That's all, folks...

I can't remember what I was searching for initially but, as is usually the case, a chance visit to Wikipedia resulted in a two-hour reading spree. This time it was focused mostly on animation, and I eventually got to a page about a banned cartoon named Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs.

Yes...you read that right.

Now it wasn't the first time I read about the short, or the rest of the Censored Eleven, but this time I gained a different perspective on the creation process, and actually watched the whole thing via Youtube.

Interesting stuff. Particularly interesting considering what I'd just read. Apparently the cartoon was created as an homage to African-American jazz bands of the decade, and was actually the suggestion of a black jazz musician who the director had met a short time before its creation.
That doesn't make the material palatable, but it sheds light on the nature of racism in the era. I'm sure the director thought he was doing black people a favor by creating the cartoon and using black voice actors. And, like James Baskett and Hattie McDaniel, I doubt the voice actors thought that their roles were particularly subversive.


I feel better having watched Coal Black and a few of the other Censored Eleven shorts. It's always better having an informed opinion, and to be honest, I didn't cringe (much) or get angry. Cyar really change the past. And there's always something to be learnt, even from questionable entertainment like this.


That said, the banned cartoon that actually got a real emotional response from me was The Spirit of '43, an old World War II propaganda film starrting Donald Duck. This shit is fuckin hilarious on several levels, but it's the overt linking of tax dollars to the creation of "Guns, guns, all kinds of guns!" that pushes it into an almost surreal territory. At one point, I honestly thought that the cartoon was anti-war satire. In fact the whole cartoon could probably win an award in that genre without changing a single frame. It actually makes WWII seem...ignoble.

I'd love to see a modern American audience's reaction to it.

My day in Court...

I was supposed to post this one since last week, but I was waiting for the story to be published.

Last week Tuesday or so, I was assigned to cover a trial at the POS Magistrates' Court.

Now Court, like Crime, is not an area that I have much experience with. It's a somewhat intimidating environment, it can be difficult to follow and record, and there's a very particular jargon that you need to understand and use. So off the bat you know I wasn't very eager to head down there that morning.

Still, I ended up in the courtroom on time, and waited for my trial to begin. I had to sit through a few other trials first, and that's where things got interesting.

Yuh see, there's something very...sobering about seeing someone lose their freedom. It's not that you feel particularly bad when you see a dealer or a gunman carted off for five years. It just feels a lot like watching Titanic. The inevitability of the thing gets to you...the realness hits yuh in yuh belly. You picture yourself in the convict's place, and wonder about what life will be like where he's headed.

Anyway, I realised that the case wasn't being called, and I was real thirsty, so I decided to buy a drink at a nearby shop. I left the court and headed to the parlour.

I was literally halfway across the street when I started to hear the man bawlin.

I turned around (in the middle of the street), and saw a man struggling with about 5 police officers right on the courthouse steps that I had walked down seconds before. He was more defiant than anything, and was trying to leave through the front gate. The officers jacked him up and tried to pull him inside. He started biting and screaming, grabbing onto the bars of the gate to anchor himself. His wife and his family were all shouting loudly and at one point his wife tried to jump in and had to be restrained by an officer. His lawyer was shouting at the media photographers to take pictures.

I cyar lie...I felt bad for the man. The "warrant" (I eh gettin into that shit) really ketch him by surprise.

But at the same time, I was thinkin, "Shiiit...like this Court coverage is de real scene!"

Afterwards I approached the photographers to ask if stuff like that happened often. As I got close to the group, I heard one say, "Yuh know is years now I waitin fuh something like this tuh happen."

Yeah...I shoulda really play a mark that morning.


Then again the story was never published (Uncle Bas take up all de space), so probably not.

The Verdict is...

...Very, very good.

V For Vendetta is right up there (under Spider-Man 2) as one of the best comic book movies I've seen so far. It was one of those rare movies in which nearly every scene, every character and every bit of dialogue felt necessary...genuine. The Wachowskis et al have created a generally faithful and almost disturbingly relevant screen version of Alan Moore's work, and it's unfortunate that after the laughable LXG and the plodding From Hell, he decided to excise his name from this film. The movie deviates a bit from Moore's core themes to offer a deviously scathing perspective of current world events...and it works.

Strangely, the scene that probably resonated the most for me was one that was created specifically for the film. Reading about the procession of masks at the film's end, I thought that it was cliched and might appear forced. But looking at it in the proper context, amidst scenes of V's triumph, it fit perfectly, and created a resounding affirmation of the idea that V tried his best to personify throughout the film.

As the costumed crowd proceeded in unison through the city streets to create the Land of Do-As-You-Please, I kept thinking...Carnival. It felt, on so many levels, like what Carnival should be, once was, and is no longer. The masked masses, the multitude, of one mind and motive, moving together to mash up dem mudder...look. Magnificent.

(Yeah...the alliteration monologue was mad :P)

It doesn't quite offer the ambiguity and depth of the comic, but it's an outstanding piece of work nonetheless. The DVD and the trade paperback will look good together on a shelf.

Now if only someone does as good as this (or better) with Watchmen...

Marlon Griffith

Just a big-up to Marlon Griffith, a partner I first met in the Trinity Art Foundation where he worked for a few years with Hackett and Warren.

Marlon's moved on over the last few years, and has exhibited and completed residencies in South Africa and Japan. (Man get free trips to two of the three places I want to visit in my lifetime. Like I pick de wrong art.)

I recently bounced up with him while covering an artists' workshop in Aripo (another post in itself) where we finally got a chance to sit down and talk about his time in Japan. It was enlightening, and encouraging.

While I've longed to experience Japan for years, I've always been discouraged by reports of racism and insularity in the society. My nightmare would be to spend thousands of dollars to get there, only to be treated like a subhuman because of my skin. Marlon said that the society is not without its negative nuances, but assured me that a positive, respectful approach to their customs is all that is needed for a smooth stay. He encountered his own challenges as a Trinidadian artist staying with a Japanese family, but he put his best foot forward and made a great impression. How great?

De man left Japan with two samurai swords. TWO! Mudder...

Anyway, here's a sample of some of the work he did using traditional washi paper, and a link to another blog post with some more details of his trip.

The center cannot hold

Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart was an even more satisfying read the second time through. The novel sheds light on what Achebe believes were some of the factors within West African society that made it incohesive and ripe for exploitation at the hands of a foreign social and religious force.
It also explores different concepts of masculinity, particularly the idea of "real" manhood, and how it relates to society and self.

This was one of my favorite passages in the novel.

Whenever Mr. Brown went to that village he spent long hours with Akunna in his obi talking through an interpreter about religion. Neither of them succeeded in converting the other but they learned more about their different beliefs.

"You say that there is one supreme God who made heaven and earth," said Akunna on one of Mr. Brown's visits. "We also believe in Him and call Him Chukwu. He made all the world and the other gods."

"There are no other gods," said Mr. Brown. "Chukwu is the only God and all others are false. You carve a piece of wood—like that one" (he pointed at the rafters from which Akunna's carved Ikencja hung), "and you call it a god. But it is still a piece of wood."

"Yes," said Akunna. "It is indeed a piece of wood. The tree from which it came was made by Chukwu, as indeed all minor gods were. But He made them for His messengers so that we could approach Him through them. It is like yourself. You are the head of your church."

"No," protested Mr. Brown. "The head of my church is God Himself."

"I know," said Akunna, "but there must be a head in this world among men. Somebody like yourself must be the head here."

"The head of my church in that sense is in England."

"That is exactly what I am saying. The head of your church is in your country. He has sent you here as his messenger. And you have also appointed your own messengers and servants. Or let me take another example, the District Commissioner. He is sent by your king."

"They have a queen," said the interpreter on his own account.

"Your queen sends her messenger, the District Commissioner. He finds that he cannot do the work alone and so he appoints kotma to help him. It is the same with God, or Chukwu. He appoints the smaller gods to help Him because His work is too great for one person."

"You should not think of Him as a person," said Mr. Brown. "It is because you do so that you imagine He must need helpers. And the worst thing about it is that you give all the worship to the false gods you have created."

"That is not so. We make sacrifices to the little gods, but when they fail and there is no one else to turn to we go to Chukwu. It is right to do so. We approach a great man through his servants. But when his servants fail to help us, then we go to the last source of hope. We appear to pay greater attention to the little gods but that is not so. We worry them more because we are afraid to worry their Master. Our fathers knew that Chukwu was the Overlord and that is why many of them gave their children the name Chukwuka—"Chukwu is Supreme."

"You said one interesting thing," said Mr. Brown. "You are afraid of Chukwu. In my religion Chukwu is a loving Father and need not be feared by those who do His will."

"But we must fear Him when we are not doing His will," said Akunna. "And who is to tell His will? It is too great to be known."

In this way Mr. Brown learned a good deal about the religion of the clan and he came to the conclusion that a frontal attack on it would not succeed.

I remembered this passage today while checking out some dashikis in New City Mall. The propietor was playing an African music video, which I was enjoying until I read the translation captions at the bottom. It was something about Jesus being a great warrior.

One of the most depressing images of modern-day Africa to me is the zeal with which Africans embrace the religion of their oppressors. Achebe (a Christian himself) argues that it wasn't a case of simple brainwashing, but that Christianity offered the right social outlook at the right time.

To say much more would be to spoil the novel, which is a short, compelling read, and which I encourage yu to check out.

It is finished

I used to live near the very heart of Carnival, right between Tragarete Road, Ariapita Avenue and Cipriani Blvd, three of its major arteries.

So taking part in Carnival for me was never really an option. Carnival woke me up on Jouvert morning, had me chippin in bed on Monday night, and made my home a hub of activity throughout both days, as friends, family members and sometimes total strangers would pass to lime, rest, use the toilet and get something to eat. Having a home right between St James and Port of Spain made liming more of a necessity than a luxury.

We had a front row seat to every major band in the competition. It was always amusing to sit watching the tail sections of a large band a few yards from the house while the front sections of the same band would be on TV, crossing the savannah stage.

Even with all the noise, commotion and lack of privacy, I enjoyed living astride the pulse of Carnival.

Except on Tuesday night, when that heart stops beating.

The end of Carnival always feels like watching some magnificent beast take its last few breaths. Carnival has a spirit of its own, and you can literally feel that spirit struggling against the tide, as stalwarts looking for that last jump-up walk the streets alongside exhausted masqueraders who just want to go home and sleep. The electricity in the air, that heat and rhythm, that bacchanal, that happiness, begins to fade, and a literal coldness, an emptiness, descends on the city.

It feels sad when that magic dies.

This is our art

This is our art.

This is our culture.

For better and for worse, Carnival encapsulates more of the core of the Trinbagonian experience than any other cultural festival we celebrate.

You don't just play mas. You immerse yourself in it. You experience it. To truly enjoy it, you commit yourself to it at some significant level, and let your senses free.

The costume at the left was created at the 2 Peas and D Pod mas camp for the junior band Aquarium. Warren did the designs for the band, and has a sort of photo diary on his blog about the creation process. Best of luck to them, and I expect them to bring in the trophies as usual.