Poseur Exposure

16 Nov 2013: The Marx-Engels Reader (“Circular Letter to Bebel, Liebknecht, Bracke, and Others,” 1879, Marx)

It’s rare to see something nowadays that so forcefully denounces compromise, gradualism and political correctness from a radical thinker when present-day figures like Noam Chomsky and most left-leaning mass-audience artists and intellectuals regularly endorse Democratic candidates for president and all refuse to even consider tactical violence or unpleasantness. Marx 130 years ago ferrets out those who claim to lead or represent a vanguard workers’ party of the left but advocate for the domination and spokesmanship of that party by refined and well-mannered bourgeois figures, as people who essentially castrate and bring down the movement into nothingness, dragging out immediate desires unto eternity and converting all energetic actions of resistance into polite appeasement of the proper authorities. He also convincingly rejects the idea of forgiving those people who should be fought against based on their position as “children of their age” – this is the same man who in Capital considers the individual capitalist as only a representative of his broader economic environs – by stating the obvious, that all men are such children of the times, but that they yet can make choices and should stand accountable, and that real rebels should be “repaying their kicks with interest.” The most noteworthy thought this letter evokes seems to be the realization that there is no such thing as a workers’ party in the United States, which is probably essentially true in most industrialized countries in the modern world, even though of course lower-class workers on a global scale at least far outnumber middle and upper classes. Most political outreach is done among the wealthy or self-selectingly politically engaged, as opposed to moving among the hardest-strapped working people on the lower levels of society, and even “radical” thinkers and publications clearly address themselves to well-educated, “intellectual” audiences rather than to the working people they use in their arguments. Marx recognizes that the workers themselves are the force for revolution, that is insultingly condescending to pretend that those more intelligent must figure it out for them, and it would do well for much of modern discursive energy to bear this in mind.

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Revolutionary Programming Languages

15 Nov 2013: The Marx-Engels Reader (“After the Revolution: Marx Debates Bakunin,” 1875, Karl Marx)

Crosscurrents of insight roil around inside the somewhat informed reader to see Marx’s contentious rebuttal of the criticisms of Russian anarchist Mikhail Bakunin. The first is simply that Marx is hot-tempered and violent in his responses, antedating with his frequently taunting and insulting retorts the supposedly modern phenomenon of poor debating etiquette on the Internet – he makes it very clear that name-calling and rudeness have been around long before online anonymity. His method of quoting brief blocks of Bakunin’s text before skewering them in lengthy paragraph kebabs is perhaps not “fisking” proper, in that Bakunin is given a bit of chance to show his views, but it’s still surprising how similar this format is used to undercut the development and contextual flow of the original by chopping it up into easier portions for the ridiculing. Second, Bakunin’s criticisms, even in pieces as they are, appear shockingly prescient of the Bolshevik-Soviet horrors to come: the history of the Leninist and then Stalinist regime obviously seems to have borne out his contention that “state” is unthinkable without rulers and ruled even given the notion of a ruling proletariat, and his fearful warning that any “temporary dictatorship” is bound to be a contradiction in terms due to the allure and inherent structure of power (to be commented on later by Foucault). But, third, Marx’s responses yet seem so rational (albeit angry and dismissive) that one can still see the argument through his eyes regardless of historical events, which as many have noted bear little resemblance to Marx’s descriptions or desires. There’s some of the “no true Scotsman” fallacy in his vision of the state, just as there is in most contemporary “liberal” discourse on government, but he explicitly argues that it should consist of the workers themselves and that its structure should dissolve rapidly into obsolescence as a transition to the communist world that follows, something Trotsky and Lenin couldn’t possibly have digested properly if at all in the 1921 mass shelling of Kronstadt. This leads to the fourth, rueful observation that much more may have been achieved from a willingness on the part of Bakunin and Marx to work together rather than at odds.

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Female Troubles

15 Nov 2013: La Cotta (DVD, 1967, Ermanno Olmi)

Even more than Il Posto this hour-length television feature depicts the sensitive, romantically forlorn young male that appears as prototype for the many subsequent protagonists of Wes Anderson, Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry, surrounding him as those directors do with failure and heartbreak but dark humor and an indefatigability of spirit. Also like these later filmmakers, at least the second two, divergent fantasy becomes a regular refuge for the main character, although here his premonitions of upcoming events – meeting up with his true love, dancing the night away with her – seamlessly continue from the present moment so effectively that one is never entirely sure they are not the actual next scenes until Olmi cuts back to the previous ones. Without caricaturizing or otherwise diminishing the various supporting players – a fog-addled taxi driver, an elder-sisterly party hostess, an elusive girlfriend – he makes them stand out as funny, unique, thoughtful, and personable, with lightness but also just enough gravity to make them real. The small drama of searching for love brings back the allure and pre-jaded excitement of adolescence while resounding as much for the ongoing awkwardnesses of adulthood.

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The Slow and the Mild-Mannered: Milano Drift

14 Nov 2013: Il Posto (DVD, 1961, Ermanno Olmi)

The dreamlike mundanity on offer here harks forward to another Italian, Marco Ferreri, but with more of a focus on cinematography and even more of a locational drift. The camera itself drifts beginning with the opening scene, glacially dollying from one part of the room to another and back, and continues throughout, always with a wide-angle lens to keep the whole scene in focus, giving the proceedings that eerie oneiric feel of casually gliding through large spaces. Compositions present the meek main character within a setting that dwarfs his diminutive stature even further, placing him at the far corner of an executive’s desk or alone and forlorn at a table at a nearly unattended company dance. His peripherality and the ubiquitous meandering of shots lend themselves to one of the film’s peaks, a sudden departure from the boy’s subjective view to a series of apartments in which the idiosyncratic desk jockeys he sees at work are shown at home in the thick of their nocturnal hobbies, pleasures and sufferings. It has absolutely nothing to do with what has preceded or what follows it, but that’s what so fantastic about it, that one can suddenly realize that random looks at wildly divergent subjects provide just as much delight as sticking to a single one. This humor and style anticipate later absurd and quirky works by directors like Wes Anderson yet with less dependence on words and edits to sell laughs and feelings. Not only this, but the drama remains on a “low,” everyday level, exalting subtle emotions and circumstances more than superlative or hyperbolic ones, but resonates just as powerfully and meaningfully as any of Aeschylus’ hand-wringing declamation plays.

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Doctor Soused

13 Nov 2013: Drunken Angel (DVD, 1948, Akira Kurosawa)

Not quite yet at the level of his masterworks of the fifties and sixties, at least as far as editing, pacing, moral exploration and overall scope is concerned – he’s probably still under greater time and aesthetic constraints from the studio at this stage of his career, as well as the American censors of the time (referring to the DVD features) – this strange “genre” piece stands well apart from other films that touch on similar subjects (yakuza, drink and self-destruction, pride, inescapable past etc.). Cinematographically he’s already at a distinct high level, with long dolly shots along a haggard cityscape reflected in a fetid bog, extreme long shots of desolate wastelands, and flamboyantly expressive camera movements and tilted compositions of nightclub dancers & musicians. Obviously aware of limitations as far as the actors’ combat training and lacking computer-generated imagery or other special effects materials, he instead goes for bizarre but effective low-angle close-ups of the two main gangsters in the midst of a messy – both tactically and environmentally – knife fight, as if their thrusts and parries were being executed by their grimacing and contorting countenances rather than their arms or torsos, echoing the panel-based scenecraft of classic comics and graphic novels. (Similar to how limitations on sexual content can lead to more inventive visual devices, this fight is made more intense and novel because of the restrictions imposed upon its depiction.) Also memorable is a dream sequence by the ocean employing slow-motion and dreamlike dissolve effects – evoking the later Kagemusha – to chart the main character’s self-annihilation, the tubercular progress of which is also marked by his increasingly eyeshadowed and corpselike face. This film is described as a noir yet it feels far removed from that genre’s tropes – detectives, intrigue and gynophobia are replaced with outspoken but unheeded physicians dealing with pathetically underwhelming criminals, transparent and death-driven motives and an all-too-masculine ignorance or overlooking of women who care about health and offer a way out of madness and entrapment. The ending’s a little forced and dopey – it’s not the one he wanted – but prior to that the bleakness and honesty on offer presage The Bad Sleep Well and High and Low.

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Accepting a Substitute

6 Nov 2013: Kagemusha (DVD, 1980, Akira Kurosawa)

As either depressing reminder of personal weakness or further testament to the spellbinding hypnosis of Kurosawa’s editing craft or well-matched synthesis of the two, my intention of watching this three-hour film in two blocks over the course of the day sublimated from solid plan to gaseous fantasy shortly before its halfway point. Nary a sequence feels overlong or lends itself to feelings of conclusiveness; this is the rare (though typical for Kurosawa) page-turning propulsion that is not so much an addled eagerness to know what happens next as a stupefied trance within what is already unspooling. Even though some of the acting is ham-handed mugging, like in others of Kurosawa’s samurai works, and even though the story ultimately feels like a minor letdown from its earlier promise – this is not the best of his films – the attention to visuals (Sternbergian flows of soldiers, wildly colored dream segments) and the respect for the viewer (given time and space to see and feel things) make the film monumental anyway. From the first few minutes it is clear that an ocean of directions and meanings for the story is possible, largely to do with the great and well-staged (an opening wide shot of three indistinguishable lookalikes) premise of body doubles that fosters an undercurrent of tense uncertainty as to whom we are really seeing at any given moment and when the twist will occur, something we must debate internally as much as the rival warlords onscreen. Perhaps it’s not fair to judge any work of art for this, but I was somewhat disappointed that this was not explored more and instead dissolved into a fatalistic elegy for dead warriors and a dead past. It’s certainly moving to watch waves of doomed soldiers commanded futilely by an inept and technologically outmatched strategist, and to linger as long as the (overcranked) camera does on the littered battlefield that results, but it’s not quite as interesting as it might have been if pushed further afield. That aside, the film is gorgeous and mesmerizing, with a gravitas and an aesthetic quality worth many hundreds of cinematic releases in recent years.

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A Light Sublime

12 Nov 2013: Limelight (DVD, 1951, Charlie Chaplin)

Much more melancholy and morose than earlier silent-era Chaplin, even when he deals with the soul-destroying industrial horrors of Modern Times, this film counterintuitively feels more inspirational because of it by truly acknowledging the serendipity but also the bittersweetness of success. One of the best things this film shows, which I can’t remember seeing anywhere else, is how quickly and completely two people in a relationship can reverse emotional roles and poles as appropriate to different situations, “hypocritically” taking up the mantle that the other has championed for support in despair but temporarily forgets when enmeshed in his own problems. One can sense that Chaplin really feels the end is near for him, not only in that he is handing off fame and love to a younger set of people and that he dies at the finale, but most immediately in his willingness to show his character’s painful stage performances – making it obvious to the viewer repeatedly near the film’s beginning, and then making that viewer sit through one of the previously failed acts again towards the end as the audience laughs because they have been directed to, which hurts even more (like a fake smile) the second time around. Apart from the film’s thematic resonance – or rather united with it – is a still-keen visual sense that thankfully refrains from chopping up the many performances (even when they’re hard to watch) and glides with dollies and pans across streets and through bedrooms to link objects and subjects. For every scene of apparent hopelessness (hope can be done without, anyway, as Chaplin’s comedian claims, if one lives for the moment) there’s a counterpart with an unusually forceful and convincing affirmation of following love and dreams: the film is just not so dopey that it pretends everything will be smiles and rainbows as a consequence.

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