tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6960723315352486852024-02-19T09:34:12.267-07:00CAUSE/EFFECT FILMSDarren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-41716354392080432612023-12-28T09:20:00.031-07:002024-01-01T08:39:22.550-07:00Homeward Bound<div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqcpiQz63NNmxcSiPtlgIS9rlk6kdwCbVXMBmQD_c9CJqV5YLnRliHDgUnmAcYZpzSc0cGaaBZtvpeOFOTxZv8YzS9-GtQUM0IwBofz8wtzzrZJukT_ewGa0uRxm9BKctVQI0Uy9GxTUlOSxpK97b0XjgwomUcCpECJoP5CrUx_LVqgiARYOZfUxnxQ/s5616/hotel%20home.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="3744" data-original-width="5616" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqcpiQz63NNmxcSiPtlgIS9rlk6kdwCbVXMBmQD_c9CJqV5YLnRliHDgUnmAcYZpzSc0cGaaBZtvpeOFOTxZv8YzS9-GtQUM0IwBofz8wtzzrZJukT_ewGa0uRxm9BKctVQI0Uy9GxTUlOSxpK97b0XjgwomUcCpECJoP5CrUx_LVqgiARYOZfUxnxQ/w640-h426/hotel%20home.jpg" width="640" /></i></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i>Feels like Home</i>- an odd phrase to be sure. When we say it, we seldom mean the literal place where we keep our possessions or receive our mail. </span><span style="color: #444444;">Usually, we mean something else: something bigger; even mythic. Yes, a metaphor, but for what? <i>Peace, Security, Wholeness?</i> Maybe, but these terms are also abstract. What do they mean?<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><i>Home</i> has always been one of literature's great themes- building a home, protecting one's home, leaving home. Odysseus’ sole mission was to return home.</span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">In the opening passage of her novel <i>Damage</i>, Josephine Hart writes:<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"></span><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">There is an internal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for its outlines all our lives. Those who are lucky enough to find it ease like water over a stone, onto its fluid contours, and are home. </span> </blockquote><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">Some find it in the place of their birth; others may leave a seaside town, parched, and find themselves refreshed in the desert. There are those born in rolling countryside who are really only at ease in the intense and busy loneliness of the city. </span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">For some, the search is for the imprint of another; a child or a mother, a grandfather or a brother, a lover, a husband, a wife, or a foe. </span> </blockquote><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;"></span><span style="color: #444444;">We may go through our lives happy or unhappy, successful or unfulfilled, loved or unloved, without ever standing cold with the shock of recognition, without ever feeling the agony as the twisted iron in our soul unlocks itself and we slip at last into place. </span></blockquote><span style="color: #444444;"><i>Those who are lucky enough to find it ease like water over a stone… and are home.</i> Here, Hart too is using the term "home" in a grand or mythic sense. When I read Hart's quote the first time, I was reminded of Nick Cassavetes’ <i>The Notebook</i>. Most dismiss the story as pulp and maybe deservedly so, but there are a few interesting moments that caught my attention. The two main characters, Noah (Ryan Gosling) and Allie (Rachel McAdams) fall in love but then eventually become estranged. At one point, Allie is even set to marry someone else. Despite this, Noah continues to rebuild a home he always envisioned living in with Allie. </span><span style="color: #444444;">In doing so, he creates a room just for her where she can </span><span style="color: #444444;">pursue her passion for painting. Shortly after seeing it, she laments the fact that she never paints anymore. She wants to, but for whatever reason, has stopped. We assume it’s because she has been busy or has simply forgotten- forgotten what’s important; essential. She’s reminded when Noah presents her with this <i>room of one’s own</i>. By Noah understanding this need, even when Allie has forgotten it, their relationship moves beyond mere attraction, even beyond affection, to perhaps the truest form of intimacy- <i>recognition</i>. It’s one thing to be desirable to another, but it’s something else to be known. The house Noah built <i>is</i> a home but also acts <i>as</i> home in the mythic sense we've been discussing. Noah and Allie rekindle their relationship and something “unlocks itself” as both “slip at last into place.” </span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span><a name='more'></a></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">When we think of love stories in general, we usually begin (and end) with sexual attraction or <i>Eros</i>. Certainly, it plays a role, but the deeper feeling of being understood goes much further than just physical attraction. C.S. Lewis in <i>The Four Loves </i>illustrates this distinction nicely. Lewis indeed writes about erotic love, but it’s actually his definition of friendship that I think best captures what it feels like to be "known" by another: <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"></span><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">Friendship arises... when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure or (burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, 'What? You too? I thought I was the only one.’ </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">We can imagine that among those early hunters and warriors single individuals- one in a century? one in a thousand years?- saw what the others did not; saw that the deer was beautiful as well as edible, that hunting was fun as well as necessary, dreamed that his gods might be not only powerful but holy. But as long as each of these percipient persons dies without finding a kindred soul, nothing (I suspect) will come of it; art or sport or spiritual religion will not be born.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision- it is then that Friendship is born. And instantly they stand together in immense solitude. Lewis, C.S. (1960; 1988). <i>The Four Loves.</i> (p. 65). Harvest/HBJ.</span></blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">When considering Lewis’ quote, it’s important not to be distracted or dismissive of the word “friend” or “friendship” within the context of romantic love. I remember as a teenager how often a phrase like “just friends” was used to define the seriousness of a relationship, or actually, the lack of seriousness. The phrase “strictly platonic” was similarly used, meaning- <i>Yes, we may be spending a lot of time together, but, I assure you, nothing sexual is happening!</i><br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30JfhJh0GGCvstqMoGqcftybHGYaw9NZcWGxOl3MszI--MSvQCa09D-sSj3RTaofKXzkrJWiSLPuGM8a-hAEb8SUij96h6j6iWxIyiRgk2kHnNPvvyz2hZKDdLl1OU3HhDRjUwoWWAfBt83pJ3MOh6nHYwAloa8fTMenX7k5fyFT9UlnmAYgjETObWA/s915/Plato%20Cartoon.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="915" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30JfhJh0GGCvstqMoGqcftybHGYaw9NZcWGxOl3MszI--MSvQCa09D-sSj3RTaofKXzkrJWiSLPuGM8a-hAEb8SUij96h6j6iWxIyiRgk2kHnNPvvyz2hZKDdLl1OU3HhDRjUwoWWAfBt83pJ3MOh6nHYwAloa8fTMenX7k5fyFT9UlnmAYgjETObWA/w320-h274/Plato%20Cartoon.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />To fully appreciate Lewis’ definition of friendship, it’s important to<br /> realize that </span><span style="color: #444444;">the way I used the term “strictly platonic” as a teenager, was the exact opposite of what Plato actually meant. Yes, it was mostly accurate to say a relationship absent of sexual relations was "Platonic." However, adding “just” in front of the word Platonic is where the error occurred. On the contrary, Plato would describe a sexual relationship as a lesser, more diminutive form of intimacy. <i>Strictly Platonic</i> actually meant the relationship was so profound, so intimate, that it expanded beyond the physical realm and into a spiritual or transcendent one.<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />We can see a representation of this in Mike Nichol’s 1971 film <i>Carnal Knowledge</i> when Sandy (Art Garfunkel) is talking to his friend Jonathan (Jack Nicholson) about the intimacy he shares with his girlfriend, Susan (Candice Bergen). Sandy says, "She tells me thoughts I didn’t even know I had before she tells them to me. It’s unbelievable. I can talk to her."</span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan is so intrigued by Sandy's connection with Susan and their intimacy, that he actually seduces Susan to try and find it too. But there’s an interesting twist. The connection between Jonathan and Susan is just sexual. After a few months, Jonathan becomes angry. On the surface, it appears he's angry that she's still seeing Sandy. However, what actually bothers him is that despite having sex, they don't share the same level of intimacy she shares with Sandy: <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"></span><blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: Susan, I love you. Why can’t you be more with me like you are with Sandy? You know every mood of mine like you know every mood of his. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: No. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: How come?<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: I don’t know. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: You don’t tell me thoughts I never knew I had. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: Does he say I do that? <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: You do it all right, so do it with me. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: I can’t. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: You can do it with him. You can do it with me! Now tell me my thoughts. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: I can’t. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: Why can’t you? <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: I can’t with you. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: This has gone far enough. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Susan: I can’t stand any more ultimatums. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;">Jonathan: This is the last one. Now, tonight you tell him about us, or tomorrow, I tell him. Look at me, Susan! Now tell me my goddamn thoughts! </span></blockquote><span style="color: #444444;">When Jonathan demands that Susan tell him his thoughts, he is desperately seeking the Platonic ideal of intimacy that transcends sex.<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />Let’s now return to Lewis’ quote, and reconsider it within this context, suggesting that Lewis' description of friendship is akin to this Platonic ideal:<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><blockquote>…when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure or (burden). The typical expression.. would be something like, 'What? You too? I thought I was the only one.’ It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision… And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude. Lewis, C.S. (1960; 1988). <i>The Four Loves</i>. (p. 65). Harvest/HBJ. </blockquote></span><span style="color: #444444;">Here Lewis describes what it feels like to not only have someone know your thoughts- but to know their thoughts as well. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />One of my favorite illustrations of this type of recognition, of being known, is through Ben's (Dustin Hoffman) relationship with Elaine (Katherine Ross) in <i>The Graduate</i>, another film by Mike Nichols. Before this connection occurs though, Ben has an affair with Elaine's mother, Mrs. Robinson. Ben and Elaine's intimacy is all the more profound when contrasted with the meaningless and empty affair Ben has with her mother. Despite being sexually intimate, Ben and Mrs. Robinson are never able to even have a conversation. When they meet in the hotel room for the first time, Ben feels guilty and says: "</span><span style="color: #444444;">Mrs. Robinson, I can't do this. This is terribly wrong. Can you imagine my parents, can you imagine what they would say if they saw us in this room? I think they deserve better than this." </span><span style="color: #444444;">Mrs. Robinson doesn't play by the same rules though. She asks Ben if this is his first time, and says that just because he's "inadequate" in one area, doesn't mean he should be embarrassed. Ben neglects to see her game and gives in to prove that he is indeed adequate. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />In another failed attempt to communicate, Ben is in bed with Mrs. Robinson and instead of making love, he asks her if they could talk for once. She is uninterested though and keeps turning off the light. He keeps pressing the issue until Mrs. Robinson reveals that she studied art in college but stopped when she became pregnant with Elaine and had to marry Mr. Robinson. For the first time in the movie, Ben verbally asserts himself and is able to control the conversation and persuade someone to talk to him, even if for a moment. However, the conversation, while being candid, never becomes intimate and eventually turns into an argument. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />Similar to Jonathan’s relationship with Susan in <i>Carnal Knowledge</i>, the relationship is just sexual and while Ben isn't demanding like Jonathan, he does desire more. Interestingly, Ben’s misery may be greater- he isn’t asking Mrs. Robinson to tell him his thoughts; he's simply asking to hear hers.<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />The truth is, Ben is unable to communicate with anyone in the first half of the film. The opening scene shows him alone and stoic, while Simon and Garfunkle's "The Sounds of Silence" is playing in the background. The next scene is Ben's party; it's noisy and the faces of the people talking are shot at close-up, distorted angles. The garrulous conversations are steeped with patronizing advice and meaningless compliments. The scene is filled with confusion, forcing Ben to repeatedly retreat to his room to be alone. Later in the film, when Ben's father buys him some scuba equipment, Ben wears it, and unable to hear anyone, jumps into the water and sinks to the bottom of the pool. The camera slowly pans away, illustrating just how isolated and alone he really is. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />Everything changes of course when Ben goes on a date with Elaine. It is set up by her father who of course doesn’t realize the affair Ben is having with his wife and Elaine’s mother. Ben, not wanting to be rude to Mr. Robinson, agrees to take Elaine on a date. Yet, to appease Mrs. Robinson who’s adamantly opposed to it, Ben sabotages the date from the start by taking</span><span style="color: #444444;"> Elaine to a burlesque show. Initially, Ben is oblivious or simply doesn’t care how Elaine feels about any of this, which is represented nicely by the fact that he keeps his sunglasses on while in the club. However, this changes after a woman comes over and starts dancing right above Elaine’s head. When Ben sees how all of it is affecting Elaine, and how humiliated she is, he takes off his sunglasses, pushes the dancer away, and then follows Elaine as she runs outside. This is the moment when everything in the film changes. As Ben apologizes, he's finally able to communicate with another human being and it’s thrilling to see it happen: <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><blockquote>Can I tell you something? Listen, I just want to tell you one thing. I'm not like this. I hate myself like this. </blockquote></span><span style="color: #444444;">Elaine is receptive and the two go to a drive-in restaurant where they sit in Ben’s car and eat while continuing to talk. Ben continues their conversation:<br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><blockquote>I've had this feeling ever since I graduated. This compulsion that I have to be rude all the time. It's like I've been playing some kind of game, but the rules don't make any sense to me. They're being made up by all the wrong people. No, I mean no one makes them up. They seem to make themselves up.</blockquote></span><span style="color: #444444;">This is really a remarkable scene in that for the first time in the film, something is released in Ben. He is finally able to talk to someone responsive and genuinely interested in what he is saying. Nichols cleverly juxtaposes these first moments of intimacy along with noise and confusion. When Ben and Elaine are talking outside of the club earlier, the camera is placed across the street, making Ben's confession to Elaine barely audible. Also at the drive-in diner, a car next to them is filled with kids playing loud music. When Ben asks them to turn it down, they actually turn the music up, forcing him to put the top up on his convertible and roll up his windows. Interestingly, Nichols keeps the camera outside of the car. As a result, we can't hear what Ben and Elaine are saying but can see them continuing to talk passionately, despite the distractions outside the car. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />The scene outside of the club and the loud music from the car are symbolic of the chaos surrounding Ben up to that point in the film. Talking to Elaine though is a refuge, a safe place from this confusion which is illustrated when Ben puts the top up on his convertible- a place so personal, that the audience isn’t even allowed inside. <br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><br />In the next scene, the top is down again and the viewer is welcomed back into the car as the two sit quietly outside Elaine's house. The silence is striking in how it contrasts so directly with the noise of the two previous scenes. Unlike the Sounds of Silence heard at the beginning of the film from being unable to communicate with another person, this is the silence, the deep breath, that occurs after a personal and meaningful conversation. Silence no longer illustrates Ben’s isolation, but instead punctuates the intimacy he is sharing with another person. The conversation with Elaine "eases like water over a stone" as Ben finally feels at home. </span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;">Thomas Wolfe thought a lot about the notion of <i>home</i>- that "</span><span style="color: #444444;">internal landscape" we search for all our lives. </span><span style="color: #444444;">In the title of his novel, Wolfe suggested that </span><i style="color: #444444;">You Can’t Go Home Again.</i><span style="color: #444444;"> You may return to the physical location of your childhood home, but you can’t </span><i style="color: #444444;">really</i><span style="color: #444444;"> return because everything will have changed. Instead of a stone castle surrounded by a magic forest, you’ll find a three-bedroom house and a small, square backyard. Of course, neither the house nor the backyard has changed- </span><i style="color: #444444;">you</i><span style="color: #444444;"> have. </span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">This inability to return home brings to mind Judaeo-Christianity's original home- <i>Eden</i>. Adam and Eve were home in paradise but eventually banished because of disobedience. Eden can also act as a metaphor for innocence itself- that brief time in childhood when every need is met, and one is naked without shame. Of course, this is only part of the story. <i>Experience</i> eventually (inevitably) finds its way into our garden, and once we eat from this <i>tree of knowledge</i>, our innocence is lost, never to return. </span><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">I began my essay by discussing how <i>feels like home</i> is an odd phrase. Maybe it’s odd because this feeling, whether we realize it or not, is sort of a compass or conscience guiding us. Are the people, things, or places that feel like home gentle reminders of <i>our time in Eden</i>? Reminders of what we once were; of what we hope we could be again?</span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Of course, we can't return to Eden, but maybe we can find a new home; one where innocence and experience both reside. Richard Rohr describes such a place this way:</span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><blockquote>The goal in sacred story is always to come back home, after getting the protagonist to leave home in the first place! A contradiction? A paradox? Yes, but now home has a whole new meaning, never imagined before. As always, it transcends but includes one's initial experience of home.... </blockquote></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444;"><blockquote><span style="font-size: large;">And so, like Odysseus, we leave from Ithaca and we come back to Ithaca, but now it is fully home, because all is included, and nothing wasted or hated; even the dark parts are used in our favor. All is forgiven. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Rohr, Richard. <i>Falling Upward</i> (p. 87-88; 96). Wiley. Kindle Edition. </span></blockquote></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Maybe the people, things, and places that <i>feel like home </i>guide us to this new place. A new home where we finally understand:</span></div><blockquote><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">We shall not cease from exploration</span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">And the end of all our exploring</span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Will be to arrive where we started</span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">And know the place for the first time.</span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Eliot, T.S. "The Four Quartets." Harcourt Publishing. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"></div></blockquote><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><br /></div></span></span></div>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-16655099943904297052022-11-11T18:00:00.001-07:002022-12-17T11:14:53.135-07:00Working with Meaning (Part One)<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqO24YMe3RWp5a2WBwE2CeQRJgUnelCtEEa2S9Ju8OxakertS9NWtL3mfoqcIQiziXuzTaBH9UP8FYzne8S_gvsaQNgw1CWeo-UITGD5AL0b41kfAHm3Vod0GIUO0mUWxKRxjYkWqimHv/s1600/hal_9000_.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqO24YMe3RWp5a2WBwE2CeQRJgUnelCtEEa2S9Ju8OxakertS9NWtL3mfoqcIQiziXuzTaBH9UP8FYzne8S_gvsaQNgw1CWeo-UITGD5AL0b41kfAHm3Vod0GIUO0mUWxKRxjYkWqimHv/s400/hal_9000_.jpg" width="400" /></a><span class="s1" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">There's a great scene in Stanley Kubrick's film <i>2001: A Space Odyssey</i> where HAL says <i>“I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>The fact that HAL is a computer is disconcerting enough but even more unsettling is how it nudges the viewer, who is in fact a conscious entity,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>to ponder am I putting <i>myself </i>to the fullest possible use?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Occasionally, I'll hear the phrase <i>What's the meaning of life? </i>spoken in a casual conversation. I say "phrase" and not question because it's usually said more as a punchline than an honest inquiry.</span><br />
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<span class="s1" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The meaning of life is at the core of HAL’s quote. He (it) has found it: <i>I am putting myself to the fullest possible use. </i>Of course, the word "use" here does seem subjective. If HAL were a philosophy professor, I doubt he would tell his students that his reference point for usefulness was, in an <i>a priori </i>sense, THE r</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">eference point. HAL seems content because he has found his <i>own </i></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">fullest possible use.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">When I think of <i>meaning, </i>my first thought goes to the idea of work, and not even in the uppercase sense of <i>Work</i> as in one’s Calling or Life<i>work</i>. Most think that meaning is only found in doing something profound or important, but I've always found the pleasure bestowed from hard work much more egalitarian, <i>no respecter of persons</i> if you will. This notion is captured perfectly in the essay "Good Workers" by John T. Price:</span></div>
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<span class="s1" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">To work, my grandfather said, was to work. To play was to play. And he meant to <i>work- </i>digging ditches, shoveling shit for pennies until the flesh on your hands peeled back in red strips. When I was just a teen he told me about those bloody hands with a serious, unfeeling pride that seemed awesome to me, a boy in school, the son of a lawyer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The belief that a man who works hard can erase all of his sins runs deep into the folds of my family, and, I suspect, into the midwestern landscape in which we were all raised.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span> </blockquote>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Here, Price explains how not only work provides meaning but can even be redemptive- <i>covering a multitude of sins</i></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In a previous blog post, </span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.ce-films.org/2017/05/one-of-roles-of-cause-effect-films-that.html"><span style="font-size: large;">Critically Speaking</span></a></i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">, I wrote about my own grandfather and his work:</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">[A]</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">s a boy during my Christmas vacations from school, I would often stay a few days with my grandparents. My grandfather was a farmer and during particularly cold winters in western Oklahoma, he would have to get up at 4 a.m. and drive out to his land where he kept his cattle and break up the ice in their drinking troughs. I remember occasions when I would be in bed, barely awake, hearing the wind howling outside and my grandfather shuffling about in the other room, putting on his Dickies coveralls and his muddy boots, slipping out the backdoor, and driving away in his noisy Ford pickup. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></span></blockquote>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Is hard work, in fact, <i>redemptive</i>? If it is, what makes it so? Why does some hard work provide joy and meaning, while other work begets frustration or dread? </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Over the next several months, I will be exploring these and similar questions. My goal is to determine (<i>discover?</i>) how exactly one goes about putting himself or herself "to the fullest possible use," and if it in fact "is all that a conscious entity can hope to do." </span><div><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2018/05/working-with-meaning-part-2.html">Part Two</a>, I explore how Work can also be a place of Rest...</span></div>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-26161804442058069572022-11-09T17:30:00.001-07:002022-12-17T11:19:10.971-07:00Working with Meaning (Part Two)<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2018/04/working-with-meaning-part-1.html">Part One</a>, I quoted a passage from an essay by John T. Price suggesting work in and of itself is redemptive. I hear echoes of Price's essay in this passage from Jack Schaefer's western novel <i>Shane</i> </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">when the father of the narrator is laboring with the title character, Shane, to uproot an enormous tree trunk:</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">What impressed you as Shane found what he was up against and settled to it was the easy way the power in him poured smoothly into each stroke. The man and the axe seemed to be partners in the work. The blade would sink into the parallel grooves almost as if it knew itself what to do and the chips from between would come out in firm and thin little blocks. </span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">[My father] picked a root on the opposite side from Shane. He was not angry the way he usually was when he confronted one of those roots. There was a kind of serene and contented look on his face. </span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span>Shaefer, Jack. <i>Shane. </i>(pp. 25-26). Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">When the boy's mother, Marian, comes to see what they are doing, she is surprised because initially her husband intended to take the day off and rest. Not sure what to make of the behemoth task her husband and Shane are </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">attempting, Marian says: </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">'Humph... [t]his is a funny kind of resting you're doing today.' </span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The boy's father puts the axe on the ground, leans on the handle, and responds, '</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Maybe it seems funny... [b]ut this is the best resting I've had for about as long as I can remember.'</span></blockquote>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Of the entire passage, I find these sentences to be the most interesting. Shaefer is working with a paradox here- not only illustrating the physical strain required to accomplish their task, but suggesting one can simultaneously feel "rested" </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">within and during the task. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">[Father] turned his head to face the stump once more and dropped it lower between his humped shoulders. Shane, opposite him, stiffened, and together they pushed in a fresh assault. The stump quivered and swayed a little- and hung fixed at its crazy high angle....</span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I wanted to shout a warning. But I could not speak, for Shane had thrown his head in a quick sideways gesture to fling his hair from falling over his face and I had caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were aflame with a concentrated cold fire. Not another separate discernible movement did he make. It was all of him, the whole man, pulsing in the one incredible surge of power. You could fairly feel the fierce energy suddenly burning in him, pouring through him in the single co-ordinated drive. His side of the stump rocked forward and the whole mass tore loose from the last hold and toppled away to sprawl in ungainly defeat beyond them.</span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The silence should have been complete. It was not because someone was shouting, a high-pitched, wordless shout. I realized that the voice was mine and I closed my mouth. The silence was clean and wholesome, and this was one of the things you could never forget whatever time might do to you in the furrowing of the years, an old stump on its side with root ends making a strange pattern against the glow of the sun sinking behind the far mountains and two men looking over it... </span>Shaefer, Jack. <i>Shane. </i>(pp. 36-37). Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. </blockquote>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">It's a great passage and afterwards, the narrator's father again says he's <i>rested</i> and in fact says he's the most rested<i> </i>he has ever been. The narrator's father doesn't feel this way because the work is over and he is now able<i> </i>to rest- no, this rest was felt <i>during</i> the work; <i>because</i> of the work.<br /> </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br />This idea reminds me of the scene in Tennessee Williams' <i>Cat on a Hot Tin Roof</i></span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">when Brick is explaining why he drinks every night and how he knows when to stop:</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Brick: Somethin' hasn't happened yet.</span></span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Big Daddy: What's that?</span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Brick: A click in my head.</span> </blockquote>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Big Daddy: Did you say <i>click? </i></span></span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Brick: Yes sir, the click in my head that makes me feel peaceful.</span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Big Daddy: Boy, sometimes you worry me.</span> </blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Brick: It's like a switch, clickin' off in my head. Turns the hot light off and the cool one on...</span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">This scene </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">connects us back to both </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i>Shane</i></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> and Kubrick’s </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i>2001</i></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">. Doesn't this </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">click</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> happen if one is putting himself or herself to the fullest possible use? Isn't this </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">click </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">the “rest” described in </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i>Shane</i>? </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2018/05/working-with-meaning-part-3.html">Part Three</a>, we will look at this idea further and discuss the research of a psychology professor who has spent decades trying to understand this so called <i>click </i>and how one can learn to access it directly. </span></div>
Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-47799333073255614062022-11-08T17:00:00.002-07:002022-12-17T11:21:35.769-07:00Working with Meaning (Part Three)<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span class="s1">Earlier, we discussed the scene from <i>Cat on a Hot Tin Roof </i>where Brick is looking for an ever-elusive <i>click</i> "that turns the hot light off and the cool one on." </span>A few years ago, Wright Thompson wrote a great article titled <a href="http://www.espn.com/espn/feature/story/_/page/Michael-Jordan/michael-jordan-not-left-building">“Michael Jordan Has Not Left the Building”</a></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> that illustrates Jordan looking for this same click. </span></span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Why is it soothing to hear that in spite of his accomplishments Michael Jordan is still a restless, unhappy soul? Is this the sentiment Shakespeare's Richard II suggests when he says <i>let's sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings</i>? It's clear this is the appeal Thompson's article is trying to foster. He even uses some of Jordan’s material possessions as pointed metaphors: his cigar not staying lit, a lost championship ring, a missing pair of glasses.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);">It's an easy story to tell:</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><i>If I can't be like Mike, I want him to be like me.</i></span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdJcxCnbBXfXW96TTVo56h-Bu__catzqgYzy8bGkKGnXBPga2jQwNL7xzMajqta0Luk65inh5124P7_JdVzcuE3XXAUMDtnt2QuP8ap-nJ7tIt4yIahgysla6gKCXzBduytQC7GGJtiMU/s1600/Street+Trumpet.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="328" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdJcxCnbBXfXW96TTVo56h-Bu__catzqgYzy8bGkKGnXBPga2jQwNL7xzMajqta0Luk65inh5124P7_JdVzcuE3XXAUMDtnt2QuP8ap-nJ7tIt4yIahgysla6gKCXzBduytQC7GGJtiMU/s400/Street+Trumpet.jpeg" width="327" /></a><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Obviously, work is how many turn the hot light off and the cool light on. Yet, why does some work provide meaning while other work offers only boredom or dread? Similarly, how was the narrator's father in <i>Shane</i> able to feel "rest" while actually doing a grueling task? Is any of this related to what Jordan experienced as an athlete that he seemingly hasn't found as an executive? I think a possible answer to all these questions can be found within the work of Hungarian Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. He has spent </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">decades studying the phenomenon of <i>FLOW</i> which he describes as </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">a sort of hypnosis where all sense of self, time, and place drift away and only a singular focus on the task at hand remains. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">For Flow to occur, some fundamental components have to be in place. For one, a person's skill has to be in proportion to the difficulty of the task being performed, and as one's skill increases, so must the challenge. According to </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Csikszentmihalyi, F</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">low can be achieved within a wide variety of activities- athletes, musicians, artists, even a mother piecing together a puzzle with her child can all experience it. Within each scenario though, there are always 3 common denominators:</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The paradox of the narrator's father in </span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Shane</span></i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> feeling "rest" finally comes into focus here. Wasn't he simply in a state</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> of Flow?</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> Removing the tree trunk was the “clearly defined goal.” Determining what branch to cut and at what angle required “decision making and creativity” while “immediate feedback” occurred each time the giant tree creaked and swayed. The boy narrating the story provided the final exclamation when the tree ultimately broke free from the soil: </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">"Someone was shouting, a high-pitched, wordless shout. I realized that the voice was mine..."</i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Immediate feedback indeed! </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">We will end our discussion there for now, but <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2018/03/working-with-meaning-part-4_25.html">next time</a> we'll look at this notion of <i>Flow</i> </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">even further and if the above 3 components are in fact what makes some tasks more meaningful than others. </span><br />
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Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-82248301645423996792022-11-07T16:30:00.001-07:002022-12-17T11:23:29.685-07:00Working with Meaning (Part Four)<div class="p1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;">Previously, we discussed the three common denominators for reaching a state of </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">Flow</span></i><span style="font-size: large;">:</span></span></div>
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<li class="li2"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">A clearly defined goal as well as agreed upon rules and boundaries that dictate the terms of how this goal can be accomplished.</span></span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_GcfG4C9qQ4amM2i4_ZfpNwz-l9q-cPN6ezoo-qB-w04W_jtWBdppE7-PCVDH60uuWzJH8CUtmB6lu99BwiyUAY9EJNOwMfg2C0xceNpq-Kn7TkvrVt54mQbuK6zHknLEXRWKfJ8qIAU/s1600/board+game.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="425" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_GcfG4C9qQ4amM2i4_ZfpNwz-l9q-cPN6ezoo-qB-w04W_jtWBdppE7-PCVDH60uuWzJH8CUtmB6lu99BwiyUAY9EJNOwMfg2C0xceNpq-Kn7TkvrVt54mQbuK6zHknLEXRWKfJ8qIAU/s320/board+game.jpg" width="212" /></a><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">In the previous posts, we were primarily discussing how these components related to <i>work</i>, but Csikszentmihalyi's ideas expands to even game theory. Of the three components, the second is the most nuanced and I would argue, often what makes one game more or less enjoyable than another.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In fact, the next time you’re playing a game and find yourself sort of bored, it’s likely from an inability to make creative decisions within the game's rules or boundaries.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">For participants and fans alike, professional sports display a nearly perfect execution of the these three components. Most of the major sports have not only rules in place but referees and umpires to enforce them, as well as instant replay to enforce this enforcement. The vast differences among players in style and skill illustrate the range of creativity and decision making allowed within the rules set into place. Immediate feedback is not only displayed on the scoreboard during each second of the game, channels like ESPN and sports radio provide recognition and commentary about each accomplishment. In addition, there are myriad awards presented each season, culminating with the most gifted players being inducted into a Hall of Fame.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;">These ideas of <i>Flow</i> move beyond just work and gameplay though and can expand to the very definition of meaning itself. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Csikszentmihalyi</span><span style="font-size: large;"> writes:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">For people in our studies who live by themselves and do not attend church, Sunday mornings are the lowest part of the week, because with no demands on attention, they are unable to decide what to do. The rest of the week psychic energy is directed by external routines: work, shopping, favorite TV shows, and so on. But what is one to do Sunday morning after breakfast, after having browsed through the papers? For many, the lack of structure of those hours is devastating. Generally by noon a decision is made: I’ll mow the lawn, visit relatives, or watch the football game. A sense of purpose then returns, and attention is focused on the next goal.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Why is solitude such a negative experience? The bottom-line answer is that keeping order in the mind from within is very difficult. We need external goals, external stimulation, external feedback to keep attention directed. And when external input is lacking, attention begins to wander, and thoughts become chaotic—</span>Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly (2008-08-18). <i>Flow (P.S.)</i> (pp. 168-169). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(27, 27, 27); color: #1b1b1b; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large;"> </span></span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Csikszentmihalyi’s passage reminds me of when I was a teacher and I’d be preparing for summer break after the spring semester. It was a moment I looked forward to each school year, yet when it would arrive, I'd always feel anxious, even paralyzed. Now I realize that these feelings occurred because the school year was “directed by external routines” while the summer provided no structure. In other words, it was 3 months of <i>Sunday mornings.</i> I eventually overcame this anxiety by planning my summers ahead of time and setting a schedule into place so once the semester ended, I could instantly go from one routine or structure to another.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">I also wonder if this why I feel a sort of relief on a rainy Saturday or Sunday afternoons? Does a sunny day just present too many options to keep <i>attention directed</i>?</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"> </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">As a writer, I find Csikszentmihalyi’s research particularly interesting. It helps me understand why I prefer an imposed deadline as to creating one myself. It also helps me understand why writing, particularly as a freelance writing, can be so challenging. Without an editor, there often isn’t incremental feedback or any recognition until <i>after</i> the hard work is over. One of the biggest challenges is dealing with just how abstract the act of writing actually is. This is easy to put into context by contrasting it to the other work I’ve done in my life. When my wife and I moved into our current home, we had to remodel it from the ground up. Everything, including many of the walls, were torn out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While it was miserable at the time, there was a certain satisfaction each day as we made progress and our new home began materializing before our very eyes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A writer rarely has this luxury- forever trapped within the the abstract, the <i>im</i>material. There is no dust from sheetrock to sweep away, no kitchen that needs to be painted, no ceiling to raise or wall to remove. As a writer, I may delete an entire chapter or move a paragraph, but it all still remains two dimensional on the page, or even worse, illuminated on a computer screen. What’s more is that when I put the final period on the final page of my final draft, even then, the process isn’t complete. In actuality, it’s just beginning. At that point, someone still has to read it and understand it, and not only understand it, but, hopefully, find it compelling or meaningful.</span></span></div>
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<div class="p2"><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">In <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2018/12/working-with-meaning-part-4b.html">Part Five</a>, we’ll continue our discussion and begin transitioning from lowercase <i>work</i> and towards what I described earlier as uppercase <i>Work </i>as in one's calling or <i>life</i>work. </span></span><br />
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Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-4321041386083710042022-11-05T16:00:00.004-07:002022-12-17T11:30:49.408-07:00Working with Meaning (Part Five) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In my <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2018/03/working-with-meaning-part-4_25.html">prior post</a>, I referred to </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Csikszentmihalyi describing </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">how many people feel “Sunday mornings are the lowest part of the week, because with no demands on attention, they are unable to decide what to do….For many, the lack of structure of those hours is devastating.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Years ago, I read Susan Orlean's <i>The Orchid Thief</i> and heard echoes of the same theme: </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OYiI1Bbc54gghcEbGNHYBfLLJ6dfRoNag4ptl6Zjc3GGPIJHgSd92Lu5-iRsueg7Ye2AZOffZ9NZrPMS39SJeVKUpKRYduw5gvVxTEUA2GB1LjYU-xlac6jcXRrB9deql1Lnl4V24kHK/s1600/white-orchid-closeup-3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OYiI1Bbc54gghcEbGNHYBfLLJ6dfRoNag4ptl6Zjc3GGPIJHgSd92Lu5-iRsueg7Ye2AZOffZ9NZrPMS39SJeVKUpKRYduw5gvVxTEUA2GB1LjYU-xlac6jcXRrB9deql1Lnl4V24kHK/s320/white-orchid-closeup-3.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The world is so huge that people are always getting lost in it. There are too many ideas and things and people, too many directions to go. I was starting to believe that the reason it matters to care passionately about something is that it whittles the world down to a more manageable size. It makes the world seem not huge and empty but full of possibility.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">Orlean, Susan. <i>The Orchid Thief: A True Story of Beauty and Obsession</i> (Ballantine Reader's Circle) (p. 133). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.</span></span> </blockquote>
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<a name='more'></a> <span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Here Orlean is referring to John Laroche, an eccentric who has whittled his world down to collecting orchids. Her interest in him exceeds his desire to collect flowers, though. It's his desire in general that fascinates her. Before orchids, Laroche collected turtles, fossils, 19th-century Dutch mirrors, tropical fish. When Laroche directs his passion so devotedly, so acutely, to something, he thinks of nothing else, yet when he stops, he never thinks of it again. </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Orlean writes:</span> </div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Years ago, between his Ice Age fossils and his old mirrors, he went through a tropical-fish phase. At its peak, he had more than sixty fish tanks in his house and went skin-diving regularly to collect fish. Then the end came. He didn’t gradually lose interest: he renounced fish and vowed he would never again collect them and, for that matter, he would never set foot in the ocean again. That was seventeen years ago. He has lived his whole life only a couple of feet west of the Atlantic, but he has not dipped a toe in it since then. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Orlean, Susan. <i>The Orchid Thief: A True Story of Beauty and Obsession</i> (Ballantine Reader's Circle) (pp. 2-3). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">A few years ago, I heard an interview with Woody Allen describing how he never considers what critics say about his work because once he finishes a film, he immediately begins working on the next one. Allen’s legacy is certainly tainted with the various allegations that have come out about him, but, for what it's worth, you certainly can’t question his work ethic. As of 2018, IMDB has Allen directing 51 films which is nearly one a year since his first film in 1965. What struck me about the Allen interview is the odd sort of faith he has. I say "faith" </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">because Allen’s films for the last twenty five years or so, with a few exceptions, have been unwatchable, yet, to Allen, it doesn’t seem to matter. With each film, he shows up on the set each day, pushing</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> the proverbial rock back up the hill. </span></span><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Is <i>faith </i>what we actually admire in people with passion? The fact they just believe, blindly at times, that what they’re doing is significant and meaningful in spite of reason or criticism? Returning to </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Csikszentmihalyi’s passage about Sunday Mornings, Orlean's interest in passion comes into focus: </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Why is solitude such a negative experience? The bottom-line answer is that keeping order in the mind from within is very difficult. We need external goals, external stimulation, external feedback to keep attention directed. And when external input is lacking, attention begins to wander, and thoughts become chaotic—</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly (2008-08-18). <i>Flow (P.S.)</i> (pp. 168-169). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">No doubt Allen’s passion for making films and Laroche’s passion for collecting orchids “whittles the world down to a manageable size." Most people consider such passion to be rooted in desire but what if <i>faith </i>actually is the seed that begets such energy? Most who feel stunted by not having a passion, likely begin “collecting” or “making” something only to eventually stop because the pursuit seems illogical or futile. One initially feels interest or enthusiasm but for whatever reason, can’t sustain it. If faith<i> </i>actually is the seed though, then <i>knowing </i>something or <i>feeling</i> something should have very little to do with pursuing something passionately. One or both might begin the endeavor but faith transcends what one feels or knows. I’m sure Allen doesn’t always <i>feel</i> like going to the set or to the editing room, but he goes because he <i>believes </i>in it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Laroche describes it this way: </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">'It’s not really about collecting the thing itself,' Laroche went on. 'It’s about getting immersed in something, and learning about it, and having it become part of your life. It’s a kind of direction.' </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Orlean, Susan. </span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The Orchid Thief: A True Story of Beauty and Obsession</i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> (Ballantine Reader's Circle) (p. 344). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></blockquote>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Orlean envies Laroche, and I suspect someone like Allen, because neither appears to struggle with Sunday mornings.</span></div><div class="p4"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="p4"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In <a href="https://www.ce-films.org/2021/06/working-with-meaning-part-6.html">Part Six</a>, we near the end of our discussion as explore the idea of Work in <i>A Bridge on the River Kwai</i>, <i>It's a Wonderful Life</i>, and <i>Citizen Kane</i>. </span></div>
<br />Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-20923406843508285932022-11-03T07:54:00.003-07:002022-12-17T11:37:09.361-07:00Working with Meaning (Part Six)<p style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As we think about the idea of work, we should look at a peculiar scene in David Lean’s WWII epic <i>The Bridge on the River Kwai.</i> Colonel Nicholson and his men are held as prisoners of war by the Japanese army and ordered to build the bridge stated in the film's title. Initially, the men are not taking their work seriously and are even trying to undermine their enemy’s command. </span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Nicholson realizes this and orders them to stop thwarting the effort and begin taking pride in their work. Shortly after, Clifton, a physician, notices the progress of the bridge and questions Nicholson:</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote style="text-align: left;"><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">CLIFTON: The fact is, what we’re doing could be construed as, forgive me sir, collaboration with the enemy. Perhaps even as treasonable activity.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">NICHOLSON: Are you alright Clifton? We are prisoners of war, we haven’t the right to refuse work.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">CLIFTON: I understand that sir, but must we work so well? Must we build them a better bridge than they can build themselves?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">NICHOLSON: Would you prefer to see this battalion disintegrate in idleness? Would you have it said that our chaps can’t do a proper job? Do you realize how important it is to show these people that they can’t break us in body or in spirit. Take a good look, Clifton. One day the war will be over and I hope the people who will use this bridge in years to come will remember how it was built and who built it. Not a gang of slaves, but soldiers. British soldiers even in captivity.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p></blockquote><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_U_q-DaQXzqslck6K4pVnTpXuXeEX_vixepyQmdaRMp-3mUkyXHX0Uvpp4uXdYoQKRw_YN0W1tkLY5L886Jz79ka7PTcLMuZpPdhnR6T7merPfIzp8VWPHCO4uICCBUBOPXjFiqLhNxm/s579/Screen+Shot+2021-05-31+at+1.18.24+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="398" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_U_q-DaQXzqslck6K4pVnTpXuXeEX_vixepyQmdaRMp-3mUkyXHX0Uvpp4uXdYoQKRw_YN0W1tkLY5L886Jz79ka7PTcLMuZpPdhnR6T7merPfIzp8VWPHCO4uICCBUBOPXjFiqLhNxm/w275-h400/Screen+Shot+2021-05-31+at+1.18.24+PM.png" width="275" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">How is the viewer supposed to interpret this odd scene? On one hand, Clifton is<br />right. The bridge will help their enemy. On the other, we again hear echoes of Price’s grandfather from “Good Work” in that <i>how </i>one works is just as important as the work itself. Likewise for Nicholson, “shoveling shit” or building a bridge- “work is work” and the value isn’t just in what’s accomplished but in the way it’s accomplished. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Could we go a step further and suggest that Colonel Nicholson is an artist? An artist wishing to create something functional, yes, but also something beautiful; a monument to hard work and craftsmanship, independent from any military or political objective. Nicholson’s men only see the bridge within utilitarian terms- a passageway from point A to point B. The bridge isn’t a work of art at all which makes it easy to undermine and eventually destroy. Conversely, Colonel Nicholson <i>only</i> sees it as a work of art. Even though their enemy is using the bridge with the intent to destroy the Colonel’s own military, the bridge has inherent value in and of itself- <i>art for art’s sake</i> in other words. <br /></span><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">There is a certain absurdity in Colonel Nicholson’s ideas which provides a nice segue to another absurd story regarding work- the myth of Sisyphus. A tragic hero forever destined to push a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back down once he reaches the top. Up and back down, and up again- for eternity. Is there a more apt metaphor to describe the drudgery and monotony, <i>the daily grind, </i>many associate with the job they do (redo)<i> </i>everyday? </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span>Albert Camus contemplated what Sisyphus must have thought each time he labored to push that great stone up the hill, and each time he followed after it when it rolled back down. One of his conclusions may surprise you. Instead of assuming Sisyphus felt cursed or a sense of dread, Camus wrote: "</span><span>The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." </span><i>Sisyphus happy?</i><span> Camus imagined a counter-interpretation to the story. Philosophy professor Robert C. Solomon explains: </span></span></p><blockquote style="text-align: left;"><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span>Camus makes it very clear…that Sisyphus is what is called the Absurd Hero and why we might readily agree the situation is absurd- <i>What is it that makes him a hero?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>[For Camus] Sisyphus puts himself into his labor and one can imagine Sisyphus as he rolls the rock up the mountain, coming to notice and appreciate and even love the various contours and markings on the rock itself. He comes to study and appreciate and even become very fond of, the various bumps and levels that the rock has to proceed along. There is a sense that he throws himself into his labor, and the consequence of this, Camus tells us, is that Sisyphus must be considered <i>happy</i>. </span><span><span>"</span><span>No Excuses: Existentialism and the Meaning of Life." The Great Courses Narrated by Professor Robert C. Solomon. Lecture 4.</span></span> </span></p></blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqfBBw4yvhTqi1prWdoSVLWY9wvxpAtNbLWBfWkdaqZYAtkVBf3rcw5reos8lX1-WgpCaIlSD9rCafEfjsjR1W9quD8L9cVc2-7cPBBaoCdWGGen5gMuQopzisjaXDS7nRUUWf4FIAf-R/s1280/Sisyphus.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="755" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqfBBw4yvhTqi1prWdoSVLWY9wvxpAtNbLWBfWkdaqZYAtkVBf3rcw5reos8lX1-WgpCaIlSD9rCafEfjsjR1W9quD8L9cVc2-7cPBBaoCdWGGen5gMuQopzisjaXDS7nRUUWf4FIAf-R/s320/Sisyphus.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span>Camus imagined Sisyphus </span><i>happy </i><span>as he kept track of each trip within his mind, comparing the number of steps and pace with the one prior. He imagined Sisyphus knew exactly how few steps his quickest trip was and that each subsequent one was an attempt to best it. He envisioned Sisyphus feeling the at times rough, at times smooth texture of the stone against the side of his face, the traction upon the slope of the ground as he used his legs and shoulders to gain leverage. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Camus’ Sisyphus, like Colonel Nicholson, finds meaning, not only through an arbitrary act of willpower, but more importantly through a sort of redefining or reinterpretation of the act he's doing. A </span><i style="font-family: arial;">faith </i><span style="font-family: arial;">like we discussed earlier, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">once again returning to the idea that meaning isn’t dependent on outcome, but the effort and intent put into it. </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Isn’t there something sort of liberating here?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Whether working in a garage for minimal pay or building a bridge that may destroy you or pushing a rock only to know it will roll back down the hill- <i>Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all of your might…. </i>This quote by King Solomon from the Book of Ecclesiastes goes on to say ...<i>that for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.</i> I would like to think that Colonel Nicholson and Camus and King Solomon for that matter would interpret the passage as- "W</span>hatever your hand finds to do, do it with of your might <i><u>e</u></i><i><u>ven though</u></i> you are going in the realm of the dead, where… there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom." <i> </i></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Sisyphus knew the rock would roll back the down the hill and the Colonel knew the bridge may cause his own defeat, yet each used all of his might. <br /></span></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_77DJjpNaM9MHtGlViYHZG9jA2O3Rmln3v7EwgLJnE7JVgsKYAm5I85NkApBURqkP-cwHXcUX9ciNRd5gwv9QHdvY_duqG-JFTWm_eKzRfWwgNfhcY1kXwluNyENqszWA8xq51H50DmDt/s591/Screen+Shot+2021-05-31+at+1.20.32+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="411" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_77DJjpNaM9MHtGlViYHZG9jA2O3Rmln3v7EwgLJnE7JVgsKYAm5I85NkApBURqkP-cwHXcUX9ciNRd5gwv9QHdvY_duqG-JFTWm_eKzRfWwgNfhcY1kXwluNyENqszWA8xq51H50DmDt/w279-h400/Screen+Shot+2021-05-31+at+1.20.32+PM.png" width="279" /></a></div></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span>How about connecting these ideas to <i>It's a Wonderful Life,</i> another movie about work and ambition? </span><span>I know it may initially sound ridiculous to draw parallels between George Bailey and Camus’ Sisyphus, </span><span>but there's more in common than you might think. </span></span><span>At first, it’s easy to consider Bailey as a hero embodying the American Dream. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space">H</span><span>e starts with unbridled ambition- wanting to travel the world, be a captain of industry, to “lasso the moon” no less. An </span><span>American Dream to be sure. The problem though is that he does none of it. None of his initial dreams come true. You could actually argue it’s sort of an </span><i>anti</i><span>-American Dream story.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFloCmruc-q162-b8A0Nth1eXCobzAFfFG6O3UXLJl1M2WiCplVW6MCU01_Z2uu3Rf_Oc15MPPy7zvM0y1-SimMFAP_G_HX6ftv5gHv2YXp9s2TOy7rrkA6RDDnnvoSUL1KudWdnqgO25d/s705/Screen+Shot+2021-05-31+at+1.21.17+PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="466" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFloCmruc-q162-b8A0Nth1eXCobzAFfFG6O3UXLJl1M2WiCplVW6MCU01_Z2uu3Rf_Oc15MPPy7zvM0y1-SimMFAP_G_HX6ftv5gHv2YXp9s2TOy7rrkA6RDDnnvoSUL1KudWdnqgO25d/w265-h400/Screen+Shot+2021-05-31+at+1.21.17+PM.png" width="265" /></a></div></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is easy to recognize when you contrast it to <i>Citizen Kane, </i>a film that actually is about the American Dream<i>. </i> Are there two characters more drastically different in cinema than Kane and Bailey? While their origins and initial ambitions parallel each other, all similarities end there. Bailey doesn't obtain his American Dream but is saved while Kane does, but dies alone in despair. Interestingly enough, Kane actually resembles the antagonist- Mr. Potter more than George Bailey.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It sounds strange but isn’t the plot of <i>It’s a Wonderful Life</i> simply a reckoning between the standard interpretation of Sisyphus and Camus' <i>re</i>interpretation?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Isn’t the despair that leads George to contemplate suicide nothing more than the drudgery of pushing a proverbial stone up the hill? What does Bailey realize? The same as Camus- that pushing a small rock up the hill in his hometown can be just as valuable and <i>meaningful</i> as pushing a boulder up a mountain in a metropolis. In other words, the moon George wants to lasso (and does) is just as big in Bedford Falls as it is in New York City.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In Part Seven, which I am currently writing, we will conclude our discussion about <i>Working with Meaning</i>. </span></div><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Hoefler Text"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></p>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-69097843732541013462022-10-01T07:06:00.002-07:002023-08-06T12:07:24.725-07:00Metaphorically Speaking <div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3z9FwfiqVUqnAd_O7XrjNy0kJ9x8gcZ2iiUQp9uTyCyjCpIvyTVB9aIPkbAVtM27IyueyBVm8gdLQwo4l808aXnodmzx16xH37i8umAhUgLszE4eofkicExSg12vd6MddzfglEbFUVWk/s1600/lego.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3z9FwfiqVUqnAd_O7XrjNy0kJ9x8gcZ2iiUQp9uTyCyjCpIvyTVB9aIPkbAVtM27IyueyBVm8gdLQwo4l808aXnodmzx16xH37i8umAhUgLszE4eofkicExSg12vd6MddzfglEbFUVWk/s400/lego.jpg" width="290" /></a><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">If you go online and look up “Bad Metaphors and Similes,” here are a few examples you’re </span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">likely to find:</span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.</i></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.</i></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">What makes these so comically terrible? For one, they each violate the blueprint of a good joke: recognizable set up, a moment of tension, then a hard right turn. With the examples above, the turn<i>, </i>rather than<i> </i>being poetic or descriptive, is blunt and obvious- a <i>U-Turn.<br /> </i></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I realize that being a former English teacher makes me part of the home team so to speak, but it's difficult for me to imagine understanding anything complex or abstract without having a coinciding metaphor illustrating it. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I would even go one step further and say that metaphors can become a part of our personal stories, and that like personal stories, they become our</span> "compasses and architecture; we navigate by them, we build our sanctuaries and our prisons out of them, and to be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra or sea ice." </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Solnit, Rebecca (2013-06-13). <i>The Faraway Nearby</i> (p. 3). Penguin Group US. Kindle Edition.</span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Is this overstating the importance of metaphor? </span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Before you answer, let's look at a scene from </span><i style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Steve Jobs: The Lost Interview</i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666;"> that was</span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"> filmed in 1996, several years before Jobs was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. In fact when this particular interview occurred, he had been fired from Apple and the company was only a few months away from bankruptcy. During the interview, Jobs is unusually reflective, a bit sullen, and completely unaware that within a year's time, he will return to Apple and eventually make it one of the most successful companies in the world. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This first quote is in response to when Jobs was asked about the team he put together to create the first Apple Macintosh computer and how there were reports of in-fighting and tension among the team. Interestingly, Jobs doesn’t get defensive or </span>dispel <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">the rumors but instead does the opposite by explaining how this tension actually led to the team’s success. To illustrate his point, Jobs incorporates a metaphor he gleaned from a childhood experience: </span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When I was a kid, there was a widowed man that lived up the street and he was in his 80s. He was a little scary looking. And I got to know him a little bit. I think he might have paid me to cut or mow his lawn or something. And one day, he said come into my garage, I want to show you something and he pulled out this dusty old rock tumbler, and it was a motor and a coffee can and a little ban between them. And he said come with me, and we went out to the back and we got some rocks. Some regular, ugly old rocks. And we put them into the can with a little bit of liquid and a little bit of grit powder. And he closed the can up and turned this motor on and he said come back tomorrow. And the can was making this racket as the stones were turning. And I came back the next day, and </span>… <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">opened the can, and we took out these amazingly, beautiful polished rocks. The same common stones that had gone in, through rubbing against each other like this [smacking his hands together] creating a little bit of friction, creating a little bit of noise, had come out these beautiful, polished rocks. And that’s always in my mind a metaphor for a team working really hard on something they’re passionate about. Is that it’s through the team, through that group of incredibly talented people that, bumping up against each other, having arguments, having fights sometimes, making some noise, and working together, they polish each other. </span></span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Jobs goes on to say that everyone on the original Macintosh team, in spite of the conflict, admitted it was one of the most enriching and meaningful experiences of their lives. I would imagine that it was Jobs' expanded understanding of what makes an effective team along with his ability to enlist such metaphors that allowed the team members to ultimately see beyond their frustrations. Near the end of the interview, Jobs incorporates another metaphor, this time for the computer itself: </span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I read an article when I was very young in <i>Scientific American</i> and it measured the efficiency of locomotion for various species on the planet, so for bears and chimps and raccoons and birds and fish- how many kilocalories per kilometer they spend to move and humans were measured too and the condor won. It was the most efficient, and mankind, the crown of creation, came in with a rather unimpressive showing about a third of the way down the list. But somebody there had the brilliance to test a human riding a bicycle. Blew away the condor. All the way off the charts. I remember that this really had an impact on me. I really remember this, that humans are tool builders and we build tools that can dramatically amplify our innate human abilities. And to me, we actually ran an ad like this very early on at Apple that the personal computer was the bicycle of the mind. </span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And finally, let's look at a third metaphor</span> that, for Jobs, illustrated <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Apple’s mission statement. It was posted on Apple's website on the 1 year anniversary of his death. During the tribute video, we hear a voiceover of Jobs: "There is an old Wayne Gretzky quote that I love: </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">‘I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been.'” </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgC5lA6zimu8IaUycfh-nbBaAGqwgWzCknkQSdPj9i1x39MEqD_6hVUp3MdGYbGF-mvOgqS5SXNjA3ZKdq3GiWjMcTn_NDTIUFUsNbfvHnlHkYyRldKtfWnVXR7U711smqujfnbXRijw/s1600/metaphor_examples-1.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgC5lA6zimu8IaUycfh-nbBaAGqwgWzCknkQSdPj9i1x39MEqD_6hVUp3MdGYbGF-mvOgqS5SXNjA3ZKdq3GiWjMcTn_NDTIUFUsNbfvHnlHkYyRldKtfWnVXR7U711smqujfnbXRijw/s1600/metaphor_examples-1.png" /></span></a></div>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">One would be hard-pressed to find a literal connection between personal computing and kilocalories, rock grinders, or hockey, yet if one could turn counter-clockwise for a moment and venture into a </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">metaphorical or symbolic understanding of computers, the connection becomes quite clear, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">even profound. I would even go as far to say that it gives us insight into the idea of <i>genius </i>and one of the ways the term could be defined. Genius isn’t simply doing one thing or a series of things brilliantly; that’s what we call <i>expertise</i> and we shouldn’t just assume they're the same. I would argue “Genius” should be reserved for those who are not only experts but go one step (or several steps) further by taking disparate ideas and/or skills and combining them to form an entirely new idea. Jobs saw the computer as an efficient tool, and, with his interest in calligraphy, also imagined combining it with a graphic user interface. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Isn’t this what metaphors do as well? Gleaning understanding through the combining of unrelated ideas: a bicycle and the role of the personal computer; a rock polisher and team management, a hockey player’s instincts and the mission statement of an </span>innovative<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> tech company? When we find a metaphor that articulates what we are trying to say, it can act as, not just a guide, but a lifeline, much like the rope from Midwestern folklore that people would tie from their house to the barn so they wouldn’t get lost in a blizzard. </span></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To get a better understanding of symbolic or metaphorical language, let's look at a few definitions from Karen Armstrong’s book, <i>History of God. </i>Armstrong writes, "</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In most premodern cultures, there were two recognized ways of thinking, speaking, and acquiring knowledge. The Greeks called them </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">mythos</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> and </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">logos</i><b style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>." </i></b><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Logos signified the rational, objective, and literal; while Mythos represented a metaphorical, non-direct, symbolic interpretation. Armstrong goes on to write:</span> </span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Both were essential and neither was considered superior to the other; they were not in conflict but complementary. Each had its own sphere of competence, and it was considered unwise to mix the two. Logos (“reason”) was the pragmatic mode of thought that enabled people to function effectively in the world.... People have always needed logos to make an efficient weapon, organize their societies, or plan an expedition.... But it had its limitations: it could not assuage human grief or find ultimate meaning in life’s struggles. For that people turned to mythos or ‘myth.‘ Myth or figurative language was “designed to help people negotiate the obscure regions of the psyche, which are difficult to access but which profoundly influence our thought and behavior. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Armstrong, Karen (2009-09-11). <i>The Case for God</i>. Random House, Inc.. Kindle.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You can learn a lot about yourself (including what subject you should probably study in college) when determining which of the two, </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Logos </i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">or </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mythos, </i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">you </span>deem <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">more important. If you’re interested in learning how to fly a plane, Mythos</span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">won’t be of much use. You will need Logos to fully comprehend Bernoulli's theorem and the inverse relationship between the velocity of fluid flow and air pressure. However, one could say it was Mythos behind the inspiration to apply this theorem to flight in the first place. One could argue it was imagining being a hawk or an eagle soaring high into the sky and daydreaming about being free from earth's gravitational pull, free from mortality itself, that actually led Orville and Wilbur Wright to perform that fateful first flight on December 17, 1903 in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. </span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then again, why are we referring to academics and scientists to understand figurative language? Emily Dickinson wrote in nothing but metaphors. She even has a poem </span>that explains how metaphor works<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">: </span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><br />Tell all the truth but tell it slant -</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Success in Circuit lies</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Too bright for our infirm Delight</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">The Truth's superb surprise</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">As Lightning to the Children eased</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">With explanation kind</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">The Truth must dazzle gradually</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Or every man be blind —</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">What is a metaphor if not an attempt to tell the truth <i>slant?</i> And why do we need metaphors in the first place? Because Logos or literal<i> </i>language is limited; it can be “too bright.” </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Consider the pin-hole projector; a device used to assist children when learning about a solar eclipse without looking at the sun</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">. By looking through the projector, the students see the </span></span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">reflection</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> of something that would otherwise be blinding. </span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A few years ago, I had a friend who survived a massive heart attack, and afterwards when he was physically recovered but still a bit shaken emotionally, we had a lengthly conversation about the experience. We had no difficulty talking about the "</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">How" </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">or </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Logos</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> of the situation. He could explain exactly what occurred from a physiological standpoint that led to the heart attack and what exactly occurred when he had surgery and how exactly the doctors were able to save him. We discussed his treatment and his diet and exercise regiment moving forward. This part of the conversation was easy. What was much more difficult was talking about the deeper meaning of the moment- the </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Why</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> of the occurrence. Logos was completely inept at answering such questions, and </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I didn't really know </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">what else to say. Then for whatever reason, a scene from </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Tender Mercies,</i> a film we've talked about over the years, came to my mind. It was the scene near the end of the movie</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> when Mac Sledge (Robert Duvall) is heartbroken and trying to make sense of his daughter's recent death. He is digging in a small garden, trying to get his mind off of things while talking to his wife. Unsure of what to say or even feel, Mac quietly begins:</span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I was almost killed in car accident once. I was drunk. I ran off the side of the road and I turned the car over 4 times. And they took me out of that car for dead, but I lived. And I prayed last night to know why I lived and she died, but I got no answers to my prayers. I still don’t know why she died and I lived. I don’t know the answer to nothin. Not a blessed thing. I don’t know why I wandered out to this part of Texas drunk and you pitied me and took me in and helped me to straighten out and marry me. Why? Why did that happen? Is there a reason that happened? And Sonny’s daddy died in the war. My daughter was killed in an automobile accident. Why? You see, I don’t trust happiness. I never did. I never will. </span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Mac’s wife doesn’t attempt to answer his questions, but she does listen. I didn’t have any answers either. In situations like this, I’ve heard people try to console someone by saying <i>You’ll be in our thoughts and prayers</i> or <i>Things happen for a reason</i>, but these sentiments, while sincere, often seem hollow or anemic. That’s because these moments require <i>Mythos, </i>not <i>Logos</i>. For moments like this, understanding, instead, is found “in [c]ircuit” or <i>around</i> the truth. Stories, liturgy, poems, metaphors, and in this case with my friend, a scene from <i>Tender Mercies,</i> is how one can tell the truth but "tell it slant.” After I mentioned the scene with Mac and his wife in the vegetable garden, my friend quickly referred to the next scene in the film. After some time passes, Mac and his stepson, Sonny, go across the road to play catch with a football. Sonny is happy and so is Mac as they throw the ball and enjoy each other’s company. Another metaphor at work- a ball being tossed back and forth through the air; connecting a father and son together both literally and figuratively. </span></div>
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Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-84217193369541590912021-05-09T11:46:00.021-07:002021-05-17T06:04:34.303-07:00Form or Function? Understanding the Role of Genre in PULP FICTION<p style="clear: both; font-family: arial; text-align: center;"></p><div><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IkpzPjCjYnT68pYSl2e6hmtHtJ-ESPGVIHQU92AoCIWE5GyQWE_-e8lqcVIFpyHUABJJ1OPZ_ZCvch10h6ShC-_uhKdWoQ2bVr0HLDnig27j9Dr28EFdjfsjNqYY2dQb5JWx0Aep6u77/s458/Screen+Shot+2021-05-09+at+8.44.42+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IkpzPjCjYnT68pYSl2e6hmtHtJ-ESPGVIHQU92AoCIWE5GyQWE_-e8lqcVIFpyHUABJJ1OPZ_ZCvch10h6ShC-_uhKdWoQ2bVr0HLDnig27j9Dr28EFdjfsjNqYY2dQb5JWx0Aep6u77/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-05-09+at+8.44.42+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Danny Boyd has put together a nice <a href="https://youtu.be/ACzRTSzuepE" target="_blank">montage</a> of interviews where Quentin Tarantino discusses his inspiration behind </span><i>Pulp Fiction</i><span> and in particular, his reliance on genre. In this case, stories in the crime genre "you've seen a zillion times." </span><span>I’ve always found Tarantino’s affection for genre intriguing since many artists consider the term pejorative- being too simple, broad, formulaic. <br /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Is it fair to label genre this way or should we maybe reconsider these perceived limitations? What if we think about genre within the context of poetry and instead of the term GENRE, we say, FORM? Poetry scholars don’t read “On Chapman’s Homer” and say, well, that’s <i>just</i> a sonnet or deem Shakespeare’s dialogue as <i>just</i> being iambic pentameter. The ability to communicate such expression within these specific constraints are actually lauded. Poet Billy Collins in his <a href="https://www.masterclass.com/classes/billy-collins-teaches-reading-and-writing-poetry" target="_blank">Masterclass </a>series quotes Yeats, saying “All that is personal will rot if not packed in salt and ice.” Here, “salt and ice” are metaphors for rhyme, meter, cadence, structure. In other words, <i>form. </i>Form<i> </i>preserves and elevates. It is <i>how</i> something moves beyond being just a declarative statement or comment or interesting idea. <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In interviews over the years, <a href="https://youtu.be/wyVPEDS2VGk" target="_blank">David Lynch</a> has discussed the role of routine and habit in his daily life. For seven years, he went to Bob’s Big Boy and ordered the exact same thing at 2:30 p.m. every day. This wasn’t just some quirk or eccentricity. Instead he explains, “I like habitual behavior because it’s a known factor and your mind is freed up to think about other things. When there is some sort of order there, then you’re free mentally.” Can genre do the same thing? Can it be another “known factor” that frees the mind to think about other things? </span></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SgkA583mwyZnmcdTJ4NyX2Lt1gRpQVSSf9F6_CjmFox97Vir9aS9NQ3Ive99g19cjT6SusnT_yzNuNBQIRYDaxom7t7nZHotKhhWOsGq-E3m4qfxneiNLsofVXcJ7S4Rc9pN8uvi2dRN/s377/Screen+Shot+2021-05-09+at+8.46.57+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SgkA583mwyZnmcdTJ4NyX2Lt1gRpQVSSf9F6_CjmFox97Vir9aS9NQ3Ive99g19cjT6SusnT_yzNuNBQIRYDaxom7t7nZHotKhhWOsGq-E3m4qfxneiNLsofVXcJ7S4Rc9pN8uvi2dRN/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-05-09+at+8.46.57+AM.png" /></a></div>Of course, in doing so, it's important to understand all of the different ways genre can be used or <i>known</i>. If Genre is a type of container </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial;">through which to deliver a story- the type of story being delivered dictates the type of container needed. For instance, narrative drama never seems best suited for direct moral teaching or proselytizing. There's something even insulting when a narrative sermonizes. Oddly, it’s insulting even when we agree with the “message” or "moral," similar to someone doing sleight of hand yet not admitting to being a magician. </span></span><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You may say you don’t like <i>any </i>proselytizing but I would push back on that as well. The polemic essay, sermon, parable, philosophical treatise, tract, and even a political speech all allow and are expected to have a specific point of view and/or to proselytize. Why do we allow these "genres" in particular to elicit a specific idea or moral, yet when a narrative does the same, we label it didactic, or, if it’s really effective, propaganda? </span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: arial;">Whether we're cognizant of it or not, I think there's an instinctive expectation that a narrative story presents a variety of subtexts which in turn offer multiple points of view. Part of the experience and enjoyment is navigating through these points of view and ultimately determining meaning, if any, on one’s own. There is something disappointing if we discover or determine the director and/or writer is too intentional here and had a message in mind all along. On the contrary, the very nature of the speech, the sermon, the persuasive essay, etc. is to be intentional, direct, and specific. It’s expected. We can read fiction or watch a movie and receive moral instruction or be motivated to change, but it can only happen if arrived at indirectly through the readers/viewers own personal experience and interpretation. </span></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gH5U92IPhmpwGCD-6mk-sNyRf3WJQw9kGTpSPP2fbgDPWjl7zZCklcWnXLoPFk_dNviPkjdtJuMwg68kEB-wB3j0_A3ttJmzGxqRm0l9ZhsvdagXfSaRueR1hZNSBPHqiGE_t-hyX_us/s674/Screen+Shot+2021-05-09+at+9.38.17+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="306" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gH5U92IPhmpwGCD-6mk-sNyRf3WJQw9kGTpSPP2fbgDPWjl7zZCklcWnXLoPFk_dNviPkjdtJuMwg68kEB-wB3j0_A3ttJmzGxqRm0l9ZhsvdagXfSaRueR1hZNSBPHqiGE_t-hyX_us/w290-h640/Screen+Shot+2021-05-09+at+9.38.17+AM.png" width="290" /></a></div><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span>Throughout his career, Tarantino has demonstrated a keen understanding of genre and its wide variety of shapes and sizes. However, it would be unfair to say Tarantino <i>only</i> creates genre films. He "loves" and "respects" genre, but he also wants “real life to intrude on genre.” One can't do this though without a true understanding of genre itself. </span><span>On the set of </span><i>Apocalypse Now</i><span>, Dennis Hopper complained to Francis Ford Coppola about having to memorize his lines and if it were necessary. Coppola answered, you have to memorize your lines first- then you can forget them. Tarantino has certainly memorized the lines of his favorite genres which has in turn allowed him to move beyond any restrictions or limitations. In fact, you could say he understands genre so well that he has been able to subvert it entirely.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> With </span><i>Pulp Fiction, </i><span>we see a great example of this.</span><i> </i><span>A traditional genre picture would show the fight where Butch double crosses Marsellus Wallace. It likely would be the climax of the film as we watch Mia sitting next to Marsellus in the audience and his reaction the moment he realizes Butch isn’t going to follow through with their agreement. We’d see Marsellus and his henchmen, probably even Vince and Jules, frantically trying to get Butch as he evades them, with one close call after another. Of course, in </span><i>Pulp Fiction</i><span>, we see none of this. We only see the ancillary or tangential events leading up to and following this climactic moment. Tarantino not only understands genre but, brilliantly, is assuming his audience does too so he doesn’t have to show what is expected.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span>We all have memorized the lines and Tarantino, through the film, gives us permission collectively, to forget them.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> Consequently, <i>Pulp Fiction</i> is the perfect example of how genre can satisfy both form <i>and</i> function. </span></span></span></div><span style="color: #666666; font-size: medium;"><br style="font-family: Times;" /><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></span><p></p><div style="background-color: white; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px;"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: medium;"><div><p style="font-family: arial;"></p><p style="font-family: arial;"></p></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-42094320265483946442021-03-07T15:05:00.026-07:002022-03-26T12:49:10.416-07:00Saul Leiter's TAXI <p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGN1atFr9wjDGbMUOjVz-jSAkddCtWLqSqXSCoJAVEd6Pket-kmt3JjBaOcfO9KYNdDW84vNN4k1N-9ldfYfuk3B_cXzyX_XZboCa_HUMk-QsXSz1nMUEshy1O01v39a5IHFHlFMeuETkX/s1500/Saul+Leiter+Taxi-9_13.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1135" data-original-width="1500" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGN1atFr9wjDGbMUOjVz-jSAkddCtWLqSqXSCoJAVEd6Pket-kmt3JjBaOcfO9KYNdDW84vNN4k1N-9ldfYfuk3B_cXzyX_XZboCa_HUMk-QsXSz1nMUEshy1O01v39a5IHFHlFMeuETkX/w400-h303/Saul+Leiter+Taxi-9_13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saul Leiter's TAXI (American, 1923-2013)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Why is this such a great photo? What stands out to you? Certainly the colors demand our attention. The wall in the background is orangish-red complimenting the reddish-orange paint on the cab, which in turn reflects off the dashboard of the car from which the picture is taken. Add a flash of brilliant yellow and </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">viola</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> you have a color palette rivaling the most dazzling of any desert sunset. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> </span></span><p class="p1" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />What about the photo’s action? Why do we seem to be moving? Is it that our perspective is slightly behind the car we’re looking at- like we’re trying to catch up? Everything changes if we’re ahead of the car, looking back.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>What about the man’s hand? Maybe he’s trying to find something to hold on to or he’s pointing while yelling directions. The entire photo is different, stagnant even, without this hand. We're simply next to a car stopped in traffic. What about the back window in brilliant silver? Hints of a rocket ship? An overstatement maybe, but we can't see through the glass, which does cause a blur of light and speed.</span></p><p class="p1" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><span style="font-size: large;">What about the man being dressed in a suit? This too influences our impression. An important person pointing or holding on to something or both?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not only does the photo change entirely if the cab is empty, it changes if the person is dressed casually. Then it’s the weekend or just a tourist perhaps.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>With our photo here, it’s a workday: the streets are bustling and we have an important person with an important place to be! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Also, you can’t ignore the the camera’s exposure which puts a quarter of the photo into darkness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The cab driver in silhouette adds mystery, forcing us to <i>imagine</i> this person. The exposure also creates the black space in the bottom left corner that extends across the entire bottom of the photo. This space not only provides an entry point into the photo but also a place where we can sit (hide?<i>)</i> and observe. The photo would be cluttered and claustrophobic without this black space.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Upon first glance, this photo seems like just an abstract blur of color. Upon second, you notice how the photo changes entirely if even the smallest of detail was different. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-21241674478002351752021-01-31T16:20:00.005-07:002021-02-08T15:49:43.945-07:00Dick Johnson is Dead<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSu242jagg4g6mivSenHl9oC4GY3KGhKx7u4iIGX3tFJ-5e2QLMTohGiWJ9vT_c5gJ2HjwrtvAZFvGuabREmui1Ca5dguYNzrVEO9PIDuLz20MsFYkhA9i-6_VOiPHCnNKpM9mkWfWx5i/s848/Screen+Shot+2021-01-31+at+3.15.35+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="595" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSu242jagg4g6mivSenHl9oC4GY3KGhKx7u4iIGX3tFJ-5e2QLMTohGiWJ9vT_c5gJ2HjwrtvAZFvGuabREmui1Ca5dguYNzrVEO9PIDuLz20MsFYkhA9i-6_VOiPHCnNKpM9mkWfWx5i/w281-h400/Screen+Shot+2021-01-31+at+3.15.35+PM.png" width="281" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"> Kirsten Johnson's film- <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfTmT6C5DnM">Dick Johnson is Dead</a></i><i> </i>is an ode to her father who is not only nearing the end of his life but also showing signs of Alzheimer's. In order to cope with her father's mortality and get ahead of things so to speak, she stages various scenarios through special effects and clever editing where her father dies or is outright killed. When I first started watching Johnson's film, I couldn't help but think of James Keach's 2014 documentary <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CC374jwyrkM">Glen Campbell: I'll Be Me</a> </i>which follows Campbell on his final tour and well into the throws of Alzheimer's. Keach's film was cringeworthy and, like the tour itself, seemed exploitive at times. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While <i>Dick Johnson is Dead</i> seems to start in this direction, it actually veers down a different path entirely. About 15 minutes or so in, a crew member talks about the death of his own father which prompts a tender moment where Dick talks about the death of his wife. At this point, we realize the slapstick irony of the film's premise is secondary to what the film's actually about: the portrait of a kind and sensitive soul. A point illustrated even clearer when Dick talks about the childhood shame he had towards his own body and in particular, his deformed feet. We see a closeup of his feet as he describes this shame. What's illuminating is the <i>way</i> he describes it which is similar to how an elderly person often describes such things- not with the shame once felt, but with a sort of curiosity or amusement, almost as if it happened to someone else. I say all of this to say, don't let the premise of <i>Dick Johnson is Dead</i> turn you away (or draw you in too much). The film is more about Mr. Johnson <i>living</i> than dying. </span></p>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-71752002353458895962020-11-05T10:53:00.002-07:002020-11-06T10:41:52.611-07:00Paul Simon Writes a Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UFwX-U95V1ihLO_K9bDzUrI9M1ggik69Fv8gbG_GKC2xwywJZgzFWdvGjI5Kq241ytCJYyF-GwoaArYu2tyTfY_FQsxdIscWyzrGGtQFwhvlZPE9c5Jv-aLF76f1_sOekm8BG2zpkPHA/s1600/paulsimonbw.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UFwX-U95V1ihLO_K9bDzUrI9M1ggik69Fv8gbG_GKC2xwywJZgzFWdvGjI5Kq241ytCJYyF-GwoaArYu2tyTfY_FQsxdIscWyzrGGtQFwhvlZPE9c5Jv-aLF76f1_sOekm8BG2zpkPHA/s400/paulsimonbw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Wanted to share this great interview with Paul Simon where he offers insight into his own creative process and how a song shapes itself while he's writing it. <a href="http://www.wnyc.org/story/episode-42-honorable-john-lewis-and-inimitable-paul-simon/"><i>It all starts with a melody...</i></a></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">A few years ago, I came across a documentary by Classic Albums where Simon discussed the making of <i>Graceland</i>. If you like the above interview and would like to hear the conversation continue, watch <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Paul-Simon-Classic-Album-Graceland/dp/B017OIUHN0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1507466928&sr=8-1&keywords=classic+albums%3A+Graceland">Classic Albums: </a><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Paul-Simon-Classic-Album-Graceland/dp/B017OIUHN0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1507466928&sr=8-1&keywords=classic+albums%3A+Graceland">Graceland. </a> </i>I initially saw it on Netflix streaming, but the entire Classic Albums series is now on <a href="https://qello.com/">Quello.</a></span><br />
<br />Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-7919478373392671692019-10-01T23:43:00.000-07:002020-06-01T16:42:45.198-07:00Leonard Cohen, briefly.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0du_il7PW1EiVImPK0eIAbV91tQlFWr5vcQKTj5wwcMb7eP7hkWYYbvoA-uaZdrET87LBV4b-0a5qbffv6JMWJhXPC6xbTYvYFMk2Uklm_n61SpOELt88q7v6xH3c1K4YlH91WbD4vfej/s1600/Im-your-man-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0du_il7PW1EiVImPK0eIAbV91tQlFWr5vcQKTj5wwcMb7eP7hkWYYbvoA-uaZdrET87LBV4b-0a5qbffv6JMWJhXPC6xbTYvYFMk2Uklm_n61SpOELt88q7v6xH3c1K4YlH91WbD4vfej/s400/Im-your-man-poster.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Recently, I rewatched Lian Lunson's <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm Your Man</span>, the 2005<span style="color: #70579d; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="white-space: nowrap;"> </span></span>documentary about Cohen and his career. It's is a concert video of sorts with clips of other singers covering Cohen's songs. Interspersed throughout concert footage are interviews by the singers as well as interviews with Cohen himself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've included quotes from my four favorite scenes:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“If it is your destiny to be this laborer called a writer, you know you’ve got to go to work everyday, but you also know that you’re not going to get it everyday. You have to be prepared, but you really don’t command the Enterprise.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Is this the true burden of being a writer? Being a part of a craft that among other things, demands a strange faith? There is no goal line, no clock, no score? Being a writer demands faith. It's true, you're not commanding the Enterprise, but you're still on board as it hurls through space. You have to trust that you are going in the right direction and that you will get to where you're going, when you need to get there."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Sometimes when you no longer see yourself as the hero of your own drama, expecting victory after victory, then you understand that this is not paradise. Somehow we embrace the notion that this veil of tears is meant to be perfection that you have to get it all straight. I’ve found that everything became a lot easier when I no longer expected to win.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">"After my father died when I was nine, I took one of his bowties and slit it open. I put a little message in it and I buried it in the backyard in the garden. I had no other way of connecting with the event that was so mysterious, and curiously, not devastating. It seemed to be alright that my father died. It seemed that he died and it was in the realm of things that couldn’t be disputed or rejected or even judged. And so, my writing, and I don’t remember what it was, perhaps just some kind of prayer to speed him along in whatever realm he was traveling."</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-77130831638199993042019-09-20T08:10:00.007-07:002020-11-27T14:34:09.932-07:00Critically Speaking <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZA7_OF38fOhh0GtFwNRlcmrXGJuMKJcPi8cqOENtw3vximgmIzc7Hp6SUoNzEiy_pOyglsTvKNLz7_zNZFUwj7hMssnV-GC0-aFes8zf9RCCR-6SUESf11F6CqwVgsNvYz4fKbARwn73/s1600/early+critics.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZA7_OF38fOhh0GtFwNRlcmrXGJuMKJcPi8cqOENtw3vximgmIzc7Hp6SUoNzEiy_pOyglsTvKNLz7_zNZFUwj7hMssnV-GC0-aFes8zf9RCCR-6SUESf11F6CqwVgsNvYz4fKbARwn73/s400/early+critics.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;">Recently, I watched <i>Life Itself</i></span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">, a documentary about film critic Roger Ebert directed by Steve James (<i>Hoop Dreams) </i>and was </span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">reminded of just how counter Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel were to the public's perception of a critic's role. Most see a critic as someone who <i>can’t</i> be a musician or a filmmaker or a writer and has to resort, often bitterly, to critiquing those who are. What better representation do we have than Salieri in Milos Forman’s 1984 film, </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: #666666;">Amadeus</i><span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: medium;">: </span></span><br />
</span><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All I wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that longing... and then made me mute. Why? Tell me that. If He didn't want me to praise him with music, why implant the desire? Like a lust in my body! And then deny me the talent?</span></span><br />
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<span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Theodore Roosevelt’s famous <i>critique</i></span><i style="color: #666666; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> </i><span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">of the critic is even more scathing: </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly... his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. </span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;">Is a critic nothing more than a "cold and timid” soul: destined to looking but not doing; telling but not showing? </span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">Truth be known, I have my own <i>critique</i> of critics, particularly film critics. For one, the experience of watching a movie is meant to be personal which is why theaters function best when dark and quiet. Nothing illustrates film viewing’s inherent subjectivity more clearly than when two well-informed film critics see the same movie, like a Siskel and Ebert, yet have the exact opposite opinion. How is this possible? Two sportswriters might differ as to whether Tom Brady or Joe Montana is the better quarterback, but neither would say that one or the other is/was terrible. What’s the difference with film criticism? Sportswriters have objective, factual measuring points like statistics, wins, losses, championships, and a hundred other categories. Movies, on the other hand, operate in a mostly psychological space, drawing from one’s own personal experiences which is why films always seem a bit tone deaf to objective analysis. Isn’t the function of the film critic then absurd? <i>Someone, acting with authority, telling you, a complete stranger, what you should experience.</i></span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i> </i></span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /><br />Another flaw of the traditional film review is that each, by design, is a one-sided conversation. The reader and writer are attempting to have an exchange about a film, yet only one person, the writer, has seen what is being discussed. Imagine trying to explain a basketball game that only you have seen and you can’t say the final score or any of the key plays that affected the outcome. Yet, isn’t this what film critics do with each column? </span><br />
<div style="font-family: times; min-height: 16px;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Of course, we should make a distinction between the film critic and the film essayist. The essayist assumes you've already seen the film in question and will delve into its technique, themes, and potential meanings. However in doing so, the essayist runs into an even more complicated problem than that of the critic. This dilemma is best illustrated through a quote I've heard attributed both to W.C. Fields and Mark Twain, but was actually said by </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">E.B. White</span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">: </span><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>“Explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog. You can see how it works but you have to kill it first.”</i></span><span style="font-family: times; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Isn’t this the true minefield for anyone interested in discussing a work of art: knowing that in-depth analysis likely will choke the life and vitality of what's being analyzed?</span> </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fp_Fv1qKBvhIiXwSNp7uFpAhB8x_QUP4mZlfDvZY5neu0Ob8ssLRxp625xTOFvH2bstWjE4IqbrZaAQ8YpK8LlEL1r0tpfO2j6fhngGSVgYfPlJ5M_HGueKnXMenEQizXBDqF1NHYsb_/s1600/Kermit3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fp_Fv1qKBvhIiXwSNp7uFpAhB8x_QUP4mZlfDvZY5neu0Ob8ssLRxp625xTOFvH2bstWjE4IqbrZaAQ8YpK8LlEL1r0tpfO2j6fhngGSVgYfPlJ5M_HGueKnXMenEQizXBDqF1NHYsb_/s320/Kermit3.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">So then the question is- </span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Why </span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">venture into the minefield in the first place?</span></span><i style="color: #666666; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </i><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Why not just enjoy the film within the subjective and personal space intended, without wasting time writing (or reading) about it? It's an important question. The reason</span><span face="" style="color: #666666;"> </span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">I write criticism is probably best stated in a quote by C.S. Lewis, or at least a quote written by William Nicholson and spoken by Anthony Hopkins playing C.S. Lewis in the 1993 film </span><i style="color: #666666; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">Shadowlands</i><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">: </span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">“We read to know we’re not alone.”</span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"> Doesn’t one also </span><i style="color: #666666; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">write</i><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"> to know he’s not alone, or, if </span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">the glass is half empty</span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">, see if he is indeed alone? </span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">Watching a film or reading a book may be, as stated, a private affair, but should it remain so? At what point should this private experience be shared? For further clarification, let’s look at </span><span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">C.S. Lewis’ description of friendship (the actual C.S. Lewis this time) from his book <i>The Four Loves:</i></span></span><br />
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<span face="" style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Friendship arises... when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure or (burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, 'What? You too? I thought I was the only one.'</span></span><span face="" style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">Lewis, C.S. (1960; 1988). </span><i style="color: #666666; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The Four Loves. (</i><span face="" style="color: #666666;">p. 65). Harvest/HBJ.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="">Writing and reading criticism is nothing more than an indirect way of saying: <i>“What? You too?”</i> </span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Writing takes a mostly private experience, and, in turn, makes it public. When I was in college, a friend of mine saved up some money and went to Europe by himself for the summer. When he returned to school that fall, he said he had a great time, but that he regretted going alone. He said that, in some ways, nothing felt like it actually happened because no one was there to share it with him. Perhaps this is the best reason of all to write criticism- it reifies one's personal experience with art. I</span>t makes it actually happen. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;">W</span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">hile this may be a good reason to venture into the minefield, what are we going to do once we get there? We still have to resolve how one analyzes something without choking the life from it. As a teacher, I was always attempting to create a personal moment between the student and the text. To assist with this, I would often share how I myself connected to the stories we were reading. For instance, after we would read <i>The Old Man and the Sea</i>, I would mention how as a boy during my Christmas breaks from school, I would always stay a few days with my grandparents. I mentioned how I understood the boy's affection and concern for Santiago because while my grandfather wasn't a fisherman, he was a farmer and during particularly cold winters in the Oklahoma panhandle, he would have to get up at 4 a.m. and drive out to his land where his cattle were and break up the ice in their drinking troughs. I remember occasions when I would be in bed, barely awake, hearing the wind howling outside and my grandfather shuffling about in the other room, putting on his Dickey's overalls and his muddy boots, slipping out the backdoor, and driving away in his noisy Ford pickup. </span></span></span><br />
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<span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;">I would share memories like these with my students and tell them</span></span><span face="" style="color: black;"><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"> that every time I read </span><i style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">The Old Man and the Sea</i><span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">, it reminded me of a dozen stories like this one. My intent was to help them intertwine what we were reading with their own personal stories. Yet, despite my attempts, I noticed it was rare for students to create their own reference points. Usually the only interaction the student truly had with a text was within the context of passing a reading quiz or writing an essay. In other words, the interaction seldom left the classroom. Instead of taking the characters or stories with them, they usually left them behind much in the same way they'd leave books in their lockers overnight and then check them back in at the end of the semester. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> Walker Percy discusses this very </span>dilemma<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> in his essay, </span></span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;">"The Loss of the Creature" and offers a possible reason as to why it occurs: </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span face="" style="color: black;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="">The educator whose business it is to teach students biology or poetry is unaware of a whole ensemble of relations which exist between the student and the dogfish and between the student and the Shakespeare sonnet. To put it bluntly: A student who has the desire to get at a dogfish or a Shakespeare sonnet may have the greatest difficulty in salvaging the creature itself from the educational package in which it is presented….</span></span></span><span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> The new textbook, the type, the smell of the page, the classroom, the aluminum windows and the winter sky, the personality of Miss Hawkins—these media which are supposed to transmit the sonnet may only succeed in transmitting themselves</span>…<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">. The educator is well aware that something is wrong, that there is a fatal gap between the student’s learning and the student’s life.</span></span><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">(pp. 56-57)</span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></blockquote>
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</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I</span><span face="" style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">n many ways this passage by Percy is dealing with the same problem as E.B. White’s quote about a joke. The critic or teacher must analyze something, yet still allow the reader or student to experience it afresh, within his or her own way. Percy realizes this is no small task because the “media” and “packaging” (the way/how something is presented) often interrupts the process. The “fatal gap” Percy mentions here is that one may seemingly have the perfect environment through which to dissect a dogfish or read a sonnet, yet the experience will likely remain compartmentalized, vacuum packed, within the classroom, entirely separate from one’s own life. In other words, the experience will never become a </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="color: #666666;">personal </i><span face="" style="color: #666666;">experience. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;">As a film essayist, I run into the same dilemma by taking a work of art which I, and I assume the reader, have already experienced personally. I then make the experience public by writing about it, all the while, hoping it still remains personal both for me and the reader. Again, no small task. One simple way to solve this problem is to actually </span><i style="color: #666666;">not </i><span face="" style="color: #666666;">have an opinion about a particular film. Unlike sportswriters, film critics should not be interested in whether a film </span><i style="color: #666666;">wins </i><span face="" style="color: #666666;">or </span><i style="color: #666666;">loses</i><span face="" style="color: #666666;">. A critic should be more interested in the process, the film’s process and way it obtains meaning, as well as the critic's own process while watching the film. A critic can best analyze a film by not offering a final judgement, but instead, express what meaning was obtained within the personal, subjective space from which the critic viewed the film. </span><span face="" style="color: #666666;">With this, the critic is hopefully able to dissect the frog </span><i style="color: #666666;">without</i><span face="" style="color: #666666;"> killing it; to analyze it yet keep it alive at the same time. Percy’s essay provides a nice metaphor where this occurs: </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""><span style="font-family: inherit;">One remembers the scene in <i>The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter </i>where the girl hides in the bushes to hear the Capehart in the big house play Beethoven. Perhaps she was the lucky one after all. Think of the unhappy souls inside, who see the record, worry about scratches, and most of all worry about whether they are getting it, whether they are bona fide music lovers. What is the best way to hear Beethoven: sitting in a proper silence around the Capehart or eavesdropping from an azalea bush? (60)</span><span style="font-family: times;">. </span></span></span></span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: times;">Percy, Walker (2011-03-29). </span><i style="color: #666666; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The Message in the Bottle: How Queer Man Is, How Queer Language Is, and What One Has to Do with the Other</i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: times;"> (p. 60). Open Road Media. Kindle Edition.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span face="" style="color: #666666;">Isn’t this a nice strategy for a critic as well? A strategy not interested in </span><i style="color: #666666;">getting it</i><span face="" style="color: #666666;"> or having readers get it (one can be sure that anything dissected in the big house, isn’t getting out of there alive!) How about a critic who avoids the big house altogether, and, instead, listens to the music through the window? </span></span><span face="" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: large;">Through this blog, I'm interested in creating a community of artists and documentary enthusiasts who aren't interested in going inside the big house either. You can sit with us and listen to the music through the open window. Sometimes when we feel like talking about it, we can, or we can just keep listening. </span></span><br />
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<span face="" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-60772116892456210792019-09-12T10:51:00.005-07:002022-04-13T06:31:13.476-07:00Notes on MINDING THE GAP<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUk5lLrgEbAvkKwp6BiqL2MBMySzoZ8brACpxQSKPEbsgyHth8j6KGBDNSY_hbvEzE874Oe9Gs2NzeQAjTwe5sctgwWlXaptx9bcsok5J6c3DaD6ulrhWB_F0grnlz84sBQt39OCg57OY-/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-09-15+at+9.53.46+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="647" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUk5lLrgEbAvkKwp6BiqL2MBMySzoZ8brACpxQSKPEbsgyHth8j6KGBDNSY_hbvEzE874Oe9Gs2NzeQAjTwe5sctgwWlXaptx9bcsok5J6c3DaD6ulrhWB_F0grnlz84sBQt39OCg57OY-/s400/Screen+Shot+2019-09-15+at+9.53.46+AM.png" width="265" /></a><span style="color: #444444;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Webpage for Bing Liu's<i> <a href="https://www.mindingthegapfilm.com/#about">Minding the Gap</a> </i></span></span><div><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Criterion Collection<i>- <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Minding-the-Gap-Blu-ray/dp/B08L8W1P23?tag=bluray-051-20&linkCode=xm2&m=ATVPDKIKX0DER">Minding the Gap</a> <br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="color: #444444;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Nike's: </span><a href="https://youtu.be/tM8LZdDzs-8">Skateboarding is Not a Crime</a> commercial</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The Document:</span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"> <a href="https://www.kcrw.com/culture/shows/the-document/return-to-rockford">Return to Rockford</a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Hollywood Reporter Roundtable: <span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRdVrHqaLgM&feature=youtu.be">Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi, Bing Liu, Rashida Jones</a></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Bing Liu interviewed by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j8iX7GKYgs">Salon</a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Bing Liu on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q29ddnjp7Oc">The Daily Show</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;">A.O. Scott;</span> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/16/movies/minding-the-gap-review-documentary.html">New York Times</a></i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">: </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">They grew up together in Rockford, Ill., three boys united by their love of skateboarding. At a certain point — around middle school, it seems — one of them, Bing Liu, began videotaping their exploits.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: large;"> A pleasure of <i>Minding the Gap,</i> his astonishing debut feature, is to observe how skating and filmmaking flow together. As the young men get stronger, bolder and more dexterous, Mr. Liu’s camera skills keep pace, and he captures the sense of risk, freedom and creativity that makes their pastime more than just a hobby. </span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">It’s not only the glue that binds them to one another through tough times but also a source of identity and meaning, a way of life and a life saver. “Minding the Gap” is more than a celebration of skateboarding as a sport and a subculture. With infinite sensitivity, Mr. Liu delves into some of the most painful and intimate details of his friends’ lives and his own, and then layers his observations into a rich, devastating essay on race, class and manhood in 21st-century America.</span></span></span></blockquote>
<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span face=""open sans" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #666666;"><span style="color: #444444;">Daniel Fienberg</span>; <i><a href="https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/review/minding-gap-review-1077186">The Hollywood Reporter:</a></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span face=""open sans" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">Liu is in a unique position because he's become almost a priest hearing confessions, forcing him to ponder the line between dispassionate filmmaker and concerned friend, while also looking for the right opportunity to get his mother on camera for a talk they've never had about their unspoken family secrets.</span></span></span></blockquote>
<span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Michael Phillips; <i><u><a href="https://www.chicagotribune.com/entertainment/movies/sc-mov-minding-the-gap-rev-0828-story.html">Chicago Tribune</a>:</u></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">Around the midpoint Liu turns to his own part of the story. He interviews his mother, born in China as was the director, drawing out her memories of Liu’s abusive stepfather. The director’s half-brother, Kent, appears briefly on camera as well, recalling the “unnerving screams of anguish” coming from his sibling’s room at night.</span> </span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: large;">Much of “Minding the Gap” is painful to witness, but as past and present intersect and recombine and Liu’s wealth of footage coalesces, the finished film becomes a cautiously hopeful and even cathartic experience. It’s fully responsive as cinema. Liu, who served as editor along with Josh Altman, deploys the lyric skateboarding interludes just often enough to keep everything flowing. Akin to Michael Apted’s “7 Up” series, or Richard Linklater’s narrative feature “Boyhood,” at one point we see Zack hurtle through a few formative years in a lovely video montage. Life is beautiful, and cruel, and this film is a dialectic between the harshness and the beauty.</span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J5RrjjgQ47wzXWfNgFlWRQfUW0x8kKsBuTANjYNweihhcSOrVWzn5Qag3bLwoQumoloK_7_fZ52ztzzu6qK2XH6jycwTrrejjYBiddTommpnMxX7AckN-0P1rbuRfktlbkpeKLkPj_Sh/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-09-15+at+9.51.57+AM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="436" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J5RrjjgQ47wzXWfNgFlWRQfUW0x8kKsBuTANjYNweihhcSOrVWzn5Qag3bLwoQumoloK_7_fZ52ztzzu6qK2XH6jycwTrrejjYBiddTommpnMxX7AckN-0P1rbuRfktlbkpeKLkPj_Sh/s320/Screen+Shot+2019-09-15+at+9.51.57+AM.png" width="304" /></span></a><span style="color: #666666;"><span class="s1"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">As most of the critics describe, <i>Minding the Gap</i> </span><span style="font-size: large;">has a deep vein of violence that runs down the center of the film. What's more disturbing is that we see how such violence is perpetuated. One of Liu’s friends, Zack, has a child with his girlfriend, Nina, when both are just teenagers and we witness the difficulties in their relationship. In a revealing scene, we see the boogieman face to face as Zack tries to explain when it's justifiable to hit a woman. </span></span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Until this scene, the abusive men were lost in the past, but here, we see exactly how the pattern of violence comes full circle and is passed down from one generation to the next. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial";"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">It should be noted that the film isn't just about violence. The tone and pace of the editing by Bing Liu and Joshua Altman is what sets this film apart. In lessor hands, a film like this could come across pedantic or as a tool for self-pity, but we have something else here. The way Liu as a director approaches his friends reminds me of a scene in Wes Anderson's <span style="font-style: italic;">Bottle Rocket. </span>Dignan</span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> is in the middle of a foiled crime with a few of his friends, and, as we hear the sirens in the distance, he tells them to run away so the cops chase him instead. They're confused and not sure what to do when Dignan interjects, “They’ll never catch me. I’m fuckin' innocent.”</span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"> </span><span style="color: #666666;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">It's a curious scene because Dignan isn't innocent of the crime but what Anderson seems to be implying is that Dignan is innocent in intent; innocent at heart. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Bing Lui's approach in <i>Minding the Gap</i> </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">has an innocence at heart which helps us look at the painful subject matter with both eyes open. Liu seems more interested in just being present than making a grand statement.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"> No doubt t</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">here is something grand about the film, but like with the boys' skating, what occurs never seems premeditated or forced but instead glides from one moment into the next with balance and grace. </span><br />
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<br /></div>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-16523116383341834862018-03-02T15:50:00.001-07:002022-02-11T08:37:07.890-07:00When Nothin' Can Be a Real Cool Hand: The Use of Projection in COOL HAND LUKE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesoj4ar2SQYCBwaISqec802q5tvIFMkM-s9YxWKIvCfD76QtA5zChYoM-hruXmoD7F3KkX2DkxZQPSl4T8KGj815jgXHmclb_RnHYaYzXrf_VXUC8Cj_iuAI3C4arR2vL7C2Lua6FQ_fZ/s1600/Luke+Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesoj4ar2SQYCBwaISqec802q5tvIFMkM-s9YxWKIvCfD76QtA5zChYoM-hruXmoD7F3KkX2DkxZQPSl4T8KGj815jgXHmclb_RnHYaYzXrf_VXUC8Cj_iuAI3C4arR2vL7C2Lua6FQ_fZ/s400/Luke+Poster.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>(Originally written in 2011)</i> If you haven't read my previous posts <a href="http://www.ce-films.org/2016/05/imagining-real-projection-as.html">Imagining the Real</a> or <a href="http://www.ce-films.org/2016/05/rp-mcmurphy-imagines-real-use-of.html">Fooling Them All: The Use of Projection in <i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</i></a>, please do so before proceeding. This essay is an extension of both of those pieces. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">It's difficult to ignore the inherent existentialism in Stuart Rosenberg's 1967 classic, <i>Cool Hand Luke</i>. Luke confronts God twice in the movie. The first time is during a thunder storm when everyone is running back into the trucks, afraid of the lightening. Luke stands in the middle of the road, shouting into the sky in defiance: "Love me, hate me, kill me, just let me know you're up there!" When nothing happens, Luke smirks as if he expected as much. At the end of the film when Luke enters a church, the place where he is shot and killed no less, he kneels down and prays:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If you can spare a minute, it’s about time we had a little talk. I know I’m a pretty evil fellow. Killed people in the war. I got drunk and chewed up municipal property and the like. I know I have no right to ask, but you’ve got to admit you haven’t dealt me no cards in a long time.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Luke has both eyes closed while he is praying and when nothing happens, he opens one eye and looks up. When he is met with silence, he shrugs it off and chuckles: "I guess you're a hard case too." </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Within the context of the prison, there are rules of wrong and right enforced by the warden, and more specifically, by "the man with no eyes." However, these rules are arbitrary, set into place by the whim of the warden. In an attempt to assert his power, the warden has Luke dig a hole, and when he finishes digging it, the warden has him fill it back up</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">. When Luke fills it back up, the warden then tells him to dig it again. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Within this absence of meaning, Luke and the other inmates have to arbitrarily determine what they should and shouldn't do with their free time. When Dragline asks Luke about the egg eating contest, Luke says, <i>It's just something to do</i>. And, when Dragline asks Luke why he said 50 and not 35 or 40 or some other number, Luke says it just seemed like a good round number. Without an absolute sense of meaning or purpose, the inmates are left to their own devices. Luke is the only one capable of exacting his will into this absence and the other inmates not only depend upon him for their own meaning, they become angry and helpless when he fails to provide it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When thinking about<i> </i>Milos Foreman’s <i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo's</i> <i>Nest </i>alongside <i>Cool Hand Luke</i>, it’s uncanny how similar the two plot lines are: in both films an outsider enters an institutionalized environment and quickly becomes the leader of a band of misfits who are mesmerized by his personality and charisma. After invigorating the group (and perhaps because of it) this outsider is beaten down and destroyed, only to be reborn within the imaginations of those who followed him. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Luke and McMurphy also become the perfect heroic projection. Luke as a projection begins when he fights Dragline, the biggest inmate of the group, and even though he is beaten senseless, Luke doesn't quit, gaining him the sympathy and respect of the group. This projection is solidified when Luke says he can eat 50 eggs and actually does! </span>The projection is complete<i> </i>when Luke escapes and sends a picture back to the inmates showing him wearing a suit and sitting next to two beautiful women.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Both Luke and McMurphy act as projections; however, with Luke there is an interesting twist. While Forman's <i>One Flew Over Cuckoo's Nest</i> elevates the notion of projection, Rosenberg, on the other hand, attempts to deconstruct or critique it. When Luke tells them the picture with the two beautiful women is a fake, and that he actually paid for it to be made, they are astounded and don't believe him. When Luke is finally beaten down by the warden, after a 2nd failed attempt to escape, they abandon him altogether. One prisoner even tears up the photo of Luke and the two women, the very symbol of Luke as a projection. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Both Luke in <i>Cool Hand Luke</i> and McMurphy in <i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest </i>die, and, likewise, both are reborn. They are not reborn in the same way though, or at least not with the same implications. In the closing scenes of <i>Cuckoo’s Nest</i>, when Chief throws the sink through the window, the inmates of the asylum obviously think it's McMurphy breaking free, the way he said he would. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Notice the difference with the last scene of </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Cool Hand Luke. </i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Again, on the surface, the films are similar. Like McMurphy, Luke also lives on as a hero. Dragline says Luke was "smiling" as they drove him away, leading into a montage sequence as the inmates, and we as viewers, can reminisce about Luke as our hero. Rosenberg doesn't end there though. The final scene of the film returns to the photo of Luke and the two women. Luke has become a <i>hero</i> again, however the photo is now shown as torn and taped back together. Luke may be a projection, but Rosenberg wants us to know just how fragile this status is, and, like the picture itself, perhaps false altogether. </span></span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-34839030526757588582018-03-01T19:21:00.000-07:002018-04-15T11:38:14.000-07:00Eastwood of Eden: The Maturation of Eastwood’s Messiah Complex in Million Dollar Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRpyj0mNYihxJuAJRZlLqfwqLXxHWLhmQBE1f98sEFGjfkarB6BUp5Tl931ZaHk38qqrqd3X3u43czPnGSsJu_iKCEwJ6vJRQudbIhNsGRZjL7dEnXm9Wt7cbKs3i7ESHF_cZzcshtcUe/s1600/Million+Dollar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRpyj0mNYihxJuAJRZlLqfwqLXxHWLhmQBE1f98sEFGjfkarB6BUp5Tl931ZaHk38qqrqd3X3u43czPnGSsJu_iKCEwJ6vJRQudbIhNsGRZjL7dEnXm9Wt7cbKs3i7ESHF_cZzcshtcUe/s400/Million+Dollar.jpg" width="271" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2004) </i>It’s remarkable how many films made with or by Clint Eastwood use revenge as their primary plot device. A group of guys do something wrong and Eastwood spends the entire film finding the sons of bitches to make them pay. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In <span style="font-style: italic;">Mystic River</span>, we see a variation on this theme, as Eastwood is not in the film, but uses Sean Penn as his proxy who must avenge the murder of his young daughter. What becomes complicated about this particular story is that after the revenge is carried out, we realize that it has been exacted upon an innocent man. The film leaves the viewer with this knowledge and does not offer any resolution or recompense. Upon first glance, it appears that Eastwood is interrogating the theme of revenge and possibly illustrating that revenge can be blinding or misleading. Certainly, Dennis Lehman's intriguing novel from which the film is adapted does; the weight of the incident in Dave’s (Tim Robbins) childhood as well as his murder orchestrated by his one-time friend do not quickly disappear from the reader’s imagination. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In Eastwood’s hands though, something peculiar happens. He creates a story where you actually feel more sympathy for Jimmy (Sean Penn) than you do for the one who is wrongly accused and murdered by him. This is accomplished in part by Tim Robbins’ acting as it is so mannered and self-conscious that it’s difficult to see him as anything more than a caricature. His mannerisms and ticks are so extreme that any sympathy is strictly superficial. We’re not even shocked when his own wife Celeste (Marcia Gay Harden) tells Jimmy that she thinks her husband is guilty. By the end of the film, very little is said about Dave’s death. On the other hand, there is a revenge manifesto, a soliloquy really, spoken by his wife, Annabeth, (Laura Linney) explaining Jimmy’s actions and making the murder sound justified and noble. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In <span style="font-style: italic;">Million Dollar Baby</span>, the story isn’t really about revenge, but Eastwood still wields the power of judge, jury, and executioner. In fact, he even takes it one step further and elevates himself to be the film’s savior and/or redemptive figure. In the past, one could argue that he acted as a redeemer in an indirect way, particularly by killing the sons of bitches who hurt his friends, or lover, or partner, or the judicial system, etc. In <span style="font-style: italic;">Million Dollar Baby </span>though, his role as redeemer is much more direct. Here, Eastwood plays the aged trainer, Frankie, who, like his friend Eddie (Morgan Freeman), has probably stayed in the business too long. As a character, it’s one we’ve seen before as Eastwood plays a tough old codger with a squint and the patented double take whenever someone says something that gets on his nerves. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The first part of the film is set primarily in the gym and on the road as Maggie trains and then fights numerous opponents. We have some nice moments of character development as Eddie tells Maggie (Hillary Swank), and the viewer, about Frank’s complicated past. After Maggie convinces Frank to train her, the film relies on montage sequences to show her training and the several consequential victories she has. Eventually Maggie meets her match as she fights The Blue Bear (Lucia Rijker). It is during this fight that Maggie becomes paralyzed from a bizarre cheap shot that causes her to fall and hit her head on a wooden stool. I’m convinced that if any other director tried pulling this preposterous scene off, he would have been laughed off the screen. However for some reason, I think critics give Eastwood a free pass with scenes like these. Such was the case with the film’s second part when Maggie is in the hospital, post injury. The film nearly comes to a screeching halt here as we are steeped in pure melodrama straight from daytime T. V. I don’t understand how critics have turned such a blind eye to this or to the ridiculous stereotypes depicted by Maggie’s white trash (as she puts it) family. I was also baffled by the character Danger Barch (Jay Baruchel) who was so bizarrely contrived that he seemed like something out of a Looney Toons cartoon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">While most critics and the Motion Picture Academy lauded the film, many conservative, pro-life advocates criticized it for promoting euthanasia. I found the debate interesting but ultimately thought it was the wrong argument. Where the movie fails is that it makes this choice too easy for Frank. In fact there is no choice at all. Eastwood undermines the complexity of his film when he shows the priest as an unreliable source of wisdom. This is done through a brief scene that is played mainly for laughs. Frank begins needling Father Horvack (Brian O’Byrne) about the Holy Trinity; in just a matter of moments the young priest becomes exasperated and calls Frank and a "fuckin' pagan." Everyone in the theater seemed to get a chuckle from this scene; however, it presents a problem later within the story. When Frank is wrestling with the moral dilemma concerning Maggie, he goes to the priest to ask for advice. The priest sternly warns him against helping Maggie die. However, since the priest has already been seen as unreliable and even as the butt of a joke, we take his words lightly. The film would have completely shifted in tone and theme if the priest had spoken with authority or wisdom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">From this positioning of authority and the film’s own definition of “good” and “bad” (“bad” being that Maggie would be immobile and consequently have no reason to live) the choice is relatively easy for Frank (and for the viewer). It is clear within the context of the film, that by letting her die, he in turn saves her. What’s more, he has not only elevated himself to the role of savior, but savior to the very person he kills, in fact savior because he kills her. This truly is a remarkable turn. In<span style="font-style: italic;"> Million Dollar Baby</span>, Eastwood is judge, jury, and executioner, as always, but now he actually gets to save someone by executing him/her. We still have the same man as Will Muney, one capable of killing anyone. However, a new hero has evolved; instead of having to turn to the bottle to assuage any guilt, his “killing” actually sets people free! Within this moral vacuum, Eastwood has arranged a remarkable position of power for himself. Like with Sean Penn's character in <span style="font-style: italic;">Mystic River</span>, it is only Frank for whom we're concerned. He is the one who sacrifices his soul for a friend. With this, Eastwood has assumed every role possible- judge, jury, executioner, the one who dies, the one who redeems, and <i>now- </i>the one redeemed.</span><br />
<br />Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-23761588275044007382018-03-01T19:05:00.002-07:002020-08-19T07:02:46.692-07:00The Devil's in the Details; Realism as Satirical Device in Stanley Kubrick's DR. STRANGELOVE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>(Originally published in 2014) </i>One can tell by the title alone that <span style="font-style: italic;">Dr. Strangelove or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb</span> is a satirical, even playful look at the nuclear arms race between the United States and Russia during the Cold War. While being comedic, the film is not whimsical or only ironic. Oscar Wilde once said that satire should be more frightening than comedic. With <span style="font-style: italic;">Strangelove</span>, Kubrick achieves this effect, yet does so through a device not often used in satire. He not only shows a keen awareness of the subject matter at hand, and its inherent ironies, he also incorporates a hyper-realism which adds a haunting authenticity as well as a sense of gravity to the film's rich humor. </span><br />
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To begin with, Kubrick forgoes color and instead uses black and white film so as to utilize shadows more effectively. Many scenes have only a single source of light inside a large room which provides a dark and somber tone. Also, Kubrick's much discussed "War Room" has state of the art technology, as one would assume, yet also incorporates an odd combination of space and confinement. On one hand the room is cavernous; one literally can't tell how big it is as its walls are never seen. Yet in spite of this immense size, when the military officials are sitting at the table to discuss military strategy, the lights are placed just above their heads creating an enclosed and confined space. If this isn't claustrophobic enough, the "big board" looms over them letting them know exactly when total annihilation will occur.</span><br />
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Kubrick also pays close attention to detail during the scenes on the B52 bomber. The crew goes through the minutiae of setting, resetting, and checking codes. They each have Code R as in Romeo files that are kept in a safe, a survival kit is issued in case they have to evacuate by parachute, and each person carries out a distinct duty as they get closer to the bombing target. Just as in the War Room though, there is a confined sense of space which adds to the tension in the atmosphere. Everyone is wearing a bulky uniform and seems to have only about 18 inches of space around them in which to move.</span><br />
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The most realistic scenes in the entire film are when the military is attempting to take over the base that has been commandeered by the insane General Jack Ripper. As the military fires at the base, the camera angle is at ground level from a bunker, presenting an uncanny resemblance to stock footage from the Vietnam War.</span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I would argue that this attention to detail is just as important as the humor is to Kubrick's overall satirical statement about potential nuclear destruction. Before the viewer can accept Kubrick's suggestion that military leadership is inept (dangerously so), we first have to believe that we are in fact seeing the military in action. Once this appeal to realism has been met, Kubrick can get away with about any type of critiquing he wants. It is this realism and Kubrick's convincing presentation that a catastrophe of this proportion could happen, that moves this movie from merely being a comedy to effective social satire.</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-83025834205249017322018-03-01T18:50:00.004-07:002022-04-13T06:38:04.835-07:00Bat to the U.S.S.R.: A Brief Study of Marxism in Christopher Nolan's BATMAN BEGINS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhPCHxJOj4riPXpHJRhYL2LYf01UMXpDS_CG9b4apy-abTZJTSPEmxVupWJV4cqxSLf0ZbWLlodid0RwZggoOArgw4ZWCfGMupw9NkTWpfryeCV-gGslZhw1e2qKd7Y1pmME3it3A1O9H/s1600-h/batmn.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214518704093701650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhPCHxJOj4riPXpHJRhYL2LYf01UMXpDS_CG9b4apy-abTZJTSPEmxVupWJV4cqxSLf0ZbWLlodid0RwZggoOArgw4ZWCfGMupw9NkTWpfryeCV-gGslZhw1e2qKd7Y1pmME3it3A1O9H/s320/batmn.jpg" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" width="213" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2005)</i> One wonders if Warner Bros. would have decided to retool the <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman</span> franchise if it were still making money. In spite of incredible star power, the last few installments have been laughable. Of course, there's a part of me that would like to think the studio's intentions to <i>Begin </i>the franchise again were motivated more from artistic inclinations and not merely financial ones. This may seem a bit far-fetched I realize, especially when dealing with a Summer Blockbuster. However, when looking at some inherent themes within <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span> as well as the way it was marketed, some interesting conclusions could be made. To reach these conclusions, let's first look at a few lines from Karl Marx's <span style="font-style: italic;">A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy</span>: </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the social production of their life, men enter into definite relations that are indispensable and independent of their will, relations of production which correspond to a definite stage of development of their material productive forces. The mode of production and material life conditions the social, political and intellectual life process in general. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their being, but on the contrary, their social being that determines their consciousness.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: large;">According to Marx, one’s wealth or relation of production not only shapes one socially, politically, and intellectually but also determines one’s very “consciousness.” This consciousness (conscience?) is not pre-existent or independent but determined by one’s position of power within the mode of material production. In Christopher Nolan’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span>, there is a radical reversal of this ideal (or in other words a pro-Marxist ideal) where Nolan’s characters are not seen as modes of production, nor is their consciousness shaped by wealth or “material life.” </span><br />
<span></span><span><a name='more'></a></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Of course the wealth of the Wayne family is evident throughout the film, yet I would argue that this materiality is often portrayed as a hindrance or burden. To begin with, money was the motivating factor for his parents being robbed and subsequently killed. When Bruce becomes older, he eschews all the trappings of this wealth and becomes a drifter who lives amongst the poor. This decision is not met with regret either, as we never see Wayne, not even when he’s in prison, missing the comforts that his family’s wealth afforded him. We get the impression, that if it weren’t for Henri Ducard (Liam Neeson) rescuing him and motivating him to devote his life towards fighting crime, our hero would have never returned to Wayne Manor. <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span> also avoids codifying the wealthy as having any moral superiority or authority. Often a director will present distinct cues as to the hierarchy of power or value within a film. Usually, it’s through the positioning of the camera as well as through the gaze of a particular character. Upon first glance, it appears Nolan is guilty of doing this is when Wayne shows up to a party in a Lamborghini, self-equipped with two super models. The camera is placed at ground level as the car pulls up forcing the viewer into a position of recognition as the two beautiful women spill out of the car. Nolan does not keep us fixed within this position though, as Rachel Dawes (Katie Holmes) is quick to criticize Wayne’s flamboyance when she explains that it is distracting him from more important matters. This is not met with disdain, but in turn with agreement by Wayne as he realizes she is absolutely right. In fact, all of the people in the film who assist Wayne (and represent a moral constant) are of low “material production.” The only material possession we ever see of Rachel is her car, a modest Ford Taurus. Likewise, Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman), Wayne’s other confidant, lives in a rundown apartment surrounded by crime and noise. Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman), the designer of Batman’s “toys” in this film, works at Wayne Industries, but has been demoted to a desk job in the basement. Even Alfred (Michael Caine) fits into this category, as he lives at Wayne Manner but is in fact a servant. Alfred is never represented as subservient though. On the contrary, he is Wayne’s equal, and, one could argue, even steps into the role of a surrogate father. All these secondary characters hold a position of authority and importance in Wayne’s life without being wealthy, effectively deconstructing the idea that one’s “consciousness” is determined by his/her “material life.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This notion is not only apparent in Nolan’s representation of the story’s secondary characters, but in Bruce Wayne himself. Like his father, Bruce seems to be interested in wealth as a strictly utilitarian device. At times, being a billionaire actually seems to be an annoyance. Wayne rolls his eyes after Alfred reminds him that he must attend some social functions so as to keep up appearances. At the end of the film, he tells the socialites of Gotham to get out his home, calling them sycophants as they leave in disgust. Later when his house is on fire and literally falling down around him, he seems indifferent and much more concerned with the criminals wreaking havoc on the city. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some years ago, when<span style="font-style: italic;"> Titanic</span> came out, I also noticed a peculiar Marxist subtext. The wealthy were not only seen as foolish and wasteful, but downright dastardly as they fenced the “poor” passengers from the upper deck, keeping them away from the lifeboats. This theme was reinforced at the end when Rose decided to throw the precious stone into the ocean illustrating that some things are more important than money. <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span> does not only profess this ideology thematically though, it has carried this notion throughout the entire process of the film's production. For one, the film was not cross-promoted through a fast food restaurant. Burger King was representing<span style="font-style: italic;"> Star Wars III; Revenge of the Sith</span> at the time, while McDonalds was promoting Richard Rodriguez’ <span style="font-style: italic;">Shark Boy and Lava Girl</span>. I understand Burger King’s choice, but McDonalds? I’m sure they would have loved to have had The Dark Knight competing with The Dark Lord. I was also impressed to see that no music video was made for the film by a current pop star. In fact, if you look at the soundtrack for <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span>, the song titles are named after various types of bats. One could even argue that the pacing or style of the film isn't constructed to gain the attention of a wide audience. There is hardly any action at the beginning of the film allowing the movie to take its time to develop the story. Also, there are no cute side characters to catch the interest of younger viewers. And, unlike the other Batman films, the villains are no in way amusing or humorous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whether it was a concerted effort, or simply a lazy marketing department, nearly all of the so called tricks of the trade were abandoned by <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span>. As a result, the film was a breath fresh air in the midst of several summer blockbusters whose only function seemed to be as a marketing tool. Perhaps <span style="font-style: italic;">Batman Begins</span>, will be just that, a beginning. A beginning for studios to realize that a film can be successful on its own merit, and that it doesn’t have to pander to its viewers.</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-67718723262242358402018-03-01T13:20:00.000-07:002018-04-21T14:09:03.416-07:00Fooling Them All: The Use of Projection in ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0n2ihS1jV62DukfZ0mB4F00b0WsLq42Sb_YwIm2FOKBhpUIqUE3ngGXYGmc-XBdORf_9B-qkBsGkjsXNYPC3z0aLiYpav70sOjPKWxSkNXDpWr0bRuhXp8Nr0IhyuPcD6nWHJwUPcR8A/s1600/one_flew_over_the_cuckoos_nest_ver1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534979130766477154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0n2ihS1jV62DukfZ0mB4F00b0WsLq42Sb_YwIm2FOKBhpUIqUE3ngGXYGmc-XBdORf_9B-qkBsGkjsXNYPC3z0aLiYpav70sOjPKWxSkNXDpWr0bRuhXp8Nr0IhyuPcD6nWHJwUPcR8A/s400/one_flew_over_the_cuckoos_nest_ver1.jpg" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" width="265" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2011) </i>Before you proceed, I would recommend reading my previous essay- <a href="http://www.ce-films.org/2016/05/imagining-real-projection-as.html">Imagining the Real</a> as this is an extension of that post. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Milos Forman's 1976 classic, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest,</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> the lead character R.P. McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) presents an interesting case study in the use of </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">Projection.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> To the other patients, McMurphy represents freedom, virility, joy; perhaps even a personification of youth itself. The patients can live vicariously through McMurphy and experience emotions and ideas they're unable to express on their own. We see this most clearly when they escape from the hospital for the day and go on a fishing expedition. McMurphy introduces them as doctors and one can see the confidence and pride it instills. For a moment, they <i>are</i> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">doctors and not just patients.</span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Another scene I find particularly interesting is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XI_4HtIJYDM">when McMurphy asks to watch the world series</a> and Nurse Ratchet refuses even after the majority vote in his favor. Throughout the film, Nurse Ratchet and McMurphy are at odds so there's nothing unusual about this refusal. However, it is McMurphy's response that's thrilling. If he is a Christic figure, this is his first miracle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">After Nurse Ratchet refuses to turn on the television, McMurphy imagines out loud that he's not only watching the World Series but is actually there in person, and his projection is so pure, so full of joy and hope, that the other patients are able to go to the ballpark right along with him. Forman captures this notion of projection perfectly when he shows the blank television screen reflecting the images of McMurphy and the other patients. The notion of projection comes full circle here as they are looking at a television, a purveyor of projected images, yet see a reflection of McMurphy which in turn allows them to see the World Series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Of course, McMurphy not only creates projections, he is a projection. We mostly see this through the character of Chief in that McMurphy literally gives him his voice back by helping "feel as big as a damn mountain" again. Chief also understands that McMurphy is a projection of power and hope to the other patients as well. After the lobotomy is performed, Chief realizes that any projection will be destroyed when Nurse Ratchet places McMurphy back on the ward in a wheelchair as a daily reminder of what happens when her authority is challenged. Chief instead wants the projection to remain intact. Right before he suffocates him, Chief says, "I can't leave you here this way. I'm going to take you with me." By suffocating him, Chief is able to preserve McMurphy as a projection for himself (the meaning of the phrase "I'm going to take you with me.") and for the other patients as well. For the patients in the hospital, there are rumors that McMurphy has been lobotomized, while others expect him to come down the hallway grinning as he always had before. When Chief tears the sink out of the floor and throws it through the window and runs to freedom, the patients clearly believe it is McMurphy finally breaking free and doing exactly what he said he would. It is a triumphant moment, not only because we see Chief break free of the hospital's oppressive power structure, we know that McMurphy has broken free as well in that his <span style="font-style: italic;">image</span> or projection has been preserved. </span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-65633593366443076662018-03-01T13:12:00.000-07:002018-04-15T11:37:48.000-07:00A Polack with a Gun: Clint Eastwood's Peculiar Study of Racism in GRAN TORINO<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5i3xVoUVa2wHUY9oMrYjy4trFTv1xhgLFts7M1W2O09TnIcaD5cFcujCGceFje9iSkvtl1X6Op3uHy_vNR8BhJZatWgG8xQT2DRaYnognJCSnJ3sP_jW4ZkLuZWMlFPi6L2II7w7Ydps/s1600/gran+tourino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="550" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5i3xVoUVa2wHUY9oMrYjy4trFTv1xhgLFts7M1W2O09TnIcaD5cFcujCGceFje9iSkvtl1X6Op3uHy_vNR8BhJZatWgG8xQT2DRaYnognJCSnJ3sP_jW4ZkLuZWMlFPi6L2II7w7Ydps/s400/gran+tourino.jpg" width="270" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2008)</i> In Clint Eastwood’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Gran Torino<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>, we get a story about a racist old codger named Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) who slowly and begrudgingly befriends an ethnic family of Hmong decent who lives next door to him. Even though there aren't a lot places for a story like this to go, many elements work exceedingly well in the film. There is a humorously awkward clash of cultures as well as several tender moments. Eastwood also looks great on screen. He may no longer have the quickdraw of Josey Wales, but his fists are still hard and his squint still piercing. Even with his wiry gray hair, he hasn’t lost any of his onscreen charm and charisma, and though he is playing a grumpy old bastard, he is <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span> grumpy old bastard. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Apparently, this is Eastwood last onscreen performance, so it's hard not to get a bit nostalgic. Eastwood has not only survived an entire lifetime within a cutthroat business that has a penchant for eating people alive, he has done something else even more rare in Hollywood: he has <span style="font-style: italic;">evolved</span>. In the last 10 or 15 years, Eastwood has really proven himself to be a sincere and calculated artist who seems to do little without heartfelt reasons or thought. Directing <span style="font-style: italic;">Flags of Our Fathers</span> and then showing the Japanese counterview in<span style="font-style: italic;"> Letters from Iwo Jima</span> was both radical and brave. I also think that <span style="font-style: italic;">Gran Torino<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>, much like <span style="font-style: italic;">Unforgiven</span>, works brilliantly as an homage while simultaneously deconstructing many of the revenge films upon which he built his career. In theory, <span style="font-style: italic;">Gran Torino</span> is the perfect choice with which to exit the screen, and it offers a nice bookend to a prolific career.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">For a moment though, let’s push Eastwood's iconic image and the significance of </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">Gran Torino</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> aside and look at the film on it’s own terms. To begin with, I always get nervous when the first lines of a film are exposition. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">Gran Torino</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> opens at the funeral of Walt’s wife, and the camera pans over to Walt’s sons sitting in the church who say (literally within the first 60 seconds): “Dad still lives in the ’50s,” and “There’s nothing anyone can do that won’t disappoint the old man.” I kept thinking to myself: </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">What's the rush?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> It's you're last performance; give us some time to get into the picture and figure things out. Much of the film's narrative in fact is painted with these broad strokes. All of the racial groups are presented as stereotypes, not just to Walt, but to us as well. Notice how the African American youths are depicted on the street corner, and the Mexican youths in their low-rider car before Thao’s cousin arrives (in his souped-up Honda no less). We don’t just get ethnic stereotypes though; nearly every single secondary character in the film is contrived. Notice how flat Walt’s sons are portrayed, not to mention his grandchildren. They are all stick figures placed into the story to move the plot along. The priest, while dogged, is just a kid without any authority or weight, so when Eastwood calls him “Padre” and the priest calls Eastwood “Son,” it's played for laughs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I do give credit to Eastwood for casting actual Hmong Vietnamese Americans to play the roles of the Lor family. Unfortunately, the fact that most are not professional actors is painfully clear. I partially blame Eastwood here for not only making the wrong casting choices, but for not directing them better. Both Thao and Sue talk quickly without listening, they don’t project their voices, nor do they have any physical understanding of their bodies on screen. Often, they both mumble and frequently walk away while they’re still talking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">All of these problems are more technical issues though. Thematically, the film also seems fragile. On one hand, the story is about how a racist old curmudgeon learns the error of his ways and redeems himself through a sacrificial act. On the other hand, there is something peculiar about the way the story is told. Eastwood positions us on the side of Walt even before his redemptive moment. One can see this by how everyone in the audience laughs at the racial slurs in the film. Why do we do this? If we are meant to critique Walt and see him as lost or fallen and thus feel enlivened when he is redeemed, why does Eastwood place us so much on his side before the change? I think this problem becomes glaringly apparent at the end of the film during the reading of the will, when Walt gives the conditions under which he bequeaths his car to Thao. Walt, when writing his will, knew what he was going to do, and in terms of the film was already redeemed, yet he still uses racial slurs, and, for some reason, it's still meant to be humorous. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">In a theoretical sense, Eastwood is unable to separate narrative from theme. This is a subtle distinction, but think about Carroll O’Connor as Archie Bunker in <span style="font-style: italic;">All in the Family</span>. Here’s a fellow racist, who minus the cool car and the guns, is not unlike Walt Kowalksi. Yet, notice the difference. With Bunker, you don’t laugh at what he says; you laugh at Bunker himself. <span style="font-style: italic;">He</span> is the fool. Is there anywhere in <span style="font-style: italic;">Gran Torino</span> where Walt is positioned as a fool? Why not? Isn’t he ignorant throughout the majority of the film? He is, but Eastwood does not position him as so, which means we are not allowed to see him as despicable. Imagine you're father or uncle or grandfather speaking like Walt does in the film. Would you laugh in the same way? I imagine most would react as Walt's sons do- frustrated, impatient, and even embarrassed. Yet, within the context of the film, his sons are the ones who are backwards and unsympathetic. This thematic problem becomes most noticeable when Walt goes to confession near the end of the film. Isn’t it interesting that he mentions nothing about his racism or even anger towards others? Either he doesn’t want to be forgiven, or he feels he doesn’t need to be forgiven. With the former, redemption becomes impossible; with the latter, redemption becomes unnecessary. Walt’s final act then becomes hollow and without much meaning or sacrifice at all, because, within the context of the film, Walt was never really that bad in the first place. <span style="font-style: italic;">Gran Torino</span> ultimately collapses in on itself because Eastwood wants it both ways: for Walt to receive salvation in the end, but for us to laugh at his "sin" along the way.</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-12588525747677923092018-03-01T08:56:00.001-07:002022-04-13T06:35:09.496-07:00The Dualists; Misanthropic Tendencies from the Coen Brothers <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7b5VLtRw24na3LiWgAbxx6CE7uj_FguGIq6IHdmxEN_VAESOPJKCAjXKfoO2shrWCKftQkkMtE-DmaoUb8Ef51rifDg7-_CkGR3QiDR2S0_KULGoHgrheV7IFWgI7fVlk7RhyphenhyphenoinpfuOv/s1600/alg_coen_brothers.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527948528279659042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7b5VLtRw24na3LiWgAbxx6CE7uj_FguGIq6IHdmxEN_VAESOPJKCAjXKfoO2shrWCKftQkkMtE-DmaoUb8Ef51rifDg7-_CkGR3QiDR2S0_KULGoHgrheV7IFWgI7fVlk7RhyphenhyphenoinpfuOv/s1600/alg_coen_brothers.jpg" style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2014)</i> When looking at current filmmakers who are masterful satirists one must put the Coen brothers at the top of the list. The Coen brothers attention to detail and unique characterizations have created some of the most memorable scenes in modern cinema. However, I have noticed a peculiar trend in many of their later films with how they construct scenes and develop characters. For one, it’s hard not to notice a complete lack of affection or sympathy towards the characters they create. Let’s first look at the strange climactic moment in <span style="font-style: italic;">No Country for Old Men</span> when Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), whom we follow for the entire film, is killed. He’s not only killed off screen, but we’re not even sure exactly how it happens. This is disorientating because any sympathy or catharsis is emphatically interrupted. In fact, his death almost goes unnoticed as the film continues on without him. Hitchcock does something similar in <span style="font-style: italic;">Psycho</span> with Janet Leigh; we follow her for a good portion of the film and then after her murder, we begin following Norman Bates. The difference though is that with Hitchcock we see Leigh’s last gasp for life. In fact, in his famous shot, we are forced to look directly into Leigh’s eye. The way the Coen brothers film (or don’t film) Llewelyn’s death and the circumstances around it, makes it seem like his death is inconsequential and without meaning. Why would such experts of characterization do this? I would argue it is because Llewelyn’s death doesn't mean anything. They have constructed the movie much in the same way Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) moves from one victim to the other, with calculation and attention to detail, but void of any emotion. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We see this again in <span style="font-style: italic;">Fargo</span>. There is a clear delineation between good and evil, yet notice how each is presented. Evil, while not exactly intelligent as represented by Carl Showalter (Steve Buscemi) and Gaear Grimsrud (Peter Stormare), it is certainly complicated and disturbing. We have to reference nothing more than the famous wood chipper scene. On the other hand, goodness or innocence in the film, represented by Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) and the townspeople of Brainerd, never moves beyond simple cliché. It is shameless (and I think quite telling) in how often the Coen brothers rely on the accents of Minnesota dialect with "Don’t ya know” and “You betcha” for humor. The result of this makes the townspeople of Brainerd and Marge as well into simple-minded caricatures. Goodness prevails within the plot of the story, but you wonder what the Coen brothers really think. When a pregnant Marge captures Gaear, a ruthless killer, and is giving him a good talking to, we’re not sure if we are supposed to laugh or listen up: </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, I guess that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there. And I guess that was your accomplice in the woodchipper. And those three people in Brainerd. And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, ya know. Don't you know that? And here you are; and it's a beautiful day. Well, I just don't understand it.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: large;">Is this meant to be taken seriously? If so then why does the camera cut to show a bleak, grey sky and a snowy, ice laden landscape when she mentions “a beautiful day”? Maybe it’s meant to show her eternal optimism, yet when the scene gets a laugh, I would argue it makes her look foolish, entirely undermining her credibility. The Coen brothers seem to keep the audience caught between either finding Marge and the townspeople from Brainerd endearing or seeing them as objects of ridicule and mockery. Why is this? To complicate matters even more, their representation of evil never once retreats into cliche and remains a haunting force in one’s imagination long after the film is over. I think this uneven representation of good and evil in the film, creates a happy ending that feels false because it seems that the Coen brothers are more interested in laughing at their characters than garnering our sympathy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To illustrate this point more clearly, I think it would be beneficial to take a quick look at director Alexander Payne’s work. Likewise, his films are replete with characters he doesn’t seem to like, and while these scenes are amusing on the surface, and effective in creating a “cringe moment,” it is <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span> we are cringing at that’s the problem. There is nothing wrong with putting characters in embarrassing or even humiliating circumstances. Cringe moments can act as high drama and I think are the basis of many of Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors, and more recent work like <span style="font-style: italic;">Bridget Jones Diary</span> and its sequel. The Bridget Jones’ films are filled with embarrassing moments, and in fact act as the film’s main points of conflict. They are effective because we identify with Jones on screen so when something embarrassing happens to her, it happens to us. The main character and audience alike are all embarrassed together which in turn creates this unique communal, cathartic experience. Now contrast this with the famous (infamous?) cringe moment in Payne’s film <span style="font-style: italic;">About Schmidt</span> when a nude Kathy Bates gets into the hot tube with Jack Nicholson. It is an embarrassing moment, yet notice the tone of the scene. Unlike with Bridget Jones, we in no way identify with Bates. Consequently, we cringe not at the embarrassing situation, but at her. I notice a similar technique in NBC’s <span style="font-style: italic;">The Office</span>. The writing is superb and the show is rich with satire. Yet, notice how the characters of Jim and Pam are always outside of the jokes per se. With their knowing looks to the camera, you are forced to identify with them, and thus, as they do, see everyone else as a fool. Even when Jim or Pam are nice or go along with one of Michael’s harebrained ideas, they do so still knowing that the ideas are ridiculous, yet they reluctantly proceed, martyr-like, to placate and/or protect Michael and the others. By having Jim and Pam be our tour guide through the madness, the audience is always one degree away from it. Because Jim and Pam do not seem to respect or actually like anyone in the office, we are inclined to feel the same way, which then interrupts any sense of connection or identification. In <span style="font-style: italic;">About Schmidt</span>, Jack Nicholson is our tour guide and we identify with him and his annoyance, which makes Kathy Bates a perfect target of our derision. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am not sure if Payne or the Coen brothers do this on purpose, but it undermines them as storytellers because you can never fully trust what they are revealing to you. It is one thing to remain neutral or uninvolved as a storyteller. It is quite another to be cruel to your characters. One has to go no further than the scene in <span style="font-style: italic;">Fargo</span> when Grimsrud and Showalter have kidnapped Jean the wife of Jerry Lundegaard. She is blindfolded and has her arms tied, and when she starts to run, she falls down because she's disoriented. Gaear watches her and laughs at how feeble she seems. It is a cruel and heartless scene and while arguably is created under the guise of the villains being cruel, one has the sneaking suspicion that the Coen brothers are getting a chuckle as well. If this is so, then like with Llewelyn in <span style="font-style: italic;">No Country</span>, her death doesn't really matter and any tension is immediately lost. If the writers don’t care about their characters, why should the audience? Maintaining a sympathy for one’s character is paramount as a storyteller. Without it, the work seems more like a passive aggressive inside joke than a well-crafted story about complex individuals.</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-37671569771337210812018-03-01T08:03:00.000-07:002018-04-15T11:36:08.022-07:00The Importance of Being Earnest: The Unusual Role of Kindness in REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAt93vHwH7JJUfE0sop6J3U6wT1v4CGFga6eCnhmY19EMReIuVRZEL6fp3M1G27v6KDCs9N7zg30dXXLq_dAIxWHlgJRUh5XUEXvKzXFkssBSStD6KEh76fxzNGyy3aezoIFqZBKeavva1/s1600-h/rebel-without-a-cause~Rebel-Without-A-Cause-Posters.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218440087453422290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAt93vHwH7JJUfE0sop6J3U6wT1v4CGFga6eCnhmY19EMReIuVRZEL6fp3M1G27v6KDCs9N7zg30dXXLq_dAIxWHlgJRUh5XUEXvKzXFkssBSStD6KEh76fxzNGyy3aezoIFqZBKeavva1/s400/rebel-without-a-cause~Rebel-Without-A-Cause-Posters.jpg" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" width="270" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2005)</i> After watching <span style="font-style: italic;">Rebel Without a Cause</span> again, I was struck by how dated it seemed: the melodrama, the overacting, the fact that most of it was shot on a soundstage resembling a television show. Interestingly when I was younger and certainly more cynical and a helluva lot more critical about such things, I liked <span style="font-style: italic;">Rebel Without a Cause</span> quite a bit. Growing up in the 80’s and cutting my teeth on the likes of Schwarzenegger and Stallone, the sincerity of Dean rang true in spite of the hackneyed dialogue. It was a breath of fresh air in the midst of heroes who were sarcastic, indifferent, and invulnerable. An example of a subversive scene that illustrates the overall and affective tone of <span style="font-style: italic;">Rebel</span> is near the end when Plato (Sal Mineo), Jim (James Dean), and Judy (Natalie Wood) are at the abandoned mansion and Plato falls asleep. Jim and Judy notice that Plato has on two different colored socks. They laugh, but then something really unique happens. Instead of deriding Plato or making fun of him, there is an identification that occurs when Dean says, ‘I’ve done that, haven’t you?” and Wood’s quickly nods saying she has. The two then go on to explore the house, but Dean does something else unique: he leaves a candle for Plato so he can see his way when he wakes up. Dean leaves one, takes one, and gives one to Wood’s character. These are simple and quiet gestures, but they are refreshing in the context of teenage drama’s that usually celebrate self indulgence and immediate gratification, not to mention humor that is almost always done at the expense of the other characters. Not so here. Instead, each identifies with the other, offering support and kindness. Small acts of kindness like this are so rare in teenage films that it really struck me as unique when I first saw it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another moment that seemed atypical was when Jim was going to school for the first day. He's walking in the door and accidentally steps on the school logo which is embedded in the sidewalk. When a guy yells at him and states what he did, Dean's character says, "I'm sorry, I'm new here, and I didn't know." Again, this seems like an insignificant scene, but it's actually quite radical. In a typical teenager film, Dean's character would have been defiant or at least sarcastic as he attempted to seem strong in a new and foreign environment. Dean doesn't do this at all but actually apologizes, presenting us with another subtle but subversive scene. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Watching the film again yesterday, it was also hard not to notice the overt misogyny. Dean says he wishes his father would just once belt his mother so she would know her place and stop bothering him. Dean’s main conflict with his father is not so much that he can’t offer him advice, but that his father is feminized, or more specifically, subservient to the feminine. When his father, Frank (Jim Backus) is cleaning up a tray he dropped “before mom sees it,” Jim (James Dean) says defiantly, “Let her see it!” To illustrate the gender confusion even more, we have Frank actually wearing an apron over his suit and tie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the other hand, while Jim is angry his dad won't assume his patriarchal position, we don’t see this strict role definition in his relationship with Judy. Both seem equal in a sense. He takes care of her and dotes on her to see if she is comfortable, etc., and he never demands she do anything. In fact, he talks to her much in the same way as he does with Plato, as a friend and equal. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In the end, in spite of seeming dated and melodramatic, we are left with a complicated and unique film. While the clothing and the one-liners have changed, the underlying themes seem still relevant to teenagers today.</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-20294089546965758152018-03-01T07:54:00.000-07:002019-01-26T18:02:12.156-07:00Imagining the Real: Understanding the Use of Projection<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2aohjaymlimokbn6O6hGa8DOZxDnNW20wQlri_tRg5XELoGs3Wj2r9GZWWRji_-oKoGpbHW1rMj18qZvKbZ_FzvrrDfklOFD9fHJJTBYRb6oHDckLiPy88cSJq0S-H0N0vyIaC4XcBdo/s1600/il_fullxfull.154908291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534952921708024098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2aohjaymlimokbn6O6hGa8DOZxDnNW20wQlri_tRg5XELoGs3Wj2r9GZWWRji_-oKoGpbHW1rMj18qZvKbZ_FzvrrDfklOFD9fHJJTBYRb6oHDckLiPy88cSJq0S-H0N0vyIaC4XcBdo/s320/il_fullxfull.154908291.jpg" style="height: 400px; margin-top: 0px; width: 300px;" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2011)</i> Consider the film projector. A machine that takes a series of still images and projects them at 24 frames a second onto a blank screen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">These images of course are not real, but they </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">seem </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">real. Why? There is a humorous story about Edwin Porter's </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">The Great Train Robbery </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(1903), where people sat in the audience, not sure what to expect, and shrieked in horror when the train appeared on the screen. This may cause us to chuckle and think how ridiculous these people were for believing a train was coming at them. However, don’t we, even today, react similarly? An audience still gets frightened, or excited, or brought to tears, even though they well know none of it is actually happening. The people on the screen are acting, the sets are facades, the story is fiction. Yet, the show goes on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">To understand the peculiar nature of Projection, particularly as a psychological function, we should look no further than the movie stars and celebrities our culture deems important. We may like or dislike or love or hate certain actors or musicians, but seldom do we ask why we have such emotional responses in the first place. A famous person could be rude, physically unattractive, abusive, and overall despicable, yet millions of people will still be enamored. Why? What is happening here, and what power does this person possess?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2o9VjZQKpJfr82qUEdSDUwvDVGCeEO8r1OfjJvyPtlLUKZnhqxDm9CLLYMmTKQfVVtSKAD5BRtQQDnDq91N3HCwpX70CirWqrmsgcYTg73NHoWJsnlZ1wUIil7KnrZ3K3NXcGzP_eC4V/s1600/angelina_20jolie_20_23_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2o9VjZQKpJfr82qUEdSDUwvDVGCeEO8r1OfjJvyPtlLUKZnhqxDm9CLLYMmTKQfVVtSKAD5BRtQQDnDq91N3HCwpX70CirWqrmsgcYTg73NHoWJsnlZ1wUIil7KnrZ3K3NXcGzP_eC4V/s320/angelina_20jolie_20_23_.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m convinced that what makes a Star, that <span style="font-style: italic;">IT</span> factor people talk about, is nothing more than an ability <span style="text-align: center;">to project a specific type of persona or affect. It could be rebellion, or sexuality, or daring, or intelligence or innocence or as is often the case, a unique combination of many. A celebrity’s true gift is his or her ability to project an Ideal that captures the public’s attention at that particular moment in time. A good publicist knows this which is why overexposure is so dangerous to a movie star's popularity. Overexposure just means that one has become too known or too literal and that the projection is no longer malleable enough for people to shape into something they desire. By only making limited appearances which abstracts the celebrity’s identity through various characters, the celebrity remains a blank screen upon which an audience can project what image they desire to see.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I see how people act around celebrities, I always think </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">of that passage in the New Testament where a man was ill and wanted to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment to be healed. This person believed that the very clothing Jesus wore was sacred. This same thing is occurring with celebrities all the time. Years ago. I was at a concert and after the show, I saw a girl</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> pleading with one of the stage guys to give her the playlist that was taped to the floor. When he handed it to her, she started crying. Now this was nothing more than a piece of paper that the singer was looking at. Yet, to that girl, something else was going on. The singer was the perfect blank screen onto which she could project her image of the Ideal or Divine or anything she wanted really, and by having that piece of paper, she was touching his garment's hem.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyvE1xi5Qq0G0D82k_6GkLceGhSjVCntS_H-V9hM3oTxkzAO-PCMbthhYMdScUF7IAsDYpgosj_35KLMg7oVg9KrcLDDiAXozV6aV6M4QNPnouNhtuStiNuwCHc5224SCSK556Ko2NlGu/s1600/Film_projector4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ultimately, this all becomes a tricky proposition for celebrities. Imagine the blank screen itself in our analogy. Upon it are projected images that we believe to be real; they are a part of the screen and even become the screen, causing the image and screen to seem as one. However, they are not. The screen exists apart from the projected image. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Separating the image from the screen or the character from the actor can be difficult. The role or characters an actor plays often has nothing to do with whom the celebrity actually is and may be in fact a completely absurd representation. Imagine someone falling in love with you and they are willing to devote all of their life and energy and attention to your every wish, yet they think you are someone else. You may enjoy the initial attention, but eventually it will all seem rather hollow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am certain that this is why so many movie stars get tired of acting and often get involved in politics or social causes. They are simply tired of their own projection and instead want to reveal their actual self. What most celebrities don't understand though is that the art of projection has deep psychological powers and interrupting it has consequences. When a celebrity no longer functions as a projection, he or she should expect to be ridiculed, mocked and even hated. Again, this has nothing to do with reason or logic and the celebrity should not take it personally. Just as we project our notions of what is Good onto a blank screen, we also project our notions of what is Evil or Vile. Since celebrities act as a blank screen for our projections, it makes sense that we would place our hatred and fear onto those who disappoint, just as we place our hopes and expectations on those who please. It's important for the viewers and purveyors of projected images to understand exactly what is occurring. Separating the projector, the projection, and the screen on which the image is projected will not keep the audience from marveling at the train on the stage, it will simply keep them from jumping into the aisle to get out of its way.</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-696072331535248685.post-84428429903394344782018-03-01T06:51:00.000-07:002019-09-20T16:22:03.595-07:00The Old Man and the Sea; The Ache of Growing Old in Wes Anderson's THE LIFE AQUATIC WITH STEVE ZISSOU<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGBdaYEIAF2QlRr5J4t1cJO2ZdrFmFhBCjGPtG7OJm5TPmHiViSZ7KT3k-3PlKNO8G0jGs8zgp8DtRDukto4Irn_IjPdCG9kRxDI9anjVSDdw8Ny_8tH36joLnueQsz_bdRKi4y44qB7f/s1600-h/zissou.gif"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304138726068172866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGBdaYEIAF2QlRr5J4t1cJO2ZdrFmFhBCjGPtG7OJm5TPmHiViSZ7KT3k-3PlKNO8G0jGs8zgp8DtRDukto4Irn_IjPdCG9kRxDI9anjVSDdw8Ny_8tH36joLnueQsz_bdRKi4y44qB7f/s400/zissou.gif" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" width="285" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>(Originally written in 2007) </i>When I first saw <span style="font-style: italic;">The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou</span>, I was not able to get beyond the artifice and, frankly, the sheer silliness of it. The ocean life was filmed with stop motion effects, Owen Wilson had a peculiar accent that faded in and out, there were pirates, a high-jacking, gunplay, and a guy being eaten by a shark, no less. Also, when we see characters walk from one room to the next aboard the ship, Anderson does nothing to hide the fact that they are on a staged set. These effects even seem more out of place when compared to Anderson’s other films where he incorporates a hyper-sense of realism: characters save childhood trinkets, old records, attendance pins, visit the graves of dead parents, accidentally chop off fingers, and wear yellow jumpsuits, with nary a single special effect in the lot. Needless to say, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Life Aquatic</span> initially caught me off guard, and its shear lunacy made it difficult to take the film seriously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Interestingly, when I watched the movie again years later, I didn't pay attention to its silliness, and instead, found the film to be serious and even meditative. Once one does get past the effects (and it's not easy), the movie becomes a touching, melancholic story about a successful man at the end of his life who is trying to find meaning in it all; a similar theme in each of Anderson's last three films. In <i>Rushmore</i>, this character is played by Bill Murray, in </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">The Royal Tenenbaums</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">, it's Gene Hackman, and in </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-style: italic;">The Life Aquatic</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">, we have Bill Murray again, this time as Steve Zissou.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's hard to imagine anyone else other than Murray playing Zissou. Anderson and Baumbach really tailored the script to perfectly capture Murray's genius. The character of Steve Zissou demands an actor who can be both contemptible and sympathetic at the exact same moment. Bill Murray achieves this balance nearly to perfection. In the past, Jack Nicholson worked on this same edge, and currently, Nicholas Cage, when he isn't blowing up things, can as well. Over the last several years, Murray has been recognized as a truly gifted actor, not for his range exactly, but his ability to freely move between opposite and even contradictory personalities within the same scene. A scene written with this talent in mind is when a reporter played by Cate Blanchet interviews Zissou (Murray) for the first time:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So what happened in your opinion?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(While eating an apple) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What are you talking about?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well don’t you think the public’s opinion of your work has been significantly altered in the last 5 years?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">That’s your first question? I thought this was suppose to be a puff piece</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Should we come back to it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yeah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Okay. Is it true this is going to be your last voyage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Surprised)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Wow. No comment. Who told you that? (Pause) No, goddamit, I’m only 52. How about we start with some stock dialogue. Favorite color: blue. Favorite food: sardines</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">How do you feel about Part One of your new film?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Pausing) Why, how do you feel?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, I’m honest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just say it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I thought some of it seemed slightly fake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Directed to deckhand in room behind reporter) Walladarsky, how about taking 5? (pauses, waits for him to leave) Did it seem fake when my best friend was bitten in half right in front of me? And eaten alive screaming? I think you’re a fake. I think you’re a phony, and a bad reporter. How does that feel? And tell me (points a gun at her), does this seem fake? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Taken aback; Angry)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">How dare you? This entire article was my idea. Nobody else gives a shit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What about Si Perlman?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(turning off tape recorder)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Are you joking? He’s not even paying for my expenses.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">You’re taking something out on me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reporter turns away and starts crying softly, obviously shaken up</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zissou </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(softening)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was only trying to defend myself.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here, if Murray isn't careful, he would be the tyrant lashing out at anyone who questions his authority. If he goes in the other direction, he becomes the helpless child who gets his feelings hurt. Murray is neither and both at the same time. The reporter insults him by calling his movie "fake" and he defends himself the best way he can. He overreacts, but he does regain control over the situation. In this scene and throughout the whole film, Murray is able to walk this perfect tightrope between being a bully and utterly vulnerable. This is the genius of the movie and of Murray's performance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">As Murray maintains this balance, we see someone nearing the end of his life. He is not going gently into that good night, but he does know he's going, and we get to watch. It is a realization that Murray has with all of the characters in the film: his son, his wife, his crew, his arch nemesis Alistair Hennessey. He even realizes it with the “Jaguar” Shark at the end when he decides not to kill it, but instead simply says, “I wonder if it remembers me.”</span>Darren Ingramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09145024168070145157noreply@blogger.com