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Don’t pity Tommy Wiseau for not getting a word in at the Golden Globes, both him and Franco are celebrated for nothing more than being overconfident assholes.

By Nicole Froio Once you’re awake, you can’t ever truly enjoy a movie again. That’s the conclusion I got to watching James Franco’s “The Disaster Artist”, a comedy about the production of the worst film ever made turned cult classic “The Room”. Franco, who won a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Musical and Comedy, set out to tell the bizarre story of Tommy Wiseau, a quirky-looking, strange-acting man whose dream was to be a Hollywood actor, and his quest to write and film his ‘masterpiece’. However, given the continuous revelations of sexual assault and harassment in the last four months and the practices of abuse of power that seem to be pervasive in Hollywood, Franco’s “The Disaster Artist” shows how white male privilege is uplifted in society—even if the ‘artist’ in question is essentially a failure.  The fact that Franco’s movie is billed as a comedy shows how he thinks white male privilege and the abuse that often comes with it is a huge joke. Franco himself was caught trying to pick up a minor in 2014, and is now being accused of taking advantage of actress Sarah Tither-Kaplan. No wonder he made a movie that essentially celebrates white male incompetence and abuse. When Wiseau and his friend Greg Sestero move to LA to try their luck in Hollywood, it is obvious that they are both painfully, objectively untalented. While Sestero can rely on his good looks and youth, Wiseau’s frighteningly pale skin, long greasy black hair and creepy demeanor puts him in an extreme disadvantage when auditioning for parts. His Eastern European accent would perhaps be forgiven if it wasn’t for his insistence that he is 100% American and from New Orleans. From the very moment anyone meets Wiseau, it’s evident that something is off; yet, his strange behavior is forgiven as quirky and eccentric by Sestero.
Related: THE GOLDEN AGE OF TV DOESN’T BEGIN OR END WITH WHITE MEN

Most "Black Mirror" episodes come across as "what if this really happened?" but when watching “Black Museum” it’s important to keep in mind that this isn’t a fictional cautionary tale. For Black people, it’s very real.

This article contains spoilers for Black Museum. When deciding which episode of "Black Mirror" to watch first, I was immediately drawn to “Black Museum.” The preview screen showed a Black woman in an old school car somewhere in the desert. I wondered what conundrums a woman who looked like me would find herself in in this technologically advanced, alternate universe. At the beginning of the episode, Nish (Letitia Wright) stops at a museum just off the stretch of road she’s been traveling on. The museum displays gadgets from high-tech crimes and is owned by a creepy, white man named Rolo Haynes (Douglas Hodge) who eagerly shows Nish artifacts and tells their detailed backstories, all of which he is personally involved. Throughout Nish’s tour, the owner teases the main attraction, a hologram of an inmate who can be electrocuted via a museum patron controlled electric chair. It turns out, Nish isn’t the curious traveler she portrays herself to be. Instead, she is the inmate’s daughter who has come to seek revenge on her father’s and grieving mother’s behalf. Of course Haynes doesn’t know this, and he still doesn’t realize it despite Nish’s obviously uncomfortable body language when describing the torture he inflicted upon her father. In the end, Nish takes the eye-for-an-eye approach by torturing Haynes and burning Black Museum. The conclusion of the episode left me feeling vindicated yet overwhelmingly sad. I like "Black Mirror" because the stories seem just outside the realm of possibility, but “Black Museum” was different. The horrors of "Black Museum" have happened a million times before to Black people in the United States, and these horrors still continue today.
Related: THE RACIST ROOTS OF GYNECOLOGY & WHAT BLACK WOMEN BIRTHED

For interracial Black and white families, honest discussions about racism need to be had in a white supremacist world.

By Savannah Lee-Thomas

While I recognize that we are all the same species, due to pigmentation and a white supremacist culture, some of us are treated differently than others, and some of us are treated unfairly. In the ninth grade, our class read ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ and I remember reading that the children of a mixed couple were considered nothings. Non existent. As a mixed child, I had to stomach that that situation would have been a reality for me during that time. With a West Indian mother and a White father, I grew up knowing that I was mixed but never understanding.I didn’t understand why I was bullied for no reason or not liked by my teachers. I didn’t understand why dolls didn’t look like me or why I didn’t see myself on television. And then, there was my family. I was brought up under the impression that we are all the same. I was never taught about Trinidadian culture or tradition and lived with a father who had spent his entire life in a small suburban town outside of the city. There was no access to my culture and I was never taught about it in school. Because of this, I had an extremely difficult time connecting with others and getting to know myself as an individual. It wasn’t until I became an adult and moved to the city that I discovered how many things were wrong with the way I was raised. My mother likes to argue that she tried to teach me that everyone was equal and not to view people based on their race. But now as a grown woman who experiences and witnesses racism, fetishization, and judgements based on appearance, I am finding it harder to see how my parents could have possibly thought this was the right way to do things.
Related: STOP WEAPONZING BIRACIAL CHILDREN

The stupendous complexity of Hindu immigrants’ conundrum magnifies when they ‘attempt’ to celebrate Diwali in communities where Hindus are a minority.

By Nandita Godbole “If you date, find a Hindu fellow,” instructions from my doting father, as I left India for the United States in 1995. Given his long tenure in public service, he believed that sectarian differences were less contentious than religious ones, displaying and reading from holy books of different faiths at his work desk, offering a safe conversation space to those who approached him. Yet, he could not have imagined that although the premise of Hinduism appears inclusive, practicing it imposes subtle expectations on women. When one moves away, and becomes an immigrant, it intensifies their immigrant experience, affects their accent, attire, grooming, food, travel, etc. Along with these shifts of adjustments, the stupendous complexity of Hindu immigrants’ conundrum magnifies when they ‘attempt’ to celebrate Diwali in communities where Hindus are a minority. Until the late 1990’s the Georgian calendar did not include Diwali and I recall that friends would be taken aback by my ‘Happy Diwali’ reminders. What nuances remained veiled under enthusiastic celebrations in one’s home country, became targeted glaring differences in the new country. Outwardly, the vibrancy and essence of this unmistakably Hindu celebration filter through the lens of a new country and its commercial substitutions. Paraffin votives replace traditional clay lamps, floral wreaths replace fragrant floral doorway garlands, adhesive floor designs replace elaborate forms of rangoli, Christmas lights replace colorful ‘lanterns’, fireworks are limited. A quick trip to an ethnic grocery store freezer replaces the age-old tradition of handcrafting desserts, and spontaneous family visits become a trip to a ticketed ‘Diwali Mela’, if accessible and affordable. But these are not the problems.
Related: 3 THINGS YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT DIWALI

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