Posts Tagged ‘cool’

Me and Michael J. Fox

Saturday, August 31st, 2024

What kid growing up in the 1980s didn’t want to be (or be with) Michael J. Fox?

I thought he had a pretty cool thing going on, and I’ll be the first to admit that it pains me to see his ongoing suffering with Parkinson’s disease. I can’t say that I’ve ever followed the news about him (or any other celebrity) especially closely, but I’ve always had a passing interest in Michael J. Fox because of two of his early projects that inspired me.

Just two: Teen Wolf will not be addressed here.

I grew up watching Family Ties, and I think it’s a show that maybe I need to go back and take a look at again. It was there, right after The Cosby Show on Thursday nights, but also in syndication in that sweet slot in the afternoon after I had finished my homework but before my dad arrived home for dinner and the TV got turned off.

I was also lucky enough to see all three Back to the Future movies in the theatre on their first release. The first movie came out when I was in the fourth grade, and I remember one Saturday my brother and my mom were up to something else, so my dad took me to the multiplex and let me pick. I don’t know whether I knew what Back to the Future was about, but I was into sci-fi, we went to see it, the first of many times my dad let me pick the movie (and probably one of the few when my choice didn’t disappoint him; years later, I suggested Thirty-Two Short Films About Glenn Gould, which kicked off a totally separate “celebrity” interest).

I know people like Back to the Future–no, they adore Back to the Future, and they aren’t wrong. I watched it with my son for the first time recently, and it absolutely holds up. It is one of those something-for-everyone kind of films: teen rom-com, action, science fiction, buddy film, nostalgia piece; it has a fantastic score, a great screenplay, very good continuity, and really just the best of what 1980s cinema could offer. It’s up there with two of the first three Indiana Jones movies and the even-numbered Star Treks on my list of “will watch at any time with anyone” movies.

And at the core is Marty McFly, played by Michael J. Fox in his stammering, disbelieving, ski-vest-wearing self. Seeing the world through Marty’s eyes really makes the movie pop, and drives home the strangeness and foreignness of the entire situation. Of course, there’s great writing here, but unless writing is performed by a great actor, there’s nothing for it. Fox is cool when he needs to be cool, smart when he needs to be smart, and clever when he needs to be clever: Achilles, Patroclus, and Odysseus in one teenage heartthrob.

Sure, his day-to-day life has its problems, but who wouldn’t want to be (or be with) Marty McFly?

I never owned a ski vest (and why is a kid from Southern California wearing a ski vest all the time, or even for just the one day?), and I don’t think I ever consciously imitated Michael J. Fox’s Marty, but it was–and probably is–a touchstone for me of what it means to be cool. When the sequels appeared, I bought the novelization and was first in line at the movies (well, not literally first in line, but my brother and I were definitely there opening weekend; speaking of opening weekend, my daughter and I have a date coming up for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, and I can’t wait). The second movie primed me for the complexities of time travel plots (Yesterday’s Enterprise, anyone?), and I’m still a sucker for a good story involving time travel (I’m currently reading The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley–great story, with some really pithy one-liners, too: p. 82: “Despite being out of uniform, he looked oddly formal, as if he was the sole person in serif font.”)

And then there is Alex P. Keaton, scion of the Keaton family on Family Ties. Alex is driven, and intelligent, and although his ambitions never lined up with my own (he wanted to be Gordon Gecko; I wanted to be Gordon Fullerton). He sees following the rules and being a part of the system as the way to success, or at least happiness, and I’ve spent a good chunk of my life playing that game–and I certainly spent my school years that way. It works for him: there are honors, accolades, and even girlfriends. And, of course, this is a sitcom, so most of it is reasonably light-hearted, although in the post-M*A*S*H sitcom world, there are strong doses of sentimentality and maudlin themes as well.

And Alex is basically a good guy–a good friend, a good son, a good brother. There is a fair amount in him to admire, and I took that. There’s that scene where Mallory’s boy problems intrude on Alex’s college interview, and he’s angry, but forgives her. It’s not just the sitcom imperative to wrap things up after twenty-two minutes: it’s a demonstration the need for family to be patient and understanding with each other, to help each other when times are tough, and it’s how I hope my own kids would treat each other.

I liked Alex, as portrayed by Michael J. Fox.

And yet, in eighth grade, our class voted on joke awards for each other, and at a party on the last night of our class trip to Washington, D.C., I received the Alex P. Keaton Award.

By that point, I understood that my classmates saw me as a “nerd,” and that Alex was a pretty straitlaced, nerdy kind of guy. I didn’t wear a shirt and tie to school every day, and my ambitions weren’t about success in business, but I didn’t play it cool about my perception of my own intelligence and ability, which was pretty inflated. Ticking down the list of Breakfast Club social groups, I was definitely more Anthony Michael Hall than Emilio Estevez or Judd Nelson, and while the Ally Sheedys may (may) have thought that was OK, they would never have admitted it to the Molly Ringwalds.

So the Alex P. Keaton Award stung. It was supposed to be fun and funny, but for whom? I wasn’t completely clueless: I knew what my social status had been through three years of middle school, and I didn’t like having it confirmed with a piece of paper (which I’m pretty sure I got rid of as soon as I could). I didn’t really think about what the real meaning of the Alex P. Keaton Award was, or what my classmates–some of whom were my friends–meant by conferring it on me.

Was it meant to be a compliment? It sort of lined up with “Most Likely to Succeed,” from one perspective: on Family Ties, there’s never any doubt for Alex, unlike for his big sister Mallory, that success in whatever he chooses–business, school, chess–is a given. (Also… in the 1980s, a teen heartthrob is shown having a serious interest in chess in a sitcom that aired on Thursday nights on a major network: how are we not talking about this?!?)

Was it a recognition that Alex P. Keaton is a pretty good guy, and the other kids thought I was a pretty good guy, too? I don’t know. I think–I hope–that I’m a better person than I was at age fourteen, but by middle school standards, I don’t think I was as rotten as might have been possible, even if I sometimes gave as good as I got.

Whatever.

Michael J. Fox played Alex P. Keaton brilliantly throughout the run of Family Ties, at least in my memory (again, I will admit to not having watched a single episode in a very long time).

As much as Family Ties was supposed to be about Boomer parents (former hippies) raising Gen X kids in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio, the kids took over the show, and not in a “those darn kids” kind of way–in a way that showed them as fully-formed humans with problems that were no less important than adult problems–and those problems often were adult problems.

We have to talk about “A, My Name is Alex.”

In the 1980s, half-hour sitcoms would sometimes do this thing where they turned into hour dramas for an episode, syndication be darned. Again, they were in the post-M*A*S*H universe and had aspirations to be Important, and people sat there and watched them, because that was their dose of their favorite characters for the week. Individual episodes would be hyped in the lead-up to the broadcast, so you would know that a Very Special Episode of Blossom would be happening on Tuesday night (or whatever… I never watched Blossom, I swear).

In “A, My Name is Alex,” Alex P. Keaton seeks mental health counseling in the aftermath of a friend’s sudden death in a car crash. I had forgotten about this episode mostly, like much of Family Ties, but a recent reminder of it brought it all back. There is humor here, but it is mostly a serious episode, mostly set in the therapist’s office and in flashbacks that Alex experiences.

Even as a kid, I knew that Michael J. Fox is brilliant in this episode–taped before a live audience–in his ability to turn corners from joy to grief, from skepticism about counseling to vulnerability and honesty. It shows teenagers–it showed me–that even the heartthrob has to be sad sometimes, and even the highest high-achiever needs help when things get difficult: through most of Family Ties, Alex P. Keaton tries to be John Galt: overly competent, self-reliant, enlightened-self-interested, but part of the arc of his character is learning, as I think I had to learn as well, that “no man is an island.”

I don’t know that I always remembered the lessons from “A, My Name is Alex,” but I think the normalization of Alex seeking and accepting help from his family and a mental health professional probably helped me to do the same thing in my adult life when it was time.

And, apparently, it was Michael J. Fox who pushed for “A, My Name is Alex” to be made in the first place.

I’m not much for celebrity hero-worship or parasocial relationships, as any reader on this blog knows (do I even have any readers?), but I am thankful for those creators who have brought meaningful performances into being. Perhaps this is because I am a performer myself–conductor, trombonist, public speaker and teacher, and even sometime-actor; and as a composer, I certainly enjoy working with my fellow performers. I know what it takes to put yourself into preparing and presenting a work for someone else’s entertainment or edification, so there is a fundamental respect there.

Any actor who has brought two very memorable characters and personal touchstones for me personally into being deserves my gratitude, heartthrob or not. An actor who pointed to ways of being and modelled a course that would influence my own needs to be acknowledged. I know he’ll probably never read this, and it really isn’t about that, but if I could say two words to the great Michael J. Fox:

Thank you.

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On Cool

Saturday, May 30th, 2015

Have I really not posted since February?  Apparently so, and it’s been a busy couple of months.

I’ve just finished reading Cool: How the Brain’s Hidden Quest for Cool Drives Our Economy and Shapes Our World by Steven Quartz and Anette Asp.  Not the best book I’ve ever read–frankly, it’s a little bit scattered and tries to cover too much ground as it looks at “cool” from both the neurological/psychological and sociological/economic aspects.  It’s almost two books jammed into one cover.  Chapters 5 through 8, which deal primarily with the appearance of “cool” in the late-modern consumer culture are what intrigue me the most, though.  I’m fascinated by Quartz and Asp’s suggestion that the very notion of “cool” seems to have changed in the 1990s, and having just finished W. Joseph Campbell’s 1995: The Year the Future Began, I’m inclined to see this shift as partly the result of the mass use of the Internet as a commercial and social force.  According to Quartz and Asp, the shift from what they term “rebel cool” to “DotCool” is a shift from a reaction to a hierarchical society to a broader participation in a pluralistic society.

Whether we truly live in a pluralistic society, of course, is up for debate, but it is undeniable that even if, as Adorno claimed, mass culture is merely the illusion of choice, Americans have exponentially more choices at their fingertips today than twenty years ago.  I love Quartz and Asp’s way of showing how “rebel cool” sold itself out and became the commodity of mass consumer culture, the vehicle through which we are expected to encounter products.  The promise of mass individuality has always seemed phony to me–how can I be an individual by doing the same thing as everyone else?  Quartz and Asp also call out “alternative” music in a delightful way that echoes my feelings on it since I first heard the term.  I’ll be introducing the students in my Popular Music courses to many of the ideas Quartz and Asp touch on, primarily because so many of their examples are musical, and, of course, popular music has been one of the wellsprings of cool over the last sixty years.  (There is room here for more thought–Quartz and Asp suggest that cool has at least some of its roots in the rebellious artistic movements of the 20s–Schoenberg, Picasso, and the like, but I wonder what impact “oppositional subcultures” had on popular music before the “rebel cool” ethos embraced jazz and rock.)

I’ve never really thought of myself as “cool,” and this certainly stems from my experiences in elementary and middle school.  Quartz and Asp suggest that the American high school experience has morphed from the hierarchic structure explored in, perhaps, The Breakfast Club, to a more pluralistic approach in which cliques of students no longer aim at “status” or “popularity.”  I can’t speak to whether this is true–I confess to having a somewhat deficient “radar” for this sort of thing.  As far as I can tell, “cool” began very early–perhaps in around second grade, if not before.  I would say that my elementary and middle school environments were, for the most part, quite hierarchic and status driven, with all sorts of the symbols and signals that Quartz and Asp describe.  For the most part, I lacked these signals and symbols.  My family lived comfortably, but for whatever reason, I was content to let my parents choose my clothing well into high school, and I for the most part respected their rule that toys stayed at home.  These, in my experience, were the primary status symbols of my growing up in the 1980s.  My brother and I were dressed nicely, but never with the latest fashions, for the most part.  There were no alligators on our shirts, to borrow Quartz and Asp’s favorite image.  In my elementary school, for boys, the most important status symbols were Transformers toys, and while my brother and I had our fair share of these, they largely stayed at home.  Yes, the point of bringing Optimus Prime was so that you could play with him at recess, but I realize now that my peers and I were already dragged into the consumer culture in which it isn’t enough merely to own a thing, but it is also necessary to display it prominently.  I was not without friends, in elementary school, certainly far from it, but I remember struggling to keep at least one friend in competition with another boy who always seemed to have something interesting to bring to recess.

And this, I suppose, is “cool” at its most insidious–that it drives nine-year-olds to obsess over colored pieces of plastic and metal.

Middle school was extremely status-driven and hierarchic, with clothes finally displacing toys, I suppose, along with the divide between students who were adept at sailing the seas of hormones (Charlie Reed) and those who were (ahem) not.  I remember thinking for a long time that it seemed like some cruel game that someone had set up, with rules that were rigidly, firmly in place, until they were changed, but no rule book in sight, along with few referees (or at least not enough to prevent a fair amount of misery).

Years later, as a teacher, I would become familiar with the fact that school cohorts seem to alternate in terms of behavior, with one class being “fun” and the one following it being more “difficult.”  My personal theory is that once a class develops a personality, teachers react.  A good class has relaxed, looser discipline by the end of the year because they are less challenging to their teachers.  The next class comes in, and teachers begin with the looser discipline from the beginning of the year, but because they haven’t laid the groundwork of behavioral expectations, the new class takes advantage.  They become unruly, and the teacher tightens up by the end of the year, and then begins the next year in the “tight” disciplinary mode, and the two-year cycle begins again.  The effects of this are amplified as, year after year, the students move on to new teachers who have always taught the class preceding them.

I was the student who kept my nose to the grindstone and did my work.  I had friends, again, and a run-in or two with bullies, but that was always more verbal than anything else, because I was on the tall side of average.  Any bullies I encountered soon got bored with me, because I stayed calm and didn’t let them under my skin, although one guy made a good portion of my sixth-grade year miserable just by his relentless presence.  I realize now that he probably had very little waiting for him at home and really just needed friends much more than I did.  I was certainly not “cool,” and for most of middle school, I could have told you who the “cool” kids were.  On our class trip to Washington, DC in eighth-grade, we were placed into small groups for reflection and writing, and somehow my room of four “not-cool” guys was grouped with a room of four “cool” girls.  I still wonder if it was some kind of social experiment our teachers were having.  (For the record, I may not have been “cool,” but that was a great trip).

My high school, in the early 90s, seems to have been entering the “pluralistic” phase Quartz and Asp describe, at least from my perspective.  Perhaps it was simply big enough that status and hierarchy didn’t matter, although the point of outward status symbols is that they allow individuals to determine at a glance the relative status of a stranger, so if there were a status hierarchy in place, I should have felt it more.  There were times that I felt very “in” and others that I felt “out,” in those four years.  I worried tremendously about girls and I did my schoolwork, and yes, there were girls who I felt were “out of my league,” including one who agreed to a date and then blew me off.  There was some status sorting happening, but not as rigidly or as intensely as my wife describes in here high school experience around the same time.  Perhaps she simply worried about it more, having to move to a new school about halfway through high school and having attended many different schools growing up, where I made it through late-elementary, middle and high school with the same students, augmented by new groups every time we moved to a higher school.  Today, I am linked to many of my high school classmates through social media, and they are a fair variety–from our class officers, to the people I was in band with, to people I never really talked to in high school.  On the other hand, I haven’t kept in close touch with anyone, and the best I can hope for is that many of my classmates remember me as the guy who ran for class president twice and lost, but was overall a good guy.

Did I witness this shift from “rebel cool” to “DotCool?”  It seems to ring true.  It would have happened during my high school and college years, and even though I was fourteen in 1990 and twenty-four in 2000, it seemed like I wasn’t the only one changing.  1995 was an epic year–Campbell is right, and I’ve been teaching it that way to my students.  I also teach them that grunge was in many ways the last original form of rock and that everything since has been repetition, which has always seemed to place my own experience too close to the center of things, so it’s nice to receive some support for that view from Quartz and Asp.  My college experience (admittedly as a music major) had relatively little to do with any kind of opposition to conformity, and I watched the shift to pluralism in both my ideals and the larger society.  That isn’t to say it wasn’t without status, but this was somewhat dampened in the world of the music conservatory by the presence of so many people who were focused on the work at hand.  Perhaps in the larger University of Cincinnati, frat boys and sorority girls were much important, but though I saw their sweatshirts (status symbols again), I didn’t give it much thought (but even though I didn’t know one house from another, I’m sure it made a difference to those wrapped up in Greek life).

In graduate school, I felt “cool.”  I taught admiring undergraduates as a teaching assistant, with one class in particular enthralled by my real world experience as a music teacher and even a small clutch of “disciples.”  Not to mention a couple of friendships that have turned out to endure, and several artistic collaborations.  I felt much the same way in Oklahoma at my first teaching job–for a red state, the culture felt very communal, with a large measure of equality between students and professors.  Lakeland is different, but I’m teaching a different kind of student, since my classes are intended for non-majors.  On the whole, I’m not sure my current students feel that I’m “cool,” except in the “DotCool” sense where someone who does interesting and creative work is “cool.”

Some thoughts, anyway.

 

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