6 Días en Mexico
Día 2 – 12:37am
Funny that the turbulence of the flight is somehow in keeping with my chosen movie: Master and Commander. An odd interrelationship of air and sea travel is creating something akin to a sensory, interactive experience. The wine might also be assisting.
4am (in London) / 10:00pm in Mexico City
According to the flight map we are flying over the wonderfully named Labrador City, Canada. Just put my watch back 6 hours to account for the time difference. That was the closest to time travel I will ever get. Still 5 ½ hours to go to Mexico City. Long haul is an appropriate phrase. At least the time lapse will give me a few more hours of sleep upon arrival.
5am - Mexico City Airport
The zombie hours. As far as 12-hour flights go that wasn’t too bad but I still feel like my brain is operating with a three second delay and my body is protesting in new and imaginative ways. It was pretty quiet going through immigration and I met a couple of people – Rob and Sam – also going to the conference so didn’t have to worry about finding out where to go. We were met by Miriam, one of the conference organisers, but before going off to the hotel we had try and find a way to get Sam’s industrial size chemical vaporiser into a old and uncooperative Renault. He is doing some kind of space-themed cocktail show, which better be bloody good. Doing the krypton factor at 5:30am was not on my agenda. However we managed to solve the puzzle and were soon off the Hotel. Upon arrival all three of us made a hasty exit to our rooms without much fanfare. Sleep time.
8:30am
Couldn’t sleep so went down to breakfast. The Hotel Maria Cristina is a very old fashioned Mexican place with lots of wood panelling and semi-impressionist pictures of rural vistas and/or earnest farmers cultivating the land. There is a small terraced garden to the side, which at this moment is being cut into sections by columns of light created in the early morning sunshine. The hotel is populated by austere looking staff. Aged female cleaners look particularly aggrieved shuffling silently with their mops of doom. Breakfast in the hotel is not great, soft toast and weak coffee. The waiter doesn’t respond well to my attempts at overt politeness. I’ll go out in future. My lethargy is going to prevent me doing any writing or prep for the conference so I’m going for a walk.
2pm
I bought a book: The Underdogs by Marino Azuela. It is described as the seminal text of the Mexican revolution. If I’m going to read about Mexico, may as go straight to the heart of its modern birth. Found it in a beautiful little book shop with a café situated on a raised section in the centre. Lot’s books in English, which had no discernable rhyme or reason as to why they were there. On the second floor there were many old Mexican tomes on law, politics and history. I get the feeling that this is something of an intellectual hangout – I may come back again to try and enact some cleverness. I proceeded to walk down the Paseo de la Reforma to the Parque Chapultepec some 30 minutes West. There I accidentally discover the Museo de Arte Moderno which I decide to enter after paying the spectacularly cheap fee of 26 pesos (£1.20). The museo has an entrance building, with cafe and gift shop, that leads to a garden of sculptures in many different styles. On the far side is the main building. Two large circular galleries with a connecting section between. This year is the museo’s 50th anniversary and there is a retrospective of the work of its founder and designer Pedro Ramirez Vazquez, a genius architect who is responsible for many of Mexicos contemporary buildings. There are also works by Diego Reviera, José Orozco and Frida Kahlo including The Two Fridas, one of her most famous and disturbing pieces. I hope to see some more of Mexico’s art before the week is out. Walking back I feel the tiredness catching up with me so after a quick and uneventful food stop I head back to the hotel to crash for a few hours before the first night of the conference.
10pm
Kosmica is being held in the Centro de Cultura Digital which is set down under the main street and is marked by a towering monolith brightly lit with fluorescent gold and white. There are several art pieces set up around the main space and seating is at the far end facing a screen and in front is where speakers will sit. Tonights talks are about experimental films inspired by or directly about space, a particularly interesting one is called Afronauts by a filmmaker called Francis Bodomo. The fact that the event is in Spanish and English gives a very distinctive atmosphere and the audience seems to comprise of mainly Mexican students or artists. It makes me think that I should include some Spanish into my presentation, if only to try and get the audience on my side. I feel once again that my inability to speak Spanish is something that I really regret and walking back to the hotel afterward I resolve to change this starting with Friday's talk.
6 Dias en Mexico
Dia 1 – 8:45pm
A couple of days ago I realised that I know absolutely nothing about Mexico, besides the elementary. Another depressing example of the monumental totality of what I don’t know. However, my invitation to the Kosmica conference - on the cultural and artistic evocations of space travel – has afforded me the opportunity to visit the country for the first time. Such occasions always inspire a renewal of the lifelong project of trying to make up for my lack of education but in a fashion that is integrated in the cultural experience of place. My first task in this endeavour is to buy a book by a Mexican author. Perhaps Carlos Fuentes who I have never read. The literary evocations of a nation, used as a canvas for a specific story, imbue a sense of the identity of a country and its people more than any travel guide could. Nonsensically, I didn’t buy an appropriate book before the start of my trip and airport bookstores seem to exist solely for the purpose of furthering the readership Ken Follett and James Patterson, or offer the salacious ghost-written inanities of some celebrity or other. I hope to get something suitable when I am there. Perhaps finding a book in Mexico is more in keeping with my aim of soaking up the aura, although my inexcusably lamentable Spanish prevents me from reading in the appropriate language. This will be the first task of día uno. In the meantime this is the first entry of what I intend as sporadic account of 6 días en Mexico. Writing as I am now during the dead time airport hours I’m not sure of the form this ‘diary’ will take. I will just write and see what comes out. Ok, Gate 7. Time to fly.
For the love of podcasting: the public sphere of now
In the last month I have become part of a new political podcast as one of the presenters of The Three Muckrakers. This has been a hugely enjoyable experience and got me thinking about the philosophical ethos of a medium that is firmly a part of the cultural lexicon but perhaps still has a niche or outsider understanding. Before I became part of an actual show podcasts had already become central to my media engagement, I listen to them more than I watch television or films, more than I read books or play sports. For me it is the most relevant and vital contemporary cultural form particularly in the context of a politically atomised society and an inadequate mainstream media. The significance of podcasting for me derives from the wealth of content that takes the best elements mass digital participation. In this sense the mechanics of the form itself most closely realises the internet's promise of democratic engagement.
It is clear that podcasting sit in a nexus between ‘old’ and ‘new’ media. The closest link is obviously with radio but I would argue that the paradox of podcasting, and the reason for its value in the current historical moment, is that it fuses familiar, traditional and still relevant foundations of broadcasting quality with the chaotic, transgressive and limitless scope that characterises the media in the internet age. Podcasts are not bound by spatial and temporal shackles and thus can escape from conventional broadcast flow. The relative cheapness and ease of use of audio production technology breaks down the producer/consumer binary and the Internet provides a ready-made distribution platform. Podcasting flattens the vertical power structure created by corporate media gatekeepers existing in a kind of communal zone of influence in which the production and dissemination of ideas is largely unrestrained. But good podcasts require time, preparation, thought and commitment, which in-turn engenders a level of depth belying the often cited ephemerality of the digital age.
The huge array of content covers almost every subject matter that you could think of, using every conceivable format for audio programming. Many podcasts are of course produced through the mainstream media organisations, often recordings of radio (or TV) shows that recycle traditional programming, while allowing the flexibility of listening that is intrinsic to the form. But it is the incredible explosion of independent podcasts that really encapsulates what I would describe as a political agency that underpins podcasting culture. There is almost a symbolic seizing back of media control that comes for an active participation in the dissemination ideas; a dissent against the apathy of top-down one-way media messaging. This also comes through listening practices too. Navigating through the availability and defining ones own listening spectrum has become intrinsic part of my integration into contemporary mediated world. Flanuering through the podcasting world is offers an opportunity to reflect on how and why one thinks in a particular way, the mobility of the form enhances the sense of accompaniment even companionship through day-to-day life.
But, so what, you might say. Blogging, tweeting, posting youtube videos all offer an active and interactive experience that has redefined our relationship to written, visual and aural mediation. Very true. However, I think there are certain outcomes of podcasting that I have noticed through my own listening (and now producing), which I think speaks directly the social importance of the medium. The fact that podcasts are free to download is obviously a huge part of their appeal. It means that they are and will continue to be at the forefront of new models of economic organisation. But it also suggests that podcasts do not start from material drive and (at the moment) are far less susceptible to market formalisation. Many celebrities have their own podcasts and while it maybe true to characterise some as vanity projects or a way of drawing attention to paid gigs, many are genuine reactions against the limitations of the mainstream. There is somewhat of a spirit of the amateur, perhaps reminiscent of the earliest days of radio, almost a DIY ethos that re-imagines popular culture as a more meaningful expression of populous, rather than the mass culture superficiality. At their best and most essential podcasts are about ideas and even the very process of debate.
The form of podcasting thus lends itself to dialectic and its importance as forum for political debate, particularly in terms of the status progressive left, that I find most appealing. However, in this regard I feel that the US is far in advance of the UK with a huge range of podcasts that seem to share a highly critical, often satirical, even revolutionary intent. Perhaps it could even be seen as analogous to the emergence ‘public sphere’ in the 18th century - defined by Habermas as a forum distinct from governmental oversight where discussion and debate about society and politics fosters an informed citizenry capable of genuine democratic participation. Key to the public sphere for Habermas was the rational form of the debate and this is where the podcast rises above other forms of internet interactivity which often can become mired in superficiality and anonymous abuse. The best political podcasts hold to account not only the politicians themselves but a media that seems both unable and unwilling to act as a 21st century Fourth Estate that is so badly needed. For me podcasting is a new art form, and like all great art it is infused with political energy.
10 of my regular podcasts:
The Smartest Man in the World & The Gregg Proops Film Club – Perhaps most well known as a regular on the improvisation show Whose Line is it Anyway, Greg Proops podcasts are recorded live in the venues all over the world. Acerbic wit, erudite observations, sweary takedowns frame rapid-fire political satire, historical and philosophical pronouncements and the odd poem. Gregg’s Film Club podcast is recorded before and after a screening of one of his personal movie highlights.
Best of the Left - This podcast focuses of issues for the progressive left primarily in the United States and is an example of a show that is essentially an amalgamation of the best excerpts for other shows. Each week has a specific theme and also features activism updates and information which gives the audience a way to do something about the issues being raised in the 'real world'. The accompanying website (www.bestoftheleft.com) gives listeners the ability to disseminate their favourite clips on their own social media networks.
The Blues Kitchen Podcast - An old school radio show featuring great selections of blues, jazz, funk and soul. Hosts Gareth and Liam are down to earth aficionados giving real context to old favourites and unknown gems.
Mark Kermode and Simon Mayo's Film Reviews - Film reviews from the BBC’s flagship film programme. Wittertainment as it is known by its followers is as much about the irreverent chemistry between the two hosts as it is the films they review. The box office top ten and star interviews are featured segments in what is one of the most downloaded podcasts in the UK.
The David Pakman Show - Another political podcast cover issues in American and international politics from a progressive left perspective. This is good example of synergy between a podcasting and an online YouTube channel. Host David Pakman often interviews people with extreme views and does a great job of deconstructing the many contradictory and outright ridiculous viewpoints being espoused. The show has a membership system that opens up bonus content for listeners.
Real Time with Bill Maher - The West Coast’s answer to John Stewart, Bill Maher is at the forefront of political satire in the US with this podcast a direct recording of his HBO show Real Time. Another example of how comedy and satire is one of the central avenues for political debate in the podcast world. Maher’s no holds barred approach has garnered criticism from both left and right but there is no doubting the show’s capacity for lively debate between guests from politics and popular culture. I often wish there was something equivalent in the UK.
Harmontown - Another podcast recorded live featuring Dan Harmon writer of NBC sitcom Community and comedian Jeff Davis. Harmontown is a chaotic, largely unscripted interaction between hosts and audience utilising an inbuilt unpredictability. The subjects of identity, how to exist in the modern world, and the culture of celebrity are perhaps underlying themes and a regular cast of friends play a never ending game of Dungeons and Dragons in every episode. A haven for geeks everywhere.
This American Life - Presented by Ira Glass This American Life is a weekly public radio show broadcast on more than 500 stations to about 2.2 million listeners making it one of the most popular in America. It is produced by Chicago Public Media, and has won major broadcasting awards. Each episode has a specific theme linked by often touching and poignant stories of everyday people and experiences.
The Bugle - Quick witted political satire from comedians Andy Salzman and John Oliver. John of course is hugely well known as the host of Last Week Tonight and Andy is a regular on the UK stand-up circuit.
Longform - Great example of how podcasts can go into real depth and into areas rarely covered by mainstream broadcasting. This show features a detailed interview with a non-fiction writer on both their own career and the process of writing.
(Thanks to Neil Fox for ideas and insights on this blog)
Secret Cinema: Immersion into Cinema’s Future Past?
-WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS-
The appeal of Secret Cinema seems to derive from a competing set of discourses that characterise the precarious position of contemporary film spectatorship. In one sense it caters to a symbolic, perhaps even nostalgic yearning, for the ‘magic’ of the cinematic space. The shift from auditorium to home viewing, the often substandard experience offered by the multiplex, and the myriad leisure activities based on a dissolution of the binary between producer and consumer, have arguably challenged traditional cinema like never before. Secret Cinema arguably looks to reaffirm the sense of experience confronting these challenges head on by amalgamating the film text with theatrical display, creating performance beyond the screen and integrating the audience as participants rather than viewers. It is also, paradoxically, a throwback to earliest days of cinema while being thoroughly (post)modern in attempting to immerse the ‘audience’ into a simulated meta-spectacle using an unashamed appropriation of parodic fantasy packaged cine-literate consumers.
The clash between reality and representation, past and future, art and entertainment, all play out through Secret Cinema’s latest incarnation, a hugely ambitious theatrical rendering of 80s classic Back to the Future (Robert Zemeciks, 1985). Constructed in a purpose built Hill Valley town square at the Olympic Park, Hackney an aura of 50s retro is created through iconic locations from the film: Lou’s Cafe, Hill Valley High School (hosting the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance), Hill Valley Radio and some additions like Ruth’s Frock Shop and Roy’s Records. The film’s famous clock tower overlooks the square position on a giant facia of the Dept. of Social Services building, which also serves as the screen onto which the film is projected.
The scale of this nostalgic theme park could have proven to be the event’s downfall before it even started with the now well-publicised cancellation of the first week of screenings. When the event did get underway on Thursday the 31st of July immediate social media comments were wide ranging with some incredible enthusiasm contradicted by complaints of long queues, lack of organisation and high cost. If the original ethos of secret cinema was the ‘secrecy’, and a vibe of cinephilic exclusivity attached to that, this event certainly marks a move towards the mainstream. Ironically the bad publicity may have actually increased the hype and as we approached the venue it was clear that most people (including ourselves) had embraced, the heavily asserted, call to dress in 50s garb.
Strolling leisurely from Hackney Wick station at 5:30 on Saturday the 2nd of August, we arrived at the queue. Only having to wait 15 minutes we went through ‘security’ very quickly, of course giving up our lifeline to the present (smartphones), and proceeded into Hill Valley. Just having an initial look around there was a lot of fun to be had. Twin pines ranch (complete with live animals) is the first film inspired location we passed, followed by the Lyon Estates advertising billboard where Secret Cinema’s ‘official’ photographer took photos. A yellow school bus and Cadillac convertible offered rides around the central square, which was bordered by period shops, businesses and mock houses belonging to characters from the film. The actors interacted enthusiastically with the public often doing little skits. The wild haired Doc Brown performed strange experiments, Biff and his gang went around pretending to cause trouble and Marty himself arrived generally wandering around wearing a confused “where am I” expression. However, apart from the obvious characters, everyone was so well dressed it was hard to tell who were the actors and who were members of the public. All of this imbued the sense of immersion and interactivity the event is obviously trying to produce.
Undoubtedly, seeing the ‘real-life’ recreations of key moments from the film - synchronised on the whole very well - was the best aspect of the entire experience. Particularly good was the arrival of the Delorean car looking exactly like it’s filmic counterpart. Huge excitement and cheers from the crowd followed as the time machine reversed out into full view (mirroring perfectly the sequence from the film), and this was followed with pyrotechnics that coincided with the 88MPH jump back in time. Marty Mcfly’s skateboard scene, George punching out Biff to win Lorraine, and the lighting striking the clock tower finale were also really well dramatised. The actors all looked great and performed their roles with gusto. The audience were hugely in tune with the film and the theatrical simulations cheering, booing and clapping throughout.
Interestingly, all the ‘meta’ elements designed to bring the film-world off the screen to immerse the spectators, actually served to reinforce how good Back to the Future is as a film text in and of itself. There is almost no superfluous baggage in the narrative, the exposition is all woven in via plot or character development, and it is very funny and exciting. Perfect is an absolute definition but Back to the Future is a cut above the dour, over-long, portentous blockbusters of today. Indeed the success of the entire Secret Cinema immersive experience is fundamentally predicated on the strength of the film being shown.
There are criticisms to be made. We entered at around 5:30 and the film itself didn’t start till around 9:10 with the intervening 3 hours designed to get you to spend as much money as possible. We didn’t encounter issues with queuing that some had reported however food and drink were very expensive. Added to ticket prices and costumes (which many people had obviously spent time and money on) the evening doesn’t come cheap. The official photos were a particular gripe in terms of cost and quality and this relates to the whole ‘no phones’ issue. Many people did sneak phones in and with this event definitely a shift towards overt commercialisation trying to police phone use was somewhat redundant. On the other hand it was refreshing to be, for a few hours only, in the moment and not photographing or tweeting everything. It is undoubtedly the case also that good weather is vital and we were lucky in that regard, and it was difficult to feel fully immersed with the overwhelming presence of the John Lewis' dwarfing the entire arena.
On the whole the experience was hugely enjoyable with the majority of the audience/participants fully embracing the interactive spirit of the concept. Ironically, Back to the Future is an apposite phrase with which to describe the Secret Cinema experience as it points to cinematic future that borrows from the past. It will be very interesting to see where this concept goes next.
Sorcerer Exudes a Truly Cinematic Texture
The pessimist in me often thinks that there are too few movie moments these days that remind me why I fell in love with cinema. However, last night I saw for the first time William Friedkin’s Sorcerer (1977) at Truro’s Plaza cinema and as the film developed I increasingly felt a sense of experiencing the truly cinematic. The screening was part of the “Mark Kermode presents” series and the critic was there to introduce the film, defining it as a lost classic that was unceremonious panned by critics and ignored by audiences.
Released at the same time as Star Wars (1977) Sorcerer arguably disappeared into a vacuum of shifting filmic sensibilities with its existential bleakness and baroque visuality seemingly at odds with the burgeoning era of colourful blockbuster spectacle. The film is currently going through a critical renaissance with a digitally remastered version set for limited theatrical rerelease and a BluRay edition in the works. MK's enthusiasm was obvious but I didn’t really know what to expect having deliberately avoided doing any research on the film.
The first 40 minutes of Sorcerer undoubtedly requires a certain level of patience. Four split narrative strands set up the back-story of how the four main characters find themselves needing to disappear from society. These opening scenes in Veracruz, Jerusalem, Paris and New Jersey are as intricate as they are idiosyncratic not only seeming narratively disparate but also, tonally, almost looking like different films. However, this jarring incongruity actually serves to amplify the intensity of the main section of the film, which brings the protagonists together in a remote hell hole of a village in the Dominican Republic. This is where the film really takes shape.
The four – Scanlon (Roy Scheider), Manzon (Bruno Cremer), Nilo (Francisco Rabal), Kassem (Amidou) – penniless and desperate, are picked to drive a cargo of unstable explosives two hundred miles through the South American jungle using two refitted trucks. It is a journey that pushes the men to their limit physically and mentally, the centrepiece being an incredible twelve-minute sequence in which the two trucks attempt to cross a dilapidated bridge. The possibility of death is ingrained in every irascible frame and further sequences powerfully build the visual intensity and pushing to the extreme the descent into existential crisis. After the two-hour running time there was a palpable release of anxiety after the battering the audience had taken.
Sorcerer has so many riffs and connections to other movies it could almost be read as a gateway to understanding what 70s cinema is all about. The film is obviously linked to an earlier adaptation of the source novel The Wages of Fear (1953) directed by Henri-George Cluzot. In terms of theme and form the most obvious comparison is with the work of Werner Herzog particularly Aguirre, Wrath of God (1972) and Fitzcaraldo (1982). The opening scenes bear resemblance to myriad films including Costa-Gavras’ Z (1969), Pontecorvo’s The Battle of Algiers (1966) along with Friedkin’s earlier work The French Connection (1971) and The Exorcist (1973). The aerial shots of the lush green South American forest, decimated by explosions and fire, are incredibly similar to Apocalypse Now (1977) and the fluid mobility of the camera, often moving in and out of exterior and interior spaces, reminded me of Antonioni’s The Passenger (1975). The tone of tense, foreboding strangeness is also imbued through the metallic, electronic mood of Tangerine Dream’s score.
Undoubtedly the specific industrial and cultural context conspired against Sorcerer but now, in 2014, in an era often accused of hyper-commercialisation and formulaic derivativeness, it stands out. I felt it somewhat ironic that this film was screening the same week as Darren Aronofsky’s biblical apocalyptic spectacle Noah (2014) went on general release. In the age of CGI it was incredible to see a film from 1977 that possesses a texture and weight that is often lacking in contemporary film. Not only was the film introduced by Mark Kermode the audience was also treated to a short filmed introduction from William Friedkin himself who directly addressed the Cornwall audience about his joy that the screening was happening and that it is receiving this reevaluation. The best complement one can pay to Sorcerer is that nearly 40 years after its initial release it stands up as a reminder of what a truly cinematic film should look like.
From Falmouth to Berlin: Insights from the Berlinale2014
Falmouth University’s student trip to Berlin felt like an escape from the apocalyptical weather that has been affecting the South West, especially when we arrived to blue skies and mild temperatures. After the long over night bus ride and the flight energy levels were low but travelling through the city from Berlin’s Schönefeld airport on the South East of the city rejuvenation borne of excitement was in the air. The prospect of four days of cinematic indulgence in one of Europe’s most historic and exciting capitals certainly assuaged any lingering tiredness. Shortly after our arrival we walked from our hotel past the Reichstag and the beautifully lit Brandenburg Gate, monuments to Germany’s imperial past, and onto Potsdamer Platz, central point of the festival and symbolic of the country’s contemporary economic power. The central streets were buzzing with activity. Throngs of people milled around the red carpet area at the front of the Berlinale Palast, hoping to get a glimpse of a celebrity, and the box office, located in a central shopping centre already boasted long queues. This, as it turned out was a forbearance of the problem that would beset all out students throughout the whole weekend: the quest for tickets.
Brandenburg Gate
There are many adjectives to describe the Berlinale ticketing process: abstract, clandestine, chaotic, perhaps even anarchically democratic. Tickets are shared out between the online store, the centralized box offices and the individual cinemas for each specific screening. There seems, however, to be no rhyme or reason as to when or how the ticket allocation gets released for any given film. Questioning the proficiently polite tellers added to the mysticism of the process. “Are there tickets?”, “no”. “Will there be?”, “maybe”. “Any idea what time?”, “I don’t know”, was the kind of discourse repeated on many occasions. The difficulty can be attributed to having arrived ostensibly in the middle of the opening weekend screenings were intensely busy and therefore tickets, particularly for the big American and competition films, were hard to come by. All that could be done then was to embrace the British stereotype for stoic queuing and hope that fortune favoured the patiently diligent.
Berlinale Palast
The ticketing dilemma struck me on the first night as I went directly to the Haus de Berliner Festspiele to try and see Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel – the film that opened the entire event. This proved to be wishful thinking as the screening was announced as full long before we got to the main entrance. The film was seen however by Oliver Graves who extolled on “Wes Anderson’s trademark idiosyncratic camera work”, which “dollied around geometrically like a castle on a chessboard”. He added, “the script and performances were delightful, especially the rapport between Gustave (Ralph Fiennes) and Zero (Tony Revolori) along with the impeccable use of the colour and detail in the sets and costumes”.
Queueing for tickets
Having failed in our first attempt to get into a screening my colleague Mark Douglas, along with Bristol Film Hub Coordinator Tiffany Holmes and I, engaged a back up plan, which was to walk a short distance to the fantastically named Zoo Palast to try and see what turned out to be a severe Chinese drama entitled Shadow Days (Zhao Dayong). This was a rather unevenly told story about forced abortions resulting from China’s one child policy. The serene and pictorial cinematography and poetic ghostliness clashed jarringly with the brutal social realism that depicted the scenes of state corruption and abuse. The film produced some arresting moments but overall was a rather cumbersome affair to watch, lacking a shocking outrage it seemed to be aiming for. Afterwards, the humbled director (this screening was the world premier) was beckoned to the stage for an atrociously hosted Q&A - another recurrent theme throughout the festival - which (translation problems accepted) gave little further insight into the relevant cultural politics.
Despite the obstacle of the ticketing over the weekend the students saw many of the festival’s highlights. Lauran Carter cited two films as standouts: 71 (Yann Demange) is set in Ireland during the height of the troubles and “deals with the conflict in a double edged manner, refraining from simple black and white assertions, and through a story which was “emotionally entangling”. But even more impressive was N - The Madness of Reason (Peter Krüger) a transnational film that depicts Frenchman’s Raymond Borremans’ obsession with African culture and the Ivory Coast: “The viewer is guided, with Borremans, by the spirit of Africa in a beautiful film with footage that offers a deeper insight into cultural difference and affiliation”.
Luigi Sibona particularly admired two films: Calvary is John McDonagh's follow up to his successful black comedy The Guard which “takes Brendan Gleeson's good priest character to disconcertingly darker avenues”. Framed as a whodunit, “Calvary explores the contemporary distrust of the clergy, and the meaning, or lack of, found in death. Crucially it never gets bogged down in its subtext, constantly delivering jet black humour and an utterly compelling, dense mystery thriller plot.” Luigi also sighted Concerning Violence (Göran Olsson) as “the most innovative and affecting non-fiction film of the last few years. Comprised of archive footage of Africa's liberation and readings from Frantz Fanon, Olsson creates shocking, poetic and deeply affecting piece of nonfiction cinema”. High praise indeed.
Representing a lighter mood Ashton Snow saw French fantasy animation Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart (Mathias Malzieu, Stéphane Berla) based on an illustrated novel and concept album made by rock band Dionysos. The bittersweet tale set in 19th century Scotland left her “emotionally exhausted” after a “beautiful ending accompanied by peaceful yet haunting music which left the audience (which included many young children) in silence as the credits rolled”. Emma Graham points to the unsettling Thou was mild and Lovely (Josephine Decker) which “Left you unsure how to you feel” as a sweet love story “takes a shocking and bizarre plot twist. Visually there were some beautiful shots but too much transitioning in focus undermined this”. Emma’s final comment “I would have to watch twice to understand but it’s a film you can only watch once” perhaps sums up its enigmatic effect.
Cubix Cinema
One of the most pleasurable aspects of going to the Berlinale is dashing to different parts of the city to see films in different cinemas. Many of the filmpalasts we visited representative of the changing architectural styles in different time periods, but and are also symbolic of Berlin’s politically divided past. Yes, there are many generic multiplexes carbon copied throughout the world. But grandly named edifices like The International and The Colosseum are huge monuments of utilitarian modernist design, which attempted to imbue a futuristic ambiance but now, from 2014, seem very dated. But this is no criticism. Entering these buildings to watch a film one gets a greater sense of the cultural value of cinema. Perhaps it is nostalgia for a past that only exists in the romantic imaginary but these arenas suggest a time before the soulless corporate revenue stream culture of contemporary cinema exhibition. Their magnitude and sumptuousness, along with design idiosyncrasies, adds a real sense of place, and therefore occasion, to a film screening.
The viewing highlight for me was Michael Gondry’s beautifully crafted documentary about the academic and political commentator Noam Chomsky Is the man who is tall happy? Gondry’s films always venture in some way into the realm of human consciousness and here the director actually sets out an epistemological reasoning for using animation at the start of the film. The areas that his conversations with Chomsky broach – the nature of reality as it is perceived by the human mind - undermined the possibility of using live action is it assumes notions of ‘truth’ in a manipulative way. Gondry wanted to remind the viewer that they are watching a construct, and allied to this, the animation allowed the director to visually assist in explaining the complex conceptual ideas that are the hallmark of Chomsky’s work. The film succeeded therefore in creating a form of accessibility into some very difficult ideas.
Michel (not Michael) Gondry Q&A session
Michel Gondry was at the screening for an audience Q&A and I was looking forward to hearing him discuss the film. This was, however, another example of a rather badly run session, if also somewhat amusing. Firstly a rather austere and disinterested man introduced him as “Michael” Gondry, which drew laughs from the audience. The director took this in good humour. However, during the Q&A after the film – which was again monopolised by the host – the same man who had announced his name incorrectly interrupted Gondry in full flow and said in a thick, monotone German accent “you must stop now.” Gondry replied on the mic “you are a very rude man. You didn’t know my name when you announced me and now you stop me from answering the audience’s questions.” This statement drew a round of applause from the audience and the clearly unhappy French director and festival judge put the microphone down and walked out.
Some in depth film discussion
Travelling back home and talking to the students they all seemed to enjoy the weekend, equally for the cultural experience of Berlin as much as the film festival. Lauren Carter stated that the “forums and Q&As with directors/writers/producers gives extra insight into the films. Having a chance to speak to people directly from the industry is priceless for film students. Also the independence and self-confidence this trip has given me is irreplaceable and I gained courage form having independent time within the city.” I think this sentiment epitomises the value of the trip in that it lies beyond instrumental outcomes and is more about developing one’s independence and confidence. I, and I’m sure many others, are already looking forward to next year.
On Christopher Hitchens
Anything I could say about Christopher Hitchens would be completely inadequate compared to the outpouring of grief, affection and admiration that has come from all quarters since his passing away on the 16th of December 2011. Like most people I only knew him through his writing, and through reading about him, both avenues indelibly confirmed his reputation a giant of the written word and of the lived life. I first heard ‘Hitch’ on Youtube. As an increasingly vociferous atheist I came upon the many debates and lectures that, thankfully, are posted online and was immediately a fan. I became hooked on both his ardently secular philosophy but also on the simultaneously mesmerising yet daunting scope of his intellectual delivery. He had the uncanny ability to be both forensic and poetic at the same time. His uncompromisingly oppositional and combative stances on so many issues often left you in no doubt where you stood, whether it be in agreement or disagreement, with regards to his position. At the risk of an inadequate metaphor, a commentator once described another genius, the racing driver Ayrton Senna as, “often leaving you to decide whether or not you would have an accident with him”. This aptly described Hitchens’ writing and oratory, its clear and sharply incisive rhetoric that, while not deliberately designed to offend, made no apologies if it did so.
Reading Hitchens could be a somewhat belittling experience. The depth of his knowledge and the range of references, that gave his writing such weight in an era of sound-bite superficiality, required a required a regular retreat to the Internet to look up a source. I know reading Hitchens has improved my own knowledge; reading Why Orwell Matters was an education in itself. But engaging which such an mind and a talent through his work reinforced my own political beliefs about the inequalities of education that are ingrained in Britain but also globally – the subject is discussed at length in Hitchens’ memoir Hitch-22. His influence on me has been tangible in terms of a commitment to dialectical thought, critical enquiry and the discipline of production. Further than this reading Hitchens affords the realisation that such worthy aims are made more relevant when imbued with a certain joie de vivre. It leaves one with note of caution however that latter may have contributed to his far to early death. Perhaps this is an unintended lesson that Hitch leaves behind. I had often thought about writing to him over past few years particularly in the light of his illness. Work, laziness a sense of my own inadequacy meant I never did so. In one of his final interviews, with Jeremy Paxman, Hitchens said “if you ever wonder whether to write to anyone, always do...I regret not doing it more myself”. Upon hearing this I deeply felt such regret, that I had not taken up the pen to give some small indication of how much Christopher Hitchens, as a writer and person, had influenced me.
A Conspiracy of Mutual Interest
The public debate and interrogation of the ‘hackgate’ scandal is so copious that one hardly knows where to start. However, an aspect of the story that strikes me as prescient, yet largely ignored, is how the affair has exposed the overlapping networks of power that form a nexus of controlling elites in our capitalist democracy. The seemingly endless revelations highlight how the political/media/corporate complex is intricately linked through matrices of friendships, acquaintances, business partnerships, familial ties, abstract loyalties and social debts. Well this is no big deal right? We all knew that. But what recent events have crystallised is how these interconnections form a socio-cultural hegemony based almost entirely on elites knowing and serving each others interests in order to maintain, on a micro level their own position of power, and on a macro level, the overarching hierarchies of the social system.
Italian political philosopher Antonio Gramsci used the term hegemony to define how a society’s dominant class configures the processes, and creates the discourses, that effect mass social control. Such social control is maintained no only through coercive means (laws, police, judiciary) but also ideological conformity has to be affirmed through cultural avenues such as education and the mass media. These conduits of information persuade the subordinated classes to spontaneously consent to the rules and values of the political and intellectual elite. This serves to negate the possibility or even the need for dissent, because the organisational apparatus enforces the inevitability of lived experience within the, already apparent, social structure. Any instances of dissent against the dominant classes are represented as pathological and are thus summarily punished, through legally sanctioned punitive measures, but also symbolically, via the strident critique of the media propaganda machine. The hegemonic organisation of society is so pervasively ingrained into culture that it is more or less wholly accepted by the masses as the civilising, didactic role of the elite.
Centralisation of ownership in a pervasive media environment is a key tool with which hegemony is affirmed. Of course, in a totalitarian regime the state directly controls the media and is therefore able to disseminate its ideologies directly. In democracies, where ‘free speech’ and an open media market are lauded as vital components of open debate and informed citizenship, the managing of information has to be much more sophisticated. In this regard the construction of particular discourses, which become naturalised as ‘truth’ (particularly through the populist tabloid strands of the media), is imperative. For example, tabloid culture creates demonised ‘others’ that the - presumably - law (and moral) abiding silent masses should be afraid of. The almost forensic focus on immigrants, minorities, gays, single mothers, activists, unionists, students, the unemployed, public sector workers etc etc etc, draws attention to the perceived threats of individuals and groups who, in actuality, have very little power. This obfuscates critique and interrogation of those at the very top of society who really affect the social conditions of the masses on a direct basis, whether it is economically, politically or culturally. Because most of us actually belong to one or more of these categories the real genius of media manipulation is how it places such groups in opposition to one another, rather than highlighting their common struggle.
Furthermore, in order to help us deal with the fear and uncertainly of these inferred external dangers we are fed a constant diet of inane celebrity culture, reality television and premiership football – in other words highly elaborate means of escapism that make no difference in our lives but somehow, probably through some kind of vicarious false consciousness, inspire us to maintain a monumental level of consumption and bury our critical heads in the sand. In many ways we are complicit in this. There is some truth to the notion that the public gets what it wants and we all have the choice to turn off. There is, for me, a fundamental hypocrisy in a public that doesn’t mind if Sienna Miller, Prince Harry or Gordon Brown have their privacy violated but is suddenly outraged when it is Milly Dowler or victims of 7/7. Of course there is a difference, but what are we really outraged about? Hacking itself, or just that the right people at the right time are being hacked? Can rabid journalists break the law when the target is deemed inconsequential? The popularity of the News of the World encourages a sensationalist news culture in which the “interest of the public” (i.e. what will sell) far outweighs a more political understanding of “public interest”.
But how much choice do we really have? The huge, centralised media monopolies like News Corp create a mainstream news agenda that dissolves serious interrogation into spectacle and superficiality. Whether illegal hacking is involved or not it is tabloid culture more generally that sets an agenda that is almost inescapable and inescapably banal. Media conglomerates make it largely impossible to circumvent tabloid culture even if one wants to. Murdoch’s vast network of media outlets affords him an incredible autonomy over what the world sees and hears. It has been commented that Murdoch has no ideology or political motivation beyond an endless desire for money and power, but that is an ideology which undoubtedly underpins the kind of media we receive. One that is fundamentally beholden to markets thus invariably commodified, highly populist, simplistic and unable (or unwilling) to truly hold the elites to account. Until hackgate, Murdoch’s acquisition of total ownership in BskyB was proceeding almost without question (once Vince Cable was removed), which would have enabled him an even firmer control over the apparatus of information dissemination. The corporatisation and centralisation of the media is still continuing despite a supposedly more open, diverse and interactive communications age.
The building of this kind of power requires political acquiescence. Politicians, Corporate owners and Media moguls are not interested in informing the citizenry or helping to create a nation of critical thinkers because that could lead to a much more rigorous questioning of not just the individuals in power but the way system works to keep them there. What the hackgate scandal exposes is just how much the interests of the different branches of the dominant classes are interconnected, not just on an overtly political level, but on a social level too. It is easy to produce a rather archaic working-class assault on the Old Etonian front bench, the chipping Norton set and the jobs for the boys (and girls) culture, as the foundation of an old fashioned class system. However, cultural hegemony spans across the political divide of left and right. Gordon Brown rose recently in parliament, an unusual step for a former Prime Minister, to berate News Corp and tabloid culture. In an interview with the BBC he went onto discuss how he cried when he learned that the details of his son’s medial condition were to be splashed on the front page by the ‘sewer rats’ at the News of the World. One pertinent question is why didn’t his government, or previous governments ever do anything about tabloid culture or what many have suggested was the excessive influence of Murdoch. The answer is they form part of the Political/Media/Corporate complex and they know, perhaps even only on a subconscious level (but for many it is on a pragmatic level too) that their power is inextricably linked. There may have been no “specific” discussion but make no mistake, Andy Coulson was hired by David Cameron not despite his relationship to the News of the World, but because of it.
When the term conspiracy arises, what comes to mind is darkened boardrooms, secret meetings, intricate plots and faceless couriers doing the bidding of shadowy ‘organisation’ men. Films revel in such narratives, and the modern imagination seems to desire buried “truths” behind iconic historical events such as 9/11, the moon landings and the Kennedy assassination. Occasionally the entire façade of organised corruption is revealed, Watergate being the most obvious example. Hackgate is being touted, by some, as the British version of the affair that claimed the Nixon presidency, and maybe it will cause a realignment of the individual power dynamics.What it will not do is destroy the overarching structure. Murdoch, Brooks and Cameron may be displaced - in most conspiracies ‘a few bad apples’ get the blame - but the essential mechanisms of hegemony will, most likely, be left firmly in tact. Think about the huge reorganisation of the financial system which was “inevitable” in the wake of the financial crisis….what ever happened to that? If we deign to call modern society conspiratorial it is a far more sophisticated concept than a room full of shady power brokers hatching diabolical plots. It is a conspiracy that doesn’t require definitive plans or specific goals, just a recognition of the mutual interests of those at the top and the decisions that need to be made to preserve the status quo.
Political Debate Actually
Watching last night’s Question Time was fascinating for many reasons but, for me, ultimately showed the bankruptcy of our current political discourse. Almost the entire programme was, quite rightly, taken up by the News of the World phone hacking scandal with Rupert Murdoch shutting down the title, laying off over two hundred staff, but failing to sack its editor at the time, and current CEO of News Corp, Rebekah Brooks. The political aspect of the story revolves around the arrest, again, of Andy Coulson, who resigned from the News of the World in 2007, and then went on to become the Conservative party’s press secretary. David Cameron is facing tough questions concerning his judgement in appointing Coulson, not to mention the closeness of his relationship with Brooks and Murdoch himself. Having failed to call for Brooks’ resignation when pressed by Ed Miliband at PMQs, the ambiguity and awkwardness of Cameron’s position was obvious. All of this is framed by News Corps’ attempt to fully take over BskyB and the leaking of information to News of the World journalists by the Metropolitan Police.
Discussing all of these issues on Question Time were three representatives of the main political parties: Chris Grayling (Conservative), Douglas Alexander (Labour) and Shirley Williams (Liberal Democrat). Joining them, and this provided the most intriguing part of the discussion, were right-wing shock-jock and former Sun columnist Jon Gaunt, and (not so) floppy-haired charmer (and former “Prime Minister” ) Hugh Grant. Grant’s inclusion on the panel derives from his public antipathy toward tabloid culture, he is an ardent supporter of injunctions against the press having had his own phone hacked. The first time I heard him speak on the issue however was on Radio 5 live when he came across as articulate, knowledgeable and, above all, direct. When I saw he was a guest on Question Time I wondered how he would fair against well-briefed and seasoned political debaters.
Whatever one thinks of Hugh Grant, or his films (and I can take or leave either) the clarity of his points from the outset cut to the heart of the matter and the audience seemed largely in agreement with what he was saying. Undoubtedly his demeanour and delivery demonstrated a person used to public speech and I think his arguments were aided by an extra dollop of charm and star performance. His persona contrasted greatly with that of Jon Gaunt whose blustering, shouty soap-boxing and cringe-worthy winks to David Dimbleby were, frankly, pretty annoying. However, Gaunt was also clear, decisive and reasoned with his opinions and the two of them agreed at times and clashed others but, in essence, provided a clear debate (apart from when Gaunt couldn’t resist a cheap shot at Grant for his arrest with Hollywood prostitute Devine Brown).
What struck me however was the ineptitude of the politicians at being able to articulate directly their points without mitigating clauses or deliberate obfuscation. When Chris Grayling was asked whether a judicial enquiry should be called he gave the classic political evasion. Hugh Grant then turned to the audience and summarised definitively (and with a hint of sarcasm) why Graying could not answer the question: his boss David Cameron doesn’t want to fully cut Murdoch loose. Grant’s statement: “it’s scary you can’t answer that” deconstructed the compromised link between the political elite and the corporate media. Douglas Alexander was not allowed to escape to the position of oppositional safety as both Grant and Gaunt repeatedly pointed to Labour’s wooing of the Murdoch press in the era of Alistair Campbell and Tony Blair. Indeed, the revelation that politicians of all stripes were quaffing champagne at a recent Murdoch party, and the fact that ministers have continually backed away from investigations into News Corp shows the how the government relates to Murdoch with an equal measure fear and awe.
There are huge issues concerning media influence and ownership, privacy laws and what constitutes public interest and the regulation of the press, and the police, that were touched on by the programme. However, it was the fact that Hugh Grant and Jon Gaunt provided the lion’s share of the discursive analysis and political debate that stood out for me. Maybe politicians feel that they cannot be straight, the machinery of government doesn’t allow them to be straight or the media sensationalises everything to the point where a clear and direct argument cannot be had. Maybe Grayling and Alexander were simply star struck. However, last night’s Question Time led me to wonder what has our democratic system become when it is a Hollywood actor and a radio DJ that articulate the ins and outs of an important political issue leaving the politicians stuck in ambivalent semantics. Following on twitter there were numerous lines suggesting “Hugh Grant for PM”. Sadly, I think the irony of this reflects the state of our current political debate and exemplifies the low regard in which our democratic representatives are held.
The Philosophy of Hypocrisy
Across the Middle East historic uprisings show the power that ordinary people can still wield. But what these tumultuous events have also brought into sharp focus is the sheer hypocrisy of Western governments, in both their policies concerning specific dictatorships, and the doublespeak used to mitigate those relationships. For years the West propped up Egypt’s President Mubarak, a despot who oppressed his own people. The recent revolution, however, was roundly applauded and, in the end, diplomatically supported by the international community. This immediately reveals the morally questionable discourse of the West which supposes that a dictator is palatable as long as he (it’s always a man) is ‘our’ dictator. Such a policy remains intact until that situation becomes politically untenable (a point made by Noam Chomsky in his interview with Jeremy Paxman on Newsnight 08/03/2011). The old chestnut of regional stability is usually the reason given for the West’s support of an autocratic ruler; such an argument can be critiqued in itself as evidence of a Eurocentric, racist mindset. But any altruistic notions of promoting stability through diplomacy are, in reality, about trade, and usually a specific type of trade: arms and oil. A dictator’s human rights record can suddenly seem quite hazy when these two commodities are on the bargaining table. The question of how a dictator wants to use said arms, and the backhanders on offer for a reasonable crude price, is a question the West rarely asks. If the price is right, morality disappears.
Yet, when the citizens of Egypt unceremoniously ejected Mubarak from his position it was billed as a triumph of democracy. Barak Obama said, “the people of Egypt have spoken. Their voices have been heard, and Egypt will never be the same”. Obviously Egyptian voices were much quieter when the United States was helping to maintain the Mubarak regime. David Cameron also jumped on the freedom and democracy bandwagon: “Egypt now has a really precious moment of opportunity to have a government that can bring the country together. As a friend of Egypt, and the Egyptian people, we stand ready to help in any way we can”. Cameron, eager to show ‘solidarity’ with the newly ‘free’ Egyptians, was the first to arrive in the region to bask in the reflected glory of this ‘liberated’ state, or as he put it, offer Britain’s help in creating the “building blocks of democracy”. That fact that he was accompanied by a delegation of arms and aerospace contractors was, on the one hand, a public relations disaster, but on the other, laid bare the unadulterated hypocrisy of protestations of support for the Egyptian people’s democracy. How many of Mubarak’s tear gas canisters had ‘Made in England’ written on them?
Hypocrisy reaches epic proportions in the context of Libya. Gadaffi goes from evil dictator to internationally rehabilitated moderate, back to brutish despot, depending how Western governments determine his political usefulness. Since the start of the revolt in Libya there has been almost total condemnation of Gadaffi, which may be totally justified in and of itself, but coming from Western leaders it is fundamentally duplicitous and shows a convenient loss of collective memory. Gadaffi’s promise to stop supporting terrorism and suspend nuclear weapons programs led to a phalanx of Western leaders (a grinning Tony Blair included) parading themselves with the redeemed Libyan leader in front of his tented village. This was defined as victory against terrorism and a triumph of diplomacy yet in the background, again, was a range of arms deals and oil contracts. The complexity of Britain’s ties to Libya also incorporates the decision to release Lockerbie bomber Mohmed Ali al-Megrahi, and continues to be revealed through details about a nepotistic relationship with the London School of Economics.
All this without even mentioning the West’s association with Saudi Arabia.
Back home, in the midst of the financial crisis, hypocrisy has Premier League credentials, perhaps summed up by the mantra “we’re all in this together”. This phrase has been preprogrammed as the default response of every coalition MP and, by and large, it seems to have been swallowed. It seems that not only every politician but every media commentator, economist, corporate CEO, indeed anyone with a public voice accepts this dictum as fact. The tokenistic attempts at financial regulation set out by George Osbourne are wrapped around the rhetoric of fairness. However, at the same time the boss of RBS takes home a £6 million bonus for presiding over a £1 billion pound loss in an institution that the taxpayer had to bail out and now owns. Juxtaposed next to the massive cuts in front line services across the board, clearly, we are not all in this together. The possibility of simply taxing corporations and the rich more is never even mooted. “Common sense” economic maxims are masking real ideological manipulation here. “We’re all in this together” is classic Orwellian doublespeak.
Yes there are uprisings of dissent over the cuts but it seems that the level of anger over what the public is told it now has to deal with is, in actuality, quite paltry. The philosophy of hypocrisy, it seems, is working well. Egyptians and Libyans (along with other North African and Middle Eastern peoples) are fighting and dying for the possibility of a democratic voice. We supposedly have that voice, but maybe we need some advice from them in how to use it.
The American Astronaut
After a long teaching day I went to a Leeds Film Festival preview screening of The American Astronaut last night. The film, directed and starring Cory McAbee, is incredibly strange collision of prototypical Western genres including Sci-fi, Western, Film Noir, Comedy and Musical but rather than trying to amalgamate these elements seamlessly it revels in their incongruities. McAbee stars as space cowboy Sam Curtis travelling through a parallel universe that resembles our own but it not quite the same. The surreal narrative and tone of the film is reminiscent of David Lynch. The opening scenes show Curtis delivery a cat to an old Western style saloon station on a remote asteroid. Meeting his old dance partner, an interstellar fruit trader named the Blueberry Pirate, Curtis receives a machine that can grow a ‘real live girl’ as payment. This instigates journey first to Jupiter to trade the machine for ‘the Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman’s Breast’ and then to Venus to deliver the boy to a planet populated exclusively by women. All the while the protagonist is being chased by the sinister Professor Hess.
This, unfortunately, is a totally inadequate synopsis but in many ways the plot is incidental to complexities of meaning that permeate the film. Visually the film is superb. Shot in kind of glossy, metallic black and white it perfectly captures a kind of retro-milieu which fuses the Western frontier with the final frontier. The film never falls into nostalgic sentimentality however. There is a creative imaginary here exemplified by several elements of visual virtuosity. Sam’s spaceship is an old steam engine (which comically docks with an interstellar barn at one point) produced using decidedly lo-fi special effects but which marry perfectly with the surreal aesthetic. Other standout elements are Professor Hess’ ray-gun which turns his victims into sand (a nod to the sand men of Logan’s Run perhaps) and a kind of photo-montage sequence in the middle of the film encapsulates the friendship that develops between Sam and the boy.
Indeed, for me the most interesting aspect of the film was the representation of gender. I was interested in seeing the film because of its relationship to my PhD. I have not seen as esoteric a representation of familiar iconographies of masculinity in any other film. It takes the recognisable tropes and behaviours that we might recognise from cinema concerning he cowboy/astronaut but subtly skews the viewers expectations while not undermining their familiarity. The universe of The American Astronaut is definitely a male domain but the lack of the female presence ‘queers’ the homosocial relationships within the film. But this is represented in a very quirky, off-beat way. In stead of fighting, the men sing and dance. Indeed the friendship between the Curtis and the Blueberry pirate is affirmed by their winning of a dance contest which seems to replace the standard Western gun fight. There is an empathy and emotionality in the male bonding that undercuts the usual masculine bravado and competitiveness found in American genre films. But despite the comedic singing and dancing numbers masculinity is never overtly camp or explicitly homosexual. It is as though a universe without women would produce a different context for masculine interpersonal relationships.
The enigmatic Professor Hess is obsessed with the main character (they could be father and son but that is never resolved) and his underlying feature is that he kills without reason. Yet his motivation stems avails itself through a kind of overly emotional jealously – he doesn’t like Curtis dancing with someone else and is particularly irate that the protagonist won’t sing happy birthday to him! Very surreal traits for a film villain. When all these male characters finally reach the female inhabited Venus, the performance of femininity is equally satirical and ironic. Dressed in what looks like renaissance ball gowns the women flutter fans in front of the eyes in a kind of coquettish display. It is as thought lack of men serves to hyper-feminise them. The narrative and intentionality of The American Astronaut is impossible to categorise in any simple way. Its pleasure for me was accepting it strangeness and going with it. Once I did that as a viewer I felt the film questioned my assumptions about representation, identity, gender and construction of reality that we mostly take for granted. I know I haven’t really done the film justice here but it is well worth seeing particularly if you are tired of Hollywood’s one-dimensionality and formulaic characterisations.
For more on the film visit this link.
University Cuts
I have been building up to a particularly vociferous rant on the issue of university spending cuts. This is a thorny issue and has myriad complexities and contradictions and I am starting from a perspective of working in the academe which does, of course, colour my opinion. First of all cuts are going to happen across of British society, that is unavoidable. This in itself is largely unfair when it was rich casino-style bankers who go us into the mess and are ones who seem to be suffering the least. I am amazed that there is more outrage in the public domain about this. But in many ways the problem is systemic when you have capitalism on the upturn and socialist welfare state (for bankers) on the downturn.
I digress, back to universities. Universities are, in many ways, the easiest, and therefore the first port of call for cuts. I think this is partly cultural linking to general attitudes towards students and student life. Throughout my university life I’ve been called ‘tax-dodger’ by various working, and unemployed, but not particularly witty or well informed, acquaintances. Yet the fact that producing highly trained people is good for the country, both economically and cultural, is rarely mentioned and then only in passing. However the cuts that propose 80% percent be wiped of University budgets with the students themselves paying for the bulk of their tuition costs themselves is going to cause a major shift in the culture of higher education and thus British life.
First of removing the cap from universities can charge creates and open market. Access to knowledge will become explicitly what one can afford, the upshot being it will be the preserve of the rich. The proposals say there will be concessions for the less well off but this seems as though it will simply be a token gesture. The majority of lower-middle class students will end up leaving university with debts closer to £100,000 rather than the £30,000 they are averaging now. This simple fact is going to put off a huge percentage.
Another outcome will be the entrenchment of a two-tier system. In many ways that is what we have already. If you have Oxford or Cambridge written on your degree certificate, this in itself, provides a huge advantage over those with degrees from less prestigious institutions. Lifting the cap on what universities can charge however will make such hierarchies an acceptable part of HE organisation that will filter into graduate’s work opportunities. Courses will be rated almost exclusively on how much they cost rather than the academic knowledge they provide. The universities that can attract the big money will welcome these proposals (like Michael Arthur did on Channel 4 news when asked about the implications for the University of Leeds). New universities, which cater ostensibly for working-class students, and often provide courses that are considered light or inconsequential, are going to suffer disproportionately. Many of them will have to close departments and even may close altogether.
Another outcome is that the diversity and depth of knowledge provision will suffer enormously. Even before the credit crunch the idea of knowledge and learning for it own sake was becoming an antiquated concept. With these measures every course will have to be justified for purely economic reasons shifting the onus even more onto specific subjects which are deemed as fundamentally important or directly related to a specific profession. This will render subject such as the arts, humanities, social sciences and alike as the most susceptible to cuts. There is definitely a case for students to contribute to there education in today’s climate. However, saddling young people with huge debt before they enter the world of work alongside creating and American style tiered university system that will further fuel a separation between rich and poor and create a knowledge market where certain types of knowledge will always be privileged, is not the recipe for a progressive an equal society.
And finally…it is very telling that defence cuts in terms of percentage are going to be much less than most other spheres of society. This reveals the very ideological nature of the Tories plans in this regard.