The Pop Culture Cold Brew is a collection of pop culture adjacency news that’s sincerely piqued our interest with frivolous diversions during these wildly unprecedented times— only without the celebrity worship culture. The Cold Brew also comes with a side order of candor in critique pieces on pop culture or societal mores. This week, we dive into our wicked love for the dastardly darling Wednesday Addams thanks to Netflix’s new series, Wednesday. Get into it below.
My supreme Christina Ricci as my childhood icon, Wednesday Addams in The Addams Family Values (1993). Image via Google.
A fellow Latinx heathen. Image courtesy of VLAD CIOPLEA/NETFLIX.
The Addams Family, in all forms, is engrained in my childhood nostalgia as the family of misfits and outcasts similar to The Munsters was a more truthful version of being a family unit growing up. Not The Brady Bunch or Full House, which was only half relatable but memorable enough for my immigrant parents’ constant comparisons of how a family should act. I’m all for family loyalty, as no one has had my back como mi familia— especially my sisters, who are always ready for a verbal lashing when crossed. Yet, a level of expectation is required by our elders with their pressured choices and projections toward our lives; this can do anyone’s head in. Particularly as an observant child as I was regarded as quiet— the “pleasure in class” to diagnose anxiety pipeline was unmistakable as many other kids, mainly because I struggled to connect, having moved to a mostly all-white school midsemester. The girls were very different from the other school I attended, with mostly Black and Brown kids. The girls at this new school were more Clueless styled with a cool effortlessness that stayed with me, as did their two-faced cruelty.
Rebellious when pushed into a corner, I wouldn’t say I prized it; however, my father taught my sisters and me at a young age to always stand up for ourselves— whether verbally or physically if it came down to it, and often, it would. You can imagine how differently people bullies and mean girls feel when they find out the quiet church kid can and will fight back— thanks to growing up with countless rowdy cousins and neighbor boys enamored with Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers. Not all of my choices were proud ones— least of all to my parents when I got suspended from school more times than I care to admit— but my reactive and reckless mistakes are mine to make. If time travel were possible, I’d relive my decisions because no one can or will make me or someone else experience disrespectful dehumanization. The same goes for people I care about around me, which was mostly how my past fights escalated as I somehow found the courage to fight stupidly ignorant boys and catty girls, despite our similar hidden insecurities. Hence, anything less than that is unwelcome and fiercely intolerable.
This single-mindedness did have its setbacks due to being raised in a strict religious upbringing, something I’ve been unlearning through the years. Christian totalitarianism doesn’t care for individualism, as soapboxed judgments are vicious and swift. Forget about merely questioning something, as questioning leads to doubts about a systematic belief of the status quo. Thankfully I’ve been fortunate to see past their cult-like regime of religious zealots using Christianity as a figleaf for their ignorant personal agendas. Nevertheless, my appreciation was beyond raven-hued aesthetics. Respecting that along with life, there’s death— Memento mori. I was inexplicably bewitched by everything spooky as my strict religious parents’ love of films trumped their rigid rules. My curiosity was piqued as I was captivated by tales of Aztec, Indigenous, and Folklore legends or history; I shared this penchant with my Abuelo— who obliged my fascination with history. We weren’t allowed to watch certain children’s films with fictional magic themes because witchcraft and sorcery were a gateway into Occultism. Stranger Things did nail the Satanic Panic of the ’80s that bled onto the ’90s. Yet my parents let my sisters and I watch Stephen King films, or forensic/true crime shows like Unsolved Mysteries with my dad.
The Addams Family by Charles Addams. Image via Google.
Emotions are a gateway trait. They lead to feelings which trigger tears. I don’t do tears. — Wednesday Addams
Creepy visuals and themes of life and death were engrossing. Particularly fond of gothic romances like Edward Scissorhands, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and Interview with a Vampire. My supremes were Winona Ryder and Christina Ricci, as I was a devout misfit that hadn’t found her place as I devoured gothic imagery like I should’ve been reading scripture. Still, films reached me more than organized religion ever could— I remember watching both Addams Family filmsat my previous school, and both ignited a passion for standing up to/for others and not caring what others thought simply for being different than the trends. Not to disregard writer-actor Melissa Hunter’s fantastic series, Adult Wednesday, which I adored during those Tumblr days of yesteryear. I didn’t realize how much further the character means to me until rewatching the films as an adult and now watching Netflix’s new series, Wednesday— starring solidified Scream Queen Jenna Ortega. Although she humbly disagrees with the emerging title via Vulture in the link above, Ortega’s a supreme in the making as the acerbic goth legend.
“If trouble means standing up to lies, decades of discrimination, centuries of treating outcasts like second-class citizens or worse.”— Wednesday Addams
MGM Television/Paramount Pictures/Netflix.
The show’s essence reminds me of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with fellow Scream Queen and overall pop culture icon Sarah Michelle Geller. Netflix’s extension of Charles Addams’ original cartoon is brought to life by Alfred Gough and Miles Millar with assistance from acclaimed director Tim Burton. Despite the series few jagged bumps, Ortega’s charisma and charm electrify even in the somber moments of Wednesday’s blink-less brood. Ortega’s dialogue with her father, Gomez (Luis Guzman), was touching as someone with a profound respect and admiration for my father in the same regard, even as imperfect humans— our fathers are everything to us. Being daddy’s little girl and withstanding her contentious relationship with her mother, Morticia (Catherine Zeta-Jones), was too on the nose for me. Once being in the eye of that emotional tornado with my mother, it’s painfully clear as an outsider looking inward that as much as Wednesday yearns and desires her destiny vs. her parents’ chosen path— she’s more like her mother than she thinks, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing— as both are so similar and interlaced. Gomez and Morticia’s well-known adoration was slow-simmering and needed the same heat as Anjelica Huston and the late-great Raul Julia executed. Perhaps the macabre shoes were too mighty, but the parentage portrayal was lackluster. Good thing the series delivers plenty of misadventures, love triangles, character development, and nefarious doings.
Being considered a defiant black sheep isn’t expected, although my complete disregard for societal expectations and polarizing opinions should’ve been more obvious. Wednesday Addams is all I related to growing up: highly intuitive, observant, emotionally distant, taciturn, and authoritative. Her razor-sharp wit can verbally assassinate egos and feelings if her mood strikes. She’s a conduit for my sardonic musings as I knowingly embrace my sharp edges for self-preservation due to knowing how callous the world gets. She doesn’t allow just anyone in, and those who dare unlock the layers of riddles to get anywhere near her distant, black but beating heart need to be reminded of such privilege. Wednesday’s inability to connect socially and glaring proclivity for getting in trouble is comforting while navigating through this intolerant and pernicious world; never losing sight of ourselves is integral. Even if I’ve found isolating comfort in the solitude of the darkness that’s charmed me, there’s a microcosm of beauty in utter madness and destructive chaos. As Proust said, “we are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full.”
Still recovering from the last week’s holiday, I’ve been comfort-watching nostalgia without getting swept away as I’ve been assembling a Youthquake gift guide of a few of my eternal favorites. Outvoted, I was invited to watch Wakanda Forever with my little sister and primos over the weekend— a beautifully poignant message of grief that hit me repeatedly, although Namor was a welcomed distraction. TÁR and Bones and All have been endlessly captivating. The Menu and Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio are next on my list.
