Nothing Good about 2001

I told Troy Goodfellow that 2001 would be a problematic year for me in the decade retrospective that he is running. Still in high school and not working a job, I had a small gaming budget and could only buy one or two new games per year. Being an impressionable idiot, I decided to give that honor to Black & White.

I’m sure there were good strategy games that came out that year, but I missed all of them in favor of spending weeks with a game that didn’t work. Now, at the close of the decade, I can finally tell my tale.

The Magical Mystery Tour of Teamwork

I still don’t understand Left 4 Dead group dynamics. Why is one group of four people an unstoppable killing machine, cutting through each level like a surgeon’s knife, and another is so inept that they’re all dead within one hundred yards of the starting area? I can explain the tactical miscues and individual failings that crop up during a failed campaign, but the source of success and failure remains a mystery to me. When I play the game now, I’m spending most of my time watching the group, trying to catch a glimpse of the variable that drives the game: how well four people can come together for a common purpose.

The Left 4 Dead 2 demo put me in the mood to revisit the original game, and I find myself enjoying it as much as I did when it was new. The community is a bit thinned-out, and it takes a little more patience to start a good game, but I’m still fascinated by the strange chemistry between players.

Friday night I decided to try some Expert campaigns. The “What Are You Trying to Prove?” achievement (awarded for surviving every campaign on the highest difficulty) has been taunting me for a year, and while I have completed every campaign on expert, the game has ignored some of my victories and, in others, my character has perished while the rest of the team made its way to safety.

Much to my surprise, the random group that assembled to play through Blood Harvest turned out to be cheerful, laid-back, and unbelievably proficient. We spoke little, but soon slipped into a groove where we seemed to be sharing one brain. I wouldn’t say any of us were remarkably skilled players, but somehow we were beating the AI Director at his own game. We rallied just before each horde arrived, fought them off with a minimum of fuss and no panic, then sprinted through the levels, stopping just before the Director’s next wave could catch us off-guard.

Friendly fire incidents were minimal and nobody seemed resentful of any mistakes we made. Just four guys, hanging out on a Friday night, kicking zombie ass.

We were working so well that after beating Blood Harvest, we went after Dead Air. I noticed that, as a group, we were growing deadlier as the evening wore on. No sooner would a Smoker latch onto one survivor than another would coolly blow him apart with a rifle burst to the head. The last stand at the end of the campaign was so perfectly managed that it was almost sedate. Each one of us covered a quarter of the field of fire, and every one of us knew the others wouldn’t let any infected through. I saw one coming at me out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t stop shooting the zombies coming from behind some wreckage. The zombie coming after me was not, after all, my responsibility. I knew that the guy to my right would stop him.

It was a perfect playthrough from four strangers who barely talked and only made plans a couple times each campaign. We just knew our roles.

The next night, Saturday, I played with another random group and understood, instantly, that we were doomed.

There was nothing I could really put my finger on to explain why we were a terrible team. Individually we all seemed competent. We mostly tried to stay together and provide cover. The guy playing as Zoey was, I’ll admit, problematic. He racked up three times as many kills as anyone else on the team in the first section, but he did it by constantly racing ahead of the group so that the group became 3 and 1 instead of 4.

But the biggest problem was that nobody seemed comfortable playing a role. Guys were shifting around in firefights when they shouldn’t have been, so now you had to worry more about giving and receiving friendly fire. Trust never formed between us, and I can’t explain why. We were all nice guys and didn’t mind our occasional screw-ups. In most of the identifiable ways, it was the same kind of group as I’d played with on Friday. But there was something in the way we moved across the may that made me certain that we didn’t have the chemistry.

That single, intangible factor was the source of a disastrous evening. After a few failures, desperation creeps in and new problems compound the old ones. The Saturday group had one guy (who sounded a bit like Bill Murray voicing Garfield) who decided that he had to take charge. Except his only idea was to go hide at the top of a tower at the start of the level, so we left him behind. He called after us, “Dudes, where are you going? What’s wrong with you guys? Jeez.” Then, as we were wiped out by the tank he refused to come down and fight, he said, “See. Toldja.”

We never made it to the fourth stage. Mistakes got more bone-headed. The guy playing Bill fell off a ladder on the wrong side of a fence and made us wait for a long minute while he trekked back to our position. He never made it: we got to him just in time to see the Smoker finish him off.

Another time, about two minutes into our journey, I realized I had never grabbed ammunition for my assault rife. I was down to my last clip halfway through the level.

The best failure, however, came when the guy playing Francis said, “Hoo, we’re off to a pretty bad start, huh? Wonder what’s gonna happen next?”

He got his answer as the tank exploded out of the shed three feet behind him. He was laughing as his body went flying into the woods.

A Pizza Well-Tasted

The biggest disappointment I had last night was when I bit into the pizza I’d just pulled out of the oven and discovered that it was delicious.

I was using a new recipe from Peter Reinhart that Robert Ashley linked on his Twitter account a few months back, a recipe that calls itself the best pizza crust recipe ever. Since Robert’s photos always looked delicious, and I’ve been getting a little bored with the modified Alice Waters’ recipe that I usually use, I decided to give the Reinhart crust a try.

From the first steps, it’s a bit trickier to work with. It’s a finicky recipe. The dry ingredients have to be chilled before you start the dough. You have to work it together for about ten minutes, stirring against the dough’s thickening, strengthening gluten strands. The recipe says the dough should be “sticky” and not just “tacky” to the touch.

I got it nice and sticky, then turned it out and divided the dough as instructed. Which led me to my next problem: finding a place to rest the dough overnight.

It has to be rested in the refrigerator, you see, and unfortunately I do not have room in mine to park a large baking sheet full of six dough balls overnight. Between the large pot of rice I had set aside for fried rice later in the week, the large cannister of chicken soup that was lunch on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and the usual assortment of vegetables, five square feet of rack space was simply not available.

My partner swooped in to play Fridge Tetris, and had the ingenious idea of putting the milk on top of the rice inside the pot. This gave us the extra inch of clearance we needed to shut the door. We couldn’t get food or drink from the fridge, but at least the dough had space to rest.

(Truthfully, this was a first-timer’s mistake. There’s no need to make the six pizzas right away. I should have frozen half the dough and put the other half in the fridge. Still, there are a number of ways in which I feel like this reciple makes me serve it, rather than serving me.)

Last night I took the dough from the fridge and patted it into discs about two hours before baking. The dough seemed not to have risen at all, and it was stickier and less consistent than it had been the night before. When it came time to shape the pizzas, the dough promptly crawled up my wrist and forearm while I was trying to toss it. Then the strands snapped and there was a hole in the dough.

You can see how it is translucent on the left side from being too thin.

You can see how it is translucent on the left side from being too thin.

Heavy sighs all around. The dough would roll away from the center, so that the center was always tissue thin while wads of dough curled up around the edges. It also had some crazy springback. The pizzas never got much larger than they had been before being tossed.

I gave up and handled the dough how it wanted to be handled: barely at all. I warned MK that we were probably in for some terrible pizzas, then put the first one in the oven. Plain cheese, to see if this could even work.

By then, I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want this recipe to be good enough to warrant making again, because it was such a pain in the ass compared to my other, hassle free recipes. I wanted it to suck, so that I could run the recipe through the shredder and forget about it.

Sadly, it was delicious. Crisp but not “crackery”, tasty in its own right (I’d happily eat one of these crusts topped with nothing but oil and salt), and pleasantly chewy, it was exactly the kind of dough that suited the kind of pizzas I’m increasingly interested in making: fewer-toppings, more vegetables, better cheeses.

Sliced artichoke hearts on a spread of artichoke and ricotta puree

Sliced artichoke hearts on a spread of artichoke and ricotta puree

In went the artichoke heart on an artichoke-ricotta puree. Followed by pepperoni on the puree, then chicken on the puree, a pineapple and chicken on rosemary tomato sauce, and then a bog-standard pepperoni pizza. All of it was excellent. By the way, a salty puree of artichoke hearts and ricotta cheese is a fantastic subsitute for red sauce, if you’re a bit tired of it.

As we nibbled at our various pizzas, I told MK that the Reinhart recipe had won two more invitations back to my kitchen. If it remains as fussy and annoying as it was this time, it’s leaving the rotation. But if more practice makes this recipe faster and easier for me to prepare, as practice usually does, then this was going to become as much a standby as the recipe I modified from The Art of Simple Food. I just need to nail down the reasons why the dough handles so poorly, and find whether it can be made a bit more user-friendly without sacrificing the texture. If anyone has any ideas, please let me know. In the meantime, I need to reheat some for lunch.

The Real War Will Never Get in the Games

Note: I wrote this one year ago on my old blog. I didn’t know it was Armistice Day until after I published it. Not many people read it, but it still seems like a fitting subject for the day. So here is what I wrote when Call of Duty: World at War was released.

Somewhere along the line, perhaps far earlier than I was willing to admit to myself, the World War II shooter genre started become reprehensible.

I had my moment of clarity yesterday morning when I watched the video of the first five minutes of Call of Duty: World at War, with it’s slick opening cinematic (leaning heavily on the style of the “War Corporatism” antiwar video) and grotesquely cliched in-game cutscene. About the only thing that I can say in its favor is that it at least takes note of the fact that the US embargo against Japan was, from the Japanese point of view, casus belli. Beyond that, I think we may have reached the genre’s nadir.

The game appears to open with a scene from every crappy action movie you’ve ever seen. The villain is torturing and interrogating one of the good guys, in this case a captured US Marine, and the good guy shows his defiance by spitting in his face. This is the thing to do when otherwise powerless, apparently. The villain reacts calmly, takes a drag on his cigarette, then extinguishes it in the Marine’s eyeball. The villain orders another Japanese soldier to execute him using, naturally enough, a sword.

Then Kiefer Sutherland shows up, carrying a Ka-Bar knife and all the baggage of being Jack Bauer in one of the most over-wrought shows in television history. Whoever directed his voice acting decided that Jack Bauer is exactly what this game needed, and there seems to be no trace of the fine character actor fromA Few Good Men and Dark City. All that’s missing from this 24 moment is the Ford Expedition that Jack and the Marines presumably drove to this island.

Now that the player is free, the Marines launch into a standard Call of Duty action sequence, promising to “make ‘em pay for what they’ve done”. The Marines also say “fuck” and variations of the same, coyly demonstrating that the game is hip to what it’s like “in the shit”.

I don’t mean to unfairly single this game out. It’s probably a very good war-themed shooter with glittering production values and sobering bromides about warfare that pop up every time the player is killed, just to show that the game is sensitive to the fact that war is not a game. The Call of Duty series has always been very good at slipping little antiwar messages into its militaristic fortune cookies. The fourth time you die crossing a field, Douglas MacArthur will remind you that it’s fatal to enter a war without the will to win it. The fifth time you die, Barbara Kingsolver is on hand to talk about the inhumanity of man.

This has been bothering me lately, and I’m hard pressed to completely explain why. There were always things about the series that never sat quite right. The quotes are one example, but there was also the annoying way the games were so barefacedly ripping-off Band of Brothers, Enemy at the Gates, and a slew of other World War II films. The games were never about the war, but were instead about movies that were about the war.

Except that the games always had such a stench of horseshit coming off them, far outstripping Hollywood in terms of jingoistic revisionism. The movies at least acknowledged some of the human cost of the war. Not just in terms of the awful damage it inflicted on so many human bodies but also the minds and hearts of those caught up in the maelstrom.

The Call of Duty series, always so careful to keep its ESRB rating, redacted any of the physical cost of war. More insidiously, they whitewashed the monumental cruelty, stupidity, and misery of the war. The troops rather cheerfully went through each mission with their grizzled sergeant character, playfully bitching about their orders, and then celebrated after their victories. War, as the early Call of Duty series liked to portray it, was kind of like a big football practice. And it was all for a good cause.

Where were the fuckups? Erased from gaming’s recounting of the war are all the stupid and pointless wastes of lives that made such a contribution to the war’s final, staggering death toll. Hurtgen Forest, where several divisions of US infantrymen were devoured in a long, bloody, and ultimately meaningless battle for a piece of land with no military value. The wholesale slaughter that occurred along the Siegfried Line after Market Garden failed, and the Allied offensive lurched back to life only to find that the Germans had used their brief reprieve to fortify the border. Anzio? The daylight bombing campaign? Dieppe?

Naturally, games aren’t unique in this regard. Starting with the 50th anniversaries of the war, World War II became a big business and our culture began a very dangerous love affair with one of the greatest catastrophes to ever befall mankind. In retrospect, what a strange spectacle it was to see a nation ostensibly honoring its “Greatest Generation” with a series of increasingly lackluster movies, TV specials, sentimental bestsellers, and finally videogames. And how thoroughly that primed us for the misguided adventurism and empty promises that marked the past several years. The Bush administration may have misled the country into a war, but would the country have been so easily manipulated if it had not spent the previous decade reliving a time when we slew dragons?

What I am sick of is the disingenuousness we see in our military shooters. Hell’s Highway was marketed, on the one hand, as the most historically accurate and respectful World War II FPS ever made. The series had the pedigree to support that claim. On the other hand, the game included a feature that was basically a “fatality” cam, letting gamers revel in the carnage they inflicted. So what we had was a bit of two-faced marketing, where one developer video would talk soberly and respectfully about how serious this game was, and the next was all about “sweet kill” and “check out the gibs”.

I don’t think gamers are burned out on World War II games, but I know that I’m burned out on this particular kind of World War II game. I’m tired of playing games that present a vision of historical reality that I know to be false.

Go read Paul Fussell’s books to understand what I’m talking about. Actually, you only need to read the final chapter of Wartime, “The Real War Will Never Get in the Books”. There is a guy who saw the war firsthand, nearly died over in Germany, and who fifty years later was still filled with a palpable sense of rage over the pity of the entire damned thing. He writes about the stupidity of Allied command, the shoddy equipment that most definitely cost lives on the battlefield, the lies that were told to the “home front”, and most of all the Disney-fication of the war.

Read some Kurt Vonnegut, particularly an essay from Armageddon in Retrospect called, “Wailing Shall Be in All Streets”, in which he talks about Dresden. After annihilating the city, the Allies send bombers over a few days later to drop leaflets explaining why there was a sound tactical reason why the city had to die. Vonnegut explains:

The leaflet should have said: “We hit every blessed church, hospital, school, museum, theatre, your university, the zoo, and every apartment building in town, but we honestly weren’t trying hard to do it. C’est la guerre. So sorry. Besides, saturation bombing is all the rage these days, you know.”

There was tactical significance: stop the railroads. An excellent manoeuvre, no doubt, but the technique was horrible. The planes started kicking high explosives and incendiaries through their bomb-bays at the city limits, and for all the pattern their hits presented, they must have been briefed by a Ouija board.

Tabulate the loss against the gain. Over 100,000 noncombatants and a magnificent city destroyed by bombs dropped wide of the stated objectives: the railroads were knocked out for roughly two days. The Germans counted it the greatest loss of life suffered in any single raid. The death of Dresden was a bitter tragedy, needlessly and wilfully executed. The killing of children – “Jerry” children or “Jap” children, or whatever enemies the future may hold for us – can never be justified.

The facile reply to great groans such as mine is the most hateful of all clichés, “fortunes of war”, and another: “They asked for it. All they understand is force.”

Who asked for it? The only thing who understands is force? Believe me, it is not easy to rationalise the stamping out of vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored when gathering up babies in bushel baskets or helping a man dig where he thinks his wife may be buried.

It’s useless to ask that war not be exploited for entertainment purposes and I’ll cop to enjoying good wargames, movies, and books. I don’t mean to be sanctimonious. But I simply cannot handle any more sentimentalizing when it comes to war, especially World War II. It was a nightmare and one from which the world has not fully recovered, and it is crass to see games wilfully over-simplifying and idealizing an event that killed scores of millions of people.

Valve Is Not Your Enemy

Valve and Steam seem to be taking fire from a lot of quarters these days.

Last week, Direct2Drive, GamersGate (digital distributors hate using the space bar), and Impulse announced they would not be selling Modern Warfare 2 so long as it included a mandatory Steam installation in order to activate the game. In effect, you could buy the game from any number of sources, but you could only play it through Valve’s online service.

A few weeks earlier, Gearbox’s Randy Pitchford made a mostly incoherent attack on Valve and Steam, saying that while he trusted Valve, he did not trust Valve. You read that right. Apparently Randy Pitchford, regular guy, trusts Valve but Randy Pitchford, CEO of Gearbox Software and “guy in this industry,” sees a dangerous conflict of interest. Valve is a developer in competition with other developers, but it is also a distributor that markets games from those competing developers.

It’s hard to escape the feeling that Pitchford’s stance has more to do with resentment than with actual business conflicts. While Gearbox has enjoyed a lot of success and produced a number of excellent titles (and superb expansions, back when that was their business), it has produced no franchise that is even within shouting distance of the Half-Life series, or the Source-powered juggernauts of Left 4 Dead or Team Fortress 2. More obnoxiously, Valve is sitting on a gold mine with the Steam platform, and its former peers and competitors now rely on Valve to sell their games.

But when Pitchford argues that Valve’s position as a game developer poses a conflict of interest with its role as the owner / operator of Steam, I lose the thread. First, Valve is not in a position where it needs to sweat the competition from other developers. Second, it is still in Valve’s interest to see that other developer’s titles do well on the platform, and to ensure they get a good deal compared to other outlets.

Frankly, as someone who purchased Gearbox’s entire Brothers in Arms series through Steam, I think Pitchford underestimates just how symbiotic his relationship with Valve actually is. When Hell’s Highway stalled at retail amid mediocre reviews and WW2 shooter-fatigue, it was on Steam that the game got a new lease on life through heavy promotion as a featured discount deal. It’s on Steam where a company’s back catalogue stands the best chance of being noticed and purchased by consumers, because Steam is omnipresent on PC gamers’ computers. When you open the program, it notifies you about important deals, some of them on games several years old.

Furthermore, the number of independent developers who have come to Steam’s defense says quite a bit about how Valve treats the people with whom it does business. From generous and straightforward contracts through promotion to prompt payments, Steam offers developers a number of good deals. So what, exactly, is so broken that it needs to be fixed?

I’m similarly confused about what the other digital distributors are up to, because their given reasoning seems a bit disingenuous. My hope is that it’s a publicity move aimed at getting the attention of the PC gamers who have already written off Modern Warfare 2 due to Infinity Ward’s antagonism to the platform where the franchise originated. Even though their objections are completely different, the other services are casting themselves as consumer advocates sticking it to a game that’s already unpopular with many of those consumers. Superficially, it looks like the other distributors are joining PC gamers at the barricades. If those gamers started voting with their dollars and made an effort to support these newfound allies, it would be to the benefit of Direct2Drive, GamersGate, and Impulse.

Still, it’s important to note that these services are boycotting Modern Warfare 2 for one reason only: it forces gamers to use Steam. Infinity Ward and Activision don’t care about this so long as Steam also provides them with good, uncontroversial copy-protection. But the distrbutors resent the hell out of this, because it means that they are being forced to grant Valve access to their own customers. Where you have to actually navigate to and browse around GamersGate’s and D2D’s websites, Steam constantly runs in the background while you are using it, always ready to provide a helpful reminder about a sale. From the other distributors’ point of view, they are being forced to cut their own throats.

From this consumer’s point of view, however, their reasoning is small-minded and not a little hypocritical. For one thing, it was seeing how well Steam worked that I became comfortable enough with digital ownership that I started trying the other services. I heard about Paradox’s anniversary sale on Steam and that led me to the Paradox-owned GamersGate, where there were even more items on sale. I was put off by a lot of negative reports I heard about Direct2Drive back when it launched, but I only recently felt confident enough to buy from them. Prior to Steam, however, I was a die-hard “physical ownership” kind of guy. Steam hasn’t just created Steam customers. It has created digital customers.

More annoying, however, is the self-righteousness of this boycott. From Direct2Drive’s Modern Warfare 2 page:

Thanks for your interest in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 from Direct2Drive.

At Direct2Drive, we believe strongly that when you buy a game from us, you shouldn’t be forced to install and run a 3rd party software client to be able to play the game you purchased. Because COD MW 2 requires you, the consumer, to do that, we aren’t able to offer the game via Direct2Drive at this time.

I strongly believe that as well, Direct2Drive. But I’m not certain you do. Because I find you are still selling Dawn of War II, which requires the odious Games for Windows Live “service” for online play. It will load every time I run the game regardless of whether I’m actually playing online.

I can also buy Grand Theft Auto IV via D2D, despite the fact that that game requires me to install Rockstar Social Club in order to play it. RSC provides, as nearly as I can tell, no real service and is just another way that the developer retains control of its product. I suppose since it is Rockstar it is not really a 3rd-party program, but it is nevertheless astonishingly consumer-unfriendly.

Nor does Impulse seem like it is standing up for the little guy. The problem with Steam, from Impulse’s point of view, is that it got to PC gamers first and is now in the exact position Impulse would like to occupy. The chief difference between Impulse and Steam is that Impulse has never had a product as successful as Half-Life 2 with which to leverage itself. But what is to be expected from a company that routinely brags about its DRM-free approach to publishing while tying its games to an online authentication service / storefront?

As for conflicts of interest, who is kidding who? Impulse is an arm of Stardock, a game developer just like Valve. Direct2Drive is owned by IGN, which is in turn owned by News Corp. You might know IGN as a site that reviews the games that it is also involved in selling. GamersGate was created by Paradox, another developer / publisher.

My worry here is that forces are lining up to try and change the way Valve does business, and I don’t see that consumers stand to gain anything from such changes. Not only are Valve and Steam the devils I know, but I don’t see them as devils of any sort. I have far more reasons to be skeptical when I hear the envious and the ethically compromised taking a stand in the name of integrity and consumer protection.

Ambivalently Ambivalent about Glee

My partner and I were really enjoying Glee until one of us, I don’t remember who, pointed out that it seemed to be a bit misogynist. Now that’s practically all we can see.

We were slow on the uptake because the show seems upbeat. It’s like Star Trek in that major issues are often resolved in the last few minutes of every episode, except that the solution is always, “Hey kids, let’s put on a show!” It’s an MGM musical for our times, where every character becomes the best version of him or herself the moment the music begins to play. It might be even more uplifting, because between songs these are not Fred Astaires or Judy Garlands. The teachers and students of Glee are the sad lost souls of the Heartland living out Springsteen lyrics while dancing to Broadway melodies.

I love this premise, but Glee’s handling of sexuality and gender leaves a bitter aftertaste. Underneath the charm lurk a bunch of nasty archetypes I hoped TV had outgrown.

Let’s start with Kurt, the gay high school student, because he is the canary in Glee’s coal mine. In the episode where he comes out to his father, we find him re-enacting the “Single Ladies” music video with two girlfriends in his basement. While I get that the show is always eager to find excuses for its characters to bust a move, must the only openly gay boy in the show spend his leisure hours working on choreography?

At the end of the episode, he comes out to his father, who is totally unfazed. He has always known his son is gay, he explains, because when Kurt was three, the only thing he wanted for his birthday was “a pair of sensible heels.”

In a later episode, when there is a girls vs. boys competition in the Glee Club, Kurt assumes he is on the girls’ team. He is incensed that Mr. Schuester directs him back to the boys’ side of the room, and later betrays them to the girls, explaining that his allegiance is still with them.

An episode or so after that, he ends up with a Slushie all over his face. His response is to turn to his girlfriends and say, “I need a facial, STAT!” They all duck into the ladies’ room together.

In addition to the fact that none of these gags are actually funny, they are also indulging in cheap, inaccurate stereotyping. The gay boy considers himself a girl. He loves cross dressing. He just wants to sing and dance with his only friends, the girls. Caring for his delicate skin is the most important task in his life.

One thing that I have never seen with my gay friends is gender confusion. They don’t think, “I like boys, so I’m a girl.” They are men who are interested in other men. They might make jokes about how they are preternaturally good dressers, but they aren’t actually spending hours trying on women’s shoes or exfoliating.

What really pisses me off here is that Glee is trying to pass itself off as a modern show that embraces the values of tolerance and understanding, but then turns around and others the only gay kid in the show. It’s completely backhanded.

It’s the insidiousness of the female characters, however, that’s most disturbing. The show revolves around two love triangles. The first is that of the teacher, Mr. Schuester, who is in a loveless marriage to Terri, while he and Emily, the school guidance counselor, pine for one another. The second is that of Finn, the quarterback and the lead male singer in the Glee Club, who is dating the head cheerleader, Quinn, while he and the best female singer in Glee Club, Rachel, pine for one another.

To recap:

  • Will and Terri = Married.
  • Will and Emily = In Love
  • Finn and Quinn = Dating, expecting a baby
  • Finn and Rachel = In Love

Will and Finn are the good guys of the series, a pair of kind-hearted Lost Boys who have been ensnared by treacherous women and are being kept from the happiness they deserve with the Good Girls. Will’s psychotic, manipulative wife is faking a pregnancy in order to preserve their marriage. Finn’s girlfriend, Quinn, is pregnant and has decided to keep the baby.

Naturally, Quinn is lying to Finn. She’s telling Finn that it’s his baby when it is not. She cheated on him with his best friend. In fact, she and Finn have not even had sex.  He thinks that because he ejaculated while sitting in a hot tub with her, she somehow got pregnant. Finn is too naive and ignorant to know that’s impossible.

(It’s worth mentioning that the friend is absolved of any real wrongdoing here. He goes on being the lovable reprobate who is guilty about what happened with Quinn, but nothing more. Quinn is the betrayer here. He’s just following his horn-dog instincts. This is almost identical to the way Glee creator Ryan Murphy’s other big hit, Nip/Tuck, handled the relationship between Christian Troy and David MacNamara. Christian and David’s friendship trumped any reprehensible thing Christian might do because, hey, you can’t blame a man for screwing.)

Meanwhile, Will’s wife is claiming to be pregnant and is using a small cushion to fake a bulge. Will does not think it’s odd that he hasn’t seen or touched Terri’s stomach in months, and Terri has cut a deal with Quinn to take her baby when it is born. Quinn will go on with her life, and Terri will produce the baby that will save her marriage.

Terri dodges a bullet by using her stupid, cow-like sister to blackmail the OB/GYN into cooperating. Terri’s sister has been cranking out babies, “each one dumber than the last,” and she threatens to sue the doctor and ruin his reputation. The doctor goes along with Terri’s deception.

Notice a pattern here? We have two good, decent men who have been ensnared by a mysterious reproductive system they do not understand, and women who use their uteruses to trap them and ruin their lives. One of the women is aided by her sister, who speaks with a rural accent and craps out kids.

Ah, but if only Finn could get with Rachel and Will could get with Emily! These are the good women of Glee, who are above all defined by their adoration for the show’s male protagonists. Rachel is a sweet, loyal, generous girl who is unpopular despite talent and beauty (welcome to TV high school). Emily, on the other hand, is an awkward guidance counselor with a phobia of being touched or otherwise experiencing contact with another person. Ball of neuroses that she is, however, she finds a horse-whisperer in Will. She, too, is loyal, selfless, and honest.

To summarize the lesson:

  • Bad Women use sex and childbearing to ruin men’s lives.
  • Good Women are loyal and selflessly supportive.

Which leaves one last character to consider: Will’s nemesis Sue, the cheerleading coach.

Sue is unquestionably the strongest, toughest, and funniest female character in the show. The only thing she values is winning, at everything, and right now she sees the Glee Club and its charismatic coach as a threat to her primacy as the only winner in a high school full of losers. Worse, the Glee Club actually threatens her cheerleading team, as it is pulling cheerleaders into its orbit. Cheerleading is no longer the only thing her her girls’ lives. So Sue must destroy Will and his little club, using ever more nefarious and hilarious means.

Unfortunately, Sue is also not a Real Woman.

We know this because she is always wearing a track suit and has her hair cut very short, giving her an androgynous look. She bites out her words like a Lee Marvin character. There is no one and nothing in her life. In contrast to Quinn, who is always in a cheerleading outfit, and Rachel, who is usually in some variant of the Sexy Schoolgirl outfit, Sue stands out as the one sexless character in the show.

For one episode she mellowed, appearing to be on the cusp of turning into a good person. We saw her dancing and laughing with Will. The reason? She had developed a crush. She was suddenly (and unrealistically) in love, and it changed everything. Naturally, about 3/4 of the way through the episode, the relationship collapsed. She caught him with another woman, and the relationship ended. Prior to this, it’s worth noting that she had mistakenly bought a zoot suit for a dance date, not understanding that the men wore the zoot suits.

Immediately thereafter, Sue went back to being a vindictive bitch. A man briefly feminized her, transforming her into a sympathetic character, but when he spurned her she reverted to being the harsh androygne.

My problem with Glee is that it’s a decent show that uses heteronormative stereotypes for cheap laughs and as plot elements. There is not a single character that really cuts against the grain of gender roles, despite all the “quirky oddballs”  in the cast. It’s a show that is so charming, you may not notice that its sexual politics are disgraceful. But they are, and once you spot them, they color every scene and every line of dialogue. The show is still enjoyable, but there’s something rotten at the heart of it that always leaves me uncomfortable as the credits roll.