Latest Blog Posts

by Elizabeth Fox

18 Nov 2007

The End of the Alphabet

The End of the Alphabet
by C.S. Richardson
Doubleday ($16.95)

By Elizabeth Fox

The Philadelphia Inquirer (MCT)

From the moment you pick up C.S. Richardson’s The End of the Alphabet, there is little doubt that, at only 119 pages, it aspires to join Of Mice and Men on the list of short classic novels bursting with brilliant, heart-wrenching emotion.

To its credit, it does try pretty hard to get there. Its very concept sounds like “instant classic” material. Ambrose Zephyr, a 50-ish man leading a boring, contented life, discovers at his annual medical exam that he has an unspecified illness with no cure, and only 30 days, give or take, to live.

The news comes as a blow both to Ambrose and to his loving wife, Zipper. Attempting to come to terms with this loss of life and love, they try to satisfy Ambrose’s previously unfulfilled desire to travel by racing from one place to the next, each geographical location corresponding with successive letters of the alphabet. The names of characters, the printing career of Ambrose’s father, and the recurring appearances of books, typesetting blocks, and writing in general all highlight this alphabetical motif again and again.

Richardson’s inability to do anything with this symbolism, however, is representative of the book’s major flaw. Throughout, Richardson scatters many of the patterns, symbols, and motifs adored by literature buffs (I am one, so I can say it). In addition to the alphabet, he throws in Ambrose’s obsession with travel, the connection of the couple to Paris, Ambrose’s ability to see and smell through his imagination, and a smattering of other oft-repeated references. Yet intriguing as they are, Richardson is unable to tie these many quirky patterns into any kind of meaning. This is especially disappointing as his major topics—death, love, loss—are ripe for metaphor, symbolism, and literary analysis.

He also faces serious problems in his characterization of Ambrose and Zipper. The reader never gets much of a sense of them as people. By way of introduction, Richardson describes in detail what each of them likes and does not like, and then heads straight into the territory of vague action and generalized grief. The like/don’t like way of introducing characters worked in the French film “Amelie” because it was followed by action, reaction, confrontation and discourse—all things that informed further character development and produced complex personalities. Here, a few details do not a character make. The incomplete haziness of Ambrose and Zipper’s description means that, while their situation is infinitely pitiable, it’s hard to sympathize with them as the people experiencing it.

That said, though, there is a certain sweetness to Richardson’s novel. Perhaps it’s the many references it makes to an idyllic Paris, perhaps it’s the recollection it inspires of Mark Dunn’s wonderful Ella Minnow Pea, or perhaps it’s merely the book’s small size (an hour or two’s reading at most, and, ironically, nicely travel-size), but it does have an offbeat charm.

Richardson also infuses Ambrose and Zipper with certain endearing characteristics—he cannot stand Wuthering Heights, while it’s her favorite book; they disagree about where they first met—to provide a sketch, if not a full portrait, of an adorably eccentric couple. And while Ambrose’s death could not elicit tears from this cold-hearted reader, his last gift to Zipper brought on a sniffle or two.

So in the end, The End of the Alphabet is not a classic. Instead, it’s a flawed but sweet novel, more ordinary than extraordinary. But considering its premise—ordinary, flawed but sweet people in extraordinary circumstances—maybe that makes sense.

by Bill Gibron

18 Nov 2007

It remains the single most significant debate in the series’ otherwise stable history. While many consider it to be a minor, or even moot point, messageboards and fan sites still sizzle with its personality based paradox. On the one hand there are fervent admirers of stand-up legend and show creator Joel Hodgson. His sleepy eyed sense of whimsy matched by a non-threatening satiric irony made him the perfect post-modern kiddie show host. But when he finally left Mystery Science Theater 3000, the movie mocking comedy cavalcade that he had shepparded through growing pains and cable channel cultdom, he was replaced by the soon to be celebrated Mike Nelson. Longtime collaborator and head writer, the Midwestern mook took his confused Everyman shtick and launched it into the stratosphere. Before long, he was the most recognizable face the show ever had, far more mainstream than the previous personality.

Thus, the ultimate standoff was established. On one side are the faithful, the ones who believe Joel represents everything MST3K stands for. He’s the cornerstone of the classic, the reason the show exists and why it still resonates some two decades later. And yet those who support Mike argue that his substitution actually saved the series. He sat at the center of Mystery Science’s commercial renaissance, the shift from unknown quantity to noted example of the medium’s multifaceted excellence. Oh course, the question boils down to this – who is better? Is Hodgson’s culturally astute ramblings, laced with enough pop life references to strangle a steer, the true tenet of MST, or does Nelson’s nice guy numbskullery, the buffoonish set within a pure distillation of homespun humor, best exemplify the show’s entertainment essence?

While a definitive consensus may never be reached, Rhino’s latest volume of forgotten funny business, the Mystery Science Theater 3000 Collection Volume 12, sets up an interesting dichotomy. Featuring Joel circa Season 4 (The Rebel Set) and toward the end of his run (Season 5’s Secret Agent Super Dragon) vs. Mike during his introductory phase (Season 6’s The Starfighters) and his Season 8 Sci-Fi Channel finery (the classic Parts: The Clonus Horror), this brilliant box set creates the conflict perfectly. How you respond to and revere each episode traces your wit proclivity to its point of personal origin. By the end of the unquestionably hilarious six hour slog through some of the worst movies ever made, you’ll have a better handle on your cow town puppet show preferences.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or with the human equivalent of same, Mystery Science Theater 3000 offers a rather surrealistic premise. Hodgson plays a former worker for the fictional Deep 13 Laboratories shot into space by disgruntled mad scientist Dr. Clayton Forrester. With the help of henchman TV’s Frank, the fey super villain subjects his orbital guinea pig to the lousiest, lamest films ever conceived. He then monitors Hodgson’s mind to see how the ‘experiment’ affects him. Of course, our hero combats the sniveling psycho by creating a collection of robot friends. Gypsy runs the higher functions on the spaceship. Crow and Tom Servo act as buffers to the bad movie mania, sitting in the Satellite of Love’s screening room and riffing away to combat the crap. When Joel escaped his fate during the mid-section of Season 5, Nelson simply replaced him as the newest test case.

With 1959’s The Rebel Set, we have one of the best examples of this premise in play. The staid little heist flick substitutes stupidity for suspense, and offers the most unlikely set of criminals this side of an episode of Dragnet. Working angles both unbelievable (a struggling actor agreeing to a between trains snatch) and beatnik (the ‘oh so uncool’ coffeehouse setting gives poets an even worse rep) it’s a stagnant, unstoppable mess. Naturally, it makes for flawless MST fodder. One of the show’s signatures remains its host segment/sketch material. Instead of quipping throughout the entire film, the picture occasionally pauses so that Joel, his tormentors, and his automaton pals can comment on what they’ve seen and extend the comedy beyond the actual meaning of the movie. Here, we get suggestions for what someone could do on a four hour layover in Chicago, how to hone one’s acting chops the “Scott Baio” way, and a discussion of unknown character actor Merritt Stone. Throw in a sensational short subject (the Canadian National Exhibition exercise, Johnny at the Fair) and you’ve got a pristine illustration of Joel-era bemusement.

For exemplary Mike, on the other hand, it’s hard to beat the diabolically dull Starfighters. Clearly crafted as a recruitment tool for the US Air Force, we watch as new pilot recruits (including one rather spineless daddy’s boy) take their multimillion dollar fighting machines up, up, and away. Endless footage of mid-air refueling commences. Deconstructing such blatant propaganda is not hard for the gang – especially when the last act revolves around something called a “poopie” suit – but the lack of anything remotely amusing or engaging does give the jokesters a run for their riffing. Again, the midpoint material is sensational, Crow and Tom taking the notion of a ‘de-briefing’ to sensational slapstick heights, while the United Servo Men’s Choir provides an acappela medley of flight-oriented catchphrases. Any film featuring future former Congressman Bob Dornan as a wussified jet trainee has its own unique entertainment inertness. But Mike proves that all facets of humor, from commercial parodies (a BBQ sauce setpiece) to old school tech tweaks (Crow tries, unsuccessfully, to merge onto the information superhighway) are ripe for rediscovery.

Of course, the movies themselves manufacture much of the mirth – especially when they play like an inadvertent spoof of the genre they’re shameless imitating. Joel’s second offering, the espionage ipecac Secret Agent Super Dragon is verifiable evidence of such poorly planned production misfires. This ersatz Bond, bumbling around like Matt Helm and Derek Flint’s bastard offspring, is about as intriguing as a bureaucratic seminar in triplicate. This typical Italian rip-off starts out sloppy, and only gets more inexplicable along the way. Centering on an international dealer smuggling drugs via auctioned artworks, there’s plenty of ripe ridicule material present. And Joel’s jesters make the most of it. Even better, we get another sensational sketch segment where Crow writes a politically correct script for his own take on the misogynistic, chauvinistic spy thriller. One of the best amalgamations of type with treatment the series ever established, it’s sad to think that there were only eight more episodes featuring Hodgson after this.

Luckily, Nelson was able to carry the comic mantle expertly. Even after cancellation, renewal, and constant fretting over the Sci-Fi Channel mandates regarding content (this is a network that now considers professional wrestling as acceptable genre subject matter), MST3K still managed to deliver undeniable comic genius. Nowhere is this truer than in the now classic take on the clone organ harvesting extravaganza Parts: The Clonus Horror. Remember Michael Bay’s The Island from a couple of years back. Same plagiarized story. Dopey duplicates kept in a utopian resort learn they are actually body part banks for influential individuals. One rebellious replicant decides to fight the system. Boredom ensues. Unlike the other three installments of the series offered herein, Parts has problems that have very little to do with the quality of what’s going on and everything to do with unclear context and continuity. Unless you followed the show from Season 7 on, you’ll have no idea who Pearl Forrester, Professor Bobo, or Brain Guy actually are. You’ll hear Crow’s new voice and wonder why the switch was made. Granted, the PBS pledge drive segments are wonderful, but the lack of perspective and place may confuse the uninitiated.

In fact, the only fault found in any of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 material is the latter versions need to maintain season-long story arcs. Sci-Fi’s suits must have slipped a substantial gasket requiring a show built around a different movie every week to develop some manner of character/narrative continuity. It’s unnecessary, and makes future syndication seem scattered – or impossible. In any case, these delightful DVDs give us an opportunity to revisit the series without having to worry about messy torrents, Nth generation bootlegs, or DVD-R scams. They look amazing, and Rhino fleshes out the films with trailers, interviews (Rebel Set star Don Sullivan) and another installment of the MST3K Video Jukebox. Many forget just how many amazing songs and music based skits the comedians created, and this third go round collects some of the best.

Yet none of this really addresses the opening concern – who, indeed, was a better show host? Joel was a jolly if slightly cynical sort who let his razor sharp observations slowly stumble and creep up on you. He wasn’t the hit you over the head type that Mike masterfully manipulated. Hodgson often played as if he knew this was all a joke, retrofitting a lifetime exposed to WGN family fare as a means of making a grander, neo-nostalgic point. Nelson gave the premise all he could, frequently letting the robots redesign his reputation into slacker, stooge, cheesehead, and chump. You could call it a perfect example of humor yin and yang, the intellectual and the inbred blissfully blundering away together – and frankly, you’d be right. One of the main reasons Mystery Science Theater 3000 remains a TV classic is this combination of heart and head, the brainiac and the balderdash. It suggests no one is better and both are best. Indeed, to argue between Joel Hodgson and Mike Nelson is rather pointless. When something as brilliant as the episodes included in Volume 12 stands as validation, there’s no need to choose sides.

by Jillian Burt

17 Nov 2007

Tahmima Anam

Tahmima Anam


“As a Bangladeshi, it’s often difficult to know where to point one’s concern for the country,” Tahmima Anam wrote when the recent cyclone hit Bangladesh:

The truth is that nature itself is not just to blame. A natural disaster is only as much of a disaster as we allow it to become, and in the case of Bangladesh, far more needs to be done to ensure that fate’s twists and turns do not devastate the country and set it further back on its path to development. Storms kill people in Bangladesh because their homes are not sturdily built, because they live on sandbanks, and because rescue operations fail to reach remote areas.

It is also not just a question of local priorities, but of international environmental policies that urgently need to be addressed. The rising sea levels caused by global warming will plunge much of Bangladesh’s low-lying delta underwater. Without a consensus on climate change, Bangladesh will always be in the path of the storm.

Tahmima Anam. Comment is Free. The Guardian. November 17, 2007

Tahmima Anam was born in Bangladesh and grew up in Paris, New York and Bangkok, and now lives in London. Her father is Mahfuz Anam, editor of The Daily Star, Bangladesh’s largest circulating English-language newspaper. Her novel, A Golden Age, is set at the time of the declaration of Bangladesh’s independence, and Pankaj Mishra wrote: “Tahmima Anam’s startlingly accomplished and gripping novel describes not only the tumult of a great historical event… but also the small but heroic struggles of individuals living in the shadow of revolution and war.”

On August 15 she wrote an opinion piece for the Guardian on the social divisions Bangladesh’s independence brought.

“Throughout the Bangladesh war, Pakistani soldiers repeatedly asked Bengali freedom fighters if they were Bengali or Muslim, as though the cultural identity could not coexist with the religious identity. The Bengalis of East Pakistan were Bengali and Muslim; they fought a war of independence so that they could have a country in which these two identities could be integrated. But sadly, the fight that led to the legitimisation of this identity did not lay the groundwork for pluralism, nor indeed did it result in a final resolution of the tension between cultural and religious identity. People are still wondering whether they are Bengali or Muslim, and in the wake of this great anxiety, a sinister and violent form of identity politics has taken root that has left many Bangladeshi citizens behind. For East Pakistan, and East Bengal before it, was not only made up of Bengalis and Muslims. It also included Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Jains, and the indigenous peoples - Chakmas, Santals, and Garos. These people are neither Bengali nor Muslim, and this debate has not only disenfranchised them from the major questions of identity that grip modern-day Bangladesh, but has distracted us from the slow and steady colonisation of their lands, cultures, and habitats.”

And globalization has made people more vulnerable. “Creating poverty is not something that’s an unfortunate side effect of globalization,” Pankaj Mishra told The Brooklyn Rail Magazine in September. “It’s almost an essential part of much of the process. So it’s not as if we create wealth and then we take care of the needy and the poor. You need the poor. In his new book Planet of Slums, Mike Davis makes this very clear. Whether it’s India, Brazil or Bangladesh, slums are necessary for the development of these economies and for the type of economic growth they are seeking. You cannot do away with them. Making British Petroleum or Shell more environmentally conscious—these types of fine tunings that are constantly being attempted—are all admirable in their own ways. But I don’t know whether they can actually affect large-scale change.”


Every news cycle brings a fresh disaster, a new storm, and media organizations reconsider the disasters, like birthdays, on only the significant anniversaries: a year, two years, then ten, fifty, a hundred years. Recording Katrina keeps the spotlight on New Orleans. It takes an excerpt from a special Bill Moyers aired in August. He’s talking to a Princeton University Professor, Melissa Harris-Lacewell:

BILL MOYERS: I’ve kept in my files something written one week after the disaster. Listen to this. “What Hurricane Katrina exposed was the psychological consequence of the welfare state. 75 percent of the residents of New Orleans had already evacuated before the hurricane. And of those who remained, a large number were from the city’s public housing projects.” What does that say to you?

MELISSA HARRIS-LACEWELL: Well, it’s bizarre and inaccurate empirically. Because in fact, the public housing projects were on high ground. They experienced very little water damage. And most of the residents there who have been shut out by their government, by their city and by our national housing office, is not because of any destruction that occurred because of Katrina but because of the required evacuation that occurred.They were mostly safe.

The people whose homes were destroyed were mostly home owners. But they were poor people. And this is what we can’t deal with in America. They worked jobs every day. Most of them stayed because they needed to go to work in the morning. Most of them had to go to work in the morning in the hotels, in the tourist industries, in the restaurants that served to make New Orleans the fun place that the rest of us liked to visit. So they were homeowners who were poor. They were working people who were poor. Because we live in a country where we allow people to work every day and still be poor. To still have the inadequate capacity to leave.

And the third reason why many people didn’t leave are very thick social networks. So part of the question you asked is, why didn’t people think, oh, this disaster is coming? Well, Betsy, Hurricane Betsy was in living memory in New Orleans. And Hurricane Betsy was a terrible storm that many people had survived. If you had an aunt or an uncle or a grandmother who had survived Hurricane Betsy, she or he refused often to leave.

Bill Moyers Journal. PBS.

Recording Katrina links to the New Orleans journal that Harry Shearer has kept on the Huffington Post since the hurricane hit. I’ve set an e-mail alert to let me know every time he posts a story, and it’s at least once, maybe twice a week, and the majority of those posts relate to the rebuilding of New Orleans.

Robin Pogrebin, in Tuesday’s NYT, took a look at one of the tangible faces of that recovery, the design and construction of the new vintage of houses and public buildings. Of course, there actually are new, and restored, houses going up, while the public buildings remain concepts, if not whims and fancies. But the piece, which is heavy on quotes from architects and planners, revisits once more the fantasy that post-K New Orleans was a “clean slate” that planners should have seized to write a new chapter in the history of urbanism, and that those who resist are “historicists” in sentimental thrall to a past that’s not coming back.

To most of us who live in the city and love it, the clean slate theory ignores some basic truths: old houses, the ones we’re in hock to maintain, were built the way they were (despite some airs and pretensions in design) because it made sense for the area and climate. Big high windows and front porches weren’t only sensible for a time before air conditioning; like office-tower windows that can actually open, they make sense in times of emergency when the first thing to go out is the electricity. And houses were built using cypress because that local wood is the best adapted to the high humidity conditions of the area. That’s why old houses, gutted to the studs, are still habitable. There are splendid examples—not all that many, to be sure—of indisputably new architecture taking its place gracefully among the old. I’d point to the “Fred and Ginger Building” by Frank Gehry, nestling comfortably amid 19th century buildings on a prominent corner in Prague. But that kind of respectful contemporary addition to a historical tapestry doesn’t follow from viewing the place as an empty tablet upon which the architect and planner can be freed from all constraints of time and place. Planners already so freed in certain New Orleans areas—like “renewed” old public housing tracts—have ignored one of the basic parts of that city’s life, the street grid that makes possible corner groceries, corner bars, corner everything. Superblocks may look nice on a clean slate, but the New Orleanians who ache to return want to come back to someplace that looks, and feels, like the city they have missed for so long.

Harry Shearer. The Huffington Post. November 7, 2007


Five years ago, I imagined a website that would show how people were connected to each other in real life, so I built a prototype called ­Friendster. I decided that one of its central features would be a friend confirmation process. When you wanted to add someone as your friend, an e‑mail notification was sent with your request. If—and only if—the person approved your request, you were both listed as each other’s friends. Five years later, I am paying the price for this innovation as I face an avalanche of friend spam. I get several friend requests per day from Friendster, MySpace, and Facebook, and also from social-media services such as Yelp, Flickr, and Pownce…

The press, bloggers, and the investment community are excitedly following every shift in buzz, from Dodgeball to Twitter to ­Pownce, or from Friendster to MySpace to Facebook. Since the launch of the Facebook Platform in May, the press and many so-called experts have finally begun recognizing the value of Facebook’s “social graph”—the map of connections between real friends. But ironically, as the tech elite have begun to deride MySpace’s seizure-inducing page designs and promiscuous friend seekers, Facebook’s clean user interface and focus on real friends faces an onslaught of new users and pointless applications where tattooed zombies buy drinks for your top friends….

So what advice do I have for dealing with the friend spam and keeping on top of all these new services? Every once in a while, turn off your computer and go hang out with your friends. 

Jonathan Abrams. Technology Review. November / December 2007


Secretary General Ban Ki Moon of the United Nations called climate change “the defining challenge of our age” Saturday and called on the United States and China, the greatest emitters of greenhouse gases, to be “playing a more constructive role” in coming negotiations for a new global climate treaty….

“Today the world’s scientists have spoken, clearly and in one voice,” Ban said as he released the final report of the UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. 

International Herald Tribune. November 17, 2007

Humanity is rapidly turning the seas acid through the same pollution that causes global warming, the world’s governments and top scientists agreed yesterday. The process – thought to be the most profound change in the chemistry of the oceans for 20 million years – is expected both to disrupt the entire web of life of the oceans and to make climate change worse.

The warning is just one of a whole series of alarming conclusions in a new report published by the official Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), which last month shared the Nobel Peace Prize with former US vice president Al Gore.

Geoffrey Lean. A World, Dying. But Can We Unite to Save It? The Independent. November 18, 2007


William Gibson told Web Watch magazine that his most recent novels have been openly set in the present because he can’t imagine a wild enough future to fictionalize.

The trouble is there are enough crazy factors and wild cards on the table now that I can’t convince myself of where a future might be in 10 to 15 years. I think we’ve been in a very long, century-long period of increasingly exponential technologically-driven change.

We hit a point somewhere in the mid-18th century where we started doing what we think of technology today and it started changing things for us, changing society. Since World War II it’s going literally exponential and what we are experiencing now is the real vertigo of that - we have no idea at all now where we are going.

Will global warming catch up with us? Is that irreparable? Will technological civilisation collapse? There seems to be some possibility of that over the next 30 or 40 years or will we do some Verner Vinge singularity trick and suddenly become capable of everything and everything will be cool and the geek rapture will arrive? That’s a possibility too.

You can see it in corporate futurism as easily as you can see it in science fiction. In corporate futurism they are really winging it - it must be increasingly difficult to come in and tell the board what you think is going to happen in 10 years because you’ve got to be bullshitting if you claiming to know. That wasn’t true to the same extent even a decade ago.

A website called Tyee in William Gibson’s hometown, Vancouver, concluded an interview with him by asking him whether he’s hopeful. “The present zeitgeist, now, is only one news cycle long,” he replied. “Something could happen tomorrow that would throw everything into a cocked hat.” On his own website he talked about a novelist writing books set in Victorian England that he sees as allegories for our own time.

Three of my favorite novels of the past four years are John MacLachlan Gray’s The Fiend In Human (2003), White Stone Day (2005), and the very recently published Not Quite Dead , all of which might be described as Victorian thrillers, but all which are something else as well, though it’s difficult to put a handle on just what that might be.

Perhaps what I find most magical about them isn’t Gray’s ability to shrug himself so snugly into their era, an act requiring more imaginative muscle than the creation of any wholesale fantasy-world, but rather his gorgeously subtle recursion of what we as a culture think we understand about the Victorians. To step into the rancid fog of Seven Dials with Edmund Whitty, polypharmically-challenged correspondent for The Falcon, is to enter a most satisfyingly strange universe, yet one based firmly (however wonderfully peculiarly) in that fundamentally speculative discipline that is history.

Through Gray’s fine optics, we observe phenomena that echo powerfully for us today: serial killings in The Fiend In Human, child pornography in White Stone Day, and ethno-secular terrorism (and that singular horror, my friends, that is the *book tour*) in Not Quite Dead.

William Gibson, from his blog.

Angelina Jolie talks to displaced girls in Darfur. October 2004

Angelina Jolie talks to displaced girls in Darfur. October 2004


On August 22 The Economist published a “global peace index”. Norway, New Zealand and Denmark were the countries judged most at peace and the Sudan, Iraq and Isreal the least peaceful. The Economist claims the Dalai Lama’s support for the rankings. “Compiling and maintaining an Index of which countries are the most peaceful and publishing the results, will undoubtedly make the factors and qualities that contribute to that status better known and will encourage people to foster them in their own countries,” the Dalai Lama is reported as saying. “The project’s ambition is to go beyond a crude measure of wars – and systematically explore the dynamics of peace” the Economist said. “It provides a quantitative measure of peacefulness, comparable over time and its founders hope it will inspire and influence world leaders and governments to further action.”

Angelina Jolie closed an opinion piece that she wrote for The Washington Post with a statement that people whose countries are torn apart by war seek peace-of-mind through justice. “What the worst people in the world fear most is justice. That’s what we should deliver.” She reprised the article for The Economist.

On a recent mission for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, I had the opportunity to visit a refugee camp in Chad just across the border with Sudan. Sitting with a group of refugees, I asked them what they needed. These were people who had seen family members killed, neighbours raped, their villages burned and looted, their entire communities driven from their land. So it was no surprise when people began listing the things that could improve their lives just a little bit. Better tents, said one; better access to medical facilities, said another. But then a teenage boy raised his hand and said, with powerful simplicity, “Nous voulons un procès.” We want a trial.

A trial might seem a distant and abstract notion to a young man for whom the inside of a courtroom is worlds away from the inside of a refugee camp. But his statement showed a recognition of something elemental: that accountability is perhaps the only force powerful enough to break the cycle of violence and retribution that marks so many conflicts.

Angelina Jolie. The World in 2008. The Economist.

Palagummi Sainath

Palagummi Sainath


Framework is a magazine supported by the Finnish Ministry of Culture, to expand the reach of local works and report on culture internationally. The June 2005 issue concentrated on the issue of truthfulness. “Events in the world at large are having an increasing influence on what people experience in their personal life-worlds,” Marketta Seppälä wrote in the editorial. “Information that is firmly rooted in reality is becoming increasingly valuable, but there are no firm criteria, let alone proof, that would allow us to draw the essential distinctions. We need to be able to question our own prejudices in order to discover new approaches and solutions to social, often increasingly global problems. We need to have the right to be ‘unrealistic’ and to dream of alternatives, to have utopias. The more our reality shrinks into a space in which truth and our own prejudices start to merge, the fewer opportunities there are for identifying the critical challenges presented by today’s world.”

Iikka Vehkalahti’s article borrows the title, “What the Heart Does Not Feel” from a story by Indian journalist, Palagummi Sainath, who bears witness to the despair of Indian farmers, giving identities to people who are most often grouped together as statistics. “Something very fundamental is happening,” Sainath reported in that story. “The central, driving factors behind the suicides remain the same. Rising debt, soaring input costs, plummeting output prices, a credit crunch and so on. But the outcome now adds up to more than just the sum total of these factors. After 15 years of a battering from hostile policies and governments, the world of the peasant has turned highly fragile. Problems that would not have driven many to suicide a decade ago do so now. It takes less to push farmers over the edge because their resistance is down. So fragile is their economy and equilibrium. The studies and surveys seldom account for one vital actor — the worldview of peasants. How that is changing as their links to the land erode. How their hopes of what’s possible are constantly dashed. How, losing their anchor, they drift to a frightening future. How it feels to watch your child drop out of school or college because education has become too expensive. Even as your daughter’s marriage is off, because you cannot afford it. You fail to get your ailing mother to a hospital because health is the most costly thing in your world. All this while agriculture itself is tanking. And there’s less food on the table. For too many, pessimism soaks the worldview this shapes. And despair gains ground as the coming deity.”

So how do we distinguish the essential through all the information flooding in? Hollywood’s answer is to “trust your feelings”, rendering the individual’s subjective experience the foremost guideline. “I feel what I feel and it’s true and you can’t deny it because it’s my feeling.” Though hardly a matter of dispute, the statement holds within an internalized conception of the existence of an ultimate truth.

To perceive the world through subjective experience is of course not enough either, but present reality does offer more and more opportunities to live (and seek refuge) in different fragmented realities. Prominent Indian journalist, Palagummi Sainath, has stated that “the assets of the top three billionaires are more than the combined GNP of all the least developed countries and their 600 million people together or that every year, Europeans and Americans spend between $ 36-40 billion on cosmetics, ice cream and pet food alone”. The subjective realities of the Asian slums and the poorest fifth of the world’s population are quite different from those of the European middle class, or of an art critic representing the intellectual elite, or of a documentary maker.

Sainath, whose articles on the poverty in rural India bind small events into global contexts, has taken upon himself to tell “the beautiful people” – the elite of his society – how the poor people in his country live, experience life and feel. He doesn’t pretend to be part of the poor or even to be able to see the world through their perspective, but his personal outlook, professional talent and studious interest in the matter enable him to describe the reality of poor people’s lives in an exceptionally holistic manner ( P. Sainath, Everybody Loves a Good Drought, Penguin Books, 1996, New Delhi).

As an example of the truthfulness of history and weight of value perspective, Sainath uses the story of Nero and the fire that consumed Rome. According to Tacitus, Nero never started the fire or played the fiddle while watching it. Instead, he gave a party to all the high-ups in Rome to discredit this rumor. Serving as torches at the outdoor feast were prisoners burning on stakes. History has recorded countless stories of Nero’s cruelness, but very few of Nero’s guests: the artists, the philosophers, the politicians, the businessmen. What was it like to savor wine and grapes in the light of a human torch? Who are today’s guests of Nero?

Iikka Vehkalahti. Framework. The Finnish Art Review.











by Bill Gibron

17 Nov 2007

Since it first became popular in the early ‘80s (at least to previously uninformed Western eyes), anime has functioned as a reminder of how imaginative 2D cartooning can be – and how derivative. Thanks to the influence of the Internet, the ease of access via new technology, and an absolute glut of product, what once seemed odd and special has been slightly marginalized due to overexposure. Even worse, purists have complained about the influence of CG elements sneaking into the process, the use of bitmaps and other shortcuts to create what used to take dedicated artisans months to accomplish. For them, and everyone who feels the genre has reached an aesthetic breaking point, there is the brilliant Paprika. Part mindf**k, part homage heavy hallucination, it’s everything devotees champion – and everything the traditionalists despise.

When an experimental device known as the DC Mini goes missing from a secret psychological research lab, the scientists in charge panic. The small machine is capable of recording, influencing, and even controlling an individual’s dreams. If it fell into the wrong hands, the untested tool can be linked to any mental monitoring system, resulting in a blur between reality and the subconscious. Doctors Chiba and Shima decide to employ “Paprika”, a digital alter ego that easily maneuvers through the nonsensical dangers of the dream realm. In fact, it’s been working with a dejected policeman who has been unable to catch an elusive murderer. His shame, along with the ambitions of others in the think tank, collide to create a carnival of corrupt, frequently horrifying delusions. As the real world and fantasy continue to merge, it will take the influence and imagination of everyone involved to stop the hideous evil that wants to save dreams by destroying reality.

While it will probably look amazing once Sony gets around to releasing a Blu-ray version of the title (due on 27 November), the standard DVD release of director Satoshi Kon’s epic Paprika is still a stunner. As the force behind such well loved efforts as Millennium Actress and Tokyo Godfathers, the animation maverick once again proves his undeniable gifts. Appropriating a classic 1993 novel by avant-garde author Yasutaka Tsutsui and twisting the premise on its head, Kon forges a reference laden tribute to the magic of movies. The narrative crashes into noir, musicals, fantasy, and sci-fi, with lush, unrelenting visuals like a compendium of Asian cultural iconography come to life. In fact, Paprika is one of the more Eastern oriented efforts in anime. Everything about it, from the allusions to the artwork, is reminiscent of the very fabric of Japan.

Thematically, the battle between modernity and myth, the customary attacking technology for supremacy, sits at the center of the tale. It’s a brilliant metaphor for contemporary existence and one that Kon employs optically to instill a sense of wonder mixed with danger. The central image in the film - the mad parade of religious and recreational symbols - suggests a wealth of history and heritage rallying against the sterile social framework. Whenever it arrives onscreen, its emblematic power is undeniable. Even more intriguing is the juxtaposition of syrupy J-Pop anthems with horrific, almost evil vistas. Kon constantly tweaks the horror film facets of the story, using the policeman’s nightmares as a means of creating suspense and dread. This mixing of styles, along with the reliance of pen and ink poetry will be the movie’s main force.

There will be some who don’t understand the motives or the meaning of the narrative. Paprika‘s elusiveness is obvious and is centered in a desire to keep questions unanswered and thoughts incomplete. We never really get a full handle on the DC Mini and how it will help psychotherapy. One just has to assume that, because it uncovers the subconscious, Freudians locked into interpreting such visions would find it viable. But then our villain argues over the purity of dreams, as if infiltrating their ethereal space is a crime against nature. The confusion collects, but luckily never adds up to very much. Thanks to Kon’s novel way with the artform, we excuse the occasional cloudiness.

And then there will be the art-oriented arguments. Many pedants may recoil at the dependence on the computer and other technical tweaks to deliver the traditional hand drawn style. Luckily, Kon never lets it overpower the everpresent human touch. Others will scoff at the script, wondering if the screenwriters were drunk or just reverting to juvenile ramblings for the sense of subconscious surrealism. Yet even with all the questions and concerns Paprika paints a nearly flawless model of sound married to vision. Providing a wealth of continuing pleasures that only expand upon additional viewings, it represents the highest order of the frequently overdone genre. It’s a movie that’s as impressive in its little moments as when it’s exploiting spectacle for the sake of nonstop action.

As for the digital presentation, the technical specifications are near reference quality. Sony Pictures Classic provides a wonderful 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen image, colors cascading off the detail-rich transfer with terrific clarity. Sonically, there is a stellar Japanese Dolby Digital 5.1 mix and an equally effective English version. Anything beyond the original language track is rather pointless. And when it comes to extras, much of the material feels ported over from an original Japanese release (much of it has the appearance of made for TV EPKs). One of the best featurettes focuses on a conversation between Kon and author Tsutsui. Discussing the differences in approach between the novel and the film, it’s a fascinating look at the interpretation process. Equally compelling is a full length audio commentary in which the director (with the help of two other crew members) outlines the pitfalls and problems they had in realizing this unusual vision.

In contrast to the typical American animation, where anthropomorphized animals trade lame pop culture references within a message-heavy happenstance, Paprika is like 2001 without Kubrick’s obsessive ambiguity. It’s a big picture premise folded into a dozen personal tales, harvesting significant from the strange and wonderment from the well-honed. As he has done before, Kon continues to impress with his desire to bend the rules in order to fashion a whole new animated language. By introducing concepts that confuse as well as endear, that construct as much internal angst as they fuel entertainment bliss, he produces a kind of multidimensional drug. Like the DC Mini at the center of the story, Paprika doesn’t fully explain its purpose or potential. It leaves it up to us, the viewers, to figure it all out. And that’s half the fun of this fabulous film. The rest is what anime does best – amaze.

by Chris Barsanti

16 Nov 2007

So, the National Book Awards for 2007 have finally been decided on, giving us now very little time to scour through reviews of the winners in order to pretend as though we’ve read them (one has to have some conversational gambit, besides the price of Manhattan real estate and whether to donate to Clinton or Obama, to fall back on at all those fabulous cocktail soirees cluttering up the evening calendar, doesn’t one?). There are four winners—fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and kids’ stuff—and I can only honestly speak to two of them.

The winner for fiction was Denis Johnson’s Tree of Smoke, which I considered recently in a review elsewhere in the PopMatters voluminous book reviews section. According to myself, “This is a novel drunk on the power of language, which is a critic’s way of saying that it’s self-indulgent, madly so.” It’s also a critic’s way of having it both ways. For a real laceration of the book’s sloppy pretensions, read B.R. Myers’ contrarian review in the new Atlantic; he’s not entirely right but when he says about Johnson that “He is often called “a writer’s writer,” with the customary implication that this is far better than being a reader’s writer”, he’s far from wrong.

As for non-fiction, Tim Weiner’s massive, horrific CIA history Legacy of Ashes took home the gold, and it damn sure deserves it. I spent far too many words arguing just that in a PopMatters feature here. There were winners for poetry and books for kids, as well, but honestly, who has time for such things?

All of this is a way of skirting the biggest issue which seemed to arise from the festivities the other night, as reported by New York‘s Boris Kachka—in other words, why was that editor supposedly feeling up Christopher Hitchens?

//Mixed media

Double Take: 'The French Connection' (1971)

// Short Ends and Leader

"You pick your feet in Poughkeepsie, and we pick The French Connection for Double Take #18.

READ the article