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‘Frankenstein’ 2025: An Analysis

Mary Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’ is probably one of the most famous British novels – if not THE most famous in Gothic circles. Personally, I’ve always been more team ‘Dracula,’ so I was very interested to see what Guillermo Del Toro’s take had in store for the iconic story. Safe to say, the film has received rave reviews, cementing Del Toro’s position as a connoisseur of all things Gothic. Broadly, I enjoyed the film – I believe it capitalised on the best aspects of the novel whilst also providing the audience with some impeccable and innovative symbolism. Let’s take a look!

So, although there are some character changes to the plot, the film broadly follows the structure of the novel and opens with Victor, Oscar Isaac, and the Creature’s cat and mouse chase in the North Pole. Before we see the face of the Creature, played by Jacob Elordi, we see his tall shadow, and hear his bellow. We also see him behave violently towards the Royal Danish Navy in his quest for Victor, which dehumanises him from the off, initially scaring the audience. Del Toro knows though, that when recounting the Creature’s story, that monstrous image will dissipate in favour of audience sympathy and understanding.

Victor’s backstory is slightly altered from the original text, instead of being Swiss, he is French. Del Toro plays on the classic Gothic trope of the aristocratic dying family, and presents Victor as having a strong attachment to his mother, played by Mia Goth, who also plays his sister in law to be, Elizabeth. In the original text, it is Victor who is set to marry Elizabeth… but more on her later.

Young Victor always wears white, a symbol of purity and childhood innocence, in contrast to his mother, who always wears red. In this context the colour red it may not represent promiscuity, there is no implication of sexual impropriety, but this colouring may indicate her passion for Victor, and his for her. The fact that she is also played by Goth foreshadows Victor’s later romantic attraction to Elizabeth, and if we play that backwards, Del Toro could be implying that Victor had an Oedipal-esque attraction to his own mother.

Victor’s father however demonstrates early to him the correlation between the body and violence. Whilst tutoring him in anatomy, Victor’s father canes him if he makes a mistake. Victor is also raised with a keen understanding of labour and birth, beginning his obsession with the creation of life. This is further exacerbated by the death of his mother, who dies during childbirth. As well as leaving an emotional mark, Victor’s mother cups his face with her bloody hands as a way of saying goodbye to him. At her funeral, Victor recounts that he considered his mother to be a ‘part of my very self’ and that part of his life has now been ‘extinguished.’ This has a very ‘Wuthering Heights’ feel to it – Victor opines that his mother was one half of him, and with her death, a fire within him as died. It is in his adult life that he seeks to reignite that fire by attempting to create life to better understand her death. Del Toro implies that Victor’s desire to create life in reality is his quest to resurrect his mother.

We can see through his costume that Victor always carries his mother with him, as, in adulthood, he is shown to be sporting a red necktie, her trademark colour. The presence of the red around his neck suggests his unbreakable tie to his mother, and that he is shackled by his vow to ‘conquer’ death in her name. The colour of red recurs throughout the film, most notably in the electrical currents Victor uses to animate individual limbs and the Creature itself. Again, this is a connection to his mother, almost as if she is present when he is trying to complete his experiments.

Victor’s mother is established as the reason that he exists, not just biologically, but as the object of his mission to create life. Red, therefore, becomes the colour throughout the film that communicates the force of life, as previously mentioned in the form of the electrical current.

Victor, throughout his lfie, has dreams and visions of a luring red angel, perhaps one of life, or one of death – ‘forces’ that Victor vows to have ‘command’ over. At this moment we are jolted back to the present day with a shot of the Creature bursting out of the ice, implying a rebirth and resurrection, and that Victor did ultimately succeed in this goal.

Going back in time, we are introduced to Elizabeth. When Victor first spots Elizabeth’s umbrella in the crowd, he is drawn to her, as he was drawn to his Mother, and even tries to simulate a form of non physical intimacy with Elizabeth by posing as a priest at her confession. Much like Victor, she is drawn to and connected to nature, something that is also communicated in her clothing.

Elizabeth’s costumes have drawn much attention on social media and with good reason. She has a feathered headdress, and the prints of her dress have been inspired by natural patterns and colourings. In terms of colour, when we say lay people on screen, they wear darker tones, but higher classes, particularly women, wear brighter colours – which help to communicate subtext and move the story forward. She is also seen wearing a red crucifix, the colour of red again hinting towards Victor’s mother, affirming that he is drawn to both women. When Victor confesses his love to Elizabeth, she is shown to be wearing a red dress, and in a shot where the camera is placed behind her, we get a glimpse of her intricate laced corset which could be seen to resemble a human spine – again emphasising her connection and affinity to nature.

Elizabeth and Victor’s responses to the Creature are ironically similar and different at the same time. When animating the Creature Victor’s hoists him up to resemble a crucified Jesus, as well as Da Vinci’s anatomical drawings. Victor and the Creature’s first encounter takes place in his bedroom, whilst both are in a state of undress. The drapes of Victor’s bed are red, and whilst being bathed in sunlight, they embrace and Victor removes the Creature’s bandages. The intimacy does border on homoeroticism, but also links to the idea of mother and child. The Creature’s bandages could be a direct reference to the bandages found outside Jesus’ tomb following his resurrection.

Elizabeth chooses to visit the Creature at night, and we see her in her nightgown, hair open and holding a candle as she walks through the dimly lit hallways. This gothic image is reminiscent of proto-Gothic figure of Lady Macbeth, and Elizabeth’s candle implies that it is her light that will overcome the darkness that hangs over Victor and the Creature. Her long, red hair resembles the paintings of the pre-Raphaelite era, the vivid colour of which contrasts with the muted tones and paleness of the Creature. In the Elizabeth era, long, untied hair was a mark of madness and sexual discordancy, which here may perhaps reference Elizabeth’s confused feelings towards Victor and the Creature. She exhibits a maternal instinct and is more empathetic towards the Creature than Victor, implying that she is a Madonna-like figure to the Creature, who himself has been hinted to resemble Jesus. The Creature is the embodiment of the natural world, something which we have already established that Elizabeth is fascinated by.

Victor then attempts to burn the tower with the Creature locked inside, invoking the image of Prometheus, something Mary Shelley referenced in the original text, which she subtitled as ‘The Modern Prometheus.’ Prometheus was the Titan who created humanity, and in defiance, stole fire from the Gods. Zeus punished him by chaining him to a rock, where an eagle would eat his liver daily. His pain only ended when Heracles killed said eagle. The image of the chained Creature surrounded by fire evokes this story, and also that of the red angel in Victor’s dreams. The Creature is both, an image of life and of death, and of such power that he could rival the Gods.

It is here that we end Victor’s tale, and, like the novel, focus the attention on the Creature. The Creature is expelled from the tower, via a schute into the surrounding the moat, which is almost more reminiscent of the type of birth that Victor studied, and more reminiscent of the type of natural birth that the Creature was denied. The Creature’s expulsion from the tower acts as a rebirth.

The Creature assists a small family in the forest from afar, and becomes known to them as the ‘Spirit of the Forest.’ The creature, after being reborn, fashions his own story and mythology as an ‘invisible guardian.’ However, he is mistaken for a Monster, and after being shot at by some locals, he retreats back to Victor begging for a mate.

This also happens to be the day of Elizabeth’s wedding to William. The chains across her bodice add a militaristic feel to the dress, and the tassels reference the bandages that the Creature was born in. When Elizabeth tries to defend the Creature, Victor accidentally shoots her, a departure from the novel, and in anguish, the Creature carries her out, again, evoking that Madonna and child image between the two, but this time in reverse. The Creature now displays a maternal instinct towards Elizabeth, not the other way around. The blood stains her white wedding dress, again a reference to the clothes of Victor’s mother in a moment that inverts the use of the colour red – it had been used to communicate life, now it is used to communicate death. The Creature retreats to a cave, lying Elizabeth down on a slab, almost like a sacrificial lamb. She has been caught in the crossfire of the Creature and Victor and dies as a result of their struggle.

It all boils down to the Creature and Victor. During their chase, Victor attempts to set the Creature alight using dynamite, but the flames have no affect on him. This implies that the Creature has a Godlike control over fire, much like his namesake Prometheus. In the present, and in his dying moments, Victor tells the Creature that he is ‘consumed’ by regret, and encourages the Creature to go forward, and live a full life. In their last exchange, they refer to each other as ‘father’ and ‘son’ and accept each others faults. In this moment, Victor realises the responsibility that he has to his offspring. With this closure for the Creature, the ending of the film is markedly different and more hopeful than the novel. The Creature, quite literally, walks away into the sunset, unlike in the novel where he throws himself on Victor’s funeral pyre.

All in all, I think this adaptation did what all great adaptations should do – stick to the core themes and ideas of the novel, and add some fresh elements. Whilst the ending is probably the biggest departure from the novel, I think it feels earned and something filled with such hope nowadays probably is not a bad thing.

Thanks for reading!

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‘Christmas Karma’ 2025: An Analysis

Gurinder Chadha’s latest film ‘Christmas Karma’ hit cinemas on November 14th, and, as you may have guessed, it is a rendition of Dickens’ Christmas classic with a Desi twist. We follow the journey of Mr Sood (Kunal Nayyar), an arrogant and right wing politician who, as in the original tale, is visited by three ghosts to prompt a much-needed journey of self-discovery. Probably best known for 2002’s ‘Bend It Like Beckham’ Chadha has spoken openly about the challenges that South Asians face within the creative space. Her latest offering comes at a time of instability – Reform are on the rise, as are incidents of racially motivated violence. Although the film has been slated by several critics, more on that later, personally I commend the film for shining the spotlight on an experience that we rarely see on screen. By digging deep into Sood’s backstory, the film encourages the audience to be kind and make peace with the past in order to heal in the present.

Everyone is invited to enjoy this film. As the camera sweeps over a diverse London town, people from all walks of life appear on screen. Take the three ghosts for example, Eva Longoria, Billy Porter and Boy George – all come from different cultural backgrounds, all of which are celebrated. Just the fact that we are seeing such a wide range of people on screen is something to be celebrated. Sometimes we do not need to tell the audience how important it is to have diverse people on screen, we can just show them these diverse people. Exposing the audience to these people and characters normalises diversity and inclusion, and reflects the world that we live in.

Mr Sood is as grumpy as you would expect, and local shopkeeper Parduman (Nitin Ganatra) asserts that Sood has forgotten his ‘roots.’ Parduman’s observation follows Sood’s tirade about the incoming wave of migrants and asylum seekers to the UK. It is implied that, because Sood has forgotten his ‘roots,’ he lacks sympathy for the asylum seekers. His attitude towards them is almost colonial and could even be described as xenophobic. The audience expects Sood to be as sympathetic as Parduman is, as Sood came to this country as an immigrant. Parduman calls out this irony.

Sood’s reaction speaks to the division between Indians who have settled, or been born, in Britain, and those who have more recently come over from India. The macro version of this divide is the wider contention between Britain and India, and the state of being ‘Indian’ or ‘British.’

How British is anyone? I was born in this country so am therefore classed as British, but if you walked past me on the street, you could assume I was from India based on the colour of my skin. I am British and Indian, and I have to reconcile and respect both aspects of my background, whilst acknowledging the fact that I am not British enough for some Britons, or Indian enough for some Indians.

It seems that Sood leans more on the British side in his thought, Chadha herself described him as a ‘Tory.’ This is ironic, as the colouring of his skin, and accent, probably make him more Indian presenting than British born Indians like myself, and his own nephew, who views him as an old-fashioned uncle.

To be honest, it’s those that have not had these experiences, maybe some members of Reform, who should watch this film. Going back to Sood’s past, some people might have assumed that we would be shown flashbacks of Partition, the splitting of India into India and Pakistan in 1947, as many of our ancestors’ stories are tied to it. This colonial angle would speak to the conflict between India and Britain, as well as the nuanced conflict between India and Pakistan. Although impactful, Chadha goes for something unexpected, choosing to focus on the expulsion of Indians from Uganda in 1972, something I confess that I did not know about.

This choice is a smart one, as it does not tell the oft told story of colour versus white, but a more nuanced story of colour versus colour. The film says that everybody can treat everybody badly, and in turn, everybody can also welcome and be loving to everybody. Sood’s despair about having to leave Uganda is not necessarily racially motivated – it is motivated by the loss of his home. Surely, this is a universal feeling that everybody can relate to.

The experience of losing everything and coming to a different country for refuge, does explain Sood’s obsession with money and status. He longs to feel secure again. The irony is, is that his ambition loses his love, Bea (Charitha Chandran). We all know someone like Sood, he speaks to a generation of people who lost things, or had to sacrifice things, so that they could make a living for their family and secure their future. The film acknowledges that his deep hurt from having to leave Uganda, from losing Bea, and the racism that he endured in this country all contribute to his unhappiness. There are many layers to his story, and to his character, all of which allow for a unique take on the stock Scrooge character.

This is where the nuance is. The film is not as simple as ‘if you keep being mean you will die alone.’ The three ghosts recognise Sood’s deep seated trauma and pain, telling him that once he lets it go, and heals, his burden will be lifted. They almost give him permission, something Sood has never received. In short, the Ghosts believe that breaking the cycle of generational trauma will lead to freedom. Boy George sings:

‘What good is history unspoken?
What good is a lesson unused?’

Sood understands what racial hatred can do, and Billy Porter’s Ghost of Christmas Present notes that if we can see what hatred can do, then we can see the value of love and compassion. We cannot go forward without acknowledging and trying to learn from the past. With that acknowledgement and understanding comes healing.

Sood does go forward, and becomes happier, healing from the past but also seeking to reclaim it. He changes his memories, and an example of this is the inclusion of the diamond-infused Mathia. He recalls as a child being told by an auntie that hiding diamonds in the Mathia was a good way to keep them safe. At the time, he had just arrived in the UK, and his father had just passed. In this instance, the diamond encrusted Mathia are associated with loss, and his lack of wealth.

Towards the end of the film, Sood gifts his housekeeper Mrs Joshi (Shobu Kapoor) a tin of diamond encrusted Mathia. He has turned this memory, associated with loss, into one of generosity and giving. It is a good example of how one can reclaim their past, and how Sood has learned to heal, channelling his pain into something positive.

Sood’s transformation, from miser to merriment, is also reflected in his clothing. Whilst he wears darker tones throughout the film, when he travels back to Uganda to reunite with his childhood friend, he wears an orange, open waistcoat. His open waistcoat implies that he has let go of his past trauma, he can breathe, the orange referring to his newfound warmth and growth. Sood is a classic example of good representation, his experiences, as a person of colour, inform his life decisions. It is not forced, his character has developed organically and in reaction to the hardship that he has faced, something that many first-generation immigrants will understand.

I do find the fact that the film has been slated so savagely by some publications a little ridiculous. If a positive message about love, diversity and inclusion cannot elicit at least one star, I’m looking at you Mr Telegraph, then we truly are in dire straits. One particular review fixated on the fact that Bob Crachit would not be able to afford a house in Notting Hill. And while yes, this a valid point, this isn’t ‘Homes under the Hammer.’ I think that the films’ social and political commentary, as well as it’s obvious uniqueness, should be at the forefront of the discussion. If it is not, then the whole point of the film I fear has been missed. But hey, even though Chadha has welcomed everyone into the cinema, maybe it is only those who look like her, myself and Sood who truly understand and appreciate what she has done.

Gurinder, if you are reading, you may remember that we met at ‘Surinderella’ at Riverside, it’s Harps with the feedback forms and glittery table! If you need a Production Secretary on any of your upcoming projects, please do give me a call!

Thanks for reading!

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‘After Sunday’ at the Bush Theatre Review 2025: A strong cast showcase an insightful look at men’s mental health, and the connecting power of food

The Bush Theatre’s latest offering, ‘After Sunday,’ certainly presents an intriguing concept. Written by Bush alumni Sophia Griffin and directed by Corey Campbell, the play revolves around Ty (Corey Weekes), Daniel (Darrel Bailey) and Leroy (David Webber), who are part of a Caribbean cookery group led by occupational therapist Naomi (Aimée Powell). The group is held at a secure hospital, and whilst the characters all have different experiences and outlooks, they are drawn together by their love of good food, and its healing power. The show takes time to peel away the layers of each character to present an insightful portrayal of men’s mental health, and trauma. Although at times it can be argued that the fly on the wall style does mean that the show is light on plot, and a touch of spice, the dynamic and raw performances of the cast definitely leave you hungry for more.

The cast of ‘After Sunday’

The world building and atmosphere of the show is immediately impressive. The set has been meticulously crafted by Claire Winfield, and the finer details help to immerse you into the story. This set is also fully functioning. Hands are washed, dumplings are fried, so not only are the cast remembering their dialogue, but they are quite literally cooking up a storm in front of you. Again, the smells, particularly the hot oil, push the outside world further away allowing you to focus in on the action in front of you. Ali Hunter’s lighting design and XANA’s score also help to emphasise and contrast the moments of high drama and the moments of calm. I am somewhat mixed though about the intense, slow movements performed by the characters in-between scenes. They seemed an unnecessary distraction in a show that primarily presents a naturalistic tone.

Speaking of, the show is more character driven that plot driven. It does not solely crescendo at the end like most shows, but peaks and troughs through its runtime. This can lead to the glossing over of some potentially interesting ideas. The play shows us with its characters and setting that it is a commentary on masculinity, but it fails to capitalise and deeply interrogate black masculinity for example. This kind of subtly is the result of the fly on the wall style, meaning that some ideas never quite come to the boil.

The cast of ‘After Sunday’

For me, Powell’s Naomi stands out. Balancing a tricky home life, and three tricky students, Powell is the anchor that the other three cast members swirl around. Each student requires different handling, which showcases Powell’s varied abilities. Her subtle shifts from joy to despair, and her outright rage towards her superiors are visceral and believable. Hot on her heels is Webber, who brings real depth to the conflicted Leroy, especially when he talks about his fractured relationship with his daughter.

Whilst the play may be thin on plot, and at its movements a tad jarring, the cast ensure that ‘After Sunday’ is eminently watchable. Bolstered by its world building and ability to present believable characters, the show touches on a range of themes which provide plenty of food for thought.

3.5/5

Thanks for reading!

‘After Sunday’ is playing at the Bush Theatre until the 20th of December!

Tickets here: https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/after-sunday/#book

Photography by Nicola Young

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‘The New Colossus’ 1883: An Analysis

The Statue of Liberty is one of the most recognisable sculptures in the world, and is symbolic of America, the American Dream and freedom. Gifted to America by the French, and designed by Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi, Lady Liberty is probably inspired by Libertas, the Roman goddess of Liberty and was originally conceived in 1865, to celebrate the upcoming centennial of US Independence. Although many tourists flock to see the famous copper statue, not everybody takes note of its cultural significance and might miss the inclusion of Emma Lazarus’ sonnet ‘The New Colossus.’ This was installed at the base of the statue in 1903.

Lazarus originally wrote the sonnet in 1883, and throughout her life helped refugees who were fleeing antisemitic pogroms in eastern Europe. Her activism is credited with inspiring her most famous work, the original manuscript of which is housed in the American Jewish Historical Society. Let’s take a closer look:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

The opening lines of the poem directly reference the Greek Colossus of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. As described, the ‘giant’ statue had ‘conquering limbs astride from land to land.’ The use of the word ‘conquering’ implies that the statue exercises an unbridled power over its surroundings, and the placing of its feet directly references the land that the statue claims. This masculine statue, and the forced violence associated with ‘conquering’ is directly contrasted with Lazarus’ ‘New Colossus’ – the Statue of Liberty.

Lazarus states that the Statue of Liberty is as ‘mighty’ as the Colossus. The statue has so much power that it is not just flame in her torch, but ‘imprisoned lightning.’ Whilst the Colossus exercises physical power of Rhodes and its people, the Statue of Liberty’s power is not directly used to control people, but instead mother nature. Whilst the Colossus seeks to conquer, or control, the people below it, the Statue of Liberty is described as a welcoming ‘Mother of Exiles.’

By personifying the Statue as a ‘Mother’ Lazarus feminises the statue by implying that is a symbol of maternal instinct. This directly contrasts with the masculine energy hinted at by the description of the Colossus. The Statue of Liberty is here to take care of the ‘Exiles’ who journey to America. ‘Exiles’ refers to the immigrants flocking to America to find a home. Due to Lazarus’ activism, she was well aware that for many America was a fresh start and a chance to escape persecution. This explains the Utopian description of the United States as ‘sea-washed’ with ‘sunset gates,’ which have been interpreted as the mouths of the Hudson and East Rivers. Lady Liberty’s influence is far reaching, and the flow of her ‘beacon-hand’ is ‘world-wide.’ The statue does not discriminate and welcomes all.

The Statue goes on to decry ancient culture and tradition, referring to them as ‘storied pomp!’ ‘Storied’ implies a famous history, and ‘pomp’ references a display of splendour. Lady Liberty declares that ‘ancient lands can ‘keep’ such traditions, implying that America is a new world that is moving away from outdated customs and into modernity. The note about her ‘silent lips’ reinforce that, although the poem describes her as speaking, the statue is just that. She speaks directly to those coming to America from foreign lands:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,”

This references the immigrants from around the world who flock to America to escape persecution. Lady Liberty welcomes the ‘tired’ and the ‘poor,’ and states that she can help those ‘yearning to breathe free.’ America is the antidote to oppression and persecution. By describing these people as ‘wretched refuse,’ Lady Liberty implies that these immigrants have been used and discarded by their homelands, and that America offers safe refuge.

The Statue refers to these ‘homeless’ as ‘tempest-tost.’ ‘Tempest’ refers to a violent storm, a pathetic fallacy that could reflect their personal turmoil at being displaced from their homeland. The poem ends with the Statue of Liberty further immortalising the United States of America as a transformative paradise:

“I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

By lifting her ‘lamp’ to light the way of the lost, the Statue guides travellers to the ‘golden door.’ Behind said door is presumably America, its wealth and riches implied by its gold colouring.

Thanks for reading!

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Female Companions of Colour in ‘Doctor Who’

‘Doctor Who’ showrunners have always championed inclusivity and diversity. Chris Chibnall’s condition of taking over as showrunner was that The Doctor should be a woman, when Steven Moffatt cast Pearl Mackie as Bill, he openly stated that the show should ‘do better’ on the diversity front and Russell T Davies’ most recent run is probably the most inclusive to date, featuring the groundbreaking trans character of Rose Noble and the first ever black incarnation of the Time Lord.

As a viewer, and as a person of colour, the diversity debate is always a tricky one, mainly because, more often than not, those having the debate are not people of colour themselves. So, even though characters with our background, and our stories are being put out there, now more than ever, we are not the ones contributing to it, and therefore can be rendered slightly powerless. I work in the television industry myself, and being the only person of colour in the room can be a burden, and it is difficult to stand up, as the minority, and speak up. We are not always listened to, which quite frankly only heightens the imposter syndrome. I am not saying that only people of colour can write people of colour, but I think it is pretty fair for us to ask to contribute to telling our own stories if the occasion calls for it.

I would say that nowadays there are more people of colour on screen, which is lovely. However, sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t – and they don’t work when it is obvious that they are there to tick a box, or if we are not afforded the same presence and autonomy as Caucasian characters. I am not saying that every person of colour should always be the hero, should never be the underdog and should always be the main character. There has to be equality across all bases, and we are only just getting there now. Equality means that, South Asian actors for example, are not just doctors or corner shop owners. Yes, some South Asians do hold those roles in society, but not all of us do. Some of us do other things, and this should also be represented on screen. Caucasian characters can do or be anything on screen, and people of colour deserve that same equality. Only perpetuating that one idea, that South Asians are only doctors and corner shop owners spreads ignorance, which, as we can see, erupted into violence last summer. We can break stereotypes and encourage equality, by allowing people of colour and characters to wear as many hats as Caucasian people do.

First off, I love ‘Doctor Who’, and I think it does some fantastic work. I recently met Russell T Davies at a press night and clumsily told him that, and then went on to tell him about my love for current companion Belinda. He was a lovely man, who totally understood the burden of being the only person of colour in the TV production office. And whilst I have enjoyed Ncuti Gatwa’s second season, more than his first, it was Varada Sethu’s Belinda Chandra that became the main inspiration for this article.

I had not come across Varada Sethu before her ‘Doctor Who’ appearance, but at the announcement of her casting I was excited. Seeing a South Asian woman in ‘Doctor Who’ every week was genuinely thrilling, and I sometimes could not quite believe it. Sethu has also spoken out admirably about reclaiming her cultural heritage, and the difficulties ethnic minorities face in the industry, all of which I keenly relate to. So, not only was she representing us on screen, but she was also using her influence to do some really important work, and I would like to take a second to thank her for that. However, I feel that Belinda has fallen foul of several person-of-colour pitfalls. But, before we get to her, let’s go back to the beginning and start with the original companion of colour, and absolute icon, Martha Jones.

Freema Agyeman’s casting drew attention, and criticism, as she was dubbed as the first full time black companion. Agyeman herself is half Ghanaian and half Iranian Kurdish. On the surface, I would argue that Martha’s cultural heritage was not as openly discussed as much as Yasmin’s or Belinda’s, and her name on paper does not immediately scream any cultural affiliation like say, Yasmin Khan.

This may be indicative of the time that Martha was created, as following cultural movements like Black Lives Matter, there has been greater discussion about accurately representing all races and cultures on screen. In 2021 Agyeman stated that she could not ‘rationalise’ the racism that she was subjected to at the announcement of her casting. I do wonder what it would have been like for her, even behind the scenes, where decisions about her characters’ story, costume, hair and make-up would have been made.

Whilst nowadays it is more common for shows to create a racially diverse world in which all are accepted, like ‘Bridgerton,’ thankfully, throughout her series Martha’s skin colour was not ignored. In ‘The Shakespeare Code,’ David Tennant’s Tenth Doctor prepares to go swanning around Tudor England, with Martha questioning whether she would be ‘carted off as a slave,’ as she was ‘not exactly white, in case [he] hadn’t noticed.’ Writer Gareth Roberts and RTD should be praised for this frankness. Martha highlights racial inequality by quite literally pointing out the obvious. While the Doctor’s colour-blindness towards Martha is a good thing, he goes a bit too far by not realising, and respecting, her concerns about the environment that he has surprised her with. Martha encourages The Doctor to check his own privilege and ignorance, as of course, being Caucasian male presenting, he is able to move freely and will not be discriminated against in this environment.

Martha’s comment is representative of the person of colour experience. I would argue that we are more hyperaware of our surroundings because of our skin colour. Being in the minority at work makes me hyperaware of how I carry myself, as I can easily attract labels. Standing up for myself, and people of colour, risks the ‘woke’ label, or the ‘playing the race card’ label. In the same way, Martha, being a black woman, like all black women, is at risk of attracting the loud, angry, black woman label. Ncuti Gatwa’s Fifteenth Doctor and Belinda subtly discuss this labelling in 2025’s ‘The Story and the Engine’ with both explaining that, in Lagos and India, they feel fully accepted and embraced for who they are. They do not feel different or reduced to stereotypes. The residents of Lagos and India treat The Doctor and Belinda as one of their ‘own.’

Martha suffers another bout of causal racism when caring for John Smith in ‘Human Nature’ and ‘The Family of Blood,’ with Jeremy Baines implying that her hands are the colour of dirt, hindering her from ever being able to tell if the floor she is scrubbing is ‘clean.’ Martha brushes it off, but shows a bit more bite when dealing with Nurse Redfern, recounting all the bones of the hand.

It is Martha’s unrequited love for the Doctor that receives the greater criticism. Agyeman was placed in the tricky position of trying to win over a universe grieving for Billie Piper’s Rose Tyler, and in pining after The Doctor for thirteen episodes, Martha is immediately written as the other woman. This was never exactly going to make people warm to her, as she is characterised as being second best from the off. Without even realising, or probably intending, the storyline turns into a ‘black woman is second best to white female’ narrative, something that The Doctor does not help. Although he never shows any racism towards Martha, The Doctor’s treatment of her is problematic and speaks to wider ideas of racial inequality.

Instead of embracing Martha as a new friend, like Fifteen embraces Belinda after he loses Ruby, Ten is pretty snappy with Martha, throwing around phrases like ‘well find out!’, ‘not that you’re replacing her’ and ‘just one trip then back home!’ Even in her own flat in episode twelve The Doctor silences her when she asks about The Master, quipping ‘that’s all you need to know.’ He negatively compares Martha to Rose in ‘The Shakespeare Code’, saying ‘Rose would know. Right now, she’d say exactly the right thing.’ He never lets Martha choose where they go, and even takes her to the same places he took Rose, signalling to Martha that she is merely a ‘rebound.’

The Doctor also fails to see Martha, sometimes literally, as explored in ‘Human Nature’ and ‘The Family of Blood.’ Asking her to take care of him in a racist Britain is a pretty tall order, and all she gets is a ‘thank you.’ He later jokes in episode twelve that, wearing a perception filter is like ‘when you fancy someone but they have no idea you exist.’ The Doctor is aware of Martha’s feelings for him, as she tells him in ‘The Family of Blood’ that she loves him ‘to bits.’ In the next series he even brags to Donna that Martha ‘fancied’ him, with Donna responding that she must be ‘mad,’ ‘blind’ and calling her ‘charity Martha.’ This is not Martha Jones’ fault, and it is unfortunate that no one on the production thought that this dynamic is kind of uncomfortable.

On the surface, and in The Doctor’s eyes, she never quite manages to be Rose’s equal, and while this is not racially motivated, on the surface the relationship is unintentionally racially insensitive. The Doctor makes his only companion of colour feel inferior to her white predecessor to the point that she agrees, worrying that she was ‘second best.’ It is only at the end of the season that Martha realises her worth, and capitalises on the agency that she always had, in what I would call the best, and most satisfying, RTD companion exit. Martha had always been capable and clever, more so than Rose, she was training to be a junior doctor after all.

This is a key part of her character, and perhaps unintentionally, she ends up looking after The Doctor on many occasions. She saves him in ‘Smith and Jones’ and ‘42,’ looks after him in ‘Human Nature’ and ‘The Family of Blood,’ supports him with a job in a shop during ‘Blink,’ briefly houses Jack and The Doctor in ‘The Sound of Drums,’ and later nips out for a chip run. Martha seems to be the one making sacrifices for The Doctor, more so than Rose ever did. Yes, Rose did her dinner lady stint, but I would say in Series One Rose rules the roost, her and The Doctor are pretty much equals from the off, and remain so until her departure in ‘Doomsday.’ It is unfortunate that the first black companion does not always get to choose, and puts her wants and needs aside for The Doctor, something that her Caucasian predecessor or successor did not have to do.

It is weirdly meta, and perhaps was intended to reflect the world that we live in. It is a sweeping general statement to say that people of colour are merely tolerated, and it is certainly not true across the board. However, considering the race riots last year, and my own experience, racism and racial ignorance are still very much alive. The Doctor never fully embraces Martha for who she is, and even though he invites her on board, he does so at first with snippiness and restrictions.

Even when Martha is leaving, he interrupts her when she begins explaining her reasoning, asking ‘is this going anywhere?’ Worse, Ten is totally oblivious to his own behaviour, and Martha never calls him out for his poor treatment of her. This would have been particularly empowering, and perhaps would have inspired viewers to call out poor behaviour that they have received. The harmful dynamic that has played out over the series, which is probably reflective of society, is never challenged. When comparing the optics of this relationship to that of Ten and Rose and Ten and Donna, it does not compare well.

Now, I hear someone saying, ‘well Twelve was not very nice to Clara.’ And yes, I would say in Series Eight, at times he was not. But we knew that he ultimately respected her, he listened to her, and asked for her opinion, specifically on whether she believed that he was a good man. Whether or not you agree with The Doctor’s actions in ‘Kill the Moon,’ in his eyes, he was ‘respecting’ her. It is not as clear cut and one sided as the dynamic of Ten and Martha.

After Martha leaves The Doctor, she flourishes. She becomes a doctor, as she always intended, and makes waves at UNIT and Torchwood. This is pretty impressive character development, and from Series Four onwards, she is The Doctor’s equal, and earns the respect she always deserved. Interestingly, as soon as Martha leaves, The Doctor welcomes Astrid with open arms, which is very different to how he initially received Martha.

Martha’s mission at UNIT in Series Four really speaks to me. In conversation with the Doctor, she explains:

‘It’s alright for you, you can just come and go but some of us have got to stay behind. So I’ve got to work from the inside, and by staying inside maybe I stand a chance of making them better.’

Here Martha is referring to UNIT’s values of course, but this is how I personally think of the Film and TV industry. I talk about it more at the conclusion of the article, but my belief is that, as an ethnic minority, if I keep fighting for my place in this industry, I can get to a point where I can affect positive change. I can champion new talent, and champion diversity. For Martha, this is her greater calling. She has experienced a different life with The Doctor, and is now using her experiences to better her world. Martha Jones – a true icon and role model.

Martha’s appearance in ‘The End of Time Part Two’ is a divisive one, most notably for her marriage to Mickey Smith, a union which has of course been subjected to the race debate. Do I think they are together because they are both black? No, I don’t believe RTD thinks that way. People of colour do gravitate to each other, I can attest to that, and they do have a deep, shared experience. Martha and Mickey both were treated as second best, and both had unrequited loves. Perhaps it was simpler and was just easier for the filming schedule. I think it is probably the lack of development that the romance had on screen that jars people, and I will say that I was a bit disappointed that Martha had seemingly ditched her medical career.

So, following Martha and RTD’s exit in 2009, we did not have a full-time companion of colour until Pearl Mackie’s Bill Potts in 2017. Steven Moffat openly searched for a non-white actor for the role, and interestingly, it is not Bill’s race that takes centre stage, but her sexuality. She does come up against racism in ‘Thin Ice,’ prompting Peter Capaldi’s Twelfth Doctor to land a pretty heavy punch. Also, at the start of the episode set in Victorian London, Bill points out that ‘slavery is still a thing,’ which, unlike Ten, Twelve acknowledges. Apart from that it is her sexuality that pops up far more frequently.

Twelve is much more responsive to Bill, than Ten was to Martha. Perhaps this is because Twelve was not grieving, he had processed the loss of River Song. Although Twelve and Bill are not equal in terms of rank, he is tutor, she is student, he never treats her as less than him. Is this reflective of growing sensitivities, or purely character choices? I think Bill is a likeable and fun character, but for me, she fails to leave a big mark because she lacks agency, something which Martha did exercise throughout her tenure.

Most companions do something to save the day during their introductory episode, Rose, Martha, Donna, River and Amy, and although Clara may not explicitly, her echoes do have impact. Even Yaz contributes by driving the crane. Most companions also have some agency in their own exit, Rose chooses to stay behind and help Ten, Martha leaves, Donna attempts to kill Davros causing him to trigger the meta crisis within her, Amy chooses Rory and Clara chooses to take Rigsy’s tattoo. Bill’s cyber exit, whilst no doubt shocking viewing, is forced upon her, and never quite had the emotional mic drop that other companion exits had because it was not character driven.

Bill does challenge The Doctor, and supports him, but in terms of character defining acts, I can only think of a couple from The Monks saga. In Series Ten’s two part, albeit brilliant finale, Bill’s primary function is to first be turned into a Cyberman. She is definitely generally liked by the fanbase, I would argue more so than Martha, but neither of them ever top any companion polls like Sarah Jane, Rose or Donna.

One interesting thing to note, is that Bill is very normal. Like Martha, Yaz and Belinda, Bill does not have any mystery box narrative surrounding her, and does not become superhuman like Rose, Donna, Clara or, in part, Ruby. An interesting coincidence.

Next, we get Yasmin Khan in 2018, the first televised companion of South Asian descent. I’ll admit, I do find Yaz tricky. First off, props to Chris Chibnall for crafting a consistent cultural heritage for her. Her name implies that she is Pakistani Muslim, a note that is supported and commented on throughout Series Eleven.

We hear about her experiences as a person of colour in ‘Rosa,’ as she and Ryan discuss their experiences of racism. Top marks here Chibnall. Using your characters to contextualise/explain the wider themes of the story while making them more relatable, and developing said characters’ relationships at the same time? That is the mark of good representation.

In ‘Arachnids in the UK,’ we meet Yaz’s family, their names all consistent with her established cultural heritage. In ‘Demons of the Punjab’ The Doctor takes the team to India at Yaz’s request, so that she can learn more about her family. For me, as a Sikh Panjabi, the idea of an episode set in India was very exciting, and it felt even more meaningful that it was written by South Asian writer, Vinay Patel. Regardless of what you think of his tenure, I do commend Chibnall for encouraging greater diversity behind the camera.

In my analysis of Yasmin you may think that I am implying that a character’s cultural heritage needs to be mentioned in every single episode, but this not the case. I believe that it enriches a character, and if touched upon, can open a plethora of new stories, as ‘Demons of the Punjab’ and ‘The Story and the Engine’ prove. As Meera Syal said in her BAFTA Fellowship acceptance speech, we do have some great stories, people just need to listen. So, from the cultural perspective side, Chibnall did some good work with Yasmin, especially in her first series. It is just a shame though, that the character has received very mixed reviews, and I personally find her quite unmemorable.

Apart from ‘Demons of the Panjab,’ I do not feel that Yaz contributed much to the series. She did not have an arc like Graham and Ryan in Series 11, so, although within the show she is never considered by The Doctor to be second best like Martha, to the viewer, she was frequently an afterthought. I cannot recall any significant thing she did in Series 11, bar driving the aforementioned crane and kicking the Pting in ‘The Tsuranga Conundrum.’ This is where the tickbox debate rears its ugly head, as, if Yasmin’s character does not impact that much on plot, then we have to ask, why is she there? To enrich the diversity optics on screen? In terms of big, series or universe defining moments, Rose absorbed the Time Vortex, Martha walked the Earth, Clara jumps into The Doctor’s time stream and Bill gifted the planet to The Monks. Nothing of this much note springs to mind for Yaz. She is currently faring less well than Bill. Yaz does assist the team, and is helpful, but this is something all companions do. It is harsh to say but it is almost the bare minimum. In my opinion Yaz fills the stock companion role more than any other discussed in this list.

Also, Yaz is incredibly humourless. When people think of comedic companions they probably think of Donna and Bill, but they all have their moments. Martha saying ‘we’re on the bloody Moon’ in her first episode, Rose being comedically camp when possessed by Cassandra and Clara gleefully teases a relationship with Jane Austen. Take Captain Jack’s surprise return in ‘Fugitive of the Judoon,’ for example. He had more charisma and humour than Yasmin, Ryan and Graham put together.

Her role kind of grows in later seasons, but more due to her longevity, not because she really does anything. Thirteen confides in her in Series Twelve, and Graham tells us that Yasmin is amazing, without us really seeing it. She springs Dan from Karvanista’s trap in ‘The Halloween Apocalypse,’ but, even after all these years, in ‘Flux,’ Thirteen draws back, becomes more secretive, asking Yasmin: ‘does everything have to be a discussion? Go on. In.’ Pretty hard to influence the narrative when you are being told to shut up and move. Martha’s ears must have been burning.

A recurring joke within the fanbase throughout Yasmin’s run was that she would frequently pick up and drop the idea of being a police officer. Her exclamation in ‘Fugitive of the Judoon’ that she is a ‘police officer’ drew more laughs than cheers, especially because she then claimed to speak the Judoon’s ‘language.’ To her credit, we do see some police skills spring into action in ‘It Takes You Away’ and ‘Village of the Angels,’ but something that was marketed as key to her character does fade away pretty quickly.

Martha and Belinda were more consistent on the job front. It was well tied to their character. We see her fix Hath Peck’s arm, and we see Belinda administer alien IV lines in her debut episode. Ok granted, Martha later goes freelance in a move that I am still not sold on, but I will let that one-minute scene slide.

Perhaps now Yasmin is more remembered for her near romantic relationship with The Doctor. While Bill’s sexuality is fully realised and explored, she has a love interest that develops over time and reaches a conclusion, Yasmin really does not have much to go on. It could have been an interesting story, and in RTD’s most recent episode ‘The Reality War’ he does confirm that it was really a thing… but I think the reception from the fanbase is pretty lukewarm as people just assume it was tacked on for the last three episodes, and wished into existence by the fans themselves.

So how does Yasmin fare overall? Yasmin’s cultural background is well utilised, as epitomised by ‘Demons of the Panjab.’ This episode is a good example of representation, and supports the idea that, when you take note of someone’s cultural heritage, it opens doors for stories. It is just a shame that her overall blandness and half-baked love for The Doctor land her on the lower end of companion polls.

Next, we get RTD with Belinda Chandra in 2025. In my mind, she manages to take steps forward, but also backwards. Now, there is probably a Keralan woman out there called Belinda, but Varada Sethu is South Indian, she does have a cultural background that can be drawn from. My question is, why not capitalise on that and choose a South Indian name, for a companion who is quite openly South Indian? She longs to take Poppy to Kerala, her parents are called Lakshmi and Hari.

Chandra is also more commonly associated with North India, as demonstrated by Panjabi character Rani Chandra in ‘The Sarah Jane Adventures.’ Belinda is a South Indian woman with an Italian and Spanish first name, and North Indian surname. It’s not all quite adding up. If this cultural incoherence is not going to be explained at all, then perhaps the writers should just play it safe, to avoid people like me writing pieces like this. Yasmin Khan is probably the most Pakistani Muslim female name you can find, there’s a reason both names pop up on television frequently.

There is a moment in her first episode where Belinda is referred to as ‘Linda’ by a housemate, and she swiftly corrects him. People get my name wrong all the time, and although people get names wrong in all cultures all of the time, it is very common for people of colour, and leads to people of colour changing their names, or anglicising them. I am Harpal, but I go by Harps. Varada goes by V, character Darwish Zubair Ismail Gani from ‘Parks and Recreations’ goes by Tom Haverford. Sethu recently spoke about the correct pronunciation of her name on BBC Asian Network, and how she is reclaiming it, like so many other South Asians. If Belinda had a South Indian first name, this moment would have acknowledged one of the microaggressions that people of colour experience, giving it a greater cultural and societal relevance. Interestingly Belinda is happy with The Doctor calling her Bel, something he does without her permission.

Maybe Belinda is Indian Christian. Indian Christians make up two percent of the Indian population, and a significant population is concentrated in the South, totalling five percent. Perhaps that is the answer, Belinda is Indian Christian… but her connection to Kerala confuses with her North Indian surname. Hey, if Belinda is Indian Christian, then explain it, it could make a good story, there was space for it in ‘The Story and The Engine.’ In film and TV, there are probably more Asian characters with non-Asian names due to colourblind casting. Chibnall had Mitch in ‘Resolution.’ Colourblind casting is a good thing to a point, but it works both ways. If you ignore somebody’s skin colour fully, you ignore a key component of their identity in the process. It’s steps forwards and steps backwards.

You are probably wondering why I get so bogged down with names. Well, there have probably been a million characters named Belinda on screen. Probably loads named Bill and Martha too. A companion of colour presents the opportunity for a new name to enter the Whoniverse lexicon. It’s a chance to hear different names on screen and a chance to normalise them. Out of four full time female companions of colour, only one has a name that reflects their cultural heritage. If you read the names in a list, you would probably only assume that one is a person of colour: Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy, Clara, Bill, Yasmin, Ruby and Belinda. We have decent visual representation, but surely it enhances this representation even more if the names follow suit. As we can see, there is clear imbalance.

If we work backwards, in her last episode, Belinda longs to show Poppy Kerala. So, Belinda is clearly in touch with her cultural heritage, specifically Kerala, which is nice to see. However, this specificity, that Yasmin had, wavers. In episode seven, Belinda refers to her mother as ‘amma,’ meaning mother in several South Indian languages. In episode five, Sethu refers to her nan as… nan. This seems inconsistent. Belinda states that her nan would take her to ‘India whenever she could.’  Perhaps Belinda’s nan took her all over the country, but, surely it makes more sense to take Belinda to Kerala, as, as, described in episode eight, this is something she wants to do for Poppy. It would only strengthen her connection to Kerala and explain why she wants to take Poppy there, she is following some sort of family tradition.

RTD has written two companions of colour. Belinda is embraced by The Doctor, unlike Martha, and has a stronger connection to her cultural heritage, which enriches and adds dimensions to her character. It also strengthens her understanding of The Doctor in this body, something we see in ‘The Story and The Engine.’ Belinda is also the second woman of colour to be an NHS worker. This kind of leads into what I mentioned earlier, stereotypes are ok in moderation, as long as you tell people that it’s not ALL that we do. So maybe Belinda should have been something totally different, like a CEO. That would be very cool!

I am more critical of Belinda’s NHS hero status more than Martha, because, as the series progresses, Belinda gets more and more detached from this job. Part of Martha’s exit was her desire to finish her medical training, something so essential to her that it informs all her later appearances, it is not abandoned like Belinda’s status as a nurse or Yaz’s as a police officer. In episode six, Belinda calls The Doctor wonderful after she sees him torture someone. She is a nurse, why is she not more horrified by this? After saving the universe in episode eight, she is also happy to fly around the universe with The Doctor and happy, seemingly abandoning her one motivation all series – to get home for her shift.

It’s in the two-part finale that Belinda really suffers. Normally, companions play a pivotal role in the finale. Ruby and her mother defeat Sutekh, Amy Pond brings The Doctor back at her wedding, Martha’s actions restore The Doctor. Belinda is sidelined more than any other companion in her own series, even beating Yasmin, and ends up playing second fiddle to her Caucasian predecessor, Ruby in an RTD repeat.

So, in episode seven Belinda is reduced to the dutiful wife as she is trapped in Conrad’s Wish World. It is supposed to be unsettling, and it is supposed to feel abnormal, and not true to either The Doctor or Belinda. I do not have an issue with this, as this is the storyline. The whole point is that it is meant to set alarm bells off for the audience. The failure is, is that in episode eight, she fully becomes the satire that we were meant to be horrified by, and goes all out to protect a daughter she was given without her consent, and nearly hinders the entire rescue mission in favour said daughter. It is a lot to ask the audience to be willing to sacrifice the universe and a Doctor for a child that is very new to the narrative.

Worse still, after The Rani and Omega are defeated, Belinda is willing to travel the stars with The Doctor and Poppy, abandoning her one motivation across the whole series – to go home for her shift and to the parents that she loves so much. She also becomes strangely and unsettlingly saccharine. Very Stepford wife.

Hey, if Belinda always dreamed of having a child, then fair play. It probably would have been quite moving to see The Doctor sacrifice himself for the dreams of his companion. But satirising her passive role in ‘Wish World,’ and showing her growing distress at it, cue her screaming in a forest, and then making it real extinguishes the character that everybody loved in her debut. She becomes the character that she tried to escape as a teenager, the woman that Alan would have forced upon her.

The fact that she sits tight in a box for most of episode eight is also upsetting, as Ruby, who is not this series’ main companion, does all the heavily lifting. Any agency Belinda had vanishes, as well as her concept of consent. She did not choose to have this child, and yet is willing to pledge her life to her at the expense of the universe. She is happy for The Doctor to fight in the battle to save Poppy, contradicting her dialogue in ‘The Robot Revolution’ that she can fight her own battles. It makes far more sense for Poppy to be the daughter of The Doctor and Ruby, as Ruby actually has memories of her.

From what I can see from reviews and vlogs online, the conclusion to Belinda’s character arc generally has been poorly received. I have seen a lot of content makers saying that Belinda in episodes one to three was winning, and after that, she just goes downhill. It is a real shame, that Belinda as a companion is one of the least liked, with people arguing that she was ‘wasted’ and ‘mistreated.’

Now obviously this dislike and disappointment of her character is not related to Belinda’s ethnicity, it is down to the writing of her character arc, much like Martha. However, it would be nice to have a POC (person of colour) companion celebrated in full by the fanbase, otherwise people of colour in the show just get forgotten in favour of Rose’s, or Donna’s or Clara’s.

What makes it worse is that Martha and Belinda both end up playing second fiddle to their Caucasian predecessors. Martha does so because The Doctor constantly compares her to Rose, Belinda does so because the narrative compels her. As I said before, I am not saying that all companions of colour have to be heroes, but when they are SO few and far between, it is frustrating that when we get one, they never really have the opportunity to shine. They are underserved by the narrative, or The Doctor. Bill Potts probably fairs the best, she is liked by The Doctor, and generally praised by the audience. Martha, Yasmin and Belinda have received much more mixed reviews.

Archie Panjabi’s lack of screen time in the finale as The Rani also stings. She too is sidelined in favour of her Caucasian predecessor, Anita Dobson’s Mrs Flood, who does not contribute anything to the episode, or the previous episode. I was SO excited to see British Asian icon Archie Panjabi in the show, especially playing an alien Time Lady with a Sanskrit name. But alas, she is unceremoniously eaten. The most prominent, South Asian female villain in the whole of the show’s history, eaten. Both South Asian women in ‘The Reality War’ fare pretty terribly.

Maybe all of these women fare better than Naoki Mori’s Toshiko Sato of ‘Torchwood.’ Toshiko is the stereotypical, quiet, nerdy Asian girl, who for most of the first season is separate from the group and almost ostracised. She does more in Series Two, but is still a walking tragedy. She also pines after a Caucasian lead who barely registers, Burn Gorman’s Owen Harper. Doctor and Martha parallels?

I am probably going to be criticised for drawing comparisons. Hey, Bill is one parent down, as is Rose and Clara, Yasmin has a sibling as Martha does, all companions have similarities. But I would argue that the companions of colour have MORE similarities than their Caucasian counterparts. For example, all of them work in the public service sector. Martha the doctor, Bill the canteen worker, Yasmin the police officer and Belinda the nurse. It is common that ethnic minorities do enter into these sectors, which probably is part of the reason that there are fewer working in the creative industries.

The reason that these discussions matter is that, at the end of the day, people of colour, especially women of colour, come under so much scrutiny. They have to contend with sexism AND racism.

I will say, as a minority at work, I do feel that there is more weight on my shoulders to represent, and Sethu recently opined that ethnic minorities feel extra pressure to succeed. If I fail at something, as the only person of colour in the office, I feel as though I am not just letting myself down, but people of colour down as well, as I am the only one there. I am everybody else’s only example of a person of colour in that space, at that time – I end up being the one speaking for all of us. Just as Martha, Bill, Yasmin and Belinda have. It is immense pressure for them, as they are on television. When Caucasian character’s faulter, like Bruno Langley’s Adam Mitchell, I would argue that the impact is not as great, as we have every Caucasian Doctor to be heroic. ‘Adam was terrible but at least we have…’ then we can run off a list. When she arrived, Martha just had Martha. And as society has shown us, particularly with the race riots of 2024, some people in society paint people of colour with the same ignorant, racist brush.

So, when crafting diverse characters, what is the answer? If it is going to be done, then it has to be done properly, for sure, but maybe, no matter what is done, the show cannot win. In ‘Doctor Who’ definite strides have been made, but considering the cultural work done by shows like ‘Bridgerton’ and ‘EastEnders’ in crafting compelling characters who are enriched by their cultural heritage, surely a beloved companion of colour that is the whole package must be on the horizon somewhere in the future.

Thanks for reading!

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‘Not Your Superwoman’ at the Bush Theatre Review: A cathartic and empowering mother-daughter saga that tackles loss, identity and self-discovery

The Bush Theatre rolled out the orange, yes, orange, carpet last night for the world premiere of Emma Dennis-Edwards’ ‘Not Your Superwoman.’ Starring Golda Rosheuvel and Letitia Wright as mother and daughter duo Joyce and Erica, the show examines their relationship following the death of their family matriarch, Elaine. Both journey to their ancestral homeland of Guyana to spread Elaine’s ashes, and discover a lot about themselves, and their history, along the way. Rosheuvel and Wright offer powerful performances in a show that viscerally addresses loss, trauma, identity and healing – whilst laying a smackdown on the ‘strong black woman’ trope.

The box-like stage juts out to the audience, meaning that, wherever you sit, you get a unique angle of the drama. It is intimate, as if we are looking at the characters through a shop window, they are observed on all sides. What struck me at the beginning of the show was Jai Morjaria’s lighting design. The lighting is like a character in itself, and although both Joyce and Erica only really interact with luggage and chairs, we know where they are through the lighting. The airport is a cold blue, but when we reach Guyana, we are bathed in a warming glow of orange, one that mirrors the marketing campaign and the theatre’s lovely orange carpet. Gion Ricardo Green’s projections also add to this, allowing us to see what the characters see, making for an immersive and involving experience. As Erica discovers her past, we do too.

Golda Rosheuvel as Joyce and Letitia Wright as Erica

Rosheuvel and Wright turn in powerful and punchy performances as Joyce and Erica. The script requires them to be funny, argumentative, angered, devastated… the list continues, and you can see that they are constantly giving 110 percent. Both are particularly impressive when they alter their physicality to portray Elaine and younger versions of themselves.

Rosheuvel’s Joyce is very much the ‘fun mum,’ often leaving daughter Erica to pick up the pieces. As the play progresses, Erica forces her mother to confront her past, while Erica tries to make peace with it in order to face her future. Due to the intimate nature of the story, and their performances, it is easy for the audience to relate to. We all have lost somebody, we all have complicated family relationships, we all have a past.

The play interrogates the type of multigenerational trauma that people of colour in particular face. Although there is a longing to go back to the past, and ancestral homeland as symbolised by Erica, Joyce knows that going back into the past will bring up all kinds of pain. Elaine knew this too. It is something that I have realised as I have grown up, immigrant parents’ priority was to provide, provide, provide. To them, hugs and kisses was not going to keep a roof over their children’s heads. The play does well to empathise and validate both women, it is Erica’s right to want to know more about her past, but we do recognise the pain that it will bring up for Joyce. The show encourages the audience to see the situation from both points of view and says things that are often left unsaid in POC families. Neither women are at fault, both women are just dealing with the hand that they were dealt. And how do they deal with this hand? Become Superwoman.

Although Joyce and Erica spend the entirety of the play together on this trip to Guyana, they still cannot quite be honest with each other, instead quietly telling themselves to keep it together. This is where the show takes down the ‘strong black woman trope,’ – it shows us the consequences of what it is like to live with that label. Majority of the audience were people of colour, and, although the story may tread on familiar territory, I could see how they were affected by the piece. People laughed, and people cried. You know that it has been a good night at the theatre when you are watching something that has such a profound effect on the audience.

Erica and Joyce also reach some kind of conclusion. I was concerned that the show might be open ended, however, we get a tender embrace. It is not a soliloquy, but it is just as, if not more, cathartic. In a hopeful moment they both express to each other that they will try to better understand one another. This is enough to know that there is hope, and where there is hope, there is potential progress for these women, and for all those that share their story.

4/5

Thanks for reading!

Tickets are currently sold out, more information can be found here: https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/not-your-superwoman/

Photography by Richard Lakos

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Birthdays: A Brief History

Everyone knows what birthdays are – they are the anniversary of someone’s birth. A birthday comes around once a year, ie, September 10th, a birthdate, is the complete date, ie, September 10th 1999. Nowadays birthdays are heavily celebrated with cake, with some birthdays carrying more weight and importance than others. But where did these traditions come from? And why do we eat cake?

Going back to ancient Egypt, the Pharoah’s did not celebrate the anniversary of their birth, but the anniversary of their ascension to the throne, which was seen as their ascension into godhood. Greek Historian Herodotus noted in his works that Persians took great pleasure in celebrating their birthdays, and that the rich treated themselves to baked cow, horse or camel. The Romans however did not initially celebrate people, but institutions. So perhaps the anniversary of the founding of a temple, or a university was celebrated. Over time, the Gods associated with the place in question became more directly celebrated, for example, March 1st is known to be the birthday of the God Mars.

As does most things, this changed overtime, as ordinary people began celebrating the anniversary of their birth. Romans believed that every individual had divine nature, and that this aspect of their being needed to be worshipped and respected. For men, this spirit was called the Genius, and for women, Juno. So, on the day of their birth, the Romans would make offerings in the lararium, or the household shrine. This expanded, and birthday parties began to enter the picture.

Birthday parties solidified alliances, familial bonds and friendships, and were seen as great social occasions. In 1973, Robin Birley discovered the Vindolanda tablets, the oldest surviving documents in Britain that dated back to Roman times. Transcribed was an invitation to a birthday party. Books were also popular gifts. If a high profile member of society died, their birthday would be celebrated in the following years, which is something that is a popular tradition across the world. Sikh people celebrate the birthdays of the ten Gurus, known as Gurpurb, Hindus also celebrate Ganesha Chaturthi which marks the birthday of Ganesha.

Saint’s days have historically been celebrated, typically on the day of the named saints’ death or martyrdom. During in the Middle Ages, the majority of the population celebrated their saint’s days, which was the saint they were named after. In Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox countries, Saint’s Days were known as name days. The festivities resembled that of a birthday and were celebrated on the day of a saint with the same Christian name as the birthday person. In ‘War and Peace,’ Pierre visits Natasha on her name day at the start of the novel.

During the Middle Ages, it was the nobility that celebrated the anniversary of their own birth, and whilst early Christians regarded birthdays as pagan rituals, nowadays Christians are quite open to the idea. Jehovah’s Witnesses are still sceptical however, citing Christianity’s previous condemnation of birthdays and their potential links to superstitions and magic. Sikhs also do not encourage the celebrations of birthdays, viewing them as superficial festivities. Sikhs instead view the day as an opportunity for spiritual reflection.

The tradition of eating cake dates back to ancient Greece, where offerings of round, moon-shaped cakes with candles were made to honour the goddess Artemis. In Germany, during the 18th century, this tradition continued with Kinderfest, where candles were used to ward off evil spirits who would attempt to steal the children’s souls. It is from here that many of the birthday traditions that we see today originated, and it is estimated that in-between 50 to 100 million birthday cakes are eaten every day!

Some birthdays hold more significance than others, particularly 18 and 21. As you may have guessed, these are the ages where you are legally seen as an adult, also known as ‘coming of age.’

The well known ‘Happy Birthday’ song was written by American sisters Patty and Mildred J Hill, and first appeared in print in 1912. The melody was originally composed with the aim of helping children to learn, with the phrase ‘Good Morning to All’ originally being used.

Happy Birthday everyone!

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‘Make Me Feel’ at the Bush Theatre Review: A fun and enjoyable look at the highs, lows and politics of friendship

I was back at the Bush Theatre this week for the world premiere of ‘Make Me Feel.’ Written by Bush Writers’ Group alumni Will Jackson for the 18-25 Bush Young Company, the play follows Jamie (Joshua Aketse-Entsie) and Ruby (Dejuan Desiree) as they plan their nuptials. Also, along for the ride is their seventeen friends, who all go through their own highs and lows in the run up to the big day. It is accurately described as a cross between ‘Love Actually’ and ‘Normal People,’ and does offer a heartwarming and fun look into the politics of the 18-25 age bracket. Although, inevitably, several characters and plot points do fall by the wayside, the overall experience is a highly enjoyable one.

The cast of ‘Make Me Feel’

As a start, the Bush Theatre should be commended for its endeavours to educate and empower a new generation of diverse theatre talent. It is clear that the cast, and the creative team, are all ones to watch. The set is immediately striking, and the space is used well to communicate a multitude of places, including clubs, pubs and the wedding venue itself. The lighting is well used to communicate changes in mood and location, and a particularly immersive, albeit slightly irrelevant, protest scene is made more immersive through the use of smoke effects.

The show soars when focussing on the wider dynamics of the friendship group, and often makes for a humorous and relatable piece of theatre. A particular standout is a scene depicting the Hens’ and Stags’ Whatsapp group chats as they plan their respective Hen and Stag nights, which drew laughter from the audience. It was during these moments that the audience was most engaged.

The cast of ‘Make Me Feel’

However, balancing many characters and plot threads does not always work. Scenes that particularly feel out of place are a speed awareness course, and a pro-Palestinian protest. The latter is particularly ripe for criticism, as it seems that, without reference to it throughout the rest of the play, a political message is included for the sake of including a political message. Although I have seen other reviewers focus in on these gripes, if you sit back and enjoy the ride, the show is guaranteed to take you on an interesting journey, much like life itself.

4/5

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Don’t miss the last shows today!

Tickets: https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/make-me-feel/?gad_source=1&gad_campaignid=7179390604&gbraid=0AAAAADniBzdAvrN4574a0SHQLcg0TEsK_&gclid=Cj0KCQjwqqDFBhDhARIsAIHTlkt7nlCzFu7Ydb5iiz77lXxdffkvvjv6tg-8i9sCNGhtzdnd5tFH_gcaAjFmEALw_wcB#book

Photography by Harry Elletson

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The Partition of India: A Brief History

The 14th and the 15th of August is the anniversary of the Partition of India, an event that occurred in 1947 and refers to the splitting of British India into India and Pakistan. As well as affecting India’s borders, the seminal event is often cited as the cause of certain religious and cultural divides.

India and Britain have a complicated history, dating back to the East India Company which was established under Elizabeth I in 1600. It was not until the death of Emperor Aurangzeb and the fall of the Mughal Empire in 1707 that Britain gained a stronger foothold in India, and used their naval fleet to transport more British men over to secure that hold. The foundations of the British Empire are attributed to Warren Hastings, who was appointed the head of the Supreme Council of Bengal in 1772, and Robert Clive, a military man who led a decisive victory over the Nawab of Bengal at the Battle of Palashi (anglicised as Plassey) in 1757. Under Hastings’ rule Calcutta was redeveloped and became the capital of British India.

The East India Company fell after the Indian Rebellion of 1857, and India found itself under the control of the crown. It was in 1877 that Queen Victoria added ‘Empress of India’ to her title, and it was during this time that Britain introduced several new modes of transport to the country. India was longing for independence, and this reached its head in the 1900s.

The roots of partition can be traced back to 1905, and the Partition of Bengal. Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon, divided Bengal into Western Bengal and Assam, and Bengal. Curzon did this as he believed the large province of Bengal was too large to govern as one. This decision was heavily based on religion, with Muslims dominating Western Bengal and Assam, and Hindus occupying Bengal. This divide, based on religion set precedents for how boundaries would be drawn going forward, and encouraged a nationalist movement in India.

British India in 1909

However, decisions-based on religion were rarely based on established, reliable facts, and instead encouraged religious hostility. India itself is a large melting pot of many different cultures and religions, and so drawing borders based on generalisations is viewed today as extremely reductive. At the time though, it took hold, and the two-nation theory began to gain traction, formalised in the creation of the India National Congress Party and the All India Muslim League.

The India National Congress Party was formed in 1885, and the All India Muslim League was formed in 1906, both vying for Indian independence. The All India Muslim League however argued that due to their differing religions, Hindus and Muslims had distinct cultural differences, and therefore, could not coexist in one nation. The All India Muslim League believed that a united India would be majority Hindu, and would therefore overlook the needs of the Muslim population.

In an attempt to try and appease both parties, Britain allowed the people of India to vote in the 1909 local elections, but, they gave Muslim people a separate electorate. This created two separate power structures in the same geographical area, only fuelling the All India Muslim League’s belief that Muslims needed their own independent state. The two-nation theory was something that Muhammed Ali Jinnah continued to champion when he became head of the All India Muslim League in 1913. Under Mahatma Gandhi, the India National Congress Party won the 1937 Indian election, something that only fuelled the All India Muslim League’s initial concerns.

During the Second World War, Churchill worked with Jinnah, who cooperated with the war effort during the Second World War. In return, an agreement was made that the All India Muslim League could secede from an independent India, should the occasion arise. Following World War II, it became obvious to many Britons, bar Winston Churchill, that Indian Independence was inevitable.

Clement Attlee was sworn in as Britain’s Prime Minister in 1945, and was sympathetic towards Indian Independence. In the 1946 elections, the prospect of an independent Pakistan became more of a reality as the All India Muslim League won 87% of Muslim seats, and the Indian National Congress Party won 90% of non-Muslim seats. Jinnah also announced a Direct Action Day, which erupted into violence now known as the 1946 Calcutta riots, beginning on 16th August 1946. With this announcement, Jinnah aimed to encourage strikes and economic shut downs to protest for an independent Muslim state. This violence continued into the next year, and Britain essentially lost control of the situation.

Lord Mountbatten, the Viceroy of India at the time also wanted an independent, but united India, one that would hopefully become a strong ally in future. These bubbling tensions, fuelled by beliefs about the two-nation state continued, and led to the eventual decision to split India into India and West and East Pakistan, a name formed of several different areas:

P = Panjab

A = Afghania

K = Kashmir

I = Indus

S = Sindh

TAN = Balochistan

It was up to the British to adjust the actual borders, with most areas in India opting to either join India or Pakistan. However, the districts of Bengal and Panjab were to be divided based on the density of religious populations, a tactic used to Partition Bengal in 1905. The new map, drawn by Sir Cyril Radcliffe, who had never been to India, was released two days after India and Pakistan became independent, on the 17th of August. This is what prompted mass migration, as some families, quite literally, found themselves on the wrong side of the border. It was this mass migration, an estimated 10 to 12 million people, that prompted religious violence and bloodshed. Although at the time the borders seemed absolute, East Pakistan became Bangladesh in 1971.

The Radcliffe Line dividing India and Pakistan

Partition explains why some important Sikh locations are now based in modern day Pakistan, such as Guru Nanak’s birthplace. It also explains why the Panjabi language has variations, as there is a version of the language influenced by India, and one by Pakistan.

The event has had a significant impact on popular culture, and is referenced in literature, film and television, including Salman Rushdie’s ‘Midnight’s Children’ and even a Series 11 episode of ‘Doctor Who.’ The ramifications of the widespread suffering caused by the divide are still felt today, and explain certain religious and cultural conflicts within India.

Partition also explains the ongoing Kashmir conflict. Initially, Kashmir was left to decide it’s own future, and at the time, their ruler, Hari Singh decided to bring Kashmir under India’s rule. Singh needed India’s military backing against Pakistani tribal invaders. This led to the Indo-Pakistani War of 1947, a conflict that resulted in the drawing of another border, the Line of Control. The Indian Pakistan conflict over Kashmir has peaked and troughed for decades.

It is clear from this alone that Partition still inspires complex debates about religion, culture and identity, communicating that its effects are still keenly felt today.

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‘Sing Street’ at the Lyric Hammersmith Review: An immersive blast of 80s rock, rage and youthful hope

I was back at the Lyric Hammersmith last week for the opening of ‘Sing Street’! Based on John Carney’s 2016 film of the same name, the musical follows schoolboy Conor (Sheridan Townsley) who claims to be in a boy band to impress his mysterious crush, Raphina (Grace Collender). Set in 1980s Dublin, the show is a real blast of 80s rock, rage and youthful hope. Although the second half is weaker than the first, the musical’s biggest selling point is its talented company and its homage to the culture and music of the 80s.

The show is unique in its style. Using high quality projections, and a camera with a live link to the back of the stage, the show is wonderfully immersive, and gives it an authentic feel that is reminiscent of 80s television. Although the story of the first act is simple, make the band to get the girl, the momentum is strong and there is plenty of humour in it. Conor’s motley band, and their 80s costumes, provide plenty of laughs, even though there are too many members to truly get to know any of them. The way that Raphina is introduced, gliding onto the stage in a phone box, is suitably fun and ethereal.

Grace Collender as Raphina and Sheridan Townsley as Conor

The first act builds to a crowd-pleasing crescendo, with Conor successfully wooing Raphina, both of which have a touching, and believable chemistry. The performances all round are incredibly strong, and this multi-talented group of young actors is certainly one to watch.

However, it is the second act that falters, as the premise of the show is complete – Raphina is won. The songs still inspire and impress, but in-between there is a bit of a plot vacuum. The show never quite manages to capitalise on the dramatic themes that it touches on, including poverty, incest and bullying. We keep being told that Dublin is ‘dead end,’ but we never actually know why. Conor’s parents also split up in a scene that feels slightly underwhelming.

This act preoccupies itself with defeating Lloyd Hutchinson’s Brother Baxter, who, up until this point, has had a relatively small role. Although the boys do triumph, staging a concert at their school despite Baxter’s protests, the thread is not as strong as Conor’s pursuit of Raphina. At the end, Raphina and Conor decide to go to London to try and make it in the music industry.

The cast of ‘Sing Street’

Although I’m slightly concerned as to whether Raphina and Conor will survive the crossing in Conor’s grandads’ boat, this hopeful energy is consistent throughout the musical, and the performances of the core cast make it easy to get behind them in their endeavours. It is when the cast flex their musical muscles on stage that the production truly soars, and the show is worth seeing for that, as well as its blast of 80s nostalgia.

3/5

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‘Sing Street’ is playing at the Lyric Hammersmith until August 23rd!

Tickets: https://lyric.co.uk/shows/sing-street/#performances

Photography by Manuel Harlan

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‘Flat 2’ at the Wandsworth Arts Fringe Review: An acute and nuanced study of the awkwardness and humour of the grief experience

‘Flat 2’ asks a wonderfully morbid and unique question – if two couples move in together, and after forty-eight hours one half of each couple dies, what do you do? Lucy Foley’s debut play premiered in London last year, and then moved to Edinburgh Fringe. I caught the show at the Wandsworth Arts Fringe Festival, and was especially impressed with how the show’s ability to examine the awkwardness, and trauma, of grief through a darkly comic lens.

Although the venue that I saw the show in was not its permanent one, it was in Wandsworth was for two days, it was well utilized. An underground arch with a leak is as ‘student housing’ as you can get, and the intimate nature of the space served the story, as, when you are the one grieving, all eyes are on you.

Tom Ashen as Freddie and Lucy Foley as Ava

From the off, the play manages to reflect the reality of grief, as it fields the age-old question of ‘what do we do now?’ The play accepts that grief has no guidebook, especially when you are in your twenties. Ava (Lucy Foley) and Freddie (Tom Ashen) are left debating what an appropriate mourning food is, and whether ordering a Deliveroo would be offensive. This is not only witty, but painfully relatable. I, after losing a loved one, questioned whether watching TV was an acceptable activity. While there is a slowness to this opening, as the characters process their immediate situation, it works, as at the shows core are two eminently watchable and sophisticated performers.

Foley and Ashen both capture the subtle nuances of their characters’ grief experiences. Foley looks longing into the distance, Ashen turns his back to the audience and quietly sobs. Both performers make these two very different grief experiences palpably real, and relatable. From the off, both have a delicious chemistry even though we know as an audience, they really shouldn’t.

The play has an uncanny ability, as mentioned, to go from darkness to dark comedy. A good example of one of these early switches is the appearance of Freddie hyping up a bunch of imaginary five-year-olds dressed as The Stig for Tyler’s fifth birthday party. Foley and Ashen’s dynamic, as well as the early appearance of our fake Stig all contributed to the air of unpredictability that surrounds the piece, and I’ll admit, the directions it took surprised me for the better.

Lucy Foley as Ava

I know we shouldn’t have preconceptions or assumptions, but based on the press released I believed that we would be with these characters for the early days of their grief. Instead, we get a smart montage of the days after the deaths of Stefan and Billie. Ava and Freddie repeat the same day, over and over and prove the inevitable fact that after death, life stops for no one. The play follows these two characters for several months, allowing for a proper, nuanced examination of grief.

Every plot point has time to properly breathe, be addressed, and as a result, we end the show with a pair of fully rounded characters. The show elicited laughs and tears provided a nuanced interrogation of grief and managed to be light hearted at the same time. To accomplish this, in such a short amount of time, is impressive.

Shine bright like a diamond.

5/5

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‘Miss Myrtle’s Garden’ at the Bush Theatre Review: A moving piece of theatre that takes time to examine love, loss and memory

I was lucky enough to be back at the Bush Theatre this week to see their latest offering ‘Miss Myrtle’s Garden.’ Written by Danny James King and directed by Taio Lawson, the show follows the eponymous Miss Myrtle as she, and the characters around her tend to her garden, and contend with the past. The play is more of an experience than a linear story, much like life itself, and makes for a moving, relatable, piece of theatre that takes time to examine the human conditions of love, loss and memory.

What is immediately striking is Joshua Gadsby’s lighting. Not only does it reflect the feelings of the characters, but simply works to show the passing of time, a core theme within the play. The lighting also lets the audience in, when it wants to, and at times blacks out, when Miss Myrtle herself does not want to remember something, or does not want to let us in. Khadija Raza’s titular garden is charming, and blooms and evolves as the characters do.

Diveen Henry as Miss Myrtle

The slow burn first half introduces all characters with humour and depth, but as you may suspect, the main star is Diveen Henry’s Miss Myrtle. Acid tongued and quick witted, Henry crafts a character that subtly evolves over the course of the show, and one who is instantly relatable. We all know someone like Miss Myrtle, that older, female relative who speaks their mind when they want to, and turns you away when they do not want to look back. She claims: ‘I don’t visit the past. The past visits me.’ Initially, this comes in the form of her deceased husband ‘Melrose,’ played by Mensah Bediako. Despite his lack of dialogue, his presence, mainly due to his chemistry with Henry, makes for some incredibly moving moments between the two as Miss Myrtle remembers her husband. Her take on the past becomes more complex in the second half, as the audience learns that she has dementia, so whilst she claims the past visits her, it is also evaporating before her very eyes.

This puts her slightly at odds with grandson Rudy, (Michael Ahomka-Lindsay), who is keen to learn more about his father, and his past. As the child of an immigrant, there is a desire to learn about their life before, as it helps piece together where you came from, but those who made that journey are not always keen to retread that path, as Miss Myrtle proves.

Michael Ahomka-Lindsay as Rudy and Elander Moore as Jason

Whilst grappling with this aspect of his identity, Rudy also struggles with his queerness and introduces secret boyfriend Jason (Elander Moore) as his friend… although Gary Lilburn’s Irish neighbour Eddie sees right through that. Rudy and Jason both present their queerness in different ways, but that does not detract from their validity, chemistry and the strength of their relationship. Their struggles to be themselves, and accept themselves, make for a highly relatable story about queer identity and self-acceptance. Nothing is too sensationalised, or grandiose, and the issue is treated with nuance and reverence, again reflecting life itself. Not everything is loud like soap opera.

I would say the play is like a snapshot. Like someone has rolled out Miss Myrtle’s timeline, taken a piece of it and placed it on stage. It works as a window into the changing lives of one family, and definitely deserves a second watch. It’s honest portrayal of an evolving family means that, for everyone watching, it is accessible, and there is something there that everyone can relate to.

4/5

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‘Miss Myrtle’s Garden’ is playing at the Bush theatre until July 12th!

Tickets: https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/miss-myrtles-garden/#book

Photos by Camilla Greenwell

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‘Come Fall in Love – The DDLJ Musical’ at the Manchester Opera House Review: A colourful, joyous adaptation of the Bollywood classic that is easy to fall in love with

East meets west in ‘Come Fall in Love – the DDLJ Musical’ which is playing at the Manchester Opera House. Based on Aditya Chopra’s 1995 classic ‘Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge’ the story follows British Indian born Simran (Jena Pandya) and Roger (formerly Raj, played by Ashley Day) as they embark on a trip around Europe and an unexpected whirlwind romance. However, these lovers have a thorn in their side – Simran is promised Kuljit (Kinshuk Sen) in Panjab, India. It captures the heart and spirit of the original, and boasts an extremely talented cast, colourful costumes and impressive choreography that draws from a range of genres. Although, the show could do with a little bit more depth when dealing with the nuances of Indian culture at times, the show asks you to come and fall in love, and overall, it is pretty difficult not to.

Irvine Iqbal as Baldev and Jena Pandya as Simran

Early on we are introduced to Simran, who has just graduated from Oxford. Although her cleverness sometimes could lean into know it all, Pandya does an excellent job of making her likeable and relatable, whilst communicating her internal struggles particularly in her song ‘Twice as Good.’ Simran recalls how her father Baldev (Irvine Iqbal) told her in her youth that to gain the same opportunities as her Caucasian peers, she must be just that. Twice as good. It is an obstacle that many ethnic minorities face.

Unlike the film, Simran already has her tickets to Europe, her trip has been agreed, and the audience does not learn about her impending arranged marriage until the latter half of Act One. In the film, Simran uses this marriage as leverage to gain her father’s permission to go on the trip, leading to a heartfelt conversation between father and daughter about love, family and culture, which communicates the depth, and love, of their relationship. This might have helped the audience empathise with Baldev and his struggles more, and not just see him as the man forcing his daughter into marriage, which is how Roger’s family see him. With the omission of this conversation, the audience may not fully understand the cultural implications of arranged marriage, and to be honest, Roger does not either, as Simran never really explains them to him. This is an example of where the east half of the show needs to be bolstered a touch. The famous scene of Simran running on the train with Roger’s help drew cheers from the audience, as did all callbacks to the original film, be them dialogue or instrumental.

Jena Pandya as Simran and Ashley Day as Roger

Simran and Roger’s trip boasts some impressive staging and set design, which continually reflects the country the two are in, setting the scene for one of the longer, and more memorable dance numbers, ‘Come Fall in Love.’ Pandya has a difficult job keeping up with Day’s boundless energy, who risks drawing the audience in more with his money and partying ways, whilst Simran geeks out over Voltaire in the corner. However, their scenes in Switzerland put them on more equal footing, and Simran’s drunk state that spawns the song ‘Better Get Right’ allows Pandya to add some comedic flair to the beloved heroine. The first act does feel a tad slower than the second, but serves as important build up for the long awaited jump to the mustard fields of Panjab.

Act Two opened with quite a magical moment. The Mool Mantar, a Sikh prayer, is played into the auditorium, over the image of the Golden Temple which is projected onto the stage. It was quite breathtaking, having been to Amritsar myself, but I worry that without proper reference to the importance of this to Simran and her family, it may not have had quite as big an impact on the whole audience as it did me.

Kinshuk Sen as Kuljit

The vibrant second half picked up the pace and exposed the audience to a multitude of dances, like Bhangra and Giddha, and it was joyous, and comedic, to see Roger fully embrace Simran’s culture. What I am more mixed on though, is Roger’s mother Minky’s (Kara Lane) burlesque-esque number and romance with Kuljit, something that I felt detracted from the main love story unnecessarily. The inclusion of ‘Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhna’ from the original film also felt like a massive cultural moment, one that was enjoyed by all.

As the second half dances to a close, Roger proves that he has taken the time to learn about Indian culture, and recounts to Simran that seva, an idea that was mentioned throughout the show, is the Sikh concept of selfless love and charity. It is moments like this where the east meets west formula really works, putting both sides of the globe on equal footing, and showing the meeting of two different cultures. I will admit, seeing one of the scariest fathers in Bollywood history sing and dance was something to get used to, but Baldev’s cry of ‘jao Simran jao’ still feels as visceral and impactful as the first time I saw it on film. The productions’ closing number ‘Holi Hai’ was brilliantly energetic and is the best thing to take as a lasting impression.

Overall, my cultural criticisms do not detract from the joy of what we are seeing in front of us – the meeting of two cultures, and ultimately a celebration of love. Especially given the current racial climate a show that celebrates the coming together of an Indian woman and Caucasian man is the kind of equality and understanding that we should all be championing. The joy felt in the auditorium was palpable, and it is rare to see so many people of colour in the theatre… you could definitely hear them! Myself included! If an audience can be so delighted by a show that showcases Indian culture, then surely, by and large, this is truly something to fall in love with.

Jao Simran Jao!

4/5

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‘Come Fall in Love – The DDLJ Musical’ is playing at the Manchester Opera House until the 21st of June!

Tickets are available from: https://www.atgtickets.com/shows/come-fall-in-love/opera-house-manchester/

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‘Permission’ at the Tara Theatre Review: A nuanced and thought-provoking take on the Muslim woman’s fight for liberation

The Tara Theatre in Earlsfield is known for crafting compelling work that explores the world through a South Asian lens. It’s latest production, ‘Permission,’ written Hunia Chawla and directed by Neetu Singh, follows the friendship of Hanna and Minza, two young women from Karachi whose lives take them in different directions. Anisa Butt’s Hanna travels to attend university in the UK, while Rea Malhotra Mukhtyar’s Minza stays in Karachi. The show touches on a multitude of prevalent issues such as freedom, protest, liberation and of course, permission. The play provides so much food for thought that I worry it almost buckles under its own weight, running at a short seventy minutes.

Anisa Butt as Hanna and Rea Malhotra Mukhtyar as Minza

Hanna’s and Minza’s friendship is the heart of the show, and their chemistry and humour make them highly watchable. We open with Hanna trying to keep her boyfriend secret from her parents, and it is clear that in Karachi, women do not always have full autonomy. Hanna suppresses her sexuality, cannot leave the house alone, and her and Minza both dream of liberation. But how to achieve it is the question. Hanna believes that she will find this liberation when moving to the UK for university, and it is here that the play really engages with the uniqueness of the immigrant experience.

Traditionally, the Muslim woman is portrayed as oppressed, and saved by the liberating attitudes of the West, but Chawla’s writing is far too smart and nuanced for that. Yes, Hanna finds freedom to a degree, she can walk in the street unchaperoned, but ultimately is a fish out of water. Her world comes to a stop when compromising photos of her are released online, and sent to her family. She is ashamed, and the audience probably think that her traditional parents will disown her. Minza disbelieves this, but Hanna’s fear, and exposure to perceived westernised values by flatmate Anushe, also played by Mukhtyar, makes Hanna question whether owes her parents anything at all. These are two very different ends of the spectrum, and Anushe’s assertions directly conflict the traditional relationship between Asian child and parent. Parental approval is important to Hana, and Asian culture, and Anushe’s liberal thinking is shocking to Hanna’s traditional family values. This is just one of the many examples of nuance within the production.

Rea Malhotra Mukhtyar as Anushe

Ultimately, the West is not the ideal that Hanna envisaged, as when attending a protest, she is caught, her visa is revoked, and she is sent back to Karachi. In the UK, she does not have the same level of autonomy as Anushe does, because she is on a student visa. Hanna’s father also welcomes her home, showing her compassion, not disdain. Stereotypes do not seem to exist in this space. Minza has grown more confident in her fight for liberation, maintaining that, action is action. Whilst sometimes it cannot be radical, they can only do what they can do, based on their surroundings. Hanna initially dismisses Minza’s Aurat Marches, prompting Minza to remind her that, in the context of Karachi, a group of women marching to demand liberation is just as powerful as a bunch of students taking over the students’ union in the UK. Both are pushing the boundaries as much as their surroundings allow. It depends on the context, and depends on the person.

So, it is not necessarily the happy ending audiences might have hoped for, it does not provide any answers, but then again, most things in life do not operate as most shows do, with a distinct beginning, middle and end. And most things are not black and white. The play is a realistic snapshot of an important time in these women’s lives. It is pessimistically realistic, but also hopeful.

With such a short runtime, I wonder if the play could have benefited from a greater length to unpack its many themes. I am also divided on its stylistic choices. The two women do interact with men, in the form of several voiceovers. It is not something that I have experienced before, and while it does work to keep the focus on the two women as the centre of their own story, it is hard not to shake the idea that they are both just talking to thin air. I am also unsure whether the audience interaction works, as it takes you out of Hanna’s world, particularly at a point where she is supposed to feel isolated and lost. It does provide comedy to lighten the scene, but so does Hanna’s interaction with Anushe.

Maybe to conclude we should look back at the show’s title. Do we ever have permission to fully do anything? To live freely? To fight for liberation? If so, at what cost? Like life itself, the play offers enough food for thought to keep you full for weeks, but just like Hanna and Minza’s fight for liberation, it could all benefit from having a little more time.

4/5

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‘Permission’ is playing at the Tara Theatre until the 7th of June!

Photography by Adam Razvi

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‘The Great Gatsby’ at the London Coliseum Review: A star-studded spectacle that infuses the American classic with a newfound vitality

The West End’s latest offering, ‘The Great Gatsby,’ officially launched last Thursday with what has been described as the press night to end all press nights. I was lucky enough to attend and can safely say that this statement is pretty bang on. Based on the successful Broadway show, which itself is based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel, the story details the class divides, greed and materialism of America in the 1920s. Specifically, the story revolves around the enigmatic and extravagant Jay Gatsby, as told to the audience through the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway. Although I feel the musical could have done with fleshing out some of its characters a little more, ultimately it succeeds in breathing new life into the classic novel and puts forward a star-studded spectacle which is more than worthy of a spot on London’s famed West End.

Visually the production is faultless. Linda Cho’s opulent costumes reflect the style of 1920s America and there are probably hundreds – the wardrobe department deserve a pat on the back and perhaps a lie down after this run has finished. Dominique Kelley’s choreography is incredibly impressive, particularly the extended tap dance sequence. Paul Tate dePoo III’s scenic and projection design was particularly innovative, blending physical sets with computer-generated imagery. When I entered the theatre to take my seat, I was very early, and the theatre was empty. The image of the bay was projected onto front of the stage, the infamous green light glinting, the sounds of the sea lapping on the shore could be heard. This immediate calm, especially after the buzz of the red carpet, gave me goosebumps. Normally in the West End there may be music, but usually we just sit waiting in front of a blank curtain or empty stage. The addition of the CGI made the whole show incredibly immersive, and gave the production a much bigger scale, mirroring that of Gatsby’s infamous parties.

The show capitalises on the vibrant, vitality of 1920’s America that the novel promises and takes the opportunity to inject new life into its story and characters. I am sure we would all like to frequent one of Gatsby’s famous parties, and having the novel splashed all over the West End stage in London’s biggest theatre is surely the best, and only, way to do it. Being, quite literally, bathed in the famed green light was also an exhilarating moment and is a fine example of Cory Pattak’s atmospheric work. The music was catchy too, and allowed for a greater exploration of Scott Fitzgerald’s iconic characters.

Speaking of them, they are famous for being rather unlikeable. Gatsby’s undying hope warrants some sympathy, but others, like Daisy Buchanan, whom her own cousin describes as ‘careless’ seem beyond redemption. My studying of literature leaves no doubt in my mind that the novel acts as an important social commentary on 1920s America, but not one that I have ever personally enjoyed. This is where the musical does the novel a favour – it makes the characters more relatable, and therefore more accessible to a broader audience.

Frances Mayli McCann as Daisy Buchanan and Jamie Muscato as Jay Gatsby

The addition of musical numbers soliloquizes each character’s thoughts and feelings, making for more intimate characterisation, something which was notably missing from Baz Luhrmann’s 2013 film, and perhaps the novel, as primarily we only get Nick’s point of view. Let’s take Daisy for example. It is clear in the novel that she is shallow, and materialistic. She has some affection for Gatsby but not enough to leave her horrid husband Tom and trade in her lavish lifestyle. The musical adds greater depth to their romance through some pretty impressive power ballads. Daisy is given several, both sprung directly from her quotations in the novel about roses and girls being fools, the latter of which makes her more sympathetic. She is restricted by her sex and social convention – all of which is discussed in Scott Fitzgerald’s original work. This particular song takes place after Gatsby’s funeral. In the novel, following Gatsby’s death, Daisy and Tom flee with no word. This song, and preceding conversation with Nick acts almost as an epilogue. Daisy’s song with Gatsby at the close of the first act, ‘Save Me Too,’ also makes their desire for each other believable, especially given Jamie Muscato and Frances Mayli McCann’s strong vocals.

What is interesting about this it that some critics have stated that the musical’s softening of Daisy misses the entire point of the novel. While this is true in some ways, Daisy is famously careless, I would argue that, for a West End show, this characterisation might not make for the most emotionally satisfying experience. This switch veers the iteration of the story into tragedy territory, Gatsby meets a tragic end, which I found to be much more moving, and emotionally involving, than the original.

Amber Davies and Corbin Bleu as Jordan Baker and Nick Carraway respectively

Many characters really benefit from the inclusion of musical numbers, especially Corbin Bleu’s Nick Carraway. In Scott Fitzgerald’s novel he is a subdued observer, but his musical numbers in the show give him an extra warmth and humour. His song ‘The Met’ in which he is horrified by Tom’s hedonistic behaviour and wishes he had been taken to the Metropolitan Museum of Art as promised, drew laughs from the audience. Bleu portrays Nick as a sweetly naïve everyman, a much more relatable, and likeable, audience surrogate than his written counterpart.

Another character that benefits from the musical numbers is Jordan Baker, played to sardonic and comic perfection by Amber Davies. Her characterisation mirrors that of the novel, she is cool and sharp, and quick to criticise social convention. She is the archetypal ‘new woman’ of the ‘20s, and provides a good foil for Daisy. A standout performance in my opinion, Davies’ sass coupled with Bleu’s bumbling charm make for a sweet pairing, that is strong enough to rival that of the show’s title couple. Her song ‘New Money’ is my personal favourite, and I bet that the wide-legged pants that Davies sports in it will be a sellout this summer.

Rachel Tucker as Myrtle Wilson

Myrtle Wilson’s three musical numbers add multiple dimensions to her character. In the novel and Baz Luhrmann’s film Myrtle barely gets a look in, but in Rachel Tucker’s capable hands her presence and demise drew visceral reactions from the audience.

However, I do have some characterisation critiques. Gatsby’s past, which Luhrmann goes into through a flashback sequence, does not feel like it is given enough exploration in this adaptation. It is very explicit that ‘it is all for’ Daisy, but his rising through the ranks is not quite as fleshed out. Also, although John Owen-Jones’ has some catchy tunes as Meyer Wolfsheim, he is not quite there long enough to compete with the impressions made by the other characters.

I would like to take a second to talk about the diverse cast. Both Bleu and Mayli McCann hail from ethnic minority backgrounds, which should be celebrated. Their presence suggests that wealth and beauty do not just have one Caucasian form, and as a young Asian creative, a definite minority in this industry, their presence does not go unnoticed.

Despite some minor characterisation quibbles, ‘The Great Gatsby’ does exactly what a West End show should, it presents dazzling spectacle, some of the best musical talent out there and delivers a toe tapping soundtrack that will stay with you for hours afterwards. While it might not satisfy some of the literary purists out there, I have no doubt that it will satisfy London theatregoers this summer, which, especially in this format, is the point. It is the West End after all, old sports!

4/5

Thanks for reading!

‘The Great Gatsby’ is playing at the London Coliseum until the 7th of September!

Photography by Johan Persson

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‘Ghosts’ at the Lyric Hammersmith Review – a gripping reimagining that digs deeper into the heart of Ibsen’s scandalous classic

Countless students have pored over Henrik Ibsen’s stories and characters, myself included. Whilst his works were shocking and scandalous at the time of publication, ‘Ghosts’ was first performed in 1882, restaging Ibsen’s plays today runs the risk of losing the original shock factor. This is where Gary Owen and Rachel O’Riordan’s reimagining of the source material succeeds, it retains the scandal and adds to it. Whilst using the framework of Ibsen’s original piece, this production uses a contemporary lens to add greater dimensions to its characters, ensuring that they all, particularly the women, are explored in greater depth and have a piercing agency that previous adaptations missed.

The drama opens with Victoria Smurfit’s Helena Alving preparing to set up a charitable foundation in the name of her late husband Carl, but revelations about his past behaviour and the arrival of her son Oz threaten to unbury some dark family secrets. Although physically absent, Merle Hansel’s minimalist staging ensures that Carl is forever present, images of the back of a man’s head adorn the left and right walls of the set, presumably representative of the Alving patriarch that the family can never truly escape. The back glass wall is an innovative addition, the fog behind it constantly rolling forward – a fantastic reference to the slow unravelling of family secrets and a direct reference to the Nordic fjord in which the play is originally set. Due to Helena’s pure white athleisure outfit, it is her that is most clearly reflected in the glass, an image reading as if she is almost talking to herself… or her personal ghosts in the fog.

Victoria Smurfit as Helena Alving

Smurfit’s Helena is the powerhouse that anchors and drives the play. Smurfit showcases a deft versatility in portraying Helena’s many faces, as the victim, the controller, the dominating mother but also the vulnerable woman, sometimes in the same stroke. Whilst, like the original, Helena scrambles to keep her husband’s past indiscretions a secret from her son, Helena is gifted a life of her own, notably a past in which she did wield power, and in the present, without her husband she is emboldened. She constantly delights in doing things her late husband would have ‘hated.’ We learn more about her past through her relationship with Rhashan Stone’s lawyer Andersen, this productions’ response to the hypocritical Pastor Manders. Her flirtatious hold over him is far more subtle in Ibsen’s text, but works here to make Helena a fully developed human being, and ramps up the sexual tension early on in the piece. Ibsen’s Helen would be clutching her pearls.

In a quick chat, director Gary Owen described to me that the choice to make Helena more rounded just ‘made sense,’ as otherwise the audience might struggle to relate to and understand her. He’s bang on, and her humorous snipes make her instantly likeable and attention-grabbing, her later vulnerability elicits immediate sympathy. It is here that the contemporary lens really elevates the character, as in the original text, Helena is more of a passive narrator in her own story – here she is imbued with greater agency and character which is strengthened by the backstory Owen has crafted for her.

Callum Scott Howells as Oz Alving

Callum Scott Howells’ comically self-absorbed Oz is an actor in this version, not a painter, and joyously undercuts some of the shows more serious moments with a dangerous humour, whilst poking fun at the acting elite in the process. His connection with Patricia Allison’s Reggie seems much more a meeting of equal minds than in the original. Simisola Majekodunmi’s lighting follows Oz’s various bursts of enlightenment, a stylistic note seemingly lifted from the original text – Ibsen always took care to mention stoves and candles in his stage directions. Oz and Reggie proceed to sleep together, again, marking another explicit update to Ibsen’s original, in which the incest is only hinted at, never coming to physical fruition. This addition serves to heighten the stakes and keep the audience gripped, as affirmed by their gasps, as they anticipated a scandalous fallout.

While Ibsen’s original piece emphasises that it is the sins of the father that threaten the family, physically represented by Oz’s syphilis, this production jettisons the references to venereal disease and points the finger at Helena. The sin is not just paternal, but also maternal building to the overarching theme that it is inter-generational sin and trauma that threatens the Alving line, not an inherited disease. Ideas around inherited trauma will certainly resonate with viewers today.

The play also goes into depth about Helena’s trauma in a moving monologue, with Andersen describing Helena’s treatment by Carl as coercive control. Such a concept did not exist in the minds of Victorian theatregoers, but this exploration reflects society’s developments in recognising such toxic relationships and aftercare for its victims, as highlighted by the #MeToo movement. It is moments like this that the contemporary lens of the show really pays off.

Patricia Allison, Victoria Smurfit and Callum Scott Howells as Reggie, Helena and Oz respectively

The first act ends with Helena revealing to Oz and Reggie that they are half siblings, the plot point that ends Ibsen’s original play. Owen’s choice to place it here allows for a greater exploration of the fallout of this revelation in the slower, second act, and finally gives Reggie the chance to have her say, in a commanding turn by Allison. Ibsen does not give his Regina this opportunity, as in his work, at the realisation that Oz is her half-brother, she bolts out the door, and out of the play, never to be seen again. The play boils down to a confronting conversation about the blurred lines of consent, enabler, victim and controller between mother and son, as they thrash out whether they can ever survive this inherited trauma and be free of it. Smurfit and Scott Howells anchor these big ideas whilst O’ Riordan’s direction ensures that these closing discussions are gripping and affecting, and it is here that Scott Howells’ Oz really shines, his characters journey gathers speed as he swaps the comedy for tragedy.

By going for more explicit discussions of sex, coercive control and trauma, this production adds greater layers and depths to Ibsen’s classic story and characters, digging deeper into the heart of ‘Ghosts’ and laying it bare for all the audience to see, whilst raising pertinent questions about human nature along the way.

5/5

Thanks for reading!

‘Ghosts’ is playing at the Lyric Hammersmith until 10th May!

Photography by Helen Murray

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‘Speed’ at the Bush Theatre Review and Analysis: A Portrait of South Asian Rage, Trauma and Identity

The Bush Theatre’s newest show, written and directed by Mohamed Zain-Dada and Milli Bhatia respectively, follows four British Asians whose paths cross at a speed awareness course, set in the basement of a Birmingham-based hotel. A play with an all-Asian cast, writer and director slots well into the Bush Theatre’s rich history of giving a platform to underrepresented voices, and whilst veiled in comedy, ‘Speed’ successfully uses its intimate setting to tackle the wider themes of South Asian rage, trauma and identity. Fasten your seatbelts.

The cast of ‘Speed’

The main question Nikesh Patel’s Abz, as course facilitator, asks is what has made the three participants so angry? They are girl boss Faiza, nurse Harleen and delivery driver Samir. Although initially appearing as stock characters, the play successfully uses its setting to pile on the pressure and dig deeper into their respective psyches. Abz notes that they are ‘mirrors’ of each other. By that logic, the characters mirror us as well.

The action takes place on a central stage, adding to the interrogatory feel of the production – these four characters are under the microscope, surrounding by our prying eyes, rabbits in headlights. This also allows the audience to feel as if they are participating in the course, in the way that a traditional theatre set up would not. Throughout the 90-minute production, we see characters bend and break, resulting in an emotionally charged therapy session.

Spoilers to follow…

Shazia Nicholls as Faiza

The characters’ varying acceptance of their Asian roots initially causes divides. Sabrina Sandhu and Arian Nik’s Harleen and Samir are in touch with their Asian identity, dropping words in Panjabi and Urdu. However, Shazia Nicholls’ brilliantly comedic Faiza is prouder of her St Albans heritage and is complemented when Samir opines that she ‘don’t look Pakistani.’ Her distinct departure from her Asian side, as we later discover, might have more practical reasoning. She details that one of her business ventures fell through because ‘the FSA don’t want brown women to succeed.’ Although this garnered laughs, it speaks to the wider theme of the struggles that women, specifically Asian women, face in the business-world. Faiza has had to fight to earn that BMW, and perhaps suppress her Asian-ness in the process. The idea that South Asian’s need to downplay our identities, and that they could be under threat, is revisited throughout the play.

The simple question of what has made Faiza, Samir and Harleen angry and end up on the course is fairly simple – the patriarchy, unfair and unsympathetic systems, and racial abuse. Faiza, Harleen and Samir stand by the actions that led them here, as do we, but Abz refuses to look at each of their stories holistically, instead concluding that the law, no matter the injustice that they faced, should be upheld.

Nikesh Patel as Abz

Abz, coupled with the DVLA, is representative of a system of reform. RUNDI, a speed awareness course of Abz’ own devising is what is on trial here, as well as the three participants. He believes in meaningful engagement and the idea of ‘unlearning and rehabilitating.’ His maintenance of these ideals, as well as the distinctly British phrase of ‘keep calm and carry on’ means that he fails to consider each participants’ individual identities and experiences. We see this early on when he continually calls Harleen ‘Helene.’ I go by Harpal, or Harps, but have had Hearts, Harpy and Harpull to name a few botched examples of my name. The irony is that, while Abz encourages this meaningful engagement, he fails to properly engage with those in front of him, enforcing a ‘one size fits all’ system. It is throughout the course of the play that we see that this is wholly untrue, and if it does not work for these three, why would it work for wider society? This little microcosm, this mirror, is deftly used by Zain-Dada to make broader statements about British society.

A good example of this is the discussion about the race riots last year. The play does well to include this, as the situation last summer presented the greatest racial unrest I have experienced in my lifetime. I was advised by people in my high street to go home for my own safety. Whilst Harleen and Samir detail the racial abuse they witnessed and experienced, Faiza is silent and Abz maintains that, despite this horror, we should ‘take it on the chin,’ and keep calm and carry on. Sabrina Sandhu shines as Harleen here, her passion and controlled anger crackles under the surface and gives her enough confidence to silence comedy duo Samir and Faiza, and authoritarian Abz. Samir and Harleen ask why South Asians should be silent in the face of racial attacks, and calls out the very behaviours that many of us have over the past year.

Sabrina Sandhu as Harleen

As the tension between the four bubbles over, ‘Speed’ puts its foot down veering into the thriller genre with the revelation that for all his high and mighty behaviour, Abz has not been honest. After some shouting and road rage, albeit without the car or road, the wheels fully come off and Abz is forced to admit that, after also being racially abused, he engaged in dangerous driving that had dire consequences. Unfortunately, this gear switch may not come as a surprise, Jessica Hung Han Yun’s lighting throughout the play foreshadows some sort of trauma. However, this revelation gives Patel the chance to show his range, and his quick switches from disciplinarian, desperation and devastation succeeds in making this plot point genuinely affecting.

Abz’ suppression of his Asian side, in response to his racist encounter, has manifested into internalised racism, hinted at throughout the play by his desire to save the participants from what he describes as their ‘base selves.’ His paternalistic attitude towards the participants echoes the very historical arguments that white supremacy and racism were founded upon. Although Faiza did indulge in some of the stereotypes that Abz perpetuated, referring to Samir as a typical ‘brown boy,’ her distancing from her Pakistani roots has not marred her judgment to the point at which she can be described as racist.

Arian Nik as Samir

Due to Abz’ harsher treatment of Samir throughout the play, even going as far to refer to him as a ‘typical paki,’ it is fitting that the pair close the show. Although both men have bared their souls, a rarity for South Asian males, but a staple of Zain-Dada’s work, see ‘Blue Mist,’ Abz and Samir cannot come to an understanding. Both Abz and Samir, and by extension Patel and Nik, come full circle, shedding the stock characteristics established at the beginning, of the disciplinarian and the joker, to add real nuance to their characters in the closing moments. They are two sides of the same coin, their experiences of racial prejudice are similar, but their response, perhaps due to their differing age, and how they deal with their trauma are markedly different. The ending is not quite the ‘let’s unite against racism and celebrate our cultural heritage’ message that audiences might expect or hope for. ‘Speed’ poses bigger questions, asking what will become of South Asians if we do not unite and find strength in our shared experience, even if that experience involves the trauma of experiencing racial discrimination.

While Abz’ revelation may not be break-inducing, the play succeeds when it speeds towards the wider themes of South Asian rage, trauma and identity. The nuanced presentation that the plays characters and themes showcase makes for compelling, revealing, and relevant viewing, especially for members of the South Asian diaspora. It’s certainly a speed awareness course I will not forget.

4/5

Thank you for reading!

Speed is playing at the Bush Theatre until May 17th!

Tickets: https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/speed/

Photography by Richard Laker

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‘Anora’ 2024 Analysis: Sex, Class and the Fairytale Narrative

TW: Sex and Sexual Assault

Sean Baker’s tragic, romantic comedy-drama took the most recent Oscar’s ceremony by storm and clinched the best actress award Mikey Maddison, who plays the eponymous heroine. There’s no doubt that from the opening seconds of the film, Maddison grabs the audience by the throat and does not let them go, and I do think it is safe to say that she is key to the film’s success. I’ll admit, certain narrative points within the film did lose me, but it cannot be denied that the film had a lot of interesting points to raise about the sex industry, class, treatment of women and the fairytale narrative.

Let’s start with our heroine. I found the name ‘Anora’ to be intriguing and beautiful, it almost has a princess quality, probably due to its suffix, reminiscent of Disney heroines such as Cinderella, Tiana and Aurora, ex cetera. Already I am drawing links to Disney narratives! In Latin, ‘Anora’ translates to ‘honour.’ Although to me, the name seemed quite unique, Anora prefers to be known as ‘Ani.’

Immediately, Ani feels different – she crushes existing stereotypes with her heels. Ani is not a sex worker because she was trafficked, or forced, or destitute, unlike other fictional heroines such as Fantine. She is in her control; this is her choice. This is why we are drawn to her, she stands out, and her brassy Brooklyn accent is instantly distinct and recognisable. She also does not comply with the ‘hooker with a heart of gold,’ stereotype either, an example of this being Julia Roberts’ Vivian March from ‘Pretty Woman.’ Ani is brash and ballsy; we see her in the opening moments of the film wrapping men round her little finger with ease, and going for what she wants.

The film has received praise for its depiction of the sex industry, and for me, the film appeared to demystify and decriminalise it. Scenes of Ani dancing are intercut with scenes of her having a cigarette break with a friend, and eating her dinner out of a Tupperware box. The film is trying to say that the structure of her life is not that different to ours. The job she is doing is different, but then… my job is probably different to yours. She lives as we do. She works, she laughs with her friends, catches up on sleep, she parties. She is not discriminated against because of her personality, but only because of her job. This is evidenced by Vanya’s Russian, oligarchical family, who, without even meeting Ani, declare that their son has ‘shamed’ his ‘family by marrying someone like’ her. It feels like the film is asking us why. Why is she so discriminated against for her work? She is just a young woman making a living, which surely, many people of all genders and ages can relate to.

We see her go home in the morning, make up free in her beanie hat. It could be conceivable to think that dollars we see Ani receive, the dizzying bright lights, dresses and heels imply that she earns a lot of money. The film further normalises her by presenting her as a standard twenty-three-year-old in a flat share with her sister. All these plot points work to break the stereotypes that already exist around sex work, and sex workers themselves.

I think it’s important to remember from the start that Ani is only twenty-three. She is incredibly young. She does seems older, as Ivan points out, but this is probably due to her clothes and confidence. Her youth and girlishness are hinted at by the tinsel in her hair that shimmers throughout the film. Note the how the colours change. While she is in her abrupt wedded bliss with Vanya, it is a shocking pink.

The first half of the film does indeed play like a Disney fairytale. Ani is swept off her feet, has a world-wind romance and marries a wealthy suitor, Vanya. It is important to note that Ani does not see Vanya as a way to leave her sex work behind but work in general behind. Ani seeks freedom from the tedious, boring nature of work. Don’t we all? She is not looking to be saved from what others perceive to be a shameful profession. She is not ashamed of her work. I originally doubted if the relationship was genuine on Ani’s part, because we see her flatter her clients all the time. However, after remembering her age, I think it is conceivable. I think many twenty-three-year-olds would see Vanya’s lifestyle as an escape from the mundane. We also see this genuine nature reflected in her make up. Her look becomes more natural in the film, as we begin to peel back the layers of her character. She becomes more transparent and vulnerable, as her relationship with Vanya progresses. Both her and Vanya are swept up in the moment and make that age old mistake of ultimately mistaking lust for love.

The situation Ani finds herself in is very different to what she is used to in the nightclub, and just proves that the power dynamics in the nightclub are just a simulation. In the night club, women hold the cards, men hold the dollar bills. On the outside world, I Baker’s Brooklyn, women, especially of Ani’s age and class, do not have this power. This is proved throughout the film, as she is berated and manhandled by the men around her, first and foremost because they are men, but also because they possess greater wealth than her. Now, it is the nightclub that looks like a fantasy land, as in Baker’s real-world Brooklyn, a woman of Ani’s age and economic status is no match for the wealthy man.

Vanya’s poor treatment of Ani speaks to the wider theme of men’s treatment of women in the world. Vanya is spoiled, and sees Ani as a possession, he literally buys her as a plaything in his playground. He then discards her when told to by his family and replaces her with a co-worker. Vanya’s abandonment of Ani is incredibly traumatising for her as it leads to her encounter with his bodyguards.

Ani finds herself in a scary situation once Vanya’s family bodyguards come for him and try and force the two to divorce. Ani is bound and gagged, and in a disturbing image, bodyguard Igor pulls Ani on top of him, almost simulating a lap dance, but in this dance, Ani is not in control. She is forced into silence by the men around her, which seems like a broader thematic statement about the treatment of women. The blood red of the scarf used to gag Ani could refer to passion and sexuality but is also disturbing as it the colour of blood. It could therefore imply the potential violence that Ani could be subjected to in this situation. At the end of the film, Ani asserts her belief that, if given the chance, Igor would have raped her in this scene.

Igor brings the red scarf with him on their quest to find Vanya, offering it to Ani when she becomes cold. Ani wraps it around her neck. It seems like she is taking back control here, but her choice to wrap it around her neck simulates that of a hangman’s noose, implying the desperate, and perilous situation she has found herself in. The changing use of the scarf contributes to the wider question of control in the film. Is Ani ever in control? Or is she constantly controlled?

After realising she is no match for Vanya’s wealthy family, Ani agrees to leave Vanya for the sum of ten thousand dollars. This negotiation scene simultaneously gifts Ani with control but also takes it away. She wins, because she has the money, but she is still being bought, and controlled. This led me to wonder whether people would see Ani as a gold digger, but this presents an interesting discussion of gender. Would someone consider Ani a gold digger because she is a woman? What is the male equivalent of a gold digger? Although not explicitly gendered in its form, the phrase ‘gold digger,’ is almost exclusively associated with women, not men.

We close the film with a conversation between Ani and Igor. It is here Ani claims that Igor would have previously raped her. For her, it is inconceivable to think that someone would not want sex from her. Despite their difficult relationship at the beginning, Igor later shows kindness to Ani and defends her, proclaiming that she deserves an apology from Vanya. Some commentators claim that it is the relationship between Igor and Ani that would blossom into genuine romance. Whilst I would not personally say that their first meeting could be described as a meet-cute, they certainly start with the bickering and dislike, and then end in an intimacy.

We see Ani incredibly vulnerable at the end of the film with Igor, and when simulating sex with him, she takes control and places herself on top of him. Unlike Vanya, Igor does not break eye contact with her, and it presents the most intimate portrayal of intercourse in the film. Vanya would not look Ani in the eye during their furiously fast coital sessions. Ani’s relationship with sex is complicated, and I did wonder why she would want to engage in sex with Igor at this moment. Perhaps she needs comfort after what she has just experienced, or perhaps it is because she only encounters men who want sex from her. This is the only thing she knows. This thread, however, does not appear to empower Ani, and victimises her further, massively contrasting how we first saw her at the club in Brooklyn.

It is also tragic, as Ani finally has the space to process her trauma and breaks down in tears. There is also the realisation that despite this experience, nothing in her life has really changed. To the outsider, her life almost seems worse, as the last few frames of the film are less aesthetically pleasing and exciting than the opening of the film, Ani strutting across the club floor. Unlike the classic fairytale formula, Ani does not ascend to wealth, riches and happiness, but seems to fall much further as it all comes crashing down. Unfortunately, there is no happily ever after here. It appears that this film is very much a fairytale that is grounded in reality.

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Snow White: Origins, Womanhood and Christian Allegory

Disney’s Snow White hit cinemas last weekend after many controversies and tribulations. At the heart of the story is the famed fight for the fairest of them all between two iconic Disney, and literary, characters, the Evil Queen and Snow White. In the most recent adaptation these characters are played to perfection by Gal Gadot and Rachel Zegler. To interrogate the relationship between the two popular characters, not just in the Disney world, we will have to go back to their origins.

Both characters first appear in a collection of fairytales written by the Brothers Grimm, published in 1812 and originally titled ‘Schneewittchen.’ Much of it is familiar, but as you may have already guessed, the original story has some darker elements. For a start, the Evil Queen is Snow White’s biological mother, and when she tries to kill her daughter Snow White is only seven. Also, said Queen does not originally ask the Huntsman for Snow White’s heart, but her lungs and liver, so that she can eat them with salt. Well, at least she is using seasoning. I found this plot point particularly shocking, as it was not enough for the Queen to dispatch Snow White, she also feels that she must ingest her. Snow White quite literally was intended to be engulfed by the Queen like her prey, implying the Queen’s sheer force and influence was nearly enough to overcome Snow White. Did the Queen think that by cannibalising Snow White, she could absorb or ingest her fair nature? Perhaps this mutilation was the Queen’s way of ensuring that Snow White was truly dead and gone. After letting Snow White go, the Huntsman provides the Queen with a boar’s lungs and liver instead.

In the Grimm fairytale, the Queen, after twigging that Snow White is alive, embarks on not one, but three attempts to kill her. The Queen, disguised as a peddler, offers a silk, laced bodice to Snow White, who faints after the Queen ties it too tightly. The dwarves arrive home and cut her out of it. Next, the Queen sells Snow White a poisoned comb, but once the dwarves remove it, she is restored. Her third attempt involves the poisoned apple. However, only one half is poisoned, the Queen takes a bite from the white, non-poisoned half to reassure Snow White, who then tucks into the other red half. These methods of killing all seem gendered, they are all objects associated with femininity. If Snow White were a man, I doubt anyone would be selling poisoned combs or laced bodices to him. If we were dealing with a wizard and a prince, I am sure there would be some violence or sword fighting involved. The above three scenarios describe female warfare, one that is rooted in the domestic and free of explicit violence.

The colouring of the apple is significant and ironic. Despite Snow White being the innocent and purest of all, normally associated with white, it is the red half that she takes. While referencing passion and sexuality, nowadays red is reminiscent of danger, both symbolic of the Queen herself, building the image that the Queen is the one who killed Snow White in ‘apple form.’ The two halves of the apple represent the Queen and Snow White herself and highlights their incompatibility. When Snow White bites from the red half, she dies. Snow White and the Queen are antithetical to each other, and therefore incompatible. In Marc Webb’s 2025 version, the sweetness of apples is highlighted by Snow White, who as a child, would pick apples and bake apple pies for the townspeople, noting that something sweet can remind people that there is ‘more to being alive than mere subsidence.’ I would argue that the Queen uses an apple to lure Snow White in this version because she is aware of this emotional attachment.

While the apple is not present in every version of Snow White’s story, bear in mind many countries have their own versions, the apple is a feature in majority of them. An apple might have been chosen as the poisonous fruit due to its biblical connections. In Genesis, after being tricked by Satan, Eve eats the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and brings all sin into the world. The Queen, as Satan, tricks Snow White into eating the forbidden fruit, thus releasing evil into her own body, killing her.

In the 1812 version, an unassuming Prince then stumbles upon the scene of Snow White in the glass casket and is so taken by her story that he stays with her. Ironically, despite the amount of poison that the Queen is serving Snow White does not ‘die.’ Although how it occurs is slightly different version to version, once the chunk of apple is knocked out of Snow White’s throat, she is as right as rain. So… she was more choked into a coma? When revived, the Prince then declares his love for Snow White, and they marry. Enraged, the Queen, after being told by the Mirror that Snow White is still alive and kicking, storms the wedding, and tries to kill her again! She’s persistent I’ll give her that. The Queen is then forced to dance in red hot iron slippers until she drops dead. Snow White’s resurrection and the vanquishing of good over evil can similarly draw Christian interpretations.

In the 1937 Disney film the Queen, whilst being chased by the dwarves, falls off a cliff and is crushed. In the most recent film, the Queen destroys the Magic Mirror, which is the source of her powers. She then turns into glass herself and is pulled into the Mirror, which repairs itself. In a way, Gadot’s Queen is immortalised in the Mirror. Her turning into glass, and the fragility of the material, is stark contrast to her previous immortality.

Snow White and The Evil Queen are representative of two different sides of womanhood. Two sides of the same coin or two sides of the same apple, if you will. Feminist scholars Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar believe Snow White and the Evil Queen to be the two female stereotypes of the angel and the monster. Snow White is pure, innocent and in Disney’s version maternal and loving. We see this through her interactions with woodland creatures and the dwarves. The Queen is antithetical to that, and therefore antithetical to the prevailing idea of womanhood at that time. Snow White and the Queen could also be discussed in the context of Freud’s Madonna-Whore complex. It is obvious that Snow White fulfils the Madonna trope, but it is never explicitly stated that the Queen is promiscuous. However, she is styled as a femme fatale, and in the most recent adaptation it is revealed that the Queen enchanted and then murdered Snow White’s father. The Queen, in this version and Disney’s 1937 version, is seen wearing make-up, unlike Snow White. Historically, heavy make up in society was an indicator of sexual promiscuity or prostitution, particularly in the Victorian era. Again, this does not suggest that the Queen is promiscuous, but she is portrayed as a sexual being, who has used that sexuality to gain power, and dispatch of their rivals. This is how she captured the attention of Snow White’s father. Gadot’s recent portrayal of the famed villain certainly leans into this idea, and into the Queen’s obsession with material wealth. At the close of the film, the Mirror tells her that her beauty is only ‘skin deep.’

Snow White has grown up with nothing, and is reduced to rags. She is generous and loving, as showcased in the 1937 film. She has no desire for material things, but for love and happiness. While the Queen in the 1937 film is not explicitly concerned with material wealth, Gadot’s iteration of the character is. This material obsession matches well with the Queen’s desire to be the fairest of them all. It is from this beauty that she exerts her influence and maintains her power, something Gadot explains in her solo song, ‘All is Fair.’ Again, Snow White is not concerned with such things, she seeks to be fair in her personality, not physically.

This is explicitly fleshed out more in the recent film, as Zegler’s Snow White goes head-to-head with the Evil Queen to take back her kingdom, using kindness and fairness as her weapon. Zegler attracted criticism when discussing the original 1937 film, and implied that Snow White was passive. Upon a recent rewatch, I believe she was more active than people give her credit for. She stands up to the dwarves, most notably Grumpy and at times she tells them off. Yes, she fills the maternal role, and perhaps her limitation is that she was active in the domestic space which is typically gendered female.

Zegler was accused of promoting the ‘Girlboss’ narrative. The ‘Girlboss’ narrative was popularised by Sophia Amoruso and described an empowered woman who is successful in the capitalist world. While praising individual achievement, people have criticised the narrative as it does not focus on encouraging systemic change. Promoting such a narrative risk invalidating Snow White, and other women who are happy in the domestic space. An example of this is the relationship between Meg and Jo March in ‘Little Women.’ Meg must remind Jo that, just because she dreams of being a wife and mother, this does not mean that her dreams are any less than that of Meg’s.

The 2025 film gives Snow White greater agency, a subtle example of this is in ‘Whistle While You Work.’ In this version, she encourages the dwarfs to clean with her, instructing them. In the original she tidies up their mess upon her arrival. Zegler also criticised Snow White’s decision to marry the prince, someone who she barely knows. This is also rectified in her version, and her relationship with vigilante Jonathan is given much more time to develop.

To be honest, I feel like Zegler could not win and, and the response she received was incredibly sexist. If Disney did not seek to update the previous story for a 2025 audience, it would have come under fire, and Snow White’s decision to marry a man she barely knows would, I am sure, have provoked the ire of many women out there. Especially in light of dramas like ‘The Crown’ shining the troublesome light on the mismatched union of Charles and Diana.

It is also unlikely that a man would find themselves in Zegler’s position, as they perpetually exist in the male version of a ‘Girlboss’ narrative. By and large, it is male characters that drive stories and have greater agency than women, therefore, it is not a fight or argument that they would have to make. Men would not ever find themselves in Zegler’s position, and if a man advocated for another male character to be a strong, fearless leader, I am sure that no one would bat an eyelid. We can see these feminist updates in other Disney adaptations, such as 2019’s ‘Aladdin.’ Now, Jasmine seeks to rule the kingdom herself, she is not just concerned with marriage as she was in the original. Women must actively advocate for greater autonomy and agency in the fairytale world but also the real world.

I have already talked about the Queen’s obsession with her appearance, but over the past few years, it is the public who have been obsessed with Snow White’s. In the original story, Snow White has ‘skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as ebony.’ When Zegler was cast, in an example of colour-blind casting, she was subjected to racist abuse online. This response, and Snow White’s original story, perpetuates the narrative that whiteness is superior. Zegler hit back at the abuse, citing the fact that Snow White is popular in Spanish-speaking countries, and is known as ‘Blanca Nieves.’ In Zegler’s version, the title character is named Snow White after surviving a snow blizzard as a child.

Snow White holds the special Disney status of being the original Princess, and the film itself is instantly recognisable due to its iconic imagery and iconography. The changes made between Disney’s two versions, and countless iterations unmentioned, showcase Snow White’s adaptability and versatility, but also the idea that the themes within her story, as with many other Disney fairytales will forever be universal.

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‘The Convergence of the Twain’ 1912: An Analysis

Despite being a Thomas Hardy fan, I was unaware that he had written a poem about the Titanic soon after its sinking. The content of the poem, and the time of its publication caused controversy as some deemed Hardy’s work to be distasteful and disrespectful towards those who lost their lives. Let’s take a closer look, starting with the title.

‘Convergence’ references the moving of two independent objects, specifically the point at which they come together. ‘Twain’ refers to two, so the title quite simply means, the meeting of two things. Stylistically, the phrase ‘the Twain’ makes it sound as if the ‘twain’ is a definite article, which implies that the object, or in this case objects, are common knowledge and have been mentioned before. Perhaps this references the fact that the Titanic and iceberg were very much ingrained in the public consciousness at the time of publication.

The first stanza appears to address the iceberg. In ‘solitude,’ the iceberg floats in the ‘sea,’ away, and untouched, by human hands. This emphasises its status as a naturally occurring phenomenon, the direct antithesis to man-made material objects. This is referenced in line two, as the iceberg is hidden away from ‘human vanity.’ As well as touching on human materialism, the phrase directly refers to the Titanic herself, as the physical embodiment of this materialism.

At first glance, I was not fully sure who ‘Pride of Life’ had ‘planned.’ ‘Pride of Life’ is personified, and is credited with creating something, which could either be the iceberg or Titanic. The iceberg is comfortably couched in the North Atlantic, and the Titanic was originally couched in Southampton before she set sail. Before the collision, Titanic was obviously in her pride, or prime, of life as she had not yet obtained a single scratch on her paintwork, and the same could be said, metaphorically, of the iceberg. On closer analysis, the use of the word ‘she’ references the ship itself, and her status sitting at the bottom of the ocean floor.

Stanza two discusses the physical mechanics of Titanic, referencing the engines and the tides that propel the ship forward. ‘Pyres’ are mentioned, perhaps to reference the Titanic’s large engines. Typically, the word is associated with a funeral pyre, foreshadowing the ship’s metaphorical death along with those onboard. ‘Salamandrine,’ is interesting, and could simply refer to something that is like a salamander. Salamanders can survive fire, meaning that they can master one of the elements. The use of the word here could reference the feigned belief that the Titanic was unsinkable, triumphing over the element of water. Hardy equates the natural movement of the tides with music, referring to them as ‘rhythmic tidal lyres.’ A lyre is a u-sharped harp. By drawing this comparison Hardy emphasises the natural beauty in nature, and essentially compares it to art. ‘Pyre’ rhymes with ‘lyre,’ implying that the tides of the sea have extinguished the funeral pyres of those that perished.

The next two stanzas take sharp swipes at Titanic’s ‘opulent’ nature, and renders it as a waste, for now only a ‘sea-worm’ frequents its wreckage. The worm is ‘indifferent’ to the splendour before them, as was the iceberg to the Titanic. It is now useless, and of no consequence.

Hardy recognises that the ‘jewels’ of the ship were originally crafted to ‘ravish the jewels of the sensuous mind.’ While these days ‘ravish’ refers to something enchanting, historically it can refer to sexual assault or rape. The human mind is described as ‘sensuous,’ implying that we enjoy things that are pleasurable, and therefore would be receptive to the luxurious nature of the ocean liner. Hardy equals the materialism of the ship to some sort of sexual gratification within the human mind, essentially painting the ship and its creation negatively. Throughout the poem Hardy seems to equate the ship with some of the Seven Deadly Sins, here being gluttony, lust and, previously referenced in ‘Pride of Life,’… pride.

Hardy employs some good juxtaposition to emphasise the tragic decline in the Titanic’s circumstances. The former ‘sparkles’ of the jewels now lie on the seabed, alliteratively ‘black and blind.’ Titanic’s glow has died, after the collision that wrecked her opulence.

The fifth tercet follows the same themes, focusing on some ‘moon-eyed’ fish. In innocent awe and wonder, the personified fish look to the ‘gilded gear’ to ask, ‘what does this vaingloriousness down here?’ While the ship itself is not especially vain or proud of itself, those that created it, are. It was their greed that created Titanic, and ultimately sank it. Chairman of White Star Line J. Bruce Ismay received a lot of criticism at the time for this, as he reportedly encouraged Captain Edward J Smith to increase Titanic’s speed and decrease the number of lifeboats on the vessel. This stanza again reiterates Hardy’s belief that the Titanic ended up being a waste. Also, the fish put it all into perspective. What is beautiful to humanity, is rubbish to the sea life, and means nothing at the bottom of the ocean.

Stanza number six opines that whilst humanity was busy ‘fashioning’ Titanic, ‘fashioning’ both referencing creation and materialism, ‘The Immanent Will’ was stirring. This philosophical concept is used by Hardy to emphasise his idea that, this collision itself was unavoidable and out of human control, in fact, it is closer to divine intervention. The event was predestined.

An enjambement leads us to stanza seven, which compares the ‘Shape of Ice’ to Titanic’s ‘sinister mate.’ The poem takes a strange, turn here, as the iceberg is compared to the Titanic’s mate, or sexual partner, an idea picked up at the close of the poem. The foreboding sense of stanza eight is quite chilling, as encapsulated in the last line ‘in shadow silent distance grew the Iceberg too.’ The stanza talks about both independent forces of the disaster slowly growing, setting the scene for their fatal collision. ‘Shadowy’ and ‘silent’ personifies the iceberg, making it sound particularly cunning and nefarious.

The ninth stanza picks up on the sexual union of the Titanic and the iceberg, by mentioning that, although the two forces seemed ‘alien,’ they would soon have an ‘intimate welding.’ ‘Alien’ implies that the forces of the iceberg and Titanic cannot be understood by humanity, imbuing them, and the tragedy, with an unfamiliarity that is almost disturbing. The physical closeness implied by the word ‘intimate’ and clinical implications of ‘welding’ make for an explicit example of juxtaposition. When the real-life crash happened, the ship scraped alongside the iceberg, they touched but did not become physically bond together. ‘Welding’ implies that both ship and ice were permanently fused together, which as described, did not happen. Perhaps this is more metaphorical, as both the iceberg and Titanic are bonded together in History. One is not mentioned without the other.

Stanza ten follows this idea, describing ship and berg as ‘twin halves of one august event.’ ‘August’ does not refer to the month here, but instead a distinguished and revered event, which befits the fame and scale of the sinking.

Final stanza time. The first line talks about the ‘Spinner of the Years,’ referring again to the powerful, unseen force that has dictated the fate of Titanic and iceberg. This could reference the Fates in Greek mythology, who spins the web of life, extending it and cutting it as they see fit. When this mythical force shouted ‘Now! And each one hears,’ Titanic and iceberg collide. Hardy describes this collision as ‘consummation.’ This again alludes to the idea that the collision is in fact a sexual union. However, the union is an unpleasant one and undercuts the supposed bliss at consummation by framing it around a violent tragedy. The ship is referred to as ‘she’ throughout the poem, making the iceberg the male in this scenario. The violent penetration of the berg into the ship alludes to sexual violence, and the ship’s passivity in receiving the iceberg, alludes to Titanic’s real-life lack of control over her fate. This union ‘jars two hemispheres.’ The Earth has four hemispheres, but the crash is so colossal that it reverberated and shook half of the globe. The use of several verbs in this stanza, more than the previous ones, create a crescendo towards the collision and the climax of the poem, emphasising the shock and violence of the event.

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‘The Phantom of the Opera’ 1910: The Phantom, Raoul and Christine – A Toxic Love Triangle

Happy (early) Valentines Day!

What better day to break down one of literatures most famous love triangles? Gaston Leroux’s novel ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ has charmed, and haunted, the world long before Andrew Lloyd Webber took to his keyboard. Despite the books success though, it was Webber’s words that immortalised the story and loves of the Phantom, Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daaé.

Before delving deep into the triangle, let’s have a quick Phantom recap. The novel opens with the narrator discussing the Phantom’s existence, confirming that ‘yes, he did exist in flesh and blood, although he assumed in every respect the appearance of a ghost – that is, of a shadow.’[1] Immediately the Phantom is drawn as a gothic figure, and he straddles the dichotomy of appearing to be a living, physical being, but also a ghost. In the world of Paris, in artistry and music, the Phantom is a significant Other and classed as something ‘not of this world.’[2] This immediately complicates the love triangle and gives it elements of a gothic romance, presenting greater danger, and greater risk, for Christine.

This is encapsulated well by the narrator, after setting the scene to tell the famed story of ‘love and terror.’[3] This juxtaposition represents the conflict around Christine and her situation and foreshadows the perilous story that unfolds across the remaining pages.

In her initial encounters with the Phantom, Christine is quite understandably terrified:

‘The shadow turned round and beneath the hood I saw a terrifying skull, whose staring eyes burned with the fire of Hell. I thought I was face to face with Satan himself. It was like a vision from beyond the grave. I felt so helpless that I lost consciousness…’[4]

Christine’s mention of ‘hell’ further emphasises the gothic nature of her relationship with the Phantom. Geographically, the Phantom’s residence underneath the Opera House bases him closer to hell, he inhabits his own underworld. This directly contrasts the world above, or the world of the living. In the musical, Raoul declares his love for Christine on the roof of the opera house, the opposite end of the Phantom’s abode. What connects these two hemispheres is Christine, her physical presence, and her voice.

It is her voice that draws the Phantom to her, and vice versa, and forms the basis of their relationship. It is always on an uneven keel though, as the Phantom falls in love with Christine, a feeling that is unreciprocated. Raoul overhears a conversation between Christine and the Phantom, in which she says, ‘I only sing for you!’ and ‘tonight I gave you my soul and I am dead!’[5] This is reminiscent of someone selling their soul to the devil. Christine describes the Phantom as her Angel of Music, her private tutor, spiritual and musical guide. It is through this talent that the Phantom initially exerts control over Christine, as he wishes to possess her so he can possess her voice. This is why she convinces him that she only sings for his pleasure alone.

As the novel progresses, Christine becomes increasingly distressed by the Phantom’s ever-looming presence. Although initially appearing to her as a ghost like figure, the Phantom later becomes a physical manifestation, and gifts Christine a piece of him in the form of a ring, stating that, he is only letting her go on the ‘condition that you wear this ring all the time.’[6] Christine however loses it, and lives in constant fear that she may anger the Phantom because of this. This ring signifies the control the Phantom has over Christine, a physical structure that physically is intended not to let go.

For the Phantom though, the ring is symbolic of his desire to be accepted as a human being by his fellow man. Seeing it as a noble proposition, this act is antithetical to his typical bestial behaviour. The honourable proposition of marriage humanises the Phantom, communicating a desire to live a life respected by society. This speaks to various competing themes oscillating within the love triangle, such as control and freedom, love and oppression.

Let’s check in with our heroine, Christine. Christine goes along with the Phantom’s demand as not to incur his ire or hurt his feelings, highlighting Christine’s compassionate nature and her desire to maintain her obligation. Throughout the novel Christine is pretty vocal about the conflict she faces with the Phantom, summing it up to Raoul by saying that the Phantom ‘fills me with horror and yet I do not hate him.’[7] Christine cannot find a reason to be cruel to the Phantom as others do, and recognises that, just because she is scared of him, it does not mean that she wishes him ill. Christine seeks to find a balance between being kind to the Phantom, and kind to herself, trying in every attempt not to be ‘too cruel!’[8]  What I feel is overlooked in some adaptations of the novel is Christine’s magnanimity – she is willing to try and be kind to the Phantom sometimes at the cost of her own mental wellbeing.

Christine’s connection with the Phantom causes her such mental anguish that it physically changes her, to the point at which she almost adopts his physical form. Raoul describes that ‘a contented smile appeared upon her bloodless lips, the smile of a patient at the first glimpse of hope that her illness might not be fatal.’[9] The lack of blood in Christine’s complexion emphasises her now ghostly, corpse-like nature, mirroring that of the Phantom, her ‘illness’ being a metaphor for the Phantom himself, as a physical drain on her mentally and physically, thus making her ill. The fact that his illness ‘might not be fatal’ gives hope at this point in the novel, implying that there is an end and solution to the problematic presence of the Phantom.

However, the Phantom, who I will now refer to as Erik, reverts to his old ways, and abducts Christine, prompting the Persian to lead Raoul in a search to find her. As well as using emotional manipulation to gain control over Christine, Erik, unlike Raoul, resorts to violence. Erik’s abduction of Christine is also in part response to Raoul’s presence, he wishes to keep her physically away from him. Erik’s love of Christine, and later jealousy towards Raoul, fuels his desire to control her, using the ring and through physically taking her by force to his lair. The irony is, I do believe that Erik is acting with pure intentions. I do not believe he wishes to hurt Christine, but his behaviour can be explained by his lack of human connection throughout his life. This lack of contact means that his moral compass is askew. He operates on a natural justice, not the man-made moral codes that his isolated life never allowed him to be exposed to.

Let us now turn to Raoul de Chagny, and his claim over Christine. Raoul and Christine are childhood sweethearts and reconnect after he sees one of performances. As she confides in him about Erik, he is increasingly confused, but also becomes increasingly resolved to protect her, vowing to ‘break his power’ over her.[10] At this point in the novel, Christine has taken on Erik’s ring, and cannot marry Raoul. To remedy this, she suggests a ‘secret betrothal,’ only the two of them know about.[11] Raoul happily agrees, but secretly affirms to himself that ‘by the end of the month Christine will consent to be my wife.’[12] This made me wonder. Does Raoul want to free Christine from Erik for the sake of Christine, or just so that he can have total possession over her. While Erik still lives, he will always occupy part of Christine’s mind – once he is gone, Raoul will have Christine all to himself. Also, at this point in the novel, Christine’s mental state, as previously discussed is unstable at best. Is Raoul taking advantage of this?

Throughout her whole ordeal, Raoul is also quite obsessed with Christine’s virtue. He privately questions, on multiple occasions if her relationship with Erik means that she is still ‘pure.’[13] It is very much a thought of the time, but given the wider situation and later peril, one wonders whether this should be Raoul’s top priority. If she were impure, and he did not marry her because of this, one must ask if he genuinely cares about Christine or about himself and his reputation more. He appears fickle, and insincere – he openly does not trust Christine, although she has the purest intentions of anybody within the novel.

It seems that jealousy plagues both men and affects their treatment of Christine. At times it appears that both men may not even want Christine, take Raoul’s doubts over her chastity, they just want to ensure that the other man does not have her. Both men put their feelings above that of Christine’s and seem to ignore her in the process. Both ignore her true, kind nature, and ignore what she needs throughout the novel. She does not need pressure and smothering from Erik, and she does not need judgement from Raoul, but support. They both do not recognise the complexity of her situation, and her desire to ensure everyone escapes unscathed. The jealousy that both men show distorts their worldview massively, and essentially adds to the toxicity of the love triangle.

However, in classic gothic literature, the most palatable conclusion for society is opted for. Although at the close of the novel Christine does display some reluctance in leaving Erik’s lair, she does work to ensure that Raoul is free from Erik’s grasp. Given the time of the novel’s publication, it is expected that Christine ends up with Raoul, in a good respectable marriage and of course this plays out. Erik tragically fades away but finishes the novel in a much more humane light than at the start.

Justice for Christine I say, she would have been better off without both of them!

Thanks for reading!

[1] Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera (London, Penguin Classics, 2012) p. 5.

[2] Ibid., p. 5.

[3] Ibid., p. 9.

[4] Ibid., p. 73.

[5] Ibid., p. 28.

[6] Ibid., p. 55.

[7] Ibid., p. 141.

[8] Ibid., p. 129.

[9] Ibid., p. 110.

[10] Ibid., p. 126.

[11] Ibid., p. 120.

[12] Ibid., p. 120.

[13] Ibid., p. 97.

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New Year’s Resolutions: A Brief History

It’s that time of year! Everyone is either making New Years Resolutions or has broken them already. All this discussion got me thinking, where did this common practice originate from?

Answer? The Babylonians, nearly 4000 years ago. The Babylonians lived in Ancient Mesopotamia, which is now known as southern Iraq. It is the Babylonians who are credited with starting the tradition of New Year’s Resolutions, although they were not specifically called that at the time. For the Babylonians, new year fell in mid-March, to coincide with the planting of new crops.  At this time, the Babylonians hosted the festival of Akitu, in which they either reaffirmed their loyalty to the current king or crowned a new one. At this time, they also promised to pay any outstanding debts – if they failed to do this, their pagan gods would not be happy.

Like many things in the modern world, we can thank the Romans for the next few developments. In 46 BC Roman emperor Julius Caeser put his own spin on the Babylonian calendar, declaring January 1st as New Year’s Day. January is named after the Roman God Janus, the two headed Roman God that looks both to the future and to the past. In attempts to please Janus, and gain good fortune for the forthcoming year, Romans would make offerings to the deity.

During the Middle Ages, knights would take the ‘Peacock Vow,’ which sounds way more colourful than it was. Knights would renew their fealty to the current monarch and maintain their values and morals of being a knight. While swearing this verbally, knights would place their hand on either a live or a roasted peacock.

Enter Christianity. For Christians, the 1st of January became a day of reflection. Methodist founder John Wesley founded the Covenant Renewal Service in 1740, which are also known as a watchnight service. On these nights, typically held on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, Methodists would pray and make resolutions for the new year. The service became a spiritual alternative to the usual socialising that came hand in hand with New Year’s Eve. Since its inception, Evangelical Protestant churches have taken on the custom of watchnight services.

New Year’s Resolutions also have other religious parallels, such as Christians giving up something for Lent to improve oneself. Jews also have Yom Kippur, or the Day of Atonement, which is seen as a time of reflection and seeking forgiveness for ill behaviour over the past year.  New Year’s Resolutions entered more into the mainstream in the 1800s, and the complete phrase of ‘new year resolution’ first appeared in a January 1st edition of a Boston newspaper in 1813.

As you can imagine, different countries have different traditions. In Italy, they are called ‘buoni propositi,’ or ‘good intentions.’ Around this time of year, Italians also try to draw in as much good luck as they can, by wearing red underwear at New Year or eating black-eyed peas. In Brazil, resolutions should be made all in white, as it represents purity, at the beach. After the clock hits twelve, Brazilians go into the ocean and jump seven waves whilst making seven wishes. Here they are paying tribute to Yemanja, the goddess of water. Interestingly, Colombians do not make resolutions but make wishes. When the clock strikes twelve, Colombians make twelve wishes, one for each chime, and to signify each wish, they eat a grape. Some people write their wishes on paper, keep it throughout the year and then burn it on New Year’s Eve, ready to make a new one.

Now New Year’s Resolutions are common practice, but whether people actually stick to them remains to be seen!

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Cameron Cook in ‘Rivals’ 2024: Racism in the Television Industry

TW: Racism and Sexual Assault

Disney Plus’ 2024 series ‘Rivals’ follows the lives and lusts of an elite group of countryside dwellers in Rutshire. The series, based on Jilly Cooper’s novel of the same name, has been well received by critics and fed everybody’s current craving for escapist soapy melodrama. I did not realise though, that the series would shift focus to the world of television in its latter half. As someone at the beginnings of their television career, the series highlighted the highs and precarious pitfalls of this cut-throat industry. Amongst all the romance and romping, it was Nafessa Williams portrayal of Corinium producer Cameron Cook that held my interest.

As a person of colour, I was immediately grabbed, and intrigued, by Cameron Cook’s presence. Originally Cook was described in the novel as having ‘pale skin.’ When decisions to race-switch characters are taken, one wonders whether it was for genuine reasons or the diversity quota. I have frequently discussed my thoughts about diversity and representation, and diversity on screen makes little to no impact if it is just for the tick box. Including Williams in the cast without addressing the racism within the television industry and the attitudes in the 80s, would have been a pointless waste. Thankfully, ‘Rivals’ does not shy away from the minority, specifically the minority female, experience, and manages to address the issue with subtlety and balance, refraining from shoving it down your throat with risk of alienating viewers.

Whilst reading reviews for the show, I noticed that Cook herself, and the racial prejudice she faces, received a real lack of attention. More focus was given to the sex in the show, and the performances of David Tennant as Tony Baddingham and Alex Hassell as rogue Rupert Campbell-Black. People of colour, especially women, being overshadowed by older, privileged white men feels very true to life.

Although Declan O’Hara, played by Aidan Turner, is one of the more progressive and morally sound of the characters in the show, his initial reaction to Cook is steeped in blind prejudice. Upon meeting her, O’Hara immediately hands Cook his bag, believing Cook to be his inferior. It is unclear whether this is exclusively because she is a woman, or exclusively because she is black… but I am willing to go with a mix both. Considering the latter, O’Hara’s disbelief at Cook’s presence and position emphasises the bold step taken by the show’s creators to make her black in the first place, and highlights the lack of black female opportunities in television at the time.

Whilst O’Hara picks his jaw up off the floor, Cook recognises that he was not expecting ‘a woman and God forbid a black one.’ Not only is the rug pulled from under O’Hara’s feet, but the audiences’ too. O’Hara continues to dig his own grave, by confessing that he believed Cook to be a ‘publicity girl.’ His use of the word ‘girl’ to describe a grown woman is incredibly patronising. Cook sets him straight, informing him that she is a ‘prodcuer-y woman.’ This is the scene, and character that kept me watching. Shows about the sexual exploits of the privileged white upper class are ten a penny, Cook’s presence offered something different.

Quite early on Baddingham threatens to put Cook back on the ‘boat’ that she came from, knowing full well that she flew from New York. While Baddingham defends this choice as ‘semantics,’ the reality remains this phrase would not have left his lips if Cook was white. Not only is it a reference to her skin colour and status as an immigrant, but also to her class and wealth. Cook is clearly an outsider, in more ways than one, making the playing field she plays on less than level.

Whilst Cook wields her own power, she is always subject to the power of the white man. Although Cook and Baddingham are connected romantically, Baddingham does remind her that without him, she has no job, and with no job she has no visa. Without the visa, she has no choice but to return to America. The constant threat of being sent back to “where she came from” has xenophobic undertones. Phrases of that nature have been thrown around historically with the intent to make people of colour feel unwelcome, and grateful that Britain opened its borders to them. It is a constant put down, a constant threat, a way for those around Cook to lord it over her and exert control over her.

The relationship between Cook and Baddingham unsettled me, maybe because I did not fully understand it.  Was Cook sleeping with Baddingham just to retain her job, or was she using him? Should we praise her for his, or doubt her morals? Did Baddingham bring Cook to Britain for her talent, or to bed her? I was never sure if any of it was genuine. But as a black woman in a white dominated male industry, would she have had much choice?

Being a minority in any situation comes with a degree of hyper awareness, which would only be exacerbated by comments about Cook’s modes of transport and visa. There is the added pressure of being in a minority, as you are not just representing yourself, but a whole host of others, a whole colour, a whole people who cannot be in the room to fight for themselves. Granted, it is a pressure that we may on ourselves, but it is the fault of others to not help alleviate that pressure, by ensuring that there are equal opportunities.

Cook also taps into the ‘strong black woman trope’ but is nuanced enough to not be a stereotype. Her name, Cameron Cook, exudes a masculine energy, which in Jilly Cooper’s world is synonymous with strength and virility.

However, Cook is not so career dedicated that it is all that she has in her life. She is sensual, and sexual and allows herself as much pleasure as any other man in her vicinity. Like them, she is virile, and willing to pair work and play. We see in Spain that she has a vulnerability, and we see in the office that she has an unbending strength, which is in no doubt fuelled by her minority status – she needs to be able to stand up to her peers, and remind them that that is what they are. With this trope, there is the risk that the black woman is only praised for her ability to help white characters, such as Gina Torres’ Jessica Pearson in ‘Suits,’ or Whoopi Goldberg’s psychic Oda Mae Brown in 1990 classic ‘Ghost.’ Cook stays away from this trap, as although her and Baddingham work together, towards the end of the series she acts on her own terms, joining rival Campbell-Black and O’Hara in their bid for the franchise to further her own career and status.

At the close of the series, Baddingham detects deceit on Cameron’s part, and a confrontation in their office ensues. She finally says no to him, and so he dishes out his usual threats, of sacking her which would put her visa in jeopardy. How will Cook ever break free of these men? During their confrontation, in which Baddingham strikes first, Cook bludgeons him with the television award that she collected in Spain for Corinium. Cook literally takes Baddingham down with her success, asserting a type of physical dominance that up until this point, had been asserted over her by her male peers.

Sometimes societal change has been born out of violence. Whether it’s the Holocaust, the American Civil War or the shooting of George Floyd, history tells us that big change has been sparked by the drawing of blood. Cook drew blood to topple Baddingham, and break free from his controlling nature, in the bedroom and in the workplace.

The series has explored several cover ups, most notably Daisy’s rape at the hands of Reverend Penney. Incidences like this happened and happen in the television industry and reinforce the troubling power dynamics present. We only have to look back at 2024 to reaffirm this. In this scenario, the men closed rank. In Cook’s case no one will know for sure that it was in self-defence bar the audience. As a black woman there is the risk that she will be stereotyped as overly emotional and essentially, in the wrong. It will be interesting to see if anyone comes to Cook’s aid, and their reasons for doing so. Campbell-Black and O’Hara need her for the franchise bid, but again, would their help put her in the debt of the white man again? She has just managed to break free of one. We will have to wait until series two to see whether Baddingham survives, and whether Cook does too.

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‘The Substance’ 2024: An Analysis

Coralie Fargeat’s Cannes 2024 winner ‘The Substance’ is an atmospheric, visceral tale about the ageing body. It follows Demi Moore’s character, Elisabeth Sparkle, as she begins to fall out of favour with TV Execs not due to any misconduct, but simply because her age is advancing. What follows is quite an incredible examination of many themes, including femininity, male objectification, celebrity and stardom.

The film opens on a star featuring Elisabeth Sparkle’s name on the pavement, in the style of the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The concrete seems permanent, but during the opening minutes of the film, it cracks as people walk over it. Although Sparkle’s celebrity seems permanent, it clearly is not. A passer-by drops his burger on the star, mopping up the tomato sauce. The smeared sauce is reminiscent of blood, referencing the body horror genre of the film, and the bloodiness of the films ending.

We then see Sparkle in the studio, streaming live on television doing her workout video. We follow her into the toilets, and she disappears into a cubicle. Dennis Quaid’s Harvey is then introduced. The camera is right up in his face, and he stands at the urinal whilst on the phone. The uncomfortable closeness of the angle coupled with the fact that he is handling his genitalia almost feels reminiscent of some kind of sexual assault. Following the MeToo movement, it is not inconceivable to think that in many situations, the camera could directly reference the viewpoint of a woman being subjected to unwanted male attention.

Harvey explains that he is going to fire Sparkle, and that he needs somebody who is ‘young,’ ‘hot’ and ‘now.’ He speaks about Sparkle in a derogatory way because of her age, which is especially ironic considering that he is no spring chicken himself. This scene quickly highlights the double standards between men and women, setting it up as a major theme throughout the film.

As already hinted at, Harvey is a predatory figure. This is fully realised in a scene where he dines with Sparkle. Sitting opposite her, he de-veins and messily eats several prawns. She in contrast does not eat. His physical dismembering, ingestion and discarding of these, formerly, living things directly references Harvey’s intention to discard Sparkle, after he has used her to fuel his career. His gluttony when it comes to food is the same when it comes to money and popularity and drives his decision to get rid of Sparkle. After he leaves, Sparkle notices a fly in her drink, floundering. She is the fly. Harvey did not formally sack her in that meeting, but she knows she is treading water.

This is what pushes Sparkle to use The Substance. This is organised via a phone call between sparkle and the mysterious organisation. These interactions, that deep male voice reminded me of scenes from horror films, such as ‘Scream.’ It added to the mysterious, and ultimately ominous, nature of The Substance. The elusive nature of the The Substance works well in the film, and, if one were to try and explain it fully, we would probably find ourselves caught in many logic knots. It mystery adds to its attraction, and helps to draw the viewer in. The sentiment that Sparkle and her improved self are one will be discussed in greater detail later. Sparkle’s ‘better version’ of herself is named Sue.

When Sparkle uses the substance, she does so in the bathroom and is nude. The clinical nature of the white tiled bathroom and her nudity are reminiscent of a hospital birth. This is fitting, as Sue crawls out of her back. Sue is almost ejected, in a strange birth that is in some ways similar, but also different, to a vaginal birth or caesarean. Sparkle also rests in a foetal position, again reinforcing the idea of birth. The physical ejection of Sue from Sparkle’s back foreshadows Sparkle’s later rejection of Sue. Sue, crawling out of Sparkle’s back, evokes the phrase ‘stabbed in the back.’ Later, Sue will do this, as she does not respect the balance. The violence enacted on Sparkle’s body as Sue emerges does not directly resemble the action of a stab but foreshadows and reinforces the idea that betrayal is imminent. Sparkle cannot see what is happening behind her, she is metaphorically and literally blind to it. She does not know what she is getting herself into and does not fully realise what has occurred until a week later when it is her turn to take over.

Sue auditions to join Sparkle’s network and impresses Harvey. Sue is markedly different from Sparkle, and not just because she is more youthful. Sue often wears pastels, in contrast to Sparkle’s darker blues, and is much gigglier. She frequently sports heart or star shaped earrings and sometimes wears her hair in a high pony. She reminded me of Ariana Grande, and my sister remarked that her jewellery looks like it’s from Claire’s Accessories. Sue is more girlish, which to some means more feminine, and by some, I mean Harvey and the men at the network. They are taken in by her childish innocence and naivete, and Harvey praises her for appearing ‘pure of heart.’ Without saying it, he is drawn to her because of what he perceives to be virginal qualities, girlishness and innocence. Sue is almost a blank canvas for all these older men at the network to project on. The male gaze that they hold dictates that she is virginal and innocent, and this is the reason why they like her – they feel like they can control her. In their eyes, she does not fall into the offensive and sexist category of ‘damaged goods,’ she is undamaged and untouched. All these male onlookers want to be the first.

There is one shot of her strolling down the street, sucking a lollipop and wearing sunglasses. It is reminiscent of the film poster of Stanley Kubrick’s 1962 adaptation of ‘Lolita.’ This quick frame fits the idea that this young woman is about to enter a world where she is going to be continuously preyed on.

Sue’s workout ‘Pump It Up’ is hardly a gruelling workout. There’s more hip gyration than hip thrusts. The network is blatantly trying to sexualise Sue, as has been the case with many a young female star, such as Ariana Grande or Britney Spears. During a later ‘Pump It Up’ a bulge pushes out of Sue’s right buttock. Those in the gallery asked to run it back, and conveniently there is one camera permanently angled at Sue’s buttocks. The crew gather in front of a screen to watch the footage back in slow motion, and much like real life, they are all male. Sue, and previously Sparkle, are constantly being objectified by all men in their life, and said men shield their blatant ogling by claiming that it is in a professional capacity. This scene feels very relevant especially considering the MeToo Movement.

The agreement is that when Sparkle gets seven days, Sue gets seven day, something which Sue promptly begins to disrespect. Even though it has been stated that both women are one and the same, it is so easy to forget that they are… because they are literally played by two completely different people. Sparkle refers to Sue as a ‘selfish bitch.’ It’s a real meta moment, as she is referring to herself. Obviously to the character it feels separate and looks separate as they are two different physical bodies. As Sue continues to disrespect the agreement, Sparkle begins to age rapidly, originally spreading from only one side of her body. The idea of two women, one old, one young, is physically represented by Sparkle’s body. One half of her is youthful, the other old and wrinkled. She is physically two halves of one woman at different stages of her life – the irony is that the two halves of women that she represents is representative of her current predicament. Demi’s hatred for another woman due to their youth speaks to the idea of female competition and resentment… it’s like Snow White and the Evil Queen.

Speaking of the Evil Queen, Sparkle then descends into stereotypical mad old spinster mode. While watching Sue on TV, Sparkle mocks her while cooking. She waddles around the kitchen, with grey unkempt hair and ferociously cooks ingredients in a frying pan that sparks and catches fire. She reads in her recipe book, as if she is reading from a book of spells and narrates that she next must ‘eviscerate the turkey.’ ‘Eviscerate’ means the removal of internal organs. Sue was birthed from Sparkle, and although no one removed her from Sparkle’s body, she came from it, in the same way that offal comes from the animal that it was originally housed in. While eviscerating a literal turkey, Sparkle wants to eviscerate her personal turkey – Sue. Sparkle’s wrenching of the offal out of the Turkey references Sue’s violent and bloody birth. Sparkle also screams while doing this, and this aggressive form of penetration into a passive body is reminiscent of sexual violence. It is quite an unsettling scene.

Many aspects of the female experience are referenced within the film, such as Sue’s birth. Later in the film, when needing a booster of Sparkle’s spinal fluid, Sue runs into the bathroom whilst suffering from a nosebleed. The stress of the situation makes her increasingly irritable, and her boyfriend, upon seeing the blood, jokes that she is irritable because it is her time of the month. He makes light of a serious situation, by concluding that Sue is overacting because she is on her period. It is incredibly dismissive.

There are plenty of examples throughout literature and film that suggest that the root cause of all women’s problems is their period. As it is seen as the gap between girlhood and womanhood it is a significant event, but certain works endow it with negativity. The opening scene of ‘Carrie’ references this, as Carrie getting her period is an incredibly traumatic experience and sets the tone for the whole novel. She had no supernatural experience before this event, her period offsets this chain and eventual death.

Sparkle decides that enough is enough and decides to put an end to Sue. The lethal injection is labelled as a ‘Termination.’ If this is not a direct reference to abortion, then I do not know what is. It could be argued that as Sue physically emerged from Sparkle, she is her offspring, her child. Sparkle is debating whether to abort her, the only difference is, Sue is a fully grown woman at this point, not in her womb. Perhaps because Sue is physically present, Sparkle cannot carry out the termination.

She realises that she needs Sue, she needs her youth, ‘you have to come back,’ she says. Visually, it is literally an old woman begging for the revival of her youth. She recognises that once women lose their youth, they are discarded, and she is desperate for it back. She is then discarded and dispatched by Sue when she awakes. It is quite horrible to see an old frail woman being brutally murdered… ageism is represented from all angles in this film.

Fast forward to the end of the film, when Sue makes her New Years Eve appearance. After being half terminated, and then injecting herself with some spinal fluid, she morphs into something unrecognisable. Sue wears a giant blue chiffon dress, proving that, no matter how you dress your body up, it is still going to change, and age. Sometimes we do not have control over Mother Nature, and when you try, Mother Nature can bite back and turn you into Monstro Elisasue.

As her body continues to mutate, a breast pops out of the side of her head, squelching onto the stage. It is probably the first time an audience has shied away from the appearance of a female breast, something regarded as beautiful is now deemed as repulsive. In everybody’s panic, Elisasue is pushed under a studio light. She is placed under the spotlight, her body scrutinised by the audience, just as how women in the public eye are scrutinised by everybody. She protests that she is the ‘same’ as she was before. The older versions of us and the younger ones are the same, society just does not view us that way.

In the end, the Elisasue breaks down, forming a mass of flesh with Elisabeth Sparkle’s original face at the centre. She crawls onto her start on the walk of fame, and eventually melts away. She is then cleaned up in the morning. She is forever to be a face on a paving slab, trodden on by society, a star that once brought her recognition is now her graveyard. Despite her best efforts, Elisabeth Sparkle and Sue have both been discarded by a misogynistic and patriarchal society.

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‘Wicked’ 1995: Race Relations and Good and Evil

Whilst reading Gregory Maguire’s revisionist Wizard of Oz novel, the thing that shocked me was peoples’ surprise at the novel’s existence. The glitzy, well-known musical has a larger following than the novel, despite the latter’s critical and commercial success. As a revisionist text, the novel seeks to give some background to The Wicked Witch of the West, or Elphaba to her peers. The novel details the events that led to her acquisition of the infamous title and documents her tumultuous friendship with Glinda. The two together stand at the opposite ends of the spectrum of good and evil, and everything else in between. The problem of evil, and its root, is a prevalent theme in the novel. However, and maybe this is because I am reading the novel in 2024, or because I am a person of colour, to me the novel was clearly about racism.

Before the novel shifts to the emerald tones of Elphaba’s skin, it opens in familiar territory, on the yellow brick road. Elphaba seethes as Dorothy and her companions march to the Emerald City and discuss the Wicked Witch that pursues them. Elphaba is described by the group as ‘castrated’ and ‘hermaphroditic.’ Elphaba appears to be a walking inversion throughout the novel, but in this specific instance she is a physical inversion of a man and woman. By describing Elphaba this way, the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow note her difference. This makes her a threat to their very existence. She is consistently ‘othered’ by everyone else in the novel, and a key source of this is the colouring of her skin.

Elphaba’s colouring also presents contradiction, as the colour of her skin is a curse, yet integral to the land of Oz. When first mentioned, Elphaba is not described as green, but as ‘pale emerald.’ Elphaba is immediately tied to a precious, rare jewel, and even though her nurses debate drowning her at birth, it is this shade that does gets her noticed, negatively and positively. In other contexts, the colour is coveted, but in Elphaba’s hands it is spurned. It is almost like a poisoned chalice in her hands. The green ties her to the earth itself, and to nature, but also to the industry of the Emerald City. Perhaps Elphaba’s overt link to the Emerald city references the fact that the Wizard is her father.

It is Elphaba’s skin colour that immediately distances her from her parents. On the day of her birth, her fanatically religious father Frex fears that the ‘devil’ is in the air. When his green baby arrives, you can guess the conclusion that he jumps too. Elphaba’s very presence drives a wedge between her mother and father, as Frex immediately accuses Melena of infidelity. He of course, is not wrong, but both parents’ denial of Elphaba only serves to intensify her isolation and means that she grows up devoid of love. Childhood trauma pending.

While Elphaba’s feral nature in her childhood is well documented, the racial abuse she experiences becomes clearer when she enrols at Shiz university. It is the arrival of Galinda, Elphaba’s obvious foil, that highlights Elphaba’s difference in skin colour and class. It is Galinda’s beauty that makes her ‘significant,’ a note that foreshadows her materialistic nature. Galinda has an air of celebrity about her, she is beautiful, something that she uses as currency, and has connections and high social status through her birth. She hails from an old ‘Gillikinese’ aristocratic family, and while she is accepted into Shiz for her intellect, it is not inconceivable to think that her heritage also makes it her birthright. Elphaba is of noble birth too, but Galinda’s emphasis on her old aristocratic connections appears to set her above everyone else.

Galinda’s presence offers up a significant slice of racial discourse: she is white privilege. Her appearance is almost Aryan, she is white and blonde. She knows that her ‘flaxen hair’ grants her ‘natural advantages.’ This is why she ensures that it is always on show. Her hair is frequently loose, and she is depicted as constantly playing with it. Elphaba’s lack of these physical qualities immediately makes her inferior. Elphaba’s hair is described as ‘foreign-looking,’ and those around her believe she hails from ‘exotic climbs.’ She is only described this way due to her difference in colouring, and despite people’s interest in looking at her, they are not interested in befriending her.

Nowadays, words such as ‘exotic’ are recognised as racially loaded lexis. This ties together with the idea of otherness, as people immediately assume that Elphaba’s difference in hair and skin tone must mean that she hails from a different land. These judgements are cast upon her before she has even spoken, and shows that Galinda and her peers are exercising explicit racial prejudice. The irony of this is of course the fact that Galinda and Elphaba are not of different races. However, due to the judgements made about Elphaba based purely on her skin tone, to me, racism seems like the best word to describe the discrimination that she experiences. The casting of Cynthia Erivo, a black woman, as Elphaba acutely reflects this shift in culture, something that Maguire would recognise considering his American heritage and the countries’ history of racial unrest.

What is interesting throughout the novel is the development of Galinda and Elphaba’s unlikely friendship. This friendship raises Elphaba’s status, a story note that references the white saviour narrative. Galinda’s association has saved Elphaba from being a social outcast. Galinda does display paternalistic tendencies towards Elphaba at first, feeling sorry for her, and feeling the need to coach her in becoming popular, the focus of a whole song in the musical. So, while, the optics of this narrative may not fare well in 2024, it serves Galinda’s character development. While initially she is snobbish and materialistic, her growing acceptance of Elphaba, and diminishing judgement, does reference some form of racial cohesion between the two.

However, their lives and priorities pull them in different directions. Elphaba’s revolutionary calling only others her further from the inhabitants of Oz, and makes her the object of their hatred. In Elphaba’s view though, her main downfall has been the ‘curse’ of her skin colour. This self-awareness is interesting, and does mirror sentiments of people of colour in society. Elphaba argues that this physical feature is what has attracted discrimination and by extension all hardship in her life.

Elphaba’s ultimate downfall is her humanity – and search for love. In ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ Elphaba is obsessed with Dorothy’s ruby slippers. These were of course obtained from The Wicked Witch of the East, Elphaba’s sister, and known in the novel as Nessarose.

The shoes were gifted to Nessarose by her father Frex, the man that Elphaba too believed to be her father. After Nessarose’s death, Glinda gifts Dorothy the shows, not wanting them to fall into the hands of the corrupt Munckinlanders. In response to Elphaba’s fury at not being given the shoes herself, Glinda hits the nail on the head, telling Elphaba that the shoes ‘won’t make [your] father love [you] any better.’ Elphaba’s quest to obtain the shoes results in her watery end, and if there was any plot thread that could humanise Elphaba so far into the novel, it is this one. Her desperation for love and acceptance is her undoing. Elphaba herself knows that this is something she could never have obtained, due to the colour of her skin. Even when Fiyero looks beyond this, their affair does not last because he is murdered. As remarked by the Cowardly Lion at the beginning of the novel, Elphaba is notoriously ‘unlucky in love.’

This leads nicely onto the problem of evil within the novel, and the nature and nurture debate. Had Elphaba received love as a child, perhaps she would not have desperately wanted the shoes, and perhaps she would still be alive. Even Elphaba’s revolutionary ideas may have been spurred on by this lack of love, as had she not been so deprived as a child, she may not have felt so connected to the marginalised animals she fought to give a voice to. Throughout the novel Elphaba is described as animalistic, and so her awareness of their mistreatment is not unsurprising.

Glinda has been given everything, wealth, social status and aristocracy. While she endeavours to do good work, she does not fight for the underdog as Elphaba does. Perhaps this is because Glinda has never been the underdog. It is not something that she can relate to, her white privilege sees to that.

Despite their differences, and how differently they are perceived, Boq does a neat job of summing Elphaba and Glinda up:

‘Glinda used her glitter beads and you used your exotic looks and background but weren’t you just doing the same thing, trying to maximise what you had in order to get what you wanted? People who claim that they’re evil are usually no worse than the rest of us.’ He sighed. ‘It’s people who claim that they’re good, or anyway better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of.’

In a world where people, especially women, are reduced to stock characteristics, Boq in his little speech tries to add some nuance. As stated earlier, both women are one end of the spectrum, they cannot meet in the middle. Even Dorothy, as soon as she drops down to Oz is labelled in extremity. She is a saint, for bringing the house down on Nessarose. She acquires sainthood status through one accidental act.

In short, Boq opines that Glinda and Elphaba are neither good nor evil, they both have just used what they can to get what they want. Glinda traded on her wealth and looks, and Elphaba embraced the mantel of wickedness placed upon her to further her revolutionary cause. If there is no good and evil, one must ask why both women have been labelled this way. There are bigger political machinations occurring in Oz, and it seems the whole place is a big, propaganda machine. Both gained publicity and harnessed it for their own ends.

In this statement, Boq comments on Elphaba’s skin tone but also does not. He notes that both women really, are not that different. Their intent and aims are, but the way that they operate is not. And if they are not so different, should Elphaba’s skin tone be a factor? In a way no, as it is not relevant to their aims, but also in a way, yes. Boq does say that Elphaba used her emerald hues to get what she wanted. So maybe without her ‘exotic looks’ Elphaba would not have become the famed, notorious revolutionary. It seems Elphaba’s skin colour, albeit at different points of her life, is both a blessing and a curse.

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‘Dilwale Dulhania La Jayenge’ 1995: An Analysis

‘Dilwale Dulhania La Jayenge’ is one of the most celebrated Bollywood films. Even after twenty-nine years, it still plays at the Maratha Mandir Theatre in Mumbai. The film tells the story of two young NRI’s, non-resident Indians, Simran and Raj. Both embark on a trip around Europe after finishing sixth form and their meeting changes their lives forever.

Many critics have noted that a Bollywood exists before DDLJ, and after DDLJ. The film is credited with fundamentally changing the nature of Bollywood itself. It boasts all the classic Bollywood features, such as a lengthy runtime and catchy songs, but also adds a lot more to reflect cultural shifts that were happening within the 90s.

The fact that the film is about non-resident Indians has been regarded as a massive selling point, and a string of films following after have targeted that market. Originally, director Aditya Chopra wanted a Caucasian American lead and considered casting Tom Cruise as one half of the star-crossed lovers. The non-resident Indian aspect does immediately make the characters of Simran and Raj more relatable to younger audiences.

Both Simran and Raj manage to balance Britishness with their Indian values, and although this is what encourages their union, it is also what drives it apart. It creates a personal conflict for them both, and throughout the film we see them lean into their British side, and into heir Indian side. Depending on who they interact with, one side is more prevalent than the other.

Let’s start with Kajol’s Simran. More so than Raj, due to her strict father Baldev Singh, Simran must straddle the line between British and India. When with her friends, she wears English clothes, at home, Indian. In a humorous scene in the film, Simran, her mother Lajjo and sister Chutki are seen dancing to western music. However, when Baldev comes home, the prayers are on and the prayer books come out. Baldev is also most affectionate towards his daughter when she is being religious. It is whilst praying in the morning that Simran successfully gets her father’s permission to go interrailing, with the assurance that she will comply with her arranged marriage upon her return. The film appears to hit the zeitgeist of a massive cultural shift, as by the 90s, more Indians had moved out of India to places like the UK.

While Shah Rukh Khan’s Raj feels more western than Indian, his heritage is not fully disregarded. In a controversial scene where Simran worries that while drunk, she slept with Raj, Raj informs her that he knows the value of an Indian woman’s honour, and that it is something that he would not dare disrespect. When the film moves to India also, in front of Simran’s family he is well mannered and respectful. He acts differently in front of his friends, as does Simran, as does everyone. Balancing the east and west is something that NRI’s still do now, although recently I feel that there has been a bit of a rediscovery of Indian culture amongst the youth, and a reclaiming of it.

It is unfortunate though, that Indian culture in the film is what disrupts the union between Simran and Raj. This is personified by Amrish Puri’s Baldev Singh. From the opening scene we learn that although he resides in London, his heart and soul is in Panjab. He has a very idealistic view of what Panjab is, and although he seeks to uphold culture and tradition, he does so nearly at the cost of Simran’s happiness. His idealistic view is showcased with the opening song, as women dance and sing throughout the fields. It is idyllic, and ironic, as while preparing for her arranged marriage, it is in Panjab where Simran is the most unhappy. His strong patriotism does highlight some hypocrisies. When Raj and his friends steal from his shop, he notes that they are devoid of Indian values. However, the Panjabi Kuljeet Singh at the end of the film, along with his friends, savagely beat Raj. Surely violence is not part of Indian values? When watching DDLJ Baldev does come across as the villain of the piece, but I do sympathise with the fact that what Simran is asking for him is different to everything he knows, and everything that he loves – his culture.

In contrast is Simran’s mother Lajjo. Although the film is set in the 1990s, in the patriarchal Panjab, Lajjo’s feminist edge does tap into the changing mindset of non-resident Indians. Lajjo recognises that women have had to sacrifice their happiness for the sake of men, and realises that unless she intervenes, her daughter will have to do the same. This is why she encourages Simran and Raj to run away and fulfil their desires, because in her youth, she was unable to fill her own.

Although the men in her life do control her fate, Simran is not fully passive unlike her mother was in the past. She wins her trip to Europe, she is more than capable of holding her own when it comes to Raj and she manipulates the Karwa Chauth ceremony to ensure that Raj is the one to break her fast. Her resilience eventually pays off. As well as this, even before Simran’s triumph at the end, little moments along the way imply that their relationship will be more egalitarian than most. She argues with him, she wins, he apologises, he changes. And she does the same, both stating on different occasions that they got carried away.

One thing that sets the film apart is the fact that the lovers do not elope, which was noted by several critics. Raj does want to be honest, and maintains that he will not steal Simran, he will be given her hand by her father. Simran does not believe that this will come to pass, citing her father’s traditional values. Forbidden unions always come at some cost in Bollywood, in ‘Veer Zara’ Veer spends his days in prison, Rahul and Anjali are banished in ‘Kabhi Kushi Kabhe Gham’ and in ‘Tohfa’ Sridevi’s Lalita gives up her love Ram for her sister Janki, marrying an alcoholic no-gooder instead.

Gaining the approval of your parents is a massive theme in Bollywood, and something keenly felt in a lot of Indian households. ‘Kabhi Kushi Kabhe Gham’ comments on this trope, Anjali, also played by Kajol is particularly distressed at not gaining her new father in law’s blessing. Considering this, Simran and Raj do emerge relatively unscathed, they are not banished, they are both alive, and they obtain the blessings that they are so desperate for at the end of the film.

In the end, everyone in the film is satisfied. All the somewhat competing forces, east and west, children and parents, modernity and tradition settle and culminate in a happy ending. Everybody wins, and everyone is validated. And even though Simran and Raj deviate from the traditional family structure established by Baldev’s superiority, the Indian family system remains intact, as Baldev’s approval is earned. The film proves that these perceived Indian family values can be carried out of India to other countries, and that NRI’s can be as equally Indian and valid citizens as those that have stayed in India itself. Simran and Raj’s romance does not play second fiddle to family values, as Lajjo’s did previously, their love is validated and elevated further by these family values.

Baldev’s change of heart characterised in the iconic line ‘Ja Simran ja… jee lee apni zindagi’ really is massive. In telling Simran to ‘go, live your life’ represents a huge shift, a shift that was happening for all NRI’s in the 90s. In that singular line, Baldev lets go of the tradition and culture that he wants to uphold and allows her daughter to marry a man that he vehemently did not approve of. Baldev, in the closing moments of the film, realises that nobody would ever love Simran as much as Raj does, and that this is enough for him. It’s such a seismic shift that I wouldn’t mind if the film had an extra 20 minutes to explain his thought process a bit more. The union of Raj and Simran resonates because it is not just a win for love itself, but a win for the younger generation, in or out of India who wish to follow their own heart and create their own path. It also shows a parent who is willing, albeit after a long time, to let go of something dear to him for the happiness of his beloved daughter. It is quite moving, and it is not hard to imagine why the closing moments of the film still elicit tears.

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‘Joker: Folie à Deux’ 2024: An Analysis (and why I loved it)

Ironically the poor reviews surrounding Todd Phillips’ ‘Joker: Folie à Deux’ is what drew it to me even more. While I have great respect for the first film, I did not love it and found the sequel to be more engaging and interesting.

On the first film, there were elements that I liked and objectively appreciated, and Arthur’s bleak existence was masterfully portrayed by Phoenix. I was not a massive fan of the debate about Arthur’s paternity, I found it to be more akin to soap opera than serious, social commentary. It shifted the focus from Arthur to his mother and Thomas Wayne, when there was already an interesting enough story about social poverty there to work with. It was never going to be a film I would watch on repeat, and although personally I did not enjoy it, I respect it for what it tried to say.

Let’s start with the music. The film is not a musical in a conventional sense, it is a jukebox musical. This specific genre refers to a film that uses well known songs, there is no new music composed for the film. I think this worked well, especially because the music that was used was more on the retro side. And no, people are not bursting out into song and dance, a multitude of dancers in their wake. The music at times is not fully sung, it’s more spoken. It’s like speaking with rhythm, and definitely added a creepy edge. It moves the story onwards, and important plot points and emotions are conveyed through the words. It adds to the surreal feeling of the whole film and lets us into Arthur and Lee’s secret language. It strikes the balance between what the world sees, Joker, and what those in Arthur’s circle see, Lee and the audience. The songs are used to communicate intimacy between Arthur and Lee, as well as their most intimate feelings. It is very different, just as Arthur and Lee are different. It added a real surreal edge that subverts the realism of the first film.

People have noted that the sequel does not have much story – which I find quite strange. The whole film builds towards Arthur’s trial and tells the story of Arthur and Lee’s growing connection. Admittedly, there is not as much plot, twists, turns and violence that was in the first one, but I think this is why I partly I did not love it. All this stuff, plus the paternity twists did not feel that organic. This film to me, did feel organic, it allowed for a lot more breathing space than the first one did. And it does crescendo, it crescendos at the court house with the explosion. I am not sure what people expected the sequel would be about, if Arthur escaped prison and went on a killing spree, it would be too like the first film, and really, how much can you gain from that? It would just fall into the classic formula of villain causing havoc, has to be stopped. This one did have to be different, and organically followed what would come next after committing murder – prison and trial. While I believe that this is deserved, fans of the first film could argue that society is not listening or sympathising with Arthur again, and that Gotham has not learnt anything in the past five years. The film’s main problem is that it is not what the fans wanted. This sequel does not necessarily build on its predecessor, it subverts it and pulls the rug from under us, or specifically, from under fans of the first film.

Gaga’s Lee is the audience, she sycophantically worships Joker and wills his maniacal personality to break free. When Arthur goes against this, she goes against him. It’s very meta, and complex, as the film is aware of its own existence and criticises it. Should everything work to please the audience? Can we separate our own view and look at art objectively? I did note earlier that while the first film was not for me, I can appreciate it as a work of art. Objectively, if we look at Arthur, he is a murderer. Should we be supporting him?

The shock ending was foreshadowed from the very beginning. The animation of Arthur running away from his shadow, and the interchanging between shadow, Arthur and Joker speaks to Arthur’s identity struggle. He does not know who he is really, and these different personalities push and pull him. What does he want, what do other people want. We as an audience, like Lee have bought into this idea of the Joker. The first film champions him, this film goes into his mind further and tries to tell us what these multiple identities are like for him to manage. At the end of the day, the alter ego that is so beloved by the audience and Lee did some very bad things and is the one that is so revered. How does that make any sense in today’s world? Or today’s morality?

Instead of celebrating him, this film makes us realise that he is not a hero. He has brutally killed people at the end of the day. He is a person, who has done bad things. Granted, life did deal him a very cruel hand, but the decision to kill was his decision. He is not Joker, he is Arthur. This is what he confesses in court. He was never the Joker that we thought he was, the one that we think of from the comics, he is an iteration of that. The shock ending cements this, and makes a lot of sense. This Arthur is not a criminal mastermind, he is a man pushed to the point of desperation. He was never a hero; he was an unintentional cipher for the poor state that society was in. As poverty was thrust upon him, so was this reputation and martyrdom. While Arthur was active in his killings, he was passive up to this point, society acted upon him, he was used and abused by it. He never actively sought revolution. This version of Arthur does not want to be a major criminal or martyr, he just wants to be loved. Therefore, he is a Joker, but he is not THE Joker.

Like the first film it is making a statement, and the strong reaction against said statement does not mean that it is invalid. It just means that it is not what people want to hear.

My lasting thought is this: Arthur is not relevant at the end of the day, he never was. Only the Joker is. No one would care about Arthur if he was not the Joker, if he did not have that iconic make up. And that image is what endures. When Joker comes round again in whatever form, people will not remember Todd Phillips’ Arthur Fleck, they will remember Todd Phillips’ Joker.

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The ‘Alien’ Franchise: Gender, Sex and Motherhood

TW: Mentions sexual assault

When you think of iconic science fiction horror franchises, it is likely you will think of ‘Alien.’ Birthing in 1979 under the watchful eye of Ridley Scott, the franchise itself is still going strong today, as evidenced by the recently released ‘Alien: Romulus.’ After rewatching them all each film has a certain set of tick box features. A fearsome adult Alien, spawned by someone’s early encounter with a facehugger, a tomboyish female lead with a similarly tomboyish name, a mass of side characters needed to be killed off horribly, usually featuring your token ethnic minorities and probably an alien human hybrid for extra squirm factor and to hammer home to the audience that the Aliens are not as far away as we think. Considering the amount of content that stemmed from the original, it is not surprising that certain set pieces and plot points get repeated. Some of these repetitious plot points however work to elevate and reinforce the thematic stamps of the franchise: gender, sex and motherhood.

What is interesting is that the environment of the first film especially is not typically feminine or masculine. Originally, all characters were written without an established gender, which in hindsight should be obvious by their names. Ripley, Parker, Lambert and Kane do not align themselves with a specific gender, thus the franchise occupies an androgynous space. Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley herself aligns with androgyny, as she possesses both feminine and masculine traits.

Some characters lean more into the masculine or the feminine though, such as Lambert. Lambert can be likened to the damsel in distress, as she prefers to be protected by masculine presenting characters, such as Parker. It is the presence of the Alien that disrupts all notions of gender within the film. The Alien’s existence obliterates all human life present, and with it, all human conceptions of gender. The Alien does so through its deployment of sexual violence. It is the Alien’s phallic imagery that disrupts this androgynous landscape through forced, penetrative action which can be likened to male sexual violence.

The elongated, phallic shape of the Xenomorph and its multiple variants is reminiscent of various reproductive systems at different stages. For me, the facehugger is the most unsettling Alien within the franchise, and this is in part because of its reproductive cycle. The spindly fingers and whipping tale of the facehugger are quite obviously phallic, and its reproductive cycle of forced penetration against the will of the host is reminiscent of a violent sexual assault. With deeper thinking though, perhaps the facehugger is more androgyne than it’s male-coded appearance suggests. The area at which the tub extends is reminiscent of female genitalia, so perhaps the Alien is androgyne as some of its human counterparts. But then, am I taking this too far?

It’s one thing to say that something long represents a phallus, but making the link to female genitalia feels more specific than just a generic, long shape. Can I compare an alien to human genitalia, and the human concept of gender? Does any of that make sense? Let’s just agree it’s all pretty gross.

The result of this assault is the iconic chestburster, as immortalised in the original film. The birth of this Alien also displays the same violence in being born as in being conceived. While the facehugger forced itself onto a human host, when gestated, the Alien forces itself out. The facehugger is the active agent in this scenario, and the human is the passive actor. This power imbalance comments on the lack of consent in this scenario and reinforces the rape allusion.

As established previously, the presence of the Alien destroys human concepts of gender. We infer that this is the case, because the Alien enacts violence on everybody equally. The male-coded Alien does not discriminate.

The Alien’s nature, and that of Ripley’s also links to the theme of motherhood. Throughout the first film several characters, most notably Kane, are forced to give birth. This disrupts the idea of gender norms, especially when dealing with male characters such as Kane, as the act of giving birth is female-coded. This already inverts the romanticised idea of having a child, something that typically is supposed to be born of love, something that brings joy. The Alien’s reproductive system provides no such thing. As the theme of motherhood is built upon and strengthened throughout 1986’s ‘Aliens,’ what we get at the end of Cameron’s sequel is the ultimate face-off between the two superior mothers. The Xenomorph Queen and Ripley herself. Let us talk about the Xenomorph Queen first.

The Xenomorph Queen’s physical form can be likened to that of the previously established Xenomorph, although she is more ornate. The Queen has the same phallic head and tail, but is coded as feminine, and named Queen, because of her capacity to give birth. What is interesting, is that she requires no male to fertilise any eggs, she births them herself. She reinforces human ideas of gender norms, she is female as she gives birth, but also carries that bit of androgyny that Ripley does, linking them together. The Queen’s very presence cements the inference that the Xenomorph in the previous film is male, as it could not produce eggs independently.

In a deleted scene in ‘Aliens,’ we learn that whilst in cryo sleep, Ripley’s daughter died. This leaves the daughter void wide open for the entrance of Newt. It is through Newt that Ripley cultivates her motherly instinct, even following it against Hicks’ advice. Ripley’s strong belief that Newt is still alive highlights the strong connection she has with, what is framed as, her adoptive daughter. It is this connection that eventually spurs her to confront and defeat the Queen, in a sequence that is the closest thing we are going to get to a sci-fi catfight… albeit with more acidic bite. Ripley’s iconic cry of ‘get away from her you bitch!’ prefaces the iconic showdown.

A note on this lexis. While later heroines Rain and Daniels refer to their respective Aliens as ‘motherf*****,’ Ripley’s use of ‘bitch’ not only notes the Queens animalistic tendencies, quite literally calling her a female dog, but also notes her gender as female by referencing her ability to breed. Much like Ripley herself. The line also speaks to a mothers’ willingness to do anything for her child. The Xenomorph Queen is also prepared to do anything for her children, but the difference is that hers are dead, at Ripley’s hand. She is prepared to do anything to avenge her children. Ripley’s relationship with the theme of motherhood only complicates in later ‘Alien’ films as does her relationship with the Aliens themselves.

In ‘Alien III,’ spawned in 1992, it is established that Newt is dead, leaving Ripley devoid of a surrogate daughter. At the films climax, Ripley discovers that while sleeping, she was attacked by a facehugger and that a Xenomorph Queen embryo is growing inside her. This places Ripley in a unique position. In Newt’s place is the Xenomorph embryo, making Ripley the mother to the organism that has previously terrorised her. Her strong maternal instinct, as developed in ‘Aliens’ directly conflicts with the Alien growing inside her. This is an organism that she does not want to be mother to – but is. This can be likened to Kane’s forced motherhood in the first film. The only choice she has is to end her life and that of the embryos’. However, in the following 1997 film, ‘Alien: Resurrection,’ Ripley is cloned, the embryo is extracted, and the cycle of chaos and acid blood continues.

Ripley is aggressively confronted with the fact that she now has Alien blood running through her veins. She is integrated with the Alien race in a more intense way than being attacked by a facehugger. It is not a physical attachment that she can remove, their DNA is intermingled. It is almost more intimate than an encounter with a facehugger. Due to this, Ripley now possesses some of the Alien’s characteristics, notably having a more feral nature and a level of acidity to her blood. She is beginning to embody the very creature she fought against, again, without choice, the being that threatened, and by extension took away, her second chance at being a mother.

What is birthed at the end of ‘Resurrection’ is an Alien, human hybrid. The hybrid, being Alien and human, is the physical embodiment of the conflict occurring within Ripley’s body. The conflict between her human half and her Alien half. The hybrid would have also challenged the human concept of gender in a more explicit, physical sense. Originally the hybrid was shot with male and female genitalia, which were edited out in post production. What is interesting about this note is that Ripley is female, why would the hybrid have human female and male genitalia? Perhaps this is something to do with the female-male appearing facehugger.

The presence of the hybrid directly challenges Ripley’s maternal instinct. Knowing that she cannot let this hybrid continue to exist, she ejects it from the airlock. This is not the first child Ripley has lost, she lost her daughter and then Newt. Ripley is visibly distressed and guilt-ridden when ejecting the hybrid but understands its importance for the greater good, as although the hybrid had some human, it still contained some of the deadly Alien. The complexity of this conflict deepens Ripley’s relationship with the Alien species, as she, although temporarily, became part of their evolution. The force that Ripley fought so hard to destroy has now become amalgamated with her, and she cannot be separated from it. Both her and the Alien survive.

The Alien franchise seems to love a human Alien hybrid, and in ‘Prometheus’ Dr Elizabeth Shaw births a Trilobite by caesarean, which is key to the eventual birth of the Xenomorph. In the most recent entry, ‘Alien: Romulus,’ Kay births a hybrid, known as the Offspring. Humanity appears to have had multiple hands in what will eventually become the Xenomorph, by birthing some sort of anti-christ. This very birth subverts the idea of mother and child, as both Shaw and Kay are visibly horrified by what has been gestating inside them. They both are also attacked by their offspring. The Aliens encountered throughout the franchise are antithetical to humanity, and despite that dash of humanity gained from their mothers, they are still animalistic, bloodthirsty predators. They are pretty ‘un-human.’ Due to this, these women, despite being biological mothers, do not display that instinct in an emotional sense, as what they have birthed is horrifying to them.

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‘Frankie Goes to Bollywood’ at the Southbank Centre: An Analysis

Pravesh Kumar’s ‘Frankie Goes to Bollywood’ is currently playing at the Southbank Centre and has just celebrated it’s one hundredth show. The billion-colour musical is true to its name and follows eponymous heroine Frankie on her journey to Bollywood stardom. It is a classic, fish out of water story, and one of self-discovery, set in the Bollywood bubble. What stood out to me most firstly was Laila Zaidi’s powerhouse performance as Frankie, and secondly the multi-faceted nature of the show. The show is British, and Indian, it is Bollywood, and not, it praises Bollywood and critiques it, promotes the sisterhood but airs its pitfalls, chastises men but sympathises with them and showcases corruption and pits it against compassion. It does not just provide commentary about Bollywood, but about life – Bollywood provides the microscope that all the characters are placed under, and crushed, under.

At the heart of the show is Frankie, who not only is navigating Bollywood but also navigating herself. She is that classic dichotomy of being British and Indian, and trying to find out where she fits. While being in Britain, she longs for the life of the Bollywood heroine, and when she gets it, and realises that it is not all that it cracked up to be, she wishes to go back and does not feel that she fits. The musical follows the bildungsroman formula, as in true coming of age style, Frankie’s naivete is shattered when she finally achieves her dreams and realises the reality of them. The Bollywood illusion falls and despite the stardom, it is authentic friendship and companionship that she misses, as personified by her cousin sister Goldy.

Kate Stasi’s Goldy is unflinchingly comedic and authentic – this authenticity is what Bollywood appears to lack. Frankie loses her authenticity as her naivete dwindles, as she gets swept in the Bollywood glamour and as a result, turns her back on Goldy and the sisterhood. The lack of authenticity in Bollywood is also signalled by Bollywood star Mallika, played by Helen K Wint, who in song and speech, tells Frankie that the Bollywood world is a stage, she is not just performing in the films but performing constantly in public as well. Mallika knows that to survive, especially as a woman, you must be brutal and willing to destroy other women. Bollywood appears to be the enemy of the sisterhood. Frankie complies, and steals Mallika’s husband, Bollywood icon Raju King (Geet Sagar). Frankie usurps Mallika’s husband, as Bollywood usurps Frankie’s morals and authenticity. She knows it’s morally wrong to treat Mallika this way, but she continues to do so in her quest for Bollywood stardom. Bollywood is corrupting her from the inside, and this breaking of the sisterhood with Mallika is repeated with Goldy, as Frankie becomes ever distant from her.

Early on Frankie realises that her value is based on her looks, her beauty is currency. Gigi Zahir’s Shona, despite claiming to be Frankie’s friend, informs her that all the audience want to see is boobs, ass, moves and sass. Although this is one of the shows best dance numbers, this message is certainly not. The more fame she attracts, the more Frankie realises that she is treated like a piece of ‘flesh,’ and becomes increasingly distressed by peoples’ comments on her body. Mallika is also tragic in this way, she has fallen out of favour because of her age, something that she has no control over. The same fate will befall Frankie, and initially she decides to ride that wave until it does. The men do not have this issue though. This commentary is probably one that is most prominent in Bollywood, as although we all love Shah Rukh Khan, him playing a college student in ‘Om Shanti Om’ was not that believable. The sexism of Bollywood and double standards upheld is explicitly highlighted throughout the show and forms its biggest critique of Bollywood.

Frankie’s realisation and ending, although predictable, is incredibly satisfying – she realises she can be a bit of everything. It is this realisation that restores her authenticity, she gets her soul back and with it works to repair her sisterhood with Goldy and Mallika. Throughout the first half of the production, we question how far Frankie is willing to go to achieve her dreams, and how much she is corrupted by it, and by the end, she realises that she does not have to compromise her integrity for Bollywood. She can form her own version of Bollywood and take those who are deserving with her. Those that are deserving are so because of their talent, not because of nepotism or looks, something well addressed and critiqued throughout.

Frankie forms a production company that is going to make stories by women, about women. Frankie does not only take what she has learnt from her Bollywood experience and apply it to her own life, she is going to share it with other young women to help them. This is truly admirable; she is not just a ‘warrior’ in her own story but is willing to be the warrior and heroine that fights for other people too. She does get her own Bollywood feminist happy ending – and note, she does not need a man to achieve it. A subversion of the classic Bollywood romantic ending. Frankie does not need a man, she has her (cousin) sisters.

But what of the men? Is there space for them in Frankie’s new world? While men are heavily criticised, mainly for the complicity in their poor treatment of women, there is also sympathy there too. Navin Kundra’s Prem is a director, who, despite being a kind creative, and supporting Frankie throughout her first film, is creatively constrained. Prem is one of the good guys, and his goodness, like Frankie’s is being crushed by the beast that is Bollywood. Unlike Frankie, who had Goldy to lean on, Prem does not seem to have anyone to confide him. Although it is not explored that much, his plight touches on the underrepresented issue and stigmatisation of men’s mental health in Asian culture, as in his sadness and stress he drinks, which only tarnishes his reputation within the industry. He cannot seem to win – until Frankie does. Frankie sees the goodness in him, and Frankie’s fight for women and freedom finds space for him, as she asks him to direct her films in future.

From a technical perspective, the set design, while formed of simple arches and a retracting stage, is incredibly effective due to the use of lighting. This is where the ‘billion’ colours come into play, with the multiple costumes significantly upping the colour count. The play encapsulates the best bits of Bollywood that we love, the costumes and the songs, and does so in such a manner that it will not alienate those who are not familiar. It invites those in who are not familiar and holds their hand as it introduces them to the world of love, melodrama, slow mo and saris. The show also honours the Hindi language of Bollywood in several songs, but primarily songs are sung in English but with Bollywood-esque instrumental, to ensure that people, and their varying knowledge of Hindi, like Frankie herself, are included. The use of English is cleverly explained to Frankie as the ‘side effect of colonialism’ – a standout line for me.

Something that I pondered on the way home, are we all complicit in the systemic sexism and corruption of Bollywood? By loving the films, and worshipping the heroes, are we doing a disservice to those that work in the industry? Female lead films in Bollywood are on the rise, as championed by Alia Bhatt in ‘Gangubhai,’ and Kareena Kapoor’s recent romp ‘Crew.’ But again, perhaps we can never know as we are not in the industry, we just sit watching on the outside, as Frankie did when she was young. It is only through Frankie’s adventuring that she discovered the truth by rediscovering her own, and managed to find her own Bollywood happy ending with that feminist spin that the industry needs right now.

‘Frankie Goes to Bollywood’ is playing at the Southbank Centre until tomorrow, Sunday 18th August.

Don’t miss it!

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‘Little English’ 2022: An Analysis

Pravesh Kumar’s British Indian romantic comedy follows newlywed Simmy (Rameet Rauli) in her attempts to navigate her new family, Britain and being deserted by her new husband Raj (Simon Rivers). Simmy has travelled to the UK from India for this marriage, and as a result only knows a ‘Little English,’ as referenced by the film’s title. While the film features the classic rom com tropes, as Simmy falls for her husband’s younger brother Harry (Viraj Juneja), what stuck out to me more was the macro divide between Britain and India, as characterised by the micro divide between the India-born Simmy and her new British Indian family. To me the film highlights the clashes and prejudices within the Indian community itself, providing an interesting cross section of what it means to be British and Indian, and fundamentally asks if we can be both.

Simmy is very much the heart of the film, and we experience the story through her eyes. In British television, it is more common to see subdued, downtrodden Indian women who are controlled abusively by those around them, Nish’s control of Suki in ‘EastEnders’ comes to mind. Like many Bollywood heroines before her, such as Simran from ‘Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge’, Simmy manages to embody stereotypical female roles, like the dutiful daughter, but also subverts them at the same time, and fights to stand up for what she believes in.

We see Simmy obey her new family; she serves drinks to guests, much like the servants she had in India and takes the brunt of her mother and sister in law’s anger. While she displays passivity in these incidences, this does not define her and is explained by her traditional background. While she respects her elders, she does not allow this to drown out her own voice, and although she is at times passive she also displays a great deal of activeness. Simmy is largely left to her own devices in her new home, and during this time she vows to find her husband and does so by stealing Bobby’s phone. She is also proactive enough to teach herself English, recognising, with Bobby’s help, that this will be the key to her freedom. Simmy manages to be respectful to others, and respectful to herself by still retaining her own agency and not compromising her own feelings and wants.

Simmy’s predicament highlights the naivete exhibited by Indians who live in Britain and Indians who still live in India. Simmy was sent here by her father for a better life, for her marriage which was presumably arranged to improve her prospects. Despite this, she is unhappy and notes that she ‘pines for home.’ Indians in India seem to think that life is better here, and Simmy was probably sold that dream. However, the reality that she finds herself in is somewhat different.

I experienced this when I went to India for the first time in March. I lived in a Gurdwara for a week, and everyone that I encountered seemed quite happy go lucky, away from the rat race of London life. This jovial attitude however did conceal poverty and money troubles, and conversely, those in the Gurdwara were jealous of my life, in the big, exciting city of London. There’s naivete on both sides, and everybody’s expectations probably do not meet reality. The reality of Simmy’s situation probably kills her idealism slightly and increases her isolation. However, her isolation only encourages her to improve her position. She also draws strength from her faith.

Simmy proclaims that she is ‘the daughter of a Sikh. I won’t cry.’ Simmy draws her strength from her faith, which ironically, is something that she and her newfound family share. The similarities between Simmy and her new family are rarely touched upon, instead, their differences take greater precedence, specifically the fact that Simmy has come to Britain from India… but more on that later.

Simmy’s character cannot be discussed without paying attention to her clothing. Simmy’s hair and clothes reflect her journey from isolation to freedom. Initially, she appears in an Indian suit, and wears jewellery. The colours Simmy wears contrast the muted tones of her mother-in-law, and during their first argument, Simmy dons a bright yellow, emphasising her passion. Simmy wears bold, block colours, setting her aside from the muted tones of her mother-in-law and western dress of Mindy, her sister-in-law. The closer Simmy gets to Harry, the closer her colours move to red, a colour traditionally worn by Panjabi brides. Her moving upon the colour scale from yellow to cerise highlights her growing love and passion for Harry, as well as her increasing inner strength. Outside of the house, Simmy adopts western dress as she gradually begins to learn and feel more comfortable in Britain.

She is at her most free with Harry, running around in the fields. The image of two lovers running through the fields is an iconic hark to the Bollywood romance, as referenced in Simmy’s clothes. Simmy wears a white suit, highlighting her innocence, with a red chuhni. It directly references one of Anjali’s signature outfits from ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’… but without the heartbreaking sadness. The whiteness of Simmy’s suit is representative of her feelings for Harry and her freedom. With him she can have a fresh start, a blank canvas. In this scene, her hair is open, again, emphasising her freedom and happiness. This was not always the case though, as whilst in the house, especially in the presence of her mother-in-law, her hair is harshly tied in a bun, or in a plait. It loosens as her attraction to Harry grows. She is at her most free in nature, and with Harry.

Simmy’s mother-in-law, Gurbaksh (Seema Bowri) is not just your stereotypical mother-in-law from hell. Well… she is in part, but not without good reason. It is due to the racism that she experienced when first moving to Britain. Gurbaksh’s character speaks to the idea of intergenerational trauma, as she encourages the same bitterness in Simmy. This, coupled with Simmy’s naivete about Britain means Simmy is at risk of carrying this trauma on.

It is conceivable to think that Gurbaksh did not have much freedom as a young wife, as she does not encourage Simmy’s freedom. Simmy is scapegoated for pretty much everything, being told ‘since the day you set foot in this house, everything has gone wrong.’ They seem to forget that it is not Simmy’s fault that her husband ran away. Simmy’s treatment does not only enforce patriarchal views, but also highlights the sexist attitudes women exhibit towards each other because of it. Gurbaksh’s attitude towards Simmy does not encourage cultural change and cohesion and highlights the divide between Britain and India. Mindy isn’t subjected to the same criticism that Simmy is by Gurbaksh, and in fact joins Gurbaksh in chastising Simmy. Gurbaksh also displays harshness towards Harry and ends up alienating herself from several members of the family. On the surface, Gurbaksh appears as the traditional, Indian, matriarchal figure, an idea she is forced to confront when the question is later asked ‘is anyone happy?’ With the above comment, Gurbaksh is forced to question her lifestyle, and realise that the culture she is upholding is not making everyone else happy. It is her revaluating of this, that allows Raj, Simmy, Harry and Ruth their happy ending.

While Simmy must contend with these traditional values, she must contend with Mindy’s (Goldy Notay) prejudices. This relationship stuck out to me as highlighting the divide between Britain and India, as majority of Mindy’s distrust and insults towards Simmy stem from the fact that Simmy was not born in Britain. This is referenced to by their different clothing, Simmy’s wears Indian dress, Mindy wears western. Mindy refers to Simmy as a ‘village virgin,’ coming from ‘freshie land’ and opines that once Simmy gets her visa, she will be ‘off with (my) husband.’

Mindy forgets that in some way or another, we can all be traced back to ‘freshie land’ and commits the cardinal sin that many Indians do – being prejudiced to their fellow Indians. We see this all the time; a classic example being judging other Indians based on their outdated caste. All of Mindy’s negative views about Simmy stem from the fact that she was not born and bred in Britain. Her attitude is almost colonial, and her distrust of Simmy mirrors Britain’s xenophobia. This is massively ironic considering Mindy’s husband is from India. This however, in her eyes, is ok, as he has become naturalized in Britain, highlighted by his strong command of English in contrast to Simmy’s. Mindy notes that husband Bobby (Ameet Chana) should be grateful though, as without her he would ‘still be dancing in the fields.’ I see nothing wrong with this personally, it seems more jovial than joining the rat race, and dancing in the fields is where we see Simmy at her most happy. Maybe Mindy should try it. Mindy does not care for it, and her delivery of this line shows that she does not respect it. Despite not being white, Mindy’s comment is reminiscent of the white saviour narrative, and the paternalistic view that she has saved Bobby from what she perceives to be mindless nonsense. Mindy is the foil to Simmy, as it seems, Britain is the foil to India.

Mindy only begins to be more sympathetic to Simmy when she realises that they have family difficulties in common. Simmy struggles with her abandonment, and Mindy struggles to conceive. Simmy’s attitude towards Mindy during this time highlights her kindness and family orientated nature and encourages Mindy to realise that you cannot judge someone based on where they are from, you must judge them on their character. It may not quite fit with the conventional definition of racism, but Mindy is unquestionably prejudiced. I found this relationship to be the most fascinating in the film.

Another character that rebels against Gurbaksh is Harry, Simmy’s love interest. He combats the traditional ‘respect your elder’s trope,’ by quipping that ‘respect has to be earned.’ This belief mirrors that of younger generations and is something that Simmy lives by. Simmy tries to earn her family’s respect by teaching herself English. It is unfortunate that no one in the family actively decides to help her. It is particularly unfortunate that no woman in the family tries to help her, but as discussed, they are hampered by their own prejudices.

Harry and Simmy’s initial relationship is somewhat rocky. Despite flying the flag for the younger generations, Harry falls into the Mindy trap of looking down on Simmy because she has moved here from India. Telling her to ‘go back where’ she came from, like Mindy, Harry demonstrates a flippant xenophobic attitude. Harry is the first character to taste Simmy’s fury, and she rightly makes him aware that her poor command of the English language does not equal stupidity. She is also no ‘imported slave.’ She can be a good daughter in law, but she can have her own voice, and fight for what she thinks is right, just as Harry tries to do in his everyday life. Simmy bridges the gap between Britain and India, and the older and younger generations by honouring and trying to improve both. This is no easy feat, and for majority of the film she seems to be fighting a losing battle.

It is interesting that Simmy picks her first fight with Harry. Perhaps it is because he is younger and has a lower standing in the family. Whilst highlighting the difference between the two, the scene also notes that Simmy and Harry are not that different. In this scene Simmy is living by Harry’s rule that age does not command respect. She puts a personal spin on it though, stating that her ability or inability to speak English, or the country that she hails from, should not mean that she is respected any more or any less. Harry does not like being at the receiving end of a variation of his own rule.

As highlighted by the title of the film, language is a prominent theme in the film. It is a common Bollywood trope that speaking English equates wealth, this was touched upon in last year’s ‘Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahani.’ Early on, Bobby recognises the importance of learning English, telling Simmy that this will grant her freedom. In her spat with Harry, we hear her throw out some popular culture phrases, such as ‘may the force be with you.’ It is evident that she is learning English through the television. When I went to India, I drew attention for speaking English, and although I was slightly chastised for not knowing Panjabi, my intelligence was not called into question. Simmy deals with the opposite sentiments in this film and is looked down upon for her lack of English. It is interesting that, despite their distain towards her lack of knowledge, no one in the family actively tries to help her.

Despite this divide, Harry and Simmy use language to express their feelings to one another. They use a little English, and a little Indian. By using both they literally form their own love language, and their intimacy comes from their sharing of identities with each other in this form. We see this visually when they paint their names on the wall, in each other’s languages. They both adopt a little bit of each other, championing a cultural cohesion and understanding that, up until this point, we have not really seen in the film. This is also a win for Simmy in her quest to bridge the multitude of divides that she is trying to manage, which is reminiscent of British Indians today. Ultimately, the film teaches us that if we talk and listen to each other, this is possible.

A little side note on names. I wonder if the names Harry and Simmy are a play on ‘When Harry met Sejal,’ which itself is a play on ‘When Harry met Sally.’ If so, nice touch.

‘Little English’ is available on ITVX now!

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‘Kaur’ 2022: An Analysis

Short film ‘Kaur’ manages to start a complex discussion by zoning into an intimate conversation between father and daughter. Not only does it shine the spotlight on young British Sikhs today, grappling with traditional and cultural ideas, but it also puts a feminist spin on the debate by centring around a young woman, Avani, and her desire to wear a turban against her father’s wishes.

In the past year, I have been trying to delve into Sikhi more myself but have struggled to reconcile my perceived modern British upbringing and the traditional Sikhi practised and preached in Panjab. This was presented to me directly when I went to Panjab for the first time in March. However, what I discovered was summed up at the beginning of ‘Kaur,’ and maintained throughout.

‘He who regards all men as equal is religious’

Guru Nanak Dev Ji

Upon my research prior to flying out, it struck me that this was the core teaching of Sikhi, and that if one lives with this assertion, one is a true Sikh.

Avani argues that it is her connection to her faith that encourages her to wear a turban. Can she be a dedicated Sikh, and not have a turban? Her mother seems to think so. ‘Cutting your hair doesn’t mean that your faith is any less worthy than anyone else’s’ opines Avani’s mum. The relationship between Avani and her mother highlights the value and worth of female solidarity, and although Panjabi culture appears predominantly patriarchal, it still harbours a strong matriarchal presence.

Avani’s mothers’ statement concerning her daughter’s hair felt particularly validating, as part of the reason there is divide between the old and the young is because of judgment. While it is taught in schools that Sikh = turban, quite literally, the nuance of our religion is forgotten. Being a member of the Khalsa dictates that you should not cut your hair, as set up by Guru Gobind Singh Ji. Guru Nanak Dev Ji’s Sikhism did not include this detail. Both are equally valid.

I would argue that some of the older generations do not subscribe to Avani’s mum’s sentiments. I tell myself this when I get criticised for not having a turban, and this poignant quote is also affirmed by Guru Nanak’s teaching detailed at the start of the film. From my perspective, sometimes it feels like the older generations forget the core teachings and scripture of Sikhi, and this is echoed at the start of the film. Guru Nanak Dev Ji preached charity, equality, on all accounts, and earning an honest living to provide for family.  The way that we treat those around us surely is evidence of our faith, it should not be measured solely by the length of our hair.

It is important to remember that Avani’s fathers’ concerns come from a place of love, and this is key to the story. It is not judgement, or sexism, he is purely concerned for her welfare. He argues against her decision because of the racial abuse and violence he suffered when coming to this country, which climaxed in school bullies cutting off his hair. My own family when they moved here suffered racial abuse, and the effect of it is still felt by some of them today. I have detailed in other posts that, perhaps in different forms, racism does still exist in society, so it is understandable that Avani’s father shows apprehension.

It is Avani’s generation that is pushing into the unknown more than ever. I am sure that we all have examples of times when our grandparents did not, or could not, understand our chosen path. It may not mean that they loved us any less, but it took them extra understanding and adapting to something that to us, felt normal growing up today.

‘Kaur’ also demonstrates that generational trauma is ever-present. Avani tries to convince her father to see his point of view, but he maintains that he cannot support her decision. Perhaps Avani’s father will only come round once he sees Avani thrive in her new life, free from harm and discrimination. Perhaps the only way to heal generational trauma is to let the next generation fly, and hope that history does not repeat itself. It is a lot to ask the older generation who experienced this kind of abuse to let it go, and it will take work and understanding for them to work through this fear.

In a patriarchal Panjabi culture, the film does well to put women at the centre of the piece, especially considering it is tackling the issue of a turban, something that is largely associated with men. The fact that the short is named ‘Kaur,’ meaning ‘princess,’ tells us from the start that this will be a female-centric story. Although there has been progression, old fashioned views on female roles, especially within Panjab, do persist, and seeing a woman wearing a turban on platforms like ITVX and Netflix does shed light on a marginalised, minority group. The story reminded me of media personality and life coach Harnaam Kaur. Kaur is a Sikh woman who wears a turban and has a beard. Kaur has a beard due to polycystic ovary syndrome, which encourages excessive hair growth, and because of her faith she stopped cutting it off. She received online bullying and abuse for her appearance, and I remember reading about her story as early as 2014/2015. I could see nothing wrong with her appearance, and hopefully Kaur will help to normalise women with turbans and facial hair.

Avani’s father makes the universal comment that there is a ‘price to pay for being different.’ While Avani’s father specifically talks about wearing a turban, this can be applied to anyone, of any faith, colour, class, creed, or sexuality. Being different isn’t easy, but I always felt that Sikhi and its teachings on equality worked to eliminate that. Equality is a core part of Sikhi, and despite all the characteristics listed above, Guru Nanak Dev Ji preached that we are all born equal.

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‘Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar’ – Fact and Fiction

Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s long awaited Netflix series ‘Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar’ is set during the fight for Indian independence, and follows the lives of several tawaifs, in the title district in Lahore. While the series looks incredible and replicates the period detail of Bhansali’s other critically acclaimed works, I would argue that the real life story of Heeramandi is far more interesting than Bhansali’s fictionalised version.

What the series does do well however, is shed light on a marginalised group in history. The complexities of tawaif’s, and their role in shaping the culture of India is often marred by British involvement, leading to the idea that they were mere prostitutes. This simplistic view lacks nuance, and although, I would argue that several of Bhansali’s plots are thin in this series, his establishment of the world of Heeramandi, and the impact its inhabitants had, is its strongest asset. Before we get into some of the dialogue, lets break down some of the terms that are used in the show.

Tawaif
A successful female courtesan who exclusively entertained the nobility, sometimes through dance, singing and theatre. They were regarded as cultured, and superior authorities and teachers in etiquette. Many considered them to be the ideal of womanhood. Their influence lasted until the 1980s.

Courtesan
Performing women, known for singing and dancing.

Nautch Girl
A term coined by the British, based on the Hindi word ‘nachna’ (to dance). Unlike tawaifs, nautch girls entertained men, women and children of all classes and castes on various occasions. Under the British Raj, they were branded as lewd and improper by the Victorian British elite and were forced into prostitution after losing their patrons.

Bhansali’s series really works to cement the importance and influence of the tawaif’s very early on in the series. In a pivotal scene in the first episode, chief tawaif Mallikajaan is offered a gramophone by a salesman, who explains that with this device, the music of the tawaifs can be transported and heard all over far and wide. Mallikajaan rejects him stating that the tawaifs at Heeramandi are ‘like the Moon, which can be seen through the windows, but it never enters.’

This simile implies the untouchability of the tawaifs, in beauty, mystery and status. They are visible to the naked eye, but their true complexity is unreachable, making them beautiful and mystical to the viewer. The physical position of the Moon, above our heads, cements the tawaifs status as above the common people and entertainers of Heeramandi, they are of a different class. The moon is not always visible, or available to us, and nor are they. Not everybody can afford the company of the tawaifs due to their high status and exclusivity. Their beauty can never be fully understood or obtained.

Their ‘performances are for connoisseurs of music, not merchants of music.’ Mallikajaan refuses to downplay and cheapen the tawaifs work, and emphasises the exclusivity and value of their craft. Mallikajaan describes the women at Heeramandi as the ‘queens’ of Lahore. That speaks for itself.

As well as this, their entrapment, and status as women in a gilded cage is also explored. Alamzeb, Mallikajaan’s youngest daughter, dreams of being a poet, not a tawaif. Her innocence and naivete throughout the series is slowly slaughtered, in part by those using her as a pawn in their power play, including her mother. To Mallikajaan, books are just hobbies, ‘anklets are the only way of life.’ Despite commanding the respect of the elite in Heeramandi, to others, the daughter of a tawaif is nothing more than that. Mallikajaan does not believe Alamzeb could be anything outside of Heermandi, her parentage will hold her back in an ignorant world. Mallikajaan claims that ‘here our destinies are written on our feet, not on our hands.’ Despite the control the tawaifs wield, it is still hampered by their position.

In the show, their freedom runs in parallel to Indian independence, and it is Bibbojaan, Mallikajaan’s daughter, that gets caught in the crossfire. After assassinating a British general at the end of the series, she is executed. When Mallikajaan’s adopted daughter, Lajjo, dies earlier in the season, Mallikajaan congratulates her on her freedom. At this time everyone in India is bound by something, their status as tawaifs, or their oppression by the British. It is only in death that any of them can find true freedom and escape these shackles. This might mean that in the series, everyone’s efforts for freedom are futile. Even after independence was won, historically we know that Partition caused serious bloodshed.

Tawaifs performing at Hyderabad

Historically, the status of the tawaifs was marred by British colonisers, who were both intrigued and repulsed by them. Realising the high influence that they had, the British set out to reduce their cultural and social status, which is accurately portrayed in the show. Eventually the tawaifs and nautch girls were deemed ‘unchristian’ by the British, which further reduced their status. In the British mindset, a tawaif was merely a prostitute with a different name. Tawaifs, like other Indians, also resisted British control and vied for their own autonomy. However, the British were successful in isolating tawaifs, forcing them to move into ‘black towns.’ These areas were disparaged by the British who resided in the opulent ‘white towns.’

The tawaifs also got caught in India and Pakistan’s cross cultural religious conflict. With the rising influence of Indian television in the 1990’s, Pakistan decided that female entertainers were more closely associated with India and Hinduism. Not only were tawaifs being shunned by the British, they were being shunned by the country in which they originated from. This led to a formal ban on female performers in 1998, imposed by Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif. And with that, tawaifs being to fade away from history and media. In 2022, Bhansali shed light in prostitution in India, in his 2022 film ‘Gangubai Kathiawadi.’ The film features a star term from Alia Bhatt, and would say that those enjoyed Heeramandi would enjoy this feature equally if not more. It appears that Bhansali seeks to give a voice to these forgotten women, who were imperative in shaping the culture of India.

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‘EastEnders:’ Tackling Racism on Screen

Since January, EastEnders have been building a story about racism surrounding George Knight and his adoptive parents Eddie and Gloria Knight. At the beginning Eddie’s racial biases were hinted at, while his and Gloria’s motivations were unclear. It is only recently that George has learnt that his adoptive father Eddie is on trial for the murder of a black man, Henry Kofi Asare. He returns to his adopted son George, to win him round, to secure him as a character witness that would dispel any myths that the murder was racially motivated.

The episode revolves around three sets of characters, George and Eddie, Gloria and Elaine and Gina and Anna. This allows us to look at perspectives of the younger generation on the same overarching theme.

Before this poignant episode, Eddie’s racist attitudes had been alluded to, through the banter of his friends, and his comments towards Gina. Suggesting that she needed taming and offering her a comb for her afro hair fall into the category of microaggressions, and invasively highlight her different appearance in a negative way. The word ‘tame’ itself is frequently attached to animals. These criticisms imply that Gina is animalistic, wild, and uncontrollable, something Eddie decides based on her appearance. This links to the paternalistic views that were thrown around during colonial times, that people of colour needed looking after, educating, and taming by the west because they could not look after themselves. Their barbarism needed to be reined in.

George reveals to Eddie that he was present for the murder of Henry Kofi Asare, and recognises that he knew what the sound was, knew what the hounding footsteps meant. Asare’s fear mirror that of George’s as a child. They also mirror Gina’s uncomfortableness at Eddie’s party, being the only black face there.

George reveals that while having suspicions, he could never believe that Eddie was racist, as he was his son. This fits into the ‘I can’t be racist because I have black friends’ idea. Prejudice and racism can still be present, but just under the surface. Phrases such as this feel like a cop out and feel performative. Eddie maintains that he protected George, and defended George, but this does not seem that prejudices persist.

George recalls that Eddie’s friends would comment on his hair or ask when he would go back home, to his ‘own country.’ All these things made George feel even more different than he already was, made him stick out more, made him feel even more out of place. This is not inclusion; this is not acceptance. George was not included in these jokes; he was the object of them.

‘It is not self-pity to be angry about the way you have been treated. To be confused, or lost,’ George says. Growing up, that’s what George was. And as a young person of colour, we can be scared to speak out, for fear of being accused of being woke, or for fear of being accused of playing the race card.

Gloria appeals to Elaine on an emotional level throughout the episode, but Elaine is quick to question. Gloria reveals that, when adopting George, she did not see his skin colour. She notes that, while pushing George’s pram, she would walk slowly, to endure the racial slurs, which does emphasise Gloria’s strength, and devotion to George. Gloria even tries to learn about George’s culture by taking a book out of the library, which Eddie throws in the bin, claiming that George needs to ‘fit in.’ What he means by this, is that George needs to be to conform, to suppress aspects of his culture and personality to appease the masses. This is not inclusion, or integration, as the only way George can integrate is by dispensing with a core part of his being.

Gloria praises Eddie for protecting them. However, it is revealed throughout the episode that this was out of love for Gloria and bred by Eddie’s conception of what a ‘man’ should be, and how they should behave – not out of his love for George.

I would like to take a second to praise Elaine, her staunch, and fierce, loyalty to George and his daughters is incredibly heart-warming – the ally that we all need.

For me, as a young person of colour, the conversations between Gina and Anna are the most interesting. Anna has always had a more childish naivete than Gina, and it is in part punctured in this episode. What plays out is Anna’s realisation that not everybody is equal, as Gina attempts to make her see Eddie’s true colours.

Gina criticises Anna for calling Eddie’s views ‘old fashioned,’ saying that she is ‘too scared to call it what it is.’ I would not want to believe that someone is being racist to me. We are told today that it is better, and racism is taught in much more explicit forms. Racial ignorance and microaggressions go unchecked. Racism is not just using explicit slurs, but spreads in subtler forms. Gina believes that Anna is in denial and is blind to it. Sometimes it will only occur to us later, when we think back to it, and we will wonder, should we have said something, do we have a RIGHT to say anything… we question ourselves and go round in circles. What is the risk if we do say anything? Gina is trying to end that cycle for Anna here.  

Gina tells Anna that her hair, clothes, and demeanour mean that Eddie treat her differently, and more favourably. Gina notes that ‘butter wouldn’t melt,’ implying that the perceived obedience and cordiality that Anna gives off is what makes Eddie approve of her. Gina goes further to say that Anna can ‘pass’ as white. While genetically, both Anna and Gina are mixed race, Gina points out that the world cannot see this, they can only see what is on the surface.

Gina does recognise the nuance also and argues that she is treated differently to women with darker skin. Although I am not black myself, this does translate to South Asians too. Fairer skin is favoured, in part due to the caste system that exists in India, and in part to colonialism. Those of lower castes would work outside all day, and therefore be more tanned –  this was a visual signifier to their low social standing. During colonial times, people of colour were looked down upon in all respects. Whiteness was seen as the ideal, the pinnacle of beauty and social status.

Gina brings up the fact that people ask to touch her hair – which may not seem an issue to some people. However, I doubt the reverse exists. This invasiveness only others Gina even more and points out her difference. People believing that they can touch her links to her overall view that people feel ‘entitled’ to her body. Boys saying that they have never dated a black girl before, and that she must be ‘wild’ in bed is something that persists for people of colour. Assumptions are being made based on race, which is not appropriate. The reverse would certainly not be acceptable. These kinds of comments and assertions do not put everyone on equal footing.

Racial and cultural ignorance is also a hard thing to contend with. Personally, I am happy for people to ask questions, but assumptions are less welcome, quite simply for the fact that they are not polite. When I think of comments that I have heard or received, and I imagine flipping it to the other way around, I do not think that they would be taken well, and I personally could not imagine throwing blind assumptions around about people. So, what is the difference? Kindness and empathy are universal, that should not just vanish when speaking to a person of colour. Especially when outnumbered, conversations can become tricker when we must educate the masses. It does increase the pressure on us, in part not to get it wrong, but the responsibility itself is pressure. And if other people say that we should not feel responsible to correct and check others, we ask ourselves, well, who else is going to look into this for us? Who else is going to be fighting our corner and protecting our interests? Who else understands our experiences?

While Anna points out that Gina is tough enough to contend with this racism, Gina makes her realise that she has HAD to be, because of the racism that she has faced. It is not a natural character trait that she possesses, but something that she has been forced to develop in the face of prejudice. Finally, Gina’s feistiness and spikiness is explained.         

The lines between the two sisters are harshly marked when Gina notes that Anna’s bullying stopped at school because she ‘dyed her hair, then straightened it.’ Anna protests that this was not deliberate, she just prefers it – but Gina struggles to see this as genuine because their mother, Cindy, is white, and she believes Anna changed herself to be like her. Perhaps Anna did do that, not to become more white to avoid racial abuse, but purely to perhaps look like her mother and feel closer to her.

This conversation in my opinion is toxic both ways, and the sisters’ lack of communication on the subject makes for an interesting dynamic to their relationship. It is harsh for Gina to carry this idea that Anna has purposefully made herself whiter to fit in, and she harbours resentment towards Anna because of it. Both girls are mixed race, despite both presenting differently. Gina’s chastising of Anna could be seen as her telling Anna that she is less black than she is, which does diminish her cultural identity.

Anna points this out, accusing Gina of making her feel like she ‘doesn’t belong.’ Gina wrongfully falls into her own trap when trying to calm Anna, by telling her that she is ‘overreacting.’ She dismisses Anna, and her racial concerns, as so many people of colour have been dismissed in the past.

It transpires that, while Eddie does harbour racist attitudes, his primary reason for murdering Asare was to protect Gloria. Eddie maintained throughout the episode that he was doing right by Gloria, and to save her pain, he dispensed with the man that would take their son away, Asare, George’s birth father. This complicates the story for the characters involved and is effective in a soap opera as multiple perspectives are exposed.

The ramifications of this ground-breaking episode are still being felt, so we will have to keep watching to see how it plays out.

EastEnders managed to deliver a thoughtful episode, packed with plot and character development plus a huge soap opera style cliff-hanger. An episode for the ages.

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Karen Shetty in ‘Mean Girls’ 2024: Representation, Reflection and Progression

When I spotted that Avantika Vandanapu, known professionally as Avantika, had joined the cast of 2024’s musical ‘Mean Girls,’ I admit that I was surprised. Although it is less rare to see South Asian actors in Hollywood roles than previously, it is still rarer to see them in leading roles. I was also surprised at the immediate racist backlash that Avantika received.

As a younger person of colour who was born in this country, I would not say that I have experienced the extreme racism that previous generations have received, although it does creep up in subtler forms. Avantika received comments such as ‘why is one brown,’ ‘imagine getting bullied by an Indian girl’ and ‘the head wobble would scare me the most.’ Avantika shared them on her social media to highlight the issue and received great support, especially from her fellow South Asians – and rightly so. I would not be surprised if more South Asians went to see the film because of her presence, myself included.

Avantika’s presence in the teen classic, paired with the backlash received made me realise the significance of her casting, something that she herself has discussed in the press tour. A point that came up was the character’s name, and to reflect Avantika’s South Indian heritage, Karen Smith transformed into Karen Shetty. Names is always something that I have focussed on, and I debated whether Karen’s first name should be changed as well. However, Karen Smith is an iconic character, and it does seem quite ground-breaking that an iconic character played by a Caucasian actress can be taken on by a South Asian one, Avantika herself pointed this out. I do not believe that this works in all genres, especially when cultural background is relevant.

For a teen comedy satire, Karen’s South Asian heritage does not influence the plot per say, so I would personally allow for more lenience. In ‘Bridgerton’ it is a massive plot point that the Sharma sisters have arrived from India, so if they had no ounce of culture whatsoever the entire point in which their story was predicated on to me would not make much sense. In soap operas, which try to accurately reflect communities, an Asian family without a hint of culture to me would seem unrealistic, and nothing more than a tickbox. It would also be a missed opportunity for storylines, and the chance to educate the masses.

Avantika is right in saying that the name ‘Karen’ does stand on its own. The real stroke of genius is the changing of Smith to Shetty. This shows extra care, as Shetty is a distinctly South Indian name. As Asians, we do have a general sense of where Indian people are specifically from, from their features to their speech. To me, Avantika looks South Indian, so a surname from another region of India would raise my eyebrows. This ‘specificity’ which Avantika notes that South Asians often lack in film, means that her casting is not a tick box, but more authentic and reflective of her personal heritage. This effort should be commended. The default Asian names that are repeatedly used again because they are the first ones that pop into peoples’ heads have not cropped up here. Credit to Tina Fey for starting this conversation.

Karen Shetty is not the typical Asian female that we see on screen. There is the downtrodden, oppressed stereotype, or the nerdy schoolgirl with braces and plaits. And yes, these stereotypes come from somewhere, but for the sake of how we live our lives in the 21st century, and more importantly how other people perceive us, this should not be the norm in media. Some Asians may be disheartened that she portrays the ‘dumb promiscuous’ third of the Plastics, but on the flip side, this could be a positive change. We rarely celebrate women, let alone Asian women in their endeavours to be exactly who they want to be. As an South Asian man, I recognise that Asian women are subject to very different pressures, from society and the community. Karen Shetty is unapologetically herself, and, by and large, she is celebrated for it. This is something young women, and by extension, all young people struggle with today. Karen’s number, ‘Sexy’ highlights the progressive nature of the character. She proudly sings that she can be ‘sexy,’ and can be whoever she wants to be. Karen is confident in this way. While she is known for being promiscuous, it is only Regina who uses this is ammo, and Karen is visibly hurt by it. If Karen is being safe… is it any business of anyone else’s to comment on? Should women be slut shaming other women?

Karen is also celebrated for her beauty and popularity. Essentially, Karen’s spot in the Plastics celebrates South Asian beauty, unlike the original film. Beauty is currency at North Shore high, majority of Regina’s Queen Bee status comes from her beauty, Janis cites it as her ‘only achievement.’ Regina invites Cady into her clique because Cady is also pretty, and she is therefore a threat. If other people catch onto this fact, Cady could be a rival. Karen’s presence in the Plastics means that perfection is not just skinny and blonde. In a world where fairer skin Asians are favoured, Bollywood stars skin increasingly seems to get lighter, Avantika’s darker skin tone and presence is a triumph, as well as her long, curly hair. Bridgerton also does well in this category. Some South Asian women feel the need to straighten, or ‘tame,’ their natural curls, as to not appear ‘messy’ by Western standards. This is a hang-up of colonialism. Despite the toxicity of the Plastics, we have a South Asian girl who is desirable, people want her, and people want to be her. I cannot think of another film where this is highlighted so explicitly and do believe that it is rare in Western films.

Interestingly, Karen’s dress sense also seems more youthful than the others, as a reflection of her childish innocence. Karen wears pins and clips in her hair for decoration, and frequently wears pastel colours to reflect her childish innocence and wide-eyed wonder. Her unique style complements her ideology that she can be who she wants and is comfortable in her own skin. Take Karen’s Halloween costume, it is pink, it is more girlish and childish than Gretchen’s catsuit and Regina’s vulture. Gretchen does not have Karen’s confidence, and she only feels that she has value if she is in Regina’s favour. Her preppy style and darker tones seem more mature than Karen because Gretchen wants to be taken seriously, and seen as an equal to Regina. Karen is more concerned with being herself than anyone’s equal. Regina’s style is sexier than her counterparts, and includes corsets and black leather. She uses her clothes to stand out and exemplify her beauty, because, as previously mentioned, beauty is currency at North Shore. Also, black clothes are rarely seen in the film, and, from her first appearance, cements Regina’s status as a dangerous force, akin to a Black Widow Spider.

While her childish and naïve nature does sometimes affect her intelligence, Karen possesses a love and empathy that no other character in the film possesses. She is not unkind like the other girls and does not have ulterior motives like Regina and Gretchen. When Cady’s Mean Girl era blows up in her face, Karen is the only one to assure her that she is there for her, and still friends. The entire point of the film, that we should be kind to one another is embodied by Karen throughout the film, people just do not take her seriously enough to notice it. She is side-lined due to her lack of intelligence, but, and although I doubt this was intended, an Asian voice being drowned out and side-lined is nothing new in Western society. Karen’s kindness and empathy alludes that of everyone else. While her empathy, unlike her beauty is not massively celebrated in the film, eagled eyed moviegoers would recognise that Karen gets the last laugh, and comes out of the whole affair relatively unscathed. Her belief system is championed and parroted by Cady at Prom.

Avantika and Tina Fey have managed to put together a character that is representative, progressive, empathetic, comedic, reflective, and celebratory of modern, Asian female independence.

Now that IS fetch.

Thanks for reading!

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‘Nagina’ 1986: An Analysis

‘Nagina,’ was released in 1986 and is now seen as a watershed moment in Indian cinema. Sridevi’s turn as Rajni, an ichchadhari naagin, proved that a woman-centric move could be a commercial success. The film centres around the relationship between Rajni and Rajiv, played by Rishi Kapoor, as they battle against Amrish Puri’s villainous Bhairon Nath. In Indian folklore, ichchadhari naagin’s are shape-shifting cobras and devotees of Shiva, and have taken on a whole film genre on their own.

The film itself is quite gothic in tone, and Rajni herself figures as a gothic heroine. We first find Rajni, in human form, at Rajiv’s abandoned, ancestral home. The idea of a building in disrepair, along with a family and empire with it, is a classic gothic trope, and presents mystery and secrets to the viewer. Especially when tied to Indian folklore the presence of ruins links to the idea of ancient ritual, something that Rajni and later Bhairo Nath adhere to. The ruins remain untouched, a physical reminder of a past that does not move, forever haunting and impeaching on the present. This is also personified in Rajni.


Rajni’s status as a naagin blurs the lines between appearance and reality, she is both snake and human at the same time. Although we physically see her change in the film, her life as a snake, and later as the wife of Rajiv are forever intertwined. While in human form, Rajni’s snake like persona is signalled with turquoise eyes. She first appears wearing white and pink. This marks her clearly against the grey of the ruins, and despite being a snake, implies the purity and good nature of her intentions. White is also commonly worn by widows, foreshadowing the later revelation that Rajni is mourning her snake husband. Her youthful nature also contrasts the desolate nature of the ruins.

Through years of meditation, Rajni has acquired the ability to shapeshift, whereas in folklore, it is through penance that Lord Shiva that grants this quality. Naagins also possess a Naagmani, a precious stone, which is referenced in the film and the object of Bhairo Nath’s desires. Like in the film, upon hearing the music of a snake charmer, naagins lose control of themselves and return to their snake form. It is the climactic dance sequence in the film, ‘Main Tera Dushman’ that references this note, and blurs the lines between woman and snake, as, in her human form, Rajni dances like a snake.

Identity is a prevalent theme throughout the film, especially for Rajni. She can choose her physical identity through her ability to shapeshift, however who she wants to be as a person comes from her mind. She chooses to identify as the devoted wife of Rajiv, and when facing off with Bhairo Nath she asserts that the divine power she draws from this role is her greatest strength. Perhaps her strength comes from the love and family unit that she is now surrounded by. Rajni also asserts that she will destroy Bhairo Nath’s ‘identity’ should he harm her husband. While this could be lost in translation, if taken literally, it is worth thinking about. Both and her and Bhairo Nath can change their identities, so perhaps Rajni is threatening to destroy one of his, or in other words, just a part of Bhairo Nath.

Female relationships and maternal love also heavily feature in the film and are explored through Rajni’s role. Rajni is both subversive and traditional. Subversive because she is a snake, but traditional because she chooses to inhabit the role of the dutiful wife and daughter in law. Rajni later tells Rajiv’s mother that the soul of her late snake husband resides in Rajiv, and she initially wanted to kill him to release it. She abandons this plan upon seeing Rajiv’s mothers’ ‘suffering’ and love for him. Rajni maintains that her love for the family will protect them and makes her strong enough to withstand Bhairo Nath. Essentially the bonds of family can break all others and explain the characters’ motivations. Female love influences and alters the plot. It is this presence that sways Rajni’s intentions and gives her enough power to fight Bhairo Nath, even though he is more powerful than her.

Rajni uses her role as daughter in law to influence and protect Rajiv. At one point in the film, Rajiv is threatened by his ex-lover’s father. Rajni intervenes and distracts him, stopping him from leaving the house and falling into the trap. This displays her domestic power as his wife, as well as her ability to manipulate other snakes to protect her husband.

At the end of the film, Rajiv’s mother is killed by Bhairo Nath while she tries to protect him. It is her motherly love that saves her son, but also kills her. She was originally the obstacle to Rajiv and Rajni’s marriage, and upon finding the truth about Rajni she went to Bhairo Nath for help. With her and Bhairo Nath removed, there is no obstacle to Rajiv and Rajni’s marriage. Rajni also, because of her promise to Rajiv’s mother, destroys the body of her snake husband to stop Bhairo Nath getting the gemstone. Both obstacles are removed, which ensures stability and security of Rajni and Rajiv.

Rajni also tried to save Bhairo Nath, proving her inherent goodness and humanity despite her snakelike form. Bhairo Nath sees this goodness and allows her to remain human. Despite her conflicting identities her human form is cemented permanently, granted because of her morality. By the end of the film, all obstacles to the union of Rajiv and Rajni are removed.

It is never revealed whether Rajiv finds out the truth about Rajni, but perhaps in this instance, ignorance is bliss. The film does state that they live ‘happily ever after,’ which I suppose fits with the ethereal, mystical quality of the film. Shapeshifters frequently appear in fairytales, and like a fairytale the film depicts the triumph of good over evil.

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‘Barbie’ 2023: An Analysis

Hi Barbie!

Barbie is well on its way to being the highest grossing film of 2023, and along with Oppenheimer, is probably the most talked about. I was not sure what to expect when I saw the film, but in retrospect I see it as a smart, satirical almost coming of age story that manages to comment on femininity, masculinity, feminism, patriarchy, individuality, and existentialism. Not bad for a film about a plastic doll from the 50s.

The opening scene immediately aims to smash gender norms – literally. We see a bunch of young girls playing with baby dolls, so from a young age, girls are already thinking about motherhood. The arrival of Barbie is seen as a new epoch, a message to young girls that says: you do not have to just play mother, you can be what you like.

We also see this in the opening few scenes, that Barbie in Barbieland can do anything and is everything. From Journalist Barbie to Physicist Barbie, Barbieland is a matriarchal Eden in which women can do anything. In Barbieland, Barbie is every woman. What really messes it all up is the real world.

When comparing Barbieland and the real world, one is clearly a utopia for Barbie, and the other a dystopia. Every day for Barbie in Barbieland is perfect, whereas Ken’s happiness depends purely on Barbie. Barbie quickly learns that women are hindered in the real world, unlike men. It is her learning of the patriarchy that makes her realise that in a way, she has fallen from grace. Barbie and Ken’s travelling to the real world from Barbieland is their fall from grace. We see that like Adam and Eve, who are embarrassed by their nakedness after the Fall, Barbie is particularly conscious and embarrassed because of the male harassment that she faces. The reverse is true for Ken, who finds his utopia in the patriarchal society of the real world.

Barbie learns the harsh realities of the real world, and must fight against them when they bleed into Barbieland. While the patriarchy is one thing, Barbie also learns that she has not been the empowering female figure that she thought she was. Barbieland shows that women can do anything and are, but Barbies controversial presence in the real world relating to inclusivity and body image is put to her quite harshly.

What we see is Barbie having an existential crisis, her entire world, literally and metaphorically, has disappeared from under her, and for the remainder of the film she is left questioning who she is, and what her role is. She is already considering this before she makes the journey to the real world, beginning with her question ‘do you guys ever think about dying?’ Her perfect world is punctured by this thought.

The question of individuality also comes into play here, as while all the Barbies have different jobs and roles, they lack a smidge of individuality because they all have the same name… Barbie. Barbie is trying to find out where she fits… is that not something we all think about?

While Barbie struggles, Ken flourishes in an amusing but dangerous way. Going back to Adam and Eve, in the Bible Eve is created for and from Adam, in the film Ken occupies this position. Ken is Barbie’s inferior; he represents the underclass – he exists only for Barbie. ‘She’s everything. He’s just Ken,’ as it says on the poster. He is nothing compared to her, and nothing without her. What he learns from the real world is that he can be the opposite, he can gain respect, and, because of the patriarchy, he feels he deserves it without earning it, by nature of being a man. The film shows how the patriarchy can spread, and how harmful ideas about toxic masculinity can infect the lost or the vulnerable, Ken is both. It is his insecurity that makes the idea of the patriarchy attractive to him.

It is only at the end of the film that Barbie helps him realise that he can be who he wants, and encourages him to find that, in the same way that in Barbieland, the Barbies could be whatever they wanted. The film encourages men and women to understand and listen to each other better, so while it comments on the gender divide and recognises it, it also works to heal it. The Barbie’s agree at the end of the film that some Kens should sit on the Supreme Court, advocating not a matriarchy, or a patriarchy but an egalitarian society. Something the real world could learn from. Much like young men, and any human ever, the Kens just need a bit of help and guidance to learn what is right and what is wrong.

Some critics have stated that the film is anti-man, which is a simplistic view. The film is anti-toxic man, which is something we should all be. Toxic masculinity is harmful, Ken proves that, as do we in the real world. In the film, after it is stamped out in Barbieland, an egalitarian society is advocated. I see no problem here.

After encouraging Ken to find out who he is, Barbie must do the same for herself. At the end of the film, she wears a yellow muted dress, her hair is simple, and she sports less make up. She is slowly letting go of her Barbie world. She still looks perfect, as the narrator reminds us, it is Margot Robbie, but unlike the other Barbies that have specific jobs and careers, she holds the mantle of stereotypical Barbie. Her creator, Ruth Handler, reminds her that Barbie was an idea, and ‘ideas live forever.’ In the same way that Barbies can be whatever they want, Margot Robbie’s Barbie can too. Ruth and Barbie’s relationship proves that humans and Barbies can learn from each other.

Margot Robbie’s Barbie sticks to the idea that she can be anything and becomes human. Ideas change and evolve, just as Barbie does. She manages to do the impossible; she is a plastic doll that becomes human. She again reinforces that women can be anything that they want to be, and that if we believe in Barbie, and by extension in ourselves, we can do anything. Barbie becomes human by learning what being a woman truly means, she sees the entire cycle of woman, in a montage, including birth and childhood and motherhood. It is through feeling that she becomes human, and her heart begins to beat, and her true journey of self-discovery begins.[1]

It is at this point where we say, bye Barbie! But do not forget, ideas live forever.

Thanks for reading!

[1] Barbie, dir. Greta Gerwig (Warner Bros, 2023).

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Rani Padmavati: In Film and Literature

Rani Padmavati is a legendary Rajput Hindu queen. Her story has been most recently bought to modern audiences by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, in his 2018 film ‘Padmaavat,’ which still remains one of the most expensive Indian films ever made. It tells the story of Rani Padmavati, and focuses on the war that her husband, Ratan Singh (Shahid Kapoor) becomes embroiled in with Muslim Sultan Alauddin Khiliji (Ranveer Singh).

In the film, Khiliji sets his sights on Rani Padmavati, played by Deepika Padukone, after hearing of her legendary beauty. Khiliji captures Singh, but in retaliation, Padmavati agrees to meet with Khiliji if she can see her husband first. He agrees, but instead of meeting Khiliji, she cunningly flees with Singh. Incensed by this, and consumed by his desire to claim Padmavati for his own, Khiliji goes to war with Singh, killing him in a duel. In order to ensure that Khiliji does not emerge victorious, and to protect herself and her honour, Padmavati leads 16,000 women to commit Jauhar – mass self-immolation to escape persecution or capture. It is this act, as well as her beauty, that has cemented her in legend. She is seen as an icon if chastity, and is generally seen as the ideal wife and woman.

The film is based on a Sufi poem written in 1540 by Malik Muhammad Jayasi, which has formed the basis of several different versions of the same story. Historian Ramya Sreenivasan notes that all versions influence each other. Jayasi’s version and the film are broadly similar although there are some details that are omitted. A particular favourite is the inclusion of Hiraman, Padmavati’s talking parrot. In the film, while hunting in Sinhala, modern day Sri Lanka, Padmavati meets Singh by accidentally shooting him with an arrow. In the poem, it is Hiraman that flies to Singh to tell him of Padmavati’s beauty – it is for this reason that he travels to Sinhala to find her. Another difference is the time at which Padmavati commits Jauhar. In the film she hears of her husband’s death, whereas in the poem she goes ahead with her plan once she is assured that defeat by Khiliji is imminent. Speaking of Khiliji, his portrayal in the poem, and his character in real life, varies to that of the film.

It is worth nothing that Singh and Khiliji are both historical figures, and Khiliji’s siege of Singh’s kingdom of Chittor in 1303 is well documented. In the film, Khiliji is greedy, adulterous and ruthless. His desire to possess Padmavati appears to stem from physical desire throughout the film. Historians such as Subimal Chandra Datta note that Khilji’s siege of Chittor was more likely for political gain, not desire for Padmavati. The desire present in the film directly contrasts Singh, Shahid Kapoor’s pious Hindu King. In the poem, and in real life, Khiliji was seen to be honourable and pious, and at the end of the poem is remorseful at the deaths of Singh and Padmavati, noting that man’s insatiable desire is destructive.

The Hindu/Muslim presence in the film is one reason that it caused such controversy. Due to Khiliji’s villainous portrayal, Muslims essentially saw the film as anti-Muslim, and Hindus disliked the idea of Padmavati being portrayed in film. Several Rajput organisations vandalised the set and attacked director Sanjay Leela Bhansali, who also received death threats along with Padukone. The release of the film was delayed, and the name changed from ‘Padmavati’ to ‘Padmaavat.’ Rajputs rejected the idea of having Padmavati involved romantically with Khiliji. No such scene existed, but the rumour caused such a furore that Bhansali released a statement dispelling it. Every character seemed to trigger some sort of political argument.

Back to the heart of the film – Padmavati. Unlike the two ment that fight for her, evidence that she actually existed is scarce. This makes her even more interesting, and powerful in the film. At first I felt that for the first half of the film she was side-lined, a lot of time was dedicated to both men and their feud. This speaks to the wider theme of the patriarchy, as despite her importance and legendary status, she is side-lined by man’s quarrels. It also speaks to the patriarchal nature of days gone by, and throughout the first half of the film Padmavati is not afforded much agency. This does turn when she springs Singh from imprisonment, although the focus then shifts to the duel between Singh and Khiliji.

Her final act is what cements her in legend, and where her power exceeds that of all around her. By committing Jauhar, she ensures that Khiliji’s victory is meaningless and although it costs her dearly, she, more than anyone emerges triumphant and ultimately has the last word. In the film, she leads all women into the frame. All the women wear red, seemingly mimicking the sea of blood spilt by Khiliji’s siege. Padmavati stands out in contrast in pink. He catches a glimpse of her walking into the flames, but is barred just before he can stop her. This only exacerbates the idea that he is obsessed with her, thus confirming her honour and piety.

In a rousing speech to the women, Padmavati states:

“Yeh shareer raakh ho jayega par Amar rahegi Rajputi Shaan, Hamara usool, Hamara swabhimaan, Aur Yahi Alauddin ri Jeevan Ri sabse badi haar hogi”

“This body will turn to ashes but the Rajput honour, our principals and our self-respect will remain intact and this will be the biggest defeat of Alauddin’s life”

Deepika Padukone as Rani Padmavati

She maintains that although they will suffer, their victory is assured in Alauddin’s defeat. It is this assurance that gives her strength. In the film she carries a white cloth with prints of her husband’s hands. This is interpreted as her husband’s permission, allowing her to commit such a grave sacrifice. While the story is epic, and Padmavati’s actions are nothing short of incredible, it does also comment on the history of India and the pain and atrocities that have occurred there. It speaks to the religious divide between Hindus and Muslims, all of which was worsened, especially for women, due to patriarchal ideas. Although it is Padmavati that has the final word, it is still the war waged between Alauddin and Ratan, for whatever reason, that led her into the fire, and by extension, into legend.

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Panjabi Representation in ‘Eastenders’: The Panesars

When EastEnders announced that they were introducing a Sikh Panjabi family in 2019 I will admit that I was surprised. Usually, Asian characters and/or families on screen were either Hindu or Muslim. When I was younger, if I did not fit into the category of Hindu or Muslim then people would be at a loss, prompting them to ask ‘well… what are you then?’ So, the prospect of having my religion and culture represented on a mainstream soap opera was exciting but also concerning.

Before the representation debate became a thing, I would probably say that I was bothered by it but unconsciously. Say if my family and I spotted a Sikh person on television, we would all stop, fall silent and rewind. The most we got was probably an extra on the market in EastEnders, but rest assured, that cameo would come up in conversation when chatting to other family members the next day.

Upon their announcement, what struck me most about the family were their authentic Panjabi names. I can name countless examples of Asian actors/actresses appearing on screen as westernised characters with Caucasian names. This of course happens in real life, but in my opinion, disproportionately. And, if an Asian name is used it may not always be correct. As in, it may not correctly communicate the characters’ cultural heritage. In Asian culture, names can tell us as much as where the family is from, their religion and their caste. The Panesar family comprises of parents Sukhwinder and Nishandeep, and their children Kheerat, Ashneet, Parvinder and Jagvir (plus Ravi and Davinder later down the line). It was obvious to me that the team at EastEnders did their research, as these are quite obviously Sikh Panjabi names, much like my own.

The family also are not listed as Sikh Panjabi for the hell of it – their speech and actions confirm that they are. While I don’t have a turban, like the Panesar’s, I will drop the occasional Panjabi phrase and attend Sikh ceremonies. This is not shied away from in the show, as highlighted by Jagvir’s funeral. The presence of the Gyani, sheets on the floor and the families’ white attire all mirrors the everyday practices of a Sikh funeral. Recently, Suki and Nish had an Ardas for their wedding, which is essentially a blessing. Up until this point, I had never heard or seen any form of Sikh prayers on television before, apart from in the odd documentary or news bulletin.

When introducing any character there is danger of falling into social and cultural stereotypes. Of course, these stereotypes are there for a reason, but EastEnders has worked to ensure that the Panesar’s recognise these, but also add to them. Yes, they own the Minute Mart, and yes, Ashneet is a doctor, like many South Asians out there, but the family also have a property empire and a pest control business. The stereotypes that exist are listened too, but the characters are not totally restricted by them.

The interesting relationship between culture and religion has also been touched upon. While Panjabi’s have a reputation for drinking, for example Kheerat was frequently seen with a whiskey, in the Sikh faith it is frowned upon. Nishandeep and Kheerat have this conversation when the former is released from prison. Whilst Kheerat criticises Nishandeep for cutting off his hair in prison, Nishandeep criticises Kheerat for drinking. Both arguments are valid and recognise the clash between culture and faith. This clash is something that we all navigate in our everyday lives.

Speaking of turbans, the inclusion of Kheerat’s was essential to the character and was used to highlight his faith. When facing a racist shoplifter, as most people of colour in soap opera do, Kheerat informs him that his turban is not a ‘hat’ but a ‘crown.’ As a child, I heard people referring to turbans as hats. While highlighting his pride in his faith, and the power that he draws from it, he lets audience members know the importance and significance of his turban, which may deter ignorance in the future. This is an important thing to remember about soap opera – they do have the ability to educate and influence.

During a scuffle in later scenes, Ravi accidentally tears Kheerat’s turban off. The shock on the Panesar’s’ faces communicates the enormity of what has just happened, a feeling that would have been felt by Sikh viewers. Suki later tells Ravi that he got off ‘lightly,’ informing Ravi and the audience that a Sikh man or woman’s turban should not be disrespected.

While Kheerat made headlines for this, the other Panesar children haven’t had much of the limelight. Vinny has ventured into DJ’ing and has a mobile phone business in the launderette, but other than that he has struggled to venture out of his older brothers’ shadow. I always saw Vinny as a character that spoke to the younger siblings, those that do not quite know what they want to do and might seem a bit different for being more creative and sensitive. Being caught between a businessman and a doctor cannot have been easy. Vinny’s future seems uncertain, and time will only tell if he will be able to, or whether he will even be allowed, to rise to the challenge of filling Kheerat’s shoes.

Conflicting desires and sexualities also seem to be at the heart of the Panesar family, which is refreshing but also risks being repetitive. EastEnders’ Muslim family, the Masood’s struggled to cope with their son, Syed’s, homosexuality; a story which the character is most associated with. Having bisexual characters in the family normalises the idea of South Asians belonging to a sexuality other than heterosexual, and this can only be a good thing. Also, unlike the Masood’s, Ashneet’s bisexuality is accepted by majority of her family, bar her mother… let’s talk about her.

I really did not see Suki’s romance with Eve coming for the simple reason that I never considered it. It has been cooking for a long time now, and while it may not have been intended, I see that storyline as a love letter to South Asian female oppression. Now that Nish has arrived on the Square it is not difficult to see that Suki has been controlled in all aspects of her life – he has already started slicing her out of various business dealings. His return has only catalysed her desire to be with Eve, which will no doubt have disastrous consequences when Nishandeep finds out.

All in all, I can only the praise the team at EastEnders for the work that they have put into the Panesar’s. Whilst ensuring that their culture and faith remains relevant to their characters, they have also embedded them into the fabric of the Square by allowing them to contribute to other people’s storylines as well as hold their own.

Thanks for reading!

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‘Blonde’ 2022: Some Thoughts

Andrew Dominik’s latest film, ‘Blonde,’ centres around the life of Marilyn Monroe, and since its release it has caused some serious controversy. Generally critics are mixed in their reviews of the film, of which the defining feature seems to be Ana de Armas’s visceral, if not slightly haunting, performance. On a general note, the film itself is shot and organised differently. The lack of a linear narrative makes the film more immersive, but also harder to get a clearer grip on the story and Marilyn… which I suppose mirrors her real-life mystery. Maybe this lack of clarity was meant to reflect Marilyn’s fragile state of mind, especially towards the end of the film. Whether the film successfully got into Marilyn’s psyche is still under debate, but in the meantime, let’s have a look at some other moments in the film.

The film opens in black and white, a trick used by Dominik throughout the film. This seems to indicate particularly low moments in Marilyn’s life, perhaps explaining why her childhood is only seen in black and white. A theme that endures from this point in the film is the debate about who her father is, and her abandonment by her mother. This theme resurfaces throughout the film in Marilyn’s calling of her husband’s ‘daddy’ and her general questioning about her lineage. While other people’s influence on Marilyn throughout the film ebb and flow, the figure of her father remains, in a somewhat overbearing way. Already Marilyn is slave to the thought/memory of a man. Another theme that endures.

The use of black and white also adds to the nightmarish, and almost horrific, nature of the film. Monroe screams and wails frequently, as if she is featuring in some kind of horror film. The irony is, the horror film, as we are told to believe, is actually her life. The scenes with her mother evoke that of horror a film, as well as her abortion. Surrounded by men, as she is for majority of the film, Marilyn is subject, and almost forced, into having an abortion. She runs away in terror, whilst still in her hospital gown and struggles to find a way out. It reads like a scene in a horror film where the heroine is being subject to some sort of lobotomy and cannot break free.

Speaking of the abortion stuff.

Seeing the baby, and having it to talk to Marilyn is very strange, and only adds to her suffering. The second baby berates Marilyn for aborting the first one, and asks her ‘you won’t hurt me this time will you?’ It claims it’s the same egg, only making Marilyn suffer further through her guilty. I am not sure what this adds to the film, and am unsure how relevant it is, especially when there are bigger machines out there that cause Marilyn’s distress. These should be focused on and held to account. The way in which she miscarries this child also feels unfair. She trips and falls accidentally, which results in her miscarriage. Yet again, the use of the baby in the womb serves only to make Marilyn look guilty of killing her child, adding even more to her downward spiral.

Even though, in the aforementioned abortion scene, the focus is on Marilyn’s abortion, she is heavily exploited in this scene. There is one shot where, we see the doctor performing the abortion, from inside Marilyn. It is quite uncomfortable, and makes the audience wonder where interest becomes obsession. Do we really need to see inside Marilyn? Surely that interest is going a bit too far.

The film is pretty much seen through the male gaze, with Marilyn being the focus and centre. The scene where she stands on the grate, and her skirt billows, goes on for quite a while, panning from her legs to the male spectators. We know what the shot is, we know how she was perceived in her films, in which she portrayed fictional characters, do we need that as well to such a degree in a biopic… if we can describe this film as a biopic. The frequent nudity links to this as well, and as well as exploiting Marilyn, it exploits de Armas, as it is her body on screen.

Take the JFK scene for example. It feels unnecessarily graphic, we do not really need to see Marilyn fellating JFK, Dominik could have used other techniques to suggest that that is what happened. There is no conclusive evidence to say that this happened in real life, so from this scene it is unclear what Dominik was trying to accomplish. It does not allow Monroe or her memory any dignity. If he was trying to highlight Marilyn’s exploitation and suffering, then every other moment in the film ticked that box.

The film does not allow her much agency, so instead all we see is her suffering at the hands of one man, and then another. The difficulty is, if Dominik is trying to be true to life, then he probably has it right. However, the film is not true to life in some respects and cannot be hailed as a traditional biopic. Perhaps for this reason, Dominik should have tried to allow Marilyn some agency and some dignity, instead of infantilising her for over two hours. Not once is it mentioned that she set up her own production company, a plot point that has historical basis, and gives Marilyn the agency to push back against the men who wronged her.

So, in conclusion I am not really sure what to make of it all. This is probably down to the nature of the film as mentioned before, it is not a traditional biopic, it does not have a strongly linear narrative, and because of my reservations I am unsure what the filming is trying to achieve if anything. It does try to offer a window into Monroe’s life, the window itself being painted with the male gaze. What I am sure of though, is that it does not prioritise the subject… at times it side-lines her, robs her of dignity and ultimately turns her into a passive figure… when it does not need to do that ALL of the time. Dominik’s Marilyn is effectively the characters that she played onscreen, a breathy, blonde bombshell. Not much else is added to her, she is not multidimensional. That is probably the greatest flaw of the film. After over two hours, Marilyn remains a mystery… and maybe one best left alone.

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‘Mexican Gothic’ and Decay

‘Mexican Gothic’ was published in 2020 and was written by Silvio Moreno-Garcia. Upon its publication its popularity quickly soared, and many likened the novel to the works of Guillermo del Toro and Daphne du Maurier.

The novel opens with young heroine Noemí receiving a disturbing letter from her cousin Catalina. Catalina fears that her husband, Virgil Doyle, is trying to poison her. Noemí flies to her cousins’ aid, and discovers at the Doyle’s household, High Place, a multitude of secrets.

The beginning of the novel pays homage to many of the original Gothic classics. Noemí likens High Place to an ‘abandoned shell of a snail,’ implying that the Doyle household is desolate, and has been forgotten by civilisation.[1] A snail shell is also fragile, perhaps a reference to Catalina’s fragile state of mind. It also might foreshadow the Doyle’s downfall at the end of the novel. Their position is not secure. The atmosphere of High Place is cold and unwelcoming, setting the scene for an eerie Gothic tale. At High Place, Noemí goes on to uncover a family curse, a history of incest and a deadly mycelium that has infested High Place and the Doyle family themselves. It is this that they use to stay alive. At the end of the novel it is revealed that the fungus can store memories and preserve the family history. This explains why the family intermarry, as to not pollute their bloodline and strengthen their own connection with the fungus. Before the truth about the fungus is uncovered, it is clear from the start that High Place, and its inhabitants are rotting from the inside.

It is noticed that Catalina is ‘ravaged by disease.’[2] While it is clear that Catalina is ill, the aggressive nature of the word ‘ravaged’ emphasises her fragility, and the violence of her illness. While she is ravaged by disease, whilst inspecting the library, Noemí notes that a book is ‘ravaged my mould.’[3] It seems, in High Place, that the superior power is bacteria or fungus. Nothing else can stand in its way, animate or inanimate objects are rendered helpless in the face of it. As the story deepens Noemí concludes that everything that the family touches ‘rots.’[4] Although she does not yet know that the family control this fungus for their own ends, it seems that she is beginning to associate the family with decay, not just the conditions of High Place itself.

Following on with this theme, during one her dreams, Noemí imagines that she is being regarded by Virgil, like a ‘butterfly pinned to a velvet cloth.’[5] Virgil is clearly controlling Catalina, and her status as a pinned butterfly references the ongoing conflict between man and nature. In this instance, the Doyle’s are winning this battle, as they control the fungus, and in this specific example, Virgil controls Noemí. She has supplanted Catalina as Virgil’s muse, and her helpless state foreshadows the growing danger that she faces at the hands of the family. She is being watched, and being acted upon in this scenario, as she is being acted upon by the fungus, even though she doesn’t know it.

An interesting image, which is present throughout the novel is the ouroboros. It is essentially the image of a snake that is eating its tail, it serves as the family emblem. The image itself appears to allude to self-destruction, as the snake is ingesting itself. The Doyle family, while using the fungus to stay alive, also destroy themselves to do it, sacrificing family members to the deadly fungus over the centuries. The snake’s self-ingestion may also allude to the history of incest within the family, a trick used by the Doyle’s to ensure their compatibility with the fungus, which is well suited to their bloodline. The infinite nature of the snake alludes to the enduring nature of the fungus and the immortality of the Doyle family.

When the truth is finally revealed, so is the irony of the situation. At the end of the novel Howard is essentially rotting away:

‘His skin was terribly pale… boils… emaciated… boils grew, as thick as barnacles… a corpse afflicted by the ravages of putrefaction, but he lived.’[6]

Howard plans, with the help of the fungus, to take over the body of Francis. In this description, again, the idea of being ravaged comes up, and it appears that Howard is afflicted with some kind of disease akin to the plague. After inhabiting the body of Francis, he plans to marry Noemí to continue the family bloodline. It is ironic that the family’s desire for self-preservation involves their own physical pain and decay. They sacrificed their own family member, Agnes, to host the fungus. Their immortality comes at a great price, and requires them to turn on each other, turn away from reality and from civilisation. Amongst all this destruction, it is further destruction that destroys the family and frees Noemí from the fungus. Agnes’ body is set on fire, and as the host, her demise weakens the family’s connection with the fungus.

At the end of the novel, Francis worries that he may still be infected with the fungus, having been exposed to it for a long time. Noemí assures him that together, they can persevere. A union between Noemí and Francis is hinted at, but not the one that Howard had imagined. Noemí in the novel is representative of the outside world, and it is her influence that saved Francis from his corrupt family. It was she who dragged him away from them and into the outside world. Out of the darkness of High Place, and into the light.

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[1] Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Mexican Gothic (London, Jo Fletcher Books, 2020), p. 21.

[2] Ibid., p. 24.

[3] Ibid., p. 38.

[4] Ibid., p. 69.

[5] Ibid., p. 80.

[6] Ibid., p. 203.

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‘Bridgerton’ and South Asian Representation

I’ll be honest – the only reason that I watched the second season of Netflix’s ‘Bridgerton’ was to see the story of the Sharma’s. I was not as mesmerised by the first season as other people were and found it to be a bit too romanticised. I described it as period drama that lacked the darkness of Brontë and the sarcastic bite of Austen. However, the announcement that the cast of the second season would feature South Asian characters compelled me to watch. There was not much South Asian presence in the first season of ‘Bridgerton’ and I would allege that there is hardly any on television right now. The Sharma’s, particularly sisters Edwina (Charitha Chandran) and Kathani, or Kate (Simone Ashley) are at the heart of the second season, and with much of the discussion that has come with it.

Something that critics have noted is the historical inaccuracy of the very presence of the Sharma family. Namely, the fact that South Asian people would not have had the chance to rise so highly, and that the show does a disservice to our heritage and culture by not acknowledging Britain’s colonial past. Similar debates erupted around the presence of Lady Danbury and Duke Simon Hastings in the first season. Can we really expect a show like Bridgerton to be historically accurate? It is regency romance after all, which is not a criticism of the genre but just a reminder that it is not designed to be the historical fiction akin to Hilary Mantel’s ‘Wolf Hall.’ And if Kate or Edwina were to chastise the Caucasian characters for the atrocities that Britain committed against India… what would be the point in a show like this? If Kate were to raise this point, we would then see her marry Anthony at the end. Would people then argue that her character was somewhat hypocritical? It is a tricky debate to handle, but ultimately the show is here to entertain, and provide some light-hearted, soapy romance drama in period dress. Should Britain’s colonial past be discussed in this format? It would probably fit better, and strike harder, in a properly researched documentary.

However, this kind of thing does rear its head at an uncomfortable dinner. Kate’s white grandfather threatens to disinherit her because of, what we are told to believe, is sexism. When watching though, it seems like it is there in black and white, or rather brown and white. It then becomes more confusing as we then see an Asian mother chastise her Asian daughter, Lady Mary, for ‘polluting’ the family with her illicit love affair. This is a reference to the fact that Lady Mary’s lover, who she ran away to India with, was not of aristocratic standing. I found the whole thing to be a bit confusing, and I thought, is this a caste thing? The man that Lady Mary ran away with, Kate’s father, was of lower social standing. Could this have been the moment to explore Britain’s colonial conquests and prejudices? But then, would this have worked if the debate erupted between two Asian women?

Rightly or wrongly, what first stood out to me about the Sharma sisters was their skin colour. It is typical of Bollywood films to cast fairer actors and actresses in lead roles, as lighter skin is favoured in India. This is a reflection on the caste system, as labourers would work in the fields, and become more tanned, but also a leftover thought of colonialism in which white people saw themselves as intellectually and physically superior to the people of South Asia. Either way, I, along with family and friends have found it disheartening that our own skin tone is not favoured by our own home country. The fact that a Netflix show with a dark-skinned Indian woman at its heart was, for a time, the most watched show on the streaming service is something that should be praised. Chandran highlighted this when talking to Teen Vogue, noting that no one let her ‘forget’ that she was dark skinned growing up.

However, people have picked up on, and criticised other details about the Sharma family. One big question which has been raised is where the family actually come from. Edwina refers to Kate as ‘didi,’ which is Hindi for sister, yet the latter refers to the former as ‘bon,’ which is Bengali for sister. The Tamil word ‘appa’ is used when the girls refer to their father. Asian surnames also provide information as to where a family may hail from, and their caste, with critics pointing out that those having the northern caste name of ‘Sharma’ would not speak Marathi, a language that comes from Maharashtra, a state in western India. Obviously, India is a mix of hundreds, if not thousands of cultures and languages… but it is probably unlikely that one family interchanges between four different languages every day… or maybe the fictional Sharma’s do? Maybe this was done on purpose to show that the two sisters are accomplished? Or maybe this is just lazy. Maybe the name ‘Sharma’ was chosen just because it shares a prefix with ‘Sheffield.’ The show has said that extensive research was carried out to ensure the Sharma women were authentic… but who carried out this research? I do not really want to go naming and shaming, but, for example, if these researchers were Caucasian, would that just mean that, again, white people are telling Asian stories? It is Asian people that have pointed out these details – they know them without having to research. Surely Asian people are the font of all knowledge when discussing Asian culture and issues… just save time and ask them!

Although their surname could be confusing, upon viewing I was more bugged by the characters’ forenames. I have never been hugely passionate about the diversity debate as I perhaps should be, but one thing that has continually annoyed me is seeing South Asian actors on screen appearing as characters with Anglican or Christian names. A ‘Doctor Who’ special a few years back had an Asian actor appearing as ‘Mitch,’ and I just thought… what is the point? Anyone could have been cast in that role. And would you really meet an Asian man called Mitch? I highly doubt it. It does nothing for Asian representation. American sitcom ‘Parks and Recreations’ blew this out of the water by having Tom Haverford call himself Tom to avoid people getting confused about his real name. This happens in real life, I ‘anglicise’ my own name, so people find it less hard to say. I do not like the way it sounds, but I felt I had to do it. Actress Simone Ashley has done the same thing, her real name being Simone Ashwini Pillai. So, when it was revealed that Kate was in fact ‘Kathani,’ I was pleasantly surprised, and actually appreciative. ‘Kathani’ is also not one of the common Asian names that you see on television, immediately setting Miss Sharma aside from other Asian television characters. It was nice that the show made this extra bit of effort. As for the name ‘Edwina’ however… I will just have to let that one go. In the shows’ defence, I cannot think of how they would have been able to ‘Asian up’ Edwina’s name, without changing it completely.

However, it was nice to see Asian practices on screen, and for me these were the scenes that stuck out. One of the highlights was the Maiyan, or Haldi ceremony, as this is something I have taken part in at family weddings. The string cover of the theme of ‘Kabhi Kushi Kabi Gam’ was also a nice touch. Many people commented on Kathani’s oiling of Edwina’s hair as something that they related to too. This scene spoke to the bonds of South Asian sisterhood, and the closeness of Edwina and Kate in the show.

One Asian practice that did draw criticism though was Kate’s brewing of masala chai. Although it was nice that chai got a mention, and it was funny to see Kate chastise English tea, I agree with her, some criticised Kate’s brewing technique. Other people criticised its inclusion altogether, stating that something built off the back of colonialism should not be included. I am not sure how far I agree with the latter statement, as chai is a huge part of Asian culture. The Sharma’s are not just Indian for the sake of being Indian, the Asian actresses are not there to tick a box, their culture affects and informs their characters. That is the mark of good representation.

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Vaisakhi: A Brief History

harpalkhambay's avatarKhambay's Words, Words, Words

Vaisakhi is a festival observed by both Sikhs and Hindus in the Panjab. The festival is usually celebrated on the 13th of April, although in some years it has been celebrated on the 14th. Vaisakhi is a harvest festival for the people of Northern India, and for Hindus, Vaisakhi marks the beginning of the solar New Year. As well as cultural importance, the festival also carries religious significance for Sikhs. Guru Gobind Singh was crowned the tenth Sikh Guru on the 29th of March 1676. He was crowned following the martyrdom of the ninth Sikh Guru, Guru Teg Bahadur Singh, who was killed by Emperor Aurangzeb for refusing to convert to Islam. Vaisakhi marks the anniversary in which Guru Gobind Singh formed the Khalsa, on the 13th of April 1699. On this day, Guru Gobind Singh asked Sikhs to gather at Shri Anandpur Sahib and…

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‘Wuthering Heights’ at the National Theatre: An Analysis

Emily Brontë’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ is famously hard to adapt, in part because of the non-linear narrative and the nature of the protagonists. While the book has legions of fans, including myself, it is not difficult to understand why people would find Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff irritating, and why readers would find the narrative, and therefore book in general, difficult to get into. I feel like this is where Emma Rice’s adaptation of ‘Wuthering Heights’ both succeeds and fails.

Beginning with the narrative, Rice makes a bold, but good move, in cutting out the character of Nelly Dean, and replacing her with the character of ‘the Moor,’ (Nandi Bhebhe) which can be compared to a Greek chorus. Through song and dance, ‘the Moor’ tells Lockwood the story of the Heights. Critics often refer to the landscape as its own character, and one that influences all other action within the novel. Catherine’s and Heathcliff’s own volatility and wide nature reflect the untameable landscape. Just like Catherine’s and Heathcliff’s own connection with each other, they also share an unbreakable relationship with the land, first living on it and then returning to it in death. Rice takes this idea and personifies the landscape, making their connection even more tangible and explicit. This move also cuts the character of Nelly Dean and the many problems that she brings, namely her unreliability as a narrator.

The play is also quite good as continually demonstrating the otherness of the inhabitants of ‘Wuthering Heights.’ At the beginning Lockwood is seen struggling to fight against the harsh winds of the Moors, in a somewhat comical scene… but more on comedy later. Heathcliff, Hareton and Cathy Linton enter the scene, and are unaffected by the harshness of the weather. Immediately, the audience is aware that these characters are of a different breed to Lockwood, quite literally, as children of the Moors and of Yorkshire in general. The ghost of Catherine Earnshaw is seen in the background, at times wailing and screaming to imitate the harshness of the weather. In death, been subsumed by the landscape, physically, as she is buried within the Earth, and spiritually as her actions and movements reflect the harsh landscape.

While these points were all good, I did however think that Catherine Earnshaw was a weak link in the production. Not because of Lucy McComick’s acting ability but probably how she was directed. The dialogue was pretty faithful to the book, and in the book Catherine can be pretty unlikeable. It is up to the director and actress to find the subtlety, nuance and vulnerability in Catherine, as without that, the audience will not root for her. There was much screaming and wailing, which dampened the parts of the book where Catherine is supposed to be screaming and wailing, namely when she is losing her grip on reality towards the end of her life. By having her scream and wail pretty much all of the time, the impact of her final moments is lost… as she has been behaving this way all throughout the play.

When Catherine returned from Thrushcross Grange after being bitten by Skulker, she was dressed in a huge gown with big, puffy sleeves. It was like something out of a pantomime, and the whole performance was very camp. She seemed like a petulant child imitating maturity, when in the book it is made clear that she has matured, and is not as fierce as she was before. It was just all a bit jarring – but camping up her sense of newfound propriety, it just felt quite fake and unconvincing. When in the book, it is convincing to a degree… as she does change, as reflected when she chastises Heathcliff for his appearance. What is good though, is how she observes all the action for the remainder of the play – Catherine is always present, just as she is always present for Heathcliff.

Heathcliff, played by Ash Hunter, has some interesting additions. A line that stood out was when he was referred to as ‘black granite.’ Rice chose to portray Heathcliff as black, picking up on some of the hints of the novel. The idea of granite also links to Heathcliff resembling the ‘eternal rocks beneath’ as Cathy explains in her ‘I am Heathcliff’ speech. We also get to see Heathcliff’s childhood briefly in Liverpool, in which he is played by a puppet. It’s another good way of othering him from the other cast members. Despite this, he remains fairly the same throughout the play. There is no kind of crescendo, to his rage and anger which was building throughout the first half. He broods constantly, but never quite flips. In cutting his death scene, and the days leading up to it robbed Hunter of some good material to work with, as Heathcliff becomes increasingly volatile, yet vulnerable in his last few days. I feel like in most adaptations, and the book, Heathcliff becomes crueller and more volatile as the story progresses… and I did not see much progression. Heathcliff always seemed quite broody and restrained.

The play did try to mark the difference between characters through the use of comedy. The Linton’s and Frances are key examples, the former being overly pompous and the latter appearing as a somewhat dim-witted. These characterisations were used well, especially as they were minor characters. Frances was not around for long, and her overly feminine nature was used to mark her difference between Catherine. Although initially comedic, Isabella is later seen as a sympathetic figure, after her marriage to Heathcliff.

It is Linton Heathcliff (Katy Owen) that commits the crime of becoming too pantomime and therefore irritating. In a play that is inherently dark, it is incredibly jarring to watch a character for the entirety of the second half trying, and in my opinion failing, to be funny, through the use of short, snappy lines and physicality. Linton is sympathetic in the book, he is not a clown, and he is treated horribly by Heathcliff and forced to subject Cathy Linton to imprisonment. In the play, he is an irritating whose death could not come soon enough… and even this death was incredibly dragged out. He dominates the shorter second half, to the point at which Heathcliff’s death scene is not even witnessed properly but mentioned in passing by the Moor. Linton’s role should have been dramatically reduced, and it is partly his fault that the second half lost its way.

The play also ends like a rom com, with Hareton appearing in a pinny having just baked a Victoria sponge. Yes, Cathy softens him, but again, this jump is so jarring… and unnecessary. There are petals falling on the stage, and singing, the focus totally shifting from the previous generation. The play is rife with tonal extremes creating an overall feeling of tonal imbalance.

The structuring of the play also does not help this, as at the beginning we are given a lot of exposition about how all the characters are related. Why? Show don’t tell. It surely would be easier for the audience to just watch than to have all characters thrown at them, especially characters who all share similar names. The first half is longer than the second and ends with Cathy’s death. Surely the natural break is when Cathy and Edgar get married, as three years pass? This would allow a bit of time to digest what we have seen – it would make the time lapse more visceral, instead it happens straight away. It also robs the second half of having a better structure, and having more plot points to work with, as all we get is Linton ranting for most of the time.

The play definitely has good moments, and really inventive ideas, but I feel like structure and some of the key characterisations let it down.

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‘A Doll’s House’ and ‘The Merchant’s Tale’: Hidden Truths Will Always Be Revealed

In ‘A Doll’s House’ and ‘The Merchant’s Tale,’ secrets drive the plot forward, and their reveal occurs at the climax of each respective work. A hidden truth can be interpreted as a known secret that it kept secret deliberately, which makes the reader question why, and for whose benefit. When discussing truth and secrecy in these two texts one must also debate the impact of the revelations of such information, and their impact on the narrative. When looking at these texts it is fair to say that the truth is always revealed.

In Chaucer’s ‘The Merchant’s Tale’ and Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House,’ the reveal of May’s adultery and Nora’s secret loan form the basis of the climax of each text. In this respect, one can argue that the truth is always revealed, as the deception of the female protagonists is clearly unmasked, unfortunately for them. For Nora, the reveal that it was she who “saved Torvald’s life” is a surprise to Mrs Linde as well as the audience, who are quickly made aware that such an act was illegal in 1879. In the Victorian era, women and men were expected to operate in separate spheres, the woman being primarily concerned with the home, and the husband dealing with finance and business. Nora’s exits her own sphere by taking out the loan, and signing “papa’s name there” illegally. This emphasises the seriousness of the loan, and the need for it to remain secret, especially as Nora notes that Helmer would not want to “owe” anything to her. However, through the intervention of Krogstad and his “letter” Helmer learns of the loan, despite Nora’s protests against Krogstad’s plans. This demonstrates that the truth will always be revealed. May’s clandestine affair with Damyan is exposed when Januarie’s “sighte” is restored by Pluto. Although Nora kept her secret for the good and health of her husband, May’s secrecy appears selfish as she wishes to indulge in sexual pleasure. Perhaps one can sympathise with her from this perspective after her unpleasant wedding night with Januarie. Despite their different motivations, the reveal of the transgressions of Nora and May demonstrate that hidden truths are always revealed.

One must also assess the fallouts of the revelations within both texts to ascertain the writers’ approach to truth and secrecy. When looking at May, one could debate whether her deception is even revealed, as she manages to convince Januarie that what she did was to restore his sight. She notes that he has no “parfit sighte,” and that he who “misconcyveth, he misdemeth.” After Januarie’s revelation that he does genuinely care for her, perhaps he ignores her adultery, or is convinced that there is none. His act of stroking her “wombe” may demonstrate his acknowledgement of his illegitimate heir, or his obliviousness to her affair altogether. It was worse for a woman to have an affair, as her illegitimate child would not have the same family blood as her husband. When discussing the ending of the fabliau, it could be argued that truths are not always fully exposed, if we are to believe that May convinced Januarie that she was not unfaithful. From this perspective, it could be argued that writers note that the protagonists get their most desired outcome when the truth is revealed. If Januarie is acknowledging an illegitimate heir, May’s clandestine affair with Damyan may continue, effectively giving her what she wants. It should be noted that the greatest lies told in both texts come from women, which is perhaps inspired by the biblical figure of Eve and her eating of the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. Eve too fulfills the same function in Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost.’ This emphasies the severity of their defeat, as women were seen to be “creatures of an organised tyranny of men,” as argued by Eleanor Marx. This view argues that women were subservient to men, implying that their deception carries greater ramifications as it was not expected of them to rebel against man. There is no debate as to whether Nora’s secret remains ambiguous, as it is detailed in Krogstad’s letter as “delicately” as possible. Nora too realises what she wants after her deception is revealed, perhaps implying that when truth is revealed, it is so for the better.

Helmer’s reaction to the IOU makes Nora realises that there are no “miracles,” and this prompts her to realise that she is more than Helmer’s “songbird.” Nora’s wish, that Helmer would be able to “bear the burden” for them both fails to materialise, making her truly understand the man she married, and their marriage. She notes that she has just had “fun” and that her and Helmer had never exchanged a “serious word on a serious subject.” Nora realises that she is “first and foremost a human being,” and that she must get “some” experience of the world. Michael Meyer notes that the play explores everybody’s need “to find out the kind of person he or she really is, and to strive to become that person.” Before becoming that person, Nora must discover who she is, and the revelation of truth about the IOU prompts her to see her unrealized truth. This truth cannot be classed as one that is hidden purpose, but one that develops and is realised towards the end of act three. This can be likened to Holman Hunt’s painting ‘The Awakening Consciousness’ in which a woman struggles to break free of her husband’s grasp while gazing out of the window. It is conceivable to think that like Nora, this figure realises her own entrapment and wishes to break free. Nora only realises this with the revealing of her secret, leading the reader to believe that revelations of truth benefit those who are harbouring it. Nora gains her chance to discover who she is, through the revelation of her deception.

It is ironic that both females were so reluctant to give up their secrets despite the positive impact that it had, or could possibly have, on their lives. The revealing of their secrets allows the women to get what they want, although it is not they who give their secrets away. If it were their choice, hidden truths would have remained unrevealed, as it is external forces that forced their hands. Krogstad notes that he has the “means” to make Nora reveal her secrets, and does so despite her protests. Pluto’s gifting of Januarie’s “sighte” also reveals May’s adultery. It is interesting to note that although women hold these secrets over their husbands, which grant them a degree of power, it is other men that undo them and cause their downfall. Perhaps this can be linked to the words of Mary Wollstonecraft, who notes that women only want “power over themselves.” May and Nora lack that power as their deception is unveiled by male external forces that dominate them. From a feminist perspective, it could be argued that men are oppressing women, and not allowing them to make decisions for themselves. When discussing truth and secrecy, perhaps the writers of these novels are more negative towards women who harbour secrets, and require a man to do the moral, just thing of unveiling the truth. This demonstrates that men, perhaps, are the morally superior figures in these stories, as the women are portrayed as liars. Martin Steven’s agrees noting that Chaucer’s tale shows the “deceitfulness of women.” This could link in particular, to Chaucer’s own view of marriage. Chaucer’s sister in law was the wife of wealthy knight John of Gaunt, and it was rumoured that Chaucer’s wife was having an affair with Gaunt. Perhaps Chaucer’s own unhappy marriage inspired the character of May, the deceitful, adulterous wife.

Although these truths seemingly have a positive outcome, in both texts revelations of love and passion have the opposite affect. Chaucer’s fabliau is a satire of courtly love, an idea that Chaucer understood well after his translating of the French Romantic text of ‘The Romance of the Rose.’ Instead of completing a daring act of love, Damyan instead writes a note using a pen he “borwe” and secretly hands it to May. The fact that he had to borrow the pen emphasises how unequipped he is for the role of courtly lover. David L Shores notes that this acts as a “condemnation of courtly love convention,” arguing that Damyan displays no conventional aspects of the courtly lover. Damyan’s confession, that he is possessed with “Venus fyr” ultimately paves the way for the rest of the tale, and the birth of May’s secret. In this respect again, hidden truths appear always to be revealed, as can be seen in Damyan’s confession of love and the whole affair at the end of the tale. The difference here is that Damyan’s confession has a negative impact, most notably on the character of Januarie, who is being cuckolded.

Dr Rank too harbours his love and desire for Nora, and the revealing of this truth does not have a positive impact on his beloved. After declaring that he is ready to serve her, “body and soul,” Nora backs away declaring that it was “quite unnecessary.” This confession is a selfish one, as Rank has been harbouring this love for years. In this respect, again, hidden truths are always revealed, even if they are not well received. Despite this reveal, the details of Nora and Rank’s secret conversation in act three remain a secret, and act as a farewell between Nora and Rank, when she supplies him with the “light.” Such light could mean Nora herself and her spirit, which has sustained Rank for so long. In the case of Dr Rank, although some truths remain undeciphered, such as his conversation with Nora, his greatest secret is truly revealed.

Both Januarie and Helmer have an internal moral blindness to their own situations and failings. Januarie’s sexual prowess is revealed to be a fantasy by May, who claimed that his “laboureth” was not “worth a bene.” The façade of Januarie’s love making is revealed to the reader, and to May. Although this may not fall into the category of a hidden truth, as Januarie accepts it as truth and is oblivious to any other interpretation. Januarie is physically turned “blynd” by Pluto, and it is during this period that Januarie begins to realise his own failings. He notes that he is “jalos,” but that May should not take any notice. Januarie is humbled by the experience of being blind, and it appears that this is the only time that he can see clearly. It is ironic that during this time May is with the “lechour in the tree.” Throughout the poem the reader see’s the extravagant, virile image of the “Knyght” fall away, as he too acknowledges his own failings.

Unlike Janurie, Helmer displays this blindness throughout the play, and it does not falter. When Nora reveals her “duty to herself” Helmer combats this by arguing that she is firstly “a wife and mother.” Helmer shows no empathy and understanding towards her situation, much in contrast to Januarie and his wife. Helmer keeps denying and arguing with Nora, despite the audience’s agreement with her. When declaring that Helmer and her father have done a great “wrong” to her, Helmer notes that it was these two people hat loved her “most in the world.” Raymond Williams see’s the marriage of Helmer and Nora as “anti-romantic,” due to Helmer’s lack of empathy towards Nora and her situation. Although Nora reveals her true feelings to Helmer, following his learning of the IOU, he personally does not accept the truth, leaving one to question whether Nora’s truth is fully revealed. Or, like May’s adultery, one could argue that Helmer and Januarie’s understanding of the truth is somewhat ambiguous and may not be as clear cut as a fully understood revelation. It is at this point that Nora realizes she must leave, as Helmer does not understand her at all.    Nora’s deception, May’s adultery, Rank’s love and Januarie’s inadequacy are all examples of hidden and suppressed truths that have been revealed in these two texts. It is clear that in some of these examples, the truth has benefitted the characters that have been deceiving, like Nora, who realizes what she wants to achieve in her life. Januarie’s ambiguity at the end of ‘The Merchant’s Tale’ may also reveal that May has been allowed to continue her clandestine affair with Damyan. In these two texts, hidden truths are mostly revealed, albeit by external factors at time.

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Bhangraland is open! An interview with children’s author Kiran Lyall

Ready my interview with children’s book author Kiran Lyall here!

#WorldBookDay

https://www.funjabituition.com/post/bhangraland-is-open-an-interview-with-author-kiran-lyall

Read more about the history of Bhangra here:

Bhangra: A Brief History

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Were there major changes in the role of Parliament from 1529 to 1588?

It can be argued that until 1529, the monarch only rarely summoned parliament, and it appears that their main function was to grant taxation to fund wars. Parliament had only met four times between 1509 and 1529 for this reason. It is only from 1529 that one can see that Parliament met much more frequently, as Henry needed their aid to break with the Roman Catholic Church, during the Reformation. From this point, the influence and power of Parliament began to dramatically increase. Parliament appeared to be more involved, and more assertive, implying that there were major changes in the role of Parliament in the years 1529 to 1588, as they appeared to enable religious and financial change in England, making them a useful tool for the reigning monarch.

There were major changes in the role of Parliament from 1529 to 1588, beginning with the meeting of the Reformation Parliament in 1529. To secure his divorce from Catherine of Aragon, and take full control of his country, Henry decided to break with the Catholic Church in Rome, a seven-year struggle in which the action of parliament was vital. It is in this instance that the role of parliament can be seen to change dramatically when concerning religion. Royal Supremacy was eventually achieved in 1534, with Henry adding “Supreme Head” to his title the following year. A series of parliament acts enabled this, beginning with the significant Dispensations Act in 1534. This followed the First Act of Annates in 1532, which reduced all payments to Rome to five percent; leading to the Dispensations Act, which formally forbade all payments to Rome. This act made it clear to Henry and Cromwell that events were moving in the direction in which they intended, and that, in England, the role and presence of Rome was being reduced significantly. The Act of the Payment of the First Fruits stated that taxes that went to Rome when one was appointed a clerical position now went to Henry, and through this act of parliament, by 1536 Henry was receiving fifty-one thousand, seven hundred pounds. Financially, the Catholic Church in Rome was isolated from England, and now what only remained was the declaration of Henry’s supremacy. It was through the second parliament Act of Supremacy in November 1534 that Henry was granted caesaropapism. This meant that Henry was now in charge of land and the church. In the following months the role of the Pope was denounced, showing that there were major changes in the role of parliament during the Reformation as the acts they passed restricted the financial burden Catholicism opposed on England, and the role of the Pope in relation to religion. It can be seen that parliament’s role greatly changed in this respect, as they became concerned with matters in Rome as well as in England, and it was they who granted Henry Royal Supremacy, finally giving him the power that he had longed for. The events of the 1530’s also led to the idea of ‘king-in-parliament.’ This was the idea that the most powerful force in the country was the King when he acted with parliament, as opposed to him acting alone. The idea restricted Henry to an extent, as without working with parliament, his power decreased. This demonstrates how dramatically the role of parliament changed, as after securing the break with Rome, the King was seen to hold less power without the help of parliament. Parliament had initially been unequal to the monarch, but now it appeared equal if not more important, as without parliament’s support, Henry did not have full control over the Church or his country. The Reformation also increased parliamentary power for the long term, as it was only through parliament acts that previous laws, regarding the Reformation, could be reversed by Mary I. Throughout her reign (1553 to 1558) parliament was again used to change the religious status of England, as she reversed the religious changes that Henry VIII and Edward VI made in 1553 and 1554. Her aim was to restore England to Catholicism and back to Rome. Beginning with the meeting of the Reformation Parliament, the role of Parliament majorly changed, as politicians became far more concerned with matters of religion, and made decisions that affected England on a large, and global, scale. The growing power and influence of Parliament led to politicians becoming more assertive and, in their eyes, authoritative, particularly under Elizabeth I. After Sir Francis Walsingham discovered the Babington Plot in 1586, Parliament gathered a case against Mary Queen of Scots. It was discovered that a group of Catholics, led by Anthony Babington and John Ballard, planned to assassinate Elizabeth and place Mary on the throne. In this case, Parliament had a great influence over the indecisive Elizabeth, and Cecil forced her to sign the death warrant of her cousin, Mary. It was dispatched without Elizabeth’s permission, highlighting the audacity of those in Parliament, as they had defied the wish of the reigning monarch, demonstrating that their role had greatly changed, as here they took action without Elizabeth’s consent, even though she had always tried to use her royal prerogative as a means to restrict Parliament’s power. As well as their power, Cecil believed he had a great enough authority to dispatch the warrant highlighting the major changes in the role of parliament. Parliament’s role greatly increased in the early 1530’s, due to their prolific role in the religious matters of England, which gave them a greater importance and responsibility than in previous years. Parliament’s granting of Henry’s Royal Supremacy gave them great power and position, as without their help England would not have broken with Rome. This led to them having a greater sense of authority. For parliament, their success continued as people began to see Henry as less powerful without the aid of parliament. This greater sense of authority led to the assertive Parliament of Elizabeth I throughout her reign, as demonstrated by the way in which Mary Queen of Scots was dealt with in 1587. This bolder approach from Parliament stemmed from their heightened importance and role, beginning with the inauguration of the Reformation Parliament in 1529, as here the role of parliament changed majorly, due to their heavy involvement with religion and the break with Rome, leading to their increased power. 

However, it could be argued that there were not major changes in the role of parliament in the years 1529 to 1588, as there were only moderate ones. It appeared that over the course of Henry VIII’s reign, and at the start of Edward VI’s, parliament was used to alter and change the line of succession. There were three Succession Acts in March 1554, June 1536 and July 1543. After both being declared bastards, and being removed from the line of succession, Mary and Elizabeth were returned to it in 1543. Parliament was relied upon to alter the line of succession as Henry wished, and this can be seen as a moderate change in the role of Parliament as the decisions that were made did not grant Henry as much control as his Royal Supremacy. Parliament’s role changed, in the context of succession, due to the frequent changing of it. Parliament’s continuing assertiveness throughout the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI and Mary I led to conflict within the Parliament of Elizabeth I. In 1563 and 1566, the issue of succession was raised against Elizabeth’s wishes, as the issue had to be debated. This can be seen as a change in Parliament, as in previous years such an issue would not have been raised and challenged without permission of the monarch. However, as Parliament felt authoritative enough to incite the discussion, it can be decided that the role and status of Parliament had increased, due to the important role it had played in matters, such as the Reformation. Their discussion would have been unimaginable during Henry’s reign. Elizabeth did not respond well to their intervention, and sought to restrict Parliament. She suggested that they only discussed matters of ‘commonweal,’ which were matters concerning common good and the country. This led to the Freedom of Speech conflict, causing tension between Elizabeth and the House of Commons. In comparison, Henry’s Supremacy was a major change in the role of Parliament as they had the power to bestow such great authority on him, which does not compare to alterations to the succession, as it did not increase the authority of Henry and Parliament as much as the Reformation had, making this a moderate change. Also, despite the assertiveness of her parliament, Elizabeth was still in charge, unlike the Reformation when it was mainly Parliament alone that secured the break with Rome and gave Henry Supremacy, making this also a moderate change. This would lead to the conclusion that there were only moderate changes in the role of Parliament. 

On the contrary, it could be argued that there were only minimal changes in the role of Parliament between 1529 and 1588. Although Parliament was well utilised to break with Rome, it can be argued that even in this instance, this was achieved primarily through financial alterations made by Parliament. Before the summoning of the Reformation Parliament, Parliament was infrequently called to grant taxation, in order to fund wars. Parliament’s attacks on Rome initially began by reducing the amount of money that was sent to Rome by England, implying that although the task at hand was much greater, Parliament still approached the matter from a similar financial perspective, citing the minimal changes in their role, beginning with the first Act of Annates in 1532. The first actions of Parliament were purely based on matters to do with money, as they first sought to limit the amount of money Rome received from England. The Dispensations Act cut off all payments in 1534, and it was only in this year that ideas about Royal Supremacy began to take shape. It was the preamble of Cromwell’s draft of the Act of Restraint of Appeals in April 1533 that originally outlined Henry and Cromwell’s initial vision of Supremacy. It was this act that prevented Catherine appealing to the Pope. As the idea of Supremacy only began to form four years after the original Reformation Parliament was called, it can be argued that the role of Parliament changed minimally, as during the Reformation they were primarily concerned with matters to do with money. It could even be argued that Royal Supremacy was not part of Henry’s original plan and vision, but it was Cromwell’s initiative that brought the subject to discussion, further emphasising the idea that Parliament had planned to formally break with Rome in an economical sense, by reducing the amount of money they received from England. Parliament continued to debate over financial matters, such as the ‘First Fruit and Tenths’ bill in 1555, which kept the House sitting until three ‘o’ clock in the afternoon, which as seen to be abnormally late. Although this bill intended to change the decisions of Henry VIII, by returning money to the Church, it reinforces the idea that majority of changes and topics that were debated in Parliament were based on money, implying that the role of parliament changed minimally, as before, during and after, the Reformation parliament primarily concerned itself with financial matters. 

It is highly accurate to say that there were major changes in the role of Parliament in 1529 to 1588, due to their large role in the religious matters of England. The increased power of Parliament stems mainly from their role in the Reformation, and securing the separation from the Roman Catholic Church. Henry’s great reliance on Parliament in this period gave parliament a greater sense of power, as without their support, Henry would not have been able to secure his divorce and the reform he also desired. These events led parliament to have a greater authority which then allowed them to challenge following monarchs on matters such as Mary Queen of Scots’ execution in 1588. The Reformation appears to be the pinnacle of Parliament’s power, as it was during this time that the idea of the ‘king-in-parliament’ came into being, suggesting that without the aid of parliament, Henry was less powerful, emphasising the fundamentality of parliament. As parliament were essential to him and were greatly needed, one can see that the role of Parliament majorly changed in the years 1529 to 1588, due to their essential role played in the Reformation. 

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Valentine’s Day: A Brief History

harpalkhambay's avatarKhambay's Words, Words, Words

Nowadays Valentine’s Day is associated with love and commercialism. However, the origins of the day are far more interesting, tragic and violent. In ancient Rome, the pagan fertility festival of Lupercalia was celebrated in from the 13th to the 15th of February. The festival itself honoured Lupa, the wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. The festival also honoured the Roman God Faunus, the God of fertility. Traditions on this day were somewhat more gruesome than traditions today and included animal sacrifice. Young women were whipped with the bloody skin of the animal sacrifices to ensure they were fertile for the next year.

In the 5th century, Pope Galasius I tried to Christianise the day by declaring it Saint Valentine’s day. There were many Saint Valentines that were canonised over the years but the one most associated with the day is the Saint that…

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Lata Mangeshkar and the Evolution of the Bollywood Song

India entered a period of mourning when it was reported that Indian playback singer Lata Mangeshkar passed on Sunday the 6th of February. A playback singer is a singer whose voice is recorded for use in films – the actor or actress essentially lip-sync the words, so that the singers voice can be dubbed over. A cultural icon, sometimes referred to as the ‘Nightingale of India,’ Mangeshkar recorded thousands of songs for films in over thirty six languages, and for her services to film was awarded India’s highest civilian award, the Bharat Ratna in 2001. Due to her status, she was awarded a state funeral.

Born in 1929, Mangeshkar began her music career in the 1940s, and also took on several small acting roles before deciding that she was ‘happiest singing.’ For decades she was the most in demand singer in Bollywood cinema. She also performed with her sister Asha Bhosle, on several occasions. Bhosle also noted that the two sisters never sought to compete with each other. Aside from this, her other passions included, the Beatles, Mozart, Cricket, the Sherlock Holmes novels and she was also a James Bond fan. She also had nine dogs, and confessed that she enjoyed the slot machines in Vegas!

Mangeshkar also took up composing in the 1950s and also experimented with producing. She collaborated with Yash Chopra on many occasions, and sang for the acclaimed film ‘Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge’ in 1995. Unsurprisingly, she went on to say that romantic films were the most popular in Bollywood. Upon her death, Chopra stated that Mangeshkar had ‘God’s blessings in her voice.’ Mangeshkar rose to prominence during the golden age of Bollywood, and part of this was the evolution of the Bollywood song. Not all music that comes from India is from Bollywood, 80% of it is. The Bollywood industry in general is much bigger than Hollywood, as the former has a greater film output.

Songs are common staples of majority of Bollywood films, regardless of genre and plot. This has been the norm since the Indian cinema industry began in the 1930s. Songs can be written in different languages, but most common are Hindi and Urdu, but Panjabi has been used. Urdu poetry has previously had a strong influence on Bollywood songs. Critics recognise that Hindi songs in Bollywood films incorporate and draw inspiration from various traditional folk dances and songs, like ‘Ramleela’ and ‘Nautanki.’

More recently, Bollywood has been influenced by the West. English has been incorporated into the songs, examples being 2010’s ‘Sheila Ki Jawani’ and 2007’s ‘Deewangi Deewangi.’ The idea that the Bollywood song should also reflect the mood of the scene in the film has also been explained as the influence of Hollywood films. This can be seen in one of Mangeshkar’s best known films, ‘Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.’ Simran’s (Kajol) first song ‘Mere Khwabon Mein Jo Aaye’ reflects her desire to find out more about the man she has been dreaming about. Interestingly, villains do not sing in Bollywood films, as the arts are considered to be a mark of humanity, a quality which villains do not possess.

Genres of the Bollywood song include Bhajan, which refers to songs that have spiritual or religious meaning. The Disco genre became popular in the early 1980s, and since then there has been a greater focus to incorporate an electro feel to Bollywood songs, with the inclusion of instruments such as synthesisers. Again, the West can be credited with the rise in Bollywood songs that have incorporated this theme, especially in the 60s, when psychedelic rock was popularised by bands such as the Beatles.

Ghazal refers to Urdu poetry, which was instrumental in influencing early Bollywood music. This influenced lasted until the 1980s, but then was revived in the following decade with the 1990 film ‘Aashiqui.’ Qawwali, refers to devotional Sufi music, a good example of that being ‘Pardah Hai Pardah’ as seen in 1977’s Amar Akbar Anthony. This genre has also evolved, and more recently qawwali has taken on influence from Western culture, focusing on the genre of Techno. This can be seen in the 2005 song ‘Kajra Re.’ ‘Kajra Re’ was an ‘item number’ in the crime comedy film ‘Bunty Aur Babli.’ An item number is a song that is present in the film, but does not actually further the plot. Another example of this is the song ‘Chikni Chameli,’ as seen in 2012 film ‘Agneepath.’ The song is placed merely to build tension between warring drug lords Kancha (Sanjay Dutt) and Vijay (Hrithik Roshan). An item number typically features an alluring female dancer, and suggestive lyrics, as if to distract the main protagonists from the plot. Due to the subject matter of item numbers, they have come under scrutiny and criticism for their objectification of the female body. Although it is rarer, item numbers have featured men in the past, such as Abhishek Bachchan and Shah Rukh Khan.

It will be interesting to see how Bollywood music continues to evolve over the coming years, without the likes of trailblazers such as Mangeshkar.

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Race Relations in American Literature: 1850-2009

Relations between black people and white people has been a relevant and important topic, now more than ever. The issue has been discussed and critiqued in works of American fiction, beginning in the 1850’s with ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin.’ These novels, generally speaking, reflected peoples’ perceptions of race relations at the time of their publication, and encouraged debate and change.

Harriet Beecher Stowe penned ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ in 1852 in an attempt to reveal the horrors of slavery, and to attract the issue greater attention. Stowe herself had helped slaves escape the South, which encouraged her to view the institution of slavery from the black perspective. It was people in the North that initially fought against slavery, and discouraged its extension to the West, putting them at odds with the South, leading to the American Civil War. Stowe’s novel followed the passing of the Fugitive Slave Law Act, 1850. This law stated that everyone had to help catch runaway slaves, and refusal to do so would lead to a $1000 fine, and six months in jail. The South still advocated the existence of slavery, explaining Stowe’s decision to set the novel in Kentucky. In the novel, Uncle Tom is sold into the harsh world of slavery and is eventually whipped to death by his white owner Simon Legree, after sacrificing himself for his family. Uncle Tom is portrayed as a religious man, who is morally superior to the white people within the novel. This makes his savage murder all the more upsetting. Stowe’s novel made people acknowledge the harsh lives of slaves, and also set up the stereotype of the simple but kind black slave who is unfairly treated. The novel reflected the attitudes of Stowe, and other northerners like her who opposed slavery. According to legend, Lincoln even credited Stowe’s novel with starting the ‘great’ Civil War. The novel encouraged others to view slavery as an immoral institution, and its publication alone shows that perceptions of race relations were beginning to change.[1]

Mark Twain’s ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’ written in 1884, used satire and the perspective of a child to subtly critique the institution of slavery, maintaining some of the themes set up by Stowe. The book was published twenty years after the Civil War, and people still argued that black people were inferior beings, who were now out of the control of the state. Twain did not criticise slavery as heavily as Stowe did, as he wished to sell his book to the North and to the South, taking into account their differing views on slavery. The novel follows the relationship of black slave Jim and white child Huck Finn, as Finn begins to realise how harshly black people were treated slaves. Like Uncle Tom, Jim too is killed when sacrificing himself for his white owner, Tom Sawyer. Speaking through Finn, Twain’s views mirrored northern views that slavery was an unjust and unfair institution.[2]

Margaret Mitchell’s ‘Gone with the Wind’ proposed a different view of slavery to the previous novels. It chronicles the lives of the O’Hara family, living at their plantation at Tara, where the slaves are treated well and lead happy lives. When given the opportunity to eventually leave, black nurse Mammy decides to stay with white girl Scarlett. This idyllic view of slavery is interrupted with the freeing of the slaves following Lincoln’s ‘Emancipation Proclamation’ in 1863. This was a real-life act, that freed 3.5 million slaves. The social disruption caused by this forces characters in the novel to conclude that black people were better off as slaves. The novel taps into previous Southern beliefs about slaves at the time of the Civil War, and the ‘Positive Good’ argument. White people argued that black people could not take care of themselves, and therefore had to be cared for through the institution of slavery, for their own safety and protection. At the time of the novel’s publication, in 1936, President Franklin D. Roosevelt was pushing his ‘New Deal.’ These were a series of economic programs and reforms that were designed to help the American economy following the Great Depression. This appealed to black Americans, as they believed that the Deal would help them, and further the civil rights movement. However, this was criticised by white senator Josiah W. Bailey, in his 1937 ‘Conservative Manifesto.’ He protested at the amount of money being spent on New Deal programmes, inspiring others, especially in the south, to oppose further social and economic reforms. In retrospect, the reforms did not last, and only helped black people moderately. The novel accurately reflected perceptions of race relations at the time, as white people were unwilling to help black people, and still viewed them as inferior beings. This is highlighted in the book, through the characterisation of certain black characters, like the simple Uncle Peter, and the dishonest Prissy. Their portrayal reflected white people’s stereotypical perception of black people, which prompted their advocation of slavery, as they believed black people to still be inferior.[3]

The publication of Harper Lee’s 1960 novel ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ follows the story of Tom Robinson, a black man who is falsely accused of rape. White lawyer Atticus Finch defends him in court, but the town condemns Tom because of his race. The novel is told from the perspective of Atticus’ daughter, Scout, who learns from Atticus that people should not be treated differently because of their race. Black journalist Ida B Wells argued that being accused of rape was the main reason why a black man would be lynched in the 1890s. Considering that the novel is set in 1933, it could be argued that Harper Lee took inspiration from this fact. The 1950s marked the beginning of the active Civil Rights movement, beginning with Brown vs Topeka in 1954, which led to the desegregation of schools. Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat led to the Montgomery Bus Boycott in 1956, which, following black peoples’ refusal to board public buses, led to their desegregation. The Greensboro and Nashville sit-ins followed in 1960, as groups of students sat at lunch counters and refused to move. This led to the desegregation of lunch counters. The desegregation that occurred around the country showed that race relations were changing, as reflected in Harper Lee’s novel. The novel shows Tom Robinson as a respectable young man, in contrast to white characters such as Bob Ewell, an idea established in Stowe’s novel. These ideas mirrored the decision of the Supreme Court to desegregate certain institutions, as people in power began to actively implement laws in attempts to secure racial equality. It is upsetting to think that Scout’s advocation of absolute racial equality has not been fully realised, even today.[4]

Toni Morrison’s 1987 novel ‘Beloved’ tells the story of former slave Sethe, who is haunted by her baby that she killed in an attempt to stop it being sold into slavery. The baby, known as ‘Beloved,’ represents the haunting legacy of slavery. The novel looks at slavery in retrospect, informing the reader that although slavery no longer exists, its ramifications are still felt. Morrison lived in Ohio in the North, and her novel follows a long line of northern ideas, that slavery was an unjust and brutal institution. The novel was written in a period after the end of legal segregation, following President Lyndon B. Johnson’s Civil Rights Acts of 1964, which prohibited racism in public places, and 1968, which discouraged racism in housing and employment. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 gave government agents permission to ensure that voting practices were being carried out properly, and that black people were allowed to exercise their right to vote. The establishment of Affirmative Action, a set of laws ‘intended to end and correct the effects of a specific form of discrimination,’ emerged from the Regents vs Bakke case in 1978.[5] This demonstrates that the novel reflected changing perceptions of race relations at the time, as people in power continued to push for legal racial equality.[6]

In Kathryn Stockett’s 2009 novel, ‘The Help,’ white journalist Skeeter publishes the stories of several black maids in a book, giving them a voice and empowering them. For some, the inauguration of Obama as president in 2008 represented an end to racism and discrimination. 125,000 people assembled in central Chicago to see the announcement, and Civil rights activist, Jesse Jackson, who took part in sit-ins in the 1960s, was caught openly weeping with joy on camera. Obama himself heralded his presidency as a new era and people around the world recognised the importance of America’s first black president. Again, the novel raised the issue of race relations, and acknowledged the poor treatment of black people, as detailed in the novel. This acknowledgement from Stockett, who gained her ideas from Mississippi maid owners and maids, demonstrates that the novel accurately reflected changing perceptions of race relations.[7]

Majority of the novels accurately reflect the views of the author, and by extension, changing perceptions of race at the time of publication. Despite the changes that these novels have tapped into and encouraged, it seems that recent events have proven that so much more needs to be done to encourage and ensure racial equality.[8]

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[1] Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, (London, Penguin Classics, 1981).

[2] Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, (London, Penguin Classics, 2014).

[3] Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind, (London, Pan Publishing, 2014).

[4] Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, (London, Arrow Publishing, 2010).

[5] Walter Feinberg, ‘”Affirmative Action” in. The Oxford Handbook of Practical Ethics,’ (ed.) H. Lafolette, (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005).

[6] Toni Morrison, Beloved, (New York, Vintage, 2007).

[7] Kathryn Stockett, The Help, (Penguin, 2010).

[8] Additional information taken from:

D. Murphy, Civil Rights and Race Relations in the USA, 1850-2009 (London, Pearson Education, 2016).

And my own knowledge.

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‘Claudius in ‘Hamlet’ is powerful and effective in his leadership, but not as a man’

Claudius has been dubbed as the central villain in ‘Hamlet,’ and considering it is his immoral actions that lead to Hamlet’s quest for revenge, one could easily agree that he is the archetypal villain. It is very easy to say that Claudius is the reason for the ‘moral poisoning,’ as Tawe notes, in Denmark, but one must also consider his abilities as an effective and powerful leader. It is apparent that he is loved by the people, and presents himself as an effective leader. Although he may be a ‘murderer and a villain,’ does affect his leadership?

From his introduction, it is obvious that Claudius is an effective King, and that his presence is dramatically felt. In act one scene two, it is clear that Claudius is charismatic, and is able to charm people with his courteousness. He is obsequiously kind to Hamlet, albeit in a patronizing way, and asks him to look upon him as a ‘friend on Denmark.’ He appears to be kind to Hamlet, declaring that he will be a ‘father’ to him. In the Branagh version, this conversation happens in a great hall full of people, who cheer for Claudius. On the outside, Claudius appears to be loving towards Hamlet, which gains him the favour of the people in Elsinore, although to the audience he does appear insensitive. The image that he portrays is what makes him an effective leader, as he is able to draw people in and entice them, much like he did with Gertrude. He too enticed her in with ‘dexterity,’ which makes Claudius appear to be a magnetic figure that people respond well too, which is a desired quality in an effective and powerful leader.

As the play develops, Claudius’ morals come into question as he begins to use and manipulate others for his own purposes. He does this skillfully, and appears to be an effective leader in this sense, but does this make him an immoral man? Claudius quickly becomes a Machiavellian figure, as his cunning and scheming ways are unveiled, and it becomes evident that he is responsible for the political intrigue in Elsinore. In this respect, Claudius is seen to be duplicitous, as while he appears to be using people for Hamlet’s benefit, he is really doing it for himself. In particular, he uses people to betray Hamlet, first beginning with Rosencrantz and Guildernstern, who are asked to investigate Hamlet’s ‘lunacy.’ Claudius and Gertrude promises them a ‘king’s remembrance’ if they are successful in their investigation. Claudius’ bribery of Rosencrantz and Guildernstern implies that Claudius knows and understands people, and their motivations. It appears that Hamlet’s friends which to raise and further their status, and Claudius exploits this character trait to use it for his own purposes, making him a manipulative, but effective leader of others. This same exploitation can be seen in the case of Ophelia, who is too used to find out information about Hamlet’s ‘transformation.’ In act three scene one, she is subject to verbal abuse from Hamlet, which provides a helpful result for Claudius, as he notes that Hamlet’s words ‘lacked form a little,’ leading him to believe that he is not mad. Claudius begins to suspect that Hamlet knows his secret, and employs several other characters skillfully to investigate him, in order to protect himself. His subtlety in doing to emphasises his skills at leadership, as well as manipulation, as it is clear that he is able to coerce people into doing his bidding. AC Bradley notes that Claudius uses Laertes with ‘great dexterity,’ as he pushes him to kill Hamlet, and ‘avenge’ the death of Polonius. Claudius manipulates Laertes into this action, by challenging his ‘love’ for his father, and implying that he does care for his ‘honour.’ However, it is clear Laertes does, as he operates under the Roman tradition of ‘Fame’ in which a father’s murder would be avenged by his son, to maintain family honour. Claudius’ skillful use and deployment of other characters in the play for his own ends display him as an effective leader, but not necessarily as a good or moral man.

Claudius’ act of murder must be discussed, as it is the ‘foul and most unnatural murder’ of old King Hamlet that is the driving force behind most action within the play. Although Claudius may be a successful leader, this does not make him a good man, as as the play progresses, he can be seen to lose his control and grip on Denmark. In his only soliloquy, in act three scene three, he notes that he has committed the ‘primal eldest curse.’ He likens his act to the killing of Abel by Cain, which in the Bible, is described as the first murder. This emphasises the grotesque nature of Claudius’ action, and also implies that it has been weighing heavily on his mind. While delivering this speech in the 2017 Harrow School production, Claudius appeared to wretch, as if the rot inside him was killing him, and was rising up like vomit, implying that his actions had caused an illness, that has infected the ‘state of Denmark.’ Richard D Altick notes that it is the ‘cunning and lecherousness’ of Claudius that does indeed effect Elsinore, and it is this act that causes the growth of the ‘unweeded garden’ in the play. The Ghost notes that Claudius is the ‘serpent’ who ‘stung’ him, and this phrasing is used as in Elizabethan England, venom was thought to be stored in the tongue of the snake. This depiction of Claudius as Satan, likening him to the snake in the Garden of Eden, emphasises the nature of his ‘offense,’ and it understandable that Claudius begins to feel like he is losing control in Denmark, despite his skills at being a leader. After the death of Polonius, he finds no other solution to the situation other than to kill Hamlet, and hoping that ‘England’ will do it. Claudius begins to take such drastic actions to guard his secret, and realises that things are becoming more difficult at every turn. He appears affected by the madness of Ophelia in act four scene five, as he notes that it ‘springs from her father’s death.’ Claudius realises that the repercussions of Polonius’ death, and the news that Hamlet was responsible for it has sent ramifications throughout the court, and that he must now deal with it. He worries about Ophelia, due to the ‘pestilent speeches’ she may have heard, as this could lead to the incrimination of himself. Claudius appears to be losing control of people at this point, as can also be seen with Gertrude, in the Harrow School production, where she began to turn away from him. Claudius’ effective skills as a leader can be seen to wane, as he begins to lose control of people and the actions within the court, due to his previous immoral actions.

When examining Claudius’ soliloquy, one could argue that Claudius, despite his powerful leadership, is a weak man. It appears that Claudius feels he cannot be forgiven for the murder, as he is still ‘possess’d’ by the ‘effects for which I did the murder.’ Claudius does not seem to care about the death of his brother, but more cares about what he has gained from it, making him appear to be a man of low morals, and a weak willed one, who is only interested in material things. When apologising in prayer, he notes that ‘words without thought never to heaven go.’ It is clear that Claudius does not show repentance for his actions, as he is more concerned with what he has gained from it, making him appear to be a weak willed man who is only interested in power. The objects of this is his ‘crown,’ which he notes first in his list of three explaining his gains. This emphasises the importance of it to him, implying that he appreciates the power he has inherited from his brothers’ murder. This directly makes Claudius appear immoral, despite his effective leadership skills, as he seems only concerned with power, and is prepared to murder for it. This can be seen in the play, with his decision to kill Hamlet in order to maintain his position as King of Denmark. Gertrude is noted last in the triplet, which could be seen to downplay his love for her. This idea is further explored when he meekly tells her ‘not to ‘drink’ at the end of the play. If he did truly love her, should he not have tried harder to prevent her death? This points and supports the idea that Claudius is a weak man, who was perhaps jealous of his brother’s power, which led him to murder. This contrasts with Claudius’ strong leadership, as behind it appears a man who is only concerned with his own ‘ambition’ and advancement, making him appear to be a weak and despotic figure, who is prepared to murder for    power.

It is clear in the play that Claudius is able to lead and use people for his own gains, and although this can be seen as morally dubious, it does not encroach on the fact that he is a good leader, and is able to entice people to do his bidding. However, when examining Claudius as a man, it appears that he is not so strong, as he appears to be a weak man only obsessed with the power that he can gain. It is clear that he unforgiving and unrepentant for the murder of his brother, and that he most appreciates the royal status and power that he has gained from it. However, it is this action that causes his undoing, as even he realises that he cannot control the ramifications of his own actions, making Claudius, in the end, a weak man who has lost control of Denmark.[1]

[1] All quotes from:

William Shakespeare, Hamlet, ed. by Ann Thompson and Neil Taylor (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2016).