As devoted readers of this blog know, I'm about to move to New Orleans. I'm a bit puzzled about what to do with this blog. Or, more specifically, I'm puzzled about the picture above. It was taken in New England and it belongs to New England. I hate to change it.
Perhaps I will start writing all new posts in my newer blog (Transient.) Haven't decided yet. But somehow I suspect that New Orleans will provide plenty of material. C. suggested that I start another blog, but it seems to me pretentious to have three blogs. It's somewhat pretentious to have two blogs, actually. And come to think of it, it's pretentious to have any blog at all . . . but it's too late now.
To everyone who comes across this page: go well, with blessings.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
The Noel Coward Diaries
I was so impressed by the book of Noel Coward plays I read a couple months ago that I decided to go through his diaries. (They cover the years 1941 to 1969. He died in 1973.)
He does occasionally say nice things about other people besides himself. And he does not always retract his praise a few pages later. However, he does rate his own talents above those of everyone else . . . even his self-criticisms tend to take the form of "My X is weak, but it's more than made up for by my Y, Z and Q."
Actresses especially are perfect loves until he has to rehearse with them, when they instantly become brainless, egotistical, no-talent cows. I will say though that the critics always hated his work and the public mostly loved it, which must have been very frustrating, although financially rewarding.
The thing that really struck me is that he was a full-blown British Imperialist, in a way that no one is probably allowed to be today. His reaction to hearing of Gandhi's assassination was, "A bloody good thing which happened far too late." During the Suez crisis his first comment was, "We should never have evacuated Egypt," and later on, "The good old imperialism was a bloody sight wiser and healthier than all this woolly-headed, muddled, 'all men are equal' humanitarianism . . . The British Empire was a great and wonderful social, economic and even spiritual experiment."
Ironically, he was completely opposed to religion in general and Christianity in particular. (I always think of Western imperialism and Christianity as being synonymous.) The one point on which he criticized British justice was the criminalization of homosexuality. That, he knew was wrong, because it affected him and his friends. Everything else apparently was just fine.
Also, I honestly believed that Cavalcade was an anti-war play, but it appears I was wrong. Oh well. Noel Coward: talented at what he did; almost completely oblivious to the rest of the world. (But then how could he appeal so much to audiences? Paradox.)
He does occasionally say nice things about other people besides himself. And he does not always retract his praise a few pages later. However, he does rate his own talents above those of everyone else . . . even his self-criticisms tend to take the form of "My X is weak, but it's more than made up for by my Y, Z and Q."
Actresses especially are perfect loves until he has to rehearse with them, when they instantly become brainless, egotistical, no-talent cows. I will say though that the critics always hated his work and the public mostly loved it, which must have been very frustrating, although financially rewarding.
The thing that really struck me is that he was a full-blown British Imperialist, in a way that no one is probably allowed to be today. His reaction to hearing of Gandhi's assassination was, "A bloody good thing which happened far too late." During the Suez crisis his first comment was, "We should never have evacuated Egypt," and later on, "The good old imperialism was a bloody sight wiser and healthier than all this woolly-headed, muddled, 'all men are equal' humanitarianism . . . The British Empire was a great and wonderful social, economic and even spiritual experiment."
Ironically, he was completely opposed to religion in general and Christianity in particular. (I always think of Western imperialism and Christianity as being synonymous.) The one point on which he criticized British justice was the criminalization of homosexuality. That, he knew was wrong, because it affected him and his friends. Everything else apparently was just fine.
Also, I honestly believed that Cavalcade was an anti-war play, but it appears I was wrong. Oh well. Noel Coward: talented at what he did; almost completely oblivious to the rest of the world. (But then how could he appeal so much to audiences? Paradox.)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Another Oddity of Language
So, last night I realized something: when we say, "an American," we mean an American person. But we don't say "an English" to mean an English person.
A Canadian, Mexican, Italian, Russian . . . but not a French, Irish, Turkish, Polish. We say "a Pole." Or a Swede or a Dane. We say "a Danish" but that doesn't mean a person.
I think I may have heard people say "a Vietnamese" or "a Japanese" but that sounds rather ignorant to me.
And of course, we don't say "Chinish." We say "Chinese."
A Canadian, Mexican, Italian, Russian . . . but not a French, Irish, Turkish, Polish. We say "a Pole." Or a Swede or a Dane. We say "a Danish" but that doesn't mean a person.
I think I may have heard people say "a Vietnamese" or "a Japanese" but that sounds rather ignorant to me.
And of course, we don't say "Chinish." We say "Chinese."
Friday, November 06, 2009
The Zero-Sum Game
I've recently started reading Atlantic columnist Ta-Nehisi Coates. Like his stuff a lot, even if he thinks of Prince as "his mother's music." And god knows he could use a proofreader. But anyway. Not only are his posts interesting, but he's built up a large and mostly well-behaved commenting community. I haven't joined it because it is so large and well-spoken even without me, and I just don't feel like creating one more damn account for myself, but I have to respond to this comment anyway:
As for the zero-sum game: again, yes, that's what it is. We all prosper at someone else's expense. Take jobs for example. If you apply for a job and get it, everyone else loses out. I'll assume for the sake of argument that the person who wrote this post and called themselves "Star Wars Nut" is a man, although it doesn't really matter. So, if someone else gets hired for this job, and you find out it's a black person, do you get upset because black people are stealing jobs from whites? If a white woman gets hired instead of you, are women stealing jobs from men? If another white guy gets the job . . . well, who is there to be outraged against? But it's still a zero-sum game, and you still lost. Unless you congratulate yourself with the thought, "Well, at least the job is safely in the hands of a white person."
I don't think the problem is the zero-sum game. I think the problem is a sense of entitlement, the belief that those people should stay in their places and not be taking jobs, etc. from the guys who have always had those jobs, always should, always will. (Gee, this does remind me of a recent Presidential election.) It makes sense to me that white men would feel threatened and want to cut down on the competition. But then, of course, you're stuck with feeling guilty about those people who suffered so that you could continue to live in the style to which you're accustomed. Nope, just can't win.
As a white person (I don't presume to speak for all white people), one of the reasons why I find myself getting annoyed at anti-racists is because of their insistence that the only reason why I enjoy any comforts today is because of the suffering of others. . . . By speaking of racism as a zero-sum game, you are GUARANTEED to turn white people off. After all, if whites prospered at the expense of blacks, many whites reason that if blacks prosper, it will be at their expense.Well, yeah, actually, the reason you are where you are today is because of the people who suffered and died to get you there. To name just one example, as a white male Christian friend of mine wrote on his Facebook recently, "People died to give you the right to vote. So go vote!" I'm really astonished that anybody could be unmindful of those who came before them -- even if you just think of it in terms of your own ancestors. (This reminds me of the piece I wrote three years ago.) Perhaps the problem is that you don't like to think of people suffering unwillingly. Is is really any better to imagine them gladly sacrificing their comforts for you?
As for the zero-sum game: again, yes, that's what it is. We all prosper at someone else's expense. Take jobs for example. If you apply for a job and get it, everyone else loses out. I'll assume for the sake of argument that the person who wrote this post and called themselves "Star Wars Nut" is a man, although it doesn't really matter. So, if someone else gets hired for this job, and you find out it's a black person, do you get upset because black people are stealing jobs from whites? If a white woman gets hired instead of you, are women stealing jobs from men? If another white guy gets the job . . . well, who is there to be outraged against? But it's still a zero-sum game, and you still lost. Unless you congratulate yourself with the thought, "Well, at least the job is safely in the hands of a white person."
I don't think the problem is the zero-sum game. I think the problem is a sense of entitlement, the belief that those people should stay in their places and not be taking jobs, etc. from the guys who have always had those jobs, always should, always will. (Gee, this does remind me of a recent Presidential election.) It makes sense to me that white men would feel threatened and want to cut down on the competition. But then, of course, you're stuck with feeling guilty about those people who suffered so that you could continue to live in the style to which you're accustomed. Nope, just can't win.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Disraeli and Obama
I've been wondering for a while how many similarities there are between Benjamin Disraeli (the first and so far only Jewish Prime Minister of England) and Barack Obama (the first black President of the United States.) I didn't really know anything else about Disraeli. Finally I got around to reducing my ignorance by visiting Wikipedia.
Two interesting things struck me:
Trollope disliked Disraeli for several reasons: his successful political career (Trollope attempted politics but failed); his literary career (I'm not sure how successful Disraeli was, but Trollope seems to have felt he was more successful than he deserved and that he himself was a better writer); and possibly his Jewishness.
What does this have to do with Barack Obama? There's been a lot of discussion as to whether his political opponents are "racist" or not. And Trollope is an interesting example of someone who objects to a certain person's policies and occasionally uses racist stereotypes to express his disapproval.
Also, people have devoted quite a bit of time to arguing that Trollope was not "really" anti-Semitic -- because they like his writing and they don't want to admire anyone who's prejudiced. Personally, I like his writing and I also think he displays some genuine anti-Semitism. I've also heard that he made a number of racist statements about black people. He's a little sexist too. So . . . he was what they call a product of his time. On the other hand, Trollope always displayed a certain amount of sympathy for the underdog (especially if the underdog was female.) But it seems pretty clear to me that as a white guy he was on top and he wanted to stay that way. And when it comes to Obama, there's a fair amount of that floating around too.
* Incidentally, in the Palliser novels (which are pretty much the only Trollope I've read), nobody ever admits to being Jewish. They are "said to be" Jewish, because apparently it was such a horrible thing that it could only be whispered about behind someone's back. I don't know how many crypto-Jews there were in 19th-century England, and as I've mentioned above, Disraeli was not a crypto-Jew and Obama is not a crypto-Muslim, but there is certainly an ongoing belief that lily-white Christendom is under attack by sneaking, creeping, hate-filled hordes of darkness.
Two interesting things struck me:
- When Disraeli began his political career, it was illegal for practicing Jews to be Members of Parliament. This was not actually a problem for Disraeli, since he had converted to Christianity, but it indicates the level of anti-Semitism that existed at the time. In America, because we have freedom of religion, it is perfectly legal for Muslims to hold public office. But apparently in some people's minds it ought not to be. (And again, in Obama's case this would not be a problem, because he doesn't appear ever to have been a practicing Muslim.)
- As I was reading the Wikipedia article, I saw that Disraeli claimed to be of Spanish descent, that he speculated unsuccessfully in South American mines, had the reputation of being a ladies' man and finally married a rich English woman. "Wow," I said, "he's Ferdinand Lopez!"
Trollope disliked Disraeli for several reasons: his successful political career (Trollope attempted politics but failed); his literary career (I'm not sure how successful Disraeli was, but Trollope seems to have felt he was more successful than he deserved and that he himself was a better writer); and possibly his Jewishness.
What does this have to do with Barack Obama? There's been a lot of discussion as to whether his political opponents are "racist" or not. And Trollope is an interesting example of someone who objects to a certain person's policies and occasionally uses racist stereotypes to express his disapproval.
Also, people have devoted quite a bit of time to arguing that Trollope was not "really" anti-Semitic -- because they like his writing and they don't want to admire anyone who's prejudiced. Personally, I like his writing and I also think he displays some genuine anti-Semitism. I've also heard that he made a number of racist statements about black people. He's a little sexist too. So . . . he was what they call a product of his time. On the other hand, Trollope always displayed a certain amount of sympathy for the underdog (especially if the underdog was female.) But it seems pretty clear to me that as a white guy he was on top and he wanted to stay that way. And when it comes to Obama, there's a fair amount of that floating around too.
* Incidentally, in the Palliser novels (which are pretty much the only Trollope I've read), nobody ever admits to being Jewish. They are "said to be" Jewish, because apparently it was such a horrible thing that it could only be whispered about behind someone's back. I don't know how many crypto-Jews there were in 19th-century England, and as I've mentioned above, Disraeli was not a crypto-Jew and Obama is not a crypto-Muslim, but there is certainly an ongoing belief that lily-white Christendom is under attack by sneaking, creeping, hate-filled hordes of darkness.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Another Perspective
On one of the blogs that I visit, people were recently discussing the topic of religious/spiritual beliefs and "faith." One person said that he envied people who had faith . . .
Moreover, it seems to me that the only way to believe the universe cares about you personally is to assume that it cares about other people less. If the universe cares about you personally, then whenever you want a particular job or a particular lover, they're yours, and everybody else is out of luck. If the universe cares about you personally, then no one would ever cut you off in traffic, and every red light turns green when you approach it. Right? Because when things don't go your way, that's a sign that the universe doesn't care about you personally. But in the real world, it frequently happens that one person's loss is someone else's gain. So whose side is the universe supposed to be on?
Maybe it drops a little benevolence on each person and then moves along to the next. But it's not going to take care of you all the time. (And you can't blame the universe if it happens to turn its attention elsewhere.)
What I envy, I think, is the idea that the universe is being personally benevolent to them. The universe is clearly benevolent to a degree: we exist, after all. But it isn't benevolent to any of us in particular.Now, "the fact that we exist proves the universe is benevolent" pretty much sums up my spiritual philosophy. But the idea that the universe is supposed to care about any of us personally . . . I can't get behind that and I don't understand why anybody would want to. (I mean, I do understand it. We all hope that nothing bad will ever happen to us and we won't have to die. But it doesn't work that way.)
Moreover, it seems to me that the only way to believe the universe cares about you personally is to assume that it cares about other people less. If the universe cares about you personally, then whenever you want a particular job or a particular lover, they're yours, and everybody else is out of luck. If the universe cares about you personally, then no one would ever cut you off in traffic, and every red light turns green when you approach it. Right? Because when things don't go your way, that's a sign that the universe doesn't care about you personally. But in the real world, it frequently happens that one person's loss is someone else's gain. So whose side is the universe supposed to be on?
Maybe it drops a little benevolence on each person and then moves along to the next. But it's not going to take care of you all the time. (And you can't blame the universe if it happens to turn its attention elsewhere.)
Friday, October 02, 2009
Poetry Roundup #2
(cross-posted on Facebook)
elephant lore
the elephant sleeps and dreams of home
awakens to find to find itself captive and
often dies of homesickness
therefore the elephant drivers keep their elephants awake
therefore, says the poet,
live in fear
that someday your heart will awaken
and remember its home
(from Wilberforce-Clarke's notes on the 359th ghazal of Hafiz)
a misconception
Love is not a reward for good behavior.
It's a function of the universe:
Like sunlight, like rain,
it falls on everyone
Indifferently,
Joyously.
Immigration
I said recently, "We are all hyphenated Americans."
We all came from elsewhere (so they say.)
And when we arrived here, the earth said "Welcome!"
It didn't say, "No, go home!"
It couldn't say, "If you're staying, at least don't kill anyone."
It could only say:
"Whatever you put into me will come back to you.
If you sow poison, you will reap poison.
If you shed blood, someday blood will come looking for you."
elephant lore
the elephant sleeps and dreams of home
awakens to find to find itself captive and
often dies of homesickness
therefore the elephant drivers keep their elephants awake
therefore, says the poet,
live in fear
that someday your heart will awaken
and remember its home
(from Wilberforce-Clarke's notes on the 359th ghazal of Hafiz)
a misconception
Love is not a reward for good behavior.
It's a function of the universe:
Like sunlight, like rain,
it falls on everyone
Indifferently,
Joyously.
Immigration
I said recently, "We are all hyphenated Americans."
We all came from elsewhere (so they say.)
And when we arrived here, the earth said "Welcome!"
It didn't say, "No, go home!"
It couldn't say, "If you're staying, at least don't kill anyone."
It could only say:
"Whatever you put into me will come back to you.
If you sow poison, you will reap poison.
If you shed blood, someday blood will come looking for you."
Monday, September 14, 2009
Design for Living and Cavalcade (Noel Coward)
I recently watched the film Design for Living and I loved it. I heard that it was different from the original play, so I decided to seek that out. I've done a lot of thinking about the difference between books and film versions of the book; haven't ever thought much about the difference between theatrical and film versions of a script.
Design for Living is a interesting example, in that the play and the film are quite different from each other, but in my opinion, both very good. (It's also interesting to note that the play premiered in January 1933, and the film came out that same year. That seems very fast by today's terms, especially considering that the script was 99% rewritten.) The play is much more compressed in terms of place and time . . . for example, we don't get to see the first meeting of the main characters, we only hear them talk about it (which is, obviously, not as interesting as actually seeing it.)
Design for Living is about a menage à trois between two men and a woman. The major difference between stage and screen is the relationship between the men. In the play, they're allowed to say that they love each other as much as they each love the woman. Of course, that sort of thing was not allowed in a film. As it turns out, reducing the importance of the male relationship moves the woman to center stage; and in the film version she's allowed to talk about herself more. (Well, she talks quite a bit in the original script too, but there she's mostly criticizing herself for "cheating" on one man or the other.) In the film, she points out that men are allowed to play the field before they get married. She then delivers the immortal line, "A woman gets to try on a hundred hats before she picks one." But when it comes to marriage, which is much more important than hats, she's not allowed to sample the merchandise before buying.
Noel Coward wrote this play as a vehicle for himself and his friends, actors Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. I don't know just how close their friendship was, but Coward remarked in his memoirs that an early version of the play had them all sitting in one bed for the duration. "This, however, was hilariously discarded, after Alfred had suggested a few stage directions which if followed faithfully, would undoubtedly have landed all three of us in gaol."
One last note about Design for Living: The female lead is named Gilda. The well-known film of 1946, called Gilda, is also about a love triangle. Although in Design for Living the woman's name is pronounced "Jill-da" and in the other film it's pronounced the other way.
Cavalcade was in the same volume as Design for Living, so I read it. I don't believe there is anything funny about it at all. The first act is set in England, 1899, when a woman's husband is going off to the Boer War. She's very afraid for him, but remarks that at least her two young sons will never have to go to war. Fast-forward fifteen years, when of course one of her sons goes off to fight in World War I, and eventually dies.
The other has already drowned on the Titanic, for good measure. Actually, we see him and his wife, on a ship, on their honeymoon, talking about how happy they are. Then the lady moves her cloak and we see the name of the ship. Was Coward the inventor of this scene? It's been done many times, I know that.
Possibly Cavalcade was not seen as an anti-war play when it came out, but it definitely seems like one to me now. The 1930's are actually one of my favorite decades, for literature and film (maybe not so much the visual arts.) Some of my favorite writers flourished then, and, being favorites of mine, none of them were very keen on war. Of course, most of them didn't know there was another big one coming up. But they gathered their rosebuds while they might.
Design for Living is a interesting example, in that the play and the film are quite different from each other, but in my opinion, both very good. (It's also interesting to note that the play premiered in January 1933, and the film came out that same year. That seems very fast by today's terms, especially considering that the script was 99% rewritten.) The play is much more compressed in terms of place and time . . . for example, we don't get to see the first meeting of the main characters, we only hear them talk about it (which is, obviously, not as interesting as actually seeing it.)
Design for Living is about a menage à trois between two men and a woman. The major difference between stage and screen is the relationship between the men. In the play, they're allowed to say that they love each other as much as they each love the woman. Of course, that sort of thing was not allowed in a film. As it turns out, reducing the importance of the male relationship moves the woman to center stage; and in the film version she's allowed to talk about herself more. (Well, she talks quite a bit in the original script too, but there she's mostly criticizing herself for "cheating" on one man or the other.) In the film, she points out that men are allowed to play the field before they get married. She then delivers the immortal line, "A woman gets to try on a hundred hats before she picks one." But when it comes to marriage, which is much more important than hats, she's not allowed to sample the merchandise before buying.
Noel Coward wrote this play as a vehicle for himself and his friends, actors Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. I don't know just how close their friendship was, but Coward remarked in his memoirs that an early version of the play had them all sitting in one bed for the duration. "This, however, was hilariously discarded, after Alfred had suggested a few stage directions which if followed faithfully, would undoubtedly have landed all three of us in gaol."
One last note about Design for Living: The female lead is named Gilda. The well-known film of 1946, called Gilda, is also about a love triangle. Although in Design for Living the woman's name is pronounced "Jill-da" and in the other film it's pronounced the other way.
Cavalcade was in the same volume as Design for Living, so I read it. I don't believe there is anything funny about it at all. The first act is set in England, 1899, when a woman's husband is going off to the Boer War. She's very afraid for him, but remarks that at least her two young sons will never have to go to war. Fast-forward fifteen years, when of course one of her sons goes off to fight in World War I, and eventually dies.
The other has already drowned on the Titanic, for good measure. Actually, we see him and his wife, on a ship, on their honeymoon, talking about how happy they are. Then the lady moves her cloak and we see the name of the ship. Was Coward the inventor of this scene? It's been done many times, I know that.
Possibly Cavalcade was not seen as an anti-war play when it came out, but it definitely seems like one to me now. The 1930's are actually one of my favorite decades, for literature and film (maybe not so much the visual arts.) Some of my favorite writers flourished then, and, being favorites of mine, none of them were very keen on war. Of course, most of them didn't know there was another big one coming up. But they gathered their rosebuds while they might.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Classic Star Trek: "Where No Man Has Gone Before"
I've been watching some of the original Star Trek episodes, surprised by how enjoyable they are. Old science fiction shows don't always age well . . . modern people complain about cheesy effects, the technology is usually laughable -- in short, what was cutting-edge then looks silly today.
But there are some things that don't change: the importance of character psychology, dramatic conflict, and a sense of adventure. Even back then, some people knew how to write good scripts, and some people knew how to act.
"Where No Man Has Gone Before" was the second of two pilot episodes. It stars Kirk and Spock, although the well-known cast had not yet been completely assembled and the costumes are different. The plot involves an old friend of Kirk's (Gary Mitchell) who gets zapped by some mysterious ray (never actually explained) and develops super powers.
There is one very neat scene, in which Kirk comes to visit Mitchell in sickbay after he gets zapped. Mitchell reminisces about their days at Starfleet Academy, when Kirk ("Lt." Kirk then) was a very demanding instructor and Mitchell was a rather lazy student. In order to distract Kirk from his teaching duties, Mitchell sends a woman to seduce him. He boasts, "I told her exactly what she had to do." Kirk says "You set that up? I almost married her!"
This scene accomplishes two important things: it tells us how long, and how intimately, Mitchell and Kirk have known each other; and it suggests that Mitchell has always been a little manipulative. It's never spelled out, but obviously, if you think about it, these new abilities have given him the power to do more of what he's always enjoyed: playing games with people, tricking them, generally interfering with their lives. It's not really true that he was changed into a different person. Classic Trek isn't known for its subtlety . . . but it is there. That scene is very well done.
Another interesting thing about this episode is that it takes ESP (psychic powers) for granted. Starfleet apparently tests people for "esper" skills, and we're told that Mitchell got a very high score. Only in the 1960's could such a thing be seriously discussed and included in a science fiction show.
From what I've seen so far, classic Trek is an odd combination of optimism and paranoia. The optimism is expressed in the bright color scheme and bright lighting, as well as the multiracial cast and the implication that humans are no longer at war with each other. The paranoia is found in the fact that, as far as I can recall, most episodes of TOS involve encountering some entity with superhuman powers and destroying it. There are a few exceptions, but for the most part we learn that the universe is full of hostile creatures and humans are plucky little heroes who succeed against all odds, rather like Hobbits. (Mitchell becomes evil because he is no longer human. Except, of course, he is.)
On the one hand, the show argues that power corrupts. On the other hand, our heroes are always justified in using whatever power they have in whatever way they see fit, because they are the Good Guys. Everybody else is either misguided or downright evil. Kirk pays lip service to the Prime Directive of non-interference, but really, how often does he abide by it? Is he actually capable of visiting a planet and saying, "Well, I disapprove of the way these people live their lives, but I can't do anything about it. Prime Directive! End of episode!" No.
It's also interesting that Kirk constantly praises the value of emotion; or rather, Spock's complete reliance on logic gives him the opportunity to praise emotion. To what extent does this undercut Kirk's masculinity? I was impressed by how often Kirk seems to be acting from the heart. And of course, the episodes are structured so that he usually has to destroy the baddie of the week in order to save his crew. How very nurturing of him.
But there are some things that don't change: the importance of character psychology, dramatic conflict, and a sense of adventure. Even back then, some people knew how to write good scripts, and some people knew how to act.
"Where No Man Has Gone Before" was the second of two pilot episodes. It stars Kirk and Spock, although the well-known cast had not yet been completely assembled and the costumes are different. The plot involves an old friend of Kirk's (Gary Mitchell) who gets zapped by some mysterious ray (never actually explained) and develops super powers.
There is one very neat scene, in which Kirk comes to visit Mitchell in sickbay after he gets zapped. Mitchell reminisces about their days at Starfleet Academy, when Kirk ("Lt." Kirk then) was a very demanding instructor and Mitchell was a rather lazy student. In order to distract Kirk from his teaching duties, Mitchell sends a woman to seduce him. He boasts, "I told her exactly what she had to do." Kirk says "You set that up? I almost married her!"
This scene accomplishes two important things: it tells us how long, and how intimately, Mitchell and Kirk have known each other; and it suggests that Mitchell has always been a little manipulative. It's never spelled out, but obviously, if you think about it, these new abilities have given him the power to do more of what he's always enjoyed: playing games with people, tricking them, generally interfering with their lives. It's not really true that he was changed into a different person. Classic Trek isn't known for its subtlety . . . but it is there. That scene is very well done.
Another interesting thing about this episode is that it takes ESP (psychic powers) for granted. Starfleet apparently tests people for "esper" skills, and we're told that Mitchell got a very high score. Only in the 1960's could such a thing be seriously discussed and included in a science fiction show.
From what I've seen so far, classic Trek is an odd combination of optimism and paranoia. The optimism is expressed in the bright color scheme and bright lighting, as well as the multiracial cast and the implication that humans are no longer at war with each other. The paranoia is found in the fact that, as far as I can recall, most episodes of TOS involve encountering some entity with superhuman powers and destroying it. There are a few exceptions, but for the most part we learn that the universe is full of hostile creatures and humans are plucky little heroes who succeed against all odds, rather like Hobbits. (Mitchell becomes evil because he is no longer human. Except, of course, he is.)
On the one hand, the show argues that power corrupts. On the other hand, our heroes are always justified in using whatever power they have in whatever way they see fit, because they are the Good Guys. Everybody else is either misguided or downright evil. Kirk pays lip service to the Prime Directive of non-interference, but really, how often does he abide by it? Is he actually capable of visiting a planet and saying, "Well, I disapprove of the way these people live their lives, but I can't do anything about it. Prime Directive! End of episode!" No.
It's also interesting that Kirk constantly praises the value of emotion; or rather, Spock's complete reliance on logic gives him the opportunity to praise emotion. To what extent does this undercut Kirk's masculinity? I was impressed by how often Kirk seems to be acting from the heart. And of course, the episodes are structured so that he usually has to destroy the baddie of the week in order to save his crew. How very nurturing of him.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Ambivalent Legacy
Two recent news stories collided in my mind and I imagined that the late Ted Kennedy had once kidnapped an 11-year-old girl, kept her captive in his backyard for 15 years and fathered two children on her. (Is that worse than leaving someone to die in a submerged car? Answer to rhetorical question: yes, I believe that prolonged abuse is worse than a "quick" death. But anyway.)
On one of the blogs I visit, a discussion began on who was the "greatest American Senator" ever. Someone suggested Henry Clay (about whom I know nothing) and someone else objected on the grounds that Clay owned slaves. Then they headed into "you can't judge the past by the standards of the present" territory. Personally I can't bring myself to agree with that. It implies that nobody back then knew that slavery was wrong. I am sure that the people who were living in slavery knew it was wrong.
It's just that their opinions didn't count (because slaves are not human.) And possibly there are people today who think that their opinions still don't count. A thing does not become immoral until the ruling class decides that it's immoral. Isn't that right?
The Kennedys are just a big heap of moral ambiguity. They did so many good things! They did so many bad things! Which one outweighs the other? We all hope to be judged kindly. But I . . . I don't think it's just a question of "I did ten good things and five bad things" or "I did three really good things and 15 things that were not really all that bad." I think it's a question of power.
If someone uses their power for good, then that's good. If they use their power for bad -- yeah, that's bad. Abuses of power count for much more on the bad side than right uses of power count for the good. And the reason is that people excuse abuses committed by the powerful. They do this because they want to ally themselves with the powerful. There's no point in standing up for someone who has no power. How can they benefit you? You want to curry favor with someone who has favors to hand out. You don't associate with losers.
I blogged recently about a conversation between a childhood friend of mine, and someone who bullied me in childhood. I didn't mention that the bully also wrote "I admire you standing up for her." Because it is so very unusual to take the side of someone who's demonstrated themselves to be a loser. She didn't mean standing up for me at the time, either. She's talking about their present conversation, years later. Even now it is admirable, in the mind of a bully, to say just one little word.
Yes, a certain number of people are willing to side with the underdog, at least some of the time. A large number of people are the underdog . . . sometimes they side with their oppressors and sometimes they don't. I'm trying to say more than just "side with the underdog" . . . I'm trying to say, that powerful people are dangerous. Because somehow, crimes against the powerless are always minimized.
I appreciate the ambiguity of someone who uses their powers both for good and for evil. There's also a saying about "someone who has the power to do evil, but refrains . . . ." But I just can't join in unmitigated, or even faintly mitigated, praise. Because there are too many people, alive and dead, who never got a chance to speak for themselves. That's why.
On one of the blogs I visit, a discussion began on who was the "greatest American Senator" ever. Someone suggested Henry Clay (about whom I know nothing) and someone else objected on the grounds that Clay owned slaves. Then they headed into "you can't judge the past by the standards of the present" territory. Personally I can't bring myself to agree with that. It implies that nobody back then knew that slavery was wrong. I am sure that the people who were living in slavery knew it was wrong.
It's just that their opinions didn't count (because slaves are not human.) And possibly there are people today who think that their opinions still don't count. A thing does not become immoral until the ruling class decides that it's immoral. Isn't that right?
The Kennedys are just a big heap of moral ambiguity. They did so many good things! They did so many bad things! Which one outweighs the other? We all hope to be judged kindly. But I . . . I don't think it's just a question of "I did ten good things and five bad things" or "I did three really good things and 15 things that were not really all that bad." I think it's a question of power.
If someone uses their power for good, then that's good. If they use their power for bad -- yeah, that's bad. Abuses of power count for much more on the bad side than right uses of power count for the good. And the reason is that people excuse abuses committed by the powerful. They do this because they want to ally themselves with the powerful. There's no point in standing up for someone who has no power. How can they benefit you? You want to curry favor with someone who has favors to hand out. You don't associate with losers.
I blogged recently about a conversation between a childhood friend of mine, and someone who bullied me in childhood. I didn't mention that the bully also wrote "I admire you standing up for her." Because it is so very unusual to take the side of someone who's demonstrated themselves to be a loser. She didn't mean standing up for me at the time, either. She's talking about their present conversation, years later. Even now it is admirable, in the mind of a bully, to say just one little word.
Yes, a certain number of people are willing to side with the underdog, at least some of the time. A large number of people are the underdog . . . sometimes they side with their oppressors and sometimes they don't. I'm trying to say more than just "side with the underdog" . . . I'm trying to say, that powerful people are dangerous. Because somehow, crimes against the powerless are always minimized.
I appreciate the ambiguity of someone who uses their powers both for good and for evil. There's also a saying about "someone who has the power to do evil, but refrains . . . ." But I just can't join in unmitigated, or even faintly mitigated, praise. Because there are too many people, alive and dead, who never got a chance to speak for themselves. That's why.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Shakespeare Confession
Okay, I admit it: my favorite Shakespeare play is Measure for Measure. Yes, I admire Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet (although I insist that what Lear needed was an appointment with the cluestick.) But Measure is just so weird, and dark, and twisted, and modern. Is it modern? Can I say that? It was written in 1604, after all.
It is officially a comedy, because it ends with a number of weddings, and nobody gets killed. But various people are threatened with death, and most of those weddings are coerced, which makes the classification as "comedy" a bit unsettling.
The action of the play is driven by the ruler of a city (the Duke), who decides to go away, leaving someone else (named Angelo) in charge, and then sneak back in disguise to see how things go.
Angelo is a cold-hearted bastard, who claims to believe, or honestly thinks he does believe, in Justice. He decides to enforce certain laws against fornication, which have been on the books for some time but mostly ignored. Claudio, who got his fiancee pregnant, is therefore condemned to death. Claudio's sister, Isabella, goes to Angelo to plead for clemency. Angelo gets the hots for her, and suddenly understands why fornication is to attractive. He offers to pardon Claudio if Isabella will have sex with him.
Isabella is about to become a nun, which is to say, she places a very high value on chastity. She says "No!" and rushes off to tell Claudio what happened. At first Claudio agrees that it would be wrong. One of the most chilling moments in the play is when he gradually breaks down and ends up begging Isabella to sacrifice her virginity for his life.
The Duke's actions bring about justice, but he seems to believe that justice cannot be done without tremendous amounts of deception. That's just weird. In short, there are no heroes in the play -- that's what makes it seem modern.
Although this particular play is very obscure, like all Shakespeare's work it generated several quotes which have passed into common discourse (depending, of course, on where you get your discourse from.) "Be absolute for death," "They say best men are molded out of faults," "And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies" are all from Measure for Measure.
Good stuff.
It is officially a comedy, because it ends with a number of weddings, and nobody gets killed. But various people are threatened with death, and most of those weddings are coerced, which makes the classification as "comedy" a bit unsettling.
The action of the play is driven by the ruler of a city (the Duke), who decides to go away, leaving someone else (named Angelo) in charge, and then sneak back in disguise to see how things go.
Angelo is a cold-hearted bastard, who claims to believe, or honestly thinks he does believe, in Justice. He decides to enforce certain laws against fornication, which have been on the books for some time but mostly ignored. Claudio, who got his fiancee pregnant, is therefore condemned to death. Claudio's sister, Isabella, goes to Angelo to plead for clemency. Angelo gets the hots for her, and suddenly understands why fornication is to attractive. He offers to pardon Claudio if Isabella will have sex with him.
Isabella is about to become a nun, which is to say, she places a very high value on chastity. She says "No!" and rushes off to tell Claudio what happened. At first Claudio agrees that it would be wrong. One of the most chilling moments in the play is when he gradually breaks down and ends up begging Isabella to sacrifice her virginity for his life.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where,Now the Duke, disguised as a friar, steps in. But he is a very manipulative guy. Although he has a plan to save Claudio's life, he tells him "It's hopeless. Give up. You're just going to die." Apparently this is for the good of his soul. The Duke also tells Isabella, later, that their plan failed and her brother is dead. He lets her go on believing this for quite some time.
to lie in cold obstruction and to rot,
. . . 'tis too horrible.
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
that age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
can lay on nature is a paradise
to what we fear of death.
The Duke's actions bring about justice, but he seems to believe that justice cannot be done without tremendous amounts of deception. That's just weird. In short, there are no heroes in the play -- that's what makes it seem modern.
Although this particular play is very obscure, like all Shakespeare's work it generated several quotes which have passed into common discourse (depending, of course, on where you get your discourse from.) "Be absolute for death," "They say best men are molded out of faults," "And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies" are all from Measure for Measure.
Good stuff.
Out of the Past
Thanks to the magic of Facebook, I discovered that two of my friends from elementary school were "friends" with someone who constantly teased me. I told them about it. One of them wrote to her "you were one of the kids that tortured her in school, so not cool."
This person's response:
On the other hand, who taught these kids that "doing your own thing" was not okay? They did all of us a disservice. I'm angry about that.
This person's response:
Nope, you are right about it not being so cool. It taught many of us a good lesson to stop bullying. . . . She was always way brighter than most of us and did her own thing. Doing your own thing was something that took many of us years later to realize that it was okay.On the one hand, I wonder exactly when "we" learned this lesson, because they certainly didn't stop teasing me the whole time I went to school there.
On the other hand, who taught these kids that "doing your own thing" was not okay? They did all of us a disservice. I'm angry about that.
Friday, August 14, 2009
How to Cast Off
Okay, I can figure out how to cast on, and I remember knitting and purling, but casting off doesn't stick in my mind after a year or so has gone by. So here is a helpful link:
http://www.knittinghelp.com/videos/casting-off
It has several varieties of casting off, some of which look very useful even though I will never actually use them.
The basic technique: "Slip or knit the first stitch. *Knit the next stitch. Pass the first stitch over the second. Repeat from *. "
There.
http://www.knittinghelp.com/videos/casting-off
It has several varieties of casting off, some of which look very useful even though I will never actually use them.
The basic technique: "Slip or knit the first stitch. *Knit the next stitch. Pass the first stitch over the second. Repeat from *. "
There.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Washington Irving
A friend recently loaned me Washington Irving's Sketch Book. She thought I would like it and she was right. I liked it so much that I headed over to Wikipedia to see what the dish on Irving is. Some of this info comes from there.
Washington Irving (1783-1859) is said to be one of the first Americans to make a living as a writer. He created the following items:
He lived in England for many years. As a Jane Austen fan, I have to remark that they briefly overlapped, chronologically as well as geographically. He first moved to England in 1815; Austen died two years later. It seems unlikely that they ever met, but they both worked with the same publisher (John Murray) and it is tempting to think that they had mutual acquaintances (I do not know if a publisher counts as an acquaintance.)
Sir Walter Scott was an admirer of both writers - Austen and Irving - but a personal friend and benefactor to Irving alone. In his preface to the Sketch Book, Irving tells the story of how Scott offered him the position of editor of a magazine. Perhaps because he had tried this before, Irving had to refuse. He quotes from his letter to Scott:
Throughout the Sketch Book he portrays himself as a dilettante, a rootless, homeless wanderer and essentially lazy person. This must have been somewhat of an exaggeration. The fact is that he did a lot of writing, which is hard work (especially if he was able to make it seem effortless), and a lot of traveling, which always requires exertion. It seems to have been part of his technique for charming people, to insist that he was not to be taken seriously.
The person who wrote the afterword to this edition of the Sketch Book claims, among other things, that underneath his light-hearted facade Irving was melancholy and obsessed with death. "Underneath" is not quite accurate. The Sketch Book contains many stories about tragic deaths, funerals, and so on, along with such lines as "[I was] indulging in that kind of melancholy fancying which has in it something sweeter even than pleasure." Apparently some later editions of the book removed all the depressing chapters - but that's not Irving's fault, now is it?
As for being obsessed with death: it may seem that way to a modern reader. But people paid much more attention to death in earlier times. It was present for them in a way that it's not for us. When Irving asks, "who is so fortunate as never to have followed someone he has loved to the tomb?" he's referring to ordinary reality. He himself was one of eleven children, of whom three died in infancy. His fiancee died at the age of nineteen (in fact, he never married.) I don't think he would have written so much about death and funeral customs if he didn't think his audience would be interested.
In some ways, he was a very conventional person. Many of the stories in the Sketch Book praise old customs and old writers, lament their passing, and criticize novelty. But he did allow himself a few rebellions. His sympathy for Native Americans was apparently very unusual for his time. He retells from a "volume of early colonial history" an incident in which a group of Europeans surround an Indian village, set fire to it and kill all the inhabitants (mostly women and children, as the warriors had been defeated in a previous battle.) He quotes:
Washington Irving (1783-1859) is said to be one of the first Americans to make a living as a writer. He created the following items:
- "Gotham" as a nickname for New York City.
- the myth that in 1492, Columbus and his compatriots believed the Earth was flat. Yes, apparently it's a myth.
- the tale of Rip van Winkle, which retained its popularity for a long time.
- the tale of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow, which also retained its popularity for a long time, and was even made into a Walt Disney cartoon in 1958.
He lived in England for many years. As a Jane Austen fan, I have to remark that they briefly overlapped, chronologically as well as geographically. He first moved to England in 1815; Austen died two years later. It seems unlikely that they ever met, but they both worked with the same publisher (John Murray) and it is tempting to think that they had mutual acquaintances (I do not know if a publisher counts as an acquaintance.)
Sir Walter Scott was an admirer of both writers - Austen and Irving - but a personal friend and benefactor to Irving alone. In his preface to the Sketch Book, Irving tells the story of how Scott offered him the position of editor of a magazine. Perhaps because he had tried this before, Irving had to refuse. He quotes from his letter to Scott:
"My whole course of life has been desultory, and I am unfitted for any periodically recurring task, or any stipulated labor of body or mind."I find it rather amusing that, after having declared himself completely incapable of doing any actual work, he ended up going into the diplomatic service.
Throughout the Sketch Book he portrays himself as a dilettante, a rootless, homeless wanderer and essentially lazy person. This must have been somewhat of an exaggeration. The fact is that he did a lot of writing, which is hard work (especially if he was able to make it seem effortless), and a lot of traveling, which always requires exertion. It seems to have been part of his technique for charming people, to insist that he was not to be taken seriously.
The person who wrote the afterword to this edition of the Sketch Book claims, among other things, that underneath his light-hearted facade Irving was melancholy and obsessed with death. "Underneath" is not quite accurate. The Sketch Book contains many stories about tragic deaths, funerals, and so on, along with such lines as "[I was] indulging in that kind of melancholy fancying which has in it something sweeter even than pleasure." Apparently some later editions of the book removed all the depressing chapters - but that's not Irving's fault, now is it?
As for being obsessed with death: it may seem that way to a modern reader. But people paid much more attention to death in earlier times. It was present for them in a way that it's not for us. When Irving asks, "who is so fortunate as never to have followed someone he has loved to the tomb?" he's referring to ordinary reality. He himself was one of eleven children, of whom three died in infancy. His fiancee died at the age of nineteen (in fact, he never married.) I don't think he would have written so much about death and funeral customs if he didn't think his audience would be interested.
In some ways, he was a very conventional person. Many of the stories in the Sketch Book praise old customs and old writers, lament their passing, and criticize novelty. But he did allow himself a few rebellions. His sympathy for Native Americans was apparently very unusual for his time. He retells from a "volume of early colonial history" an incident in which a group of Europeans surround an Indian village, set fire to it and kill all the inhabitants (mostly women and children, as the warriors had been defeated in a previous battle.) He quotes:
"they were in much doubt then, and afterwards seriously enquired whether burning their enemies alive could be consistent with humanity, and the benevolent principles of the Gospel."And yet you will note that they didn't discover their doubts until afterward.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Rainbow Fields
When I was a college freshman, I spent a semester in therapy. For the first session, the counselor handed me a pad of paper and some crayons. "Draw a picture of your childhood," she said.
That was easy. Without hesitation, I drew a large circle, for the horizon. I drew a line intersecting the southern edge of the circle - that was the road. Most of the circle I colored green, pink and blue. The fields were green - they were never actually pink and blue, but that's the way I remember them: magical colors. In the summer they turned orange and yellow (for real!) with Indian paintbrush flowers. I should have drawn the woods too but I can't remember if I did.
I put a dot out in the field to represent myself. Where our house was I put a large black dot. It was concentrated: thick, black, ugly. I put four dots next to it to represent my family. I put one more dot outside of the circle to represent my father. Then I was done.
The counselor and I looked at the picture. "What do you see?" she asked. I started to explain it to her and then I stopped.
"That's strange," I said. "I didn't intend to do that."
"What?" she asked (no doubt with a certain professional satisfaction.)
"That dot out in the field is me," I said. "That's where I was happy. I put four dots to represent my family . . . my mother, my two brothers . . . and me, again. I didn't realize I was putting myself twice."
"There are two of you," she said.
"Yeah. There are two of me."
I don't recall that we talked about that very much. I needed time to assimilate this new idea, and there were more specific things that I wanted to talk about. But it's certainly true that I spent a lot of time - then, and right up to now - trying to find my real self. Not the self that everybody else saw, or failed to see.
It's certainly true that the lessons I learned in the rainbow fields are what have kept me alive. To summarize: the human world is not the only world, thank goodness. Human beings (including myself) are selfish, narrow-minded, and scared.
There's a whole universe out there, much bigger than humanity. It provides beauty, nourishment, and a certain amount of danger, too. It is constantly changing. Constantly alive. Humans build their little structures and push their little buttons. Many of them don't seem to realize that the universe is alive. Life goes on without them. I was stifling inside that little box. I had to get out.
Sometimes I still forget those lessons. But I have to remember, because I can't survive without them. (And even though I live in the city now, I worry about people who have never known any other environment. That can't be good.)
The universe still surprises me.
Note: I posted a slightly different version of this on my other blog.
That was easy. Without hesitation, I drew a large circle, for the horizon. I drew a line intersecting the southern edge of the circle - that was the road. Most of the circle I colored green, pink and blue. The fields were green - they were never actually pink and blue, but that's the way I remember them: magical colors. In the summer they turned orange and yellow (for real!) with Indian paintbrush flowers. I should have drawn the woods too but I can't remember if I did.
I put a dot out in the field to represent myself. Where our house was I put a large black dot. It was concentrated: thick, black, ugly. I put four dots next to it to represent my family. I put one more dot outside of the circle to represent my father. Then I was done.
The counselor and I looked at the picture. "What do you see?" she asked. I started to explain it to her and then I stopped.
"That's strange," I said. "I didn't intend to do that."
"What?" she asked (no doubt with a certain professional satisfaction.)
"That dot out in the field is me," I said. "That's where I was happy. I put four dots to represent my family . . . my mother, my two brothers . . . and me, again. I didn't realize I was putting myself twice."
"There are two of you," she said.
"Yeah. There are two of me."
I don't recall that we talked about that very much. I needed time to assimilate this new idea, and there were more specific things that I wanted to talk about. But it's certainly true that I spent a lot of time - then, and right up to now - trying to find my real self. Not the self that everybody else saw, or failed to see.
It's certainly true that the lessons I learned in the rainbow fields are what have kept me alive. To summarize: the human world is not the only world, thank goodness. Human beings (including myself) are selfish, narrow-minded, and scared.
There's a whole universe out there, much bigger than humanity. It provides beauty, nourishment, and a certain amount of danger, too. It is constantly changing. Constantly alive. Humans build their little structures and push their little buttons. Many of them don't seem to realize that the universe is alive. Life goes on without them. I was stifling inside that little box. I had to get out.
Sometimes I still forget those lessons. But I have to remember, because I can't survive without them. (And even though I live in the city now, I worry about people who have never known any other environment. That can't be good.)
The universe still surprises me.
Note: I posted a slightly different version of this on my other blog.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Sunset Blvd
I saw this movie recently and thought it was amazing. I had heard a lot about it; ironically, it was not what I had been led to expect. It's often described as a "classic" -- I agree with that. Two other labels that get applied to it are "camp" and "film noir" -- those are two things I didn't see in the film.
It's very much an homage to bygone days: it harks back to the early Hollywood era, and even to earlier times than that. Norma Desmond, the aging silent-film star, has written a script for a movie version of Salome. For me, it's impossible to hear "Salome" and not think of Oscar Wilde, especially since he and Norma have quite a bit in common (including, but not limited to, a ravenous hunger for the limelight, a certain disconnection from reality, and a predilection for dangerous young men.) But the name of Norma's butler (and former director), Max von Mayerling, carries its own resonance of the tragic romantic. "Mayerling" is the place where, in 1889, Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria killed his lover, Marie Vetsera, and himself. Several movies have been made about this -- the first one known to IMDB was in 1936.
As many people know, in Sunset Blvd the actors who portray Norma and Max were in real life a former film star and a former director. Gloria Swanson, fortunately, was much more successful than her character. When this film came out, in 1950, she had been absent from Hollywood for almost twenty years (aside from one appearance in a 1941 film), but she had plenty of stage work and entrepreneurship to keep her busy.
The appearance of Erich von Stroheim in this film is perhaps more amazing, since his career really could not be described as successful. He and Swanson only made one film together, but it was the film that destroyed his Hollywood career. It's also the film that Norma Desmond watches while recalling her past glory, and apparently Stroheim suggested that this particular film be used, and even provided the footage. Was that painful -- or could it perhaps have been gratifying? It is arguable that this movie is not merely an homage to the silent film era, but specifically to Stroheim. (For example, the character played by William Holden bears a certain resemblance to some of Stroheim's protagonists -- an unscruplous seducer of rich women.)
Is it camp? Is it noir? Not in my opinion -- because of the character of Norma Desmond. People who imitate her may well be doing camp, but she is not. She has no notion that anybody might find her mannerisms amusing -- in her own mind, she is behaving the way stars behave. (The interesting question is, is Gloria Swanson doing camp? There are some brief, key moments when she acts "normal" and you realize that she, at least, knows what naturalistic acting is. But because her character takes herself absolutely seriously, I can't help but think that Swanson takes it seriously too. She's not trying to give us the slightest opportunity to laugh, whereas, as far as I can tell, spectators of camp are always at least on the verge of laughter.)
Neither is it noir, because from what I've seen, in film noir the woman (there only ever seems to be one woman per film) is always evil. She has ulterior motives for seducing the hero; she's deceiving him. Norma is not deceiving anyone except herself; and she has no ulterior motives. She seduces Joe Gillis because she wants love, admiration and (quite possibly) sex with a handsome, virile young man. That's not evil . . . and yet Norma has a bad rep, because she's sexually active and somewhat grotesque (but nowhere near as much as I was led to believe.) She lives in a fantasy world -- but that's what Hollywood is all about.
Shortly before watching Sunset Blvd, I watched another film by the same director, Double Indemnity. Unmistakable, classic film noir. I hated it. It was too slow, too talky, and, without wishing to spoil the ending, I thought it was completely implausible. But the two films do have a very similar structure. They're both told in flashback, with a voiceover by the hero*. In Double Indemnity I thought that guy would never shut up. In Sunset Blvd he does have to stop talking occasionally, partly because Norma demands her share of attention and also because he's not really allowed to be explicit about his relationship with her.
He's a gigolo; that's bad enough. If he actually cared for her that would be even worse, and I personally think he does care, at least a little. She's fifty years old; his age is not specified but the actor himself was about thirty at the time. Pairings of older actors and younger actresses were, and still are, routine. For a man to get together with a woman old enough to be his mother was, and still is, highly unusual. In fact, I was so caught up in the film that when he leans over her for their first kiss, I thought, "They're not really gonna, are they? They can't!" (and the fadeout does actually finish before their lips touch.)
Anyway, great film. A film for lovers of film.
* I think he does count as the hero, although a flawed one. Another difference between Sunset Blvd and film noir, in my view, is that Norma Desmond is definitely the heroine of her film -- even though William Holden gets top billing -- but the women in noir don't ever seem to be heroines.
It's very much an homage to bygone days: it harks back to the early Hollywood era, and even to earlier times than that. Norma Desmond, the aging silent-film star, has written a script for a movie version of Salome. For me, it's impossible to hear "Salome" and not think of Oscar Wilde, especially since he and Norma have quite a bit in common (including, but not limited to, a ravenous hunger for the limelight, a certain disconnection from reality, and a predilection for dangerous young men.) But the name of Norma's butler (and former director), Max von Mayerling, carries its own resonance of the tragic romantic. "Mayerling" is the place where, in 1889, Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria killed his lover, Marie Vetsera, and himself. Several movies have been made about this -- the first one known to IMDB was in 1936.
As many people know, in Sunset Blvd the actors who portray Norma and Max were in real life a former film star and a former director. Gloria Swanson, fortunately, was much more successful than her character. When this film came out, in 1950, she had been absent from Hollywood for almost twenty years (aside from one appearance in a 1941 film), but she had plenty of stage work and entrepreneurship to keep her busy.
The appearance of Erich von Stroheim in this film is perhaps more amazing, since his career really could not be described as successful. He and Swanson only made one film together, but it was the film that destroyed his Hollywood career. It's also the film that Norma Desmond watches while recalling her past glory, and apparently Stroheim suggested that this particular film be used, and even provided the footage. Was that painful -- or could it perhaps have been gratifying? It is arguable that this movie is not merely an homage to the silent film era, but specifically to Stroheim. (For example, the character played by William Holden bears a certain resemblance to some of Stroheim's protagonists -- an unscruplous seducer of rich women.)
Is it camp? Is it noir? Not in my opinion -- because of the character of Norma Desmond. People who imitate her may well be doing camp, but she is not. She has no notion that anybody might find her mannerisms amusing -- in her own mind, she is behaving the way stars behave. (The interesting question is, is Gloria Swanson doing camp? There are some brief, key moments when she acts "normal" and you realize that she, at least, knows what naturalistic acting is. But because her character takes herself absolutely seriously, I can't help but think that Swanson takes it seriously too. She's not trying to give us the slightest opportunity to laugh, whereas, as far as I can tell, spectators of camp are always at least on the verge of laughter.)
Neither is it noir, because from what I've seen, in film noir the woman (there only ever seems to be one woman per film) is always evil. She has ulterior motives for seducing the hero; she's deceiving him. Norma is not deceiving anyone except herself; and she has no ulterior motives. She seduces Joe Gillis because she wants love, admiration and (quite possibly) sex with a handsome, virile young man. That's not evil . . . and yet Norma has a bad rep, because she's sexually active and somewhat grotesque (but nowhere near as much as I was led to believe.) She lives in a fantasy world -- but that's what Hollywood is all about.
Shortly before watching Sunset Blvd, I watched another film by the same director, Double Indemnity. Unmistakable, classic film noir. I hated it. It was too slow, too talky, and, without wishing to spoil the ending, I thought it was completely implausible. But the two films do have a very similar structure. They're both told in flashback, with a voiceover by the hero*. In Double Indemnity I thought that guy would never shut up. In Sunset Blvd he does have to stop talking occasionally, partly because Norma demands her share of attention and also because he's not really allowed to be explicit about his relationship with her.
He's a gigolo; that's bad enough. If he actually cared for her that would be even worse, and I personally think he does care, at least a little. She's fifty years old; his age is not specified but the actor himself was about thirty at the time. Pairings of older actors and younger actresses were, and still are, routine. For a man to get together with a woman old enough to be his mother was, and still is, highly unusual. In fact, I was so caught up in the film that when he leans over her for their first kiss, I thought, "They're not really gonna, are they? They can't!" (and the fadeout does actually finish before their lips touch.)
Anyway, great film. A film for lovers of film.
* I think he does count as the hero, although a flawed one. Another difference between Sunset Blvd and film noir, in my view, is that Norma Desmond is definitely the heroine of her film -- even though William Holden gets top billing -- but the women in noir don't ever seem to be heroines.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Poetry Roundup
(cross-posted on Facebook)
glass three-quarters full
sunlight, oxygen,
water and earth.
without these things to nourish us
free gifts from the universe
where would we be?
therefore I don't believe that evil outweighs good.
if that were true, nothing could live.
my role models
some people aspire
to reach the top of the heap,
where everyone will recognize their merits
(of course, this requires keeping down the competition.)
but I say:
it is not the favored ones
who can teach me
how to survive
On Hypocrisy
The cruelties of Fate I can't deny,
but human cruelty still makes me angry.
Hafiz writes of hypocrisy and wine - almost too much;
but hypocrisy is nearly the root of all evil.
Heaven says, "Everything I am, I am."
Only humans say, "No, that's not me."
I don't seek love; I am not cruel.
Written in Red
Last night I dreamed I was writing our story
in red ink
on the inside of my blue shirt.
When I looked at the outside, the letters had soaked through,
and I kept asking myself:
"What am I doing? What if people can read this? Do I really want everybody to see my pain?
Am I ruining my favorite shirt?"
But I kept writing.
Speaking of unrealistic goals . . .
the difference is
that if you lie long enough on the Friend's doorstep,
trembling with sincerity,
someday He will take you in.
from the footnote to ghazal 93:
my heart was flung into the fire
like a counterfeit coin
it turned black.
one who reaches the Beloved loses everything else,
even love.
Introduction to Hafiz
1.
Hafiz takes off all his clothes
and jumps up and down in the marketplace.
Everyone knows you're supposed to hide
your nakedness
2.
The poet says, God is everything.
But still we are drawn to imperfections:
the broken half of the moon.
(written on Facebook, April 9, 2009. Thanks to Tahar.)
glass three-quarters full
sunlight, oxygen,
water and earth.
without these things to nourish us
free gifts from the universe
where would we be?
therefore I don't believe that evil outweighs good.
if that were true, nothing could live.
my role models
some people aspire
to reach the top of the heap,
where everyone will recognize their merits
(of course, this requires keeping down the competition.)
but I say:
it is not the favored ones
who can teach me
how to survive
On Hypocrisy
The cruelties of Fate I can't deny,
but human cruelty still makes me angry.
Hafiz writes of hypocrisy and wine - almost too much;
but hypocrisy is nearly the root of all evil.
Heaven says, "Everything I am, I am."
Only humans say, "No, that's not me."
I don't seek love; I am not cruel.
Written in Red
Last night I dreamed I was writing our story
in red ink
on the inside of my blue shirt.
When I looked at the outside, the letters had soaked through,
and I kept asking myself:
"What am I doing? What if people can read this? Do I really want everybody to see my pain?
Am I ruining my favorite shirt?"
But I kept writing.
Speaking of unrealistic goals . . .
the difference is
that if you lie long enough on the Friend's doorstep,
trembling with sincerity,
someday He will take you in.
from the footnote to ghazal 93:
my heart was flung into the fire
like a counterfeit coin
it turned black.
one who reaches the Beloved loses everything else,
even love.
Introduction to Hafiz
1.
Hafiz takes off all his clothes
and jumps up and down in the marketplace.
Everyone knows you're supposed to hide
your nakedness
2.
The poet says, God is everything.
But still we are drawn to imperfections:
the broken half of the moon.
(written on Facebook, April 9, 2009. Thanks to Tahar.)
The Novels of Thomas Hardy
When I was a teenager, one of my favorite books was A Long Way from Verona, by Jane Gardam. There's a bit near the end where the protagonist is feeling rather depressed, so she decides to take her mind off it by reading all the Classic English Novels in the library. All goes well until she gets to H and discovers Jude the Obscure. According to her, the main point of this book is that nothing good ever happens to anyone, "BECAUSE IT NEVER DOES."
This convinced me that I ought to avoid Hardy, and I have kept that resolution until just lately. One of the things that slowly changed my mind was this comment in the memoirs of an Edwardian gentleman:
Normally I prefer books with happy endings, but these didn't bother me as much, perhaps because society is different now and people who have sex outside of marriage are not ostracized (in fact, it seems to be accepted that everybody does it.) Of course, in Hardy's day lots of people did it too -- he was condemned only for putting facts in writing.
I admire his commitment to the truth (and the beautiful venom of his rants about his critics in the introduction to Tess, amounting to "only people with dirty minds see things like that in my book.") His style is definitely ponderous, but that makes it clear that he wasn't just writing to titillate. He took these problems seriously. In short, that girl in A Long Way from Verona didn't understand Hardy at all.
* Don't you hate it when people have been telling you all your life "You really should read such-and-such" and then they turn out to be right? The same thing happened to me with The Woman Warrior and The Country of the Pointed Firs. Stupid people knowing stuff.
This convinced me that I ought to avoid Hardy, and I have kept that resolution until just lately. One of the things that slowly changed my mind was this comment in the memoirs of an Edwardian gentleman:
" . . . 'romantic love' is ceaselessly vaunted in novels, films, tooth-paste advertisements and in all other available media. Self-deception is widely encouraged and, when marriage intervenes before the rainbow colours fade, couples find themselves in chains. It has often struck me as ironical that Thomas Hardy, some of whose novels movingly illustrate this theme and give such clear-cut warning to romantic lovers, was in his day accused of corrupting young readers' minds! Our parents and grandparents would have done better if they had made him compulsory reading for everyone on the brink of marriage."Finally, a friend kept telling me that Tess of the D'Urbervilles was a really good book. So I read it. He's right.* I have also read Jude the Obscure, and I highly recommend both of them.
Normally I prefer books with happy endings, but these didn't bother me as much, perhaps because society is different now and people who have sex outside of marriage are not ostracized (in fact, it seems to be accepted that everybody does it.) Of course, in Hardy's day lots of people did it too -- he was condemned only for putting facts in writing.
I admire his commitment to the truth (and the beautiful venom of his rants about his critics in the introduction to Tess, amounting to "only people with dirty minds see things like that in my book.") His style is definitely ponderous, but that makes it clear that he wasn't just writing to titillate. He took these problems seriously. In short, that girl in A Long Way from Verona didn't understand Hardy at all.
* Don't you hate it when people have been telling you all your life "You really should read such-and-such" and then they turn out to be right? The same thing happened to me with The Woman Warrior and The Country of the Pointed Firs. Stupid people knowing stuff.
Wives and Daughters, by Elizabeth Gaskell
Mrs. Gaskell was a contemporary of Charlotte Brontë. Although Brontë is better remembered now, Gaskell may have been more popular at the time. She was certainly more prolific (and, not coincidentally, longer-lived.)
I have only read a couple of her books. Wives and Daughters is very long and fairly interesting. It strongly resembles Mansfield Park, being the story of two young women, one meek and self-doubting, the other vivacious and almost too flirtatious for her own good, who are both involved with the same young man. He is, of course, very much taken with the temptress at first but in the end returns to his true love.
In this case, the two young women are stepsisters, which constitutes the other main thread of the novel. Molly's father decides that she needs a mother to assist and chaperone her through adolescence, so he marries a woman, who also has a daughter, without really getting to know her. This turns out to be a mistake.
One of the noteworthy things about the novel is that the "evil" stepmother is not evil at all. She is very frivolous, rather selfish, and not much inclined to honesty. But for the most part her faults are depicted as normal and understandable: she is only human. For example, there is a prolonged description of her struggle to make ends meet after her first husband's death (the only respectable occupation for an upper-middle-class woman at that time was teaching, and she's not very good at it) and her hopes that someone will marry her and relieve her of financial cares.
She also insists on treating Molly on fair and equal terms with her own daughter, unlike the evil stepmothers of fairy tale. There's a fair amount of selfishness in her decision -- she doesn't want people saying bad things about her, and as it turns out, she doesn't get along very well with her own daughter and often praises Molly at her expense.
Molly and Cynthia, her stepsister, become close friends. Cynthia, like her mother, is a very well-drawn and fascinating character -- fascinating in her flaws. She knows instinctively how to attract men . . . and very often doesn't know what to do with them when she's got them. She essentially grew up without any parenting . . . her father was dead and her mother packed her off to boarding school in France. In fact, her mother didn't even want her to come to her second wedding. Cynthia is more strong-willed than Molly but she lacks guidance and doesn't seem to have any plan for her life. She often says that she is not capable of love.
As if all this wasn't enough, the book also alludes to pre-Darwinian evolutionary theory, this being the young hero's field of study. His family is very interesting too, but I've gone on long enough already.
Wives and Daughters was Elizabeth Gaskell's last book. It was published in serial form from 1864 to 1866. Gaskell died at the end of 1865, before she could complete the final chapters.
I have only read a couple of her books. Wives and Daughters is very long and fairly interesting. It strongly resembles Mansfield Park, being the story of two young women, one meek and self-doubting, the other vivacious and almost too flirtatious for her own good, who are both involved with the same young man. He is, of course, very much taken with the temptress at first but in the end returns to his true love.
In this case, the two young women are stepsisters, which constitutes the other main thread of the novel. Molly's father decides that she needs a mother to assist and chaperone her through adolescence, so he marries a woman, who also has a daughter, without really getting to know her. This turns out to be a mistake.
One of the noteworthy things about the novel is that the "evil" stepmother is not evil at all. She is very frivolous, rather selfish, and not much inclined to honesty. But for the most part her faults are depicted as normal and understandable: she is only human. For example, there is a prolonged description of her struggle to make ends meet after her first husband's death (the only respectable occupation for an upper-middle-class woman at that time was teaching, and she's not very good at it) and her hopes that someone will marry her and relieve her of financial cares.
She also insists on treating Molly on fair and equal terms with her own daughter, unlike the evil stepmothers of fairy tale. There's a fair amount of selfishness in her decision -- she doesn't want people saying bad things about her, and as it turns out, she doesn't get along very well with her own daughter and often praises Molly at her expense.
Molly and Cynthia, her stepsister, become close friends. Cynthia, like her mother, is a very well-drawn and fascinating character -- fascinating in her flaws. She knows instinctively how to attract men . . . and very often doesn't know what to do with them when she's got them. She essentially grew up without any parenting . . . her father was dead and her mother packed her off to boarding school in France. In fact, her mother didn't even want her to come to her second wedding. Cynthia is more strong-willed than Molly but she lacks guidance and doesn't seem to have any plan for her life. She often says that she is not capable of love.
As if all this wasn't enough, the book also alludes to pre-Darwinian evolutionary theory, this being the young hero's field of study. His family is very interesting too, but I've gone on long enough already.
Wives and Daughters was Elizabeth Gaskell's last book. It was published in serial form from 1864 to 1866. Gaskell died at the end of 1865, before she could complete the final chapters.
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