The Hate U Give

When a movie is repeatedly branded as being “powerful”, it’s hard not to be intrigued. But add to that a storyline about police brutality, racial profiling and a woman of colour as the lead, and you pretty much have my dream movie.

The Hate U Give, adapted from the novel of the same name, follows Starr Carter, a young black girl living dual lives. She spends her school days putting on a façade at Williamson Prep, a private school in the ‘good’ part of town, attended by predominantly rich white students. When school ends, she goes home to Garden Heights, a friendly but poor neighborhood where, as Starr put it, kids go to school to get jumped, high or pregnant. Her two worlds collide when she witnesses the shooting of her childhood friend Khalil by a police officer during a questionable traffic stop. The story of Khalil’s death makes national news and Starr grapples with whether she wants to publicly come forward as the sole witness. She fears reprisal from both within and outside of her community; worrying that her Williamson classmates will view her as a charity case from the wrong side of town, and concerned that the Garden Heights drug-dealing gang will target her and her family.

This story is as much a coming of age story as it is a commentary on police brutality. As viewers listen to Starr’s narration in the movie’s early scenes, we learn that she doesn’t quite fit into either of her two worlds; she doesn’t engage in the antics of her Garden Heights peers, nor can she truly be herself at school. At Williamson, she puts on an accommodating, agreeable façade to avoid being labelled a ghetto, angry black girl. She refrains from using slang or getting angry and constantly smiles at everyone so that her white classmates don’t see her as threatening. She outlines a truth known by the black community – she simply doesn’t have the same leeway to express anger or use slang as her white counterparts (setting the tone for further discussions about the leeway that people of colour don’t have in society). As Starr decides how to move forward with Khalil’s death, she also finds herself on a journey to find her own voice. 

The Hate U Give: a timely story that explores uncomfortable truths

The movie’s powerful opening scene shows a young Starr and her two brothers being given The Talk by their father, Maverick; not about the birds and the bees, but what to do when – not if, but when – they are stopped by a police officer. In painstaking detail, he goes through the importance of keeping their hands out in plain sight, not making any sudden movements, providing their ID calmly when requested, and politely answering with a respectful “yes, sir” and “no, sir”. Starr’s mother Lisa is visibly uncomfortable, not wanting her children to be exposed to these ugly realities at such a young age. But Maverick is resolute that his children know what they’re up against, and ends the conversation by giving them a list of their legal rights, directing them to memorize it carefully. Maverick’s insistence on having this conversation highlights an important truth known by black parents – these instructions can quite literally mean the difference between life and death for their children.  

For some viewers (including myself), this conversation is completely unrelatable; some may even find it fictionalized. But it’s a staple conversation in black households, with its importance underscored by the recent rash of shootings of unarmed black men. The very nature of this discussion highlights just how different the lived experiences of African-Americans are. I consider myself fairly knowledgeable on social issues and have faced certain microaggressions by virtue of being a woman of colour. But I can firmly say that I’ve never had to think about how I would act if I were stopped by police; I also feel confident that any sudden movements I make during a traffic stop likely wouldn’t result in a fatal shooting. This opening scene forces viewers to check their own privilege and come to terms with the disparity in how police exercise their power.

(On an interesting side note, the young actors playing Maverick’s children didn’t actually rehearse this scene. The director intentionally shot it unrehearsed to capture their genuine, raw emotions while being given The Talk. The scene turned out beautifully, capturing the innocence of children being slowly plucked away as they learn about the realities of the world they live in.)

The situation that Maverick warned Starr about indeed comes about during Khalil’s traffic stop. In a scene that’s powerful, heartbreaking and incredibly frustrating to watch, Starr and Khalil are driving home when a white officer pulls them over, demands to see Khalil’s ID and asks pointed questions about their whereabouts. As a viewer, it’s hard not to get angry as this scene unfolds; we know that the pair hadn’t been doing anything wrong and the officer seemed unnecessarily harsh as he spoke with them and made blatant inferences about why Starr was with Khalil. He demands that Khalil step outside and place his hands against the car while the officer goes to his cruiser to run his license.

Throughout the stop, Starr dutifully follows the instructions given to her by her father all those years ago, placing her hands out on the dashboard and urging Khalil to do the same. Khalil on the other hand, takes a far more laissez-faire approach and treats the stop as a joke, feeling (perhaps rightfully) that if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, there was no need to worry.

The tension mounts as Khalil jokes around and a visibly stressed Starr tells him to stand still and keep his hands out. Khalil ignores her pleading and reaches in for his hairbrush. The officer mistakes this fateful hairbrush for a weapon and fires three fatal shots.

The acting alone makes this scene an incredible cinematic moment, with Starr’s anguish tugging at your heartstrings as she realizes the gravity of the officer’s actions. But what makes this scene so compelling is the knowledge that its not simply a well-done fictionalized scene made for Hollywood. It’s a strong case of art imitating life, and the scores of similar police shootings lead to the uncomfortable realization that this is exactly how the shootings of unarmed black men happen. Whether it’s reaching for a hairbrush or walking in a neighborhood while wearing a hoodie, it’s the story that we’ve seen in the news countless times, and to see it come to life in theatres is unnerving.   

Following Khalil’s shooting, the movie explores the nuances of police shootings, the biases held by those in power and the uneven playing field that African-Americans face. Set against the backdrop of Black Lives Matter, we see subtle nods to the stories that inspired the movement; Starr’s repeated donning of her hoodie harkened back to the Trayvon Martin shooting, and later in the movie, Starr is heard saying “I can’t breathe”, the same last words uttered by Eric Garner (note: I have no actual proof that these were intentional references, but I refuse to believe they were coincidental).

As the sole witness, Starr is taken to the police station to provide a statement, where the unsympathetic investigators focused heavily on Khalil’s actions and involvement in drug dealing. It’s infuriating to watch but reflects yet another uncomfortable reality: it’s far easier to blame the victim rather than focus on the conduct of the man who pulled the trigger.

The story of Khalil’s shooting proves polarizing and brings out the best and worst in Starr’s friends. While her friend Maya and boyfriend Chris prove incredibly supportive, Starr sees the subtly racist side to her white friend Hailey. Hailey’s flippant comments about how “the officer’s life matters too” is a thought echoed by many who protest the BLM movement (and who often cite the comically ill-informed phrase “All Lives Matter”). Hailey later goes on to make unwarranted critiques of Khalil’s drug dealing, saying that he eventually would have died anyway. Her repeated justification of the officer’s actions reflects an important reality for Starr to learn: no matter how innocent a black victim may have been, and no matter how rash a white officer’s actions were, there will always be a contingent that will blame the victim.  

Starr’s discovery of Hailey’s true nature is a timely and relatable narrative given the divisive Trump era. With reports of deteriorating marriages and friendships sparked by diverging feelings over Trump, the truth that Starr must acknowledge about her own friend hits close to home. Politics and social justice have long been polarizing topics, but the events of recent years have brought out new sides to our acquaintances that we may not have previously realized existed. There is of course no need to only surround yourself with people who agree with everything you say — but when you’re no longer aligning on basic fundamental principles, it’s a sign that the friendship has run its course. Starr arrives at that conclusion with Hailey in a subplot that likely resonated with many.

The key point of this movie comes out in a short scene with Starr and her police officer uncle Carlos (played surprisingly well by Common). He explains to her the various factors that go through an officer’s mind when they’re conducting a stop — is it nighttime? Can he see? Is there a girl with a male? Does she look like she’s possibly been harmed? Is the officer working alone? Is the person they’re speaking to being argumentative? And most importantly, does it look like that person is suddenly reaching for a weapon?

This scene highlights an important reality faced by police officers: they simply don’t always know what they’re dealing with. With Carlos’ reasoning, it’s perfectly logical for an officer to use his gun — but Starr asks the question that can’t be ignored: if her uncle stopped a white man who was in a suit and a nice car, and that man made a sudden movement, would the officer shoot, or first tell him to put his hands up? Carlos doesn’t immediately answer and Starr presses him. He finally admits that he would ask a white man to raise his hands before resorting to firing his gun, adding that “we live in a complicated world”.

This is ultimately what the movie’s message boils down to. Yes, officers have to be careful. Yes, they need to be mindful of the risks and be on the lookout for weapons. But the protests against racial profiling and the BLM movement hinge on this one fact that can’t be ignored — police officers do not apply force equally. Plain and simple. Multiple studies confirm that police officers are far more likely to apply more force against black individuals compared to white individuals. (And for my Canadian readers, these findings aren’t limited to the US.) This translates to officers being quicker to fire their gun, quicker to subject black individuals to unnecessary (and sometimes unlawful) searches and apply more physical force than they would against a white person. As noted by a lawyer later on in the movie, even while unarmed, the colour of someone’s skin is seen as a weapon in and of itself, leading police to jump to an excessive amount of force.

I recommend that everyone see this movie for this scene alone, because it’s an important reality for many to be aware of. It’s often argued that if someone is breaking the law, it’s reasonable for police to take whatever measures are necessary. But this overly simple argument doesn’t take into account the nuances of how police decide when and how much force to use. And this line of thinking certainly glosses over the fact that a white person could be doing the exact same thing and receive vastly different treatment. Therein lies the message of Black Lives Matter. It doesn’t mean that only black lives matter — it simply means that black lives matter too, and police shouldn’t be so quick to treat them as disposable by firing a gun for every sudden movement.

Was this movie perfectly done? Certainly not. Being an adaptation from a book, it packed in a few too many storylines and progressed at a rushed pace. I personally would have preferred if the entire subplot about the drug lord had been taken out, and had the movie focus solely on the nuances of racial profiling and police brutality. The brief scene with Starr and Carlos needed a lot more unpacking, as that was the strongest message to convey to viewers who may not realize the discrepancies in how police exercise their powers. The riot scene also had hints of cheesiness, and the speech that Starr gave on the hood of the car wasn’t as powerful or moving as I expected given the intensity of the moment. And in a move that felt a bit too cliche, Starr debuts her natural hair at the end of the movie; a measure surely intended to signify her acceptance of her roots, but it felt just a little too trite and overdone.

But ultimately, these critiques stem from how the book was written, forcing the filmmakers to follow suit. Overall, it’s a fantastic movie with a strong message, great acting and uncomfortable truths. It’s a difficult story to tell, and unfortunate that there is a need to tell this story at all. But the movie explores complex issues with nuanced sensitivity and and leaves a strong impact long after the credits roll.

 To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

Netflix shows have developed a reputation for being fantastic – Stranger Things, The Crown, House of Cards, Making a Murderer… and of course, Riverdale. But Netflix movies? Not so much. They often look like a lineup of tacky Hallmark-style movies, with the ratings to match.

So when To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before started going viral, I was curious. What could it be about this movie that has everyone raving and talking about this Pete Kavinsky character? Out of curiosity more than anything else, I finally watched it for myself to see what the fuss was about. Unfortunately, I watched it weeks after everyone else, and I suspect that played into my overall feelings about this movie, which can be summed up in one word: Underwhelmed (don’t @ me).

I wanted to like this film, I really did. It stars a woman of color, which is always a plus in my books, and who doesn’t enjoy a nice heartwarming tale? But quite honestly, I just didn’t get this movie, and I certainly didn’t get why there was so much praise for it. I feel like the Grinch for even writing this review. However, I acknowledge that seeing this movie so late in the game may have unfairly increased my expectations.

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To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before: a well-intentioned film that missed the mark

The story follows Lara Jean Song Covey, a head-in-the-clouds high schooler who at the ripe age of 16, has never had a boyfriend (what a loser, amirite? Hahahah *cries into yearbook photos*). She’s the quintessential good-girl outcast; she’s mocked at school by the classic Hot Girl Bully, Gen, and has only a handful of friends. She wears funky clothes, marches to the beat of her drum, and spends her weekends watching Golden Girl marathons with her 11-year-old sister (who in one scene, points out that she had to cancel her own plans to hang out with Lara Jean).

Despite her lack of real-life romantic experiences, Lara Jean is mesmerized by romance novels and often daydreams about her sister’s boyfriend Josh. She describes having truly loved five boys in her lifetime, and wrote secret love letters to each of them that she safely tucked away, with no intention of ever mailing.

The letters mysteriously get mailed out one day to all five boys, including Josh and high school heartthrob Pete Kavinsky, who has recently broken up with Gen. Pete suggests to Lara Jean that they pretend to be a couple in the hopes that he will make Gen jealous enough to win her back; in turn, Lara Jean can use the fake relationship to avoid having a discussion with Josh about what her letter meant.

Here’s where the movie takes a problematic turn (though I concede that I seem to be the only person in the world who feels this way). I couldn’t wrap my head around what Lara Jean was truly getting out of this ruse and why a fairly grounded character like her would have agreed to this. The explanation that it would delay an awkward conversation with Josh seemed weak, even for a rom-com. And while yes I realize this is just a movie, I couldn’t get past this glaring gap in logic.

My next issue ties back to (don’t hate me) Pete Kavinsky himself, who seemed to be a less toxic version of the Classic Fuckboy – the guy who doesn’t want to commit to a girl but strings her along, makes her feel guilty and never gives a straight answer about his actions.

In similar movies, we often see the popular jock slowly fall in love with the geeky girl, and accordingly, he changes to become a better version of himself. I didn’t see that in Pete; he seemed to be the same self-serving character all throughout, and when he decided he wanted Lara Jean, he got her – without having to change a single thing about himself.

Do I think he’s the most awful male character we’ve seen in a movie? Of course not. But I certainly didn’t see particularly admirable or gentlemanly characteristics in him either. He seemed to be yet another confident male who casually flip-flopped between which girl he wanted, and had girls fighting for his attention in the meantime. And while we weren’t supposed to sympathize with the villainous Gen character, I couldn’t help but think it was cruel that Pete concocted this scheme solely to make her jealous and win her back – and when he was successful in making her jealous, he decided that he didn’t want her after all. This movie somehow romanticized the unhealthy game playing that real-life dating has become.

One particularly low point in the movie comes about when Lara Jean and Pete attend their first party together. From the beginning, I was put off by Pete’s insistence that Lara Jean attend and blow off her scheduled family plans, telling her that it was “in their contract” (editor’s note: no it was not. He stipulated in their contract that she go with him to the ski trip, not every party). And why did he care so much that Lara Jean attend? To spend time with her? No. It was all to make Gen jealous. When they show up at the party, he unties Lara Jean’s trademark ponytail and tells her she looks better with her hair down – another classic Fuckboy move (and throughout the rest of the movie, Lara Jean continued to wear her hair down, which irrationally bothered me).

After the party, the pair go to a diner and as per the Fuckboy rulebook, Pete gets butthurt when Lara Jean reminds him that they’re only in a pretend relationship. Let’s please note that back at the party, he had been telling Gen in the bathroom how good she looked, and let her keep Lara Jean’s favourite scrunchy. But as with all controlling boys, he had the nerve to act curt when Lara Jean reminded him that their pretend relationship was… well, pretend.

We see Lara Jean’s nervousness when Pete reacts coldly to this comment and unconvincingly tells her that everything is fine. In what was a far too relatable moment for most girls, she sends him a cutesy text afterwards, in an attempt to ensure that things are okay between them. His kissy-face emoji response is straight from the lazy Fuckboy playbook (why do I know so much about this?), and is effective in appeasing Lara Jean – despite him not having the courtesy to actually write something back to her. A great example of how men can get by doing the absolute bare minimum.

Later on in the movie, we see two attempts by Lara Jean to confront Pete about his secret conversations with Gen. Rather than give a straight answer, he dodges the questions and makes comments such as “we were together for a long time, those feelings don’t just go away”.

The whole thing reeked of manipulation – making one girl feel bad for not having feelings for him, while he himself wanted to be with another girl (and was open about this end goal). It left a bad taste in my mouth and I hated that not only did Lara Jean fall for it, but that Pete was seen as the Good Guy throughout the movie. Crazy as I know it may seem to say this, these behaviours are the early warning signs of a controlling man – mentioning preferences about her appearance, claiming her time, making her feel guilty about innocent and factual statements, refusing to communicate and ultimately using her as a pawn for his own end game.

The movie did have some highlights –Lara Jean’s hilarious little sister Kitty was as sassy as she was smart, and the overall bond between the three sisters was heartwarming to see. It’s rare to see movies or shows focus on healthy, encouraging family relationships, and this made a nice change. This theme was capped off by Lara Jean’s adorable dad (who will forever be Aidan Shaw in my eyes), and the scene with his failed safe-sex talk left me cringing and laughing in equal measure. Lara Jean herself was a great character, outside of her “relationship” with Pete – she was sarcastic, sharp and confident in who she was, and served as a great role model for younger viewers.

But on the whole, I just couldn’t get behind this movie. I imagine this story is appealing in the way that She’s All That was appealing to teenagers of the 90’s – the nerdy girl gets the cool guy and puts the mean girl in her place.

But given recent discussions in the news about problematic male behavior, I couldn’t shake my concerns. The entire plot felt like a euphemism for how the dating game is often played: guy gets his pick of women, pits women against each other, makes them feel paranoid and jealous, and ultimately chooses who he wants to be with—all the while coming off as a great guy. Call me cynical, but there’s enough of this story in real life – I feel no need to watch it onscreen as well.

Crazy Rich Asians

A couple disclaimers about Crazy Rich Asians. I haven’t read the book, and those who have will likely have a different take on this movie. I also don’t generally enjoy rom-coms (Bridget Jones’ Diary is not a rom-com and I will die on this hill).

All the same, I couldn’t wait to see this movie. As a woman of colour who rarely sees any representation in mainstream media, seeing a rom-com fronted by an all-Asian cast was a breath of fresh air. It’s the first Hollywood movie in 25 years with an Asian cast — but I was too young to have seen  its predecessor, The Joy Luck Club. For most movie-goers under 30, this is the first Hollywood movie with a cast of this composition — and for some, the first time they’re seeing a cast that they can finally identify with.

Crazy Rich Asians: a wonderfully fun, opulent ride.

I also can’t emphasize enough how important it is that this movie is a romantic comedy, a genre traditionally dominated by the Kate Hudsons and Matthew McConaugheys of the world. The beautiful blonde magazine editor would always fall in love with the handsome white sports writer, and if producers were really looking to push the envelope, they’d maybe cast a brunette Anne Hathaway-type. Any Asian characters, if they were cast at all, were quirky computer nerds with purple hair– often scrawny, never sexy.

And for all the trailblazing that The Joy Luck Club did, any fan of Amy Tan’s novels will tell you that her stories aren’t exactly warm and fuzzy, and The Joy Luck Club is no exception. Hollywood seems to have a particular fascination with ethnically diverse movies being depressing tales of human suffering (see also: Slumdog Millionaire, Memoirs of a Geisha). “The more suffering, the better” seemed to be the mantra of producers who cast people of colour (cue scene of a poor person walking in rural India/China/South America, ideally with a baby in their arms).

Enter Crazy Rich Asians, a fun, light-hearted movie that proves Asians can indeed be funny and sexy enough to lead a rom-com set in a cosmopolitan city. While some have critiqued the fluffy nature of its storyline, I think that’s exactly what makes this movie so groundbreaking. It reveals the little-known secret that people of colour are Normal People — they date, have kooky foibles and can pull off laugh-out-loud scenes just like white people! 

The movie follows Rachel Chu, a New York economics professor who is invited by her boyfriend, Nick Young, to a wedding in his homeland Singapore. En route, Rachel learns of his family’s immense wealth, and faces difficulties as she adjusts to rich-people politics and the steely family matriarch, Eleanor Young (played by the incredible Michelle Yeoh, who carried the Tiger Mom role to perfection).

The movie showcases incredible fashion, decadent homes and over-the-top parties. Nothing is too expensive or too flashy, and one of the opening scenes shows Nick’s cousin Astrid casually purchasing earrings priced at over $1 million.

The storyline itself has that slightly rushed pace that is so often seen in movies adapted from books, and leaps from one plot point to another without fully fleshing out the issues. One example is the cattiness towards Rachel during a bachelorette trip. A jilted ex-girlfriend of Nick’s effectively gets into Rachel’s head, and a comment made by Rachel about Nick being a “great catch” was twisted to make her seem like a gold digger. The scene with the dead fish in Rachel’s room, captioned with “Catch this, gold-digging bitch” is gut-wrenching to watch, but Rachel rises above the pettiness. While at the wedding,  we see her confidently walking past the same girls, who stare at her in captivation.

I assume we’re meant to revel in Rachel’s triumphant power move, but this subplot on the whole just felt rushed. The movie provided no context into why there was such animosity towards Rachel, and the Mean Girls-esque storyline felt too neatly wrapped up at the end.

Similarly, the dynamics between Rachel and Eleanor felt choppy and glossed over. This was the storyline I was personally most interested in — how would an ultra-rich, traditional Asian mother take to an average Chinese-American girl (albeit an accomplished one)? There was of course, the basic concern that Rachel wasn’t good enough for Nick. But we also see Eleanor quietly battling feelings of loneliness; the passing comments made about her husband imply that he’s a workaholic who’s constantly away on business, and his character never actually makes an appearance in this movie (something that I’m wondering will be explained in the follow-up movies).

The plan had always been for Nick to return home to Singapore to take over the company, allowing his father to take a step back. Nick’s decision to stay in New York because of Rachel simultaneously deprived Eleanor of having both her son and husband back in her life, a realization that couldn’t be easy for her. Further causing tension between Rachel and Eleanor is the cross-generational gap, with Eleanor disapproving of the American “follow your passion” way of life.

With all of these complex layers, the Rachel/Eleanor dynamic could have been a movie on its own, and I was eager to see how the movie tackled these issues. But I walked away feeling that things were too rushed and too conveniently settled between the two women. The pacing felt clunky, and showed Eleanor being seemingly friendly towards Rachel at their first meeting, hostile during dumpling-making and then outright vindictive during the wedding where she drops the bombshell about Rachel’s mother. After Rachel’s speech during their game of Mahjong, Eleanor has a slightly-too-abrupt change of heart, and gives Nick her blessing to marry Rachel.

Again, this quickened pacing is common in movies adapted from books. Even the most skilled director can’t effectively include every detail and nuance when condensing a novel into a two-hour film (and for that reason, I feel lucky that I don’t have the book to compare this movie to).

Despite the brevity of this subplot, it did give audiences what was probably the most powerful scene in the movie. After making dumplings together, Eleanor follows Rachel onto a staircase and gives a coldly impassioned speech before finally telling her “You will never be enough… you are not one of us”. It’s a chilling moment that feels all too realistic and relatable.

Overall, the movie does a wonderful job of telling a fun story, introducing us to hilarious and loveable characters (special shoutout to the delightful characters played by Ken Jeong and Awkwafina) and imparting general feel-good vibes.

The movie added depth and balanced its breezy tone with a few heavier scenes and storylines. We see Astrid ending her marriage with her disgruntled husband, who felt insecure about her breadwinner status and had an affair. I almost wanted to cheer when the normally soft-spoken Astrid tells her husband “It’s not my job to make you feel like a man. I can’t make you something you’re not”.

And in one poignant scene,  Astrid walks into the wedding with her grandmother, who rarely attended social functions but spared Astrid the embarrassment of attending alone. Astrid thanked her grandmother, who gently reminded her “family doesn’t say thank you”. It’s a beautiful moment that showcases the close relationships in ethnic families (in stark contrast to the white family stereotypes of forcing kids to move out at 18, and placing elderly relatives in group homes).

Close familial ties are also shown again in a tearjerking scene where Rachel’s mom visits  Rachel in Singapore, after hearing about the wedding fiasco. Rachel’s surprise and relief at seeing her mother is palpable and the teary embrace between the two can’t help but tug at your heartstrings.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a true rom-com without some element of cheesiness. In a far-too-drawn-out scene during the wedding, the bride walks down the aisle in slow-motion. Despite the attention-grabbing venue, complete with a waterfall aisle, Rachel and Nick tearfully stare at one another. The scene went on a titch too long, inciting an eye-roll from yours truly. Similarly, (spoiler alert), the airplane proposal lands squarely on cliche rom-com territory.

All that being said, this movie is truly so much more than a romantic comedy. It cleverly incorporates power dynamics, family relations, heartache and comedy to bring a story that’s an absolute joy to watch. The massive success of Crazy Rich Asians has hopefully laid the groundwork for better representation in mainstream media and has answered the age-old question of whether Asians can star in a successful Hollywood movie.