Watch Archives - Not Even Past

Chan is Missing (1982)

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first historical film review we posted on Not Even Past. As the author says, Chan is Missing is: “an early classic of Asian American cinema, it holds up well to multiple viewings.”

By Madeline Hsu

In this affectionate insider’s portrait of San Francisco’s Chinatown in the late 1970s, director Wayne Wang riffs on the well-known adventures of Charlie Chan, the stereotyped Chinese-American 1930s film detective, by following the meandering investigation of two cab drivers. Joe and his nephew Steve are searching for another Chan, their friend Chan Hung, who seems to have disappeared with $4,000 of their cash. Along the way, they encounter a gallery of Chinatown personalities and settings, revealing aspects of the district that are rarely visible to visiting tourists. They venture past the bustling restaurants and the pagoda roofs and dragon-embellished streetlights of Grant Avenue into the tight quarters of greasy commercial kitchens; the packed fish markets and grocery stores of Stockton Street; narrow, laundry-festooned residential alleyways; a local senior citizens center; and the Neighborhood Language Center offering English classes for new arrivals.

Along the way, the search for the elusive Chan uncovers a rich pastiche of the possibilities of being Chinese in America. Chan could be a victim of police misunderstandings; a possible murderer and political extremist; an aeronautical engineer who developed the first Chinese word processor; a genius who could find no other job than working in a restaurant kitchen; a sentimental music lover; a disappointing husband who refused to adapt and get US citizenship but was a good father. Joe and Steve find themselves increasingly befuddled as the movie unfolds.

The 1970s witnessed a reinvigorated Chinatown, with the civil rights movement and new waves of American-born advocates and new immigrants adding to the agitation of community rights groups. Through a cacophony of dialects, accents, and background noises, Wang skillfully shows that the earlier film hero Charlie Chan does not represent Chinese America in the 1970s. Wang obscures his subjects by shooting at angles and through windows even as he offers glimpses into a richly textured community framed by competing divides of generations and genders: American-born and immigrants; leftists and rightists; business successes, community activists, and the striving working-classes. Joe and Steve’s banter captures not just their strategizing about how and where to find Chan, but also whether and how Chinese can claim a place in America. If a man of Chan’s abilities and character seems to have fled the United States, what of those with less promise?

“Chan is Missing” was Wayne Wang’s first feature film and still his most enduring. Along with “Dim Sum: A Little Bit of Heart” (1985) it is the most intimate of his movies before he launched into commercially successful hits such as “The Joy Luck Club” (1993) and “Maid in Manhattan” (2002) as well as collaborating on independent films with writers like Paul Auster and Yiyun Li. An early classic of Asian American cinema, it holds up well to multiple viewings.

photos by Nancy Wong

Elevate (2012)

By Danielle Sanchez

Anne Buford’s documentary Elevate focuses on several Senegalese youths and their attempts to make it out of Senegal through basketball. Through the compelling narratives of each of the Senegalese students portrayed in the insightful documentary, we witness the trials and tribulations of urban youths trying to move beyond the difficulties that they face in their daily lives in Senegal. The documentary begins at the SEEDS Academy, the project of Amadou Gallo Fall, a personnel director for the Dallas Mavericks. Essentially, the SEEDS Academy is described as an attempt to create a boarding school for Senegalese youths to hone their basketball and academic skills and eventually (hopefully) receive a scholarship to play basketball at a prestigious prep school in the US. Beyond this, each of the young Senegalese students profiled in the ESPN funded documentary hope to play college basketball and eventually make their way to the NBA.

While soccer is the predominant leisure sport in much of West Africa, efforts like that of Amadou Gallo Fall are making basketball appear to be a gateway to prestige and socio-economic advancement for individuals like Assane, Aziz, Dethie, Byago, and their Senegalese peers. Thus, youths who have never played basketball before are beginning to pick up the sport in increasing numbers. In the documentary, viewers see the immense amount of training and preparation leading to evaluations that eventually decide whether these hopefuls receive a coveted scholarship position at a U.S. prep school. Despite this, the students portrayed in the documentary were often unprepared for what they would experience in America. Feelings of isolation were prominent throughout the documentary, especially among Senegalese students when they were the only “outsider” in a school filled with socio-economically privileged American students.

Anne Buford, a first-time documentarian, does an exceptional job of capturing the students’ discomfort in their encounters with the American academic system and predominantly white youth culture. In the course of the film, we see students fighting to bear the cold weather, trying to “fit in,” and struggling in their coursework due to

the fact that these students primarily speak French. Some of the most intriguing moments in the documentary involve issues of religion and alienation in the new environments that surround these young students. Both Assane and Aziz are Muslim and it is evident that in both of their respective schools, practicing Islam is not well understood by their peers. This is particularly poignant in a dining hall conversation that Aziz has with one of his schoolmates who knew little about Ramadan, but was curious why Aziz was abstaining from eating during their mealtime. We later see Aziz breaking fast alone in his dorm room. Buford also captures a sense of Assane’s religious isolation in her juxtaposition of school-wide church services in the religiously-affiliated prep academy and his solitary prayer sessions in his dorm room. Despite these difficulties, at one point, Dethie lands a position at the same school as Assane. As a result, Assane is able to guide him through such a large cultural, physical, and mental transition. In the end, we are left with a bittersweet message of hope. All of the students in the documentary continued their education in the United States and played basketball at the college level at schools ranging from Carroll College in Montana to the University of Virginia where Assane was a starting center.

The documentary could have delved more into socio-economic inequality, especially regarding neocolonialism and limited opportunities for advancement in the post-colony. While we briefly witness the Senegalese communities from which Assane, Dethie, Aziz, and Byago emerged, I would be interested in seeing more about the Senegalese education system and avenues for advancement outside of sports as a way of contrasting this with the relatively new establishment of the SEEDS Academy.

Ultimately, however, this film captures an intriguing cultural exchange that embodies our era of globalization. What may seem like a documentary on a seemingly universal sport ultimately emphasizes understandings (and misunderstandings) of both the west and Africa. Even the sport of basketball is a different game in the United States, where there is a greater emphasis on shooting instead of defense. Nevertheless, these Senegalese students have quite a bit in common with other student athletes from throughout the United States — they are all searching for opportunities for advancement despite seemingly impossible odds. Despite the odds, their dreams of success in the NBA and hopes of bringing their families to America or their wealth back to Senegal live on.

Photo Credits:

Manute Bol, a Sudanese born center for the NBA’s Washington Bullets, stands next to his teammate, guard Muggsy Bogues, during the 1987-88 season. Bol and Bogues were, respectively, the tallest and shortest players in the NBA at the time. (Image courtesy of Flickr Creative Commons)

Images used under Fair Use Guidelines

You might also like:

This recent NPR story about Sudanese teenagers moving to Illinois to play basketball

A Historian Views Spielberg’s Lincoln (2012)

By Nicholas Roland

Steven Spielberg’s latest historical drama chronicles the 16th President’s final months and the struggle for passage of the 13th Amendment by the House of Representatives in 1865. Lincoln’s enduring popularity in both scholarly and popular circles means that this film will be subjected to intense scrutiny and debate by historians, movie reviewers, and culture warriors.

Fortunately, Lincoln is blessed with a remarkably accomplished cast. Daniel Day Lewis is Abraham Lincoln. Having supposedly read over 100 books on Lincoln in preparation for the role, he manages to convincingly replicate many aspects of Lincoln’s persona and physical aura. Lincoln’s purportedly high voice, his wry sense of humor and knack for storytelling, his slouched posture and awkward gait, and the overwhelming weariness incurred by the “fiery trial” of war all ring true in this portrayal. Mary Todd Lincoln (Sally Fields) is portrayed as a more or less sympathetic character, in accordance with more recent scholarship rejecting long-standing depictions of Mrs. Lincoln as a shrew, possibly suffering from a mental illness. Instead, Fields plays a First Lady who is grief stricken over the loss of her son Willie and weary from the stress of a wartime presidential marriage. During a scene at a White House reception, she draws on her social training as a daughter of the Kentucky planter elite to skillfully and acerbically defend herself and her husband against political critics. Secretary of State William H. Seward (David Strathairn) also appears as an important source of support for Lincoln. Seward cuts patronage deals with lame duck Democratic Congressmen in order to help secure the passage of the 13th Amendment and acts as a sort of political muse to Lincoln. Seward harangues and cajoles Lincoln on policy and political strategy but ultimately serves as a loyal ally in carrying out Lincoln’s intent, a depiction born out in the historical record. Thaddeus Stevens (Tommy Lee Jones) is also a convincing secondary character, albeit with some historical problems. A leader of the Radical wing of the Republican Party, Stevens is accurately portrayed as an advocate of racial equality and a vehement opponent of secessionists. However, a scene revealing the purported relationship between Stevens and his African-American housekeeper risks conveying the sense that this relationship was the primary motivation for Stevens’ crusade for the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments.

Despite the excellent performances turned in by the star-studded cast, Lincoln has a number of shortcomings from the historian’s point of view. Based on Doris Kearns-Goodwin’s Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, the film is at times a taut political thriller and at times the inspirational story of the final abolition of American slavery. The choice to focus on the last few months of Lincoln’s presidency is appropriate given the ultimate outcome of the American Civil War: the defeat of the

Confederacy and the end of legal slavery. However, this narrow focus glosses over Lincoln’s famously ambiguous views on slavery and racial equality. Spielberg’s Lincoln appears committed to rapidly ending slavery and even suggests that suffrage might be extended to black men in the future. In his lifetime, Lincoln was consistently criticized by Radical Republicans and African-American leaders such as Frederick Douglass for his equivocation on slavery and lenient plans for Reconstruction. Lincoln seems to have held a lifelong commitment to the free-soil ideology that every man, white or black, has the right to earn for himself by the sweat of his brow. Despite this conviction, Lincoln repeatedly stated that he wished to preserve the Union, either with or without slavery. Lincoln viewed the Emancipation Proclamation and the enlistment of black troops as a wartime expedient to preserve the Union.

To its credit, Lincoln does make some references to contradictory statements Lincoln made earlier in his presidency about slavery. Despite this nod toward the complexity of Lincoln’s political career, Spielberg risks reviving the Great Emancipator myth. The best evidence suggests that Abraham Lincoln personally abhorred slavery as an institution while simultaneously denying the concept of racial equality. Some historians have argued that Lincoln’s personal beliefs underwent a significant change during the last year of the Civil War, and Lincoln did in fact suggest to the reconstructed government of Louisiana in 1864 that “very intelligent” black men and “those who have fought gallantly in our ranks” might be given access to the ballot box. As depicted by the film, during the 1864 Presidential campaign Lincoln threw his support behind passage of the 13th Amendment and was active in securing its passage in 1865. Nonetheless Lincoln never became a radical abolitionist like Thaddeus Stevens or an outright advocate of racial equality. Lincoln continued to put forth plans for the resettlement of freedmen to the Caribbean even after issuing the Emancipation Proclamation and possibly even after the passage of the 13th Amendment.

Too narrow a focus on the actions of Lincoln and other white politicians unfortunately downplays the role played by both enslaved and free African-Americans in the Civil War-era struggle for freedom. Black characters largely appear passive in Spielberg’s account. Kate Masur points out that White House servants Elizabeth Keckley and William Slade were deeply involved in the free black activist community of Washington, D.C. Instead of appearing as dynamic characters within the President’s household, they are relegated to cardboard roles as domestics. Keckley has one brief, earnest discussion with Lincoln, but cannot offer a vision of black life outside of slavery to the President. Frederick Douglass, who visited the White House during the time depicted in the film, does not appear at all. The most assertive black character in the movie is a soldier who confronts the President about past ill-treatment and future aspirations. Lincoln artfully deflects the soldier’s concerns and the scene ends with the soldier quoting the Gettysburg Address. The one-dimensional black characters in Lincoln are unrecognizable as depictions of African Americans during the Civil War. Early in the war, when Lincoln strenuously wished to avoid confronting slavery, black enslaved workers fled to federal lines and congregated around federal camps such as Fortress Monroe, Virginia. Congress passed the Confiscation Act of 1861 in reaction to this development, marking the first movement by the federal government to separate rebellious slaveholders from their enslaved workers. While Lincoln continued to insist that the war was a struggle to preserve the Union, African Americans did not wait for the Emancipation Proclamation to turn the war into much more than a sectional conflict. Slavery was destroyed as much by their individual actions as by the political workings of white politicians.

A number of smaller inaccuracies and stylistic issues can be pointed out. For example, Alexander H. Coffroth is depicted as a nervous Pennsylvania Democrat pressured into voting for the 13th Amendment. Coffroth actually served as a pallbearer at Lincoln’s funeral, indicating that he was more than a simple political pawn of the White House. In another scene supposedly taking place after the fall of Richmond and Petersburg, Lincoln solemnly rides through a horrific battlefield heaped with hundreds of bodies. A battlefield such as this would likely represent one of the worst instances of combat in the Civil War. Richmond and Petersburg fell primarily due to General Ulysses S. Grant’s maneuvering to cut Confederate supply lines rather than through bloody fighting on the scale Spielberg depicts. Lincoln did in fact visit Richmond after it had fallen and was greeted there by hundreds of jubilant freed slaves in the streets of the former Confederate capital. The chance to depict such a poignant scene is not taken up by the filmmakers in favor of a continued focus on the political and military struggle waged by white Americans.Perhaps most inexplicably, the movie does a poor job of identifying the various cabinet officials and Congressmen central to the plot. While this poses little obstacle to historians familiar with the time period, the average moviegoer is likely to be somewhat unsure of the exact role or importance of several characters. This is especially curious given the fact that obscure members of a Confederate peace delegation such as Confederate Senator R.M.T. Hunter and Assistant Secretary of War John A. Campbell are explicitly identified on screen.

Taken on the whole, Spielberg’s Lincoln is a masterful politician and a dynamic character, able to carefully mediate between his own evolving beliefs and the political realities of his age. This interpretation falls solidly in line with the mainstream of Lincoln scholarship. For an incredibly complex, sphinxlike figure such as Abraham Lincoln, perhaps we shouldn’t expect a more thorough interpretation from Hollywood.

***

You may also like:

Henry Wiencek’s NEP review of Eric Foner’s The Fiery Trial, which examines Lincoln’s changing views on race and slavery

Photo Credits:

Series of Thaddeus Stevens photographs by Matthew Brady, sometime between 1860 and 1865 (Image courtesy of Brady National Photographic Art Gallery)

Lydia Hamilton Smith, housekeeper and alleged common law wife of Thaddeus Stevens, photographed sometime prior to 1868 (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Mary Todd Lincoln, 1846-7 (Image courtesy of Library of Congress)

Lincoln depicted as The Great Emancipator in Thomas Ball’s statue, Lincoln Park, Washington, DC (Image courtesy of Library of Congress)

Promotional studio image of Abraham Lincoln (left) and Daniel Day-Lewis as Lincoln (right)

Images used under Fair Use Guidelines

The Invisible History of Hawaii in Alexander Payne’s “The Descendants”

By Sarah Steinbock-Pratt

The Descendants, directed by Alexander Payne, opens with a voice-over by protagonist Matt King (played by George Clooney), a wealthy Oahu lawyer, about how everyone assumes that Hawaii is a paradise. We quickly learn, however, that there is trouble in paradise. Matt’s wife, Elizabeth, is in a coma from a boat-racing accident, and Matt, who describes himself as the “back-up parent,” has become the sole care-giver for his two troubled daughters, Scottie and Alex. Elizabeth’s accident comes just as Matt is preparing to sell 25,000 acres of land on Kauai contained in a family trust, for which he is the sole trustee. The trust is due to expire in seven years and the many cousins in the King family have agreed to sell the land to a real estate developer.

The land is a legacy from Matt’s great-grandmother, a Hawaiian princess and direct descendent of Kamehameha, who married Edward King, the descendant of American missionaries. Although the family is fictional, the story has historical echoes. The real-life marriage of Princess Bernice Pauahi Bishop, a great-granddaughter of Kamehameha I who owned vast amounts of land, and Charles Reed Bishop, an American businessman, may have provided the inspiration for the King family. The family history is interwoven into the main plot of the film, the dynamics and drama of a family that has somehow grown apart and struggling to deal with their mother’s accident.

During a visit with Elizabeth’s doctor, Matt discovers that Elizabeth is in a persistive vegetative state, and that her living will dictates that she must be taken off life support. The doctor advises Matt to give family and friends time to say goodbye before Elizabeth dies. Matt takes Scottie to bring Alex home from the Hawaii Pacific Institute. When he tells Alex that her mother is going to die, she reveals that Elizabeth has been having an affair with another man. Matt’s reactions to all this news include an emotional trip to Kauai, where he and his daughters also visit the family land and reminisce about past camping trips. The pristine beauty of the King land is contrasted with shots of development on Kauai, particularly resorts and golf courses, the fate that awaits the trust land. In the end, Matt has a change of heart and refuses, as the sole trustee, to sell the land. Explaining himself to his angry cousins, Matt declares, “We didn’t do anything to own this land, it was entrusted to us,” and if they sell it, “something we were supposed to protect is gone.”

The process of coming to terms with the death of his wife forces Matt to confront what is owed to the dying, the dead, and to those who remain behind. It is perhaps Matt’s failure to prevent his wife’s death that makes him cling to his role as steward of the land and the family’s Hawaiian legacy. In an odd parallel, Matt acts as the steward of both Elizabeth’s death and the King land – as he lets one go, he appreciates the importance of the other all the more. As Elizabeth’s death brings him closer to his children, it also brings him back in touch with his past and the importance of preserving his family’s legacy for future generations.

It is slightly disappointing that the film never really engages with the history of Hawaii and never really links the two plots very well. The King family is, as Matt puts it, “haole as shit,” (haole is the derogatory term for white immigrants); sending their children to Punahou School and living lives of privilege and ease. The Punahou School was one of two elite schools founded by American missionaries in the islands, and was initially a school for the children of the missionaries. The other was the Chiefs’ Children’s School, a school for the children of high-ranking Hawaiians, which the last five Hawaiian monarchs attended. Punahou, as Sarah Vowel notes, became known as the “haole rich kid school,” labeled by President Obama, an alumnus, as an “incubator for island elites.” That the King family attended Punahou clearly marks them as island elites, participating in a haole educational tradition that stretches back over a century and a half.

Because the King land, moreover, comes from the marriage of a fictional Hawaiian princess and American businessman, the film does not have to address the relationship between land ownership and the role American missionaries and their descendants played in paving the way for American annexation of the islands, and why so much of Hawaii ended up in the hands of American settlers and their descendants. Traditionally, Hawaii’s land was divided according to a hierarchical system of reciprocity. As historian J. Khaulani Kauanui notes, chiefs divided up land amongst lesser chiefs, who allocated land to stewards, who administered the access to land of the commoners, who worked the land, sending tribute back up the ladder, ending with the king himself. In 1848, however, shortly after the creation of a constitutional monarchy, King Kamehameha III was persuaded to divide up the land not belonging to the Crown into individual plots, to be claimed by Hawaii’s commoners, an act known as the Mahele. As with the Dawes Act, the Mahele was hailed as step that would lead to Hawaiians becoming independent yeoman farmers, owners of their own plots of self-sustaining land. What happened in reality, also in striking similarity to the legacy of the Dawes Act, is that land once held communally and for the common good was concentrated in predominantly white hands, leaving the native population with a fraction of their former lands.

The backdrop to the Mahele was the precipitant drop in Hawaii’s native population since the late 18^th century, due mainly to diseases introduced by European and American sailors and missionaries. The declining native population (the 1890 census listed just over 30,000 native Hawaiians, a drop of over 90% of the estimated population at the end of the 18^th century), as well as the failure to educate Hawaiians about the new land policies and the difficulty of filing claims for land, meant that only a small fraction of the land put up for sale went to Hawaiian commoners. This was compounded by an 1850 law allowing the government to sell unclaimed land to anyone, foreigners included, and an 1874 law privatizing mortgage foreclosures, all of which led to, by 1890, haoles controlling ninety percent of Hawaiian land.

At the same time, the booming demand for foodstuffs created by the Gold Rush in California and Oregon, and the growing market for Hawaiian sugar in the northern United States after the Civil War cut off the supply from Louisiana, led American planters, many of them grandchildren of the original missionaries, to come to the islands, to expand their operations and buy up as much land as they could to grow their valuable crops. The introduction of a constitutional monarchy in which haoles eventually made up the entirety of the judiciary and much of the government, moreover, legally reinforced American notions of private ownership. These changes created a perfect storm for American planters to overthrow the monarchy. As their wealth and influence grew, the interests of the planters were set on a collision course with the interests of the Hawaiian monarchy and Hawaiian national sovereignty. And when America began casting about for an overseas empire in the waning years of the 19th century, there the islands were, already settled by a substantial American population (or at least the descendants of Americans), which had overthrown the Hawaiian monarchy and was eager to be annexed by the United States. Hawaii was a move-in ready Pacific colony, prepared by the labors of American missionaries and their descendants, the American planters, for annexation.

Ultimately though, while “The Descendants” is a Hawaiian story, it is not a film about Hawaii or Hawaiian history. And it is not historical fiction, though the fictionalized history of the King family plays a strong supporting role. It is a film about everyday human tragedy, and the ways we cope with loss, grief, anger, betrayal, and the fact that nothing we love stays the same forever; that families fall apart and come back together, that land is subdivided and over-developed, that traditions are lost, and that we have to do our best to adapt and draw our own conclusions about what is owed to both the past and the future.

For more on Hawaiian history, we recommend:

J. Khaulani Kauanui, Hawaiian Blood: Colonialism and the Politics of Sovereignty and Indigeneity (Durham: Duke University Press, 2008).

Sarah Vowel, Unfamiliar Fishes (New York: Riverhead Books, 2011).

Photo credits:

“EAST (REAR) ELEVATION – Punahou School, School Hall, 1601 Punahou Street, Honolulu, Honolulu County, HI.”

Courtesy of The Library of Congress

“FRONT ELEVATION, ANGLE VIEW – Waioli Mission House, Kauai Belt Highway, Hanalei, Kauai County, HI.”

Courtesy of The Library of Congress

“GENERAL VIEW, ca 1865 (From original photograph in Hawaii State Archives. Photocopy made for HABS in 1966). – Adobe Schoolhouse, Kawaiahao Street at Mission Lane, Honolulu, Honolulu County, HI.”

Courtesy of The Library of Congress

Film Review – A Separation (2011)

By Golsheed Bagheri

A Separation is an Iranian drama directed by Asghar Farhadi. As is indicated by the title, the film focuses on the separation of Nader and Simin, an affluent couple residing in Tehran. Simin wishes to escape Iran’s repressive society and move to Canada, which she believes is a more suitable environment to raise their daughter, Termeh. Nader refuses to leave under the pretext that he must stay in Iran to take care of his elderly father who is suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s disease. Their situation is further complicated by Razieh, a devout Muslim woman from the lower economic class, who is hired to help care for Nader’s father. Numerous financial and personal conflicts pit the well-off Nader and Simin against Razieh and her unemployed, debt-ridden husband, Hojat.

The Family Protection Law of 1967 mandated that all marriage contracts must include certain rights to divorce for women. While the FPL increased the number of female-initiated divorces in the urban community as a result, the overall rate of divorce dropped substantially. Women became more assertive in the home and in public as a result of this law, and embraced their roles in society with much greater confidence. With the establishment of the Islamic Republic and the institution of the Islamic Civil code in 1979, however, the FPL was repealed. Under the new system, women were expected to endure most forms of sexual, physical and mental abuse in marriage. Female initiated-divorce was permitted only in the case of male impotence, severe drug addiction, or intolerable violence. Women who did achieve divorce sacrificed their right to their children, as divorced women had severely limited custody rights. Of course conditions are not quite as austere in the present day and children can sometimes choose which parent they want to live with.

Through these family frays and a vivid depiction of the limitations of the Islamic court system, Farhadi composes a brilliantly accurate rendition of the current issues in Iranian society today. The “bi-culture” phenomenon, which is often cited as a contributing factor to the culmination of the 1979 Revolution, is effectively demonstrated by the two conflicting families in the film. Nader and Simin represent the urban, upper-middle class, educated and with secular leanings, who grapple with such issues as to whether or not they should emigrate to a more open society for the sake of their child. Razieh and Hojat embody the lower economic echelon, which is composed of the more traditional and religious elements of Iranian society. The struggles endured by this class typically arise from poverty, as is exemplified by Hojat’s unemployment and debts, which in turn forces Razieh to take a job that gives her religious qualms.

Through his expert direction, Farhadi masterfully elicits a sense of empathy for each one of the characters, despite the nature of their involved conflict. Indeed there are no antagonists in this film; all of the characters are inherently good people and are simply striving to survive against life’s challenges. What distinguishes A Separation from other Oscar-nominated dramas is the fact that it is a portrayal of the experience of an entire nation, contained in an engaging story, based on the realities of present-day Iranian society.

Camila (1984)

By Julia Ogden

Romeo and Juliet may be the most well known tale of star-crossed lovers, but ask any Argentine and they will know the story of Camila O’Gorman and Ladislao Gutierrez just as well. The ill-fated love affair between the strong-willed daughter of an elite landowner and a Catholic priest, depicted in the 1984 film Camila, is a multi-layered story that ties together romance, the political history of the nineteenth-century Latin America, and echoes of government corruption across centuries.

The story of Camila and Ladislao unfolded during Juan Manuel de Rosas’s twenty-year rule of Argentina from 1829 to 1852. The conservative caudillo directed the newly independent country with an iron hand. He upheld the colonial social hierarchy, allied with and supported the Catholic Church, closed the country to external trade and censored the flow of information in and out of its borders. In this claustrophobic setting, the fiercely independent Camila read contraband books and dreamt of marrying for love rather than familial duty. When a new priest arrived in Buenos Aires from the province of Tucumán and spoke out from the pulpit against the violence of the Rosas regime, Camila fell desperately in love. It did not take long for Ladislao, forced into the priesthood as the filial duty of a second-born son, to reciprocate her feelings. Knowing their love was forbidden, they fled in the night to the neighboring province of Corrientes, where they began life anew as a poor schoolteacher and his wife. Soon, however, a priest from Buenos Aires recognized Camila and reported her whereabouts to her father. The two were quickly arrested and sentenced to death – despite the fact that Camila was eight-months pregnant.

The execution of Camila and Ladislao in 1848 was a severe overreaction. At any other time, the pair would likely not have suffered the same fate. Historian Ann Twinam has shown that in the colonial era, the celibacy of priests functioned far more in breach than in observance, and that, while upholding their public reputations of virginal innocence, elite women often had pre-marital sexual relations in private. If sexual digressions were generally accepted social practice, why did Rosas kill the lovers? Historians postulate that his reaction was tied to the political climate of early nineteenth-century Argentina in which conservative caudillos like Rosas battled fiercely with their liberal opponents. Argentine liberals vehemently attacked Rosas from exile in Uruguay and Chile. They first used the news of Camila and Ladislao’s affair to highlight the lack of morality and law in Rosas’s Argentina. Once he captured them, Rosas decided to make an example of the unfortunate duo in order to silence his opponents. Unfortunately, his overreaction only provided more fuel to their onslaught by providing proof of the caudillo’s barbarism.

Argentine director, María Luisa Bemberg’s Oscar-winning movie Camila, adds yet another layer to this tragic story. Released only a year after the end of the right-wing dictatorship in Argentina (1976-1983), Bemberg’s cinematic depiction of the stifling oppression of Rosa’s regime in the 1840s struck a chord with Argentine audiences. The two conservative governments share noticeable similarities. In the same way the rise of Rosas to power in the 1820s forced his liberal opponents into exile, the repressive regime in the 1970s caused a mass exodus from Argentina. Both governments then carried out tactics of terror to subdue and control their populations – Rosas left the heads of subversives killed during night on stakes, while the bodies of those “disappeared” by the military dictatorship washed up on the shores of the Río de la Plata. Finally, the death of Camila’s unborn child not only conjured images of innocent citizens murdered by their government, but it also evoked memories of the dozens of babies taken from executed leftist women to be raised by members of the conservative regime. From love story to political intrigue to visions of cross-century government violence and oppression, Camila is a must watch for those interested in cinematic genius as well as Latin American history.

J. Edgar (2011)

By Dolph Briscoe IV

Academy Award-winning director Clint Eastwood presents a biopic of one of the most powerful and controversial figures of twentieth-century America in the film J. Edgar. Acclaimed actor Leonardo DiCaprio brilliantly portrays John Edgar Hoover, the first director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Eastwood and DiCaprio depict Hoover as a complicated individual, dedicated to modernizing crime investigation in the United States yet consumed with a desire for power, respect, and adoration. Hoover’s insecurities lead him to legal and ethical abuses of his authority, which cause great problems in both his personal life and professional legacy.

J. Edgar begins in the early 1960s, as an aging Hoover reflects upon his life to young agents writing a history of the FBI. Hoover grew up in Washington, D.C., the favored son of a domineering mother who continuously predicts that he will bring greatness to the family name. Such familial pressures cause Hoover to perpetually seek his mother’s approval throughout his life. While working in the Department of Justice following World War I, he catches the attention of Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer and plays a key role in the notorious Red Scare, hunting down and deporting individuals suspected of Bolshevist sympathies. Hoover’s experience with the Palmer Raids converts him into a strident anticommunist.

Following his successes during the Red Scare, Hoover becomes director of the Bureau of Investigation (which would become the FBI in the 1930s). Hoover immediately sets out to professionalize his agency. He only hires individuals of excellent physical stature who commit to complete loyalty to the Bureau above any other persons or goals in their lives. His organization practices the most advanced crime-fighting techniques, as Hoover rigorously studies the new sciences of fingerprinting and forensics. During these years, two critical people enter Hoover’s life, Helen Gandy and Clyde Tolson. Miss Gandy, as Hoover calls her, chooses to forego romantic relationships in order to dedicate herself totally to her work. Impressed by such conviction, Hoover hires her as his personal secretary. He also feels an instant connection with Clyde Tolson, a young law school graduate, whom he names as his right-hand man.

Hoover perceives leading the FBI as the vehicle to achieve glory for both himself and his family name. He also truly believes his agency serves as the watchdog for his beloved country’s safety. The film recalls many famous historical events. Hoover’s FBI investigates the kidnapping and murder of renowned aviator Charles Lindbergh’s baby, contentiously finding only one suspect in the crime. Agents battle organized crime, and bank robbers, like John Dillinger. Hoover himself markets the organization, supporting efforts to lionize his “G-Men” in both comic books and movies, often exaggerating his own personal role in suspenseful accounts of arrests.

Yet Hoover’s obsession with empowering his beloved FBI causes him serious problems and raises ethical questions. His fear of losing the directorship and anxiety about domestic subversives leads him, with the help of Miss Gandy, to create a secret file with salacious information about some of the most powerful people in America. In a reoccurring scene, the FBI leader meets with new presidents entering the White House and asserts his authority though barely veiled blackmail. In a flashback, a young Hoover visits President Franklin D. Roosevelt, inquiring about how to handle information he has obtained detailing First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt’s intimacy with another woman. Understanding Hoover’s purpose, FDR gives the Bureau even more autonomy.

Thirty years later, Robert F. Kennedy and Hoover engage in a tense meeting, where the new attorney general attempts to reassert the Department of Justice’s authority over the FBI. Hoover makes clear that he possesses files detailing President John F. Kennedy’s extramarital affairs, and is not afraid to make this information public. A disgusted Robert Kennedy acquiesces to Hoover’s demands, fearful of a scandal that could embarrass his brother. In another infamous episode, the FBI director bugs Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s hotel room, collects evidence of the civil rights leader’s marital infidelities, and unsuccessfully attempts to blackmail him to prevent King from accepting the Nobel Peace Prize.

Hoover’s weaknesses also cause conflict in his own personal life. Though doted upon by his mother, he seems incapable of ever fulfilling her high expectations. When the body of the abducted Lindbergh infant is found, Hoover’s mother chastises him for failing to save the child and condemns him as possessing blood on his hands. The FBI director struggles with romantic relationships. The film presents him as awkward around women, but illustrates the deep bond he develops with Clyde Tolson, long rumored to be Hoover’s lover. However, even with Tolson, Hoover often demonstrates cruelty and chooses solitude. Because of his mother’s harsh warning to avoid homosexual relationships, Hoover withholds affection from the ever loyal Tolson, whom he clearly loves. Likewise, when Tolson and Miss Gandy express concern regarding Hoover’s obsession with destroying Dr. King, the FBI director ruthlessly berates them for questioning his judgment.

At the film’s conclusion, Hoover remains concerned with the future of the FBI and his own legacy. Following a meeting with Richard Nixon, the FBI leader expresses alarm to Miss Gandy and Tolson about the new president’s lust for power. Eastwood presents Nixon as even more sinister and paranoid than Hoover. At his request, Miss Gandy promises Hoover that she will always protect his secret files, and thus the integrity of both the FBI and himself. Sure enough, when Hoover passes away a few years later, President Nixon, while publicly praising Hoover, vulgarly orders his aides to confiscate the secret FBI files. When Nixon’s men search through Hoover’s office, however, they only find empty file cabinets. The film then ends showing Miss Gandy privately shredding a mountain of documents. The credits note that only a few misfiled papers from Hoover’s collection were ever found. Even in death, J. Edgar Hoover once again asserts his power over a sitting American president.

J. Edgar omits several critical historical episodes. Eastwood does not address Hoover and the FBI’s role during World War II. Surprisingly, the film barely mentions the Second Red Scare and McCarthyism, surely a seminal period in the time of Hoover’s FBI directorship. Also, we see scant attention to the larger civil rights movement beyond Dr. King. What about the FBI’s surveillance of organizations like the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and the Black Panthers? Furthermore, how about FBI monitoring of antiwar groups during the Vietnam era? Certainly, a director can only cover so many stories in a movie, but these are important events, too.

Despite this minor criticism, Eastwood tells us much about the past that certainly is applicable today. The film’s central theme is power, and how its abuse can be very dangerous. Hoover’s lust for power causes him to breach legal and ethical boundaries, raising issues that continue to remain divisive among Americans. We live in a time when leaders, often in the name of national security, much like Hoover, utilize their powers with questionable methods. Much controversy surrounds the Patriot Act and electronic surveillance, supported by both Republican and Democratic administrations. Civil liberties in the age of terrorism, as in the Cold War era, again seem at risk. Hoover’s paranoia about subversives appears eerily similar to former Vice President Dick Cheney’s obsession with capturing suspected Islamic militants. What does it mean if, in our dedication to protect the United States, we violate the moral codes our country holds most dear?

J. Edgar is an excellent presentation of an individual and an organization which had profound, and controversial, influences upon American life in the twentieth century. Recalling many historical episodes with dazzling acting and fascinating storylines, viewers will find J. Edgar both intellectually stimulating and movingly entertaining.

Photo Credits
Uncredited photographer for Los Angeles Daily News, J. Edgar Hoover and his assistant Clyde Tolson, c 1939.
Abbie Rowe, John F. Kennedy, J. Edgar Hoover, Robert F. Kennedy, Oval Office, 1961
Yoichi. R. Okamoto, J. Edgar Hoover in the Oval Office, 1967

Two documentaries on Guatemala’s violent civil war

By Virginia Garrard-Burnett

Discovering Dominga (2003), directed by Patricia Flynn

Denese Joy Becker, a cosmotologist living in Iowa, was adopted as a child from Guatemala. Although she remembers nearly nothing about her past, a cousin from her American family realizes that Denese’s age corresponds with the period of la violencia in Guatemala. Denese and her adopted family travel to Guatemala, where she discovers she is Dominga Sic Ruiz, a survivor from a 1982 Guatemalan massacre in which both her parents were murdered by the Guatemalan military. The documentary recounts how Denese rediscovers her own identity as Dominga—an Achí Maya woman, and the horrendous political context that led to her being put up for adoption in the United States.

When the Mountains Tremble (1983), directed by Pamela Yates

This is a documentary about the armed conflict between the Guatemalan military and one of that nation’s most important armed guerrilla groups, the Ejercito Guerrillero de los Pobres (EGP), who in the context of this film are primarily indigenous people, the Maya. This documentary was made during the nadir of Guatemala’s 36-year long civil war, and includes remarkable footage from both sides of the conflict. It also includes narration by a very young Rigoberta Menchú Tum, the Ki’che’ Mayan activist who won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1992.

Virginia Garrard-Burnett recommends related books here in READ.

Film Review – Amigo (2011)

By Sarah Steinbock-Pratt

As an historian of American empire at the turn of the last century, I am constantly surprised by the number of people who have never heard that the United States annexed the Philippines at the end of the Spanish-American War in 1899. When I tell people about my research, they often have no idea this nation was in fact a formal empire from 1899 until 1946, when the Philippines achieved independence. This ignorance, perhaps, should not be shocking. Most textbooks and classes at the primary and secondary levels gloss over this crucial period of American history. Our popular culture has also all but ignored the Philippines as an American colonial possession. Empire does not fit into the narrative of the United States as a land of freedom and representative democracy; thus, it is left out. This is a disturbing omission precisely because most Americans, for better or worse, get much of their knowledge about the past from popular culture. Throughout the twentieth century, films like Birth of a Nation, Gone With the Wind, Saving Private Ryan, The Patriot, and even Forrest Gump have shaped the way that we remember and understand our past.

Into this void steps John Sayles’ Amigo, a beautiful film about the experience of one town during the Philippine-American War. The film opens in 1900 in San Isidro, on the island of Luzon. The Philippines have been annexed by the United States, and the Philippine Revolutionary Army has taken up arms again to fight its new colonial master. Rafael Dacanay (Joel Torre), the mayor of San Isidro, tries desperately to protect his town after American troops establish a garrison under the head of Lieutenant Compton (Garret Dillahunt). With his brother, Simón (Ronnie Lazaro), fighting with the Philippine Army, Rafael must walk an increasingly impossible line between his loyalties to the nationalist cause and the need to keep the Americans happy in order to shield himself and those he loves.

In depicting an events that have been generally ignored in popular culture, Sayles takes on a herculean task. Knowing that his audience likely lacks the historical knowledge to put this film in context, Sayles keeps Amigo moving along at a brisk pace, fitting an impressive amount of information into his story. And Sayles has clearly done his homework – there are many moments in the film that feel authentic, including the playing of “A Hot Time in the Old Town,” which, anecdotal references attest, was played so often by American troops that some Filipinos believed it to be the national anthem.

Sayles also stresses the link between the Philippine-American War and America’s previous imperial struggle – the conquest of Native American tribes on the frontier. The last major battle of the Indian Wars was the massacre at Wounded Knee in 1890, only a decade before the United States turned its eyes toward a Pacific empire. Sayles highlights the fact that many of the soldiers and officers fought against Native Americans in the West were later sent to fight in the Philippines. This experience fighting on the frontier provided a lens through which the military understood their role in the islands, as shown by an early scene in the film, in which a soldier complains to Colonel Hardacre, “It’s awful hard to tell the Indians from the Amigos.”

Sayles doesn’t demonize the American soldiers, however; indeed, his portrayal is perhaps a little too sympathetic. If the movie has a villain, it could be the Dickensian-named, hard-boiled Colonel Hardacre, who informs Lieutenant Compton that he is there “to make war on these people.” But for the most part, one is left with the impression that the soldiers and townspeople could have come together to rebuild San Isidro if they’d just been left alone by the military higher ups. Mention is made of burning down houses, which did happen early on as a counterinsurgent technique and then later as part of a sanitation campaign against cholera, but we never see this act of violence being carried out.

The Occupation of San Isidro in Amigo

Equally absent is the violence that was directed at Filipino women during the occupation. The sweet, awkward romance between Gil and Azalea, ignores the violence involved in many such encounters, either directly, through the raping of Filipino women, or through the coercive power of money and food on families that were desperate and starving. This toned-down portrayal of the soldiers may have been necessary for them to be accepted as sympathetic figures – it is hard to see the humanity of a man who kills or rapes an innocent civilian. But it ignores the abuses of power that occurred at the local level, on the initiative of individual soldiers and officers — a very real part of the true horror of war.

Also missing from the film is a sense of the varied cast of characters that would have been present during this period. We see white American soldiers, Tagalog-speaking Filipinos, Chinese workers, and several Spaniards. There is some mention of intermarriage between Filipinos and Chinese, and Macabebe Scouts are present in the film. But a full sense of the utter complexity encompassed by the marker “Filipino,” is not really depicted. Despite the real tensions between all three groups, Filipinos, Spaniards, and the Chinese had been intermarrying for generations. And that’s not even taking into account the hundreds of different ethnic and language groups spread throughout the islands.

The movie also leaves out the fact that four regular regiments of African American soldiers were sent to the Philippines: the 9th and 10th Cavalry Regiments, and the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments, as well as several other volunteer regiments. These soldiers faced a difficult situation, charged with waging war on a colonized population while racial violence was on the rise at home. The link between the oppression of African Americans and Filipinos was clear in the tendency of white soldiers to use the epithet “nigger” to refer to Filipinos as well as their black compatriots. The 24th Infantry, moreover, participated in the capture of San Isidro in 1899, and was stationed in Nueva Ecija. Indeed, the famed David Fagen, an African American who defected to the Philippine Army, was a member of the 24th Infantry, and operated as a leader of Filipino guerilla forces in that province until his supposed death in 1901.

Sayles is most deeply interested in the impossible situations in which the characters find themselves: the residents of San Isidro, who must negotiate between both the revolutionaries and the American military, and the soldiers themselves, who come under increased pressure to pacify the town and end the armed resistance. This is highlighted in a scene which cuts back and forth between Lieutenant Compton reading General Order 100 and a general in the Philippine Army reading out an order from Emilio Aguinaldo, both of which threaten death as retribution for civilians caught aiding the other, aptly capturing the ultimate, bloody tragedy of war: there are no innocent bystanders, and civilians caught between two armies often suffer the greatest losses.

Despite its flaws, Amigo is a remarkable film, especially because of its focus on a Filipino character, its strong Filipino cast and the use of Tagalog for at least half of the dialogue of the film. There have been only three other American films made to date about the Philippine-American War: The Real Glory (1939), Cavalry Command (1963), and This Bloody Blundering Business (1971), none of which used Filipino actors.

Amigo will be no blockbuster, but it ought to be required viewing for all Americans. Not only does the film do a better job than most historical dramas in accurately depicting the past, its relevance to the present is clear. As an historian, I sincerely hope that I am wrong, and that Amigo will garner the attention and accolades it deserves. If it does, perhaps the next time that I explain my dissertation to a new friend, they’ll nod and say, “Oh, sure. I know about that.”

Official Website of Amigo

Photo Credits:

All photos from the official Amigo website

Sankofa (1993)

By Daina Ramey Berry and Jermaine Thibodeaux

In this 1993 film by Ethiopian-born filmmaker Haile Gerima, a modern-day, fashion model is transported to the past to experience the traumas of American chattel slavery. It is only through her return to the past that she can move forward, hence the name of the film, Sankofa, an Akan word meaning “go back and take” or “go back to move forward.” The film opens with a photo shoot on the coast of Ghana on the grounds of a fortification (read castle/dungeon) used to house African captives prior to being forcibly transported to new world plantations. Zola, the main character, is forced back in time to an isolated sugar plantation. There she learns the power of family, community, and even rebellion as she and other members of the enslaved community seek their freedom through solidarity and decisive action. This is the closest film rendition of slavery since the 1977 television mini-series Roots. Gerima, a Howard University professor, did much to ensure that his portrayal of the institution of slavery and the presentation of African cultural traditions were as close to reality as possible.

Teza, another film directed by Haile Gerima

The bookstore, gallery and cafe, Sankofa, established by Gerima

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