2.7.2004
kindred
about a week or so ago, i finished kindred, by octavia butler. and i've been trying to figure out how to express what what so impressive about it. i don't think i've quite done that, but here are a few thoughts anyway...
kindred is a book with a structurally (i must add: deceptively) simple premise: a black woman named dana is transported from her 1976 home in los angeles on her 26th birthday to the antebellum south (maryland in 1812, i believe). she is summoned to protect rufus, a white son of a slaveowner who will prove to be her ancestor. when rufus finds his life threatened, he involuntarily summons dana, and her only means of escape back to the 70's is through finding her own life in danger (i.e. if someone or something convinces her she is about to die). through a series of dilemmas and horrors, dana becomes a kind of guardian angel to rufus, appearing and re-appearing throughout the first twenty or so years of his life. accordingly, she finds herself victim to the atrocities which were then commonplace to a woman of color.
one might imagine the criteria that a premise such as butler's might engage. but what is less imaginable is the astounding complexity with which she renders the infinite layers of dana's predicament. this is a book read not only with one's conscience, but with one's gut. if it is science fiction, it is a sort of inverse science fiction-- the kernel of "fantasy" is precisely the element which denies the reader the distance of factual "history." there is the obvious connection of time itself-- i.e. dana's sense of shock at being forced to endure an unfamiliar (and totally reprehensible) social structure. but butler is not satisfied with that, and the overlapping histories of "white" and "black" that emerge address a very nuanced variety of racial assumptions and inter-personal relations. rufus, for example, becomes both appalling and tragic as dana's periodic appearances reveal the environmental constructs of his behavior, as well as his personal path towards bullying, cowardice and conflicted desire. the erosion of his sense of compassion is rendered with unflinching precision. the result amounts to neither sympathy nor complete antagonism.
beyond all of this, it is written with a concise rawness-- a kind of no-bullshit momentum that made me simultaneously queasy and deeply eager as i moved from page to page. i'm a terrible reader-- easily distracted, miserably slow-- and it's rare that i'm ever this profoundly engaged by a novel.
i don't want to say too much about this book, other than read it if you never have. i hope i don't sound like mr. noble-white-man in saying that in reading kindred i feel infinitely more aware of the poverty inherent within my own ability to comprehend this deep lineage of american history. it has (hopefully) sharpened something, on an emotional level, within me.
where eagles dare
i've been formulating posts in my brain of late that want to evolve into full blown essays. which is good, in a sense, because it reminds me that there are things of note in need of working out. but it certainly isn't as much fun as writing off the cuff. and on that note, i just watched where eagles dare and i wanted to put down a few thoughts about it.
i've been renting a lot of old WWII movies lately for a number of reasons. one is that i'm attempting to reconcile my deep art-school lack of historical knowledge through books (currently john keegan's very-involved the first world war), and supplementing my little assignments with movies is fun. plus it makes crude little points of reference (i learn through stories not facts), and reveals a bit about cultural desires in the wake of history (e.g. the difference between the massive, strategy-obsessed filmmaking of the longest day, as oppossed to today's more individual/psychological fare).
where eagles dare isn't exactly enlightening as a document of the war, but it is a hell of a fun movie. it's also proof that "action-packed" and "intelligent" aren't always mutually exclusive. the convoluted espionage of the film's premise is pretty damn sophisticated, not to mention confusing. and with my mind twisted in knots, i still got to see some fun, old fashioned shoot 'em up stuff too.
but the really fascinating thing about it is how well richard burton fits into an action film. he can turn his fast-talking persona from uppity to vicious in a manner of seconds. (note the scene where he's undercover as a nazi and he pretends to be the brother of heinrich himmler). burton's been on the brain a bit, with all the graham greene i've been reading (currently the comendians, which became a film starring burton). so i have this image of him as the punchy, forlorn vagabond of a greene novel or a film like night of the iguana (among others), and it makes it hard to picture him with a machine gun. but it works. and with clint eastwood by his side, you get two surprisingly complimentary types of cool: never-shut-up sophisticate cool (burton) and shut-the-fuck-up-or-i'll-whack-you cool (eastwood).
why doesn't this sort of pair-up work anymore??? i mean, i'm all for silly action movies (i thought xxx, for example, was loveable enough buffonery), but i could use a little crunch to the dialogue once in a while. recent action movies have a far narrower definition of serious/not serious. a "serious" movie tends not to get off on explosions and machine guns in quite the same way. i guess we get something sorta close to what i'm imagining with that pirates of the caribbean movie-- where johnny depp is so good he seems as if he's on loan from another movie altogether. too bad the rest of it falls a bit flat.
i want an action film that feels like iggy pop and david bowie together in the 70's. that sort of interaction would be really entertaining. does that make any sense??
bring back richard burton style cool, hollywood. and don't worry, you can give him a machine gun.
i've been renting a lot of old WWII movies lately for a number of reasons. one is that i'm attempting to reconcile my deep art-school lack of historical knowledge through books (currently john keegan's very-involved the first world war), and supplementing my little assignments with movies is fun. plus it makes crude little points of reference (i learn through stories not facts), and reveals a bit about cultural desires in the wake of history (e.g. the difference between the massive, strategy-obsessed filmmaking of the longest day, as oppossed to today's more individual/psychological fare).
where eagles dare isn't exactly enlightening as a document of the war, but it is a hell of a fun movie. it's also proof that "action-packed" and "intelligent" aren't always mutually exclusive. the convoluted espionage of the film's premise is pretty damn sophisticated, not to mention confusing. and with my mind twisted in knots, i still got to see some fun, old fashioned shoot 'em up stuff too.
but the really fascinating thing about it is how well richard burton fits into an action film. he can turn his fast-talking persona from uppity to vicious in a manner of seconds. (note the scene where he's undercover as a nazi and he pretends to be the brother of heinrich himmler). burton's been on the brain a bit, with all the graham greene i've been reading (currently the comendians, which became a film starring burton). so i have this image of him as the punchy, forlorn vagabond of a greene novel or a film like night of the iguana (among others), and it makes it hard to picture him with a machine gun. but it works. and with clint eastwood by his side, you get two surprisingly complimentary types of cool: never-shut-up sophisticate cool (burton) and shut-the-fuck-up-or-i'll-whack-you cool (eastwood).
why doesn't this sort of pair-up work anymore??? i mean, i'm all for silly action movies (i thought xxx, for example, was loveable enough buffonery), but i could use a little crunch to the dialogue once in a while. recent action movies have a far narrower definition of serious/not serious. a "serious" movie tends not to get off on explosions and machine guns in quite the same way. i guess we get something sorta close to what i'm imagining with that pirates of the caribbean movie-- where johnny depp is so good he seems as if he's on loan from another movie altogether. too bad the rest of it falls a bit flat.
i want an action film that feels like iggy pop and david bowie together in the 70's. that sort of interaction would be really entertaining. does that make any sense??
bring back richard burton style cool, hollywood. and don't worry, you can give him a machine gun.
2.3.2004
where i've been II
create your own visited country map
or write about it on the open travel guide
i think i just like how these maps look on my page... and now, you can all heckle me for having never been to canada...
swimming pool
swimming pool is probably my least favorite of francois ozon's films (the ones i've seen-- 4 or 5, at this point), but that's not saying much. it's still pretty good. it's still playful... still sexy... just not gleeful enough or something... i prefer a film like sitcom, where ozon seems a little more raw and a little less apologetic with his perversions.
it's more or less a murder mystery. at least it ends up being something along those lines after about an hour of rich, gratuitous nudity on the part of ludivine sagnier (who's name is as sexy as her looks, i might add). the eroticism has a strangely analytical feeling to it, somewhat like hitchcock, to whom the film owes quite a bit. this "gaze" (pardon the grad school termonology) keeps the film feeling peculiar, and steers clear of the mainstream/miramax territory i feared upon hearing it was shot in english.
interestingly enough-- and maybe this just reveals a bit of my tastes-- charlotte rampling ends up seeming pretty erotic herself. she's clearly the best thing about the film (ozon's direction seems a little lazy, to be honest), and she brings a kind of kink to her repressed spinsterisms (not unlike isabelle huppert in 8 women, but moreso). you've got to love charlotte rampling anyway, since she was in two of the weirdest films i've ever seen, namely the night porter and, of course, zardoz. but i digress...
anyway, rampling steals the show, and the first hour or so is bitchy fun as she holds, more or less, all that surrounds her (sexy or not) in hilarious contempt. too bad that the film eventually decides to become about something. the whodunit stuff feels like an afterthought and the "surprise" ending has neither the oomph of a good trick nor the strength to re-contextualize what you've watched. it's pretty lame, frankly. but see it anyway cause it's inventive about its sexy-ness, and, uh, it's pretty sexy.
it's more or less a murder mystery. at least it ends up being something along those lines after about an hour of rich, gratuitous nudity on the part of ludivine sagnier (who's name is as sexy as her looks, i might add). the eroticism has a strangely analytical feeling to it, somewhat like hitchcock, to whom the film owes quite a bit. this "gaze" (pardon the grad school termonology) keeps the film feeling peculiar, and steers clear of the mainstream/miramax territory i feared upon hearing it was shot in english.
interestingly enough-- and maybe this just reveals a bit of my tastes-- charlotte rampling ends up seeming pretty erotic herself. she's clearly the best thing about the film (ozon's direction seems a little lazy, to be honest), and she brings a kind of kink to her repressed spinsterisms (not unlike isabelle huppert in 8 women, but moreso). you've got to love charlotte rampling anyway, since she was in two of the weirdest films i've ever seen, namely the night porter and, of course, zardoz. but i digress...
anyway, rampling steals the show, and the first hour or so is bitchy fun as she holds, more or less, all that surrounds her (sexy or not) in hilarious contempt. too bad that the film eventually decides to become about something. the whodunit stuff feels like an afterthought and the "surprise" ending has neither the oomph of a good trick nor the strength to re-contextualize what you've watched. it's pretty lame, frankly. but see it anyway cause it's inventive about its sexy-ness, and, uh, it's pretty sexy.
2.1.2004
help
is anyone other than me having trouble loading this page??? it takes me almost a full minute... i'm thinking i may have screwed something up when i added the lovely ernest shepard drawings you see all around you... let me know, if you would...
gerry
when i put on gus van sant's film gerry tonight, i found it initially difficult to overcome my skepticism. at first, it struck me as an overbearing, all too deliberate attempt at the feel of an abbas kiarostami film-- a calculated pastiche of the digressive, panoramic lyricism of the wind will carry us, for example.
but as i watched, i put my film-geek-grumpiness to rest. it's actually a rather idiosyncratic experience, and one hell of a brave move on the part of van sant, to say nothing of matt damon.
that's right-- matt damon. the film follows damon and daredevil's brother casey affleck around as a hiking trip turns into a disaster somewhere in the desert. they get lost. and the more they wander around, the more lost they get. and that's pretty much it. the dialogue is brief and mundane. there's little in the way of conflict or emotion. no hammy oscar worthy posturing. there's almost nothing.
a lot of the blurps i read on the rotten tomatoes page for the movie threw the term "existential" around quite a bit. but i think that misses the mark. at its root, i think the film has more in common with a horror movie than an existential journey. only instead of concentrating on psychological or moral punishment, its focus is distinctly upon the flesh. with little else to go on (both characters are completely impenetrable, not to mention uninteresting), the film strikes me as more concerned with bodily breakdown than an allegorical search for meaning.
bodily breakdown and environmental magnitude. in this sense, it's more like kubrick than kiarostami. the desert itself, like HAL in 2001: a space odyssey, is a more engaging character than the humans, and the icy delight taken in filming it is a spoonful of sugar in an otherwise demanding viewing experience. there's something playfully wicked about the casting of damon (who also co-wrote the film), in that it almost dares you to set him aside. the film seems to deprive him of all his hollywood evocations in the same spirit as its premise deprives him of food and water.
(sidenote: i think it would be conceptually even more successful if it were ben affleck at his side, making the experience a kind of good will hunting brainwash of sorts).
ultimately, the film succeeds where van sant's earlier psycho remake failed. despite its overly cerebral embellishments (affleck and damon call one another "gerry," and use the term as a kind of slang as well), it generates a distinct resonance. unlike psycho, this is no science experiment. it is elusive rather than dissective. one emerges from the experience a bit like a claustrophobic might emerge from a broom closet-- shaken on a basic level, with little in the realm of rational explanation.
but as i watched, i put my film-geek-grumpiness to rest. it's actually a rather idiosyncratic experience, and one hell of a brave move on the part of van sant, to say nothing of matt damon.
that's right-- matt damon. the film follows damon and daredevil's brother casey affleck around as a hiking trip turns into a disaster somewhere in the desert. they get lost. and the more they wander around, the more lost they get. and that's pretty much it. the dialogue is brief and mundane. there's little in the way of conflict or emotion. no hammy oscar worthy posturing. there's almost nothing.
a lot of the blurps i read on the rotten tomatoes page for the movie threw the term "existential" around quite a bit. but i think that misses the mark. at its root, i think the film has more in common with a horror movie than an existential journey. only instead of concentrating on psychological or moral punishment, its focus is distinctly upon the flesh. with little else to go on (both characters are completely impenetrable, not to mention uninteresting), the film strikes me as more concerned with bodily breakdown than an allegorical search for meaning.
bodily breakdown and environmental magnitude. in this sense, it's more like kubrick than kiarostami. the desert itself, like HAL in 2001: a space odyssey, is a more engaging character than the humans, and the icy delight taken in filming it is a spoonful of sugar in an otherwise demanding viewing experience. there's something playfully wicked about the casting of damon (who also co-wrote the film), in that it almost dares you to set him aside. the film seems to deprive him of all his hollywood evocations in the same spirit as its premise deprives him of food and water.
(sidenote: i think it would be conceptually even more successful if it were ben affleck at his side, making the experience a kind of good will hunting brainwash of sorts).
ultimately, the film succeeds where van sant's earlier psycho remake failed. despite its overly cerebral embellishments (affleck and damon call one another "gerry," and use the term as a kind of slang as well), it generates a distinct resonance. unlike psycho, this is no science experiment. it is elusive rather than dissective. one emerges from the experience a bit like a claustrophobic might emerge from a broom closet-- shaken on a basic level, with little in the realm of rational explanation.
