Another Avatar essay?
I picked Avatar for the subject of my final essay for film/video theory, so I thought I would post it here in case anyone was interested. I tried to examine the debacle from an academic standpoint using viewer identification, the concept of Asian American hyphenation and Richard Dyer's theory on Whiteness.
When original Nickelodeon series, Avatar: the Last Airbender premiered, it was quickly received with critical acclaim; creators Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko had made a fantasy world of elemental powers, world threatening conquerors, and young heroism on a scale that was unprecedented in Western cartoons. Yet what made the show unique was the vast blend of Asian culture and epic storytelling that made it on par, and in fact blurred the barriers between American and Japanese animation. It constructed for itself a world of Asian normality, but in this endeavour, the ambiguities of show’s Asian American identity also conflicted with the dominant reading of race. Now, as the live action movie adaptation is underway, countless fans are voicing their outrage against the film, directed by M. Night Shyamalan, making it clear that the racist Hollywood practices of years past are still very much prevalent today within the all-encompassing neutrality of White normativity.
The entirety of Avatar’s story takes place in an Asian-inspired landscape, and their sources are legion. They take not only from Japanese animation and Chinese writing, but also the geography, architecture, names, art, clothing, spirituality and mythologies of countries stretching across East and Southeast Asia, but also to the Indigenous people of the Inuit, Oceania, and Mesoamerica. Even the Avatar himself is a concept of Hinduism, and the philosophies of Buddhism, Taoism and Yoga are present throughout the series. Yet the heart of this world lies in the four basic elements which make up the attitudes, lifestyle and ideologies of the four nations - water, earth, fire and air - made malleable by the martial arts of ‘bending’.
With the popularization of kung fu and anime, Avatar melds the two and creates a cartoon that is indiscernible from its Japanese counterparts - in part due to the South Korean studios and their hand in animating the show. Since the boom of anime’s reception, distribution and appeal in the 90’s, many children’s shows have attempted to recreate the formula using imitations of its aesthetic style - with varying degrees of critical and financial success. In a sense, Avatar has more in common with the popular ‘shonen’ genre in anime, literally translated to and targeted at young boys. Like its predecessors, it stars a young boy with a thirst for adventure and an infectious personality who uses his powers to fight great evil, and often changes the shape of the world for the better. Each episode carries a continual plot which is serialized through three seasons rather than the traditional format of episodic children’s television, and did not shy away from more mature themes of morality, responsibility, and self-discovery. As such, from its debut Avatar has been received with praise, and stood out from the other programs for its age group.
Despite DiMartino and Konietzko having distinctly non-Asian backgrounds, the depth of research and dedication to the representation of these cultures has made the world of Avatar to be more than Asian-inspired. Its conception is undeniably as a North American television show, and Western cultural tropes employed in the narrative support this. A specific example would be the ‘swampbenders’ - based off the Vietnamese flooded forests, they are portrayed as New Orleans bayou-dwellers, which is more familiar to Americans. Parodies remain closer to home for instant recognisability; as well, the narrative rarely deters from its linear progression and what Scott McCloud describes as a “goal-oriented” storytelling tradition (McCloud, 81). On the other hand, it takes its roots in its rich, Asian heritage. Thanks to the contribution and research of its American creators, writers, voice actors, and the unusual amount of creative leeway given to their Korean animation studios, Avatar, as a production, has constructed its identity as existing within the hyphen of what can be defined as Asian American - that is, Asian in appearance and heritage, with a mind for American values. It cannot be defined as a single coherent identity, and comes with all the inherent racial complexity and confusion.
The perfect visualization for the hyphenation in Avatar’s racial identity lies in the logo for the series itself. Alternatively known in Europe as Avatar: the Legend of Aang, the title’s keyword hangs between Chinese and English, a bridge between words and worlds. Even ‘Avatar’ itself is a hybridization of the two languages, derived from Sanskrit, in English letters, and written freestyle in the art of East Asian calligraphy. Avatar is the show’s hook, its unique element that connotes not only a mythical concept, but also of a character who acts for and in regards to the desires of the spectator. After all, for most children and teenagers, the only place they’re likely to hear the word ‘avatar’ with any regularity is in video gaming. It’s no wonder why the title wasn’t ‘Aang: the Last Airbender,’ despite being a more popular naming convention. The name Aang is simply too foreign to us to relate. Instead, Avatar occupies the middle way, and dominates our view. Yet despite the obvious size and importance, it still falls underneath its Chinese translation, giving the hierarchical upper seat to foreign characters that would not be understood by the majority of its target audience. In fact, the English subtitle seems simply auxiliary, fading into the background with its thinner font, and inconsequential enough to be changed in the show’s European release. Our eyes only wander downwards when we cannot recognize the second most bolded script on the logo. It takes the position of the hyphen, the uncomfortable stitch between Asian-American, the gaping hole between Asian American, the place of racial identity that is both inclusive and exclusive, and then invites viewers to assimilate into a world that is neither populated by Eurocentric sensibilities, nor recognizable stereotypes. This is the last piece of English writing the show ever sees apart from its credits, it is the threshold.
After all, unlike other Asian-inspired programs such as Jackie Chan Adventures, or Xiaolin Showdown, the Avatar world does not take place in America’s Chinatowns, or even on Earth. There is no equivalent Western civilization to buffer the young audience and the mystical Orient; is this solved by the emphatic quality of cartoons? When no ‘real’ human is presented, it becomes easier to project oneself onto the blank slate - they are less tied down to an innate sense of racial categorization than an actual body existing in a social context outside of the screen - a reason why some viewers found themselves automatically assuming the Buddhist-Tibetian-Shaolin monk based protagonist to be Caucasian despite all his identifiable cultural signifiers. It is an entirely Eurocentric interpretation, one with privileges the White perspective of normativity in their heroes.
After all, despite Avatar’s singular achievements as an animated series, Aang does not serve to subvert many ideological trains when it comes to our expectations of a young fantasy-action hero, even when acting as an archetype of shonen anime: he is a pale-skinned, young, heterosexual male fighting to overthrow an empire which we recognize as fascist (and, therefore, evil,) because of his divine right, privilege, and responsibility (thus the responsibility of all people) as someone ‘good’, ‘free’. However, he is supplemented by the cultural context he is placed in, marking him as spiritual in a manner specified to be non-Christian, vegetarian, and visibly wearing signifiers of his non-White culture that make his appearance unusual compared to many other young protagonists dominating the screen. Most notably, Aang shaves his head, and, while bright yellow-orange colours are not usual for a lead, his off-the-shoulder Buddhist monk robes in the third season definitely are. Moreso, the two other lead protagonists throughout the show, Katara and Sokka, are both dark-skinned, rupturing the accepted dynamics of coloured roles belonging to token minorities or background stereotypes.
So for a television show that can be identified as American Asian, the question becomes not ‘how is Aang Asian?’ but rather, ‘why couldn’t he be White?’ - putting White representation somehow in the victimized position. After all, these terrible racial signifiers have surely died with the years - yellow skin, slanted eyes, poor values and poorer English - all tools that have portrayed Asians as untrustworthy, alien, exotic mirrors which define the institutional superiority of Western dominance. Considering both that Aang is never Othered as a racial minority within the Asian universe of his world (noting that race here refers not to the identification of country or community, but rather the broader and (originally considered) empirical characteristics of the Caucasian, Negro, Mongoloid, etc.) and that series borrows its art style from a vast culture of Japanese self-representation, he obviously lacks these racial signifiers. He is ‘normal’ in relation to the fictional world he lives in, one without the Eurocentric template of reality. But ironically, the very lack of coded signifiers is the cause of his Whiteness.
Richard Dyer describes Whiteness as “no colour because it is all colours” (Dyer, 214). It is everything and nothing at once, both the institutional norm and invisible, making the representation of White as difficult to grasp as air. For all his intentional Asian characteristics, the subjective values of his audience are projected onto him in the act of identification. Aang becomes different things to different people - including the Eurocentric act of identifying him as the default, normal, ordinary, invisible race of Whiteness. His race becomes a subject of inclusivity and exclusivity, and so the “complications and negotiations” between those “situated in, not in and/or between racial and national entities” in attempting to define this hyphen become apparent in the relationship of Avatar in its demographic (Chang, 12). Its reality collides with our understanding of the social constructs that have naturalized in our minds: Aang’s world is created from the cultures of Asia; everything non-Westernized, non-White is the Other; Aang is never racially Othered within his world, and the narrative of Avatar is never marked or driven by ethnic difference to Whites.
Spectators of Asian descent may have little to no problem identifying with Aang, and may even feel empowered from this representation. For once, an Asian hero in an Asian world with a story that is not centered on his Asian-ness. Other racial groups may feel similarly, or perhaps identifying more strongly with Katara and Sokka. Katara is particularly notable for being a positive portrayal of a dark-skinned lead female who is not objectified, and maintains control over the romantic inclinations between her and Aang without being defined by them. This is not to assume that assimilation is impossible on the part of Avatar’s White audience and Eurocentrism is inevitable, or that all people of ethnic descent will automatically identify. The influence of hegemony is too complex to be measured so decisively. But there will be a large core that unconsciously perceive Aang as belonging to their own invisible norm, and quietly accept it.
Now, most recently, the development of the live-action Avatar movie, known as The Last Airbender (for copyright issues), has sparked great controversy among the fans of the show. The casting decisions gave the lead role of Avatar Aang and the two other main protagonists in the show, Katara and Sokka, to White actors and actresses: Noah Ringer, Nicola Peltz and Jackson Rathbone. It was only with the coincidental timing of White popstar Jesse McCartney’s resignation that the role of Zuko - antagonist, anti-hero and eventually protagonist throughout Avatar’s three seasons -went to Dev Patel, of Slumdog Millionaire fame. Ringer will be playing another White messiah-hero, in the Hollywood tradition of Whiteness saving the day. The casting is even more troubling considering that Katara and Sokka, as well as the ethnic identity of their entire Inuit-based tribe, have been designated to Whites, while the originally pale skinned antagonists once again take the role of the dark-skinned, ‘evil’ Oriental. The arguments to defend this decision are always the same, and always overlook the fundamental truths of race in cinema.
Using real world logic as justification is irrelevant. Fantasy, inevitably, cannot exist in a void - no matter what constructs are used to explain the decisions made in its conception, the fact remains that both the series and its big screen counterpart have been created in a system that both produces and perpetuates lasting institutional values. From the first press release to the box office to the DVD commentary, the authorial intent behind the work pales in importance in how it interacts with the ideological apparatus we, the audience, exist in. Reading the casting as it is, the conflict between the Water Tribe and the Fire Nation no longer takes place in the specific, plot oriented clash of nations, or even as ethnicities - Inuit versus East Asian, as it was originally. Their battle becomes one of Whiteness versus Brownness, where Brown represents the Other: the dark, barbaric Oriental who belongs to no real nationality, but rather exists in an imaginary state embodied by the opposite of every good and right White ideal. With the seemingly intangible grasp of what defines Whiteness, this becomes necessary not only to give a foreign face to their enemy, but also reinforce the correctness of their - and our - hegemonic values.
That Zuko eventually turns to the side of good contributes to the issues at hand. Now, considering that The Last Airbender has only just released a teaser trailer, it is impossible for the single movie to encompass the entirety of Avatar’s epic story, and will most likely play the gambit for enough box office revenue to make a trilogy. However, the fact that Zuko, the character, is destined to turn from his antagonistic role and join Aang becomes very different once race comes into play. Ethnic minorities in the media always fall under the burden of representation - that is, the responsibility of representing their entire race. Once the Fire Nation - and by extension, he - is recognized as the familiar Brown evil set on disrupting Whiteness, Zuko can no longer redeem himself by his own virtues, but as the Oriental who recognizes the superiority of White values and joins into the melting pot of dominant Eurocentrism.
Finally, and least surprisingly in regards to racial identification within the original cartoon itself, the perspective of Aang’s Whiteness is rewarded and validated by the casting of a White child. How could it be racist to cast a White actor to play an apparently White character? They discredit any other interpretation of Aang that does not fall in with the Eurocentric gaze on his racial invisibility. There is nothing fundamentally specific to race that defines his actions or the conflict of the story, and by this logic, the only time Asians can - and therefore, should - take lead roles is in films driven by their ethnic difference to the norm. Even in films where they are not meant to assert their Asianness, the economic realities of the industry will inevitably market them as ‘Asian cinema,’ ‘Asian action movie,’ ‘Asian comedy,’ repeat ad nauseum. Because they deviate from the standard of Whiteness, the perception and reception of the film are coloured, as it were, and “it is at this juncture that films are then labelled by White executives, critics, and audiences alike as “Indian movies,” “Asian movies,” or “Black movies”... the purity of the story suddenly gets lost underneath the covers of race” (Chaisson, 60). And with the amount of money invested in The Last Airbender - much more than an animated children’s television show - to catapult the franchise, there is no doubt that in producing the movie, the limitations of a leading Asian role were considered - limitations ironically created by the very institutions that Hollywood perpetuates. So then, the privileged White perspective is favoured, not only because it appeals to their interests in maintaining their dominance, but also because the invisible qualities of White normativity is so encompassing in our society that most simply will not notice, or even rise to defend it. As Dyer observes:
In the realm of categories, black is always marked as a colour (as the term ‘coloured’ egregiously acknowledges), and it is always particularising; whereas white is not anything really, not an identity, not a particularising quality, because it is everything - white is no colour because it is all colours.
So the fact that the animated Aang can originally be constructed as a White character through Eurocentric identification becomes justified. It might even be fair to say that until the viewer openly asserts Aang to be Asian, the ambivalence in regards to his race allows the invisibility of Whiteness to permeate their understanding of neutral, raceless.
The Last Airbender film attempts to go another step further from lead actor neutrality - from the images provided in the promotional imagery, teaser trailer and website, it becomes evident that they are also white-washing the cultural presentation of the Avatar world. They are select, and they are quiet: the bright saffron and yellow of Aang’s Buddhist garb are dulled, and he is given a cloak more identifiable as a European monk’s; Zuko’s topknot ponytail is gone - Patel’s hair looks virtually the same as it did in Slumdog; the Fire Nation’s armour lacks any of its Imperial Chinese influences; the main facade of the Air Nomad temple looks as generic as any other fantasy architecture; even the music lacks its cultural flavour. Even the word ‘Avatar’ has been replaced by the more familiar ‘Chosen One’ in the trailer. Most jarringly, however, are the changes made to the title screen.
Keywords aside, the logo looks completely unidentifiable from the original series. While Avatar treasured its cultural hybridity enough to place it at the forefront of their show, every cultural signifier has been removed from The Last Airbender. Calling it the next Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings is effective enough as a marketing strategy, but it seems to have taken this descriptor to the extreme. In particular, the Chinese writing has been replaced by low-hanging banners depicting simplified symbols of the four nations - emphasizing the importance of their fantastic world while deemphasizing the cultural richness from which their story grows out of. The darkness of its presentation is also notable, possibly signifying a departure from the light-hearted tone of the children’s show. All in all, it seems to sum up the problematic removal of Avatar’s hyphenated nature very well: The Last Airbender is a summer fantasy epic blockbuster adventure - one whose Asian roots are inconsequential to its identity.
The colourblind theory in the casting decisions therefore become completely moot, and explain the privileged position of White actors within the audition call. Claiming that race is no longer an issue simply serves to glaze over the fact that, despite racial prejudices being a social construction, it is still a reality that affects millions of people, not only working in the film industry, but in every aspect of life, everywhere in the world. To claim the lack of representation in movies like Avatar is the result of individual failings, or that the White actors are surely the most qualified for the role is simply another reflection on how institutional racism has become “unintentional, implicit, polite and sometimes quite normal” in society today, and by failing to examine race, we allow these subliminal values to proliferate (Brown, 43).
A children’s television show or a typical summer blockbuster may seem like inconsequential specks in regards to greater issues at hand - the newsworthy, the atrocious - but The Last Airbender deserves to be analyzed as a cultural product of the mainstream media that governs mass representation. Films can be a symptom, and/or the catalyst for change with the body of work released for consumption. After all, “definition - the power to name - determines perception, and ultimately, prescription” (Brown, 35).
Though the complex, racial ambiguity of Avatar’s Asian American identity has been consumed by the melting pot of Hollywood institutions, it will, and has not gone by unnoticed by thousands of fans who have all recognized the oppositional reading of these cinematic decisions. The Last Airbender is springboard for many to opening discourse on the hegemonic practices that surround us. Avatar still stands alone as a pinnacle of achievement possible for a children’s television series for its epic scope, beautiful animation, depth of story and the construction of diverse, Asian-hyphenated universe. There, Aang can stay Asian and still save the world.
Works Cited
Brown, Michael K., and Elliott Martin, Elliott Currie, Troy Duster, David Oppenheimer, Majorie M. Shultz, and David Wellman. White-Washing Race: the Myth of a Colour-blind Society. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2003.
Chaisson, Reba L. For Entertainment Purposes Only? An Analysis of the Struggle to Control Filmic Representations. Maryland: Lexington Books, 2000.
“Introduction: Hyphe-nation; or, Screening ‘Asian-Canada’,” Elaine Chang. Reel Asian: Asian Canada on Screen. Toronto: Coach House Books, 2007. 12-23.
Dyer, Richard. “White.” Film Theory: Critical Concepts in Media and Cultural Studies. Ed. Philip Simpson, Andrew Utterson and K. J. Shepherdson. New York: Routledge, 2004. 213-232.
McCloud, Scott. Understanding Comics: the Invisible Art. New York: Kitchen Sink Press, 1993.
Racebending. 3 June 2009. 25 June 2009.
Edit: apologies for the layout kerfufflery.