Michael Kress: October 2006 Archives

Though "The Simpsons" was a repeat last night, it was new to me, and--though I am not sure why this fascinates me as much as it does--I couldn't help catching what was at least the second reference to Barbra Streisand's 1983 gender-bender drama "Yentl" in the animated series' history.

For those with all-too-short memories, "Yentl" was the story of a young Jewish woman in an Eastern European shtetl who, lacking educational opportunities because of her gender, is determined to study in an all-men's yeshivah, so she covers up in traditional Orthodox men's garb--white shirt, black suit, black coat, black hat, dangling side-curls--and enrolls as a man.

The so-bad-it's-funny movie first appeared on "The Simpsons" in an episode focusing on Nelson and his search for his father. Believing no one is around to hear him, the supposedly hard-hearted bully breaks into a heart-wrenching (or gut-busting, depending on your perspective) rendition of the movie's song "Papa Can You Hear Me?"

Then, in the episode rebroadcast last night, the kids' school is separated by gender, in order to give the girls an empowerment boost in math and science. Fed up with her touchy-feely math class--"How does a plus sign make you feel?" the teacher asks--Lisa decides to take a play from Babs' book and attend the boys school in drag. Discovered, one of Nelson's bully friends calls out disappointedly, "We've been Yentled!"

Indeed they had been.

Hindu goddesses and saints dressed in tight-fitting leotards and modern clothes, walking the violent streets of modern cities, wielding fantastic weapons and fighting evil and wrongdoers: You'll find all of this and more in the new Shakti line of comics from Virgin Comics. With names like "Devi," "The Sadhu," "Snake Woman," and "Ramayan Reborn," these editions are all about Hindu gods, goddesses, mythology, culture, and philosophy.

Shakti comics are being backed by some powerful names, including Richard Branson, the founder of Virgin, Shekar Kapur, director of "Elizabeth" and "Four Feathers," and none other than the writer and spiritual leader Deepak Chopra. Gotham Chopra, Deepak's son, is the Chief Creative Officer and Editor in Chief. Virgin Comics is based in Bangalore, India, and houses nearly 100 artists and writers in its creative studio.

For the traditionalists and the conservative Hindu community--which has been outraged by the pictures of gods and goddesses imprinted on T-shirts, shoes, bags and other clothing items--this might seem like rubbing salt on a raw wound. To the liberal, the young, and the sanguine comic reader, this might just seem like an interesting work of fiction. Either way, it will be interesting to see whether these comics are commercially successful.

In the comic books, the illustrations and stories are like those in any superhero comic book, and the stories are primarily about fighting evil and letting good prevail. Still, the books seem too bizarre at times and the comics may come across to some Hindus as a misrepresentation or a disrespect of Hindu gods and culture.

Devi, for example has been created to fight a fallen god Bala. The pure gods sacrifice a part of themselves to create this powerful new entity. Devi is voluptuous, dressed in highly unlikely clothes, and wields a lightning-like weapon that crackles and destroys. Devi is reborn in the present day and continues to fight the evil Lord Bala, this time in a tight black leather outfit and knee high boots.

This idea is innovative, but unlikely to molify Hindu conservatives, who will think of these comics as deprecating Hindu gods and goddesses. Still, Virgin Comics is trying to reinvent the rich indigenous narratives of India and is poised to expand from the realm of comics into films, television, animation, gaming, wireless content, websites, merchandise, and more. "Secrets of the Seven Sounds," a full-length animated feature for kids inspired by the ancient Indian myth Ramayana is currently in development, with Virgin Comics and Kahani World, a Toronto-based independent animation company, as co- producers.

-- Posted by Visi Tilak

A few weeks ago, toward the end of a festive holiday meal, the rabbi of my synagogue threw out a light-hearted challenge to us. This was back when both the Mets and the Yankees were still in the playoff hunt, and the rabbi's question was straightforward: How is baseball like Judaism? A few people tried making the connection, but nothing satisfactory came from it, and the rabbi moved on to more serious topics.

Now, having had this past weekend to ruminate on the Mets' heartbreaking loss to the Cardinals last week, I've developed my own answer to the question of how baseball, if not like Judaism as a whole, is at least like one piece of the Bible: the book of Ecclesiastes.

In baseball, as in life, you never know the outcome, and any one at-bat--like any game, season, or even career--seems to rest on little other than chance. A weak-hitting catcher belts a ninth-inning two-run homer, while a genuine superstar MVP candidate strikes out looking with the tying run in scoring position. Whether a line drive falls for a two-run double or is caught by charging outfielder; whether a pitch curves in for a perfect strike or stays outside for a ball; whether a high fly ball soars over the fence for a homerun or veers left for a foul ball or is caught on the warning track for an out; whether a ground ball skids past a diving shortstop for a single or is stopped for an easy ground-out--all of these can go either way in any situation.

Sure, talent and effort count, but so do field conditions, weather, what ballpark you're playing in, and a million other known and unknown factors.

In the face of this unpredictability, what do we do? It's easy to turn away, overwhelmed at the randomness, and withdraw. Or we can adopt an abiding pessimism, a fatalistic certitude that there is no justice and that fate is against us (see: Red Sox, Boston, pre-2004). But neither of these responses is satisfying. Instead, all we can do in the face of seemingly arbitrary fate is to get up day in and day out and play the game. We must not let yesterday's victory go to our heads and lead us to think that we are, indeed, fully in control of the outcome, nor can we let yesterday's defeat weigh us down and convince us that victory will forever be elusive.

All we can do is remember that talent and effort are important factors--ones that we can control--and try our hardest to be the best players and teammates we can be, to face our challenges and hopes and fears, and to work our hardest toward our goals. And to leave the rest in God's hands.

We like when things are neatly packaged and easily grasped, one character in Clint Eastwood's "Flags of our Fathers" tells us: good and evil, heroes and villains. "Most of the time they aren't. But we think they are."

The movie, opening today, shows us the complex and messy depiction of the Battle of Iwo Jima. More importantly, it explores what was happening on the home front in the weeks while the battle still raged but a single photograph from its early days had galvanized the nation.

We tend to assume that that iconic photo--of six men hoisting the American flag on newly captured enemy territory--marked the end of the battle to take a small Pacific island called Iwo Jima. But that's just one of the widely held assumptions shattered by "Flags of Our Fathers," a haunting exploration of what it means to be a true hero, what it means to be a media- and government-created hero, and what it means to be an actual, three-dimensional human being who is seen by millions as a hero.

The neat and easy story goes like this: Soldiers heroically and victoriously hoist flag, giving hope to millions of Americans. "Flags of Our Fathers" presents the messy truth of it all. The photo was taken on Day 5 of what would be a 35-day battle, which, like all battles, saw confusion, horrific injuries, friendly-fire casualties, amazing feats of courage, occasional moments of cowardice, and inevitably, a death count too-high and too-grisly to contemplate.

But the moment the photo hit newspapers, it immediately became the iconic shot of World War II, and the government--broke and dispirited--new it had a winner. Though there was some confusion about just who was in the photo and which flag-raising was being celebrated (since there were two, the second done for petty reasons), the soldiers caught on film became instant celebrities. They were flown out of the battle zone to be wined and dined around the U.S. as they raised money for much-needed war bonds; this despite the fact that, in one soldier's words, "It's hard not to be called a hero for saving someone's life. But for putting up a pole?"

The movie jumps back and forth between Iwo Jima and the U.S., where we follow three soldiers--the others in the photo had been killed--as they're trotted out for audiences across the country, including one cringe-inducing re-creation of the famous flag-raising scene, complete with fireworks. Meanwhile, the soldiers must grapple with their guilt at being pulled away from their comrades while the battle rages on, their guilt at living while so many died, and their guilt at being called heroes when, in their eyes, the real heroes were those soldiers who died for their country. And, of course, they must cope with the horrific memories of what they saw there.

In truth, the soldiers were treated neither as heroes nor as icons. One was Native American, and faced discrimination and segregation despite his supposed "heroism." All were dropped like yesterday's news when they were no longer needed for the war-bond tour. The soldiers in that photograph should have been a symbol of all the heroism on Iwo Jima and throughout the U.S. military, but in the eyes of the public, it became the fame itself of being in that photo that mattered; when the soldiers tried to explain what really happened there, or when it was discovered that a particular dead soldier was not the one with his back turned in the photo, the public turned away, from the soldiers and their families, not caring about anything but to be part of the good feeling and get their own photos taken with the famous men. It was celebrity culture at its worst.

Many critics rightly see the movie as a comment on how governments package and sell wars, a message with obvious relevance to day. But "Flags" is as much, if not more, about us--how we fuel and react to fame and celebrity, how we choose and treat our supposed "heroes," and how easy it is to lose sight of such things as truth and values when a presented with a simple, easy-to-digest narrative by the media and/or the government.

Though it is too long and too preachy--Eastwood spends far too much time "telling" and not enough time "showing" us how to feel--"Flags" is a brave and important movie. Despite its shortcomings, its message is one we'd all do well to contemplate in a culture so focused on celebrity, fame, and media-created "heroes."

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