'The Diary of Evelyn Lau,' A Raw Exposé On Teen Prostitution, Drugs, And Poetry

Sun TV Magazine spot for The Diary of Evelyn Lau.

The Diary of Evelyn Lau penetrates deeply into grisly horrors young women undergo in this tragic, patriarchal world. Beneath the surface is a talented girl who deserves to share her voice and not her body.

Evelyn Lau, the daughter of Chinese immigrants, has it rough. She is a young writer bursting with talent, but her strict parents place abnormal obligations on her. In the opening scene, her mother takes Evelyn to the bathroom and places her on the scale, immediately slapping her and calling her "fat." Evelyn's father neglects her during this critical moment, demonstrating his partake in her daily abuse, his silence consenting to his wife's toxic verbal, physical, and psychological harassment. 

Evelyn (Sandra Oh) turns to the wrong people for help.

A life on the streets seems the best escape for fourteen-year-old Evelyn. She naively believes that staying with an older man could be safe, but he rapes her in a disturbing scene and blames her for "tempting him." She succumbs to his other advances, not out of desire or affection, but out of safety and comfort-- lacking at home. Except, they want to discard her immediately when the cops arrive. The social services soon have her in custody and they rule in her parents' favor-- for her to return back home. Evelyn has a major breakdown and is immediately drugged and placed in a facility-- a grave mistake considering no one cares about the extent of how damaged she is.

Eventually, two worlds seduce the teen into different directions-- the shotty group homes with too many rigid rules and the streets with its grimy men looking for prostitutes. She tries with both, falling fast for the latter, introduced to drinking and further sexual deprivatity. Through it all, however, she continues writing, her language evolving and maturing as fast as the destructive tornado of homelessness, drugs, and sex combined. She recites to these johns, these immoral older white men, like the most well-trained poetess, her oratory delivery quite concise and articulate, her words sharper than sword blades. They listen, feigning interest, only seeing her body as an instrument to desire. She uses them as they used her-- a machine, their ears.

Sandra Oh on playing Evelyn.

It is no surprise that Sandra Oh beat out 2,000 actresses in her first on-camera role. She is downright riveting as the real-life poet, Evelyn Lau. Although Oh is a twenty-something playing a teenager, she vividly expresses child innocence and its thievery swept in the dangerous undercurrent of the street life. Her depth is remarkable. She conveys-- especially through devoid and lifeless eyes--how desperate decisions can take away pieces of the self that can perhaps never be regained. Oh's natural evolution from a shy, awkward girl with giant glasses and overlong bangs to a drug addicted femme showcases her gifted tenacity early on. Oh was nominated for a Gemini and won a Golden FIPA for Best Actress.

Director Sturla Gunnarsson adapted Evelyn Lau's book with Barry Stevens. It is a dark, bitter film to endure. Certain scenes fuel hatred for male behaviors. These people could have looked out for her, having known her age, but instead took advantage. After overcoming inappropriate lust, gross fetishising, and harmful self-hatred, a poet breaks free and finds her voice. It is a true testament of courage that Lau has survived a disgustingly foul place. Poetry saved her life like no one else could.

Real life Evelyn Lau is an award-winning poet, writer, and college professor, Lau was the third Poet Laureate of Vancouver.

The Diary of Evelyn Lau's poignant ending suggests that though one can be awarded and well-received, some people (even in high circles) can still see a woman to objectify.

'Widows' Is a Hyperbolic Machine of Big Names and Cheap Thrills

Widows film poster.

Widows failed to truly understand and convey the racial turmoil in the gritty parts of Chicago. The weak script-- a joint effort by director Steve McQueen and Gillian Flynn's adaptation of Lynda La Plante's novel-- suffered to stand ground. It relies heavily on media perceptions of black trauma and sugarcoats political strife, but doesn't penetrate inside the underbelly of the problem.

Jamal (Brian Tyree Henry) threatens Veronica (Viola Davis) and her little dog too. 

First of all, the heist plotline didn't adhere in a seamless execution . Jack Mullins is running against Jamal Manning. Contractor thief Harry and his pals have been burned alive with Jamal's two million dollars. Jamal barges inside Veronica's penthouse, threatens her dog-- a dog that she often carries around like a rich white socialite-- and demands she give him that money. Veronica is left Harry's crime book and utilizes this to involve the other widows.

Now Widows deliberately celebrates white desirability in ways that could mentally harm and damage a black psyche. Alice, the youngest, calls Veronica a bitch and a cunt and even slaps her. Meanwhile, Alice's mother is ten times worse. She doesn't undermine her mother face to face. However, she treats a complete black woman stranger like the enemy. She is supposedly too broken and shattered, a woman treated objectively. Yet it is this black woman that she can fully launch unrepressed venom and hatred.

Too little, too late: Veronica (Viola Davis) seems to live for white compassion, i.e. Alice (Elizabeth Debicki). 

Veronica and Harry seem to have the perfect life-- her being a teacher and him being a criminal and all-- but it turns out to be terrible fiction. They play up the background Nina Simone ballad reminding the audience that this sultry magnificent singer with prominent African features and dark ruddy skin had also married a white man. Harry and Veronica's teenage son dies in a twisted, unbelievable cop narrative that just harms true American reality. This catalyst drives them apart, leaving Harry to cheat and make a white on white baby. At the end of the day, white was right and safe for Harry. To worsen matters, backstabbing Harry-- who turns out to be alive and well-- is quick to point a gun at Veronica after she pulls off a finicky heist with Harry's own handwritten instructions. A real win for the interracial love marketing team.

Thus, the black women depictions were not kind, lacking genuine tenderness and care. Belle is introduced to Veronica as the driver. They attack each other without reason. The only scene they are alone together, the two women have no dialogue. As if McQueen's camera artfully focusing on their gazes at one another is enough. Well, it's not. It's lazy. In one unnecessary scene, the slender, muscled Belle beats a punching bag like she's Rocky. Again, she's just the driver. Yet also a single mother, she spends more time with Linda's kids than her own-- an indentured servant role, the black mother nursing white babies, or in Belle's case Latinos. She barely shows affection to her daughter. Whereas, Veronica, the older woman, mother hens everyone. Other than distracting flashbacks with Harry, she has no purpose beyond obtaining Jamal's money. 

Veronica (Viola Davis) leads the three: Linda (Michelle Rodriguez), Belle (Cynthia Erivo), and Alice (Elizabeth Debicki).

The casting decisions were not the best. Viola Davis-- astounding in the degrees of acting proficiency-- could not rescue this tangled web that hurts more than it helps. Whereas Elizabeth Debicki is bad and difficult to watch, Michelle Rodriquez's Linda is severely underdeveloped. Cynthia Erivo is thrown in rather late in the film. As a whole, these actors (a majority of overseas talent) were not believable Chicagoans. Despite McQueen's avante garde camera angles, Widows was not the film in which one could be creative and thought-provoking due to the terrible script.

Widows is especially insensitive to the needs of black women film viewers, demonstrating by story and imagery a glaring disrespect that is calculative and deceitful. This painful illustration is not at all as intelligent as the trailer disguises itself to be. 

Other than that, Adepero Oduye deserves better than this.

'Rafiki' Defies LGBTQIA Odds in Fiction and Reality

Rafiki film poster.

Rafiki is a modern forbidden love story told in a strict political society condoning unions between same sex couples. The heinous parable is introduced through a silent male figure. He is constantly abused by other men-- verbally and physically assaulted for existing as gay, illustrating also etched in miscontrued religious context. His story, seemingly small, is a significant integration into the lives of main characters, Zika and Kena.

Zika (Sheila Munyiva) has dreams of being a nurse, but it's Kena pushes her to become more.

Zika and Kena's fathers are running for the same political post. Zika works in her father's store and hangs out with womanizing Blackstar and his posse-- the bullies who abuse the gay man. Outgoing, carefree Kena is always out with two lively girls dancing and jiving, entirely girlish. Her big smiles and pastel rainbow hair seem an anomaly in their environment. Zika often watches Kena, intrigued yet shy.

Zika and Kena come together in a refreshing, natural way. Their mesmerizing camaraderie sewn eloquently-- an abandoned van for clandestine trysts, raw, unconfined joy at the carnival, glowing together at a nightclub.

Once the fallout happens, the families reactions are both expected and surprising. Yet the community's reaction is ugly and horrific.

Sheila Munyiva and Samantha Mutgatsia are dynamite partners portraying Zika and Kena. Their chemistry blooms beautifully from tentative stares to an affectionate friendship to passionate kisses. The actresses resonate a genuine tenderness for these characters and for each other, articulating vulnerabilities and demanding strengths. It is also a plus that Munyiva and Mutgatsia have distinctive skin tones and features lacking in black films. The camera poignantly focuses on Munyiva's eyes and lips and Mutgatsia's hair and smile with deliberate celebration and pride.

Kena (Samantha Mutgatsia) and Zika (Sheila Munyiva) have the most fun together. 

Other wonderful highlights include a great soundtrack (the opening sequence plays high colored credits while Muthoni Drummer Queen's Suzi Noma pumps in the background), cinematography has amazing shots of Kenya city life (and chapiti), and African print cloth duelly operating as fashion and home decor. Every stitch of the film comes together to deliver a special experience.

The church is no taboo to show love for Kena (Samantha Mutgatsia, right), but Zika (Sheila Munyiva, left) isn't ready.

Africa Academy Award winner (for From a Whisper) Wanuri Kahiu overcame a huge battle in obtaining Rafiki's rightful consideration for representing Kenya in the tight Oscar category Best Foreign Language Film. Kenya retains outdated opposition on same sex relationships and allowed government interference in this colossal case against Kahiu.

Activist art is imperative across the globe. Kenyan Wangechi Mutu, whose has a framed collage featured, creates pieces centering Afrofuturism and earth and runs Africa Now!-- an organization advocating for the continent's LGBTIA communities. South African Zanele Muholi and her team document harmed lesbians, telling their stories inside endless galleries and institutions. Meanwhile, Kahiu's great cinematic achievement expresses hostile turmoil, aggravated battery, and cruel separation in communities collectively despising and interfering on a love that does not look like their program.

The goddesses of Cannes: Sheila Munyiva (Zika), Rafiki writer/director Wanuri Kahiu, and Samantha Mutgatsia (Kena).

Rafiki is a gentle outstretched hand. On the fine, delicate lines of the palm, rests a beating heart yearning for human decency, acceptance, and respect. The viewer has no choice but to succumb to Zika and Kena's everlasting love. Forced bigoted trials and tribulations are no match against the strongest, most sacred emotions. No time or distance (or government interference) can defeat such an important narrative.

'Burning' Is a Shocking Thriller To the End

Burning film poster.

Recent fiction major grad, Jong-su works part-time whilst coping with writer's block and caring for the family property while his father is in jail for assault. He runs into former neighbor Hae-mi on a lunch break. Though it takes Jong-su moments to remember, the two have an awkward liason. Hae-mi is aloof, adventurous, and unpredictable as opposed to Jong-su's coy, meek personality. Before she goes to Africa (on a vapid, imperialist mission), she has Jong-su watch her cat, Boil. And the mysterious Boil eventually unravels a key moment.

Jong-su (Ah-In Yoo) runs around daily to inspect greenhouse.

Burning sets up a slow building tension that escalates to an unsettling disturbia. Hae-mi returns with a new friend, Ben. A jealous Jong-su can see their relationship has evolved to a much more intimate capacity, leaving him as a third wheel oddity. His curiosity of the rich, elusive Ben is worthwhile. Ben's sleek insinuation into the lives of two spacy young adults, using them both for sheer amusement like objects on a gameboard raises valid suspicion. Ben soon introduces Hae-mi and Jong-su--whom awkwardly stand out-- to his sophisticated socialite friends. Two worlds collide for Ben with Hae-mi and Jong-su merely setting the stage to entertain his fickle pleasures.

A striking visual of a young boy watching a burning greenhouse.

Burning contains exciting and jarring twists and turns that'll leave hypothetical guesses til the end. Director and co-writer Lee Chang-dong states:

"The leaping holes in the chain of events -the missing piece from which we can never know the truth- alludes to the mysterious world we live in now; the world in which we sense that something is wrong but cannot quite put a finger on what the problem is."

The character triad is a compelling and complicated weave and the chosen actors have crafted the relationships well enough. From glazed stares to pout lips, Ah-In Yoo finesses the quiet introverted Jong-su driven to a simmering madness. Jong Seo-Joen--in her first major role-- plays the naive, storytelling Hae-mi in an airy, effervescent manner despite Hae-mi's flawed, off putting insensitivity about a culture different than her own. Steven Yeun brilliantly oozes charm, sensuality, and danger into narcissistic Ben downright to the creepy laughter and bored yawns. He emotes such cynical precision that is almost frightening in Ben's loving fascination with setting fire to greenhouses. Yoo commiserates, entailing Jong-su's own past as a reluctant firestarter.

Nudity still conveys a strong attribution to male gaze. Whenever Hae-mi is nude (which happens on two separate occasions), her lithe body is the lure and attraction to the males. For example, after Jong-su, Ben, and Hae-mi smoke pot, Hae-mi takes off her blouse and languidly spins around topless. Jong-su's bare form, however, suggests a more constructive narrative. Although he frequently masturbates, especially in Hae-mi's room, his later nude finale conveys power, guilt, rebirth. At the same time, his nakedness is not humorous or self-deprecating as American cinema often ostrasizes male Asian bodies.

Jong-su (Ah-In You), Hae-mi (Jong Seo-Jeon), and Ben (Steven Yeun) revel in the view and smoke pot together on Jong-su's family property.

Burning references classic white male American literature (nodding to William Faulkner and F. Scott Fitzgerald) yet doesn't forsake Asian aesthetics for the Western gaze in this adaptation to Haruki Mumokari's short story, Barn Burning. The cinematography is an excellent backdrop to the intense drama, a thrilling chain of events leaves behind unhinged skepticism throughout twisted narrative. The minor fault is that some sequences are either stretched too long or not given substantial weight.

"So I creep--yeah." TLC came to mind during Jong-su's (Ah-In Yoo, left) amateurish surveilance of Ben (Steven Yeun, right).

Overall, Burning is sensational escapism and utterly deserves the honor of representing South Korea for the Academy Awards Best Foreign Language Film category. It would be an even greater triumph if Yeun and/or Yoo receive awards nods for delivering complex performances-- dismantling the stereotype that Asian actors are not expressive.

With fire symbolically scorching broken histories, abandonment, and evidence, turning structural bodies into char and ash, Burning will stun and disturb throughout suspenseful clarity.

Love Cannot Be Barred in 'If Beale Street Could Talk'

If Beale Street Could Talk film poster.

"I hope that nobody has ever had to look at anybody they love through glass."- James Baldwin

The never ending injustices that affect brown and black bodies every single day since separation from Africa, the glaring imprint that slavery has not been abolished, is integrated in the love story of Alonzo "Fonny" Hunt and Tish Rivers. It appears an ordinary and defiant testimony despite the innocuous rage simmering in their neighborhood. Tish and Fonny are first childhood friends sans the boy abuses girl narrative. Their precious innocence naturally blossoms into kindred spirits love-- a refined soulmate tenderness not often bestowed in black romances. They dine, dance, declare feelings, make love with carefree abandon, reveling in a bubbled world of their own creation. This great swelling passion seems impenetrable and permanent.

Fonny and Tish are not the stereotypical struggle love situation. They work hard. They live together. The biggest argument was Fonny upset over Tish protecting him.

Fonny (Stephan James) creates abstract sculptures out of old industrial parts and Tish (Kiki Layne) sells perfume behind the counter at an upscale department store.

The fault of the wrecking ball lies with white supremacy-- a white cop as the highest order of the law. A white cop is never doubted or questioned. Fonny and Tish have a run in with the wrong sort. As revenge, Fonny is taken away for rape despite living on the other side of town. The victim picks him because she is instructed to. For everyone involved-- the Rivers, the Hunts, and the victim's family--the battle for justice is a long and grueling battle. On top of escalating trauma, Tish realizes that she is pregnant. The Rivers are shocked by the baby news, but celebrate over wine. The Hunts are mixed.

In the case-- a very sensitive case--Fonny is obviously innocent. The victim doesn't know that and simply cannot comprehend why a white cop would lie about her assailant. Cops are supposed to be trusting authority figures. Thus, it is disgusting that an above-the-law white cop put Fonny in custody without bothering to seek the real culprit. Beyond petty garbage, he made this a personal vendetta and tore apart a burgeoning family to get even. Sadly, this repeated narrative happens in real life America-- wrongfully accused black men imprisoned for crimes they didn't commit. 

The Rivers ladies are excited for the new generation: Ernestine (Teyonah Parris), Tish (Kiki Layne), and Sharon (Regina King).

If Beale Street Could Talk delivers subtle reminders of Coffy and Ava DuVernay's Middle of Nowhere. For example, black women having afros in love scenes speaks volumes. Back in the 70s, Pam Grier-- blaxploitation goddess-- in Coffy (seen a few years ago) definitely showcased natural hair as a sexy, unhidden gem in and out of the bedroom. Tish's hair is a wonderful halo, as pleasing as any 70's starlet. It operates differently than newer films about the modern black woman cutting off the relaxer, metaphorically using hair as an excuse to be in struggle love relationships. This afro is a part of Tish, as sacred as the deep brown of her skin, as genuine as her love for her family and Fonny-- unapologetic, untamed, and gorgeous. Although one weakness, is the submissive missionary love scene. It would have been a refreshing pace if Tish took the reins and led Fonny her own unrestrained passion. Now it doesn't have to be salacious ala Grier and Bradshaw.

Tish's campaign for justice to free her wrongfully imprisoned man like poor Ruth did in Middle of Nowhere drives home what happens to women during their men's incarceration. Both Tish and Ruth didn't have to face the tough circumstances alone-- having compassionate women on their side. The relationship between Tish, Ernestine, and Sharon are given more considerable story than Jenkins' previous women depictions in Moonlight. Their relationships are lovingly depicted. The mom would do anything for her daughter. The sisters have an incredible bond. Whereas Ruth has a strained relationship with her parolee husband (he cheated with a guard) and enters a new relationship outside the prison walls, Tish is committed to Fonny (who again is wrongfully jailed) and he is devoted to her. 

The most difficult scene to digest, however, is Fonny's father striking his wife (unfortunately some viewers in the audience laughed or applauded) after she expressed blasphemous dislike over Fonny and Tish becoming unwed parents. Nothing excuses domestic abuse-- which at the time was legal. 

This amazing scene features Tish (Kiki Layne) and Fonny (offscreen Stephan James) staring at each other.

Kiki Layne (who recently scored a Gotham Award Breakthrough Performance nomination) leads an extraordinary cast. She pulls Baldwin's story along with astounding tenacity and bravery channeled throughout a fine performance. Her articulate delivery narrating this heartbreaking love story hits key emotional points-- hope, despair, acceptance. Stephan James accompanies Layne, their chemistry poignant and unfiltered. James authentically emotes Fonny's tenderness, his agony, his frustration in ways that coax empathy. Regina King is not simply playing a mother role. She is an outstanding supportive force, igniting the screen with her multifaceted exuberance. Brian Terry Henry is also worth noting. His turn as a wrongfully convicted felon is utterly moving.

This meticulous attention to titillating detail becomes the Jenkins trademark. Alongside the acting, the editing, the sound, the cinematography balance the other. Colors are intense and sharp, like residual and effective German Expressionist paintings. Tish's yellow coat and Fonny's matching shirt. Red encompasses evocative interpretation-- seductive, furious, and flaming hot. The umbrella, splattered tomatoes, the lipstick, Fonny's abused face. The costume design reimagines the times rather brilliantly-- its busy patterns and bright solids.

If Beale Street Could Talk is joyous and painful and remarkable, striking simultaneous cords through a soft, pulsing medley. This piece is so significant and refined that Jimmy himself would raise a glass of the best wine in Harlem to toast yet another Jenkins masterpiece.

Survival Steers The Course in 'Little Woods'

Little Woods stars Tessa Thompson (Ollie, right) and Lily James (Deb, left). 

Nia DaCosta's rustic debut, Little Woods is set in a North Dakotan small town. Low income people are desperately clinging despite limited financial resources. Food, drink, hospital visits, and prescriptions are rising to unaffordable lengths-- an honest portrayal of the current horrors in America's faulty health care system.

The politicized strength ex-convict Oleander "Ollie" carries for the white characters is heavy in moral responsibilitya. She is another symbolic testimony that brown and black bodies should carry all burdens even if most of the grievance lies on whiteness. Almost off probation, she sees a kind, decent parole officer-- a shift from the hardened, callous stereotype. Single mom Deb--Ollie's sister-- prepares to take a college placement exam as Ollie pursues a promising job in Spokane. Ollie is always working. She internally fights old demons to clear her conscious, to help those in her community (migrating prepared and packaged food and hot coffee to workers), and keeping the inherited house in order.

DaCosta's gritty screenplay is a subtle nod to William Shakespeare's Othello with a complicated role reversal. Ollie is the favorite daughter, having been willed the house and is on a fulfilling path towards self sufficiency. Deb isn't ready to be left behind.

The brown bodied savior makes for a jarring tale that raises questions about the societal state, the wounds bared and subdued, the freedom close to the horizon, skeletons dangling on the edge of that opened door. Ollie's clever and resourceful, managing to take daring risks that succeed. She fails, however, on several occasions, but cannot break down in crisis. Instead, she charges onward, believing in end goals, her determination driving hard.

Little Woods contains beautiful musical choices that fit comfortably into scenes without intrusiveness. Tessa Thompson is a knight-in-shining-armor as the intelligent caregiver donning non-existent makeup and dowdy wardrobe. The beauty of this character rests in actions. Lily James delivers poise as a rough, struggling parent in a dead end job and co-dependent ex-boyfriend. Together, Thompson and James form a cohesive pair, sharing two points of womanhood and the affection sharing a kinship as strong as blood relations.

Little Woods writer/director Nia DaCosta.

Winner of the Nora Ephrom Award and Heartland Films' Truly Moving Picture honor, DaCosta is a fresh, compelling voice needed during a rather urgent time for new complex stories. While Hollywood continues remaking nostalgic classics and rebooting superhero origin stories, the indie film industry still has a problem showcasing narratives starring people of color. Let's hope that DaCosta moves forward, changing small-mindedness with a cool, collected volume of great, important stories.

Little Woods blossoms with fascinating degrees of profound and endearing promise.