#like i can not stress this enough THEY WERE TOO RACIST FOR THE 1930s

[bugbuoyx]

people out here are seriously defending pseudoscience made by racists bc they want to be able to put funny letters in their bio and pretend it means something

[antoine-roquentin]

If every language is acquirable, its acquisition requires a real portion of a person’s life: each new conquest is measured against shortening days. What limits one’s access to other languages is not their imperviousness but one’s own mortality. Hence a certain privacy to all languages. French and American imperialists governed, exploited, and killed Vietnamese over many years. But whatever else they made off with, the Vietnamese language stayed put. Accordingly, only too often, a rage at Vietnamese ‘inscrutability,’ and that obscure despair which engenders the venomous argots of dying colonialisms: ‘gooks,’ ‘ratons’, etc.12 (In the longer run, the only responses to the vast privacy of the language of the oppressed are retreat or further massacre.) Such epithets are, in their inner form, characteristically racist, and decipherment of this form will serve to show why Nairn is basically mistaken in arguing that racism and anti-semitism derive from nationalism – and thus that ‘seen in sufficient historical depth, fascism tells us more about nationalism than any other episode.’13 A word like ‘slant,’ for example, abbreviated from ‘slant-eyed’, does not simply express an ordinary political enmity. It erases nation-ness by reducing the adversary to his biological physiognomy.14 It denies, by substituting for, ‘Vietnamese;’ just as raton denies, by substituting for, ‘Algerian’. At the same time, it stirs ‘Vietnamese’ into a nameless sludge along with ‘Korean,’ ‘Chinese,’ ‘Filipino,’ and so on. The character of this vocabulary may become still more evident if it is contrasted with other Vietnam-War-period words like ‘Charlie’ and ‘V.C.’, or from an earlier era, ‘Boches,’ ‘Huns,’ ‘Japs’ and ‘Frogs,’ all of which apply only to one specific nationality, and thus concede, in hatred, the adversary’s membership in a league of nations.15 The fact of the matter is that nationalism thinks in terms of historical destinies, while racism dreams of eternal contaminations, transmitted from the origins of time through an endless sequence of loathsome copulations: outside history. Niggers are, thanks to the invisible tar-brush, forever niggers; Jews, the seed of Abraham, forever Jews, no matter what passports they carry or what languages they speak and read. (Thus for the Nazi, the Jewish German was always an impostor.)16 The dreams of racism actually have their origin in ideologies of class, rather than in those of nation: above all in claims to divinity among rulers and to ‘blue’ or ‘white’ blood and ‘breeding’ among aristocracies.17 No surprise then that the putative sire of modern racism should be, not some petty-bourgeois nationalist, but Joseph Arthur, Comte de Gobineau.18 Nor that, on the whole, racism and anti-semitism manifest themselves, not across national boundaries, but within them. In other words, they justify not so much foreign wars as domestic repression and domination.19 Where racism developed outside Europe in the nineteenth century, it was always associated with European domination, for two converging reasons. First and most important was the rise of official nationalism and colonial ‘Russification’. As has been repeatedly emphasized official nationalism was typically a response on the part of threatened dynastic and aristocratic groups – upper classes – to popular vernacular nationalism. Colonial racism was a major element in that conception of ‘Empire’ which attempted to weld dynastic legitimacy and national community. It did so by generalizing a principle of innate, inherited superiority on which its own domestic position was (however shakily) based to the vastness of the overseas possessions, covertly (or not so covertly) conveying the idea that if, say, English lords were naturally superior to other Englishmen, no matter: these other Englishmen were no less superior to the subjected natives. Indeed one is tempted to argue that the existence of late colonial empires even served to shore up domestic aristocratic bastions, since they appeared to confirm on a global, modern stage antique conceptions of power and privilege. It could do so with some effect because – and here is our second reason – the colonial empire, with its rapidly expanding bureaucratic apparatus and its ‘Russifying’ policies, permitted sizeable numbers of bourgeois and petty bourgeois to play aristocrat off centre court: i.e. anywhere in the empire except at home. In each colony one found this grimly amusing tableau vivant: the bourgeois gentilhomme speaking poetry against a backcloth of spacious mansions and gardens filled with mimosa and bougainvillea, and a large supporting cast of houseboys, grooms, gardeners, cooks, amahs, maids, washerwomen, and, above all, horses.20 Even those who did not manage to live in this style, such as young bachelors, nonetheless had the grandly equivocal status of a French nobleman on the eve of a jacquerie:21 In Moulmein, in lower Burma [this obscure town needs explaining to readers in the metropole], I was hated by large numbers of people – the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town. This ‘tropical Gothic’ was made possible by the overwhelming power that high capitalism had given the metropole – a power so great that it could be kept, so to speak, in the wings. Nothing better illustrates capitalism in feudal-aristocratic drag than colonial militaries, which were notoriously distinct from those of the metropoles, often even in formal institutional terms. 22 Thus in Europe one had the ‘First Army,’ recruited by conscription on a mass, citizen, metropolitan base; ideologically conceived as the defender of the heimat; dressed in practical, utilitarian khaki; armed with the latest affordable weapons; in peacetime isolated in barracks, in war stationed in trenches or behind heavy field-guns. Outside Europe one had the ‘Second Army,’ recruited (below the officer level) from local religious or ethnic minorities on a mercenary basis; ideologically conceived as an internal police force; dressed to kill in bed-or ballroom; armed with swords and obsolete industrial weapons; in peace on display, in war on horseback. If the Prussian General Staff, Europe’s military teacher, stressed the anonymous solidarity of a professionalized corps, ballistics, railroads, engineering, strategic planning, and the like, the colonial army stressed glory, epaulettes, personal heroism, polo, and an archaizing courtliness among its officers. (It could afford to do so because the First Army and the Navy were there in the background.) This mentality survived a long time. In Tonkin, in 1894, Lyautey wrote:23 Quel dommage de n’être pas venu ici dix ans plus tôt! Quelles carrières à y fonder et à y mener. Il n’y a pas ici un de ces petits lieutenants, chefs de poste et de reconnaissance, qui ne développe en 6 mois plus d’initiative, de volonté, d’endurance, de personnalité, qu’un officier de France en toute sa carrière. In Tonkin, in 1951, Jean de Lattre de Tassigny, ‘who liked officers who combined guts with “style,” took an immediate liking to the dashing cavalryman [Colonel de Castries] with his bright-red Spahi cap and scarf, his magnificent riding-crop, and his combination of easy-going manners and ducal mien, which made him as irresistible to women in Indochina in the 1950s as he had been to Parisiennes of the 1930s.’24 Another instructive indication of the aristocratic or pseudo-aristocratic derivation of colonial racism was the typical ‘solidarity among whites,’ which linked colonial rulers from different national metropoles, whatever their internal rivalries and conflicts. This solidarity, in its curious trans-state character, reminds one instantly of the class solidarity of Europe’s nineteenth-century aristocracies, mediated through each other’s hunting-lodges, spas, and ballrooms; and of that brotherhood of ‘officers and gentlemen,’ which in the Geneva convention guaranteeing privileged treatment to captured enemy officers, as opposed to partisans or civilians, has an agreeably twentieth-century expression. The argument adumbrated thus far can also be pursued from the side of colonial populations. For, the pronouncements of certain colonial ideologues aside, it is remarkable how little that dubious entity known as ‘reverse racism’ manifested itself in the anticolonial movements. In this matter it is easy to be deceived by language. There is, for example, a sense in which the Javanese word londo (derived from Hollander or Nederlander) meant not only ‘Dutch’ but ‘whites.’ But the derivation itself shows that, for Javanese peasants, who scarcely ever encountered any ‘whites’ but Dutch, the two meanings effectively overlapped. Similarly, in French colonial territories, ‘les blancs’ meant rulers whose Frenchness was indistinguishable from their whiteness. In neither case, so far as I know, did londo or blanc either lose caste or breed derogatory secondary distinctions.25 On the contrary, the spirit of anticolonial nationalism is that of the heart-rending Constitution of Makario Sakay’s short-lived Republic of Katagalugan (1902), which said, among other things:26 No Tagalog, born in this Tagalog archipelago, shall exalt any person above the rest because of his race or the colour of his skin; fair, dark, rich, poor, educated and ignorant – all are completely equal, and should be in one loób [inward spirit]. There may be differences in education, wealth, or appearance, but never in essential nature (pagkatao) and ability to serve a cause. One can find without difficulty analogies on the other side of the globe. Spanish-speaking mestizo Mexicans trace their ancestries, not to Castilian conquistadors, but to half-obliterated Aztecs, Mayans, Toltecs and Zapotecs. Uruguayan revolutionary patriots, creoles themselves, took up the name of Tupac Amarú, the last great indigenous rebel against creole oppression, who died under unspeakable tortures in 1781. It may appear paradoxical that the objects of all these attachments are ‘imagined’ – anonymous, faceless fellow-Tagalogs, exterminated tribes, Mother Russia, or the tanah air. But amor patriae does not differ in this respect from the other affections, in which there is always an element of fond imagining. (This is why looking at the photo-albums of strangers’ weddings is like studying the archaeologist’s groundplan of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.) What the eye is to the lover – that particular, ordinary eye he or she is born with – language – whatever language history has made his or her mother-tongue – is to the patriot. Through that language, encountered at mother’s knee and parted with only at the grave, pasts are restored, fellowships are imagined, and futures dreamed. 12. The logic here is: 1. I will be dead before I have penetrated them. 2. My power is such that they have had to learn my language. 3. But this means that my privacy has been penetrated. Terming them ‘gooks’ is small revenge. 13. The Break-up of Britain, pp. 337 and 347. 14. Notice that there is no obvious, selfconscious antonym to ‘slant.’ ‘Round’? ‘Straight’? ‘Oval’? 15. Not only, in fact, in an earlier era. Nonetheless, there is a whiff of the antique-shop about these words of Debray: ‘I can conceive of no hope for Europe save under the hegemony of a revolutionary France, firmly grasping the banner of independence. Sometimes I wonder if the whole “anti-Boche” mythology and our secular antagonism to Germany may not be one day indispensable for saving the revolution, or even our national-democratic inheritance.’ ‘Marxism and the National Question,’ p. 41. 16. The significance of the emergence of Zionism and the birth of Israel is that the former marks the reimagining of an ancient religious community as a nation, down there among the other nations – while the latter charts an alchemic change from wandering devotee to local patriot. 17. ‘From the side of the landed aristocracy came conceptions of inherent superiority in the ruling class, and a sensitivity to status, prominent traits well into the twentieth century. Fed by new sources, these conceptions could later be vulgarized [sic] and made appealing to the German population as a whole in doctrines of racial superiority.’ Barrington Moore, Jr., Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy, p. 436. 18. Gobineau’s dates are perfect. He was born in 1816, two years after the restoration of the Bourbons to the French throne. His diplomatic career, 1848–1877, blossomed under Louis Napoléon’s Second Empire and the reactionary monarchist regime of Marie Edmé Patrice Maurice, Comte de MacMahon, former imperialist proconsul in Algiers. His Essai sur l’Inégalité des Races Humaines appeared in 1854 – should one say in response to the popular vernacular-nationalist insurrections of 1848? 19. South African racism has not, in the age of Vorster and Botha, stood in the way of amicable relations (however discreetly handled) with prominent black politicians in certain independent African states. If Jews suffer discrimination in the Soviet Union, that did not prevent respectful working relations between Brezhnev and Kissinger. 20. For a stunning collection of photographs of such tableaux vivants in the Netherlands Indies (and an elegantly ironical text), see ‘E. Breton de Nijs,’ Tempo Doeloe. 21. George Orwell, ‘Shooting an Elephant,’ in The Orwell Reader, p. 3. The words in square brackets are of course my interpolation. 22. The KNIL (Koninklijk Nederlandsch-Indisch Leger) was quite separate from the KL (Koninklijk Leger) in Holland. The Légion Étrangère was almost from the start legally prohibited from operations on continental French soil. 23. Lettres du Tonkin et de Madagascar (1894–1899), p. 84. Letter of December 22, 1894, from Hanoi. Emphases added. 24. Bernard B. Fall, Hell is a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dien Bien Phu, p. 56. One can imagine the shudder of Clausewitz’s ghost. [Spahi, derived like Sepoy from the Ottoman Sipahi, meant mercenary irregular cavalrymen of the ‘Second Army’ in Algeria.] It is true that the France of Lyautey and de Lattre was a Republican France. However, the often talkative Grande Muette had since the start of the Third Republic been an asylum for aristocrats increasingly excluded from power in all other important institutions of public life. By 1898, a full quarter of all Brigadier-and Major-Generals were aristocrats. Moreover, this aristocrat-dominated officer corps was crucial to nineteenth and twentieth-century French imperialism. ‘The rigorous control imposed on the army in the métropole never extended fully to la France d’outremer. The extension of the French Empire in the nineteenth century was partially the result of uncontrolled initiative on the part of colonial military commanders. French West Africa, largely the creation of General Faidherbe, and the French Congo as well, owed most of their expansion to independent military forays into the hinterland. Military officers were also responsible for the faits accomplis which led to a French protectorate in Tahiti in 1842, and, to a lesser extent, to the French occupation of Tonkin in Indochina in the 1880’s . . . In 1897 Galliéni summarily abolished the monarchy in Madagascar and deported the Queen, all without consulting the French government, which later accepted the fait accompli . . .’ John S. Ambler, The French Army in Politics, 1945–1962, pp. 10–11 and 22. 25. I have never heard of an abusive argot word in Indonesian or Javanese for either ‘Dutch’ or ‘white.’ Compare the Anglo-Saxon treasury: niggers, wops, kikes, gooks, slants, fuzzywuzzies, and a hundred more. It is possible that this innocence of racist argots is true primarily of colonized populations. Blacks in America – and surely elsewhere – have developed a varied counter-vocabulary (honkies, ofays, etc.). 26. As cited in Reynaldo Ileto’s masterlyPasyón and Revolution: Popular Movements in the Philippines, 1840–1910, p. 218. Sakay’s rebel republic lasted until 1907, when he was captured and executed by the Americans. Understanding the first sentence requires remembering that three centuries of Spanish rule and Chinese immigration had produced a sizeable mestizo population in the islands.

Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities

[goingoverthegardenwall]

Chapter 8: Babes in the Wood

In this last hurrah of explicit homages to animation of the past, the most obvious discussion point is Merrie Melodies and its ilk: Babes in the Wood is essentially a full-episode reference to the bouncing musical shorts of yore, where everything can sing’n’dance and the villain is a blustery bozo who’s defeated with a sight gag. If we expand to children’s entertainment in general, as we did with Greg’s Beatrix Potter episode, then The Wizard of Oz is our logical next step: the song welcoming him to Cloud City owes everything to Dorothy’s introduction to Munchkinland, complete with the fact that our hero has just entered a dream.

And look, there’s nothing wrong with talking about the obvious. But as we near the end, I think it’s a little more interesting to instead explore the very beginning. So let’s go back to a newspaper cartoonist in New York—the one who inspired fellow New York newspaper cartoonist John Randolph Bray to become an animator, which in turn led fellow New York newspaper cartoonist Max Fleischer to become an animator, because it turns out that just like the birth of superhero comics a few decades later, the birth of American animation hinged on print artists who dreamed big in the city that never sleeps. 

A boy named Zenas was born in Michigan on September 26, 1871. Or maybe he was born there in 1869. Or maybe he was born in Canada in 1867. He said one thing, and a biographer said another, and census data says another, and I wasn’t there. It’s similarly unclear when or why he started going by his middle name, but by the time he took his first job at age 21 (or 19 or 17) as a billboard and poster artist in Chicago, he was calling himself Winsor McCay. They sure did know how to name ‘em in the 19th century.

McCay began his newspaper career as a freelancer, but moved to New York in 1903 to work for the New York Herald, where he wrote a variety of comics before hitting it big with Little Sammy Sneeze. McCay’s art was always brilliant, but his gag work was formulaic to a fault: the joke for Sammy Sneeze was always the same, he would sneeze and ruin everything right before the last panel. That devotion to formula would continue in his second big comic Dream of the Rarebit Fiend, where a fantastical events would occur for ever-changing characters before the lead woke up in the last panel, revealing it was a dream.

That second formula was the basis of McCay’s masterpiece. Already a successful cartoonist in the two short years since he’d moved to New York, his fame skyrocketed with Little Nemo in Slumberland, which used the same “wake up at the end” formula but with recurring characters and a running story. He toyed with the medium like none had before, playing with panel arrangement and innovating the portrayal of motion in comics, and his art skills only improved with this full-color strip. His success led to the vaudeville circuit, where he turned the act of drawing into a performance, and this combination of stage entertainment and his continuing comic work led him to seek new ways to dazzle the crowds.

By 1910, the earliest animated shorts had already started to emerge, and McCay was inspired by pioneers like James Stuart Blackton and Émile Cohl to try animating the characters of Little Nemo. Under Blackton’s direction, McCay singlehandedly drew around four thousand fully colored frames to produce his first animated cartoon, presented at the tail end of a filmed short about said cartoon in 1911. As mentioned, animated shorts were already a thing. But none of them looked anything like this. (If you’re concerned that there might be racist caricatures in it, don’t worry, there definitely are, McCay had a lot of strengths but overcoming garbage prejudices was not one of them).

The sheer quality of his work, continuing with the legendary Gertie the Dinosaur, directly led to the invention of the rotoscope as a means to mass-produce cartoons of similar finesse. The influence of Winsor McCay over animation as we know it is hard to overstate (and let’s stress again that this was his side gig, and he was just as influential over comic art): as crazy as it sounds, it’s safe to say that Over the Garden Wall would not exist if not for a story about the whimsical adventures of a little boy who traveled across a land of dreams from his bed. 

“Where’s Greg, Wirt?”

Babes in the Wood is delightful and goofy and lighthearted exactly once.

In the same way our fourth-to-last episode mirrored our fourth, this third-to-last episode mirrors our third: Chapters 4 and 7 focus on Wirt, but 3 and 8 are Greg’s. It’s not simply a matter of who the main character is, but what these episodes are about: Greg’s love of fun clashing with his drive to help others. Both times he's spurred by the desire to help others to go off on his own, both times he gets distracted by whimsical wonders involving funny animals and physical humor, and both times he ends up deciding to help out anyway. But despite switching his goal from making the whole world a better place to just helping his brother, the stakes are actually far higher now, so the fun has to be that much more fun if we want the full horror of the ending to sink in.

There’s no tonal shift in the series that’s more devastating than Greg falling prey to the Beast after nearly ten minutes of goofiness in Cloud City. It turns a moment of welcome relief from the growing tension of Wirt’s despair into a dagger in the heart, and the knife is twisted when we learn in our next episode what the Unknown truly is.

That despair is evident well before Wirt explicitly gives up. We get our second opening in a row featuring Beatrice in a hopeless search, and things aren’t much better for the boys. All sense of progression from the first episode feels lost, with Wirt reverting to mumbling poetry and Greg reverting to Rock Facts. Their boat is an outhouse and Greg uses a guitar as an oar, because (if you’ll pardon my French) they’re up shit creek without a paddle. When they land, Greg’s victorious bugle is a ridiculous sign of hope, but he soon drops it in the same way he abandons the guitar: in Schooltown Follies he takes instruments to help others, but this time he loses them.

Wirt’s frustration with Greg threatened to boil over in The Ringing of the Bell, only to be cooled when the Woodsman interrupts them. This time there’s no such interruption, so after Greg’s total failure to read the room gets to be too much, his brother finally snaps. It crucially isn’t entirely unjustified, as Greg’s antics might be funny to us but have not been appreciated by Wirt, and despite Greg’s age excusing his lack of emotional intelligence, it’s still gotta be frustrating for a teen to deal with that behavior nonstop. And Wirt’s “tirade” reflects his depression, because he doesn’t even seem that angry: he doesn’t shout or rave, he’s just openly irritated as he argues that they’ll be lost forever. This is apathy and fatigue, because he’s lost the energy to be furious.

But the most chilling part of the exchange isn’t Wirt cruelly blaming Greg for their mess, or abandoning their search. It’s when, after Wirt asks if they can give up, Greg responds with a chipper “You can do anything if you set your mind to it!”, a sentiment that the Beast will fiendishly repeat verbatim while tricking Greg. It’s such a generic positive expression that Greg hangs a lampshade on it, but it shows the darker side of the power our minds have over our well-being. Sure, it’s a great lesson that focus and dedication can help us achieve our dreams, but if we use that focus and dedication towards self-destructive behavior, there’s no limit to how badly we can hurt ourselves. 

After a goofy sort of prayer (incorporating lines from the classic Trick or Treat poem, which will become super relevant an episode from now), Greg is whisked away by so-creepy-it’s-funny cherubim to the score of a so-overwrought-it’s-funny song. His flight aboard the bed/cart pulled by a donkey across the sky feels legitimately magical, but we soon switch to the surreal world of 1930′s songs and physics.

Cloud City is such a stark contrast to the tone of the episode so far that it instantly feels delightful, and such a stark contrast to the tone of the entire series that it lends a special sort of wonder to Greg’s dreamland. References to old cartoons are everywhere in Over the Garden Wall, and before we delve into the tension of our last two episodes, we get one last gigantic celebration of the past with a sequence straight from the golden age of animation. 

The transition alone is enough to make this scene hilarious, but the actual jokes help quite a bit: Greg’s growing impatience with the numerous Wizard of Oz reception committees is my favorite gag of the night. Everything is cute to the point of being cloying, including our three angels that look and sound an awful lot like Greg, and the parade that he leads seems like such a fun and peaceful affair after so much time wandering alone. It’s easy to get as roped into it as Greg when we first watch it. But considering the events of our next episode, the scene destroys me every time I rewatch it, because there’s a very specific place Greg is being welcomed to.

Babes in the Wood gets a lot less cute when it becomes clear that it’s a welcoming committee for a dying child. Greg and Wirt are drowning, and this is the episode where the shock wears off and the cold sets in and the younger and weaker of the two looks into a bright light. Greg’s near-death experience is hammered in when we get to The Unknown, but for now it’s being rationalized in a way that brings him comfort.

The cold is Greg’s enemy, and the same childish tone is used to show that he’s willing to fight for his life: thus, the North Wind segment is ironically more hopeful to me than the parade’s warm welcome of death. This third song sounds enough like a Randy Newman number that I’m honestly still convinced it’s an uncredited Randy Newman performance, and it jolts us back to reality for a moment as we see the effect this bitter wind has on our babes in the woods. The boys are starting to freeze, and we again see Beatrice searching for them, getting so close before an owl that looks remarkably like the one we saw in our first episode scares her off. The episode doesn’t want to lose us completely to the sky, and this grounding helps keep the stakes clear as we complete Greg’s dream.

The Popeye-esque battle between Greg and Ol’ Windbag is a hoot, between the latter’s grumbling anger and the former rolling up his sleeve to get back into the brawl. Its conclusion is hidden from us, so we have no idea how Greg gets him in a bottle, but that fits right in with the weird logic of this throwback and allows us to meet the Queen of the Clouds.

I ought to bring up the theory that everything we see here is an illusion created by the Beast, even though I don’t really subscribe to it myself. The most obvious “hint” is that this sequence directly leads to Greg deciding to join the Beast with an off-screen promise, but we also have the old man in the welcoming march wearing an outfit just like Wirt’s and holding a lantern, perhaps a reference to the Beast’s intended fate for Greg’s brother. Plus there’s lines in the songs that seem like they’re luring Greg in, especially the assurance that the wonders of Cloud City “ain’t gonna lie,” which sounds a lot like what a liar would say. Both the Queen of the Clouds and the Beast pointedly call him Gregory instead of Greg, but so does Old Lady Mrs. Daniels (and Wirt when introducing him in Songs of the Dark Lantern). 

While it’s a neat enough idea, I think the Queen of Clouds is pretty clearly on Greg’s side for real: she seems upset at his fate in a way that doesn’t make much sense for an ally of the Beast. I also think it’s more meaningful for Greg to truly have the choice between happiness and responsibility, between the possible peace of rest and the definite struggle of life, and for him to choose the latter right as his brother is giving in. But I’ve got no beef with folks whose interpretation of the show is enhanced by this theory, so believe what you want to believe about this ambiguous situation.

Either way, we cut back to Wirt instead of Greg when the dream ends, and he’s still annoyed as he’s trying to sleep. Greg’s strange new seriousness is already cause for concern, and asking Wirt to take care of the frog is even more alarming, but even that doesn’t compare the horror of realizing where he’s actually going. Or rather, with whom.

This is another reason why I think the Queen is an ally: while it’s obviously dangerous for Greg to go with the Beast, that’s what it takes for Wirt to snap out of his funk. It’s a hell of a gambit, but as soon as he starts to awaken, he’s immediately concerned for Greg’s safety despite whatever anger or resentment he had, sparing no time or thought to the branches creeping over him as he runs after his brother. 

The quiet distortion as we follow his frantic search is soon met by the Beast’s song, but even as he blames himself for Greg’s plight, Wirt is no longer content to wallow in despair. Because it turns out that these brothers are more similar than they seem, and neither is truly capable of letting the other suffer. In the folk tale for which this episode is named, two children abandoned in the woods eventually die and are covered in leaves by small birds (with some versions seeing them enter heaven), but as we’ll see in our next episode, this isn’t a folk tale.

The thrumming noise intensifies as Wirt slips on the ice, then we add visual distortion as he plummets into the freezing water. He’s saved, but this isn’t water that sees him reborn: the distortion finally breaks as Beatrice asks the episode’s terrible question, and we’re left in the cold.

Every even-numbered episode of Over the Garden Wall, perhaps by virtue of airing twice per night, ends in a mood-setting cliffhanger that grows tenser and tenser with every iteration (or at least it does until the end). First we got a leaf symbolically caught in a fence, then the Beast’s introduction, then the fallout of Adelaide, and now the capture of Greg. Getting trapped has always been a threat for these roving heroes, but the greatest threat of all, that of Wirt trapping himself, has been handled. Things look bleaker than they ever have, but despite the glee of Greg’s dream contrasting with the harshness of reality, Wirt’s ability to climb out of the pit of despair keeps hope alive: even in absence, Greg’s influence looms large.

Rock Factsheet

Dinosaurs had big ears, but everyone forgot because dinosaur ears don’t have bones.

Where have we come, and where shall we end?

Most of these were mentioned in the main analysis, but it’s great that we hear Wirt’s description of Into the Unknown right before the episode itself shows us what happened.

[quinnmorgendorffer]

I've just recently in the past few years gotten more into musical theater, so I have a lot to learn. I'm not a singer or anything, but I like to watch and listen. Also, I have to randomly ask something. Why the heck did " Glee" have Brian Stokes Mitchell on the show and not let him sing more? What a waste. Ha ha. What are some really underrated musicals?

That’s awesome! Nah man, you don’t have to be a singer to get into/like musical theater! We actually need more people to appreciate musical theater who don’t participate, honestly. Same with opera, but that’s another story I know no one here wants to get into lol.

Who knows, man? I mean, they had Victor Garber on and didn’t have him sing and fucking Cheyenne Jackson!!!! Even The Real O’Neals had Cheyenne sing!!!! And he was on one ep of that unlike being in several episodes like he was for glee.

Okay, so as I said, I’m a bit of an MT hipster. So I like a lot of weird shit lol. A not very detailed list is below, with some notes by yours truly lol. Sorry that this got so long omfg

Bat Boy - based on the Daily News articles, this chronichles the story of a bat boy found in a cave in West Virginia. He’s taken to the local vet, and while everyone in town just wants the doctor to kill him, the vet’s wife wants to take care of the teen, who she names Edgar, and teach him how to behave. The doctor kind of goes crazy and their daughter, Shelly, falls for Edgar. A lot of the parts in the show outside of the family are double casted, and it’s honestly hilarious and also makes me cry by the end, poking a lot of fun at “Christian Charity” (that’s the name of one of the songs that also gets a reprise) and the like. It’s extra loved by me for featuring the impeccable Kerry Butler (the original Penny in Hairspray, female lead in Xanadu, Catch Me If You Can...the ageless girl wonder)Reefer Madness - the Off-Broadway production opened the weekend of 9/11, which definitely effected its possible success. It’s, of course, based off the ridiculous propaganda film of the same name, though it takes it a bit farther and pokes fun at all of it and even more of the racist/sexist attitudes of the 1930s. While all/most of the others I’m talking about here only have CDs and maybe some bootlegs, this one has a movie version!!!! That actually is almost 100% like the stage version (at least based on what I saw). The movie features Kristen Bell as Mary Lane, the part she originated, and also features Alan Cumming and the forever under-appreciated Ana Gasteyer and Amy Spanger. Side Show - you can debate which version is better, but whether you prefer the original cast or the 2014 revival that changed some of the story to make it more accurate, it’s absolutely amazing. A musical based (loosely) off the true story of the conjoined Hilton twins who made a career of their oddity by working in freak shows, vaudeville, and even a few movies, though they were all critically panned. Features some of the best duets for female voices (most famously “Who Will Love Me As I Am?” and “I Will Never Leave You”). The original has Alice Ripley as one of the twins (Violet, and while I still think she screams a lot, she does a great job), and Norm Lewis as Jake. If you ever want to cry, just listen to his big song “You Should Be Loved” or the above duets. Or just read about the Hilton’s lives because it’s so depressing and the musical doesn’t even touch on that. I’m forever sad this never gets awards or the long runs it deserves. It should also be noted that Alice and her fellow twin, Emily Skinner (Daisy Hilton), were nominated together for the Tony.[title of show] - okay, this show is just...fucking........hilarious. “It’s a musical about two guys writing a musical about two guys writing a musical...” Just a lot of silly fun and also some great quotes, like “I’d rather be nine people’s favorite thing than a hundred people’s ninth favorite thing.” It also points out a lot of flaws in Broadway, like the lack of original musicals and how there are waaaaaaaay too many musicals based off movies lol. It’s a four person cast, all of whom are named after the people who originated the roles, and it manages to be just so funny and still inspirational and such a joy to listen to.Zanna, Don’t! - okay. so I get why most “oppressed group written as oppressors” stories are awful, like that whole “save our pearls” book or w/e that happened a few years back. But Zanna, Don’t was written by a gay man who just wanted to write some musicals with fun, catchy love songs for gay couples. So, in this world, being gay is the norm and straight people are the hated group. Zanna is an actual fairy (in high school) who matches up everyone in his town and never actually remembers to pair himself up with anyone. So when a straight A student and the quarterback of the football team fall in love...well, it finds a way to be cute, funny, and poignant all in one. Features Queer Eye “culture vulture” Jai Rodriguez in the title role and the show should get extra points for the line “what kind of world would this be if the football star wasn’t the lead in the musical??”In the Heights - not necessarily underrated so much as it’s just forgotten in Hamilton’s success. This tells the day in the life of people in Washington Heights. It also features a completely diverse cast and, imo, has some catchy songs that outdo some of Hamilton. If you don’t bawl while singing along to “Breathe” while stressing about failing at college/your dreams, what do you even do with your spare time? That used to be my most common activity.The Unauthorized Autobiography of Samantha Brown - Idk if I can truly say it’s underrated since it really hasn’t been on Broadway so it’s never had a chance to get known...plus I think it’s popular among actual theater performers, but not enough of musical fans know about this. A lot of theater kids probably know “Freedom” and “Run Away With Me”, as the duet is a great choice for two women and shows a ton of depth/vocal prowess, while the solo can show a very tender male voice, but the show is more than those songs or “The Proposal” or “The Girl Who Drove Away”. The story starts with Sam sitting in her car. She’s supposed to be driving to college, but she’s fantasizing about driving away. She conjures up her best friend, Kelly, in her mind, and Kelly convinces her to relive her senior year and figure out why she wants to leave. You eventually find out Kelly died that year, and along the way you learn about Sam’s college applications, her boyfriend, and how lost she felt all year, all while still trying to learn how to drive. It’s so moving, and, honestly, “Freedom” is still a jam and probably does deserve to be one of the most famous songs from the show. The show might also inspire you to run away so...watch out for that. The bootleg I have is what inspire my love for Melissa, quite literally, since I had stopped watching g/lee at the time. The Boy from Oz - one of the better done jukebox musicals, since it focuses on the writer of those songs, and also is the best role Hugh Jackman will ever have. I’m sure a lot of people on my dash are familiar with Chris’ version of “Not the Boy Next Door” on g/lee. If you like it, you should check out Hugh performing that at the Tony’s. Anyways, it tells the life story of Peter Allen, whose songwriting credits include the above song, “I Honestly Love You”, and “Don’t Cry Out Loud”. He met Judy Garland and, of course, then met and married her daughter, Liza Minelli. I will never praise Stephanie J. Block’s Liza enough, she is perf. And, again, Hugh is flawless, and he originated the part both in Australia (Peter Allen’s home country) and then on Broadway. Getting to see the original cast in this was one of the highlights of my life.

That’s it for now. I’d also suggest checking out some classics. I didn’t put it on the list since it’s not underrated, but the original cast of Sweeney Todd is the best thing you could ever listen to - Victor Garber in his prime and Angela Landsbury is the forever best interpretation of Mrs. Lovett, #notsorry Patti. The movie version directed by Tim Burton and starring Johnny Depp is truly a disgrace compared to the actual version which has a legal taped version available for your viewing pleasure! You can see why it’s performed in opera houses nowadays!!! Though the video sadly doesn’t  have the original Anthony (Victor Garber) and the Johanna is bad...not that I’ve heard a Johanna I truly like. Rodgers and Hammerstein should at least be somewhat known, though a lot of their stories are like...gross. But Sondheim is pretty damn solid -- and if you didn’t know, he wrote the lyrics for Gypsy and West Side Story. A lot of people seem to not know that, but like he was making some big strides long before Company was a hit. Which also deserves a listen