Pollyanna

Haley Mills as Pollyanna. A year later (1961) she’d star in The Parent Trap as both Sharon McKendrick AND Susan Evers, transatlantic identical twins who overcome their mutual antipathy to manipulate their divorced parents into reconciling. As an identical twin whose parents got divorced, I find this storyline unconvincing.

One of those “perhaps-I’m-older-than-I-feel” moments arrived last week in the form of Pollyanna Whittier, a much-maligned fictitious little girl who has, since her inception at the hands of author Eleanor H. Porter, become the avatar of toxic positivity. Porter’s 1913 creation touched a nerve, so much so that at least three other authors hijacked young Pollyanna and incorporated her into over a dozen “Glad Books.”

By the time Polyanna’s Golden Horseshoe was published in 1939, her Glad Game had begun to wiggle its way into popular psychology. For some, her optimism resulted in a Positivity Bias, the tendency to remember positive events while, unconsciously, seeking them out in the present moment. For others, the Pollyanna brand had curdled into a capital-“s” Syndrome in which relentless positivity causes people to squash and then magnify their suppressed feelings, like when I get behind the wheel and purge my personal and political rage. Sorry!

The plots wrote themselves. In each iteration, Pollyanna relentlessly played the “Glad Game” (Find the good! Score spiritual points!) in her attempts to cheer up her spinster aunt and every other sourpuss who got in her way. Her popularity peaked in 1960 when The Walt Disney Studios brought this emotional bully to life with the help of Haley Mills. Just one year later, Mills starred in The Parent Trap, creating the dual roles of identical twins who conspire to bring their divorced parents back together. In both films, the parentified child prevails, unencumbered by boundaries but bogged down with emotional baggage that, in adulthood, will most likely play itself out in horror films or Swedish cinema.

The point is, when I referenced Pollyanna (me: “perhaps I’m being a Pollyanna”) in my Improv and Mental Health course at the University of Minnesota, not a single student knew who–or what–I was talking about.

“Let me tell you about the 20th Century and the time before gifs and emojis.” Thank you, Hieronymus Bosch.

Some context: My Improv and Mental Health class at the U of M ended last week. I always give a short goodbye speech on the final day, prefaced once again by a momentary jag of emotion during which I gulped and sputtered. (You are at work, Jim!) After I gained composure, I told them, truthfully, that they had–in seven short weeks–created a loving, accepting, celebratory environment that stands in stark contrast to the cruelty erupting all over the planet.

I’ve talked about this before.

Do go on.

My students looked at me like the young people they are and smiled. Perhaps they found this proclamation excruciating. No one spoke, so I forged on, into the void:

“I don’t want to be all Pollyanna about this, but if we can create this kind of space in this classroom, maybe there’s hope for the immense spaces beyond these walls.”

There but for fortune…

I couldn’t read their reactions, not while they picked up their jackets and backpacks and scrambled out the door. Midterms loomed, multiple part-time jobs demanded attention, some of them may be in the first flush of love or slogging through the rigors of heartbreak (and, appropriately, didn’t share this with me). They’re busy building their lives; they indulged me with a few nods and a smile or two. My generation hasn’t made it easy for these young people, what with our paralysis around gun violence and climate change and authoritarianism and all the forms of rank fundamentalism that turn actual human beings into numbers and precepts and collateral damage and cannon fodder. They never begrudged me for my failings, but I couldn’t help but think about these catastrophes as I watched them leave.

The Deluge (1920) by Winifred Knights. Where do we go from here?

(I’d put good money on the fact that Eleanor H. Porter would never have written a young adult novel entitled Jim R. There’s no pressing need for another soothsaying-sad sack. We already have magnificent Sad Books promoting the Sad Game. Have you read A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara? Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam? Anna Karenina by Tolstoy? Fred Gipson’s Old Yeller?)

What a drag. Of course, the world holds more complexity than Glad or Sad. (Duh.) We discussed this in improv class, how we get to, whether we like it or not, live dialectally, smack dab in the middle of contradictions that can only be fleetingly resolved. This isn’t to say we throw our hands in the air and curse (although I do, often); instead, we focus on what’s right in front of us and, when we can, acknowledge reality, show compassion, say NO to violence, try to set things right when we lose our sh*t. We see ourselves in the actions of others and begin again and again and again…

We’re right and wrong. And right and left. Again: Sorry.

Dang it.

This dialectic showed itself in our Honors course as we hovered between the ridiculous and the sublime. Immediately after playing “Where Have My Fingers Been”–a game where students create an improvised scene between their right and their left index fingers–we discussed Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) and the ways improvisation mirrored its techniques. In both endeavors, we try to stay grounded while acknowledging chaos; we go for the laughs, knowing that trying to be funny guarantees we’ll flop. We gesticulate wildly while our fingers do battle or fall in love.

Hard to play Where Have My Fingers Been when your fingers make a fist. Forsake violence. https://www.jagranjosh.com/general-knowledge/fist-personality-test-the-way-you-make-a-fist-reveals-your-true-personality-traits-1662461837-1

As with improv, DBT helps adherents strengthen their Distress Tolerance and Emotional Regulation by entering into Contradictions with Curiosity and Calm (I’m capitalizing on purpose, not like Someone Else who also won’t shut up.) In improv, we don’t know the outcome of each scene. We aren’t fortune tellers. But when we jump in with the intention of making our scene partner look as good as possible we can–fleetingly–be both inspired and compassionate. We do look for the good, just like Pollyanna did with her Glad Game. At the same time, we don’t disavow our fear (“What if I fail?”) and our pettiness (“Why did they get the laugh?”) and our despair (“How does this help anyone?”). We live with it. All of it. We don’t strike out. We try not to panic.

Taken with permission. My glorious Improv and Mental Health Honors class at the University of Minnesota. As Eleanor H. Porter said regarding Pollyanna, “I have never believed that we ought to deny discomfort and pain and evil; I have merely thought that it is far better to ‘greet the unknown with a cheer.'” This class did just that! They greeted the unknown with a ton of cheer. And now they know about Pollyanna, too! Higher Ed at work!

Now that I’m out of the classroom and wandering around the wide world, I find myself wondering–once again–how improv applies to World Peace and Democratic Values. I dragged my actor/director/singer/playwright friend Greta Grosch into this discussion about Pollyanna and politics when the two of us met at SK Coffee in Saint Paul for a session of Silent Writing. We gabbed the whole time. As Greta was about to leave–having written nothing (my fault)–she said, “My father always answers ‘I’m grateful’ when anyone asks how he’s doing.” I’ve met Ken Grosch, Greta’s dad. I admire that man. And while the Glad Game and the Grateful Game share some stringent rules, I do think gratitude might just be a winning strategy.

Mary Pickford as Pollyanna (1920): “How dare you misrepresent me!”

Is this so? Let me know in the comments!

When Greta and I aren’t struggling to stay quiet during our Silent Writing at SK Coffee, we bask in the white light of a bowling alley theater. Learn more about Greta Grosch here: https://gretagrosch.com. And find out about upcoming Table Salt events featuring yours truly and others at the Bryant Lake Bowl: https://www.bryantlakebowl.com/theater.

One more thing. Since the pandemic the Twin Cities has become the turf for posses of wild turkeys (I just learned this term; in captivity, groups of turkeys can be called “gaggles” or even “gobbles.” How did I not know this? My dad sold poultry supplies!). These two turkeys greeted me in front of Northrop Hall while I rushed to class. They refused to cooperate for a photo or even budge when I waddled past. I’m grateful for this. No lie.

Benjamin Franklin didn’t really want the Wild Turkey to replace the Bald Eagle as our national bird. He did, however, write these words in a letter to his daughter: the “Bald Eagle…is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly…[he] is too lazy to fish for himself.” In comparison, Franklin wrote that the turkey is “a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America….He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage.”  

How about that?

14 Replies to “Pollyanna”

  1. There’s a posse of wild turkeys hanging at the bottom of the Davern hill!!! This is a good blog. AND I remember Pollyanna. Very polarizing!

  2. A truly magnificent post with a lot of big words which left my head spinning, although that could be the bourbon I am consuming while reading this. I especially liked how you tied it all together with a discussion about wild turkeys. And we all know Wild Turkey is bourbon so there you go.

    1. Rich: Glad this blog could clarify things. Hope you’re doing well…I miss our class (if not Kitty Cat Career).

    1. Edie! I love this description of Pollyanna as a Wounded Healer. I’m glad she grew out of her martyrdom. Miss you guys; wish we were at the Caspian.

  3. Thought you’d at least try to talk about whether turkeys are polyamorous. Love you and the way your brain works ❤️

    1. Paul! I’ll address poultry polyamory in the next blog. Miss you and Jim very much. Love to you–

  4. Thinking of this scene from the musical 1776

    Franklin glances at Jefferson, then Adams] A farmer, a lawyer, and a sage…
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : [the Liberty Bell rings in the background] A bit gouty in the leg… / You know, it’s quite bizarre, to think that here we are, playing midwives to an egg…
    John Adams : Egg? What egg?
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : America, the birth of a new nation.
    Thomas Jefferson : If only we could be sure of what kind of a bird it’s going to be.
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : Tom has a point: what sort of bird shall we choose as the symbol of our new America?
    John Adams : The eagle.
    Thomas Jefferson : The dove.
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : The turkey.
    John Adams : The eagle.
    John Adams : The dove.
    John Adams : [more insistently] The eagle!
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : [Jefferson yields to Adams’s suggestion] The eagle.
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : The turkey.
    John Adams : The eagle is a majestic bird.
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : The eagle is a scavenger, a thief, and a coward! A symbol of over 10 centuries of European mischief.
    Thomas Jefferson : [astonished] The turkey?
    Dr. Benjamin Franklin : The turkey is a truly noble bird – Native American, source of sustenance of our original settlers. An incredibly brave fellow who will not flinch at attacking a regiment of Englishmen single-handedly. Therefore, the national bird of America is going to be…
    John Adams , Dr. Benjamin Franklin ,: The eagle!

    1. Siobhan! I love this! (I also remember going to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion to see 1776 when I was in high school. My most vivid memory involved the horse on stage. There you go…)

  5. Thanks for the fun reflections, Jim! I’m so glad that Dennis taught you how to paste in photos. (That’s my assumption.). You find such good ones!!

    Looking forward to seeing you and Dennis next week.

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