"Academic Series" #3 - Gomorrah and Beaufort: War Films on the Home Front and Abroad

Continuing the tradition of strange electives in the recent past, this is from my "World Cinema" class. I compared two films: Gomorrah (Italy, 2008) and Beaufort (Israel, 2007). They both consciously deal with issues of cinematic realism, and the call into question what exactly a war zone is.

"Academic Series" #2 - Mrs. Dalloway "Portrait of the Artist as an Old Woman"

In this piece, I explore Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway in a traditionally modernist way, stemming from Woof's manifesto that much of the things in life are small and fleeting. People think that Mrs Dalloway is a bore - the characters in the novel think the woman is a bore, and people in real life think the book is. It's all about the quiet art of life, of making a moment in your mind with a creative frame.

"Academic Series" #1 - Gog and Magog

I haven't updated in a long time primarily because other things took away from my writing time - namely, finishing my English degree. But some of the pieces I wrote ended up being quite interesting, and I don't think that they would be out of place here. I'll start with an article response for a religious studies "Apocalypticism Throughout the Ages". In it, I semi-formally go through a rough history of Gog and Magog - ephemeral apocalyptic figures that recur throughout history. I'll look at kept them in the human consciousness, and how it relates to ideas of the end of the world in general.

A Few Relevant, Irrelevant and Irreverent Things

A few nights ago I started watching the film The Falcon and the Snowman, a film I was given months ago but only watched in a fit of boredom. It has Sean Penn with the ugliest teenstache I’ve seen in a while. More importantly, there are some creepy parallels to the recent Wikileaks case.

I watched most of it last week, and last night I caught the last 20 minutes, and the film seemed different due to my changed mindset. The film is a true story about a young man who sells US government secrets to the Russians, based solely on his own principles. In the New Yorker’s fascinating profile on Julian Assange, it paints a portrait of a man who I think would have acted similar to Christopher Boyce in the film’s interrogation scene. Here are some excerpts:

Boyce: “I know a thing or two about predatory behaviour, and what once was a legitimate intelligence agency is now being used on weaker governments. I've never been an agent for the KGB. I work for no one but myself.”

Police: “What are you afraid of?

Boyce: “Of people who can imagine and create sophisticated weaponry and a government that can't be trusted with it. We're the only nation that ever used atomic weapons on other human beings. We "are" capable of it.”

               

Police: “By turning over US secrets to the Soviet Union you're putting every man, woman and child here in jeopardy.”

Boyce: “They're already in jeopardy.”

Police: “There are other forms of protest. You don't feel you hurt anybody? The government's worried, Charlie. This case could cause serious political damage. There's debate now whether prosecution is worth the disclosures that might arise in a trial.”

Whether what was done was right or wrong is irrelevant here, but I wanted to highlight how I feel like if Assange were presented with these points, his rebuttals would be quite similar.

I also watched Airplane! last night (I also love that the second one is called Airplane II: The Sequel) because of Leslie Neilson’s recent death which is…just, the worst. While watching it however, I was reminded of the recent TSA controversy. 

In the first few minutes, you see the hilarious sight gag of having to pass through an x-ray to get on a plane, and a passenger having to remove their prosthetic limb. It's presented in a context of upmost silliness. I hope my next flight isn't piloted by a blowup doll. Again.

I Make Music!

HERE is where some of it is.

Couldn’t Have Said it Better Myself

I watched one of my favourite films last night, Synechdoche, New York. Written by the man who is perhaps the best writer in Hollywood, and maker of other favourites, it is one of the few movies that where came out of the theatre crying. As you know, I’m pretty manly, and that doesn’t happen very often.

There have been a few times. The Elephant Man is one of them. Merrick, the disfigured protagonist, carries such a consistent dignity and kindness which breaks the heart. The film also luckily keeps the melodrama low. It’s a film that isn’t about the moments but about the extended performance. (Some fun facts: probably the most mainstream film that David Lynch ever made, and was produced by Mel Brooks, who elected to remove his name from the billing, since it may draw unwelcome comparisons).

I’ll expand on The Elephant Man for a moment to describe the theatrical version as well. I saw it about three years ago in Toronto, and what makes the theatrical version different from the film version is largely the makeup. The film’s was great, and in fact prompted them to introduce the Academy Award for Best Makeup after it came out. The theatrical version however deliberately had no makeup for the Elephant Man.

Brent Carver came out, 55 years-old yet looking like the Di Vinci anatomy of a man (a picture which reminds me of something else). He came out and performed as John Merrick, contorted, distended and speaking with difficulty – it creates an awkward distance with our perception of the character. (On a similar note, I want to link to one of the best Wikpedia page titles ever). I don’t know if it was moving for the same reasons that the film was, and I’m not sure which method was more effective.

Another film that brought me to tears was not in the slow-building way of Elephant Man was that one scene from Cast Away. The scene where Tom Hanks’ character (as if anyone actually knows the character’s name) is escaping from the island where he lived for four years. His only friend and companion, the volleyball Wilson, falls off his raft and floats away. When our hero finds out, he starts wailing and crying, reaching for the smiling volleyball floating just out of reach.

It may sound a little silly, because it’s just a ball. But maybe the scene is powerful not only despite the fact that it is only a ball, but because of it. The fact that Hanks’ character attached so much value to something that is inherently useless makes the emotional connection even more valuable. The ball is a neutral target for all of our protagonist’s emotions, so when it floats away we are basically seeing a manifestation of the protagonist’s entire social and emotional life float away, just out of reach.

But back to Synecdoche, New York. Like I said, it was one of the few films that have made me cry. And it does it in both of the ways specified earlier – the moment and the whole. The overall tone of the film, while bleakly funny at times, is just so heartbreaking. Last night was only my second time watching it, because I am so rarely in that specific mood that I will really want to go through it, even though it’s one of my favourite films. My roommate exclaims, “it’s not that depressing!” I’ll quote here part of the closing monologue.

What was once before you - an exciting, mysterious future - is now behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone's experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone's everyone. So you are Adele, Hazel, Claire, Olive. You are Ellen. All her meager sadnesses are yours; all her loneliness; the gray, straw-like hair; her red raw hands. It's yours. It is time for you to understand this. 

Walk.  

As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as they die; as they move on; as you shed them; as you shed your beauty; your youth; as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving - not coming from any place; not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time. Now you are here, at 7:43. Now you are here, at 7:44. Now you are... 

Gone. 

And this one:  

Now it is waiting and nobody cares. And when your wait is over this room will still exist and it will continue to hold shoes and dress and boxes and maybe someday another waiting person. And maybe not. The room doesn't care either. 

And I can't forget about this: 

Dear diary, I'm afraid I'm gravely ill. It is perhaps times like these that one reflects on things past. An article of clothing from when I was young. A green jacket. I walk with my father. A game we once played. Pretend we're faeries. I'm a girl faerie. My name is Laura Lee. And you're a boy faerie. Your name is Tita Lee. 

Pretend, when we're faeries we fight each other, and I say "Stop hitting me I'll die!" And you hit me again and I say, "Now I have to die." And then you say, "But I'll miss you." And I say, "But I have to. And you'll have to wait a million years to see me again. And I'll be put in a box, and all I'll need is a tiny glass of water and lots of tiny pieces of pizza and the box will have wings like an airplane." And you'll ask, "Where will it take you?" "Home." I say. 

It just speaks to those moments that everyone shares. It’s about the sad fact of life that is: life. The film is peppered with existential ruminations like this, but it is summarized so well in a funeral monologue. Presented here, video and text:

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born.

But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved.

And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen. 

It feels like Kaufman ripped that monologue from my brain, word-for-word. It is one of the best times that I could say, “couldn’t have said it better myself”.

So I’ve got a few million-dollar ideas. Somehow, I haven’t ended up with several million dollars. There must be a problem with exchange rates. Here are just a few, which you can read FOR FREE – patent pending!

1. TV Show: “Great Caesar’s Ghost!”: A young man finds himself moving to Rome, transferred due to his marketing job. His father has recently died. He had a dysfunctional relationship with him and he is haunted by his memory. But there is a mystery behind the true life of his father. His father was a historian, and young…Jim, no, Greg, no, Eric, nah…Steven! Young Steven always hated history, and the pursuit of knowledge that took his father away from him while he was still alive.

Until he moves to Rome, where he can’t escape it! He goes to get a coffee and sees old gorgeous things everywhere. And to make everything worse (except the title of the show), his apartment is haunted by the ghost of one Caesar. Ghost-Nero is ebullient, wacky and magical. Steven starts a grease fire in his kitchen and Nero starts singin’ and playing the Lyre. His powers can take Steven through time, and let him replicate anything he wants! They go on various zany adventures through various-century Rome, missing trains in the 1920s, and hanging out with the Popes that knew how to throw a party. Finally, Steven is brought back in time to meet his father, and the exciting results will finally be revealed on the season finale! 

2. Invention: “Braille Speed-Reader” We all have the ability to scan over a page; and in the 21^st century it’s constantly useful (admit it: you either skimmed to get to this part, or you’re not reading it because you’ve already skimmed past it). I think the blind should be able to do anything we can.* So in that spirit, I would make a Slip n’ Slide, covered all the way down with Braille writing. The blind (visually impaired!) person would take off all of their clothes and slide all the way down, reading through some dense text in a matter of minutes!

3.  Another TV Show: “Prison Bitch” It would be similar to the classic HBO prison drama, Oz. It would be an animated romp set in a dog pound, with talking cartoon dogs. You would have the Latinos, the Aryan Brotherhood, the Mafia and the Yakuza Yakuza. They would fight over cage territory, vie for control of the treats and do it doggy-style to the new inmates. It would appear like various Disney movies about dogs, but would actually more closely resemble certain movies about cats. 

*I’ll use this moment to rant against Helen Keller (who’s always had it way too easy!) She once said “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart.” Maybe Helen is right, but why should anyone take her as an authority on it? She’s never seen a painting or heard a song, how can she compare the beauty of them? It’s like someone saying “the feeling of running down an empty road at dawn is the only thing that will make you feel truly alive” when they have no feet. They’re not qualified to make that statement!