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Elliott Dunstan

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  • Protected: 1.19 – Willow – Princess, Knight, Dragon

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  • The Gremlin’s (Movie) Library: Finding ‘Ohana

    March 24th, 2021

    I don’t frequently do movie reviews on here – for the most part, because I don’t watch a lot of recent movies! I also usually feel like other people can do a better job of movie reviews than I can – book reviews are where I feel most comfortable. However, I have so much to say about this movie that I decided it was time to make an exception.

    Before I get into this review, though: I am not Kanaka Maoli/Native Hawaiian, nor am I Polynesian or even broadly Indigenous-identifying! If you’re looking for a review that gets into those aspects, there are others who likely get into that; as I find them (and I am looking around, but I don’t have a good database of film reviewers) I’ll link them here. I’ll talk about which aspects of the movie did hit personally for me; but when it comes to Hawai’i’s culture, I am NOT the correct source.

    Finding ‘Ohana is a Netflix film, released in January 2021 with director Jude Wang (credits on The Good Place, Fresh Off the Boat and Black-ish) and writer Christina Strain (The Magicians, Shadow and Bone). I do want to observe, in line with things I’ve brought up before, that while both director and writer are women of color (Taiwanese and South Korean, respectively), neither are Kanaka Maoli; I mostly point this out since behind the screen representation is just as important as in front of the screen. However, the fact that it’s directed and written by two East Asian women is great – and honestly, it shows!

    The movie opens in Brooklyn, in grand style; main character Pili (Kea Peahu) and her best friend Yoli are geocaching on their bikes, racing the boys to the grand prize. Already, Pili’s set up here as clever, good under pressure, and – crucially – bilingual, but not in Hawaiian. She’s learned Spanish, albeit not at home – my roommate had a good laugh at her Spanish which is technically correct and fluent, but very much classroom/second-language Spanish. But it’s on purpose! As she says later in the movie, “Everybody kept thinking I was Puerto Rican, so I just went ahead and learned Spanish.” If that isn’t a mood, I don’t know what is. I have nothing but love and respect for Filipino culture, but I am not Filipino. Pili and Yoli win the grand prize and get to go to geocaching camp!

    …Or not. In a wonderful use of cinematography, we cut to where the rest of the movie will actually be set; O’ahu, Hawai’i, where Pili’s grandfather has just suffered a heart attack. Pili and her older brother Ioane (Alex Aiono) have been dragged along with their single mother (Kelly Hu), much to their annoyance, because they don’t know Hawaiian, and they don’t know anything about Hawai’i. This doesn’t go over great with their grandfather Kimo (Branscombe Richmond), who’s about as Kanaka Maoli as it gets. He’s deeply irritated to find that they don’t even know how to say thank you in Hawaiian, let alone anything about why he refuses to move away from his land, his ancestors, his country. This isn’t off to a great start, but at least Pili can go exploring. She finds a picture of her father in a desk drawer, and it’s one of the few she even has; and Leilani promises to go geocaching with her the next day, but that falls through pretty quickly when she finds out that Kimo hasn’t been paying his property taxes and he’s on the edge of being evicted. Of all the things to have to deal with on top of his heart attack.

    The movie finds its feet properly, however, when Pili finds a mysterious journal in her grandfather’s belongings. She was snooping (of course she was!) and she ends up sharing it with the white kid who still manages to know more about Hawai’i than her because he grew up there. (Casper, played by Owen Vaccaro; you’d think he’d be much more annoying, but somehow his character is pulled off with no shortage of charm.) It’s a journal from a group of pirates who hid a treasure somewhere on the island, but no-one knows where.

    Then, of course, Kimo catches them. Turns out the journal’s been in the family for ages, and he knows where the treasure hunt starts, but he’s quick to discourage Pili from doing a full hunt. The treasure is the journal, he stresses. And she’s actually pretty much okay with that… mostly. She doesn’t know how to swim (which he has feelings about) but she likes spending time with him, and he likes her, too. He’s not trying to be an asshole, and he’s happy to share island culture with her, if she’s willing to accept it. (Island culture here includes Hawaiian pidgin and spam musubi. Nom. I got so hungry.) But Kimo gets hurt trying to get Pili down from somewhere, and Leilani’s obviously furious – and Pili and Casper decide they’re going to go find the treasure on their own.

    If this is starting to sound like the Goonies, you are correct! Finding Ohana is full of Goonies references, down to Data’s actor (Ke Huy Quan) as George Phan, one of the grown-up islanders. Obviously, they go after the treasure, and Ioane, Pili’s immature, chauvinist, honestly-trying-but-not-very-well brother has to go after them, and recruits Casper’s older friend Hana to help him. And of course, they all get trapped underground. There’s a lake of lava, there’s spiders, there’s puzzles, there’s twists –

    But despite this all sounding predictable, it is pulled off with sincerity and love, and tied in with serious questions about ownership, graverobbing and respect for the ancestors. Ioane starts off as a chauvinist prick; when he’s called on it, he keeps trying (albeit extremely badly) to be better, even though he clearly doesn’t have much direction. One of my favourite moments with him is when he watches Hana say yes to another boy, and starts sullenly cleaning up her car – only to have her ask how that’s not supposed to be an insult, and he sighs and puts it all back. It’s a dick move. But it’s the kind of dick move from somebody who clearly just Doesn’t Know What He’s Doing. Mixed in with the clear effects of racism from non-Hawaiians (he goes by E, not Ioane, because nobody can pronounce Ioane) and a genuine lack of knowledge about his own culture (Hana talks about how a cave is kapu and makes an offering apologizing to the ancestors; he awkwardly flirts with the cave for permission instead), it makes him a surprisingly compelling character. Pili, by contrast, knows just as little but wants to know more; Ioane had to be the “man of the house” and is clearly carrying the weight of that, but she’s just curious, and is horrified to find out what the consequences of that curiosity can be. There’s Hana, who is dedicated to preserving and respecting her culture, and scared to go anywhere like Juillard where she might forget who she is. And then there’s CASPER.

    Casper deserves a little extra, simply because this is a character type rarely done well. To be clear, it’s a symptom of a larger issue that there’s always the One White Character. I don’t think the movie would have suffered for having an all-Hawaiian cast. But Casper is… well, for one, he’s not neurotypical. When we see the contents of his adventuring pack, it includes things like a shark plushie and a yo-yo. What? He’s got obviously limited social skills and mostly makes friends with people older than him, which is a neurodivergent mood. The first extended scene with him has him and Kimo burying a bird together and saying a lovely little eulogy over the grave. And he has thoughts about Lost. On top of all of that, it’s hard to know what the movie intended… but it’s very funny to notice that he’s just entirely platonic friends with Pili, and has lots of comments on Ioane and his “muscles”. Hm. Kid… (All of his interactions with Ioane, actually, are incredibly adorable.) It’s also – on a sadder note – a good way to contrast that Pili missed out. She deserved to know at least what Casper knows, and Casper seems very aware of this. He’s sensitive to the fact that this isn’t his world, and it’s not the indigenous traditions he knows a lot about – it’s the biology and the history, the other parts of Hawai’i. It’d be nice if we didn’t have to keep slapping white characters into things, but nebulously-queer, neurodivergent redheads are a nice change.

    FINALLY, SOME SPOILERS:

    The way this movie deals with grief is absolutely, phenomenally gorgeous. For 80% of this movie, it’s the Goonies with some unexpected commentary on Kanaka heritage and grave rights; for the next 20% it kicks into surprisingly high gear, bringing mythology to life. The legend of the Nightmarchers isn’t one I knew anything about before this movie, but it’s one I’m absolutely in love with now; the fallen warriors of Hawai’i protect the islands, and only children of those fallen warriors can look upon the faces of the Nightmarchers and live. I can’t speak to authenticity, I can’t speak to tradition, but I can speak to the fact that I cried like a fucking baby.

    I can’t recommend Finding ‘Ohana enough, honestly. It’s fun, it’s heartfelt, and – while this is a weirdly low bar – all of the wincing or cringing I did was at stuff the movie wanted me to cringe at. No shitty, below the belt transphobic jokes (at least that I caught), no desire to make everything depressing for no reason, and some TRULY excellent cinematography. If you need some cheese in your life but don’t trust the 80s, this is a good movie to go with.

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  • The Gremlin’s Library: Unraveling by Elaine Marilyse

    March 23rd, 2021

    Elaine Marilyse is a disabled Anishinaabe poet who I’m quite happy to say that I inhabit the same local creative community as, and so Unraveling is one of those lovely pieces of work that I acquired at a zine-off at a coffee shop in Ottawa. Other ways of getting poetry are fun, too, but there’s something about sipping weird tea, trading books with homemade covers and excitedly talking about your projects with each other that has a charm all of its own.

    Unraveling is also a perfect example of how some of the most hard-hitting poetry really is found in those environments. Hand-stapled chapbooks with photocopied covers rarely win Pushcart Prizes or Hugo Awards, but it’s in books like these that I find words that describe experiences I understand. Marilyse’s work in Unraveling in particular hits home in terms of dealing with a parent you might sympathize with, but are tired to death of dealing with. “Your Perspective” is an aching declaration that this time, they’re not getting any more slack, any more good faith, any more credit towards “their perspective”. And “Tightrope” taps into the sense of falling, the constant balance and exposed nerves, that come with complex PTSD and long-standing trauma. Not all of the poems are completely serious; “Ink” is full of Ottawa-specific references and talks about bodily autonomy with tattoos, about how the body doesn’t have to be a temple, and ends with a cheeky picture of ‘no ragrets’.

    “I would have swallowed, in a heartbeat,
    The poison core
    For a chance to have my efforts rewarded,”

    Your Perspective, p 23, Elaine Marilyse

    I think tonally my favourite thing about Unraveling is that tonal fluidity; it’s like having a conversation with someone. It’s full of joking-around and casual gallows humor next to moments of vulnerability, bits that sidewind towards truth before bravely looking in the face and then glancing away again. “Awkward” feels like a criticism, but it’s a very human feeling, and when so much confessional free-verse-style poetry goes for a conversational style without nailing it, it’s very fun to see it done well.

    Elaine Marilyse also makes a webcomic, and links to her works, projects and poetry are available through her twitter (@ourladyofcoffee) here!

    A quote from “Tightrope” is used with permission as an epigraph in Ghosts in Quicksilver: Book Two: Sulfur.

  • Behind the Curtain: I Am Not Your Villain.

    March 21st, 2021

    I am not your villain.

    This happens to me a lot. Whether it’s because I’m a little rough around the edges, or whether it’s because I’m a person of color or Jewish, or because I’m trans, or because I’m a narcissist with borderline and bipolar and all of those other terrible things, it really stops mattering. It always happens the same way. I will make, perhaps, a friend. Sometimes we’re not that close! Sometimes we’re super close. Sometimes – more than once – a horrible number of times – this is a significant other, a loved one, a boyfriend, a girlfriend. Sometimes they like me more than I like them. Sometimes I like them more than they like me. Even when it’s a little uneven, it’s usually mutual.

    But here’s the thing: They will like me – you will like me for what you call ‘honesty’, ‘straightforwardness’, a willingness to be uncompromising about my morals while also caring about nuance, a ferocity when it comes to my principles. You cheer, perhaps, when I chew out somebody you think deserves it. Maybe they did. Sometimes they didn’t! Sometimes I’m uncomfortable with others’ glee, unhappy with how my symptoms have overtaken my sense in a particular situation.

    And they are symptoms. I struggle with anger. Anger, and sadness, and euphoria – both my borderline personality disorder and my bipolar makes every emotion stronger and louder and harder to hold, and being autistic (and, apparently, ADHD) on top of it means that I’m all the more limited in how I express them. I mirror others, copy them, and try to muddle out for myself how I want to act. That’s why my own principles and codes are so important; I made them, all on my own. They’re knitted together from the pieces and scraps of what I’ve been able to borrow and steal and learn from others, often only through observation, sometimes through direct conversation. Sometimes I am too angry at somebody. Sometimes I do cross lines. I try to apologize and make it right when that’s true.

    But…

    But because I’m so open about this, because I’m a person of color, because I’m Jewish, because I’m trans, because I’m disabled, because of whatever reason you’d like to use, because of the fifty million intersections that make up my day and my life and my existence as a person, my anger is both a weapon and an inconvenience for you. You cheer when I rip into the people you want to see hurt. And when I have criticisms for you, when I am unhappy with you, suddenly you fall back on the exact words that have ripped holes into me. I’m abusive. I’m cruel. I’m insane. I’m uncontrollable. I mistreat others, I’m self-absorbed, I’m too angry, I have high standards – And so often, it’s without warning. It’s the act of criticizing you that gets these reactions. It’s not that I’ve actually crossed a line. It’s that I have not given you the grace that you think you deserve, because you are better than “those other people”, and you believe that it is owed to you.

    It is not.

    It certainly isn’t when these are the reactions I get.

    I am not your villain. I am not your weapon. I am not your pet. You do not get to ask me to sit down and behave and roll over and then throw every stereotype that has ever injured me at my face when I don’t stick to the company line. You do not get to secure my support through BIPOC solidarity and trans mutual aid and then decide that I am transphobic or secretly white for calling you on horizontal or diagonal – or sometimes just vertical – violence against others. You do not get to find my mental illness or my neurodivergence in general entertaining or funny or satisfying when I’m holding your enemies accountable and then find it abhorrent and disgusting and unfair when suddenly I am asking you for an iota of recognition.

    I’m sure people will decide this is targeted. It isn’t not targeted. But this has been my entire life. One friend supported me through waves of harassment, then used my plurality to tell me I was overreacting to racism in a show we both cared about and told a mediating friend that I needed to adjust my medication. Another accepted my help and my advice, until I asked them to reconsider their wording in a post about “glorifying transition”, and when I blocked them after the conversation went badly, they block-evaded exclusively to tell me I was a horrible, aggressive person and that they hated me. My breakdown in 2016 included a (white) person deciding that I was a manipulative, toxic friend who was ‘marketing my writing’ to them, and that accidentally misgendering them twice (and apologizing and fixing it) was clearly on purpose to unsettle and control them. It goes on and on. Romantic partners emotionally abusing me and holding my mental health episodes over my head. White cis women bringing up that I’m a man during fraught conversations and telling me that they can’t help but be afraid of men before trauma-dumping on me.

    It’s true that I could speak more softly. I could try. But here’s the secret: I have. And I got this anyway. That tells you that the problem isn’t my behaviour. The problem is that people decide that I’m a villain and not trustworthy the moment they meet me. You make your decisions long before I do anything questionable.

    I am not your villain. I am not your evil, cackling supervillain or cartoonish abuser with a secret plan and terrifying manipulative powers. I am not your stereotyped psychopath pulling strings to cover up for the fact that I don’t have a heart; low empathy doesn’t mean that I don’t fucking hurt. I am not your puppetmaster or your Lex Luthor with slick words covering up bad intentions. I am a person. I am a marginalized, traumatized, complicated, yet surprisingly simple person. I bleed when I’m cut. I cry when I’m treated badly. I shouldn’t even have to say that. But you so, so desperately want a nice, easy, arrogant villain. You might as well grab the crazy one who swears a lot and tries to be super direct to cover up their debilitating anxiety and panic attacks. And if you need support, you can always just grab something I write or read or ship or support as evidence. Just in case.

    I am not your villain. Stop putting me in your stories. Take my words out of your fucking mouth. If you’re not going to respect me as an actual person and not a cardboard cutout of a strawman, easier to punch than whoever you’re actually mad at, the least you can do is stay away from me.

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