Saturday, November 22, 2014

Research Updates and some notes on Imada, Aloha America

More recent research updates on the Hawai'i project: I snagged a couple of interesting historical documents from Northwestern’s Transportation Library (which is as awesome as it sounds) that I plan to comb through in the next couple of days—in particular, I’m intrigued by a report from 1963 called “The Future Growth of Hawaiian Tourism and its Impact on the State and on the Neighbor Islands,” which provides a snapshot of the statistical details and trend conclusions involved during the time period that is both the larger focus, and culmination, of the larger historical narrative I’m charting. One passage that jumped out at me when I skimmed through it on Thursday was:

Our first recommendation is that Hawaii must recognize that compared with other tourist areas it has had virtually a free ride in the field of promotion. The history of the islands, their place in literature, World War II and Statehood, all gave Hawaii free publicity. But, now that Hawaii is a modern developed state . . . the free ride is over. (69)

Among other things, is this a recognition that a particular moment in Hawai'i's popularity had already passed--and related to that, was its popularity less a result of shrewd promotion that I might have initially assumed?

I’ve also been snooping around the Entertainment Industry Magazine Archives recently, which has revealed a lot of useful documents, primarily from Variety, about production backstories on Hawaii Five-O. There’s a lot more media titles to look at, of course, but the archive is so exhaustive that I’ve had to narrow it down to just that title for now (esp. since the show ran for a dozen seasons).

That said, the materials I’ve found so far are incredibly interesting (such as CBS hosting a party around `69-`70 for affiliates in Hawai’i, which included a tour of H5O sets), but I’m not sure if it will ultimately be of much use to the specific project I’m working in. As a starting point, I’m more interested in how Hawai’i and mainland film and TV (along with invested companies like United Airlines) negotiated back and forth with how to present, and promote, the islands—something that hasn’t really come up in Hollywood trades so far.

The larger project is about how these mainland images of the islands negotiated questions of tourism, racial identities, Hawaiian heritage and military culture for the post-WWII generation of presumably mostly white, mostly middle/upper-middle class Americans. But what I’m trying to chart now is the backstory, so to speak, of those narratives—why certain places, events, businesses, etc., may have been foregrounded more so than others, and why. This is probably something I’m going to have to go to Hawai’i tourism-related archives to find.

Also, I’m increasingly thinking it will be more of a reception study than I originally planned, since the claims I want to make about how it spoke to that generation need ideally to be grounded in strong reception evidence of the time (well, it doesn’t have to be, but I’ve grown increasingly annoyed by media “historians” who make such claims about the past without any hard proof beyond speculation). The problem then becomes, however, how to find those kinds of sources in periodicals (i.e., “why did audiences like Hawaii Five-O for so long?”)—Song of the South responses were easy to find in print because it was always so controversial, but I’m not sure the type of material I’m looking at now will lend itself to that visibility.

  *   *   *

Anyway, I’m probably getting sidetracked a little, but the further I go into the reading list and other forms of preliminary research, the more I get a specific sense of where I want to go, research-wise, and the challenges involved in getting there. The focal point of this post, of course, is to provide an update on the reading list—the past few weeks, I have been reading Adria Imada’s Aloha America: Hula Circuits throughAmerica (2012).

Of the first three books on my list, this is by far the closest content-wise to my own project—primarily in so far as it deals in large part with the ambivalent ideals of “Hawai’i” as they circulated in the mainland US imagination before, during and after Pearl Harbor, and the first (and one of the few I’ve found in general) to deal directly with film—or any other media for that matter. Beyond that, however, there probably isn’t a great deal of overlap (which to be honest is kind of a relief—given my initial anxieties when I read the description and skimmed through the pages).

One way to see this impressively researched book is as something of a first-person account of the real life, so-called “Hula Girls” who have maintained such a visual presence in US popular culture for over a century now, as well as a fascinating historical account of how that image came to assume the prominence it has today—and not just from the standpoint of the tourism industry’s aggressive promotion, but from the perspective of the ambivalent performers who literally embodied it (Imada also, however, has an entire chapter dedicated to Hawaiian men, especially musicians, who also attempted to navigate the challenges of performing “Hawaiian” for the colonialist/touristic audience).

Imada’s book concerns the specific roles that hula dancers played in the negotiation of Hawaiian heritage’s resilience in the face of colonization in the 19th Century, and then tourism and statehood in the 20th. Following that idea, Imada’s research is singular—drawing on countless archival materials (“English-Language newspapers from the islands and the United States, Hawaiian language newspapers, military films and photographs, oral histories and guidebooks,” 21) to document intimate biographical accounts of what these performers’ actual day to day lives were like, as well as the broader challenges of using hula practices as a potential site of resistance, or at least alternative readings, within the restrictive, hegemonic boundaries of America’s colonialist and militouristic presence.

What also makes Aloha America intriguing is the author’s rather transparent autobiographical perspective, situating her own personal experiences as a dancer within the longer historical struggle of po’e hula (“hula practitioners”)—a continual struggle to re-define Hawaiian identity within the commodified limitations of the islands’ infrastructure today (the book also echoes Legendary Hawai’i in so far as it fits a recent trend in scholarship on the islands that switches away from a blanket critique of US imperialism and towards the ways in which the local native population found ways historically to resist colonialism, rather than be seen perhaps as passive victims).

A majority of the book focuses on hula practices primarily on the Mainland as opposed to Hawai'i) before, during and in the decades after the annexation of Hawai’i at the end of the 19th Century. Although traditional hula as a tribute to the Gods had been banned by the white missionaries who first came to the islands for over a century by that point—as sacrilegious to the Christian faith (and as too sexually transgressive)—Americans showed a renewed interest in hula as part of a larger fascination with the islands and its histories in the wake of annexation. Meanwhile, rich Hawaiian notions of hula and “aloha” became re-framed as a superficial means for mainland audiences to imagine a friendly mutuality—“an imagined intimacy” (11)—between Hawaiians and Americans that worked to mask the many troubling truths of colonialism.

Still, within this development was the opportunity for islanders, such as hula performers, to affect how Hawai’i would be situated within the US imaginary and its monolithic vision of imperialism:

My interest is how they managed to seize their time on and off stage for their own discrepant practices and desires. These unpredictable and occasionally insurgent disruptions—while not necessarily oppositional to colonialism—nonetheless disorganize empire. (17)

She then traces numerous opportunities for hula performance, and their political and economic contexts, from the royal courts of Honolulu prior to the American overthrow to the hula circuits that migrated through the Mainland and Europe (such as world’s fairs) before and after.

In the second half of Aloha America is probably where I find some points of intersection with my own project—primarily, the ways in which these performers by the 1930s may have played just as vital a role in the collective US vision of Hawai’i as the more visible mass media of film, radio and print. As I talked about in the Shaws reading, one thing I did not fully appreciate when going back into this research was how much the islands—largely for economic reasons pertaining to unequal issues such as trade tariffs—pushed for statehood decades before the 1950s (it was my understanding that the push to sell Hawai’I as a tourist destination in the 1930s was more about the long-term economic unsustainability of the older plantation economy—which no doubt was also an inter-related factor). 

Added to this, then, is the idea that the ubiquitous “live” performances of hula on the mainland (for politicians but also in the context of countless Hawaiian-themed nightclubs) was also a considerable part of this unsuccessful political push—and something which created that kind of direct “imagined intimacy” between Hawai’i and the mainland in a way that audio and visual media of the time could not re-create.

On that last note, the importance of cinema in Aloha America is probably the sole letdown here. While the book promotes film texts as one of several primary sources it draws on, there is really only one chapter dedicated to such textual analysis—and one which limits itself almost exclusively to a single US govt propaganda film produced during World War II: Luau, a Native Feast (1944). That said, it is an impressively thorough reading, showing how this movie carefully constructed a vision of intimacy and reciprocity between sailor and Hula girl, in a way that heightened the bonds between islands and mainland at the crucial time of conflict, while also blocking off an recognition of the military’s central colonial role historically, including being the de facto political presence, of the bouts of civic unrest and violence in Oahu, and even of other racial identities (such as the massive local population of Japanese descent and the considerable influx of African-American soldiers during WWII). 

Still, this narrow part feels like something of a missed opportunity (particularly in how it glosses over the ambivalent experiences of the US soldiers themselves with "Aloha" during all the Pacific conflict of the 20th Century)--a more comprehensive account of how the military and perhaps Hollywood (such as Abbott and Costello’s In the Navy, an earlier depiction of soldiers and hula) presented hula shows and luaus during WWII might have yielded some deeper claims about representation—though I recognize that the project is focused first and foremost on the perspective of the po’e hula. In that regard a more sustained look at the “performances” given in this particular propaganda film would offer a glimpse into the kinds of “discrepant readings” that Amada’s searching for (such as a bored hula performer hiding off in the corner of the frame). Stepping back and looking at a more diverse selection of media titles might risk inadvertently presenting the hula girls as impersonal and interchangeable all over again--exactly the stereotype she's working to correct.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Drive-Ins and the Digital Transition

A very modest piece I wrote--sparked by the recent closing of more drive-ins, as winter (among other things) approaches--is now up at Antenna. I use the occasion to revisit some broader ideas which will hopefully be the centerpiece of the digital cinema project.

This is, I just realized, only the second time I've published something related to that (after 2012's "I'll (Always) Be Back" essay)--though the first to deal explicitly with the central idea of film nostalgia.

To clarify one point in the essay--the digital transition to DCPs didn't directly squeeze out the Keno theatre, as it as others. It just significantly affected the drive-in theatre's bottom line, as 35mm prints became increasingly rare, at a time when the land's owners are anxious to redevelop--thus giving the Keno significantly less leverage in negotiations.

My sense is the realty in question has wanted to re-develop for years, and the prohibitive costs of the digital transition finally forced the issue: why spend all that money to upgrade when the future is so uncertain?

Friday, November 7, 2014

Notes on Bacchilega, “Legendary Hawai’i and the Politics of Place”

The next step in my research was to look over Bacchilega’s Legendary Hawai'i and the Politics of Place: Tradition, Translation and Tourism (2007) as part of a reading list I put together. It was not quite the book I was expecting (in retrospect, I thought I read somewhere that it engaged more with film and television). This is not at all a criticism of the book, mind you—only an admission upfront that I probably won’t have as much to say about it as the other Hawai'i tourism-related books I’m looking at this days. The book is of great use to scholars thinking about the preservation and protestation of folklore construction, particularly among historically oppressed groups and other issues involving colonial/postcolonial contexts.

That said, there is still much of value in the ideas here as I think through my own project. Legendary Hawai'i focuses specifically on how the islands’ rich history of tradition and heritage was revisited and reimagined by the mainland in the immediate wake of the 1898 annexation by the United States. This fascination with Hawaiian lore, the author writes, “delegitimize[d] Hawaiian narratives and traditions and at the same time constructs them as representative of Hawaiian ‘culture’” (6).  The goal then was to superficially pay tribute to Hawai'i’s history and legends as part of a larger fascination with the islands which annexation sparked at the turn of the century—but in a way which also distorted, belittled and re-mystified them as perhaps little more than old superstitions at odds with America’s emergent sense of modernity (we also maybe hear echoes hear of Shoat and Stam’s notion of condescending racism—a canonical idea I wish I would have foregrounded in the Disney book more and will hopefully do here). 

All of this centrals around the useful notion of “Legendary Hawai'i” which refers not to Hawai'i’s own self-representation of its traditions per se but to “a space constructed for non-Hawaiians (and especially Americans) to experience, via Hawaiian legends, a Hawai'i that is exotic and primitive while beautiful and welcoming” (5). In this regard, there is an affinity with my project (though the timelines don’t match as I’m looking at the time period between the 1930s and 1970s) in so far as I’m also thinking as much about the construction of the islands in the Mainland Imaginary as with the islands themselves—though the latter is certainly sometimes complicit in the formation of the former.

Legendary Hawai'i—and not simply Hawai'i’s natural features—is the antecedent and supplement of the “hula girl,” the backdrop against which her performance is loosely placed and justified as “culture” even when it is commodified “entertainment for sale. (18)

Likewise, the author is also careful throughout the book to note the ways in which the local population has reappropriated some aspects of this “legendary Hawai'i” as a means to complicate the simple distinction between colonizer and colonized.

Some other takeaways concern the importance of tourism in the construction of this legendary Hawai'i at an earlier point in time than I has assumed previously, and the importance of this Hawaii as a visual construction. These become, as the book smartly reminds us, another form of translation as Hawai'i is mediated through both photographic and tourist discourses—both of which are complicit in the post-annexation colonialist agendas. I’ve been trying hard to remind myself that music was such an important part of the islands' appeal early on that I may have neglected the early ubiquity of its visual power as well. 

The very images of Hawai'i’s natural beauty—this “landscape vision” (32)—becomes equated with its folkloric tradition—wherein both serve a mutually reaffirming role that romanticizes the islands and its people (who are curiously absent from such representations) as reassuringly pre-modern. This visual construction of the islands pre-dates the ubiquity of cinema by the mid-20th Century and stretches back to the still photography of late 19th century to a far greater extent than I realized (it’s also a reminder to not overlook other media besides radio and film in the early construction of Hawai'i as a premiere tourist destination—but this then raises another variation on the big question which has dogged me during the initial phases of this project: where to even begin tracking, in this case, Hawai'i’s presence in US print media during the 1930s?).

Also, finally, I wonder what intersection there might be between this idea of “legendary Hawai'i” from the turn of the century with later representations of Hawaiian history such as Hawaii (1966) and The Hawaiians (1970), as well as the Tiki pastiche of stuff like The Brady Brunch (1971), along with other theatrical, non-theatrical and televisual accounts of the islands’ history that emerges in the wake of WWII and then later discussions of statehood?

Friday, October 24, 2014

Notes on Daws, Shoal of Time: A History of the Hawaiian Islands

I did some research last week at the UW-Madison archives on Walter Mirisch’s papers concerning the movie, Hawaii (1966), which didn’t initially turn up the much of value to me, other than realizing that the film was originally intended to cover the Missionary period of the islands, which is does, up through the annexation by US, and culminating, as I understand it, with Pearl Harbor.  That’s crazy ambition—eventually a lot of the material about late 19th Century, including the annexation, was put in the follow-up, Hawaiians (1970), but the 20th Century stuff was cut altogether. One possible conclusion from the project’s original plans is not only the centrality of Dec. 7th to the Mainland’s collective vision of the islands, but also how much of a blur everything before it was to America—seeing as how there was this assumption as I see it that all this colonial history could be cramped into one three hour epic. More rewarding from my time in Madison is that there are actually a lot more papers on Hawai’i in the film and TV archives there, that I will have to return to and explore when I have more time.

Anyway, in trying to jump start my Hawai’i project, I’ve been working on a reading list of sorts on the subject. First up was Gavan Daws’ The Shoal of Time: A History of the Hawaiian Islands (1968). I had read much of this epic account a couple of years ago—this time I revisited it only with an eye towards its account of the islands from roughly the 1930s to 1960s (generally, the timeframe of my project). I decided to start with this book because I wanted a general overview of the history itself before looking at more specialized and theoretical perspectives on the same period.

Here are some of the interesting observations I took away from it:

  • Most of Daws’ account of the period overall places a heavy emphasis on labor histories, which is useful in and of itself, but also because of this part of Hawai’i’s recent history is predictably absent in the Mainland’s representation of the islands in film and TV (the only exception I know of for now is Big Jim McClain [1952], an amusing John Wayne spy film which of course equates the labor movement in Hawai’i with the spread of communism in America—a period of witch-hunting in Hawai’i that Dawes also does a good job of documenting).
  • Relatedly, the book seems to suggest that a lot of the rhetoric around communism in the islands during the 1950s was related more to stopping the Statehood movement—as opponents would often raise the idea of inviting an openly communist friendly outpost into the Union. Also, another big obstacle to statehood, which I already knew about, was openly racist factions in the US which did not want a state which wasn’t dominated by white people in the Union—and, even worse, abhorred the idea of Asian-Americans in Congress.
  • The statehood movement began in earnest with the 1930s—as the industrialists became increasingly nervous about not having control over how they were being taxed and other forms of economic discrimination, and realized they needed more stable political clout as a state of self-representation, rather than a territory completely at the mercy of the federal government. This is interesting to me for two reasons: 1) the same powerful few initially pushing for statehood would eventually find themselves opposite a rapidly growing local population using the possibilities of statehood to gain increasing political power to combat those same powerful few. And 2) this is also the time when Hawai’i begins to rebrand itself as a tourist destination (hence the starting point of my project) instead of mainly a manufacturer of pineapples and sugar. I had always assumed that this shift had to do with the unsustainability of the plantation economy (which is probably did), but hadn’t previously thought much about how the question of statehood might have been at play here too.
  • This to me is the one big absence in Daws’ account—the book doesn’t talk at all about Hawai’i’s tourism industry until the very end, positing it as a distinctly post-WWII phenomenon that really didn’t fully materialize until the 1960s. I don’t dispute this, but I envision at least a third of my book as filling in the gaps of what happened prior to the 1960s that laid the foundation for this undeniable explosion of popularity.
  • The book does a good job of explaining how Hawai’i slowly and awkwardly became a model—however illusory—of racial harmony to the mainland, despite a long history of racial tensions. Again, much of the island’s diversity was the direct result of labor issues, and the exploitation of immigrant workers on the plantations—but this eventually had the effect of creating a massive, if delicate, pool of political power in opposition to the white Republican plantation owners, and the “Big Five” the select group of wealthy industrialists who ran the islands from the time of annexation (1898) up to WWII.
  • The attack of Pearl Harbor, of course, changed everything—for one, it planted the seeds of statehood in the rest of the US by reminding the mainland of the islands’ central strategic, and symbolic, value to the US. For other, though, it essentially ended the Big Five’s economic and political reign when the islands became quickly overrun by a flood of new investors and businesses in some way directly, or indirectly, supporting the war effort. But it also brought to a head the delicate issues of race in America, and racism’s hypocrisy as it became difficult to untangle the racial diversity of the islands in the wake of conflict with the Japanese in a way that was less clear than the older entrenched racial hierarchies of the mainland. “To intern one-third of the [local] population was impossible” (347). In short, it forced Americans to think about the presence of “diversity” to perhaps an unprecedented degree—even while, as mentioned above, Hawai’i was historically hardly a model of true racial harmony (though, of course, relative to the Mainland at the time, it kind of was).
  • On that note, the islands’ reputation for such harmony was probably rooted first and foremost in political ends—the wide mix of different types of Asians, Hawai’ians, and Europeans needed to find common political ground in order to have any political power in the eve of statehood (and Daws also makes the claim that the foundation for this was first laid a decade or two earlier by the islands’ union organizers, who first saw the value of uniting around class more so than race if anything was to be achieved).
  • Also, after statehood, Gov. Jack Burns was reportedly an active proponent of the idea of Hawai’i as a model of racial diversity for the rest of the country—an important discourse which shaped a lot of Mainland media during the 1960s.
  • A good account of the Massie Affair, which seems to me to be the one structuring absence in Hawai’i’s complicated historical relationship with both racial tensions and the US’s military long presence—but also a good marker of how the islands’ changed in the US's collective imagination from a lawless, racially dangerous frontier pre-WWII to a model of racial harmony after the war.