So these aren't explicitly within the Arts Journalism sphere, but both pieces by David Carr caught my eye as relevant (and fabulously written) cultural criticism. His column explores what it takes to market entertainment and how our era is changing the game.
1) Published Monday, Jan 25th about Apple, design, and hype: Conjuring Up the Latest Buzz, Without a Word
2) Published Sunday, Jan 17th about Jay Leno, late night TV, and viewing habits: It’s Not Jay or Conan. It’s Us.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
NYT Defense: An Onomatopoeia from Holland Cotter
I set out to analyze an article that was short and dense; instead, I was captured “A Line Both Spirited and Firm.” Though not in our 500-word style, Holland Cotter’s review of Mannerist painter Bronzino at the Metropolitan does three things exceptionally well.
First, Cotter’s review impresses the vitality of his subject. The hook in his opening paragraph is pure significance: if you haven’t seen this master’s work, his words implore, you need to keep reading. “A Line” continues to elucidate why Bronzino is worth Cotter’s expertise, the Met’s exhibition space, and the reader’s ticket price.
Second, the piece piques and then holds the reader’s attention without contrived theatrics. Cotter’s watertight writing guides the story from historical context to artistic techniques to curatorial controversies, changing subject matter just frequently enough to sustain curiosity. Solid zingers -- “style that erupted, like a repressed libido” -- are more effective here than Technicolor word gymnastics.
Third, Cotter imbues his discussions of context with his opinion of the art. His word choices and story lines create a sort of onomatopoeia in which his review sounds like what it is describing: “Both Spirited and Firm.” Passages like the fourth to last paragraph further connect subject to presentation, in Bronzino’s art, the Met’s show, and Cotter’s writing.
Cotter’s authority comes in part from his excellent writing but also from his extensive knowledge of art and art history. He holds three art degrees and taught Indian and Islamic Art at Columbia University. He has been writing for the New York Times since 1992, and in other arts journalism publications since the 1970s. Last year, his talent was recognized with the 2009 Pulitzer Prize in Criticism.
First, Cotter’s review impresses the vitality of his subject. The hook in his opening paragraph is pure significance: if you haven’t seen this master’s work, his words implore, you need to keep reading. “A Line” continues to elucidate why Bronzino is worth Cotter’s expertise, the Met’s exhibition space, and the reader’s ticket price.
Second, the piece piques and then holds the reader’s attention without contrived theatrics. Cotter’s watertight writing guides the story from historical context to artistic techniques to curatorial controversies, changing subject matter just frequently enough to sustain curiosity. Solid zingers -- “style that erupted, like a repressed libido” -- are more effective here than Technicolor word gymnastics.
Third, Cotter imbues his discussions of context with his opinion of the art. His word choices and story lines create a sort of onomatopoeia in which his review sounds like what it is describing: “Both Spirited and Firm.” Passages like the fourth to last paragraph further connect subject to presentation, in Bronzino’s art, the Met’s show, and Cotter’s writing.
Cotter’s authority comes in part from his excellent writing but also from his extensive knowledge of art and art history. He holds three art degrees and taught Indian and Islamic Art at Columbia University. He has been writing for the New York Times since 1992, and in other arts journalism publications since the 1970s. Last year, his talent was recognized with the 2009 Pulitzer Prize in Criticism.
Monday, January 25, 2010
A Musical Tryst with "Velvet Goldmine"
“Velvet Goldmine” picks up an issue, considers its facets, and then releases it to float around the atmosphere. The film poses such questions as the tyranny of the past, of cultural expectations, of relationships, and of image, but it does not so much answer as wonder, not so much tackle as expose. The film avoids passing blatant judgement, so that “Velvet Goldmine” is neither psychological burden nor frivolity.
This is fitting of course, as Todd Haynes’ 1998 production, set for rerelease this week, revels in 1970s British glam rock, a movement that added a serious edge to the hippie 60s without loosing the sex, drugs, or rock and roll. After the opening credits uncoil with a pack of neon-clad teens scampering down London streets, the movie is a series of reminiscing individuals who surrounded Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ megastar Bryan Slade: his ex-wife, ex-manager, ex-partner, ex-fan. It thus feeds off the contrast between the illustrious past and dingy present, between existing inside the glitter and outside the hysteria.
For a film that so revolves around the passage of time, the effect is only of a moment in time. The story in fact stagnates in the middle so that one feels the movement of real time without the movement of the plot. Oscar Wilde’s oft-quoted “Dorian Gray” fits unexpectedly here, tying together the self-awareness of the movie’s theatrical progression with the teenage and bisexual angst and the musicians’ staged personas.
The screenplay is a would-be tribute to David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust years, with an extraterrestrial twist and without the Bowie song list. Bowie is absent because he refused the rights to the seven tracks Haynes wanted, claiming this collaboration would be bad competition for his own, now dematerialized “Ziggy 2002 Project.” It’s a shame, since “Velvet Goldmine” yearns to be glam rock but, without the blessing of the main star, only manages to be about glam rock.
Nonetheless, if “Velvet Goldmine” has one thing, it is a head-bobbing, toe-tapping good beat. The tunes ask to be felt and to be repeated, especially the spunky “Baby’s on Fire” written for the film by Roxy Music’s Brain Eno. Paired with wild costumes, from spacesuits to French powdered wigs, the soundtrack’s force is catchy and spot-on.
The influence of a green pin and a spaceship that brings a young Oscar Wilde to earth in the film’s first scene suggests some reality to the artifice of the boys’ image-creating. Somehow, the pin gives its wearer the luck to launch into stardom, passing from Wilde through Ewan McGreggor’s Iggy Pop-like character and finally, to Slade. Ironically, it is this bit of the extraterrestrial that brings the pop icons down to earth. Let the confusion whisk reality and fantasy into peaks, and “Velvet Goldmine’s” momentary tryst through the early 70’s music scene is pleasurably mystical.
This is fitting of course, as Todd Haynes’ 1998 production, set for rerelease this week, revels in 1970s British glam rock, a movement that added a serious edge to the hippie 60s without loosing the sex, drugs, or rock and roll. After the opening credits uncoil with a pack of neon-clad teens scampering down London streets, the movie is a series of reminiscing individuals who surrounded Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ megastar Bryan Slade: his ex-wife, ex-manager, ex-partner, ex-fan. It thus feeds off the contrast between the illustrious past and dingy present, between existing inside the glitter and outside the hysteria.
For a film that so revolves around the passage of time, the effect is only of a moment in time. The story in fact stagnates in the middle so that one feels the movement of real time without the movement of the plot. Oscar Wilde’s oft-quoted “Dorian Gray” fits unexpectedly here, tying together the self-awareness of the movie’s theatrical progression with the teenage and bisexual angst and the musicians’ staged personas.
The screenplay is a would-be tribute to David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust years, with an extraterrestrial twist and without the Bowie song list. Bowie is absent because he refused the rights to the seven tracks Haynes wanted, claiming this collaboration would be bad competition for his own, now dematerialized “Ziggy 2002 Project.” It’s a shame, since “Velvet Goldmine” yearns to be glam rock but, without the blessing of the main star, only manages to be about glam rock.
Nonetheless, if “Velvet Goldmine” has one thing, it is a head-bobbing, toe-tapping good beat. The tunes ask to be felt and to be repeated, especially the spunky “Baby’s on Fire” written for the film by Roxy Music’s Brain Eno. Paired with wild costumes, from spacesuits to French powdered wigs, the soundtrack’s force is catchy and spot-on.
The influence of a green pin and a spaceship that brings a young Oscar Wilde to earth in the film’s first scene suggests some reality to the artifice of the boys’ image-creating. Somehow, the pin gives its wearer the luck to launch into stardom, passing from Wilde through Ewan McGreggor’s Iggy Pop-like character and finally, to Slade. Ironically, it is this bit of the extraterrestrial that brings the pop icons down to earth. Let the confusion whisk reality and fantasy into peaks, and “Velvet Goldmine’s” momentary tryst through the early 70’s music scene is pleasurably mystical.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Context Articles
http://carpetbagger.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/21/a-few-questions-for-james-cameron/
This New York Times interview with James Cameron gave me insight to his vision for “Avatar.” Cameron speaks about sequels, technology, and bad press, and seems pretty positive about it all. I was caught by the process of motion capture he describes, and by how specific the technology must be to record and then produce such nuanced and life-like forms. He is an intelligent guy, and has clearly spent an abundance of time thinking about “Avatar.” Cameron says, “Things are really thought out in this movie to an almost ridiculous level.” I realized his attention to detail was the reason “Avatar” didn’t feel vapid, but that his neglect of the larger picture was also the reason the movie didn’t reach the epic proportions of storytelling that it aimed at. I feel that Cameron had all the fine-tuning touches of a good visual director without the mainstays of film in any other role. I tried to add this new dimension to my revised film review for a more cohesive, sophisticated take on “Avatar.”
http://www.cinemablend.com/new/The-Cameron-Inside-How-Avatar-Echoes-Everything-He-s-Ever-Done-16143.html
While its not the greatest journalism piece, this comparison from the blog Cinema Blend gave me some amusing and much needed background on Cameron’s movies. I have not seen any of them, and I felt that there was something to “Avatar” I was missing because of it. I learned that Sigourney Weaver and Sam Worthington had both starred in previous Cameron films, and that many of his previous characters reappear as well. I became more familiar with the plots and themes Cameron favors, which lead me to the “stock battle” idea in my review. I think there is something to the claim that Cameron is “ripping off himself,” but I also admire that the man has a consistent and recognizable style.
A Revised "Avatar"
The public is flocking to “Avatar” this rainy season, despite reports of its stale story and mediocre acting, to witness James Cameron’s visual fireworks. Yes, the film’s technological advances and mesmerizing colors are worth seeing. But don’t be fooled. Cameron uses an innocent Pocahontas-like plot to anchor his new planet of Pandora but, somewhere among the fluorescent verdure, forsakes a meaningful accord for an ending of death and destruction.
Cameron is known for his epic storytelling, as in “Titanic” and “Terminator,” and again dutifully builds up an extensive metaphor of forbidden love amidst invasion. The story seems to drag the humans and the native Na’vi down the path of mutual misunderstanding towards a brutal clash and a peaceful resolution, facilitated by the star-struck couple and a Mother Nature-esque force. Cameron guides “Avatar” to the clash and then switches the formula mid-combat, never reaching the resolution. Instead, Mother Nature puts on battle armor and sacrifices her creatures left and right to finish off the slaughter of the humans.
A lesson about heroic defense of a native culture may have been relevant in 1995 when Cameron wrote the script, but it is not poignant fifteen years later. 2010 America is in need of color, not more bloodbaths. Cameron, unfortunately, cannot manage one without the other. “Avatar” is thus neither a tale of hope for a peaceful solution nor a warning of the terrors of war. It ends up glorifying the methods of Colonel Quaritch, the movie’s trigger-happy villain, in spite of setting out to quench them.
Sam Worthington and Zoe Saldana, who portray the love interests from different worlds, do not shine when they are persuaded to speak, but when they are compelled to move. Motion sensors, part of the technology that turns the human forms to the blue, tree-like ones on screen, seem to trace every sinew and demand a deliberate performance. Saldana especially masters the body language, as she did for her sassy Uhura in the recent “Star Trek,” and slips naturally into the earthy grace of her character Neytiri. She intrigues the camera with a nuanced arch of the extended eyebrow or trill of the blue fingers, momentarily presenting a subtle richness that is promptly discarded by the empty dialogue. Similarly, Sigourney Weaver and Michelle Rodriguez, in human supporting roles, have almost enough pluck to save the script. Perhaps it is Cameron’s skilled directing that harnesses the technology for these details, but he leaves the bulk so neglected that it is hard to tell.
There is nothing wrong with a deliberate light show of technology, but Cameron tries for substantial art and fails. When his writing and acting don’t get the job done, he falls back to his stock battle devoid of any thrust of meaning. “Avatar” is ultimately like the auto-tuned songs currently topping the charts: as long as the product is superficially appealing, the artist doesn’t have to have a voice.
Cameron is known for his epic storytelling, as in “Titanic” and “Terminator,” and again dutifully builds up an extensive metaphor of forbidden love amidst invasion. The story seems to drag the humans and the native Na’vi down the path of mutual misunderstanding towards a brutal clash and a peaceful resolution, facilitated by the star-struck couple and a Mother Nature-esque force. Cameron guides “Avatar” to the clash and then switches the formula mid-combat, never reaching the resolution. Instead, Mother Nature puts on battle armor and sacrifices her creatures left and right to finish off the slaughter of the humans.
A lesson about heroic defense of a native culture may have been relevant in 1995 when Cameron wrote the script, but it is not poignant fifteen years later. 2010 America is in need of color, not more bloodbaths. Cameron, unfortunately, cannot manage one without the other. “Avatar” is thus neither a tale of hope for a peaceful solution nor a warning of the terrors of war. It ends up glorifying the methods of Colonel Quaritch, the movie’s trigger-happy villain, in spite of setting out to quench them.
Sam Worthington and Zoe Saldana, who portray the love interests from different worlds, do not shine when they are persuaded to speak, but when they are compelled to move. Motion sensors, part of the technology that turns the human forms to the blue, tree-like ones on screen, seem to trace every sinew and demand a deliberate performance. Saldana especially masters the body language, as she did for her sassy Uhura in the recent “Star Trek,” and slips naturally into the earthy grace of her character Neytiri. She intrigues the camera with a nuanced arch of the extended eyebrow or trill of the blue fingers, momentarily presenting a subtle richness that is promptly discarded by the empty dialogue. Similarly, Sigourney Weaver and Michelle Rodriguez, in human supporting roles, have almost enough pluck to save the script. Perhaps it is Cameron’s skilled directing that harnesses the technology for these details, but he leaves the bulk so neglected that it is hard to tell.
There is nothing wrong with a deliberate light show of technology, but Cameron tries for substantial art and fails. When his writing and acting don’t get the job done, he falls back to his stock battle devoid of any thrust of meaning. “Avatar” is ultimately like the auto-tuned songs currently topping the charts: as long as the product is superficially appealing, the artist doesn’t have to have a voice.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Avatar: Old Plot, New Violence
You know the story: A civilized world desires something belonging to a mysterious world. The former begins to invade. A member of the known world befriends a native and learns the ways of the strange culture. The two fall in love. Loyalties switch. Time runs out. A violent clash ensues.
The story is “Pocahontas.” It’s “Dances With Wolves.” It’s in your history textbook. This year, it’s “Avatar.”
James Cameron’s version stands out from the rest because of what happens in the plot line at the end of the violent clash. Yes, there is much to be said about the flim’s stunning use of technology, both on screen and behind the scenes. Future humans control a Marine base light years from Earth, computers like sheets of glass, and machines which transfer one’s mental capacity to a different body. On the planet of Pandora, the native Na’vi people live among vivid colors and mesmerizing scenery.
But unlike previous reincarnations of the plot, Cameron builds up the recognizable and extensive social metaphor, only to end it with death and destruction. Over the course of the movie, the audience grows to hate the Commander and his inexplicable desire to crush the Na’vi people. We are angered by his thickheaded refusal to see the value in another culture and his quick resort to violence as a highway to power. Then our hero, Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), leads his new people on the same path. And all of a sudden, we cheer as the Na’vi crush the humans, dismantle their technology, and send arrows into their leader’s heart.
What is worse is Cameron’s reversal of the role of Mother Nature. We know this character, represented by the Tree of Souls in “Avatar,” to possess foresight, calm sagacity, and a desire for cosmic justice. “Our Great Mother does not take sides, Jake. She protects only the balance of life,” Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) advises Jake as he prays for aid in his upcoming campaign. We are thus lead to expect Eywa to resolve the conflict and quench the hatred, Pocahontas-style. But Cameron switches the formula mid-combat, and we are too victory-bent to realize the ploy. Mother Nature puts on battle armor and finishes off the slaughter of the humans. She sacrifices her creatures left and right, until the earlier outcry at unnecessary death becomes consigned to oblivion.
If “Avatar” had begun a story of war -- either of the horror or the glory -- I would not protest. I reject, however, Cameron’s commandeering of a tale that usually gives us hope for a peaceful solution and possible coexistence. I instead left the theatre surrounded by movie-goers’ battle cries, disheartened and disillusioned.
A friend put her finger on the issue: Cameron compromised the moral high ground for box office success.
“Yes,” I said, “he caved.”
“Avatar” grossed over $77 million on its opening weekend, and has made over $429 million at the box office altogether (“Box Office”). Clearly, the compromise is working for Cameron.
Works Cited:
“Box Office - Movies." New York Times. Web. 11 Jan. 2010..
The story is “Pocahontas.” It’s “Dances With Wolves.” It’s in your history textbook. This year, it’s “Avatar.”
James Cameron’s version stands out from the rest because of what happens in the plot line at the end of the violent clash. Yes, there is much to be said about the flim’s stunning use of technology, both on screen and behind the scenes. Future humans control a Marine base light years from Earth, computers like sheets of glass, and machines which transfer one’s mental capacity to a different body. On the planet of Pandora, the native Na’vi people live among vivid colors and mesmerizing scenery.
But unlike previous reincarnations of the plot, Cameron builds up the recognizable and extensive social metaphor, only to end it with death and destruction. Over the course of the movie, the audience grows to hate the Commander and his inexplicable desire to crush the Na’vi people. We are angered by his thickheaded refusal to see the value in another culture and his quick resort to violence as a highway to power. Then our hero, Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), leads his new people on the same path. And all of a sudden, we cheer as the Na’vi crush the humans, dismantle their technology, and send arrows into their leader’s heart.
What is worse is Cameron’s reversal of the role of Mother Nature. We know this character, represented by the Tree of Souls in “Avatar,” to possess foresight, calm sagacity, and a desire for cosmic justice. “Our Great Mother does not take sides, Jake. She protects only the balance of life,” Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) advises Jake as he prays for aid in his upcoming campaign. We are thus lead to expect Eywa to resolve the conflict and quench the hatred, Pocahontas-style. But Cameron switches the formula mid-combat, and we are too victory-bent to realize the ploy. Mother Nature puts on battle armor and finishes off the slaughter of the humans. She sacrifices her creatures left and right, until the earlier outcry at unnecessary death becomes consigned to oblivion.
If “Avatar” had begun a story of war -- either of the horror or the glory -- I would not protest. I reject, however, Cameron’s commandeering of a tale that usually gives us hope for a peaceful solution and possible coexistence. I instead left the theatre surrounded by movie-goers’ battle cries, disheartened and disillusioned.
A friend put her finger on the issue: Cameron compromised the moral high ground for box office success.
“Yes,” I said, “he caved.”
“Avatar” grossed over $77 million on its opening weekend, and has made over $429 million at the box office altogether (“Box Office”). Clearly, the compromise is working for Cameron.
Works Cited:
“Box Office - Movies." New York Times. Web. 11 Jan. 2010.
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