Stir in the Black Chicks

Is a pathetic gesture toward representation better than none at all? These seem to be the two options for women of colour in Michael Patrick King's limited, unfettered world view. Or at least, for Jennifer Hudson, who portrayed Carrie Bradshaw's assistant in that big-screen adaptation of Sex and the City last year.

In this article, King talks a little about his plans for the sequel (help us), and then touches on the issue of colour in the television show:

"It can't be called Sex and the City without a little color—it's just wrong. Women are very nice when they figure out who I am. And the only negative comment I ever got about the series was every now and then, some woman of color—whether it'd be Latina or an African-American—they'd stop and say, 'Where are the sisters?' in my ear, and I was like, 'Yeah, where are they?'

Playing assistants and enablers to spoiled egomaniacs, apparently. No thanks, Michael. If your lame inclusion of the Louise character is the best we can hope for, along with the same baggage of appalling power dynamics as in the first film, stop trying now. Your self-congratulatory pat on the back for choosing Hudson over Isla Fisher seems to be the extent of your progressiveness.

I'd rather you kept the universe of the series insular if this is what we have to look forward to ("a little color"). I'm happy that women find you "nice" and non-threatening once they meet you, but that doesn't mean they should celebrate the fact that a seemingly authoritative voice like yours finally decided to throw them a bone.

Me Actually Being a Writer Again

*We interrupt this blogging dry-spell to bring you the following breaking news item*

Apparently, there is more to having a movie blog than regularly posting grades on the side column and uploading DVD screen captures. Who would have thought? Once upon a time, I was aware of this and was churning out reviews and opinion pieces weekly, but I somehow let a few months of post-graduation burnout stretch into almost years of inactivity.

Embarrassing statistic: in one calender year, I have published only thirty-one "articles" of varying length and quality. It's like I've forgotten how to do what was once second nature - watch a movie, and write about it. Soon, the whole process started to feel more like a chore than a passion (a nagging feeling I'm sure many bloggers experience at one time or another).

What has changed now? Maybe it's the fact that university courses no longer control my creative output and reading lists. For the first time in a while, I'm reading solely for pleasure (I've devoured about ten novels since classes ended, and about half of that in terms of non-fiction). And - for the first time since high school - I've become seriously fascinated with and serious about the writing process. As in, this is what I want to do with my life, in any realm (journalism, fiction, academia, curriculum planning, etc).

So.

Rather than let the blog continue to gather dust or just abandon ship, I'm staging a self-intervention to truly assess where this project is headed. I've decided to take myself a little bit less seriously - no more writing towards a lofty end goal (OFCS accreditation, a writing career, high traffic, and related delusions of grandeur) and instead start writing for myself (shocker of shocks!). I'm not promising multiple posts per day, but there will certainly be more activity on the blog, and not just film-related. That's a promise.

Growing Accustomed to a Face

"Omar wished, not for the first time, that he was someone else. Someone like [his brother] Sharif, who was confident enough to be himself, and was loved and liked for being who he was. Omar felt he, by comparison, was a faker, a dissembler. He had carved out a niche for himself, created an identity for himself in reaction to Sharif. If Sharif cared nothing for books or academia, then Omar could care for nothing else. If Sharif was to be the rebel, then Omar could be the model student. Omar found it relatively easy to be a model student, in that he found it easy to be quiet, clean, attentive, punctual and rigorous in handing in well-prepared work. He discovered that being a model student meant that everybody, including his teachers, mistook him for a bright student. And yet Omar sincerely believed that he was blessed with neither superior intelligence nor original thought; he had only two abilities, the ability to read quickly, and an excellent memory that allowed him to memorize and repeat all he read.

He looked this face reflected back at him [in the mirror], blank, expressionless, pale. Even his colour was indistinct; he was neither brown nor white. It could be anyone's face, he thought to himself. It was a blank canvas. He looked at the family photos on his shelf, and imitated his mother's articulate, thoughtful expression, and then his father's handsome laugh, and then his brother's sexy smoulder. He blinked and looked at himself again. If it could be anyone's face, that meant he could become anyone, he could mould it into the face he wanted. The face of a someone, rather than an anyone; someone who was intelligent and academic."

- from Bitter Sweets, by Roopa Farooki

These tears dry on their own

Smack dab in the middle of my afternoon jog yesterday, I came to a sudden, significant self-realization: I have not cried outside of a movie theatre in five years. The last time I became emotional to the point of tears was after a crunch period in my first year of university; writing final three papers simultaneously one night proved to be the trigger, and I lashed out at a family member only to break down, overwhelmed with guilt and exhaustion. I feel fairly certain that this is the last time I cried with such force, in public, for reasons completely unrelated to any cinematic experience. More and more, escaping in film is becoming the means of expressing emotion for me, and I don't know if this is a good thing or bad. It's not a problem of being unable to cry: only that I can't do so in "real life".

Indeed, I can recall plenty of times that I've welled up at the plight of a character or a collage of sights and sounds with relative ease, but am hard-pressed to recall a similar reaction in any other context. I wept throughout all of Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali, possibly my favourite film of all time. A second screening of The Fountain - a film which I found hokey and vague the first time around - hit me hard for reasons that are still unclear to me. Watching Mira Nair's adaptation of The Namesake was jarring only because it's rare to see my experiences reflected so precisely in a cinematic medium. Stories about first-generation South Asian-Americans or Canadians negotiating identity, family relations and history are, to put it mildly, not "hot" properties for film companies today. Most recently, Persepolis had me giggling through my tears, moved by Marjane Satrapi's nakedly honest reflections about her early years situated across several countries and cultures. Essentially, the cinema hall has become - for lack of a better word - my confessional, and everything I want to suppress and hide emerges in full-force. I suppose it's the only place where I feel comfortable doing so. The darkness and insularity provides a sanctuary for anonymous, private grief. And this is why it is hard to convince friends, family members and others in my life that film is more than an interest or hobby for me. It allows me to breathe, escape, and function. Without it, I don't know who I am.

Perhaps some of you may be wondering why this should be cause for concern? I suppose I am over-thinking this to some degree, but when I look back on my childhood, I am struck by how emotional I was in my early years. Even watching wedding videos of my aunts' marriages at the age of six was enough to send me over the edge, and I would have to leave the room and beg an adult to turn off the television (the sight of a bride leave her father's house is always a tremendously sad moment for Indian families.) I would collapse into sobs at the end of Robert Munsch's book Love You Forever, every time, because I had this intense fear of my mother dying and feeling powerless to protect her. Attending funerals, having heart-to-hearts with friends, thinking about those who had passed on - these all used to stimulate the waterworks. Part of growing older allows a person to feel more secure about themselves and the world around them. Of course, I don't miss being a nervous wreck all the time, but I do miss the part of myself that was able to feel so completely and unreservedly. I'm afraid I've lost that part of myself, or become closed off from expressing it in relation to other people in my life.

Obviously, powerful art has this kind of effect on all of us, and it is certainly clear why we are so absolutely invested in film. Thinking back, I've probably done this to protect myself from the ridicule and scorn of others. I was constantly criticized for being so emotional, for not being "tougher" and less sensitive. As such, most of my teenage years were spent trying to prove my "stability" and sensible nature, throwing myself into schoolwork and other activities.

... Hm. I'm clearly going to be thinking about this for weeks on end. What about the rest of you?

Blog Makeover

Like the new look? Either way, it's not as if I spent much time on it - just a few clicks here and there, selecting from a list of Blogger-approved layouts. I rather like it, despite my lack of originality picking fonts and colours. I figure it's safe sticking to tried-and-true formulas, like the trusty, eye-friendly white background and black fonts. Anyways, I figure that I can update and improve over the coming months, as I grow more familiar with html nonsense. And the biggest plus side to all this? The subtle change makes me want to write again...

I guess I could give you quick details about my convocation ceremony, and the many trips I took out of town during the months of June and July (Stratford, Minneapolis, New York City), just to justify my long absence from the blog:

- June 14th: I graduated from the University of Toronto, with a Bachelor of Arts in the field of South Asian Studies. Many people ask what that entails, so I think a better way to describe what I've been studying for the last four years is "post-colonial/critical theory". The event itself was mind-numbingly boring; just the conferring of diplomas took an hour in itself. Our speaker was the Minister of Finance, and he delivered a speech I felt like I heard ten times before ("My grandfather emigrated to this country with nothing in his pockets, and an education helped him to... etc, etc.") Family stuff was fun; after picking up an award at my college, we went out for dinner at our favourite Pakistani restaurant. Of course, everything on the menu contained meat or animal products, so I had to get a special order of chana (masala chickpeas); 'twas good.

- Late June: Family wedding in Minneapolis; my second-cousin's daughter's (it took me a while to get my head around that too; the complexities of extended family relations.) Not much to report here; if you've been to an Indian-Muslim wedding before, you would know that the festivities last several days (mendhi party, mosque night, the actual wedding ceremony, reception, etc.) It's always pleasant to revisit places you once called home, only now through the eyes of an adult (I lived there until I was six, then moved to Dubai.)

- Late July: Drove down with my cousin to New York City to visit my sister (a most gracious host, thanks sis!). Stayed for about five days, and did some of the requisite tourist attractions (Times Square was insane, but exciting due to the enormity of it all.) I didn't get in any Broadway shows (my only choices through a discount ticket-seller [TKTS] were The Color Purple and The 25th Annual Putnam Spelling Bee, neither of which I was really keen on.) My favourite experience was visiting two museums: the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Museum of Modern Art (the latter of which I visited with none other than Nick.) We caught an afternoon showing of Bresson's Mouchette at the MoMA, but funnily enough, neither of us had a solid movie-going experience. The man in front of me with his giant head completely obscured the subtitles, while Nick was unable to concentrate without a cup of coffee (which we were unable to procure before the screening, and apparently Starbucks was out of the question.) Anyways, it was a pleasure meeting him in person, and it was great being able to spend time in an amazing city with someone who knows it so well. It's very easy to feel overwhelmed in NYC, especially as a Canadian. I'm already planning to go back in October.

So... back to the movies. We've hit the mid-August mark, which usually means that the summer movie season is almost at an end point (somewhat sadly marked by the release of Rush Hour 3.) I'm grateful; there is a limit to the amount of sequels and prequels one can hear about, let alone plunk down cash for and tolerate. All right, I'll admit to enjoying a couple: I have to give props to Raimi & co. for investing so wholly in Spider-Man 3's cheesy histrionics. And the latest Harry Potter flick was memorable for proving that Daniel Radcliffe can carry a film all by himself. Perhaps the biggest disappointment of the summer for me was the much-hyped Simpsons Movie, which felt stale and outdated for much of its running time. Watching South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut beforehand certainly didn't do Homer and friends any favours.

As for Part Two of the "Most Anticipated of 2007" project I had going on - I had saved a copy for editing right after completing the first part, but it somehow got deleted in the process. I've been quite lazy re-writing the entry... but I promise to have it up soon. Perhaps even tomorrow! How about that?

Hope all your summers are going well!

I've heard bad ideas before, but... this one is the worst.

Julia Stiles to do 'Bell Jar'

NEW YORK (Hollywood Reporter) -- Julia Stiles will star in and produce an adaptation of Sylvia Plath's autobiographical novel "The Bell Jar."

The actress and her representatives at Creative Artists Agency spent two years optioning rights to the coveted project from French producers StudioCanal, and closed the deal Friday.

The 1950s-era drama centers on young book editor Esther Greenwood (Stiles), who grows troubled by the social trappings of her time and slowly descends into mental illness.

Principal photography is tentatively expected to begin in early 2008. Also producing are indie firms Plum Pictures and Killer Films.

A 1979 version starred Marilyn Hassett. Since then, rights to the only novel by the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet (published around the time of her suicide in 1963) have been held by several parties. Gwyneth Paltrow starred in a 2003 biopic of Plath's life, "Sylvia."

Stiles wrote and directed the dramatic short film "Raving," produced by Plum and financed by Elle magazine based on an article in the publication. The film, starring Zooey Deschanel and Bill Irwin, will premiere this weekend at the Tribeca Film Festival and May 8 on the Sundance Channel. She was most recently in theaters with the 2006 remake of "The Omen."

Oratorical Fireworks

In celebration of my 100th post:

[Bridget blows into the unresponsive microphone, taps it tentatively]

One, two. Ladies and Gentlemen... L- ladies and gentlemen.

[then throws fingers into the air and shouts:]

Oi! Oi! Sorry. The uh mike's not wo- working.

[clears throat]

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the launch of Kafka's Motorbike, 'the greatest book of our time."

[applause; Bridget notices Salman glowering]

Obviously, except for your books, Mr. Rushdie, which are also very good.

[applause; Bridget notices Jeffery]

Aaand Lord Archer. Yours... aren't... bad.... either.
Anyway, what I mean is..uh. Welcome ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to the launch of... one of the top *thirty* books of our time, anyway. At least.

And here to introduce it, heh, *properly* is the man we all call -

[Bridget's inner monologue offers its perspective]

*Titspervert*

Mr. -

*Titspervert*

Mr. -

[Daniel giggles]

*Titspervert*

[Bridget regains control]

Fitzherbert. Because that... is his name. Mr. Fitzherbert? Thank you!

[scattered applause; Mr. Fitzherbert takes the stage]

Fitzherbert: Thank you, Brenda. Just switch this on.

[turns on microphone, screechy feedback is heard throughout the entire hall]