Ethnic Tourism in The Last Samurai
More than half a decade has passed since The Last Samurai (2003) was released, and there has still been little dialogue over its depiction. Many Japanese Americans see the film as a paeon to their culture, while others decry the racism in casting Tom Cruise as its lead. Dialogue on the latter goes into the underrepresentation of Asian Americans in Hollywood without looking beyond the surface to their accusation. Yes, The Last Samurai was racist, but it only begins with Tom Cruise’s whiteness and extends beyond that. The real racism isn’t in its roll call, but his character’s glorified representation as an ethnic tourist.
The Last Samurai is a historical drama based loosely on the Satsuma rebellion led by Saigo Takomori. Tom Cruise plays a disillusioned American Indian War veteran, Captain Algren, who’s commissioned to train Japanese soldiers during the Meiji Restoration—a period where Japan’s old government reformed and disposed of the Samurai caste. Upon arrival, a last stronghold of samurai captures and imprisons him. It is during his confinement that he becomes infatuated with their culture and joins them in a last stand against the tide of change.
Sound familiar? It should, because we’ve seen this countless times. It was in Dances with Wolves (1990) and more recently in Pathfinderˆ(2007). It’s a motif as old as colonialism itself—a Westerner integrates himself into a foreign society and implicitly “out-natives” the native. It sounds silly, but Westerners find it absolutely beautiful.
What Samurai and these other films share in common is the heroization of the ethnic tourist. In his article "Cultural Tourism as Serious Research," Robert A. Stebbins defines ethnic or cultural tourism (an interchangeable term) as being the “participation in new and deep cultural experiences, whether aesthetic, intellectual, emotional, or psychological.” Although this definition is seemingly innocuous, Stebbins fails to address some of the darker aspects to this practice.
Ethnic tourists have the privilege of escaping from a culture once they deem it disadvantageous. Once the going gets tough, they immediately flee their foster culture and return to the clutches of their mother countries. The prime vice of an ethnic tourist is his willingness to take everything from a culture—everything, that is, except the burden. Captain Algren’s title as an honorary Japanese loses its luster once Japan’s cultural expectations reveal themselves. It’s true that he aids them in combat, but in spite of being “The Last Samurai,” he somehow excuses himself from both treason and ritualistic suicide after their defeat.
In addition to this, ethnic tourists trivialize their host country by reducing its traditions through its commodities. Algren does this not once or twice, but three times. The first is when he performs a bizarre chicken dance around the house after dressing in a kimono. The second and third instances take place after he dons his set of armor and brandishes it in the air. To an ethnic tourist, a culture can be pocketed, worn, and possessed—and sometimes even sold.
The sexual aspects to Algren’s ethnic tourism are venerated throughout the film as well, an example of which comes about when Algren slays the husband of a young Japanese mother, Taka (Koyuki Kato). Initially, there’s animosity between Taka and Algren, but eventually she and her children fall in love with him, despite his crime. This plotline is reminiscent of a twisted fantasy in which a colonialist slays a native, takes his woman, and is loved for it. It ties into a similar motif where a colonizer liberates a native from her culture’s oppression through marriage. The movie alludes to this in a private scene between Algren and Taka where he attempts to help her with her chores. “Japanese men do not help with this,” she says. “I’m not Japanese,” Algren says and insists on helping her. You can almost imagine that the line: “I’m much better than that” was omitted from the original script.
Much like the plays Miss Saigon and Madame Butterfly, a tragic interracial love between an Asian woman and Western man is meant to be romantic. Western audiences are nearly driven to tears by the emotionality of these two plays, but Asian Americans remain affronted by its objectivity. They see the idealized portrayal of Asian women as submissive and enthralled by their lovers’ whiteness as racist, and if anything else, racially egotistic on their white author’s behalf. In each play, the Asian lover submissively sacrifices herself for her Western husband and a similar event occurs in the The Last Samurai when a samurai (Seizo Fukumoto) takes a bullet for Algren at the final battle. The main difference between this film and the previous mentioned works is that Asian Americans are otherwise unperturbed by a motif they once deemed offensive.
The question shouldn’t be, “Is the The Last Samurai racist?” but rather, “Why should Hollywood even bother?” Producers consistently fail to portray any culture accurately. They may have the best of intentions, but the poet Dante knew where that path leads. At the end of it all, Hollywood’s cultural treatment is still lost beneath a white gaze.
Brett Fujioka is a freelance writer who operates the blog Douche Tools.
This Fox is Worthy of Its Adjective
When I was a child, no books excited me more than those written by Roald Dahl. He managed to perfectly capture the essence of being a little boy. He reveled in the potentially gross, detested the dogmas of adulthood and imagined foods that would tantalize the taste buds of any breathing creature. I carried this admiration of Dahl into the Aero Theater of Santa Monica last Thursday night where I caught a sneak preview of the latest cinematic adaptation of his work, Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009).
I've generally been a fan of Anderson's work. I find his love of dead-pan humor and his affection for perfectly quirky dialogue to match the sensibilities of my own humor. I've also been a long time admirer of stop animation, with the Rankin/Bass holiday specials a staple of my childhood and nostalgic element of my adulthood. Still, while it seems that that I would be predisposed to love this film, I wasn't entirely sold on the project when I first heard about it. I enjoyed all these things separate of one another, but would I enjoy them all together? I was worried it would turn out like a Thanksgiving plate gone wrong - when all your favorite dishes accidentally mix together to make on inedible mess.
However, after seeing the film, I can safely say that Anderson has nailed it. He's taken his own unique cinematic style and adapted it not only to the medium of stop animation, but also to the whimsy inherent in the fictional world of Dahl. Anderson's success is due to the fact that he sticks close enough to his source material to capture the spirit of the text, but deviates when necessary to make the story his own.
Fantastic Mr. Fox tells the story of a family of foxes who welcome their nephew Kristofferson (Eric Chase Anderson) into their home. Mr. Fox (George Clooney) is unsatisfied with his routine suburban lifestyle and reverts back to a lifestyle of chicken thievery and ski masks (which Fox refers to as bandit hats). This gets the foxes into a whole mess of trouble after Mr. Fox steals from the farmers Boggis, Bunce and Bean.
Some of my favorite elements of Dahl's story were some of its seemingly “darker” ones. The farmers were three revolting individuals who smoked, drank, brandished absurd firearms and ate things like goose-liver donuts and alcoholic cider. Anderson has kept those elements completely intact while adding a bit of the dysfunctional family components found in much of his work.
There are several humorous interactions between Kristofferson and Fox's son Ash (Jason Schwartzman) that wouldn't seem out of place in a film such as Rushmore (1998) or The Royal Tenenbaums (2001). Anderson has gotten around the fact that usually his characters decorate their dialogue with profanities by using the word 'cuss” in their stead. For example, “What the cuss are you talking about?”
The filmmakers have embraced and embellished all the tools in the stop-motion medium. Rather then use digital technology for water or smoke effects, the animators used cellophane and cotton-balls. They also left in that bit of stutter when the characters move to celebrate that this is a stop-motion film, rather than try to hide it.
My major criticism of the film is one that was similar to my critique of Spike Jonze's Where the Wild Things Are. Both of these films aren't really catered to children. When Anderson deviates from the source material, it is to insert more themes only adults would really pick up on. However, unlike Where the Wild Things Are, children will actually find Fantastic Mr. Fox enjoyable. The story is told clearly and it's easy to get caught up in the colorful world Anderson and his team have created.
I enjoyed Fantastic Mr. Fox as I have all of Anderson's films. Dahl enthusiasts will find the film a worthy companion to the book. If you haven't been big on Anderson's films, I don't think this will make a convert out of you. However, those familiar with Anderson's aesthetic and looking for a film that they can enjoy with kids should find Fantastic Mr. Fox to rank above the traditional fodder for children found at theaters. In fact, I'd even say it deserves to be in the company of both Coraline (2009) and Up (2009). And yes, it may even be safe to call it 'fantastic.'
Problematic Genderbending in Shane Acker's 9
Despite a major advertisement campaign, a star-stacked cast, and the enticing name of producer Tim Burton, the computer-animated film 9 (2009) all but faded from the minds of movie-goers within a week of its bombastic 9-9-09 release date. While the film featured an intriguing premise that expanded upon the Academy Award-winning short of the same name, it failed to captivate beyond its dystopian, science-fiction elements and succeeded only in confusing me with its representation of gender.
It's not that the plot is particularly overcomplicated or complex; in fact, it's pretty basic. The movie is set in a post-apocalyptic world where machines have taken control of the planet. Sound familiar?
It begins with a sack-like creature by the name of 9 (voiced by Elijah Wood), who is awoken by a scientist in this dystopia. The scientist appears to pass away following 9's awakening, and the timid creation ventures into the outside world. He quickly comes across various other sack creatures (voiced by the likes of Christopher Plummer, John C. Reilly, Martin Landau and Crispin Glover) and together they attempt to save each other and the world from a consistent barrage of various mechanical creatures.
Despite the heroic endeavors of the characters, it was their assumed gender and the portrayal of that gender in 9 that was the film's most befuddling attribute. With the character 7, it seems as if director Shane Acker was trying to engage and question the traditional gender roles found in action films, despite the gender neutrality of the sacks. In the traditional Hollywood action movie, men and women have very distinct roles. Men are dominating, controlling protectors, while the female waits helplessly to be saved. 7's relationship to the other sack creatures draws this archetype into question.
While their gender is never specified, it's hard to ignore the choices made selecting actors. Voiced by Academy Award-winning actress Jennifer Connelly, 7 is the sole sack creature who is not voiced by a man. While the majority of the sack creatures spend the duration of the film cowering and/or running in fear, 7 continually enters action scenes as a great protector saving the other sack creatures and defeating machines. She bursts in at just the right time with an agility and finesse not seen in the other characters. 7 is easily identified as the warrior of the group and repeatedly saves their hopeless sacks.
Despite 7's status as the savior, there are other ways in which this character fulfills the role of the traditional action movie female. For one, she never really makes the decisions for the group. While vocal in her opinions, the group tends to rely primarily upon 1 or 9 when it comes to difficult choices, despite the fact they both have a knack for leading the group into loads of trouble. While 7 is the more action-oriented character, there is no denying the fact that 9 is the film's protagonist. The audience experiences everything in Acker's dystopian world through 9's eyes. There are also hints of a romantic relationship between 7 and 9, as one of the film's shots frames the characters together, standing hand in hand.
However, the most interesting aspect of the gender relationships in 9 comes during the film's climax. It is revealed that the nine sack creatures are all different parts of one soul belonging to the male scientist who created them. This means that the seemingly female character of 7 represents a portion of this male's most inner being. While it is definitely intriguing, the film doesn't provide enough information to make a substantial claim about gender or its role with these sack creatures, or action films in general.
It is these factors that prevent 7 from truly transcending gender stereotypes and prevent 9 from working as a progressive film. Critiques of 9 are eerily similar to those aimed at the majority of producer Tim Burton's work: while the inspiring visuals compel audiences, the attempts at depth are ultimately shallow and confusing.
A version of this article was originally published in "Ditz Magazine."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
