After the Bechdel Test, I propose the Shukla Test for race in film

It’s not often that Ranjit is at the pub having a universal experience with Steve, Bob, Andy, Joe and Paul. While Steve, Bob, Andy, Joe and Paul have their universal experience, Ranjit is off somewhere worrying about being brown. Probably because of his j

The most racially diverse film I’ve seen all year is Fast and Furious 6. The film is notable for two things: one is the sight of The Rock doing an air head-butt in slow motion to take out the bad guy. The other is that the main cast comprises people from every race and ethnicity and at no point do they resort to crude racial stereotypes.

Sadly, in 2013, that fact is actually amazing. A rare sight to see.

The second best film I’ve seen all year is the wonderfully bonkers The World’s End, full of jokes and warmth and frenetic sci-fi-infused action. There isn’t a single person of colour in this film.

So what? you might think. So what? I’m not a racist. I don’t see race. Especially when it comes to art. Especially when it comes to the representation of comedy and drama and action onscreen. What do I care what colour the actors are? But if everyone who claimed to be colourblind really was, then we wouldn’t be seeing the whitewashed productions we do, again and again and again.

The lack of representation of ethnic minorities in film and television isn’t, of course, a new problem. Things are changing – but slowly, and with an abundance of people of colour cast in roles that centre around their ethnicity. Luther and Hustle have successfully shown that you can be cast in roles where your ethnicity isn’t a character trait or an elephant in the room, but a matter of fact barely ever referred to. Nevertheless, it’s rare that you get more than just one person of colour interacting with another on a matter which doesn’t concern their race.

Someone once wrote of one of my short stories in a review that it was ‘an amorphous mess of Indian names’. The implication was that, had I gone with more traditionally British names like Steve, Bob, Andy, Joe and Paul, he would have liked the short story more. The same reviewer then ended his piece by commenting that despite the fact the characters were Indian, there was a recognisable universal experience - again, the implication being that usually, Indians don’t have universal experiences; they have Indian ones.

It has occurred to me many times in the past that everyone in books, films or television is white unless they have to do something brown. It’s not often that Ranjit is at the pub having a universal experience with Steve, Bob, Andy, Joe and Paul. While Steve, Bob, Andy, Joe and Paul have their universal experience, Ranjit is off somewhere worrying about being brown. Probably because of his job or his parents.

Leaving to one side for the moment whether the film is any good, let’s take a look at the recent After Earth, a Will/Jaden Smith movie about a space detective and his scaredy-cat son. A film like this is rare. Two black actors, in the major roles, converse with each other on issues entirely removed from race: they talk about fear, survival and weird goofy space creatures. Race is, unusually, not at the forefront of these characters’ personas. They manage to achieve an entire narrative arc without a single moment defining either one by race. That’s why the Fast and Furious franchise, despite its downfalls, is commendable for showcasing a diverse cast who never resort to a racial stereotype as a character tic.

As for recognition for their performances, actors from ethnic minorities continue to lose out. 2002 was the first year in the history of the Oscars that two black actors – Halle Berry and Denzel Washington – won Best Actress and Best Actor respectively. This demonstrates the fact that it takes longer for people of colour, once they’ve cut through to the mainstream, to achieve validation from their peers. Validation from fans can seem even more remote: for every Morpheus or Django or Alex Cross, there is an online furore at actors in The Hunger Games or Thor or the Bond franchise changing the ethnicity of a character. Sadly, there is clearly an enduring perception that with the change in ethnicity must come a change in character, suddenly transforming them into a black Norse God or a mixed race CIA agent, not Heimdall and Felix Leiter, performing functional (white) roles like being the gatekeeper of the bifrost or expert on international espionage.

A common complaint from producers who whitewash their films is that they don’t want to ‘seem tokenistic’ by inserting a brown character ‘just for the sake of it’. The sad thing about that type of tokenism is that it presupposes that everyone is white, so to have anyone ethnic would look out of the ordinary, deliberately tokenistic, rather than entirely normal. And what exactly is the problem with so-called conscious tokenism, if it means that we can break down the barriers of colour casting, of affording roles to people that have been specifically delineated as ‘racial’? What TV needs is more characters like Tom Haverford in Parks and Recreation, who is more beholden to swag than ever having a conversation about his race. Or Kurt from Teachers, who was just Kurt, a selfish fool who got himself in bigger messes every time he opened his mouth, played by an Indian guy. This is never referenced.

I call for a test to be applied – (originally called The Shukla Test - or, if you think that's arrogant, we could call it The Apu Test) – akin to the Bechdel Test for gender. I want to see a film where two ethnic minorities talk to each other for more than five minutes about something other than race.

Tell me the films you’ve seen this year that pass the test… and pass it as well as Fast and Furious 6.

Fast & Furious 6: one of the most racially diverse films I've seen all year. Image: Getty
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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times