Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. - William Butler Yeats "Easter 1916" Zero Dark Thirty, Kathryn Bigelow's follow up to The Hurt Locker, encapsulates post- 9/11 America. As we follow Maya in her pursuit of Osama Bin Laden through interrogation rooms, embassy hallways, and satellite photos a historical tunnel vision sets in. Many reviews have focused on Maya as a "blank slate" type character with not much of a personality, no real relationships in the film, and a self-righteousness bordering on obsessive. But these are recurring types in American lore from Captain Ahab of the Pequod to the Mark Zuckerberg of the The Social Network. They are driven by revenge and a sense of justice to set the world right- even to the point where their will and determination leaves them with a unique type of emptiness. As cinematic entertainment, Zero Dark Thirty towers over the rest. At 160 minutes the film builds to a chilling climax (or an anti-climax) with the killing of Bin Laden. The years fly on by with no context provided for what else was going on in the world. The geopolitical background behind 9/11 and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan are too complex for any to film to handle so instead we get an epic about a capturing a charismatic terrorist. As one insightful critic noted, trying to make sense of modern history is akin to staring into the sun. A 24 hour news cycle gives all of us a tunnel vision where there is no historical context for anything. No one will even a agree on a narrative because we don't know where to begin.
The past few months I've been teaching a class on Western Civilization and we examine the Roman Empire in some depth. While it is tempting to think of America as the "New Rome" the parallels are striking. During the height of the Roman Empire, the "Pax Romana," Rome defended their borders while those inside the empire went about their lives with prosperity quite rare in the ancient world. Trouble from the Barbarians rarely effected them directly. Have we reached a similar moment in American civilization? Unless you know someone in the armed forces one can go about their lives with little concern for what's happening in the world. Instead we have video games, movies, Fox News, and strip malls. Yes, America is now an Empire. As for the film, it is tightly edited, well acted, procedural and is more interesting by what it chooses not to address. Bigelow's narrative drive is so seamless it left me disoriented. The final 45 minutes are filmed through night vision as the Navy Seals close in on Bin Laden's compound. They exchange banter before the raid that exudes a professionalism one expects from the most elite unit in the military. On the one hand it is a marvel to see them at work. On the other, there is a banality to it making it all the more haunting. As the film ends Maya stares blankly into the camera there in the midst of ominous silence inside an empty cargo plane. What is she thinking? Have we all stared into the void of history? In perhaps the greatest of all procedural films All the President's Men is about two heroic reporters who pursued the Watergate scandal and helped end a corrupt administration; thereby preserving the idea of democracy. Zero Dark Thirty is working in reverse: a film working from within the national security state. Security is the theme, but it adds up to a negation and an aimlessness implying a future shrouded in fog and unpredictability.
Recently I had the experience of watching Quentin Tarantino's 1994 masterpiece, Pulp Fiction on the big screen. Nearly twenty years old, the film remains vibrant and alive. Seeing every shot as the director intended is full of riches. One example is just watching the eyes of the actors. During an early, now iconic, scene when Vincent (John Travolta) and Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) turn a routine hit job into performance art, one can observe Jackson's eyes shift eerily from whimsical to thoughtful to deadly. Television fails capture those nuances. At over 2 1/2 hours, Pulp Fiction has a narrative drive rare in American film. For Tarantino, plot means everything and nothing. His screenplay (written with Roger Avary) does not follow the three act conventions of most scripts usually greenlighted by the studios. Long sequences of dialogue between two characters are often punctuated with intense action. Tarantino's dialogue displays his virtuosity as a writer since it is used to add dimension to the film instead of advancing the plot. Another example of the film's genius is how it uses genre as a means to reinvent storytelling. By working within the confines of the "mobster" film genre, Tarantino simultaneously deconstructs, destroys, and recreates. In fact, how many people even think of Pulp Fiction as a "mobster" movie? The three stories are standard "b" movie plot - taking out the boss's wife, a boxer deciding whether to take a dive, and taking care of a job going all wrong. Few mob films contain ongoing discussions on metaphysics or "divine intervention." Scorsese's gritty epic Goodfellas is about wiseguys doing their thing in everyday life: Can we imagine such a scene in a Scorsese film? In fact since the term "Tarantinoesque" is now part of cinema parlance- meaning a potent cinematic experience. For example, when John Travolta and Uma Thurman dance to Chuck Berry's "You Never Can Tell" Tarantino allows his actors to reconnect with audiences through dance and nostalgia, recalling Travolta's 1970s classics Saturday Night Fever and Grease. Meanwhile Uma Thurman's French New Wave style elevates the scene to a pastiche of Godard. The entire setting for the sequence, a retro- 1950s car hop fits the film perfectly; a simulated artificial environment with enough verisimilitude to make it realistic, but not like real life. Tarantino's is realistic in terms of cinematic reality- that's his playground. Since Pulp Fiction really is what exactly the title promises it's a film of escalating moments of terror, hilarity, loyalty, and even beauty. Characters in minor roles deliver some of their best work such as Eric Stoltz as Lance or Harvey Keitel as "Mr. Wolf." Tarantino is well aware it is character actors who make movies worth watching and uses them maximum effect. I always thought the "Butch's" story seemed the weakest of the three since it relied more on action and pure shock value (thinking the "gimp" scene.) But after watching it again I was struck by its optimism and subtle themes of loyalty. Butch decides his self-respect is more important than money so he refuses to take the dive and outsmarts Marsellus and his crew. But in the heat of battle he decides to save Marsellus when they confront an evil neither has experienced. Butch's redemption foreshadows Jules in the last act. And what of the final scene? In the opening scene Tarantino sets up the ending with the absurd criminals Pumpkin and Honey-Bunny (an inept Bonnie &Clyde) plan to rob a diner. Meanwhile Vincent and Jules are having an intense discussion about what constitutes a miracle. In a final irony the post-modern epic ends with a sermon. But is that the final joke? Or do we read this as "character development?" Is their a hidden spiritual meaning to Pulp Fiction? No more than one gets from Paradise Lost or The Pickwick Papers. Pulp Fiction is a vivid film of color and humanity pulsating with a love of film - and throwing some profound questions around in the process.
Those familiar with the work of Tim O'Brien know the Vietnam War is central theme in his novels. But the war here has more of a ghostly, ephemeral presence. The main character, John Wade, has lost a primary bid for the U.S. Senate and retreats to the woods of Northern Minnesota to heal from his defeat. At the cabin, his life begins to unravel as his world external and internal world unravels. Readers will likely see John Wade as a distant character who we never get to know, nor do those closest to him. O'Brien shows episodes in his life throughout the novel, never quite revealing the whole picture. Without revealing too much we learn John Wade took part in one of the most horrific incidents during America's war with Vietnam. He marries his college girlfriend in a relationship that is seemingly normal, but also filled with darkness. As a politician Wade is on the cusp of gaining a seat in the Senate until an unspecified scandal derails his campaign. Like every Tim O'Brien novel the prose is sharp. But some readers may be frustrated by the lack of resolution. Instead O'Brien provides hints and possible explanations for Wade's actions. He seems harmless and deadly at the same time. The characterizations are my major issue with the novel. John's political adviser is an annoying caricature of those strange behind the scene figures. Kathy Wade is a sad character drifting unhappily through her life as a political wife. Unlike his other literature on Vietnam like Going After Cacciato and The Things They Carried, In the Lake less concerned with the reality of the war, and more with the unreality of it. How did America get involved in Vietnam? Does it matter? Like any event in history, historians will invent narratives and causes for the war in long winded tomes, but behind all the rhetoric lies mystery, awful truths, and finally unresolved grief among the living and dead. Yes, In the Lake of the Woods is a solemn novel because it suggests ideas instead of propagating them.
Ian MacDonald's sweeping history of The Beatles, Revolution in the Head: The Beatles Records and the Sixties is acerbic and encyclopedic. MacDonald writes with a detached irony laced with flashes of humor, and a sneaking sentimentality as the book progresses. Few writers will surpass Revolution in the Head when it comes to Beatles criticism. After an introductory essay, a tour de force in itself, MacDonald writes short entries for every Beatles song. At times he goes on at length on the technical details of their like music such as their unorthodox chord changes or their refusal to read music. Instead the Beatles relied on the spontaneity of the recording process. Their uncanny knack for inspiration consisted of inspiration from TV jingles, newspaper clippings, their fellow pop groups, drug experimentation, mysticism, and childhood. McCartney and Lennon are portrayed as equals with John leading them through their early period. Eventually Paul, who was far more grounded and devoted to the band, carried them through tough times. According to MacDonald the main difference between them came down to John's mistrust of "objective" art; pure art is always subjective in John's world. Nevertheless, each influenced the other and Paul showed just as much interest in the avant garde as John. For example, in "Carnival of Light," one of the few Beatles tracks locked in the vaults is an experimental sound collage of McCartney's predating Lennon's abstract recording, Revolution #9. George Harrison also evolved as a songwriter, adding a spiritual dimension to their music. MacDonald argues post-Beatles pop music lacks one crucial ingredient - the unexpected. That's why their music continues to inspire. Their creative process relied on spontaneity and whim - a spirit apparent on their later albums. By the time the Beatles recorded their first hit single "Love Me Do" in 1962 they were a well honed live act with sets dominated by American rock and roll standards. The addition of Ringo Starr as their drummer and producer George Martin set the foundation for the Beatles to revolutionize the studio. Their songwriting grew by leaps and bounds with hit after hit topping the charts. The year 1964 took a serious toll on them as they reached a pinnacle of stardom few attained in the 20th century. Under constant pressure to perform and write new material, their place in the culture changed from teen idols to New Age prophets. The best part of the book is MacDonald's writings on Revolver, Sgt. Pepper, and the White album. When the four assembled to record Lennon's "Tomorrow Never Knows" they took studio technology to the limit with the use of tape loops, overdubs, double tracking. The Eastern mysticism in the song, inspired by Lennon's reading of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, challenged the very ethos of 1960s Western civilization with its motifs of "anti-materialism, rapt passivity, and world skeptical focus on visionary consciousness." After Revolver they embarked on a disastrous tour in the midst of Lennon's "Jesus" statement and hordes of screaming fans indifferent to their music. For a time they considered going their separate ways, but they found new inspiration in the studio under McCartney's idea of performing albums like a live show - the result being Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, "a work which surpasses Revolver not in form, but spirit" and created a cultural "contact high." The high point of Lennon-McCartney partnership is on the concluding track, "A Day in the Life." By blending images based on reality and fantasy, the song is a triumphal statement about humanity's potential to make to refashion reality. Personally my favorite Beatles LP is The Beatles (White album). MacDonald compares listening to the album like watching the long afternoon of the Beatles career pass by. After a trip to India Lennon and McCartney had written lots of songs, but they were also going in different directions in their art and personal lives (which is all too apparent when listening to the album). Recorded from May-October 1968, in the midst of personal tensions over the direction of the band, the album remains controversial for many reasons. Many find it excessive - arguing the it would've worked better as a single album. Granted, there a tracks with distinct White Album feel (Happiness is a Warm Gun, Back in the USSR, etc. . ) and others feel like they belong somewhere else, but tome that's part of the magic. Throughout the album is a creative angst leading the listener on a hectic journey with no destination in sight. The anything goes vibe of the album gives it a dangerous, anarchic quality. The optimism of Sgt. Pepper gave way to a "disturbing, dreamlike darkness" on the White album. So much legend surrounds the album over the years ranging from debates over hidden messages to its role in Charles Manson's rampage. Few rock albums manage to achieve such a claustrophobic relationship with the listener. A strange effect; but endlessly compelling. The book argues pop music and the arts in general have failed to match the creativity of the Beatles and the 1960s. I partly agree with MacDonald's argument as clearly no one has duplicated the power of the Beatles. Now in the doldrums of the early 21st century with economic despair everywhere and an even harder edged capitalist society perhaps we all must look inward for salvation. But their records are still there and not just for nostalgic reasons, but to listen, learn, feel, and think.
Last week the internet exploded with the news that Disney had purchased Lucasfilm. Subsequently, Disney announced that they are developing a new trilogy of Star Wars films for 2015. As a lifelong Star Wars fan, I must confess the prospect of seeing the continuing adventures of Luke, Han, and Leia is exciting and bewildering. On the bright side, in a week that saw Hurricane Sandy pulverize the east coast and the bitter rancor preceding the 2012 election, it was satisfying to learn of George Lucas's change of heart on his creation. Ever since the release of Star Wars Episode III: The Revenge of the Sith in 2005, Lucas remained adamant that he was finished with the franchise. Now that Disney owns Lucasfilm, a whole new generation of writers and filmmakers will get a chance to refashion Star Wars in their own image, albeit with the rueful caveat that the past is past. I recall a Lester Bangs article when he went around asking people on the street (this was in the 1970s) their suggestions on how to revive rock and roll and many longed for a Beatles reunion, to which Bangs replied,"it would be the biggest anti-climax in history." Of course to this day, Beatles' fans can only imagine what a reunion would've sounded like. John Lennon always dismissed such notions as foolish nostalgia and suggested fans should give it up and just enjoy the old albums: What more did they want from the Fab Four? The lesson of the Beatles applies to Star Wars in the sense that our cultural obsessions and desire to relive the past are phantoms and exist best where they belong- in our imagination. What must George Lucas think of his fans? In 1999, people around the world finally got what they wanted: a new Star Wars film. Expectations were high since George Lucas had written and directed The Phantom Menace! But by the first week of its release, most critics and original fans panned it. And the fans felt betrayed and drew up a litany of complaints: Lucas cannot write dialogue. The acting was awful. Darth Vader was now a kid from a cereal ad. The new characters (Jar-Jar Binks) were bothersome and played upon cultural stereotypes; yes Lucas in one week went from being a cinematic visionary to a reactionary racist. They were decreed unworthy follow ups to the great saga of their youth. But children generally liked the prequels and the films were massive hits worldwide. I suppose Star Wars fan culture will never forgive Lucas (I like the Freudian overtones to this drama). They were unable to accept that Lucas had ruined the story of their childhood. Hmmm... or maybe they never grew up?
One point that's left out of the legacy of Star Wars was the boldness of Lucas's decision in the mid 1970s to make a science fiction film with young people as the primary audience (ages 9-13) That was the Silver Age of American cinema; a time when filmmakers made tortured personal films about alienation. While exploring the dark soul of humanity with the likes of Travis Bickle or Alex the Droog has some aesthetic value, but is rather hard on the psyche. Interestingly enough, Lucas began his career as an avant guard filmmaker who serious, artsy films as a student at UCLA. His debut feature, THX-1138, is an obscure dystopian flick that failed with audiences. He changed tactics with American Graffiti, a masterpiece of 1950s nostalgia (I know the film took place in 1962), that continued to explore humanity's relationship with technology. A student of mythology and anthropology, Lucas imagined telling a coming of age story in space. He drew upon a multitude of sources in world literature ranging from Frank Herbert's Dune to the Bible. And it is important to note that science fiction films were considered a dead genre in 1977, with Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey still considered the gold standard (and remains to this day). Lucas's peers urged him not to pursue the project. Peter Biskind reported in Easy Riders, Raging Bulls that Lucas invited other directors to his home to screen an early version of Star Wars and they thought it was awful (apparently Brian De Palma made insulting remarks throughout). But to the surprise of all, Lucas had launched a cultural phenomenon. The problem is that no one can go back and recreate the moment Star Wars came out in 1977. For fans, that fact never quite computed: Lucas was taking the story in a new direction. So, what does that mean for the new installments? Times have changed, but there remains a great hunger for Star Wars. No matter who writes or directs these new films some will not be happy with the final product. As long as they stay with the spirit of adventure, humor, and wonder that is part of all the films - they will be fine. The web is replete with speculation on who will take the reins. A popular name is J.J. Abrams who launched Lost and rebooted the Star Trek franchise. Steven Spielberg is another possibility for relaunching Star Wars films; perhaps a master filmmaker like Spielberg is the perfect choice for the for first film. Lastly, there is speculation about the story lines for the new films. Devoted fans will recall the Timothy Zahn trilogy that came out in the early 1990s that continued the saga after Return of the Jedi. From what I remember those novels emphasized action,but lacking on character development. A countless number of forgettable novels and comic books followed. According to reports there are detailed treatments that Lucas wrote for episodes VII, VIII, and IX, which seems to contradict his statements of recent years. I commend Lucas for handing his creation over to a new generation and that a new one will get to experience the films in whichever direction they decide to take it.
Something strange happened after the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991. All the euphoria faded overnight. The world suddenly seemed more confusing, complicated, and frightening. There are no happy endings in history. Oliver Stone's 1991 film JFK drove a stake through the triumphalism of the early 1990s with its assault against an official narrative of American history (the Warren Commission) by mixing fact with fiction. The three hour film followed New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison, played by Kevin Costner, in his obsessive investigation of the Kennedy assassination which by the end left me wondering . .. But this led me to watch films that questioned authority such as All the President's Men, Dr. Strangelove, The French Connection, and several others that reveled in the corruption and ugliness of the modern world. The idiot wind Dylan wrote of was alive and well. The 1990s was replete with Irony. Meanwhile technology moved like an unstoppable force too attractive to ignore. It made everyone a little meaner and insensitive.
Musically, the decade mirrored the fragmentation across the American landscape. Grunge made rock relevant again for a few years. Nirvana came on and blew everyone away and then left as just as they arrived. Kurt Cobain may well have the last rock and roll star to move his generation, but also the most reluctant one. When Nirvana released their LP Nevermind, they usurped Michael Jackson from the pop charts and their video for "Smells Like Teen Spirit" received constant airplay on MTV. Rock critics, who were desperate for someone to recapture the freethinking charisma of the Sixties icons like Lennon and Dylan, declared Cobain the savior of rock. But the band eschewed their fame. During High School they were the outcasts and not even considered remotely cool. The chips on their shoulders were well earned. When jocks and frat boys started rocking out to Nirvana songs the band reacted with disdain. At their concerts Nirvana began to appear in drag to challenge their fans (a growing number of fratboys) for their homophobia and mindless conformity. Listening to their unplugged performance, made a few months before Cobain's death, is like witnessing the apotheosis of Gen X. In Nirvana's performance, I hear a new American sound emerging - moodier, darker, lost in the past. Their rendition of David Bowie's, "The Man Who Sold the World," is melodic and filled with imagery, a sort of history of the late 20th Century. Nothing is more emotionally wrenching than than Cobain's last two songs "All Apologies," and Leadbelly's "Where did you sleep last night"?
Pulp Fiction is without a doubt the most influential film of the 1990s. Quentin Tarantino's epic homage to gangster cinema struck a chord Tarantino, a movie buff who spent most of his 20s as a video store clerk, had imbibed decades of pop culture and conjured Pulp Fiction. For the Spielberg/Lucas generation, Pulp Fiction brought a new cinematic language: interweaving story lines, long dialogue sequences, a cinematic universe just as unique as Star Wars. From literary references ranging from Mark Twain to Elmore Leonard to Flannery O'Conner, Pulp Fiction is like the Ulysses of modern film. Clerks also deserves mention. The Waiting for Godot of the 1990s. Perhaps no film captures Gen X more that Kevin Smith's low budget comedy set in the bleak New Jersey convenience store. It follows two underachieving clerks as they carry on philosophical discussions on Star Wars or the movie tastes of their customers. I knew guys like this in a job I worked after High School. They were smart enough to know they were in a dead end situation, but showed little resolve to get out. Being stuck in a dead end job does awful things to the mind and soul, and no film illustrates this better than Clerks as we follow Dante and Randal in their descent into retail hell. Smith proved an equal to Tarantino in writing sharp dialogue fueled by pop culture references (and literary).
The Coen Brothers provided relief. In Fargo, Sheriff Gunderson played brilliantly by Frances McDormand used common old decency to combat the evil threatening her community. In a world of small time charlatans, her honesty and bravery shined like a bright star. Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski, as a stoner/hippie, who uses his indolent nature as the only sane reaction to a crazy world of scheming capitalists, mobsters, nihilists, and white collar criminals . The dude inspiring all who felt adrift as as the millennium beckoned.
A number of things led me to write this entry. A few months ago Slate published an article entitled "The Catalano Generation" (a reference to the Claire Danes TV series My So Called Life) that looked specifically at the generation born during the Carter presidency (1977-1981), which includes myself. Something about it hit home, since those of us born during that time seem to lack a distinct generational identity because we're sandwiched between angst-ridden Gen X and the super-confidant millennials (see Ben Stiller's rant in Greenberg). Recently, I've been staying with my sister's family and spending more time with my 18-month year old niece. She is starting to become aware of television and responding to images coming across the screen. Now I haven't watched children's cartoons in a long time, but it did get me thinking about the significant role media played in my formative years.
Let's start with Levar Burton. Fans of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon will recall his hilarious psychedelic version of the Reading Rainbow theme song with him doing a pitch perfect imitation of Jim Morrison. In the 80s and 90s, TV shows like Reading Rainbow championed reading for kids my age. Levar made going to the library seem pretty cool! The show's format usually began with Levar introducing a topic. Sometimes shows dealt with fascinating careers like working behind the scenes on on a movie or being a marine biologist. Others were about the fun of a museum visit or the simple amusement of staying home and making a pizza (just make sure it fits in the oven!). Every episode featured a children's book narrated by a celebrity and book endorsements from kids. Each show ended with Levar's joyful catchphrase, "We'll See You Next Time."
Today it's hard to comprehend all the media that's thrown upon children at such a young age. Most households now have an excess of over 100 channels and that's not even going into the travails of the "information super-highway" (that's what people called the internet back in the day). My niece enjoys cartoons on Nickelodeon and the old stand by Sesame Street on Public television, but now there is so much on at any given time of the day that is not suitable for kids. My parents didn't get cable until I was a teenager, so our household only had about 10 channels! Good old network television. I still remember being frightened by some of the programming like the mini-series V, about alien invaders disguised as reptiles that still gives me chills. Even movies which I later loved like Raiders of the Lost Ark and Return of the Jedi scared me when I first saw them. But now, at almost anytime in the day, there are images on television that could really scare a child.
But back to the in-between nature of my generation. Star Wars is one example. I'm barely old enough to remember the release of Return of theJedi, but later watched the films a countless number of times on VHS. I could only imagine the day when more Star Wars films would come out. When it finally happened in 1999 (I was out of High School at that point) the purists who saw the film in 1977 immediately trounced on George Lucas for allegedly destroying their beloved saga that carried them through their childhoods. Meanwhile, the new generation that was unfamiliar with the original trilogy loved The Phantom Menace - even that insufferable Jar Jar Binks! But for those in my age group, who discovered Star Wars on television and VHS, we were just damn glad to finally have some new Star Wars movies. Ok, the prequels don't quite measure up to the originals, but that's a tired debate for another day and time.
Most of my childhood was spent in the 1980s and I admit to feeling some nostalgia for the decade. Some icons from the time are longer with us and some are still around. Ronald Reagan was president and Johnny Carson still ruled late night television. On some nights it was a treat to stay up really late and catch Late Night with David Letterman, who came on at 12:30. Dave always cracked me up with his silly shenanigans like dropping random things from buildings or impersonating a McDonald's employee. Michael Jackson ruled music in a way no one has or perhaps ever will again. MTV was the coolest thing going around and totally changed the music industry. Every week the top ten video countdown featured Madonna, Prince, Cindy Lauper, Whitney Houston, Sting, Phil Collins, The Cars, Weird Al, to just name a few. Yes, you had to actually wait to see your favorite video and not bring it up on youtube.
Video games from the era are primitive by today's standards like Atari and Intellivision. Today if you ask anyone born before 1985 about Intellivision, they will likely give you a blank look, but it was a great system put out by Matell. At the time, Intellivision was really popular with games like Burger Time and Pitfall to just name a few.Mattell also introduced the "voicer," which allowed certain games to talk back at you. Atari was pretty old school with its joysticks and some really cheesy games, for example one sponsored by the band Journey. Even those games were great to pass the time with.
The nineties, however, were different. Things got more complicated. The decade began with the Soviet Union vanishing and politicians talking about a "New World Order", whatever that meant. New music like "Grunge" was embraced by gen X and seemed to foreshadow darker times ahead. By the mid 90s, the internet hit the scene and really changed everything. I first discovered it in the latter part of High School. I can't imagine what it's like for kids today with social networking and texting. The internet is another key dividing point because I tend to find it a little unsettling at how comfortable millenials feel with technology. It has always been a part of their life, but not mine. What does all this mean? Further entries will continue with this question and continue to look backward and forward at the course of culture in the past 30 years.
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