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Influential artist Robert Rauschenberg passed away yesterday at the age of 82. I have always been drawn to his work, overwhelmed by some of his pieces. I don’t know much about art, beyond what I like and dislike, but it isn’t hard to see why Rauschenberg was such an influential artist.
When I was in New York three years ago, I was able to see several works by Jasper Johns. The way he used collage to make up the small portions of his art, things that one could only see close up, was amazing. He built paintings. Rauschenberg did the same, blending painting and sculpture in a way that hadn’t been broached before, and which served as a model for Johns and others. They’ve been labeled ‘Combine paintings,’ and I think the moniker illustrates exactly what these pieces really are.
His piece ‘Bed’ was made up of his own sheet, quilt, and pillow slathered in paint, as if they were soaked in blood. It’s hard to verbalize how works like this affect me, but I was really moved, I felt like he was showing me the corruption of my youth. It exhausted me.
He once said that he really felt ‘sorry for people who think things like soap dishes or mirrors or Coke bottles are ugly, because they’re surrounded by things like that all day long, and it must make them miserable.’ He turned average things that surround us into art, and thus changed the way we looked at our world.
Reading his NYT obituary, I see that Rauschenberg was much more influential and had a much greater scope than I was ever aware of. But what I remember tonight is how briefly studying him for a week or so when I was 18 allowed me to connect with modern art for the first time, maybe not enough to ‘get it,’ but enough to realize that there was something there worth getting.
Frankly, the movie just doesn’t work. It has a cast of madcap characters, and the plot is ridiculous enough, but the magic that existed in Rushmore and The Royal Tennenbaums just isn’t present here.
It’s not that I expect to laugh out loud at a Wes Anderson movie, though I often have, but I do expect to be amused. Only one scene of the film was truly amusing, a clip from an earlier movie made by Zissou in which the crew is performing cannonball dives into an ice bath when they hear and rescue a rare seal or something. But other than this, the films attempts at humor are transparent and therefore unfunny.
Bill Murray isn’t bad as Steve Zissou, but he just doesn’t display the charm that was present in Rushmore. Owen Wilson, who isn’t all that funny anyway, isn’t at all here, and his ridiculous Kentuckian accent is grating. Willem Dafoe is wasted, as is Cate Blanchett. And Seymour Cassel, who is present in all Anderson films, barely appears as Esteban, Zissou’s partner and friend who is killed by the mysterious Jaguar Shark.
Visually, the film is stunning. Zissou’s ship is constructed on a cutaway stage, so we can see a cross section of what it looks like inside. As one would expect from Anderson, the rust bucket is stocked with all forms of luxury, most noticeably a spa staffed by a masseuse. Though the underwater scenes are completely unbelievable, they are so stylized that it works.
Max makes Rushmore work. You root for him, you like him, you want him to succeed. And while Royal Tennenbaum is less likable than Max, you wish pretty much the same for him, and his redemption is at the heart of the movie. But I never really cared about Zissou at all. I didn’t dislike him, though he isn’t all that likable, I just didn’t care. And without a lead that can generate emotion from an audience, this film was doomed to mediocrity.
I didn’t think Wes Anderson could miss so badly. One day, when I get around to seeing The Darjeeling Limited, I hope I find this film was a misstep and not a trend.
It takes a skilled intellect to present church history in a way that is riveting for the reader and does justice to the material, without becoming so esoteric that one need actually be a scholar to make any sense of it. Elaine Pagels has excelled in presenting thoughtful works about church history and the Nag Hammadi Library time and time again, and with The Origin of Satan she does not disappoint. Though she is not writing for experts, as one does when composing scholarly work, she does not condescend to people who obviously know less than she.
Less about Satan the character than the way the presentation between cosmic good and evil arose, the book begins by contextualizing the four gospels, identifying the authors’ relationships to each other and the social climate a
t the time of their writing. While none of this information was new to me, it served as an engaging refresher. Most interesting was likely the persecution of Christians by other Jews, creating much of the anti-Semitism that exist within Christianity today, for the blame for Jesus’s crucifixion was blamed less on the Romans and more squarely on the Jews as the writers of the gospels responded to their present climate.
Pagels also focuses on the early church and the way Christians were treated by the Roman Empire, which was made up of pagans. They supposedly hated the Christians because their monotheistic view was thought to anger the multitudes of gods that were worshipped, yet this theory is debunked by claims that even these pagans saw all their gods created by one force, and that perhaps the monotheistic view was not original to Judeo Christian thought. Many early Christians of this time are detailed, like Justin, Origen, and Tertullian, whose writings are compared and contrasted to pagan thinkers like Marcus Aurelius and others.
Finally, Pagels demonstrates the growing antagonism between the different sects of Christianity. As one would expect, she relies on the Nag Hammadi texts to demonstrate the differences in thought. The exploration of these suppressed texts is fascinating for the view it gives one of the differences between early Christians. One writer argues (fairly convincingly in my mind) that the deity identified as God in the Adam and Eve tale is actually Satan, and that the serpent was a representation of the true God. One wonders how different Christianity would be today had a slightly different selection of canonical books been selected at Nicaea. Pagels also uses later historical figures, like Martin Luther, to show how Satan was invoked as an ally of those propagating a different set of beliefs than the attacker.
This book helped solidify for me personally some of the issues I have with the modern church and the way it exerts control over ideas and represses anyone attempting to question dogma or perceived truth. Pagels has written an easily read and incredibly engaging book that is highly recommended for anyone with even the slightest interest in the material.
What makes Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth so powerful is that it brings together to different sets of material, which are completely incompatible, yet insists on being true to both until the very end. On one hand there are fauns and faeries, on the other a sadistic fascist captain who will brutally murder with only the flimsiest of excuses. The nature of these two worlds is probably the scariest part of the film, for both contain incredible dangers that could get 11-year-old heroine Ofelia killed.
The faun seems at times both good and evil, yet what he really offers Ofelia is an opportunity to choose between the two. Her inability to follow his warnings almost get her killed by one of the most frightening, albeit initially ridiculous, monsters to grace any screen I’ve seen. And her refusal to accede to the faun’s requests in the end is her way of finding redemption when given a second chance.
But she is likewise tested in the real world. Finding out that the captain’s servant has been aiding the anti-Franco rebels, Ofelia refuses to divulge the information because she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her. The movie seems to be about the choices that Ofelia must make, that she must learn to be true to herself, even in the face of grave danger.
Though Ofelia is the only person who can see the faun or faeries, there is evidence to convince one that they are real enough. For one, the magical chalk that she uses to create doorways helps her escape a room that was guarded, something unlikely to have occurred otherwise. The mandrake root provided by the faun to help her mother seems to have positive results, and its discarding has the opposite.
I am at a loss in trying to explain exactly how this movie works, about what makes it so good. The visuals are stunning, like something out of a real nightmare, something attempted by the makers of The Cell, though this time with resounding success. Del Toro’s mastery is in how he is able to present these two vastly different worlds side-by-side, make it work, and make the result more than the sum of its parts.
What Tim O’Brien said is true. Stories can save us. Lover of stories and faerie tales, Ofelia creates a story for herself that becomes real, helps her survive the horrors of her surroundings, and in the end becomes real enough to save her. The conclusion can be interpreted in two separate ways, yet I choose to believe that she was saved. The film moved me, changed me, and I don’t think I will forget this feeling for a long time.
In the fall of 2004, 72-year-old Ernie Colon bought and read the 9/11 Commission Report, realizing as he did that only a fraction of the book’s buyers would do the same. With tons of free time even though he was employed as a security guard, he wondered if more people would read the Report if it were presented in an easier to understand format. He called Sid Jacobson and put together the nonfiction graphic adaptation of the 9/11 Report.
The two had worked together at Harvey Comics in the fifties, on titles like Richie Rich and Casper, the Friendly Ghost, but had moved into other fields as the superhero comic wiped out the children’s market in the nineties.
Their graphic adaptation of the 9/11 Report has won kudos from many. I found the book quite moving, and as Colon surmised, the only reason I know a lot of what I do about that Tuesday morning is because of their effort. For instance, the report states that at most, 2,152 individuals died at the WTC who were not rescue workers or on board one of the two planes. Of that number, 1,942 were at or above the impact zones. That the evacuation of the building was such a resounding success was something that I hadn’t been exposed to, even with all the coverage.
The tone set by the creators is a calm and factual one, reflecting the prose of the Report itself. The likenesses are well rendered and the information is presented in such a way that it is easily digestible. Their accomplishments will be followed with another title, After 9/11: America’s War on Terror (2001- ), and the pair have another three in the works.
This being the case, I wonder why this technique isn’t used more often. Though series like the ‘For Beginners’ have had a fair amount of success, there has been little crossover into other genres. So much can be taught in a form that many find more palatable than prose. We’ve seen how well Scott McCloud was able to discuss some fairly heady work on comics by writing in the form, and thousands of kids, including me, have read comic versions of historical classics like Moby Dick.
The popular criticism is that our country is getting dumber and prefers the graphs and photos of USA Today to the lengthy texts of the Wall Street Journal. But what if we look at that as not a failure in literacy but a shift to a different kind of literacy? With this new perspective, perhaps we can begin to see that these readers may very well be interested in reading things like Jacobson’s and Colon’s The 9/11 Report: A Graphic Adaptation.
There may very well be a hole in the market. Somebody should fill it.
I spent a week thinking over this review, trying to decide if I was being fair to Ron Rosenbaum or not. In some ways it feels that I let my preconceived notions about the book influence m enjoyment of it, which there is nothing wrong with. However, as John Updike would say, it’s not really fair for me to criticize someone for not doing something they weren’t trying to do.
I have mixed feelings about The Shakespeare Wars. In many ways it was quite informative. Even though I 
have taken a couple of classes that focused on the Bard entirely, those courses were taught through a certain critical lens that obscured other valid methods. For example, Rosenbaum’s copious interviews with directors like Peter Hall and Peter Brook, among others, gives a lot of insight into the performance studies aspects of the plays, and a lot of their comments were fascinating and insightful. These approaches also helped me identify a method I would use later to organize a paper around Pinter’s The Homecoming. Often he suggests other readings that may help explain more nuanced arguments, and I do feel that they are genuinely helpful.
But there is a lot that I didn’t like too. Rosenbaum spends forty pages covering the insignificant ‘Funeral Elegy’ issue, which is bad enough, but its inclusion seems to be based solely on the fact that Rosenbaum has a personal grudge to settle with Don Foster. Allegedly, Foster at one point said he could ‘bury’ Rosenbaum for questioning his methods. Forty pages used to essentially make Foster look like an ass.
After a lot of thought though, I really only have two major problems with the book. First, Rosenbaum claims that he will illuminate the battles in Shakespeare scholarship for the layman, and this is something that he does from time to time. But too often he presents only the view he thinks is right and obscures the other opposing view. For instance, he admits that there are some that feel Shakespeare should be experienced in the theater and not on the screen, but he does little more than this. Since he is a strong proponent of film, it receives the brunt of the attention.
Rosenbaum also hates postmodernism, even suggesting that Derrida and Foucault have little if anything to offer. Not in Shakespearean studies, but little to offer anyone, anywhere. This is naïve. It is easy to see his age and the time he went to school based on his love of the ‘close reading.’ While there is certainly something to be said for that critical approach, it fell out of vogue thirty years ago. Rosenbaum comes across as an old man, afraid of these new-fangled critical methods the kids are using these days.
Secondly, Rosenbaum is a journalist. He’s not a scholar. Sure, he may know a lot about Shakespeare, certainly more than me. And he is always cautiously deferential to Shakespearean scholars he cites, even though he really only bothers with the most elite. (It is easy to admit that a world-renowned expert in something knows more than you.) But he doesn’t seem to understand that what he is doing isn’t scholarship. Rosenbaum postulates as much as he reports, and the assumption is that we will respect his ideas as much as we would a scholar’s. But what makes scholarly work scholarly isn’t the idea so much as it is the approval that the scholarship is valid by a group of scholarly peers. To the best of my knowledge, The Shakespeare Wars underwent no such review process.
In some ways I feel that I am nit-picking, that this criticism is unfair and that the book really isn’t that bad. (It’s not.) But Rosenbaum spends too much time on himself, to the point of distraction and frustration. I don’t know if he is a cocky asshole in real life, but he comes across as one in his writing. This is an interesting primer for further readings on Shakespeare, but as a text itself, it didn’t do much for me.
There has been a severe lack of content on this site, much less than I had intended a few months ago. One of the things that I am going to endeavor to do is write reviews more often, though they will likely be less substantial than previous reviews. Perhaps a couple hundred of words apiece.
To report, in the month of April I managed to read 19 books, play, and graphic novels. Here is what they were:
1. The House of Bernarda Alba by Federico Garcia Lorca: If you take a passage on English, translate it to Spanish and then back again to English, all the nouns will be the same. But the verbs can change the meaning of the passage entirely. So when reading the lyrical drama of Lorca in English, something is truly lost. I found the symbolism in this play to be over the top, and the characterization screamed farce rather than tragedy. But the real reason this is considered a great play is the lyricism, and it just doesn't translate well. Reading Clive James over the past year, I've begun to think that perhaps it is time that I at least get my Spanish up to the functionally literate level so I can enjoy some of these writers in their native language.
2. 100 Bullets: The Hard Way by Brian Azzarello & Eduardo Risso: The storyline really hits it
s stride here, and as more of the Minutemen are activated, I am getting a better idea of what is going on. I'm still haunted by something that happened, still sad. A lot of things happen that I wasn't expecting, and Risso's artwork captures the mood unlike any other artists I am familiar with. Often described as a noir tale, a description I feel is apt, I wonder why this is about the only noir that I really enjoy. As if I only enjoy derivations from the convention, not the convention itself.
3. The Cripple of Inishmaan by Martin McDonagh: though nowhere near as interesting as The Pillowman, McDonagh has written a genuinely entertaining and funny play. However, I hesitate that much more is going on than that. There is a bit about the nature of lying and telling stories, yet it sems to be a door that McDonagh opens but refuses to walk through.
4. Forged in Fire by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels: Extended comments available here.
5. Endgame by Samuel Beckett: I spent the month pondering the power of silence in the drama of Harold Pinter, and it is easy to see how he was influenced by Beckett in this play. Clov inflicts so much violence in his silences at the end of the play, it is a shame it is so overshadowed by the violent language that Hamm uses. I just don't think it is possible to fully understand the play though a mere reading, something I found a lot like Pinter as well.
6. The Bald Soprano by Eugene Ionesco: Didn't really offer anything new or different from The Lesson, which was a better play even if I didn't enjoy it. Ionesco embraces absurdism to the point of near incoherence, something that makes him less accessible to readers than other absurdists.
7. The Skin of Our Teeth by Thornton Wilder: I hated this play. Pirandello did the same thing first and better. I can't believe that the same person who wrote Our Town had a hand in this. And what kind of name is Thornton anyway?
8. The Night Country by Stewart O'Nan: An unsatisfying ghost story that broke several conventions but wasn't enough to salvage a fairly predictable narrative. O'Nan has been said to be the voice of the working class, but I didn't get a sense of that here. Perhaps I will try another of his books in the future; I do find myself with a certain professional interest in how he depicts the restaurant environment in Last Night at the Lobster. The narration is so specific that it goes to the point of distraction. Does it really matter which value meal a character orders from McDonald's? Or that a character eats a 'Nutrageous' rather than a candy bar? Just because something would be depicted specifically in another medium, say film, doesn't mean it needs to be so precise in prose.
9. 100 Bullets: Strychnine Lives by Brian Azzarello & Eduardo Risso: This collection contains the most violent scene I have ever read in a comic. The overall story progresses nicely, and now that I realize only two following collections have been released thus far, I am trying to keep myself from reading them all at once.
10. The Best American Short Stories 2002 edited by Sue Miller: I'd already read the best story before (Richard Ford's 'Puppy'), but this was my first exposure to Jhumpa Lahiri whose story was fantastic. These collections are a nice way to be introduced to lesser known writers, or perhaps even famous ones who you just haven't had a chance to read yet.
11. Amnesiascope by Steve Erickson: Erickson writes like a less talented and inspired Jonathan Lethem or David Foster Wallace. There is quite a bit of pornography as well, with passages being written for no reason other than to titillate. He gets a lot of praise, so I may take a look at the supposedly more mainstream Zeroville, but perhaps not.
12. Exit Wounds by Rutu Modan: A good, though not great, graphic novel from an Israeli creator. the storyline is something that we have seen before, but the characterization is well handled and the art really does evoke a different culture without descending into stereotypical depictions. I am very interested to see where this creator goes next.
13. A Burning House by Keith R.A. DeCandido: Though I have enjoyed the episodes of Star Trek that have focused on Klingon politics, their civilization as a whole seems to make no sense. DeCandido is able to write convincingly about a culture that is based entirely in honor, but even some of his inventions ring false. For example, a member of an opera chorus can challenge and kill one of the leads to take their place? A good novel overall though, and the conclusion of the Rodek storyline was well handled.
14. The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams: A good and interesting memory play whose conceptual idea causes narrative problems. I'd like to go back and read this again with a better understanding of Williams's biography, especially the way he treats Laura who was modeled after his sister. Better than I remembered, but I don't thin
k this is a classic.
15. Reading Legitimation Crisis in Tehran by Danny Postel: A collection of Middle Eastern journalism and scholarly work that is most interesting with respect to the natural alliance between anti-imperialist Westerners and Iranian dissidents. Read more about it here.
16. The Shakespeare Wars by Ron Rosenbaum: I have a lot to say about this, so I will write a bigger review in the next couple of days. Brendan, this was the book I was referring to earlier.
17. Greatest DuckTales Stories, Volume 2 by Carl Barks: Barks is a genius. Not only are his stories entertaining for children and adults without pandering or offering some pat moral at the end, he changes the ways his characters are presented from panel to panel is vastly different ways, yet integrates it within the page in a way that is almost undecipherable unless you are looking for it. Barks has been the focus of a dedicated critical effort in the past few years, and it is easy to see why he deserves it.
18. Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman: Not as good as Smoke and Mirrors, this collection still contains a few gems. I really enjoyed 'A Study in Emerald' and 'The Monarch of the Glen.' I had been told to pay special attention to 'The Problem with Susan,' but I must confess that while I found the story serviceable, my lack of any real knowledge of Narnia dampened its impact. Maybe I should go back and read the series, they sit on my shelves, but that type of writing just holds less and less appeal for me as time goes on.
19. A Good School by Richard Yates: Yates has a way of capturing the isolation that we all feel and articulating it in such a way that evokes the same emotions the characters feel in you. While I felt this was the least effective of his novels that I have read so far, it still is a testament to Yates's place as the most underappreciated writer of his generation.
