The paradox of international cinema

Much like at home, everytime I get ready to finish a story, something new, creepy, and utterly interesting pops up. You'll be lucky if you ever hear the end of how I arrived in Nepal, though I promise that should I return to finish that tale, you'll much appreciate it. As for today: American film vs. Nepali film!

Ok, so, as much as I've tried to avoid the temptations of American culture here in Nepal, I've discovered that when you don't know how to communicate, what better way to drown your sorrows than the bootleg dvds for sale in the marketplace. Pirated Pirates of the Caribbean 2, oh sweet and not-so-bitter irony!!!! Jason and I took it upon ourselves to purchase a slew of movies for the orphanage after discovering that entertainment fares not so well for Nepali children. We get cable for some reason (no true indoor plumbing, but we get Showtime and Starz, go figure), so the kids watch a LOT of tv. Sounds like America, or at least Lafe, from what I hear. Anyway, when the options are only soft-core psuedo porno movies, Hindi music videos, and Evil Dead II, something must be done.

And it was, sort've. Jason, being the good parent, stocked up on a lot of Disney movies and both of the Ice Ages, which were packaged in some sort of Faustian bargain with Garfield the Movie. Watch it with a crucifix and a Roman priest present. I however, being the indulgent fat uncle type, stocked up on all the really good American movies I'd missed in the last few months. And Miami Vice, just because it was there. So all this boils down to the viewing of Flight 93.

If you want to be a jerk, you can call this a September 11th column, but it ain't my friend, it ain't. My memories of The Day in 2001 involved going to Spanish class and then staring in shock at my tv for about 4 hours inbetween classes wathcing the events unfold. And then leaving for Best Buy since it was a Tuesday and the new P.O.D. album was released that day. Yes, that's right, I forsaked the quintissential media moment of my generation for Satellite and Here Comes the Bomb (Ready of Not). I am a pretty crappy American. But I digress.

Anyway, Flight 93... Go to Blockbuster, rent it and watch it now. And I say that jokingly about a lot of things, but I'm really quite serious. Cast with a bunch of unknowns and several government and FFA administrators playing themselves, this might honestly be one of the most honest ficticious treatments of a historical event I've seen in a while. And by fictitious, I of course mean the drama that plays out onboard the plane that was not described via phone calls to loved ones, but truly lived out in moments of abject terror and human triumph.

The people are REAL, and the terrorists are not Jerry Bruckheimer morons with machine guns and flannel shirts. I truly believed that the actors onboard the plane existed, and as the drama unfolds with the pilots finding out about the WTC tragedy mere moments before being killed by the hijackers, you really get to see the intensity and the chaos of the whole event. The last 20 minutes of the movie are the most absolutely intense and stirring thing I've seen in recent memory, with the passengers banding together and launching a desperate attack against the hijackers to take back the plane. Visceral, shaky, heartbreaking...the last shot of the movie is a mass groping of bloody and sweaty hands frantically grasping at the controls of the airliner. 5 hands, then 20, 50, 150... So desperate and sickening, and beautiful. I cry at movies. I cried a lot at this one. So watch it, please, if for any reason, so that I will have something shared with friends at home. And call your parents, they love you very much.

So great, right? All we do in Nepal is play and watch movies that make us cry. I spent the rest of the night in bed listening to the forgotten Derek Webb cd, I See Things Upside-Down; it's the one that never sold because it doesn't sound like Christian music is supposed to, doesn't make you feel all sexy and confident in your spirituality. Anyway, the lyrics go...

I've got faith in the bank and money in my heart.
I've got a calloused place where your ring used to be, my love.
I've traded naked and unashamed,
for a better place to hide, for a righteous
mask, a suit of fig leaves, and lies.

I thought the cattle on a thousand hills were not enough to pay my bills,
and I fell in love with those who proved me wrong.
And now I want a broken heart...

And I cannot look you in the eyes to check the knots on my disguise,
And I fell in love with fashion in the dark.
And now I want a broken heart...

I've got alibis for every pry,
A substitute to do my time,
Does your heart break?
Is it enough on both our parts?
And now I want a broken heart...

Anyway, I can't really explain my mood or the stirring that song wells up inside me, but it happened, and if I'm going to be honest with this thing, then I must share all, must divulge all, must vomit on this keyboard. But I think you can peel the feelings associated with the song out of the lyrics, at least if you have a heart and can read. And none of this has nothing to do with movies or Nepal (or does it...) or bootleg dvds, but there it is. Go download the album, sit somewhere quiet, and hug your mug of tea while you read through Colossians and contemplate the nature of our savior and our need for true repentance and brokenness. Meh.

Whew. Movies, right? Right?

So yesterday, with most of the kids out of the orphanage for a week to visit families for a massive Hindu festival going on this week (I'll explain later, sorry), we thought it would be a great idea to take the remaining handful of kids who really have absolutely no family to the movies. So several mini-buses later, we were in Patan with a dozen orphans for my first (and last) experience with the Nepali movie culture.

American movie theaters are...well, almost like temples in and of themselves. Brightly lit, snack counters every six feet with the over-sized Mr. Pibbs that make you need to pee right at the climax of any movie you happen to be sitting in (which really, really sucks if it happens to be in the midst of Lord of the Rings), massive seating beholden to an altar on which Tom Cruise sacrifices our group integrity to his shirtless chest. You get the idea. Anyway, Nepali movie theaters? Cisterns. Fallout shelters. Cement craters with refreshment stands.

The theater is hidden behind chained link fencing, as though customers are being sent into government reprogramming camps, with each individual viewing room underground. Everthing's made out of concrete, dark, sweaty, beads of water running down the walls. Credits roll before the movie to the tune of incredibly loud synthesized blather, though the children love it. And the movie? Where to begin...

I don't know the title. I don't know the actors. I don't understand the language. But dear God, I know it was bad. The basic plot for said film was that two brothers lived together in poverty until one got married...evil boss man opens up rift between brothers over the false belief that she was two-timing her husband for his brother. Husband finds out that evil boss man took his father's land when he was very young, and attacks evil boss man; evil boss man's thugs get the best of husband and kill him, throw wife and brother out into the cold. That took 2 hours, and I was bored to tears. Then...the movies over? Yes? Yes?

Nope, just intermission. The second half of the movie involves the widowed wife wandering around and getting crapped all over by every human being she meets. Seriously, she was weeping inconsolably for at least 45 minutes of this movie. Oh, and by the way, she's pregnant. Manages to later give birth to a healthy baby boy even though she hasn't eaten in 4 months and has been slapped around and thrown to the floor, landing on her belly every single time, at least 25 times. Brother-in-law eventually saves the day, gives a lot of impassioned speeches, and turns into a ninja at the end of the movie. Seriously. Out of nowhere, he turns into a killing machine and murders every antagonist that appeared in the entire film, even some midget town crier. Evil boss man gets pummeled with every stick weapon known to man, and then hung in a tree by the widow and ninja brother-in-law. And then his dead body is dragged through the townsfolk. End of movie, beginning of massive audience applause. What?!?!?! Where AM I!!!!!

Not to be ethno-centric, but let me break this film down for you. It starts out like a bad Walter Matthau comedy done Mexican television style, rife with bad physical humor and goofy "whizoo" or "boink" sound effects. Just think of the Bee Guy from Simpsons. Then the violence. Everybody fights in this movie, but the shocker is the sheer amount of physicality against women. At least half of the punishment in the film was men slapping, punching, kicking, or bodyslamming helpless women, one of whom I've already mentioned was pregnant. What the heck kind of culture have I settled myself into here, when this is the children's matinee movie???? I could go on for quite a while: pointless close-ups ( in groups of threes) of characters' eyes accompanied with a "bwishhhhhht" sound whenever said character gets totally pissed; the random song and dance numbers shot like George Michael music videos that just come out of, like, NOWHERE; the background passers-by in city scenes who don't understand that a commercial film is being shot, and choose to dance around like idiots or hump bicycle tires or whatever; the grainy film quality, full of little orange tears in the film that made the screen look like it was leaking carrot juice. Oh, and I left out the dead dog lying in the alleyway INSIDE THE THEATER when we exited.

Friends, I am not in America anymore. Will somebody please send me season 2 of Lost on dvd and some hand sanitizer?

Next time: Jason fights in a gladiator ring to save the life of an Indian princess! Crab spiders kidnap the prime minister of Bangladesh!! And dhal baat!!!!