On Representation: "Kim's Convenience" and "Columbus"

 

    Like all formulaic sitcoms, Kim's Convenience prioritizes comedic humor above all to create its narrative paradigm— the genre benefits from the prioritization. By including an immigrant family as their filmic subject, however, the writers must balance representational efforts with the necessity of comedic timing and energy. A Korean-Canadian family-owned convenience store creates a situational setting replete with plenty of storylines, even without an internal examination of the central family and any assumed complications built within their specific immigrant experience. The show certainly set itself up to function as a microcosm of contemporary Canadian living— the humor doubly reasserts that living as immigrants in a country perceived as America's lighter, more congenial northern counterpart does not erase the discrimination and misunderstanding they face daily. Here, microaggressions and racism based on stereotypes and reductive nationalized images are plentiful and mined for plot often. One notable storyline is younger daughter Janet's photography professor insisting on perceiving her parents as strict, abusive Korean heretics that force tradition upon a submissive Janet. Thankfully, her nosy intrusion isn't excused and even satirized as she represents the coddling, terrible white mother contrasting Mr. Kim's well-meaning, stubborn conservatism. Mr. Kim doesn't waver in his resolve or negotiates away his parenting approach, even if most of the family tension comes from his estrangement with his older son Jung. There isn't an intentional disparaging of his Korean-ness, but the conviction that it creates complications for children and cultural outsiders who perceive it as strange and unfluctuating. 

    For all the light-heartedness and warmth the show emanates, the reliance on accent humor reveals the more significant attempting representation issues. The entire production may rest on the writing of two Korean-Canadian writers, but the execution revolves around the elder Kim parents performing a thickly-accented display of traditionalism to reinforce their characters as narrative obstacles to the younger generation. Appa as a character expects his younger daughter Janet to continue the family business with little consideration for her photographer ambitions, as well as shunning Jung for his criminal record. Mrs. Kim skirts around the periphery, popping in to either upend his supposed patriarchal authority by helping Jung, or voicing her approval through deep-set sighs when he scolds Janet. Amidst the humor, there are clear battle lines and alliances based on generational belonging, even if they shift every episode. Their accents act as a visceral reminder of difference, but rather than subvert the notion that they point to a stagnant, obstinate presence in their resettled country, the show initially chooses to lean on the assumption that accents among first-generation immigrants expose inherent foreignness. 

    It doesn't take much to wrap your head around the consequences of permanent foreignness, even without a considerable understanding of its role in Asian-American history. Rendered as foreign and eccentric, accent humor points to the active negation and reinforcement of a persistent ideological paradigm, one in which hinges on constructing Asians as outsiders taken advantage of within their newfound nation-state. They become, essentially, without presence or absent of active participation, disenfranchised but wholeheartedly scapegoated when the occasion presents itself. Kim's Convenience doesn't outright portray this historical dynamic and liminal position constructed for Asian-Americans— and it's not because the show functions in an entirely different historical and cultural context in Canada. The show challenges the objectification that occurs with accent humor, challenging the idea that Asian immigrants can only be recognized as either outsider or compliant models of assimilation and productivity. The comedy comes from their vivid presence consisting of negotiations and interactions in the Toronto neighborhood. I don't want to dismiss criticisms that their accents particularly grate because of the performance, put-on quality. Instead, I'll direct you to its complex content that takes pain to show nuance: a mixture of stern rebukes, flubbed pop-cultural misunderstandings, heartfelt parental advice, and keen observations about life. They may be fictional characters, but there is an apparent commitment to portraying them as complex and beyond the harmful binary of accent humor. There just might be some moments where the jokes are bit too on the nose in their insistence that he is unwavering in his ideals. Mr. Kim as a parent projects obstinacy, but the character trait does not come to define him.

    The compelling, ambient feeling of Columbus as a film is empowered by its misc-en-scene, with the camera framing the buildings in a manner that ensures its employment by the humans of Columbus reigns above architectural intention. Kogonada's staging fills the frame with thrumming energy as the leads' relationship deepens through interesting, intellectual, and introspective conversations. I especially liked how the drama and narrative structure are slow and sparse— the film's runtime feels quick and fleeting as if everything were leading up to a more significant resolution before it comes down to a single decision that rearranges the characters' lives entirely. The unfolding obstacles reveal themselves, not necessarily to create plot, but to expand the intimate examination of characters struggling with the present, their identity, the future, and their ambitions. Coming from different backgrounds, educations, experiences, and with a notable age gap, Casey and Jin first connect as circumstantial strangers and treat each other as such. As they move from guarded confessions to full, bracing honesty they couldn't manage before meeting each other, the film frames them in the architectural designs' structure. By living, breathing, and, most importantly, interacting, they fill the spaces with increased significance and create meaning from the architectural details that bring them spatially together. In his conversations with Casey, John Cho as Jin looks visibly more interested and approaches architecture with a renewed vigor. Through Casey's eyes, his tense, complicated relationship with architecture gets dismantled and separated from his tenser, estranged relationship with his legendary architect father. He suddenly finds himself able to engage with a field he formerly perceived as soul-sucking. 

    Historically, early 20th-century Asian immigration precluded the migration of familial networks, but as new immigration patterns emerged, so did the network of migrant chains. Immigration narratives are simultaneously complicated and enriched by domestic and parental responsibilities, providing pressure and support through the idea of migration legacies and sacrifices. Jin does not enjoy such a warm and dedicated relationship with his father. Here, the theme of family becomes decentralized within the Asian patriarchal familial unit. Jin serving as the older detached, solitary, cool figure traversing the globe with his flexible citizenship chooses a stationary life away from his father. His character is defined by, assumedly, his disrespect to the family unit and individualism that grains against culturally appropriate and accepted models of working tirelessly and silently for the onus of work and family. It then seems like an intentional demonstration of the dynamics between cultural duty, familial fidelity, and the complicated nexus connecting the two. But Jin as a character also doesn't seem burdened by the cultural implications, instead preferring to configuring them as an individual choice made on his terms. There are vague reflections of the professional-managerial image discussed in this week's article "Asians on the Rim," but it ultimately only informs his central internal conflict. Jin exists as a being displaying a wide scope of emotions and feelings of belonging. The most devastating moment between his father and him is entirely absent of the older patriarch: he shouts his sorrows in untranslated Korean as he shifts through his father's belonging and discovers a leftover notebook detailing the town's buildings. I don't think this moment reinforces the idea of linguistic boundaries or renders him a perpetual, incomprehensible foreigner. The moment acts as a simultaneous guarded defense, a glimpse of his character before he's unraveled by his self-pursued discovery of architectural and life meaning through human connection. Rather than avoiding, he stops to witness and then finally, becomes an involved participant as he chooses to remain in Columbus. In the scheme of the narrative dearth of Asian stories, the simplistic choice to have Jin neither contend with career success, hyper-masculinity, or the want to reject cultural tradition feels distinct and refreshingly seamless. He deals with the universal issues posed to us as our parents grow older, intercut with specific details of ethnicity, and the combined grace and vulnerability of an Asian character granted narrative depth. 

    As we end the term, the question of escapism or authenticity when it comes to representation lingers, if only because it seems like the only two options marginalized communities and audiences have laid out in front of them. Authenticity seems determined by a film's ability to address current social issues plaguing the represented community. For this reason, I felt that only A.K.A Don Bonus of the assigned films accomplished its goal to depict reality, even if it upholds the American Dream ideological propaganda used to narrow Cambodian refugees' self-subjectivities. On the other hand, escapism hinges on the spectator's contextual understanding of Hollywood's dearth of cultural representation. Blockbuster and indie films featuring diverse casts seem like revolutionary production decisions, but the content feels discursive and inscribed with compulsory support. It's often financial, with ticket sales and revenue correlating as economic evidence of mainstream audience interest. Internally, the awareness reinforces the critical gaze of subjectivity, knowing that the ethnic content fails in many aspects to represent the portrayed communities. You're then left with feeling as if it does a disservice to a race or entire ethnic communities to criticize the rare cinematic spectacle. 

    I don't have a definitive solution to the visual images offered as nostrums to actual discrimination actualized by history and racism and misrepresentations that exacerbate insidious ideological paradigms. If there's one sure thing, it's that the attempt has to be made at the very least. If one representation effort fails or perpetuates harm further, it shouldn't become the defining visual representation model for any group. Attempts at representation with the conscious inclusion of diverse faces and casts should not preclude audience input. It shouldn't depend on audience input and critical additions to strengthen the weak offerings of plastic representation, as coined by Melissa Phruksachart. It also feels odd to try to sum up the wide, complex web of connections between American history, the ideologies it propagates to increase military imperialism and capitalist development, and the subjugated positions of Asian-Americans and Asian immigrants within those systematic structures and media as an industry. Let this be my poor attempt: Asian-Americans inhabit a complicated liminal position within America's racial binary of whiteness/blackness. Essentializing models and images are manipulated nationally to exclude entire ethnic communities as immigrant outsiders or obedient productive citizens prove discrimination does not occur. In this sense, the role of visual media is to resist and subvert previous misconceptions and misrepresentations, but more importantly, to intricately synthesize and reconstruct the imposing and inextricable effect these systematic powers have had over self-subjectivities and real-life experiences. This ultimately shouldn't be an issue-- and yet, the industry struggles with comprehension -- but the fundamental understanding that Asian-American experience doesn't exist as a monolithic, universal narrative of difference cannot be ignored in the endeavor to represent.