dystopia

Literary Readings: Margaret Atwood (9/20/2010)

mandy — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 16:00:00 +0000

New York, New York

Have you ever overheard such a riveting, witty conversation that you simply had to eavesdrop? Listening to Margaret Atwood and Valerie Martin quibble over every possible tangent to Atwood’s latest paperback The Year of the Flood felt much like playing the part of an enchanted voyeur. The incredible chemistry of these two old friends was stunning unto itself; the subject matter was a combination of defining dystopia and rabbit starvation, elucidating the mythology of bees, and examining city lights and migratory bird patterns. Even still, they were hilarious.

As Martin introduced her friend of thirty years, she joked that the impossibility of Atwood having been so prolific with her writing and appearances could only mean that she must have a secret “Saskatchewan double” typing away for her in the tundra. Later on during the Q&A, as one writer tried to outdo the other, there were many gems.

The story of The Year of the Flood is meant to examine the path of those with lesser means in a dystopian world of privilege set in the future. Centered on a utopia thrust into a dying world, three narrators tell the story of the God’s Gardeners, a fictional cult that operates in slums and praises Mother Earth on rooftop gardens. This is a future where Al Gore is canonized and characters wait out the annihilation of the planet in spas while persisting on avocado masks. A waterless flood, in the form of a man-made virus, has essentially eliminated humanity.

Atwood reading from the podium felt much more like a traditional reading, with a bits of scene setting and three excerpted selections (one for each narrator in the novel). That is, until Margaret Atwood sang a hymn called "We Praise The Tiny Perfect Moles" for Mole day, a children’s festival of the God’s Gardeners. As Atwood has become a sort of a modern day patron saint of the dystopia genre, perhaps all this is her way of giving back.

I went into this event an enormous fan of Atwood, and left even more in love. If you have yet to read Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, stop reading this drivel I have penned and go find that book. It will change your life.

Written by: Nicole Levitz, September 21st 2010

Mockingjay

admin — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 17:31:00 +0000

By Suzanne Collins

Scholastic Press

Mockingjay has finally arrived to conclude the breathtaking trilogy that began in 2006 with the conclusively-titled The Hunger Games. And this time, things have changed. In global effect, for better or worse, the main characters are bringing the furious fight to the enemy’s doorstep, in an act of rousing rebellion. But do they prevail? Well, I can’t answer that.

In Mockingjay, Collins holds her own under external pressure to show the blunted faces of the worst brought out in humanity, but also the best of what makes us human, compatible life forces willing to love, to teach, and to learn in the shadows of dark times. What was merely a sadistic game of cat-and-mouse is now a battleground, a fledgling place where heroes are born and lives are lost. Every punch is pulled, which is not to say the first and second books didn't contain conflict, but things are now broadened on the horizon. The characters realize they have entered an alien place, a wildfire atmosphere only done justice by a single word: war.

What really propels this book is its characters, particularly Katniss, who fight for what they believe in and stand alongside those they love. Each play pivotal roles in supporting each other, and adds a unique back story, just when you thought everything was already revealed. Loyalties are tested and occasional twists paint a very thin line between good and evil, relishing in the fact that, as human beings, we are collections of both.

Any age can enjoy this book; however, the content is some of the most unwaveringly brutal and violent written work on the young adult market. Accusing The Hunger Games of glorifying violence is putting a very narrow perspective on things. The violence is there because it is necessary, willing to achieve a point by demonstrating the calculating monstrosities of war, warning readers about the implications of certain decisions, and feeling powerless to stop others of a higher social status.

The inclusion of a strong female heroine give a sense of feminism to the book. At times, Katniss remained stricken, almost too conflicted, but it is a foreplay, a buildup to the explosive climax. She learns things about herself, growing as a person. It is the emotion, what we feel in our heart, not the misguided actions that make us for who we are. Everyone has a flaw, whether it be acid, spiders, or fear itself.

All the while, Collins maintains the pacing she keeps in the previous two. I was floored from the first page all to the way to the spectacular last. Small things are left unanswered, forcing the reader to come away from the experience to visualize, decoding what they think and understand.

By the time I finished, Mockingjay left me conflicted but satisfied, ruminating on the implications of what I read. Thankfully, it was a virtuoso performance I will not forget in a hurry. And not many books can do that. In a sense, young adult literature has some startlingly powerful messages to deliver, even branded for a younger generation. Older readers, and even fully-fledged adults, would find much to enjoy here.

Mockingjay delivers a stark limelight of the gratuitous impact of war on life, and examines the most powerful force on the planet through post-trauma, blood, tears, and the unbreakable substance of love. It is a masterful conclusion to an already groundbreaking series in young adult literature. If you haven’t experienced the raw potential for what The Hunger Games is all about, then I highly recommend doing so.

Excerpted from Literary Musings

Written by: Dan Goodman, August 26th 2010

Survival of the Dead

admin — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Directed by George Romero

Magnolia Pictures

Pop films that take on politics tend to do so as an add-on and go all over the place. Since I have come late to zombie films and director George Romero, perhaps I am being unfair to Romero and his Survival of the Dead, the latest of his zombie films, in expecting consistent politics from a gore fest, but perhaps dystopia deserves its due.

The only zombie film I have ever seen—if “seen” can mean glimpsed out of the corner of a fearful child’s eye—was a production rerun on afternoon television sometime in the 1950s, in my case, to keep children content while they waited for a school bus. However, like Romero, I was a fan of pre-code horror comic books. A gloomy disposition predisposes me to dystopia. With this risk factor, perhaps I was slated to become zombie food.

The movie takes place in the near future in which a disease has conferred a horrid form of immortality on the dead. National Guardsman Sarge (Alan Van Sprang) is on killing duty in the morgue, where bodies spring to murderous life. A fellow Guardsman who refuses to shoot a buddy-turned-zombie is summarily executed; Sarge and a few comrades say enough already—actually, “I didn’t sign up for this”—and go AWOL into a lawless United States, where the only protection is individual armed self-protection, but nighttime comics telling zombie jokes can still be downloaded on a PC. Surviving as thieves, Sarge and his band are busy not only killing zombies coming back to life, but also dealing with the generalized violent breakdown of society.

After a confrontation with another band of renegades, a young man (Devon Bostick) who survives the encounter (and provides some additional snarky, intergenerational conflict) joins up with them to take off in an armored van with a safe full of money. The posse ends up heading for Plum Island (ostensibly off the coast of Delaware, though the film was shot in Canada) because an Internet huckster, Patrick O’Flynn, is luring social outcasts, now much of the population, there to rob them. O’Flynn has been exiled from the island as a result of a long-standing family feud with another clan. (How two Irish clans got on this island in the first place is left unexplained, but there are hints of religious fundamentalism and right-wing survivalism.) A great subplot is the hopeless courting of the lesbian tomboy by her would-be Latin lover/comrade in arms and the genuine nonsexual affection between them.

Romero is quoted as saying the movie is about war, but it could as easily be about too permissive gun laws justified by the Second Amendment. Or out-of-control conflicts over different strategies for dealing with a serious threat—the overlay of the feud. Or it could just be a corkboard for any one-off social commentary—about professional salaries or the narrow perspectives of small towns—that can be stuck in a spot in the plot.

The real Plum Island, off the coast of Long Island, is the site of the federal Animal Disease Center run by the Department of Homeland Security, and at one time a secret bio-weapons research facility. There, any wild mammal is said to be shot on sight. This is O’Flynn’s solution to the zombie problem, while his rival, Muldoon, wants to rehabilitate them.

“Zombie”—as in banks—is fast becoming an overused metaphor. In the book Imaginal Machines, cultural theorist Stevphen Shukaitis presents an analysis of the capitalist transformation of human workers into labor power, living into dead labor; cooptation/recuperation of social movements into nightmare versions of themselves; and the question of whether such altered movements could be truly revitalized or need to be put out of their misery—all strung, along with their sources, on the extended metaphor of zombification.

Personally, I like zombies better as the main attraction, when they are actors in heavy makeup “getting their brains” blown out in movies; and when social commentary, however scattershot, is the sideshow.

Written by: Frances Chapman, June 10th 2010

24 City

admin — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 23:25:00 +0000

Directed by Jia Zhangke

Cinema Guild

24 City, a film that expertly mixes documentary footage and fictional reenactments, follows several generations of women living and working in Chengdu City for Xinda Machinery’s Chengfu Group. Factory 420, a not-so-well-kept state secret, has since been turned into residential housing. The film chronicles the lives of several women whose personal and professional lives are inextricably linked to the longstanding behemoth factory cum apartment complex, a throwback to Mao’s communism.

Director Jia Zhangke is perhaps best known stateside for his 2004 film, The World. He is also one of the leaders of Chinese cinema’s Sixth Generation movement, a loosely connected group of independent filmmakers responsible for some of the more innovative works coming from China’s underground and state-sanctioned mainstream.

To add to the striking archive footage in 24 City, the film stars several well-known actresses, including Joan Chen. Best known for her role in TV’s Twin Peaks, Chen also starred in 2007 films Lust, Caution and The Sun Also Rises. Zhao Tao, Zhangke’s longtime muse and frequent star of his films, also has a leading role.

As beautiful as 24 City is, it overwhelming appeals to film buffs and cinema theorists. It’s also helpful to have working knowledge of Chinese history and communist labor. The necessity of knowing so much back story left me and my viewing partner a bit confused at times, as though we’d missed an introductory interview or establishing footage. The film was nominated for the 2008 Palme d'Or at Cannes, and knowing this going in, I hesitated to find fault. Yet 24 City moves slowly and sometimes lacks audio precision. It is a truly gorgeous film, expertly framed, but no one should expect an action-packed adventure from the docu-narrative piece.

More than mainstream appeal, or relying on special effects, the film offers a meditation on dystopian modern life in post-Mao China. After 4,000 workers were laid off from the factory, many tried to make ends meet with odd jobs. One seamstress profiled explains that more than income, she believes, “If you have something to do, you age more slowly.” One unemployed worker illegally sold flowers on the street. Another tells of gathering old work gloves from the factory, only to unravel them and send the thread to her sister so new clothing could be made from the remnants.

An important, visually stimulating film, 24 City tells a meditative, multi-layered story about work, personal space, home, and gender across generations. Its uneven pace likely won’t charm mainstream movie lovers, but it’s worth a viewing for cinema geeks.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, August 18th 2009

Children of Men

admin — Mon, 26 Feb 2007 12:49:00 +0000

Directed by Alfonso Cuaron

Universal Studios

P.D. James’ The Children of Men is a story about the English countryside, devoid of the English. It is the near future, and men have become infertile. Half-deranged, aging women coo over porcelain dolls, pushing their prams through empty streets. An increasingly lonely and oppressed population struggles to maintain normalcy in Britain while chaos rules the rest of this world without hope. And from this infertile world comes new life, in the form of a Christian woman and her child. Our hero, historian and academic Theo, finds redemption in helping the mother in her quest to have her birth on her own terms, rather than turning her and her unborn child over to the authorities. In the end though, we’re left with a questionable victory: Power moves from the hands of one man to another through violence, and through the Coronation Ring, the wedding ring of England.

Alfonso Cuaron’s film adaptation, Children of Men, is radically different, set in a grittier, more action-packed dystopian London. As might be expected with a book-to-film adaptation, gripping curbside discussions have been replaced with even more gripping coffee shop bombings, and distant tales of trouble on the Isle of Man penal colony have been swapped out in favor of a kidnapping and chase in what’s become an active war zone. Interestingly, these action-oriented changes actually serve to make the film more realistic than the book – this future world looks uncannily like the present, complete with visual echoes of Iraq and Guantanamo.

The book’s vaguely Christian Madonna is abandoned in favor of strong female activists, and its messages run broader as well: Every child is precious. Violence never works, only pushing away the peace you strive for. Personal loss can be overcome by love for the collective. The future is worth dying for.

What both the film and the book have at their hearts though, is a reverence for motherhood. Children of Men shows us a future where the one constant is the power of mothers, midwives, and childbirth. In a world where women are taught that childbirth is something they need drugs, scalpels and doctors to get through, these portrayals of the strength of women and the beauty and transformative power of birth are a welcome source of hope. Maybe the future can be a fertile one after all.

Written by: Ari Moore, February 26th 2007