Jekyll2024-11-06T10:33:15-08:00https://imangareeboo.github.io/personalwebsite/feed.xmlIman Gareeboopersonal descriptionIman Gareebooigareeboo@yahoo.comMiddle Eastern Men in Disney’s “Aladdin” – 1992 and 20192020-04-14T00:00:00-07:002020-04-14T00:00:00-07:00https://imangareeboo.github.io/personalwebsite/posts/2020/04/men-disney-aladdinThe story of Aladdin was originally brought to European attention through Antoine Galland’s French translation of 1001 Nights.1 However, the source of the story is unknown. Either Galland added it himself, or he may have obtained the story from Syrian traveller Hanna Diyab. Diyab’s journal does not include the story of Aladdin, nor do any of the original Arabic variations of the 1001 Nights. Further complicating the story, the titular character and setting were Chinese in Galland’s translation, although the antagonist was supposedly North African. However, the details in the original story, specifically that no work could be done on Fridays and that the story’s cave of wonders matches the layout of tombs found in Egypt, all signify that the storyteller was more well-versed in North African Arab-Islamic culture than Chinese culture.2 Setting the story in the Far East only succeeds in creating a more orientalist, or exotic, atmosphere. Disney’s 1992 Aladdin references this when Jasmine and Aladdin fly over the emperor’s palace in the Forbidden City, overlooking Tiananmen Square.3
In one paper, Aladdin is likened to an Egyptian grave robber, 4 in another, he is a symbol of Israel vs Palestine as stuck between American military interest in the Middle East (played by Robin Williams’ American genie) and Saddam Hussein’s power in the region (represented by Jafar’s ambition).5 The fact that Aladdin can be used to represent both a poor Egyptian grave robber or a Palestinian “street-rat” reinforces the argument that Disney’s 1992 portrayal of the character and story used existing understandings of the Middle East defined as a confusing landscape of North African, Arabian, and Asian influences firmly posited as a threatening “other” to American culture. Unfortunately, the 2019 live-action remake committed the same faults, with the same Arab-Indian city “Agrabah” stuck in the mists of time with an Indian-ish princess, a Perso-Islamic Sultan, and stereotypical terrorist-like villains. And although each of these points deserves attention, I would like to focus specifically on the representation of these supposedly Middle Eastern men in both films. Despite the effort put into having a multicultural, non-white cast for the 2019 remake, Disney has only ever succeeded in putting forward trustworthy Western male standards by contrasting them with a dense background of dangerously unknown Oriental men.
One of the most persistent stereotypes about Middle Eastern, presumably Muslim, men is that they have beards. Aladdin, by contrast, has no facial hair in the 1992 film, and is clean shaven in the 2019 films. The 1992 film can get away with this fault because both Aladdin and Jasmine are meant to be young adults, however the 2019 version most certainly cannot. By maintaining Aladdin as clean-shaven, while the main villain Jafar, the Sultan, and all the male guards have various forms of facial hair, then the film deliberately single’s out Aladdin as representative of normal Western standards. This link is emphasized through the 2019 addition of a comic relief European prince who, like Aladdin, is clean-shaven.
All the other men adhere to the “othering” stereotype of having facial hair. They also tend to appear with headgear, another confusing “middle eastern” garb that could reference anything from Sikhs to the Perso-Arab sultanates of the Islamic Empirical Age. More nefariously, they could look like the head coverings associated with terrorists, like Osama Bin Laden. By contrast, Disney’s 2019 Aladdin often appears without the turban, which is occasionally swapped out for a less threatening kufi-esque cap 6 which sits at the back of his head inconspicuously. Visually, Aladdin’s appearance appeals to Western tastes while all the other men go directly against Western norms. The fact that Aladdin is the only man who seems to do the right thing, in giving the genie freedom and saving Agrabah from Jafar, reinforces an idea that you can judge male moral character superficially. If the Western-looking guy always does the right thing in the movies, then audiences are taught to trust these looks and habits in reality. By giving all the other men in the film, who are by turns either put in their place by Aladdin (like Jafar) or are told off by Princess Jasmine (who herself represents Western feminist thinking), Disney reinforced the mistrust Western audiences have towards foreign-looking men wearing different clothes, ambiguous headgear, and sporting facial hair.
]]>Iman Gareebooigareeboo@yahoo.comThe Hand2018-04-18T00:00:00-07:002018-04-18T00:00:00-07:00https://imangareeboo.github.io/personalwebsite/posts/2018/04/the-handIt’s so close.
Stretched out on the table in front of her, much bigger than hers. It looks beautiful but unattainable, alluring yet repulsive.
She looks up for a moment and it catches her eye.
The human form captivates her above the beacon of artificial light to which her mind usually answers.
His hand is resting on the table. It’s dusted with hair fine enough not to take primary hold of her attention, light enough to blend nicely into his blotchy, peachy skin, present enough to establish the hand as male. The fingers are longer than hers. For a moment, the comparison between this pale, longer, wider, sinewy hand and her own strikes her.
She knows the rest of him is conventionally attractive. His hair is a red-brown color with a drop of gold—the kind of red-brown that could have been carrot-red in youth before maturing with age, while still managing to keep its bright essence.
Studying his hand for a moment, she knows it’s attached to an arm whose veins are raised gently against the surface of the skin. Not harsh, jagged lines desiring to burst out from under the skin in its blue-purple-pulsating glory, nor a straining, pumping vein hidden underneath a pelt of fat, skin, and hair. The veins descend his arm inconspicuously, only noticeable when the arms are in use.
The hand resting on the table is relaxed, but, as the discussion continues, it moves, fingers bending over themselves and stretching out, an endless series of tensing and relaxing, the veins adjusting accordingly by popping or receding.
She glances at her own hand.
It is darker, smaller, and angular against the silver keys of the keyboard, with darker, sparser hair, growing irregularly. Like the color of coffee and cream, but marred with lighter and darker tan lines.
His hand comes back down onto the table, stretched out over the assignment. It’s only a few inches behind her metal monitor. She looks again, perhaps wondering how their hands would compare to one another side by side. Her eyes flash for a moment before looking back at her glowing screen and typing furiously for a moment, recording some analytical gem the hand’s owner has uttered.
Maybe, just for a moment, she had considered overlaying her own shorter, darker, child-like hand over his to see where her fingers ended and his continued, where his were wider or longer than hers, to feel the contrast of the abundant, softer hair against the prickly, sparser hair.
She could have thought to turn the hand over gently, wrist up, blue vein pulsing, to set her palm within—an unfinished brown blot within an expanse of milky-blotchy-peachy-ness.
Perhaps this was truly a moment of the unadulterated curiosity of an innocent comparing itself to the mature… before being repulsed in a wash of indignation. Why should such a hand be seen as beautiful? Why not her own?
The hand knocks on the table and she turns off her shining silver screen, passing her assignment over to the hand. She gets up, packing away her things with the rest of her classmates and, before turning to leave, faces the hand’s body. It turns to meet her eyes with a polite, if dismissive, smile: the mirror of her own expression.
As she walks to the door, she tosses back a response to the hand’s parting wave, “Have a nice weekend, Professor,” before passing through the doorway.]]>Iman Gareebooigareeboo@yahoo.com