It's not like I've had a bad day, but I am ready and waiting to go medieval on the ass of anything that gets in my way. Unfortunately, due to a lack of human candidates, I've been systematically taking fiction to pieces instead a la Samuel L. Jackson. Anyone want to see The End of Time part I cremated? Toodle over to Malcassairo for a veritable barbacue. With that execution complete, I've turnd my attention to my Film Studies coursework: the public crucifiction of City of God, a film that gave me an instinctive squicky reaction first time I saw it. My work has been hampered by not having a copy of the movie - I[ve ordered it off Amazon instead of buying it local, cus our HMV only had it for £18, and I wouldnt pay that much for a film I loved, let alone merely to write an essay about how much I hated it.
I'm also sick at having the Film Department piss angry red ink all over my beautiful essays. And I'm sure my housemates are sick of dealing with my rants every time they return them to me with low marks and pedantic comments. The problem is, the're such a "young" discipline that they're extra stingy as if they've something to prove. Damn sticklers for detail, so no one can accuse them of not being a "real" subject. It's not something wrong with my essay style, either, which has always done OK in other subjects, including uni-level Classics. Classics has matured for a millenia, it's laid back and doesn't expect you to know it all at once. It knows that not doing footnotes exactly by the book isn't the end of the world. Film is quicker in a lot of ways - it has set itself in rigid forms and doctrines so fast, and expects us to be up to speed as well.
This particularly goes for my previous essay, about Women as metaphors for Countries. A topic I was passionate about, which stung, because it felt like they were treading on my passions and opinions. And an essay on which I tried very, very hard on, because I was sick of inexplicably picky marks. I did everything - I spent two hours working on the endnotes, and that's a fraction of the time I spent on the essay itself. I had a virtual breakdown twice over the period I worked on the damn thing. Lower second (brackets low), and seven pages of very petty comments. If the criticism was of my argument, I would be angry - but not offended. As it stands, I don't think it's fair to set an unshakeable 2,000 word limit, then criticise for being "vague". I could qualify statements like "women have been given minority status throughout time", or explore the exact historical meaning of "minority status", or why I believe one of the allegories to be simple, and cite the full name of the academic in the body of the text instead of just in a footnote IF I were given more words. "Isn't all film disengaged from reality?" one irritating nitpick asks. Boy, I could give you pages on that single topic, but that's a tangent and not really the point of my essay - just take me at my word, OK? As it stands, with an inflexible wordcount, I have to be vague - otherwise, I'd have to start chopping out content. And I am still not prepared to hand in what I percieve as a "worse" essay merely to improve the window dressing, even if it means getting a higher mark. I simply refuse to do it - it's a pointless exercise for everyone involved.
Now, maybe it wasn't a great essay. I don't know - I also, on some level, don't care, because I enjoyed writing it and came to a deeper understanding of the films involved. But would it be too much trouble to give me a mark based on what you thought I was trying to say?
Having tried to write an essay "for them", and have it spectacularly backfire, I am trying a different approach. I'm going in the other direction and not trying at all. That's not as bad as it sounds. Instead of systematically collecting sources and constructing an argument, I am doing a run and jump just as I do for my blog. A bit like winding up the world's angriest clockwork mouse then letting it loose. The finished product - and I'm already a page in - will be very chatty in style, and require hardcore refining, but at least it'll get the point across. Hopefully this will cut down how long it takes to write too, and result in something more passionate (if less polished). I'm listening to Amanda Palmer, partly to get into the swing of the songs I know less well, but mostly because it's good music to get angry to.
In other news, the epically lame present of the year award goes to ma, who now owns a CD featuring 13 covers of Sarnia Cherie, the Guernsey "national" anthem thingy. The name means "Guernsey dear", and it's a right dirge, made to be wailed by querelulous old women accompanied on plonky school piano. This CD encompasses Guernsey "artistes" from all walks of life: an eleven year old, seemingly recorded in a bathroom, a harmonica player who grew tomatos during the Occupation, a brass band interpretation and, hilariously, a techno remix. Possibly the most interesting is a version recorded on Liberation Day itself, spontaneously sung by the crowd to the Allied forces - appropriately, this is easily the best and most moving. It's brilliant, bonkers and so very parochial. I've taken a copy of it, though - I feel that, above all, the crapness of it all will make me feel homesick.
I'm also sick at having the Film Department piss angry red ink all over my beautiful essays. And I'm sure my housemates are sick of dealing with my rants every time they return them to me with low marks and pedantic comments. The problem is, the're such a "young" discipline that they're extra stingy as if they've something to prove. Damn sticklers for detail, so no one can accuse them of not being a "real" subject. It's not something wrong with my essay style, either, which has always done OK in other subjects, including uni-level Classics. Classics has matured for a millenia, it's laid back and doesn't expect you to know it all at once. It knows that not doing footnotes exactly by the book isn't the end of the world. Film is quicker in a lot of ways - it has set itself in rigid forms and doctrines so fast, and expects us to be up to speed as well.
This particularly goes for my previous essay, about Women as metaphors for Countries. A topic I was passionate about, which stung, because it felt like they were treading on my passions and opinions. And an essay on which I tried very, very hard on, because I was sick of inexplicably picky marks. I did everything - I spent two hours working on the endnotes, and that's a fraction of the time I spent on the essay itself. I had a virtual breakdown twice over the period I worked on the damn thing. Lower second (brackets low), and seven pages of very petty comments. If the criticism was of my argument, I would be angry - but not offended. As it stands, I don't think it's fair to set an unshakeable 2,000 word limit, then criticise for being "vague". I could qualify statements like "women have been given minority status throughout time", or explore the exact historical meaning of "minority status", or why I believe one of the allegories to be simple, and cite the full name of the academic in the body of the text instead of just in a footnote IF I were given more words. "Isn't all film disengaged from reality?" one irritating nitpick asks. Boy, I could give you pages on that single topic, but that's a tangent and not really the point of my essay - just take me at my word, OK? As it stands, with an inflexible wordcount, I have to be vague - otherwise, I'd have to start chopping out content. And I am still not prepared to hand in what I percieve as a "worse" essay merely to improve the window dressing, even if it means getting a higher mark. I simply refuse to do it - it's a pointless exercise for everyone involved.
Now, maybe it wasn't a great essay. I don't know - I also, on some level, don't care, because I enjoyed writing it and came to a deeper understanding of the films involved. But would it be too much trouble to give me a mark based on what you thought I was trying to say?
Having tried to write an essay "for them", and have it spectacularly backfire, I am trying a different approach. I'm going in the other direction and not trying at all. That's not as bad as it sounds. Instead of systematically collecting sources and constructing an argument, I am doing a run and jump just as I do for my blog. A bit like winding up the world's angriest clockwork mouse then letting it loose. The finished product - and I'm already a page in - will be very chatty in style, and require hardcore refining, but at least it'll get the point across. Hopefully this will cut down how long it takes to write too, and result in something more passionate (if less polished). I'm listening to Amanda Palmer, partly to get into the swing of the songs I know less well, but mostly because it's good music to get angry to.
In other news, the epically lame present of the year award goes to ma, who now owns a CD featuring 13 covers of Sarnia Cherie, the Guernsey "national" anthem thingy. The name means "Guernsey dear", and it's a right dirge, made to be wailed by querelulous old women accompanied on plonky school piano. This CD encompasses Guernsey "artistes" from all walks of life: an eleven year old, seemingly recorded in a bathroom, a harmonica player who grew tomatos during the Occupation, a brass band interpretation and, hilariously, a techno remix. Possibly the most interesting is a version recorded on Liberation Day itself, spontaneously sung by the crowd to the Allied forces - appropriately, this is easily the best and most moving. It's brilliant, bonkers and so very parochial. I've taken a copy of it, though - I feel that, above all, the crapness of it all will make me feel homesick.
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