Did anyone else notice that?: Watching kids' movies

The other day I watched How To Train Your Dragon 2. I’d watched and enjoyed the first one and thought it would be a fun little diversion for the evening.

It started out promising and fun. But sometime in the middle, right about when the villain was introduced, I got a little uneasy. He was your pretty stereotypical villain, nothing much new – he did his thing through intimidation and an iron fist, he wasn’t all that smart, he couldn’t be reasoned with. Your basic villain trope, in other words.

But as the movie continued, I got more and more uncomfortable. The climax of the story made me cringe, even though it was standard issue – the villain can’t be redeemed, the hero vanquishes him, etc. By the ending monologue, I was even angry.

Have you figured it out yet?

The villain was the only dark-skinned person in the midst of fair-skinned vikings. He was dreadlocked and scarred. And he fit, to a T, the ugliest archetype we have in the West for the “Terrorists.”

When I went to the internet to find out if anyone else had noticed this, I found some very interesting things. The first was that hardly any, if any at all, of the critics, mentioned it. Not even the fact that he was the only dark-skinned person. Crickets. They all loved the movie and its “emotional resonance” (are you kidding me? A kids’ movie where the father DIES in the middle of it is great because of its “emotional resonance”???).

All right. Instead I googled “How to train your dragon 2 racist,” and discovered a few fringe tumblr pages. And then I made the mistake of looking in the comments.

According to most people, Drago Bludvist is eastern European, and therefore he is Caucasian, and therefore the movie is not racist. In fact, the entire discussion seemed to be centered around whether or not he was supposed to be black. Nobody was talking about the terrorist parallel. 

I can’t be the only one to see this, or be disturbed by it, right? The rhetoric isn’t new, by any means – it is, in fact, to cop an idea from my brilliant sister, straight from the Crusades. The “Other” is unreasonable and terrible; nothing they do is redeemable. “They” use intimidation and force, “We” use reason and peace-making tactics. It is only in defense that we fight, and of course “We” will win.

The ending monologue sums up this archetype in all its terrifying bigotry: “Those who attacked us, are relentless and crazy, but those who stopped them, oh, even more so! We may be small in numbers, but we stand for something bigger than anything the world can pin against us. We are the voice of peace, and bit by bit, we will change this world.”

Do you see it? It sounds great, doesn’t it? The hero wins, the villain is gone. We are the peacekeepers, we stand for something bigger (“City on a hill,” anyone?). It is the Manifest Destiny rhetoric in its very essence. Imperialism is A-OK because we are the ones who stand for something. 

Am I overreacting? I don’t know. I doubt the filmmakers did this on purpose, but what’s really disturbing about it to me is how ingrained this rhetoric is that it’s turning up so undisguised in a kids’ movie.

More than that, I found that the choice to make Drago Bludvist whatever he was supposed to be, black, Arab, eastern-European, but in any case very clearly darker than all the others, and portray him in the way they did, was far too easy and made the movie seem, to me, like downright propaganda for justifying the next Crusade.

So I have to ask not, am I overreacting, but do we really want our kids growing up on this stuff? And does it have to be so ingrained that hardly anybody bats an eyelash at how blatantly racist it is? 

There's got to be another way. I'm convinced of it. Just because this is the way it's always be done doesn't mean it's the way it needs to be. 

The glitz, glamour, and flourescent lights

Cambodia is poor, you say?

It is. This is true. But there are also people here who are rich, filthy rich, with Lexus cars and slick iPhones (often more than one), throwing down hundreds on bottles of whiskey at ritzy nightclubs. I don't know where they get their money. Corruption money? Business? I couldn't tell you.

I'm not entirely sure if the glitz and glamour people -- such as the stars who come through CTN - are filthy rich. I do know they are all dripping with fancy electronics, stylists and entourages following them around with the latest (mostly Korean) fashions, carefully painted faces. The image is everything.

The world of glitz and glamour in Cambodia (and of course it's not exclusive to here, it's just where I've experienced it) lives apart. It has its own places, attitudes, fashions, crowds. I kind of flit in and out of it, with my job at CTN and the people I've met. Case in point -- this past weekend, I was asked to perform at the launch party for the 100th issue of Ladies Magazine, apparently the number one lifestyle magazine around.

The event took place in the "Fashion TV Lounge," in Naga World, the only casino. The Casino itself is glitzy, but the lounge is even sleeker, all mirrors and colored lights, TV screens and modern white tables. A host of girls in Little Black Dresses ferrying  bottles of vodka around. This:

Walking in, there was a stop for the paparazzi, flashing lights, the backdrop with all the sponsor names (and mine, for that matter -- the gig was free, the publicity was my payment). People arrived fashionably late (an hour and a half or so), boys in bedazzled blazers with no shirt underneath and enough hair gel to hold up the leaning tower of Pisa, girls in sky-high heels and fancy dresses, everyone walking in with their eyes swiveling to see who's there.

Honestly? The whole charade leaves me a little cold. It has for awhile, at CTN, watching the stars strut in and primp and fuss, then go lip-sync or, sometimes even worse, actually "sing." The dance groups do the same thing, the boys spending far more time on their outfits and makeup than warming up or, probably, rehearsing.

I think it's because I can't help but feeling that the whole thing is just a cover, a pretend world of silver and gold. It's like this: when it was time to warm up, I was led past the gilded toilet doors to the staff only door, and inside, it looks like this:

Here, the illusion is shattered. The lights are harsh, the tile stark. The girls limp and mutter about their feet as they go off for more alcohol. As they step through the door with now-full shot glasses, they change. They smile. Nobody knows their feet hurt.

Like me. I didn't really want to be there. I was tired, a little sick, extraordinarily stiff due to the return to ballet after a summer off, and chiefly concerned with returning home to finish my book. But I am a professional. So I did my makeup, stretched my aching muscles, and then stepped onstage and danced like there was no tomorrow. No one knew the difference.

I think that's what I mean about the glitz and the glamour leaving me cold, because as far as I can tell, it's a world meant to cover and hide blemishes, where image is all important, and if it cracks for one minute, you're lost. I don't mind playing dress up, playing in the spotlight, sure. But I want to know what's beyond the mirrors and pancake makeup, what matters at the end of the day if all the prettiness and money vanishes.

Who are you, when you leave the glitz behind, and step into the flourescent lights.

Out of budget: Working with Cambodian dancers

Disclaimer: The following is reflective of my reality and does not necessarily apply to all Cambodian contemporary dancers.

I've noticed something recently. Actually, I noticed it at the end of last year, but have only been able to articulate it recently.

When I was in Malaysia for the festival, I was talking with the choreographer of the Korean group and asking him how he got started. He said that he had just gathered a group of friends to start training every day, and then found a producer along the way to hunt for gigs, and now whenever they perform, he pays the dancers. Otherwise, he doesn't. He said, "why don't you do that in Cambodia?"

The thing is, according to my experience, such a thing would be completely impossible in Cambodia, as I have yet to meet a dancer who will voluntarily go through training/rehearsals without a firm guarantee of a performance or payment. They might agree to something in theory -- such as my dancers did in the fall before our performance in October -- but in reality their commitment to such a thing is very minimal and I always felt like I spent more energy getting dancers into the studio than actually creating.

Don't get me wrong: as an artist, I absolutely agree that art should be valued and that the idea that artists love what they do so there's no need to pay them is both disturbing and dangerous.

However, I also believe that being an artist also includes a practice of training and self-development, a practice of questioning oneself and abilities. You can't just slap the title of "Dancer" on yourself and leave it at that -- there is always more to learn, always room to improve. The second I decide that I'm a good choreographer and that's that, I stop learning -- and I stop being an artist.

It feels to me as though the Cambodian contemporary dancers have looked out to other countries and seen artists being paid, and as such are demanding the same (which is perfectly legitimate by the way), but have missed the other side of the coin -- the endless hours of doing things for free, or paying to do them, to become better artists and dancers.

For example: my dance partner and student, Dara, recently told me that he would not join the festival in Malaysia in November (a very big festival with lots of groups and fantastic exposure) for less than $200. I had already offered 50-100 and all expenses paid.  His reasoning was that it was his second time. There was no thought in his head -- at least, as far as I can tell -- about what he might gain from the festival. Only the money. Regardless of the fact that 99% of the dancers in Sibu -- and probably that again for the next one in November -- have several years worth of training on him.

Yes, I'm angry about it -- I'm trying desperately to be reasonable about it, and questioning if I'm the one being ridiculous here. But Dara was really the last dancer here I really wanted to work with, and I'm out of options.  I am a young choreographer -- it's going to be a while before people pay me enough so I can pay dancers at the rates Dara is asking. The dancers here are out of my budget, and the disinterest in experience and professional development is the chief factor in making me want to leave. Even Cambodian Living Arts, which remains one of the coolest organizations I've ever worked for, recently nixed an idea for a second choreographic development workshop because of the "lack of hard skills" offered in the workshop goals.

Yes -- I want to leave. There is nobody left I can afford to work with, and I know that there are many other places full of dancers who are hungry to learn, hungry to gain experience, and willing to board a train without seeing the destination. Those are the people I want to find -- not the people who simply hold out their hands and say, "Okay, but how much are you paying?"

I'm not getting on a plane tomorrow. But my focus has shifted, and over the course of the next six months or more, I will be looking to move onto a place where I can grow as an artist, surrounded by other people with the same vision. At this point, I don't see it in Phnom Penh.

America and Unpopular Opinions

I don't often like to post on politics, especially American. But I was thinking about this subject the other day and especially since a friend asked me for my thoughts on America now that I've lived abroad for close to two years. My thoughts change and evolve and will continue to do so, and I feel like I always need to make a distinction between America The Country and the America I knew growing up, that the Grand Culture is not necessarily life and people on a daily basis.

It's also true, however, that America The Country cannot be ignored, and in light of recent events, I want to post this -- two honest, and probably unpopular, opinions that I'm still hesitating if I want to publish or not.

There was another mass shooting the other day. The shooter was young, disturbed. All three of his automatic guns were purchased legally. In the aftermath, people act surprised that it's happened again, this thing that has become a cultural archetype and occurs regularly, every few months or so. The media gleefully portrays the grieving families, does exposés on the shooter, his parents, his life. He becomes famous. His writings are published. People cry that this must be the last time.

It won't be the last time.

The NRA will push for more guns. Legally concealed weapons. People will shout that guns don't kill people, people kill people. The issue might reach Congress, but the politicians will hem and haw, occasionally take a strong stance, but back off when their campaign funding runs low when half their constituents disagree and gun rights groups void their checks.

Sound and fury. Nothing will change. Take away our guns, people will say, and you might as well open our borders, pull back the military. We Will Not Be Safe.

Cambodia is a crazy country. But I confess to feeling safer here than I do in the States. The culture of gun rights, which has fabricated an entire cultural archetype of mass shootings, makes me sick.

That brings me to another very unpopular opinion, and one which I actually do hesitate to bring up here or anywhere. That's on the subject of the military, and this pervasive glorification of military might that is rampant across America. Criticize Washington all you like, but the moment you open your mouth against the military, best watch out.

I have no doubt that the soldiers serving in the military are, for the most part, respectable and courageous individuals. I just question the fundamental reason why America needs such an enormous military. I used to hear people say, all over, thank you to the brave men and women out there keeping us safe.

I don't know what the military all over the world does on a daily basis. I don't know what would happen if they weren't there. I don't personally think that life as we know it would collapse and the next world war would start post-haste, but I don't know that.

But what I want is for someone -- honestly and without the blinders of pride and glory -- to explain to me Why. Why having an enormous military all over the world and playing protectorate in countries in an attempt to make them mini-Americas and unanimously and unquestioningly supporting whatever they do actually keeps me safe on a daily basis.

Sometimes I look at America and I do see the land of opportunity. Rarely these days, and at the moment, all I see is a nation run on money and arrogance, with military might, guns, and violence held up as the pillars of security and prosperity. I'm not even going to get into the education system and how it spits out millions of young graduates every year in huge holes of debt, already in over their heads.

Sure. That's not the whole truth of it. But it's reason enough for me choose, simply enough, to take my feet from those shores and settle my roots elsewhere.

Finding the path, and the dance

Today marks the end of seven weeks on the 100 days of dance project and the halfway point. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to post this there or here but decided on here -- the other place is just for the pictures. I wanted to write this, however, to talk about the interesting fact that the 100DOD project comes at a time in which I'm feeling less and less confident in the amount of dance actually happening here.

We are now in the fifth month of the year, inexplicably (where HAS this year gone, anyway?). In two short months, I will celebrate my two year anniversary of living here, a full year and a half longer than I originally planned. Clearly something has kept me here -- but that "something" continues and will most certainly continue to evolve.

One of the reasons that I originally decided to stay longer in Cambodia was because I felt like there were an incredible amount of opportunities in dance. Because contemporary dance is so new, I felt like there was huge opportunity for me to do some very cool things, things I wouldn't get the chance to do elsewhere.

That is all true, and remains true to this day. I choreograph for national television on a weekly basis and have had the opportunity to choreograph and perform for numerous occasions. That in itself is huge.

However, I'm beginning to understand something: there isn't actually that much contemporary dance here, and very few trained dancers. The main power is Amrita and apart from that, there isn't much. Some of the Amrita dancers have their own small groups -- mostly with other Amrita dancers -- that perform in clubs or at other special events. Of the five dancers I was working with briefly last year, I realized that three of them were already established artists and were extraordinarily busy -- a mix of singing, classical dance, classical singing, their own contemporary groups, etc. Another was in the same boat, except in the hip hop/pop singer universe. As such, they were completely unreliable and managed to come to the absolute minimum of rehearsals required. It was only one -- Dara, who remains one of the most talented dancers I've seen to date -- who I was really able to work with.

Another reality -- and I don't think this is just Cambodia, but all over the world -- is that people talk a lot. Things seem more doable here because it's cheaper, but the fact remains that a great majority of the projects I was so excited for this year fell out from underneath my feet. People -- including me -- have big ideas, but then something happens or something comes up, and they just don't seem so doable anymore.

I can't deny, however, that Cambodia is growing ridiculously quickly (the amount this city changes on a daily basis gives me whiplash), and there are great opportunities. But it is interesting to me that in a year in which I feel much less certain about what I can do here is when this 100DOD project came to mind -- a project designed, in fact, to showcase the amount of dance.

Maybe in some ways I needed to remind myself.

I'm also not rushing for the airport. What's keeping me here is not necessarily the promise of fantastic opportunities, but the simple fact that Phnom Penh is home. Somehow and inexplicably, it is. It's chaotic and messy and completely corrupt and crazy, but it's comfortable (I don't know how that works either).

Instead of focusing on Cambodia, now, however, I'm looking out -- to international dance festivals in the region for the moment, maybe in the broader Asia region later. Whenever I get my showreel together I'll start trying to get some residencies or short term work with companies. But in the meantime, keep Cambodia as a base. A place to settle -- for now.

And as this 100 days of dance project has shown me...there's still plenty to do here.

#100DaysofDance -- go check it!

Right.

So something got into my head, and I decided to start this project, called #100daysofdance (v. Cambodia).

Basically it goes like this: I love dance, and I live in Cambodia. In fact, I live in Cambodia because of dance. So I decided to marry the two, and out came this idea to take one dancing picture a day, tell a short story about why I took it, who's in it, etc, and do this for 100 days.

I got so excited about it, I made a whole new blog to accommodate it: 100daysofdance.blogspot.com.

Check it out, share it, enjoy it! This blog will go dormant while this project is happening (more so than usual that is), but be sure to check back when the 100 days are up!

Cheers.

Beyond the Borders: Musings on the expatriate life

Across the world, for whatever reason, millions of people are living outside of their homeland, just as millions are living the same hometown in which they grew up, maybe the same as their parents, and their children.

People immigrate for all sorts of reasons: the promise of a better life, forced circumstances, a job, a family, the need for adventure, whatever it may be. Over Christmas, when I was in America, I found myself thinking about this phenomenon, which is so daily -- but really, it's interesting to me, why some people leave their own country for other shores. 

I was thinking about it for a number of reasons. The first is probably that it's been a year and a half now that I've lived in Cambodia. The second is that I knew that trip to the States would be the last in awhile -- the ticket is just too expensive and I can think of some other places to use extra money. Although I don't necessarily see a long-term future in Cambodia, it had become quite clear that I no longer have any interest in living in America. 

Of course, my beloved family is there, and I would spend time in Colorado for their sake -- but not to live. Living is different. 

So why did I leave? It's not the easiest question to answer because right now, I can say that, simply enough and for whatever reason, it's just not my country. It's not "home". It's familiar, but not home. But that's not why I left when I did -- I left and came to Cambodia because someone asked me to come here and teach. 

And so I did, and that's that. It's just that living abroad has agreed with me, and now I can put words to it. 

It's not always easy. I'm quite convinced that "cultural DNA" is a thing. I spent my childhood -- a very, very impressionable time -- in America. All of my cultural references, societal rules, history, background, etc, was programmed into me from birth to adolescence. In Cambodia, there are very few common "genes". It's the West, not the East, third world, not first, and those are just the big labels. 

As you can see from the progression of posts on this blog, sometimes I don't understand, sometimes I really have no clue why I'm here, sometimes I feel like an unwelcome and unneeded observer, sometimes I'm ready to pull all my savings from the bank, buy a one-way ticket to wherever I can afford, and flee. Some days it's just too far and my family is gone and I'm alone on the other side of the world.

And on the other side, sometimes everything is so rewarding, sometimes I'm accepted and welcomed more than I can believe, sometimes I just can't imagine leaving.

It's a choice I make, every day, and when things go wrong, I always make myself wait at least a couple days. Talk to a friend or two. Just keep living, day by day, and I never regret it.

Sometime last year, I was talking to another friend, who said that people like us who travel a lot and live elsewhere start to belong nowhere. It's true, in a sense. I no longer belong in America, but nor do I belong here. Even in France, the place where I've felt more at home more than anywhere else in the world, I don't belong fully.

But I look at it differently. Now, these days, I belong everywhere.

For me, that's enough.