Breeding Our Way Out of Trouble? Children of Men and Lost
Apparently, my learning curve is as flat as my new plasma TV screen. No matter how many times I see it and despite a bookshelf stocked with Gramsci and Foucault, I can still be amazed by just how absurdly contradictory our culture can be. Though I have to say, I take some odd pleasure in the really crazy shit that can show up out of the volatile matrix of economic forces, residual and emergent ideologies, conflicting political interests, and the seduction of denial. For example: Lunchables. Remember that moment in the early 1990s when environmental awareness had seemingly turned a corner, when being green was becoming hip? At that very moment came Oscar Mayer’s Lunchables. Wrapped in an insane amount of plastic and marketed as the busy parent’s holy grail, Lunchables seemed like an absurdist parody of unfettered American consumerism appearing just when America claimed to be discovering the value of being fettered.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQKXCYepRSY[/youtube]
I found the 2006 film Children of Men similarly absurd. The film was highly praised for its grim cinematography and its eerily convincing vision of a not-so-distant future where the extinction of humanity looms and socio-political chaos erupts on a global scale. At a time when reports about pandemics and global warming fill headlines, it is easy to read the film as a warning about the consequences of human social systems. Amazingly, though, the cause of the world’s crisis in the film is not the unchecked abuse of the environment by the consumption habits of an ever-growing human population. Quite the opposite, in fact. It is humanity’s inability to reproduce that creates this dystopia. A telling narrative choice, I must say. Even if one reads humankind’s sterility as an analogy for the self-destructive path we are taking, the subsequent narrative still encourages us to be intensely invested in human reproduction. (The film is hardly subtle on this point.)
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NikEQy1XxDE[/youtube]
In this regard, the film reflects and reinforces a vast web of heteronormative, androcentric, christian/religious, humanistic, and capitalist ideological assumptions: that reproduction is an inalienable right, that social relations are a reflection of familial relations, that human culture only exists to be passed onto the next generation, that growth is good, and that human life is sacred. At a time when population growth threatens the future of humanity, a narrative that locates hope and the future in the sanctity of human reproduction seems absurd-or predictable (its often a fine line, after all).
As I excitedly sat down to watch the new season of Lost (my favorite show on TV since last year’s season finale), I was struck by the recurrence of this trope. Lost offers another narrative about social life and human psychology after a catastrophe. And again, reproduction and its problems become narratively central. Here we get a humanity-starting-over story with heteronormative, biblical overtones about the importance of being fruitful and multiplying. (It seems telling, for example, that a series that works so hard to reflect racial, generational, and national diversity, would fail to include a single openly non-heterosexual character.) And as in Children of Men, the inability to reproduce becomes a key driver of social crisis. Every woman who gets pregnant on the island dies in childbirth-a fact that fuels the political conflict between the survivors and the Others and a great deal of the series’ narrative tension thus far. I don’t want to reduce the ideological complexity of Lost’s multi-season, narrative twists and turns. (The dark omen connected to Claire’s pregnancy in the first season, for example, suggests there’s more to unpack on this issue). Nevertheless, the series (at least in certain narrative arcs) does reflect the (over)valuation of reproduction as essential to the stability of human society. (I doubt Lost and Children of Men are unique in this regard. From what I saw of its first season, for example, Battlestar Galactica might be rife with such reproductive-imperative narratives as well.)
So, at a time when we are increasingly aware of and anxious about the threat of global climate change (a problem certainly exacerbated by population growth), we get post-apocalyptic narratives in which human reproduction is actually the solution. Just when we need to find ways to create a sustainable future for our kids, we get stories that tell us that the future will only be ensured by having kids. What are the consequences of this cultural obsession with reproduction-an obsession so hegemonic that it finds expression in both christian conservative arguments about the culture of life and neoliberal politics of gay and lesbian families? Rooted as it is in religious doctrine, liberal ideals of individual rights, and the persuasive power of “the natural,” our feelings and assumptions about the value of reproduction run so deep that there seems little room for thinking outside of the standard story. We fail to do so at the peril of our kids.
For me, the absurdity of this ideological relationship is a Lunchables moment-pleasurable in a perverse way. Of course I am woefully naïve to expect that culture would behave any differently. After all, we created the world we now find ourselves in with the help of such ideologies.
Does anyone else have a favorite Lunchables moment?
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Great column!
I’m wondering as well about the function of race in these narratives. I’m not as familiar with Lost, but Children of Men’s use of a black woman as the bearer of the miracle child seemed particularly problematic. In the trailer above, there is a shot of the character, Kee, revealing her pregnant body in a barn where cows are being milked. This shot stood out for me, as it seemed to align her with animals, and thus her pregnancy is portrayed as a product of her “animalistic” blackness. Adding to this troubling image is our white male hero, Theo, who protects Kee from various terrorists. The story centers upon him, and thus, it seems that Kee’s experiences become relegated to the margins.
In general, these images seem to serve to bolster male dominance in the narrative, and in the particular case of Children of Men, white dominance as well.
In reading the column and c8ic8’s comment, I am struck by how differently film and televisual texts can be read by different people. I saw, and still see, Children of Men as specific critique of anti-immigrant and xenophobic politics in the U.S. and more generally a critique of the nation-state, particularly as a racially and ethnically “pure” construction. I have struggled with the race and gender dynamics noted in c8ic8’s comment, but would also argue that Kee’s holding the potential future of humanity in her womb can be read as an argument against a politics of racial and national purity,and a reaffirmation of the human species’ common origins in Africa. And while Theo maybe the hero of the film, women, and particularly socially marginalized women, are essential partners to his heroism. Would it have been a more progressive film if women had been the heroes, free of men? Yes, but it should be noted that the character of Theo is not original to the film, but is taken from PD James’ book.
As to the environmental implications of the film, I will admit to not having thought of these connections until now, but am left troubled by the implicit misanthropy of the argument. Does the human role in environmental degradation mean that we should welcome the scenario from the film and book? Right or wrong, it seems unlikely that many would embrace such an outlook (thought it may have been interesting to add such a dimension to the movie). The book and film are essentially about human social and political responses to the literal end of humanity, and, specifically, an examination of the conditions whereby people would embrace or resist fascism. What happens after Theo helps to deliver Kee and her baby to the Human Project is left unsaid. Assuming that the species is revived, maybe we take better care of ourselves and the planet given the second chance. Or not.
I would finally add the the equation of population growth with ecological destruction is a point of debate among scientists and environmentalists. Some green anarchists and social ecologists would maintain that gross human numbers are far less important to human resource consumption and waste production than the social and economic structures in which people live and make choices regarding resource use. To paraphrase Murray Bookchin, capitalist economies grow whether the human population grows or not. Economic growth, and consumption by the most privileged, has its own dynamic quite apart from how many people there are in the world. Again, maybe the world after the events in Children of Men is fundamentally different from the one in which the infertility occurs in the first place.
I love the phrase “Lunchables Moment” – at the food level, I experience such contradictions in our local grocery store, that wraps local organic produce in styrofoam & cellophane. In media, 24 seems embrace lunchability in its early seasons – celebrating the gravitas of a black President, while empowering the archetypal rugged white man to save his ass, as played by a well-known actor from a die-hard leftie family.
Your discussion of Lost also highlights one of the chief troubles in analyzing the politics of serialized television – we just don’t know enough to assess the show’s ultimate politics on these issues. Will childbirth turn out to be the underlying norm to be celebrated, or the death of them all (or both)? Might one of the characters turn out to be gay, subverting our heteronormative assumptions built over many seasons? And will new revelations truly change what we’ve assumed to be true for years?
I too found Children of Men to be quite disturbing. In his DVD commentary, Zizek argues that infertility in the film represents “the loss of historical context.” I think he’s right insofar as infertility is used as a metaphor by the film–it’s not really about women’s bodies but rather about women’s bodies as symbols. This is epitomized for me when Kee (Key?) gives birth in about 30 seconds, her white male hero absolving himself of his alcholic past literally by sterilizing his hands with liquor and casting the bottle aside. She’s giving BIRTH, for Pete’s sake, can’t the hero get redeemed on his own time?
This stands in stark contrast to a film like 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days which (though it weirdly drops the ball by not giving its pregnant character a prosthetic stomach!), is about the horrific power of an oppressive state and the real effects that it has on real women’s bodies.
Though I understand why Ron has some doubts about Galactica, I encourage him to check out the whole thing. The program advocates strongly for reproductive choice and, more generally, for womens’ right to be in control of their own bodies. That they are often denied this control is part and parcel of Galactica’s articulation of a dystopic future. At the same time, I will admit, the narrative function of the human-cylon baby is not unproblematic. We’ll see how it plays out.
As for a character turning out to be gay on Lost, I am dubious about characterization that functions by “revelation” rather than unfolding more organically. If Lost could suddenly stop being heternormative, I would be the first to applaud, but it seems about as likely as Bill O’Reilly going Tinman and getting a heart.
Continuing with Shaun’s comments above, I am impressed, if that’s the word, with what an incredibly different vision the author provides of *Children of Men.* If anything, I’d think the thought that “the film reflects and reinforces a vast web of heteronormative, androcentric, christian/religious, humanistic, and capitalist ideological assumptions: that reproduction is an inalienable right, that social relations are a reflection of familial relations, that human culture only exists to be passed onto the next generation, that growth is good, and that human life is sacred” speaks far more to the original (explicitly Christian) intent of the novel’s author, P.D. James, and NOT that of Alfonson Cuaron and DP Emmanuel Lubezki.
Most realize that the film is based on a novel; few realize the extent to which the screenplay and filmic rendering differ from that original narrative. In the novel, it is the Julianne Moore character — a white, born-again Christian — who gives birth to the beginning of a new age. Furthermore, Theo takes over the from its despotic regime, placing the literal ring of rulership on his finger, ushering the close of the novel. I outline these key differences because I think the root of Cuaron’s message is found within the dramatic change, namely, his inclusion of the abject. Filth, garbage, physically Othered bodies, refugee camps structured in clear allusion to those of the Balkans and Palestine, burning animal limbs, unclean child birth — Cuaron confronts us with the dirty underbelly of post-Capitalist society. The solution, then, is not one of white, hegemonic masculinity — Theo may very well be very dead — but of the female “bastard” child of an “abject” fugee.
Ultimately, I don’t think it’s a film about the necessity of reproduction so much as it’s a film about the impotence borne of exclusion and fascism cloaked as capitalism and “protection.”
Continuing with Shaun’s comments above, I am impressed, if that’s the word, with what an incredibly different vision the author provides of *Children of Men.* If anything, I’d think the thought that “the film reflects and reinforces a vast web of heteronormative, androcentric, christian/religious, humanistic, and capitalist ideological assumptions: that reproduction is an inalienable right, that social relations are a reflection of familial relations, that human culture only exists to be passed onto the next generation, that growth is good, and that human life is sacred” speaks far more to the original (explicitly Christian) intent of the novel’s author, P.D. James, and NOT that of Alfonson Cuaron and DP Emmanuel Lubezki.
Most realize that the film is based on a novel; few realize the extent to which the screenplay and filmic rendering differ from that original narrative. In the novel, it is the Julianne Moore character — a white, born-again Christian — who gives birth to the beginning of a new age. Furthermore, Theo takes over the from its despotic regime, placing the literal ring of rulership on his finger, ushering the close of the novel. I outline these key differences because I think the root of Cuaron’s message is found within the dramatic change, namely, his inclusion of the abject. Filth, garbage, physically Othered bodies, refugee camps structured in clear allusion to those of the Balkans and Palestine, burning animal limbs, unclean child birth — Cuaron confronts us with the dirty underbelly of post-Capitalist society. The solution, then, is not one of white, hegemonic masculinity — Theo may very well be very dead — but of the female “bastard” child of an “abject” fugee.
Ultimately, I don’t think it’s a film about the necessity of reproduction so much as it’s a film about the impotence borne of exclusion and fascism cloaked as capitalism and protectionism.
I’d like to return to Jason and Heather’s comments for a minute. Each state that we don’t know enough about the narratives (Lost & Battlestar Galactica) to truly assess the show’s politics – because they haven’t concluded yet. They remain open texts at this point. This idea of let’s “see how it plays out” is quite common in television studies. However, this seems like the inverse of intentional fallacy. We do not need to know an artist’s intent in order to understand or analyze a text. Yet, in television and film studies, we often defer to a text’s ending in our analysis and emphasize its closure as the ultimate signal of its politics. Excuse the analogy but – is this not the conclusional fallacy?
I’d like to add that the title of the film is Children of Men, an interesting choice when contrasted with the title of the suspiciously Western, NGO-like organization, The Human Project.
My take on Children of Men is similar to that of Becker and c8ic8, but I’ve found that people I talk to who loved the film strongly resist a feminist reading. Like Huston, they demand that the shady reproductive politics of Children of Men can be seamlessly integrated into its larger progressive messages about hope and resistance in the face of fascism. The film’s fixation on breeding as salvation is considered a mere device through which its “more important” messages are delivered. To me, the very invisibility of the device suggests we should take it seriously.
If we place Children of Men in the context of other contemporary productions (Lost is but one example – has anyone seen Juno? Knocked Up? Notes from the Underbelly?) a disturbing pronatalist trend emerges. In a period when our political battles revolve so often around abortion and gay marriage, it seems pretty negligent to ignore the commentary on reproduction offered up by our popular culture.
The article brings up a good point about society contradicting itself and obsession with reproduction. However I do not agree completely with Ron Becker. He begins the article with, “Remember that moment in the early 1990s when environmental awareness had seemingly turned a corner, when being green was becoming hip? At that very moment came Oscar Mayer’s Lunchables. Wrapped in an insane amount of plastic and marketed as the busy parent’s Holy Grail, Lunchables seemed like an absurdist parody of unfettered American consumerism appearing just when America claimed to be discovering the value of being fettered.” Yes, this is a great example of how are society has been contradicting itself. When I first read this, I chuckled a little because I knew exactly what he was talking about. We say one thing and then go do another. But I think it is a little different when it comes to the plot of a film and television program.
Becker then writes about the film Children of Men and how it presents this theory about the world ending and people no longer being able to reproduce. Yet, we are in a time where we are trying to control reproduction because human population has grown so much that it is affecting our environment. Once again our culture says one thing then does another. We need to stop reproduction, but we create a film about how we need to reproduce to save the world. Now I can see how Becker finds this absurd, but that is one of the great things about film and television. We can tell stories that might not be true to reality.
LOST is an excellent example of playing with reality and using the imagination to create unbelievable storylines. The storyline about how women who get pregnant on the island die in childbirth creates more depth and character for this mysterious island. It has the audience asking more questions about why things are the way they are. It also creates this obstacle for Claire’s character. Becker explains it as, “Here we get a humanity-starting-over story with heteronormative, biblical overtones about the importance of being fruitful and multiplying.” I do not necessarily think this is what they were specifically going for. I do not think they were trying to please the religious audience. It makes the narrative more complex and interesting. After a horrible plane crash and the death of many people, the survival of a pregnant woman adds another element, but also gives a sense of hope. The pregnancy represents this idea of rebirth. It shows how the survivors can make it through these hard times. While this storyline might contradict the current issues of population growth, it creates many twists and turns for the un-reality of LOST. LOST is not the real world and that is what makes it interesting. Part of the excitement of LOST is being able to watch this similar but different world. Unlike Becker, I think the pregnancy storyline is not absurd, but a great addition to the complex narrative.
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