BBC jumps the orientalist shark: Fu Manchu in Edinburgh

Even Radio 4 is at it. Hard on the heels of last week's Sherlock oriental hate-fest, my beloved BBC Radio 4 has just broadcast someone called Miles Jupp presenting a thinly disguised bit of sinophobia celebrating one of the most notorious exercises in colonialist literature: Fu Manchu In Edinburgh.

While it's valid to explore the imaginary world which an iconic literary creation inhabits, the unquestioning depiction of Chinese as dehumanised hate-figures in the almost utter absence of humanised Chinese in the culture is fairly loathsome, not to mention irresponsible. The (il)liberal peppering throughout of orientalised buzz-words such as "fiendish" and "diabolical" only reinforces the suspicion that they've dug up Leni Riefenstahl and hired her as executive producer.

So what were these stories of which Jupp is so fond?

Anglo-Irish author Sax Rohmer finally hit paydirt in 1913 with a nasty series of novels embodying paranoia and hatred for an entire race embodied in the character of evil Dr Fu Manchu. Rohmer (born Arthur Ward) rode the vicious Yellow Peril wave, presenting Chinese as subhuman, cruel and degenerate, although he was actually projecting the cruelty, degeneracy and inhumanity of a nation that could go to war in order to impose at gunpoint the consumption of opium on the Chinese in the nineteenth century.

Clive Bloom writes in his 1996 investigation of pulp literature, Cult Fiction:

It is commonplace nowadays to note the inherent racism of English fiction at the beginning of the twentieth century. Sapper, Dornford, Yates, John Buchan, Edgar Wallace are targeted as the promulgators of a fearsome and totally irrational hatred of all things foreign. For them, the Black, the Chinese, the Argentinian, the Levantine and the Jew become sinister 'niggers', 'chinks', 'dagos', 'greasy Levantines' and 'oily Jews'. The race hatred of these authors employs a feverish conjunctivity, with oily Jews as both capitalists and 'bolsheviks', or Chinese who are both mandarin warlords and opium den keepers in Limehouse. Moreover, when not acting themselves these essentially cowardly employ peculiarly simian dacoits or things of a polyglot and nauseous origin.

This invention by a lower-middle-class writer for his similarly conservative-minded brethren diverted class anxieties and fears about an emerging working-class empowered by the unions onto an exotic Other. The desire for status quo and hierarchy was fought in the battles between hero Nayland Smith and the wily doctor.

The BBC blurb reads:

Miles Jupp investigates the hidden connections between Edinburgh and Sax Rohmer's criminal mastermind Fu Manchu. Did the 'Devil Doctor' get his doctorate at Edinburgh University?

Er, could the answer be 'no', because this was the invention of a propagandist hack? Jupp's dialogue with the scientist concerning the use of toxins derived from low forms of life — fungus and flies — by subhuman lowlife Fu Manchu sounds like a documentary about a real criminal mastermind and his baroque methods of assassination. He ends by urging Edinburgh University to mark the attendance of Dr Fu Manchu. Yes, nice to know where he learnt his homicidal trade, then.

I missed this programme when it was first broadcast in April, otherwise I would not have been backward in coming forward and vomiting all over this insidious crap at the time. I presume that it is the success of Sherlock which has prompted this repeat transmission.

Why are they trying to rehabilitate this lurid pulp as some sort of accurate representation of the Chinese? "It's only a bit of fun," cries the halfwit as he perpetrates some atrocity on a dehumanised minority. I'm not the first to note that there's no way they would get away with this sort of depiction of a racial or cultural group of people had it been Jewish, gay, black or south Asian, and quite rightly so. (I've excluded Muslims as they get shafted even worse.) So why is there a drive to do this to the Chinese? It's not the Chinese who have devastated the Middle East with wars for oil and dominance. What is the BBC's (and certain other media's) agenda in reviving these fantasies?

Clive Bloom quoting Cay Van Ash and Elizabeth Sax Rohmer in Master of Villainy: A Biography of Sax Rohmer:

And why is it that 'So vehement and repetitive were Sax Rohmer's references to Asiatic plotting against "white" civilisation that they cannot be explained simply as the frills of melodramatic narration. The man clearly was possessed by some sort of private dread'?

I can think of some others to whom that would apply.

Guess what? Africa was never full of cannibals. Transylvania was never full of vampires and werewolves. And Limehouse was never full of dacoits and opium dens. Get the hell over it.

I'm beginning to think that with the inexorable drip-drip-drip of poison (Hey! A cruel Western Media Torture!), there are those who won't be happy until there are anti-Chinese pogroms and race riots in Britain.

What was the point of me making Chopsticks At Dawn or Anna May Wong: A Celestial Star In Piccadilly for BBC Radio 4? Here's what I think of their orientalist clichés (the last two poems).

Farrago Poetry Slam: Anna Chen's bits

Last night's Farrago Summer Poetry Slam, hosted by the tireless John Paul O'Neill, was another wonderful evening of poetry from a wide range of performers. I love these events as they allow beginners to try their material in a friendly atmosphere, as well as veterans of the circuit like Fran Landesman, now in her 80s, to strut their magnificent stuff. I discovered Las Zorras, two Edinburgh-based super-talented women poets and musicians reminiscent of a multilingual Laurie Anderson. Hope to see a lot more of them.

Congratulations to joint winners Christopher Kraken & Richard Marsh.

Some of the young slammers are producing astonishingly good work so do try out the next one, next week on August 12th 7:30pm.

I was invited to perform as a featured poet so I did Poe, Daddy Freud, Yellowface and Anna May Wong Must Die! [especially apt considering the rehashing of the tired old stereotypes I lampoon in this poem, broadcast as Sherlock at the weekend]. Thanks to the audience for getting all my jokes and making it a thoroughly enjoyable night. The only thing that could improve it is if the RADA Café bring back Happy Hour. Thanks to the staff and everyone including AngloNoel and Loved One for support.

Winners Christopher Kraken & Richard Marsh by John Paul O'Neill

Neo Nazis in Mongolia miss concept of Aryanism

Pic of Tsagaan Khas ('White Swastika') by Dan Chung, Guardian

Oh, bloody brilliant! That's all we need in east Asia: non-Aryans doing that turkey-voting-for-Christmas thang and celebrating a ideology that would send us all to a most unpleasant end.

Tania Branigan writes in the Guardian:

It is, by any standards, an extraordinary choice. Under Hitler, Soviet prisoners of war who appeared Mongolian were singled out for execution. More recently, far-right groups in Europe have attacked Mongolian migrants.

A case of if you can't beat them, join them?

A certain unfamiliarity with the history means the lads are unaware that it was the hordes who swept out of Mongolia that conquered and united China in the early 13th century (Genghis and Kublai Khan), giving it the foundations of its modern identity. And there's an element of confusion around race that is almost endearing:

Enthusiastically shaking hands, he says: "Even though you are a British citizen, you are still Asian, and that makes you very cool."

Perhaps some book-learning and a Nick Griffinesque rebranding is on the cards?

He says the younger members have taught him to be less extreme and the group appears to be reshaping itself – expelling "criminal elements" and insisting on a good education as a prerequisite for membership. One of the leaders is an interior designer.

So the uniforms should be pretty even if the wearers aren't.

Tsagaan Khass say it "works closely" with other organisations and is now discussing a merger. "Some people are in complete denial … [but] we can no longer deny this is a problem," said Anaraa Nyamdorj, of Mongolia's Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Centre.

All together, now ... It's Springtime for Genghis in Ulan Bator, tra, la!

Watch out for a make-over by the West and sympathy for an interesting source of China destabilisation with identity politics as the gloss. They come over 'ere ...

Neo Nazis in Mongolia miss concept of Aryanism

Pic of Tsagaan Khas ('White Swastika') by Dan Chung, Guardian

Oh, bloody brilliant! That's all we need in east Asia: non-Aryans doing that turkey-voting-for-Christmas thang and celebrating a ideology that would send us all to a most unpleasant end.

Tania Branigan writes in the Guardian:

It is, by any standards, an extraordinary choice. Under Hitler, Soviet prisoners of war who appeared Mongolian were singled out for execution. More recently, far-right groups in Europe have attacked Mongolian migrants.

A case of if you can't beat them, join them?

A certain unfamiliarity with the history means the lads are unaware that it was the hordes who swept out of Mongolia that conquered and united China in the early 13th century (Genghis and Kublai Khan), giving it the foundations of its modern identity. And there's an element of confusion around race that is almost endearing:

Enthusiastically shaking hands, he says: "Even though you are a British citizen, you are still Asian, and that makes you very cool."

Perhaps some book-learning and a Nick Griffinesque rebranding is on the cards?

He says the younger members have taught him to be less extreme and the group appears to be reshaping itself – expelling "criminal elements" and insisting on a good education as a prerequisite for membership. One of the leaders is an interior designer.

So the uniforms should be pretty even if the wearers aren't.

Tsagaan Khass say it "works closely" with other organisations and is now discussing a merger. "Some people are in complete denial … [but] we can no longer deny this is a problem," said Anaraa Nyamdorj, of Mongolia's Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Centre.

All together, now ... It's Springtime for Genghis in Ulan Bator, tra, la!

Watch out for a make-over by the West and sympathy for an interesting source of China destabilisation with identity politics as the gloss. They come over 'ere ...

Sherlock and wily orientals: Blind Banker, Episode 2 review

SPOILER ALERT

Having missed the curtain-raiser of the Sherlock series last week, boo-hooing over the rave reviews, and tonight's show — The Blind Banker — promising to be more Second Coming than second episode, Loved One and I settled in to watch, even forsaking our TV pals over at Channel 4 in the Big Brother house just as Josie's nemesis Sam Pepper enters the fray.

Episode Two began intriguingly enough. The robotic woman from the Bing ad emoted in similar fashion as she mysteriously and inscrutably demonstrated the tea ceremony. I did wonder why a modern young Chinese Miss would be wearing a chipao frock in present-day London, but Loved One sniffed that she needed it for her job entrancing the tourists and demanded to know why didn't I do tranquility and ancient wisdom like writer Stephen Thompson's creation? After yelling that I am frikkin' peaceful when not being wound up, I admiringly noted her noble struggle with the accent, as actress Gemma Chan evidently speaks Chinese as orfentically as I speak it — that is: not at all. But I put this down to the obvious imminent revelation that she was really a Terminator-style android sent by Moriarty to wreak devastation on our imploding civilisation and the accent therefore was deliberately gauged to be unlike any known human language. A sort of error of the tongues.

Ah, so sinisterly clever.

In this reboot of the Sherlock Holmes franchise for BBC1, Arthur Conan Doyle's characters stay in the same Baker Street location but move forward in time to the present. Thus Martin Freeman's John Watson, like the original, is a former military doctor, wounded in Afghanistan. Ooh, topical as well as clever. And Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch) is a snotty skint smart-arse, verging on Withnail (only sober), perpetually dragging his friend into mischief. (Spot the borrow: Sherlock and Watson as Withnail & I — did Cumberbatch lose out on the Dr Who auditions and this is his consolation prize? — Blade Runner origami, Hammer Horror Fu Manchu, A Beautiful Mind graphics ...)

Suddenly, my heart sinks and I realise it's all Black Lotus, Tongs (you should see my Terror of the Curling Tongs), drugs and torture. For are we not a cruel race, as the clever programme-makers have noticed? A series of killings and a trail of yellow-themed clues lead our intrepid heroes into the dangers of Soho Chinatown where even the shop assistants are ... sinister. Very clever creators Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, and their resident Sax Rohmer Stephen Thompson, plus assorted producers, editors, BBC bods and friends, uncleverly fail to pull the mindset out of the 19th century along with the update and sadly jam their heads up their collective fundament.

"With a brow like Shakespeare and eyes like Satan", lordy, here's a heart-of-darkness Chinese circus with their uncanny abilities and deathly tricks. Sherlock morphs into Nayland Smith (hero of Sax Rohmer's Fu Manchu books) and has to fight assorted Yellow Peril villainy that is so dastardly evil and fiendish that a brother can kill his own sister (she wasn't a Terminator-bot after all) without breaking into a sweat.

Gillian Facebooks me that she's looking forward to them doing one of those pentatonic scale thingies, such are our expectations by now. They don't do that but they do kill off the Chinese female lead character as they must according to the rules of Anna May Wong Must Die!: she's sexotic so she has to go. And life in these heah parts is cheap.

I too am rapidly losing the will to live. Still, I am at least relieved that Sherlock is not as frenetic and hysterical as its Joss Whedon-wannabe stablemates Dr Who and Torchwood. Eventually, clever Sherlock identifies the McGuffin as being a jade hairpin worth nine million dollars or pounds or yen (I was having trouble concentrating at this point as I had to go feed my vampire bats and torture someone) and defeats the cruel circus-mistress by doing something-or-other that's very clever.

For much of the programme I was hoping clever Mark Gatiss et al would do something remarkable and witty with the wily oriental clichés that would leave me gasping with delight and applauding their clever audacity. This is, after all, the 21st Century and we all do irony now. Evidently this was beyond their capabilities. Unaccountably, they omitted the obligatory Limehouse opium den scene. WHY?

The idea of updating Sherlock Holmes is a spiffing wheeze. Nevertheless, there are some Victorian values which should be locked in a hansom cab back with the swirling pea-soup fogs.

Sherlock: The Blind Banker. Episode 2.
BBC1 9pm, Sunday 1st August 2010

Have you seen the script for The Blind Banker? Soo Lin Yao "a fragile little doll".

Here's my poetic answer to the lazy prejudice of these stereotypes in a poem I wrote a while back: Anna May Wong Must Die!. It's at the end of this set I performed at the Farrago Summer Poetry Slam the other day.

More orientalism on BBC: Fu Manchu in Edinburgh

View from America — Mark Watches

Monique blog

Sherlock BBC

Lyndsay Faye at CriminalElement.com

Jonathan McCalmont on Sinomania in Boomtron.com

LUCY LIU TO PLAY DR JOAN WATSON IN CBS SHERLOCK HOLMES SERIES "ELEMENTARY".

Call Mr Robeson review: a Black star in Britain

Last night Anna May Wong met Paul Robeson in Britain for the first time since the Thirties. Their stage personae, that is.

I first heard of Tayo Aluko's show, Call Mr Robeson, when I met him ten years ago at the Oval Theatre in London for a conference. Back then, it was still a dream of his to play his hero in a theatre piece he was writing. So it was immensely pleasurable to see, last night at the Rich Mix in Shoreditch, how that dream has turned out.

Blessed with the height and charisma to pull it off, not to mention an astonishing voice, British-Nigerian actor/writer/singer Tayo tells the story of the black hero to perfection. Excelling at whatever he touched, this son of a former slave went from sports luminary to law graduate before achieving recording success as a singer in the 1920s and graduating to major roles in movies including Show Boat, Sanders Of The River and Emperor Jones. I know from my own experience writing Anna May Wong Must Die! how difficult it is to cram a life's-worth of material into a mere 75 minutes, but Tayo and his dramaturgical posse (Director Olusolo Oyeleye) have selected exactly what's needed to keep their fascinating subject fascinating and the story moving along. There's not one ounce of fat in this well-paced tale of the first black American singing superstar, scholar, socialist and internationalist.

Against the simplest of stage sets (Phil Newman) — a broken record strewn with mementos of Robeson's eventful life — Tayo weaves in several threads. I particularly liked the way the story of Robeson's understanding wife, Essie, and his many love affairs is told as an affectionate running joke with a very light touch that is never prurient and never loses sympathy. This is a giant of a human being, but a flawed one.

In an age where black men are largely presented as being all about bling, rapacious consumption or barbarism, it's vital to show the intellectual who could speak over 20 languages including French, Mandarin, Russian and Swahili; who read voraciously, and was deeply immersed in the politics not only of the black people at home and in colonialised Africa, but of the working classes of the world. He made friends with Welsh miners and spoke up for the Republican cause against the fascists during the Spanish Civil War. His ideal society was the Soviet Union where he performed and sent his son to study. You can see why McCarthy and the tiny minds of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) dragged Robeson in to testify. Yet he never ratted on his friends or denied his beliefs, instead using the platform to make a stand.

He paid the price of defiance by being literally blacklisted by film studios and record companies in the US. He was also denied use of his passport from 1950 to 1958, making it impossible for him to travel to Europe where he was still hugely popular. At home, persecution by white-supremacist thugs closed down the theatre circuit for him and threatened his livelihood. His income plummeted from $100,000 a year to $6,000 — a further assault on his mental health — and he but narrowly survived a suicide attempt.

Not that he could depend on the solidarity of his fellow African-Americans. Despite his vociferous support for the rights of blacks and the fledgling Civil Rights movement, various organisations — including the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) who collaborated with Hoover's FBI in the media distortion of his socialist politics — condemned him for being un-American. In a vivid image early in the show, he describes how, as his college's first black football star, he was injured when, in the first scrimmage of the game, he was pounded by BOTH sides. And that was the central metaphor of his life. As they say, your opponents are in front of you but your enemies are behind you.

He did encourage the new guys, though. A planned meeting with Malcolm X was prevented only by Malcolm's assassination by black gunmen whom Robeson suspected were backed by the FBI. And he admired Martin Luther King, saddened that he had been murdered when only 39. Robeson would reach 79.

A panoramic musical backdrop was provided by pianist Michael Conliffe with sensitivity and a sense of dynamics. Being a baritone rather than a full bass-baritone like Robeson means Tayo has to rise a little up the scale to reach full throttle, but when his voice climbs out of his boots it is the most wonderful sound, spookily close to the real thing. As someone brought up by communists I grew up with his records and I had to stop myself joining in Ol' Man River (complete with lyrics changed by Robeson), the swinging Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho, and Swanee River.

Call Mr Robeson has already found an audience in America. Tonight is the last night of this short run at the Rich Mix, 37-45 Bethnal Green Road (tube: Shoreditch High Street). But Tayo will be rocking the Edinburgh Fringe Festival at Zoo Southside which I expect to see him take by storm next month (6-26 August). Go see!