Rest

I'm away for a week and so won't be posting til the 10th July or later.   If you haven't taken a vacation from the internet for a while, you're welcome to join me. Take care everybody.

Apologising

The Church of Ireland Bishop of Down and Dromore, Harold Miller, has called for the people he represents to acknowledge their part in the communal division that contributed to the violent conflict of the past forty years.  You can hear the interview here (scroll to 33.26 for the start of the conversation).  This conflict recently reached another one of the milestones that negotiated settlements require, when Loyalist paramilitaries decommissioned their weapons.  Bishop Miller is taking the opportunity for self-reflection as we live through the 40th anniversary year of when the modern 'Troubles' began.  He suggests that as part of marking the moment 'when things came to the surface' that we should all ask ourselves what particular responsibility each of us may have for shaping the social norms that allowed so much violence - physical and psychological - to prevail for so long. "We must never go back to that point: it can happen so quickly – we have to come to a point of examining ourselves whether in the Protestant or Catholic community to ask what were the things that were wrong in our community."

When asked if he agrees with the suggestion that Protestants are inclined to think that they are 'entirely the victims of the Troubles' he responds with clarity:

"Let’s not play games: to the extent that the allegations are true, of course they should be repented of."

He's right.  He speaks for me too.  I am too quick to allow my prejudices to surface; and need help to understand the world as people different from me do.  I once heard Stanley Hauerwas say that one of the reasons that he is a pacifist is that he has inner violent urges that trouble him (if I'm mis-paraphrasing, please forgive me).  I don't think I'm particularly violent, but it's very easy for me to shape other people in my image; to decide for them how they should feel about things; to imagine that I know better than they do.  Actually, this requires very little imagination at all - in fact, if I was using my imagination, I might be a little more respectful of difference.  I'm glad to hear the call for self-reflection from Bishop Miller.  He's not the first to say such a thing; but he's saying it with authority and humility, and I want to listen, not just because he is unlocking one of the keys to northern Ireland's (and therefore my) future, but for every human community that exists or will exist.

My Complete, Sent-From-The-Future Review of 'Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen'

I had a dream the other night in which I was visited by my The Film Talk co-host Jett Loe as an old man –he  didn’t seem to remember me; but he gave me a transcript of a statement which he asked me to read on the show.  I duly complied, but demand for a text version of the statement has been so high that it seemed useful to publish it here.  Apply some mournful music and you'll get the picture:

"No one would have believed in the first years of the 21st century that human affairs were being watched from the timeless mists of space.  No one could have dreamed that we were being scrutinized as a scientist studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.  Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets.  And yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded us with envious eyes and slowly, and surely drew their plans against us.  [With deep thanks to Mr Wells]

It was in early summer 2009 that the tipping point was reached; an event so pure in its rage against the right of human beings to the pursuit of happiness that one would be churlish to deny its particular genius.  The race had lived through moments of such fear and trembling in the past that its mavens did not at first fear the worst.  After all, a culture that had endured the spectacle of ‘The Mummy Curse of the Dragon Emperor’, the films of Tony Scott, the willingness of whole populations to buy Tamagotchi virtual pets, and the appearance of Ricky Martin at President Bush’s first inaugural ball, could sustain any assault.  Couldn’t it?

But that was before the virus.

It began during the last full week of June, when millions of people suddenly became detached from their otherwise sensible existences.  In large groups, they marched as if drawn by the tune of a distant drum or piper, to their out of town shopping malls, their town centers long since hollowed out by the so-called ‘vision’ of the elite political cohort euphemistically named ‘developers’; they paid their eight bucks, bought their popcorn tonnage, were carried into the salons of death by forklift trucks, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It all seemed so safe and tranquil.

Had they only listened to the warnings.

Shadowy figures had recently emerged on the landscape; figures known only as ‘bloggers’ – as with any class of angels, some were fallen, and not only did they not see the danger, in fact they welcomed it, wide-eyed and ginger-bearded.  It fell to a remnant to see clearly the doom to come.  It has been difficult to determine just who these people were, but what surviving records we have indicate theirs was a pyramid structure; tribal chiefs with regal names such as Ebert, Kael, and Sarris gave way to younger avatars.  One sect in particular – the TFTs – were known for their sacrificial attempts at saving their brothers and sisters.  TFTs would allow themselves to be exposed to the horrors of the multiplex in the often vain hope that their visible scars would serve as harbinger enough to prevent others from suffering the same fate.  TFTs were the true unsung heroes of this time; now known in mythology as the ‘Captain Jack Sparrow Forward Slash Orc Era’.

Nothing is known for certain of the TFTs after June 26th 2009, when the Fallen rose to infect the culture; it has been rumoured for decades that a couple of the TFTs simply disappeared; they donated what little property and money they had to the poor, and underwent an experimental procedure known as ‘soul-cleansing’: by which means a human could be liberated from their memories of awful movies.  The unfortunate side effects included loss of other memories, but the benefits far outweighed the costs; TFTs may have escaped to caves on the Mexico-Texas border, where they remained in hiding til it seemed safe to emerge, fifty or sixty years later.

As for 2009, the T1N1 virus, known colloquially as ‘Robot Flu’ multiplied disproportionately after its introduction to the biosphere.  Audiences across the world were captured within minutes, unable to move from their luxuriant deep seats, weighed down by popcorn buckets and dread; forced like Alex in ‘A Clockwork Orange’ to gaze upon such horrors as a tiny mechanical dog dry humping a girl’s leg, John Turturro’s naked rear end, twin robots whose ethnic stereotyping would have looked out of place in a black and white minstrel show, images so scorched it made some viewers afraid that the celluloid would spontaneously combust, and a woman portrayed as so plastically beautiful that she deserves a snake like tail to emerge from her buttocks.

The destruction of all extant human culture seemed inevitable.  Within weeks of the release of ‘Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen’, most cities were full of zombies, people detached from their brains, their souls, and all rational thought.  Some took to watching Michael Bay’s films repeatedly, in underground clubs, in the hope that re-traumatisation might somehow diminish the effect.  It didn’t.  Others took to the hills, creating liberal survivalist communities; members were only allowed to bring the writings of either Noam Chomsky or Kurt Vonnegut, and all the tofu they could pack in a hemp bag; but the hills revolted.  Nature abhors a vacuum, and once it became clear that some of the liberals had already been infected by the virus, having tried to convince themselves that seeing the movie would be an experience of postmodern pastiche and therefore justifiable as the basis for an article in salon.com, the trees emitted a poisonous sap that expelled the desperate.  Those who were not zombies or the now displaced liberal survivalists did the only thing that seemed possible in their circumstances.  They took up World of Warcraft, which, of course, means that they were dead already.

And then, destruction.

It appears that the aliens from James Cameron’s ‘The Abyss’ had been waiting for just such a moment – a moment when they could justify ending the human race.  They had looked for a reason to ignore the earth; and indeed, for several thousand years, human beings had proven themselves capable of a myriad of miracles: freedom struggles, medical advancements, the exploration of unknown places, love between people.  But the effects of the release of the second Transformers film could not be reversed.

It was a simple decision, reached by the alien council in mid-August 2009.  A junior civil servant alien reported on the film thus:

“There once was something called human culture.  Then 'Transformers' was released.  This Racist, Homophobic, Robot-disparaging, Anti-human, Metallic-fetishistic film misappropriates the theme tune from Jaws and has a Snake-like tail coming from the rear end of a plastically beautiful woman.

Michael Bay is one of only two film-makers I can think of whose work has got less mature as he has gotten older.  If we act quickly we can spare the human race from having to endure the release of the other one’s next film.  ‘Inglourious Basterds’ is due for release on the 21st August.  We can put them out of their misery if we execute the plan now.

Like I said, Michael Bay’s work gets less mature as he gets older.  But it’s too easy to blame him – ‘The Rock’ and ‘Armageddon’ were a lot of fun.  This is the fault of an entire culture that doesn’t demand to be treated with respect.  It’s everyone’s fault, for allowing the worst big budget film ever made to be released.

Save yourselves.”

Il Divo

"I recognize my limits but when I look around I realise I am not living exactly in a world of giants," says Giulio Andreotti, Italy's dominant post-Second World War politician, in Paolo Sorrentino's 'Il Divo', the most exciting narrative fiction feature film I've seen this year.

Sorrentino's films look like Edward Hopper paintings, dreamed by people who have been lying face down in the mud after attending a mid-90s rave.  And that's a compliment.  His 'The Consequences of Love' is one of the most compelling (in story) and enthralling - in sound and image - films of the past decade.  He fuses elegantly structured images with dance music to tell tales about broken men - Mafia accountants, small town moneylenders, and, in 'Il Divo', his current film, corrupt Prime Ministers who end up appearing to be the embodiment of menace.  The protagonists in 'Consequences', 'Il Divo', and 'The Family Friend' (the moneylender) are all capable of evil while feeling sorry for themselves; Sorrentino is so good at getting under the skin of his guys that his skill with surfaces seems almost contradictory.

'Il Divo' is a complicated film if, like me, you lack intimate knowledge of Italian politics since 1972 (!); but its central performance is so detailed and immersive that you'll forget you don't know who's who at any given point - the roll call of Mafia hoods, Catholic cardinals, and elected representatives eventually blending into a seamless garment of corrupted power.  And you're never in any doubt over who is in charge: Andreotti rules the world, and the actor Toni Servillo rules the film, his performance an invitation to face the terror of what happens when greed and ego combine to shred their victim's moral compass.

The most resonant thing I can say about 'Il Divo'?

It's the film 'The Godfather Part III' could have been.

This Week

Woolman Hill

Had an amazing experience of getting lost at the weekend - wandering away for half an hour's solitude at the Woolman Hill Retreat Center - a gorgeous collection of old buildings, no artificial light around, banks of sky shrouding the place to make it one of the quietest places I've ever been.  I missed a turn on one of the trails, and ended up walking for about eight miles in rural Massachussetts, with no phone to complain to people with, or to ask for rescue.  The sense of powerlessness gave way to a kind of nuanced epiphany - a lot of things that have seemed unfixable suddenly became clear as all I had to do was to keep walking.  It left me in no doubt: getting lost is the best way to find yourself.

This week is a combination of seeing friends, watching some films for review, and helping with another retreat.  I'm in Nashville til Thursday, but will be with Ian Cron leading a contemplative couple of days from tomorrow afternoon.

Today I'm interviewing Glenn Kenny for The Film Talk with Jett; we'll talk about the state of film criticism and his role in Steven Soderbergh's new film 'The Girlfriend Experience'; which suggests that this period of capitalism has turned us all into salesmachines.  Later, I'm watching  'Meeting Andrei Tarkovsky' - a documentary about everyone's favourite Russian mystic film-maker (if you're in New York, Lincoln Center are showing all of his films in July: don't miss them if you can).  Later I'm seeing 'Il Divo' - the new film from the Italian film-maker Paolo Sorrentino, responsible for 'The Consequences of Love', one of the most striking films of recen years: a melancolic film whose philosophy I couldn't disagree with more, but the experience of watching is astonishing.  For such a sad story, it's an almost ecstatic inspiration to love.

Later in the week I've a preview of 'Public Enemies', Michael Mann's Dilligner/gangster/FBI piece with Johnny Depp and Christian Bale - I like Mann's surfaces, but tend to think he's in love with making violence look elegant; will be interesting to see what happens with this one.  I want filmed violence to be apocalyptic in the truest sense: i.e. to reveal what it is really like; and although there is a certain sense of 'justice' in his movies (the bad guy rarely gets away with it), he can't resist making force look sexy.  (Though his visuals are pretty irresistible.)

Hope everyone has a good week.