Jeff Koons' "Girl with Dolphin and Monkey," at The Whitney Museum.
By David Ross. The more I am immersed in the study of art, the more I am appalled by what now passes as art … viscerally, even angrily appalled … and amazed that our culture – the culture of Palladio, Vermeer, what have you – sold its birthright for a mess of pottage that was not even tolerably good pottage. I recall an instructive day of cultural tourism in New York. My wife and I spent the morning at the Whitney, where we joined a sparse gaggle of pierced and alienated art-student types. We could not help noticing the mood of sour dutifulness that seemed to prevail. Nobody was enjoying and nobody was there to enjoy; the purpose was to symbolize one’s commitment to the modern, and to demonstrate one’s figurative manning of the barricades in the war against the bourgeois. After a while, I said to my wife, “Let’s get the hell out of this morgue.” We tried a palette cleanser of French pastry at Payard (see our wedding cake here), but the rancid taste was still in our mouths, and we felt the need for the stronger mouthwash of the Met. We wound up looking at Georgian furniture. Amid the gracefully tapering forms and magnificent burnishes, the public mood was all delight. Vacationing soccer moms stood before an impossibly lovely escritoire or settee and exclaimed, “How pretty! Kids, look at this one! Ooh, wow!”
From Marcus Harvey's "White Riot."
The problem, just to be clear, is not modern art, but art that has abandoned the refinement of the hand and eye that marks the aesthetic. The problem is art’s increasing identification with aims that are not aesthetic at all, but political, sociological, commercial, sensational, and self-promotional, with impulses that are subversive but not beautiful in their subversion (as say Baudelaire and Toulouse-Lautrec were beautiful in their subversion). Turner has much in common with moderns like Jackson Pollock or Mark Rothko; he has nothing in common with a postmodern like Damien Hirst.
I constantly search for a definitive diagnosis of what’s gone wrong. Tom Wolfe’s The Painted Word (1975) is lucid and amusing, but even better, because more pissed off, is Theodore Dalrymple’s essay “Trash, Violence, and Versace: But is it Art?” (see here), a review of a 1998 exhibition called “Sensation.” The Royal Academy of Art, historically a bastion of the staid, was the offender in this case, which suggests how strangely and thoroughly the cultural life of the West has been perverted. Dalrymple is particularly roused by the vapid amorality of Marcus Harvey’s portrait of the mass-child-murderer Myra Hindley. The portrait is rendered in children’s handprints, and the parents of the murdered children naturally protested (not that anyone cared). Dalrymple comments: Continue reading Modern Art
By Joe Bendel. “Banned in Pakistan” sounds like a heck of recommendation for a film. Yet, in the case of Abhishek Sharma’s Tere BinLaden (a bit of wordplay roughly translating to “Without Bin Laden”) it is hard to understand why they bothered. A mildly amusing satire, Tere tweaks the American response to the September 11th terrorist attacks far more than its Al-Qaeda mastermind, but evidently the Pakistani authorities feared any comedic representation of Bin Laden would be provocative. American audiences can judge for themselves today as Tere opens at select theaters nationwide (see listings here).
In a bit of a departure for Bollywood, Tere is set in Pakistan and stars the Pakistani popstar Ali Zafar as Ali Hassan, an aspiring journalist who dreams of making it big in America. Unfortunately, his departure is delayed by the 9-11 terrorist attack. When his flight finally leaves, his odd behavior (possible only in a slapstick comedy, given the obviously tense circumstances) is misinterpreted as a hijacking attempt. As a result, Hassan is barred from America for life.
Our young protagonist perseveres though, toiling away at a low rent news station, trying to raise cash for a new set of identity papers. Covering a rooster-crowing contest, Hassan spies a poultry breeder named Noora who is the spitting image of Bin Laden — okay, maybe that is a bit daring on the filmmaker’s part.
Peddling a fake bin Laden interview.
However, when the reporter bamboozles the eccentric Noora into making a counterfeit Bin Laden video, made up like his notorious double, the jokes really are not directed at Bin Laden, but primarily at his target -Hassan’s promised land of America. When the bogus tape hits the airwaves shortly thereafter, the American military naturally starts carpet-bombing Afghanistan out of sheer panic. Frankly, this is the sort of satire you can find in any number of American films. Of course, the Bollywood musical numbers are a different story, the best being Zafar’s mellow groover, “Bus Ek Soch.”
Ironically, the most endearing character of Tere is the likably goofy faux Bin Laden, played by Pradhuman Singh, who shows a flare for physical comedy and chicken wrangling. Zafar, who reportedly was once held for ransom by self-described Bin Laden supporters, is also reasonably engaging as Hassan. One can also understand why he might be gun-shy with satirical material that cuts too close to the bone.
The outrageous positions Bin Laden’s double finds himself in (chasing chickens with a grenade super-glued to his hand, for instance) may well help bring the mass murderer’s public image down to earth. If so, Tere could be a force for good. Still the Kumbaya ending, suggesting everyone can come together and work things out if America only reaches out to her enemies, is hardly an accurate reflection of the world as it is.
Ultimately, Tere plays it safe in choosing its targets. That it still found itself deemed “anti-Islam and anti-Pakistan,” with many censors apparently unable to distinguish between Bin Laden and a character clearly impersonating him within the context of the film, is probably more telling than anything in the film itself. For those intrigued by its backstory, Tere opens today (8/6) at the Big Manhattan (formerly ImaginAsian) Cinema for a one week run, with the possibility of extending, and in other theaters nationwide.
By Jason Apuzzo. Word comes today from The Wall Street Journal that the new version of CBS’ classic Hawaii Five-O series – see the trailer above – will feature a plotline in which the show’s heroes fight terrorism. How much of that they do, of course, remains to be seen (is there a lot of terrorism in Hawaii?).
Here’s the Journal:
In the original “Hawaii Five-O,” Jack Lord’s Steve McGarrett is an elite detective—and a bit of a straight arrow—whose arch-nemesis is Chinese communist spy Wo Fat. He’s too busy solving crimes to have much of a personal life. For the new version of the cop show, writers crafted McGarrett in post-9/11 mode, as a third-generation military man armed with high-tech weapons to fight international terrorism.
So they’re going Jack Bauer this time out. Interesting. I’ve been aware for some time that they were rebooting this series, but was not aware until now that there might be an anti-terror subplot worked into the storyline.
I’m a fan of the original show – in fact, as an odd coincidence, I just started watching DVDs of the original series last week. One of the things that made the original show so interesting – aside from its aggressive, in-your-face photography and editing, memorable score, and Jack Lord’s flinty persona – was the abundant international intrigue in the show. The core villain of the original series was, indeed, a Chinese communist superspy named Wo Fat, played menacingly by Khigh Dheigh (also famous as the Chinese communist spymaster from The Manchurian Candidate). The pilot of the series, for example, features Wo Fat immersing American counter-intelligence agents (including, eventually, Jack Lord’s Steve McGarrett character) into a special brain-washing tank, in order to squeeze information out of them. Wo Fat comes across as a crafty, brilliant adversary – and his rivalry with Jack Lord would eventually extend over the entire twelve seasons of the show.
Fighting the Red Menace: Jack Lord as Steve McGarrett.
And anti-communism was actually an important subtext of the show. Hawaii Five-O was, to some extent, a refashioning of John Wayne’s film Big Jim McLain – a film which had featured The Duke and sidekick James Arness battling a communist cell in Hawaii … all while wearing impossibly stylish clothing, and romancing local beauties like Nancy Olsen. Jack Lord himself had famously played C.I.A. agent Felix Leiter in the original James Bond film Dr. No, and Lord’s first major starring role was in the anti-communist cult classic The Red Menace – so the Red Scare was definitely in the air on this series.
My assumption going in is that this reboot will not come even close to being as good as the original. That’s a given, for reasons I probably don’t need to elaborate on here. [Essentially it boils down to this: they botch everything these days.] The new show obviously won’t have Jack Lord – who played McGarrett as a kind of edgy, 1950s-style company man, always on the brink of going berserk – and above all they won’t have the style, the muted cool of the old series. But at least they’ll be fighting terrorists, and that’s a plus. And maybe at some point they’ll bring in a new, 21st century Wo Fat. Who knows?
The trailer looks plain vanilla, frankly – albeit with a fair amount of hardware. We’ll keep an eye on all this.
Had the best soundtrack on TV.
[LFM Contributor Steve Greaves chimes in: “As a side note, another ‘impossibly cool’ element that is likely to be missing (or if it is there, will exist in some sullied form) from the new series is the kinetic, iconic and just plain rockin’ opening of the show featuring Mort Stevens’ time-tested Hawaii 5-0 theme music.
“Being a film music composer and buff myself, I have to say that the slammin’ timpani and heavy backbeat that kicked off the stylish and punchy title sequence made for one of most memorable, macho and all around tasty bits of 60’s TV pre-music video era. While the trailer shows signs of keeping the main theme reasonably intact, no doubt the reboot will purloin and abuse the melody, adding the requisite techno elements and Limp Bisquity schlock rock guitar wash that sounds like every action trailer churned out these days. Let’s hope they keep it pure, as the original show’s sonic palette brought a unique character to the series and locales therein.
“For a real treat, travel back in time and take a listen to the original series soundtrack which features classic mid-century TV cue writing and execution at its finest. Naturally, it also makes for great tiki party background fare.”]
By David Ross. My wife and I rewatched Billy Wilder’s Sabrina (1954) with our five-year-old daughter. I must be growing old and stodgy, because Audrey Hepburn’s pixie beauty excited me less than the film’s burble of conservative – or at least capitalist – sentiment.
Humphrey Bogart plays Linus Larrabee, an industrialist whose various empire-building activities the film seems more or less to endorse. His latest brainchild is an indestructible sugar-based plastic. In the interest of vertical integration, he’s arranged for his playboy brother David (William Holden) to marry a sugar heiress, setting the stage for the following exchange:
David: You’ve got all the money in the world.
Linus: What’s money got to do with it? If money were all there was to it, it’d hardly be worthwhile going to the office. Money is a by-product.
David: What’s the main objective, power?
Linus: Ah, that’s become a dirty word.
David: Well, then, what’s the urge? You’re going into plastics now. What will that prove?
Linus: Prove? Nothing much. A new product has been found, something of use to the world, and so a new industry moves into an undeveloped area. Factories go up, machines are brought in, a harbor is dug, and you’re in business. It’s purely coincidental of course that people who never saw a dime before suddenly have a dollar and barefooted kids wear shoes and have their teeth fixed and their faces washed. What’s wrong with a kind of an urge that gives people libraries, hospitals, baseball diamonds, and movies on a Saturday night?
Throwback.
It’s true enough that Linus bolts from the boardroom to catch the steamer that’s conveying Sabrina (i.e. Audrey) to Paris, but there’s no suggestion that he repudiates his former life. He loves Sabrina; Paris is incidental. He will presumably return and resume his role as an Atlas – or at least chess master – of industrialism, without apologies.
The great figure of the film, however, is Linus’ father Oliver Larrabee (Walter Hampden). He’s a reactionary of the nineteenth century, an unrepentant, cigar-sneaking, Martini-swilling robber baron, in comparison to whom the sniveling, canoodling modern (David) and the Ivy League bean-counter (Linus) are wan indeed; in the end, the film’s particular affection is for the salty throwback.
When David announces that he’s in love with Sabrina, the chauffeur’s daughter, Linus temporizes, “This is the 20th century.” Mr. Larrabee responds with one of the great reactionary bons mots:
“The 20th century? Why, I could pick a century out of hat blindfolded and come up with a better one.”
Who knows whether this line conveys genuine ire, or whether it’s meant merely in fun. What impresses me is its mere awareness that history is a dodgy business, with the implication that those who believe ‘we’re the ones we’ve been waiting for’ must at least argue their point.
By Jennifer Baldwin. “You’re never going to get me to do anything Swedish people do.” — Peggy Olson
This week’s episode of Mad Men was an episode of returns. There was the return of Creepy Glen the neighbor boy; the return of old fashioned (but endearing) ad man Freddy Rumsen (“Fredrick Van Rumsen!”); and most important of all, the return of the patented Joan Holloway Walk. When Joan struts her stuff, it’s not hard to see why Christina Hendricks is getting just as much buzz in the media (if not more) as Jon Hamm’s Don Draper.
Joan & The Walk are back.
Besides Joan and her Walk, I was also excited to see the return of Trudy Campbell (Allison Brie) and our second chance to watch “Trudy and Pete Do a Wacky Period Dance.” Last season we watched the Campbells do their best George and Mary Bailey imitation, dancing the Charleston. This time it’s the conga and Pete and his wife are in gung-ho form again. It’s moments like the office Christmas party conga line that make Mad Men such a treat. I will go on record as saying that I hate the way my generation dances, so I’m a little jealous to see how much fun Pete and Trudy made that conga line look.
There were also a number of funny lines in this week’s episode, particularly coming from Roger: “I feel like with my hair, you can’t see me in here” (speaking of his newly decorated, ultra-white office). John Slattery really does get all the best lines.
While “Christmas Comes But Once a Year” was a dark and rather depressing episode of Mad Men, it also boasted a number of witty lines and sparkling scenes. The episode really popped, from all of Roger’s scenes, to the aforementioned conga line scene, to the “Swedish way of love” scene between Peggy and her boyfriend. Matthew Weiner has a way of giving even his darkest episodes a light touch.
But make no mistake, this was a dark episode. The time is Christmas 1964, but the subject matter is all sex, both its uses and abuses. And what is the sexual act? What does it mean? Does it mean love? An escape from loneliness? A business transaction? Something purely physical, with no deeper meaning? Or do we avoid the “deeper meaning” at our peril? Continue reading Mad Men Season 4, Episode 2: “Christmas Comes But Once a Year”
Stallone, wife Jennifer Flavin and cute daughters at premiere.
By Jason Apuzzo. • The Expendables had its premiere yesterday. I certainly hope it does well – but I think I’ve figured out why my enthusiasm is muted with respect to this film: the apparent lack of a major star villain. The problem with having all these action dudes lined up together is that they need a formidable foe, and I haven’t a clue from the marketing who that might be.
I think it’s great that Stallone uses his wife’s skin care products, by the way. He should convince Mickey Rourke to do the same thing – Rourke’s currently looking like a mummy from one of those History Channel specials.
• Revenue on 3D movies is dropping like a stone (see here and here). I hate to sound like a broken record, but for the umpteenth time I repeat: this is the result of the cheapening of an otherwise legitimate and exciting new technology by bad, overnight conversions. This is so frustrating, because we’re watching something novel and exciting – a technology that is the product of years’ worth of expensive, complex R&D – be ruined by greedy executives looking for short-term cash-ins.
The basis for "Inception"?
• Did Christopher Nolan steal the idea for Inception from … Scrooge McDuck? Oh is this funny, if true! Someone’s apparently dug up an old comic in which the Beagle Boys break into a sleeping Scrooge McDuck’s bedroom and use a small machine to tap into his mind … in order to invade his dreams and steal the combination to his vault! Well, how about that?
This must be a tough story to take for all those critics who’ve been telling us what an original thinker Nolan is, how he’s rewriting the history of philosophy, etc. Besides, if Nolan had been half the genius he’s supposed to be he would’ve stolen from Elmer Fudd instead.
I’m not the first critic to note that director Phillip Noyce puts the public’s distrust of Jolie to use in his ace spy thriller “Salt.” For most of the picture, we don’t know whether Jolie’s Evelyn Salt is a CIA agent or a Soviet mole. The question of Salt’s allegiance is finally answered, but Noyce’s masterstroke is that he makes the answer irrelevant to the pleasure of watching the splendor of Jolie in her full leonine regality …
The twists and turns of the plot allow Jolie to remain a solitary being. With Salt’s allegiance constantly in question, Jolie can stride through the movie with no allegiance, except to the camera regarding her. Noyce and cinematographer Robert Elswit realize they’re dealing with one of those rare performers comfortable with allowing the camera to drink her in (a quality often mistaken for narcissism). And since the audience is there to drink her in, we bond with her …
It’s not simply that “Salt” gets us on Jolie’s side. It’s that by forging our allegiance to Salt and keeping it firm no matter what side she appears to be on, Noyce affirms the truest values of movies: beauty, style, charisma. If virtue was what we craved from movies, then the heroine of “Gone With the Wind” would be Olivia de Havilland. When, in “Salt,” Jolie starts roughing up cops and Secret Service agents, it takes us a few beats to ask why she’s doing it. The truth is, at first, we really don’t care. All we know is that they’re somehow in the way of the person we’re there to bask in, and we just want to watch her stride and fight, and to look at that extraordinary face, some more … Jolie’s appeal is about the movie aristocracy of beauty and charisma …
What Jolie does in “Salt” goes far beyond the now-clichéd move of putting a woman in a male action role. The picture is, as few recent movies have been, a demonstration of the sheer power of star power. That the star in question feels like such a solitary being may be proof of just how small the pictures have gotten.
I could not agree more. Click on over for the rest of Taylor’s drily amusing article.
• If you want to know what vacuous L.A. entertainment culture is actually like behind the scenes, the best thing you can do is watch The Rachel Zoe Project on Bravo.
RZP is a completely hilarious show that Govindini and I catch whenever we can; it’s essential viewing if you want to understand the ditzy, narcissistic and mostly harmless people who inhabit the industry. The Wall Street Journal’s Speakeasy blog today gathers some of the best lines from the show’s season premiere, and there’s also a new controversy brewing over at The New York Post about why Rachel’s blonde assistant Taylor really got fired! My favorite line from last night’s show: “My Blackberry is at another level.”
“I am sensitive to [boyfriend] Russell taking the Lord’s name in vain and to Lady Gaga putting a rosary in her mouth. I think when you put sex and spirituality in the same bottle and shake it up, bad things happen.”
Making grown men stammer.
I think there’s some truth to this. The fine, razor’s edge line connecting (and separating) spirituality and sexuality is the line that, for example, Federico Fellini treaded artfully over his entire career; and it’s the boundary that dolts like Lady Gaga and Madonna stumble over bafoonishly every day.
It’s entirely possible for entertainers to be sexy and playful without crossing the line – provided they have the talent, of course. And I think that’s what bugs me about Gaga: she doesn’t have the talent, so she makes up for it with cheap theatrics. By contrast, Perry’s goofy, playful “California Gurls” video plays like a campy, fun burlesque show – but at no point does it make you feel that you’re watching something ugly or sacrilegious (quite the contrary, actually). We’ll be watching this Perry-Gaga catfight as it unfolds.
• AND IN TODAY’S MOST IMPORTANT NEWS … Contrary to what you may think, LFM is not morphing into a Christina Hendricks fansite, but – like Angelina Jolie last week – she’s certainly got our attention!
