Actor Joey Ansah, who played the character Desh in The Bourne Ultimatum, known one of the best fight scenes in any film, has created a short film called Street Fighter Legacy. Regarding the project, he said:

It was clear to me, that given the way the movie industry worked, we would never see a super faithful, darker toned and more adult themed (or just plain good!) incarnation of Street Fighter unless a die-hard director or filmmaking team with game canon knowledge stepped up to the plate to helm such a project. [Emphasis added]

And this is really what it comes down to, not just for making a solid Street Fighter movie, but to adapt any video game property into a film.  I would even take it a step further.  Any serious writer or director can do their research – read up on the story and characters, and hopefully play the game.  But there is a certain spirit contained within video games that only devoted players can tap into, that undefinable something that changes casual players into fans – or dare I say it: “hardcore”.

Rather than spending numerous paragraphs trying to pinpoint a definition of this elusive video game element – which fans already understand and non-players will not, regardless of how well I explain it – I will give you a perfect example.

The video below features two gamers playing Street Fighter III in a tournament.  The main display shows the game itself, while the inset shows the players and the spectators.  One of the players, Daigo Umehara, is regular competitor and made quite a name for himself as a master player.  At the start of the video, Daigo – playing as Ken – is on the verge of losing in an upset.  Watch what happens.

If you have no idea what you just saw, then the short explanation is simply that Daigo made an incredible comeback against very difficult odds.  If you’re familiar at all with video games – fighting games in particular – then what Daigo did involved a series of precisely timed inputs, about 12-15 of them, with zero margin for error.  With that he avoided defeat, and then followed up with another well-timed manuever to win the match.  The reaction of the crowd speaks volumes.  It was an incredible moment.

This brings us to a simple truth.  If in watching the above video you don’t feel anything stir inside of you, any sort of excitement or marvel or amazement, then you would have no business making a Street Fighter movie.  It is not enough to know who all the characters are, to memorize the entire franchise wiki, or even to play the game for hours and hours on end.

If playing or watching a game at no point illicits the kind of response shown by the crowd in the video above, then that “spirit” of video games escapes you, and you are not qualified to make a film adaptation.

A similar situation can be seen in the recent string of successful comic book films versus the endless series of terrible films from years past.  The writers and directors chosen for these newer films tend to be fans of comic books, and those franchises in particular.

Video game movies fail because the writers and/or directors are merely looking to capitalize on a successful franchise, but do not have any personal emotional investment in the project.  They are unable to tap into the “spirit” of games, and that disconnect manifests on screen with disastrous results.

Here’s hoping that Joey Ansah understands the spirit, lest another terrible Street Fighter movie be added to the endless series of awful video game adaptations.

UPDATE: Street Fighter Legacy is finished, and by “short film”, Ansah really did mean short – the whole thing clocking in at just over 3 minutes.  But he does seem to capture the essence of the franchise in that time.  There are some changes I’d make – like making the Sho-ryu-ken at normal speed, but overall I think it was well-done.  Maybe if it gets enough of a following, and generates enough buzz, we’ll see it become something full-length.

1. Why should we only pay special attention to our significant others on a certain day?
2. The holiday is just part of a consumerist scheme to support the “industrial complex”

Blah blah blah.  Whatever.  It’s all true, of course, but I wasn’t going to post anything about it until I came across this promotional offer from XBox Live.  It offers some free Microsoft Points if only you’ll watch one of the offered movies with your loved one on Valentine’s Day.  Sounds like a good deal, except for the wording of the advertisement.

It annoyed me right away on a subliminal level, although it took me a bit of time to rationalize why exactly I took issue with it.  At first it was the dichotomy between those who have “someones” and those who do not.  I must either a sentimental sap who likes frilly pink hearts simply for having a girlfriend, or I’m some chest-pounding “manly-man” type who “don’t need no stinkin’ girlfriend! Guys rule!”  Is that it?

I couldn’t possibly be a guy who is between relationships, or a guy who for the sake of career, livelihood, or personal choice, just doesn’t have a significant other?  I couldn’t be a girl who is single for any of the same reasons?  Or a girl who doesn’t like frilly pink hearts?  I couldn’t be a gay man or woman in a relationship where such cave-painted gender roles aren’t so clearly established?  I couldn’t be a person of any gender and sexual orientation who appreciates a romance movie, even watched in solitude?  Maybe I’m some basement-dweller with the social skills of an empty pizza box and movies are my escape from harsh reality, in which case, thanks for reminding me of that.

Then there’s the matter of which movies are offered to either side.  If I’m the romantic type, I must want to watch some trite garbage like The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past or the insufferably pointless and overrated Paranormal Activity.  But if I’m not – if I’m the skull-crunching manly-man type, or the lonely lurker type – then I must want something involving drunken stupidity like The Hangover, the pulp sensationalism of Inglorious Basterds, gangsters in Public Enemies, explosions like G.I. Joe, or a healthy dose of racism like we find in The Goods - you know, because the target market probably isn’t Asian or anyone else who might be offended by Asian stereotypes.

Because all real chest-pounding manly men enjoy that kind of stuff.

As a guy in a successful heterosexual relationship, his ad was tailor made for me, right?  Except that I hate most romance movies no matter who I’m watching them with, because of their hackneyed storylines and characters who are either unrealistically beautiful or exaggeratedly hideous only to – by way of magic or hard work – become unrealistically beautiful.  Except that I don’t buy into the idea that ideals like love or tenderness or sensitivity or – you know, generally not being some chest pounding machismo asshole – are mutually exclusive from my identity as a man.

Maybe I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill, but the shit just annoyed me.  Maybe me and my girlfriend, instead of exchanging frilly pink hearts, like to share a cocktail inside of a flaming skull right before we headbutt each other.  With love.   You don’t know.  It’s just more evidence of how the consumer culture is so oblivious or indifferent to the many different types of ways that people can choose to interact with one another – and not just on Valentine’s Day.

In a New York Times Op-Ed, Ishmael Reed discusses the movie Precious, and how it was offensive to the African-American audiences to whom he spoke, while being more widely accepted by white audiences.

He writes:

Among black men and women, there is widespread revulsion and anger over the Oscar-nominated film about an illiterate, obese black teenager who has two children by her father. The author Jill Nelson wrote: “I don’t eat at the table of self-hatred, inferiority or victimization. I haven’t bought into notions of rampant black pathology or embraced the overwrought, dishonest and black-people-hating pseudo-analysis too often passing as post-racial cold hard truths.” One black radio broadcaster said that he felt under psychological assault for two hours. So did I.¹

It seems to be Reed’s contention that the heart-wrenching portrayal of an African-American woman living in a terrible situation is palatable to white Americans because they already think very little of how African-Americans live.  On the other hand, African-Americans whose lives do not in any way resemble that of Precious should be offended for how that story misrepresents them.

And here is where Mr. Reed and – everyone else who feels this way – makes a critical mistake.  Like so many others, he treats the example of one individual who happens to be African-American necessarily as a representation of all African-Americans.  This kind of presumption is one that bubbles up from the cracks of institutionalized racism.  It is an irony and a travesty where African-Americans themselves – like Mr. Reed – are instilled with racist presumptions by way of this institution.

One of the many dimensions of racism is that people of color are seen first for their race and second – if at all – for their individual merits.  Along with this also comes the idea that the actions or experiences of one African-American somehow represents all African-Americans.  For example, the more salacious behavior of some African-American celebrities – like rappers or athletes – are taken as evidence of some moral depravity inherent to their race.

It is this way of thinking that gives rise to stereotypes.  Every stereotype has some basis in reality.  But where the actions, thoughts, or experiences of an individual or even a small group of people are taken to represent the larger group to which they belong, it becomes racism.

Where an African-American watches Precious and feels some personal shame or awkwardness, especially where they are in the company of white people, it suggests that they have internalized this idea that every African-American by default represents their entire race.  Where a white person watches Precious and somehow feels more “informed” about the black experience or feels some remorse for African-Americans as a whole, only shows just how ill-informed they are for assuming that all African-American experiences are the same.

I cannot pretend as though I am unaffected by this experience.  When watching Tyler Perry’s latest movie I Do Bad All By Myself, I was acutely aware of the fact that there were white people in the audience.  Part of my anxiety stemmed from the thought that while African-American audiences were laughing “along with” the movie, white audiences were laughing at the movie, in a finger-pointing sort of way.  Somewhere in my mind I assumed that white people would walk away from this movie with the idea that they obtained some glimpse into African-American life.   And found it hilarious. Which of course, in turn, must mean that they are laughing at me. The pathology of the black experience and institutionalized racism are deeply rooted.

Tyler Perry doesn’t claim to represent all African-Americans in his films.  Rather he is crafting stories that represent particular experiences that otherwise would not be shown in predominantly white Hollywood.  Because I have had this discussion about representation and institutionalized racism – both internally and with others – I am able to assuage any feelings of anxiety after the fact. But it would seem that this conversation is not taking place nearly enough.

No one watches a movie like 8-Mile and presumes that it represents all young white men, or even all young white men who grew up in Detroit.  No one presumes that American History X reveals the typical everyday experience of white people.  No one listens to a news story about a white mother murdering her child and assumes that such a thing is commonplace amongst white families.  So why should anyone take Precious to be a representation of African-Americans in general, simply because the main character and most of the cast happen to be African-American?

Precious is only one story – an extreme case, yet a case that undoubtedly reflects or touches on the real experiences of particular individuals in this country.  At no point did Sapphire – author of the original book, or Lee Daniels – director of the film (both of whom are African-American) – state that Precious was a “black story” or representative of the African-American experience in general.

Looking at the bigger picture, the existence of this paradigm of one-represents-all suggests something even more critical.  That “blackness” – in how it purports to categorize and define a large number of diverse people – and “individuality” are mutually exclusive. It highlights the shame inherent to the black experience, instilled by the history and present reality of racism, such that one feels an automatic need to distinguish themselves and their experiences from other African-Americans who are quite unlike them.

It suggests that we – as a nation – are past due for a revolution in our way of thinking, that is one that lies outside of race, yet not without serious consideration for how race has affected and continues to influence our social dynamics.

All you need to say to me is “new animated movie”, and I’m going to take an interest. Add “French” to the pot and I become really interested – much to do with my borderline francophilia, and for the mere existence of Gobelins School of Image, which regularly produces stunning animated shorts for the yearly Annecy International Animated Film Festival.

So I’m watching the trailer, marveling at the fluid animation and the non-traditional animation style, which literally looks like a picture book come to life.

Then, about 32 seconds in, I find something else notable about Kells.

Enter Brother Assoua. Not to be outdone by Japan, or most recently Australia, the film – made in Ireland – throws a nice blackface caricature my way. Almost as if to spite me. I was interested. I was really interested. Why the hell did that have to happen?

I wouldn’t have batted an eye if there were no people of color in the film, because I’m used to it. Had I even thought about it, I could’ve justified it through the fact that there were not many – if any – dark-skinned people in medieval Ireland. Pretty sure there aren’t many now. I could’ve enjoyed the movie – provided the plot was any good – with no second thoughts.

But no. No.

Here’s my open inquiry to the nations of the world. What part of the message – that blackface is fucking offensive – is getting lost in translation? And since they speak English in Australia and Ireland, thereby nullifying the language barrier as an excuse, is it a matter of them just not giving a damn? Perhaps it is a thumb at the nose of so-called “political correctness” – a favored buzz word for people to criticize as justification for doing socially irresponsible things.

With regards to Kells, there is a lot of room for stylistic interpretation of different ethnicities. Darker skin, thicker lips? Par for the course. No problem. But bright red lips that occupy a third of Assoua’s face leave no room for interpretation.

Undoubtedly someone else – with more clout or recognition – will raise this issue again, as The Secret of Kells climbs its way to mainstream attention. At that point I hope creator Tomm Moore will have some sort of acceptable justification for such objectionable art direction.

Perhaps the most disappointing thing about all of this is that The Secret of Kells looks to be a gorgeously well-produced animated film.

If you haven’t heard of District 9 or weren’t interested, find out or get interested. If you were debating about whether or not to see it, then see it. If you were planning to see it, then see it NOW. Great movie.

And I can state this as fact rather than opinion – why?  Because where a certain friend and I – who almost always disagree on movies – both love a movie, it must be great!

That said, I’m going to start my review of District 9 with a criticism of another review, one written by Armond White of the New York Press.  Mr. White, throughout his review, describes the film as “a ludicrous allegory for segregation”, “high-concept inanity”, and some of the “sloppiest and dopiest pop cinema” – all points which I will debate. He also criticizes D-9 for not being “ominously beautiful like the civilization-in-peril tableau that caps Roy Andersson’s You, the Living (critic John Demetry described that climax as a “revelation out of [Morrissey’s] ‘Everyday Is Like Sunday’”).”

What?  Does anyone other than John Demetry, Mr. White himself, or other film students even understand that reference?  Which brings me to a second point – that film critics are a ludicrous sort, people whose entire body of work relies upon the perceived success or failure of others’ work – that is, having no independent merit at all.

After reading about Mr. White’s status as a “controversial” critic, it seems to me that he rallies against the status quo just to be heard, just to be different.  While everyone else was complaining about Transformers 2 (although I’ll admit it was overblown), he was praising it, and now that everyone is praising D-9, he’s slamming it.  He, like the rest of the mainstream media, will say or do whatever it takes for people to pay attention to their particular spin.  It’s not enough to report on something; they have to somehow make it about themselves or make it work to their benefit.

The review itself is pretentious hogwash – the above bit about John Demetry providing case in point.  It’s so overstated, in fact, that it becomes hard to follow.  White tries to discuss all the points where the film fails as an Apartheid analogy, using a bunch of big words that only amount to “it failed because I said it did”, instead of actually offering an example of how it failed, or how it could’ve been better.

He says:

District 9’s South Africa–set story makes trash of that country’s Apartheid history by constructing a ludicrous allegory for segregation that involves human beings (South Africa’s white government, scientific and media authorities plus still-disadvantaged blacks) openly ostracizing extraterrestrials in shanty-town encampments that resemble South Africa’s bantustans.

But never elaborates on how exactly the allegory is ludicrous.

He says:

District 9 represents the sloppiest and dopiest pop cinema—the kind that comes from a second-rate film culture. No surprise, this South African fantasia from director Neill Blomkamp was produced by the intellectually juvenile New Zealander Peter Jackson.

Yet he never elaborates on how exactly D-9 represents pop cinema, what he means by “second rate film culture”, or how exactly Peter Jackson is “intellectually juvenile” – this coming from a man with no disability to pontificate, having spent paragraphs explaining how Michael Bay is a “visionary”.

Mr. White criticizes the film for not representing specific events from the Soweto riots, as if any allegory has ever required a point for point alignment with historical events.  It’s an allegory, Mr. White, which means it requires some brain work on the part of the audience.  And honestly, I think a lot of people are thankful that Jackson didn’t resort to his usual long-winded tactics and make the movie three and a half hours, as would’ve been required to meet Mr. White’s standards.

The allegory was obvious – as one speaking on racism – although perhaps not so obviously about Apartheid in particular, especially to Western audiences.  That is to say that I, with relatively little knowledge about Apartheid, did not know exactly what events the film was invoking.  The film could’ve  just as easily been – and was for me – speaking on segregation in the Jim Crow era of the U.S.  I think Mr. White, knowing the intended allegory, judged the film on how precisely it delivered on that allegory rather than enjoying the film for its own sake.

Mr. White attacks D-9 with obscure references that only other film critics would know – perhaps an attempt to gain traction amongst his professional brethren who probably regard him as a hack, again emphasizing the film critic’s pathetic lot – to forever claw and scratch for recognition by other film critics, since no one else – namely those other film students who went on to actually make films – gives a damn.

That all said, let me get into why Mr. White – and the other critics – are wrong about District 9.  I’ll spare you any specific plot details so as not to spoil the film, and avoid any discussion of the lighting, cinematography, or set pieces, since I don’t know anything about those things.

Perhaps because District 9 was made by an independent writer/director and a virtually unknown cast, it had to make certain concessions for Hollywood, to make it more widely marketable.  Those concessions probably came by the order of Peter Jackson, who – in spite of Mr. White’s claims that he has a child’s brain – knows exactly what is required to make a blockbuster.

What stood out most to me about District 9 was that in spite of these concessions – mostly in the form of comic violence, metamorphosis, explosions, and an all out mech battle – it managed to avoid the majority of Hollywood clichés.  That is quite an achievement.  D-9 is so outside the norm that it ran into resistance from my years-long Hollywood sci-fi conditioning.  By the film’s end I found myself feeling that something was missing, and I even started to argue what it could’ve done better – before I realized that I was making a case for those exact clichés!

It is what is missing from District 9 that makes it a great movie.  The main character is not one with which you’ll want to sympathize – you might even hate him.  There is no E.T.-style alien-human bonding in the face of adversity; instead D-9 depicts humans – through main character Wikus – as almost irredeemably anchored to their nature.  There is no saccharine moment of revelation that we (humans) are wrong – we just continue to be wrong, until literally left with no choice.

There is no cheesy romantic side plot, and what little relationship story it does have is relegated to a few phone conversations – more another nod to human failings than any attempt at redemption.  And finally, there is no happy ending, no ten minute wrap-up that resolves the impossibly massive conflict, which would’ve been forced, and rang painfully disingenuous.

In fact, if there was anywhere the movie did capture reality in its allegory, it was in how the problem was not fully resolved, because black South Africans today still suffer disadvantages in the aftermath of Apartheid.  A saccharine ending would’ve undermined the subtle dimensions to the conflict for the sake of satisfying audiences lacking the stomach to accept a more harsh reality – not unlike many apologists today who incorrectly saw the official end of Apartheid as an end to the much longer and more widespread legacy of racism.

Since this has been more a review of District 9’s critics than the film itself, let me go on record again as giving it my highest recommendation.  It has something for everyone – action fans, sci-fi enthusiasts, indie film snobs – everyone except those too conditioned by Hollywood fluff to appreciate something different.  It even has something for the film critics who claim to hate it  – another opportunity to co-opt the success of others to gain personal recognition.