Archives for category: Art

#OscarsSoWhite is something that I am as usual addressing much later than most, in no small part due to my unrelenting contempt for Twitter-based social justice trends. However, as the trend does accurately point out, there are a substantial number of white people in Hollywood movies, to the point where characters who are canonically non-white are often portrayed as white people. Scarlett Johansson in the American remake of the Japanese anime Ghost in the Shell is one contemporary example. This generates immense online backlash in the form of the electronic version of rolling one’s eyes. On the flip side, there is backlash when canonically white characters are portrayed as non-whites. A black James Bond and a black Spider-man were both vehemently opposed and neither made it to production. As common as the themes of these arguments are, it’s not the same people arguing both sides. One group is demanding respect for the sacredness of an entirely fictional canon (Spider-man isn’t real), and the other is arguing against the forced monochromatic nature of films (black people are real).

Let’s talk about diversity in films. To be clear, there isn’t much. Black James Bond and black Spider-man never got made, remember, yet Ghost in the Shell, Pan, Gods of Egypt, and Dr. Strange did (or are, for those that aren’t released yet). Is this a huge problem? America is predominantly white, so why not pander to the largest demographic? Bollywood films are pretty much exclusively Indian, and Korean films all star Korean actors. Somewhat ironically, the original Ghost in the Shell anime has a white character voiced by a Japanese man. The film industries of these countries make films depicting their dominant group because that is their audience. It makes sense. Nobody complains about the lack of diversity of language in Hollywood films, because America is an English speaking nation.

It seems logical then that movies should depict the demographics of their host countries. America is 63% white, 16% Hispanic, 12% black, and 5% Asian, so why not aim for that? This is where it becomes complicated. For example, a Hollywood movie would need 20 characters before one of them was Asian, or another solution might be that every 20th movie would need to be casted entirely as Asian. Neither of these are feasible options. Most movies only have one or two protagonists. Or if the film was entirely Asian, it would ignore the largest demographic and would therefore have less of a chance to be a box office success. This is something no movie mogul will abide in our wealth-driven movie industry. Now we’re left wondering: should the film industry ignore 14.5 million Americans just because it would be complicated to incorporate them?

Failing to depict Asians in film does not only a disservice to Asian-Americans who are looking for representation on the big screen, but to the entirety of the population. It is our myths that socialize us, and now that religion is dead, we’re left with the entertainment industry to teach us how to be human beings. Depressing, right? Well life is miserable, get over it. We idolize our fictional heroes and heroines, and so we relate to and emulate their personality and characteristics. Ignoring Asians in film not only denies role models to maturing Asian-American youth, but also prevents Asian faces from being a part of white socialization. If whites aren’t shown any images of another race, they won’t know how to respond to them in person. And we all know how well humans behave around people they don’t understand… It’s poorly. We behave poorly.

So diversity in racial depictions is necessary for social cohesion, demographics be damned. Great. We’re left with one more problem. How do we depict races on screen? I hope I don’t need to argue that racist stereotypes are bad. If all black people on screen are depicted as gangsters, then everyone will be socialized to think of black people as gangsters. It is fairly common to see people arguing for normalcy in racialized depictions in movies. Like a black Spider-man or James Bond who behaves identically to their already established white counterparts. These films have been indistinguishable remakes for years now, what difference would it make to simply have a different race portrayed as the protagonist? Characters with accents or who adhere to dramatic outside cultures might make racial minorities seem like exotic foreigners who do not belong, and portraying other races as identical to whites would foster racial equality within North American culture.

This has one glaring problem: defining normalcy as imitating established white culture makes other cultures abnormal. The First Nations in Canada are in the midst of fighting for cultural sovereignty and to depict one as fully assimilated into white culture, interchangeable with their white peers, would be wholly offensive (especially given the context of our Residential Schools whose barbaric practices aimed at establishing exactly this). Different is not a bad thing. Some people have accents, different styles of clothing, and different cultural practices. Should a Sikh not be shown in a turban because it makes him an exotic foreigner rather than a neighbour? Portraying the rich cultures that make up the diverse American population would allow respect to blossom for alternative ways of living that people have every right to live.

However, this portrayal forces people into their ethnic culture, however respectfully it is portrayed. Some people want to assimilate. It’s not intrinsically evil. Or even pick and choose their practices; it’s their right. How can this translate to film when one version will be offensive to one group, and the other will be offensive to the first? The answer is simpler than you might think.

Let people tell their own stories, define their own characters. Diversity starts in the writing room. It is the only way to authenticity.

You are indescribable.

The most captivating painting, the most enchanting song; the great artists fumble to convey the beauty you live effortlessly every day, and capture only a fraction of it.

The English language has words like flawless, but saying you are flawless eliminates the best parts of your character that irresistibly draw me to you. We have perfect, but describing you as perfect does not communicate the joy it brings me to see you smile. Telling someone of your perfection doesn’t enlighten them of the inspiration your generous deeds produce, how the magic you bring to the world makes it a home. It’s just a word. You are the sun, giving me light and warmth. Giving me life.

I don’t know what else to say. The sun feels like a failed metaphor, because you are so much more. You are the stars in the heavens that guide my path. The moon that offers me sanctuary in darkness. You are the whole sky, showing me an infinity of possibility. An infinity of hope. You are my universe. I could not exist as I am if not for you.

For you, I would do anything. For you, I would suffer any anguish. Any pain. Any grief.

And for you, I do.

Because you are gone.

The clichés tell me that you would leave a void inside of me, but the reality is the opposite. I feel you every day inside me. Tearing at my organs. Eating me alive. I embrace it because it’s the only piece of you I have left. It is the world that sits empty. The universe that has been drained.

Life carries on, but as a broken animatronic. Jolting corpses play around me, pretending to laugh. Pretending nothing has changed. Trying to indoctrinate me into their grotesque theatre. But it is barren. A wasteland of existence. There is only you, and me, and the agony of a dead universe where neither of us is real.

We are alone.

We are alone.

We are alone.

We are alone.

I am alone.

No, not the long running comic strip featuring the flamboyantly purple-spandexed crimefighter immortalized by the dashing Billy Zane, but Andrew Lloyd Webber’s tragic hero from The Phantom of the Opera.

Ignoring the extortion, terrorism, and double homicide because these obvious trivialities do not require a second thought, let’s focus on the expression of the Phantom’s inexhaustible love for Christine. The Phantom’s love arc seems like he watched Beauty and the Beast and figured that was a solid strategy for meeting women. Unfortunately, it turns out Raoul’s Gaston is actually the healthier choice, and Christine has no problem choosing between the man who would die for her and the man who would kill for… any reason, really. To be clear, the Phantom threatens to murder Raoul via hanging unless Christine chooses to stay with him, citing that fear can turn to love in the most glaring satire of Hollywood’s romantic comedy trope where the stalker-ish dude is somehow considered romantic by the leading lady. I mean, I bet if they made The Phantom of the Opera into a movie, the Phantom would be played by a handsome, charming man from the UK to really belabour that point. Oh wait!

But Christine, a sane person, ditcheshttps://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/7f/PS_I_Love_You_%28film%29.jpg/220px-PS_I_Love_You_%28film%29.jpg the Phantom for the supportive and caring Raoul BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY. However, most, if not all, audiences support the Phantom in his sympathetic plight. He is the outcast, shunned by contemporary beauty standards due to his grody disfigured face. We forgive his murder(s); we forgive his terrorizing of the bumbling theatre managers; we forgive his extortion and deranged control issues; we forgive all his sins. Why do we do this? Being gross looking isn’t an excuse, and the body positivity movement certainly wasn’t around when this production was released to make him a really counter-intuitive poster boy.

Of course, any romantic already knows the answer. The Phantom’s love, talent, and dedication are all uniquely genuine, and are made even more arresting by being enveloped in this otherwise miserable and tortured soul. We celebrate his passion, however explosive, as he yearns in his own misguided way for happiness. Despite his admittedly horrifying flaws, the Phantom possesses hope that, overcoming his despair, he too might have a chance at life. His martyrdom in the finale of the play shows his all-encompassing dedication to love, even over his own needs to feel human. We see that there is no black and white in this tale as old as time, this song as old as rhyme… er… hold on, I’m getting confused again… anyway, there is no black and white, and we see the Phantom as a tragic hero because that’s exactly what he is.

Were The Phantom of the Opera a reality in this post-9/11 world, the Phantom would be described as a lone nut, encumbered by mental illness and a symbol for the noose-control debate raging across America. He would be pilloried and vilified, and no one would dare take a sympathetic stance toward his plight because abducting white women is about the worst crime you can commit. But in the magic of the theatre, we do. We are exposed to his totality, warts and all, and we accept him regardless.

Yet how do we know that the monsters in our world do not have their own passions, their own loves for which they would abandon their humanity? Who is to say that each individual condemned in the media doesn’t have their own tragic heroism, worthy of any audience’s heartfelt sympathy? When we forget the life and isolate the crime, it’s easy to make a devil out of anyone, but the Phantom is an operatic reminder that we shouldn’t be so quick to demonize the Beasts of our society… crap, I did it again. I mean they’re both musicals too, come on!