Time of Eve (イヴの時間) - A Exploration of Our Humanity

In lieu of my discussion on “Ghosting,” a few weeks ago Allan Estrella recommended Time of Eve, commenting that the story was exceptional in exploring human behavior with respect to artificial beings – specifically robots and androids, or artificial “ghosts." 

The premise is this: in the (likely) future of Japan, androids have become as commercial as the cell phone and laptop. However, in order to maintain traditional social structure, humans and androids are discouraged from interaction beyond basic controls and commands, and androids are required to always maintain a halo-like projection above their heads so they may not be mistaken as humans. 

The main character, Rikuo, has taken robots for granted his entire life. One day, he discovers that his family’s home android, Sammy, has begun acting independently, and with his friend Masaki traces her movements to a cafe called "Time of Eve,” where any patron – android or human – is welcomed, and no one is discriminated against. 

From there on out, the story explores different vignettes of characters, from the hyperactive Akiko to the lovers Koji and Rina. The main conflict, of course, is how humancentric behavior arises in lieu of an intelligent, artificial being created by humans, and how such fears, prejudices, and pride can make us as inhuman as the androids we make out to be. In Time of Eve, humans commonly treat androids subserviently, coldly ordering them about without a single glance. Social stigma additionally deters people from acting kindly, graciously or gratefully to androids: the mere act of holding an umbrella over an android will get others pointing and laughing at you, derogatively labeling you as a dori-kei (“android holic”). Such behavior is encouraged non-governmental organization, the Robot Ethics Committee, which advocates segregation between humans and robots and the government to enforce such. 

At the heart of this conflict is one of emotional legitimacy: given that robots and androids are cognitively capable (if not more than humans regarding information processing) due to their code and algorithmic coding (and are thus self-learning, perhaps to an extent), does this mean they are capable of emotional display and reception?; and if so, should we consider such as legitimate? 

First, let’s consider living organisms, more particularly the vertebrates (reptiles, birds, mammals). Animals, while possibly exhibiting physical features or behavior similar to humans (Chimpanzees, for example), are not us: we cannot interbreed viable offspring with non-Homo sapiens, yet there is a tendency for animal lovers to anthropomorphize certain aspects of animals we observe (I’m particularly fond of Oxboxer’s description of cheetah cubs: “They look like the kid you hated in preschool because he got light-up sneakers three months before they were even being sold in the States, and lorded it over everyone until your friend colored his hair green with a marker during nap time.”) This is especially true for household pets, and lends us to distress whenever they pass away. Understandably, our tendency to become emotionally attached to animals is not unusual: their behaviors are invariably tied to their emotions, and while we cannot completely communicate or understand between them and ourselves the underlying attachment is one of organic core – our natural, organic ghosts, per se. 

Now let’s consider why we get attached to inanimate objects. Most of the time it’s because of nostalgia or keepsake, or perhaps even habitual. These objects are not human, yet somehow we find some sort personal meaning in them. For instance, for months I rode a 11-year-old bike that was too small for me, and had a broken front derailed, severely misaligned rim breaks, an old chain, and a steel frame so heavy I’m pretty sure my upper arm strength increased significantly just from lifting it on occasion; yet I never had the heart to abandon it because I had so many biking memories attached to it (I even named it “Bikey” to commemorate my affection). Eventually, I had to invest in a new bike because the effort of pedaling up and down hills with Bikey increasingly irritated the tendonitis in my left knee, and unless I wanted to continue half-limping on foot I knew it was time to put Bikey in the garage (for the record, I named my current bike “BB”, only highlighting another tendency of mine to become attached to objects otherwise inanimate). 

This leads us to the last level which is on the verge of the uncanny valley: an intelligent artificial being constructed by our own algorithms and for our own purposes. Assuming that A.I. are capable of self-learning to an extent, the conflict is now a question of whether or not our own emotional reactions to them and their’s to ours have true emotional weight, or if we should abide by our own logic and merely consider them derivatives of our own being, tools that are anthropomorphized very closely to our likeness but nevertheless derivatives. 

This latter mentality is presented in Roger Ebert’s review of Stanley Kubrick’s and Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence, where he states: 

But when a manufactured pet is thrown away, is that really any different from junking a computer? … From a coldly logical point of view, should we think of David, the cute young hero of “A.I.,” as more than a very advanced gigapet? Do our human feelings for him make him human? Stanley Kubrick worked on this material for 15 years, before passing it on to Spielberg, who has not solved it, either. It involves man’s relationship to those tools that so closely mirror our own desires that we confuse them with flesh and blood…

Ebert brings up an interesting point, which is whether we impose and project our own beliefs and feelings upon what is otherwise an animate and well-programmed tool – a practice not too unsimilar to a child projecting their fantasies and adventures upon their doll or stuffed animal, for instance. There is also a question of a A.I. being so well-programmed as to detect our facial muscles twitch, contract and relax and react so appropriately human that they effectively trick us into believing their emotions are real, thus resulting in our illogical mentality of humanizing something that is nothing more than a extremely sophisticated tool. 

Do you remember that one that was constantly reading books? Well, when we got to the lab, the first thing the techs did was take apart its brain! It kind of seemed like that tachikoma liked it though. 

Oh, I see! Then, they were lucky enough to experience death…

Consider this: in Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex, Major Motoko Kusanagi and her team at Section 9 work with A.I. tanks called Tachikoma. As the series progresses, the Tachikoma increasingly develop more and more distinct personalities and have increasing tendencies to act independently despite orders from their users. Troubled by this, Motoko eventually halts use of the Tachikoma’s and has them sent back to the lab for further testing. However, as the series progress and only three remaining Tachikoma return to help Batou (Motoko’s closest companion amongst the Section 9 members), they eventually sacrifice themselves in order to save Batou’s life; and as Motoko looks on at their remains, she acknowledges that she mistakenly had them put out of commission, and even ponders if they had reached the state of creating their own distinct ghosts. 

While these questions are interesting to mull over, I believe the more important question is how we behave to an intelligent entity that is otherwise unbounded by our biological, organic limits of the flesh. We can argue to the end of time whether or not an A.I.’s “emotions” are real or not, and there can really be no way of knowing for sure; what we can assess is our own reactions, feelings and behavior when confronted with them. 

For an analogy, let’s consider video games: I’m not going to argue whether or not the medium is an art form, but I think we can all agree that all video games offer a virtual simulation of something – fighting, adventure, strategy, interaction, etc. The virtual environment is the product of programmers piecing together polygons into what conceptual artists conceived and writers hoped to flesh out within the constructs of a console or computer; algorithms and codes allow players to do whatever they want within the confines of the programmed environment, and with nothing short of individual A.I. and environments aspects for us to talk to or mess around with. Now, logic dictates that these virtual environments are nothing more but gateways for temporal detachment from our immediate physical environment; yet I dare anyone to claim that they did not experience something while running through the desert’s of Red Dead Redemption or confronting the likes of Andrew Ryan in Bioshock. 

The process of creating a videogame may be the greatest and grandest illusion ever created, but when finished, it holds the capacity to grant us experiences we can never experience. Loves we have never loved, fights we have never fought, losses we have never lost. The lights may turn off, the stage may go dark, but for a moment, while the disc still whirs and our fingers wrap around the buttons, we can believe we are champions.

– Viet Le, “The Illusionist" 

Video game players will always invest a certain amount of emotions into any game they choose to engage in. Whether it be placing your heart on Pikachu in Super Smash Brothers Brawl or wondering when the hell the story in Final Fantasy XIII is going to actually become interesting, there is almost a guarantee that these games elicit some emotional reaction from us – excitement, fear, frustration, sorrow, these emotions are real to us. Whether or not the game A.I.s share such sentiment is irrelevant, for we can only truly account for ourselves, and ourselves alone. 

So perhaps a robot or android may create the illusion of seeming more human than they actually are, or perhaps deep down their circuitry they perhaps do care about how we feel – we will never know. We can account for our behavior towards such A.I., and consider what exactly we feel entitled to in our given society and culture. 

In Time of Eve, there is a distinct political and social structure that discourages people from acting humanely towards androids, who are governed by the Three Laws of Robotics: 

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Additionally, all androids in Time of Eve are required to always display a halo projection above their heads, a marker that determines their subservient status. Constant propaganda ads spearheaded by the non-governmental Ethics Committee claim that sociable interaction between humans and androids are unhealthy, will end in disaster and possibly lead to the end of humanity; and it is neither uncommon for android owners to toss luggage at them without so much of a glance or unimaginable thank you, less they be deemed dori-kei and face ridicule from their peers. To be blunt, there’s nothing short of social norms or policy that enforces human and android segregation. 

Stepping back, the social and political structures in Time of Eve are not so unlike a democracy that deems segregation a norm. The most obvious example is that of Apartheid in South Africa, where a white minority democratically voted for segregation and lacking civil rights to their native African country. It took years for the likes of Nelson Mandela and other activists to end political mandate justifying racism, mostly because for years the empowered, minority white South Africans considered the social and political barriers a norm: by virtue of politics beginning from colonial times, caucasian Afrikaaners were obviously quite comfortable with their perceived birth right; it didn’t matter that their comfort and political representation was at the expense of a color majority – they had politicians to back up their views, and democratically so because for years the majority black Afrikaans were deprived of citizenship. 

The argument can be made that because androids are not human, we cannot treat them like how we would treat other fellow human beings. Perhaps this would be convincing if incarnations of it beforehand had not be used to justify injustice between fellow human begins beforehand: African slavery, European colonialism, the Holocaust – all atrocities against human rights twisted humanity into a sort of superiority complex, rationalizing entitlement rights groups of people believed they had above others. Furthermore, this argument structure again ignores the most pressing issue – how we behave as humans when dealing with individuals we are unfamiliar with. 

* Some may strongly stand by the divide between organic and inorganic beings, and state that since androids are artificial intelligence, we cannot equate such segregation to that between humans. If this is the case, then I offer this other example: if I were to equate androids to computers by virtue of them both being created as tools, our behavior is still indicative of ourselves at least. That is, if I take horrendous care of my MacBook and repeatedly drop it or fail to do simple maintenance on it, my MacBook may still operate and function but my carelessly reflects poorly of me regarding my behavior and lack of responsibility towards maintaining my computer; if I take excellent care of my MacBook (and I contest that I do), my MacBook may still operate and function but my maintenance and care for my MacBook reflects well of my abilities as a computer owner and responsibility towards it. 

In Time of Eve, policies and social structures against human-android interaction likely stem from public fear, distrust and insecurity culminating into a nationwide superiority complex, where it is absolutely normal for a person to feel superior than an android, regardless of the android’s intellectual and functional capabilities. As this negativity became more and more widespread, social structures morphed as well to accommodate such fervor, and eventually formed the policies which forbade human-android relationships from progressing into the uncanny valley of emotions and attachment. It’s considered taboo to humans to be humane to androids. Now given the social and political structures deeming inhumane behavior proper and normal, what does it mean when one chooses to or not abide by such norms? 

It takes no courage to act accordingly within social and political structures which provide you power at the expense of others’ dignity and civil rights; it takes an extraordinary person to break away from inhumane behavior otherwise deemed normal by a democratic majority, and especially speaks volumes about our ability to aspire towards a humanistic ideal above and beyond our dark, personal demons. Our emotions are our own, and if we feel an attachment to something otherwise illogical, then so be it – it is our right as humans, as well as our responsibility to act in the positive if we are to claim our rights to humanity. So if it means I’ll get laughed at for holding an umbrella over an android’s head, that’s fine by me. 

To be real is to be mortal; to be human is to love, to dream and to perish. 

– A.O. Scott

Recommended Articles

• A.O. Scott’s Review on A.I. Artificial Intelligence

• Roger Ebert’s Review on A.I. Artificial Intelligence

• ”The Illusionist“ by Viet Le

• Armond White’s Review on District 9

• ”Not in defense of Armond White“ by Roger Ebert

• District 9 Soundtrack - Main Theme by Clinton Shorter

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*Edit @ 9:41pm - I forgot to add an important paragraph. It is italicized and is marked by a *

Backlash from the Past - A Look into Masculinity and the Stallonian Appeal

Awhile ago I wrote a bit on Scott Pilgrim and lamented how it performed poorly during its opening weekend after getting sandwiched by Eat, Pray, Love and The Expendables. A few weeks later and things haven’t looked up for the game-love, internet-meme-awesome film that seems to have been released at the wrong time. Some have theorized that the marketing led to the film’s box office failure, that failed to clearly present Scott Pilgrim as a “fighting film” instead of “Michael Cera gets the girl again, and this time we have gamers and asian stuff like anime and hello kitty.” The idea is that at this point in time, Americans are sick of hipsters taking the big screen and want something less nuanced, less subtle, and less slice-of-life. Chuck out shenanigan slinging Juno and in with Stallones and Rambos!–echoed the box office. 

I’m not going to reiterate my disappointment that things turned out the way they did for Scott Pilgrim. Instead, I’m going to talk about a current trend in films I’ve seen of late based off trailers that flash on the telly. These days, it seems like a majority of movies echo of ‘80s macho-nacho burly men killing everything in sight as a form of democratic negotiation, or hot teenage girls in tight clothing getting murdered and hacked to death in devilishly gruesome ways. This isn’t Tarantino paying over-the-top, eclectic stylization, or quiet reminiscences about similar social scenarios like in Adventureland – this is about balls out, The Expendables testosterone, Piranha 3D exploitation backlash from the '70s and '80s, the grindhouse days of cinema. 

I started noticing the trend in movies back in spring this year after hearing that The A–Team was getting a release this (past) summer; later, I saw the trailer for the upcoming Machete, which looked amazingly B-movie status despite its A-list cast. Then the list of movies started piling up: A Nightmare on Elm Street remake; MacGruber, a full-length adaptation of the SNL sketch that spoofed MacGyver; The Karate Kid, which I thought was a great remake despite its editing flaws; Jackass 3D, which looks amazingly stupid and awesome; Saw 3D, which means this serial is getting classier by the day; Burlesque, which looks like another case of cliche writing and a music video director not understanding how to create a musical montage; and lastly Tron: Legacy, which I need not say anything further. 

So what’s going on? Why does it seem like more and more ads that skitter across the screen are starting to sound like echoes of decades before? Theoretically, the digital generation should be at its peak: Kindles are ousting booksellers, Super Smash Brothers Brawl are tournaments, Facebook is getting a movie tribute, YouTube is what America’s Funniest Home Videos wanted to be but never could, having a cell phone that “only” makes a call is archaic, online classes are at a boom, information is just a Google away – whether or not you think this is fantastic or horrendous doesn’t matter except that right here and now, this digital generation – a product of the internet and video games genesis and evolution – is thriving, and vivaciously so. 

So why the '80s? Why does it seem that Hollywood studios are busting out penis-envy flicks that, for a time, we all thought were over after Terminator 2 ended, and most definitely when Schwarzenegger called it quits with Hollywood and started politics in the vein of Reagan. And even with Spielberg’s Indiana Jones 4 or Stallone’s reawakening in 2006 and 2008 with Rocky Balboa and Rambo, respectively, it didn’t seem as overwhelmingly in the public eye as 2010 films like his executive produced The Expendables or the more-than-obvious remakes like The A-Team, The Karate Kid and Tron: Legacy. It’s strange, though, putting these films in context with films that were only released a few years previously: Juno is the top of the list, detailing the snark and snips and shenanigans of a slang-slinging teenager with a sharp attitude and a smart personality; closely following Diablo Cody’s uncannily witty screenplay is The 40-year-old Virgin, which essentially began the slew of buddy bromance comedies like The Hangover and Pineapple Express; biting, honest and surprisingly sympathetic portraits of dysfunctional individuals that stray far from the picture perfect household like in Little Miss Sunshine and Up in the Air; or even surprisingly quiet and beautiful films that say the most in their silence such as Lost in Translation and Wall•E. So I’ll ask this again: what’s going on, and why the '80s? 

I commented in the Scott Pilgrim article that perhaps current American economics (the recession, for a starter) have invariably driven Hollywood studios to produce less creative, more box office safe® movies to keep themselves afloat, and considering what has been released this past year I’d say this isn’t too bad of a guess. Now to answer the second question (seriously, why the '80s?), I’ve drawn solely from observation alone, and theorize this: the '80s revival gives people a sense of absolutes in a time of uncertainties. 

Let’s look at the characteristics of Stallone’s most famous filmography, which are easy to dissect and boil down into one banally simple appeal: definitive masculinity. Absolute power. I got pecks, I got techs. Popping veins. Bulging biceps. Hulk smash kittens. This is Spartan. Etcetera. 

Now, in a time where political and social constructions are even less absolute – post-9/11 sentiment is one of secrecies, conspiracies, torture and corruption, and increasing awareness of the LGBT community makes those who worship traditional gender roles in an uncomfortable position – the subconscious of the American moviegoing public invariably desires the absolutes, a torchlight of ideals and ideas that they can strive towards and emulate. This is a time of uncertainty and instability, and the last thing the average American moviegoer wants is a film that portrays a honest, mirror-like depiction of a life they may be all too familiar with, or a life that is unexciting enough to kick-start them from the slump resultant of life’s stressors. This is a time where more than ever in the public eye, movies are escapism as opposed to artistic merit. 

This is the sentiment that doomed Scott Pilgrim in the shadow of The Expendables after numerous movies about (less than) average, scrawny adolescents released prior – Superbad, Garden State, (500) Days of Summer, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Knocked Up, Kick-Ass, The Last Kiss, I Love You Man, Shallow Hal, Adventureland, Zombieland – inadvertently saturated the market. I’d argue Scott Pilgrim is the best reflection of the digital generation, but that’s irrelevant to what box office numbers reflect: and in this case, they reflect changing, significant tides that are a result of political and social turmoil happening externally. The public doesn’t want any more Michael Cera’s stealing the hot chick that’s out of his league; they want good old fashioned fist-fighting, blood spitting lip splits that a “real man” has to endure if he ever wants to “earn” his woman. Exploitation films like Machete, Jackass 3D, Saw 3D and Piranha 3D relish on the extreme ends of this sentiment, which I can only assume is the geographical equivalent of Siberia. 

Marketing is one aspect – I agree that Scott Pilgrim could have been marketed a bit smarter to reach a larger demographic – but beneath the commercializing aspect there are deeper implications as to what is occurring outside of Hollywood and invariably driving studios’ decisions to green light or shelve screenplays and productions. In this case, these implications are that the American public currently relishes in the nostalgia of Reagan-era eighties, with the awesome neon tights and big hair and definitive gender roles. It’s a complete swing from the middle-grounded, level-headed and easy-going mentality to the action-packed, sweat-brimmed and iron-fisted mentality that I hate for numerous reasons. 

So to be absolutely banal: viva el Scott Pilgrim, and screw you The Expendables – I’ve had my share of testosterone-filled idiots spewing out crap like entitlement and birth rights and that lot. I’d rather be a Holden Caulfield and a Juno MacGuff than a John Rambo or a Madonna. And if that makes me a nutcase, then that’s just pure and dandy. After all, the Fool was the only with any sense in his head during King Lear’s mental trip, and if I have to get me some double rainbows or pineappling expression to feel right at home, then that’s just fine by me. 

*Pardons for the day-late update: I’ve been moving boxes of books and clothing this past week, and only got settled down yesterday. On a plus side, I’ve got the Wii set up nicely, so now Netflix-ing on a whim isn’t as cumbersome as it used to be. 

FacePainting

As some of you may know, Paramount commissioned (in)famous director M. Night Shyamalan to adapt the popular Nickelodian series “Avatar: The Last Airbender” into a movie trilogy. The TV series revolves a fantasical, Hayao Miyazaki-inspired universe that deals with individuals capable of controlling and manipulating (aka “bending”) one or several of the earth’s elements – Earth, Wind, Water, and Fire – and how the main protagonist, Aang, the Last Airbender, is destined to bring back balance when the Fire nation’s imperialistic and war-mongering desires get out of hand. The movie is slated for release July 1st this year, and its production has led to a lot of controversy specifically with regards to its casting. 

Though I’m not a particular fan of the show (nor do I dislike it) and am simply neutral overall, I feel that it is necessary to state for several reasons why I will not support this movie for professional, philosophical and personal reasons. 

History of American Facepainting

Americans have a long standing history of playing other ethnic minorities, starting as far as 1829 with the play “Metamora.” The play is about an Native American chief who at first befriends White settlers but through politics and a series of betrayals, eventually retaliates against the impending colonists, ultimately dying in a climatically melodramatic scene. The main character, Native American chief Metamora (who happened to be based off real Native American Metacomet, aka King Philip) was portrayed by Edwin Forrest, marking one of the earliest practices of Redface in which White actors played Native American roles. 

The humble beginnings of Redface lead up to the infamous time period of popular Blackface in which White actors smeared their faces with black paint and depicted racist driven caricatures of African Americans such as Zip Coon and Jim Crow. These caricatures were depicted in minstrel shows to much popularity, a popularity distinguished by the first movie with a soundtrack, 1927’s “The Jazz Singer” in which Al Jolson portrays a Jewish son who dives into Broadway and the show business via blackface; in fact, the climatic scene involves Jolson putting on his make up, transforming his very Jewish distinction into a character popular to a widely racist White majority. 

Eventually, Blackface gave way to other and more subtle racist interjections, a prime example being the 1961 film “West Side Story.” The studio opted to cast Natalie Wood as Maria, the Puerto Rican love interest and female lead. This was blatant Brownface in which White actors were favored over Latin actors, and a further criticism was how Puerto Ricans were depicted in the narrative. In fact, when approached for a possible remake, Ricky Martin downright refused, stating that he could not endorse what he believed to be an ethnocentric depiction of Latin cultural roots; Jennifer Lopez, also approached, disagreed with this sentiment and was enthusiastic about the project’s prospects. Though the basis for the ethnocentricism of “West Side Story” is still up for debate the fact remains that in the original 1961 film, a White actress was favored over a Latina actress, which is enough to argue a blatant Hollywood practice of Brownface. 

These three history examples lead up to my foremost argument about Hollywood’s tradition in racebending, exemplified by two examples currently in the spotlight – Disney’s “Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time” and Paramount’s “The Last Airbender." 

Racebending in Practice - Modern Edition

Both "Prince of Persia” and “The Last Airbender” are great offenses that demonstrate a longstanding Hollywood tradition of racist undertones: both cast White actors to portray ethnic characters over respective ethnic actors. However, I believe that “The Last Airbender” offends more greatly than “Prince of Persia” for a few more reasons than expected: 

“Prince of Persia” at least had some twisted Hollywood marketing sense in that they casted a A-list actor, Jake Gyllenhaal, to portray Prince Dastan; despite the movie being uncannily silly in premise and narrative function (foremost, it’s based off a video game franchise) a well-known actor on the list would invariably pull in the numbers. 

As a disclaimer, I do not condone the casting for “Prince of Persia,” but for the record is was already a stupid idea to begin with and starred an actor that many Americans are familiar with. Given how it is a Jerry Bruckheimer production, I’m sure big money was involved with intent of creating another hit like Johnny Depp did for the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise, a franchise that was in itself silly and based off a classic Disneyland attraction. 

So while “Prince of Persia” offends with its casting of a A-list White actor for marketing reasons, “The Last Airbender” offends even more with its casting of newcomer/lesser known White actors over equivalent Asian actors to portray its starring Asian characters. The marketing reasons attached to famous actors does not apply here; instead, the marketing assumption is that White actors are more “capable” than Asian actors for pulling in viewers, with a possible secondary assumption in their “superiority” in acting abilities. This overarching assumption is the basis for an institutionalized racism innate to Hollywood’s long, long history of ethnic narratives. 

Why Paramount Pictures reinforces an Institutionalized Racism

In her paper “Levels of Racism: A Theoretic Framework and a Gardener’s Tale,” Camara Phyllis Jones (MD, MPH, and PhD) postulates that there are three levels of racism: internalized, personally-mediated, and institutionalized.

Internalized racism is how one personally feels about race and its meaning, though they may not necessarily act out on these underlying and internalized assumptions it most definitely affects them at the subconscious level (eg. “It had occurred to Pecola some time ago that if her eyes, those eyes that held the pictures, and knew the sights-if those eyes of hers were different, that is to say, beautiful, she herself would be different.” – Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye).

Personally-mediated racism maintains social-structural barriers, the result of assumptions held by people or a community (eg. “This town was so much better before those goddamn ___ moved in. It’s their fault the town’s economy has gone down so much”).

Lastly, institutionalized racism is racism at the highest infrastructural level, in which policy is dictated by racial assumptions and discrimination (eg. South Africa’s long history of Apartheid in which black South Africans were politically and legally segregated from whites, spearheaded by the South African Nationalist Party from 1948 to 1994). 

Herein this last level of racism lies Paramount Studio’s greatest offense of reinforcing institutionalized racism within the Hollywood business. 

By openly preferring Caucasian actors over Asian actors in an open casting call, Paramount demonstrated their innate racist assumptions – that a no name White actor was more capable of increasing box office numbers and (perhaps) “acting” than an equivalent Asian actor regardless of the Eastern-based characters in the series. Additionally, by casting Asian actors as secondary or supporting characters, Paramount clearly wished to create an “authentically diverse” universe, one that is distinctly Eastern and non-Western in its roots. 

This assumption is wrong, unfounded and offensive on so many levels. Who is to say a Asian American boy is less articulate in English and capable in acting prowess than a Caucasian boy? Pixar casted Japanese-American Jordan Nagai to voice act Korean-American inspired Russell in their 2009 film “UP,” and it was arguably one of the most commercially and critically acclaimed successes of the year. Obviously this assumption can’t be the case, especially considering the success of other Asian American cinema such as “Better Luck Tomorrow” in 2002 and “The Joy Luck Club” in 1993. 

And who is to say Asian actors in distinctly Asian narratives are any less capable of drawing in American audiences? Ang Lee’s “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” in 2000 opened the gateways to a Hollywood flood of Hong Kong and Asian cinema that had been established by star Asian actor predecessors such as Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. These legacies proved that American audiences do enjoy Asian cinema, and though they were heavily based on martial arts lore they were nonetheless marketable and a great potential for Hollywood to spread out and include more Asian actors in their films. 

Perhaps the greatest offense that the “heroic” characters are portrayed by lily White actors while the “villainous” characters are portrayed dark-skinned Indian actors in lieu of the fact that all the characters have distinctly Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Indian and Inuit characteristics regardless of their “good” or “badness." 

This purports my conceit that Paramount blatantly reinforces racism at the institutional level, driven by innately racist assumptions and an ethnocentric desire to bundle Eastern culture – rich in history and human stories – into a big old Yellowface bowtie. Make it as pretty and shiny and "Asian-y” as you want – in the end, this movie is racist and a disrespectful slap in the face of the Eastern heritage it so wishes to profit off of. The studios underlying assumption about marketability and acting capability of White over Asian actors is insulting, and to claim that their production is “diverse” because they cast Asians as secondary and supporting characters ignores the bigger issue at hand – the starring, main Asian characters are portrayed by White actors instead of Asian actors. 

Shyamalan – Sold-out, Oblivious, or both? 

Indian-American director M. Night Shyamalan has consistently defended the movie as “diverse” much in the same vein of Paramount’s assertions, citing that the production team took careful means to create a film rich in Asian culture and aesthetics – and like the studio, not once has he addressed the bigger issue at hand, that White actors have been favored over Asian actors to play Asian characters. 

He completely misses the point about ethnic and racial diversity: dress it up all you want, but at the end of the day it’s Yellowface all over again. It’s an insult to assume that Asians and Asian Americans will be ok with White actors once again taking on the starring roles that are Asian archetypes, and worse that Shyamalan seems peachy keen on the whole premise. 

Shyamalan has even stated that he desired to work with Nicola Peltz, the Caucasian actress slated to play the water bender Katara. This statement highlights my other postulate that Shyamalan is not a dumbfounded, overridden director force fed to direct a Yellowface film – that instead he obviously had a say in who he wanted casted, that he fully endorse White actors over Asian actors to play the main parts. 

Was he bought? Is he oblivious to the institutionalized racism he’s endorsing? Or is it a bit of both? Whatever the reason, it’s clear Shyamalan is in love with his cinematic vision despite the social implications at hand, and for that I’ve lost all respect for him, especially considering that he himself is a minority director and would presumably empathize with minority actors barred from acting roles due to Hollywood’s underlying racial assumptions. As of now, this director is unredeemable – in screenwriting, in career, and in a self-indulgent streak that ignores world issues for his own self-fulfillment. This is simply shameless. 

“Fantasy Universe”

Defenders claim that this just a fantasy universe, some stating that they saw main protagonist Aang as a “White guy” and that the casting is simply “interpretational.” This again misses the point completely – this is a narrative based explicitly on Asian roots, and for a movie that lavishes in the history and beauty of Eastern culture its casting of White actors in the lead “hero” roles is racist and ethnocentric. “Avatar: The Last Airbender” creators Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko have stated multiple time that the story is Asian inspired – characters, costumes, scenery, everything. They envisioned a fantasy universe that dealt with Asian folklore, with cultural and image aesthetics derived from their respective Eastern roots. 

An additional angle of the “fantasy universe” defense is that this narrative is fictional and thus subject to interpretation in any adaptation – so why should “The Last Airbender” be sideswiped as an offense in its film adaptation? 

Foremost, a great many narratives are fictional regardless of the universe they occupy. Period pieces/history-based, science fiction, epic fantasies, thrillers, romances, psychological – these are all human narratives with fictionalized characters in their respective universes (the exception would be for nonfictions and autobiographies, but even the factual legitimacy can be called into question). When critics lambasted “Inglourious Basterds” as inaccurate and a rewriting of history, director Quentin Tarantino replied: 

“My characters don’t know that they are part of history. They have no pre-recorded future, and they are not aware of anything they can or cannot do. I have never pre-destined my characters, ever. And I felt now wasn’t the time to start. So basically, where I’m coming from on this issue is:

(1) My characters changed the course of the war.

(2) Now that didn’t happen because in real life my characters didn’t exist.

(3) But if they had’ve existed, from Frederick Zoller on down, everything that happens is quite plausible.”

Extending this to “The Last Airbender” story, the characters are presumably in a universe that is centered around what we otherwise identify with as Eastern culture. The characters themselves may not know it, but we know full well that they are analogous to many aspects of Asian culture. From the philosophies to the customs, the narrative of elemental benders lends itself to Eastern heritage; these characters don’t exist in real life, but in their universe they are very much Asian in roots, and with their existence comes the story popular and beloved by many fans of the series. 

With this in mind, Paramount’s casting is even more offensive and disrespectful. If they had any sort of cultural humiliation and decency, the studio would understand that they are in fact depicting cultures that have histories and legacies of human stories and accomplishments specific to the Eastern hemisphere in this narration, and to bundle it all up all nice and pretty with a Yellowface frosting is nothing short of ethnocentrism and institutionalized racism. 

But the voice actors spoke English in the original television series!

Of course they did. English is the predominant language in America, and let’s face it – most viewers prefer to watch instead of watch and and read at the same time. On the opposite fold, the anime series “Fullmetal Alchemist” is Western inspired with some Chinese and Middle Eastern characters – and yet they speak Japanese, simply because the production is Japanese and primarily marketed to a Japanese audience. Similarly, “Avatar: The Last Airbender” is an American production that was marketed primarily to a American audience that is predominantly English-speaking. 

Does this make “Avatar: The Last Airbender” any less Eastern or “Fullmetal Alchemist” any less Western?

No. The creators of each series have explicitly stated their respective influences: “The Last Airbender” creators DiMartino and Konieztko listed Asian culture and Hayao Miyazaki’s cinematic legacy as main influences for their narrative premise; “Fullmetal Alchemist” creator Hiromu Arakawa detailed how she researched the European Industrial Revolution and Western-based hypotheses on alchemy in order to flesh out a convincing world. 

Their narratives may be conveyed in the non-traditional language, but the narrative structure and influences are true to their origins in both series. This is what matters the most, and it’s what Paramount and Shyamalan completely misunderstand when they so thoroughly believe they are being “true” to the series’ distinctly Eastern cultural and aesthetic roots when they’ve casted White actors for the main roles. 

“Isn’t it time we stopped looking at race?”

NO. 

This argument flies from the ends of Shyamalan and Paramount defenders, who believe that in this day and age we should all be colorblind to race and its associated implications.

However, as presented in the PBS award-winning documentary “Unnatural Causes,” it’s been proven that ethnic minorities, compared to White Americans in the same socioeconomic statuses, have higher rates of chronic illnesses such as cardiovascular diseases and heart attacks than their white counterparts. 

These higher rates are the result of allostatic load and weathering – the resultant and combined stresses that can result from differing levels of racism that are either explicit or implicit. For instance, a Mexican lawyer with a degree from Yale who is followed around in a store would experience self-mediated racism; another example would be a African American doctor with a MD and PhD who sees a woman gripping her purse tightly when they ride the same elevator together, in which case he would also experience self-mediated racism. Both examples highlight how ethnic minorities experience a day-to-day incident of racism, and presumably these incidents activate a certain amount of distress (stressors) that subconsciously build up and cause them to be more susceptible to illnesses when the stressors inadvertently compromise their immunity. 

Consequently, ignoring the effects and significance of race, while a ideal vision, is inapplicable and inappropriate to current social and political infrastructures at hand. We must consider race as a factor in any case since racism still plays a active role in how people operate on a daily basis. 

This is not to say that we simply cast aside all inhibitions: if you’re in the projects, it’s generally a bad idea to assist anyone “find their lost dog in the alleyway.” What is important and relevant is understanding our own racist tendencies in order to begin rising above them; furthermore, comprehending that other ethnicities are people jut like ourselves, that their behaviors and lifestyles are governed by their own culture, histories and respective political and social infrastructures that they occupy. 

For these reasons, I was never a fan of the original “Karate Kid” because despite it’s casting of Noriyuki ‘Pat’ Morita as the famous Kesuke Miyagi (aka Mr. Miyagi), the story was a classic Western-style coming-of-age parable that, in a sense, shallowly alluded to Eastern philosophy for Western application and usage.

The newer adaptation with Jaden Smith and Jackie Chan – while not without its editing faults – dealt not only with a coming-of-age story but also with a universal message of humane goodness that unites us all despite cultural differences. The 2010 remake went even further to highlight these differences, and instead of exoticizing such discrepancies breaks away from traditional ethnocentrism and endorses cultural humility, a willingness to step away from an “all-knowing” outsiders approach.

This deep respect for Eastern cultural roots in the 2010 “Karate Kid” is gapingly missing from Paramount’s and Shyamalan’s approach in “The Last Airbender,” in which they so thoroughly believe in the appropriateness of their sidestepping Asian actors for White actors in the main roles, actors who could never fully empathize with the Eastern philosophies and aesthetics they are set to act out. 

A Personal Argument

There’s a reason why “Mighty Morphin Power Rangers,” despite its untimely silliness, was so successful when it first launched in the US: for one, its cast was ethnically diverse alongside the awesomeness of gigantic monsters blowing up cardboard buildings and grey putty minions sidestepping haplessly as the rangers whooped their respective butts.  

I knew many Asian children (especially Asian American girls) who loved the Yellow Ranger Trini Kwan because she was played by the late Vietnamese-American actress Thuy Trang. They loved her not only because she kicked ass, but additionally because she was Asian. Many of the same girls also loved Fa Mulan in Disney’s 1998 “Mulan” for this same reason, and it was a major plus that she was voiced by Macanese-born American actress Ming Na. These women, these characters – they were them, they empathized and sympathized with their cultural roots, they were heroes. 

The point is that they had an Asian hero to look up to on the big movie screens and television series, that with these heroes they were assured that as Asians, they had value to some Hollywood and network executives. Above all, they were being represented, which meant that someone understood that as Asians they too comprised the American public. 

I can only imagine how many disappointed Asian American children will flock to the theaters only to see that their animated heroes are now depicted by White actors who could never truly empathize with their distinct Asian cultural roots. This is a movie that casted actor Jackson Rathbone, who believes that being Asian means “[pulling] my hair up, [shaving] the sides, and definitely [getting] a tan. It’s one of those things where, hopefully, the audience will suspend disbelief a little bit.”

Suspending belief, Mr. Rathbone? I believe the term you’re looking for is Yellowface. 

Closing Remarks

“The Last Airbender” had so much potential to break Hollywood’s tradition of racebending. Paramount disappointingly chose not to, and Shyamalan shamelessly agreed to the terms at the expense of his own cultural roots. 

I don’t blame the actors – they are simply looking for work in an unforgiving business, trying to make a name for themselves. And while their comments can be idiotic it must be noted that they were recruited by a larger institution that revels in racist assumptions. 

For these numerous reasons, I will not endorse this film. As a Vietnamese American, I find “The Last Airbender’s” production and casting a great offense to my cultural roots, and believe that Paramount – and especially Shyamalan – should be ashamed of themselves. Frankly, I hope they go down in film anthropology as infamous practioners of self-indulgent, self-delusional ignorance, stupidity and racism. 

I only hope that one day, if I happen to have a kid, that they will have someone to look up to on the big screen, someone that shares their innate empathy and understanding of their Eastern (and perhaps mixed) cultural roots. If not, I’ll be damned to get Hollywood away from wallet when they try to profit off of racebending and that blasted 3D gimmick they seem to love so much.  

For more information on the controversy, go here. For a satirical take on the issue, go here. 

YouTube series of personal reasons and messages in boycotting “The Last Airbender” film. 

Link to Roger Ebert’s response in the December 23, 2009 Answer Man column regarding “The Last Airbender” casting controversy. 

…

Edit on 7/9/10: A little over a week has passed this article has been published, and from the responses I’ve been getting it seems I may have missed a few key aspects about the controversy initially. For supplementary readings, here are a few links: 

Sunday Roundup 7/4/10 – Q&A for a lot of the feedback I received. This clarifies a lot of misunderstandings and misconceptions about what I’ve written. 

Cats, Cows, and Pies – A guest post by Viet Le of word/game, who perhaps articulated the most important point I missed in initially writing this article. I’m fortunate enough to be of his acquaintance and continuously bounce ideas off him and back.