"Some lines should never be crossed."-- Jason Lee
I did not recognize Jason Lee in Chasing Amy. I did not follow My Name is Earl all that closely, and for absolutely no reason but cheap thrills I'd assault Ben Affleck and then have the preoccupation of being investigated-- not that Affleck is a priority for the FBI, but of course I'm being specious, posting in coded language because angry people online get stupid and wind up at the Supreme Court, and even if I tried to engage in criminal activity, my lungs have turned scarlet with carbon monoxide, and that is mostly my fault, but not entirely. I have things to do and I'm sick and if I cave in to being ill, why don't I just resign myself and let the system triumph? How can I possibly gain any form of vindication at this point?
And what the fuck is Thomas Vinterberg trying to say? Donald Levit marshals insights very ably, much better than I ever could in a kaleidoscope of dystopian gloom, but a movie cannot trope in obfuscation like a villanelle, or a bad imitation of Shyamalan, and expect to get away with it leaving the viewer with such a bizarre punch card whose intent cannot be interpreted, Africans dangled like trophies. And I've been accused of literary pretension. Parts of It's All About Love are indeed interesting, resting on forceful, stark dialogue between Joaquin Phoenix and his ex-wife's goon squad, toying with the ever insidious threat to personal identity, playing with the baroque, but this movie makes the Scandinavian procedural seem as inviting as the impact of Hill Street Blues crime series realism.
Now that how poorly I feel has receded into the background, all I have to do is debate writing or lying down, moving my goals ahead a few days--I will not die in peace, that is a fiction-- but with what little I have left, I am desperate to move on. I understand dying aunt's argument that Riverside is the evil I know, and given my poverty I can't expect better, but my family can't understand how untenable this is given what I have been subjected to, and that I cannot keep bowing under and taking it. Trudy Richardson uses what tools she has to threaten and intimidate me, and since she has no legal means to make me some other institutional problem, she yells back "Then give your notice!" as if I could pack and cart blanch relocate myself, imposing on dead and past writer friends who couldn't handle giving me the adaptations I need, while my other aunt wants to make it worse, move me in with Alzheimer patients. Yes, some of you are working three jobs, crushed by student loan debt yourself, but I resigned from the Matrix Institute in 96, and have survived this in a series of diminishing returns, in exactly the same shit hole, for 18 years.
I'd love to fight for a real job again, but who is going to accommodate an overweight ex smoker whose bowel was a misadventure even when she case managed the mentally ill who were so dosed with psychotropics that my employment was nothing more than an excuse to keep me off welfare, the fieldwork over stressing me through no fault of the psychological overlords whose efficiency model would have gotten them wiped out at Google's command center?
Showing posts with label it's all about love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label it's all about love. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Delusions of American Syndicalism
As Morris describes members-only unionism, it is based on voluntary membership, and does not rely on NLRB-recognized exclusive representation (which recognizes exactly one union as the representative of an entire bargaining unit)--Life-Long Wobbly
It has often been noted, that within his directorial framework, Frank Capra was very dark in his journey toward his egalitarian, if heavily Westphalian, utopia, and this is just as true for Lost Horizon as for his more successful films. The point of contention for a skeptical viewer resides as much in Capra's wobbly axis as it does in the metaphor as a struggle for faith. The script falters, unsure of itself and the price of doubt, and fails to acknowledge that even the nirvana of Shangri-La is striated on the belief of ethnographic European superiority.
It also illustrates the danger of allowing adamant visionaries too much power in Hollywood. Capra must have known something about the Wobbly anarchy which in his time was just beginning to fade, not really libertarian, simply a reversal of polarity toward labor rather than managerial processes, which, in the Depression era collectivism of the American village, was dangerous. Dissimilar to any president since, Hoover actually faced the threat of rebellion, and his passing of the reigns to a benevolent blue blood like Franklin was simply the course of genealogy from which the country has never recovered. These days it isn't so simple, of course. We've moved from leftist radical to "the liberal progressive spectrum," to quote Krugman, who looks increasingly frail.
As an historical artifact, Lost Horizon is absolutely worth viewing, and sets a precedent for future surrealist poses, even if they obfuscate their way toward disaster, but critically, the metaphor is rife with contradiction, particularly as it relates to how the original pilot was vanquished. Someone would have heard a struggle, found a body, so the European passengers must have been dead in the first place, with the exception of Conway, whose brother George cannot accept the truth, and thus perishes trying to give his brother back to the world as the absolutely essential Foreign Secretary.
Is Maria's discontent analogous to Lucifer's rebellion? Does Capra feel evil is the reality set against sedate metaphysics?
The man was a loon, and his amputee lama Perrault just as sinister as Ahab, his legacy problematic, very much alive. The number of human beings who can recall what any existence was like prior to Its A Wonderful Life is dwindling, as it must, but we believe in Stewart's triumph with the bump on his head in our collective noggins, and that, too, is the folly of American sentiment. Bill Gates certainly contributed to what he became, and deserves credit in his current status as the last American tycoon, whether or not his ferocity with his geniuses was trumped up, but circumstances played a part in his fate, like smaller computing units, and he and his wife should be able to see damaged potential and offer it a hand while they're curing malaria for Africans.
There is a mind here.
It has often been noted, that within his directorial framework, Frank Capra was very dark in his journey toward his egalitarian, if heavily Westphalian, utopia, and this is just as true for Lost Horizon as for his more successful films. The point of contention for a skeptical viewer resides as much in Capra's wobbly axis as it does in the metaphor as a struggle for faith. The script falters, unsure of itself and the price of doubt, and fails to acknowledge that even the nirvana of Shangri-La is striated on the belief of ethnographic European superiority.
It also illustrates the danger of allowing adamant visionaries too much power in Hollywood. Capra must have known something about the Wobbly anarchy which in his time was just beginning to fade, not really libertarian, simply a reversal of polarity toward labor rather than managerial processes, which, in the Depression era collectivism of the American village, was dangerous. Dissimilar to any president since, Hoover actually faced the threat of rebellion, and his passing of the reigns to a benevolent blue blood like Franklin was simply the course of genealogy from which the country has never recovered. These days it isn't so simple, of course. We've moved from leftist radical to "the liberal progressive spectrum," to quote Krugman, who looks increasingly frail.
As an historical artifact, Lost Horizon is absolutely worth viewing, and sets a precedent for future surrealist poses, even if they obfuscate their way toward disaster, but critically, the metaphor is rife with contradiction, particularly as it relates to how the original pilot was vanquished. Someone would have heard a struggle, found a body, so the European passengers must have been dead in the first place, with the exception of Conway, whose brother George cannot accept the truth, and thus perishes trying to give his brother back to the world as the absolutely essential Foreign Secretary.
Is Maria's discontent analogous to Lucifer's rebellion? Does Capra feel evil is the reality set against sedate metaphysics?
The man was a loon, and his amputee lama Perrault just as sinister as Ahab, his legacy problematic, very much alive. The number of human beings who can recall what any existence was like prior to Its A Wonderful Life is dwindling, as it must, but we believe in Stewart's triumph with the bump on his head in our collective noggins, and that, too, is the folly of American sentiment. Bill Gates certainly contributed to what he became, and deserves credit in his current status as the last American tycoon, whether or not his ferocity with his geniuses was trumped up, but circumstances played a part in his fate, like smaller computing units, and he and his wife should be able to see damaged potential and offer it a hand while they're curing malaria for Africans.
There is a mind here.
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