The Boston Red Sox Have Finally Found a Good Reason to Own an Apple Watch. Smartwatches have long felt like a gadget in search of a purpose. However, it seems the Boston Red Sox have finally discovered one thing they are actually good at: cheating. According to complaint filed by New York Yankees’ general manager Brian Cashman and later corroborated by Major League Baseball, it seems the Boston Red Sox used the messaging function on Apple Watches to steal signs between Yankees pitchers and catchers and then relay that info to its batters. According to the The New York Times, the Red Sox told league investigators that team personnel had been instructed to monitor instant- replay video and then send the signs to trainers in the dugout via their Apple Watches. The trainers would then pass on the info to the players, thus giving them an advantage before an incoming pitch. Stealing signs isn’t anything new for baseball, but the use of an Apple Watch is a pretty dastardly use of modern technology.

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• The new Hulu TV series The Handmaid’s Tale has been enthusiastically acclaimed as a feminist classic. Fortunately for the show’s producers, if not for the rest of.

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Last season, the Los Angeles Dodgers were found guilty of cheating when the team used laser rangefinders to position its players in the outfield. Of course, in true Red Sox fashion, the team countered by filing a (probably bogus) complaint alleging that the Yankees used a camera from its YES television network to steal signs as well. Red Sox fans have also seemed to have latched on the Apple Watch, not because of the tech itself, but because of their never- ending inferiority complex that flares up anytime the Yankees are mentioned.

One Bostonian even went so far as to say “This is the first time I’ve ever wanted to wear an Apple Watch.” I guess congratulations are in order to Tim Cook and company for finding a way to cross over into a new demographic. As someone who went to college in Boston, this kind of vitriol is pervasive across the entire region. I once went to a movie theater near Fenway, and after the film concluded (which was not related to sports at all) some members of Red Sox nation decided they would celebrate the ending by chanting “Jeter Sucks.” True story.

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Selling Her Suffering by Francine Prose NYR Daily. Hulu. A scene from The Handmaid’s Tale, 2. Like the 1. 98. 5 Margaret Atwood novel on which it is based, the new Hulu TV series The Handmaid’s Tale has been enthusiastically acclaimed as a feminist classic: a cautionary, necessary, and relevant depiction of misogyny at its most extreme.

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In Gilead, the tyrannical religious dystopia in which the novel and the series are set, women have been enslaved, and are either servants, known as Marthas, or Handmaids: involuntary surrogate mothers for the children of the leaders, the Commanders whose wives have been rendered infertile by environmental pollution. Fortunately for the show’s producers, if not for the rest of us, this scenario seems uncannily timely, given how many recent events—the threatened defunding of Planned Parenthood, the silencing of Elizabeth Warren on the Senate floor, Donald Trump’s repeated expressions of contempt for women—suggest that, if men like Mike Pence and Mitch Mc. Connell have their way, we might end up living in a Gilead of our own. The possibility that the progress that women have made could be reversed seems more likely than it did when Atwood’s novel was published.

After all, it’s already happened to Iranian women after the Khomeini revolution, and to Afghan women living under the Taliban. Writing in The Guardian, Jessica Valenti suggests that the handmaids’ plight is less like science fiction than reportage: “Much of the show feels familiar in today’s political climate…the show surfaces women’s fear of what everyday sexism really means.” Buzzfeed praised its “radical feminist aesthetic,” its “sprawling, nimble…female glance” and its rejection of the “male gaze” that has dominated art and cinema.

Atwood has suggested in The New York Times, “If this future can be described in detail maybe it won’t happen.”  Watching the show, however, I began to think that it was neither a useful warning about the patriarchy’s hostile plan for women, nor a proactive attempt to thwart those dark intentions. Gradually, it occurred to me that I was instead watching a seven- hour- long orgy of violence against women—promoted and marketed as high- minded, politically astute popular entertainment. In what sense is it “feminist” to provide viewers with a glossy, sensationalized portrayal of women’s deepest anxieties and paranoias? What exactly is feminist about seeing women insulted, raped, humiliated, disfigured, beaten, tasered, tortured—and subjected to the sadistic whims of other women?

If this is feminism, then so is girl- on- girl mud wrestling, or vintage prison films like Women Behind Bars. Indeed The Handmaid’s Tale does resemble a serialized women’s prison drama, with Gilead as an enormous jail without walls. Aunt Lydia (Ann Dowd), the hyper- butch martinet who bullies the Handmaids into submission, recalls the cinematic corrections officers formerly known as “matrons.” When Gilead women are urged to unleash their pent- up frustration and fury on an accused rapist, we may feel that we are watching an open- air prison riot. My objections have nothing to do with the quantity or the goriness of the carnage on display. I was a great fan of the immensely violent AMC series Breaking Bad—and not because it dramatized the problems of those who, like Walter White, lack adequate health insurance.

What’s troubling about The Handmaid’s Tale is the prurient interest it seems to take in state- sanctioned torture and casual aggression against women: female suffering commodified and sold to us as political education. It trades on our terrors, torments its female characters, goes after a hefty profit, and at the same time tries to persuade us that it is not only doing women a favor but furthering their liberation. One horror of Gilead is that women are valued only for their fertility. And yet the show appeals to our sentimental notions of maternity to generate sympathy for its heroine, Offred (Elisabeth Moss). We first see her protecting her child: a dystopian Mother Courage.

And the hope of finding her daughter is what gives her the will to survive. Meanwhile the fertile Handmaids are brave, kindly, empathetic, and juicy, while the sterile Commanders’ Wives are frigid, desiccated, heartless bitches. Watch Proof Hindi Full Movie.

What makes it harder to distinguish what we are seeing (women being brutalized) from what we are meant to think we are seeing (the patriarchy revealing its secret evil heart) is the fact that the series is so engrossingly dramatic and visually beautiful. In their scarlet robes and white bonnets, mysterious and otherworldly as women in Bosch or Breughel, the docile Handmaids glide, heads lowered and hands clasped, through the bucolic landscape and past the stately homes of Ontario. The artfully designed upstairs- downstairs sets portray the Handmaids’ quarters as Shaker interiors, while the opulent salons of the blue- clad Commanders’ Wives evoke the lobbies of Morris Lapidus’s Miami hotels. Hulu. Joseph Fiennes as the Commander in The Handmaid’s Tale, 2.

The acting is so skillful that we are seduced into overlooking the plot holes and lapses in logic. Has no one in Gilead heard of artificial insemination?

Why is Mexico’s fertility rate even lower than that of the United States? Moss is marvelous as Offred, a woman who has been forcibly extracted from her former life (husband, daughter, job) and assigned to bear the child of her Commander (Joseph Fiennes), who, in a ritualized rape referred to as “the ceremony,” attempts to impregnate her as she lies in the lap of his infertile wife (Yvonne Strahovski). Partly because of Moss’s skill, partly because it is more disturbing to witness violence than to read about it, and partly because of the script’s clever reordering of the events of the novel, we may feel more sympathy for this Offred than we did for her counterpart in the book.

Like much dystopian fiction, The Handmaid’s Tale expends more energy establishing the new rules and new language of an oppressive world order than in creating complex characters, who often seem less interesting than the nightmare worlds they inhabit. But the TV show compels us to care about—to root for—Offred. At the start of the novel, she is already in a detention center, guarded by armed men and Aunts with cattle prods.

In the Hulu series, we meet the future Offred (still a normal person named June) in frantic flight, attempting—with her husband and daughter—to cross the Canadian border. Their car crashes, mother and child run into the woods. We hear shots; the husband, we presume, is dead. Thugs grab the child and beat our heroine unconscious. Our compassion for June/Offred grows after she is turned into a murmuring, zombified version of her former self. Though she rarely speaks except in the robotic Bible- ese  of Gilead small talk (“Praise be…Blessed day”), we are privy to her thoughts in a voice- over narration that quotes directly from the novel or mimics its cadences.

It’s a challenge for the series (as it was for Volker Schlöndorff’s underrated 1. Commander, the Handmaid, and the Commander’s Wife is a rape masquerading as a religious ritual and not soft- core group sex.

As the camera focuses on Offred’s face, Moss registers alienation, horror, fear, grief—and resignation. Should it matter that the Commander is played by the handsome Joseph Fiennes? I’m not suggesting that it’s less odious to have nonconsensual sex with a man who looks like a movie star. But one can’t help thinking that we are watching something quite different, something more glamorized, than we would be were the Commander a troll. Clearly, this represents a considered commercial decision.