Archives for posts with tag: Media

I didn’t want to watch Mission Impossible 4: Ghost Protocol until I was in Dubai. It seemed appropriate, given how much ballyhoo (is that a real word? in 2012?) was made about the fact that Tom Cruise & crew had managed to break through the obdurate Virtuality Curtain that has kept Dubai out of international cinema’s prurient gaze since … well, sort of since forever. Bits of the city-state appeared fleetingly as a recognisable but fictionally named ‘other’ emirate in Syriana.

But, you’d have thought this confection of neo-liberal fantasy – what Rem Koolhaas once called ‘a film-set with real problems’ – would have been hounded by the silver-screen from the get-go, laden as it is with ‘iconic’ backdrops, many of which would have started out on the same kind of 3D visualisation software that goes into making something like Ghost Protocol. So, why the coy injunction all this time? And why alleviate that prohibition now?

I first heard about the Mission Impossible+Dubai equation from a consultant for the Dubai Media Authority in 2010. She told me, both frankly and in hushed confidence, that most film-scripts submitted to the government for permission had always cast Dubai in a stereotypical negative darkness: dodgy financial dealings and naturally as a nexus of Jihadist terrorism. Each of these scripts had simply been batted away by the DMA – as had Sex & the City 2, for different, un-coy reasons (or they can smell a stinking dud even before it’s been filmed).

Not until Dubai had hemorrhaged from sublimely silly levels of debt, exposed in the sandstorm of 2009’s financial crisis, did it decide to embark upon – awful phrase coming up – a ‘rebranding exercise’.  Suddenly it needed the supplement of fiction, now that the fiction of its so called reality had financially imploded, and begun to sink, like The World is sinking back into the sea.

That would be the second reason no major feature films – or indeed fiction of any kind – have been staged here, till now (FYI, the next James Bond novel is to be set, at least partly, in Dubai). From 2001 to 2008, the place was a torrid, twisted excess of fiction you could Google Map. A Utopia sans social teleological project. Endless epic billboards and smooth video-promotions promising an unbridled future – but without, in Deleuze and Guattari’s words, a community to come.

Entertainment fiction had no work to do here.

It was unemployable.

When Tom Cruise – aka Agent Ethan Hunt – tells his colleagues that they’re, ‘going to Dubai’ in the next scene, the cinema audience at Dubai Mall cooed with self-recognition, and a smidgen of cringe. We’d all known about the Burj Khalifa as acrobatic prop (which I wrote about in conjunction with the skyscraper’s first recorded suicide here, which Sophia Al Maria portraits piquantly here, and footage of which exists mesmerically here) – but how smoothly would the unlikely setting fit within the overall arc of the film? (A similar moment occurs in Contagion: the deadly, unknown infection targets Hong Kong, Chicago, Macao, Atlanta, London – and Abu Dhabi. Oh, that’s right. They – Imagenation Abu Dhabi – co-produced the film. Sorry!)

Back to Ghost Protocol. What soaring symbol do you greet the audience with, to lull them into a sense of specific place?

Camels. Yes. That’s the preferred transition device from Budapest to the Burj. For some mysterious reason, Cruise and crew’s drive from Dubai airport to Sheikh Zayed Road involves careering past luscious, dappled, desert dunes – and thousands of free range camels. Some have even established home in the middle of the dirt-track. Watch out Tom! Those aren’t speed bumps! More like speed humps! (Camel jokes are always lame.)

Sadly, real reality contests this dromedarian account: the trek from airport to downtown Dubai actually passes hoards of mirrored towers, finished and under construction, six lane highways, sinewy underpasses, a Pyramidal Raffles hotel, the immense Grand Hyatt, and a lot of advertising. Notice: no camels.

The New Orientalist fantasy continues when they arrive at the Burj, and the only extras in the background are Emiratis. No indication that in fact, Emiratis comprise only approximately 11% of the entire population, which is made of some 200 nationalities. Typically, lobbies are one of the spaces par excellence where you feel this decentred complexion.

When Tom runs – and as we know, he is obliged, contractually, to run very fast at least once in each of his films – out of the Burj, into a Biblically sized sandstorm, instead of slamming his face on the side of Dubai Mall or get drenched in the world’s biggest dancing fountain display, Tom’s, like, lost in the smog of a ‘traditional’ souk – not dissimilar to the quaint olde market the harpies, I mean girls, in Sex & The City 2 go to to have an ‘authentic ‘Arabian outing. Bargains! Old Men with beards! Handicrafts!

Mother-fuckin’ jump cut. Galore.

Of course, block-buster films are, by habit, ontologically loose with the limits of reality (most of the Los Angeles we’ve ever seen on-screen is actually Vancouver in drag) – but – it’s nevertheless interesting that the cinematic shorthand preferred here, in Ghost Protocol, is a kind of retro-fictional ghost of the post-crash Dubai its Emir has striven for it to be perceived against. Camels, dunes, locals, and a lone, fiendishly sophisticated skyscraper that has to be thwarted to save the world. Remember – all this had to have been sanctioned by the authorities for it to have happened there at all.

When Sheikh Mohammed – Ruler of Dubai – published his book of poems in 2009, this was the front cover:

Note: no camels – but also no Burj Dubai (as it was known then), no serrated skyline denoting supermodernity, no hulking machinery of industrial transmogrification and heaving human toil. The ghosts of the future and the ghosts of the past that never happened combine – in cinema’s present – as a living fantasy that serves the best purposes for ideology. I mean, er, fiction.

From the Autumn issue of Tank magazine (Volume 7, Issue 3)

Have you watched the news lately? War? Famine? Rioting? Economic crisis? Make that crises. One is never enough! History repeating itself, as Marx would say, in all its tragic and comic fullness. The news amply reminds us, on a daily basis, that the world is a shitty, dangerous and dysfunctional disappointment.

Try as they may, No number of whooshing motion graphics and tribal drum effects can truly dull this fact. Not even a ‘feel-good’ item featuring a precocious ferret saying the word ‘Fuck!’ on cue. In that time, another bomb somewhere has detonated. Someone’s mother, father or child becomes a sound-byte primed statistic. Without numbers—or more precisely, body counts—the news couldn’t be the news.

How and why the world is such a pitiless shit-pit does depend on whose news you’re listening to. But does it matter what language they’re telling you it in? For many of the emerging economic—and therefore political—powerhouses in the world, the answer gleaned from surfing satellite channels today is a resounding ‘Yes’.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, one of the very last things The West was able to export to The Rest of the world was its moral superiority. Acclaimed news titles—BBC World Service, The New York Times, Le Monde, Der Spiegel, etc.—embodied Enlightenment values, wielded sword-like: truth, reason, rigor. This was media made to make everyone without a ‘free-press’ feel deficient, envious.

Even now, as the European Union faces systemic, contagious crisis, America’s credit rating was ‘downgraded’ for the first time ever, and the Murdoch empire sullied by phone-hacking hijincks, do we not all turn to the very same stable sources to find out what is happening around us? Probably not.

A proliferation of state-funded, English speaking news channels from Doha to Beijing has expanded available choice (which is surely one of the hallmarks of our time; apparently infinite choice, but the same finite number of hours in a day). It has ushered in new forms of International English borne from diasporic traces of international education aimed at like minded citizens.

The news-studios’ brightly coloured layouts, anchors’ sleek desk designs, their groomed suits, the ticker-timer running across the bottom of the screen desperately updating you with what’s now right now. All these are visual, aural, informational tropes that have been taken up from Tehran to Mumbai. They signify ‘this is Serious Objective News,’ comparable to BBC World Service, The New York Times, Le Monde, Der Spiegel…

Despite a third of the world’s population being Chinese or Indian (a convincing argument surely for Cantonese, Mandarin or Hindi as the next universal lingua franca), the colonial language of choice—English—now serves a cunning post-colonial purpose. English’s purported neutrality smuggles through all manner of vested political propaganda and regional hysteria.

Watch simultaneous coverage of the same news-story on several channels, and not so subtle nationalistic differences of perception present themselves—in the polite garb of Malay or Columbian accented English. The form says one thing, the words another, and the hybrid accents something else yet again. If the world is not flat, the use of English to describe it on a daily basis makes it look as if it is.

Here is a selection of what’s out there.

There is a fine line between myth-busting and paranoid conspiracy mongering. And this is the very line that Iran’s state-controlled Press TV builds an entire news-mandate from. It is fired by the same anti-Imperialist, straight–talking vim that fuels Iran’s casually attired president, Mahmoud Ahmedinejad. No opportunity is missed on Press TV, and many are created, to lambast America’s political hypocrisy and meddling interventionism. In fact a whole programme is dedicated to this pursuit: Afshin Rattansi’s Double Standards. Imagine Jon Stewart’s Daily Show, but with hand-drawn cartoon piss-takes of American politicians. Rattansi’s English could pass as indigenous at Eaton Boys’ School, but this all the more arms him to satirize the West’s follies from within. The Kaiser Report—which is also aired on Russia Today—extends the America bashing to the endemic corruption inherent in the greed-fest that is also known as the global financial marketplace. Is it ironic that American accents are aplenty across all the channel’s presenters? Or mocking? As in, ‘Look! We can find American educated people to defame the country that gave them this accent!’ Press TV’s male anchors never don neck-ties (an Iranian no-no) and sport well trimmed beards; while every female correspondent, Muslim or not, is required to wear a hijab, thus exporting the revolutionary dictate of the Iranian Republic to secular countries worldwide. Last but not least, George Galloway’s late-night phone-in rants surely evidence the channel’s stated plight to ‘Encourage human beings of different nationalities, races and creeds to identify with one another.’ That is, if they can decipher Mr Galloway’s perma-irate, Scottish pronunciation.

‘The channel is government funded but shapes its editorial policy free from political and commercial influence… We’re here to bring you another story.’ The Cold War may have officially thawed 20 years ago, but its legacy lives on in Russian media. Russia Today (RT) opts for citrus green as chromatic background, inverting any assumption that Russia is, or was, Commie Red. Stories of border disputes with former Soviet satellites remind you that the Union survives in idea if not in international law. Vladimir Putin appears with calming frequency—clothing optional—to share his nation’s schadenfreude at America and Europe’s economic and military woes. News anchors: chiselled in appearance, their delivery of English tinged with Eastern bloc stoicism. During the Ratko Mladic trial, RT chose to highlight a different narrative than the Srebrenica massacre where 8,000 Bosnian Muslim men and boys had been killed. Instead it chose to ask about the deaths of Serbs at Bosnian hands, insinuating that similar genocides had taken place but without the disapprobation of the international community. They did promise ‘another story’, didn’t they?

Broadcast from its iconic, looped skyscraper in Beijing (designed by the Dutch firm O.M.A. in favour of an indigenous Chinese architect), state-controlled CCTV announces that ‘A new Asia has emerged,’ and this is its voice. Whether the question of Tibet, Google or the Chinese Communist Party comes up, China oft states that the outside world simply does not—or can not?—understand its psychology or principles. CCTV News is an uncharacteristically unbelligerent attempt to project China’s moderated modernism. Its emphasis on Asian interest-stories, and by implication, China’s moral or economic influence therein, is portrayed by a core crew of Chinese news-anchors whose English is openly inflected by Cantonese. Chinese domination of the English language does not involve embodying it entirely, but appropriating it the way the fake Apple Store in Kunming recently revealed the fake iPhone 5 months before it is even mooted to come out. You also find American, English and Australian English speaking reporters to provide that authenticity patina common to all of these channels: Vested Internationalism.

Between 2001 and 2006, according to the Bush regime, the words ‘Al’ and ‘Jazeera’ were short-hand for Taliban-sympathizers and media-mouthpiece for Al Qaeda. Much of that demonization hinged on Al Jazeera being in Arabic, a language that said ‘terrorist’ as unambiguously as did a turban. Then Qatar launched Al Jazeera English (AJE). Ever since, it feels like the gravitational centre of international news-reportage has shifted eastwards, more so since the start of the ‘Arab Spring’ (which is fast heading into the ‘Arab Autumn’). It’s not only that AJE was formed from the ashes of recently redundant BBC staff, that it pinched well known journalist-personalities like Rageh Omaar and David Frost, but it was the first international news-network to have four broadcast-centres: Kuala Lampur, Doha, London and Washington D.C. As the world turns, so does AJE’s coverage. Ethnicities, skin colours and accents vary across the anchors but the language of English unites them all. ‘Balance’ may be a word once associated with BBC news service, but AJE actively enacts it in programmes like Inside Story, which pits three divergent experts against one another on a single topic for 30 minutes. Like many of the other channels mentioned here, AJE commands a regional focus (the Middle East), but its in-depth coverage of Latin America and Africa adheres to the station’s ambition ‘to balance the information flow between the South and the North.’ So far, so ground breaking. However even this new behemoth has its political blind spots, to be found in what isn’t said about delicate matters in neighbouring Saudi Arabia, Bahrain and its own backyard, Qatar.

The only language universal enough for these instances is silence.