Whatever charge of tastelessness or trademark violation may be attached to the artistic appropriation of the media environment in which we swim, the alternative—to flinch, or tiptoe away into some ivory tower of irrelevance—is far worse. We’re surrounded by signs; our imperative is to ignore none of them.
[The ecstasy of influence: A plagiarism by Jonathan Lethem]
Ever have a friend ask you to see a movie you’ve never heard of? They hear it’s good. You hesitate, wondering if you should read a review or watch the trailer.
Next time, don’t think twice. Just say yes and watch it.
I saw three recent films on a suggestion and a whim: Synecdoche, New York (my thoughts), Slumdog Millionaire, and Gran Torino. With no clue as to the theme or plot, I simply followed a friend to the theater, purged of expectations. Who cares if they would be memorable movie experiences?
But memorable they were. With no trailers or reviews to inform me, I had to pay attention to every second of every scene. Every word of dialog would color my first impressions, every gesture meaningful. I was in a state of puzzlement, a state of heightened sensory perception, that made each shot more rich, more full of aesthetic pleasure and philosophical insight.
On reflection, none of these three were really great films. The experience of watching them, on the other hand, was unsurpassable. Synecdoche, New York was ponderous and overwrought, but sparkled with visual wit and existential complexity. Slumdog Millionaire was unoriginal and repetitive, but also gorgeous and emotionally involving. Gran Torino was incoherent, but unabashedly, self-indulgently hilarious.
To think and criticize is to appreciate subtlety, to unravel complexity. But criticism also destroys freshness and sullies the purity of aesthetic experience. With conscious thought we lose serendipity, that feeling of chance, of wonder, at the improbability and effortlessness of beauty.
So maybe it’s better to not try so hard. Recreate serendipity. Avoid trailers, don’t check IMDB, and never read reviews. Fall out of touch with the movie scene. Find a friend. Go to a theater. Avert your gaze from the posters. Pick a movie based on the title alone, and watch it.
I like anime. Didn’t used to, but now I do. Before you stop being — or rule out the possibility of becoming — friends with me, let me explain why.
Actually, I can’t explain why. Any evocation of the, er, evocativeness of anime I could muster up would sound very lame. Just see this list of movies instead. Do it in this order, and you’ll be sort of recreating my life. The recent, anime-watching parts of it at least. And who doesn’t want to live my life? I almost wish I had a second one. Right now.
Start with Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away. See it with a little sibling or a sweetheart. It’s not exactly romantic, but magical for sure. Like a Disney movie, but less annoying singing and more awesome Japanese weirdness. The same weirdness (only it’s different now–philosophical, sci-fi, and weirder) pervades Ghost in the Shell. Don’t watch this with a sweetheart. Invite your Buddhism-obsessed, sexually frustrated, Descartian friend over instead. Or you know, your inner friend.
Then prepare to be astounded by the originality, intricacy, and audacity of Death Note. This is a TV series, but it won’t take too long to finish, since the episodes are 20 minutes each. After that, relax, and invite back your friend (the real one) for another Miyazaki classic, My Neighbor Totoro. Then put on some nice 80’s clothes and do a dance routine to the Totoro song.
Now watch The Animatrix. (You might want to see The Matrix first.) There are 9 short films in total–you can watch them all in order or just the last three. The seventh one, “Beyond”, is the least violent and most interesting, almost as if Miyazaki directed it himself.
Finally, if you want to see what Japanese middle-schoolers watch, check out Cowboy Bebop. Otherwise, save some time and spend it on another Miyazaki film instead, perhaps Howl’s Moving Castle. By the way, if you haven’t noticed, this post is really just about how much I love Miyazaki’s films.
National Geographic has a feature article on light pollution, and the social, environmental, and biological effects that the loss of darkness has exacted on humans and non-humans alike. Among the many unforeseen consequences of light pollution: increased incidence of certain types of cancer, birds dying from disorientation in the urban light-jungle, frogs’ and toads’ circadian rhythms.
The highlight of the report, though, is an incredible photo slideshow, which almost tells the story just by itself. Familiar places are transformed into strange, luminous mazes and the wildest corners of the countryside are shown in the glowing penumbra of far off sodium lamps. Another reason I love night photography.
Two pieces from my favorite periodicals that contain the words “New York”:
1. The New York Times Magazine on architecture in the (post-)postmodern city. Features Dubai and some other new cities, with a lengthy digression on Shenzhen, China’s shining beacon of capitalism (and cultural wasteland, here euphemistically termed “product of unregulated development”). Take home messages: architects have staunch political principles, unless you pay them a lot; dictatorships make some pretty sweet buildings.
2. The New Yorker on music in China. Very thorough overview of the “classical music phenomenon” (i.e. non-phenomenon) in China, if a little bit quick to jump on the well-read-new-yorker-rambling-about-China’s-problems bandwagon. More interesting–and less presumptuous–are the tidbits about the Chinese avant-garde and an expat-led burgeoning of underground indie rock in Beijing. Yes, indie rock in Beijing.
Silly China, it still thinks building up its culture is like playing a game of Civilization IV. Doesn’t it know that all it has to do is give artists freedom and democracy, and their work will suddenly become legitimate, and win the approval of music critics in the West?