Found

I don’t even know if I can fully express how close to home this film hit. Especially right now. Granted, I was not adopted from China, under the cruel and intense circumstances that many children, young girls, were adopted under. These girls were adopted during the One-Child period in China.
Having surprisingly found each other through 23&Me, three adopted cousins made contact. They were all adopted to white families who loved and adored them. But, obviously these girls were raised around alot of ignorance and racism. A lot of the things that they quoted as having been told, might at one time make me laugh, because laughter is deflection. But the stuff said to them, while innocent at times, still reminded them of just how different they were, and always would be. And so a journey to find their birth families was begun.
The circumstances alone brought tears to my eyes. From one side, it is easy for an adopted child to think their birth parents didnt want them, or that something was wrong with them. In this film, we see parents who are absolutely crushed at remembering the child who was forcibly taken away from them, because it was against the law to have two children. And at the sheer difficulty of trying to locate their families when they had been left in boxes on the side of the street, wrapped in blankets and left on the steps of the government building. It opened my eyes more to the circumstances of my own Chinese cousins and their adoptions.
But the thing that resonated with me the most was the fear, because i also had that. The anticipation and the hope, but also the astounding fear. When asked if she wanted to see a picture of the people thought to be her birth family, one of the cousins sits for a while, and then just covers her face and starts crying.
This film ended up being so much more than a success story. It was a story of perspectives, and circumstances, and hopes and fears, and heartbreaks, and discovery, and growth…
This film found me at the exact moment I needed it.

Blue Bayou

Justin Chon always seems to know how to punch me deep in the gut.
The first film of his I saw, about Korean youth from around the world. Korea had feared they were losing touch with their heritage and so hosted a camp in Korea for them. While being an almost version of Breakfast Club with an all Korean cast, it also featured a girl who had been adopted. Ironically, she finds out her Korean name and it is the same as mine. I resonated with her character pretty strongly.
The next film of his I saw, Gook, about a Korean just trying to survive in L.A. during the 92′ L.A. Riots. In which Koreans were huge victims.
This film, about a young man who was adopted at the age of 3, suddenly attracts the attention of the local police, and then I.C.E. and it is found out his naturalization was botched and he faces deportation. A story most people probably remember from right after Trump became president. And sadly, not an uncommon story, just one that is never told. And to be honest, something I had a lot of fear about after he became president. Even though I had complete faith my parents did everything right, I.C.E. was looking for loopholes just to kick people out. And while this character’s story was kind of unique, this film is an example of how terrifying it is for people of colour living in America. It is also a powerful example of how much trauma is involved in someone who has been adopted. And how difficult it is for them to talk about.
And honestly, this film painted a picture of a lot of things I had felt and not known how to put words to.

Amy Tan: Unintended Mamoir

Her mother told her she didn’t have to get married if she didn’t want to, but she had to get a good job, and be successful, so that if she got married and wasn’t happy, she could easily leave. Amy Tan grew up hating her mother. Like most Chinese mothers, they put pressure on their children to be successful. Amy’s parents were adament to raise her and her brothers as American though, and the pressures put on them were not a typical American thing. But it was different for Amy and her brothers. She said her mother wasn’t a Tiger Mom, she was a Suicidal Mom. If you wont do what I say, I might as well kill myself. It wasn’t until the fear that her mother might be dying, much later into Amy’s adulthood, that their relationship changed. Amy finally took the time to get to really know her mother, and through that, she became a writer.
Like other writers I’ve posted about, writing was almost a way for Amy to make sense of things. Her first book, The Joy Luck Club, while fiction, was inspired by her mother’s life in China, as well as her own life in America, and the bridging of the gap between. She faced a lot of criticism about the book, for things like the broken English, and suicidal concubines, by Americans who probably had never seen Chinese people as more than just stereotypes. What Amy Tan did with The Joy Luck Club was bring to light the China that her mother and grandmother before her lived through. It also brought to light the modern day Chinese-American experience. Things, admittedly, and shamefully, invisible to most Americans. When Amy was in elementary school, on her birthday, she was terribly afraid her mother would bring Chinese food to the school. She was immensely relieved when her mother brought cupcakes.
Amy struggled with a lot of loss, and anger growing up. She grappled with fighting the expectations of her Chinese mother, and of being a successful writer and suddenly having literary expectations thrust on her. All through her books, I think, she was able to make sense of and process a lot of her own life. At the end of the documentary, you see her on her back deck, bird feeders everywhere. She has taken up art again and has beautiful and detailed renditions of various birds. Birds, I think, perhaps almost symbolic for her, for their absolute, weightless sense of freedom.

Beasts of no Nation

I’ve wanted to watch this since it came out. I’m kind of sad it took me so long. It’s certainly not a pick-me-up film, but after a crummy day, it is what I needed. Not because it was tragic and someones life is worse than mine. But because this was an absolutely beautifully done film.
In a setting we cant even imagine growing up in, a young boy innocently tries to sell a tv set with no screen, for food rations. He is then thrown head long into the bowels of war. A grittier war than we typically imagine. We see his very childhood stripped away from him. He is handed a machete and a gun and told to kill.
It sounds like a simplistic story, and maybe it is. But this story was about the journey this boy takes. And the fear and the loss and the breaking of his spirit, that you feel with him. The moment he finds his mother, and she doesn’t even recognize him. And in that moment, the final loss of purpose within him. Where does one go from there, when civil war has ravaged your country? Where is home then?

Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am

Goddamn, where was this film a couple months ago while I was on my Civil Rights kick?

This woman was amazing! While an incredibly strong activist for Afro-American rights, she also laughed. She laughed at just how astoundingly ridiculous racism was. She laughed at there being 2 separate water fountains. She stole “colored” signs and sent them home to her mom. She became so incredibly vocal about Afro-American history and awareness, and yet never seemed touched by any of the racial trauma that most activists had felt or experienced at one point in their lives. She grew up in an incredibly diverse neighborhood, and became whole heartedly proud of who she was. Every aspect of who she was. And so unafraid of who she was. An interviewer asked her if she was tired of being labeled a “black woman writer,” and she said no. She was tired of being asked that question. And laughed. Despite scathing and insulting reviews stating that while her talent was abundantly clear, she was limiting herself by only writing about the black experience, she never stopped writing about the black experience. She recieved a letter from a prison stating that they had banned one of her books for fear that it might start a riot. She framed it and hung it on her wall, impressed with herself for having that much power. From the age of 3 she understood the power of words. And maybe that stoked her determination and strength to write what she wrote. She wrote about what she cared the most about. Unapologetically. In the hope that maybe she could help people find a little more humanity within themselves.

While I admit that I have never read any of her books, I am deeply impelled to amend that.

Margaret Atwood: A Word after a Word after a Word is Power

Have you ever discovered someone you knew would be your best friend if you ever were to meet? Or perhaps I would embarass myself by simply being in awe. This woman with these wide, bright eyes, and frizzy hair, and an unfiltered mind. This woman who was Canadian (so of course she’s brilliant), grew up half in school, half in the woods. Learning about plants, and bugs, and developing a love of the real world. Not burdened by the world we all grow into.
This film starts off with an audio overlay of her reading the beginning of The Handmaids Tale. And all through the film, moments of her reading. Her voice is slow and somber, as though it is a burden to read her own words. Or rather, she knew that people were listening, there was no need to rush, or to yell, or to get excited. Every word she read would be heard to the fullest.
And her words are amazing. She writes about big ideas. Her books and her poetry are her canvas to say what the world needs to hear. And yet it is always so perfectly written.
Early in her life, she and other girls were made to watch an old film. A film about a woman who must choose between her career as a dancer, or the man she married. In the end, she kills herself. The message to the girls being, don’t choose a career. And she vowed to never believe in that.
I admit to not having read or seen The Handmaids Tale. Margaret’s agent recalls a moment during writing it, that Margaret tells her how difficult it is, because she felt very frightened. But like Malcolm X told Sam Cooke, the people are listening to you, use your voice to make change, Margaret Atwood is also using her voice to make change. And like Sam Cooke’s A Change is Gonna Come became the theme song for the Civil Rights Movement, The Handmaids Tale became a symbol for activists today.

And I could only dream to be as brilliant.
“I never thought I’d be a popular writer,” she said, “I only wanted to be a good one.”

Joan Didion: The Center will not Hold

My story always starts with knowing that I wanted to be a writer at age 5. Joan Didion recalls her mother giving her a notebook and telling her to write, and writing her first story at age 5. Something much more elaborate, and even ironic, in comparison to my stapled together books of pictures, admittedly only just beginning to learn my letters at that age. What strange memories we each have.
I read my first book by her just last week. The White Album, and admittedly, did not like it much. Writing about the 60s, a time I so desperately have been trying to understand. Even she could barely put it into words. Instead, it became an anthology of essays. But she is incredibly well known. I find pictures of her when she was younger to be absolutely gorgeous. A woman who doesn’t seem to care what she looks like, either wearing dark sunglasses, or a stoney, detached expression. I have had one of her books on my shelf since college. A Year of Magical Thinking. Untouched for years because I’m not sure I am ready to read it, but kept in posession because of its poetic beauty. Not necessarily the words, I have yet to experience those, but the context surrounding it. As she wrote about, and essentially processed the sudden death of her husband, her life partner, her other half, upon finishing this book, her daughter unexpectedly died. This beautiful daughter she adopted and raised and loved. She later went on to write about her. Those closest to her believing as a way to process. And as she is being interviewed for this documentary, you see a frail and withered woman. Such contrast to the strong woman who went to El Salvador to report on the country itself, as well as America’s involvement with it. But what was most magical about this documentary was the audio overlay of her reading exerpts of her pieces. Read in a strong voice you almost can’t reconcile with the woman who is reading it. Read in the way she hears the words in her own mind. With her pace and emotion. In a way, she appears detached from the world around her, but it is that that helped her so brilliantly write about it.

Feminist Friday!


School has been stoking my passion. I feel small, but I feel so, so deeply about human rights and equality. So I’d been scrolling through the streaming apps for good looking documentaries. And then, in true Rose fashion, I realized that two I had chosen, on two different apps, were by the same director.

Rayka Zehtabchi, an Iranian-American film maker. I remember when her short documentary, Period. End of Sentence., won the Oscar for Best Documentary, short subject.

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Period. End of Sentence., is extrordinarily eye opening at first. About a small village in India, where the mere mention of menstruation is considered taboo. When asked, the villagers don’t even seem to fully understand what a period is. Women grab whatever cloth they can find, run far away to change it, and wait until nightfall to dispose of the soiled clothes. This seems almost unthinkable by American standards, as well as terrifyingly dangerous. And so, a machine is donated to the village, and the women are taught how to mass produce their own pads. Not only do they then embrace what makes them women, they also become stronger, independent women.

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A Woman’s Place follows 3 women in the food industry. All three had gone to culinary school, where a woman’s place was in pastry. The expectation that women have more delicate hands and patience for pastry. It was not what any of these women wanted to do. One woman described the kitchen as being like a pirate ship. Towel snapping, cussing, and everything is a penis. Like being someone of colour, these women had to fight twice as hard to be seen as equal in the kitchen. They break the mold and prove how strong and how astounding and how dedicated women truly are.


Women are not just beautiful ornaments for the pleasure of others. They are not just delicate creatures fit for delicate tasks. They are beautiful, and delicate, and they are smart, and hard working, and strong, as any man.

Jeremiah Tower: The Last Magnificent

What an intruiging human being. Jeremiah Tower, a food innovator, pioneer of the Great American Cuisine. He grew up alone. His affluent parents neglected him. In one striking moment at age 6, he recalls feeling let down by them when after hours and hours away, he found them in the hotel bar drinking and schmoozing. It was a moment he closed his heart off and decided to never put his faith in other people. But those moments of neglect allowed him to discover food. The innumerable fancy dishes with french names. Food became the balm that soothed his wounded heart. Food became his companion. And as his parents moved from country to country as globe hopping gypsies, his palate was allowed to develop. After college, he got his first cooking job, working alongside Alice Waters at Chez Panisse. It was there he discovered the power and awe of his own brilliance and creativity. And, quite possibly, his own darker side.
He became such an icon because he wasn’t afraid to break the mold. He was a handsome, charming, magnetic individual, and he shone. But an upbringing such as his must obviously come with deep psychological issues.
This documentary, while produced by, and featuring interviews from Tony Bourdain, feels much like an episode of any of Bourdain’s shows. In the beginning interviewees reflect on a time when Jeremiah simply dropped off the map and no one had heard from him. His first line, an audio overlay as we see him, an old man, walking among deserted ruins somewhere in Mexico, “I have to stay away from human beings, because somehow, I am not one…”

Roadrunner: A Film about Anthony Bourdain

I think everyone knows how highly I hold Tony. This was an exercise in wiping tears, dabbing nose, clearing throat. Wiping tears, dabbing nose, clearing throat. Wiping tears, dabbing nose, clearing throat…
Honestly, this was not information I was unfamiliar with, as I’m sure the film wanted it to be. What? Tony was a PERSON?! But this, I already knew. I have followed him for decades and knew how to read between the scenes.
What got me, were the candid moments. The moments that took a well put together room, and added the dust and the dirt to the corners.
And yes, the moment Eric Ripert’s face came on screen, first, painfully looking off screen, I broke. The way an egg does. The way you tap tap tap it on the counter top, til finally it cracks. How Eric must have felt that morning… expecting routine breakfast with his best friend, and then being the one to find him…
I went for a second beer. The woman apologized for such a slow pour. I waved her off, “I am tearing up, I need a break from the movie…” silently cursing her for making me miss minutes of his life…
And perhaps two beers directly after work on an empty stomach wasn’t the brightest idea. But I adored this man. This was the premier showing and I wasn’t going to miss it. This man awkwardly stumbled through life, and when his foot hit the ground, he took you with him through the world. He was, as his producer said, tall, handsome, and incredibly geeky. He geeked about what he felt strongly about, and that’s why he was so well loved. Thats why I ran, to get a seat, because the theater was full. He touched people. He showed us the world through his eyes. They showed the pivital moment, that I remember, in which Tony wants to help. He buys out a womans food cart stock and gives it to the hungry children just outside of camera shot. And it becomes chaos. There was no way he was going to be able to feed the mouths of the hungry. And a little piece of him changed in that moment. It was no longer just about food. It became about opening our eyes to the world. And we followed him, because he so genuinely cared. “Do you feel unfortable?” a man who has lost both his arm and his leg asks. The sole bread winner and provider of his family. After a thoughtful pause, Tony responds, “no. I think I owe it to the world to show this.”

Feminists: What were they Thinking?

In middle school I took a Home Ec class. I don’t recall if grades really mattered much in middle school, or if I even did well. It was considered an easy class, and both boys and girls took it. It’s easy to look back on it today and realize how stupid and outdated a class like that is. How sexist. I love cooking, but I remember it wasn’t until taking Home Ec that my brother started his career in cooking.

I live in an age where it’s easy to forget the struggles and inequality between men and women. To take for granted the ability to forget, even for a moment, and all the voices that brought us to this point.

We still live in an age built on and shaped around struggles. Gender, Race, Religion. And I can’t turn my eyes from it. I am a non-white female, in a largely white male society, and I fight everyday for my place.

But I am still priviledged, from the women in China criminalized for having abortions, to the women in Africa labeled Witches and hunted down and killed, to the women in Korea beaten by their husbands for not having dinner made on time. And these were also common occurrences here in America.

And while this film might be a little bit slow, it is brimming with the passion, and the pride, and the hurt of women who lived through much worse times than I will ever know. And fought for the equality that I can experience today.

When Tony committed suicide I remember a lot of people were shocked. They were shocked because he was “living the dream.” He got to travel the world and eat food. But the truth is, he wasn’t living a dream. Tony had a rough childhood. He became a delinquent. Somehow food saved him. Tony was an incredibly smart and passionate man. He got a foot in the door with Travel Channel and was able to begin doing what he cared about. Traveling the world and bringing awareness to the struggles most people don’t want to acknowledge. But through all his different shows, you can see him struggle. With Travel Channel he wasn’t given enough freedom to do what he wanted. He had a lot of different shows on their network, perhaps trying over and over to get it right. But I don’t think they probably wanted to see world struggle. They wanted to see bright colours, and food. When he finally moved on to CNN, you could actually feel a change in him. Finally, this was where he could really breathe. He was able to travel the world and show and talk about what really mattered to him. The politics and the struggles of the world. And if you really think about it, why wouldn’t he begin suffering depression. Probably simmering since childhood. Now there ten fold. How can one man power travel the world, seeing the struggle and despair and not feel powerless. And then come home to a nation actively destroying itself under the leadership of a narcissistic moron. He engulfed himself in tragedy. So, on June 8th 2018, when I woke up to a text telling me he had committed suicide, after the shock, and the pain, the soul crushing pain, I understood. He wasn’t “living the dream.” He was single handedly trying to save the world.

(This, of course, is just my speculation.)

Heres a trailer for the upcoming documentary about him.

Roadrunner: A Film about Anthony Bourdain

The Devil all the Time

What a… strange movie…

I waited a long time to finally watch this. I wont say it was bad. Definitely not an easy watch. Everything is so, almost accidentally connected, that im not quite sure what the resolution was.
It was a film directed by a guy you’ve probably never heard of, based on a book, by a guy you’ve probably never heard of, starring a lot of familiar faces, and produced by my guy Jake Gyllenhaal.
That being said, it wasn’t box office, smash hit. It probably appealed more to the indie gothic thriller crowd. I’m still trying to sort it out.
It’s based off a book of the same name, by Donald Ray Pollock, and the movie is narrated by the same man. Something about his slow, soft voice sort of fits the time frame. Matched with radio tunes from the 60’s. Along the backdrop of the Vietnam War. The whole thing felt very Stand by Me, but bigger, more adult. A weird, gritty sort of coming-of-age for Tom Holland’s character.
But don’t mistake this for some Lollypop, Cherry Cola 60’s story. This is anything but that. It is also very strange. And disappointingly incredible. The acting was superb, the atmosphere was gritty, and in truth, the director did an exceptional job.
On the surface, it all sort of feels pointless. If only he hadn’t sat at that particular bench at the diner counter, maybe none of this would have happened. But it’s not a story about what happened, so much as a story about who it happened to.

Brain on Fire

I had been hoping this film would be more psychology. But it turned out to be more medical. Medical mystery. It was basically a feature film length episode of House. Without all the great House doctors…
In truth though, it was pretty serious. And scary. A rare form of encephelitis. The symptoms of her disease were presenting as psychosis, and as her medical tests were all showing healthy young girl, she was pretty much set to be transferred to a psych unit.
At the end of the film she asks how many people with this disease have been misdiagnosed as schizophrenic, or bipolar. As a writer and a journalist, her boss asked her to share her story, to bring more awareness. And so she did.

Tell Me Who I Am

I’m still trying to figure out my feelings on this story.
What do you do? What do you do when you and your twin have had a horrible, tramatic childhood, and then one day your twin wakes up with no memory. All he knows is you. And he needs you to tell him who he is. This is your chance, your one grace, to give him the gift of a wonderful childhood. But at what cost?
Twins have always been weird to me. Movies about twins are kind of weird. But in the world of psychology, twins are mecca.
This movie, admittedly, felt less psychology than I was hoping for, and more moral dilemma and personal journey. But the story is still intriguing, and uncomfortable, and touching.