I grew to love it, in time, the beauty of the balanced equation, the quantity subtracted, the triglyceride transformed into carbon and water. But first the simplicity of it seduced me. How easily the body could be revised, how quickly the flesh surrendered to the whims of its inhabitant. A bloodless coup, quiet as a child drowning.
A skilled raconteur, Khan captivated event-goers with reflections on his early reverence of the United States, the events leading up to his famed speech, and the upstanding character of his late son Captain Humayun Khan.
The voice and overall narrative of “All Grown Up” are practically indistinguishable from those of countless other books (and blogs, and television shows, and any other media featuring existentially dissatisfied white women), and Andrea’s supposed awareness of her and her story’s mediocrity lends only a stilted self-consciousness to the novel.
Filmmakers have the right, of course, to create what they see fit without taking notions of “political correctness” into account. Creating deeply harmful, socially irresponsible art is their prerogative. But even so, is a lazy smattering of colonialist tropes really art? How about 103 minutes of pandering to a white audience?