Monday, June 28, 2010

Movies I Won't Be Seeing This Summer: The Last Airbender

There were other things I wanted to be writing about today, but then I realized that this movie is coming out on Thursday, in three days, and that if I didn't tackle this now then it wouldn't be relevant anymore.

If you're a close friend, or someone I complain to, then you've definitely heard me talk about this before. If you haven't, then great, because this is actually something I feel pretty strongly about.

Originally this post was really content heavy. I had written out a brief introduction on the show the movie is based off of, highlighting the efforts its two creators took to make it as true to their vision as possible. The first few paragraphs were bloated with facts and figures, but. . . well. . . it was too much. I'm going to try to make this as simple as I can, and leave you to do your own research.


Avatar: The Last Airbender is a show set in an Asian-influenced world, and based on traditional Asian culture. More than that, it's a cartoon which manages to balance a childish sense of humour with tenets like honour and responsibility, fantastic concepts for characters and settings, and (to use a word much too overused) epic fight scenes. It's basically the perfect show for anyone who likes anything about cartoons.

Upon first hearing that there was going to be a movie, I was excited. I actually first heard about The Last Airbender film before I had even heard anything about James Cameron's movie. When I heard that Shyamalan was directing I was anything but discouraged; I really trusted him to bring this to the big screen, and to do it well.

Then came the casting. The three protagonists, Aang, Sokka, and Katara were cast as Caucasians, meaning that their respective nations, the Air Nomads and Water Tribe, would be of the same race. The main antagonist, Prince Zuko, was cast as East Indian, and his people, the Fire Nation, were subsequently cast as people of a darker skin tone. The Earth Kingdom, the fourth nation and essentially extras in the first film, was largely cast with Asians.

To put it plainly, this film will feature three white heroes battling against brown enemies to protect the Asians.

I think it needs to be understood that I don't exactly blame M. Night Shyamalan. He said he saw the actress who he wanted to play Katara, and knew he needed her in the film; I respect that. I'm a big fan of what he's chosen to do with visual effects, going above and beyond what others might settle for. he's made great decisions in putting this world on the big screen, and that's great. All in all, I don't slam his vision for this film.

I just don't think his vision is what we need right now. As it is, Asian actors are really only cast in either kung-fu movies or as comic relief. I know it can be argued that The Last Airbender is basically a kung-fu movie, but really it's so much more- it's a rich, complex world, has the possibly of two more sequels, and has an immense fanbase. The thing is that this was more than a movie, it was an opportunity.

Here was the perfect chance for Hollywood to cast Asian and Pacific Islander actors in roles that their audience would understand from watching the show. Perhaps even more importantly, here was the opportunity for a film franchise to have Asians as lead actors, to have Asian actors that could one day be household names not just because they could do martial arts, but because they could act, too.

The Last Airbender, to me, is a missed opportunity.

On top of that, it saddens me that there are kids all over the world who love this show, and who are confused that the characters they once thought were just like them are actually white. I mean, that's a confusing prospect, isn't it? It would be like a Superman movie where Superman is Indian, or a movie based on The A-Team where B.A. Baracus is Japanese.

I've said a lot, and I have more to say, but I'm going to stop here. I had to do an exhaustive amount of research on this for a school project (which I got a C+ on, thank you, professor), and I know that there are a lot of people out there who feel the way I do. Suffice to say, I've decided to boycott this film to show that I can't get behind the casting decisions that have made. I'm not telling you not to see it, I'm just letting you know that I won't be.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Two Thoughts

Today is an odd sort of post because I have two thoughts. The first was a topic lovingly provided by my good friend Megan Feniak, and the second is a thought that could not have otherwise stood alone. So- without further ado. . .

Yeah, that's it, stop reading this and read on down.


Sunglasses.

Now that it's summer I guess it's completely logical that sunglasses are back in style. If not in style, then at least in use. If we were going to talk in terms of style then it might be noted that big-framed sunglasses are what ladies are using to take up two-thirds of their faces these days.

I don’t really mind, in the sense that it creates this atmosphere of mystery. Sometimes I'll walk by a girl and think, "Huh, she was . . . a . . . female." Then, as I'm walking away, I'm thinking what could her eyes, and, more importantly, her upper cheekbones look like?

The fact of the matter is that a lot of what another person looks like comes down to eyes, and to have anti-reflective, gradient, interchangeable, mirrored, photochromatic, or polarized lenses roughly four inches in diameter over each eye really shakes that up.

I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that I like a pair of nice eyes, and sunglasses are like the abaya of the ocular region. They're almost like the anti-abaya, if you think about it, an accessory which only leaves the eyes to the imagination.

Bits of String

Once upon a time (by which I mean within the last few months) I had string on my wrists. They were all over a year old (most more so), two of them yarn bracelets from friends and the third a red string, colour long lost, that was woven and tied around my wrist my last year of high school.

As time would have it, these 'bracelets' began to wear down. They got thinner and thinner, and eventually they started to break. Undaunted, I would tie them back together, asking friends to help me. Eventually I turned to thin strips of duct tape to bind the loose ends together, hoping that they would hold.

They simply broke in other places, weak from years of being rubbed up and down my wrists, subject to the wear and tear of everyday life. I could remember when and where each one was from, and the memories associated with them, but I was unable to wear them again.

From all this, I got to thinking, maybe friendships are like bits of string. You have a friendship, much like you wear string around your wrist, and it's fun while it lasts. Later on, though, it wears away, and you're left trying to hold it together, trying in every way you can to keep the memories and not let that relationship fall apart.


At the end of the day, though, it doesn't matter. It breaks in too many places, and eventually you have to just take it and put it in your pocket, or in a desk drawer, and try to remember what it was like. Eventually your wrist no longer feels bare, and then you can move on.

Monday, June 21, 2010

I Like Things

So here I am, sitting in the basement with my laptop where it belongs (i.e. in my lap) and I'm thinking- Dang it. I need to write about something.That's happening, and all that's coming up is stuff I want to complain about, like kids these days, and what's on TV, and how living with an old person afflicted with Alzheimer's is a terrible thing- but you know what? No.

I'm going to write about something that's cool, and that I like. That's what this Monday is going to be all about.


What do I like?

I like reading.

I like writing. I like reading. I like being outside. I like cool breezes on days when its overcast but not too chilly, when there're just enough clouds to keep the sun from blinding you in the face (I know that's redundant).

I like books that bring you places, that take you by the hand, then either lead you gently or just drag you violently to where they want you to go. I like authors who understand how people think, and who are willing to take something as played out as zombies and who are willing to do in-depth sociopolitical research to determine how the world would react if they really did exist (props to you, Max Brooks).I like authors who force me to pick up a dictionary with words like cachinnation, deshabille, and consanguineous.

I like writing (with a pen).

I like being able to pick up a pen and put thoughts on paper, because then it's like, whoa, these are my thoughts, except in line-form on a really thin piece of processed wood fibre that only those with the gift of literacy can decipher. I like that you can invent worlds that are sprawling and magnificent, and that you can create worlds that are really just stupid. I like that even though you can't hack or stab someone with a pen (like you can with a sword) you can use that pen to write "REMEMBER TO EMAIL PARENTS" on your inner arm (which sure, you could do with a sword, but at what cost?).

I like living.

I like walking to the subway station on the way back from work and having someone working for Delissio giving me a free Pepperoni and Fire Roasted Peppers Crispy Flatbread Pizza. I like walking across the bridge to a farm on a hill and drawing pigs for half an hour. I like taking snapshots on Skype when the other person makes a ridiculous face and then acting like I didn't do anything. I like counting down the days until StarCraft II comes out, because I know that the wait will make the game itself so much sweeter when it arrives. I like meeting people in the Hong Kong airport who I never thought you'd bump into. I like seeing a loonie on the streetcar, asking anyone if they dropped it, having no one respond, and putting that in my pocket, because that's going out and getting money, and how often does that even happen? I like the internet because even though it can be full of filthy, vulgar things, it can also provide a solid dose of pick-me-up with videos like this: http://www.todaysbigthing.com/2010/05/17. I like going out on a run and grabbing a copy of the Metro on the way home, walking slowly and stopping whenever I get three or four clues in the crossword puzzle.

I like that you actually read all of that up there, to get down to here. I like that.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

K-kinda Busy

As usual, I have far too much to write about, and only two posts a week on which to write. That being said, I want to strike some sort of balance when it comes to the general tone of these posts. Seeing writing in colour, I don't want this to be a mass of dark grey- Hopefully I am maintaining some sort of equilibrium.

Living in the city I see a lot of phones. Phones being taken out of pockets, phones cradled between cheek and shoulder, phones being abused beneath overactive thumbs. Most of all, I see phones being a huge distraction.

Sitting on the subway a minimum of four days (and twice as many hours) a week, my eyes are constantly met with the sight of people hunched over, eyes glued to these tiny little screens. Every time I see them I am forced to ask myself (since I cannot ask them) the question Why?

I'm struck by the irony of the telephone, a device meant to bridge a gap between two people, to facilitate communication, instead being used as a gadget to keep oneself from having to interact with anyone. There isn't even any service underground (unless you're in Hong Kong), so you can't even use the phone to call or text.

I realize that I sound like an old man. To be more specific, an old man who is sick and tired of these newfangled gizmos and doohickeys and how they're complicating the world; who misses the good ol' days when he had to walk two hours through the snow to the closest internet, and where there wasn't no such thing as this wireless he hears young people complaining about these days.

Breaking it down, though, I wish people would look up a little more. People are always sitting there, tight-lipped, avoiding eye contact. If anyone is talking anywhere on the train, you can feel the general atmosphere sour if they're even a decibel louder than they need be, as if the general populace were cherishing the silence like some kind of vestal virgin, in danger of desecration.

Last week an old-ish black dude sat next to me on the subway and asked where I was from. After specifying that he meant where I was from ethnically, and hearing that I was half-Filipino, he started talking about the politics of the country. It turned out that he was in the know because he had worked for the CIA, and that he had retired due to old age and that he took the TTC because he could talk to people; because in a car you can't talk to anyone.

I don’t assume that he ever was with the CIA, or that they gave him a tidy sum of money to live comfortably in Canada. What I do know, however, is that it was refreshing to have someone to talk to. To know that some people share that freedom of being able to engage those around them. People who aren't afraid to ask you what you're reading, or who those flowers are for, or where you got that frozen pizza that you're balancing on your lap.

I'd like to be one of those people someday; maybe I'll even have to pull off a little bit of crazy to do it.

Monday, June 14, 2010

What To Do, What To Do-

So I guess that this is my first official post on the blog, barring the introduction. That being said, if I had had my way then the introduction would have been three times longer, but I’m trying to learn to be a more self-controlled writer, so there's that.

This is more of an autobiographical entry, as opposed to my thoughts on any particular subject. It happened recently, so I thought I would just hammer this out and hope people liked it. Speaking of current events, I saw
The A-Team today; it wasn't bad.

On Saturday day I spent the day with friends, and after grabbing some all-you-can-eat sushi at a pretty decent restaurant, we decided to head uptown to our old neighbourhood. So there we were, riding the subway south, just the three of us.

Now it's important that I paint a picture in your brain of how we were sitting, and hopefully I don't waste too many words on this. I was sitting with my left shoulder against the wall, facing the back of the subway; my friend Peter was on my right. Sitting in front of me, with his back to the wall, was Terence, facing the other side of the subway.

So we're cruising along, nearing our final destination, which is the northmost subway station, and then it happened.

The doors across from where we were sitting opened up, and a man stepped in. He was middle-aged, definitely in his forties or up, and was somewhat hefty. The man stepped on the subway and sat roughly across from where Terence was. The man was wearing a pink tutu, and had a little pink handbag under one arm.

Before I could help myself I was crouched over, silently laughing.

It was a terrible, terrible moment. I quickly straightened up and stared straight ahead before letting an uncontrollable giggle burst from my lips. Staring straight down, I tried to force the amusement away, tried to lock it behind sombre doors with titles like "world tragedies" and "your brother has cancer."

Terence, who had also laughed a little, was crouched over, staring intently at his phone. He gave it his full attention, even vocally informing everyone on the subway that he was reading (and laughing at) text messages. I stared directly at a spot on the side of Terence's chair, and talked to Peter. Every now and then Terence would shake or laugh for a split second, and I would almost lose it. As I was talking to Peter I would hesitate, stuttering through words as I fought to keep it all in.

The man stepped off on the stop before ours, and we all inwardly breathed sighs of relief.

Waiting at that final station for another friend to pick us up, I let it all out. The laughter exited slowly, sporadically, and I felt the tension ease its way out. Out of the nineteen years I've spent on this earth, I can honestly say I've never felt so certain I was going to hell than that moment.

I'm sorry, and still am. It's easy to type and I said it over and over after it had happened. Barring my remorse and shame, however, I had been terrified. I had publicly laughed at a large man in a ballet costume, and I had been frightened out of my mind. It had exacerbated, instead of lessened, my giggling. My initial amusement was further fueled by nervous laughter; I was easily as scared, if not more so, than I was entertained.

Looking back on that day, at those ten or so horrible minutes on that subway, I'm not really sure what to think. The first thing my mind remembers is being afraid, with only the slightest afterthought to the amusement. It's difficult for me to even recall what he looked like.

This is all very drawn out and awkwardly written, but I just wanted to share this snippet of my life with you. Sometimes things happen and you can't control them. It's just that sometimes, after it's happened, it's difficult to understand what exactly to do with that experience.

Sharing this is what I've decided to do with mine.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

The Introduction

You are reading this.

You are reading this and that is, to put it frankly, sort of amazing. It's amazing because it means that for a few short moments, or however long it takes you to skim this, my thoughts are in your head.

End of thought. I don't really have anything more to say about that. What's a little more pressing at the moment is that this is a blog, and that this is that blog's first post and I need to say what I need to say to set-up some sort of structure; to be more clear, to lay out what exactly this is for.

Blogging is, as far as I'm concerned, all about ego.

If you're not blogging news, or advice, or recipes, or some form of knowledge that's generally useful - if you're blogging only your own thoughts - that says something about you. What kind of person just throws their own personal opinions and mental working out there on the internet, the most public forum out there, and expects anyone to read it?

It's not like people are going to buy the excuse that the person doesn't care if anyone looks at it. If they didn't want it to be read they would have scrawled their thoughts into a little leather bound journal with a tiny lock on it, hidden the itty bitty key on its threadlike fake silver chain, and stuffed it under their mattress, or beneath their socks.

All writers know that when people read what they've written, and enjoy it, it is the best feeling in the world.

Am I a writer?

That's really what I think this all comes down to. Sure, I love it when people read my stories and tell me they like them, or when I get back an essay I worked hard on and it has anything upwards of an A- on it. Who doesn't? The fact of the matter is, though, that I don't write.

Well, I do occasionally, but not near often enough. I have a head that is full of thoughts and I spend so much time in it that very little of it gets out there. I feel like one of those pressure cookers they use on Iron Chef America, thousands of pounds of pressure all compressed into a very small space.

This blog is, to put it shortly, a way of letting that pressure out. It's going to be my thoughts and my opinions and it's going to be very honest (or, as I like to put it, straight-up). I want it to be able to be read by anyone, whether I know them or not. I don't want it to be dismal, dark, or dreary, if it's going to be alliteratively descriptive at all I want it to be interesting, intriguing, and inviting.

So it's going to be updated every week, Monday and Thursday, until forever. I don't have any reason to stop, so there's no solid finish line out there.

That's all I have to say for now, but I really, sincerely, honestly hope that if you do come glancing around this side of the internet, you'll flip through a few posts and won't regret that you did. Maybe you'll even enjoy it a little.