There is much to be said when filmmakers from outside a given community take it upon themselves to be inclusive, and to partake of the struggles of that community in the true spirit of forging links, and fighting for equality. However, for the most part, historically and contemporarily, filmmakers from outside a given community often use the cultural materials of that community as fodder for their image-making ventures. The Burning Season is no different. Pitched on the one hand as a journey about 'any' woman by the director, the film has also been described as providing an introduction to India and South Asian cultures by its producer. These contradictory viewpoints not only show a lack of synergy between the director, Harvey Crossland, and producer, Amarjeet Rattan, but also insert themselves in the film itself. Unfortunately, neither Crossland nor Rattan gave any significance to what their film signified in the Canadian context—a context marred by inequality and racism, a context whose defining features for people of colour continue to be exclusion, exoticization and negation, where the currency of these forms of violence are legitimized by the generation and circulation of stereotypes [see Armour, 1984; Bolaria and Li, 1988]. The Burning Season marks the latest stage in the continuous cycle of appropriation and stereotyping of South Asian cultures.

As a generic film about any woman's journey and struggles, the film departs from other works that deal with South Asian realities and existence in Western societies (e.g. Lonely in America, Sam and Me, and Masala which are all male-focused). However, the generic label is a myth. For if this were any woman's journey, then why is the woman in this instance South Asian? Why could Crossland not have limited his examination to white women? One could argue that Crossland, by extending himself to embrace South Asian realities, was being more inclusive. Well then, if that is the case, why does this South Asian woman's journey take place in India? Since the story begins in Canada, why does it not remain in Canada? South Asian cultures have a fairly lengthy history in Canada —about a century at the least, and further, have developed fairly large communities within the country. What is most offensive about Crossland's film is not that it deals with a South Asian woman's journey, but rather how it constructs South Asian realities.

In essence, the film is very much like that of The City of Joy, where the central character seeks to find himself in an exotic and different environment—in Indian villages and slums. There he is able to decipher who and what he is by the marked contrast between himself and the 'others' Of course, 'they' share the core aspects of humanity—compassion, but that's where it ends. The contrasts between 'self and 'other' are predicated on and derive their meaning from relations between 'rich' and 'poor', 'civilized' and 'savage' [Said, 1979].

The Burning Season takes this colonial theme even further, and compounds it by having the central character, who is of South Asian origin, 'return' to her homeland. To be South Asian means, within the context of the film, that one identifies with the whole of the Indian subcontinent. Regional differences are negated in the favour of creating a homogenized India. This brings to mind Hollywood's favourite technique—that of creating a generic character. As Bataille and Silet note with reference to Hollywood's treatment of the First Nations:

"The movie man did what thousands of years of social evolution could not do; Hollywood produced the homogenized Native American, devoid of tribal characteristics and regional differences. As long as the actor wore fringed pants and spoke with a halting accent, he was Indian" [1980:40].

While The Burning Season does not go that far, in the sense that it at least distinguishes Brahmins from the Rajputs, it nonetheless serves to create an erroneous impression—that we are all the same. Hence, it is easy for a South Asian Brahmin to go to Rajasthan (at least that is where I think the story takes place), and be integrated in a Rajput princely household without any real conflicts emerging from the different regional and religious affiliations. We are all the same, it would seem.

Nevertheless, as generic Indians, we can be used to communicate a generic message— what Crossland describes as being "the difficult journey we must all take to gain control of our lives." This of course totally negates our differences, both internally as well as externally —between the journey that confronts a white woman and the complexities that compound the life of an immigrant woman of colour.¹ For those who would think otherwise, women of colour earn less on the average than their white counterparts (see the 1993), and further, experience far more difficulties even accessing social services. But that aside, I cannot for the life of me see an anglo-Canadian woman travelling back to England to 'find herself which is in effect what happens to the central female character in The Burning Season. Fleeing from her silent husband (he doesn't say a word throughout the film), who has a low sperm count, Sanda goes to India following the footsteps of her Rajput prince and lover. There she remarries again (even though she is already married) into the Rajput family. She returns to Canada without her lover, a liberated woman who has forsaken the tight, restrictive cultural codes that once constrained her.

There is a double-twist to the way in which Crossland presents South Asian cultures. Both the Rajasthani culture and the imported Brahmin hindu culture are portrayed as being oppressive; yet the imported and immigrant variant has the defining feature of being brutal, almost barbaric, whereas the former Rajasthani culture is positioned as a 'genuine article,' allowing far more mobility and latitude to its women. For instance, the Rajput Prince, Patwant (played by Ayub Khan Din) has a strong and forceful mother, who derives her strength from 'knowing her place'. In contrast, Sanda's Brahmin mother-in-law is a weak and pitiful creature, who for the most part, stays silent and watches her daughter-in-law from the sidelines. Similarly, Sanda's father-in-law is a patriarch who believes that women should be kept at home and subjugated. Patwant's father, in contrast, is a kindly old man. While immigrant South Asian cultures are problematized as being tradition-bound and backward, there is no recognition within this film, that traditions themselves can serve as anchors providing continuity in the flux of a diasporic existence, an existence marked by a history of negation and exclusion.

The notion that the home culture is a 'genuine article' and hence is possessing of humanity and compassion stands in sharp contrast to the immigrant and imported culture which is viewed as an aberration— the aberration perpetuated by the patriarchal structures inherent within that culture. Sanda is able to rid herself of the yoke of this immigrant culture by showing her henna painted hands to her father-in-law. The henna designs mark her as Rajput nobility. She thus pits one cultural framework against another in order to escape them both. Yet at no time does Crossland provide any contextual background to intercaste relations and differences. Moreover, one wonders what this gesture means in the larger context of male-female relations. Does being a member of nobility guarantee one protection from male violence? I think not, particularly as the recent research demonstrates that women across class boundaries suffer from domestic violence.

By far the most insulting aspect of The Burning Season is its core material—the various stereotypes that are used to compose a larger one-dimensional image of South Asian cultures and South Asian women [see Parmar, 1984]. Hence, what maybe one woman's journey, is in effect composed of various signs; signs that are so well known in popular culture and imagination that they evoke a chain of associations simply by virtue of their taken-for-grantedness. These signs construct an image of South Asian women as oppressed by a rigid, backward and traditional culture. Rather than locate that oppression in the unequal relations that prevail in most societies (the dominant Canadian society included), Crossland's film situates it within an inherently oppressive cultural framework. This simply reinforces a larger stereotype—one that crowds TV screens and is circulated in press accounts of South Asian cultures.² See for instance, Doreen Indra's (1979; 1981) account of the coverage of South Asians in the Vancouver press. Also see Sunera Thobani's (1991; 1992) account of representations of South Asian women in The Vancouver Sun. Naturally if a cultural system is deemed to be oppressive, what other choice is there for women except to leave it?

The ramifications of these kind of representations cannot be under-estimated. For those in positions of power, representations of South Asian cultures as barbaric, backward and traditional, and of South Asian men as wimps and brutal oppressors, simply serves to perpetuate a particular mind-set. Furthermore, in this era of Reform politics, such representations can serve to legitimize the exclusion of South Asians in terms of future immigration. In Vancouver, there now exists a special program on 'assaultive husbands' which is targeted only to South Asian communities. But naturally, these vital contextual factors are often deemed as being irrelevant when it comes to the creative licence of filmmakers.

To point the finger at The Burning Season alone would be futile. The film is part of a larger context in which such stereotypes abound. And it is the orchestration and synchronization of such stereotypes, in a variety of different media, that makes them effective. That effectiveness is part of the reason why this film has enjoyed such positive reviews in the mainstream media.³See for instance, Katherine Monk's review in The Vancouver Sun. Its message resonates with the taken-for-granted world of common-sense knowledge of the audience and funders alike. It is a common-sense that typifies the cultures of all those who are non-white as being traditional rather than 'modern', as backward instead of progressive, and as throwbacks to some fossilized creations that are all but acceptable if confined to their indigenous environment.

As for the 'homeland,' producer Amarjeet Rattan described the rationale of the film in the following terms: "...to entertain people, and through entertainment people develop ideas. There are people who don't know anything about India, have never been to India, or might just have some Indian friends. This is going to give them more insight into the culture." [Cited in Mehfil Magazine]. Well, the viewer's introduction to India is signalled by a visual of peasants crowding a car, an animal being sacrificed, and the sight of Ayub Din Khan emerging from the euphoric throng in a blood-spattered tunic.⁴I am indebted to Ameen Merchant for pointing this out. So much for an introduction to India! The stereotypes do not end there.

The deliberateness with which Crossland chose to construct the image of an oppressed South Asian woman can be seen from the principal female actor's account of her own life. Akesh Gill "grew up in a family that encouraged her rather than restricted her." As a newcomer to the screen, Gill had to learn how to act the role of an oppressed wife. As a woman facing a culturally-distinct situation, she provided the generic antidote to oppression—to leave the site of oppression. For white feminism, the home is the locus of oppression as it is here that patriarchal power reproduces and reasserts itself. For women of colour on the other hand, the home is often a site of shelter, providing refuge from a violent, white, racist environment.

However, there is no racism in the simulated environment of The Burning Season. Rather, racism inheres in the very structure of the production, for the weight of oppression supposedly inherent in all South Asian cultures is so restrictive that it even silences those who are victims of it.⁵The definition of racism that I am using here refers to the manner in which the cultural traditions of those who are non-white are represented in a stereotypical manner and attributed with negative valuations. These are then used to represent particular social evils within society at large (Hall, 1990; van Dijk, 1993). Sanda is a muted figure in more ways than one. She says very little and expresses little interest in anything except Patwant, her lover. Even her interest in her child's well-being is limited to a few, silent protective gestures. Sanda's husband does not say a word throughout the whole film. And even her lover becomes increasingly silent as the fiIm progresses. The term 'pregnant pause' would have to have an amazing degree of elasticity if it were to be used here.

Decontextualized, dehistoricized and stereotypical, The Burning Season is at best a story about a woman's journey framed against the backdrop of an exotic culture. It is a superficial treatment of the realities of South Asian women, and a negation of their multifaceted existence within the white landscape of Canadian society. The film reinforces existing stereotypes which typify South Asian cultures as restrictive, regressive and oppressive, and South Asians as a people who are obsessively in need of a cultural leg to stand on. These stereotypes are embedded in the historical and contemporary context of Canadian society—a context markedly absent in The Burning Season, but one which undoubtedly influences the way this $1.5 million text is, and will be read.

In conclusion, Sanda stands before a mirror and gazes at the intricate henna designs on her hands. Slowly she takes some tissue and wipes the lipstick from her lips. A satisfied smile forms on her face. She has come unto her own. She is her own woman. She does not need anyone or anything. She has freed herself from the yoke of an oppressive cultural system.

For the rest of us in the margins, The Burning Season echoes a now familiar message— liberation =assimilation. Is that what the funders of this production hoped to get across? It certainly appears that way given the historical context of media representations about South Asians in Canada.

1. For those who would think otherwise, women of colour earn less on the average than their white counterparts (see the 1993), and further, experience far more difficulties even accessing social services.
2. See for instance, Doreen Indra's (1979; 1981) account of the coverage of South Asians in the Vancouver press. Also see Sunera Thobani's (1991; 1992) account of representations of South Asian women in The Vancouver Sun.
3. See for instance, Katherine Monk's review in The Vancouver Sun.
4. I am indebted to Ameen Merchant for pointing this out.
5. The definition of racism that I am using here refers to the manner in which the cultural traditions of those who are non-white are represented in a stereotypical manner and attributed with negative valuations. These are then used to represent particular social evils within society at large (Hall, 1990; van Dijk, 1993).

• Armour, Monica (1984) The Historical Context of Racism in Canada, Currents, Vol. 2, #1, Spring.
• Bataille, G. and CLP. Silet (1980) The Entertaining Anchronism: Indians in American Film, in The Kaleidoscopic Lens, How Hollywood views Ethnic Groups,edited by Randall M. Miller. USA: Jerome S. Ozer.
• Bolaria, B. Singh and Peter S. Li (1988) Racial Oppression in Canada. Toronto: Garamond Press.
• Hall, Stuart (1990) The Whites of their Eyes, in The Media Reader, edited by Manuel Alvarado and John O. Thompson. London: British Film Institute.
• Indra, Doreen M. (1981) The Invisible Mosaic: Women, Ethnicity and the Vancouver Press, 1905-1976, Canadian Ethnic Studies, 13:1.
• Indra, Doreen M. (1979) South Asian Stereotypes in the Vancouver Press, Ethnic and Racial Studies, 2:2.
• Parmar, Pratibha, (1984) Hateful Contraries, Media Images of Asian Women, Ten<8,16.
• Said, Edward (1978) Orientalism. New York: Random House.
• Thobani, Sunera (1991) News in Black and White, Diva: Journal of South Asian Women, Autumn.
• Thobani, Sunera (1992) Culture isn't Cause of Violence, The Vancouver Sun. 3 Jan.
• Van Dijk, Teun A. (1993) Bite Discourse and Racism, Sage Series on Race and Ethnic Relations, Volume 6. USA: Sage.