Words, words, words… well said Hamlet! A little blog to go off on tangents within the worlds of history, literature, TV and film that interest me. From the Tudors to Tom Hardy's Tess, the Boleyns to Bollywood or from the Wars of the Roses to Wuthering Heights, feel free to browse through my musings to pick up extra ideas and points for discussion!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
‘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.
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.
Khambay's Words, Words, Words 