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What if the mushroom-infected people in “The Last of Us” are the good guys? by Beth Winegarner

Hear me out. 

In the past several years, mushrooms’ mycelial networks have become demystified and celebrated, both as a key component of healthy forests and as an inspiration to human organizers and activists hoping to spark societal change. 

“Mycelium mushrooms have been one of my greatest teachers of trust,” says Nigerian healer Adaku Utah. “The mycelium organism is a dynamic root system of mushrooms that utilizes trust as a mechanism to build and sustain a vast, reciprocal, underground network that connects the roots of trees and plants and skillfully shares nutrients and resources to support the health of the entire ecosystem with which it moves. … The network process also fosters intergenerational relationships that welcome the myriad of ancient wisdom and connections that reside in older trees to benefit younger trees. These mushrooms affirm a commitment to building relationships of trust that encourage all life to bloom.”

[Warning: Spoilers for episodes one through four of “The Last of Us” beyond this point]

Right now, thanks to “The Last of Us,” the excellent video-game adaptation airing on HBO, many of us are feeling uneasy about mushrooms and their subterranean networks. The zombielike monsters in the show are infected by a strain of cordyceps mushroom that forms mycelial connections; brush up against one of these beings, and you alert dozens or hundreds nearby. And these suckers are fast. 

As I write this, I have not played the video game, and I don’t know how the story goes past episode four, “Please Hold My Hand.” But I have a theory: Although the infected humans are depicted as scary and ruthless (except, perhaps, for the one who tried to tenderly kiss Tess), I think the show is trying to tell us that these mycelial connections are superior to how many of the human characters are trying to operate.

In discussing the infected’s connections, podcaster Joanna Robinson points out, “There are no lies in something like that. You see something, I see it. You feel something, I feel it. There are no walls. That is a connected, thriving organism. By contrast, we get the hard shells that are around these various [human] characters because of their trauma.” 

Even before the cordyceps outbreak began in 2003, the United States government (along with those other parts of the world) was dipping its toes into fascism. After 9/11, the U.S. further militarized its police force and stepped up security measures, particularly in airports and government buildings. In the show, after the outbreak, many surviving humans are rounded up in military vehicles and taken to quarantine zones, where they can be punished with public hanging for trying to leave. Many others are exterminated. The QZs are policed by FEDRA guards with rifles. Newly infected people are euthanized and burned. 

In episode three, “Long, Long Time,” Frank accuses his partner, Bill, of mentally living “in a psycho bunker where 9/11 was an inside job and the government are all Nazis.” Bill correctly and hilariously shouts back, “THE GOVERNMENT ARE ALL NAZIS.”

He’s right, but his approach – for the first many years after the outbreak – is to hide out in a real bunker wallpapered with guns, in a neighborhood that he cordoned off with chain-link fences and barbed wire. It’s only when Frank falls into Bill’s trap that Bill realizes he needs connection and companionship more than he needs safety. Many years into their relationship, Bill says, “I was never afraid of anything until I met you,” but he says it with reverence. 

Some viewers felt that “Long, Long Time” was a distraction from the main story, but I think it was trying to tell us something about connection – the human connection that Frank and Bill found in unlikely times, and the connection Joel fights so hard to avoid, even with Tess, who was his romantic companion for many years. Even with Ellie who, he tells her, is no more than cargo.

“The Last of Us” offers glimpses of mycelia-like networks among humans, including the resistance group known as the Fireflies, and the Kansas City community introduced in episode four, but they are few and far between. And even these clusters are walled off, protecting their own against outsiders. The infected humans, by contrast, welcome all comers. Their network is much more democratic, much less hierarchical. 

Patrick Somerville, a writer for “Station Eleven,” another HBO adaptation that takes place in a post-outbreak future, commented on these human organisms on a recent podcast with Robinson and Mallory Rubin. “The people who survive in [‘The Last of Us’] are the people who do away with vertical power structures. And instead don’t have to be the alpha. They’re members of a community, together.”

He reflects this back to the community design in “Station Eleven,” which centers on a traveling theater troupe with a horizontal power structure. “No one has a trump card. You communicate. You humanize each other, remember how everyone’s feeling, and you solve the problem together. Group genius is bigger than individual genius.” 

What Somerville is describing is mycelial network. A true community of equals.

We humans, we’ve been taught that we are superior to animal and plant kingdoms, despite the brilliant ways in which hives of bees, colonies of ants or networks of fungi communicate and work together without conflict or friction. That’s part of where the fear comes in, watching a show like “The Last of Us.” We fear the infected, in part, because they would strip us away from what makes us individual, what makes us separate. 

But, to quote from “Station Eleven,” “To the monsters, we’re the monsters.”

I’m going to be watching “The Last of Us” with compassion and curiosity toward the infected. How about you?

Recent things I can't stop talking about by Beth Winegarner

“Interview with the Vampire”

Last weekend, I finished season 1 of the new “Interview with the Vampire” series on AMC+ (I know it hasn’t aired on cable yet, so I’ll try to avoid spoilers), and it has no right being as good as it is. I read Anne Rice’s first two vampire novels when I was in my teens, and they mattered a lot to me (they still do). And, much as I love director Neil Jordan, the 1994 film adaptation disappointed me, largely because of the casting; Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Antonio Banderas felt hideously wrong for their roles. 

This time, I couldn’t be happier with the casting. And, although the writers made substantial changes to the setting (Jazz Age New Orleans vs. 18th century), the racial dynamics of the main characters (both Louis and Claudia are Black), and the relationship between Louis and Lestat (they are romantic partners, an idea hinted at in the text but never openly depicted before), all of those changes are for the better. It’s beautiful, smart and sexy. 

I also just reread probably my favorite Anne Rice novel, “The Witching Hour,” to prepare for AMC’s adaptation, which launches in January. I’m anxious about this one; the trailer makes it look substantially different from the book, and they somehow haven’t cast anyone for a main character, Michael Curry. And I wish they’d cast Mackenzie Davis as Rowan. And for Michael? Maybe Henry Cavill or Ian Somerhalder (the latter of whom is from Louisiana). 


“Blood Upon the Snow”

It’s been almost four years since Hozier released his last album, “Wasteland, Baby.” He’s got another one cooking, but he surprised us this week by unveiling “Blood Upon the Snow,” a collab with composer Bear McCreary for the new “God of War: Ragnarok” game. Regular readers know that I fell hard for Hozier’s music last year. I discovered McCreary through his soundtrack for the Amazon “Rings of Power” series; his music is a key component, a character in its own right. And this new song brings us the best of both of them.

Hozier fans often joke that he’s some kind of fae creature, calling him Forest King or Forest Daddy. In part, this is because of how deeply his lyrics feel rooted in nature and the otherworld. As the name suggests, “Blood Upon the Snow” falls right in line with those ideas. It’s sung from the perspective of someone who has spent a lifetime surviving in nature, beautiful but harsh. There are moments where it sounds like a mournful ghazal, but the music also evokes Celtic folk and Nordic elements, including what I believe is McCreary playing a hurdy gurdy. There’s also what feels like a Russian men’s chorus. It’s sublime.

Hozier also recently released “Swan Upon Leda,” a song about women’s bodily autonomy through the ages. It’s the first taste of his next album, “Unreal Unearth,” release date yet unknown. In one verse he describes a grandmother smuggling birth control pills across the Northern Irish border, which felt of a piece with some of my other recent cultural touchstones: the final season of “Derry Girls,” and “Thin Places,” by Kerri ní Dochartaigh, about how she survived the trauma of growing up in Derry during the Troubles. Many of my ancestors came from Ireland, including Northern Ireland, in and around Derry, and I’m drawn to art that connects me to those places.


“Enter the Day”

Patrick Wolf, one of my longtime favorite musicians, dear to my heart, is finally unearthing new music for the first time in more than a decade. Today he released “Enter the Day,” a hopeful ballad about emerging from difficult times to land in the places we belong. It touches on the death of his mother as well as the landscapes of eastern Britain, along the North Sea, where he now lives. 

As with Hozier, nature is a constant companion in Wolf’s work, particularly the geography of Cornwall and other coastal climes. So much so that I could hear his music in my head when I read, this year, Katharine May’s “The Electricity of Every Living Thing.” In it, she comes to terms with her autistic mind while walking the 630-mile South West Coast Path through Devon and Cornwall. I recommended the book to Wolf a few months ago; I have been a member of his Patreon this year, where he has answered listener questions, reminisced on old photos and songs, and played monthly live concerts from his home by the sea. He sang a capella version of “Enter the Day” for us recently, and one line stuck with me more than any other: “Deep in your disorder is a sleeping symmetry.” Gorgeous. 

Alcest live at Hellfest 

I love Alcest, the French black metal/shoegaze band that sings about otherworldly encounters. I especially love seeing them live, but they haven’t come through San Francisco in several years, and live music hasn’t felt safe in Covid times anyway. They just released their live set from this year’s Hellfest, performed in June in Clisson. Seeing them again is emotional, cathartic, and transcendent. 

Lacuna Coil, “Comalies XX”

Italian metal band Lacuna Coil recently re-recorded their landmark album “Comalies.” The original is a forever classic, but the new version is fresh and alive. I love the harder riffs, and the fact that Andrea Ferro is now leaning all the way into harsh vocals. As much as I love the 2002 album, I also associate it with someone who turned out to be horribly toxic. I’m grateful for this chance to love it all over again.

The music, books, movies and TV shows I enjoyed most in 2021 by Beth Winegarner

Music and stories have always been a significant coping mechanism for me, and 2021 was no different. As the year comes to a close, I wanted to share a few of the things that brought me joy and/or distraction.

Music:

Hozier: Before this year, I pretty much only knew this Irish musician as the “Take Me to Church” guy. But then, one day, YouTube Music randomly played me “In the Woods Somewhere” and I stopped breathing, it was so beautiful. I fell deeply in love with his catalogue, especially songs like “To Be Alone,” which made me feel seen in ways I rarely do. I suspect he’ll have new music out in 2022, and I can’t wait. Someday I’m going to write a whole post about his fandom calling him Faery King and Forest Daddy. Just you wait. 

“The Harder They Fall” Soundtrack: I love this movie for its representation, its style, its casting (I’ve had a crush on Jonathan Majors since “Last Black Man in San Francisco”), and its music. Particular favorites include the addictive title track by Koffee and “Better Than Gold” by Barrington Levy. It even made me like a CeeLo Green song. And I love the tidbits of dialogue from the movie, especially the part where Regina King’s character shoots a man before he can finish saying a word that begins with n.

Emma Ruth Rundle, “Engine of Hell:” I’ve long found a home in Emma Ruth Rundle’s bleak, beautiful songs, and her 2021 release is her most bleak and beautiful yet. The bare-bones arrangement, just Rundle’s voice and guitar or piano, gives you nowhere to hide from her vulnerable voice and stark lyrics. Favorite song: “Body.” 

Books:

“32 Words for Field,” Manchán Magan: I began learning Irish through Duolingo this year, partly in the hope of getting closer to some of my ancestors by speaking the language they commonly spoke before it was outlawed by colonial England. I eventually discovered Magan, who’s devoted to reviving the language. “32 Words” focuses on nearly extinct Irish words, such as “sopachán” for nesting material (but also an unkempt person), or “sí gaoithe,” for a gust of wind, particularly if it’s caused by fairies. But he also writes about connections between native Irish people and the Middle East and India, and about communing with the Cailleach in an abandoned kiln. It’s a great read. 

“White Magic,” Elissa Washuta: Washuta writes essays the way I wish I could. She goes deep and wide, bringing seemingly disparate subjects together, tethering macro to micro, nature to the heart, pop culture to spirit. This book shook me to my core. 

“The Only Good Indians,” Stephen Graham Jones: A perfect mix of humor, horror, mythology and indigenous reality. I can’t wait to read more from him. 

Movies:

“Bright Star:” Ben Whishaw is perfect as John Keats and Abbie Cornish is astonishing as his fashion-forward lover, Fanny Brawne, in this Regency-period sketch by Jane Campion

“Hunt for the Wilderpeople:” Perhaps the most unlikely buddy comedy of all time, featuring a rebellious teen (Julian Dennison) and a cantankerous man (Sam Neill) who reluctantly becomes a father figure. Written and directed by one of my faves, Taika Waititi.

“Magic Mike XXL:” I had no idea what to expect going into this movie, which I watched with online groups twice this year. I didn’t expect it to be sex-positive, pleasure-affirming spin on masculinity, sexuality and brotherhood, but it is. So good. 

“Ondine:” I joke that this movie stars “Colin Farrell’s eyebrows,” but in reality I found a lot of solace in this movie about a strange woman who gets caught in an Irish fisherman’s net, and who may or may not be a selkie. 

“The Green Sea:” Randal Plunkett, the current Lord Dunsany, gained a lot of attention this year for his plans to restore and re-wild his family’s ancestral home. He also released a quietly brilliant film, “The Green Sea,” about a novelist and former heavy metal musician who meets her own characters while living in a remote manor house. 

“Nomadland:” I saw a lot of myself in Frances McDormand’s character, Fern, as she makes her way across the American landscape in her van. She reads to me as neurodiverse, probably autistic, but that isn’t the point of the story. Representation matters.

TV: 

“The Witcher:” I tried to watch this series when the first season came out in 2019, but found the triple timelines confusing and bailed after about four episodes. But with the new season coming out this year, I gave it another try – and fell in love. This is a series that rewards repeated viewings, and not just because you get to spend more time with Geralt of Rivia, TV’s yummiest monster-hunter. Season 2 is excellent as well, but much easier to follow. The whole thing makes me want to pick up my sword again.

“Reservation Dogs:” There is so much to love in this series: the teen actors who anchor it. The pull between home and escape. The hilarious unknown warrior. The “Willow” in-jokes. Mose and Mekko. The humor and heart. More shows like this, please. 

“Midnight Mass:” I really enjoyed Mike Flanagan’s previous series, “The Haunting of Hill House” and “The Haunting of Bly Manor,” but appreciated that he went in a new direction for “Midnight Mass.” This series takes a bunch of traditional horror tropes in new directions, to brilliant effect. 

“Shetland:” I am abolitionist in my real-life views, but I still love stories in which grizzled detectives solve crimes set in remote, close-knit communities. This makes for an uneasy headspace, but then again, half the reason I love this series is for its far-flung Scottish landscapes, and probably another 30 percent is for the accents. It also handled a sexual-assault plot in a way that felt honest and respectful, not gratuitous. That’s still vanishingly rare.

“Normal People:” Two Irish teens find unexpected comfort and pleasure together, but life finds ways of keeping them apart. One of the most realistic love stories I’ve ever watched, and the stars, Daisy Edgar-Jones and Paul Mescal, have unbelievable chemistry together. 

“Lovecraft Country:” As someone who’s very uncomfortable with H.P. Lovecraft’s deeply racist and xenophobic legacy, I appreciated the effort to tell a story of ancient evil through a Black and historical lens. “Lovecraft Country” isn’t perfect, but it aims high, and tells some unforgettable stories. 

What I Watched in 2020 by Beth Winegarner

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I spent a lot of time sewing this year, and often while I was sewing, I was watching movies and series. Also, I’m part of an online slack community where we watch a lot of things together, so a lot of the rewatches on my list (plus “Lost” seasons 2-4 and “Avatar: The Last Airbender) come from there. It was a year for comfort, for revisiting familiar things.

Movies:
Knives Out
Hail Satan?
Rocketman
Booksmart
JoJo Rabbit
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Mystify: Michael Hutchence
Parasite
Ever After (rewatch)
In Bruges (rewatch)
Pride and Prejudice 2005 (twice, both rewatches)
Anna Karenina
Tea With the Dames
Can’t Hardly Wait (rewatch)
Mad Max: Fury Road (rewatch)
Ladybird
Terminator (rewatch)
Terminator 2 (rewatch) 
Terminator: Dark Fate (rewatch)
Disclosure
Lost and Delirious
Little Women 2019 (rewatch)
The Others (rewatch)
The Craft (rewatch)
Practical Magic (rewatch)
The Lady in Black
Mary Shelley
Nightmare on Elm St. 3
The Witch (rewatch)
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (rewatch)
Bram Stoker’s Dracula (rewatch)
Legend (rewatch)
Willow
Twilight (rewatch)
New Moon
Eclipse
Breaking Dawn 1&2
Christmas Vacation (rewatch)
The Two Towers (rewatch) 
Joe Vs. The Volcano
The Return of the King (rewatch)


TV:
Messiah
Shrill S2
Anne With an E S3
The Gift S1
The OA S1&2
Self-Made
The Magicians S5
Next in Fashion S1
Lost S2-4 (rewatch)
Devs
Queer Eye S5
The Celts: Blood, Iron & Sacrifice
The World of Stonehenge
Avatar: The Last Airbender S1-3
Pose S2
Mrs. America
Tales From The Green Valley
Victorian Farm
The Haunting of Bly Manor
The Haunting of Hill House (rewatch)
What We Do in the Shadows S1&2
Fleabag S1&2 (rewatch)
Great British Baking Show S8
The Undoing
Ugly Delicious S1&2
His Dark Materials S2


"Lost" in Questions by Beth Winegarner

I've been sick this week, which has given me time to watch most of the first season of Lost. I haven't seen any of it since it aired in 2004, and I'm noticing a lot of new stuff this time around, like: 

1. What are all the women doing for their periods? 

2. Why didn't Sun and Jin learn English, especially in relation to Sun's father's business? 

3. How does Sun know so much about plants?

4. What are the odds that nobody on the plane would know enough about botany to be able to tell where they landed, based on the plants on the island?

5. What are the odds that so many of them would have an "I had to kill someone/I accidentally killed someone" backstory?

6. If you took a drink every time someone referred to Walt as "my boy" or "your boy," how drunk would you get?