Relationship Spotlight: Strika & Agu (Beasts of No Nation)

This is maybe an odd relationship to write about from this movie, since the totally frakked-up, bizarre father-son Stolkholm Syndrome relationship between the Commandant and Agu is clearly the center of the film.  However, as understated as the bond between Agu and Strika is by comparison, for me, it’s the film’s heart (some spoilers.)

In a way, Strika is just one more piece of the paradoxical honey trap that is the Commandant’s forces.  While the Commandant steps forward as a twisted father figure to fill the void of Agu’s recently-murdered father, Strika is offered up as a sort of surrogate brother.  Many of the other soldiers are older than Agu and intimidate him, but with Strika, there’s a chance that he might prove a friend to Agu.  And so, this boy becomes another element luring Agu into a false sense of belong, kinship, even normalcy.  Playing with Strika, fighting alongside him, and seeing how he cares for Agu, the hooks of the rebel army sink deeper into Agu’s skin, making it that much harder to run away.

Despite Strika’s youth, he’s a more “seasoned” soldier than Agu is and is therefore a good choice to further indoctrinate him into the army.  Strika has already been pulled under the Commandant’s riptide, and he’s hardened himself to the blood that’s stained his hands.  He can show Agu the ropes and watch his back when they’re in a hot spot.  It would be hard for Agu to compare himself to the older, bigger soldiers, but looking at Strika, you can see how Agu might think, “I could be like him.”  It’s certainly in the Commandant’s best interests that Agu and Strika become friends.

But it’s more than that, because no matter how advantageous it is for the Commandant’s machinations, the friendship that forms between Agu and Strika is true, and the Commandant can’t touch that.  In some stories, Agu and Strika might have given one another the will they needed to break free and escape the army, but here, they’re instead one another’s means of clinging on.  They talk – or rather, Agu talks, while the mute Strika communicates in other ways – skirting around the enormity of the issues that have upended their lives.  They doplay, finding flashes of moments in which they can feel like children and, maybe just for a minute or two, forget the horror of their existence.  They protect each other, both physically and emotionally.  After the abuse Agu suffers, you know that he needs more than the quiet, non-judging companionship Strika gives him, but it’s all either of them have, and so they figure out how to sustain Agu with it.

Beasts of No Nation is a heavy film with many hard-hitting scenes, but the one that gets to me the most is easily the last scene shared between Agu and Strika.  In a cruel, violent, unjust world in which people exploit them and risk their lives in the name of someone else’s agenda, in which no one cares whether they live or die, they care about each other.  In the midst of all the darkness, brief points of light.

Call the Midwife (2012-Present)

I picked up this British period drama a couple years ago on Netflix.  I’d heard good things about it, and after An Adventure in Space and Time, I was definitely pro-Jessica Raine, who played the amazing Verity Lambert there and plays the initial audience-viewpoint character Jenny here.  It started slow for me, but before long, I was all in.

In 1957, Jenny Lee, newly trained as a midwife, arrives in London’s East End to serve the residents of the working-class neighborhood.  She lives at Nonnatus House, an Anglican convent, with her fellow nurses and a number of medically-trained nuns.  Jenny and the other women at Nonnatus enter expectant and new mothers’ homes when they’re at their most vulnerable, guiding them through their struggles, encouraging them through their fears, and sharing with them in both their joy and heartbreak.  The midwives are privy to everything from the most terrifying medical complications to the most intimate secrets, and it’s their job to remain strong and calm throughout, showing compassion rather than condemnation.

Call the Midwife is what I’d call a “Kleenex show.”  SIDS, severe congenital disabilities, spouse abuse, post-partum depression, abject poverty, mid-century racism, criminal negligence, social outcasting – nothing is off the table, and that’s before you take into account some of the past and present trials endured by the midwives themselves.  It’s not always sad, but it’s always touching (moments of pure happiness and resilience in the face of immense struggles can be just as affecting as the tragic parts,) and its ability to “get you right in the feels” just might be unparalleled on television.  Certain episodes of other shows might wreck me more, but this one probably wrecks me the most consistently.

All the main characters are terrific.  Though the series starts with Jenny at its center, it quickly morphs into an ensemble show, and I love basically all of them.  Even midwives that I was unsure about at first – I was initially a little meh on Trixie (blasphemy, I know,) and I wasn’t sure what to make of Nurse Crane – have rapidly grown in my estimation (Trixie rocks, and this past season, Nurse Crane might have become one of my favorites.)  Each of these women is richly multifaceted, with her own strength and fragility, and this is one of the few shows out there that can handle major cast departures (permanent, temporary, or switching from regular to recurring) without taking a hit.  Whenever a new midwife is brought in, she’s soon established as someone who genuinely brings something different to the show, with no sense that she’s the “new” whoever left; she’s always her own person.

Lastly, much love for how the series deals with religion, particularly in light of all the scandalous stuff the midwives see in their work on the East End.  The nuns are never judgmental toward their patients, no matter what they’ve done, and they regularly turn to prayer to help them through difficult times.  Very respectfully done.

Warnings

Medical stuff (including zillions of labors, blood, bodily fluids, festering injuries, and references to enemas,) sexual reference, drinking/smoking, some violence, and strong thematic elements.

Top Five Songs: Dessa Rose

As far as Ahrens & Flaherty musicals go, Dessa Rose is a little hit-or-miss for me, but as is usual with this composing duo, when they’re on, they’re reallyon.  Here are my favorite songs from the show.

“Ol’ Banjar” – I feel Dessa Rose puts a bit too shiny a veneer on its story at times, but even though this is an upbeat song, it works for me.  That’s because it’s specifically about clinging to the few good things that make life bearable, and for Kaine, that’s two things:  music and Dessa Rose.  The simple but lovely tune fits it to a tee.

Best line:  “Ain’t no white folks down in Africa, / Ain’t no white folks near or far. / You own yourself / And you own your soul / and the music of ol’ banjar.”

“Something of My Own” – Just like music gives Kaine happiness, Dessa Rose’s unborn child gives her both hope and strength.  Her ode to how her child is already changing her and everything she’ll do on its behalf (especially her vow to “only name him free”) is gorgeous.

Best line:  “I could be as strong as thunder / With his hand in mine. / Tear the very storm asunder. / Make the sun to shine.”

“Twelve Children” – The Act I finale is a stunning showcase for Dessa Rose, introducing her newborn daughter to the stories of all the family she’s lost.  This beautifully-understated song validates Dessa Rose’s lost brothers and sisters, despite the repeated indifference of the white masters.

Best line:  “Some sold away. / Some passed away. / Some run. / Twelve children brought from her body. / All gone but one.”

“Better If I Died” – This is such a great drama!! song, with a strong driving rhythm and fantastic harmonies between Ruth and Dessa Rose.  It’s a fine release for everything that’s been building up between them in the second act.

Best line:  “Nothing more to ruin. / Nothing left to say…” – “Nothing left to take away.”

“Just over the Line” – Full disclosure:  I mostly love this song because the chorus is so blame catchy.  It pulls me in every time.  Plot-wise, I find it fairly incredulous, but ooh!  That music, especially when Nathan sings it; in general, I don’t think the show makes great use of Norm Lewis’s talents, but he’s just wonderful here.

Best line:  “Tuscaloosa, Pickens, Greene. / Counties we ain’t never seen. / But look who’s here! / Just over the line.”

Notes on “That Scene” in Black Swan

If you’ve seen Black Swan, you know what I’m talking about.  If you haven’t, 1) there’s a good chance you’ve still heard of the scene, and 2) this is your official spoiler warning.  I myself had heard of it before I saw the film, and it in fact added to my interest in seeing it, but afterwards, while I thought the scene itself was cool and well-done, I found it problematic within the greater context of the film.

The scene in question, with a little added backdrop, is this.  Nina has been working herself ragged trying to portray the thrilling, seductive Black Swan character in Swan Lake, and her director takes every opportunity to remind her that, in order to dance the part, she needs to tap into her darker impulses, and as is, she’s too “pure” and “fragile” to embody the character.  Trying to take that advice, she defies her obsessively-controlling mother to spend a night on the town with fellow dancer Lily, who’s everything Nina thinks she needs to be as the Black Swan.  Under Lily’s influence, Nina finally lets loose, drinking, getting high, and dancing in a club instead of in a rehearsal studio.  When they head back to Nina’s apartment, they lock themselves in Nina’s bedroom.  With an aggressively hungry look, Nina approaches Lily and they begin to make out.  Lily pushes Nina onto the bed and goes down on her, and Nina is sexually gratified for almost certainly the first time in her life.

Like I said, the scene is well-shot and effective.  Prior to Orange is the New Black and Game of Thrones, I’d noted multiple times how sterile and off-camera virtually every female/female sex scene I’d ever seen seemed to be, and this was a definite exception: steamy, non-coy, and, due to Nina’s increasingly-intrusive hallucinations, kind of trippy.  (Side note – generally speaking, I’d rate Orange is the New Black’s female/female sex scenes much higher than Game of Thrones’s, since the latter’s tend to feel much more exploitative and male-gaze-focused.)  However, its implications within the rest of the film give me pause.

First, it takes the already-troubling idea of the Black Swan into even more uncomfortable territory.  The Black Swan is the White Swan’s evil twin, and other than the different color and the scary makeup, literally the only way Nina’s director describes this inherent darkness and danger is through the Black Swan’s seductive sexuality.  In contrast with the gentle, virginal White Swan, it’s the Madonna-whore complex cranked up to eleven.  Equating female sexuality with “evilness” or “darkness” is such an ugly notion, anyway, but when Nina gets in touch with her “dark side” by sleeping with a woman, it mixes in an extra helping of the damaging idea that LGBTQ sexuality is more “sinful” than its heteronormative counterpart.  It reminds me of the very unfortunate period of House in which the bisexual Thirteen has one-night-stands with women when she’s in a self-destructive downward spiral and monogamously dates her (male) coworker Foreman when she’s in a better place emotionally.

The scene is further complicated by the fact that it apparently didn’t happen; when Nina tries to talk to Lily about it the next day, the other dancer is puzzled and ultimately realizes that Nina must have had a “lezzie wet dream” about her.  So sleeping with Lily isn’t just representative of Nina’s “dark side” – it’s also a drug-induced fantasy and/or further evidence of Nina’s actual descent into madness.  This is female/female attraction as a metaphor, and not an encouraging one, rather than simply a trait of the character, and that bothers me.

Beautiful Boxer (2004)

This is a flawed but interesting film about an even more interesting true story.  Beautiful Boxer chronicles the early life and fame of Nong Toom, a transgender teenager in Thailand who pays for her transition surgery by joining the world of professional Muay Thai kickboxing.  (Note:  the main character’s name is given as both Nong Toom and Parinya Charoenphol.  However, she uses a variety of names in and out of the ring, and for the sake of simplicity, I’m going to use “Toom.”  That would normally give me pause, since it’s her birth name, but even the real boxer’s Wikipedia page regularly uses it, so I think it’s probably okay?  No offense intended.)

From a very young age, Nong Toom realizes she isn’t a boy like everyone thinks.  Due to her family’s poverty, she thinks that having gender reassignment and “becoming a real woman” is just a pipe dream, until she discovers an unlikely talent:  Muay Thai.  She’s by no means a naturally violent person, but the promise of quick money through competitive kickboxing draws her in and she joins a training camp in the hopes of providing for her parents and funding her transition.  Along the way, she becomes hugely famous for her “gimmick” of wearing makeup in the ring.

It’s that last part that intrigues me the most.  Toom’s trainer is anxious to discover a boxer with a “hook,” and Toom’s secret love of makeup and female clothes seems to provide just that.  She’s a sensation, gaining instant notoriety and sparking debate over whether it’s just an act for publicity or if she’s a real “transvestite” (that’s the word the movie continually uses, although I’m not sure if that’s the actual concept they mean or if it’s just what they picked for the English subtitles.)  At first, it looks like it means Toom gets to be herself in the ring, but it’s a very limited, exaggerated “version” of herself, one that spurs scandal and mockery.  Not to mention, obviously, it’s motivated by someone else’s need for a gimmick and thus ripe for exploitation.

The toxic masculinity on display is both potent and ugly.  The more stereotypically-feminine Toom looks or acts in the ring, the harder her opponents kick her.  They shout transphobic insults at her and constantly try to tear her down, try to make her afraid of them, but these actions reflect their fears, not hers.  Yes, part of it is the self-assurance that they won’t be beaten by a “transvestite” coupled with the paradoxical terror that they will, just as part of it is a more general fear and hatred of what they don’t understand.  It’s so interesting that this brusque, hyper-masculine road is the one Toom takes to facilitate her transition.

While the themes are really neat (if, at times, conveyed a little heavy-handedly) and the Muay Thai is pretty cool, I’d say the overall quality of the film is a bit middling.  This is the first Thai movie I’ve ever seen, so I can’t say how it holds up comparably from a production standpoint, but it feels a little chintzy to me.  It’s like they have a good story but not quite the means to tell it properly, and that mutes its effect somewhat.

Warnings

Sexual references, boxing violence, language, drinking, and thematic elements.

Relationship Spotlight: Adan & Laila (A Stray)

If I recall correctly, the only other Relationship Spotlight I’ve done on a human-animal duo was Friendless and Brown Eyes from Go West.  I’ve gotta figure that, once I’ve done “a boy and his cow,” it’s only logical to circle back and do “a boy and his dog.”  Of course, in this case, we don’t see the “man’s best friend” dynamic at work in the typical way (some spoilers.)

Right from the start, Adan wants nothing to do with the dog that will eventually come to be known as Laila.  Not that he means her any harm – it’s a complete accident that he runs into her with his car, but if it weren’t the passing pedestrian who sees what happened urging him to do his Christian duty (figuratively speaking,) it’s hard to say what he would have done.  Would he still have taken her to the vet and then wound up getting stuck with her?  As it is, he at first argues to the pedestrian, “I’m not touching that!” and even as he begrudgingly acquiesces to helping Laila, he makes good on his initial claim:  he throws a spare shirt over her so he can retrieve her from beneath the car without touching her with his bare skin.

Because of dogs being unclean in Somali culture, this use of makeshift “barriers” whenever Adan has to touch Laila is a recurring theme.  He uses the shirt a lot, either specifically to pick her up or try and hide her when he doesn’t want someone to know he has a dog with him.  He also takes to carrying her around in a small duffel bag with only her head poking out, and even then, he has words with her when he thinks her head is too close to him, twisting the duffel bag around and exhorting her to “face that way!”  Eventually, he gets a leash for her and lets her run around at a dog park, but he freaks when he sits down on the grass to rest and she comes running up to him.

Laila, of course, is blissfully devoted to Adan.  No matter how clearly he conveys his alternating digust, wariness, and alarm, she adores him.  When he tries to drop her off somewhere, she trots after him until he gives in, and she deploys her puppy eyes with ruthless efficiency.  It’s such a great depiction of unconditional dog love, and it’s really sweet to see her gradually wear down his defenses.

But the operative word here is “gradual.”  Adan goes through a lot on Laila’s behalf and every fed-up “I’m done!” moment always ends with him taking her back, but that doesn’t mean it’s all sunshine and roses.  This might sound really awful, but I love that he continues to bag on her even as he finds himself caring for her, very tentatively starting to play with her, and even naming her.  In a casual, offhand tone, he keeps up a running commentary reminding her that she’s ugly, has no brain, and is completely useless as a pet.  It’s something about that curmudgeon/softie dichotomy, because although he does take care of her and gets his life turned completely upside down on her behalf, it’s not because she’s won him over, not entirely.  Maybe it’s Adan clinging to his last vestiges of distance, putting her down to remind himself that he doesn’t like dogs.  It’s also worth noting that, while his words aren’t nice, his tone is fine.  He’s conversational, talking to her like a person even as he complains that dogs are stupid and have no language, and she doesn’t hear anything amiss in the sound of his voice.  I don’t know, but for whatever reason, it’s weirdly charming to me.