Our films and programs are overrun with clichés. To find some of them, let’s start with one of the most popular television comedies ever created: I Love Lucy. Its reruns are religiously watched by millions everyday, not only in the States, but also in many countries all over the world.
The series also starred Cuban-born Desiderio Arnaz. One would have thought that he could have given us a good ethnic idea of how Cubans really were. Wrong.
With all his money, power, popularity, know-how and savvy, Mr. Arnaz, acclaimed for introducing important innovations in our television industry — like using more than one camera on live programs — couldn’t rid the show of simplistic clichés about Cubans. He even allowed writers (directors?) to use Mexican instead of Cuban expressions to conform with the confused image Americans had of Latin Americans.
Desi himself did it — quite often. In one episode, while telling Little Ricky, the bedtime story “Red Riding Hood” he described the food in Red’s basket as “tortilla, burritos, tamales.” Desi Arnaz knew well he was talking about Mexican food. He also knew that Mexican food was (and is) practically unknown in Cuba. But he had to do it, because those were the words his American audience understood at that time, not frijoles negros, plátanos maduros, etc.
Other examples of linguistic mélange in I Love Lucy occurred often. Ricky’s mother spoke with a Mexican accent and so did his relatives in Cuba during Lucy’s turbulent visit, including his fat, cigar-smoking uncle, who, besides his thick accent, also exhibited a distinct Mexican mannerism.
U.S. Americans don’t notice this, but the other Americans do. “They can’t tell us apart!” they say. Racial stereotyping may be seen in the same series. Lucy once said to a then color-blind audience that Ricky’s big eyes were brown — as Spanish eyes are expected to be — in reality his eyes were green.
Stereotyping ethnic groups is common on television as it was in the movies. The roles of Indians were played by whites, for years and years. Latin Americans were frequently played by Jews, Italians or just by any dark-haired person at hand. Was it carelessness when looking for actors? Was it prejudice?
If there were no professional Indian performers, why didn’t the Hollywood scout for raw talent and train them, as in the case of white actors and actresses? Our inability to distinguish physical differences in our own people blows the mind of audiences abroad. We may have an excuse for not being able to clearly understand foreigners, but ourselves?
Hispanics, in a way, were lucky. In spite of the fact of some Italians and Jews often played the role of Mexicans, Cubans and other Latin Americans, Spanish-speaking characters were somehow privileged compared to other ethnic groups and nationals. Spanish characters spoke Spanish, deplorable Spanish, but Spanish. Performers, depicting other national groups, seldom spoke their languages.
This goes on. Television Germans don’t speak German, Japanese don’t speak Japanese — they mumble nonsensical gobbledygook. Even the Chinese and the Japanese accents are often confused (and the rule of thumb is so easy: Japanese can’t pronounce the L, Chinese can’t pronounce the R.) Still the Chinese champion Felix convinced not to wrestle in one episode of The Odd Couple spoke English with Japanese accent.
Do you remember Get Smart’s Dietrich (not Barney Miller’s Dietrich, whose German was real) or Kommandant Klink in Hogan’s Heroes? What about Harvey Korman’s German and Tim Conway’s Japanese in the Carol Burnett’s Show? Yes they sounded funny — to us.
Sometimes, the language or the ethnic group is completely fictional, as in Latka’s case in Taxi or the cousin in Perfect Strangers. This is imaginative and funny — not offensive while covering a wider range, because it applies to almost any new immigrant.