Thoughts from the Cheap Seats
I don’t really like retrospectives that ask you deep, personal development things about yourself. It’s not that I think they’re too invasive — we can all reveal as much or as little about ourselves as we choose to. It’s just sometimes, like the one going around now that it’s the end of a decade, they give me a little tinge of anxiety. I don’t always think I manage to accomplish much from the day-to-day perspective, so looking at a full ten year span is a little overwhelming.
And yet.
I truly have accomplished and learned a lot about myself. I’ve gone through both high school and college, gotten a job that challenges me but also allows me time to work on the things I love the most, and even managed a killer sidegig. I’ve found, lost, and re-found myself over and over again. I’m writing more consistently overall than I have in a long time, about things I care about and with enough insight that I’m getting support in ways I never would have imagined. It’s not just my mom and favorite English teachers shouting from the trenches anymore. My reach has widened and my writing, I like to think, has tightened for it.
I came across an article the other day written by a fellow disabled film critic. I don’t know her, we’ve never met or spoken, but it got me thinking…what have I learned from my experience so far? Everything I do, every piece I write, every way I navigate the world is filtered through my disability. I bring to the table a perspective no one else can. It’s been incredible to use that position to show people ways of looking at media they may otherwise not have thought of and to tell the disabled readers of my work that they are not alone — in fact, they’re powerful. You, reading this, are powerful and important. You matter. We matter. We deserve more than we’ve been given.
But not everything has been rainbows and sunshine and slashers.
Much as I love to center the disabled figures I find in film, books, and all manner of other media, it is not lost on me that disabled people are far from the center focus in actual life. We are periphery material to most of society. It took months and a lot of convincing just to get a button on a door that would let me into a building I need to be able to enter; I wasn’t even acknowledged without pushing my own way to the middleof things. But that’s normal. That’s ordinary. And it doesn’t have anything to do with being a film critic, right? So what am I even saying?
Actually, it sort of does have to do with writing about film, and I don’t bring it up for pity. The world, fervently though I wish it weren’t so, is a horrendously scary place sometimes. Scarier than any horror film you can imagine. I can make things up in my head, create scenarios of what could happen to me as a disabled woman just trying to exist in the world on par with my able-bodied peers, that would make even the most seasoned horror fan’s skin crawl. Screeners are fine. Great, even. I’m fortunate and privileged to be able to get them and bring my view to a table that doesn’t often leave enough seats for someone like me. But there’s an area I’ve been realizing more and more that I can’t experience alone. I’m not that heartbroken about it, I’m not seeking pity, or even a solution. I know what the solution is.
When a new release hits theaters there’s no better way to support it than to physically see it. But what happens when you…can’t? There are thousands of people, millions any given day who go to a theater for a movie. But whether because of my anxiety or because of my disability, if the options are go alone or don’t go, I’m not going. I don’t like the risk of being trafficked away by a stranger in a world where we’ve become increasingly dependent on strangers to give us rides, and what might be a five minute car ride is a 20–30 minute walk. I have no issue going with someone. I’ll walk or ride almost anywhere with someone I trust. And like I said, I’m not even sad about it. Movies don’t disappear into some ether when they leave a theater. I just wait for them to come closer to me — on demand or through physically obtainable media I can watch anywhere. Festivals are much the same way. I don’t relish being alone in unfamiliar territory. If I ever got the chance to go to one, I know exactly who my travel buddy would be. But if having a travel buddy is unrealistic? There isn’t a festival in the world I’d be comfortable enough to go to.
I love what I’m able to do, and I’m grateful to have found so many different outlets and opportunities for my writing to reach people. I’m still out to write that bestseller, but I’m happy to promote other forms of art I think are important along the way. I don’t feel limited in any way. In fact, I’m creatively supported by far more people now than ever before. It’s a constantly evolving dream come true. But just as I do with fictional media, I thought it important to remind those outside my perspective what it means to live the one I have.
I have access to more media than I know what to do with, there’s no shortage of it anywhere I look. So don’t feel bad for me when I tell you I miss a lot of new releases a lot of my peers are able to seek out as often as they like. Even if I wanted to go see every new release as soon as it hit, I’m not exactly made of money and theater tickets are not cheap. It’s just the further I get into this world I feel I’m only just beginning to dip my toes into the more I realize there will always be a twist to things that makes my experience fundamentally different from most people’s, and I think that twist deserves a voice.
So go, support as much media with as much immediacy as you can. It’s important. Now more than ever we need original creative work to be lifted into the spotlight. Not because the standard fare is tired, but because there are voices out there that need support to be heard, and they deserve the highest mountain you can manage to climb. My mountain’s pretty small, but it’s mine. I like to think I use it well.
