"We knew from all the
romantic novels I'd read
out loud in my squeaky
voice, often with gestures,
that beautiful people had
their privacy destroyed
by passionate strangers."
(Here.)
Showing posts with label Pop Culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pop Culture. Show all posts
12.6.12
Beautiful People
"We knew from all the
romantic novels I'd read
out loud in my squeaky
voice, often with gestures,
that beautiful people had
their privacy destroyed
by passionate strangers."
(Here.)
11.2.11
A tweet worth blogging / Social media is so meta
If you don't know what "some cartoons" refers to, see this, and please also understand that a friendship between us might be difficult.
13.1.11
3.12.10
A sense of humour about India...
...is not something I am generally understood to have.
Then again, that's probably because no American
humourist has ever gotten knee deep in dye.
Then again, that's probably because no American
humourist has ever gotten knee deep in dye.
7.10.10
Historically inappropriate fantasies
Some part of me has
always wanted to be
a young British woman.
I think, perhaps, that
young British woman
is Carey Mulligan.
8.7.10
"Is this really the landscape of young love?" (and other hopeless questions)
I have just listened to my first ever Justin Bieber song, complete with video.
And despite having taken all the lesbian-Bieber spoofs and hair-theory with a pinch of salt, I cannot help but gape at the sheer androgyny of the whole thing. Voice, face, hair, clothing: all of it. Now, that must just be the way contemporary adolescence looks, and power to it. The more gender bending the better.
But when that face is singin' songs about gettin' and keepin' his first best girl, in a manner reminiscent of every single stale male love ballad ever, one can't help but be confused. It's not the androgyny that's bothersome, it's the fact that the meticulous confusion of gender achieved painstakingly over decades of role-resistence has, with early-onset skinny jeans, been swiftly put to the service of corporate romance.
At the end of one of his videos, Bieber and Baby step off an escalator onto this weird, deserted inside/outside plaza (a mall? a street? a set?) with a neon revolving pizzeria sign, and a Starbucks logo in the back, and I'm thinking...
This is where romance happens?
Seriously?
And despite having taken all the lesbian-Bieber spoofs and hair-theory with a pinch of salt, I cannot help but gape at the sheer androgyny of the whole thing. Voice, face, hair, clothing: all of it. Now, that must just be the way contemporary adolescence looks, and power to it. The more gender bending the better.
But when that face is singin' songs about gettin' and keepin' his first best girl, in a manner reminiscent of every single stale male love ballad ever, one can't help but be confused. It's not the androgyny that's bothersome, it's the fact that the meticulous confusion of gender achieved painstakingly over decades of role-resistence has, with early-onset skinny jeans, been swiftly put to the service of corporate romance.
At the end of one of his videos, Bieber and Baby step off an escalator onto this weird, deserted inside/outside plaza (a mall? a street? a set?) with a neon revolving pizzeria sign, and a Starbucks logo in the back, and I'm thinking...
This is where romance happens?
Seriously?
1.6.10
Figures.
The Eat, Pray, Love trailer is set to Florence and The Machine.
How do they always find a way to fuck with the things I love?
How do they always find a way to fuck with the things I love?
8.5.10
29.4.09
Dialogue ya dhinchak?
In my continuing excavation of trashy early-nineties Bollywood I have discovered real proof that Saif Ali Khan was once able to dance.
I wonder what happened. If, as I suspect, he traded in the dancing for the immense acting chops he betrays with performances like Langda Tyagi in Omkara (Iago/Othello), then I do not mourn the loss. If, however, that was a fluke, and he continues to do tripe like Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic, it is a loss indeed. There are so few requirements to make it in Bollywood. If you're not going to act well, the LEAST you can do is dance decently.
I wonder what happened. If, as I suspect, he traded in the dancing for the immense acting chops he betrays with performances like Langda Tyagi in Omkara (Iago/Othello), then I do not mourn the loss. If, however, that was a fluke, and he continues to do tripe like Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic, it is a loss indeed. There are so few requirements to make it in Bollywood. If you're not going to act well, the LEAST you can do is dance decently.
11.3.09
Comedy of Ignorance
All of a sudden, India is all over the American pop-cultural mindscape. Case in point, The Colbert Report. Tonight, for instance, Stephen Colbert made joke about Bollywood dancing, and then about India's space program, including a breezy reference to poverty and a graphic of one of the turrets flying off the Taj Mahal as a rocket. All in the space of about five minutes. And this isn't a one off. India's getting more face time on The Daily Show as well. (Yes, I do realize that this one hour of TV is not the sum of all American pop culture, but I think it's an interesting sample.)
What's going on here? A few years ago, India mattered very little to anyone, as far as I could see. And now it's all cows and Bollywood and the Taj Mahal floating about everywhere. Is it all because of Slumdog? Is that what's put us on the map? Suddenly we're interesting? Suddenly we're relevant enough to be a subject for political comedy? That's it, though. That's the extent of it. Interest in India doesn't seem to have been expansive; just more reductive.
Maybe this is just a result of my increasing disenchantment with the Colbert/Stewart universe. Monday morning, I had a brief conversation about comedy with someone I think knows it pretty well. I asked what he thought made good comedy, and if it was a difference between laughing at and just laughing. He said that laughing at can often be cruel, especially when alienating the subject of comedy as in the case of these shows, but it doesn't have to be, as long as the person (place or thing) that's being laughed at, is laughing as well. I'm not sure I am anymore.
Perhaps there's some sort of rule of proportionality involved. You enjoy comedy increasingly in proportion to the amount you know about its subject, but you get to a certain point when you know enough and, more importantly, CARE enough that the reductive nature of the comedy really begins to bother you. I, for one, no longer have a sense of humour when Uzbekistan is just goats, and Iran is just anti-modern ayatollahs (which it barely is AT ALL).
I know somebody will turn around and tell me I'm hypersensitive, but I'm not okay with the appropriation of fragments of a culture so that somebody who knows nothing about it can have a giggle at its expense. It's lazy and condescending and I don't think I should have to get over myself and laugh.
What's going on here? A few years ago, India mattered very little to anyone, as far as I could see. And now it's all cows and Bollywood and the Taj Mahal floating about everywhere. Is it all because of Slumdog? Is that what's put us on the map? Suddenly we're interesting? Suddenly we're relevant enough to be a subject for political comedy? That's it, though. That's the extent of it. Interest in India doesn't seem to have been expansive; just more reductive.
Maybe this is just a result of my increasing disenchantment with the Colbert/Stewart universe. Monday morning, I had a brief conversation about comedy with someone I think knows it pretty well. I asked what he thought made good comedy, and if it was a difference between laughing at and just laughing. He said that laughing at can often be cruel, especially when alienating the subject of comedy as in the case of these shows, but it doesn't have to be, as long as the person (place or thing) that's being laughed at, is laughing as well. I'm not sure I am anymore.
Perhaps there's some sort of rule of proportionality involved. You enjoy comedy increasingly in proportion to the amount you know about its subject, but you get to a certain point when you know enough and, more importantly, CARE enough that the reductive nature of the comedy really begins to bother you. I, for one, no longer have a sense of humour when Uzbekistan is just goats, and Iran is just anti-modern ayatollahs (which it barely is AT ALL).
I know somebody will turn around and tell me I'm hypersensitive, but I'm not okay with the appropriation of fragments of a culture so that somebody who knows nothing about it can have a giggle at its expense. It's lazy and condescending and I don't think I should have to get over myself and laugh.
28.2.09
Medicate with Mendacity.
I have been thinking about this.
For a long time, India has been the imagined repository for social evils far away from the western world: the caste system, sati, child marriage, child labour, dowry, poverty, and so on. It has also managed, somehow, to be the epicenter for various exotic positives: yoga, meditation, textiles, the vedas, the Kama Sutra, curry, Krishna, "that elephant guy", and other assorted gods. It could take hours to unravel the mystery behind this cultural composition, so I will desist. What I will say is that the above list does not represent my India. My description would look substantially different, furnished with different images.
But here's the thing: you rarely get to pack your own cultural suitcase. And when you travel, you discover, item by item, what you have been arbitrarily, often carelessly, assigned. You don't dress yourself, but people read every aspect of your appearance as ethnography.
What worries me is the possibility that we, that is Indians, have failed to describe ourselves to the world, and so are being described according to its fancy. I realize it isn't quite as simple as that. After all, it's not like there's a vaccuum where indigenous cultural witness should be. There are plenty of self-produced, nuanced representations of India. If they don't get seen, or if they are forgotten, ignored, dismissed, rejected or reduced, perhaps there isn't much we can do about it. Is there?
As always, we come back to Slumdog Millionaire.
In the end, what bother me is this: it must take very little to create convincing cultural representations, if this manipulative, platitudinous film can manage it. Just garnish with pretty people and a climactic kiss to make it go down easy. Glaze with a shabby bit of choreography and a slogan at the end to retain the ethnic flavour and set the hopeful message. Is this all it takes? Or perhaps I should ask if this is what it takes. Not too harsh, not too chirpy: just the right degree of grit.
Show me what I want to see, and I'll stick a dollar bill in your choli. Dance for me, India. Dance for me.
(Incidentally, if you're interested in more than the self-indulgent musings of one more blogger, you might want to check out this piece on the film by Tarun Tejpal, editor of Tehelka Magazine. It put the matter more or less to rest for me. Read it. It's excellent.)
For a long time, India has been the imagined repository for social evils far away from the western world: the caste system, sati, child marriage, child labour, dowry, poverty, and so on. It has also managed, somehow, to be the epicenter for various exotic positives: yoga, meditation, textiles, the vedas, the Kama Sutra, curry, Krishna, "that elephant guy", and other assorted gods. It could take hours to unravel the mystery behind this cultural composition, so I will desist. What I will say is that the above list does not represent my India. My description would look substantially different, furnished with different images.
But here's the thing: you rarely get to pack your own cultural suitcase. And when you travel, you discover, item by item, what you have been arbitrarily, often carelessly, assigned. You don't dress yourself, but people read every aspect of your appearance as ethnography.
What worries me is the possibility that we, that is Indians, have failed to describe ourselves to the world, and so are being described according to its fancy. I realize it isn't quite as simple as that. After all, it's not like there's a vaccuum where indigenous cultural witness should be. There are plenty of self-produced, nuanced representations of India. If they don't get seen, or if they are forgotten, ignored, dismissed, rejected or reduced, perhaps there isn't much we can do about it. Is there?
As always, we come back to Slumdog Millionaire.
In the end, what bother me is this: it must take very little to create convincing cultural representations, if this manipulative, platitudinous film can manage it. Just garnish with pretty people and a climactic kiss to make it go down easy. Glaze with a shabby bit of choreography and a slogan at the end to retain the ethnic flavour and set the hopeful message. Is this all it takes? Or perhaps I should ask if this is what it takes. Not too harsh, not too chirpy: just the right degree of grit.
Show me what I want to see, and I'll stick a dollar bill in your choli. Dance for me, India. Dance for me.
(Incidentally, if you're interested in more than the self-indulgent musings of one more blogger, you might want to check out this piece on the film by Tarun Tejpal, editor of Tehelka Magazine. It put the matter more or less to rest for me. Read it. It's excellent.)
10.12.08
Hypersensitivity/Cultural Sieving
Last night, situated in a nexus of internal and external chaos, some part of me figured it would be a good idea to watch American television. This may seem to reveal a masochistic tendency, because, judging by past encounters with the medium, the likelihood of increased intellectual anguish is high. On the other hand, there was the slim possibility of distraction. After some trawling through reality television and overdone re-runs, I spotted dry land.
The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are the only indisputably positive outcomes of living in a house with cable. They haven't yet become a part of my routine, but I suspect regularity is close at hand. Witty, handsome men with a passion for politics and parody? Yes please.
So there I am on the dreaded couch, watching Jon Stewart and the British correspondent chap argue over whether Canada should be under the Queen's jurisdiction or not, when Aasif Mandvi shows up as the Indian correspondent to persuade the Canadian correspondent to, well, 'kick 'em out', essentially. At one point, adding an emphatic punch to his argument, he says something to the effect of: "Even if India had traffic lights they wouldn't function because the streets are so full of cows. And we still managed to get rid of the British."
While it is amusing to watch India get more and more attention as it moves toward greater and greater global relevance, and while I know this was most likely an entirely self-aware joke, instances like these always shake me awake to the inadequacy and incompleteness of knowledge about India, not to mention the incredible reliance on cultural sterotypes. I think it has something to do with the suddenness of India's importance to the west. Too little time to play catch up means old knowledge persists for the sake of convenience. Of course, The Daily Show is not nearly as problematic as so many other 'agents of information'.
Later, Colbert was interviewing a gentleman named Matthew Alexander who has just written "How To Break A Terrorist", a book about the effectiveness of non-violent interrogation techniques. He explained that he believes the best way to get information is to establish a relationship of trust and mutual respect with the detainee. There was a moment, after Colbert decided to be mildly serious, when the sense of revelation in their conversation struck me. "You've just gotta respect 'em," he said. Or something to that effect. There were definitely a lot of 'them's. Pretty soon, the word started pounding in my ears and I had to turn off the television and go to bed.
Maybe it's all the Edward Said I've been reading, but my thought was (and is) this: "Centuries after the West 'discovered' the 'Orient', having attempted war, conquest, indoctrination, subjugation, anthropological curiosity, stereotyping, fetishism, and condescension, it finally occurs to them to try respect as a strategy to 'deal' with this dangerous other. Well Merry fucking Christmas." It's as if the entire rest of the world is some sort of unidentifiable species, and the West (and I use this term loosely) has, for the last millennium (at least), been conducting some sort of elaborate experiment in which various stimuli are posed to the mysterious creature in order to provoke responses, which are then recorded and analyzed to come up with some sort of conclusion about what it is and how it works. The entire 'Orient' has been placed in some sort of academic petri dish; prodded, provoked and problematized, pending identification.
What is it about the unknown that scares us so much that we feel compelled to seek refuge in the distant safety of third person? 'Them'. As opposed to 'Us'. 'The Other' as opposed to 'It'. God forbid we make the mistake of inclusion or, worse, oneness.
The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are the only indisputably positive outcomes of living in a house with cable. They haven't yet become a part of my routine, but I suspect regularity is close at hand. Witty, handsome men with a passion for politics and parody? Yes please.
So there I am on the dreaded couch, watching Jon Stewart and the British correspondent chap argue over whether Canada should be under the Queen's jurisdiction or not, when Aasif Mandvi shows up as the Indian correspondent to persuade the Canadian correspondent to, well, 'kick 'em out', essentially. At one point, adding an emphatic punch to his argument, he says something to the effect of: "Even if India had traffic lights they wouldn't function because the streets are so full of cows. And we still managed to get rid of the British."
While it is amusing to watch India get more and more attention as it moves toward greater and greater global relevance, and while I know this was most likely an entirely self-aware joke, instances like these always shake me awake to the inadequacy and incompleteness of knowledge about India, not to mention the incredible reliance on cultural sterotypes. I think it has something to do with the suddenness of India's importance to the west. Too little time to play catch up means old knowledge persists for the sake of convenience. Of course, The Daily Show is not nearly as problematic as so many other 'agents of information'.
Later, Colbert was interviewing a gentleman named Matthew Alexander who has just written "How To Break A Terrorist", a book about the effectiveness of non-violent interrogation techniques. He explained that he believes the best way to get information is to establish a relationship of trust and mutual respect with the detainee. There was a moment, after Colbert decided to be mildly serious, when the sense of revelation in their conversation struck me. "You've just gotta respect 'em," he said. Or something to that effect. There were definitely a lot of 'them's. Pretty soon, the word started pounding in my ears and I had to turn off the television and go to bed.
Maybe it's all the Edward Said I've been reading, but my thought was (and is) this: "Centuries after the West 'discovered' the 'Orient', having attempted war, conquest, indoctrination, subjugation, anthropological curiosity, stereotyping, fetishism, and condescension, it finally occurs to them to try respect as a strategy to 'deal' with this dangerous other. Well Merry fucking Christmas." It's as if the entire rest of the world is some sort of unidentifiable species, and the West (and I use this term loosely) has, for the last millennium (at least), been conducting some sort of elaborate experiment in which various stimuli are posed to the mysterious creature in order to provoke responses, which are then recorded and analyzed to come up with some sort of conclusion about what it is and how it works. The entire 'Orient' has been placed in some sort of academic petri dish; prodded, provoked and problematized, pending identification.
What is it about the unknown that scares us so much that we feel compelled to seek refuge in the distant safety of third person? 'Them'. As opposed to 'Us'. 'The Other' as opposed to 'It'. God forbid we make the mistake of inclusion or, worse, oneness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)