4.17.2005
j. hoberman's the dream life
(well, i already broke my pact with myself... this week's book took two weeks. ho hum.)
for the past two weeks i've been reading the dream life: movies, media and the mythology of the sixties by village voice film critic and all-around-good-opinion-haver j. hoberman (or, as i like to call him, J HOBA).
hoberman's book re-traces our most-hyped decade of the recent past as seen at the movies. as a project, the emphasis is more on history than aesthetics. hoberman plays it pretty straight, beginning with the cuban missile crisis (via dr. strangelove, the alamo, fail-safe, etc.) and ending with a rather insightful look at how film reflected upon the sixties from a distance (his analysis of hal ashby's underrated shampoo is particularly fascinating). he keeps things focused almost to a fault, following a protocol of history and socio-political meanings with little aesthetic overlap. his film choices fall in stride, producing some intelligent insights regarding some unintelligent movies (which is part of the fun). i'd have preferred a more incestous brew, but his simplicity keeps things readable and informative. just keep in mind that this book will make you genuinely consider renting films directed by john wayne.
in the book's aftermath, "the sixties" remain as peculiar and enigmatic to me as ever. for one thing, its heroes strike me as a strange mix. whether it's the hippie embrace of charles manson or the avant-garde affection for clint eastwood (then and now), there are some stand-out elements in the peace-and-love equation that strike me as in terrible faith. however, i don't come away from this book wanting to obliterate the sixties either. the sudden bursting forth of ideas and actions that constituted the decades's major events are worth reckoning with. instead, i'm left to reckon with my own generational hostility to the era-- the punk glamour of a skeptical stance towards it, and the glee one finds in its hypocrisy. this is the reactionary emotion that turned jane fonda into such a straw-man perhaps. i wonder about its limits, and what is worth doing with it. and i haven't really thought it through very well yet.
i'm just rambling along, so i'll stop.
for the past two weeks i've been reading the dream life: movies, media and the mythology of the sixties by village voice film critic and all-around-good-opinion-haver j. hoberman (or, as i like to call him, J HOBA).
hoberman's book re-traces our most-hyped decade of the recent past as seen at the movies. as a project, the emphasis is more on history than aesthetics. hoberman plays it pretty straight, beginning with the cuban missile crisis (via dr. strangelove, the alamo, fail-safe, etc.) and ending with a rather insightful look at how film reflected upon the sixties from a distance (his analysis of hal ashby's underrated shampoo is particularly fascinating). he keeps things focused almost to a fault, following a protocol of history and socio-political meanings with little aesthetic overlap. his film choices fall in stride, producing some intelligent insights regarding some unintelligent movies (which is part of the fun). i'd have preferred a more incestous brew, but his simplicity keeps things readable and informative. just keep in mind that this book will make you genuinely consider renting films directed by john wayne.
in the book's aftermath, "the sixties" remain as peculiar and enigmatic to me as ever. for one thing, its heroes strike me as a strange mix. whether it's the hippie embrace of charles manson or the avant-garde affection for clint eastwood (then and now), there are some stand-out elements in the peace-and-love equation that strike me as in terrible faith. however, i don't come away from this book wanting to obliterate the sixties either. the sudden bursting forth of ideas and actions that constituted the decades's major events are worth reckoning with. instead, i'm left to reckon with my own generational hostility to the era-- the punk glamour of a skeptical stance towards it, and the glee one finds in its hypocrisy. this is the reactionary emotion that turned jane fonda into such a straw-man perhaps. i wonder about its limits, and what is worth doing with it. and i haven't really thought it through very well yet.
i'm just rambling along, so i'll stop.
