made you stop and listen?
February 27, 2009
February 22, 2009
The Oscars 2009: Politically Correct as Always
My long-time guilty pleasure has always been watching the Oscars. When I was young, I watched with reckless fascination and longing as gorgeous people careened down red carpets with practiced smiles and Vaseline-covered teeth. Now I carry the required cynicism--though I still root for favorites and get a kick out of opening song numbers. This year, the pared-down, old-school retro approach worked for the most part. Jackman's hosting was superb, great singer--not too flashy or pretentious. The sets were impressive. And no Jack Nicholson sitting in the front row looking sweaty and self-important. Robin Williams did not charge the microphone and practice a future stand-up routine. It was nice.
Maybe too nice? Speeches were short, sweet, thanking just the right amount of people. I'm sure we'll see in the papers tomorrow that Sean Penn forgot to thank his wife. All the appropriate political opinions were championed just the right amount. I was mildly surprised that the one-second televised delay didn't beep out Penn's commie, homo-lovin' sons-a-guns comments. The show was clean, polished, glassy. Nothing too edgy. In fact, Ben Stiller's mockery of Joaquin Phoenix's mentally-vacant appearance on David Letterman, was probably the most controversial item of the evening--if you can call it that. It all felt too-retro, too much an emphasis on perception. In some ways, I think this negates the freedoms Hollywood tries to champion--but that's another blog post.
The good: Kate Winslet's much deserved win for The Reader, Richard Jenkins' nomination for The Visitor, acknowledgement by Winslet of Anthony Minghella and Sydney Pollack--huge losses for quality film in Hollywood, Seth Rogan's stoner-dude skits, and Hugh Jackman's consummate hosting.
The bad: no mention of Ledger in the "Hollywood Remembers" sequence, no speech or memorial honoring Paul Newman, Michael Shannon losing to Heath Ledger, Rourke losing to Penn, the overly-long dance/music number near the end, Slumdog Millionaire's over-abundance of awards (good film--but not that good).
Here were my picks:
Best picture: The Reader
Leading Actor: Mickey Rourke (The Wrestler)
Leading Actress: Kate Winslet (The Reader)
Supporting Actor: Michael Shannon (Revolutionary Road)
Supporting Actress: Marisa Tomei
Screenplay: Frozen River
Note to self: find the nominated short animations and documentaries and watch them. The clips shown were impressive.
And would someone please hit Barbara Walters with a shovel? She has to be the worst interviewer I've ever seen.
Maybe too nice? Speeches were short, sweet, thanking just the right amount of people. I'm sure we'll see in the papers tomorrow that Sean Penn forgot to thank his wife. All the appropriate political opinions were championed just the right amount. I was mildly surprised that the one-second televised delay didn't beep out Penn's commie, homo-lovin' sons-a-guns comments. The show was clean, polished, glassy. Nothing too edgy. In fact, Ben Stiller's mockery of Joaquin Phoenix's mentally-vacant appearance on David Letterman, was probably the most controversial item of the evening--if you can call it that. It all felt too-retro, too much an emphasis on perception. In some ways, I think this negates the freedoms Hollywood tries to champion--but that's another blog post.
The good: Kate Winslet's much deserved win for The Reader, Richard Jenkins' nomination for The Visitor, acknowledgement by Winslet of Anthony Minghella and Sydney Pollack--huge losses for quality film in Hollywood, Seth Rogan's stoner-dude skits, and Hugh Jackman's consummate hosting.
The bad: no mention of Ledger in the "Hollywood Remembers" sequence, no speech or memorial honoring Paul Newman, Michael Shannon losing to Heath Ledger, Rourke losing to Penn, the overly-long dance/music number near the end, Slumdog Millionaire's over-abundance of awards (good film--but not that good).
Here were my picks:
Best picture: The Reader
Leading Actor: Mickey Rourke (The Wrestler)
Leading Actress: Kate Winslet (The Reader)
Supporting Actor: Michael Shannon (Revolutionary Road)
Supporting Actress: Marisa Tomei
Screenplay: Frozen River
Note to self: find the nominated short animations and documentaries and watch them. The clips shown were impressive.
And would someone please hit Barbara Walters with a shovel? She has to be the worst interviewer I've ever seen.
February 16, 2009
Writers' Union gets Whiter Teeth
Interesting bit of news for writers. Well, make that those writers who have earned a reasonable enough reputation for themselves. The Globe and Mail published the article Making the Literary Life a Little Less Precarious, which suggests a medical and dental benefits plan should be coming down the pipe.
The Writers' Coalition Benefits Package is said to level the playing field a little, allowing full-time writers to have access to extended benefits. I have to hand it to the Writers' Union, really. They've managed to wrangle a fair amount of help for writers...err, make that its members. They're on top of the various Internet publishing issues, such as Google's settlement with publishers and authors, and now benefits and pensions for struggling artists.
Pretty soon we'll have unionized writing, where all members have to sign contracts that allow them to only write literature that adheres to certain party lines. Next stop, large campaign posters for Stalin. Okay, I'm being facetious. If it means the union can help a guy pay for major dental work and still allow him to cover the rent, I'm all for it.
The Writers' Coalition Benefits Package is said to level the playing field a little, allowing full-time writers to have access to extended benefits. I have to hand it to the Writers' Union, really. They've managed to wrangle a fair amount of help for writers...err, make that its members. They're on top of the various Internet publishing issues, such as Google's settlement with publishers and authors, and now benefits and pensions for struggling artists.
Pretty soon we'll have unionized writing, where all members have to sign contracts that allow them to only write literature that adheres to certain party lines. Next stop, large campaign posters for Stalin. Okay, I'm being facetious. If it means the union can help a guy pay for major dental work and still allow him to cover the rent, I'm all for it.
February 11, 2009
The Kwantlen Load 'Em Up Tactic
I am disappointed to note that some upper-level Creative Writing classes are falling into the same academic rut other disciplines (most notably English Lit) do. Quantity over quality--or at least an attempt to almost make the two synonymous.
In my Short Fiction class this semester, our usual course load of several original pieces of work, along with supplemental reading responses, has also been boosted by an elaborate "reading as writers" project. We get to examine three stories (by two authors) line by line, and come up with ten questions for each story. Out of the total thirty questions, we respond to twenty in paragraph form and then write a five page short essay on a particular use of craft by one of the authors. All things said, the project is worth twenty percent of your total grade and due one week before your first story.
Question: when are we supposed to write the story?
Look, I get that upper level classes need to push analysis and craft. I'm thankful for it, really. But isn't the point to take craft knowledge and apply it to our own writing? Could we not simply apply the aforementioned project tenets to our regular weekly readings and garner the same results?
Thanks to this unnecessary project, I get to read a slew of sub-par story submissions this week--mine included--that basically ignore every craft lesson implied by the preceding project. Why? Because we had to spend fifteen wretched hours analyzing the shit out of stories rather than writing our own. This isn't bloody English Lit.
Alright, I'm being a little facetious. But I've never understood the idea of crushing the student with work load, rather than ensuring they produce works of quality. What is of greater value to the prof? Six mediocre projects or three kick-ass ones? Who in their right mind would consider the former? Or want to read them?
Bah.
In my Short Fiction class this semester, our usual course load of several original pieces of work, along with supplemental reading responses, has also been boosted by an elaborate "reading as writers" project. We get to examine three stories (by two authors) line by line, and come up with ten questions for each story. Out of the total thirty questions, we respond to twenty in paragraph form and then write a five page short essay on a particular use of craft by one of the authors. All things said, the project is worth twenty percent of your total grade and due one week before your first story.
Question: when are we supposed to write the story?
Look, I get that upper level classes need to push analysis and craft. I'm thankful for it, really. But isn't the point to take craft knowledge and apply it to our own writing? Could we not simply apply the aforementioned project tenets to our regular weekly readings and garner the same results?
Thanks to this unnecessary project, I get to read a slew of sub-par story submissions this week--mine included--that basically ignore every craft lesson implied by the preceding project. Why? Because we had to spend fifteen wretched hours analyzing the shit out of stories rather than writing our own. This isn't bloody English Lit.
Alright, I'm being a little facetious. But I've never understood the idea of crushing the student with work load, rather than ensuring they produce works of quality. What is of greater value to the prof? Six mediocre projects or three kick-ass ones? Who in their right mind would consider the former? Or want to read them?
Bah.
January 30, 2009
The Reader: Complexity Through Ambiguity
I've been meaning to comment on the film The Reader for quite some time. It's one of those films that kicks you in the stomach. You feel the pain of it for days after. But before I pass commentary...
I read Joyce's Dubliners a month ago. Good book, the kind perfect for literary criticism though I suspect not as relevant in contemporary short-fiction. Joyce present his characters as normal folk, in normal circumstances--without pretenses. This simplicity is deceptive actually, because the reader feels lulled by the seeming lack of action and winds up glossing over certain nuances, or a careful crafted sentence that explodes with epiphany. I certainly did. But those moments when I was the perfect, captive audience, Joyce skillfully brought his complexity to light--revealed. Of course, Joyce is responsible I think for a lot of what is taken for granted in short-stories now. The ambiguous ending, the internal arc of a character, the simple but loaded gesture--all found in his works, though one could argue in rawer form.
Moving from Joyce to The Reader means taking the themes of complexity through ambiguity and placing them on the screen. Not always an easy task, though I suspect film is more suited for this. One perfect scene and all the facets it incorporates can flawlessly reveal several pages of literature--in the right hands, that is. The Reader begins with a somewhat taboo tryst between a youth and an illiterate, middle-aged woman in post WWII Germany. The first act focuses almost exclusively on this, creating what I perceive as a genuine, though complex, love between the two people. You know the woman, played by Kate Winslet, is hiding something. Her actions suggest this, though no reference is made to give credence.
By act two the proverbial bomb has been dropped--Winslet's character has Nazi affiliations. The story moves from the comfortable love affair to darker waters, the kind that warrant certain judgments to be made. What makes this film remarkable is the complete empathy given to all the characters involved. Stephen Daldry (who also directed The Hours) presents his characters as human beings capable of horrific acts, not horrific human beings who act according to their nature. And the distinction can be made (and should be). Most war films do not engage in presenting the enemy as complicated, loyal humans--especially WWII films. The enemy is this vague, oppressive shadow, a faceless wall of flesh that swallows bullets and bombs and speaks through a gaping maw of sharp teeth. Daldry rejects this--or at least draws this from the book and uses it to his advantage. He reveals the lunacy of black-and-white morality, the notion of the monster and instead injects sympathy in unlikely, but completely believable ways. The sympathy is huge, and the ending is so painful, so frighteningly lonely because the moral high ground one is normally inclined to take lies shattered at their feet.
One should note that most critics missed this about the film. They wanted the "horrors" of the holocaust, they wanted their traditional monster. The Reader never denies these things, it simply tries to add a complexity lacking in other films of similar subject matter.
In a previous post I lamented the lack of good films this year. But in the past month or so, I've managed to watch several films that make up for all the garbage. The Reader is at the top of this list.
I read Joyce's Dubliners a month ago. Good book, the kind perfect for literary criticism though I suspect not as relevant in contemporary short-fiction. Joyce present his characters as normal folk, in normal circumstances--without pretenses. This simplicity is deceptive actually, because the reader feels lulled by the seeming lack of action and winds up glossing over certain nuances, or a careful crafted sentence that explodes with epiphany. I certainly did. But those moments when I was the perfect, captive audience, Joyce skillfully brought his complexity to light--revealed. Of course, Joyce is responsible I think for a lot of what is taken for granted in short-stories now. The ambiguous ending, the internal arc of a character, the simple but loaded gesture--all found in his works, though one could argue in rawer form.
Moving from Joyce to The Reader means taking the themes of complexity through ambiguity and placing them on the screen. Not always an easy task, though I suspect film is more suited for this. One perfect scene and all the facets it incorporates can flawlessly reveal several pages of literature--in the right hands, that is. The Reader begins with a somewhat taboo tryst between a youth and an illiterate, middle-aged woman in post WWII Germany. The first act focuses almost exclusively on this, creating what I perceive as a genuine, though complex, love between the two people. You know the woman, played by Kate Winslet, is hiding something. Her actions suggest this, though no reference is made to give credence.
By act two the proverbial bomb has been dropped--Winslet's character has Nazi affiliations. The story moves from the comfortable love affair to darker waters, the kind that warrant certain judgments to be made. What makes this film remarkable is the complete empathy given to all the characters involved. Stephen Daldry (who also directed The Hours) presents his characters as human beings capable of horrific acts, not horrific human beings who act according to their nature. And the distinction can be made (and should be). Most war films do not engage in presenting the enemy as complicated, loyal humans--especially WWII films. The enemy is this vague, oppressive shadow, a faceless wall of flesh that swallows bullets and bombs and speaks through a gaping maw of sharp teeth. Daldry rejects this--or at least draws this from the book and uses it to his advantage. He reveals the lunacy of black-and-white morality, the notion of the monster and instead injects sympathy in unlikely, but completely believable ways. The sympathy is huge, and the ending is so painful, so frighteningly lonely because the moral high ground one is normally inclined to take lies shattered at their feet.
One should note that most critics missed this about the film. They wanted the "horrors" of the holocaust, they wanted their traditional monster. The Reader never denies these things, it simply tries to add a complexity lacking in other films of similar subject matter.
In a previous post I lamented the lack of good films this year. But in the past month or so, I've managed to watch several films that make up for all the garbage. The Reader is at the top of this list.
January 21, 2009
Overheard Conversation
I'm in the gym, doing gym-related activities (crying, groaning, staring at other fit people), and I happen to hear the following:
Woman: I just think that for someone with advanced education like myself, I have to push the limits you know. I'm really goal oriented. *does several push-ups* I should write a book about all I know.
Man: Oh, I'm a writer.
(It's important that I mention I started listening more intently here.)
Woman: Yeah? Well, I'd write my book from the psychology perspective. Y'know, how people think and stuff.
Man: Right.
Woman: What do you write?
Man: Advanced Fantasy, like Tolkien. It helps me center myself.
Woman: Oh. Well, I only read hard facts material. No fantasy, sorry.
*she turns back to her push-ups*
*guy gets up and leaves*
(I do one final stretch, barely suppressing a fart)
Question: why does every guy I run into, who claims to be a writer, work on fantasy? Yes, I get it. You like Carpathian forests with strange homo-erotic gnomes running around, rubbing themselves on whatever coarse-hided object happens to be in close proximity. Notice the girl's reaction, the wrinkling of the nose, the once-attentive gaze now looking elsewhere. Maybe there's a clue in there for you, buddy.
Like Tolkien. What does that even mean?
Woman: I just think that for someone with advanced education like myself, I have to push the limits you know. I'm really goal oriented. *does several push-ups* I should write a book about all I know.
Man: Oh, I'm a writer.
(It's important that I mention I started listening more intently here.)
Woman: Yeah? Well, I'd write my book from the psychology perspective. Y'know, how people think and stuff.
Man: Right.
Woman: What do you write?
Man: Advanced Fantasy, like Tolkien. It helps me center myself.
Woman: Oh. Well, I only read hard facts material. No fantasy, sorry.
*she turns back to her push-ups*
*guy gets up and leaves*
(I do one final stretch, barely suppressing a fart)
Question: why does every guy I run into, who claims to be a writer, work on fantasy? Yes, I get it. You like Carpathian forests with strange homo-erotic gnomes running around, rubbing themselves on whatever coarse-hided object happens to be in close proximity. Notice the girl's reaction, the wrinkling of the nose, the once-attentive gaze now looking elsewhere. Maybe there's a clue in there for you, buddy.
Like Tolkien. What does that even mean?
January 15, 2009
Tobias Wolff on Bergman, Faith, Doubt, and Aesthetic Influence.
Best quote from Wolff's short article (read it):
"We like to think of our beliefs, and disbeliefs, as founded on reason and close, thoughtful observation. Only in theory do we begin to suspect the power of aesthetics to shape our lives."
I've never heard of churches showing Bergman films.
"We like to think of our beliefs, and disbeliefs, as founded on reason and close, thoughtful observation. Only in theory do we begin to suspect the power of aesthetics to shape our lives."
I've never heard of churches showing Bergman films.
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