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ink_n_impWaiting in line last night for District 9, I was sandwiched between a group of guys—one of whom was wearing a yellow shirt that read Kirk Spock McCoy Sulu Chekov Uhura Scotty--and a guy and a girl who were playing Scrabble on their iphone. The guy used "Andorian" as a word. All I could think was "this needs a twittering."
My God. What would I have done had I been born before the Age of Fandom?
In regards to Distict 9...I wish I was intelligent enough to give it a review that would do it justice. I don’t even know if I’d want to review it, because I’d probably spoil it, and boy oh boy, for the first time…I really, REALLY don’t want to do that to ANYONE. But whatever that review would be, it would most definitely be sub-titled:
District 9: "Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most...Human"
Lindsay and I have oft discussed the prevalence in sci fi/fantasy of LOVE being humanity’s single redemption in the face of certain destruction at the hands of a superior alien society. Now, the two of us have our own theory about what other redeeming human characteristics and idiosyncrasies could be used as bargaining chips when the aliens inevitably come and find us Wanting. What those are I will not expound upon further here, as there’s a co-authored novel somewhere in our musings, damnit, and by god we will write it!...after I read more early-mid 20th century sci-fi.
But what if our only redeeming factor as a species, as people, were the choices we make in the hair trigger moment while standing on the brink of losing all we hold dear? That brief moment after a lifetime of institutionalized, desensitized, and “justified” cruelty, where we say “fuck it” to all we Understand about how the world works and our place in it, realize we’re screwed—maybe we even feel the weight of not only our own guilt-by-passivity, but the guilt our entire species should be feeling--and we just…
Throw in the towel and DO SOMETHING.
The main character, Wikus Van De Merwe—he’s That Guy. That bureaucratic guy that does what needs doing to get the paperwork done, got his position thanks of his father-in-law, would probably be a good father, is a loving husband, and who goes home to a nice dinner justified in his passive prejudices towards the Other, called “Prawns”. He’s the guy that may not rest easy at the thought of evicting 1.8 million alien-refugees from a slum to what amounts to a concentration camp through legal trickery and a show of force, but he’ll at least think it was NECESSARY. A broken couple of eggs along the road to a wonderful cake, or something. Sure it’s upsetting, it’schaotic, but it’s for the BEST. Oh, he jokes about the Prawns’ appalling living conditions, about “aborting” a Prawn hatchery, about their criminality, their inhumanity, their filth, but he’ll still protest (albeit impotently) the shooting of a Prawn.
And he’ll make you laugh. He’s just so awkward and cheerful and well-meaning and polite even in his profanity that you will laugh.
Enter our aliens, our others, our extraterrestrial refugees. Their ship is out of fuel, and have been at our mercy for the last 20 years. And it may very well have been mercy, at first. But 20 years from First Contact, what mercy we show them now.
The main alien Christopher Johnson and his son made me tear up. Their desperation made my stomach drop. His son’s desire to go “home” to a planet he’s never seen elbowed my heartstrings. And throughout the movie—either because they are so desperate, so downtrodden, so OUT of OPTIONS—they keep giving Wikus aid and help and second chances that the lot of us wouldn’t have thought twice about denying him. If Wikus is humanity—the bits we like and dislike that make us the flawed sorts we are—Christopher Johnson is Humanity, that grace-under-fire I think we all hope to have were we in such a helpless, victimized state. It’s the sort of grace that doesn’t fight back, doesn’t cause violence, doesn’t try to cause a scene…but that doesn’t give up.
I think this movie is affecting me, simmering in my mind far more than I expected it would because I’ve been researching the history of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. I had vague knowledge of this regime and the genocide the people of Cambodia suffered from ’75-’79 due to my forensic studies, but—there’s a disconnect sometimes in academic forensics between how someone is killed and how they were treated. And this is a movie about how a group in being treated.
Also last evening, the Hip Obscurity fundraiser was a great success! It was also an insane amount of fun! I had a great time MCing the Trivia portion—that is, I had great fun when I wasn’t battling wits with a shoddy microphone. It was frustrating to no end, though everyone told me afterwards as MC I handled the microphone SNAFU bullshit like a pro.
I suppose being a pro entails dancing around the room like a child on the verge of a temper tantrum hopped up on sugar while violently blaspheming against God, Jesus, his Mother and all the Saints. Whodathunk?
Holy God, am I really only running on 4 hours of sleep?
*DIES*
My God. What would I have done had I been born before the Age of Fandom?
In regards to Distict 9...I wish I was intelligent enough to give it a review that would do it justice. I don’t even know if I’d want to review it, because I’d probably spoil it, and boy oh boy, for the first time…I really, REALLY don’t want to do that to ANYONE. But whatever that review would be, it would most definitely be sub-titled:
District 9: "Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most...Human"
Lindsay and I have oft discussed the prevalence in sci fi/fantasy of LOVE being humanity’s single redemption in the face of certain destruction at the hands of a superior alien society. Now, the two of us have our own theory about what other redeeming human characteristics and idiosyncrasies could be used as bargaining chips when the aliens inevitably come and find us Wanting. What those are I will not expound upon further here, as there’s a co-authored novel somewhere in our musings, damnit, and by god we will write it!...after I read more early-mid 20th century sci-fi.
But what if our only redeeming factor as a species, as people, were the choices we make in the hair trigger moment while standing on the brink of losing all we hold dear? That brief moment after a lifetime of institutionalized, desensitized, and “justified” cruelty, where we say “fuck it” to all we Understand about how the world works and our place in it, realize we’re screwed—maybe we even feel the weight of not only our own guilt-by-passivity, but the guilt our entire species should be feeling--and we just…
Throw in the towel and DO SOMETHING.
The main character, Wikus Van De Merwe—he’s That Guy. That bureaucratic guy that does what needs doing to get the paperwork done, got his position thanks of his father-in-law, would probably be a good father, is a loving husband, and who goes home to a nice dinner justified in his passive prejudices towards the Other, called “Prawns”. He’s the guy that may not rest easy at the thought of evicting 1.8 million alien-refugees from a slum to what amounts to a concentration camp through legal trickery and a show of force, but he’ll at least think it was NECESSARY. A broken couple of eggs along the road to a wonderful cake, or something. Sure it’s upsetting, it’schaotic, but it’s for the BEST. Oh, he jokes about the Prawns’ appalling living conditions, about “aborting” a Prawn hatchery, about their criminality, their inhumanity, their filth, but he’ll still protest (albeit impotently) the shooting of a Prawn.
And he’ll make you laugh. He’s just so awkward and cheerful and well-meaning and polite even in his profanity that you will laugh.
Enter our aliens, our others, our extraterrestrial refugees. Their ship is out of fuel, and have been at our mercy for the last 20 years. And it may very well have been mercy, at first. But 20 years from First Contact, what mercy we show them now.
The main alien Christopher Johnson and his son made me tear up. Their desperation made my stomach drop. His son’s desire to go “home” to a planet he’s never seen elbowed my heartstrings. And throughout the movie—either because they are so desperate, so downtrodden, so OUT of OPTIONS—they keep giving Wikus aid and help and second chances that the lot of us wouldn’t have thought twice about denying him. If Wikus is humanity—the bits we like and dislike that make us the flawed sorts we are—Christopher Johnson is Humanity, that grace-under-fire I think we all hope to have were we in such a helpless, victimized state. It’s the sort of grace that doesn’t fight back, doesn’t cause violence, doesn’t try to cause a scene…but that doesn’t give up.
I think this movie is affecting me, simmering in my mind far more than I expected it would because I’ve been researching the history of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. I had vague knowledge of this regime and the genocide the people of Cambodia suffered from ’75-’79 due to my forensic studies, but—there’s a disconnect sometimes in academic forensics between how someone is killed and how they were treated. And this is a movie about how a group in being treated.
Also last evening, the Hip Obscurity fundraiser was a great success! It was also an insane amount of fun! I had a great time MCing the Trivia portion—that is, I had great fun when I wasn’t battling wits with a shoddy microphone. It was frustrating to no end, though everyone told me afterwards as MC I handled the microphone SNAFU bullshit like a pro.
I suppose being a pro entails dancing around the room like a child on the verge of a temper tantrum hopped up on sugar while violently blaspheming against God, Jesus, his Mother and all the Saints. Whodathunk?
Holy God, am I really only running on 4 hours of sleep?
*DIES*
