Netflix resembles Forrest Gump's box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get.
Olivier Assayas' "Clean" starring Maggie Cheung and "The Italian," a Russian production, arrived at the same time so I watched them in turn. The two films are very different, only bound together by their European settings and use of multiple languages. However, both are about children immersed in the dilemma of finding and adopting their real parents. In 'Clean," Cheung is the proverbial delinquent parent, caring only about herself and her happiness and demonstrating little regard for the welfare of her son, who appropriately dislikes her, until she realizes that her flesh and blood is the only reason for her to continue living. This may seem both trite and overwrought but the execution is much more subtle than one would imagine. In "The Italian," the fortunate winner of the "adoptive parent lottery" decides to give up the prospect of living in sunny Italy with two warm-hearted parents in favor of finding his own mother -- and just as I was ready to burst into tears, the ending was happy, although not without much brutality exhibited by the Russian adoption racket.
Adoption has played a strange role in my life. I am not adopted nor do I have any adopted individuals in my known family circle. However, along with moderate feminism and ethnic harmony, I have championed the rights of children to comfortable and happy lives. I still believe that prospective parents should earn parenting licenses, with requisite classes in basic childcare and psychology. If we must obtain licenses for driving and marriage, I do not see the difference with parenting, a much greater commitment than either getting behind the wheel or agreeing to live with another adult. My mother has always mused that if I was not pursuing a career in higher education, I would be a preschool teacher, so my connection to children is cemented in my regard for their well-being.
Moreover, I have met many persons who were adopted, heard stories of successful and unsuccessful adoptions, and been deeply influenced by films like Annie that portray orphanages in dark, unflattering lights. "The Italian" depicts an orphanage that is relatively functional. Despite all the attendant miseries, all the residents care about one another, and even the director shows genuine compassion. Nevertheless, I still wish that all orphans could be placed with loving families. There is the dilemma of whether this system would breed more irresponsible and indifferent parents, who would feel naught a pang of guilt of disposing their child as much as they would drop off clothes at a charity store.
But back to the perfect world, I have considered adoption myself for many reasons. There is the motivation of political outrage that female children are routinely discarded by parents hoping for male progeny. There is also the selfish hope that my adopted children would have better vision and milder temperaments than me -- or in other words, I fear the revenge of genetics in the next generation. Fortunately, I have decided that any progeny I produce can resemble my Wiser Half, but my social conscience is not settled. If any child appeared on my doorstep, I wouldn't think twice about raising him or her.
What has gone through my mind, though, is how the child would feel. Would a Chinese adoptee feel unhappy that her mother is not Chinese? Would I be able to provide the "right" cultural environment for a child of another racial or ethnic background? And of course, would he or she always be discontent about being raised by strangers instead of "real parents"?
Both "Clean" and "The Italian" have persuaded me that "real parents" are so important that many adoptions may be futile. Perhaps there is some "real parent" urge that never goes away in children raised by non-parents, even if they are other relatives such as grandparents. Forgiveness, attraction, and affection also seem much more easily given by children to their own mother and father than even the kindest substitutes. Therefore, one must think even more gravely about having a child and of surviving until the child reaches adulthood and presumably has other emotional resources available (e.g. spouse, pet, child).
I have two cats who originally belonged solely to Wiser Half. Both are six and obviously adopted. They did not come from their natural feline parents, however, but from the halfway house (animal shelter) that cared for them when they were separated from their original residences. In one case, our cat decided to leave of his own accord but in the other, the first owners washed their hands clean of any responsibility. I still wonder if both cats, S and S, think of their old homes and former parents. It has been four years for me and six for Wiser Half, and "parenting" the cats is an edifying (and exhausting) experience. Yet a part of me acts as the moral guardian, pondering whether we are doing our utmost to make them happy and comfortable. I would like to think that we are doing at least as well as their "real parents," feline or human, and that when they reach Cat Heaven in some distant future, they will be proud to say that they enjoyed their mortal existence in our household.
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