OUR FLAG MEANS A LOT OF THINGS (Patreon)

“Have you watched the gay pirate show?!?!”

I feel like I’ve been asked this question many times over the last couple months. Most often by people who know me and what I like. Sadly I’ve been knee deep in scripts, proposals, life duties, taxes, and Fullmetal Alchemist. But thankfully, I finally had a moment to sit down and watch it and I was like “yay, I’ll take the next few days to try and watch this show!”

… I watched it all in one day.

* * *

“Hey, you want to do something weird?”

Our Flag Means Death is a unicorn. I don’t say this just because the show captures the radiant queer energy of that particular fantasy creature, but also because it is a beautiful thing that is unlikely to exist. Thankfully, this does exist. And we owe its existence to many authors. Whether it’s HBOMax’s green light, the lovely directors involved (Nacho! Bert + Bertie!), or the host of amazing character actors that fill out the roster (Joel Fry! Vico Ortiz! Nat Faxon!). But we also know so much rests with the wonderful lead performance from Rhys Darby, who both treads in his familiar light-hearted comedy and yet is able to mine something far more emotional, too. That something is delicately crafted by the show’s creator / lead writer David Jenkins, who uses the “real life” story of some legendary pirates to craft something… else. Something that is deeply funny, off-kilter, and insightful. But when it comes to the pUbLiC dIsCoUrSe of who would like this show, particularly with this kind of storytelling, it is unsurprisingly Taika Waititi who becomes the lynchpin figure of argumentation.

Perhaps it’s just that he’s the most visible? Either way, like most artists there are people who adore his work and people bounce off it (or in the very least, find it slight). I understand this. But in some ways the conversation feels like an inheritance of the old conservation about Wes Anderson being “too twee” and all that. On that subject, I just extensively wrote about the depth of his work and The French Dispatch  and the TLDR version is that Anderson uses diorama-like staging as a Brechtian device that’s meant to keep viewers at a comedic distance, all before picking his spots to open up and go for devastating emotional beats with weirdly surgical acumen. Taika’s work is similar, but also different. He came up with the New Zealand comedy crew that came to prominence with Flight of the Concords and his first directorial effort What We Do In The Shadows. (EDIT: his first features were Eagle Vs. Shark and Boy! I saw both and forgot like a dumb dumb!) These were perfectly attuned comedic documents, but it was his second feature Hunt For the Wilderpeople where the Anderson-y comparisons started creeping in (to be clear, I think that film is outstanding and well-written). Then the comparison hit even more squarely when you see those “twee” touches show up in the popcorn fare Thor: Ragnorok and the Oscar-y inclinations of Jojo Rabbit, which both turning both into inevitable lightning rods for a host of obvious reasons. The argument being that in the former case of Ragnorok, it makes it harder for certain audience members to indulge in the “seriousness” of the story. In the latter case, it’s argued that it “undermines” the actual seriousness of the subject matter. I argue that in both cases it does no such thing, but I think there is an interesting nugget as to why we differ.

For one, Taika doesn’t actually stick to the diorama-like staging and in fact, is willing to employ all sorts of cinematographic approaches. Instead of one controlled environment, it tends to follow the needs of the moment. But I acknowledge that the results can be far messier and there are weaknesses that come with this, specifically comedic or emotional moments that are a bit uncalibrated even for me (for instance, the slap and the dancing to “heroes,” while getting at the duality of her reaction, is woefully not enough to earn the fallout of that particular moment). But there are real strengths that come with this Needs-Of-The-Moment approach too. For one, it allows characters to be incredibly vulnerable. Taika is so utterly willing to take the hard-headed “seriousness” out of each and every character and get at the weakest part of them. Everyone is silly, fragile, and often failing at putting up some kind of front. But thankfully, it doesn’t stop at this surface-level estimation. It’s not as if Taika is some unimpeachable paragon, but when it comes to what he shows within humanity, it seems he actually cares about these characters, along within a vast emphasis on indigenous portrayals and diverse casting, while being genuinely comfortable with the breadth of sexuality, and brings a refreshing sense of modernity to everything he does. Heck, one of the most overlooked parts about Jojo is how much Thomasin Mckenzie’s character is NOT the cowering young Jewish girl in hiding who is in need of white boy’s help to save her, but how much is framed in the opposite. This is a genuine upending action that makes people feel seen. And yet, it’s often that all consuming conversation about “tone” that people can’t help but harp on.

Even then, there are two key aspects of Taika’s approach that 1) make it function and 2) make whether or not it functions almost irrelevant.

The first is that there is a massive difference between tone-breaking and reality-breaking comedy. I talk about this all that time when I see sketch influences show up in a given show. You’ll see something outlandish happen and it’s funny, but then the characters basically go on as if it never happened. And that’s the thing that actually hurts you. It can be absolutely absurd, but when going outlandish, it still all has to be real. Because you need that reality to create the baseline tension that allows the comedy to exist in the first place. Without it, there’s nothing to hang onto. And Our Flag Means Death, while it constantly plays with silly irreverence, it’s always real. These are things that actually happen in the story to create personal meanings for those involved. Thus, the baseline reality holds. Yes, even with a weird guy who claims he talks to seagulls leads to a monster payoff of “I have some hard news, Olivia.” It’s part of the classic thing where an absurd joke becomes an emotional payoff you never expect (Everything, Everywhere, All At Once was INCREDIBLE at this). But this brings us to the crux.

Because for some people? Tone IS reality. Which highlights something important about how we glom onto movies and why we want to. It’s not about logical literalism (as much as some want scientific explanations for everything). It’s always been emotional literal-ism, where it’s all about staying immersed and placing yourself so nakedly into the world of the movie, such that you can’t ever have something bump against that feeling. It’s people who can’t be taken out of it or see the strings, etc. The problem is that your “immersion” is about so many more things than tone, but instead whether something is designed to hit your particular emotional buttons. In other words, do you like the feeling it’s trying to make you feel and empathize with it? To be clear, there’s a spectrum to all this. There’s no such thing as 100%  immersion and there’s often a whole mess of reasons we like or dislike things. These are just elements of the discussion. But in the end, there are people who hate Anderson AND Taika, people who like one or the other, and people who really like both (which includes me). But in general, I don’t think it’s an accident that there’s people who dislike Taika and he just so happens to be so supremely disinterested in that form of indulgence and likes highlighting characters’ most vulnerable weaknesses. There's so little power fantasy in any of it. But perhaps, in the end, I’ll just always be more supportive of “tone jumping” artists because  instead of further closing off audiences to the potential of stories, I think it helps open them up to the larger point of communication.

Which brings us to the second thing, which is how any tone-jumping moment can be rendered powerful if they’re after something that is thematically relevant.

Thankfully, this is where the show is the most laser-focused.

* * *

“I’m going to try and undo some of the damage from that interaction”

Even within basic exchanges like this, Our Flag Means Death is so densely packed with meaning. But it’s all part of the core modus operandi. On Monday I tweeted of my first viewing:

“Me 5 minutes in: "Well, this seems like a pleasant jokey scenario, I wonder how they're going to actually dramatize this into some kind of meaningful catharsis?” By pilot's end: "... Oh.”

The “oh” is the realization that they were actually going to go into the characters' psyches, create deep parallels to them within the action of the story, and then use the whole story to dramatize meaningful growth. Which is, you know, what good writing does. No matter how slight or wholesome it feels on the surface, the inner workings of their minds are so deeply prescient. And as that ending image of all the different flags fly in their forms of personal expression, you realize that this might not just be a fun bit of self-expression, but that they are actually beginning a journey into personal identity (which is really the same thing). They’re absolutely calling their shot. And they’re backing it up, too.

[PS - lots of spoilers from here on in].

Where so many shows merely cast diversely - which can be important, don’t get me wrong, we need all kinds of people in boilerplate stories - this show also thinks diversely in terms of those portrayals. It brings me back to that anecdote where a writer / actress of color implied that her barometer for a project when it came to minorities in the story was: “do they get to have fun, too?” And here, boy does everyone get to have fun. Not just in terms of basic buffoonery, but it’s full reversals of standard power dynamics. The most fun of which might be them posing as African princes doing a literal “pyramid scheme” on the esteemed French gentry. Similarly, the shows casts a non-binary actor in Vico Ortiz and while their story is not expressly *about* that, it seems to be gliding along seamlessly with understanding (at least I think, curious to hear other responses). And of course, it brings us the “gay pirate” part of it all, which isn’t one thing at all. Instead, a whole host of variations on queer sexuality. Gay? Bi? Queer? None of these words are used, but codified organically into behaviors, interactions, fears, and genuine expressions of love. But like most explorations, it all starts with dismantling the traditional roles in the first place - specifically how much of a whole they have within us.

I’m of course talking about “toxic masculinity” and yes, even I’m kind of tired of using that particular phrase. But it’s still at the center of so much here. Not just in undoing the comically barbaric actions that we normally associate with piracy, but using modern therapeutic language to solve problems through this pesky thing called “dialogue.” Naturally, Rhys Darby’s crew wants to mutiny him for being so soft, but through sheer force of will, Stede Bonnet’s “Gentleman Pirate” takes dead aim on bringing his crew into a more wholesome and understanding world… It doesn’t always fit, of course. But ultimately, the show knows that the notions of adventure and piracy are directly antithetical to aims of humanism. Just as it knows that piracy is created by destitution and desperation, which are far different from Stede’s impetus. Just as it knows that it’s full of very real forms of hardship and mortality that surround it all like an ever-present fog. It is not a romantic life, but a terrorizing one.

I mean, the show is titled “our flag means death” for a reason.

But I have to damn google SEO because I can’t find a better etymology of the phrase (of course search engines have become useless, for tech companies, they’re too useful a tool of economic commodity), but it invokes the notion that “the black flag” that was oft flown by pirates meant no quarter and only left death and murder in its wake. For both lead characters, there is also a personal meaning. For Stede, the appeal of this life is that it is the lively alternative to the death of being at home in his unloving, quiet, repressed domestic life (especially given the repression of his queer sexuality). As such, the appeal of piracy is its own kind of “death chasing,” which is often just life chasing in a weird way. It’s quite similar to the thrill of skydiving: the brush with death is the point. But as Stede comes face to face with the ACTUAL horror of death and violence, we see that it’s all a part of the very core fears (father / animal murder) that drove him to feel ostracized from his family in the first place.

What’s fascinating is the way this all plays out in dueling arc with Blackbeard, who, only knowing the life of murder and chaos, is someone we first meet on the brink of suicidal depression. He desperately wants to find an escape from his life and, low and behold, Stede comes along and he’s finding a new, sudden solace in the gentler aspects of living. So much of Blackbeard’s story is told with these little backs and forths that only highlight how Blackbeard is having so much trouble even being honest with himself. We see his internal growth bubbling through, but it’s hard to let that guard down. He’s never quite fully available to anyone and always half-posturing. Because he always fears the worst of both the world and himself. To borrow yet another term from EEAAO, it’s that everything bagel brand of nihilism that just keeps sucking him in. Being vulnerable is the scariest thing because of all that wanton violence, he knows that deep down, “I am the kraken.” And has no idea how to be anything else.

On that, a quick aside as a writing note: As expertly drawn as the overall arc is, I think it’s actually a mistake to say his father was the only person killed directly. For one, they immediately go halfway when they say the maiming thing afterward. For two, it weirdly takes the teeth out of character in a way that doesn’t help with the comedic / romantic tension, especially in the subsequent episode. And lastly, the problem is that it sort of helps “do the job” of his arc for us instead of it being part of the dramatized growth. The whole point is the softening of him, but it’s like swooping in and going “no, he’s already secretly softer.” Which is unnecessary because we already see that in the person he WANTS to be. And if he’s lying about it, it just muddles things in a worse way. Heck, it even hurts the final denouement of his return to Blackbeard status. All in all, I think you literally take away those couple of lines and it all works even better.

But getting into the “it all” of it all, brings us swirling to the end…

* * *

“Everything is coming from you. Unless you resolve this guilt, you will continue to be haunted”

When it comes to the internet and real world word of mouth, I try to do my best to avoid / ignore / not believe anything anyone says ever. Is everyone raving about a movie? Okay, I’ll guess I’ll see it. Is it made by one of my favorite directions? Who knows, could be a dud! I know it’s impossible in some ways, but I genuinely don’t believe what anyone has to say. But perhaps this is a learned trait. Not just from doing this for so long, but because I can’t tell you how much the critical conversation of 12 years ago revolved around critics being regarded as “the arbiters of hype.” It was a market full of over-saturation right when the nerds were taking over everything and I hated every second of that particular dialog. I stopped watching trailers for the most part, (but also didn’t even really think twice if I happened to see them) and just unplugged. The whole point was the zen of no anticipation. And I’ll tell you, I’ve never been happier. Particularly because you go from being obsessed about the next thing that’s coming and instead keep talking endlessly about the amazing thing you just watched. But even with all that said…

Things still seep in.

With Our Flag Means Death, someone randomly posted one of those little timelines that charts the experience of watching the “fun gay pirate show” and them being happy - but by the last few episodes it shows them as that withered husk meme. I will admit. Seeing this tempered my reaction in a number of ways. Especially because the last time I saw that meme applied to something it was for Bo Burnham’s Inside, which gutted me in such a specific way. And because of this - and also because of the show’s astounding thematic clarity - I admit that I was expecting a particular kind of heartbreak, one portrayed with some Miyazaki-like observation of existential devastation, I know this is an unfair assumption, which is part of why it’s so important not to let things seep in in the first place. But it also left me feeling confused, because invoking “the husk” meme feels like a bizarre response to what the show actually does in the finale?

Because, on a pure execution level, the darkness of Ed’s slide back into “the old Blackbeard” unfortunately hinges on a half-hearted writer's trick. Because it is (in part) something based on misunderstanding. Stede was suddenly apprehended and that’s why he never met up. Which is the kind of insincere move that drives people nuts in romantic comedies precisely because it’s artificial conflict. It’s not about what anyone actually did. It’s about what someone thinks they did. Moreover, even Stede’s subsequent choice to return home was triggered by yet another witnessed death, and the trip ultimately just confirms his very feelings for Edward. Heck, he even finds the crew by story’s end so a lot seems pat for building back. As for the return of The Old Blackbeard? Even his line crosses don’t actually “cross” in a deeper sense - like the fact that we don’t see our scribe Lucius actually die and we know how much Blackbeard is still in tears over what’s happened. So it’s not the logic of execution, it’s that from everything that’s happened, we already instinctively know the character is past this. Just as we know in our gut that a simple conversation can resolve this. Hell, Stede would just need to walk into the room and explain what happened (which is the core of what this show is about). As such, the audience instinctively knows the resolution of this story is just one scene away. And as the dramatic move for your finale, I don’t like this approach.

Again, from a purely constructive point of view, it’s artificial conflict. Part of the kinds of television tricks I often hate because it’s feigning a deeper kind of conflict than the one that actually exists. And often, it merely delays a catharsis that’s already set in motion. But it’s perhaps they were tied to certain realities of the story. I mean, at this point the Izzy Hands character is one that the show has literally tried to rid itself of many times (because the show itself was ready for it), but he must be kept around because… he’s around? It feels like the most static journey. As powerful as the “eating your toe” idea is, I can’t help but wish there was something far more substantial in this divide between our leads. Their “break up” is something I’d believe 100 times more if we saw the scene of Stede actually breaking his heart to leave and go home. Where the misunderstanding is a feint and he makes it to the dock only to tell him he’s returning home. Where we see them” not be ready yet” and how crushing this would be to Ed’s newfound vulnerability. THEN I’d believe the crushing feeling of what follows. Again, I don’t want it to be grittier or tougher, I want it to be more substantial. But alas, as it exists now, it can’t help but feel like a convenient sacrifice to the gods of television.

At the same time, when it comes to the finale? Please know my quibbles are minor and my adorations are major. I particularly love the way they actually honor his wife Mary’s interiority. We see the crystalline portrait of her anger when she says the line, “just because you decided to un-abandon your family on a whim.” Along with all the legitimate joys of how she’s gone on to make a real life on her own. The way this all builds into the deeply funny “almost murder scene,” plays so good for a show that understands the more interesting thing always happens in NOT about doing the murder. And their ensuing talk, which is perhaps a hair too pat, still showcases the warmth and understanding that reflect the heart of the show. But it’s par for the course in a show that seems to genuinely understand who these characters are and where they must end up.

Even now, Stede still has a lot to learn about himself. He went to chase a life of adventure, but only found the very death that had been stalking him since childhood. He then tried to return home with his tail between his legs, but upon doing so discovered the age-old notion that you can’t truly go home again, either. As such, the finale is aptly titled, “everywhere you go, there you are.” Blackbeard probably knows this better than everyone. He’s been the Kraken for so long it’s hard to imagine a life outside it. His story reminds me of the reverse hero’s journey. Where you’re born in the swamp and morass of pain and then you try to venture forth in the bright and civilized world, not for adventure, but for solace, only to be cast out and shunned as a monster who does not belong. And so you retreat to the ironic “safety” of your pain in the swamp. Here, in the ooze, you are home. But even now, we know Ed’s relapse is a metaphor for heartbreak and closing himself off. We know that Stede and Blackbeard are trapped in their mutual cycles, and both ultimately need the safety of each other. I adore everything it’s saying and feeling, and I’m left with so many thoughts on the meaning of it all.

Specifically, what echoes within.

* * *

“Life is pain.”

I don’t know what to say to people who don’t really understand why shows like this feel absolutely critical to people. I suppose it’s about the ways you’re on the inside and outside of a given narrative, which all taps into the cultural dialogue of who things are really “for.” Like how often we tell gay stories where the gay characters are killed in order to make straight audiences feel bad about it. Straight people never notice this of course even though it is Every. Fucking. Time. But queer people internalize it pretty quickly. It’s the notion that even your greatest moments of happiness are but a stop along the path to loss or your own grave. Our flag means death indeed. I cannot tell you how much I internalized this message over the course of my lifetime and how much fear it put into me in a day to day basis. So we know this. We know this plainly. To the point that we don’t need more stories to tell us that our death is real. We know. Instead, we need life. And yet, there is this temptation of onlookers to gaze upon a show like this which doesn't hammer home the "reality" in a way they have been shown and so they say, “but this is just fantasy! This is not how pirating was!” To which I will ardently argue that it’s not a fantasy.

It’s just what life feels like on the inside.

There is a whole world where people are not singularly defined by their oppression, but by their actual lives. So don’t get trapped in the logic of pirating “reality,” just accept the thrust. Because yes, servants have long been privy to the notion of scheming the upper class, just as role reversals have utterly existed time and time again. These stories aren’t fantasy. Besides they get at the emotional truth of very real feelings. Including a sensitivity to the diabolical nature of passive aggression and the horror of systematic aggression. No, it’s not a punishing and dour reminder of what the “outside” world is like. That is known all too well. Heck, notice that the characters in this show allude to it constantly. And I even watched this show on a day where everything horrible was going on outside. The horribleness of the world is right there. But even when you know it’s hard to change the world, you know that you can change your world. Your inside world. That you really can have a space of happiness and dexterity and safety. That you have the place to fly your own flags. That you can be yourself. As weird and odd and small as that may be. Why, you can even make yourselves a little sitting nook if that’s what is important to you! This, above all else, is what the show understands. This is what it honors. Because, in the end, our proverbial flags don’t just mean a lot of things.

They mean everything.

<3HULK