Friday, October 29, 2010
Smell Ya Later Ottawa, Smell Ya Later FOREVER
In just a few hours I'm leaving for Washington DC for the Stewart/Colbert rally. This should be interesting!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I'm Seein’ Double Here: Four Krustys!
Pretty much everyone lives a double life. Some hide it better than others. You could say that if you aren’t living at least a bit of a double life, you’re not even living a single one.
Of course, it’s no startling revelation that people have multiple selves. Beyond the garbs we change for situation – as employee, as parent, as friend and nemesis, we also have the duality of our inner and outer lives. When it comes to the veracity of these shades of self, it’s tempting to look at it like a series of concentric circles, with the private self being the most real, but that may not be valid.
It has been a weekend of twos for me. It’s what inspired me to write this. On Saturday night I attended a burlesque show. To highlight the dualism: it took place in a huge, old church. In fact, there was a large statue of JC in the background, seeming a little neutered by the hedonistic festivities.
I was invited by a co-worker, who works in the HR section for my department in the government. In our office, we have grey-blue carpeting, grey wallpaper and purple-tinged beige cubicles (or maybe grey, I think I’ve discovered a new shade.) To go from that in the daytime to flaming nipple tassels at night is almost the definition of a double life (although it’s subjective: he thinks that it’s not a distinct difference from his work-self). One of the starkly evident signs of this disconnect was the strict insistence of no photography.
Yet, is one more ‘real’ than another? One would be tempted to say that the version of the man that is doing what he is passionate about is him at his truest self.
But maybe that’s a bit romantic, because most of our lives are spent doing boring crap we just slog through. If you want an accurate representation of my life, me sitting at a desk with eyes glazed reflects a greater portion of my life than me being on stage, doing fulfilling and inspiring activities.
And what of the performance? Look at the act of going on stage and acting out a prepared routine, showing off one’s talents. If a person considers their “true self” as an actor and they are pretending to be someone else – is that the actor at their most candidly real self in the act of being candidly someone else?
That’s not even going into the whole sexual element. Sex might the easiest form of a double life, or perhaps the most common. When does sexual instinct end and sexual performance begin? Is it natural expression or just a rendition of what our ideas of sex are. Is the burlesque performer like a writer or a director? Creator or interpreter?
The question of the “true self” arose during another thing I did this weekend – attending an improv show. Here too we are faced with assumptions about the true self, like the idea that when someone is acting spontaneous, we see them at their most vulnerable and real. It’s why psychologists may ask word-association questions. Beyond this, this particular show was “Dangerprov”, which is sort of a Fear Factor/Jackass interpretation of improv.
One of the most memorable hijinx that occurred was getting a performer with an established fear of snakes to do a scene while getting huge snakes (including one I had seen before) placed on him. He went through varying levels of terrified while trying to keep calm and perform a scene. Was this display the improv performer at his most base animal instincts?
On top of all of this, we have to take other factors into effect. A layman (partial) definition of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle is that you cannot measure/observe something without changing that which you are measuring/observing. This should be kept in mind in any performance setting. When a performer expresses their ‘true’ emotions wherever they are, there is an audience and there is an awareness of this audience.
This may be my cynicism and self-consciousness talking, but it can apply to any social situation. In a setting of two people in low light, soft tones and deeply emotional confessions, one person may break into sobs (or othersuch intimate emotional expressions). It is tempting to think that this is their true character, a glimpse into what their inside life is like. But if there is an awareness of the spectator, I’m convinced there is something altered (intentionally or not).
I suppose my inadvertent conclusion to this is that you can’t know anyone fully. This will either seem overly jaded or unsurprising. Even if you want to tell the person you love something deeply important to you, even to articulate and verbalize reframes the actual idea. Words are a performance, with meanings that require coding and decoding. Although there may be ways around this, there are constantly walls around us, even if we wish that weren’t true.
So we are left with as kaleidoscopic selves (sounds like an indie rock band!) talking through tin cans to our broken-mirror loved ones. If we’re a series of concentric circles, then I suppose the goal is to make a nice venn diagram.
Of course, it’s no startling revelation that people have multiple selves. Beyond the garbs we change for situation – as employee, as parent, as friend and nemesis, we also have the duality of our inner and outer lives. When it comes to the veracity of these shades of self, it’s tempting to look at it like a series of concentric circles, with the private self being the most real, but that may not be valid.
It has been a weekend of twos for me. It’s what inspired me to write this. On Saturday night I attended a burlesque show. To highlight the dualism: it took place in a huge, old church. In fact, there was a large statue of JC in the background, seeming a little neutered by the hedonistic festivities.
I was invited by a co-worker, who works in the HR section for my department in the government. In our office, we have grey-blue carpeting, grey wallpaper and purple-tinged beige cubicles (or maybe grey, I think I’ve discovered a new shade.) To go from that in the daytime to flaming nipple tassels at night is almost the definition of a double life (although it’s subjective: he thinks that it’s not a distinct difference from his work-self). One of the starkly evident signs of this disconnect was the strict insistence of no photography.
Yet, is one more ‘real’ than another? One would be tempted to say that the version of the man that is doing what he is passionate about is him at his truest self.
But maybe that’s a bit romantic, because most of our lives are spent doing boring crap we just slog through. If you want an accurate representation of my life, me sitting at a desk with eyes glazed reflects a greater portion of my life than me being on stage, doing fulfilling and inspiring activities.
And what of the performance? Look at the act of going on stage and acting out a prepared routine, showing off one’s talents. If a person considers their “true self” as an actor and they are pretending to be someone else – is that the actor at their most candidly real self in the act of being candidly someone else?
That’s not even going into the whole sexual element. Sex might the easiest form of a double life, or perhaps the most common. When does sexual instinct end and sexual performance begin? Is it natural expression or just a rendition of what our ideas of sex are. Is the burlesque performer like a writer or a director? Creator or interpreter?
The question of the “true self” arose during another thing I did this weekend – attending an improv show. Here too we are faced with assumptions about the true self, like the idea that when someone is acting spontaneous, we see them at their most vulnerable and real. It’s why psychologists may ask word-association questions. Beyond this, this particular show was “Dangerprov”, which is sort of a Fear Factor/Jackass interpretation of improv.
One of the most memorable hijinx that occurred was getting a performer with an established fear of snakes to do a scene while getting huge snakes (including one I had seen before) placed on him. He went through varying levels of terrified while trying to keep calm and perform a scene. Was this display the improv performer at his most base animal instincts?
On top of all of this, we have to take other factors into effect. A layman (partial) definition of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle is that you cannot measure/observe something without changing that which you are measuring/observing. This should be kept in mind in any performance setting. When a performer expresses their ‘true’ emotions wherever they are, there is an audience and there is an awareness of this audience.
This may be my cynicism and self-consciousness talking, but it can apply to any social situation. In a setting of two people in low light, soft tones and deeply emotional confessions, one person may break into sobs (or othersuch intimate emotional expressions). It is tempting to think that this is their true character, a glimpse into what their inside life is like. But if there is an awareness of the spectator, I’m convinced there is something altered (intentionally or not).
I suppose my inadvertent conclusion to this is that you can’t know anyone fully. This will either seem overly jaded or unsurprising. Even if you want to tell the person you love something deeply important to you, even to articulate and verbalize reframes the actual idea. Words are a performance, with meanings that require coding and decoding. Although there may be ways around this, there are constantly walls around us, even if we wish that weren’t true.
So we are left with as kaleidoscopic selves (sounds like an indie rock band!) talking through tin cans to our broken-mirror loved ones. If we’re a series of concentric circles, then I suppose the goal is to make a nice venn diagram.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thesis #2: How I Met Your Human Centipede
Okay, I went to go see it. Standing in the cold rain outside the theatre, I was alone, tucked inconspicuously in my jacket. For some reason (okay maybe a good reason?) I felt embarrassed to be out there. I had a Harvey’s burger hidden in my pocket. I swear I’m not a pervert! I was there to see the Human Centipede.
It’s an unlikely comparison between shocking gross-out horror film The Human Centipede and young Manhattanite, post-Friends sitcom How I Met Your Mother. Stay with me for a bit on this one.
The concept behind the aforementioned CBS laugh-track laden hip sitcom is that the main character, Ted, is telling his children in the future the story of how he met their mother. It’s an interesting gimmick, and it changes some of the dynamics of the typical narrative; particularly in the element of suspense. You are explicitly told in the beginning of the first episode that the main character will indeed find his true love. You are shown that characters Marshall and Lily, half of the principle cast and the main couple throughout the show, will stay together forever.
For this reason, an element of the tension is removed, because the audience knows that whatever conflicts occur between these characters, everything will turn out okay. Indeed, this assumption is often implicit in a sitcom, and on some level we usually know that by the end of the 22-minute ordeal, things will turn out largely unchanged from how they began. But when we know the couple is going to stay together, their fights lose much of the importance. Whatever happens to them, they’ll be okay.
Now, keep this predestination for comfort in mind and reverse it.
If you haven’t seen the trailer for the Human Centipede yet, first of all you’re not spending enough time on the internet. Second of all, you’ve basically seen the entire film. You see that the characters get captured by a mad doctor, and that he turns them into the centipede. This is hardly a spoiler. We go into the movie knowing this central element, and it too removes much of the tension, and our sense of empathy starts to become twisted.
You know that whatever happens they certainly won’t be okay, and all of a sudden when a character tries to run away and almost gets drowned, you think to yourself, “jeez, I hope she drowns”. Or if a gun is pointed at their face, the thought arises “I hope she gets shot.” Because whatever happens, it will be better than getting turned into the centipede.” We know she won’t escape her fate, and like How I Met Your Mother, this assured fate removes an element of the tension. The difference is, while in the light-hearted TV show you aren’t afraid for them because you know everything will turn out peachy, in The Human Centipede you aren’t hopeful for victims because you know they will fall to their eventual horrible fate. It’s the same device, used for opposite effect.
--
OH, ANDOn the topic of the implicit/explicit formulas of the horror movie, I want to bring up the Final Destination series of films. First of all, I know they’re not really that good. But what is interesting about them is that they too eschew any kind of suspense, except it’s even more deliberate. We are made not to wonder if the cast of teens is going to die, but how. Again, this is not especially different from the implicit assumption when watching a teen slasher film that most of the characters will be killed, but in this case the film is winking at the audience, and making no illusions. It exists to satisfy our bloodlust. So does Friday the 13th, but at least the Final Destination series pretty much admits it.
Thesis #1: Snorlax: Gandhi of Pokémon?
The one thing I’ve always thought is unrealistic about the Pokémon universe (the one and only thing) is the meek subservience of all of those creatures cute and clawed, small and psychic. None seem to mind turning into some sort of energy and getting imprisoned in a tiny torture-sphere (“Pokéball” is the euphemism for these killdomes). Imagine this hypothetical situation:
“Honey! The boss is coming over soon and this cheese plate isn’t up to snuff. I know one way we could improve it, but he’ll be here any minute and we need it now. I know: we’ll get ol’ Charizard to do it for us!”
And Charizard will do it. Never mind that he is a badass flying dragon; these ‘trainers’ will treat him like their illegal Mexican maid. If they have a bonfire out back, they don’t need to bring a bucket of water out, just bring Blastoise (aside: hey why does Charizard get his own Wikipedia page but Blastoise doesn’t?). Even though he’s a huge creature with friggin cannons on his back, he’ll suck it up and do it. When ordered to, Blastoise would even attend the owner’s daughter’s lame Christmas recital even though he knows that it will be like, totally lame. He’s just following orders.
But this is nothing new. We’ve been controlling animals for a long time. One could even say the foundations for Pokémon trainers are even laid out in The Good Book. Just see for yourself:
Psalms 32:9 – “Man's dominion over animals includes the right to harness them by bit and bridle. Man has the right to use and control animals for the benefit of man.”
James 3:3-7 – “Again, we put bits in horse's mouth so that they obey us. We tame every kind of beast. Man is in control. Animals should obey us. Thy got to catch them all!”
The hierarchy is established. Marx has no hope, until...“Snorlax: Leader of the Revolution.” It’s so obvious, isn’t it. I’m sure I don’t even need to explain it.
But in case I do: Snorlax is the rebel Pokémon, the one who does what he wants and only helps you on his terms. “Hey Snorlax, go and fight that Pokémon for me!” you’ll say; and what does he do? He keeps sleeping. There’s no way he’s going to do what you say just because you said it. Snorlax is his own master! The only way to get Snorlax to do what you want is to play his game: feeding him or playing the flute. Can you blame him? The dude loves the Tull, and will help out as long as he can get his groove on.
Snorlax’s name comes from a portmanteau of “snore” and “relax”, and consequently I’ve always felt a deep affinity and connection to him, more than any other Pokémon. (and dare I say...human?). He’s an inspiration to us all, a model for which we can base ourselves on. He resists oppression through passive resistance, and he knows that you need him more than he needs you. And he always gets what he wants. He is literally (yes, literally!) the Mahatma Gandhi of Pokémon, maybe with a little bit of Jesus Christ thrown into the mix as well. Now that dude loves the Tull.
In the unlikely event that still you don’t believe me, keep in mind that my theory is peer-reviewed by other scholarly sources.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)