Culture – Page 26 – Life on the Wicked Stage: Act 3

Sunday Morning Reading

On the road spending time with the grandson this weekend. So I’ll be brief. But these writers and articles are worth spending some time with this Sunday morning. A few of them writing about, well, writing.

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I’ll kick off with a controversial piece by Adam Thirlwell in The Guardian who takes a look back to the French Revolution to perhaps find clues into why we’re writing and expressing ourselves quite so much today. Too much writing? Too much self-examination? Depends on what you call writing if you ask me. Anyhow, check out ‘We’re Gripped by graphomania’: why writing beame an online contagion and how we can contain it. I’m not one for containing any of this. The terrific examples below I think illustrate why.

Baldur Bjarnson is one of the thinkers I’m following when it comes to the topic of AI. He’s written a terrific piece called Authorship, in which he explores what happens when creative work, in this instance he’s using film to illustrate, becomes less about the author and more about the aggregator.

One of my most recent discoveries NatashaMH has written two excellent pieces that I recommend. The first is The Need To Write And The Will to Heal From Our Traumatic Experiences.It’s quite a journey. The second is A Portrait of A Woman and is also more than worth your time. Great stuff.

Natasha tells us this piece by David Todd McCarty, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For inspired her to sketch A Portrait of A Woman. I’ll take her word for it. It damn sure stands on it’s own and sorta makes me hope he never does find it.

Talking at The Texaco is another McCarty piece worth your time. As you read it and you think you know where it’s headed, hang on. You don’t.

So much, too much, of our energy is being taken up with all of the news surrounding the orange buffoon and the shit he’s dragged us all into. It’s worth remembering we’ve been here before. While I’m not a fan of Rich Lowry, this look back at Huey Long is a good reminder. We’ve been here before. Damn shame we’re so good at burying those memories.

And to close this out and look ahead, the Farmer’s Almanac is out with it’s predictions for the winter. If they’re correct, many of us might be bundling up this winter.

If you’re interested in just what the heck Sunday Morning Reading is all about you can read more about the origins of Sunday Morning Reading here.

Sunday Morning Reading

Back home after a two-week road trip supporting my wife teaching her summer acting camp. Needless to say we’re pooped. The kids were amazing. Regardless, here’s some Sunday Morning Reading to share.

Movies are big news this summer because of a couple of big original ones (Barbie and Oppenheimer), but also because the unions for writers and actors are on strike. James Surowiecki in The Atlantic lands a take on the strike and says Netflix opened the door for this upheaval in A Strike Scripted by Netflix.

One of my favorite writers I’ve recentlly discovered, Natasha MH, pens an incredible review of Barbie entitled The One About Barbie.

And while I’m raving about Natasha MH, take a look at this incredible piece of hers, The Need to Write and The Will to Heal From Our Traumatic Experiences. Excellent.

And since it’s Sunday, I think this piece by Jake Meador called The Misunderstood Reason Millions of Americans Stopped Going to Church is a worthy read. I’m not so sure it’s so misunderstood.

George Dillard in Rome Magazine tackles the orange guy racking up indictments like bowling pins in Trump’s Defense: I’m a Stupid Liar.

I rarely link to pieces I find ridiculous in Sunday Morning Reading. But this one is rarely ridiculous in how the logic turns in on itself and defeats the entire point. David Brooks takes on the what’s happening in American politics and wonders What If We’re The Bad Guys Here? Think of it as comedy.

And to close out this week, here’s an excellent piece by Elizabeth Lopatto in The Verge, What Would The Internet Of People Look Like Now? Hits to how we got to where we are today in this crazy thing called “online.”

If you’re interested in just what the heck Sunday Morning Reading is all about you can read more about the origins of Sunday Morning Reading here.

Add Freedom of Speech To The Casualty List

The casualty list is growing in the wake of Trumpty Dumpty’s pants on fire attempts to save himself. The latest is Freedom of Speech, so called, and enshrined in the First Amendment. Apparently that’s the current defense the billowing buffoon is going to wield. Most buffoons would know better.

Selfimmolation2 Much of the American Catechism has already been rendered obsolete. Apparently Trump and his defenders think there’s no holy of holies too holy to not poke holes in. The gutter has never had so much flowing through it as they snipe and snip at whatever they can in desperation. Desperation has never worn well.

Sure, Jack Smith headed that off in the early parts of the latest indcitment. Sure, most thinking humans understand what’s going on. Though, there’s apparently not enough Immodium in the world to plug this free flowing Freedom of Speech diarrhea from spewing from what used to look like mouths.

These knuckleheds surely don’t seem to understand that they’re soiling themselves with humilating stains that aren’t going to come out in the wash. Their ignoble profession of politics is becoming more ignoble by the moment. By the time we’re done with this shitshow there’s not going to be enough mouths worth talking out of both sides with. Frankly it stinks.

It would be comical if the stakes weren’t so high. But they are.

And they’ve got company on the casualty list. The Gray Lady apparently thinks there’s a “both sides” argument that can be made between lies and free speech. Take this headline and article: Trump Election Charges Set Up Clash of Lies Versus Free Speech. Set aside the ridiculous headline. Set aside the both-siding. Focus instead on this:

Throughout his careers in business and politics, he has sought to bend reality to his own needs, with lies ranging from relatively small ones, like claiming he was of Swedish and not German descent when trying to rent to Jewish tenants in New York City, to proclaiming that President Barack Obama was not born in the United States.

If you repeat something enough, he has told confidants over time, people will believe it.

By and large, this trait has served him well, helping him bluster and bluff his way through bankruptcies and then to the White House and through crises once he was there: personal scandals, two impeachments and a special counsel’s investigation when he was in office.

For the few folks reading this who might claim to be in the uninitiated, think for a moment which newspaper of record in which big city that prints all the news that’s supposedly fit to print is now essentially admitting that they’ve been content and willing to print lies masquerading as news. That’s a lot of newsprint to hoist on any petard.

Remember this is a journalism outfit that argued over and over that they couldn’t use the word “lie” to describe the decaying orange turd’s behavior because they couldn’t be inside someone’s head. But, hey, Jack Smith has said it in an indictment. So we can too!

Look, when you’re in the middle of a car wreck, an avalanche, or running from a tsunami, it’s tough to understand what’s happening moment to moment. I get it. But folks, we’ve seen whatever you want to call this cataclysmic moment coming for quite some time. Knee-jerking cultists aside, the fact that you’d expect better reactions from elected officials and journalists defies that expectation.

Self-immolation has never burned so bright.

Iron Fisting

Rods aren’t just for fishing or catching lightning. Metaphorical and figurative rods (often made of iron) seem to be a favorite when it comes to rulers wielding strength. They’ve been around for awhile. The Bible’s Psalms 2 and later the Book of Revelation tells us that God is going to put a figurative iron rod in Jesus’ nail-pierced hand to use in smiting his enemies. There’s an old British idiom about ruling with a rod of iron. Don’t spare the cruelty if you need to make a point. Of course if you spare the rod, you spoil the child, or so says Proverbs 13. And for those who’d like to dish out a bit of up close and personal punishment there’s the ever popular ruling with an iron fist.

Right before and during the disintegration of the USSR I had the privilege to direct several productions in Russia. Omsk and Yekaterinburg to be specific. I was there as the Iron Curtain was coming down. It was a bit on the wild side to be spending time in a country going through so much upheaval. But this isn’t about that.

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It’s about the myth of the tough guy needing to wield something of iron to achieve aims and hang on to control.

On this Siberian adventure, in the middle of winter, in a closed city, we were facing creative tensions in the early going of the rehearsal process. Excitement and anxiety were abundant in just about equal measure. The Russian actors and artists were trying to get over the newness of having an American director and this American director was trying to figure out how and why things worked in their much older and storied repertory system. These were exquisitely talented artists and craftspeople. We all worked through translators. I later picked up enough Russian to run a rehearsal, but in the early going it was often comically challenging. To be honest, we were spinning our wheels a bit.

After a particularly tough morning rehearsal session with one of the leads I asked him why his work felt so tenative. I had seen him rule the stage the night before in a performance of another show, so I was a bit confused and concerned and looking for a way in. After a few moments, this marvelously talented actor, all the while avoiding my eyes and looking at the floor, said to me, “Please tell me what I must think and feel so I might do the part I am assigned.” My heart sank.

My Russian assistant director pulled me aside after that conversation. In so many words, (again, all of this was through a translator) he told me straight up that I needed to be more of a dictator and less of a director. Russian directors need to rule with an “iron fist.” The actor was right, he said. Russian actors want to be told what to do and think. They don’t know how to make choices for themselves. They want to do what the director wants and no more.

He emphasized the “iron fist” part by violently pounding his fist on a table and then holding it in my face. The translator, thought he should follow suit and also pounded the table. But instead of holding his fist in my face, he knocked the script pages onto the floor. Drama. And we were doing a musical comedy.

I understood my Russian colleague’s admonitions. Directors, like ship captains, generals, kings, queens, elected leaders, CEOs, etc… have to command to lead. They have to become the gravitational center of those who work with and for them, and in most cases against them. Not really my style, but I understand it and use it more as a tool than a method. Something about attracting more flies with honey.

Yet there was one actress in the company who seemed to thrive on having the freedom to create. She didn’t wait for direction. She just took the material and made choices. You could see in her eyes she was a bit of a firebrand. She forced those in the scenes with her to follow her lead and defined the scenes she was in. In that repertory system that was challenging. But she soared and you either went with her or took your seat while another actor playing the same part stepped up.

You could tell she wasn’t well liked in the company. I noticed she was missing the last digit on one of her fingers. Later on in the rehearsal process she confided to one of my American associates that it had been cut off in an interrogation over something her husband did. So, yeah, I guess she didn’t like being told what to do.

Again, the point here isn’t about the differences between Russian and American theatre artists or me adjusting my way of working to someone eles’s. For me it highlights the two-sided coin of human nature: the desire to be told what to do and in same breath simultaneously saying “NO.” There’s not too many of us who actually graduated beyond the terrible two’s. But some learn to set it aside or hide it. Or maybe have it knocked out of us. (Spare the rod…) Some never grow out of it.

We find ourselves in this moment with so many yearning for, and quite a few pretending to offer, biblical violent gestures and postures as the best approach to our problems. And to be honest, I’d like to take a rod of any make to quite a few heads to stop all the whining that’s become our new national pastime. (So many spoiled children.)

Granted there’s an ever-expanding sheep pasture full of wool being pulled over quite a few eyes. But still. Why are so many looking for a big bad orange Daddy strong man with a fist of iron? His bluff and bluster has already turned into so much fluff and so many feathers. And yet he’s got the gravitational pull of a black hole that’s destructive to all in his orbit, both supporter and foe.

I always thought Daddy issues were about seeking approval, not looking for a pompous protector who pretends he’s got an iron fist with a spine to match. I get that many feel left out of the picture as they sense the world is changing around them. I get their sense of impotence. But nobody is going to harden anybody eles’s resolve by being a blowhard whiner. All that whining is as corrosive as rust. And rust covers better than the orange goo smeared on his face.

Long before my Russian theatre adventures, I directed John Arden’s adaptation of Goethe’s play Götz von Berlichingen entitled Ironhand. The hero was a noble land baron. We’d call him an oligarch today. He had lost his hand in battle and fastened an iron gauntlet on to his handless appendage. Of course the play’s sturm and drang spoke to how his fearsome legend as a warrior struck terror and allegiance into his enemies and his followers.

Our actor wore a well crafted fake iron fist of celastic It looked great on stage. In the second scene of the play there are two big reveals. Our main character is met on the road by a monk. They converse about philosophy and religion. At the conclusion of the scene the monk reveals himself to be Martin Luther. And of course in the next beat, the hero reveals his iron hand from underneath his cape as he introduces himself with his fearsome moniker.

On opening night our lead blew both reveals out of the water. At the top of the scene he choked on his lines and attempting to recover he whipped his celastic covered hand from under his cape and gesturing vigorously to the monk said “Welcome Martin Luther.” Needless to say, not one of our best openings.

That was make believe.

So is much of what’s dominating our lives at the moment. For the life of me, I keep wondering why we’re in thrall to all of this and keep willingly suspending our disbelief to this ham-fisted shit show. We all know how this ends. There’s no new character development coming in Act 2, no deus-ex-machina in the final act. So, let’s cut the drama, cut the comedy, forsake the 11 o’clock number and get to the final curtain.

To borrow from Neil Young, “Rust never sleeps.” So why does it feel like we’re sleep walking?

Sunday Morning Reading

Here’s some Sunday Morning Reading to share. From arts in space and on the stage, to booby trapped tombs and age-old pathogens thawing out of the ice, here’s an electic mix of topics that might or might not connect together as we sweat and swelter through the Dog Days of Summer. Enjoy.

The Lunar Codex is an archive of various forms of creativity including contemporary art, poetry, podcasts, film, images, and other Earth bound cultural artifacts that’s on it’s way to the Moon. Headed up by Samuel Peralta it will travel on several rockets and include works of 30,000 artists, writers, musicians, and filmmakers from 157 countries. J.D. Biersdorfer tells us about it in the New York Times.

Back to Earth it seems that archaeologists are afraid to look inside the tomb of China’s first emperor. You know the one guarded by the Terra Cotta army among other things. Apparently it’s not just what might be disturbed by digging or what might be disturbing if they do, but there’s a theory that the place is booby trapped. Sounds very Indiana Jonesish. Tom Hale writes about it in IFLSCIENCE.

The Stage Is Yours according to Natasha MH in this Medium post on Ellemeno. It’s a great piece about arts, artists, dance, theatre, authenticity, and those hidden fears and secrets inside of us all. You know, the ones we choose not to share when we offer ourselves up. Or do we?

The strikes by the actors and writers unions have pointed a spotlight on AI and how that might replace creatives in film, TV and other industries. Studios see financial savings from reduced costs. But maybe they should take a look at Michael Grothaus’ piece in Fast Company as he theorizes that AI might even replace the studios themselves.

In what sounds like science fiction, scientists have woken up a 46,000-year-old roundworm from the Siberian permafrost. Carolyn Y. Johnson in the Washington Post tells us about that. But if tinkering with what many might think should be left alone doesn’t sound John Carpenterish enough for you, we’re also hearing about frozen pathogens that are waking up on their own in cold places that are warming up. (Can you say Climate Change?) Corey J.A. Bradshaw and Giovannie Strona wrote about this in The Conversation and I caught the article from Science Alert.

Ryan Busse is a former gun company exec who is now warning about the dangerous growing radicalization in his former industry. Corey G, Johnson talked to him for this article in ProPublica.

The social media world is certainly in a state of flux given all the damage Elon Musk has done to Twitter and the scramble by others to provide venues that might offer some of what Twitter used to be before it was X-ed out. Craig Grannell has a great piece called X Marks the Rot. Don’t Buy Into Elon Musk’s Lifelong Crusade.

If you’re interested in just what the heck Sunday Morning Reading is all about you can read more about the origins of Sunday Morning Reading here.

Consequential Consequences: Thoughts on Oppenheimer

Every action has a reaction. So said Issac Newton and a host of scientists, mathematicians, and just about everyone else under the sun who came after him. I’d prefer to call reactions consequences. We’d like to think we can avoid consequences because the word conjures up a more dire consequence than just having a reaction. But we know we can’t. To hear Christopher Nolan talk about his terrific film, Oppenheimer, that’s what his film is about. Consequences. After an early morning viewing yesterday I’d agree. I’d say all the focus on Oppenheimer’s creating the first atomic bomb, undeniably consequential as it was, and filmed as well as it is, is the least consequential aspect of this film.

No, you can’t escape the story at the center of the plot. It’s a thriller, a mystery with some romance and political intrigue mixed in. It’s well told and well paced. If you’re a fan of Nolan’s almost frenetic editing pace it will engage and enthrall. If you’re not, it might be tough to get your footing early, but hang in there. Some of Nolan’s previous work has left me cold and often confused. Not here. I’d argue the plot at the center of this flick, even the lesser known political one, takes second fiddle to the character study of those who drive this story.

First, it’s a terrific cast of some of our most amazing actors working today. And every one one of them delivers. You get the sense that each of them, large role or small, was chomping at the bit to film each scene. Robert Downey is absolutely amazing. The quality of his work reminds me of his star turn in Chaplin. Just brilliant. Cillian Murphy tackles the central character with consumate skill and he deserves the accolades already bestowed and sure to come. But his central performance is almost eclipsed by the rest of the stellar ensemble cast when viewed as a whole. What each actor brings to whatever moments they are on the screen is so chocked full of truth, and yes consequences, that I found following them more explosive than the inevitable explosion. Notably, that comes with a huge chunk of the movie remaining.

And that’s the thing about this film that might just catapult it into classic status. Each moment tells us a powerful human story about choices and the consequences that flow from them, regardless of the scale of the choice at hand. It’s no accident that the closeups seem to outnumber the larger set pieces. We’re watching characters understand, in the moment, the implications of the things they’re thinking far into the future, whether it’s their personal future or the planet’s. Follow Emily Blunt’s incredible moments in the hearing to decide on Oppenheimer’s security clearance and you’ll see the second by second comprehension of every single thing that’s at stake for her personally, for her husband, and beyond.

So I applaud Nolan, the cast and the rest of the filmmakers for taking such a consequential turning point in our history and focusing it so personally and intimately on those involved. And in so doing, hopefully making us take a breath and look at what might seem, in comparison, the inconsequential moments in our own lives, as well as some of the larger decsions moments we’re currently facing as a people. Before we turn them over to the robots.

As to the filmmaking it’s top notch. There’s one consequential decision that Nolan made in his story telling that I understand fully, but wish he’s strayed away from. Throughout the story, told through Oppenheimer’s eyes, we see him dreaming and visualizing the science he’s exploring as he tries to discover how to split the atom. Swirling waves and exploding particles dance through his head and across the screen via special effects. Nolan says it’s not CGI. Whatever it is, it’s done well, and like I said it makes sense. But in the final sequence of the movie I think Nolan went one special effect sequence too far. The movie was more powerfully over with the last words of the title character and doesn’t need that sequence. We all more than got the message, whether it’s the more personal one Nolan’s main character is reeling from, or the larger one he’s unleashed.

And as a last thought, there was a part of me that was not looking forward to seeing this film because I had heard and read many complaints about the sound mix and not being able to hear the dialogue. I saw this film in a smaller, older theater not equipped with the latest and greatest projection and sound equipment. I had zero issues with the audio. I’m a big critic of lousy audio and visual magic doled out by creators playing with all sorts of new toys and tools. I know all the hype says to see it on the largest screen possible. Technology rules! Maybe so. But I was able to hear almost every word. Given the character study Nolan is essaying here, it made this gigantic and consequential film feel much more personal and thus more powerful and revelatory. Consequences.

Sunday Morning Reading

On the road this weekend, so this edition of Sunday Morning Reading will be a little brief. There’s always something to share though.

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On the Artificial Intelligence beat, Catherine Thorbecke at CNN reports that AI might not be quite the time saving boon some have promised. Imagine that.

Who knew Country Music would get embroiled in the so-called “Culture Wars.” Well, unless you haven’t been paying attention, just about everybody. Because hey, just about everything gets caught up at one time or the other. Emily Nussbaum has a terrific long read in Country Music’s Culture Wars And The Remaking of Nashville. FYI: No mention of some guy not born in a small town but singing as if he was.

If you’re looking for a collection of good writers and good writing you won’t go wrong with Ellemeno Magazine on Medium. Some top notch and provactive stuff going on there. Because there’s so much quality writing, I don’t feel so guilty for not recommending more this selections this Sunday.

If you’re interseted in just what the heck Sunday Morning Reading is all about you can read more about the origins of Sunday Morning Reading here.

Meta Meets the Moment with Threads. (For the Moment)

You gotta hand it to that huckster Zuckerberg. He and his Meta team have certainly met the moment with the release of his Twitter killer, Threads. It’s not that the app is all that great in this version 1. (More on that later.) But Zuck pushed this thing out with such gusto and killer timing that he was able to eaisly take advantage of Elon Musk’s baffling and ballooning buffoonery. When billionaires go for each other’s throats apparently they use guillotines.

Sure, these social media wars aren’t over yet. Far from it. But these wounds are deep. The number of signups on Threads keeps rising so fast I won’t even hazard a guess at how many millions there have been for fear of the number being old news before I finish writing this. And on it goes.

And on it will go. I don’t think we’ve ever seen such an underpantsing as Zuck put on Musk. He’s taking advantage of someone who has made himself such a detestable target, that Zuckerberg, not all that well liked himself, is momentarily being thought of as the conqueror Elon and his detestables dreamed of being. It’s deliciously funny. But it is also frightening when you take a moment and think about it.

Again, there’s no guarantee Threads will carry this moment’s momentum into something resembling what Twitter was before Musk took MAGA torches to it. And while in this really crazy, and what seems historic, rush there seems to be an appetite for this kind of “everybody into the pool” replacement. That’s guaranteed to fade once ads, bots, spammers, etc… inevitably get their chance to piss in the pool. That’s gonna happen.

The Threads team also needs to move quickly to address some serious missing pieces for a social media app in this day and age. There’s nothing that speaks to accessibility in the app yet. There’s no web access from a browser forcing everyone to use it on their phones. Hashtags aren’t there yet. Forget searching. Or sending direct messages. These are table stakes in the social media game. Lots of iPad users are complaining that there isn’t an iPad app. Don’t hold your breath on that one. This thing is connected to your social network via Instagram and there’s still no appetite for an iPad app from Instagram yet in what seems like another front in the Billionaires Battles, this one between Meta and Apple.

Just about everyone is screaming to only have their feed show only folks they are following. Same here. But, folks, let’s get real. These companies need to push all sorts of stuff into your eyeballs in order to make bigger bank. We lived through this with Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and the rest. We will probably see some soft of attempt at appeasement here, but it’s not going to last. Don’t kid yourself.

There’s also talk of Meta doing the federated thing with Threads. That’s got pros and cons and lots of consternation stirred up among those who see the beneift of protocols like Activity Pub in the Fediverse. (If you have no idea what that means, don’t worry. Most don’t.) I have my doubts things will go this way. But if it does, there’s going to all sorts of noise made on places like Mastodon and beyond.

So this story has offered a slam bang opening number and for a variety of reasons appears to be sucking many in to see what’s next while it sucks ever more life out of Elon’s Twitter. There’s more to come and more to know when it does. About the only thing we know in this moment is things are changing. But they always are. Score this moment for Meta. Enjoy the ride while we watch it play out.

Oh, and you can find me on Threads at https://www.threads.net/@warnercrocker