it takes that special sort of straight, white pretentiousness to say blatantly ignorant and harmful shit about communities you’re not a part of and then claim you’re getting hate for it because “people are uncomfortable with the truth” you’re “just stating facts”
There was a time when Inej Ghafa was not herself. Instead, she was a creature half dead from the evils of the world. She was a girl with porcelain skin, easily breakable with the right amount of pressure. It takes two impossible heists, a lifetime of blood, one ship and two Suli parents for her skin to turn to steel.
She has Tante Heleen by the throat in a swift motion of fluttering gold and turquoise. The woman barely has time to let out a cry before Inej’s knife, Sankta Anastasia, is pressed against her throat. Sneaking into the Menagerie was child’s play, but even so, it left Inej trembling from head to foot. The girls were asleep like birds in a nest, donned in rich silks and creamy fabrics. Inej almost felt sorry for them. Soon, they would wake up and find Tante Heleen dead with a knife in her throat, bent and crooked on the floor with blood pooling out of her mouth. Ordinarily, she would never be so cruel, but Inej had promised herself to rid Ketterdam of anyone who would enslave another human. She had watched the Menagerie until the sun went down, she saw the bruises some of the girls so desperately tried to hide. It was no good, they would thank her someday.
Tante Heleen is currently writhing in Inej’s grip, and the sight is almost satisfactory. Some dark part of Inej, dipped in evil, forged from nightmares, wants Heleen to suffer. She briefly entertains the idea of prolonging this woman’s torture, perhaps by breaking her fingers- or carving into her one stroke at a time. Inej shivers, she blinks. No…no, she couldn’t. While Tante Heleen certainly deserved nothing more than a painful death, Inej didn’t want to go too far. Her Saints would provide Tante Heleen with the proper sort of punishment very soon. She thinks, momentarily, that perhaps Kaz was finally getting to her. “L-Lynx…” the word is gasped from Heleen’s throat, and Inej tightens her grip. “How nice to see you again.” Inej says, giving a smile that was all teeth and malice. “You always said I would return to the Menagerie, isn’t that right, Heleen?” Tante Heleen’s fingernails are scraping at her hands, trying desperately to pry the Suli girl off of her. “This place brings back memories.” Inej continues conversationally, eyes quickly scanning the entirety of the office. “You beat me here, remember? You broke my wrist and turned my legs black and blue.” Choked rasps are hacking out of Tante Heleen’s mouth, her face has gone pale, and she thrashes beneath Inej’s hold. Unable to contain herself, Inej tucks away Sankta Anastasia and pulls out Sankta Petyr. Her first knife given to her by her first savior. She plunges it into Heleen’s open palm without a second thought and releases her throat. Heleen gasps like a fish out of water.
“F-foolish…girl..” Hazel eyes are sharp as flint against deep brown. Her hand is twitching were the knife is lodged, stuck into the wooden floorboards. “I’ll…have your head…” “The only thing you will be doing is rotting in hell. You will burn along with this wretched Menagerie.” Tante Heleen laughs, and the sound is cracked apart and winded. She was a demon with blood pooling about her, and if she was a demon, than Inej was a God, ready to smite her from existence. She would end Heleen’s reign with a smile on her face and blood on her hands. “You think you rule this world, don’t you? You should know better, lynx. Men have created this world, and they will fall with it, too.” Inej grabs the handle of Sankta Petyr, pulling it out of Tante Heleen’s palm. She poises it above her. “You should know better.” Inej says, eyes unflinching as she stares her monster right in the face. “I'am no man.” Heleen can only blink before the knife is in her, swift and sure like the Saints themselves.
Walking through the halls of the Menagerie feels oddly liberating. Inej moves like fog through trees, while memories rise up within her. The long days of wandering through these very halls, the rooms were men did unspeakable things behind closed doors. One of them holds the girls, and Inej slides the door open. They are laying around each other (no girl at the Menagerie got their own bed, they slept on the floor with blankets and pillows). Even in the dark, their brightly colored silks and scarves caught her attention. They slept soundly, unaware of what had just occurred not even an hour ago. “May the Saints protect you.” Inej whispers, and she slides the door back into place.
She climbs out through the window, Tante Heleen’s last words echoing through her. “Men have created this world, and they will fall with it, too.” Inej was caught between a snort of derision and fleeting anger. What a ridiculous statement. Inej Ghafa did not give a single fuck about men.
The Ketterdam air was fresh, which was a surprise. It always smelled like the sea. Perhaps it was the burden finally being lifted off her shoulders that caused the air to change. Inej knew that she had died in the jaws of that slave ship, she also knew that her ghost was still lingering there, wandering around in search of sunlight. But now she thinks that maybe, just maybe, her ghost was finally free.
“All done?” A familiar rasp cut into the night, it made the stars bleed. Inej knew Kaz would follow her, despite her telling him she could do this on her own just fine. His stubbornness, on any other night, would have been a tad irritating, but Inej was secretly relieved that she wasn’t alone. “Yes.” she answered, landing beside him. She didn’t want him out here, as Ketterdam was beginning to get rather chilly at night. She knew how much the cold weather bothered his leg, but if he really was in any type of pain, he wasn’t showing it. “Are you okay?” His words were low, gentle. They sent a shiver up her spine. Despite it all, Inej heaved a sigh, and she nodded. “I’m okay.” A smile was playing at her lips. Kaz took a second to admire it, before he promptly turned and began to walk. “Let’s go, then.” She falls in step beside him, and the night is long and quiet.
Between the racism, the hack r/atheism approach to its attempted message, and the fact that half of the animators weren’t credited, there’s a lot to hate about Sausage Party.
I’m also still mad that there were implications during so much of the production of this film that Sausage Party was breaking new ground by being “animation aimed at adults”. Because clearly every R-rated comedy aimed at adults needs to be steeped in lowest-common-denominator-aimed horseshit. That cartoons have to be used exclusively as a vehicle for comedy.
It’s not the first piece of animation aimed at adults, far from it (even in North American animated cinema), and having the audacity to attempt to claim significance is simultaneously pretentious, ignorant of cinematic history, and overly predicting one’s own success.
As a fan of animation, this film makes me more upset than it has any right to.
'Are white people stealing black peoples culture?' - Cultural Appropriation rationale.
Saying that dreadlocks are only for one skin colour/race, and using ‘cultural appropriation’ as a scapegoat for your racism, is not only pretentious but pathetically immature, ignorant and benal.
Every culture has some form of dreads in their histories, even white, Scandinavian, Celtic, and Slavic cultures which make up the majority of white people. They weren’t introduced to Rastafarian culture until 1845 when britain took workers from india who inspired the Rasta.
But all the aside, the whole argument is bollocks anyway. You get dreadlocks from not brushing your hair. Which means they just ‘were’, before hairbrushes were invented.