's pretty much par for the course for adults trying to make a buck off of children's natural sense of wonderment and naivete. Usually, though, it didn't come out quite as sugar drippingly sweet as Barney and friends. The fact that our friends at Guantanamo use Barney's signature "I Love You" played on loop as a form of auditory torture to detainees probably says it all; I can imagine our parents felt the same way after hearing it blaring from our television sets for the 12th time that day.



That song has a way of lodging itself in your brain to a place where you can't seem to wrangle it free. So, sorry, readers. If you've even begun to inwardly play the song, you're pretty much stuck with it for the day. I guess that's just the power of imagination coming back to bite you in the butt. Tough break.

The Barney the dinosaur character premiered in 1987 in a series of videos called Barney and the Backyard Gang. My family owned these videos, and I played them into the VHS reel was sputtering to cough out its last whirring rotation. I yearned for an imaginary dinosaur friend and accompanying backyard gang with whom I could put on talent shows and have campfire sing-alongs. In my reenactments, though, I pathetically had to imagine not only my dino pal but also summon a nonexistent gang of backyard pals. While now the suggestion of a backyard gang sounds pretty threatening, dangerously proximal, and somehow involving meaningfully-colored bandannas, at the time it seemed like a warm and inviting proposition of friendship.



Barney and the Backyard Gang was adapted for television as Barney and Friends in 1992 as part of the PBS kids' programming block. The show quickly caught on and became a phenomenon for small children. Like many things that appeal to small children, the show was chalkboard-scratchingly irritating to the rest of the world. To justify its presence in our home despite being generally repugnant to anyone over the age of eight, the show's theme song lauded some hefty promises set to the toon of Yankee Doodle:

Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination
When he's tall, he's what we call a dinosaur sensation
Barney teaches lots of things, like how to play pretend
A-B-Cs and 1-2-3s and how to be a friend!
Barney comes to play with us, whenever we may need him
Barney can be your friend, too, if you just make believe him!



Once your adult self has quelled the inevitable gagging from reading these sickly sweet sentiments, consider the educational value of Barney. Yes, the theme song extols Barney as a sort of teaching jack-of-all-trades, bestowing timeless wisdom onto eager young devotees worldwide. Kids may have fallen for his insidious purple charm, but a fair proportion of parents weren't buying it. While they may have sung Barney's praises for his ability to keep their children glued to the TV while they conducted some household chores, they weren't wholly impressed with his purported dissemination of important life lessons.

As a character, Barney isn't a bad guy. He's generally a pretty positive role model for children, save for the fact that he's imaginary and a dinosaur. He's upbeat, optimistic, and an all around decent dinosaur. Barney's relentless cheerfulness, however, has been the subject of critical scrutiny. Some critics claim Barney's overly positive spin on life and lack of attention paid to any negative life experiences could numb children to real emotion. This claim is pretty ridiculous, assuming that the children in question are exposed to any other life experiences than their Barney videotapes. Sorry, researchers. You can try to take down Barney, but he'll just continue his reign of jolly terror. You can't win that easily.

The television version of the show features a different group of kids, continually cycling out once they reach a point of maturity that renders questionable their consorting with imaginary dinosaurs. PBS also threw in some younger dinosaur characters like Baby Bop and BJ to broaden the show's appeal. All secondary characters are typically just as nerve-grinding and irritating as the originals, performing equally irritating signature songs and dances. It's no wonder our parents left the room when this came on. As a child, it's all sort of cute and enticing, but as an adult it's just grating.

In case you were worried that kids today might go hungry for the Barney they so desperately crave, you needn't worry. Barney's still churning out the episodes, meaning you may soon be getting a taste of your own karmic medicine when you have your own preschool-age children. Purple, imaginary dinosaur-flavored medicine with bits of cloying song stuck in it. I'm sure all of our parents will gleefully delight in our slow progression to craziness after hearing that damn "I love you" song for the umpteenth time. We put them through it, though, so it's probably only fair we have to have a go at it from the other side.