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seen and read
Dec. 4th, 2004 05:10 pmRead:
The Fall of France by Julian Jackson. Fairly interesting historical analysis. The cartoon on p. 188 of the Third Republic's last three premiers, and some associates, laughing at the prospect of their treason trial by the Vichy regime, is weirdly fascinating. It turns out they were right to laugh.
Politics by Hendrik Hertzberg. Hertzberg is the author of those trenchant editorials that The New Yorker has been running in the last few years, and this is a huge new collection of his writings from all dates as far back as 1966. They're not all about politics - the oldest item is a first-person account of the happy hippie life in the Haight in 1966, before the tourists arrived - and a few ought to have been left buried in old magazine files. Why Hertzberg unearthed a May 1988 argument that Michael Dukakis was going to make a great general-election candidate escapes me. But he's an elegant writer, as clear as Michael Kinsley and sometimes even as sarcastic:
Also in the issue: the incoherence of voter choice ("Peace and social justice are moral values; they just happen not to be values associated with the Bush Administration"); the strange gifts given by parents to private-school teachers; and an account of a guy from Texas named Ole Anthony who seems to be sort of the anti-evangelist. Your usual televangelists hate this guy, and the feeling is mutual. Joe Bob Briggs is among Anthony's parishioners, not surprising for a pastor who says things like:
Lost in La Mancha. Less interesting than I'd hoped, a sad documentary of a film production meltdown. At fault seem to be underfinancing, which left no maneuverability in the schedule, and the illness of the film's star. Sadly, it seems that a week's actual production time only resulted in about 30 seconds of usable footage. They're really good clips, though. I'm not sure I'd recommend this film, but on the extras disc there's a fascinating hour-long public conversation between Terry Gilliam and Salman Rushdie. Gilliam's description of why he left the US in the mid-60s, together with Rushdie's account of his first passage through US Customs at about the same time, are not to be missed.
Elf. The first ten minutes star Bob Newhart as a poppa elf, and are witty and delightful. After that the film becomes plodding, tedious, and predictable, redeemed only by Will Ferrell's capacity to play a man who thinks he's an elf without being utterly obnoxious about it.
A Thousand Acres. I knew this film was a retelling of King Lear set on an Iowa farm. What I didn't know is that it's the evil sisters' version of the story. Nothing's fair for poor Goneril and Regan (Jessica Lange and Michelle Pfeiffer). Their husbands are losers, their little sister is a cold unfeeling bitch, and their father (Jason Robards, who seems to specialize in these kinds of parts) molested them both as teenagers. (I don't remember that from King Lear.) But they're tough broads, and win their way through: gritting their teeth and persevering as Cordelia and Lear reconcile (offstage, and presented as totally inexplicable), and forgiving each other as they discover that Edmund (Colin Firth, in an ill-fitting American accent) is two-timing each of them - quite a change from what happens in Shakespeare's version.
I recall that at one point one of the characters quotes a line from Hamlet, rendering more urgent the question of why nobody stops and thinks, "Gee, our family troubles are a lot like King Lear!"
Footnote: Examination of a TV weather map that briefly appears during the storm scene reveals that the story's fictional Zebulon County occupies the space of real-life Cerro Gordo County. That's where Mason City is. Mason City was the home town of Meredith Willson and the model for his famous fictional Iowa town. Yes, you've got trouble (trouble!) right here in River City.
The Fall of France by Julian Jackson. Fairly interesting historical analysis. The cartoon on p. 188 of the Third Republic's last three premiers, and some associates, laughing at the prospect of their treason trial by the Vichy regime, is weirdly fascinating. It turns out they were right to laugh.
Politics by Hendrik Hertzberg. Hertzberg is the author of those trenchant editorials that The New Yorker has been running in the last few years, and this is a huge new collection of his writings from all dates as far back as 1966. They're not all about politics - the oldest item is a first-person account of the happy hippie life in the Haight in 1966, before the tourists arrived - and a few ought to have been left buried in old magazine files. Why Hertzberg unearthed a May 1988 argument that Michael Dukakis was going to make a great general-election candidate escapes me. But he's an elegant writer, as clear as Michael Kinsley and sometimes even as sarcastic:
Most of the big post-Nixon 'gates have involved sex, which means that they also involved explanations, usually tortured, of why they weren't really "about" sex. (The exception was Iran-contra, which had no sex and therefore did not have to be sold as being about something other than what it was about.)Some fascinating articles in the Dec. 6 New Yorker, including this on Lord Dunsany. The author sounds scandalized that Dunsany's fictional mythology is unlike real primitive mythologies. No kidding. "Dunsany’s creation is a sumptuous pageant of Symbolist exotica that lies closer in spirit to Aubrey Beardsley and The Yellow Book than to any actual sacred text." And this is bad ... how?
Also in the issue: the incoherence of voter choice ("Peace and social justice are moral values; they just happen not to be values associated with the Bush Administration"); the strange gifts given by parents to private-school teachers; and an account of a guy from Texas named Ole Anthony who seems to be sort of the anti-evangelist. Your usual televangelists hate this guy, and the feeling is mutual. Joe Bob Briggs is among Anthony's parishioners, not surprising for a pastor who says things like:
Well, we were talking about your place in the body of Christ. And I told one guy his place was to be a pimple on the ass of the body of Christ. I just said it. It just came out.Seen:
Lost in La Mancha. Less interesting than I'd hoped, a sad documentary of a film production meltdown. At fault seem to be underfinancing, which left no maneuverability in the schedule, and the illness of the film's star. Sadly, it seems that a week's actual production time only resulted in about 30 seconds of usable footage. They're really good clips, though. I'm not sure I'd recommend this film, but on the extras disc there's a fascinating hour-long public conversation between Terry Gilliam and Salman Rushdie. Gilliam's description of why he left the US in the mid-60s, together with Rushdie's account of his first passage through US Customs at about the same time, are not to be missed.
Elf. The first ten minutes star Bob Newhart as a poppa elf, and are witty and delightful. After that the film becomes plodding, tedious, and predictable, redeemed only by Will Ferrell's capacity to play a man who thinks he's an elf without being utterly obnoxious about it.
A Thousand Acres. I knew this film was a retelling of King Lear set on an Iowa farm. What I didn't know is that it's the evil sisters' version of the story. Nothing's fair for poor Goneril and Regan (Jessica Lange and Michelle Pfeiffer). Their husbands are losers, their little sister is a cold unfeeling bitch, and their father (Jason Robards, who seems to specialize in these kinds of parts) molested them both as teenagers. (I don't remember that from King Lear.) But they're tough broads, and win their way through: gritting their teeth and persevering as Cordelia and Lear reconcile (offstage, and presented as totally inexplicable), and forgiving each other as they discover that Edmund (Colin Firth, in an ill-fitting American accent) is two-timing each of them - quite a change from what happens in Shakespeare's version.
I recall that at one point one of the characters quotes a line from Hamlet, rendering more urgent the question of why nobody stops and thinks, "Gee, our family troubles are a lot like King Lear!"
Footnote: Examination of a TV weather map that briefly appears during the storm scene reveals that the story's fictional Zebulon County occupies the space of real-life Cerro Gordo County. That's where Mason City is. Mason City was the home town of Meredith Willson and the model for his famous fictional Iowa town. Yes, you've got trouble (trouble!) right here in River City.
