Hollywood: the bastion of sodomy, immorality and anti-American sentiment has released three films this year that have been accused of promoting Pro-Life themes. Despite their stylistic differences Indie hit and Oscar nominated Juno (Diablo Cody), frat-house comedy Knocked Up (Judd Aptow) and the dramedy Waitress (the late Adrienne Shelley) converge on theme of unwanted pregnancy.
Film critics grew suspicious when movies about women keeping unwanted children invaded the porous skin of the box office. Juno and Waitress premiered at Sundance, while Knocked Up had an immediate wide-release. Domestically, Juno and Knocked Up earned around $140 million, while Waitress brought in $18 million.
Several notable critics charged that the films implicitly gave off Pro-Life themes, while acknowledging that not any one of them was made for that purpose.
David Edlestein of Slate and NPR’s Fresh Air, commented that, like it or not, these films made political statements (evidently in the favor of Pro-Life). This motivated his decision to keep Juno off his top ten-list.
Hadley Freeman of The Guardian took a more direct approach and said flatly that the films are, “a product of a generation that has had the luxury of legal and relatively easy access to abortion. The danger is that one forgets what the alternative really meant, and as a result sentimentalises it.”
The alternative film of choice for politically frustrated critics was Romanian director’s (Christian Munguin) “4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days”. The film takes place during the last years of dictatorial Ceausescu regime. It follows a pair of college students that seek a doctor for an illegal abortion in a Bucharest hotel. The film has been commended for its gritty realism.
As is often the case, it seemed as if no one actually watched the movies. Only when critics are in the grip of a theory can they ignore the qualitative difference in films.
Out of the three, Knocked Up exemplifies the discontent among Pro-Lifers. The powerful and successful Allison sacrifices her career for the jobless and stoned Ben. The only thing that was clear about Allison is that she is the creation of male writer: she has no depth, no complexity, and no desire.
To add insult to injury, one of the male characters can’t even say the word ‘abortion’.
In a Vanity Fair interview, star Katherine Heigl, who plays Allison in the film, voices these concerns when she describes the film as “a little sexist” and added, “it paints the women as shrews, as humorless and uptight, and it paints the men as lovable, goofy, fun-loving guys.”
Juno likewise drew controversy for its portrayal of teenage pregnancy. Screenwriter Diablo Cody has been vocal that Juno is not a Pro-Life film.
In an interview for online magazine suicidegirls, Cody offers her interpretation on the abortion question. “I think she makes a personal choice. I don't know what I would call it and I don't know if that would be my personal decision. But I think her journey is rich and valid.”
While Juno does not choose to terminate her pregnancy, Cody reminds us that her choice should not be invalidated. Although the pregnancy is an essential part of the trajectory of Juno’s journey, it is not the most important part.
But Juno’s choice is inconsistent with her character. Admittedly, the scene when Juno breaks the news to her father and stepmother lacks tension. She remains cool throughout never breaking with her supreme self-confidence. Real teenagers experience more angst and torment for sneaking a Mike’s Hard Lemonade from their Moms.
Despite the absence of any noticeable tension, the bit of dialogue that follows is significant for the arc of the film. Juno’s father tells her that he thought she was the type of girl that ‘knew when was when.’ Juno replies, “I don’t know what kind of girl I am.”
It is these words that establish the trajectory of the film. Before that point, Juno is just a smart-assed, punky teenager that so many critics found nauseating. In this moment, however, Juno is for the first time exposed and complicated. And this remains the question for the rest of the movie: What kind of girl is Juno?
This is deeply disturbing for Pro-choice critics. The answer to the question is inexorably bound with her decision to have the child.
Of the three films, Waitress is the most complicated. Whereas Juno and Knocked Up ignore the importance of class, it is the main obstacle for the protagonist to overcome.
It does a kind of tightrope walk on genre lines, often flirting heavily with romantic comedy.
Jenna (Kerri Russel) is a country gal married to abusive good ol’ boy Earl (Jeremy Sisto).
She makes plans to escape but must keep it a secret from Earl. To do so, she hides money around the house: under couches, in jars and dressers. These moments of deception and calculation threaten to implode the entire structure of the otherwise light-hearted film.
Waitress opens a space for the voice and experience of an oppressed woman. In a kind of quasi-surrealism her thoughts are transposed into pie recipes that channel her desire to rid herself of the child, the husband, her affair and the town. This makes for a disturbingly beautiful motif that undercuts the otherwise conservative tenor of the premise. It is here in this otherwise domestic activity where Jenna finds a ‘room of her own.’
While devoid of the gritty realism of a film like “4 Months” it is commentary nonetheless. Waitress employs the very repressive tropes of this conservative age and injects them with a subtle critique. It is both accessible and speaks to a class of women that both Juno and Knocked Up remain impervious to. Moreover, it expresses this historical moment in the United States in a way that a foreign film cannot.
Despite receiving stellar critical reception Waitress was not nominated for any awards. It is a rare film in both its originality and depth and may very well become an American classic. Unfortunately, it has been lumped together with a pair of unworthy films based on the superficiality of politically oriented critique.
3.17.2008
3.16.2008
Stuff White People Like: Self-Referential Jokes on the Internet
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/
I have had more than one friend e-mail me links to posts on the website stuff_white_people_like.com There is writing on everything from marathon running to having bilingual children to the New York Times. The self-description is the following: “This is a scientific approach to highlight and explain stuff white people like. They are pretty predictable.”
The glaring problem with these posts is that they are about rich white people, which makes me think that the editors are just self-loathing.
In any case, I think the most interesting thing about the website is the responses. For one, smart writing is usually misunderstood. People tend to respond with the following: "I'm white and I don't like X".
There are also those however that take many of the posts literally. For example, many will respond with racial slurs, homophobic and sexist comments. In some twisted sense the posts come off as validating white privilege. Then again, some of these responses are also meant in jest, which seems to make less sense.
Many of the posts receive up to one thousand responses. It will be interesting to see what happens to the website when businesses take notice. For now, it kind of reminds me of South Park on a blog.
I have had more than one friend e-mail me links to posts on the website stuff_white_people_like.com There is writing on everything from marathon running to having bilingual children to the New York Times. The self-description is the following: “This is a scientific approach to highlight and explain stuff white people like. They are pretty predictable.”
The glaring problem with these posts is that they are about rich white people, which makes me think that the editors are just self-loathing.
In any case, I think the most interesting thing about the website is the responses. For one, smart writing is usually misunderstood. People tend to respond with the following: "I'm white and I don't like X".
There are also those however that take many of the posts literally. For example, many will respond with racial slurs, homophobic and sexist comments. In some twisted sense the posts come off as validating white privilege. Then again, some of these responses are also meant in jest, which seems to make less sense.
Many of the posts receive up to one thousand responses. It will be interesting to see what happens to the website when businesses take notice. For now, it kind of reminds me of South Park on a blog.
Semiotext(e) and Foucault
http://www.generation-online.org/p/psylverelotringer.htm
When Michel Foucault died in 1984, he requested there would be no posthumous publications. He even went as far to destroy his own work. Over the past twenty years, however, many of his lectures delivered at UC Berkley and the College de France have been published.
In the past year, Semiotext(e) announced the release of Foucault's doctoral dissertation. It includes a translation of Kant's "Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View" and also his own work "Commentary." Many Foucault scholars have considered this to be of utmost importance for understanding the trajectory his critical project. It has previously been available at the Michel Foucault Library and the University of Paris X library.
Over the summer, the publication has been surrounded by controversy. An independent translator by the name of Dr. Arianna Bove, translated the above work and was solicited by an agent from Semiotext(e) a subsidiary company of MIT Press. According to Dr. Bove, Semiotex(e) encouraged her to make the translation more 'accessible', which to her meant 'disingenuous'. As is the case, Americans cannot get enough of French intellectuals. In this case, however, the distortion of this text would be a waste. Foucault's writing on Kant is one of the least explored and underdeveloped areas of his work.
When Michel Foucault died in 1984, he requested there would be no posthumous publications. He even went as far to destroy his own work. Over the past twenty years, however, many of his lectures delivered at UC Berkley and the College de France have been published.
In the past year, Semiotext(e) announced the release of Foucault's doctoral dissertation. It includes a translation of Kant's "Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View" and also his own work "Commentary." Many Foucault scholars have considered this to be of utmost importance for understanding the trajectory his critical project. It has previously been available at the Michel Foucault Library and the University of Paris X library.
Over the summer, the publication has been surrounded by controversy. An independent translator by the name of Dr. Arianna Bove, translated the above work and was solicited by an agent from Semiotext(e) a subsidiary company of MIT Press. According to Dr. Bove, Semiotex(e) encouraged her to make the translation more 'accessible', which to her meant 'disingenuous'. As is the case, Americans cannot get enough of French intellectuals. In this case, however, the distortion of this text would be a waste. Foucault's writing on Kant is one of the least explored and underdeveloped areas of his work.
3.10.2008
Bastard Boom
The bastion of sodomy, immorality and anti-American sentiment has released three films this year that have been accused of having Pro-Life themes. Despite all their stylistic differences Indie hit and Oscar nominated Juno (Diablo Cody), frat-house comedy Knocked Up (Judd Aptow) and the dramedy Waitress (the late Adrienne Shelley) converge on theme of unwanted pregnancy.
Film critics grew suspicious when movies about women keeping bastard children invaded the porous skin that is the box office. Juno and Waitress premiered at Sundance, while Knocked Up had an immediate wide-release. Out of the three Juno and Knocked Up grossed around $350 million worldwide.
Several notable critics charged that the films implicitly gave off Pro-Life themes, while acknowledging that not any one of them was made for that purpose.
David Edlestein of Slate and NPR’s Fresh Air, commented that, like it or not, these films made political statements (evidently in the favor of Pro-Life). This motivated his decision to keep Juno off his top ten-list.
Hadley Freeman of the Guardian took a more direct approach and said flatly that the films are, “a product of a generation that has had the luxury of legal and relatively easy access to abortion. The danger is that one forgets what the alternative really meant, and as a result sentimentalises it.”
The alternative film of choice for politically frustrated critics was Romanian director’s (Christian Munguin) “4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days”. If Juno is a "feminist, girl-powered rejoinder and complement to Knocked Up", as A.O Scott of The New York Times put it, then 4 Months is Schindler’s List to Jakob the Liar.
As if often the case, it seemed as if no one actually watched the movies. Only when critics are in the grip of some of a theory can they ignore the qualitative difference in films.
Out of the three Knocked Up exemplifies the discontent among Pro-Lifers. The powerful and successful Allison sacrifices her career for the stoned, jobless and schmucky Ben. The only thing that was clear about Allison is that she was the creation of male writer. There was no depth, no complexity, and no desire.
To add insult to injury, one of the male characters can’t even say ‘abortion’.
In an interview for Vanity Fair star Katherine Heigl voices these concerns when she describes the film as “a little sexist” and added,” it paints the women as shrews, as humorless and uptight, and it paints the men as lovable, goofy, fun-loving guys.”
These comments created a tidal wave of controversy for writer and director Judd Aptow. He, however, had little to contribute, aside from questioning Heigl’s use of ‘shrew’ and sheepishly reminding the public to “buy Knocked Up on DVD and judge for themselves.”
Juno screenwriter Diablo Cody, no stranger to criticism herself for her immodest stint as a stripper and phone-sex operator, has been vocal that Juno is not a Pro-Life film.
In an interview for online magazine suicidegirls Cody offers her interpretation on the abortion question, “I think she makes a personal choice. I don't know what I would call it and I don't know if that would be my personal decision. But I think her journey is rich and valid.”
While, Juno does not chose to terminate her pregnancy for all of the good reasons that a sixteen year old would, Cody reminds us that her choice should not be invalidated. The pregnancy is an essential part of the trajectory of Juno’s journey, which is not to be mistaken with the idea that the pregnancy in itself is that trajectory.
One could argue, however, that Juno’s choice is inconsistent with her character. Admittedly, the scene when Juno breaks the news to father and stepmother lacks the expected tension. She remains cool throughout never breaking with her supreme self-confidence. Having been a teenager myself, I will readily say that I experienced more angst and torment for sneaking a Mike’s Hard Lemonade from mom.
Despite the absence of any noticeable tension the bit of dialogue that follows is of monumental significance for the arch of the film. Juno’s father tells her that he thought she was the type of girl that ‘knew when was when’. Juno replies, “I don’t know what kind of girl I am”.
It is these words that establish the trajectory of the film. Before Juno is just a smart-assed, punky teenager that so many critics found nauseating. In this moment, however, Juno is for the first time exposed and complicated. And this remains the question for the rest of the movie: What kind of girl is Juno?
And I suppose this is deeply disturbing for Pro-choice critics. It would seem that the answer to the question is inexorably bound up with her decision to have the child.
Of the three films, Waitress is the most complicated. It does a kind of tightrope walk on genre lines, often flirting heavily with romantic comedy. There are moments, however, that threaten to implode the entire structure.
Out of the three films it is closest to the conservative motifs of the time. The protagonist is a country gal married to an abusive good ol’ boy. In a kind of quasi-surrealism her thoughts are transposed into pie recipes, making for a disturbingly beautiful motif that undercuts the whole traditionalist motif.
Waitress grossed only around $18 million dollars and despite receiving stellar critical reception was not nominated for any awards. It is a rare film in both its originality and depth. While devoid of the gritty realism of a film like “4 Months” it is commentary nonetheless. If critics could budge from their uncritical dogmatism they would see this and not do it the disservice of grouping it with Knocked Up and Juno.
Film critics grew suspicious when movies about women keeping bastard children invaded the porous skin that is the box office. Juno and Waitress premiered at Sundance, while Knocked Up had an immediate wide-release. Out of the three Juno and Knocked Up grossed around $350 million worldwide.
Several notable critics charged that the films implicitly gave off Pro-Life themes, while acknowledging that not any one of them was made for that purpose.
David Edlestein of Slate and NPR’s Fresh Air, commented that, like it or not, these films made political statements (evidently in the favor of Pro-Life). This motivated his decision to keep Juno off his top ten-list.
Hadley Freeman of the Guardian took a more direct approach and said flatly that the films are, “a product of a generation that has had the luxury of legal and relatively easy access to abortion. The danger is that one forgets what the alternative really meant, and as a result sentimentalises it.”
The alternative film of choice for politically frustrated critics was Romanian director’s (Christian Munguin) “4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days”. If Juno is a "feminist, girl-powered rejoinder and complement to Knocked Up", as A.O Scott of The New York Times put it, then 4 Months is Schindler’s List to Jakob the Liar.
As if often the case, it seemed as if no one actually watched the movies. Only when critics are in the grip of some of a theory can they ignore the qualitative difference in films.
Out of the three Knocked Up exemplifies the discontent among Pro-Lifers. The powerful and successful Allison sacrifices her career for the stoned, jobless and schmucky Ben. The only thing that was clear about Allison is that she was the creation of male writer. There was no depth, no complexity, and no desire.
To add insult to injury, one of the male characters can’t even say ‘abortion’.
In an interview for Vanity Fair star Katherine Heigl voices these concerns when she describes the film as “a little sexist” and added,” it paints the women as shrews, as humorless and uptight, and it paints the men as lovable, goofy, fun-loving guys.”
These comments created a tidal wave of controversy for writer and director Judd Aptow. He, however, had little to contribute, aside from questioning Heigl’s use of ‘shrew’ and sheepishly reminding the public to “buy Knocked Up on DVD and judge for themselves.”
Juno screenwriter Diablo Cody, no stranger to criticism herself for her immodest stint as a stripper and phone-sex operator, has been vocal that Juno is not a Pro-Life film.
In an interview for online magazine suicidegirls Cody offers her interpretation on the abortion question, “I think she makes a personal choice. I don't know what I would call it and I don't know if that would be my personal decision. But I think her journey is rich and valid.”
While, Juno does not chose to terminate her pregnancy for all of the good reasons that a sixteen year old would, Cody reminds us that her choice should not be invalidated. The pregnancy is an essential part of the trajectory of Juno’s journey, which is not to be mistaken with the idea that the pregnancy in itself is that trajectory.
One could argue, however, that Juno’s choice is inconsistent with her character. Admittedly, the scene when Juno breaks the news to father and stepmother lacks the expected tension. She remains cool throughout never breaking with her supreme self-confidence. Having been a teenager myself, I will readily say that I experienced more angst and torment for sneaking a Mike’s Hard Lemonade from mom.
Despite the absence of any noticeable tension the bit of dialogue that follows is of monumental significance for the arch of the film. Juno’s father tells her that he thought she was the type of girl that ‘knew when was when’. Juno replies, “I don’t know what kind of girl I am”.
It is these words that establish the trajectory of the film. Before Juno is just a smart-assed, punky teenager that so many critics found nauseating. In this moment, however, Juno is for the first time exposed and complicated. And this remains the question for the rest of the movie: What kind of girl is Juno?
And I suppose this is deeply disturbing for Pro-choice critics. It would seem that the answer to the question is inexorably bound up with her decision to have the child.
Of the three films, Waitress is the most complicated. It does a kind of tightrope walk on genre lines, often flirting heavily with romantic comedy. There are moments, however, that threaten to implode the entire structure.
Out of the three films it is closest to the conservative motifs of the time. The protagonist is a country gal married to an abusive good ol’ boy. In a kind of quasi-surrealism her thoughts are transposed into pie recipes, making for a disturbingly beautiful motif that undercuts the whole traditionalist motif.
Waitress grossed only around $18 million dollars and despite receiving stellar critical reception was not nominated for any awards. It is a rare film in both its originality and depth. While devoid of the gritty realism of a film like “4 Months” it is commentary nonetheless. If critics could budge from their uncritical dogmatism they would see this and not do it the disservice of grouping it with Knocked Up and Juno.
2.27.2008
Abstract
It seems these days that pregnancy is all the rave. In popular magazines across the land the gossip orbits around the burgeoning bellies of Hollywood's most famous. Pregnancy is so popular that it has become the plot for several movies.
In the 2007-2008 year of American cinema, three popular movies all navigated the familiar terrain of accidental pregnancy: Knocked-Up, Juno and Waitress.
Pregnancy is not only an issue in Hollywood, but it also informs the political arena as well. That is, the debate between Pro-Life and Pro-Choice rages. The conversative administration of George Bush introduce the Roe vs. Wade decision into political rhetoric once more. More importantly, it has been said that the evangelical constiutency that is such a political force these days, put Busy into office in the 04' election. And it is well known that on the top of their agenda is abortion.
Given these phenomenas, among others, critics of the movies above have gone as far to suggest that whether the filmmakers like it or not are making a political statement with respect to this controversial issue. The purpose of this essay will be to explore each of these films, after situating them in a wider socio-political context, to see if this dichotomy appropriately captures the content of the films.
1) I will review the three films
2) Search for critical commentary on the films.
3) Look at Bush Administration rhetoric
4) Situate these films historically among others with the same topic
5) Draw a connection between these seemingly opposed and contradictory phenomena
In the 2007-2008 year of American cinema, three popular movies all navigated the familiar terrain of accidental pregnancy: Knocked-Up, Juno and Waitress.
Pregnancy is not only an issue in Hollywood, but it also informs the political arena as well. That is, the debate between Pro-Life and Pro-Choice rages. The conversative administration of George Bush introduce the Roe vs. Wade decision into political rhetoric once more. More importantly, it has been said that the evangelical constiutency that is such a political force these days, put Busy into office in the 04' election. And it is well known that on the top of their agenda is abortion.
Given these phenomenas, among others, critics of the movies above have gone as far to suggest that whether the filmmakers like it or not are making a political statement with respect to this controversial issue. The purpose of this essay will be to explore each of these films, after situating them in a wider socio-political context, to see if this dichotomy appropriately captures the content of the films.
1) I will review the three films
2) Search for critical commentary on the films.
3) Look at Bush Administration rhetoric
4) Situate these films historically among others with the same topic
5) Draw a connection between these seemingly opposed and contradictory phenomena
2.26.2008
80th Academy Awards Reflects Hope for Art
This year’s Academy Awards Ceremony offered something completely new: authentic change. Last year’s show was historic because Martin Scorsese won his long-overdue first Oscar, and the show itself went “green.” Al Gore and Leo DiCaprio’s lecture about the environment was a bitter pill to swallow against the backdrop of an event that held fast to its glitz and glamour.
Progressive politics couldn’t do it, but a drawn-out writers’ strike brought the industry to its knees and its biggest event down to size. With very real speculation that the 80th annual ceremony would not take place at all, everyone realized life would indeed go on without the Oscars. As a result, the show didn’t pretend to be the center of the universe.
If not for the writers’ strike then the movies themselves contributed to the glib mood. The two front-runners No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood are dark, challenging and nihilistic. The closest nomination to a romance story was Atonement, a film that embodies a kind of hopelessness. Critics suggested that the movies of 2007 and 2008 expressed the complexity of this historical moment: America and Americans are changing; escapism is no longer an option.
The Academy, in turn, reflected this shift in perspective rather than remaining steadfast in their marketable optimism.
While no single film swept the categories, the academy chose not to be defiant in the face of art. The new American classic No Country for Old Men was honored with four awards: best supporting actor (Javier Bardem) as well as best adapted screen play, best directors and best picture (Joel and Ethan Cohen).
Notably, no American actors took home Oscars. Marion Cotillard of France won best actress for her portrayal of the tragic Edith Piaf in La Vie En Rose. The superb Daniel Day Lewis won for his complex performance in There Will Be Blood.
The high moment of the night, however, was the result of an error. Czech musician/actor Marketa Irglova of Once was abruptly cut off when accepting her award for best song, but Host Jon Stewart invited Irglova back after the commercial break to applause from the audience. It was that rare moment when an artist who isn’t inhibited by the maintenance of her image says something authentic.
She declared that Once, a small, Irish independent film made on a $100,000 budget, offered hope in its tale of two alienated people who reached each other through song. Hope is for everyone, she said, reminding the Hollywood and television audience that art comes from the imagination of individuals, not studios and industry.
At the end of the night, the results were more or less expected, but this year’s ceremony was anything but predictable. In a year marked by strife, difference, depth and death, the Academy acknowledged the changing face and attitude of American culture. It doesn’t take Al Gore or a political agenda to promote change; art, when given a chance, can and will do that on its own.
Progressive politics couldn’t do it, but a drawn-out writers’ strike brought the industry to its knees and its biggest event down to size. With very real speculation that the 80th annual ceremony would not take place at all, everyone realized life would indeed go on without the Oscars. As a result, the show didn’t pretend to be the center of the universe.
If not for the writers’ strike then the movies themselves contributed to the glib mood. The two front-runners No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood are dark, challenging and nihilistic. The closest nomination to a romance story was Atonement, a film that embodies a kind of hopelessness. Critics suggested that the movies of 2007 and 2008 expressed the complexity of this historical moment: America and Americans are changing; escapism is no longer an option.
The Academy, in turn, reflected this shift in perspective rather than remaining steadfast in their marketable optimism.
While no single film swept the categories, the academy chose not to be defiant in the face of art. The new American classic No Country for Old Men was honored with four awards: best supporting actor (Javier Bardem) as well as best adapted screen play, best directors and best picture (Joel and Ethan Cohen).
Notably, no American actors took home Oscars. Marion Cotillard of France won best actress for her portrayal of the tragic Edith Piaf in La Vie En Rose. The superb Daniel Day Lewis won for his complex performance in There Will Be Blood.
The high moment of the night, however, was the result of an error. Czech musician/actor Marketa Irglova of Once was abruptly cut off when accepting her award for best song, but Host Jon Stewart invited Irglova back after the commercial break to applause from the audience. It was that rare moment when an artist who isn’t inhibited by the maintenance of her image says something authentic.
She declared that Once, a small, Irish independent film made on a $100,000 budget, offered hope in its tale of two alienated people who reached each other through song. Hope is for everyone, she said, reminding the Hollywood and television audience that art comes from the imagination of individuals, not studios and industry.
At the end of the night, the results were more or less expected, but this year’s ceremony was anything but predictable. In a year marked by strife, difference, depth and death, the Academy acknowledged the changing face and attitude of American culture. It doesn’t take Al Gore or a political agenda to promote change; art, when given a chance, can and will do that on its own.
2.20.2008
Language as Instrument
George Orwell has made a fool of me. Admittedly, the style of writing I have come to take as my own appears within several of his examples. And yet, I’m not offended. After all, Orwell’s classic piece reminds us of the intimate connection between politics and writing.
While there are a few points of contention I have with Orwell with respect to the nature of language and its development, the article nevertheless emphasizes a dimension of language that is rarely discussed. That is, language as an instrument or that thing which can, if used properly, can be manipulated for the clarity of thought.
I particularly like Orwell’s image of ‘meaning choose the word.’ There is a sense that the authorial intent regains the primacy that it was robbed on at the close of 20th century. Despite these insights, Orwell comes off as sounding typically Anglo in his description of language. There is a darker side to understanding language as an instrument. He does, however, make the crucial distinction between language and literary language. In that case, I would be interested to hear what he has to say about the latter.
While there are a few points of contention I have with Orwell with respect to the nature of language and its development, the article nevertheless emphasizes a dimension of language that is rarely discussed. That is, language as an instrument or that thing which can, if used properly, can be manipulated for the clarity of thought.
I particularly like Orwell’s image of ‘meaning choose the word.’ There is a sense that the authorial intent regains the primacy that it was robbed on at the close of 20th century. Despite these insights, Orwell comes off as sounding typically Anglo in his description of language. There is a darker side to understanding language as an instrument. He does, however, make the crucial distinction between language and literary language. In that case, I would be interested to hear what he has to say about the latter.
2.18.2008
A Fine Sense of the Ridiculous
The WholeArt theatre of Kalamazoo opened Thursday night with Edward Albee’s now classic play Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Ambitious, given that the play demands from its actors a level of psychic engagement that could only lead to a state of exhaustion.
And this was the case for most of cast as indicated by Richard Philpot’s (George) occasional stammering and line confusion. But, Albee’s play has plenty of room for these occurrences; in fact, it necessitates that the actor, in all of his or her idiosyncrasies, occupy the vacant spot to embody the language. This after all is Albee’s point.
The set on Thursday night was both intimate and accessible. It was a large square, outfitted in the furnishings of 50s era east coast socialites: jazz records, the Kinsey report, ashtrays, and plenty of the finest booze. Four bleachers crowded the small space where the action took place. The audience almost sat on top of the actors, clouding the distinction between illusion and reality so essential to the play. It also evoked a kind of voyeurism. At times the Philpot’s seemed to get-off in the heavy gaze of the audience, as they unloaded on one another as the disillusioned Martha and George.
Perhaps the only thing out of place was the empty bottle of Popov that Mr. Philpot hurls at the bookshelves in the culmination of scene one. No socialite would touch that shit!
Edward Albee came across the phrase “Who’s afraid of Virigina Woolf?” in a bar restroom. It was written with soap on the mirror. For Albee, it was an intellectual’s joke; the kind of quip that socialites lay awake at night trying desperately to come up with, so as to arouse a haughty laugh at the next dinner party. It was not only the perfect frame for the erudite characters of his play; it held a greater significance: It pointed to the fundamental antagonism of human existence.
Albee embeds this antagonism in the boundaries of our definitions. In a barely veiled allusion to Epimenides’ “Liar’s Paradox”, Nick (Trevor Maher, K Alum), the young and fit genetic engineer, ignorantly shouts, “That of course would make us Cretans!” I speak, I lie: Deal with it! – Albee definitely says to his bewildered audience.
Nothing in our collective understanding remains unchallenged. George and Martha interrogate each and every taken for granted linguistic tic in their twisted search for truth.
While such attitudes can most certainly lead (and they most certainly do) to the cruel and manipulative ploys that the characters develop in a kind of ‘survival of the shrewdest’; there, nevertheless, remains a sense of hope. When the two men are deep in a moment of sparring, Nick desperately yells, “Tell you why? To make contact? To communicate?”
It is in these moments of betrayal: when what you meant to say and how you expected someone else to hear it, is twisted and contorted in such a way that you can neither recognize yourself or the other. This is a moment when it is apparent that beneath the humiliation and selfishness of the most vile of encounters, there persists the desire to authentically connect.
And this was the case for most of cast as indicated by Richard Philpot’s (George) occasional stammering and line confusion. But, Albee’s play has plenty of room for these occurrences; in fact, it necessitates that the actor, in all of his or her idiosyncrasies, occupy the vacant spot to embody the language. This after all is Albee’s point.
The set on Thursday night was both intimate and accessible. It was a large square, outfitted in the furnishings of 50s era east coast socialites: jazz records, the Kinsey report, ashtrays, and plenty of the finest booze. Four bleachers crowded the small space where the action took place. The audience almost sat on top of the actors, clouding the distinction between illusion and reality so essential to the play. It also evoked a kind of voyeurism. At times the Philpot’s seemed to get-off in the heavy gaze of the audience, as they unloaded on one another as the disillusioned Martha and George.
Perhaps the only thing out of place was the empty bottle of Popov that Mr. Philpot hurls at the bookshelves in the culmination of scene one. No socialite would touch that shit!
Edward Albee came across the phrase “Who’s afraid of Virigina Woolf?” in a bar restroom. It was written with soap on the mirror. For Albee, it was an intellectual’s joke; the kind of quip that socialites lay awake at night trying desperately to come up with, so as to arouse a haughty laugh at the next dinner party. It was not only the perfect frame for the erudite characters of his play; it held a greater significance: It pointed to the fundamental antagonism of human existence.
Albee embeds this antagonism in the boundaries of our definitions. In a barely veiled allusion to Epimenides’ “Liar’s Paradox”, Nick (Trevor Maher, K Alum), the young and fit genetic engineer, ignorantly shouts, “That of course would make us Cretans!” I speak, I lie: Deal with it! – Albee definitely says to his bewildered audience.
Nothing in our collective understanding remains unchallenged. George and Martha interrogate each and every taken for granted linguistic tic in their twisted search for truth.
While such attitudes can most certainly lead (and they most certainly do) to the cruel and manipulative ploys that the characters develop in a kind of ‘survival of the shrewdest’; there, nevertheless, remains a sense of hope. When the two men are deep in a moment of sparring, Nick desperately yells, “Tell you why? To make contact? To communicate?”
It is in these moments of betrayal: when what you meant to say and how you expected someone else to hear it, is twisted and contorted in such a way that you can neither recognize yourself or the other. This is a moment when it is apparent that beneath the humiliation and selfishness of the most vile of encounters, there persists the desire to authentically connect.
2.14.2008
In Patience, Out of the Box
HBO’s new series In Treatment daringly opens onto the remote topic of psychotherapy and delivers a television classic. Unlike its predecessors, who have similarly incorporated psychotherapy (i.e. The Sopranos and State of Mind) – if only to inflect the already dysfunctional lives of their protagonists – In Treatment develops the characters within the doctor’s office and only there. The result: psychotherapy becomes something more than a prop, something less sensational and taboo, more raw and authentic; it offers the opportunity for a tightly woven creative exploration into the potential of an affective minimalism.
The genius of the show is, without a doubt, realized in a collective effort. The writers have taken on the Herculean task of restoring the forgotten art of conversation. In today’s culture, where television is for the large part unscripted or dulled by laugh tracks, a show of pure dialogue is a thorn in the side. There is something novel about the idea of an hour of dialogue. It not only places the heavy burden on the actors to realize the demanding nature of their characters. It also demands the subtle craft of the technical crew. In the case of the cinematographer, the intimacy of the office is never intruded: the camera is always the unobserved observer.
Each episode of In Treatment unfolds like an orchestral set. There are typically a series of movements that arise from the dizzying circularity of the patient’s logic. The therapist, Paul (Gabriel Byrne), is a conductor; whose sonorous linguistic acts gives shape to the ground swell that evades description. At his best, Paul is able to loop the conversation back onto itself, and fabricate a kind of crescendo. If successful, this artistic will has the ability to culminate in an epiphany for the patient (and viewer). Although, more often than not, Paul and his patients plummet deeper into the piece, leading Laura (Melissa George) to say: “I came here in darkness , and now I’m leaving into an even bigger one.”
The most tantalizing moments of sessions are Paul’s own therapy session. It is here where the seeming artistry is exposed for its vanity. Gina (Dianna West) – former mentor and estranged friend – is quite and unassuming. She lets Paul perform acrobatics, yet at every moment holds him to the literal meaning of his expressions. The omnipotent and collected Paul becomes agitated, insisting each time that she is twisting his words. This is a fine moment in television today. The craft is seamless, subtle and clean. Byrne and West generate more action with their performances than any stunt crew.
As to be expected, there will be those in the chorus of popular media that demand more action. To do so, however, would be to miss the point of this carefully crafted show. The action is in the inaction: the pauses and moments between soliloquy. It is the unintentional as opposed to the intentional that the viewer will have to develop sensitivity for. Admittedly, there isn’t much to the show, but dedicated viewers will reap unexpected benefits.
The genius of the show is, without a doubt, realized in a collective effort. The writers have taken on the Herculean task of restoring the forgotten art of conversation. In today’s culture, where television is for the large part unscripted or dulled by laugh tracks, a show of pure dialogue is a thorn in the side. There is something novel about the idea of an hour of dialogue. It not only places the heavy burden on the actors to realize the demanding nature of their characters. It also demands the subtle craft of the technical crew. In the case of the cinematographer, the intimacy of the office is never intruded: the camera is always the unobserved observer.
Each episode of In Treatment unfolds like an orchestral set. There are typically a series of movements that arise from the dizzying circularity of the patient’s logic. The therapist, Paul (Gabriel Byrne), is a conductor; whose sonorous linguistic acts gives shape to the ground swell that evades description. At his best, Paul is able to loop the conversation back onto itself, and fabricate a kind of crescendo. If successful, this artistic will has the ability to culminate in an epiphany for the patient (and viewer). Although, more often than not, Paul and his patients plummet deeper into the piece, leading Laura (Melissa George) to say: “I came here in darkness , and now I’m leaving into an even bigger one.”
The most tantalizing moments of sessions are Paul’s own therapy session. It is here where the seeming artistry is exposed for its vanity. Gina (Dianna West) – former mentor and estranged friend – is quite and unassuming. She lets Paul perform acrobatics, yet at every moment holds him to the literal meaning of his expressions. The omnipotent and collected Paul becomes agitated, insisting each time that she is twisting his words. This is a fine moment in television today. The craft is seamless, subtle and clean. Byrne and West generate more action with their performances than any stunt crew.
As to be expected, there will be those in the chorus of popular media that demand more action. To do so, however, would be to miss the point of this carefully crafted show. The action is in the inaction: the pauses and moments between soliloquy. It is the unintentional as opposed to the intentional that the viewer will have to develop sensitivity for. Admittedly, there isn’t much to the show, but dedicated viewers will reap unexpected benefits.
2.13.2008
The Absurd Life of Edward Albee
The life of Edward Albee sounds like the kind of stuff found in one of his plays. Well, that’s not far from the truth given that several of his plays were biographically informed. Born a parentless, Albee was adopted by a pair of New York socialites. Richard and Frankie Albee were conservative, Christian and cold. Albee, a homosexual, was at odds with his adoptive parents, causing him to leave at the age of 21.
I am not one for biographies and I am typically annoyed by the practice of referring the work of the artist to the life of the artist. In the case of Albee, the life of the artist is a work of art in many respects. The strange title “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” is taken by Albee to mean, “Who’s afraid to live a life without illusion?” Seems appropriate coming from a homosexual born to a family of conservatives.
Albee has dedicated his life (and art) to expunging American culture of illusion with his witty and biting dialogue. Included in the Theater of Absurd, Albee is an essential contribution to the tradition of American playwrights.
I am not one for biographies and I am typically annoyed by the practice of referring the work of the artist to the life of the artist. In the case of Albee, the life of the artist is a work of art in many respects. The strange title “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” is taken by Albee to mean, “Who’s afraid to live a life without illusion?” Seems appropriate coming from a homosexual born to a family of conservatives.
Albee has dedicated his life (and art) to expunging American culture of illusion with his witty and biting dialogue. Included in the Theater of Absurd, Albee is an essential contribution to the tradition of American playwrights.
2.04.2008
No Criticism for Old Ethos
What is the difference between a critic and polemicist? That is, where does one draw the line between criticism and opinion? This is precisely the question Renata Adler raises with respect to the venerable Pauline Kael whose tenure at The New Yorker elevated her to the pantheon of film criticism. Who could be a better case to test this delicate and fragile distinction? And what time more appropriate to raise the question, considering that so much of contemporary criticism has devolved into mere punditry?
There is no doubt that Pauline Kael revolutionized the practice of the critic. If it wasn’t for her poignant and clear writing, then it was most certainly for her unapologetic opinions with respect to those edifying topics in cinema that result in the residual dogmatism of social morality. No topic – not the even Holocaust! – was important enough to escape the critical scrutiny of Kael. Rather, Kael wanted to talk about sex, abjection and the violence that shoots through the sinews of American culture; the sustenance of culture that takes on its phantasmal form in cinema.
One of the most compelling examples of Kael’s refusal to submit to the pressures of piety is with respect to the work of Steven Spielberg. In Afterglow, Kael laments the work of the young Spielberg disgusted with his turn the heavy-handed moralism of Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan (we need only cite Munich and Flags of Our Fathers to complete this list). This criticism is far from unsubstantiated. Kael makes the keen observation that this high-handed morality affects the quality of the film in everything down to the actors. Kael points out that the very presence of Liam Nielsen anticipates the resolution, thus negating the moral ambiguity required for Schindler. Furthermore, Kael is quite right to object to directors like Spielberg who feel entitled to awards by virtue of topic alone.
Renata Adler, however, raises the important question as to whether Kael is simply a critic or polemic. To add weight to her claim, Adler suggests Kael’s tenure is to be taken as an exemplar of the negative effects of institutional support’. Adler identifies a ‘’turn’ in the career of Kael, noting that when she secured the position of ‘staff critic’ her writing degenerated: “A voice that may have seemed, sometimes, true and iconoclastic when it was outside can become, with institutional support, vain, overbearing, foolish, hysterical.” From here, Adler unleashes an entire arsenal of critical vocabulary to identify this phenomenon (e.g., In her later works, Kael exhibits a knowingness that sets her apart from the audience). In addition to this, Adler dissects the writing of Kael for the purpose of exposing the minutia that constitutes Kael’s otherwise robust rhetoric. Finally, the most devastating critique of Kael comes with Adler’s assertion that Kael relies on her own set of uncritical dogmatism, namely ‘abjection.’
Adler’s points are well taken and her close-reading of Kael is telling. In many senses, Adler’s piece suggests that the flaws of Kael are endemic of an entirely different phenomenon (e.g., the above mentioned punditry). Likewise, Adler’s assertion that ‘institutional support’ has deleterious effects on critics is well received. There is something that Adler elides in the course of the piece, however, that was intimated in the above passages on Kael. That is, the ability of the critic to make fluid those ossified opinions (e.g. heavy-handed morality), which themselves have institutional support. Thus, there is something anemic about the ideal that Adler espouses and that which Kael seems to have devoted her career to undermining.
There is no doubt that Pauline Kael revolutionized the practice of the critic. If it wasn’t for her poignant and clear writing, then it was most certainly for her unapologetic opinions with respect to those edifying topics in cinema that result in the residual dogmatism of social morality. No topic – not the even Holocaust! – was important enough to escape the critical scrutiny of Kael. Rather, Kael wanted to talk about sex, abjection and the violence that shoots through the sinews of American culture; the sustenance of culture that takes on its phantasmal form in cinema.
One of the most compelling examples of Kael’s refusal to submit to the pressures of piety is with respect to the work of Steven Spielberg. In Afterglow, Kael laments the work of the young Spielberg disgusted with his turn the heavy-handed moralism of Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan (we need only cite Munich and Flags of Our Fathers to complete this list). This criticism is far from unsubstantiated. Kael makes the keen observation that this high-handed morality affects the quality of the film in everything down to the actors. Kael points out that the very presence of Liam Nielsen anticipates the resolution, thus negating the moral ambiguity required for Schindler. Furthermore, Kael is quite right to object to directors like Spielberg who feel entitled to awards by virtue of topic alone.
Renata Adler, however, raises the important question as to whether Kael is simply a critic or polemic. To add weight to her claim, Adler suggests Kael’s tenure is to be taken as an exemplar of the negative effects of institutional support’. Adler identifies a ‘’turn’ in the career of Kael, noting that when she secured the position of ‘staff critic’ her writing degenerated: “A voice that may have seemed, sometimes, true and iconoclastic when it was outside can become, with institutional support, vain, overbearing, foolish, hysterical.” From here, Adler unleashes an entire arsenal of critical vocabulary to identify this phenomenon (e.g., In her later works, Kael exhibits a knowingness that sets her apart from the audience). In addition to this, Adler dissects the writing of Kael for the purpose of exposing the minutia that constitutes Kael’s otherwise robust rhetoric. Finally, the most devastating critique of Kael comes with Adler’s assertion that Kael relies on her own set of uncritical dogmatism, namely ‘abjection.’
Adler’s points are well taken and her close-reading of Kael is telling. In many senses, Adler’s piece suggests that the flaws of Kael are endemic of an entirely different phenomenon (e.g., the above mentioned punditry). Likewise, Adler’s assertion that ‘institutional support’ has deleterious effects on critics is well received. There is something that Adler elides in the course of the piece, however, that was intimated in the above passages on Kael. That is, the ability of the critic to make fluid those ossified opinions (e.g. heavy-handed morality), which themselves have institutional support. Thus, there is something anemic about the ideal that Adler espouses and that which Kael seems to have devoted her career to undermining.
1.30.2008
Critical Defense
In “Friend Indeed Who Doesn’t Judge or Flinch” Manholia Dargis is not pulling any punches in her discussion of Romanian filmmaker (Cristian Munguin) “4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days”. In fact, she throws so many punches, I wonder if she doesn’t have a manuscript for her forthcoming book tucked away somewhere in her flat. This article is principally concerned with the status of art within contemporary culture. The intersections, however, are aplenty, as Ms. Dargis takes on the Academy, Pro-Lifers, representations of pregnancy in American popular culture and even arts criticism itself! With all of these topics colliding in one article, one may certainly wonder if Ms. Dargis’ has left enough space for the film.
The lede, while captivating, establishes the precedent for the remainder of the piece both in its size and scope: “[T]he camera doesn’t follow the action, it expresses consciousness itself”. Admittedly, Ms. Dargis brings the topic back to earth when she locates this ‘consciousness’ in the plight of a young woman in State controlled Romania in the 1980s.
Nevertheless, as is evident in Dargis’ swift transition to the film’s European acclaim and American neglect, Dargis has another ‘consciousness’ in mind.
Dargis is angry with the Academy for ignoring the film because the recognition would certainly prompt wide-release of the film. To this, Dargis adds the additional claim that this film is a welcomed alternative to the “coy, trivializing attitude toward abortion in vogue in American fiction films”. Indeed, Ms. Dargis is quite right in identifying the recent endemic in American films where a young and beautiful woman is accidentally impregnated and she keeps the kid! I can think of a few Juno, Knocked Up and Waitress. But Dargis, nevertheless, maintains that this film is should be viewed principally for the ‘new talent’ in Romania -- writer/director Cristian Munguin.
Now, what to make of this strange opening to Ms. Dargis’ piece? Should we see the film for its ‘alternative’ political view or for the burgeoning artistic genius of Munguin. It is evident throughout the rest of the piece that Ms. Dargis tries to vigorously defend (dig herself out of the hole?) the claim about the film’s artistic merit. Put another way, she is totally aware that taking a shot at both the Academy and representation of abortion could very well overshadow the film review itself. And what a heroic effort Ms. Dargis gives!
As an enthusiast for foreign films, especially those coming from Central and Eastern Europe, I think Ms. Dargis does a remarkable job at capturing the grim aesthetic. Her attentiveness to the way that a seemingly accidental realism is transformed into aesthetic is a remarkable insight as indicated by the following description: “Hours later, during an unbearably tense scene when she’s surrounded by barking dogs on a desolate street, you realize there are no accidents here, just art”. For me this indicated that Ms. Dargis has a special eye for the difficult and vexing images that set art from schlop.
In the end, despite the huge opening, I think Ms. Dargis adequately defends her claim that Munguis’ film should be watched for its artistic genius. She achieves this with her careful consideration of the tendency to interpret Mungiu films within a wider socio-political context. This is a seemingly contradictory statement given that Ms. Dargis seems to do just this at the beginning of the piece. Quite the contrary, however, given that Ms. Dargis draws attention to the fact that Mr. Mungiu creates a work of art that no mere interpretation could contain. In doing so, Ms. Dargis refocuses the piece on the artistic merit of the film, which in turn, justifies her claim that the Academy is full of ‘philistines.’
The lede, while captivating, establishes the precedent for the remainder of the piece both in its size and scope: “[T]he camera doesn’t follow the action, it expresses consciousness itself”. Admittedly, Ms. Dargis brings the topic back to earth when she locates this ‘consciousness’ in the plight of a young woman in State controlled Romania in the 1980s.
Nevertheless, as is evident in Dargis’ swift transition to the film’s European acclaim and American neglect, Dargis has another ‘consciousness’ in mind.
Dargis is angry with the Academy for ignoring the film because the recognition would certainly prompt wide-release of the film. To this, Dargis adds the additional claim that this film is a welcomed alternative to the “coy, trivializing attitude toward abortion in vogue in American fiction films”. Indeed, Ms. Dargis is quite right in identifying the recent endemic in American films where a young and beautiful woman is accidentally impregnated and she keeps the kid! I can think of a few Juno, Knocked Up and Waitress. But Dargis, nevertheless, maintains that this film is should be viewed principally for the ‘new talent’ in Romania -- writer/director Cristian Munguin.
Now, what to make of this strange opening to Ms. Dargis’ piece? Should we see the film for its ‘alternative’ political view or for the burgeoning artistic genius of Munguin. It is evident throughout the rest of the piece that Ms. Dargis tries to vigorously defend (dig herself out of the hole?) the claim about the film’s artistic merit. Put another way, she is totally aware that taking a shot at both the Academy and representation of abortion could very well overshadow the film review itself. And what a heroic effort Ms. Dargis gives!
As an enthusiast for foreign films, especially those coming from Central and Eastern Europe, I think Ms. Dargis does a remarkable job at capturing the grim aesthetic. Her attentiveness to the way that a seemingly accidental realism is transformed into aesthetic is a remarkable insight as indicated by the following description: “Hours later, during an unbearably tense scene when she’s surrounded by barking dogs on a desolate street, you realize there are no accidents here, just art”. For me this indicated that Ms. Dargis has a special eye for the difficult and vexing images that set art from schlop.
In the end, despite the huge opening, I think Ms. Dargis adequately defends her claim that Munguis’ film should be watched for its artistic genius. She achieves this with her careful consideration of the tendency to interpret Mungiu films within a wider socio-political context. This is a seemingly contradictory statement given that Ms. Dargis seems to do just this at the beginning of the piece. Quite the contrary, however, given that Ms. Dargis draws attention to the fact that Mr. Mungiu creates a work of art that no mere interpretation could contain. In doing so, Ms. Dargis refocuses the piece on the artistic merit of the film, which in turn, justifies her claim that the Academy is full of ‘philistines.’
1.28.2008
Heart, Soul and Good Acting Too!
Writer/director John Carney’s Once achieves the rare feat of successfully combining a diverse spread of artistic mediums without sacrificing the integrity of any one. More impressively, Carney puts forth a bold interpretation of the musical genre moving the camera away from the studio to the gritty streets of Dublin. In doing so, Carney eliminates the familiar garnishes of the musical and replaces them with real-time footage framed by a grainy digital camera. It is precisely this move that allows Carney to remain true to each artistic element of the film resulting in a harmonious triad of acting, music and cinematography. This equilibrium, however, would not be possible without the performances of the non-actor musicians Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, whose subtle and understated performances make this film possible.
Glen Hansard (Guy) and Marketa Irglova (as herself) fill the otherwise blight and depressive urban setting of Once with a robust spirit that finds its full expression in their musical numbers. Guy is a heart-broken and struggling musician who takes to the streets to perform when he isn’t working at his father’s vacuum repair shop. Marketa is a Czech immigrant who sells roses on those same busy streets as Guy. She is also a virtuoso pianist with an infant daughter and estranged husband. Admittedly, on description alone, the film certainly comes across as having the potential to be predictable and conventional. The acting, however, infuses this otherwise typical love story with an atypical element of authenticity.
Hansard and Irglova prove their ability as competent actors when they first perform the song that will later become the title track for the film. The two are so good in this moment that it is difficult to discern whether they are even acting. They display a range of emotions from reserve, nervousness, curiosity and concentration. Carney’s camerawork compliments the actors by maintaining a delicate balance between distance and intimacy. In doing so, he never forces a romance or chemistry that is absent from the performance. Paradoxically, some of the most intimate moments of the film are those filmed from a distance.
At times, Once can come off as overwhelmed by musical performance and underwhelmed by the actors’ performance. Such a criticism, however, ignores the fragile dialectic between Guy and Marketa’s personal struggles and the music they find in common. Accordingly, the prominent role that the music attains throughout the course of the film is never uncoupled from the integrity of the script or the actors. In sum, there is never a doubt as to whether or not Guy and Marketa have the ability to transcend their isolated and alienated condition, a necessity for the believability of the end.
It is rare to find a director willing to use non-actors in today’s world of cinema. There is something refreshing about not recognizing a lead role. Too often filmmakers adopt their style to better frame the star. Once is an exemplar of all the reasons to avoid this practice proving that no whole is greater than a part.
Glen Hansard (Guy) and Marketa Irglova (as herself) fill the otherwise blight and depressive urban setting of Once with a robust spirit that finds its full expression in their musical numbers. Guy is a heart-broken and struggling musician who takes to the streets to perform when he isn’t working at his father’s vacuum repair shop. Marketa is a Czech immigrant who sells roses on those same busy streets as Guy. She is also a virtuoso pianist with an infant daughter and estranged husband. Admittedly, on description alone, the film certainly comes across as having the potential to be predictable and conventional. The acting, however, infuses this otherwise typical love story with an atypical element of authenticity.
Hansard and Irglova prove their ability as competent actors when they first perform the song that will later become the title track for the film. The two are so good in this moment that it is difficult to discern whether they are even acting. They display a range of emotions from reserve, nervousness, curiosity and concentration. Carney’s camerawork compliments the actors by maintaining a delicate balance between distance and intimacy. In doing so, he never forces a romance or chemistry that is absent from the performance. Paradoxically, some of the most intimate moments of the film are those filmed from a distance.
At times, Once can come off as overwhelmed by musical performance and underwhelmed by the actors’ performance. Such a criticism, however, ignores the fragile dialectic between Guy and Marketa’s personal struggles and the music they find in common. Accordingly, the prominent role that the music attains throughout the course of the film is never uncoupled from the integrity of the script or the actors. In sum, there is never a doubt as to whether or not Guy and Marketa have the ability to transcend their isolated and alienated condition, a necessity for the believability of the end.
It is rare to find a director willing to use non-actors in today’s world of cinema. There is something refreshing about not recognizing a lead role. Too often filmmakers adopt their style to better frame the star. Once is an exemplar of all the reasons to avoid this practice proving that no whole is greater than a part.
1.23.2008
Writing About the Arts
William Zinsser proivdes a useful window onto the undefined and shapeless body of Arts criticism. He provides shape with his musing on the distinctions between reviewing and criticism: there are those who promote and those who mediate. The most compelling point (related to the former) of Zinsser's article is that critics need to find anyway to engage with the artist. That is, if critical mediation between the arts and public is possible, the critic must craft, like a gunsmith, his or her own language. To demonstrate this necessity, Zissner emphasizes the absolute importance of writing with clear language. If mediation is to be effective, the public must be able to understand. There is a careful balanace between dumbing criticism down, either through sensationalism or polemics, and using language as carefully and precisely as possible. For me this is what sets the critic apart from the artist. The critic has the task of mediating art in a universal public language. The artist has the task of mediating reality into negativity (not critical negativity). Thus, the critic is not so much as connected to the work of art as much as s/he is committed to the public.
Why the Writers’ Strike Isn’t Important
In a moment where talk of recession is pervasive, I find it interesting that our focus has been sharply honed on the fate of the Oscars and the writers’ strike. When labor all around the country is steadily declining (if it hasn’t already disappeared) and Americans are confronting the brute reality of poverty and joblessness, we continue to do what we do best: escapism!
The problem with this picture is that the writer’s are not protesting the consumer price on the new methods of proliferating media – they just want piece of the treasure. Furthermore, they are not the proletariats of the industry; rather, they are the middleclass. To be frank, the concept of ‘Hollywood Labor’ is certainly laughable, if not a paradox. There is nothing venerable about the plight of the writers.
writers.http://www.reuters.com/article/entertainmentNews/idUSN1615156820080123
As Racism Once Was
Despite Steinem’s dutiful reminder that historically progressive movements in the United States are better off unified as opposed to divided, the very context of her piece drives a wedge into the heart of contemporary progressive movements. In doing so Steinem commits the same error the American feminists of the 70s committed when they privileged the universal status of women over that of race and class. Three decades latter, Steinem seems content on diluting the complexity of political and social identity. While her points are well taken as to the pervasiveness of sexism, her claims are unsubstantiated and gratuitous.
For example, it would have been one thing to point out the double standard Hillary Clinton is required to tarry with and to demonstrate how this, in effect, is mutually implied for all women voters. It is quite another thing, however, to justify this assertion with the despicable act of historical amnesia. That is to say, Steinem seems to believe that while one chapter in the history of racism has concluded that same history persists in the history of sexism. Have we not learned the lesson that identity is anything but a neat, orderly and hermetically sealed unit? While I am sympathetic to Steinem’s overall claims, I find her argumentative strategy irresponsible.
1.14.2008
The Clairvoyance of Passion
Joe Wright’s Atonement is a lush and impressionistic portrait of Ian McEwan’s celebrated novel. The story takes place over a fifty year period, beginning at the Edenesque Tallis Estate, moving to the apocalyptic images of war, culminating, as a kind of metaphysical anterior, in a television studio. At every moment, Wright exercises an absolute control over the film’s expansive landscapes. His execution is unflinching as he paints with large strokes, presenting sweeping panoramas. The frames often threaten to overpower the screen, exhibiting a rare quality in filmmaking, when technical antithesis is able to express and sculpt the psychological interior of a character. In doing so, the film stays true to the Ian McEwan novel with its cinematic translation of psychological realism.
The first half of the film is inscribed with an uneasy tension between the comical encounters between Cecelia Tallis (Keira Knightley) and Robbie Turner (James McAvoy) and the blossoming, yet confused, passions of a young Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan). Ronan is convincing as the detached, imaginative spectator – voyeur onto the genesis of Robbie and Cecelia’s love. She magnificently negotiates the awkward, blurry division between sexually precocious and ascetic prepubescent with her asexual demeanor. McAvoy and Knightley, however, perform as if they are their own spectators, too self-conscious to capture the required contrast between Briony’s fictional displacement and the truth of their character’s reality. The tension culminates in Briony’s coitus interruptus of the lover’s lusty exchange in the library, which she misinterprets as violence. This sets the stage for the tragic assault of Briony’s cousin Lola by the wealthy friend of older brother Leon Tallis. Briony fasley accuses Robbie.
Wright is at his best in these early moments of the film, most notably when he leads the viewer through the psychological interior of the young Briony Tallis. The baroque gardens take on an expressionistic feel as they become a place where identity, sexuality, reality and fiction form a nebulous, unintelligible system, capable of distortion. The scene brilliantly climaxes when the young Briony’s flashlight illumines the inherent abjection of human sexuality. This scene prefigures the cultural crisis of World War II: innocence is lost, morality shown for its malevolence and the passions of man ambivalent to life and beauty.
The film falters; Wright forgets that it is Briony’s coming of age that serves as the foil for World War II. The tension is lost when Knightley and McAvoy take center stage with unremarkable performances – the former too nymph-like to capture the matronly undertones of Cecelia Tallis. Even at the film’s end, when the aged Briony (Vanessa Redgrave) delivers a closing monologue on her atonement, the moment at which the narrative folds over and consumes itself for a final time, Wright cannot help but shift our attention to a sentimental scene on the beach to marvel once more at the fragile beauty of our heroes Cecilia Tallis and Robbie Turner. This repeats a fundamental error that leaves the viewer with two irreconcilable halves: Atonement is not a love story; it is a bildungsroman.
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