dramatic irony (n) in which the audience knows more about a character’s situation than the character does, foreseeing an outcome contrary to the character’s expectations, and thus ascribing a sharply different sense to some of the character’s own statements
Chris Baldick, Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms
When a line is repeated four times in scenes featuring the same two characters in the space of less than a year, something is up.
As the audience, we have a distinct vantage point when engaging with a text. A lot of the time we are given information within the story that the characters themselves aren’t privy to. Sometimes it’s something obvious – it’s the audience knowing that Juliet isn’t really dead when Romeo kills himself over her sleeping body out of grief. But sometimes it’s more subtle than that. Sometimes we only get a hint of the information that the characters don’t know, but that hint is enough to make something feel slightly off, or like it’s more significant than it seems at first glance.
Something’s up between Kara and Lena, and I think it lies in the dramatic irony at play throughout the continued repetition of the line “That’s what friends are for.” and its variations in scenes featuring the two of them.
If we look at the first use of the line in Luthors, we can track how dramatic irony is working in their dialogue. The unspoken act that Kara referred to when she said “Well, that’s what friends are for.” is her striking out against the people who she loves and trusts the most to defend Lena. The unspoken act was Kara ignoring seemingly concrete evidence of Lena’s guilt because of a look she saw in her eyes, despite knowing her for a fraction of the time that she’s known someone like James or Alex. The unspoken act was Kara risking her own life in Lex’s bunker to save her. Because we know all of this, “friend” in this context registers immediately as an understatement, but despite not knowing the full picture, Lena herself highlights that it’s an understatement in the following line:
No. I’ve never had friends like you before. Come to think of it, I’ve never had family like you before.
“No.” As in, No, that’s not what friends are for. Even Lena doesn’t know how to explicitly say that, though. This line, and its repetitive and dramatically ironic nature, represent their relationship as a whole. From the start, this line is established as a way to emphasise the fact that Kara and Lena are going above and beyond the bounds of friendship to care for each other, but are unaware of it, leaving the implications of their actions unsaid.
From our vantage point we can see their dedication, we can see the lengths they continue to go to in ensuring each others safety and happiness. Working from Baldick’s definition, because we know more about Kara and Lena’s situation than they do, the statement is “ascrib[ed] a sharply different sense” than it ordinarily would. Each time this line is used, it begs a lingering question to the audience: “Friend” just doesn’t really begin to cover it, does it?
There’s something slightly heartbreaking in that discrepancy between action and words. There’s bittersweetness in the contrast between what should be an earnestly platonic statement from Kara and the fond, wistful smiles she and Lena exchange as she says it. It’s as if the immensity of their feeling for each other is too much to make sense of, too intense to examine – and, in turn, too steeped in distinctly romantic implications for the text to fully recognise if they intend for Kara and Lena to just be “friends”.
The thing about reading fanfic (and original slash fic) is that you get used to that particular writing/reading culture after a while. You get used to the frank discussions of sexuality and kink, the close attention to diversity and social justice issues in the text, the unrestrained creativity when it comes to plot. The most amazing, creative, engaging stories I’ve ever read have almost all been fanfiction, and I think part of that is because there’s no limitations placed on the authors. They’re writing purely out of joy and love for the world and its characters, with no concerns about selling the finished product. The only limit is their imagination.
Next to that, most mainstream fiction starts tasting like Wonder Bread, you know?
I don’t 100% agree about mainstream fiction, but I really like the bit about the totally different culture in fic spaces! There are such different themes explored and talked about. Super interesting to think about.
So I had a thought earlier and now I need it to be a thing: What if Astra was the leader of the Legion instead of White Bread Manhell? Imagine Astra’s funeral pod getting pulled through the wormhole and it spits her out next to the sun so she heals, and then she crashes to Earth and finds out that a thousand years have passed and Kara is dead (whether from age or something else, I’m not sure) and she’s just so devastated because she thought she could have another chance with her little one. But Astra is nothing if not resilient, and she sees the state of the world and decides to be the hero Kara knew she could be, and so she gathers the Legion and trains them and they’re not an army but she leads them anyways and in time they’re the family she lost on Krypton.
Imagine dorky Brainiac and Imra seeing Astra as a mother. Imagine Astra learning to love these people and vowing to keep them safe no matter what. Imagine Astra being part of a team, having people who love and believe in her and knowing they don’t see her as less for her past. Imagine Astra getting to see Kara again at last when the ship gets sucked back in time and the joy mixed with agony because she knows she has to leave again. Guys, I need this.
Millionth thought about “Burn” I’ve had this month: Eliza goes for Hamilton’s jugular – but not by repeating the insults we’ve heard before, (arrogant, loud mouthed, obnoxious, son of a whore, bastard, etc…) She rips Hamilton up on the thing he’s most known for, what he’s most proud of – his WRITING. His SENSELESS sentences, his SELF OBSESSED and PARANOID tone. She’s tearing him up about not just the CONTENT of the Reynolds Pamphlet, but the way in which he wrote it. She takes the time in the middle of her rage to mock his style, which is such a rap battle move.
And what is she going to do with all of the beautiful writing he gave her over the years, his letters?
Burn them.
I think about this LITERALLY of the time. About how she pushes the button she knows will kill him.
“not only did you totally drag our names through the mud, and ruin our reputation, it wasn’t. even. your. best. work.”
^^^^^^^^^ killed ‘em ^^^^^^^^^
Okay but that isn’t even the most hardcore part:
The entire play is a fourth wall-breaking battle for narrative control of personal and professional legacy. That’s what it’s about. Conventional wisdom — and basic logic — states that history is written by the winners. Hamilton: An American Musical shows us the battle for that proverbial quill.
Literally the first song tells us “His enemies destroyed his rep/America forgot him” because up until the release of this play, Alexander Hamilton’s legacy was mostly overlooked by the average American, largely thanks to folks like Jefferson and Madison underselling his contributions after he died.
(This is also why Jefferson isn’t shy and awkward in the play. While that would have been historically accurate, the point is that the modern perception of Jefferson is that he’s a Big Fucking Deal. Because he made himself look that way.)
So the characters on stage are constantly fighting to make their version of events the version of events.
Burr is the narrator because this is his opportunity to tell his side of things. “History obliterates in every picture it paints, it paints me in all my mistakes.” He’s saying that in the end he LOST the fight for narrative control. And yet — and here’s the fucking amazing part — the mere act of explaining this to the audience CHANGES OUR PERCEPTION OF BURR and alters his place in history. God Lin is too smart for his own goddamn good.
(“History has its eyes on you,” Washington says, putting a very fine point on things. And if you don’t think he also means there’s an audience sitting watching this play, you’re not paying attention.)
So, let’s talk about Alexander, his obsession with legacy, and his tried and true method for controlling the narrative:
Writing.
In “Hurricane” he says “I’ll write my way out! Write everything down far as I can see! … Overwhelm them with honesty! This is the eye of the hurricane, this is the only way I can protect my legacy!”
“It doesn’t work” you might say, going by the contents of “The Reynolds Pamphlet.” Except… it kinda does. “At least he was honest with our money!” the company sings. Which was really Alexander’s main concern, after all. Think of his priorities in “We Know” where his first instinct is to gloat because “You have nothing!” It’s not until a beat later that he even considers Eliza.
He published the Reynolds Pamphlet because he didn’t want people to think he was disloyal to the United States. His concern was with his professional legacy. And in that sense… he succeeded.
(He succeeded in another way, too. Listen to “Say No To This.” (God I could write a 40 page paper on that song alone.) This is where we actually hear the contents of the Reynolds Pamphlets. And how does the song begin? With Burr explicitly handing narrative control to Alexander Hamilton. “And Alexander’s by himself. I’ll let him tell it.”
Every line of dialogue from Maria is prefaced with Hamilton saying “she said.” That’s because HAMILTON IS WRITING HER DIALOGUE. Hamilton is creating this character of a sultry seductress in red, coming to him when he was weak and luring him to adultery. Maria Reynolds in the play not a character, she’s a fantasy, created to excuse Hamilton’s transgressions.
It’s worth noting at this juncture that Maria Reynolds, the real woman, wrote her own pamphlet. No one would publish it. She was silenced. And Hamilton’s depiction of her as a morally corrupt temptress became the dominant narrative.
So suck on that literally any time you want to fucking blame Maria for Hamilton’s affair: good job, you’ve bought into a serial adulterer’s lies about a battered woman. Also don’t do that, I swear to god I will come for you.)
SO. What does any of this have to do with Burn?
In the very end, it’s revealed that it wasn’t Jefferson or Burr or Hamilton in control of the Almighty Narrative.
It was Eliza.
The very last second of the play is Alexander Hamilton turning Eliza to face the audience. She sees the people watching, and she gasps. Because she did this. She’s the reason this play exists. She’s the reason Lin Manuel Miranda is telling us a damn thing about Alexander Hamilton, she’s the reason Hamilton got a massively popular zeitgeist musical.
Now. Throughout the course of the play Eliza sees all these people weaving their important stories and she thinks she’s somehow… outside. She’s not a statesman, she’s not brilliant like Angelica, she’s just a wife and a mother and she has no place among these giants. At one point she LITERALLY ASKS HER HUSBAND TO BE INCLUDED I’M GONNA SCREAM.
And yet she never had to ask. She was in control the whole time.
And how, how did she do it? How did she “keep” Alexander’s “flame?” By collecting and preserving everything he WROTE, of course. Making sense of it all. She spent fifty years on the project. Everything she collected BECAME THE NARRATIVE.
But you know what wasn’t in there?
That’s right: those letters she burned.
So she didn’t just insult him, oh noooo. Eliza WHOLESALE OBLITERATED A PIECE OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON FROM THE NARRATIVE.
And not just any piece. “You built me palaces out of paragraphs, you built cathedrals,” she sings. In “Hurricane” Hamilton lists his letters to Eliza among his greatest accomplishments, (conflating his writing them with actually BEING HER HUSBAND, god what a self-centered prick). “I wrote Eliza love letters until she fell.”
Eliza says: “I’m burning the memories, burning the letters that might have redeemed you.”
The best pieces of Alexander Hamilton: gone.
God I’m gonna go curl up in a ball and freak out about this some more. FUCK.
sometimes i get really angry and frustrated at kara’s birth parents like. especially when it becomes apparent that she not only has this “i was sent to earth to protect it at any cost” mentality but literally had it from the time she was a child and i’m like. alura you know what would’ve been helpful is if you. would have gone to earth with her. to take that burden upon YOURSELF instead of putting it on her and to, you know, protect your own 13 year old daughter instead of expecting her to fend for herself and her baby cousin
like i get that alura felt that she should die along with krypton for her mistakes, but imo that was a selfish choice. the braver and more responsible thing to do would’ve been to live.
While we’re having a lot of lovely discourse on here about how Joss Whedon writes heroines and how people in general write heroines based on the leaked WW script, I’ like to actually address another part of the problem: how you write the dudes in the story. Because the guys will inevitably interact with the heroine and therefore their writing has an effect on how the film views her.
“Feminist Fantasy” is a term I sometimes see used to describe fantasy/sci fi/supernatural stories that have powerful female characters. Thing is, feminist fantasy, much like feminist theory, evolves as time goes on. What would still be acceptable as FF back in the 90s may come across as cliche or even regressive today because opinions change as time goes on. And that’s a huge part of why the leak WW script rubs people the wrong way, especially how the guys act and how they impact Diana’s role.
The idea of “prove the boys wrong” is one that has been done to death since my childhood. It’s a typical plot or subplot. Girl wants to do X thing, boys say she can’t since she’s a girl, girl proves boys wrong, boys learn their lesson. Here’s the thing: that is no longer feminist fantasy. Because that is real life for so many women, having to constantly prove themselves to men over and over and still be looked over next time due to being a woman and have to do it all over again. Feminist Fantasy has moved into the realm of Fury Road and Wonder Woman 2017–where the woman never has to “prove” anything, at least not to the men on her side. She’s accepted as a capable human without a whole arc proving herself such.
Max never questions Furiosa or even the wives because they are women. The times he does argue or question are purely logistical and have nothing to do with belittling them or asserting his preconceived superiority as a man–he’s usually just checking the plan. While Capable does comfort Nux, it’s Nux who proves himself to the wives by getting the rig rolling again. While Nux learns to see them as people, the onus is not on the wives and other women to make that happen. Steve only offers the barest concern for Diana being a woman, mostly just related to how she dresses in London. Other than that his main issue is the Ares thing which he does not ever use to declare Diana naive and in fact it’s noted in-universe that she may even have a point before Ares shows up. He doesn’t just humor her about Ares, its treated more as a conclusion he disagrees with but can’t prove wrong so they simply operate based on their differing conclusions (Diana’s of “Ludendorf is Ares” and Steve’s of “idc if he is or not we’ve got to stop the chemicals”) until the Ares question becomes unavoidable. The other men similarly don’t belittle Diana or creep on her, the most we get is Sameer’s “
both frightened… and aroused
” joke when she beats a guy up and Sameer jokingly commenting on wanting to see her island.
How the men act is important compared to the WW 06 script, because the 06 script is much more regressive. Both the heroic and villainous men act like creeps and belittle Diana, sexualize Diana, lecture Diana. Essentially, guys treating Diana badly is a thing both the bad guys and the good guys do and she just has to deal with it. Which is just shit, from a feminist perspective. The idea that the guys who are heroes are going to treat women as badly (or even just almost as badly) as the bad guys and the only difference is the heroic guys are the ones who change their minds when she “proves herself” is really, really old. It’s simultaneously discouraging to women and insulting to men by saying that all men are pigs and women just have to deal with that, and it’s the “strong” women who do and change the mind of the “good” men…who are still going to be pigs but maybe less so towards you since you proved yourself. The idea of a guy who’s not a pig is not a thing.
Feminist Fantasy has moved beyond that. Feminist Fantasy is no longer where women are able to constantly prove men wrong–it’s when they don’t have to prove men wrong before being taken seriously as people. Because that shows a future, a past, a world where a woman can simply be accepted as a potential expert, or a warrior, or whatever else the character is doing without having to “prove” it to any man in the vicinity because that still places the men as having power over her. It’s not that they can’t prove men wrong–some still will sometimes and all of them could if directly challenged to–it’s that they don’t have to. Guys who are on their side simply accept that yeah, a woman can be that badass while guys who aren’t on their side, well the opinions those guys have a) don’t matter as much and b) because they’re the bad guys, she’s more focused on stopping their plans than proving her worth to them.
Women having to “prove” ourselves more than men before being taken seriously is not aspirational fantasy anymore–it’s where we are, more often than not. The fantasy is that we only have to prove ourselves to the same degree as any man written in the same situation would, and be treated equally to them. We already know the real world is not there yet (see every “Rey is a Mary-Sue compared to Luke and Anakin” argument ever) but the idea that escapist fiction can’t be a bit ahead of the curve on that should be eyeroll inducing at this point.
I don’t think they necessarily meant anything by it, at least the post that I saw and the people who agreed with it.
It felt like “let’s make this even sadder” rather than any kind of Kara hate. But as sometimes happens with headcanons in this fandom, in an attempt to make things more interesting for them, they compromised the truth of the character.
Really, if you think Kara gave up on that rooftop, you’re sorta missing one of the core messages of the scene. Particularly as conveyed in this moment:
“I’m gonna kill you.”
Kara barely managed to lift her head to look Reign in the eye as she spoke. It was an active, relatively long and painful struggle to do so. And yet her words were defiant.
This was a very purposeful moment to display that—despite being physically incapable of fighting at the moment—Kara was still resisting in the only way she was capable.
People probably read the situation as Kara giving up because she didn’t try to use her heat vision or throw a punch, but she barely manages to just push herself on her knees:
She was even trying to use her weight and balance rather than physical strength to get her torso up straight.
For much of the scene, her head is lolling around:
Trying to actually gauge what sort of physical injuries she had at this point and how they would have logically affected her might be too in-depth for a show that relies heavily on pseudo-science (beyond the concussion they pretty purposefully demonstrated to be the turning point of the battle). But we were meant to see that Kara was only physically capable of moving pretty minimally on her own at the time.
If she couldn’t even keep her head upright on her neck, throwing another punch was pretty much not an option.
Of course, she knew how bad off she was. I don’t think she was necessarily under the impression that she was gonna gain some sudden energy and defeat Reign in a couple minutes, or even that backup was on it’s way.
When she sees the drop she is in store for, knowing Reign’s intentions:
“Welp, that’s gonna suck.”
But the determination never leaves her eyes.
It’s all she can really physically do to fight back, and she takes advantage of it.
And that’s important and purposeful. They made a point of it.
Hell, the remnants of that same determination are still around her eyes as she falls:
And then from that point on I’m pretty sure she’s in la la land—
—because she passes out before hitting the ground:
But the reason the scene is so horrifying to witness is because Kara didn’t give up.
Reign got the upper hand when Kara was distracted by the bystanders, and then she utterly defeated Kara. Kara didn’t hold back, didn’t have the opportunity to win but miss her chance. She was fighting the entire time, as much as she physically could.
She just lost anyway.
The two feelings we’re meant to take away from the scene are the shock and horror of what Reign is capable of and admiration of the fact that Kara never gave in. Downplaying either of those things undercuts the true tension of the scene.
In fact, they highlight Kara’s heroic qualities because it ensures that when she falls, we know what it really means:
There will be a day when I see this and I will scroll past.
Today is not that day
Plus Ron is casting his curse non-verbally. That’s very difficult and it requires training and practice to successfully cast a nonverbal spell. It’s success is determined by the amount of concentration and mental discipline of the witch or wizard. But this is Ron Weasley he likely didn’t put training and practice into casting non-verbal spells, this advanced magic comes to him naturally. The only other time we see him cast a non-verbal spell is when he accidentally made it snow in the great hall, and that was only because Lavender was glaring him down after he said Hermione’s name while he was unconscious in the hospital wing. He felt crappy and his emotions were so intense he unknowingly made it snow. Here he’s trapped in a muggle cafe, with his best friend and the girl he loves. He’s probably scared, and angry but most of all protective. He wants to defeat these Death Eaters without anything happening to his team. His emotions are intense again and that allows him to cast a powerful non-verbal spell. No, not even a spell, a curse. We’ve seen Hermione cast non-verbal spells loads of times but even here she says the curse to ensure it’s potency. Ron is concentrated and disciplined enough in this moment to curse a Death Eater without any words at all.
TL;DR: Zara Young was an intelligent, self-aware, career-driven woman and was killed for it.
Never seen this before, thanks for linking it!
Much as I enjoy the gifs of Zara (alive), this article makes me glad I never watched the movie.
Yeah, I’m with you, Cupcake!
I mean… this actually makes a lot of sense, and now I want fic of the storyline that the article was describing. Is there fic? Someone link me if there’s fic.
So Rowling had no way of knowing the political climate during the 19 Years Later epilogue, but we do now. So consider this: what kind of world does the Golden Trio live in right now?
Their country is in the middle of Brexit talks, with racism and protectionism at their worst and the magic community isn’t far behind.
Young Pure Bloods march the streets with torches and capes, shouting “They will not replace us!” They wear Deatheater masks and temporary tattoos (oh it’s not the real thing, they’ll wash it off and be back at the office on Monday).
In the news, the authorities call for a cease of violence and ask people not to fight the young pure bloods. In the streets, people talk about talking to them calmly to fix things. Ron is livid. “You don’t reason with bloody Deatheaters! You throw curses at them!”
Hermione’s work for equality in the magical world gets harder every day. She starts getting death threats in her mail, many howlers that leave her in tears. She keeps going. When people insist that every werewolf is dangerous to society and they should all be banned from country, she tearfully remembers Lupin giving his life to protect them all, she remembers Dobby with a knife in his heart and Hagrid with his half giant blood and his giant heart. She keeps fighting.
As much as he hates it —and he hates it a lot— Harry becomes a vocal public figure again, constantly condemning blood purists and calling for action against them. His office calls horrified after the first interview, telling him he can’t be calling for violence against this people who are only protesting. “They are Deatheaters and this is how we deal with them,” he snarls back. “Have you forgotten Voldemort?” On the other side of the line, he can feel them flinch.
No one who fought the war has forgotten it, but so many others seem to, it pains Harry. It’s been barely twenty years since he saw children die in the grounds of Hogwarts, killed by grown angry men who believed themselves superior. It’s been barely twenty years since Tom Riddle’s death body laid on the ground and he thought they could finally have peace.
The trio sends their kids on the Hogwarts Express and they can’t help but remember their experiences there in a time much like this. They never thought their own children would have to suffer as they did, they pray they won’t have to.
Harry touches his lighting scar and reminds himself it hasn’t hurt again for years. All is well. A quiet voice inside his head wonders bitterly: “Is it, really?”
Question of Smoke 