A Response to "I, Racist"

A Response to “I,Racist,” by John Metta.

Let me first preface this by telling you that I am a Taiwanese Asian-American. I say this now, because it will save you the trouble of having  to find my name, and then guess (which won’t be hard) if I am a minority, which one, and “how much” (maybe my mother was white). It’s important to know my race, so you can judge how seriously to take my article on race – I’m a minority, but I’m not black, so that makes me partially, but definitely not fully, qualified to speak.

Will a story of how I’ve been discriminated against help? I’ll make it quick.

I go to a predominantly white college (this is because we don’t offer special scholarships or special treatment for minorities, and thus, are less enticing than the larger institutions who do). One time, while comparing scores on a bio exam with a white friend, he said, “Yeah, but of course you got a good score. You’re Asian.” He meant it as a compliment, so I never told him how upsetting it was to have my hours and hours of studying invalidated by the coincidence of my race.

Good enough for you? Good.  So with that in mind, here are an Asian’s (my name, age, and educational level probably aren’t that important) thoughts on this article.

Mr. Metta seems to define “racism” as systematic oppression by a group, as opposed to the (entirely white) tendency to define it as some aspect of an individual person, and yet his attacks get rather personal.

“And White people, every single one of you, are complicit in this racism because you benefit directly from it.”

"Millions of Black lives are valued less than a single White person's hurt feelings."

Why, then, is he being inconsistent in his language, attacking white people as single people, since the whole point is to address a system, and since he himself becomes annoyed that white people are responding to the accusation as innocent individuals rather than a guilty group?

The reason for this is, I think, the impossibility of addressing systematic oppression as a system. The only way to change a system is to change the individuals who run it, and, as such, Mr. Metta’s attack on an entire group, insisting that white people are wrong to take it as individuals and must shoulder the collective guilt and subsequent responsibility of a group, will be responded to, perfectly logically, the way that his aunt responded to his sister.

To Mr. Metta’s white aunt, his sister’s “suggestion that ‘people in The North are racist’ is an attack on her as a racist.”  He claims that that’s a wrong-headed way of going about things, but I’m happy to inform him that his aunt has a perfectly good head screwed on perfectly well. She is a member of the so-called “people in The North.” Thus, according to Mr. Metta’s sister, she is necessarily a racist. She probably wishes people would stop making generalized statements about her based on where she comes from and what color she is.

Oh wait.

That’s racism.

And no amount of saying “I’m black, you can’t call me racist” is going to change that. In fact, even that statement in quotations is racist.

Racism is organizing people into categories by race, and then acting as though characteristics other than their skin tone are true for the entire category (“he’s Asian – of course he’s good at math”). Claiming that it is the system’s fault that a black person thinks about black people as a group is no excuse to continue to think that way.  If it truly is the system’s fault, and black people are blameless, then white people like Mr. Metta’s aunt should also have their white guilt revoked. It’s not their fault. It’s the fault of the racist system that they grew up in. And yet Mr. Metta is calling for all white people to take responsibility for (tacitly or openly) supporting a system of oppression. He might call on black people, starting with himself, to do the same.

I’ve read 1984. I’ve read up on the Nazis, Communist China, and North Korea. I am a firm believer in the power of language to shape the mind. And it is the language of “I’m black, you’re white, he’s Asian, she’s Native-American” that continues to perpetuate the problem of race as a dividing line between people. Language creates distinction, creates separation. You want to be proud of the racial or regional collective you are a part of? You want to wear a kilt or a cowboy hat or spray-tan yourself orange, go right ahead. But you have to remember that you don’t just carry your country’s or your people’s pride. You carry everything.

In a 2005 interview with Mike Wallace, Morgan Freeman said he doesn’t want a Black History Month.

Wallace responded, “How are we going to get rid of racism and...”

Freeman cut him off with “Stop talking about it. I’m going to stop calling you a white man, and I’m going to ask you to stop calling me a black man. I know you as Mike Wallace. You know me as Morgan Freeman.”

I’m not saying that black people should disavow their identities as black people. But complaining as a collective about being judged as a collective is still going to get you seen as a collective. “I was hurt by your racist statement unfairly applied to me” is different from “your racist statement is offensive to black people everywhere; how dare you define us blacks as _______.”

Taking a look at Mr. Metta’s “racist system,” then, we find that his definition of his aunt’s participation in it is that she is “upwardly mobile, not racially profiled, able to move to White suburbs, etc.” Only one of the three things he mentioned is directly linked to race. The other two are things mostly determined by wealth and job opportunities, some of which may be determined by the racist mindsets of the individuals in charge of distributing wealth and job opportunities. Racial profiling, too, is a product of such mindsets – any laws actively encouraging it should and are being torn down nationwide.

We find that most of his other descriptions of his racist system are not really about systems, but about conditions and crimes, of which being black is secondary, tertiary, or not even really a factor. Mr. Metta would do well to remember that correlation does not equal causation. Higher black populations in poor neighborhoods, shoddierschools, and prisons does not actually mean that somehow being black in Americamakes you poorer, less likely to get an education, or more likely to commitcrime. He even goes so far as to say, “‘better schools’ exclusively means ‘whiter schools,’” which ignores the thousands of factors that go into what makes a good school, some of which may be linked to race, but none of which predetermine anything. I don’t see men’s rights activists (okay, I don’t see them at all, because feminists won’t allow it, but that’s a different issue) screaming against the fact that nine out of every ten incarcerated people in the United States are male. Why? Because they’re not in jail because they were male, or black, or what have you. They’re in jail because they’re criminals.

Mr. Metta says, "Racism is a cop severing the spine of an innocent man. It is a 12 year old child being shot for playing with a toy gun in a state where it is legal to openly carry firearms."  That is not racism; that is crime. And that is punishable by U.S. law, regardless of the race of the cop, the innocent man, the twelve-year old, or the shooter. Mr. Metta claims, “People are dying because we are supporting a racist system that justifies White people killing Black people." No system in the U.S. supports that. The law is clear: killing people is wrong.

Sidebar: I have a friend at _undisclosed large university_ getting his Master’s degree in law. His professor once painted a picture in which a white cop shot a black man for a certain reason, and the ruling went in favor of the white cop. He then asked the students in attendance to raise their hand if they agreed with the ruling.  He then painted the exact same scenario, but with a black cop shooting a white man. He asked for a show of hands again. The number of raised hands changed. This should not happen.

So, in reality, Mr. Metta’s “system” is a nebulous set of prejudices held not by the actual, concrete systems within America, but by people. It encompasses any act, within or without the realm of justice, civil law, or common decency, that is perceived as racist. The only thing holding this thing together as a “system” is the common factor of PEOPLE.

And I know this is tangential, but I cannot let an attack on The Lord of the Rings go without comment. The Lord of the Rings features a predominantly white male cast because The Lord of the Rings was written with male characters (and hence is being more faithful to the original source material than the upcoming Ghostbusters film, but that’s another thing for another day), based in large part on Tolkien’s desire to create an alternate history for England and Continental Europe. It’s a fictional world, but one that is built largely upon a real (also white) one.  You want to see more black-dominated fictional worlds? Go spend your entire adult life making entire languages and cultures out of Egyptian hieroglyphs, Proto-Saharan, and Wadi El-Hol, and I can promise you someone will be interested.

If Mr. Metta really wants to throw historical accuracy (whether the history is fictional or real) out the window, I’d like to see how he responds when I cast an Indian actor as the lead in the next Martin Luther King biopic (imaginary). I’d like him also to go face the crowds of Asian-Americans who protested the casting of non-Asian actors in Avatar: The Last Airbender or in Broadway’s Miss Saigon (both real). Yes, the non-Asian actors in question were white, but if historical accuracy is really his issue, then if they were black folks in yellowface it shouldn’t matter. If it matters whether the non-Asians were black or white, I might have to call him a racist, or, at the very least, favoring his own race.

I understand he is trying to say that American movies predominantly have white people in hero roles and misrepresent black people, but we don't complain when white people aren't portrayed accurately in black comedies. We don’t complain when Bollywood films have a mostly Indian cast.

Last thing, I promise. Mr. Metta says, near the end of his “sermon” in a church, “This is why I don't like the story of the Good Samaritan.” After one gets over the massive irony of the place in which he spoke these words, one must realize the further irony of the title. The black man in this picture is not the beaten, bloodied man by the side of the road. The black man is the Good Samaritan, a member of a people group that was reviled by the Jews who passed the beaten man, reviled by the Jews to whom Christ spoke the parable. The black man is not the man looking for help, but man who goes out of his way to help someone who hates “his kind.” Yes, he is “systematically challenged in a thousand small ways.” Living in the 1^st century A.D., he’s probably systematically challenged in a thousand big ones. But he is not on the side of the road, beaten. He is on the road, helping the beaten, one man at a time. He doesn’t leave a note with the innkeeper, saying, “When the guy in the next room wakes up, make sure you tell him that the one who paid his bills was a Samaritan and that he should rethink his life and also tell all his friends what great people Samaritans are, actually.” He says, “Let me know if there are any further expenses. I’ll pay them.”

So, by way of a conclusion, if Mr. Metta is seeking systematic change, he must first appeal to the individuals who are within the system, who are “running” the system (which few, except perhaps the media, can claim to do). He needs to give us individuals, black, white, or neither, something specific with which to change the system. And that which he can give us is the power to see each other as individuals, rather than as a mass of black people who need help, or a mass of white people who need to feel guiltier about not helping. 

He is understandably frustrated about the lack of change in this country. But perhaps this is because, as he points out, Martin Luther King didn’t end racism. Ending slavery didn’t end racism. Racism is founded not upon an institution, but upon a mindset. And the only way to change a mindset is to change the individual to whom that mind belongs. Mother Teresa once said, “If I look at the mass, I will never act. If I look at the one, I will.”

So I’m going to go up to that one friend of mine, as well as any other friends who attempt to compliment me for my smart Asian genes that I’m happy they find me intelligent, but I’m hurt by the fact that they attribute intelligence not to me, but to the fact that I’m Asian. I’ll tell them I don’t like my work invalidated by my race. And I’ll hope that that makes a difference the next time they get their privileged white asses handed to them on a math test or in a basketball court. 

Movies that "Pop"

Critics complain about, studios put up with, scriptwriters reluctantly write in, and children eat up special effects. Those brilliantly realistic shards of glass and twisted pieces of metal exploding from the car that (as Mythbusters has proved) couldn't produce a mushroom cloud the size of an actual mushroom, even on a full tank of gas. The futuristic ship with tons of valves and mechanisms (probably far more than would actually be required, but hey, it adds to the "realism," right?). The CG creature with fur/hair ruffling in the breeze, muscles rippling under the brightly-colored skin, and liquid eyes rolling in sockets in such a lifelike-yet-not fashion that Uncanny Valley doesn't even begin to cover it. Soulless might.
Audiences, studios seem to feel, are demanding that those poor movie folks, whose glasses are rapidly approaching the thickness of a 12-ounce slab of steak, push themselves further and further into their coffee mugs and growing blindness in an attempt to create bigger, and at the same time even more "realistic," special effects for them to goggle at. And if it's not rendered in HD and given twenty programs simply to place hair movement on the CG head, it's not worth watching; I remember seeing Happy Feet, supposedly a "realistic"-looking CG film for its day, and cringing at the texture issues suddenly made apparent by the high-def flatscreen on which it was being played. Kids will often pan anything made in the age before large-scale computer-generated images as "boring."
And yet, today, my family was somehow prevailed upon to watch Mary Poppins, a film where, upon seeing it for the first time, we could readily point out exactly how each "special effect" had been created (wires, reversing footage, cleverly painted backdrops). Yet the result was electrifying. We ooh'd and aah'd as if we had never seen animation spliced with live footage before, and I distinctly heard my father say, "Whoah!" when Mary Poppins slid UP the banister. My brother, a self-proclaimed break dancer jaded by a daily intake of dance battle videos on Youtube, gasped during the chimbley sweep dance sequence as though he didn't know that the backdrop of London's rooftops was painted and that mattresses were waiting for the dancers who didn't quite make it from one ledge to another.
I won't chalk this up to "Disney magic does it again," but there is something to be said when a movie from 1964 manages to outstrip Spielberg's Tintin in terms of audience reaction. It's not realism. It's not flashiness. It's not even the special effect itself. It's that spell of wonder that the effect can cast on the experienced film critic as well as the six-year old who, only moments before, was still noisily trying to wrest the bag of popcorn from his sister.
In creating that sense of wonder, filmmakers must give time for audiences to wonder. Sometimes, the explosion, the stunning backdrop, the humongous computer facilities are glossed over in an attempt to make the cinematographer as well as the characters look as though these massive objects are either routine or not unusual enough to warrant their interest. Making the effect a part of the story's reality in this way may work, but it is important to remember that while this is a normal part of the movie's reality, it is not a part of the audience's, and thus must be given the proper screentime for them to marvel at, and then assimilate into their world.
And secondly, the filmmakers must give time for characters to wonder, too. Audiences look to the key characters in the story to understand how to react to events, and if the character treats something as the eighth wonder of the world, so will the audience. Even commonplace items may suddenly become extremely important to an audience member if a character draws attention to it; think of all the everyday objects that movie geeks have infused with significance - bowties, blue pills, and black forest cake being only a few. Special effects will be given the recognition that their creators probably more than deserve if they are recognized by the movie. Even a simple tour-guide like explanation given by a minor character, while the camera slowly pans over the complex gadgety thingymajig will serve to make it worthy of interest.
Mary Poppins generated childlike delight because she delighted children. Literally, the faces of those two little kids gave the movie its push from technically advanced (for its time) to "magic." Films like Harry Potter (any one of them, really), BBC's Sherlock TV series, and stopmotion animation flicks on Youtube all can create a sense of wonder, even with second-rate technology and a low budget, because they pause to marvel at what they've created. That's the joy of movies: if the movie says it's magic...it is.

Who's Your Daddy? Mickey vs. Mandos

Author's note: this is an article I'm writing for the Hillsdale Collegian. Certain names have been changed for privacy purposes.

Luke, George is no longer your father.

Last Tuesday, George Lucas announced that he was retiring, and selling Lucasfilm for $4.05 billion to the Walt Disney Company. The corporate giant, riding on the success of its acquisition of Marvel and The Avengers film, now controls LucasArts, ILM (Industrial Light and Magic), Skywalker Sound, most of Indiana Jones…and all of Star Wars.

The controversy among the fans is almost as bad as “who-shot-first.”

“George Lucas was the worst thing to ever happen to Star Wars,” said sophomore Ewan Crighton. His words reflect the opinion of many a Star Wars veteran who believes (somewhat paradoxically) that the Star Wars universe will be better off without the creator who chopped the Ewok song and hired a furless frog-rabbit to stand next to Liam Neeson.

Others consider Star Wars’s new owner to be a wretched hive of sap and insipidity, and, remembering the “Disney treatment” given to cherished traditional folklore, shudder at the thought of what may happen to one of cinema’s greatest fairytales.
\
Disney’s announcement that they will be releasing a project billed as “Episode VII” in 2015, with a new sequel to be released every few years after that, hardly makes matters any better.  The epidemic of sequel-itis has spread to almost every film Disney has made, and when the nineteenth Star Wars episode they reach, look so good, they will not.

Not all of Disney’s previous purchases have turned sour in their hands. Pixar, minus a few sequel hiccups, has been delighting and inspiring audiences and artists alike since Day 1. Marvel’s first film under Disney has become the third highest grossing film of all time.

Of course, many attribute the success of The Avengers to the directorial talent of Joss Whedon, just as many of the best lines of Star Wars were improvised by Harrison Ford. It is the skill of the individuals involved, not the company, that makes the movie great, and Disney has a particular talent for bringing in strong talent, particularly for its partnered projects. For the English dubs of Hayao Miyazaki’s films alone, Disney has hired the voices of Cate Blanchett, Christian Bale, Billy Crystal, Josh Hutcherson, and the obligatory Jonas brother.

Stars also bring in money with their talent, and it is money that forms the ground philosophy of Disney.

Disney CEO Bob Iger’s said, concerning the Lucasfilm acquisition, “This transaction combines a world-class portfolio of content including ‘Star Wars,’ one of the greatest family entertainment franchises of all time, with Disney’s unique and unparalleled creativity across multiple platforms, businesses, and markets to generate sustained growth and drive significant long-term value.”

If that’s all he has to say, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. But if following the money means not disappointing fans, Disney will take Star Wars along the path that those who know it best have already created - the “Extended Universe” of books, graphic novels, and an entire subset of Wikipedia (known as Wookieepedia) that will keep Disney busy, and fans happy, for a long, long time. But if Disney wants to force Star Wars into their trite-but-child-pleasing mold, Leia just might become the next Disney Princess…and Mickey will witness the firepower of a fully armed and operational fan coalition.

Hunger Games: A Review

"Destroying things is much easier than making them," says Suzanne Collins in her novel The Hunger Games.  And I agree. Destroying this book (and the following movie) with a scathing review will be much easier, and perhaps more viscerally satisfying, than trying to write a better one. But with that in mind, I'll try to keep down my hipster disdain for popular tween/teen novels (a disdain reinforced by Twilight fans, among others), and write a balanced review.

The Hunger Games, for the few hermits who have somehow managed to escape hearing about it, concerns a dystopian world in which North America is divided into twelve Districts, ruled by the dictators in the Capitol. Every year, as a chilling reminder of who's boss, the Capitol decrees that "the 12 districts of Panem should offer up a tribute of one young man and woman between the ages of 12 and 18 to be trained in the art of survival and to be prepared to fight to the death" – on live television. The story centers around Katniss Everdeen, a girl from District Twelve who volunteers as tribute in the place of her younger sister Prim. On her journey to becoming the next winner (or is it survivor?) of the Hunger Games, she must deal with the blatant classism of the Capitol, learn to present herself with the poise and grace of a Miss America, fake a romance to gain audience approval, and, of course, kill a lot of people.

The book version of this tale varies widely from its film adaptation not so much in plot as in direction. Although Suzanne Collins did help in writing the screenplay for the film, it provides a completely different take on the story than her novel – not that that's a bad thing. I'll be looking at both in this review, in order. 

But first, a look at the world Collins has created, and the themes presented. Collins's world is a dystopia – a world where the few wealthy folks oppress the many poor folks. While this is not uncommon in dystopian fiction, Collins's Panem has a distinct air of class war to it – the opulence of the Capitol is made to look almost disgusting compared to the abject poverty of District 12, and even within District 12, the merchants and government workers are contrasted with the Seam citizens (the common people working in the mines). There's an unspoken cry of "Unfair!"  behind the whole picture – one that makes me think that, if the current government were overthrown, Panem could very easily, and with popular approval, be reshaped into another kind of dystopia – Communism.

There's also a distinct air of the later Roman Empire's "panem et circenses" philosophy, which says that, given enough popcorn and bad movies, the citizenry will forget about political affairs, and let the government do as it pleases. This is a much more relevant theme, but one that goes largely unexplored. Collins makes sure to emphasize the brutality of forcing children to kill one another on live television. She also makes multiple references to Greco-Roman culture – the introductory chariot promenading, the Coliseum-like atmosphere of the arena, the names of some of the Capitol people (Cinna, Portia, Octavia, Flavius, Cato, etc.), and even the nature of the Games themselves. However, at least in the first book, she fails to explain just how this principle works. Aren't the Games more of a reminder of the outrageous travesties the Capitol has caused? Wouldn't they inspire rebellion more than put it down? And just how distracting is the entertainment, when every second of it reminds you of how the Capitol has oppressed you? The enslavement that television brings isn't explored widely in the book or the movie, and I wish it was. 
More on that later. For now, let's move on to the book. 

The first thing I noticed upon reading was the first-person point of view. Now, there's a lot of debate on this, but the general consensus is, while first-person may create the added advantages of immediacy (forcing the audience into the main character's shoes) and can create more detailed main characters (putting you into his/her head), it can be restricting. Collins cannot tell anything Katniss does not already know, so the inner feelings of the other characters, the inner workings of the Capitol, and the innards of anyone but Katniss are a mystery. Sacrificing this broader perspective gives us a somewhat more intense reading experience, and a better insight into Katniss herself. 

Many have praised Katniss as a wonderful example of a strong female character, as opposed to Bella Swan. However, I found myself, while certainly sympathizing with her, not empathizing with her. While Katniss's dedication to her sister is touching, and her skill with bows and arrows impressive, there seemed to be nothing concerning her personal growth throughout the story. By the end, she seems very much the same as when she began, if a little more traumatized and battle-hardened. Besides her dramatic and rather abrupt decision at the end of the Games, she has not changed noticeably. The skills she takes out of the arena are the same as the skills she took into it – a fierce desire to survive (and who doesn't have that), and wicked bow and arrow skills (which most of us do not have, but many of us are now attempting to acquire). She is strong, but in a way that makes us wish we were her, rather than feel that we are her. For a better illustration of this point, or if you happen to like the BBC series "Sherlock," see the link below.

http://misstransmission.co.uk/the-real-woman-why-molly-hooper-is-the-one-who-counts

That being said, I did care about Katniss – when someone's life is in danger, you tend to care a lot more than you would otherwise. Collins's other characters, on the other hand, are radiant – while they all seem rather secondary, due to the nature of the point of view, they are hugely memorable and nicely executed. There are a great many characters to juggle around in this tale, and Collins does it by defining them by one or two characteristics in such a way that we can remember every one of them. Collins treads the fine line between character and caricature, giving every minor character a certain level of respect, even Effie Trinket, one of the most annoying women in contemporary literature. I fell in love with Rue, Cinna, and even Foxface, to some degree. I largely ignored, however, the awkward Twilight-esque love triangle revolving around Katniss, Gale, and Peeta. 

A love triangle involving two incredibly handsome boys/men fighting over one indecisive girl/woman has been done before, and very badly, too. Collins manages to pull it off, but only just barely. There were times where I felt that the invention of the triangle had been executed simply to draw in the Twilight audience – it felt fake and unnecessary. A love triangle like that is every teenage girl's fantasy – or, in the words of Guinevere from the musical "Camelot":
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?
Where are all those adoring daring boys?
Where's the knight pining so for me
he leaps to death in woe for me?
Oh where are a maiden's simple joys?
Shan't I have the normal life a maiden should?
Shall I never be rescued in the wood?
Shall two knights never tilt for me
and let their blood be spilt for me?
Oh where are the simple joys of maidenhood?
Shall I not be on a pedestal,
Worshipped and competed for?
Not be carried off, or better still,
Cause a little war?
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?
Are those sweet, gentle pleasures gone for good?
Shall a feud not begin for me?
Shall kith not kill their kin for me?
Oh where are the trivial joys?
Harmless, convivial joys?
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

*ahem* 

Collins' tone is simple, easy to read, and very much Katniss – she pays special attention to every detail of the opulence of the Capital, especially the food, as a starved countrydweller would. I appreciate an author taking the time to really get into her character's head – unfortunately, she has picked rather an unpoetic head into which to go. Katniss has little artistry with her words, and writes rather simply – that in itself has its own sort of beauty, but I can hardly call her an artist of language. It may also have led to something else undesirable, which I will mention later.

On the upside, Collins creates some truly beautiful moments in her work – you can tell her background with television writing in the way she stages some memorable, beautifully handled bits of dialogue and action.  For instance, the end of Katniss and Gale's goodbye meeting could not have been made any better – Collins works very well with a lack of dialogue, using actions and Katniss's wonderings to make jewels out of events. At times, she replaces what would have been useless or inadequate dialogue with a bag of cookies, a piece of bread, or a closing door – manipulating details in such a way as to give them much more meaning than any words ever could. It's this delicate handling of emotion and action that keeps me reading – these small gems amid the rocks. 

There are also some terribly handled moments, as well – moments that are, too, wordless, but corny in a Russell T. Davies sort of way. When the whole of District 12 refuses to clap along with Effie for Katniss's volunteering, instead raising their hands as one in a sign of respect, it felt choreographed – outright emotional manipulation that made no sense in the world outside of television and fiction. Luckily, the number of good moments exceeded the number of bad ones.

Some of these special moments were preserved in the movie, but most of the good ones were not. Thankfully, these missed good moments were replaced with film moments that gave an entirely new perspective of the story. I talked earlier about how first-person point of view was restricting – in film, there is no such thing as point of view (unless you're talking about found-footage movies) – everything must be done in third-person. This allowed the film to go where the book could not – we see the world of the Capitol, the machinations of the top brass, and the minds of the Gamemakers themselves. President Snow gets to explain the mindset behind the Games, Cato gets a moment of desperate/insane/driven-over-the-edge bad guy monologuing that helps us to realize how far the Games have driven him, and we get to see the frankly very cool control room where the Gamemakers control the environment. The social and political implications of the novel are also fleshed out in the film, to great effect.

But these, too, must come at a cost. Because Katniss is not going to narrate all her thoughts out loud, the film was hard pressed to get moviegoers into her mind as the book did. The cinematographer, the one sort of point-of-view we as an audience are going to get, seemed to think that using a handheld for a good three-quarters of the movie would result in a more first-person sort of experience (again, think found footage). The only experience I got was a massive headache from the giant screen rolling and pitching, shuddering and fluttering in the dark room. 

Lucky for them, Jennifer Lawrence was able to bring a lot out of the character in a way that was tangible to her audience – a truly phenomenal actress, she kept a lot of the book in the film simply through her spot-on interpretation of Katniss. Still, the difference is obvious – in the book, it is very clear that Katniss is only pretending to like Peeta, but in the movie, that is a lot less clear. In fact, she seems conflicted, half the time, as to whether or not she is developing a romantic attachment to the boy with the bread.

I had a bone to pick with some of the other casting decisions. While I felt that most people were well-casted, particularly Rue, I disliked Cinna and Haymitch. Cinna had been one of my favorite characters in the book, simply because he was the artist that didn't feel the need to be as flamboyant as the stereotype – the book described him as looking not at all like the other Capitol fashionables. While he is certainly not in the same shocking fashions as the rest of the Capitol residents (by the way, major props to the costume designer for such daring outfits), he seemed to fit the stereotypical African-American fashion-man. Watch any fashion-related television show, find an African-American man, and you will see what I mean.  I think the studio had a chance to really be bold with a character here – find someone who looked quiet and seemingly normal, but with an insane sort of fire in his eyes – and they chose the safe way out: someone who looked as people expect a fashion designer to look, and who lacked the fire that makes a memorable character. My issues with Haymitch are smaller, but also important – he didn't look quite as disheveled, drunk, or just plain disgusting as the book stated. In fact, he reminded me of a well-groomed country singer. 

The book made many sacrifices to fit the attention span of today's moviegoers. A lot of characters and moments were cut out, and much character development was lost (e.g. Madge giving Katniss the mockingjay pin, Gale's cut-off goodbye, Peeta's being drugged). And I found myself a little creeped out by how much I and my fellow moviegoers were rooting for Katniss – as if we wanted her and Peeta to kill everyone else and win. By sacrificing moments such as Cato mourning over the loss of Clove, and instead painting the other Tributes as soulless villains, the film lost sight of the book's goal – to reveal the complete wrongness of putting children/human beings on television and forcing them to compete like animals. 

Speaking of animals, how about those muttations? Frankly, I'm very glad they chose to stage the dog attack at night – any more light and we would have been able to see the sloppy CG. In fact, the genetic mutations idea in general, both in the book and in the film, felt poorly developed. Genetic mutations are a subgenre of science fiction in their own right – to casually mention them as a plot-pushing convenience to make your animals seem stranger and more dangerous is to do the principle an injustice. Concerning CG, however, the wasps were passable, but the dogs were inexcusably bad – with CG wonders such as Rango and The Adventures of TinTin coming out every few months, one wonders how anyone manages to get away with this. Obvious greenscreening and CG sloppiness abound in the chariot scene as well – the studio obviously knew this was not their strong point, since they kept most of the scenes indoors or in the woods. Too picky, you say? Perhaps. Maybe on a smaller home television screen the effects won't be as bad, but as a theatergoing experience, I was disappointed.

Obviously, I'm nitpicking quite a lot. Some would say far too much. But it's these little moments in a movie - particularly a science fiction movie, where so much relies on managing to suspend the audience's disbelief – that ruin everything. I felt myself getting absorbed in the movie…and then jerked back into reality by something flatly and unapologetically unrealistic – poor CG, unrealistic dialogue, or just the fact that somehow Peeta knows how to use mud to make his face look EXACTLY like a rock surface without makeup kit or mirror while bleeding to death. 
In the end, the Hunger Games is a pretty good book and a slightly-less-so movie. The concept behind it is unusual and exciting, and its execution fairly good, fluctuating wildly between the profound and the mundane. For YA fiction, I'd consider this a masterpiece, and quite an achievement, given what fiction of that ilk has been for the past few years. But it's hardly what everyone has hyped it up to be. 

In fact, I find the hype dangerous. Collins's ideas concerning the trivialization of violence in media and the moral dangers of "game" competition come out loud and clear in the book, and in the film, they are punctuated by the quite ghastly wounds that many of the characters endure. But it seems that many preteens are happy to ignore those messages and concern themselves only with Team-Gale-vs.-Team-Peeta, or what-District-do-I-come-from, or what-I-would-do-if-I-was-a-Tribute. The fact that Collins's book is so easy to read, and the fact that librarians and teachers quickly recommend it in their euphoria over preteens even wanting to read at all, continue to put The Hunger Games into the hands and minds of many who are probably too young or immature to pick up on these themes…and The Hunger Games, rather than warning audiences about desensitization, will only contribute to it.

My friend

I have a long-distance friend called Brandon the Orthodox. I call him this, not because he does not have other interesting features, but because I know many Brandons, and he is the only Orthodox Christian among them, and we have a habit of discussing Orthodox Christianity almost every night over facebook chat.
These conversations often last for hours each night, and occasionally dive into other topics, but eventually wind up with him explaining some Orthodox tradition or practice to me, such as icons or liturgical prayer, and then my challenging it, and him refuting my challenge, and my eventual mental exhaustion and need for sleep terminating the conversation. Which leaves me to ponder the discussion as I drift off into oblivion.
As a result of these conversations, I have NOT gone Orthodox (yet), but I have reconsidered and re-evaluated many practices generally accepted in my church community. For example, I have realized that liturgical prayer is not useless, and is, in fact, beautiful and beneficial. I have also been led to ponder the nature of the word "image," and of symbolic acts such as Communion and baptism. And in these discussions, I discover how much I do not know, how much I do not understand. And often, I realize it is not for me to understand. For if I were to understand and know everything, there would be no mystery in God, no awe in worship. And I am satisfied in not knowing in full, and knowing only in part, so that God may further be glorified.

Things I love...and things I hate continued

21. Understanding.
22. People who consistently write blog posts that no one except two specific people seem to understand. If you want to be exclusive, write an email. Don't make me read it.
23. Clarity
24. Unnecessary subtlety
25. People
26. People
27. Missionaries
28. Missionary stories
29. Trans-Siberian Orchestra
30. Siberia
31. Running, biking, and walking
32. Exercise
33. Eating
34. Thinking about how many calories I just consumed.
35. Comparative politics
36. Politicians
37. Belief
38. Believing blindly
39. Finishing a list
40. Finishing THIS list

Things I love...and things I hate

So all the odd numbers will be things I love, and all the even ones, the things I hate. They switch back 'n' forth, y'see.

1. Friends that I can chat with online for hours about deep topics.
2. Friends that attempt to chat with me about nothing - like seriously, guys? You say hi...and then proceed to talk about...absolutely nothing important? awwwwkward.
3. Friends that will talk to me in real life and on chat.
4. Friends that will talk to me on chat...but seem to dislike talking on the phone, or in real life.
5. Fiction/fantasy
6. People who live in a fantasy.
7. Music
8. A "song" in rap. Which is not music.
9. Most books on Christianity.
10. Most Christian books.
11. Cannons
12. Pachelbel's Cannon.
13. Making videos.
14. Watching videos that other normal people made.
15. Smiling
16. Looking at pictures of myself smiling.
17. My college friends
18. Watching my friends leave for college.
19. Complaining in a witty fashion
20. Listening to other people complain in non-witty fashion.

On Courage, Muslims, and More

I had a discussion with a friend last night, concerning many things, but mainly centered around God's will and murder and killing (it's a long story/argument, the gist of which I may or may not post at a later time).

But while we were talking about it, the subject of suicide bombing came up. Both he and I agreed that there was something we could learn from Muslim fundamentalists - NOT suicide bombing, but rather the courage to do so, if God willed it. We both thought that such courage was greatly lacking among Christians, particularly in America. Not many of the Christians I know would be willing to study bombmaking for years, and then blow themselves up with one if God called them to do so.

Some might protest, saying that God would never tell anyone to do such a thing. Well, He has in the past. The Canaanites were to be completely wiped out, every man, woman, and child. It was also God's will for Elisha to call out bears to maul children who had done nothing more than tease Him. It was God's will to wipe out the entire population of the earth, minus eight people. Unreasonable? Perhaps. But crazy or not, we as God's people are to be prepared to carry out His will, no matter how cruel or "unreasonable" in our eyes it may be.

kung-fu phony

I've recently been watching a lot of kung-fu movies, thanks in part to my mom's efforts to integrate more Chinese into my life. But as part of it...I've become rather jaded.

First of all, a disclaimer. I do not bash kung-fu movies because of their over-masculinity. I do not claim to dislike action movies. I do not claim to dislike violence in movies.

However, it is the ludicrousness and the predictability of such movies that I dislike. I mean, quite honestly, one man repeatedly battling huge swarms of minions and then battling "THE EPIC EVIL DUDE OF DOOM" in a close fight and then winning is no way for a story to go. It is hardly realistic. It is hardly anything but predictable. And although there is a stereotypical theme (usually that of courage in impossible odds, or of fighting for what you believe in, or the like), one can argue, and argue well, that there are a hundred better ways to portray it than through a kung-fu movie.

Although the physical conflict is more than present, I must argue that the emotional conflict in such cases tend to be tacky, or nonexistent. The characters are stereotypes, and the dialogue something out of a comic book. They have very little depth, and too much action. In fact, oftentimes, there is too much action and too little story for anyone to really care about the characters, much less how they end up. And usually, one can guess those as well.

I guess there is some thrill in seeing epic battles play out on the screen. However, this last note I have to say: the best conflict is played out not on the battlefield, but in the heart and in the mind.

Disney-fied

As some of you may know, I recently went to Disneyworld. Which got me thinking for some reason.

I have friends who are anti-Disney. They can't stand any Disney movie (Pixar doesn't count), because of its medieval/unrealistic/babyish ideas. NOT every girl will be a princess (in fact, if you live in America, you never will). NOT every singer becomes a world-famous rock star with two identities. There is NO SUCH THING as a magic carpet, a star you can wish on, or a benevolent fat lady with wand that will give you anything you ask for out of thin air. NO frogs will turn into princes upon being kissed, and then promptly marry you.

I remembered these people (you shall forever remain nameless, don't worry) as I was walking through Disney (specifically, as I was waiting in a line. One of many lines.). And all I could think of was how much they would hate this place. It was so...happy. So...magical. And so very unrealistic.

Of course, that practically ruined my mood, so I tried not to think such thoughts for the rest of the day.

On the opposite tack, the next evening, my brother and I were sitting on the bleachers, watching "Fantasmic," one of the big Broadway spectacular/fireworks extravaganzas. I remember sitting right next to me was a little girl, maybe three years old. The minute a Disney princess came out on the stage, she would stand up on the bleacher and point, with a smile the size of a watermelon slice on her face. When the big dragon appeared to devour Mickey, she began sobbing like the world was about to end. In fact, when even the entrance music for one of the bad guys began playing (the bad guy didn't even have to show up), she would bawl.

Of course, my first thought is "Aw, isn't that sweet." And the next thought, "Wow, that's really innocent...and naive." That, of course, put me into an argument with myself as to how to react to such things - with cynicism or with "childlike wonder."

I ended up choosing the latter option - which made my experience all the more pleasant. With just a tiny effort, my entire week was made "magical." I would gasp every time a firework went off, as if it had been pixie dust and not gunpowder. I would sing randomly throughout the day, as if there had always been a soundtrack to my life. I played along when Peter Pan asked me if there was a fairy in my battery-powered light-up pen. I was an evil bounty hunter for ten minutes when I got stuck in a line with two 4-foot-tall Jedi. I had the time of my life.

I realized - it's a lot like reading fiction. Or watching movies. No one points out the fact that the Boondock Saints could never have existed, that DeLoreans can't be modified into time machines, that there is no Middle Earth besides the white-hot core of our planet. Because for those 2 hours, we're not absorbed in how unrealistic the movie is. We want to know the story. And we'd quickly duct-tape closed the mouth of anyone who tries to ruin it for us by constantly reminding us of how unrealistic it is.

So if I ever go to Disneyworld with any of you reading this blog...beware. I have duct tape. And I'm not afraid to use it.