Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera: The King And I (1956)

Appropriation has been a rather significant point of conversation as I have navigated through this month of musicals, most notably as it relates to the American South and the pictorial depictions both post-War African-American communities, or more commonly the lack of depictions in favor of things like blackface and hyper-performative elements by the few black actors and performers who were able to make a name for themselves in a white entertainment business.  Not known for their particularly subversive depictions of gender, race and by extension class, I knew that the engagement with the Rodgers and Hammerstein fare that was to be The King and I would not be the most ideal of situations.  While Yul Brynner does an exceptional job in the film, met with an equally paced performance on the part of Deborah Kerr, the film does suffer a bit from a dated insight into how to properly depict a country that is less than familiar to the Western world.  There is a high sense of absurdism at play in the film, where joking passes and barbarism on the part of the Siam persons on display takes on a rather blatant and unfortunate level of Orientalism.  I say unfortunate because much like the blackface performances of eras earlier, The King and I is a visually perfected film that happens to incorporate rhetoric and performance that would, and should, be considered racist and sexist in a contemporary setting.  Like The Jazz Singer though, the film represents a considerable shift in the language of cinema, here not so much as a matter of technological advancement, but is instead in direct relationship to shifting understandings of narrative construction and what place a musical interlude can play into a narrative.  I would place this in a similar space as Black Narcissus although that Powell and Pressburger film exists in a world all its own, the only real significant connections being the lead actress and a considerable layer of Western encounters the East through institutionalized colonial movement.  Watching The King and I with a critical eye can prove a rewarding experience, one that is accepting of its ethical problems, while also enamored with its visual audacity.

The King and I centers on the life of Siam dignitary and decided egomaniac King Mongkut (Yul Brynner) whose recent dirge of children, 106 altogether, paired with an expanding world of Western influence, cause him to agree to hire on a teacher for his various children and wives.  The woman hired is Anna Leonowens (Deborah Kerr) who along with her son Louis (Rex Thompson) take to Siam only to discover a world far apart from their demure British life.  Mongkut is a highly assertive figure, demanding complete humility by all those involved, including the equally confrontational Anna, seeing her status as a woman as a thing to serve his male privilege. Furthermore, considering the rather solitary space of Siam, Mongkut has a very limited understanding of the Western world, pulling much of his knowledge from The Bible, whose words are confounding and particularly confusing, when Anna begins to teach his children and wives about the world of science, contradicting the religious text blatantly.  Mongkut is further frustrated by Anna's use of Uncle Tom's Cabin in her curriculum, both in its message about slavery, as well as in the realization that it was written by a woman.  Nonetheless, through some sacrificing of dignity, Anna is able to convince Mongkut of the benefit of her education, while also preparing the somewhat brutish king for a visit by other British dignitaries, one that requires considerable posture training on his part amongst other points of etiquette.  Indeed, it is during their visit that both Anna and Mongkut come to realize that they want similar things, both for themselves and their children to be respected, leading to a unified effort to impress the British by what Siam offers.  Mongkut's various wives and children then put on an ballet adaptation of Uncle Tom's Cabin that is complete with replacing the figure of God with that of Buddha, although the entire performance nearly derails when one of Mongkut's more outspoken wives calls attention to her own status as servant.  While this is corrected, the remainder of the even goes off successfully and Mongkut comes aware to his own aggression and oppressive behavior, which is fortunate as he is very close to dying.  It is indeed in this moment of death that Anna agrees to stay on as an educator, while the previously male-minded king appoints one of his daughters as the new leader of Siam, her first act to remove any act that would create a stander of lesser than another.

While much of the narrative is about issues of appropriation, it is equally so about bargaining with powerful forces, or more specifically patriarchy in a Western context.  Both Anna and Mongkut represent figures who are oppressed in various ways.  As a widowed mother, Anna is allowed very little mobility, particularly in 1860's England, where her economic privilege is inherently tied to a male figure and little was placed on the issue of divorce, death or any situation that might remove that access.  As such the seemingly absurd act of seeking out employment in Siam is met with necessity.  While Mongkut might also seem like a figure of power, it only extends to the space of his incredibly small kingdom, one that is sheltered from the Western world and subject to the eyes of greedy colonizing bodies who see he and his barbaric land as a thing in need of reform to reflect the Christian, Western ideal.  Anna realizes that her financial safety is contingent on Mongkut continuing to keep her employed, therefore she plays into his demands for keeping her head at a lower place than his, while also knowing it is nothing more than a bargaining chip to remain employed, while also subversively teaching the various women in the kingdom of their ability to rebel.  Mongkut is not ignorant to all this by any means and does seem quite hesitant to embrace such a set of teaching, however, he is also bargaining with his own status as a body that is threatened by colonization.  He knows that to teach according to what he believes would make his family look foolish, but he also seems quite aware that he is working with a woman who will be capable of teaching he and his family to fend for themselves in the corrupt world of colonization and imperialist movement.  This all coalesces in the bargaining of the Uncle Tom's Cabin narrative to reconsider the element of servant in a colonial context, by reappropriating the image of the African-American slave to represent Siam, one that further extends to allegorically consider one of Mongkut's wives.  While he is initially frustrated by such a confrontation, he is able to come to a realization of his own problematic oppression in the process.  Here the bargaining is provided with a positive outcome, tragically such maneuvers do not always play out as successfully.

Key Scene:  The entire Uncle Tom's Cabin sequence is quite stunning and aside from its problematic elements, one of the more intriguing rewordings of a narrative I have seen to date.

This is an easy thing to obtain on DVD, but is probably worth renting before owning.

Oh What A Beautiful Morning, Oh What A Beautiful Day: Oklahoma! (1955)

Leave it to Oklahoma! to simultaneously possess one of what I now find to be the greatest moments in cinema, as well as one of the most singularly offensive occurrences as well.  I figure I will start with the bad first and simply get it out of the way.  There is a character Ali Hakim (Eddie Albert) who is intended to be a Persian goods peddler.  If it were not enough that it is played by a white guy, the acting choice in terms of accents Albert appropriates is one of an Irish person.  If it were not enough to assume that this accent would suffice, it is also a terribly stereotypical accent no less, evoking the Lucky Charms leprechaun and leading to a lot of face palming on my part throughout.  However, this inconvenience was quickly overshadowed by the presence of the lecherously delightful Rod Steiger, who makes his traditional brutishness work while also managing to delight with some talk singing in the vein of opera that made my bizarre cinephile self as giddy as can be.  These are two polar opposites, however, and certainly probably affect only my personal response to the film.  What I can say more generally about the film is that it is one of great genre hybridity that makes the previously enjoyable Seven Brides for Seven Brothers seem simple although still good.  The dance choreography within this film possesses such a flow and scope that its major sequence prior to the intermission makes for an experience equal to Singin' In the Rain or The Red Shoes thus begging, if not outwardly demanding that it earn its own high definition upgrade.  The music in Oklahoma! is also decidedly iconic and aside from the title song, I had no clue that "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" came from this of all musicals.  Between its inclusion of an overture and intermission and some rather evocative ballet sequences, this is both precisely what I expected to experience when undertaking this marathon, while also proving to be curious in its departure from the natural order of the genre.  I would assume it to be a result of also pulling from the western canon.  Either way, what Oklahoma! offers is enjoyable, although normative, made all the more endearing by the ways in which it is distinctly a product of the mid fifties both in subject matter and visual compostion.

Oklahoma! centers on a community in, as the title suggests, the still expanding Oklahoma, here in the middle of westward expansion, wherein a space like Kansas serves a point of idealism both for well-established business persons and struggling farmhands.  As such rough and tumble cowboy Curly McLain (Gordon MacRae) proves the fitting example of the town, looking to make a name for himself with little money, while also winning the heart of local girl Laurey Williams (Shirley Jones).  Of course, this task is not quite that simple as Laurey also proves the point of desire her Aunt Eller's (Charlotte Greenwood) hired farmhand Jud Fry (Rod Steiger).  Using guile and charm, however, Curly pushes towards a reality where he can win the hand of Laurey and, subsequently, settle down into a worthwhile life.  Another portion of the narrative centers on the shrill, but desirable Annie Carnes (Gloria Grahame) seeking out her own relationship, longing to be with Perisian peddler Ali Hakim, while ignoring her family's promise that should the seemingly worthless Will Parker (Gene Nelson) actually attain enough money that he can earn her hand in marriage.  Working through the various holidays and festivals in the territory the push and pull of the dueling relationships comes to full steam, with Curly finally attaining a return affection from Laurey much to the Chagrin of Jud who vows to earn her hand by any means necessary, while Annie plays oblivious to the continually lecherous nature of Ali, while stifling all the advances by well meaning Will Parker.  When it seems as though Jud will attain the last say in marrying Laurey a desperate Curly sells everything he has to his name to win her hand, leading to the frustrated Jud exacting a fiery revenge, only to literally fall on his own knife in the process.  Annie comes to see the earnestness of Will, while Ali ends up becoming involved, by gunpoint, in a marriage one that is to a women whose charms are overshadowed by her rather unfortunate laugh.  In the closing moments, highly idyllic as they may be, Curly and Laurey are shown riding off into the sunset in a white carriage that the young cowboy had promised earlier in the film.

This film is delightful, it is really hard not to become engrossed in the visual sensibilities and the generally sumptuous nature of the Technicolor process, even if one is watching the particular film at a bizarre 30 frames per second.  However, it should be noted that the hybridity at play here comes from what may well be the two most heteronormative genres in all of film.  The western, while quite often existing in a space of the masculine, nonetheless, ascribes to a certain self/other sensibility that is very much on display in the likes of Shane and Rio Bravo, but is also capable of being subverted in works like Johnny Guitar, or in extreme opposite something like Brokeback Mountain.  This is more so the case for musicals wherein romantic connection is almost a necessity for an engaging story, particularly since musicals in their various heydays served as pointed escapist cinema.  I would posit that in many ways Oklahoma! is the worst combination of these two worlds, demanding that figures like Curly and Annie seek out the most obvious forms of relationships, so much so that they should destroy all sense of their material and emotional selves in the process, Curly doing everything short of selling the shirt off of his back to simply attain a date with Laurey, while Annie admits to being narcissistic when it comes to her desire for men, treating their comparisons of her as a sweet thing to be consumed as endearing and not pure, unadulterated objectification.  I know that it might be coming from a space of love for Rod Steiger, but I almost wonder if his character is not intended to represent some degree of othered desire, one that is well meaning but inexplicable in the space of the doubly heteronormative, indeed, the associations with a fiery death evoke something like a Frankenstein imagery and his lurching, groaning singing only emphasize this possibility.  Furthermore, while I would love to extend the same consideration to the figure of Ali, he is both a terrible misogynist and a figure whose cast in the very oppressive shadow of an orientalist understanding of the foreigner, resulting in a figure who acts both highly offensive and is depicted as offensive.  There is no desiring differently in the space of Oklahoma! because it is as normative of a film as one can find.  Indeed, that is what makes it so curious to watch, as it represents both a singular moment in American culture, while also showing the power of film to promote ideals even if unintentionally.

Key Scene:  The dance sequence prior to intermission is stunning.  Absolutely awe-inspiring.

This is a great film, one that is egregiously problematic though.  However, it is currently only available on DVD and begs to be upgraded.  As such renting it is the appropriate option.

Life Is NOT A Malfunction: Short Circuit (1986)

I am wholly aware that there are some incredibly absurd movies that made their self aware during the 1980's, indeed, I have even gone so far as to review many of them, almost always with loving admiration or an unhealthy attachment, especially if said films involve things like cocaine smuggling ninjas or satellite based aliens consuming orgy minded suburban parents.  These movies were weird and did not necessarily acquire anything beyond the obvious cult status associated, however, Short Circuit is a film that has managed to retains most of its respect and was decidedly successful upon its initial release could out do every other film in its notes of the absurd.  Indeed, Short Circuit is perhaps the most bizarre film to come from the 80's not in that it exists alone, but that it was so successful.  Between some wonderful smirking by eternal heartthrob The Gutt, one of the more curious performances of Ally Sheedy's career one can pick apart its obvious attractions.  Everything else is completely an enigma though, notably the bizarrely Orientalist spin on the major foreign character within the film, not to mention a decidedly confusing and ethically problematic take on robotics, sentience and human bonding.  I assume this film is intended to be comedic, however, I could not begin to unpack the ramifications and implications of approaching such movie with an awareness that it is chuckling at such deeply social woes.  In contrast to Ally Sheedy's involvement in say WarGames, one almost thinks that Short Circuit is in bad taste, and I would certainly make this claim were it made in any other year than 1986.  It is in this unabashed push towards complete absurdity that one is able to truly appreciate Short Circuit, because what one paper should come off as complete and irreverent politically incorrect satire manages to take on a knowing level of self-awareness, wherein each glance of humor on the part of Steve Guttenberg and moment pun-infested dialogue manages to say everything about an era where excess and decadence were simply a fact and any point of lack or oppression was ignored or made to be a point of frustration.  In the very choice to ignore any palpable reality Short Circuit reconsiders the ability and execution of satire.  It is bad, it is wildly problematic, but it is also delightful.

Short Circuit focuses on the American governments most recent attempts at launching a series of former Cold War robots, known collectively as the S.A.I.N.T. program, as service industry robots.  This appears to be an ideal situation as the precision and focus affords the robots to do both very general tasks as well as specific, detailed endeavors.  Yet, when an intense lighting storm hits the factories, one robot is electrocuted a la Frankenstein and breaks free from the space.  In doing so, the war division of the government goes wild fearing that the number five division of the robot will destroy everything in its path, as the lightning resulted in an overriding of its circuits and reverting to its former Cold War programing.  To make matters worse the robot is equipped with a laser capable of destroying any item nearly instantaneously.  The robot becomes a point of fascination for its creator Dr. Newton Crosby (Steve Guttenberg) who sees this "glitch" as a movement towards a higher degree of sentience, particularly with Number 5 rewires his own switchboard to assure his livelihood.  Eventually, Number 5 travels far enough to meet with food truck entrepreneur and lively twenty something Stephanie Speck (Ally Sheedy) who immediately assumes the robot to be a form of extraterrestrial life, becoming visibly upset when it proves to be the far less exciting government weapon of mass destruction.  Yet, realizing that Number 5 truly desires to become "alive" Stephanie takes it upon herself to teach and train Number 5 while also helping to avoid his own disassembly, or, in human terms, death.  All the while, Dr. Crosby and his wise-cracking Indian assistant Ben (Fisher Stevens) attempt to track down Number 5 with the most advance positioning technology possible.  Eventually, they are able to track down the robot and discover him deep in training with Stephanie, as well as attached in a manner that is noticeably more than platonic.  However, Crosby and Ben realize that Number 5 is indeed advanced and capable of self-control, so much so that when the government eventually attacks Number 5 it proves to be a decoy created by the very robot who has become hyper-sentient.  The film closes with Number 5 assigning itself with the name Johnny 5 and becoming the pal of Crosby, Ben and Stephanie, assumedly planning on undertaking a series of new journeys, a fact shown in the multiple sequels that followed.

I am currently pinpointing my research interests within the field of film studies and, as I have noted earlier, this includes South Korean cinema.  However, realizing that just having a regional focus does not entirely suffice for the deeper I delve into school, I have decided to also focus on the ways in which gendering and body politics emerge within films about beings that are non theoretically human, including things like cyborgs, robots and dolls which become sentient.  As such, much to my surprise and elation, Short Circuit very much fits within this new vein of research, especially in regards to the gendering of Johnny 5, who moves from being a purely servile non-human other to that of a war based threat to eventually being a thing of fraternal and pseudo-sexual interest to at least two characters in the film.  In theory, Johnny 5 should not be a figure with a specific gender, but it is rather clear from the onset that viewers are supposed to define him as masculine, whether it be a result of his phallic like laser or his male-inclined vocal pattern, his gender is fixated within the masculine, making its creation by Dr. Crosby and the American government all the more ethically curious.  Indeed, his very war like identity suggests an entrenched notion of war as sexual aggression wherein each element of warfare finds its ties to the male phallic privilege, perhaps most famously explored in Kubrick's uproariously funny Dr. Strangelove.  Here it is becomes more heady intellectually, because if Johnny 5 is indeed a phallic extension of the government, he too is one that is anthropomorphized, suggesting a desire that war not only be a sexual act, but one that in the process "gives birth" to new entities that are vaguely human but still less than in the important factors.  The levels of control and privilege that emerge in such a scenario are complex and fascinating and could certainly extend on to consider other films within this genre.  The fact that Stephanie has a pseudo-romantic encounter with Johnny 5 takes on a reverse-Pygmallion element, although she is not the creator so again it is a bit more confusing.  There are also a ton of ways in which to consider how gender is performed and how a viewer is to understand that Johnny is supposed to be masculine, all tying to an assumption that a non-human body could still exist within a gendered dichotomy.  It is also no small coincidence that Wall-E is clearly based on Johnny 5.

Key Scene:  Johnny 5's quest for knowledge through reading the encyclopedia from front to end is both hilarious and deeply curious from an ethical standpoint and is dealt with in a near perfect way.

This is a solid rental through and through, although it is cheap enough on DVD that buying it might prove equally inexpensive.