movies

No One Mourns the Sick: The Wicked Myth That the Pandemic Is ‘Over’
by

No One Mourns the Sick: The Wicked Myth That the Pandemic Is ‘Over’

You don’t have to watch Wicked to know its famous line—“No one mourns the Wicked”—which basically means that some people aren’t worth grieving. This kept echoing in my head when I heard that both lead actresses of the Wicked: For Good film recently tested positive for COVID.

According to a recent Guardian article, “Both Grande and Cynthia Erivo tested positive for Covid during the filming of the first movie, temporarily delaying production. Erivo reportedly contracted the virus days before shooting the climactic first-act number Defying Gravity, while Grande tested positive before filming the song “Popular.”

The same article notes that during the current press tour Ariana Grande again tested positive, forcing her to miss several events.

That news made me think of Mia Mingus. In her blog “You Are Not Entitled to Our Deaths”, Mingus challenges the idea that disabled or sick bodies are disposable and that those lives aren’t worth protecting or grieving. After reading this blog and our discussion in class, it made me remember hearing about the Wicked news. It made me realize we’re acting like COVID is just a production hiccup, an inconvenience to filming or press tours, rather than the ongoing threat which is killing and disabling countless people. The fact that both leads got sick, during filming and promotion, yet the media and public reaction centers on delays, missed appearances, and disappointed fans speaks volumes.

There’s something horrifyingly Wicked-like about how illness is framed now. If someone masks, they’re “paranoid.” If they don’t appear for a photoshoot or premiere, fans complain. When someone gets COVID, the conversation is about wasted money on promotion, fan backlash over missed premieres, or travel delays , but  rarely about health, recovery, or the toll illness takes. The framing treats sickness as a hiccup, not as human suffering. It treats the sick body as a burden to the show, not as a person in need of care.

“Grande’s positive test was the latest hiccup for the full-court Wicked press blitz that has seen the cast hop continents by the day. Due to flight delays, Grande was unable to make the premiere in Brazil, triggering fan backlash she also addressed on her Instagram.”

That is exactly the kind of abled entitlement Mingus warns about: a culture that assumes certain bodies can and should be sacrificed for convenience. Under this logic, “the show must go on,” regardless of who gets hurt. The Wicked cast situation isn’t just celebrity news, but it’s a reflection of a larger societal pattern where health, disability, and our shared vulnerability are minimized, ignored, or erased entirely.

What’s even worse is how normalized this erasure has become. COVID has become “another thing,” something to power through so cameras and promotions stay on schedule. Workplaces expect people to show up sick. Students are told to push through fevers. Long-term effects are brushed off as “just fatigue.” Public health infrastructure? Largely forgotten. Masks, ventilation, testing are all optional. People who get sick frequently or live with chronic conditions are expected to adapt or be pushed aside.

Mingus doesn’t just name this as negligence, she instead frames it as violence. When we treat care as optional, when we prioritize productivity over people, when we mourn canceled premieres more than lost lives, we are making a statement about whose lives matter. We’re deciding who gets protection, who gets grief, and who doesn’t.

We shouldn’t act like the pandemic is over. We need to stop shrugging when someone gets sick, framing illness as inconvenience, or acting like the only thing that matters is the show going on. Production, entertainment, or convenience is not more important than actual human lives. Because if we care at all about disability justice, about valuing every life, then we can’t pretend the pandemic is done. We have to mourn the sick. We have to fight for care. And we have to stop believing the myth that pushing on by ignoring risk, ignoring illness is normal or acceptable.

by

Me Before You: A Tragic Tale of Romance and Assisted Suicide 

When I first watched Me Before You, I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. The story follows Louisa “Lou” Clark who becomes the caregiver of Will Traynor, a man who was adventurous before becoming paralyzed after an accident. Will unfortunately faces many challenges both physically and mentally, leading him to choose assisted suicide despite falling in love, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this movie ever since. Recently I started to question, if it was romantic, or was it reinforcing the idea that a disabled life isn’t worth living? After reading Nicole Schroeder’s “Dying a ‘Good’ Death: Disability and the Assisted Suicide Debate” from the Disability Visibility Project, I started to see the story through a completely different lens.

Before I fully dive in, I want to fully paint the picture of this movie. Firstly, Will’s parents hire Lou to care for him after his accident two years in an attempt to raise his spirits. Lou’s unapologetic, positive personality slowly breaks through his bitterness, and they form a deep connection. After finding out he plans to go to Swtizerland for assisted suicide, Lou tries her best to change his mind by trying everything from taking him to concerts and a trip out of the country. But in the end, Will does not change his mind even after falling for Lou. The movie paints his choice as noble as a way of reclaiming control over his life and giving Lou a chance to live hers. The final scene shows Lou reading Will’s farewell letter in Paris, smiling through her tears. It’s meant to be bittersweet, but it also raises difficult questions about what “a good death” really means, and whether society offers disabled people real choices about living.

Nicole Schroeder’s essay completely reframes this debate. She argues that the real issue isn’t about whether people have the right to die, but it’s about why so many disabled people feel they need to. She writes, “those of us protesting do not want people to be in needless pain; instead we want resources other than death to alleviate suffering while people are still alive.” That line stuck with me because it exposes how the conversation around assisted suicide often ignores the failures that lead people to that point: lack of access to care, isolation, and social neglect.

In the film, Will isn’t shown receiving much support beyond Lou’s companionship and his personal caretaker, Nathan. Even with wealth, he seems completely alone in a world not built to include him. Schroeder highlights that in a “hyper-capitalist world,” assisted suicide can become a cheaper alternative to improving care and accessibility. It’s haunting to think about how Will’s decision might have been shaped not by genuine choice, but by a culture that sees disability as tragedy especially after losing the hyper-active life he once had. 

One of Schroeder’s most important points is that assisted suicide is often presented as a form of autonomy, when in reality, many disabled people are making choices under pressure. She shares that in Canada, nearly half of those choosing Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) cite feeling like a burden or experiencing loneliness. That statistic immediately reminded me of Will telling Lou he didn’t want her to give up her life for him. What sounds selfless in a romantic story becomes more complicated when you realize how society teaches disabled people to internalize guilt for simply existing.

The movie’s emotional framing makes Will’s death feel inevitable, even “beautiful,” but Schroeder challenges that idea. She calls out how assisted suicide has “eugenics-centered roots,” meaning that the very systems allowing it have historically viewed disabled lives as less valuable. When I look back at Me Before You now, I can’t unsee this unfortunate pattern that tangles up love, care, and death into a message that equates disability with hopelessness.

When I first watched Me Before You, I can still remember myself tearing up during the beach scene when Will tells Lou that he is still going to Switzerland after she pours her heart out to him. Me and many fans of this movie are still heartbroken over what could’ve blossomed between Will and Lou. But now, I think the real heartbreak isn’t Will’s death….it’s that the story never gives him another option. Schroeder’s essay reminded me that true dignity doesn’t come from the “freedom” to die; it comes from having the support and resources to live fully. The film romanticizes Will’s choice, but if it reflected the realities Schroeder describes like underfunded care systems, social isolation, and ableist messaging, it might look less like empowerment and more like surrender to a world that failed him.

I still love Me Before You for its intensity and emotional honesty, but I see it differently now. It’s not just a love story; it’s also a mirror of how our society defines whose lives are worth fighting for.

by

“Grotesque” Bodies In Horror Films

How many horror movies include fat characters? How many of those movies portray their fat characters as people with morbid bodies? Unfortunately, the abuse of fat bodies in horror films is a trend that has been very popular in the movie industry. Blade (1998), is my favorite example of the manipulation of bigger bodies to make it seem like the fatter you are, the grosser you are. A minor character in the movie, Pearl, was a vampire antagonist who got tortured for answers regarding an infamous vampire syndicate. Pearl’s obesity was turned into an instrument of disgust. Her skin was blemished with whatever torture mechanisms had been used. Human’s disgust with skin is also a fascinating aspect in the whole topic. Films oftentimes dramatically stretch, twist, and blemish skin to make a person seem inherently gross. Another example I find myself thinking about frequently is in The Walking Dead. There are a multitude of fat zombies in the series and almost always, those zombies are killed or displayed with the contents of their stomach laying out. These scenes tell me that the stomach is the feature of our bodies that we fear and think to be disgusting. It’s not only TWD that does this either. Every single zombie movie I’ve watched has had at least two fat characters who are either killed in an incredibly violating way, or who are absolutely grotesque zombies. Moving out of the supernatural realm, the antagonist Anne Wilkes in the movie Misery is a bigger woman who holds her favorite author captive so he can rewrite the sequel to her favorite book series. Anne’s body is portrayed as monstrous due to her size which can be interpreted as the masculinization of fat female bodies. Towards the ending of the movie, Anne and the author are fighting each other for the freedom of the author. The author struggles a great deal against the smaller woman (granted, he was in a wheelchair, but he still would realistically be stronger than the woman especially since he had been “training” with a 15-20 pound type writer daily). After multiply bashing her in the head with the typewriter, she kept getting up. These are only a few examples, however, it is important to keep in my mind how often fat bodies are portrayed in this way.

Zombieland has another example of fatphobia not even 2 minutes into the movie

by

Bows and Arrows vs. Vampire Fangs

If you’re a nerd like me and spent this past Thursday night eagerly waiting for The Hunger Games midnight premier, you might recognize the name Katniss Everdeen. Katniss is the heroine of the wildly popular Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. If you haven’t had the opportunity to read these books yet I highly recommend checking them out at your local library.

Recently, I’ve noticed a lot of media comparing Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight with Suzanne Collin’s The Hunger Games, or more specifically, Katniss vs. Bella.

I did a little research and I found this article: http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/in-katniss-of-hunger-games-a-lasting-heroine/2012/03/20/gIQAXvVbUS_story.html

The main point of the article is Katniss is not a new character, her physical and emotional strength are not new concepts to female heroines. However, many of the “sheroes” depicted in present day teen fiction, such as Bella Swan, are the exact opposite of the force that is Katniss Everdeen. Bella doesn’t push herself forward, and fight. Bella’s route is different, but her choices are her own. I am not a Twilight fan in any sense of the word but this article had a fascinating insight: there is room for both sheroes. Katniss needs to exist alongside Bella, both are representational of different aspects of feminism and the choices it allows women to have.

I appreciated the article for having the insight to point out characters like Katniss, who defy the norm, have existed in literature for ages. Has anyone besides me read Little Women? Jo and Katniss would have been best friends.

Ultimately I have to agree with the Washington Post article; Jo, from Little Women is remembered as is Alana from  Tamora Pierce novels, and I don’t think anyone will ever forget the brilliant Hermione Granger from Harry Potter. These women, along with Katniss Everdeen, are powerful, dynamic creatures who put their complete selves into a struggle against all odds.

So I offer up the question, of all the female characters in modern day literature, whom do you think will be remembered?  Will our daughters read about Bella Swan while Katniss fades quietly into the background and is eventually forgotten? Or will it be characters like Bella, who passively accept their surroundings, who will eventually be forgotten?