Movie Monday: "Cats of Mirikitani," a film by Linda Hattendorf, 2006.

I saw this documentary several years ago and then rediscovered it again this last weekend. The messages of this film, for me, stand as an important reminder not only of significant events in American history, but also as a mirror for our preconceived notions on the stories of the countless homeless.

The film takes place mainly in Manhattan over the course of a couple years, beginning in late 2001. Tsutomu Mirikitani lives along a wall near a Korean Market on McDougal and Prince Street, creating artwork each and everyday. His mobile studio includes pens, crayons, chalk and paints, and his canvases include cardboard and scrap paper. With the events of September 11, 2001 breaking around him, he continues doing what he does best, creating memories through artwork. Shortly after 9/11, Ms. Hattendorf invites Mirikitani to stay with her for a period of time, to avoid the choking dust and debris still permeating the air around the World Trade Center site.

Over the course of the film, Hattendorf uncovers more and more details of Mirikitani’s life, including his birth in Sacramento, California and experience growing up in Hiroshima City, Japan. He returns to the US shortly after the opening of World War II. In his early twenties, and as a lawful US citizen, Mirikitani entered Tule Lake Internment Center in Northern California, where he signs a government document revoking his US citizenship. The film follows not only the story of his relationship with his new friend and documentarian Ms. Hattendorf, but also unveils some of his backstory that led to living on the streets in NYC.

The important messages of this film not only center on the plight of the mobile homeless, which continues to be an issue for social services nationwide, but also a reminder of the dark times in US history and of justice deferred. Far too easy to dismiss the internment of Japanese American citizens during WWII as history and not applicable today, one need only review the rhetoric of political demagogues against our Muslim citizens to realize such events could repeat themselves. Mirikitani expresses his anger and lingering, seething disgust at the events of World War II, and memorializes his experience in the internment camps through his artwork. He neither asks for nor wants anything from the US government, even as Ms. Hattendorf and her team work tirelessly to recover Mirikitani’s citizenship information and secure more public assistance for him in his advanced years.

The latter part of the film is lovely, as Mirikitani and Hattendorf slowly bring his story into the present moment, and realize that he is not alone in this world. Over time, family members are found and Mirikitani sees opportunity to work past what happened, and truly begin to see his life in the present moment.

Nancy Wong via WIkimedia Commons

"Janice Mirikitani in front of the International Hotel in San Francisco, January 1977"

The film is not always easy to watch, particularly at moments when Mirikitani’s cantankerous attitude aims at the filmmaker. I sometimes felt like Mirikitani didn't appreciate some of the kindnesses the filmmaker expressed, but after realizing his long history of being outside normal social channels, I feel more kindness towards his perspectives. Even though he sometimes criticizes the filmmaker’s decisions, once reprimanding her when she goes out to a movie and comes back to her apartment far later than expected, he does so because of worry and care for the young woman. Other moments legitimately made me tear up a little, particularly when the film explores recollections of the camp experience and of lives lost.

I encourage everyone to check out this film when given the chance. It is rather short and moves along at a good pace. It successfully introduces audiences to one story that helps humanize the events against Japanese American citizens during WWII that may only be known through textbooks. It also humanizes the ongoing social issues surrounding homelessness and our own personal notions of just who the homeless are.

Purchase "The Cats of Mirikitani" via Amazon

Movie Monday: "Proud," a film by Mary Pat Kelly, 2004.

Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

This film came to my attention through Amazon Prime, as it was recommended based on my searches for American History films. I am happy that I got the chance to see this film. The narrative revolves around the exploits of the USS Mason (DE-529) destroyer escort during WWII, manned by a nearly all African American crew at a time when the military was segregated. This American history narrative is not well known or explored outside specialty history courses at a select few campuses. Unfortunately, historical narratives are sometimes limited by the prejudices and norms of the time they're written, and the USS Mason's narrative is a casualty of this condition. It is only from the 1970s, 80s and 90s that "minority history" has gained more recognition in the mainstream historical narrative.

Films like "Proud" are useful for introducing the audiences to hidden narratives, and serves to peak interest in the respective subject matter. "Proud" has a good quality cast that captures both the triumphs and shortcomings of WWII society and military efforts. The racism is present, and real, but is not overly front and center. The narrative focuses not as much on what society believes these men cannot do, but shows how the men themselves respond to the conditions they are introduced to, both in the navy and in the war. I'll admit, I know little about the mainstream actors in this film, so I cannot adequately comment on their respective filmographies. On viewing this film, however, it seems like each actor brought their respect and efforts to bear in their characters. What I appreciate a lot about this docudrama is the use of actual primary source footage from the USS Mason's missions. I believe this supports the overall structure of the film, as a grandfather narrating his experiences and memories to his grandson and friends.

The film opens with one of the main characters, as an older man, narrating his experience in Harlem, and how it became a home for him and his family. His grandson is living with him, and invites his friends over to listen to loud music in the early morning hours. His grandfather is woken up and goes downstairs to tell them to turn that noise off, and how the living situation really isn't working out. This sets the stage for him to tell his story, and how recognition for their efforts has been a long time coming. He has not held on to anger about the slight, however, and this paints the portrait of one seaman's response to their prejudicial treatment. He says that if he had given in to anger and resentment, it would have justified "their" (white men in government, American society, all the doubters, etc) point of view of African Americans at the time.

This film is intriguing to me, as I admit knowing relatively little of the African American experience during World War II. My own research mainly centers on Asian American experiences during World War II, so I am thankful for having another perspective. While it is not surprising to see that prejudice reigned among sailors and government officials during this time, what was refreshing was how the film portrayed the Captain of the USS Mason caring for his crewmen within the context of sailors, not African Americans who happen to be sailors. Further, I was surprised at the treatment of the sailors on shore-leave in Northern Ireland, where the men welcomed them as Yankees first, not black men. The narrator states that he was surprised the crew had to travel all that way to be treated like Americans.

Any viewer interested in the lesser known, but well worthwhile, stories of WWII may like this film. While not perfect, it is a refreshing plot reminds viewers that Americans of all backgrounds fought against the Axis Powers. Whether viewers see too much patriotism woven in this story is largely left to the opinions of each individual, but it is hard not to feel a sense of national pride any time there is a war film. Hopefully, films like "Proud" will be shown more often in classrooms, if not necessarily for the raw historical accuracy, then to visually represent alternative stories for students not familiar with the role all Americans played in the Allied victory in WWII.

Stream or Purchase "Proud" on Amazon

Movie Monday: "Grave of the Fireflies," a film by Isao Takahata, 1988

By Pkisme (Template:Pkisme) via Wikimedia Commons

"Grave of the Fireflies," a film by Isao Takahata, 1988.

A little late, but this review is dedicated in remembrance of December 7th, the 74th Anniversary of the Imperial Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. I chanced upon this Studio Ghibli gem in 2005 while studying abroad in Tokyo, Japan. I had had a rough day, and wanted a film to ease my uneasiness. This was definitely NOT a feel-good film, and I should have watched director Isao Takahata's other work, My Neighbors the Yamadas. Having said that, I do not regret the chance viewing. This film depicts the struggle of the everyday people to survive during war. The story revolves around a brother and sister in World War II Kobe, during the American firebombing campaigns. While not originally intended as an anti-war film, in North America the graphic nature and drama of this film inspired this kind of take-away message.

In my opinion, this is probably Studio Ghibli's most serious and painful film. Based on Akiyuki Nosaka's semi-autobiographical story of the same name, Hotaru no Haka or "Grave of the Fireflies" showcases the quality we've come to expect from Studio Ghibli. The voice acting, as viewed in Japanese, captures the innocence of childhood under extreme stress. I feel like it captures a realism that is almost unavailable with real actors, although the sheer weightiness and tragedy of the narrative reminds me of Osama, Siddiq Barmak's 2003 film about post-Taliban Afghanistan. The art style is classic Studio Ghibli, and fans will recognize the hues and color coordination of Michiyo Yasuda, although innovative use of color made this film remarkable for its softer palette, given the plot.

Reminiscent of Sir Richard Attenborough's 1982 Ghandi, audiences are immediately given the fate of the main characters. This does not detract from the film, but sets the stage for the unfolding narrative. Ninth-grader Seita narrates his sister Setsuko and his fate just after the unconditional surrender of Japan to the Allies during World War II. He is dressed in a nice school uniform as his sister recovers a Sakuma Drops tin, tossed by a janitor into a garbage field near Sannomiya Station. The film then moves back in time, as Seita and Setsuko rush to secure a few belongings before heading to the bomb shelter with their ill mother.

I believe the significance of this film is not who was to blame for the war. In my viewing, I see the often silent tragedy of warfare is the real human cost to the civilians caught in a conflict. We see this now with the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East, just as the Japanese Americans confinement after Pearl Harbor, to the enslavement and torture of East Asian and Southeast Asian guerrilla fighters and civilians to fuel the Japanese war machine in World War II. While it is clear the Allies are bombing Kobe, there is no American person shown in the film. Instead, in true Studio Ghibli style, the film focuses on the challenges of two children, trying to survive in wartime. Among many themes, we as viewers are introduced to the selfishness of family and neighbors during times of scarcity. We see the real cost of war is not only on the battlefield, although a terrible venue, but in the homes and minds of the people whose military and politicians are competing for world domination. Further, I feel this kind of film illustrates the important difference between civilians of an enemy nation and an enemy combatant. A distinction often ignored in many popular conceptions of wartime history.

This is not a film to watch casually while doing household chores. Frankly, I have a hard time actually recommending this film for entertainment, but it is necessary that any student of history, patriot, politician and educator see it. A truly educational, informative and heartbreaking look into the realities of war. In the United States, the anti-war message is a strong current, however the original Japanese version, and vision from Isao Takahata's direction, had a message of what can happen when hopelessness overcomes the will to survive, and the failure of family and the failure to survive in the face of hardship. Either way, this film commands an hour and a half of the viewer's undivided attention. Your eyes will be opened, if a little moist.

Purchase "Grave of the Fireflies" on Amazon.

Book Review: Suits Me: The Double Life of Billy Tipton, Diane Middlebrook.

By User:Villanueva at hu.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

In Suits Me: The Double Life of Billy Tipton, Ms. Middlebrook chronicles the life and career of jazz musician Billy Tipton, who began life as Dorothy Tipton. She addresses the challenges of gender identity, but also explores individual 1930s social responses to gender, and whether or not such identities were truly significant. She further investigates how gender identity significantly helped and hindered women’s access to careers during the 1930s, when women were still limited when men enjoyed nearly full access to a profession of their choice.

Ms. Middlebrook utilizes primary sources like audio tapes and photographs to piece together Tipton’s life. Her reliance on personal accounts of those who knew Billy Tipton strengthens many aspects of her argument. Such intimate details and discussions between spouses and colleagues lends itself to increased insight, particularly on the topic of sex. Some limitations include potential misrepresentation or questionable memories on the interactions, due to age or misunderstanding or personal reasons. This doesn’t belittle the value of first-person accounts, nor the strength of relying on such accounts to provide important insights. What is significant is these sources show how Tipton’s “wives” (for there was never a legal recognition of a marriage) and colleagues often didn’t know, or were largely unphased, by the birth sex of Billy Tipton, and recognized him as a loving father, partner, and musician, though very private and sometimes withdrawn.

Ms. Middlebrook chooses a chronological narrative, which works well to develop both Tipton’s transformation from Dorothy to Billy, but builds a solid foundation for understanding the circumstances surrounding his shift from Dorothy Tipton, an out of work musician, to Billy Tipton, a moderately successful jazz musician in the 1930s.

Ms. Middlebrook contributes successfully to a wealth of biographical narratives covering significant figures during the 1930s. A few contrasts to the Amelia Earhart book Still Missing seems appropriate, in light of the liberal feminist ideologies of the 1920s-1930s. Whereas Susan Ware’s book showcases prominent, talented females like Earhart and Hepburn proving sex to be no limitation to excellence, Ms. Middlebrook’s title character alters his persona to fulfill a role largely excluding women. This desire to fulfill a part Tipton felt born to perform meant securing access to the role by any means necessary. Counter to the figures of Still Missing, however, one would wonder whether Tipton’s life reflects a woman gaining access to greater independence through adopting the masculine persona, or whether Tipton’s goal was more individualistic, in that it served the purpose solely of allowing him to play jazz music. Nevertheless, what binds these two narratives together is an understanding that both Amelia Earhart and Billy Tipton built independent lives in their own way, when it was largely novel or scandalous to do so as women.

This book offers the reader insight into a little known persona, though now without one or two minor weaknesses. The action of cross-dressing and living as a person of the opposite gender seems almost benign for many socially-liberal individuals today. What seems fantastic is how Tipton managed to maintain the ruse for such a long time, especially during intimate moments with partners. Limited expansion over the motivations or reasons for Tipton transforming his identity, beyond desire to play and monetary demands from his family, seems a point of contention with this book. Though the author gives many options, it eventually falls to the reader to decide which is most plausible. Further, just how he did it, though perhaps intentionally left out due to lack of primary resources and being counter to the focus of the book. The interesting childhood, where mixed signals represented by Tipton’s father teaching her masculine activities as her mother desired a feminine daughter, meant Tipton may have been little constrained by traditional gender roles. Whether such actions make a statement about feminism in the 1930s, or mainly showcase the individual’s decision to access a profession through innovative means, perhaps becomes the book’s greater strength, to leave the reader pondering the ramifications of gender and social access to different professions.

The fact that success eluded Tipton, by his own actions, is understandable considering the chance someone would find out the truth under such media scrutiny, it almost seemed like “the game” and “the role” were more significant to Tipton than the success. Fulfilling the role of “father” and “jazz musician” became the key. The narrative is a rather quick read, also offering an easy style. A reader is left to wonder whether or not Tipton’s actions would be considered moral, given that many of the individuals present in Tipton’s life knew nothing of his true birth sex. Though such an accusation is countered by the fact that many who knew, including many individuals who played music with Tipton, show that as long as one could play, it mattered little what gender they identified with (though women were still largely prejudiced against). One almost questions whether Tipton performed a Catch Me If You Can-esque masquerade through gender deception, or if the draw to play music and live life as he saw fit was the primary, driving goal.

Recommended films: Some Like it Hot (1959), Billy Wilder; Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Jim Sharman; Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), Chris Columbus; To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (1995), Beeban Kidron

Book Review: Still Missing: Amelia Earhart and the Search for Modern Feminism, Susan Ware.

[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons via http://e-archives.lib.purdue.edu/

Book Review: Susan Ware. Still Missing: Amelia Earhart and the Search for Modern Feminism. New York: W.W. Norton & Company. 1993. $19.13.

Susan Ware’s book Still Missing: Amelia Earhart and the Search for Modern Feminism argues that Earhart, while most certainly an exceptional example of young womanhood during the 1920's, was definitely a product of time and place. Earhart reflected the rising understanding of liberal feminism, specifically that by showcasing the talents and abilities of the exceptional individual, the entire gender would adjust minds by “proving” the category “woman” held no inherent handicap in achievement.

Ware’s strength is in her choice of chronological structuring of her text. Earhart’s philosophies seem to develop organically, particularly between the period of 1928-1937, although not limited to this range. By taking a chronological approach, Ware is able to build the drama of the tale, though we all know what the outcome will be. Nevertheless, Ware’s narrative is not about the end result, but the significance of the journey and the substance of Earhart’s life. Chronology also allows Ware to showcase, in her chapter “Popular Heroines/ Popular Culture” other women who occupy the same exceptional, liberal feminist pantheon of legends, particularly Katherine Hepburn, Dorothy Thompson, and Eleanor Roosevelt, to name a few. These case studies further emphasis on individuals as exceptional examples of possibility for women.

Ware structures her argument organically. This emphasizes clarity in understanding in a linear fashion. One strength here is this very clarity and understanding, as we understand time moving in a linear way. A weakness may be the temptation of thinking the events of Earhart’s life and philosophy were inevitable, or though the author goes to lengths emphasizing at different levels when things may have taken a turn (such as Earhart’s choice to marry G.P. Putnam, or her decision not to have children, or her choice of doing a world-wide flight in 1936-7).

Ware successfully utilizes primary source documents, particularly the words of Earhart herself, to emphasize her brand of liberal feminism and how her words and deeds sparked the imagination of possibility among vast numbers of young women. Ware’s argument suggesting how Earhart’s words and actions supported her aims of expanding women’s access is further supported through her use of unpublished primary source documents like private correspondence, that further emphasizes not only Earhart’s steadfast support of liberal feminist philosophies (avoiding sex-based laws of help or hindrance) remain behind the cameras as much as before them. Even given the limited availability of other primary sources, due to fire at Earhart’s home, Ware does successfully utilize the sources available and seems to mine them very well to emphasize her arguments.

This book encourages the reader to not think of Earhart as a legend, though she certainly was an exceptional individual and a fantastic self-promoter (also thanks to G.P. Putnam. Ware wants us to consider her as a product of 1920's liberal feminism, and as a larger-than-life hero to so many young ladies who see the possibilities within the context of this specific society. Earhart represents these possibilities, and showcases, as the main thrust of this book emphasizes time and again, that women of the 1920's wanted an exceptional example of what women could do, and women like Earhart, Roosevelt, and Hepburn reflected this want. It also emphasizes that liberal feminism was the vogue way of looking at  women’s roles within society and the workplace (among white, middle-class women and their fans). It wasn't sex that one should focus on, but the individual ability and talents, regardless of sex. Nevertheless, the book does not gloss over Earhart’s limitations, nor the limits of liberal feminism. Both Earhart and liberal feminists were largely white, middle-class or upper-middle class, individuals with exceptional talent and exceptional opportunity. The plight of minority women, particularly African-American women and economically disadvantaged women, whose options to excel seemed particularly limited.

In conclusion, Ware’s book expands upon the understanding of Earhart as feminist, and avoids further expansion on Earhart the legend. Ware succeeds at contextualizing Earhart, which is the main emphasis of her text. Earhart was reflective of liberal feminist thought, her contributions unfortunately overshadowed by her unsolved disappearance. Ware ends with a treatment of why Earhart might have taken that last flight, as a publicity stunt for a slumping career or as an answer to the social shift away from 1920's feminine heroes towards 1940's suppression of mass feminist movements. Earhart’s potentialities were not diminished had she successfully returned from her flight, and Ware wonders whether she would have taken a post at Purdue as a researcher or counselor, or taken another aviation-oriented “second career.” One wonders whether or not we would even be studying her had she not disappeared!

Ware’s case studies of other women further places Earhart within a context, although does not bog the reader down in details unnecessary for her main purpose, which is greatly appreciated. It is a fine example of blending narrative and scholarship to produce a product that will appeal to academic and layman historian, although academic historians will likely find particular points of critique, as with any text.