I decided to reread the Narnia Chronicles with the news that there will be a film released around Christmas, with the amazing Tilda Swinton as the White Witch. I’ve been wanting to reread them for a while for a couple of reasons: I first read them when my parents were divorcing, and even the name Prince Caspian summons up images of my mother sunbathing in a bikini in our Omaha backyard while crying about leaving (odd, but true), so I was hoping my rereading them I will actually remember them, as I was emotionally otherwise engaged; I am also interested in the Christian imagery, which I kept hearing more and more about.
And wow—I’ve read the first two books, and it’s insane. I’m particularly sensitive right now, given our current religious situation in this country—the war,etc., and I feel like cosmologies are everywhere—from Christianity to Scientology, Mel Gibson to Tom Cruise.
For those of you who don’t know, the first book is The Magician’s Nephew, which deals with the creation of Narnia, and the second book is The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which deals with the war over Narnia and the death/resurrection of Aslan the lion. And basically it’s crazy with Christian allegory—with a little Greek thrown in for fun-- The evil queen is a descendant of Lilith; the humans are called “Sons of Adam”; one of the children bring evil into the new world; the lion must die for the sins of a traitor, but then manages to come back to life and triumph.
Lewis was famously a theologian, and a friend of Tolkien’s. His world is less complex than Tolkein’s, and more whimsical, although Tolkein took his subject from another tale as well. I prefer Phillip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy, though it is baldy anti-religion. Narnia is for a younger child, I would imagine. But that is where it’s magic lies. Who does not dream of a new world? Who didn’t touch the back of their closet after reading this book as a child, hoping that it would dissolve and reveal an enchanted glade? I love the World between Worlds in the first book, and how there are many different worlds. Pullman owes a debt to Lewis for this. And Lewis’ writing is wonderful—easy, descriptive, charming, captivating. Also funny that it was written for a little girl, as Alice was written for a little girl, and Peter Pan for a little boy. Tiny British muses.
The ideas to me in the first two books are a catechism in Christian thought, though: the world is created by a breath of a god-like creature; there is evil, it’s your fault on some level and your responsibility; there must be a battle; there must be a death/resurrection. And I guess that’s what sitting in my craw at the moment. I am fascinated at the whole idea of resurrection, especially now that people are “dying for our country”—it begs the question of what did Christ/God do that any parent with a child at war is not asked to do? And be glad about it? It’s the martyrdom that’s at the base of all our thought. I was particularly interested in the way that Aslan is killed. He is lashed to a stone table, but only after being shaved and ridiculed. He is beaten/dehumanized (de-lionized?). And that struck me the same as the Roman soldiers in Mel Gibson’s highly successful snuff film “Passion of the Christ”—not only do they kill him, they mock and beat and taunt him as well. As if killing was a release from the ridicule. Or to make things worse. Now is this to dehumanize their victim for themselves, or is it to dehumanize the killers for us so we don’t feel bad later when they are slain? And where is the Christian value of life in that? I don’t want to get off into those contradictions, but it’s interesting in our current climate. There is a nebulous “terrorist” who is evil and bad by nature for no reason, has no humanity or intelligence, and therefore we are off the hook when they are killed. These are how wars are fought. I could go on, as the examples are endless.
There is a great excerpt from Julia Sweeney’s recent one-woman show “Letting Go of God” on This American Life, where she talks about her bible study, the idea of Christ suffering, and how off-put she was after actually reading the bible and seeing its contradictions. (She's recording it on CD, and wirting a book--can't wait). I have no intention of offending anyone, but the questions are interesting. For me, that’s how we find god. And it’s interesting for me to see in this book written for children such bold ideas as resurrection put forth. That idea, that someone can save us by dying for us, is now at the center of Western thought. I don’t think we can underestimate its importance.
I’m also interested in the principal evil being an independent, power hungry woman. Of course, the most fascinating Disney villains are as well--the new film of the book is being made by Disney. Why is that? I also want to know why Aslan sets up a monarchy in the first book, and the political system of choice is a monarchy. There is much of kings/queens in the bible, and noble lineage (Christ descending from David, etc—hero must have noble blood, King of Kings, blah blah, blah--my Lord used for Jesus as well as for the despot who levies a tax on you). I am fascinated that our mind goes there so easily, that we are still a product of centuries of that thinking. Democracy is only 200 years old. Before that—unheard of-- some people were just born to serve. I hear that the Christian imagery gets less as the books move on, and I am excited to know. There will be more thoughts, as there is much more. But I am constantly interested in how all of these thoughts and belief systems are abutting in our current culture.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I am my own wife
I saw an amazing show last night. I have rarely felt that I am watching not only a theatrical event, but a testament to humanity, and it’s complexities. The show is “I am my own wife”, the examination of the life of Charlotte Von Mahlsdorf, a man who lived as a transvestite in East German Berlin from the early years of World War II to until shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall.
I had seen the Rosa von Prauheim film of the same name, "Ich bin meine eigene Frau",, in the early nineties a couple times, intrigued not only by the style of the film, but by Charlotte himself, who appears in the film instructing the actors how to play him in different parts of his life. Since the release of that film, Charlotte was given the medal of honor, appeared on talk shows, and became a hero. Subsequently, it was found out that he was working for the East German secret Police as a spy, and may have been responsible for the incarceration of one of his closest friends.
There are too many incredible aspects to Charlotte’s life to report here: He was a collector of German furniture and furnishings circa 1890-1900, had a 27 room museum that housed his collection, saved a famous bar from demolition by bringing all the furnishings to his basement and having gay gatherings there, killed his Nazi Father, had an incredible lesbian aunt who was responsible for giving him Magnus Hirshfeld’s “Die Transvestite” and a sense of who he was. I won’t recount more here—it’s a stunning story. The title can be translated as "I am my own wife", which Charlotte tells his mother when she asks if he will marry, or as "I am my own woman", which seems as apt, if not more.
It is told in a bravura performance by Jefferson Mays, who plays 34 characters, including Charlotte and the playwright himself. And he is utterly believable—wonderful, in fact. The play itself is based on interviews Doug Wright conducted with Charlotte between 1992 and 1993. And as a play, it’s somewhat frustrating in what it doesn’t answer. We are unsure by the end what is true or not. The play raises the questions, but can’t answer them, as it is a life we are seeing, and not a drama. It’s somewhat more of an interview and an inquiry than a play. And it’s fascinating.
One of the more harrowing stories is how Charlotte and her friends are attacked by neo-Nazi skinheads in her own home after the fall of the wall, precipitating his move from Germany. He appears on a talk show, with a fun silly host, and completely changes the energy of the show.
Doug Wright wisely does not try to answer many of the questions we have, or delve too deeply into any side aspect of the story, from the gay movement to Nazism. Through Charlotte’s story we get all of that. And, on some level, we come to the same conclusion he does. In the play, he says (I’m paraphrasing) “I need to believe she survived Nazism and Communism, the two most oppressive regimes in Western History, and did it in a pair of heels”. I felt that need as well. The story is too good. And even if not all of it’s true, a lot of it is.
Wright leaves us with a story of a picture he received after Charlotte’s death. It is Charlotte as a 10 year old boy, Luther (I believe), on a park bench flanked by two lion cubs. He tells us how they could have hurt the young boy, as they are big enough, but he is staring straight ahead smiling, and he is completely relaxed, an arm over each cub. It’s a haunting image. Even more haunting is that a large version of the photo is in the lobby to see as you leave the theater. I have rarely felt such a force of history.
I felt at the end of the show that I was standing and clapping for not just a great performance, but for an extraordinary life.
I had seen the Rosa von Prauheim film of the same name, "Ich bin meine eigene Frau",, in the early nineties a couple times, intrigued not only by the style of the film, but by Charlotte himself, who appears in the film instructing the actors how to play him in different parts of his life. Since the release of that film, Charlotte was given the medal of honor, appeared on talk shows, and became a hero. Subsequently, it was found out that he was working for the East German secret Police as a spy, and may have been responsible for the incarceration of one of his closest friends.
There are too many incredible aspects to Charlotte’s life to report here: He was a collector of German furniture and furnishings circa 1890-1900, had a 27 room museum that housed his collection, saved a famous bar from demolition by bringing all the furnishings to his basement and having gay gatherings there, killed his Nazi Father, had an incredible lesbian aunt who was responsible for giving him Magnus Hirshfeld’s “Die Transvestite” and a sense of who he was. I won’t recount more here—it’s a stunning story. The title can be translated as "I am my own wife", which Charlotte tells his mother when she asks if he will marry, or as "I am my own woman", which seems as apt, if not more.
It is told in a bravura performance by Jefferson Mays, who plays 34 characters, including Charlotte and the playwright himself. And he is utterly believable—wonderful, in fact. The play itself is based on interviews Doug Wright conducted with Charlotte between 1992 and 1993. And as a play, it’s somewhat frustrating in what it doesn’t answer. We are unsure by the end what is true or not. The play raises the questions, but can’t answer them, as it is a life we are seeing, and not a drama. It’s somewhat more of an interview and an inquiry than a play. And it’s fascinating.
One of the more harrowing stories is how Charlotte and her friends are attacked by neo-Nazi skinheads in her own home after the fall of the wall, precipitating his move from Germany. He appears on a talk show, with a fun silly host, and completely changes the energy of the show.
Doug Wright wisely does not try to answer many of the questions we have, or delve too deeply into any side aspect of the story, from the gay movement to Nazism. Through Charlotte’s story we get all of that. And, on some level, we come to the same conclusion he does. In the play, he says (I’m paraphrasing) “I need to believe she survived Nazism and Communism, the two most oppressive regimes in Western History, and did it in a pair of heels”. I felt that need as well. The story is too good. And even if not all of it’s true, a lot of it is.
Wright leaves us with a story of a picture he received after Charlotte’s death. It is Charlotte as a 10 year old boy, Luther (I believe), on a park bench flanked by two lion cubs. He tells us how they could have hurt the young boy, as they are big enough, but he is staring straight ahead smiling, and he is completely relaxed, an arm over each cub. It’s a haunting image. Even more haunting is that a large version of the photo is in the lobby to see as you leave the theater. I have rarely felt such a force of history.
I felt at the end of the show that I was standing and clapping for not just a great performance, but for an extraordinary life.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Mysterious Skin
I left work a little early the other day and caught a matinee of a movie I had wanted to see. Little did I know the power of this small film, or that it would have one of the best performances I have seen in a long while.
The movie is Gregg Araki’s latest, Mysterious Skin. It’s for me by far his best work to date, and contains some great performances and beautiful film-making. It’s based on the novel of the same name by Scott Heim. Now, I’ve had this novel on my bookshelves for nigh on 5 years or so. Every once in a while I will pick it up, read the blurb in back, and then think “I am really not in the mood for this.” I also have a resistance to the “young hustler” genre of gay fiction: anything that seems to telegraph Gritty! Urban! Seedy! when it seems to be more Exploitive! Titillation! And pedophilia is not one of my favorite subjects.
I’m glad I saw the movie. Now I will read the book. Not only are the characters compelling, the movie managed to tell a very delicate story without being sensational, disturbing without intention to shock. If the book is the same, it must pack quite a wallop.
I don’t want to give to much away, as a lot of the power in this film is the sense of loss and being lost, and by default, discovering. The film focuses on two boys. Neil, played by Jospeh Gordon Levitt, and Brian, played by Brady Corbet. Neil walks us through a sexual relationship that he has with his little league coach, and we see him later as the drug-taking hustler he has become. Brian, meanwhile, who was on Neil’s baseball team, is searching for 5 missing hours of his life, that he believes hold a secret to something wonderful. His main theory is alien abduction.
There are some great performances in this film: Elizabeth Shue as Neil’s mother, a heavy-drinker and promiscuous dater; Mary Lynn Rajskub playing a strange uptight farmgirl who believes she has been abducted by aliens (you will never think of alien abduction the same way again); Michelle Trachtenberg as Neil’s best friend and confidante.
The power in the film, though, is its use and look at sex. It functions as a drug, weapon, balm or enterprise to different characters in the film. And it seems at different times in this film seductive, painful, terrifying, soul-wounding. It is powerful to see a nascent, unapologized for sexuality in an eight year old boy, becoming aware of who he is attracted to—that is something I have never seen on film and something I related to, having been an eight year old gay boy starting to recognize those feelings. But it is also scary to see how those feelings, if in contact with an uncaring and truly disturbed adult, can be twisted and changed forever. These are the most graphic sequences of pedophilia I have ever seen or care to see. They are profoundly disturbing, but so necessary to this film. If you wondered how one experience could change someone forever, this film will graphically demonstrate it.
But the thing this film really has going for it is Joseph Gordon Levitt. His Neil is a mass of will, defiance, fear and pain. Watching him in different scenes with the men he picks up I was struck by how present he was in giving us a character who is living so completely on the edge, and, for all his bravado, is unsure of what he is doing. Though, once again, there are some scary, and not at all arousing sex scenes in this film, so be warned. We are kept off balance as much as he is. Most impressively, we can see why Neil would stay interesting to his friends, even though he mostly is defensive and walled-up. From his way of speaking barely moving his mouth, to his belligerent cockiness, he is fascinating.
Brady Corbet is also wonderful as Brian, the other boy searching for his missing time. It's a credit to him that you just want to take care of him, and try to make everything better. It's a sweet performance of a character who has internalized things in a very different way than Neil. I can’t say anymore except to say you should see this film, and this performance.
P.S. I am interested in this trend of brutalizing sex in the movies. It may be just indie films, but it seems to be happening more and more. As moviegoers, we’re kind of having our nose rubbed in it, for lack of a better word. I think with a lesser film-maker and actors, the sex in Mysterious Skin would have been unbearable, and much of it is by its nature already. I’ll have to write about this more, but I am interested in this fascination with showing unromanticized hurtful sex more and more in films. I wonder what that impulse is coming from? We all know it can be dissapointing, uncomfortable, and strange, but it seems that it is more and more in indy and foreign film. Hm.
The movie is Gregg Araki’s latest, Mysterious Skin. It’s for me by far his best work to date, and contains some great performances and beautiful film-making. It’s based on the novel of the same name by Scott Heim. Now, I’ve had this novel on my bookshelves for nigh on 5 years or so. Every once in a while I will pick it up, read the blurb in back, and then think “I am really not in the mood for this.” I also have a resistance to the “young hustler” genre of gay fiction: anything that seems to telegraph Gritty! Urban! Seedy! when it seems to be more Exploitive! Titillation! And pedophilia is not one of my favorite subjects.
I’m glad I saw the movie. Now I will read the book. Not only are the characters compelling, the movie managed to tell a very delicate story without being sensational, disturbing without intention to shock. If the book is the same, it must pack quite a wallop.
I don’t want to give to much away, as a lot of the power in this film is the sense of loss and being lost, and by default, discovering. The film focuses on two boys. Neil, played by Jospeh Gordon Levitt, and Brian, played by Brady Corbet. Neil walks us through a sexual relationship that he has with his little league coach, and we see him later as the drug-taking hustler he has become. Brian, meanwhile, who was on Neil’s baseball team, is searching for 5 missing hours of his life, that he believes hold a secret to something wonderful. His main theory is alien abduction.
There are some great performances in this film: Elizabeth Shue as Neil’s mother, a heavy-drinker and promiscuous dater; Mary Lynn Rajskub playing a strange uptight farmgirl who believes she has been abducted by aliens (you will never think of alien abduction the same way again); Michelle Trachtenberg as Neil’s best friend and confidante.
The power in the film, though, is its use and look at sex. It functions as a drug, weapon, balm or enterprise to different characters in the film. And it seems at different times in this film seductive, painful, terrifying, soul-wounding. It is powerful to see a nascent, unapologized for sexuality in an eight year old boy, becoming aware of who he is attracted to—that is something I have never seen on film and something I related to, having been an eight year old gay boy starting to recognize those feelings. But it is also scary to see how those feelings, if in contact with an uncaring and truly disturbed adult, can be twisted and changed forever. These are the most graphic sequences of pedophilia I have ever seen or care to see. They are profoundly disturbing, but so necessary to this film. If you wondered how one experience could change someone forever, this film will graphically demonstrate it.
But the thing this film really has going for it is Joseph Gordon Levitt. His Neil is a mass of will, defiance, fear and pain. Watching him in different scenes with the men he picks up I was struck by how present he was in giving us a character who is living so completely on the edge, and, for all his bravado, is unsure of what he is doing. Though, once again, there are some scary, and not at all arousing sex scenes in this film, so be warned. We are kept off balance as much as he is. Most impressively, we can see why Neil would stay interesting to his friends, even though he mostly is defensive and walled-up. From his way of speaking barely moving his mouth, to his belligerent cockiness, he is fascinating.
Brady Corbet is also wonderful as Brian, the other boy searching for his missing time. It's a credit to him that you just want to take care of him, and try to make everything better. It's a sweet performance of a character who has internalized things in a very different way than Neil. I can’t say anymore except to say you should see this film, and this performance.
P.S. I am interested in this trend of brutalizing sex in the movies. It may be just indie films, but it seems to be happening more and more. As moviegoers, we’re kind of having our nose rubbed in it, for lack of a better word. I think with a lesser film-maker and actors, the sex in Mysterious Skin would have been unbearable, and much of it is by its nature already. I’ll have to write about this more, but I am interested in this fascination with showing unromanticized hurtful sex more and more in films. I wonder what that impulse is coming from? We all know it can be dissapointing, uncomfortable, and strange, but it seems that it is more and more in indy and foreign film. Hm.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Sisterhood
So yesterday I eschwed the gym, yoga and any other responsibilites to go see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. And I must say it was a good choice. Other than my inexplicable love for "Chick flicks", I also wanted to check out America Ferrara, who, after one film, has become someone I will go see a movie for. I wasn't disappointed. I found myself a little weepy a couple of times in the film, even though I knew I was being manipulated. I even rolled my teary eyes when easily one of the most contrived lines ever put on film was being said by a twelve year-old. But I was still weepy. And I loved every minute of it. Loved Alexis Bledel as well, playing the girl who goes to Greece only to be swept up in the romance of an impossibly handsome Greek Fisherman. What's not to love about that? Her stiffness worked perfectly in the role, and she reminds me of a young Audrey Hepburn--and I'm sure I'm not the only one. America Ferrara was wonderful as expected. Sure--there was a lot manufactured about it, but I just bought it, hook, line and sinker. And I amy see it again with a friend who wants to see it as well. I could definitely spend some more time with that Fisherman.
And, as an unexpected bonus, I saw a trailer for a movie with a most unfortunate title, but one that I will be in line to see on opening day. Diane Lane as a divorcee, Eliabeth Perkins as her best friend, Dermot Mulroney as a divorced dad and--big drum roll--JOHN CUSACK as a possible love interest. As for actors I will go see in just about anything, John Cusack tops the list. I would have jumped up and cheered in the theater, if it were not for the cool reception I would have gotten from all of the 14 year old girls surrounding me. John Cusack--can't wait. The movie, unfortunately, is titled Must Love Dogs.
And, as an unexpected bonus, I saw a trailer for a movie with a most unfortunate title, but one that I will be in line to see on opening day. Diane Lane as a divorcee, Eliabeth Perkins as her best friend, Dermot Mulroney as a divorced dad and--big drum roll--JOHN CUSACK as a possible love interest. As for actors I will go see in just about anything, John Cusack tops the list. I would have jumped up and cheered in the theater, if it were not for the cool reception I would have gotten from all of the 14 year old girls surrounding me.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Tinka tinka tink
I don't really like to write about my life, but i have to say I am bored out of my mind today at work, and also slightly addled that I will need a new job in a month, as this one is ending. I am finding it challenging to remain hopeful, and also faced again with that renewable, annoying question from one and all (including myself): "What do you want to do?" Ugh--if I knew that, I'd be well on my way. I have inklings, but I don't think I'll know until it's done. I feel like Cinderella in "Into the Woods"--"But how can you know what you want 'til you get what you want and then see if you like it?" Ah, Sondheim.
Meanwhile--to the ridiculous. I went to a press screening for Bewitched last night, the new Nicole Kidman/Will Farrell movie. Always fun to brush up against that wierd Hollywood i-know-someone-you-don't-know-and-am-trying-really-hard-to-impress-you-but-seem-like-I'm-not vibe that goes into any strange orchestrated Film World event. But I digress.
Althought there was a great moment when the man who removed the reserved tape and sat behind us was asked to move, as his seat was for press. He argues and argued, finally asking for his money back for the time he stood in line. For a free movie. You can't make this stuff up.
I didn't expect much from this movie, as I'm not the biggest Nicole Kidman fan. It occured to me last night that the last two films I actually have seen in the theatre are hers--as "The Interpreter" was the one before this. In that, I felt she was acting with her beauty--or perhaps she just can't get past it. It's part and parcel of how she is. I think the most I have liked her ever was in "The Hours", and perhaps because she didn't look like herself. Who knows?
In Bewitched, Nicole plays Isabelle, a witch who wants to be mortal, and ends up doing a remake of Bewitched that she is hornswaggled into by the sleazy Jack Wyatt (Farrell), a movie star on his way down. Hilarity ensues. I actually found myself laughing a lot in this film, mainly from the great delivery from some top supporting actors (Shirley MacLaine, Michael Caine, Jason Schwartzman, Kristin Chenoweth, Katie Finneran, Stephen Colbert). The first scene with Kidman and Kristin Chenoweth was one of my favorites in the film. The biggest surprise was how good Nicole was at comedy. She has good timing, and she's completely charming. The biggest probelm for me was believing that somehow this character had left most of her brain somewhere else, perhaps at home with her hat and broom. But still, it's light comedy, and in that it mostly succeeds.
Mostly, because there are a couple of mis-steps. The great thing about this film is that you get to see a bit of the old Bewitched, and remember how wonderful everyone was. The film plays on that as much as it can. The filmmakers make a decision though, to put a couple of key plot points into the hands of Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur. Unfortunately, Marion Lorne and Paul Lynde, both being dead, were not available. So, unfortunately, we get a couple of cut-rate versions. I was confused by the ending, wondering if Uncle Arthur was supposed to be real or not, and who he was. I suppose we were to believe that these were not Samantha's Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara, but two people who were kind of stand-ins in the way that Kidman and Farrell are standins for Montgomery and York/Sargent. I have now spent more time than the fimmakers trying to work that out, I think. The film, for a long time, gets by on the charm of its stars, and the nostalgia factor. And the fact that they don't try to make you believe that anyone is playing the characters you so fondly remember. When they do, it's just not so good. Marion Lorne and Paul Lynde were brilliant, individual comedians with years of practice and their own well-rehearsed schtick. These new two don't measure up. I feel sorry for them having had to do it in the first place.
We are given some glimpses into the show within the show, and I kind of wanted more of that and less of a love story. But then again, I'm sure it's because the question of how to ever remake that series is one of the most interesting questions of the film.
Other than that, though, there are some genuinely funny moments, and two very charming leads. And hey, I think I enjoyed it more than the Interpreter. And at this point, that nose wriggling sound effect is hard-wired into everyone's brain-- it just takes you back. I kind of wished we all been sitting in a theatre watching old Bewitched episodes.
Meanwhile--to the ridiculous. I went to a press screening for Bewitched last night, the new Nicole Kidman/Will Farrell movie. Always fun to brush up against that wierd Hollywood i-know-someone-you-don't-know-and-am-trying-really-hard-to-impress-you-but-seem-like-I'm-not vibe that goes into any strange orchestrated Film World event. But I digress.
Althought there was a great moment when the man who removed the reserved tape and sat behind us was asked to move, as his seat was for press. He argues and argued, finally asking for his money back for the time he stood in line. For a free movie. You can't make this stuff up.
I didn't expect much from this movie, as I'm not the biggest Nicole Kidman fan. It occured to me last night that the last two films I actually have seen in the theatre are hers--as "The Interpreter" was the one before this. In that, I felt she was acting with her beauty--or perhaps she just can't get past it. It's part and parcel of how she is. I think the most I have liked her ever was in "The Hours", and perhaps because she didn't look like herself. Who knows?
In Bewitched, Nicole plays Isabelle, a witch who wants to be mortal, and ends up doing a remake of Bewitched that she is hornswaggled into by the sleazy Jack Wyatt (Farrell), a movie star on his way down. Hilarity ensues. I actually found myself laughing a lot in this film, mainly from the great delivery from some top supporting actors (Shirley MacLaine, Michael Caine, Jason Schwartzman, Kristin Chenoweth, Katie Finneran, Stephen Colbert). The first scene with Kidman and Kristin Chenoweth was one of my favorites in the film. The biggest surprise was how good Nicole was at comedy. She has good timing, and she's completely charming. The biggest probelm for me was believing that somehow this character had left most of her brain somewhere else, perhaps at home with her hat and broom. But still, it's light comedy, and in that it mostly succeeds.
Mostly, because there are a couple of mis-steps. The great thing about this film is that you get to see a bit of the old Bewitched, and remember how wonderful everyone was. The film plays on that as much as it can. The filmmakers make a decision though, to put a couple of key plot points into the hands of Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur. Unfortunately, Marion Lorne and Paul Lynde, both being dead, were not available. So, unfortunately, we get a couple of cut-rate versions. I was confused by the ending, wondering if Uncle Arthur was supposed to be real or not, and who he was. I suppose we were to believe that these were not Samantha's Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara, but two people who were kind of stand-ins in the way that Kidman and Farrell are standins for Montgomery and York/Sargent. I have now spent more time than the fimmakers trying to work that out, I think. The film, for a long time, gets by on the charm of its stars, and the nostalgia factor. And the fact that they don't try to make you believe that anyone is playing the characters you so fondly remember. When they do, it's just not so good. Marion Lorne and Paul Lynde were brilliant, individual comedians with years of practice and their own well-rehearsed schtick. These new two don't measure up. I feel sorry for them having had to do it in the first place.
We are given some glimpses into the show within the show, and I kind of wanted more of that and less of a love story. But then again, I'm sure it's because the question of how to ever remake that series is one of the most interesting questions of the film.
Other than that, though, there are some genuinely funny moments, and two very charming leads. And hey, I think I enjoyed it more than the Interpreter. And at this point, that nose wriggling sound effect is hard-wired into everyone's brain-- it just takes you back. I kind of wished we all been sitting in a theatre watching old Bewitched episodes.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
American Idol
Looking at my last few posts, I seem slightly bitchy. I don't think that's a good thing. I will resolve to perhaps be a little less strident, a little less rant-y. I hope. There must be a better way to ask the questions, I guess. But hey, maybe it's just me--maybe I don't sound bitchy at all. I think I'll perhaps post when I'm in better moods, and not troubled by something on the news or in the world. But then--what is there to write about? :)
American IDOL! And I don't mean this in a bitchy way--but Carrie's tone was a little off for me. Like under it. And over it. But hey--she's cute. And I love country pop, so I can't wait to hear what she does. Nervousness can make for oversinging. And I'm kind of eager to see what happens with Vonzell. I loved that they had the cute big guy from last season doing one of the remotes. I had a secret crush on him, and I think he's great as an announcer. And did you notice how nice Bo's hair had gotten? I usually don't notice those things, but he was groomed. I think he'll do well. And I love they had the girl sing the Star Spangled Banner. A great moment. What she lacked in pitch she made up for in feeling, and if nothing else, you really got that she meant it. And that's a great anthem for you.
American IDOL! And I don't mean this in a bitchy way--but Carrie's tone was a little off for me. Like under it. And over it. But hey--she's cute. And I love country pop, so I can't wait to hear what she does. Nervousness can make for oversinging. And I'm kind of eager to see what happens with Vonzell. I loved that they had the cute big guy from last season doing one of the remotes. I had a secret crush on him, and I think he's great as an announcer. And did you notice how nice Bo's hair had gotten? I usually don't notice those things, but he was groomed. I think he'll do well. And I love they had the girl sing the Star Spangled Banner. A great moment. What she lacked in pitch she made up for in feeling, and if nothing else, you really got that she meant it. And that's a great anthem for you.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Ugh
I'm feeling like I should post something, because it's been so long. And frankly, I'm a little overwhelmed. And kind of sad.
The news of the pharmacists who want a say in the doctor patient relationship is upsetting me. What's next? They won't prescribe medication to people with STDs because they don't agree with their lifestyle? Or HIV medication? A friend of mine's mother said that what this country is missing right now is healthy shame. I can see the point I suppose, but who decides what that is? Being one of the gays, I can't help but feel those fingers pointing at me. And it feels increasingly like a war is being waged. Has it always been this bad, or have these people figured out if they play victim that there is a chance they can win by saying their rights aren't being respected? I do think we've gone over the top with the victim culture, and that has to stop. But what to make of all this? Sad, just sad. Where will it end? I heard on NPR that pharmacists or nurses could refuse chicken pox and rubella vaccines because they were originally developed using stem cells. So it's better to have a healthy child die or risk it's life than use something developed with discarded cells that were never viable? I fret for our future.
I was thinking about this in light of the dicey ethics on display in Kingdom of Heaven. We are given kind of a wuss of a hero (Bialin played by Orlando Bloom), and I have to say that I am unsure how he survived the final battle considering he had just learned to fight in the beginnning of the movie, but...
He falls in love with another man's wife, and has sex with her, but when the option of killing the man to save the kingdom is suggested, he says that it would be wrong, and he refuses. Because of that, the villian becomes king, attacks the Muslims, thousands die horrible deaths, and Jerusalem is lost. And this is ethical because...? You can fuck his wife, but spare his life so thousands die, even though you know he will destroy the kingdom. So you can be noble. This is our hero? I'm not sure the choice I would have made, but in the politics of the time and what was presented, it doesn't look insanely heroic. Sounds callous, but that's how it came across to me. Though I can't believe I would be arguing for murder to retain the status quo. I think it's the adultery thing--and what they all seemed to stand to lose. Which was everything.
I'm sure the pharmacists loved it.
Well, I'm unsure if it's good I'm posting this or not, but hopefully on to a less rant-y topic next time.
The news--it's just getting me down.
The news of the pharmacists who want a say in the doctor patient relationship is upsetting me. What's next? They won't prescribe medication to people with STDs because they don't agree with their lifestyle? Or HIV medication? A friend of mine's mother said that what this country is missing right now is healthy shame. I can see the point I suppose, but who decides what that is? Being one of the gays, I can't help but feel those fingers pointing at me. And it feels increasingly like a war is being waged. Has it always been this bad, or have these people figured out if they play victim that there is a chance they can win by saying their rights aren't being respected? I do think we've gone over the top with the victim culture, and that has to stop. But what to make of all this? Sad, just sad. Where will it end? I heard on NPR that pharmacists or nurses could refuse chicken pox and rubella vaccines because they were originally developed using stem cells. So it's better to have a healthy child die or risk it's life than use something developed with discarded cells that were never viable? I fret for our future.
I was thinking about this in light of the dicey ethics on display in Kingdom of Heaven. We are given kind of a wuss of a hero (Bialin played by Orlando Bloom), and I have to say that I am unsure how he survived the final battle considering he had just learned to fight in the beginnning of the movie, but...
He falls in love with another man's wife, and has sex with her, but when the option of killing the man to save the kingdom is suggested, he says that it would be wrong, and he refuses. Because of that, the villian becomes king, attacks the Muslims, thousands die horrible deaths, and Jerusalem is lost. And this is ethical because...? You can fuck his wife, but spare his life so thousands die, even though you know he will destroy the kingdom. So you can be noble. This is our hero? I'm not sure the choice I would have made, but in the politics of the time and what was presented, it doesn't look insanely heroic. Sounds callous, but that's how it came across to me. Though I can't believe I would be arguing for murder to retain the status quo. I think it's the adultery thing--and what they all seemed to stand to lose. Which was everything.
I'm sure the pharmacists loved it.
Well, I'm unsure if it's good I'm posting this or not, but hopefully on to a less rant-y topic next time.
The news--it's just getting me down.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Those terrifying Trolls and Trannies
I’m crabby today, so take this all with a grain of salt.
I just saw Zus & Zo, the Dutch movie from a few years ago. Basically , the plot centers around three sisters who are trying to stop their brother from getting married and inherit the hotel where they frolicked as children. The movie focuses on their estrangement from each other and their brother, who we learn is heartbroken, and really wants to be a woman. He gets his fiancée pregnant, and then his gorgeous boyfriend comes back to save the day, and loves him enough to support him through the operation. The sisters see the light,too. Screw the hotel, it’s important that you want to be a woman. And sure, your gay boyfriend will be supportive of you going from an attractive man to a spectacularly unattractive woman! Yea! And you’ll get a baby in the process. Huh? What was this movie about? Maybe the Dutch are just more supportive. They certainly speak more languages. Great performance by Halina Reijn as the bride-to-be, though, and just attractive award to Pieter Embrechts, who is a composer in real life as well (!). I was impressed by certain moments, but overall it was way too pat, almost rivaling the barfalicious rainbow happy ending of The Object of My Affection, a perfectly wonderful book ruined by a pandering, offensive screenplay by Wendy Wasserstein (who however much she says she likes gay men, doesn’t really seem to in her writing). But don’t get me started on that movie, or we’ll be here all day.
Speaking of people disliking the gays, no one seems to be better at that than ourselves. I was watching “You’ll get over it”, the French entry into the young golden boy coming out movie sweepstakes, and noticed a theme: the gay bar, and out gay men, as sites of evil. In the French film, the boy has been sleeping with an out gay man, and lies to everyone to be with him—I believe one of the lines is “Don’t you realize the risks I take to be here?!”. Later in the film, he meets the out man for a night on the town, but every gay man in the bar they go to treats him like a pack of dogs finding a steak covered in meat sauce. He runs away terrified. It got me thinking about all of the gay films where the young, tender gay goes to a bar to find himself either spurned or chased after by older unattractive men with glints in their eyes like the proverbial troll under the bridge. And who is making these films? Gay men. Who else is interested? Now, I’m not saying bars are the best place for people to be, or incredibly supportive. BUT, if we continue chafing at the representation of ourselves as corrupters who prey on youth, shouldn’t we look at the ways in which we are reinforcing that stereotype ourselves? I mean, isn’t there a happy medium? Why is the young out gay man, with whom this other young man has been sleeping, made to be the ultimate corruptor? And was it necessary to have everyone try to grope the boy, so he runs away screaming into the night? Please.
That said, it's still French, and therefore a little deeper and more interesting than American movies of the same genre. Even though the title translation is unfortunate.
I was thinking about Beautiful Thing, (which is in the top 5 of my favorite gay films) where the pub is slightly terrifying to the boys (which is true to any young person's first visit to a foreign, slightly titillating, and decidedly adult place), but then becomes the place they can be themselves. In my experience of gay rites of passage, that seems a little more apt. Bars aren’t the only place for people to be by any means, but we need to look at how we demonize ourselves when we create sites like the one in the French film. I’m sure Queer as Folk has something like this, too, from what I remember, but I can see it easier in a soap like that.
Speaking of soap, I’ll get off my soap box now. As soon as I watch Everybody’s Famous, I’ll be sure to get back to you on that and Look at Me, which I liked a lot. They both have slightly heavy girls singing and dealing with their relationships with their fathers. Fun.
I’ll go and drink some soothing green tea or something.
I just saw Zus & Zo, the Dutch movie from a few years ago. Basically , the plot centers around three sisters who are trying to stop their brother from getting married and inherit the hotel where they frolicked as children. The movie focuses on their estrangement from each other and their brother, who we learn is heartbroken, and really wants to be a woman. He gets his fiancée pregnant, and then his gorgeous boyfriend comes back to save the day, and loves him enough to support him through the operation. The sisters see the light,too. Screw the hotel, it’s important that you want to be a woman. And sure, your gay boyfriend will be supportive of you going from an attractive man to a spectacularly unattractive woman! Yea! And you’ll get a baby in the process. Huh? What was this movie about? Maybe the Dutch are just more supportive. They certainly speak more languages. Great performance by Halina Reijn as the bride-to-be, though, and just attractive award to Pieter Embrechts, who is a composer in real life as well (!). I was impressed by certain moments, but overall it was way too pat, almost rivaling the barfalicious rainbow happy ending of The Object of My Affection, a perfectly wonderful book ruined by a pandering, offensive screenplay by Wendy Wasserstein (who however much she says she likes gay men, doesn’t really seem to in her writing). But don’t get me started on that movie, or we’ll be here all day.
Speaking of people disliking the gays, no one seems to be better at that than ourselves. I was watching “You’ll get over it”, the French entry into the young golden boy coming out movie sweepstakes, and noticed a theme: the gay bar, and out gay men, as sites of evil. In the French film, the boy has been sleeping with an out gay man, and lies to everyone to be with him—I believe one of the lines is “Don’t you realize the risks I take to be here?!”. Later in the film, he meets the out man for a night on the town, but every gay man in the bar they go to treats him like a pack of dogs finding a steak covered in meat sauce. He runs away terrified. It got me thinking about all of the gay films where the young, tender gay goes to a bar to find himself either spurned or chased after by older unattractive men with glints in their eyes like the proverbial troll under the bridge. And who is making these films? Gay men. Who else is interested? Now, I’m not saying bars are the best place for people to be, or incredibly supportive. BUT, if we continue chafing at the representation of ourselves as corrupters who prey on youth, shouldn’t we look at the ways in which we are reinforcing that stereotype ourselves? I mean, isn’t there a happy medium? Why is the young out gay man, with whom this other young man has been sleeping, made to be the ultimate corruptor? And was it necessary to have everyone try to grope the boy, so he runs away screaming into the night? Please.
That said, it's still French, and therefore a little deeper and more interesting than American movies of the same genre. Even though the title translation is unfortunate.
I was thinking about Beautiful Thing, (which is in the top 5 of my favorite gay films) where the pub is slightly terrifying to the boys (which is true to any young person's first visit to a foreign, slightly titillating, and decidedly adult place), but then becomes the place they can be themselves. In my experience of gay rites of passage, that seems a little more apt. Bars aren’t the only place for people to be by any means, but we need to look at how we demonize ourselves when we create sites like the one in the French film. I’m sure Queer as Folk has something like this, too, from what I remember, but I can see it easier in a soap like that.
Speaking of soap, I’ll get off my soap box now. As soon as I watch Everybody’s Famous, I’ll be sure to get back to you on that and Look at Me, which I liked a lot. They both have slightly heavy girls singing and dealing with their relationships with their fathers. Fun.
I’ll go and drink some soothing green tea or something.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
The gays--bringing people together
I just wrote this whole diatribe, and managed to lose it, so I will attempt to find my righteous indignation again. :)
I noticed this story on the front page of the New York Times today. What the hell? Is the only way these people can unite through common hatred? Don't they have anything better to do? (Insert feeding tube, abortion, marriage joke here). This seems to me a ridiculous waste of time.
What continues to amaze me is that someone feels that they can read one book and feel like they can tell everyone else how to live. Do they even care about God, or only their own power? Every one of these religions that these men represent started as an impulse from someone--Jesus, Mohammed,the Bal Shem Tov (I won't mention Joseph Smith--there are elements of singular divine revelation in Mormonism, but the impulse is ego and control)--to bring the divine to everyone; to say "you don't need these structures, you just need you and an open mind." Then they are hijacked by idiots who make it an orthodoxy and we are back in the same place. Again and again. Will we ever learn from this? And who are these people that think from reading a 6000 or 2000 or 1400 year old text that they somehow know the mind of God? Does God even have a mind? If they truly believe that a divine force created the entire world in all it's complexity, what kind of hubris does it take to believe that you could somehow comprehend that Divinity and its wishes? It all seems an attempt to make God smaller. To match their minds. And how do they get away with it? How do people continually let them? Are people that afraid to think for themselves? Are people afraid of the mystery so much they will believe any BS shoved down their throats for comfort and ease? These idiots would have no power were it not given them. And not by God, that much is clear.
RRRRRRGGGGH!
Well, at least the gays are managing to bring people together, if only in common hatred of them. But, to sink to the silly millinered mens' level, they all look old and we can only hope they'll all die, and their hatred with them. I think it's past bringing any real light to them, if their quotes are any indication. We can only hope they have no influence over young minds. That would be truly destructive. So there. I didn't have to dig too deep for that indignation, huh?
To paraphrase Tony Kushner--the great work begins.....again.
But you have a great day. Do something nice for yourself.
I noticed this story on the front page of the New York Times today. What the hell? Is the only way these people can unite through common hatred? Don't they have anything better to do? (Insert feeding tube, abortion, marriage joke here). This seems to me a ridiculous waste of time.
What continues to amaze me is that someone feels that they can read one book and feel like they can tell everyone else how to live. Do they even care about God, or only their own power? Every one of these religions that these men represent started as an impulse from someone--Jesus, Mohammed,the Bal Shem Tov (I won't mention Joseph Smith--there are elements of singular divine revelation in Mormonism, but the impulse is ego and control)--to bring the divine to everyone; to say "you don't need these structures, you just need you and an open mind." Then they are hijacked by idiots who make it an orthodoxy and we are back in the same place. Again and again. Will we ever learn from this? And who are these people that think from reading a 6000 or 2000 or 1400 year old text that they somehow know the mind of God? Does God even have a mind? If they truly believe that a divine force created the entire world in all it's complexity, what kind of hubris does it take to believe that you could somehow comprehend that Divinity and its wishes? It all seems an attempt to make God smaller. To match their minds. And how do they get away with it? How do people continually let them? Are people that afraid to think for themselves? Are people afraid of the mystery so much they will believe any BS shoved down their throats for comfort and ease? These idiots would have no power were it not given them. And not by God, that much is clear.
RRRRRRGGGGH!
Well, at least the gays are managing to bring people together, if only in common hatred of them. But, to sink to the silly millinered mens' level, they all look old and we can only hope they'll all die, and their hatred with them. I think it's past bringing any real light to them, if their quotes are any indication. We can only hope they have no influence over young minds. That would be truly destructive. So there. I didn't have to dig too deep for that indignation, huh?
To paraphrase Tony Kushner--the great work begins.....again.
But you have a great day. Do something nice for yourself.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Sandra and the Silents
I went to see Sandra Bernhard''s new show, or show in progress last night at the Silent Movie theatre here in LA. It was a promising start, especially with the free martinis on the back patio for the entire audience before and after the show; after the show we were invited to mingle with Sandra on the patio.
Sandra has always been a navel gazer, and slightly unfocused in the structure of her shows. She can be brilliant in a focused show, as in Without You I'm Nothing, or her Broadway venture, which was a blast. But I have seen her several times, and this seems to be one of those times, when she is just searching to see what works.
One of the things I have always loved about her is that she is constantly changing her shows, looking for what works and what doesn't, and ranting on about life. She has a very strong presence. There are few people that could read a list of Nail Salons (which I have seen her do) or a list of vodka and jean brands (as she did last night), and remain riveting. And her best stuff makes us see through ourselves and think, how ridiculous--why d0 we need so many brands of jeans? And somehow, through her navel, we look and see ourselves.
Unfortunately, last night her navel was somewhat opaque. And though entertaining, the whole show seemed to be fuzzy. To be fair, I saw her in Long Beach a few weeks before the election when she was coming up with some of this material. Then, her anger and the spur of the moment riffing of it carried her through. This time, it felt somewhat canned.
There are still her wonderful insights, funny bits, great delivery. But this night was, dare I say it, self-congratulatory. There was an imagined conversation between Rosa Parks and Condoleeza Rice which was so mean it was uncomfortable. And followed by her introducing her band saying "how cool am I? I have two black chicks in my band!" it was downright self-indulgent. Yes, Sandra, you love black people--we have heard this over and over, but the older you get the more it sounds like the self-congratulation of a white Jew. And that's pointless. I see the wanting to break down barriers of race, and talk about the difficulties we have with it in our country. But you're not black. At least last night, unlike in Long Beach, she seemed to have dropped the adjective "niggerish" which she was using with abandon.
The other funny thing is her talking about how she never flaunted she was pregnant, or made big deal of it, like so many do nowadays. Puh-lease. She did a Broadway show in a negligee eight months pregnant. So the more she is skewering others, the more she seems to be skewering herself. She spoke less about celebrity this time, though did point out the ridiculous of Madonna giving Britney a sacred Kabaalistic text. And then went on a rant about how you have to find spirituality where you can, etc. Where's the compassion then, Sandra--I know it's there somewhere. To add to the level of irony is that the walls of the silent movie theater are festooned with giant portraits of silent movie stars. The biggest celebrities of their day, they are now, mostly, forgotten.
There was a feel to this show that Sandra just has a bunch of mouths to feed and had to go back out on the road. And therefore I didn't see much of a reason for it. But, I would still like to see her failures than most successes. She seems to throw back to that time in the 70s and 80s when people were searching for something with performance--themselves, ourselves. They may not find it, but the live-ness of it is always wonderful. And I will go see her again, perhaps even in this run. There are always touches of brilliance, and wonderful insights.
As usual, the lack of vocal prowess is made up for in confidence. Love her, but she's no rock singer. What she did have, though, was Lily Hadyn, a stunning electric violinist. When Sandra went off stage at the end after an extended Prince medley, her musicians kept playing. One by one they left the stage. The last on was Lily Haydn. And it was beyond a thrill to sit in that audience, feeling the heights she was taking us to with the way she played. And how everyone was right there with her. When it's bad, violin is awful, but when it's great, like last night, it soars. She brought us to places I wish the rest of the show had, and only in a couple of minutes. I know Sandra has it in her, but I am so glad to have heard Lily Haydn play. A rare talent.
Sandra has always been a navel gazer, and slightly unfocused in the structure of her shows. She can be brilliant in a focused show, as in Without You I'm Nothing, or her Broadway venture, which was a blast. But I have seen her several times, and this seems to be one of those times, when she is just searching to see what works.
One of the things I have always loved about her is that she is constantly changing her shows, looking for what works and what doesn't, and ranting on about life. She has a very strong presence. There are few people that could read a list of Nail Salons (which I have seen her do) or a list of vodka and jean brands (as she did last night), and remain riveting. And her best stuff makes us see through ourselves and think, how ridiculous--why d0 we need so many brands of jeans? And somehow, through her navel, we look and see ourselves.
Unfortunately, last night her navel was somewhat opaque. And though entertaining, the whole show seemed to be fuzzy. To be fair, I saw her in Long Beach a few weeks before the election when she was coming up with some of this material. Then, her anger and the spur of the moment riffing of it carried her through. This time, it felt somewhat canned.
There are still her wonderful insights, funny bits, great delivery. But this night was, dare I say it, self-congratulatory. There was an imagined conversation between Rosa Parks and Condoleeza Rice which was so mean it was uncomfortable. And followed by her introducing her band saying "how cool am I? I have two black chicks in my band!" it was downright self-indulgent. Yes, Sandra, you love black people--we have heard this over and over, but the older you get the more it sounds like the self-congratulation of a white Jew. And that's pointless. I see the wanting to break down barriers of race, and talk about the difficulties we have with it in our country. But you're not black. At least last night, unlike in Long Beach, she seemed to have dropped the adjective "niggerish" which she was using with abandon.
The other funny thing is her talking about how she never flaunted she was pregnant, or made big deal of it, like so many do nowadays. Puh-lease. She did a Broadway show in a negligee eight months pregnant. So the more she is skewering others, the more she seems to be skewering herself. She spoke less about celebrity this time, though did point out the ridiculous of Madonna giving Britney a sacred Kabaalistic text. And then went on a rant about how you have to find spirituality where you can, etc. Where's the compassion then, Sandra--I know it's there somewhere. To add to the level of irony is that the walls of the silent movie theater are festooned with giant portraits of silent movie stars. The biggest celebrities of their day, they are now, mostly, forgotten.
There was a feel to this show that Sandra just has a bunch of mouths to feed and had to go back out on the road. And therefore I didn't see much of a reason for it. But, I would still like to see her failures than most successes. She seems to throw back to that time in the 70s and 80s when people were searching for something with performance--themselves, ourselves. They may not find it, but the live-ness of it is always wonderful. And I will go see her again, perhaps even in this run. There are always touches of brilliance, and wonderful insights.
As usual, the lack of vocal prowess is made up for in confidence. Love her, but she's no rock singer. What she did have, though, was Lily Hadyn, a stunning electric violinist. When Sandra went off stage at the end after an extended Prince medley, her musicians kept playing. One by one they left the stage. The last on was Lily Haydn. And it was beyond a thrill to sit in that audience, feeling the heights she was taking us to with the way she played. And how everyone was right there with her. When it's bad, violin is awful, but when it's great, like last night, it soars. She brought us to places I wish the rest of the show had, and only in a couple of minutes. I know Sandra has it in her, but I am so glad to have heard Lily Haydn play. A rare talent.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Aida? You brought her! Or, the perils of blackface
I went to see the LA opera production of Aida Saturday night, and I am happy to report that blackface is alive and well in the world of opera. This production had no fewer than 6 people in black face/body makeup and afro wigs playing Ethiopians. Is the opera world that bereft of black people? Could you not, in LOS ANGELES find 8 black dancers? Although Aida herself was black, her father was wearing dark make-up and an afro wig, as were several of the dancers who were playing Ethiopians. The fun thing, though, was they made everyone wear the same body make-up, so it actually looked like everyone was in black face, even the black dancers.
I am confounded. On the one hand, they are playing Ethiopians, and that’s the point of the opera. On the other, the Egyptians were rather multi-cultural in this production, aside from their yarn and bead wigs. Historically, there would have been a basis for the ruling Egyptians to be lighter skinned during the Ptolomeic period, but not everyone. And would there have been Asian Egyptians, wearing bronzer? My sense is you either go for it, or you don’t. It’s traditional now to have a black woman sing Aida, whether she be African, American, European in nationality. But what of the other Ethipoians? If you are really worried about everyone being the same ethnicity, then cast everyone of the same ethnicity, or just forget about it. Do it with costumes, don’t pull us out of it further with everyone wearing dark makeup and looking like Al Jolson. There’s no reason for that. I know opera can be sorely behind the times, but come on. It seems a slap in the face to all of the people who worked hard to knock down those walls. When Maria Callas played Aida, did they make her wear dark makeup?
One of the more hysterical moments (other than getting flashed by a dancer during a push up move when his lamé skirt flew up –lucky me in the 6th row) was the Egyptian/Ethiopian battle told in ballet. It’s so unfortunately effete that you’re unsure whether they’re going to kill each other or go out for cocktails. Fight has changed in dance. Come on, folks. Everyone applauds graciously, but I can’t help but think it’s because they paid as much as they did for tickets. After Robbins’ West Side Story stuff, you must be able to come up with something a little more fresh.
Voices—Aida (Michelle Crider) was great, even though eight months pregnant—I have to give it to her for that—I can’t even imagine. Amneris (irina Mishura) had a heavy back placed Russian sound that I didn’t think was always appropriate. She also had a habit of tilting her head and making sweeping straight arm gestures, as if she was presenting a washer/dryer on the Price is Right. But like I said, I was sitting close; it’s possible in the upper balcony she came across as the paragon of subtlety. Her acting improved by the end, which was welcome. That character must be one of the most schizophrenic in opera (I love him! I hate him! I hate you! I'll make you pay! Oh, just kidding, let me help you! Oh, no, you can't die! I'll save you! Oh, I failed, so I'll just hang around your tomb in flowing robes and weep!) The men were great, although Radames (Franco Farina) had a couple of straining moments--but there are some killers in that score--he did a great job with Celeste Aida, but seemed a bit tentative (read: frightened) of the high notes at the end. Or, perhaps I'm projecting my own fear of whether he would make it. Aida’s father (Lado Ataneli) was strong, and infused some energy into the second act (even in blackface). I was struck by sitting so close how loud the men were compared to the women. I was thinking that in those huge houses the high sound travels to the back, while the low stays in the orchestra. I have a harder time hearing the men generally from my usual cheap seats.
The last thing I had seen in the Dorothy Chandler pavilion was Renee Fleming in recital, with just a piano. One of the most thrilling experiences I’ve had, not only for her filling the space with no mic, but for her acting. It’s such a challenge to fill a house like that and still be able to act. Unfortunately, from where I was, the Aida singers were a bit wooden. I felt like I was doing a lot of the work for them. But hey, the ticket was free, so it’s all good by me.
I am confounded. On the one hand, they are playing Ethiopians, and that’s the point of the opera. On the other, the Egyptians were rather multi-cultural in this production, aside from their yarn and bead wigs. Historically, there would have been a basis for the ruling Egyptians to be lighter skinned during the Ptolomeic period, but not everyone. And would there have been Asian Egyptians, wearing bronzer? My sense is you either go for it, or you don’t. It’s traditional now to have a black woman sing Aida, whether she be African, American, European in nationality. But what of the other Ethipoians? If you are really worried about everyone being the same ethnicity, then cast everyone of the same ethnicity, or just forget about it. Do it with costumes, don’t pull us out of it further with everyone wearing dark makeup and looking like Al Jolson. There’s no reason for that. I know opera can be sorely behind the times, but come on. It seems a slap in the face to all of the people who worked hard to knock down those walls. When Maria Callas played Aida, did they make her wear dark makeup?
One of the more hysterical moments (other than getting flashed by a dancer during a push up move when his lamé skirt flew up –lucky me in the 6th row) was the Egyptian/Ethiopian battle told in ballet. It’s so unfortunately effete that you’re unsure whether they’re going to kill each other or go out for cocktails. Fight has changed in dance. Come on, folks. Everyone applauds graciously, but I can’t help but think it’s because they paid as much as they did for tickets. After Robbins’ West Side Story stuff, you must be able to come up with something a little more fresh.
Voices—Aida (Michelle Crider) was great, even though eight months pregnant—I have to give it to her for that—I can’t even imagine. Amneris (irina Mishura) had a heavy back placed Russian sound that I didn’t think was always appropriate. She also had a habit of tilting her head and making sweeping straight arm gestures, as if she was presenting a washer/dryer on the Price is Right. But like I said, I was sitting close; it’s possible in the upper balcony she came across as the paragon of subtlety. Her acting improved by the end, which was welcome. That character must be one of the most schizophrenic in opera (I love him! I hate him! I hate you! I'll make you pay! Oh, just kidding, let me help you! Oh, no, you can't die! I'll save you! Oh, I failed, so I'll just hang around your tomb in flowing robes and weep!) The men were great, although Radames (Franco Farina) had a couple of straining moments--but there are some killers in that score--he did a great job with Celeste Aida, but seemed a bit tentative (read: frightened) of the high notes at the end. Or, perhaps I'm projecting my own fear of whether he would make it. Aida’s father (Lado Ataneli) was strong, and infused some energy into the second act (even in blackface). I was struck by sitting so close how loud the men were compared to the women. I was thinking that in those huge houses the high sound travels to the back, while the low stays in the orchestra. I have a harder time hearing the men generally from my usual cheap seats.
The last thing I had seen in the Dorothy Chandler pavilion was Renee Fleming in recital, with just a piano. One of the most thrilling experiences I’ve had, not only for her filling the space with no mic, but for her acting. It’s such a challenge to fill a house like that and still be able to act. Unfortunately, from where I was, the Aida singers were a bit wooden. I felt like I was doing a lot of the work for them. But hey, the ticket was free, so it’s all good by me.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Mrs. Minix & The Fried Chicken Lady
I went last night to see a friend’s one-person show. Yes, that’s a particular jumble of words that strikes fear into the heart of any theatergoer. But, in a wonderful surprise, I was treated to a heartfelt performance and some unforgettable characters.
Mario Burrell’s show "The Blacker the Berry the Sweeter the Juice” is a tour through his life, focusing on his relationship to his Father, a well-known black Hollywood journalist and publicist, and his relationship to performance, especially as it is filtered through being black. We meet several people in his life, and hear of some incredible experiences, from sitting on Cicely Tyson’s lap as a child, to having to go on in the Broadway production of Rent after two days’ rehearsal.
What really buoyed me, though, was a particular characterization of a teacher Mario works with. He is currently teaching kindergarten in the LA Unified public school district. He introduces us to the woman he teaches with, Mrs. Minix. Mrs. Minix is a confident talker. We meet her during lunch time, when she is treating herself to a tongue sandwich “You won’t see me trying to eat no health food,” she says. She has an opinion on everything. She tells us about the teacher next door, her, car, her husband, and her kids parents. It’s on the subject of the children that Mrs. Minix becomes fierce. To one mother, who says she may not be able to afford lunch for her son, Mrs. Minix says “I told her, ‘if you can afford to get those tacky nails done, and you can afford that cheap-ass weave on your head, then you can buy lunch for your son.” She then tells us the story of a child who is having a birthday on that same day, who has one brother in prison, and another who was shot and killed. He told her he never had a birthday party. So she gives him one. And it’s this love for the kids she teaches, seemingly boundless, that pulls us in. She tells us how former students stop by all the time to tell her hello and see how she is. She has bought them books, clothes, She has even put a couple of them through college. She says all they need to hear is that life is what you make it (she tells a story of interrupting another teacher’s classroom who was trying to tell her students how hard life is). The emotion for me is doubly strong, knowing that it’s based on a real person. Mario manages to pull off one of my favorite feats in the theater—introduce us to a character through comedy that we think we will know and can dismiss as stock, and then show us a huge heart and humanity underneath. It’s one that lights up the stage, and reminds you of the power that one person can have.
I have to say my other favorite comic creation of the night was the Fried Chicken Fairy. Mario does a great bit about auditioning for a TV show, one in which the casting director tells him to be more “urban”, then “a little less Sherman Oaks, a little more Inglewood”, and finally, “more black”. Confused about what this is, he is visited by his fairy Godmother, the Fried Chicken Fairy, a woman dressed in white with a bucket of KFC and a wand, who tells him to bug out his eyes and swivel his neck and he’ll be a star. Brilliant. He comes to realize he is “too black” for the white shows and “too white” for the black shows.
There is a point in here where Mario visits his Grandfather, who tells him how light skinned blacks are more beautiful, which is why he married a light skinned woman and had light-skinned children --“The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice, but if it’s too dark, what’s the use?” He tell us a poignant story about not being able to pass like the rest of his family, so he had to ride in the back of the train while his sister rides in front. He ends up holding a white woman’s bag for the entire trip so he can stand in the same coach as his sister. This is set in contrast to Mrs. Minix, who first brings up the “Blacker the berry…” while telling us that she has no use for “piss-colored” light-skinned black men, apologizing for offending Mr. Burrell while she says it. (Please excuse if I mis-quote for any reason—I don’t have a script in front of me and this is from memory). The brilliance here is that we aren’t presented ideas like these for shock, but rather as part of how complex all our attitudes are. Setting this against trying to get a job in the television industry is perfect, as its storytelling is based on easily identified characteristics. Anything that may confuse or challenge is kept to a minimum, so the stories told are all of a piece. I have been thinking lately about a lot of things I see, and feeling like they aren’t stories I want to hear or to tell. I applaud Mario for telling his own, and telling it with such grace that we all can’t help but want to hear it.
Mario Burrell’s show "The Blacker the Berry the Sweeter the Juice” is a tour through his life, focusing on his relationship to his Father, a well-known black Hollywood journalist and publicist, and his relationship to performance, especially as it is filtered through being black. We meet several people in his life, and hear of some incredible experiences, from sitting on Cicely Tyson’s lap as a child, to having to go on in the Broadway production of Rent after two days’ rehearsal.
What really buoyed me, though, was a particular characterization of a teacher Mario works with. He is currently teaching kindergarten in the LA Unified public school district. He introduces us to the woman he teaches with, Mrs. Minix. Mrs. Minix is a confident talker. We meet her during lunch time, when she is treating herself to a tongue sandwich “You won’t see me trying to eat no health food,” she says. She has an opinion on everything. She tells us about the teacher next door, her, car, her husband, and her kids parents. It’s on the subject of the children that Mrs. Minix becomes fierce. To one mother, who says she may not be able to afford lunch for her son, Mrs. Minix says “I told her, ‘if you can afford to get those tacky nails done, and you can afford that cheap-ass weave on your head, then you can buy lunch for your son.” She then tells us the story of a child who is having a birthday on that same day, who has one brother in prison, and another who was shot and killed. He told her he never had a birthday party. So she gives him one. And it’s this love for the kids she teaches, seemingly boundless, that pulls us in. She tells us how former students stop by all the time to tell her hello and see how she is. She has bought them books, clothes, She has even put a couple of them through college. She says all they need to hear is that life is what you make it (she tells a story of interrupting another teacher’s classroom who was trying to tell her students how hard life is). The emotion for me is doubly strong, knowing that it’s based on a real person. Mario manages to pull off one of my favorite feats in the theater—introduce us to a character through comedy that we think we will know and can dismiss as stock, and then show us a huge heart and humanity underneath. It’s one that lights up the stage, and reminds you of the power that one person can have.
I have to say my other favorite comic creation of the night was the Fried Chicken Fairy. Mario does a great bit about auditioning for a TV show, one in which the casting director tells him to be more “urban”, then “a little less Sherman Oaks, a little more Inglewood”, and finally, “more black”. Confused about what this is, he is visited by his fairy Godmother, the Fried Chicken Fairy, a woman dressed in white with a bucket of KFC and a wand, who tells him to bug out his eyes and swivel his neck and he’ll be a star. Brilliant. He comes to realize he is “too black” for the white shows and “too white” for the black shows.
There is a point in here where Mario visits his Grandfather, who tells him how light skinned blacks are more beautiful, which is why he married a light skinned woman and had light-skinned children --“The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice, but if it’s too dark, what’s the use?” He tell us a poignant story about not being able to pass like the rest of his family, so he had to ride in the back of the train while his sister rides in front. He ends up holding a white woman’s bag for the entire trip so he can stand in the same coach as his sister. This is set in contrast to Mrs. Minix, who first brings up the “Blacker the berry…” while telling us that she has no use for “piss-colored” light-skinned black men, apologizing for offending Mr. Burrell while she says it. (Please excuse if I mis-quote for any reason—I don’t have a script in front of me and this is from memory). The brilliance here is that we aren’t presented ideas like these for shock, but rather as part of how complex all our attitudes are. Setting this against trying to get a job in the television industry is perfect, as its storytelling is based on easily identified characteristics. Anything that may confuse or challenge is kept to a minimum, so the stories told are all of a piece. I have been thinking lately about a lot of things I see, and feeling like they aren’t stories I want to hear or to tell. I applaud Mario for telling his own, and telling it with such grace that we all can’t help but want to hear it.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Self-help
I’ve just had a week’s worth of one of the worst colds I’ve ever had. Needless to say, I have not been that up for writing, sitting instead in a fog of head congestion and daytime television. If you ever really want to despair for our culture, just watch a few days of day time television.
I’m not going to go on about our discontents, which seem legion, but rather the lie of self-help. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. We’ve been raised in this country to believe we can be anything we want to be. And lately, that has also been being as rich as we want to be (this is perhaps nothing new, but only the baldness of it that is). And I’m thinking this is uniquely American—it’s what makes us great, but also I think is what’s becoming our undoing.
Not only because we are perpetually dissatisfied, but because I wonder if we are all participating in a lie. Maybe anything is possible here, but it’s arrogant to think that this can be a world view.
Americans seem to view the rest of the world’s troubles as a lack of vision, a lack of strength, that we can all pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. We can’t even do that in this country. We have people who are getting poorer and poorer as our rich get richer. And everyone is buying books telling them how if they work a little harder they will get what they want—riches, fame, a fabulous life. Is this a lie? Is everyone smart enough to be President (the current yahoo excepted), have business saavy to run a company, talented enough to entertain a stadium of people? Current episodes of American Idol point to "no", and also show the pain when that dream destructs. Certainly not an argument against dreaming, but an incredible testament to people's aptitude for self-deception.
I just saw the most amazing documentary, “Born into Brothels”, about the children born in the red light district of Calcutta. A couple of these children’s lives were changed by the woman who helped them learn photography and get into better schools. But the majority were not allowed to change by their parents, and will end up in the same dismal situation. I just kept thinking of Anthony Robbins and his cronies. Sure, the message sounds great. But aren’t there sometimes external forces that stop us from getting what we want? Is getting what we want even in our best interests? Can everyone be president?
I’m still foggy from this cold, and this is not gelling the way I’d like, but there is something here I will explore—is the American view large enough to hold the world? And is the dissatisfaction of our country an indicator of the direction the world is heading?
I’m not going to go on about our discontents, which seem legion, but rather the lie of self-help. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. We’ve been raised in this country to believe we can be anything we want to be. And lately, that has also been being as rich as we want to be (this is perhaps nothing new, but only the baldness of it that is). And I’m thinking this is uniquely American—it’s what makes us great, but also I think is what’s becoming our undoing.
Not only because we are perpetually dissatisfied, but because I wonder if we are all participating in a lie. Maybe anything is possible here, but it’s arrogant to think that this can be a world view.
Americans seem to view the rest of the world’s troubles as a lack of vision, a lack of strength, that we can all pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. We can’t even do that in this country. We have people who are getting poorer and poorer as our rich get richer. And everyone is buying books telling them how if they work a little harder they will get what they want—riches, fame, a fabulous life. Is this a lie? Is everyone smart enough to be President (the current yahoo excepted), have business saavy to run a company, talented enough to entertain a stadium of people? Current episodes of American Idol point to "no", and also show the pain when that dream destructs. Certainly not an argument against dreaming, but an incredible testament to people's aptitude for self-deception.
I just saw the most amazing documentary, “Born into Brothels”, about the children born in the red light district of Calcutta. A couple of these children’s lives were changed by the woman who helped them learn photography and get into better schools. But the majority were not allowed to change by their parents, and will end up in the same dismal situation. I just kept thinking of Anthony Robbins and his cronies. Sure, the message sounds great. But aren’t there sometimes external forces that stop us from getting what we want? Is getting what we want even in our best interests? Can everyone be president?
I’m still foggy from this cold, and this is not gelling the way I’d like, but there is something here I will explore—is the American view large enough to hold the world? And is the dissatisfaction of our country an indicator of the direction the world is heading?
Monday, January 31, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Cynical Wednesday
It’s amazing how time gets away and you realize you haven’t posted anything in a week. Wow—how do I ever plan on getting regular readers? Anyhoo—
My cynical thought for the day is this: How self-serving are we? Recent news has led me to the unfortunate conclusion that we are, as a people, very self-serving. I thought I’d share some of the reasons I’m coming to this theory, and perhaps you can dissuade me.
I get my news through NPR. They just did a two-part story on the Amazonian Frontier and the farmers who are taming it. The story is rather involved, but the long and the short of it is that although the government is trying to stop people from clearing the rainforest, farmers are doing it anyway. They are also stealing land from each other, and pretending the law gives them the right to clear 80% of the forest, rather than 20% of it. Oops, read it wrong. So, the rainforest is dwindling, rains are more intense, as are the dry periods. And it's been proven that the reduction of the forest is creating more greenhouse gasses, contributing to less of the ozone layer, in turn causing more blindness and skin cancer in South America.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch (or what’s left of it) here in the good ol’ U.S.of A., Wal Mart is moving into small communities and destroying businesses. In one particularly heinous move, they open a small Wal-Mart in town to lure shoppers away and close businesses, then a super Wal –Mart on the edge of town. They then close the first Wal-mart, and everyone has now only one store, on the edge of town, that they can go to. They also are encouraging all of their Manufacturers to move to China, creating a middle class in China for the first time, but destroying any manufacturing jobs in ours. With the increasingly isolationist policies of our government, I think this will be causing us major problems. And nevermind the selfishness of the Walton family (who is doing this all for their own wealth), or their union-busting, or their underpayment of their employees--that’s expected from a big business owner. What gets me is that consumers know, and they still shop there. Because, if people have to choose in this country between a bargain and some sweat-shop worker in another country, or even the destruction of competition and small business in their own town, I think they will choose the bargain. In fact, I think if people have to choose between a 99 cent pair of panties and the death of a person in Asia, they’ll choose the panties.
Now, I don’t think that we’re bad people (or I’m trying not to), but I guess if you’re trying to feed and clothe your family and you’re looking for the cheapest way to do it, you will do what you have to. Ditto for the South American farmers. But when is that instinct for immediate gratification, for as many goods as possible, going to come back and bite us on the ass? Or has it already?
I was reading about the Neanderthals in Europe 13,000 years ago, who were eradicated by homo sapiens (us) moving up from the South. The Neanderthals had larger brains than we did, but were not intense hunters, and it was suggested in this book “they couldn’t even fish.” But I have in my head a scenario that perhaps the Neanderthals were intelligent quasi-vegetarians living on the land and small animals and we just came up behind them and beat them over the head. And that’s the way nature is. (It’s a completely unreal scenario, I know, but go with me). I’m just wondering if our instinct for immediate survival is threatening our long term survival. And that’s cynical.
My cynical thought for the day is this: How self-serving are we? Recent news has led me to the unfortunate conclusion that we are, as a people, very self-serving. I thought I’d share some of the reasons I’m coming to this theory, and perhaps you can dissuade me.
I get my news through NPR. They just did a two-part story on the Amazonian Frontier and the farmers who are taming it. The story is rather involved, but the long and the short of it is that although the government is trying to stop people from clearing the rainforest, farmers are doing it anyway. They are also stealing land from each other, and pretending the law gives them the right to clear 80% of the forest, rather than 20% of it. Oops, read it wrong. So, the rainforest is dwindling, rains are more intense, as are the dry periods. And it's been proven that the reduction of the forest is creating more greenhouse gasses, contributing to less of the ozone layer, in turn causing more blindness and skin cancer in South America.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch (or what’s left of it) here in the good ol’ U.S.of A., Wal Mart is moving into small communities and destroying businesses. In one particularly heinous move, they open a small Wal-Mart in town to lure shoppers away and close businesses, then a super Wal –Mart on the edge of town. They then close the first Wal-mart, and everyone has now only one store, on the edge of town, that they can go to. They also are encouraging all of their Manufacturers to move to China, creating a middle class in China for the first time, but destroying any manufacturing jobs in ours. With the increasingly isolationist policies of our government, I think this will be causing us major problems. And nevermind the selfishness of the Walton family (who is doing this all for their own wealth), or their union-busting, or their underpayment of their employees--that’s expected from a big business owner. What gets me is that consumers know, and they still shop there. Because, if people have to choose in this country between a bargain and some sweat-shop worker in another country, or even the destruction of competition and small business in their own town, I think they will choose the bargain. In fact, I think if people have to choose between a 99 cent pair of panties and the death of a person in Asia, they’ll choose the panties.
Now, I don’t think that we’re bad people (or I’m trying not to), but I guess if you’re trying to feed and clothe your family and you’re looking for the cheapest way to do it, you will do what you have to. Ditto for the South American farmers. But when is that instinct for immediate gratification, for as many goods as possible, going to come back and bite us on the ass? Or has it already?
I was reading about the Neanderthals in Europe 13,000 years ago, who were eradicated by homo sapiens (us) moving up from the South. The Neanderthals had larger brains than we did, but were not intense hunters, and it was suggested in this book “they couldn’t even fish.” But I have in my head a scenario that perhaps the Neanderthals were intelligent quasi-vegetarians living on the land and small animals and we just came up behind them and beat them over the head. And that’s the way nature is. (It’s a completely unreal scenario, I know, but go with me). I’m just wondering if our instinct for immediate survival is threatening our long term survival. And that’s cynical.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
The Body Exhibit
I'm having trouble with this photo hosting thing, and unable to put three photos in one post. If you know the magic formula, let me know. Anyhow...
I went to see the Body Exhibit at USC and was amazed. And disturbed. And overwhelmed. And desensitized. And shamed. And creeped-out. So many things happen when you are witnessing an exhibit of real cadavers that have been made into plastic. And boy, I think, like everyone, I experienced all of them. A friend of mine put it best when she said it made her kind of melancholy; thinking "wow, we are so complicated!" and "gee, we're not that complicated" all at the same time. It's very true. And there is an element of seeing something you're not supposed to see. Especially knowing that it's going on inside of you at the same time.
I need to stop here for an ode to bones for a minute. How beautiful and sturdy. The hard exterior shell and the delicate cross-hatch of the inside. You couldn't come up with a better design. Spongy, resilient, hard, giving, fragile. Wow. I was knocked out by the bones.
There is really too much to explore in this exhibit, and I'm sure I will come back and add to this as my feelings coagulate/coalesce. At the moment, it's still slightly overwhelming. And even slightly ridiculous. A companion turned to another friend and said "does it smell like beef jerky in here?" And no, it didn't, but it looked like it at times, which was more than a little odd.
The thing that struck me the most was the differences in each of the specimens/cadavers. How they lived their lives were apparent in their bodies. There was a teacher who looked atrophied, a skate boarder, ballet dancer, a "yoga lady" and soccer player in peak form--all posed in their activities. Even a rider on a horse. (Though I do have to say it was a shock to see the skin left on the ballet dancer's genitalia, but nothing else. In her pose, it was quite apparent.
This leads me to the most surreal aspect for me--what was left on. The exhibit not only posed the figures, but chose how many layers of muscle and skin to remove, and where. So there was a man holding his skin, or dehydrated nipples on the breasts of the yoga teacher. Or hair left on different parts of different bodies. Which added to the macabre for me, somehow. Or perhaps made me realize how human these cadavers used to be.
Even more upsetting were the disembodied examples of lung tumors, liver disease, arteries and veins blocked and shunted, the list goes on. And on. I vowed for the moment to live healthier, to stretch and exercise and eat holistic foods. Then we went to dinner and I had a beer. but Salmon as well.
I need to take off, but the pictures on either side of the Magritte are from Gorev Bidloo, an academic and anatomist from Holland in the early 17th century. The piece I saw at the exhibit had partial faces sketched with skin flaps and nailed through the nose, as if hanging from a wall. And for some reason he really reminds me of the surrealists. I know there are better examples than the magritte, but you can see the echo of the head flaps in the sheeets on the lovers. Bidloo seemed a bit of a sadist from his drawings; one suspects he was interested in more than just drawing the human body for anatomical reasons. But he seems to have in common with the Surrealists the fetishism of the broken body--I'm thinking of Dali, especially, I suppose, but I know I have seen more elsewhere. I'll keep looking. Meanwhile--food for thought--there is nothing new--three centuries before it was being done.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Red vs. Blue
This is an email I sent to a friend who had a bit of post-election paranoia, and sent something out about the North being progressive, the whole anit/pro-slavery thing, and how the red states stood for one thing, and the blues for another. And then something about the social contract that was set up, or the one that is, when we set up a community, and how we should all get our visas in order and set up possibilites to live in a new country. As if. (It was actually an interesting email from an intelligent man, and I'm giving it somewhat short shrift, but I don't think we should all pack up and leave or give in to the paranoia). So--this is in response to that, but I think about perhaps (enough qualifiers there?) where we are as a country, or how I'm trying to make sense of it. I also was listening to the news the other day, and heard a bit about how the EU was trying to limit immigration. It occurs to me that they are becoming a conglomerate nation, like a corporation with subsidiaries, and I wonder if that corporate view is going to change completely the way states are structured in a global economy, so we are no longer states but subsidiaries of larger entities. The world as Apple v. Microsoft. Anyhow--I've been keeping that in mind along with thoughts below about the direction we're going in. If my history is off as well, please let me know.
I think the thing with the North and the South is a bit more complicated, of course. Rhode Island was the center of slave trading for most of the 18th century into the nineteenth with the trade in molasses and rum, which is downplayed the North seems to have always been about profit as well as Puritanism. I think it's also the difference between urban and rural--the South was not centered in the industrialization the way the North was, and I think this long-standing urban/rural divide that we saw in the last election is something that has never really left us. And let's face it, it's much colder up North, and so climate itself is a great motivator in creating community. You could literally die from the cold and the elements in the North in a way that's much more challenging to do in South Carolina.
That said, I think America is very fond of its lore, and I think this is part ofwhat we see as well right now and forever. Another facet of people leaving their homes to create a new "Social Contract" is dissatisfaction, and I think we are bred dissatisfied in this country--we are strivers. What happens, then is you have a country where people are constantly looking for something better and living in dreams--why do you think Hollywood is so popular? Where do you think advertising is from? We are all about making people dissatisfied, mostly to make money. Americans are the best at dreaming, whether those be fantasies of happiness (movies) or paranoia (Fox News).
There is an interesting book called The Age of Homespun by Laurel Thatcher Ullrich that talks about the myth of the American Family. (The book itself traces different pieces of material culture --clothes, furniture--and the individual history). I saw her speak, and one of the things she spoke of was this myth. When the Colonists boycotted British goods and had to start making their own cloth, one of the themes that emerges is the theme of the family-- pictures, needlepoint, etc., bear witness to this. In reality, though, the goods and the means of production as were too scarce for any one family to be able to hold all of the machinery or the parts they needed. People actually had to work together as a community to create cloth and goods that were necessary for survival. Interestingly, though, there came from this time the myth of the self-sufficient-ness of the American Family. I don't think we've ever been the best at looking at reality or admitting we need each other.
Which brings me to my theory--the family is dissolving perhaps, but more importantly I think community is dissolving. People are constantly buying the world view given to us from TV and advertising, proclaiming that the American Family is Paramount. Increasingly,though, the American Family is estranged within its own unit, unable to find commonground, talking on cell phones and at their computers. Meanwhile, people are unable to communicate with each other, becoming more computer-saavy, but lesssocially saavy--how many times have you seen people eating or walking together not talking to each other but on a cell phone? And unable to connect, people are getting lonelier and more paranoid (it seems if you listen to the news, but that could be another sales tactic). So to solve this, they think, it's easy to buy into lore that there are enemies all around, and that everyone is threateningthe family unit. And I don't mean to say this is just a conservative view, either. I think we've seen it in the way that people reacted to Bush and the election. Don't get me wrong, I think a lot of the fears are grounded, but I also think we are in a fascinating time of people grabbing onto whatever they feel is going to make them feel more secure, and that's why I think religion is becoming so prevalent in this country and others and more violent as well (but that's another email entirely!) So the easiest thing is to grab onto enemies, the twisted lore of the self-sufficientness of the American Family, and the biggest one we've seen in the past few months: football.
The red team and the blue team. And I think this is where we literally become divisive. Us and Them, Blue and Red. Hysteria on both sides. As much as the news would like you to believe that we are a country of two minds, one red and one blue, I think the electorate is much more complicated. Exit polls indicate that 60% of people favor some kind of civil union for gays. That's huge. There are signs that people are much more moderate than we are being lead to believe. I do think that Bush is a danger with that. I think you can see the seeds of the dissent that are beginning in the Repoublican party. But I think we all need to revise our us and them thinking-- me against the world, my family against the world, red against blue. America is, if anything, a glorious experiment in tolerance (though perhaps not acceptance as we'd like it to be - side by side, but not together). There has never been anything like it in the world. The terrifying thing about Bush seems to be his one vision of what America looks like or should look like, and his lack of tolerance for dissentor discussion. And for the past few decades, this has become the hallmark of theRepublican party; he is the unfortunate nadir. For all his talk of democracy,he has proven to be amazingly un-Democratic--you can see that with his cabinet leaving. And I think true democracy is challenging to people. NO one wants to take the time to listen to someone else's conflicting ideas and make room for them. I suppose I'm just saying that the Blue team is as guilty as the Red team in this (though not nearly as bad, as there isn't such a particular party line), and until we find a way to all get together and live with purple (to take the color metaphor too far out), we will have this push me pull you boomerang happening, and we will continue to lurch forward or sideways. I think we all need to manage our expectations and change our thinking, because America, as a dream, as lore, is a place for all people. I think that is one dream if we strive to keep alive, we can find room for everyone. As dangerous as our lore and dreams are, that one dream of America keeps people doing things that are more expansive than they would think were possible, more permissive than they thought possible,and ultimately on the road to making things better for everyone. I guess that's a faith I can have, and keep hoping to have. I don't have hopes that Bush will heal this rift in our country. But I do have hope that people will see the rift, and see that is has to be closed. Perhaps his actions will at least do that.
I think the thing with the North and the South is a bit more complicated, of course. Rhode Island was the center of slave trading for most of the 18th century into the nineteenth with the trade in molasses and rum, which is downplayed the North seems to have always been about profit as well as Puritanism. I think it's also the difference between urban and rural--the South was not centered in the industrialization the way the North was, and I think this long-standing urban/rural divide that we saw in the last election is something that has never really left us. And let's face it, it's much colder up North, and so climate itself is a great motivator in creating community. You could literally die from the cold and the elements in the North in a way that's much more challenging to do in South Carolina.
That said, I think America is very fond of its lore, and I think this is part ofwhat we see as well right now and forever. Another facet of people leaving their homes to create a new "Social Contract" is dissatisfaction, and I think we are bred dissatisfied in this country--we are strivers. What happens, then is you have a country where people are constantly looking for something better and living in dreams--why do you think Hollywood is so popular? Where do you think advertising is from? We are all about making people dissatisfied, mostly to make money. Americans are the best at dreaming, whether those be fantasies of happiness (movies) or paranoia (Fox News).
There is an interesting book called The Age of Homespun by Laurel Thatcher Ullrich that talks about the myth of the American Family. (The book itself traces different pieces of material culture --clothes, furniture--and the individual history). I saw her speak, and one of the things she spoke of was this myth. When the Colonists boycotted British goods and had to start making their own cloth, one of the themes that emerges is the theme of the family-- pictures, needlepoint, etc., bear witness to this. In reality, though, the goods and the means of production as were too scarce for any one family to be able to hold all of the machinery or the parts they needed. People actually had to work together as a community to create cloth and goods that were necessary for survival. Interestingly, though, there came from this time the myth of the self-sufficient-ness of the American Family. I don't think we've ever been the best at looking at reality or admitting we need each other.
Which brings me to my theory--the family is dissolving perhaps, but more importantly I think community is dissolving. People are constantly buying the world view given to us from TV and advertising, proclaiming that the American Family is Paramount. Increasingly,though, the American Family is estranged within its own unit, unable to find commonground, talking on cell phones and at their computers. Meanwhile, people are unable to communicate with each other, becoming more computer-saavy, but lesssocially saavy--how many times have you seen people eating or walking together not talking to each other but on a cell phone? And unable to connect, people are getting lonelier and more paranoid (it seems if you listen to the news, but that could be another sales tactic). So to solve this, they think, it's easy to buy into lore that there are enemies all around, and that everyone is threateningthe family unit. And I don't mean to say this is just a conservative view, either. I think we've seen it in the way that people reacted to Bush and the election. Don't get me wrong, I think a lot of the fears are grounded, but I also think we are in a fascinating time of people grabbing onto whatever they feel is going to make them feel more secure, and that's why I think religion is becoming so prevalent in this country and others and more violent as well (but that's another email entirely!) So the easiest thing is to grab onto enemies, the twisted lore of the self-sufficientness of the American Family, and the biggest one we've seen in the past few months: football.
The red team and the blue team. And I think this is where we literally become divisive. Us and Them, Blue and Red. Hysteria on both sides. As much as the news would like you to believe that we are a country of two minds, one red and one blue, I think the electorate is much more complicated. Exit polls indicate that 60% of people favor some kind of civil union for gays. That's huge. There are signs that people are much more moderate than we are being lead to believe. I do think that Bush is a danger with that. I think you can see the seeds of the dissent that are beginning in the Repoublican party. But I think we all need to revise our us and them thinking-- me against the world, my family against the world, red against blue. America is, if anything, a glorious experiment in tolerance (though perhaps not acceptance as we'd like it to be - side by side, but not together). There has never been anything like it in the world. The terrifying thing about Bush seems to be his one vision of what America looks like or should look like, and his lack of tolerance for dissentor discussion. And for the past few decades, this has become the hallmark of theRepublican party; he is the unfortunate nadir. For all his talk of democracy,he has proven to be amazingly un-Democratic--you can see that with his cabinet leaving. And I think true democracy is challenging to people. NO one wants to take the time to listen to someone else's conflicting ideas and make room for them. I suppose I'm just saying that the Blue team is as guilty as the Red team in this (though not nearly as bad, as there isn't such a particular party line), and until we find a way to all get together and live with purple (to take the color metaphor too far out), we will have this push me pull you boomerang happening, and we will continue to lurch forward or sideways. I think we all need to manage our expectations and change our thinking, because America, as a dream, as lore, is a place for all people. I think that is one dream if we strive to keep alive, we can find room for everyone. As dangerous as our lore and dreams are, that one dream of America keeps people doing things that are more expansive than they would think were possible, more permissive than they thought possible,and ultimately on the road to making things better for everyone. I guess that's a faith I can have, and keep hoping to have. I don't have hopes that Bush will heal this rift in our country. But I do have hope that people will see the rift, and see that is has to be closed. Perhaps his actions will at least do that.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Annie Dillard
I'm sure this is not allowed, but this is a piece of Annie Dillard's writing. I found it on Free Will Astrology, Rob Brezhny's wonderful astute astrology site, and just wanted to pass it on. It's from For the Time Being by Annie Dillard. I do love her writing. Go out and buy something of hers. Here--here's the link to Amazon. What a gift, that writing. Enjoy.
There were no formerly heroic times, and there was no formerly pure generation. There is no one here but us chickens, and so it has always been: a people busy and powerful, knowledgeable, ambivalent, important, fearful and self-aware; a people who scheme, promote, deceive and conquer; who pray for their loved ones, and long to flee misery and skip death. It is a weakening and discoloring idea that rustic people knew God personally once upon a time -- or even knew selflessness or courage or literature -- but that it is too late for us. In fact, the absolute is available to everyone in every age. There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less.There is no less holiness at this time -- as you are reading this -- than there was the day the Red Sea parted, or that day in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, on the fifth day of the month, as Ezekiel was a captive by the river Chebar, when the heavens opened and he saw visions of God. There is no whit less enlightenment under the tree by your street than there was under the Buddha's bo tree. There is no whit less might in heaven or on earth than there was the day Jesus said "Maid, arise" to the centurion's daughter, or the day Peter walked on water, or the night Mohammed flew to heaven on a horse. In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet may rise, or you may see a bunch of souls in a tree. In any instant you may avail yourself of the power to love your enemies; to accept failure, slander, or the grief of loss; or to endure torture.Purity's time is always now. Purity is no social phenomenon, a cultural thing whose time we have missed, whose generations are dead, so we can only buy Shaker furniture. "Each and every day the Divine Voice issues from Sinai," says the Talmud. Of eternal fulfillment, Tillich said, "If it is not seen in the present, it cannot be seen at all."
There were no formerly heroic times, and there was no formerly pure generation. There is no one here but us chickens, and so it has always been: a people busy and powerful, knowledgeable, ambivalent, important, fearful and self-aware; a people who scheme, promote, deceive and conquer; who pray for their loved ones, and long to flee misery and skip death. It is a weakening and discoloring idea that rustic people knew God personally once upon a time -- or even knew selflessness or courage or literature -- but that it is too late for us. In fact, the absolute is available to everyone in every age. There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less.There is no less holiness at this time -- as you are reading this -- than there was the day the Red Sea parted, or that day in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, on the fifth day of the month, as Ezekiel was a captive by the river Chebar, when the heavens opened and he saw visions of God. There is no whit less enlightenment under the tree by your street than there was under the Buddha's bo tree. There is no whit less might in heaven or on earth than there was the day Jesus said "Maid, arise" to the centurion's daughter, or the day Peter walked on water, or the night Mohammed flew to heaven on a horse. In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet may rise, or you may see a bunch of souls in a tree. In any instant you may avail yourself of the power to love your enemies; to accept failure, slander, or the grief of loss; or to endure torture.Purity's time is always now. Purity is no social phenomenon, a cultural thing whose time we have missed, whose generations are dead, so we can only buy Shaker furniture. "Each and every day the Divine Voice issues from Sinai," says the Talmud. Of eternal fulfillment, Tillich said, "If it is not seen in the present, it cannot be seen at all."
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