My report: I didn’t pick this picture and naturally I fell asleep while attempting to watch it. Basically the film was about a woman dying for one and a half hours. I’m not making fun of cancer patients, just the movie. The humor was not good. This film has a very specific market. Maybe people in their thirties, with kids, that have gone through the same, and even they may not find it funny either.
Rating:
About it: Director Steve Stockman takes the helm for this semi-autobiographical comedy drama about an estranged family that comes together for one last goodbye, and finds their assumedly brief farewell inexorably dragged out for two excruciating weeks. Aging matriarch Anita (Sally Field) is dying, but before she goes, she has requested that her four grown children travel back home to visit their ailing mother on her deathbed. Eager to gain a better understanding of the dying process, daughter Emily purchases a variety of self-help books on the subject. Though brother Keith (Ben Chaplin) soon arrives determined to float through the process in typical L.A. Zen mode, Emily contends that the only way to be prepared for the future is to consider every detail that can go awry. When PR executive Barry arrives intent on getting some work done before death comes knocking, it appears as if he is more concerned with getting broadband Internet in the house than actually tending to his mother. Meanwhile, youngest brother Matthew sets at the sidelines biding his time as his unlikable wife, Katrina, callously speculates on which of the dying woman’s luxurious jewels she will be inheriting. Now, as Anita begins to look back at her life while reflecting on the time spent with her family, the question of who will hold this family together once she is gone casts a melancholy shadow over her fond memories. ~ Jason Buchanan, All Movie Guide
My report: It was a different story. It wasn’t about the concentration camps, but the story of a rich Jewish girl who ends up becoming a spy. It was an interesting story. I don’t really know what else to say about it. It wasn’t predictable, but it also didn’t catch my total attention. Maybe because it was in another language…
Rating:
About it: Filmmaker Paul Verhoeven returned to the Netherlands after more than twenty years of success in Hollywood to direct this epic-scale war drama based on a true story. Rachel Steinn (Carice van Houten) is a beautiful Jewish woman living in German-occupied Holland during late 1944. Her family members - who have been falsely promised safe passage to Belgium (their names recorded in the ‘black book’ of the title) are instead robbed and slaughtered by the Germans on a premeditated basis; Rachel herself manages to escape by diving into the water and swimming away. She narrowly avoids capture, then joins the local resistance movement. With her hair dyed blonde, Rachel can easily pass for Aryan, and when the leader of the Dutch resistance movement learns his son has been captured by Axis forces, Rachel is asked to use her feminine charms to persuade a German commander to arrange for the boy’s release. Rachel soon finds herself caught up in a dangerous double life as she becomes a sexual plaything for the Nazis while attempting to bring down their evil empire as a spy. Zwartboek was written by Verhoeven and Gerard Soeteman, who collaborated on the 1977 international success Soldier of Orange. Zwartboek received its world premier at the 2006 Venice Film Festival. ~ Mark Deming, All Movie Guide
(1) Peter Brimelow, a senior editor of Forbes magazine and author of several books, in his article, “A Nation of Immigrants” (1992) addresses the political debate about immigration policy that was occurring in the early 1990s. (2) Brimelow used political history to explain the definition of a nation and address American immigration policy. (3) Brimelow’s purpose is to provide a clear definition of a nation and foretell the future of America as a nation. (4) He establishes an educational tone directed towards Americans.
By providing clear facts and using history as his main vehicle for examples, Brimelow keeps his audience connected with the subject and interested. In his quest for a true definition of a nation, Brimelow takes a look at binding factors such as race, language, culture and geographical borders.
Buddhism is a way of life that attempts to identify the causes of human suffering. In its teachings, the goal is to achieve enlightenment in order to help others attain the same state, as opposed to mere personal liberation. In the film “Little Buddha”, a group of Buddhist monks lead by their Lama (spiritual teacher), Norbu, travel the world in search of their physically deceased teacher, Lama Dorje, whom they believe has reincarnated in the body of a young American boy. Reincarnation is the belief that once a living creature dies, its soul is reborn in a new body. While the belief of reincarnation is widely spread in Asia, it is not a shared belief among many in Western countries.
The film makes a clear contrast between the cultural patterns of Tibetan Buddhists and the American culture. Illustrating the differences in norms, beliefs and social practices. The Buddhists monks lived with a sense of collectivism, encouraging conformity and interdependence. All monks dressed alike, regardless of seniority or country of residence. Their dress code consisted of a robe known as a zen and occasionally a hat.
The way of greeting included no physical contact or verbal communication. Placing both hands together and a gentle bow was the usual greet. This greeting is known as the wai and it is considered to be a sign of respect. There are three different types of wai. These were all shown in the film and depended mainly on ranks and genders.
1. A wai to Buddha is considered the highest level of respect. Males bow low while raising both hands with palms pressed together up to the face and forefingers touching the forehead while females move a foot backward and bend the knees, raising both pressing palms to the same position as men do.
2. The second level of wai happened when a woman approached Lama Norbu, a high ranked monk. She bent her knees and bowed almost to the floor. This was a sign of deep respect towards the Lama. Norbu didn’t return the greet. Usually such act might be thought as offensive, but Buddhists monks are considered the highest class in their society and as such are not required to show equal respect to others. Even kings should wai monks.
3. The third level of wai is between people of equal age and social status. Bending the head a little bit and raising both hands until the forefingers touch the tip of the nose is customary. This was the typical form of greet shown in the film and it was seen between the monks and also the American family once introduced to the cultural patterns of the Buddhist monks.
Throughout the movie, Lama Norbu presented a book, a watch and a bowl as gifts. In all three occasions the gifts were presented using both hands and the gifts were also received with both hands. This is also considered a sign of respect. Similarly the monks took off their shoes when they entered the home of the American boy, even when the homeowners didn’t.
In one of the scenes, Lama Norbu explained to the father of the American boy the purpose of Tibetan sand painting. The art consists in making beautiful images out of millions of grains of sand, laid into place on a flat platform over a period of days or weeks. As Lama Norbu explained, the paintings are made with sand to “show the impermanence of all within the universe, and when completed it will be destroyed with one gesture.”
The main difference in interpersonal communication between the Tibetan monks and the Americans was in their sense of group. While the monks always talked in terms of “we”, the Americans didn’t. Religion, of course, and death had a different level of importance between both groups. Cultural patterns affected interpersonal culture because it was hard for the American father to understand the concept of reincarnation.
REFERENCES
Little Buddha (1993). The life of Siddartha is paralleled with the story of Tibetan monks seeking his reincarnation in modern day Seattle. DVD.
The World in a Grain of Sand. www.chinaculture.org
Tibetan Buddhism. Wikipedia. www.wikipedia.com
I didn’t take any notes on chapters 7 and 8 so I must have considered them stories with nothing too important that I could apply as a teaching. At this point in the book Malcolm went to jail on burglary and received a sentence of 10 years instead of the usual 2 years Malcolm saw other inmates receive. Malcolm says it had to do with him having white girls as partners in crime.
It was in jail when he first learned about the religion of Islam and that’s when his life started changing for the better.
In chapter 10 the following note caught my attention:
… your number in prison became part of you. You never heard your name, only your number. On all of your clothing, every item, was your number, stenciled. It grew stenciled on your brain.
I’ve never been to jail, but this reminded me of when I used to be in boarding school. How everything piece of clothing had to be marked with a number. Although I was only in a boarding school for about three months before I got my chance to move back to the city, I still remember that number from thirteen years ago: 133. The same way I still remember my social security number from Panama and the U.S. and my driver’s license number. Is that what we’ve become? A number? I see the importance of having one; it would be almost impossible to differentiate millions of people without giving each one a unique identifier. It is also important that we not forget we are still humans with personalities that can’t be defined by a number or any other sort of generalized classification.
In chapter 6 Malcolm writes about his first brushes with street hustlers. I would say that this world, as much as it was a learning experience, it also was his downfall. He started as a bartender where people of all hustles used to meet and soon he became one. Here are some things I highlighted:
They [white women] knew that the black man had all the strikes against him, that the white man kept the black man down, under his heel, unable to get anywhere, really. The white woman wanted to be comfortable, she wanted to be looked upon with favor by her own kind, but also she wanted to have her pleasure. So some of them just married a white man for convenience and security, and kept right on going with a Negro.
I’m not into the paragraph as I was when I first highlighted it, but it’s just as true today. I’m not talking about the white man oppressing the black man, but about women looking for security. People in their right mind usually don’t marry or date sick people the same way women would prefer a man with certain securities, mainly money because its liquidity can give them homes, food and if there’s enough then worry-free spending. I know some women say this is not true, that what they really want is love and affection but if they had an option between love or money plus love… tell me then money doesn’t play a role. I would like to add that love is that one variable that when applied to anything, it can change everything.
Malcolm X">…in order to get something you had to look as though you already had something.
So true. Act the part and you’ll get the part.
So many of those so-called “upper class” Negroes are so busy trying to impress on the white man that they are “different from those others” that they can’t see they are only helping the white man to keep his low opinion of all Negroes.
It’s all about unity, it makes no sense for someone to respect me if I can’t respect myself. So if I’m a black man and I demand from others not to call me a nigger, but at the same time I call other black people niggers and bitches, what does that lead to? It leads to confusion from those that want to respect us and a good laugh from those who refuse to respect.
However, if black people are going to use the word nigger and say it doesn’t mean anything offensive, then fine but we have to be sure of that. I like to use Bob Marley’s phrase “emancipation from mental slavery,” which would mean black people have complete disregard for what other races might think about us using the word nigger and we use it because we want to use it. But I know this is not the case. If it was, then black people wouldn’t care if someone outside the race used the word nigger. And like I said before, it has to be a united decision, or at least the majority of blacks must agree. I think we also know that’s not the case or there wouldn’t be so much controversy over the word.
I’m still reading “The Autobiography of Malcolm X.” I haven’t been writing because I wanted to finish reading and then get to writing, but in my readings today I came across a statement Malcolm made that got me thinking about the true nature of men and women. This is what it says:
…being that the true nature of man is to be strong, and a woman’s true nature is to be weak, and while a man must at all times respect his woman, at the same time he needs to understand that he must control her if he expects to get her respect.
I disagree with the first part of that statement. I don’t think being weak or strong has much to do with the sexes. I think it has to do with the personality of the individual. To say that this is the true nature is generalizing a bit too much. I do think that a stronger woman might prefer to have a stronger man and that has to do with a feeling of protection. Not because a woman can’t protect herself, but because she’d rather have a man that can protect her better than she can.
As for the second part, well… every person must respect and control others who try to disrespect. When a person is disrespected and fails to control the offender, things start slipping eternally out of control. It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman. Of course I will put my girlfriend in place if she disrespects, and I expect her to do the same to me. I don’t want someone I can control, I want someone I consider my equal and I can respect as such.
Comparing one’s self/kind to others and feeling superior is not hard. Being strong enough to compare and praise others for their good qualities while still being able to maintain a good self esteem is what I consider dignifying.
Chapter 5 is titled “Harlemite.” In it Malcolm talks about his first chance to experience Harlem while he was working as a sandwich salesman for a railroad company.
Malcolm explains how Harlem became predominantly Black, as it was first a Dutch settlement and when Germans started moving in the Dutch started leaving. The Irish then came in, running from the potato famine, and the Germans left because they looked down on the Irish. The same thing happened between the Irish and the Italians; then the Jews; and finally the Negroes.
As Malcolm explains, in 1910, a Negro real estate man got two Negro families into one Jewish Harlem apartment house. When the Jews found out, they flew from the house and more Negroes moved into it, completely filling the house. Jews flew from that block and more Negroes moved in. Evidently Jews continued to move away from houses and blocks close to Negroes and more Negroes would move in until Harlem became mostly Black.
This is how Malcolm says the story goes… I don’t know anything about it except for what I have now read, but it’s very possible. At the end, everybody got what they wanted.
I don’t have much to say about chapter 4. Malcolm X talks about his first experiences with girls. We all go through that at some point in our lives. That’s when we learn certain things like:
“Never ask a woman about other men. Either she’ll tell you a lie, and you still won’t know, or if she tells you the truth, you might not have wanted to hear it in the first place.”
I’ve made that mistake. All I got was feelings of jealousy, but I learned quick though. Did it once and never again. There’s no point and the same goes with women asking men. Just don’t ask! Let the pages be written from the time two people meet going forward. Leave the extra baggage behind or the relationship will be doomed from the beginning. Unfortunately I’ve been there.
The third chapter is mostly about Malcolm’s introduction to the big city life. Before that he was living in the country. He describes his first impressions about Boston, how people dressed and talked, his new job and overall experiences.
There were many similarities when I first came to the U.S.. I think it’s what happens when people make drastic changes to their way of life and we can either adapt to our new surroundings or create sort of like a frame to keep us “safe” from the possibilities of the unknown. Personally, I think we all ought to explore the unknown and not be so afraid of rejection or the what-could-happen, all we have to do is make calculated moves.
I’m also talking about temporary changes like when we travel to another country. If I have the time when I travel, I like to mingle with the local people. Try to get a real perspective of life in that country. Locals are almost always friendly, especially when they know a person is not from there. But I also understand why somebody would want to travel to another country and do absolutely nothing. I think the important thing is in keeping a balance.
The next quote is from Malcolm X talking about “white-wigged black woman”, but I think it’s true about a lot of people regardless of sex:
“If they gave the brains in their heads just half as much attention as they do their hair, they would be a thousand times better off.”
I am now on the third chapter of The Autobiography of Malcolm X. The second chapter came as a shock to me. I wasn’t expecting Malcolm X to talk nicely about any white person, but he does. I like that because it makes the story believable. I wouldn’t have believed it if he said all white people are racist. Whenever I get just one side of a story I always wonder what happened to the other side.
Here is something Malcolm X said that I think is very true about a lot of white people’s demeanor:
“It has historically been the case with white people, in their regard for black people, that even though we might be with them, we weren’t considered of them. Even though they appeared to have opened the door, it was still closed. Thus they never did really see me.”
In other words, a black person no matter what is still looked as a black person. And the number one cause of this is our emphasis in color. As if a person’s color automatically speaks for the character of the person. But it is something that happens all the time and will probably continue to happen for a while. That’s why I say “fuck it.” When I try so hard to be a part of something just to be told that I am a “nappy headed FSR (Financial Services Representative)” and constantly made aware that the color of my skin makes me somehow so different from the rest, I have to stop trying to be a part of that group, because as long as the views of those I’m trying be a part of don’t change I will never be one of them. Instead, I have to be myself and forget what others think. In the words of Malcolm X:
“I didn’t really have much feeling about being a Negro, because I was trying so hard, in every way I could, to be white. Which is why I am spending much of my life today telling the American black man that he’s wasting time straining to “integrate.” I know from personal experience. I tried hard enough.”
I just finished reading the first chapter of the Autobiography of Malcolm X. After watching Lupe Fiasco talk about Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, I decided that it was important for me to know more about Black history in America.
I can see how Malcolm X became the man that he did. With so many of his family members dying on the hands of white men by the cause of race, I think most people would feel the same way but few might be able to express it. In understanding Malcolm’s past I’m also coming to understand a little better why I am the way I am today: my mother’s constant criticism and complaining, both of my parents strict ruling which sometimes turned physical and let no room for independent actions. There really is no wondering.
Malcolm X wrote he was proud he never raised his hand to his mom. I have to admit I did once, but my father was there to keep that hand from touching her and I’m greatful for that. I had to hear my mom say things about me that weren’t true all the time. She would make up stories in her mind about how I was stealing money from her, that I was good for nothing, call me a “piece of shit”, plant shit on my dad’s ear so he would get angrier at me than what he usually was and when things got physical between my dad and I, my mom was right behind my dad cheering for him because I “needed to be thought a lesson.”
I’m not saying I was an angel, but I didn’t deserve what I got. Nobody does. I grew up without affection, hugs and kisses. When I came to live in the U.S. and spent more time around other families and saw how sisters, brothers and parents hugged and told each other how much they loved them I was puzzled. I couldn’t understand why they were doing it, especially so often. My mother had never told me that she loved me except once and she did it on a piece of paper written in French - “Je T’aime” - and I could count with one hand the number of times I made physical contact with my parents any given year, and I’m talking the touch of a hand or something not hugs or anything deep.
I am a much better person today. I know how to talk to people and be social, even though I do it in an academic sort of way. I know when to smile, when to listen, what to say and what not to only because I think about it while I’m doing it and I know what it usually instigates on the other person, not because it comes natural. I can look at people face to face and I have no problems hugging or being close to someone else. And after taking so much shit talking from my mom I’ve developed a barrier against words. They don’t move me, but I’m learning that this could be as bad as it is good. People tend to abuse, let themselves go and try to step over if I don’t say something back on time. I refuse to let anyone call me a “nappy headed FSR (Financial Services Representative)” and do nothing. I will not turn the other cheek nor will I act out of anger.
Acting out of constant anger is where I think Malcolm X went wrong. I think it keeps us sometimes from making smart decisions. But I will continue reading the book before I make final statements. All I know is that I don’t want to be a part of a circle of constant battles. I will step in it if I have to though just to get shit straight, but I want to be able to concentrate on myself. So don’t push and everything will be OK. Show love.
New York Times Book Review, Robert Boone: It behooves us to read, and even reread Malcolm's book, and especially the last five chapaters, which describe the transformation that took place in his mind and heart after his break with Elijah Muhammad and the Black Muslims.
My report: I didn’t pick this picture and naturally I fell asleep while attempting to watch it. Basically the film was about a woman dying for one and a half hours. I’m not making fun of cancer patients, just the movie. The humor was not good. This film has a very specific market. Maybe people in their thirties, with kids, that have gone through the same, and even they may not find it funny either.
