Michael Ealy’s Android Paints Black Men “Almost Human”

Good looking men? Oh, hai.

Data was the first android I ever loved. I am a Trekkie both by inheritance and by choice, so I grew up watching the humanoid robot’s struggle to define himself as not-human. So, androids are my people. Yesterday, I tuned into Fox’s new show, Almost Human, starring Karl Urban and Michael Ealy as a traumatized human cop and his android partner, respectively. I will admit: I tuned in primarily because of Michael Ealy.  

The story takes place in 2048 and typically paints the not-so-distant future as a gray scale dystopia where drugs, guns, and crime syndicates have overrun the country. Conditions are so bad that cops are assigned mandated android partners. These androids are, baldly, pricks programmed as literal rule books, recording and reporting everything you do. They mean-mug and are presented in such a way to make the audience dislike them, as Urban’s character does. 

Almost Human uses familiar tropes seen in science fiction/fantasy (SFF) futuristic landscapes. There is android technology, synthetic limbs, black market medicine to retrieve memory, and all touch-screen everything. Oh, and great guns, but no flying cars yet. Yawn. The hook is supposed to be the well-recycled plot line of “cop seeks revenge for teammate’s death.” Nothing new to see there, either.

But I will tune in again just to watch Michael Ealy’s android, Dorian, a robot with feelings. The fictitious scientists have perfected technology allowing Dorian to be conversational (he ends sentences with “man”), intuitive, soft-spoken, and politically correct (he dislikes the use of the slur “synthetics” against androids). But even this is not new: sensitive androids have been seen in films like Terminator, A.I., I, Robot, Bicentennial Man, and countless others.

But one thing about Almost Human is new and intriguing: Dorian is black. 

Combing through histories of on-screen androids and cyborgs alike, I could find very few black male androids (Battlestar Galactica’s Number Four Cylon is black). This paucity of black robots could be because SFF as a genre is dominated by white writers who do not readily place people of color in their futures. You can find great reading about race and racism in SFF around the web.

Considering the depictions of black men in film (especially black male police officers) as tough or quippy, and imbued with black cool, the choice of a black actor to play a robot challenges convention. When Urban’s character “wakes” Dorian up, Dorian smiles warmly and says hello; he is promptly told to get going and reacts with a disappointed frown. Dorian is caring and sensitive where his human partner is cold and rude. I am sure this is a deliberate juxtaposition meant to address an overarching question about humanity.

But Dorian’s personality also presents several questions, black elephants in the room: Given programming, would androids help us to “not see” race? If the only thing “black” about Dorian is his synthetic skin, what will his culture be? Android, rather than African-American, is Dorian’s race. His humanoid status primarily colors his interactions with the world around him. But will the character be addressed as black by humans? If the future is as dystopic as they make it seem, racism will not be eradicated by 2048.  To render his blackness invisible from racism in such a world would ring oddly utopic.

Arguably TV’s most handsome robot. Gratuitous eye candy pic; sue me.

Almost Human has the unique opportunity to foster mainstream conversations about racism, SFF culture, and (lack of) humanity through a black android. Because, even if the show’s writers decide to ignore Dorian’s blackness in favor of a post-racial approach, the viewers still live in present time. We will see a black man, regardless. And this black man cannot fulfill the tropes and negative stereotypes of many black men on screen–he is a robot “made to feel.” What we see could either re-shape or confirm our biases.

Therefore, I will be watching Almost Human closely, hoping that the writers mine this gem artfully. I want to fall in love with Dorian like I did with Data. More importantly, I look forward to a fresh interrogation of black masculinity from a SFF perspective. It just might take an android to help shift the depiction of black men on television from largely one-dimensional to “almost human.”

Friday Feel-Good Tune: “Count to Five”

They just look too freaking funky.

Happy Friday, everyone! I realize that I bombard myself with many “Why So Serious?” topics throughout the week. No one likes a Debbie Downer, though, and I have to make a conscious effort to feel, write, and spread joy in my day. Today’s earlier blog post was too heavy to carry into the weekend.

With that, I’d like to introduce the Friday Feel-Good Tune! I will share a song every Friday that either reflects my good mood (happy payday!) or seeks to uplift it.

I’ve rattled on about how much I love The Foreign Exchange. Today’s Friday Feel-Good Tune is an offering from them and their keyboardist, Zo! “Count to Five” is a children’s song and I have a kid…but I think I rock harder to this joint than she does. I love this song because it’s funky and fun and Phonte’s chest thrusts make the world a brighter place.

Enjoy your Friday and your weekend!

Why Scandal’s Rape Fails as a Plot Device

And yet, she still didn’t deserve that shoddy writing.

Last night, I watched a fictional character get raped and my guts flipped inside out. I have written before about Scandal and my struggle to fall in love with it beyond Olivia Pope’s peacoats, but I think it might have turned me off for good this time.

Let me confess first of all that I have a soft spot for underdogs and hated, pitiful creatures. I never despised Skyler White on Breaking Bad like many fans did, simply because I felt her plight to be extremely difficult. Vince Gilligan artfully made Skyler innocent-yet-complicit in her husband’s criminal enterprise.

Mellie Grant on Scandal is likely the most derided character on the show, why? Because she has the unmitigated gall to want to keep her husband. Many women viewers call her desperate and conniving as she hangs on to the President’s coattails. She is not an angel, but she is human and I feel sympathy for her character.

Therefore, to have Mellie be raped on a couch by her father-in-law felt like a cheap shot. A sucker punch. In the context of the back story, it was unnecessary. There are better ways to prove that this woman has lain herself on the altar of Fitz’s career and been immolated. This was not the trump card in evoking sympathy for an arch-villain.

With such a heavy topic as rape, the audience feels yanked into a whirl of emotions and needs time to process them. Viewers are still unsure if the network issued a trigger warning. Scandal is too fast-paced to deal with emotional issues using anything more than quips and punchlines (“If you want me, earn me”). So the show blithely skipped on to subsequent scenes as if nothing ever happened. My thought process went something like this:

People laughing at a party. HE RAPED HER.. Quinn is doing something foolish. RAPE. RAPE, THOUGH?! Mama Pope is alive. Oh. RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE! 

You could argue that rape scenes happen in many dramas (Shonda Rhimes’ own Private Practice, for instance) and it is art depicting life. Law and Order: SVU deals regularly with the horror of sexual trauma, but they do it in a way that underscores the brutality of rape. The victims are remembered, honored, vindicated–or at least loved enough to have the truth investigated.

But Mellie is the most unloved woman on Scandal. She is scorned by the press, her husband, her political handler, by her husband’s mistress, and by Americans themselves because of her husband’s cowardice. Scandal does not care about Mellie. The plot line will not pause to explore how Mellie healed or is still healing from her trauma. It will focus on her ambition for status, her avarice, her struggle loving a man whose father raped her. 

Thus, rape is reduced to a plot device, one that does not work, instead of a plot line. The viewers peep game: we are supposed to say, “Awww, Mellie is not so bad after all.” We are supposed to let our heartstrings be tugged, but we see the puppet master and the ruse has failed. The writers turned rape into something that “happened to Mellie,” like a stubbed toe or a bad haircut. Even a fictional character deserves better treatment.

The next few scenes after the rape, we see Mellie panting after her husband like a toy poodle he forgets to pet, but I am still stuck on that couch. And I don’t think anything else Shonda Rhimes can do with Scandal will wrench me off of it. I am done.

Why I’m Happy for Kanye and Kim

Look at that face…who could begrudge a smile that genius?

There is an old adage about garden tools and housewives that implies certain women are off limits in the marriage department. As antiquated as the idea might be, it lives on in popular culture. You can’t talk about Kanye West and Kim Kardashian without someone bringing up her, um, film credits and her claim to fame.

Kanye is breaking man law! They shout. Don’t marry her, bruh! The Internet keeps trying to save him, but like most men who have settled on a woman: he doesn’t want to be saved. And it’s my opinion that he doesn’t need to be.

Read more at MyBlackTresses…

 

What Resident Evil Taught Me About Motherhood and Being Pwned

He’s gonna pwn you, for sure.

Parenthood is arguably the world’s greatest role-playing game. My brain works in mysterious ways and thinking about motherhood called to mind the fourth installment of the great gaming franchise, Resident Evil, where parasite-ridden farmers (Los Ganados) “remember” your last combination of fighting moves and bum rush you before you can get a clip off.

The art of mothering requires dynamic thinking and adaptation to a person who is constantly learning you and their environment. I confess I was never that good at gaming: my moves stopped improving once I realized that “Back + Back + B” only worked with Scorpion and no other player in Mortal Kombat.

I am the mother of an almost two-year-old playful toddler, who is daily my biggest challenge and greatest reward. She was originally known as Little Bean, but her handle permutations have evolved to include Bean, Beanie Siegel, Beans and Cranks, and Beanie Pie. Her successes, often imperceptible, inch her toward independence in ways that are both validating and uncomfortable for me.

The discomforting part of being a mother is the utter lack of control you have over this tiny being who you expect to control. It reminds me of why Artificial Intelligence (AI) and character responsiveness are so crucial to gamers’ evaluation of video games. Great AI gives you an eerily intuitive opponent who “hears” the crack of a missed gunshot and attacks. This can be fun, unless your game’s character responsiveness sucks, causing him to jerk to movement a millisecond too late to duck. The screen shutters gray and words in white block letters slide down, “YOU DIED.”

When I did play video games, nothing infuriated me more than being owned (or pwned, in gaming lexicon) by a computer. These days, nothing frustrates me more than being pwned by a 22-pound, 2-feet-tall little girl in Afro puffs.

Take last week. Bean clamors, “EAT! EAT! EAT! EATEATEATEAT!” until I pick her up and fix her something. Once the bowl is in front of her, she dips her whole hand into the oatmeal, rubs her fingers together, and proceeds to draw on the tray without eating a bite. Or, other times, when she is done with her food, she’ll look me straight in the eye and flip the plate of rice over the side of the high chair.

Better yet are the moments when I tell her, “Come here, Beanie,” only to watch her take off running, mouth upturned in mischief. I bark that I’m not going to chase her, but once I catch her, she dissolves into a bundle of infectious giggles. I giggle with her and am utterly pwned again.

Bean has perfected what I call the “toddler meltdown.” If she doesn’t want to go somewhere, her little brown legs melt into the ground. Her favorite word is “NO!” which, to older adults looking on, makes me look like I can’t handle my business. Cringe. No mother wants to look like the amateur dragging her kid through the store. But motherhood is an illogical balance of teaching children independence–that they have the right to say “No”–but only when we say so. Clearly, things won’t go my way 100% of the time if I’m teaching it right.

English: Joel as a toddler
Sad to say, but the best part about having kids is dressing them like this so you can laugh at them.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Ultimately, I adjust. In Resident Evil 4, when possessed farmers bear down on you with a tentacled alien sticking out of their heads, throwing the same punch that splattered your guts in the dirt…will get you killed again. You have to switch it up. Kid intelligence is obviously greater than a game’s AI; the capacity children have for learning is astounding. But none of that is fun if my responsiveness lags. I have to be as dynamic a mother, growing in response to her self-awareness, as she is a learner.

Finally, the greatest thing Resident Evil, and any other video game, taught me about motherhood is this:

Everyone gets pwned at some point, but the game always resets and allows you to try again, with greater nuance, until you’re the one doing all the pwnage. Game. On.