Creator of “Ren and Stimpy” and founder of Spumco

Brandon Kosters: The acting in your animated films clearly references iconic film actors from older Hollywood films. I am wondering if you can tell me about some of the exercises you’ve had Spumco artists do to replicate facial and gestural actions of famous actors?

John Kricfalusi: Well, first of all cartoon characters have much simpler faces than real people. Most animation uses very simplified expressions of broad general emotions. Happy, sad, mad, surprised, etc. But real humans and good actors are capable of much more intricate and layered emotions that they portray with their facial expressions and gestures.

One exercise we did was to draw Elmer Fudd making actual human expressions. We would freeze frame Kirk Douglas, Robert Ryan, Jackie Gleason and others and try to capture their expressions and wrap them around Elmer’s head shape. This is not an easy task!

I think of every character as a totally different being; each with his or her own ways of expressing themselves visually. I don’t analyze any of my characters, I just feel them as I draw them. George Liquor doesn’t make the same sorts of expressions as Ren, and Ren doesn’t behave like Stimpy.

They each have an infinite amount of individual expressions and poses that are dictated by the story, mood and scene. This is a very different approach than most cartoons where a handful of preset expressions are drawn on the model sheets and you can never vary them.

I draw some expressions that are sort of “realistic” – very specific, but also some that are purely cartoony or impossible, and many that are in between the 2 extremes. I believe in using a wide palette.

BK: Disney’s “The Frog Princess” will be the studios first film with an African-American protagonist since “Song of the South.” This will also be the first hand drawn animation from Disney in some time.

JK:Except the characters don’t look remotely black. I’m sure they won’t act it either. They are just stock Disney characters painted slightly darker, but no different in design than Belle or the Little Mermaid.

BK: My mind goes straight to a film like Bob Clampett’s “Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs”, a sophisticated film artistically, however offensive it’s content may be to a contemporary audience.

It seems that ultimately animated films serve as fascinating historical documents. Is there any value in preventing works like this from being seen today?

JK: I can’t see any value in not showing one of the best cartoons ever made. They show Gone With The Wind and many other classic live action films that have what are now assumed to be “offensive” stereotypes, but won’t show the cartoons from the same period. We are too politically correct.

BK: How long after your work with Ralph Bakshi did you form Spumco?

JK: I guess 2 years.

BK: How do you feel about computer driven animation?

JK: I think it has potential. It’s been mostly pretty boring and robotic so far. It doesn’t seem worth the cost and effort, when it is so much faster and easier to just draw what you can imagine, but maybe someday it will get more artist-friendly.

BK: One of the things that made the first two seasons of “Ren and Stimpy” so great was the fact that you pushed it as far as anyone conceivably could on a major children’s network. How did you feel about working on the “Adult Party Cartoons”, where you were basically given license to be as crass as you wanted?

JK: I wasn’t “given license”, I was kind of forced to. I just wanted to make it the way I always did. The stories even came from the first 2 seasons of the show, but we added stuff hat the executives thought would be more like South Park. There are a few scenes that I would take out if I had my own way. And I never try to be merely “crass” – certainly no where near as crass as modern prime time cartoons.

BK: How do you think the animation industry today differs from the industry when you first entered into it? What advice do you have for students and novices entering into the business?

JK: It differs on the surface. The styles are more flat today, less “realistic” than the 80s. It’s still not run creatively by artists, although there was a short period in the early 90s where we had a lot more creative say in the cartoons we made. Now they are mostly executive-driven and formulaic.

My advice to everyone is to learn to draw as well as you can and don’t get caught up in “style”. The more skill you have, the more creative choices you can make. Everyone thinks they have a magical unique style, but in reality, most artists don’t. There is a lot of cloning in our business.

BK: Do you remember the moment when you realized that, stylistically, you were being emulated by many other studios?

JK: Yeah, the very next cartoons that came out after Ren and Stimpy- even at the studios who had turned down Ren and Stimpy when I pitched it to them. Actually even before that, some studios were copying what we did on Bakshi’s Mighty mouse.

BK: Is the “Mighty Mouse” series you directed under Ralph Bakshi going to be available for DVD any time soon?

JK: Yes.

BK: What projects are you currently working on?

JK: George Liquor and some cartoons for my own Youtube Network.

BK: Going to a fine art school, there are still some people who insist on making the distinction between “high art” and “low art”. Similarly, in animation, it seems like there are many who wish to make the distinction between studio animators and independent animators. Is this decision necessary, and wouldn’t an artist be putting themselves in a disadvantaged position if they didn’t embrace both sensibilities?

JK: Well I admire high skill and creativity no matter what the medium. Does “fine art” even mean anything anymore? And I never heard of “high art”. Tell me what it is so I can make fun of it. If fine art means diving into a vat of elephant dung and rolling around on a canvas then you can have it. I’ll take [Bob Clampett’s] “The Great Piggy Bank Robbery”.

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Julie Rodriguez

Following a 4-year hiatus from the world of television, Joss Whedon, creator of Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, has returned with a new series. Dollhouse follows the story of Echo (Eliza Dushku), a woman who has had her memories wiped by a criminal organization and is given new personalities in order to fulfill “engagements” for high-paying clients. At the end of each engagement, the false persona and all memories of the event are erased. However, as Echo completes her engagements, the process begins to fail and she begins retaining fragmented memories of her experiences and becoming self-aware.

The show has garnered curiosity and criticism for it’s unorthodox subject matter. While science fiction, it touches on some controversial real-world issues. The childlike “dolls” of the series are practically slaves; in the first episode we see the woman who is to become Echo signing a contract to join the Dollhouse, but it’s clear the decision has been made under some kind of extreme duress. The parallels to human trafficking are impossible to miss. It’s a concept that in the wrong (even well-intentioned) hands could be disastrous. But, if the episodes so far are any indication, Dollhouse may just be able to walk the thin line of catering to fantasy and depicting slavery without patronizing the issues and demeaning the characters.

Echo’s first on-screen engagement involves fulfilling a man’s fantasy for the perfect romantic weekend. She leaves, gushing about how he might just be “the one” and debating whether or not to call him, and upon her return to the Dollhouse instantly forgets everything that just transpired. This is obviously a form of sexual slavery, and her innocence and complete lack of awareness about the fact that she is being used makes it all the more painful for the viewer to watch. The disconnect between Echo’s earnest desires (and even those are placed inside her head without her knowledge) and the willingness of the men who engage her to use her, knowing full well exactly what they are doing, is troubling.

Problematic depictions of sexual violence against women and girls also emerge early on. Echo’s personalities are not created from scratch; she is implanted with the composite memories and experiences of multiple people who fit the profile necessary for each “engagement.” In the first episode, Echo comes face-to-face with the man who abused a woman her persona was based on as a child and has to deal with the trauma of the false memories while attempting to thwart a kidnapping ring. This mostly comes across as lazy and cliché writing – using past sexual trauma in lieu of substantive character development is dismissive of the very real impact of sexual violence on its victims, and it’s unfortunately endemic in television and movies.

The second episode is incredibly disturbing. Echo is hired for an engagement with an outdoorsman looking for the perfect woman. After a day of elk hunting and rock-climbing, he pulls out a bow and tells Echo to start running and prove that she “deserves to live.” So she runs, while her handlers desperately attempt to rescue her from the engagement gone wrong. However, as horrifying as this is to watch for the next 45 minutes, it is handled more artfully than the pilot. Echo starts to show signs of autonomy and rejects some key aspects of her programming when, instead of weakly submitting, she takes initiative and saves both her bodyguard (assigned to follow at a discrete distance unless it is necessary to intervene) and herself. By the end of the episode, Echo appears to be more human and less plot device, a refreshing departure from the course the show appeared to be taking up to that point.

The third and most recent episode is where the direction Whedon has taken with Dollhouse begins to become clearer. Another doll who lives with Echo, Sierra, has become her friend in their mind-erased, childlike state between engagements. Both are assigned to protect a pop singer from murder attempts by an obsessed fan, unaware of their relationship prior to the engagement. Even though they have met as strangers and Echo is hardwired to protect her client, when their plans backfire and Sierra is taken hostage, Echo does everything in her power to protect Sierra, at the expense of her mission. She knocks the client out cold and offers to trade her as ransom for the release of Sierra, saying, “friends help each other.” In the end, the threat is creatively eliminated and everyone escapes more or less unscathed (minus the kidnapper). The head of Dollhouse explains the incident away as Echo’s programming manifesting itself in an unexpected, yet effective manner, unwilling to accept the possibility that her programming is faulty. As for Echo, even after all memories of the incident have been erased, she seems aware of the ramifications, purposely avoiding Sierra to subdue suspicion.

Though initially difficult to judge and unsettling in its treatment of Echo, Dollhouse seems to be finding its bearings. The struggles of characters trapped in high-tech slavery is compelling, but only once they begin to become aware of it and search for an escape. Assuming the characters continue to grow and develop (and that the show doesn’t meet the gruesome fate of its canceled cousin, Firefly), it’s safe to say that Dollhouse will be a fascinating and worthwhile journey.

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By Emily Bauman

It is no secret that the arts in this country have been on the defensive for years. Across the board, the arts have been the first line on government spending budgets to be slashed. From arts education programs at elementary and high schools to its pathetic give-and-take policy of endowing then-unendowing the NEA, government policy has shown that it (dis)regards the Arts as expendable.

The devaluation of the arts in the U.S. has forced arts professionals and organizations to rely on ingenuity and argument to survive, forcing the art world to develop into the commodified system that artists constantly bemoan (cultural Darwinism, can we say?). But now, as we find ourselves firmly entrenched in a financial crisis, the arts have found themselves under targeted, brutal and often stealthy attack.

On February 6, the U.S. Senate approved by overwhelming majority (73-24 votes) the Coburn Amendment to the economic recovery bill under its consideration, which states: “None of the amounts appropriated or otherwise made available by this Act may be used for any casino or other gambling establishment, aquarium, zoo, golf course, swimming pool, stadium, community park, museum, theater, art center, and highway beautification project.”

Besides the egregious correlation made in this amendment between gambling, highway beautification, golfing, art, theater, and animal refuges—i.e. the collapse of luxury entertainment and culture into one—this amendment assumes that bolstering the arts would do nothing to bolster the economy. It also displays an utter disregard for the well-being of these foundational institutions, myopically marking the arts with the stereotypical, regressive and ignorant stigma that they are superfluous and self-indulgent.

This amendment has since been amended, and the final version of the economic-stimulus bill approved by Congress on February 13 removed the arts organizations from the clause. However, the argument made to rescue the arts organizations from the grouping by Representative David R. Obey (Dem., Wisconsin): “There are five million people who work in the arts industry. And right now they have 12.5 percent unemployment—or are you suggesting that somehow if you work in that field, it isn’t real when you lose your job, your mortgage or your health insurance?” implies that the arts have no intrinsic value and does not explain why the poor zookeeper still doesn’t seem to matter.

 

 

In a separate but ideologically parallel move, during the last week of January Brandeis University—whose reputation is based on its expansive liberal arts offerings—betrayed its legacy, when its board of trustees voted unanimously to close the school’s Rose Art Museum and sell off the 6,000 works of art in its collection.

Treating its priceless and historic collection of art as disposable assets, Brandeis made a stark statement about its priorities and an astonishing value judgment about the place and worth of art.

There is a lot more to be said about this decision, the reactions of and effects on the students and museum employees, the legal issues regarding by-laws and the subsequent backpedaling of the administration, as well as the dire financial situation in which the university has found itself (due to the fallout of the Bernie Madoff scandal). However, the statement  their actions made is clear, and it has forever changed the perception of Brandeis’s commitment to the arts. But more so, it reflects and supports the widely held, but rarely explicitly stated, belief that the arts are dispensable.

Now, I realize that to argue for the pure value of the arts, as an Art Historian for whom they are a life blood—inspirational, motivating, and, most of all, essential—I will never convince anyone of their merit who believes that they are superfluous and self-indulgent. That is just their loss, though. However, if we are entrenched in a battle that prizes money and economic stimulation as its holy grail, then I am more than happy to argue that arts organization are among the most important, immediate and mutable agents for kick starting our economy.

Public art projects, museum exhibitions, non-profits and many other arts institutions create jobs across all industries: they demand catering for events, various forms of fabrication (steel, paper, electronic, etc.), the assistance of technicians, designers, lawyers, printers, accountants and brokers, and provide steady employment and income for numerous individuals and families. Their needs are flexible and the events they generate are either cyclical or singular ones that can be quickly put into production.

Need historic proof that the arts can bolster the economy? Look no further than the WPA. In addition to creating numerous jobs during the Great Depression, the artists employed by the WPA shaped an ideology and imagery that gave voice to a disenfranchised and downtrodden generation. The iconography they created has become integral to our understanding of what it is to be American; a historical imagery that we cannot imagine ourselves without.

If the majority of Americans want to send culture to the waste basket, I say they are just quickening our clip towards an idiocracy. But, if we want a strong, intelligent, moral, critical and well-informed populace—a true land of the free and the brave—then we must defend the arts with all our strength,
because they are our backbone, our foundation. As Dana Gioia, the chairman of the NEA, recently said, “The purpose of arts education is not to produce more artists, though that is a byproduct. The real purpose of arts education is to create complete human beings capable of leading successful and productive lives in a free society.”

When all else is taken away from you, all you have left is your education. Math and science just are not enough: who pursues happiness through them alone? What kind of heritage do we have without art? If burning books would give us some extra cash to throw around for the next couple of years, would you be willing light the bonfire? So why would you be willing to prevent their production—especially when the publishing companies increase circulation in the economy?

Illustration by

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By Julie Rodriguez

If you have looked closely at a course syllabus this year, you have probably noticed the fine print regarding learning disabilities, sandwiched between the attendance policy and the plagiarism statement. In an effort to encourage students to come forward who may be reluctant, or who simply may not be aware, the Disability and Learning Resource Center (DLRC) now requires that teachers inform students at the beginning of the semester that they may seek reasonable accommodations for disabilities that may impede their ability to fulfill the requirements of the course.

This is important, says Terri Thrower, Director of the DLRC, because “often we’ll have students come in at the end of the semester trying to avoid failing a course. They may not have been aware we were here, or they might have been too embarrassed to come in. Some of them intend to, but never get around to it.” By that point, there is little the DLRC can do. “These are students who really struggle with academics who don’t realize that the school is required to accommodate them.”

“We can’t ask teachers to alter the requirements of the course for a student who can’t meet them,” explains Valerie St. Germain, the DLRC’s Assistant Director. “What we can do is provide reasonable accommodations. If someone is dyslexic, we can provide audio books as MP3s. Students with reading or writing difficulties or anxiety disorders can request extra time for tests. We can help provide accommodations without unfairly altering the expectations for an individual student.”

Those accommodation efforts extend beyond the classroom. The DLRC has negotiated with the Financial Aid office to ensure that students taking reduced course loads due to disability are not penalized and denied grants, and has collaborated with the U-Pass office to help those students keep their transportation benefits. For students with physical disabilities, they have coordinated with Residence Life, Counseling Services and Health Services to provide accessible dorm rooms, and have worked with security staff to plan effective emergency assistance for students with disabilities. Even International Affairs has worked with the DLRC to find accessible accommodations for study abroad trips.

“We’ve definitely seen more new people come in since we started putting information in class syllabi,” reports Thrower. “This is important because we don’t go out into the classrooms to recruit. Students have to learn we’re here, and come to us.”

The vast majority of students served by the DLRC—about 90%—have learning or psychological disabilities rather than physical impairments. It can be difficult for students with invisible disabilities to be comfortable advocating for their needs or speaking directly to teachers. They may be ashamed of their difficulties in the classroom, or afraid that others will accuse them of making up their symptoms or of not trying hard enough to overcome them. “There is still very much a stigma against students with LDs [learning disabilities]. I don’t think it’s changed much in the last 20 years,” says St. Germain. “It wasn’t until 1975 that schools were legally required to accommodate students with special needs at all. It wasn’t very long ago. Before that, you weren’t put in a special ed class—you were just kicked out.”

“There’s a lot of shame associated with having these problems. Some students come into college convinced it will be different from high school; that they will suddenly be better and won’t need any help. They don’t want to come to us because they want to think they’ve moved beyond their LD. But you don’t just grow out of having an LD, and these students still struggle. Going through the education system feeling like you are different leaves a lasting impact—I’ve seen a grown man burst into tears because he was ‘the dumb kid’ in first grade who couldn’t read.”

Between 2004 and 2008, the number of students with disabilities registered with the DLRC increased by 66% (from 149 to 225), and this year, the numbers are even higher. Students with LDs make up approximately 10% of the student population at SAIC and, St. Germain notes, “It’s important to remember that as many students self-report LDs as those who don’t. We have no way of knowing the exact number. Some students don’t want to ask for accommodations because they see it as special treatment rather than a legal right they are entitled to, and some of them have figured out how to get by on their own, and for them ‘just getting by’ is good enough.”

Thrower believes that an art education offers a unique alternative for students who struggle in more traditional academic environments. “It’s not the studio classes these students have problems with. Art classes really accommodate different learning styles very well—they’re very tactile, they help students focus.”

And it is not just the students which benefit from an art education. Thrower believes that they have a unique perspective to offer: “Students with LDs have a different way of seeing the world. They have a different way of thinking. An arts education allows them to express that.”

The DLRC is located at 116 S. Michigan Ave, on the 13th flr. Hours: Mon.–Fri. 9a.m.–5p.m (312)499-4278.

illustrations by Aaron Hoffman

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University Museums and Galleries

By Caitlin Schriner

Chicago, as we all know, comes in like a lion and will, unfortunately, end like a lion as well. Cruel March will leave us as cold and pillaged as late February. Our excuses to stay inside grow exceedingly exhausted (really, how many times can you watch the YouTube video of that drugged-out kid after his dentist trip?). Luckily, for you “photophiles” out there, photography-fever has consumed the university museums and galleries around town. Five Chicago schools tackle photography in a spectrum of ways this month, ranging from solo shows focusing on early and unrefined works of renowned photographers, to exhibitions that use photography to contemplate space and location.

Aaron Siskind, Chicago, 1949, Gelatin silver print, mounted. Smart Museum of Art, University of Chicago, Gift of the Illinois Art Council

Aaron Siskind: The Thing Itself  Smart Museum of Art (University of Chicago)

One of the most renowned photographers of the past century, Aaron Siskind defined American photography in his 60-plus years behind the lens. The man who turned street cracks into ribbon dances is best known for his abstract work, although he began his career in social documentation. His interest manifested in his work that removes objects from their literal settings and re-frames them, opening the viewer to alternative interpretation. “The Thing Itself” presents Siskind’s early attempts at this approach, as well as writings from the artist that demonstrate the tension of representation.  On view through May 10 in the Joel and Carole Bernstein Gallery for Works on Paper. 5550 S. Greenwood Ave. (smartmuseum.uchicago.edu). Hours: Tues., Wed., & Fri. 10a.m.–4p.m., Thurs. 10a.m.–8p.m., Sat.–Sun. 11a.m.–5p.m. Admission Free.

Mario Algaze, Two Girls Kneeling, Barva, Costa Rica, 1987/1996, Silver gelatin print. Collection of DePaul University, Art Aquisition Endowment and the religious Art Fund.

Realism and Magic: Latin American Photography from the Collection of DePaul  DePaul University Museum

Taken from DePaul’s own photography collection, “Realism and Magic” presents photographs from Mexico, Guatemala, Brazil, Peru and the Caribbean. The exhibit features work spanning from nineteenth-century German photographer Hugo Brehme through the contemporary Cuban artist Sebastião Salgado. The photographs on display chart the artistic trajectory of photography in Latin America, as well as common socio-economic issues apparent in the artists’ works.  On view through May 4 in the Main and North Galleries. 2350 N. Kenmore Avenue. Hours: Mon.–Thurs. 11a.m.–5p.m., Fri. 11a.m.–7p.m., Sat.–Sun. 12–5p.m.

Polaroids: Mapplethorpe  Mary and Leigh Block Museum of Art (Northwestern University)

Before launching into his famous images of still-lifes, sexual deviance and celebrity, Robert Mapplethorpe was an artist with a vision and an instant camera. “Polaroids: Mapplethorpe” is a collection of over 90 images taken between 1970 and 1975. These rough Polaroids, taken before he developed his iconic photographic style and techniques, explore the themes that will appear in Mapplethorpe’s later, mature work. On view through April 5 in the Alsdorf Gallery. 40 Arts Circle Drive, Evanston. Hours: Tues. 10a.m.–5p.m., Wed.–Fri. 10a.m.–8p.m., Sat.–Sun. 12–5p.m.  For a full review of this exhibition, please visit fnewsmagazine.com

Florian Slotawa, Hotel Europoa, Prague, Room 402, Night of June 8,1998, Silver gelatin print. Countesy of Sies+hoke, Dusseldorf.

PhotoDimensional  Museum of Contemporary Photography (Columbia College)

An unfortunate quality of the photograph is that it removes a certain essential element of life: dimensionality. Though photographers play with perspective and space, true phenomenology is essentially impossible to recreate. “PhotoDimensional” explores the reinstatement of dimension in photography in the work of thirteen diverse artists, including John Coplans, Leslie Hewitt, Vik Muniz and Lorna Simpson. Works range from drawings of minimalist sculptures created from the dust in the gallery they sit in, to sculptures made of photographic materials, to the sagging stomach of an artist mimicking the pose of an ancient Greek sculpture, challenging viewers to push the boundaries of representation and opening dialogues concerning definitions of space.  On view through April 19. 600 S. Michigan. Hours: Mon.–Wed. & Sat. 10a.m.–5p.m., Thurs. 10a.m.–8p.m., Sun. 12–5p.m.

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Film Defining National Identity

By Aurélie Beatley

So, in the words of Lester Bangs, here’s a theory for you to disregard completely: film is one of the few mediums that can effectively describe and recreate an audience’s identity.

It has broad scale appeal, it is a simple juncture between art and entertainment and, most of all, it opens up new possibilities. It suggests information about our nature, about who we are and what makes us emote—I was watching this awful chick flick yesterday, for example, and while I couldn’t quite bring myself to take it seriously (it was PS: I Love You), I also couldn’t quite keep myself from sobbing uncontrollably. So when this power of suggestion and definition is used in a serious fashion, to articulate history or a certain people’s cultural identity, the impact is enormous.

There are many examples of films used as defining points for an ideology, a culture, or an event that can form a national consciousness. The early propagandist films are still taught in modern editing classes as the pinnacle of masterful suggestion. Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin or Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will for instance, are extraordinarily adroit and shameless exploitations of historical events used to suggest a particular political creed to their audiences. These are films that helped define nations.

In more recent history films have also been used to digest history and make sense of events that traumatize us and redefine our identities as a communal whole. Films like Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now processed the war in Vietnam. The Battle of Algiers, a controversial faux-documentary on the terrorist beginnings of the Algerian freedom initiative filmed four years after the end of the Algerian war, helped France understand the events that led to the rupture with the old North African colonies. These films, and their ilk (there are too many to list), form a body of work that functions as art, entertainment, and a cultural therapy session for their audiences. They work because people walk into movie theatres seeking entertainment, and because they aren’t girding their loins for an encounter with Important Stuff or Art or History; they are simply looking forward to a night out and some puffed, seasoned corn. This keeps them open to suggestion it’s a bit like tricking your audience into caring by blindsiding them with Things That Matter cloaked as fun.

There are also the films that recreate or reinterpret our history and give voice to a pre-existing identity in times of crisis. Films like The Wind that Shakes the Barley, or Braveheart, or even Pan’s Labyrinth, which present a certain version of the past that tugs at our heartstrings and confronts us with, if not the facts, then a least a feeling for the times and their (now-mythical) importance. These are films that you come out of proud to be Irish, or Scottish, or Spanish. Films that you come out of ashamed, sometimes, like Joyeux Noël or Indigènes. These are irrational reactions to a piece of celluloid that may or may not be actively lying to us. But they are powerful enough that they suggest an identity, they force us to identify with the past and with
a particular group of people.

Collecting these films together are nationally-themed film festivals, which exist as collective gatherings for films that define a particular national identity, and as such help promote this identity in areas foreign to it. A good example of this is the immensely popular French film festival at Virginia Commonwealth University, in Richmond, VA. Created in 1993 by Drs Peter and Françoise Kirkpatrick as a scheme to promote the French language department at VCU, the festival has grown and spread into an internationally hailed event which has won plaudits by the French government, with forty-some-odd French actors and directors attending every year. It also offers a series of master classes, and holds a defining role in the promotion of French culture in the States.

This year’s festival will take place on March 27-29, and the turnout is expected to be great. When I discussed the festival with Dr. Kirkpatrick, I asked him why he and his wife had felt compelled to start it. He mentioned the will to stimulate the French department, but the larger idea was to help further French culture and Anglo-French relations. This is, in many ways, a nationalistic experiment. “It just keeps growing and growing,” said Dr. Fitzpatrick, pointing out that the will to experience foreign culture and the need to revisit your own when expatriated is easily catered to by the cinema. Much of the French expat community in DC has attended the festival and, in the words of Marianne Hill, a friend of mine, “it feels a bit like going home.” We all come together for a few days to speak French, watch French movies, listen to French personalities talk about French cinematic developments and culture, and in a sense to update our Frenchness. Or, for the Americans, witness Frenchness in action.

I would argue that this is the lasting achievement of film; that film is the best and most expedient way
of suggesting and maintaining identity, national or otherwise. It aids us in understanding our history, digesting events, and creating the next leg of culture as we know it. It gives us definition.

To learn more about the VCU French Film Festival, go to www.frenchfilm.vcu.edu

Illustrations by Aurelie Beatley

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Illustration by Matt Lane

Disney’s most recent attempt to “get it right” with 2009’s The Princess and the Frog

by Margaret Di Giulio

In 2006, directly after their acquisition of Pixar, Disney’s animation department declared their intentions to return to traditional 2D animation. Set to release Christmas Day, 2009, The Princess and the Frog will be Disney’s first feature-length animated production since 2004’s Home on the Range, as well as its first Broadway-style musical since Mulan in 1998. Additionally, this will be the first time Disney has made a film that has taken place in a specific US city. And last, but certainly not least, this will be the first time Disney has presented its audience with an African-American princess.

Needless to say, the hype and hysteria surrounding this film began the second Disney announced in 2007 that it was planning to make a new animated classic, called The Frog Princess, about a black chambermaid in New Orleans, circa 1920 (the Jazz Age). A slew of negative press and unhappy Mouseketeers expressed their concerns that the title established a linguistic relationship between the first black princess and a frog, leading Disney to re-title the film The Princess and the Frog in order to deflect the negative connotations.

But the controversy did not stop there. Just Google “the princess and the frog” and you will get thousands of blogs either praising Disney for finally creating a princess for black girls, or vehemently accusing Disney for overt racist and sexist content in the new film. Well, Disney… it seems to me that you are damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

But let’s really think about this… If we are going to appraise the value of this new film, perhaps we should do it within the context of all other Disney animated “classics,” starting with the very first: Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. We have young Snow White, banished from the castle to become the maid to seven men… exactly. Like Cinderella and Princess Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), her beauty is both the source of her disenfranchisement as well as the cause of her “Happily Ever After.”

Take into account the premise of almost any fairy tale you’ve ever heard and the fact that many of these stories are derived from sources ranging from Mother Goose to the Brothers Grimm to Aesop’s Fables, Disney didn’t come up with this beautiful-naive-girl-made-to-live-in-squalor-only-until-she-can-be-rescued-by-a-prince trope out of thin air. However, pay close heed to the word “derived”: their editing and pairing down of these orginally complex tales (Disneyfication, I believe it is called), have bought into a particularly simplified portrayal of female (non)protagonists.

Then of course, there is the issue of political correctness regarding race. I think it is safe to say that when it comes to Disney we are dealing with stereotypical representations for the masses. (Do we even need to give you examples here?)

So, if we all know and can attest to Disney’s ceaseless onslaught of racist, sexist, classist and elitist assumptions played out in magical colors with a “Happily Ever After” tagline, why are we so shocked at Mama Odie, the good voodoo priestess of the Bayou, or that the princess was originally named Maddy (short for the French Madeleine)? Actually, the outrage seems to have only been over the princess’s “slave name,” which led Disney to change it to Tiana. Is this fixated outrage because, unlike the voodoo priestess (or the hyenas and “Injun” faces of past movies), she will become the next iconic Disney Princess: Halloween 2010’s most sought after costume?

Personally, I think, it would be great to see a Disney film where the princess found “Happily Ever After” in a satisfying job and a close social network of friends and family instead of in the ever elusive Prince Charming who, in the end, probably divorces her for her younger version. But—despite Mulan’s heroic attempt—The Princess and the Frog makes it seem as though we aren’t ready to give up the “dream” quite yet (although, to be fair, Princess Tiana does encounter her own transformation into a frog and a perilous journey with her prince before she gets her rags to riches, magical kiss, and happy ending). I guess I’ll just have to get over Disney’s failure to deliver the full experience after the age of 12.

But let’s not ignore that they’ve at least made an effort: kudos to Disney for its recent committed attempt to extricate itself from the Eurocentric fairy tales of old, and embrace sources such as Arabian Nights and Chinese legend in order to create international princesses. However, this one seems like a reversion: adapted from “The Frog Prince,” a German-Romanticist fairy tale, The Princess and the Frog attempts multiculturalism by arbitrarily relocating the action to a New Orleans Creole community for reasons that are entirely outside of the narrative’s needs. While the geographical flexibility is laudable, the seemingly random choice of location makes Disney look vaguely disingenuous, in a demagogic, pandering sort of way.

Interestingly, the comments posted online by parents of young African American girls have been, for the most part, positive. They feel that, finally—after years of watching their daughter’s dress up as “white” princesses—they will be offered a real chance to connect with this new heroine. It seems that these parents have come to expect the stereotype-laden, consumer-ready Disney films that cater to an audience less socially aware than many would like to admit. But hey, the movie does have Oprah’s stamp of approval (she is so gung-ho about the first African American Disney Princess that she’s playing Tiana’s mother).

Perhaps this begs the question: when do children see race? At what age do they connect their skin color with the skin color of their favorite cartoons? Will young African American girls truly relate on a deeper level to this black princess, or will it simply alert them to the fact that their past heroines weren’t truly “theirs”? But really, were there fewer Jasmines on Halloween of 1993 than Ariel’s in 1990? So, Mickey… hooray… good for you. Way to give the black girls a doll their mothers can identify with, and that they must settle for.

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“Chic Chicago” at the Chicago History Museum

by Quintin Xavier Roper

There are days when I find the winters in Chicago to be absolutely unbearable. Everyone is sluggish and draped in warm layers of funeral black, boring brown, naïve navy and senior citizen grey. If you are like me, you are a creature of environment. I crave sunlight even if it is below zero outside, and when the sun fails to shine during Chicago’s typically grey winter, I rely on theaters and museums to get my fix. Typically, it takes a Hollywood blockbuster to get me out of my funk, but this year I have found something even better!

The Chicago History Museum is exhibiting “Chic Chicago”: its one of a kind collection of historical costumes that date from 1861 to 2008, all worn by Chicago women. Curated by Timothy Long, the exhibit displays the most breathtakingly beautiful garments you will ever get the opportunity to see in this city.

What first struck me about this show was Tracy Gerladez’s smart layout of mannequins in the calm gallery space, which immediately made me feel as though I had entered a safe place where my curiosities and need for inspiration were caringly fulfilled. The dresses are grouped by key eras of fashion, and the transitions between trends are cleverly placed along a runway. It is easy to navigate, with detailed literature provided about each garment, its creator and the person who wore it.

All of the costumes had interesting details, innovative shapes and illuminating textures. Roy Halston’s orange off-the-shoulder silk jersey evening gown (made in 1970) bestowed the most beautiful draping techniques I have ever seen: the energy of the gown spirals into the left hip as the fabric gracefully falls to the floor. Visually, Halston’s dress has a lot of movement while impressively maintaining a simple goddess silhouette.

Paul Poiret’s 1913 “Sorbet Dress”—probably the most famous dress in the entire collection—is a black and white satin masterpiece. Noted for being the first of the modern era, the Japanese inspired garment did away with the notion that women should be in corsets. Instead, Poiret offers a comfortable and cute alternative, complete with chiffon and glass beads.

Another piece that would cause anyone’s jaw to drop is Charles James’s “Butterfly” ball gown. Ironically, if you look hard enough at it, you can see that James literally created a wrapped cocoon body for the main piece and completed it with a lavish cape of wings. The bone and tan color used for the 17 pound piece is stunning, but you are left concerned about the comfort of the lucky woman wearing it.

While you are not allowed to touch the garments, some exhibits offer miniature components so that you can see how the garment was technically crafted. The exhibition and catalogue designers managed to made everything look so…. sexy. Overall, “Chic Chicago” displays an unusual level of elegance, and it was very pleasing to know that in a non-fashion capital, the city still has highly sophisticated fashion etiquette.    “Chic Chicago” is on view through July 26 at the Chicago History Museum, 1601 N. Clark Street. Hours: Mon.–Wed. & Fri.-Sat. 9:30a.m.–4:30p.m., Thurs. 9:30a.m.–8p.m., Sun. 12–5p.m. General Admission is free on Mondays.

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