In retrospect, it was always unlikely that a regime that cherished conspicuous affluence, cut-throat trading, media celebrity and instant gratification would also foster distributive equity.-- Bill Jordan, Why the Third Way Failed
Michel Hazanivicius manipulates his audience within the soundtrack of The Artist in a parallel universe to M. Night Shyamalan's plot twist manipulations in The Sixth Sense. Hazanivicius's genre is a retro-fitted comedy which upends the usual dark side of celebrity, but he takes a technological advance we've taken for granted for a rough hundred years, the ability to record sound, and illustrates with surprising affect how debilitating sound waves can be as an innovation no one can argue isn't an advantage to cultural permanence.
Both Shyamalan's surprise shocker and Hazanivicius contemporary homage to classic show business tropes offer a tertiary pathway I've been striving to find with very limited success in recent years. Shyamalan knocks atheism flat on its miserable ass, a fusionist visionary toward salvation not necessarily proscriptive in its triumph, truly the last movie that ever made me feel alive, striving for hope, and Hazanivicius, truly with Parisian coquetry, reminds us that it isn't so bad for those who might be looking out for us. That damn dog earned a paw print on the walk of fame.
No comments:
Post a Comment