13 is for change

After the announcement of the 13th Doctor, I found myself thinking a bit about representation. I wanted to write a blog post on the topic, but shied away from it, as I was unsure of my footing. There are other voices than mine that can speak with greater experience and truth on this. And so I didn’t write that post. This is a different one.

BP3

Black Panther hit the cinemas with enough force to rattle the internet in February 2018. It had in it (by my count and if you exclude the last post-credit scene and Stan Lee’s obligatory cameo) two named white characters. One was Ulysses Klaue, and his final moment in the MCU was to be reduced to a plot point by Eric Killmonger. A suitable comeuppance, although I’m sad to see Andy Serkis leave the franchise. The other was Everett Ross, and perhaps there is something to be said for fixing broken white boys, because Ross transitioned nicely into the role of helper, not leader. It was refreshing to watch.

And it was more than just refreshing to see the host of excellent, three-dimensional characters that made up the rest of the cast, from the funny, super-smart and indomitable Shuri effortlessly developing and piloting her wonderful tech; the utterly capable and honourable Okoye struggling with the oaths to the throne whilst leading the awesome Dora Milaje; the strong and outward-looking Nakia; the righteous and merciful T’Challa; to the intimidating and undoubtedly nasty, but still highly relatable, Killmonger, who shared an absolutely harrowing and multi-layered scene with his father N’Jobu. It was more than just refreshing. It was about time.

I’ve heard it said that representation should come ‘naturally’, that it should not be ‘forced’, that we should be ‘blind’ to categories of privilege and so not actively ‘push’ for inclusion of those historically marginalised. I think that is a pile of bovine droppings.

Change doesn’t come easy. It doesn’t come by ambling unobstructed into some utopian land. It comes by work – hard work – in the face of opposition. The same opposition that is annoyed at ‘forced’ inclusion but oblivious to forced exclusion. The same forced exclusion that has for centuries, through sheer weight of history, come to look normal. Change will remove privileges. One of these is the privilege to see almost exclusively people like oneself on screen and on paper, in active roles, driving the story. I enjoy that privilege in part, whether I want to or not, and I am glad to see it frayed, showing glimpses of a fictional universe that better mirrors our actual one. It matters to me.

“When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”
(Unknown)

The discomfort that some may feel from change may be simply losing a bit of their privilege, which should not be confused with oppression or losing rights. More rights for others do not mean fewer rights for me!

Forgetting for a moment that it is very dull indeed to blather on about the same segment of society and forget about the rest, it is important to remember that the systematic exclusion of people is untruthful. Perpetuating these old lies, either it be for reasons of agenda or of laziness, is the same as contributing to the deceit.

Wiser people than me have spoken about race, gender and representation. I can see that the past has held some perfectly good, diverse characters, but that these have been scattered sparsely across a sadly rather homogenous landscape, at least in mainstream media. But now I see more. And better. And more begets more, until it is starting to feel like something is going right.

I see how it resonates with people. I know how it feels for myself. It makes me so happy I could weep. And that is the sum of this post: I want more of this, please, and I will do my best, whether it be by my own production, by voting with my wallet or voice, or by sitting in the audience, listening and learning, to make it continue and grow.

There is a new Doctor in town, and she has been long awaited. As moments go, this is a huge one.

 

(This was always and only meant as a short post on a portion of a larger momentum, so apologies for the geeky bent, for omitting great films in other genres (e.g. Moonlight) and completely skipping out on other types of media.)

(Posted on March 8th for a reason. Happy International Women’s Day, all!)

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World War Z (the film)

I reviewed the Max Brooks bestselling zombie horror in September last year, and made the following remark about the film:

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War (Max Brooks) was the zombie book I couldn’t be bothered reading, mostly because the trailer for the film left me a bit underwhelmed. (I have still not seen the film, having had it described to me as ‘Globetrotting Brad Pitt’, so any advice as to whether it is worth my time would be greatly appreciated.)

Having (finally) seen the film, I am disappointed to say that I stand by my earlier ‘meh’ stance, although I think ‘globetrotting Brad Pitt’ is perhaps a bit too harsh. I knew the film would not be faithful to the novel, but this is not even remotely the same story. The theme is not the same, the characters are not the same, and even the zombies are a different type of monster (think 28 days later zombies rather than shambling hordes). The elements I thought were excellent in the book (the social commentary and all-so-human failings including ineptitude, greed and selfishness) were ignored in the film (action, action and more action, plus Brad Pitt being a bit too stoic in the face of flesh-eating monsters). It is a pity, because a more faithful adaptation could have been fantastic. A social satire, District 9 kind of film. As it is, World War Z is a perfectly adequate zombie film feeling like a thoroughly wasted opportunity.

wwz_brad_pitt(Brad Pitt looking mournfully at the world burning)

World War Z is a good reminder not to underestimate your audience. The book does not, and is all the stronger for it. The film does, and I fully expect it to age as quickly as its special effects.

City of Lost Children

If you have not seen La cité des enfants perdus, directed by Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet, you have missed out. This film, although now more than 20 years old, is glorious. It is a French dark science-fiction film with steampunk and surrealist elements. It is visually stunning down to the smallest detail with gloomy canals and streets, atmospheric bars and old decrepit buildings, often presented at an almost grotesque, distorted angle. Even the costumes are top-notch, signed Jean Paul Gaultier. It is complicated, unnerving and almost claustrophobic, but beautiful in its unpleasantness.

For those that write, this is the kind of film that tickles the brain. Here, in viewing, sneaky plots are hatched and oddball what-ifs are born.

Synopsis (some spoilers ahead): The story revolves around the kidnapping of children from an unnamed port city by a cult of cyborgs, called the Cyclops. The children are delivered to a man-like creature called Krank, who steals their dreams for himself. Krank, unable to dream and aging rapidly as a result, keeps the children in his lair at an abandoned oilrig, guarded by his creations (six child-like sons (clones), a dwarf and a brain in a vat). One of the kidnapped children’s adopted elder brother, a carnival strongman named One, is hired by a gang of orphans to steal a safe, but spots the Cyclops during the theft. He then joins forces with Miette, one of the orphans, to save his brother. [End of synopsis, to avoid major spoilers]

The story contains conjoined twins that are also criminal masterminds, trained venomous fleas, a dream-stealing machine, a lost scientist and a fair few fistfights and explosions, in addition to everything mentioned in the brief synopsis above. Still, in my humble opinion, it is not that strange. Of course, the surrealism is present, but the story is quite easy to follow despite making the odd jump. My preferred mode of watching this particular film is letting it drift past, slowly sink in, and not worry too much about the details. To me, the City of Lost Children is more about emotion and ideas than about plot.

So what are the emotions and the ideas? It has been discussed in some detail, brushing upon the dual nature of capitalism and the different faces of human nature, to name but a few. My own thoughts go towards greed. Both sides of the story’s equation contain protagonists and villains. One and Miette are clearly heroic figures in this tale, foiled by very human (and very criminal) elements. At the same time, Krank’s creations are often innocent, foiled by their creator. To me, the overarching theme is how greed and personal gain at the expense of others (the twins, Krank, the Cyclops) conflicts with altruism (Miette, who helps One; One, who seeks to save his brother). It may not be a particularly advanced take on what is arguably a rather complex film, but it is a convenient umbrella for many of the finer discussion points (capitalism, human nature etc.).

I also think there is an interesting contrast between innocence and experience. Both the human side and the mechanical/created side has a sharp divide between those who are innocent versus those who are not. This is perhaps the most obvious in the relationship between One and Miette, where One is the innocent despite being the adult. It is a lovely contrast, and it allows Miette a very interesting role as the responsible person in their relationship, acting as the guardian of the interests of One. The difference in strength (highlighted by one scene in particular) serves to accentuate this unusual balance. This deviation from traditional roles and relationships is something I always appreciate in storytelling, and The City of Lost Children has it in spades.

Miette is, in fact, one of the most interesting characters in the film. Her experience and cynicism are believable, given that the landscape of the film is that of exploitation of children by adults (either by kidnapping and dream-stealing, or by forcing them into criminal activities). The city of lost children, and lost childhood, indeed.

The performances are solid. Particularly Daniel Emilfork as Krank, and Ron Perlman as One. Perlman was cast on the back of his role in Guillermo del Toro’s Kronos (another great film), and his performance as the taciturn, child-like adult is excellent. Again, it plays wonderfully against Miette, less than half his size and more than twice his intellect and experience.

Angelo Badalamenti (of Twin Peaks fame) created the soundtrack, with the theme sung by the amazing Marianne Faithful. The result is light and ‘carnivalesque’ at times, but with an underlying seriousness and a sombre feel. I particularly love the main theme, L’anniversaire D’irvin and Miette’s theme, but the entire soundtrack is worth a listen.

Have a look at the trailer for a taste of what the film is like:

Alexii Muftoll’s In The Tall Grass

I came across Alexii Muftoll’s short horror animation film In The Tall Grass when I was writing the review for Stephen King and Joe Hill’s novella of the same name. The animation is an atmospheric and unsettling account of twisted perception, told through the eyes of Joseph, hiding in his own flat from horrors that may only exist in his own head. Watch it for yourself or visit Muftoll’s vimeo page.

Salieri the villain

“I will speak for you, Father. I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint.”

If I had to choose a favourite film, it would be Amadeus, almost solely because of my appreciation for Salieri. It is Salieri who carries the story, Salieri who narrates, Salieri with whom we identify. Salieri is the protagonist, and Salieri is the villain.

I have pondered this film often enough to figure out why I love Salieri’s brand of villainy so much, and have narrowed it down to four reasons.

First, Salieri and Mozart are similar. They share their love for music and their ambition to compose and be applauded. They occupy the same niche, even as Mozart is vastly more talented than Salieri. A relationship, even an antagonistic one, is built upon similarities as well as differences. The shared traits are amplifiers of the conflict. Without such parallels, the hero-villain dynamic becomes a simple black and white affair, but with them, we get nuances of grey. It is in these patches of overlap that relationships become interesting, but to achieve that, there needs to be common ground. Salieri is hopelessly fascinated with Mozart’s music, adores it like no other in the film. He is touched to the core by reading the sheet music for Serenade for Winds, and while he engineers the failure of The Marriage of Figaro, he attends all of its limited performances in secret. This fuels his hatred for Mozart but also creates complicating moments of sympathy between the characters.

Second, Salieri and Mozart are different. We see Salieri in the beginning of the film, a respected composer with reasonable talent, likable, civilised: a fortunate, content man. Enter Mozart, a loud and crass man, and from Salieri’s (and therefore the audience’s) point of view undeserving of his talent. Where Salieri is reserved, Mozart is boisterous; where Salieri is knowledgeable, Mozart is ignorant; where Salieri is manipulative, Mozart is naive. Interestingly, this is perpetuated throughout the film, but increasingly in reverse. As Mozart’s flamboyance, braying laughter, thoughtlessness and tactlessness give way to a much more subdued and arguably more sympathetic character, Salieri becomes aggressive, overtly nasty (see the scene with Mrs Mozart) and cruel.

This balancing of Salieri’s villainy with the tempered Mozart is crucial to allow the two characters to stay at opposite ends of the spectrum as the story progresses. It maintains the diametrically opposite relationship and forms the contrast against which Salieri’s descent can be more clearly seen. At the same time, the love for music tethers the increasingly villainous protagonist and his increasingly sympathetic antagonist to each other, never allowing them to drift apart.

Thirdly, Salieri’s justification is clear. From Mozart’s introduction and his tactless reworking of Salieri’s welcome composition in a public and humiliating manner, we understand Salieri. Who has not felt mediocre, envious, and bitter at the success of others, and presumably with less cause? His every petty thought is relatable on some level. Upon Mozart’s arrival, Salieri’s talent is instantly dwarfed, his self-image and ambition crushed. He is humiliated and insulted. It is no great stretch to see that he wants retribution. Maybe even deserves it. Unlike weaker villains, Salieri gives us someone with whom to identify, leading us every tiny step of the way into the role of villain. It is a well-crafted slippery slope, each move so easily justifiable almost until the end. Particularly since Salieri’s jealousy is ever tempered by his love for Mozart’s music. Even in his final deceit, Salieri supports the composition whilst working to destroy the composer.

Finally, Salieri is unable to win. Even though Mozart dies, poor and almost alone, Salieri still loses and destroys himself through his own inadequacy, jealousy and rage. If the story had ended with Mozart’s burial, the film would have been a much simpler story of one man destroying another. Instead, we are given the final scene: Salieri wheeled away, old, mad and bitter, having endured a front-row seats to his own destruction for 32 years, watching himself judged by time and found lacking. All to the tune of the second movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor.

“Mediocrities everywhere… I absolve you… I absolve you… I absolve you… I absolve you… I absolve you all.”

Exit stage.

Book review: World War Z

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War (Max Brooks) was the zombie book I couldn’t be bothered reading, mostly because the trailer for the film left me a bit underwhelmed. (I have still not seen the film, having had it described to me as ‘Globetrotting Brad Pitt’, so any advice as to whether it is worth my time would be greatly appreciated.) But I picked it up a few weeks ago, looking for something entertaining and gory, and I was positively surprised.

wwz_brad_pitt

Written as a series of interviews, Brooks weaves a nice story of a zombie plague, pulling in politicians, civilians and military personnel amongst others, to paint a surprisingly believable picture of a plague outbreak. Whilst the zombies themselves are make-believe, I did not have to suspend my disbelief at the portrayal of profiteers, accidental heroes, conspiracy theorists, desperate parents and myopic leaders. Indeed, some of the themes, such as isolationism and inept leadership, can hardly be said to belong solely to the province of fiction. The interviews span a range of responses to a pandemic, and the individual voices were done well enough for me to believe in the characters.

Writing the book as an assembly of individual accounts has one very obvious advantage: it allows for a generous number of viewpoints. When describing a global event, the number of responses and fates will be vast, and Brooks gets to cover more of these than if the story had followed a more traditional trajectory. This way, we can choose from all countries and all walks of life without shoehorning characters into one storyline. We also remove geographical constraints, meaning there will be more to the story than a besieged wal-mart or a stretch of motorway. Whilst it remains quite US-centric, it is refreshing to note that other continents get more than a brief mention.

In many ways, the book reminded me slightly of The Sheep Look Up by John Brunner due to the multi-strand narrative, although Brunner’s book is thematically different (deteriorating environment) and somewhat more dystopian.

Which brings me to my perhaps sole quibble with World War Z: it is less bleak than it could have been, despite being more serious than its predecessor The Zombie Survival Manual. I know it may not be everybody’s cup of tea, but for me, it would have packed a greater punch if it had received a greater infusion of pessimism. That being said, I still enjoyed it immensely and know many readers who prefer a hint of hope with their horror.

Brooks has said that he views the zombie more like a virus than a traditional predator, and that it is this aspect, the lack of any hope for rational discourse or negotiation, that makes the zombie frightening. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, predation and contagions/infection are the two categories of horror that tend to generate the most successful horror films. Zombies tick both boxes. Yet, they somehow take a back seat in World War Z.

For sure, the zombie in World War Z is the catalyst, the fuel of the story and the indisputable monster of the tale, but the focus remains on the fighting living, not the walking dead. While there is no shortage of gore, I still thought that World War Z was more about the response to the zombie than the zombie itself. The zombie is the monster du jour: an oft-cited metaphor for an uncontrollable world, for pandemics, nuclear war and economic collapse. If we accept the zombie as metaphor, then World War Z becomes a tale of an overwhelmed world, our modern fears illustrated by a vast, unstoppable zombie horde, and it ends with the possible route to regaining control.

Then again, it might just be about monsters.

Either way, it works for me. I read in two thoroughly enjoyable sittings (which would have been one but for the need to attend work). In my view, it’s right up there with Cherie Priest’s Clockwork Century in terms of zombie excellence. If you’ve read it, or read any other zombie books that you can recommend, let me know in the comments!

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