Some Statements: ● Black Kiss shocked me. I am not sure what I expected, but it sure wasn't this ultra-violent, supernatural, neo-noir, festival of misSome Statements: ● Black Kiss shocked me. I am not sure what I expected, but it sure wasn't this ultra-violent, supernatural, neo-noir, festival of misogyny and ugliness. ● Pretty amazing to have a transgendered sex worker as your "heroine" even today, let alone 1988. It's problematic to be sure (maybe even worthy of serious criticism; I'd even make the case that it is transphobic, especially today), but it's still a pretty serious leap for a Canadian comic book imprint like Vortex Comics to take in the heart of the AIDs epidemic. ● One of our characters, who shall remain nameless here, is brutally raped and ends up trying to protect the rapists from some furious anger because the character "enjoyed" it -- it is Black Kiss's lowest point. And that is saying something. ● The violence in Black Kiss is brutal, but mostly fuzzy and hard to make out in the black and white inking of the panels. Unlike a question I raise later, I appreciate Chaykin's restraint here. ●It's nearly impossible to like anyone in this graphic novel. ● We badly need more graphic novels containing graphic sexuality. Strip away the ugliness of Black Kiss and ramp up the truly erotic. Oh ... the pleasure that could be had.
A Bunch of Questions: ● If you're going to show genitalia in your graphic novel art, why not go hard (pun intended) and show that genitalia a little (or a lot) more graphically? ● Who in Hollywood is mad enough to make this into a film? Who on Earth would star in it? ● I wonder which serial killers of the '90s were influenced by these pages? ● Why hasn't there been a pulpy thriller with Cass Pollack, the jazz musician and last man standing, as an anti-hero? ● Is Black Kiss an underrated satirical masterpiece? Or is it a schlocky piece of trash?
Three Confessions: ● Howard Chaykin was intentionally pushing the boundaries, and he's reported to have been going for the darkest humour and most outrageous content right when "there was serious talk about trying to create a rating's system for comics, and [... he wrote] a book that would be appalling and offensive ... and funny," and I must admit that he conjured more than a laugh or two out of me in terribly inappropriate moments. ● I came to Black Kiss to be titillated, for some taboo arousal, and for the briefest of spells -- when Dagmar Laine's gender came to light and her relationship with Beverly Grove seemed more combative noirish than Mistress-Thrawl supernatural horror -- I was absolutely thrilled, then all hell broke loose, literally and figuratively, and I shifted into despair and a constant cringe. ● I actually liked this graphic novel, and I would love to see more things like this (even the ugly bits) in our puritanical present....more
The War on Gaza was on day 106 when I decided to track down a version of Judgment at Nuremberg. I didn't have a hard copy (but one is on its way), andThe War on Gaza was on day 106 when I decided to track down a version of Judgment at Nuremberg. I didn't have a hard copy (but one is on its way), and I wanted to avoid watching the film version until after I experienced a stage version, so I went with the always reliable L.A. Theatre Works production. It was as powerful and important a play as I remembered it, made all the more poignant for what was happening in the world on January 21st, 2024.
We watched a genocide in real time. Will there be any justice for those caught up in it? If so, it will come about because of the Nuremberg trials. But then the Nuremberg trials were meant to ensure that genocides would not happen again because anyone and everyone who took part in the genocide could be prosecuted, and look how that went.
Everyone should read this play, listen to this play, see this play, or watch this film. Abby Mann's lessons for us have always been important, and they remain so now -- in the middle of a genocide.
It is now January 24th, 2024 and the genocide is still happening. I demand a ceasefire (but who's listening?). Free Palestine.
My heart breaks for anyone who is the victim of ethnic cleansing, no matter when or where....more
This may be the craziest chapter in the Aubrey / Maturin saga. So much crazy shit happens, and very little of it made it into Peter Weirs' film adaptaThis may be the craziest chapter in the Aubrey / Maturin saga. So much crazy shit happens, and very little of it made it into Peter Weirs' film adaptation.
There are deserted islands; cannibalistic, genital mutilating, Pacific tribal women; lying Yankees (not so weird, that); wackadoo typhoons; adultery that leads to abortion that leads to murder that leads to more murder that leads to suicide (John Carpenter could Horror movie the shit out of this tale); can you say, "Jonah;" a stressful coma; a deus ex machina; bizarre land battles; and strange, though understandable, disagreements between our stories' most stalwart friends.
Yet, despite all its weirdness, this is an Aubrey / Maturin that nails the relationships and characterizations like almost no other. This is all about character, and the characters sparkle. I could mention them all and all the reasons I love them, but that would take forever. Suffice to say that all of these people shine, and their particular peculiarities are at the heart of the tale. And it's not just Captain Jack and Dr. Maturin. All the people who people the Surprise, from Martin to Padeen to Mowatt to Bonden to Killick, are alive and wonderful.
This is a beautiful take on characters we all love (by book 10 ... how could we not?). And the bloody end is all the more shocking for it....more
It was a slow read for me, Dust. It wasn't bad. It was always interesting enough, and as final chapters in a trilogy go, it had enough of the wrappingIt was a slow read for me, Dust. It wasn't bad. It was always interesting enough, and as final chapters in a trilogy go, it had enough of the wrapping things up necessities to keep me interested, but only on the periphery of my brain.
There were other books to listen to, other books to read, other things in my life that kept it pushed aside. My daughter, Scout, started writing an essay a out Wool about two weeks before I finished Dust, and that was enough to finally garner my full attention. With about half way to go, it was a quick read to the finish. A fast, somewhat thrilling, and mostly satisfying read.
I look forward to watching the on-screen version of the show. I hope it is as bleak as the "reality" of the future Hugh Howey has created rather than as bizarrely hopeful as the ending Howey gave us in Dust because that ending that screams of "new beginnings" and "hope" seems to be ignoring precisely what got his people to their dystopian genesis point.
Dust is a good story. I'm just not sure it is a "true" story in the way the Lost Generation would have characterized truth. And a hundred years distant they may be to us now, but they were certainly onto something.
I don't understand how Dorothy L. Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey books have escaped my notice for so long. I'd have suspected my mother to say something toI don't understand how Dorothy L. Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey books have escaped my notice for so long. I'd have suspected my mother to say something to me about them while I was devouring the library of Agatha Christie or to have caught a glimpse of Lord Wimsey on PBS' Masterpiece Theatre at some point. But nope. Not until my daughter found a copy of Whose Body? in her favourite collection of books in Canada's Indigo did I know anything about Lord Wimsey.
Now I imagine I will be cracking through Sayers' library at a reasonably fast clip.
This first book, Whose Body?, isn't the best first novel of a detective I've ever read (that probably goes to Martin Beck's first appearance in Roseanna), but Sayer does way more than enough to earn a readers trust and loyalty. The mystery of the naked body in a tub wearing only a pair of pince-nez is clever and compelling, and even a mind coloured by all the modern modes of detection should have no difficulty believing that Lord Peter has cracked the case, but the crime and the solution are not really the strongest part of Whose Body? That honour goes to Wimsey, his mother, and his valet. Following you will find a description of why I feel the way I do about these characters, but if you are not up for spoilers, suffice to say that you will not be disappointed, and I am guessing you will come to love this dynamic and lovable and clever trio as much as I do.
(view spoiler)[You have clicked, which means you didn't heed my warning. Tsk tsk tsk.
Seriously, though, Sayer offers something magnificent in this opening book: a glimpse into the history of Lord Peter and his time in the trenches, which promises to add depths to himself and those around him as the books go on.
It is a scene deep in the tale and in the dark of night. It is a moment of hallucinatory half-waking sleep that takes Wimsey back to the trenches, where he hears what he thinks are German soldiers mining nearby, perhaps foxholes, perhaps no-man's-land. His valet, Bunter, comes into his bedchamber and tries to comfort Lord Peter; quickly realizing what's happening, however, he becomes the man he once was, Lord Peter's batsman, Sergeant Bunter. He addresses "Major Wimsey" and calms his fears by telling him what he hears are British sappers following orders to knock down a nearby tower. With that, Bunter soothes his master, gets him off to a real sleep, and puts Lord Wimsey back on the track of the killer.
Even cooler, though, is that Bunter reports what happened in the evening, and dutifully so, to Lord Peter's mother, the Dowager Duchess of Denver, and thus, Sayer expertly reveals the trusting dynamic between these three. The Dowager is all care and support (seeming to see Bunter as one of the family rather than a servant), Bunter is a rock, and Lord Peter has nothing but love and appreciation for the pair who care for him most. It is this dynamic that made me fall in love with this series and why I must go on. If you love character like I do, this series is for you.
I am curious ... for any of you who got this far and have read the book: who would you like to see cast in any or all of these three roles in a new version -- either on film or on television? (hide spoiler)]...more
Before now, the only Bret Easton Ellis I'd read was American Psycho. I've read it a couple of times and never been entertained by it, but the first tiBefore now, the only Bret Easton Ellis I'd read was American Psycho. I've read it a couple of times and never been entertained by it, but the first time I read it I was blown away, then I was blown away again by its brilliance, despite how difficult it is to digest. It is that literary indigestion that has kept me away from Ellis' other books until now, which is a shame because I think he may be one of the most important authors of the late-20th century USA.
Less Than Zero, Ellis' debut novel, is an experimental, fragmentary, fever dream of a book. It is populated by the disaffected, über-priveleged, abandoned, young "adults" of late '80s Beverly Hills. Some are seeking fame and fortune, some are seeking their next fix, some are seeking numbness, some are running away, some are drowning, all are on the edge of oblivion. They are the sort of rich filth I have almost never been able to empathize with. And when I read the things they did to one another, to others (people from outside their class and community) whom they gleefully victimized, and to themselves, my brain screamed at me that I should make no place for them here either.
But the wonder of Bret Easton Ellis' writing, for me at least, is that he overcomes my biases and makes me grieve for the three most damaged denizens of this corrupt Los Angeles: Clay, Julian and Blair. All while making me nearly physically sick at the scenes of depredation Ellis has conjured for them to move through.
Not as brilliant and not as graphic (though only marginally so) as American Psycho, Less than Zero remains a significant novel. Not quite great but damn close. And it cements Bret Easton Ellis as an important voice of a time and a people who continue to shape our present to often devastating effect. ...more
I read a list somewhere by somebody that mentioned the 10 best detectives in fiction. Travis McGee was on that list (my favourites, Beck / Kollberg, wI read a list somewhere by somebody that mentioned the 10 best detectives in fiction. Travis McGee was on that list (my favourites, Beck / Kollberg, were not), and after reading the quick explanation for McGee's inclusion, I thought he'd be worth a try, so I went online and ordered a copy of what I thought was the first book in the series. I guess I saw #11 as #1 -- it was very late, so let's pretend my fatigue was the problem -- and the first McGee book to fall into my hands was Dress Her in Indigo.
I started it the next morning in the shower, and only realized then that I had missed the first 10 novels. A misting of water had already stained the pages, though, so there was no turning back. I'd probably have done better to read The Deep Blue Good-by first, but I am not sure it would have improved my experience with Dress Her in Indigo. In some ways diving into the middle of the series when our main characters, McGee and his partner Meyer, are well and truly established felt comfortable. I never felt like I was being introduced to these men. They were already there, already fully formed, they thoroughly existed, and I just happened to be meeting them in the way the characters in Oaxaca, Mexico were doing. And I found myself having similar responses to the pair that those connected to their search for what had happened to 'Bix' Bowie -- the daughter of a rich friend of Meyer's -- were having, which meant mostly charmed by them and filled with confidence in their capabilities.
Turns out that Florida is their usual bailiwick, and that Mexico was a journey afield, but the pair slipped right into the rhythms of Vietnam-era Mexico, full of reasonable Mexicans just living their lives while expats from all over the world -- the Euro riche alongside drug addled and/or shady Yankee hippies -- converge to hide from their past lives or make their fortunes in the Mexican underbelly or exact savage vengeance on those who've wronged them.
Dress Her in Indigo is a cracking tale. I am sure the inevitable new edition will have a couple of trigger warnings attached, what with all the sex and violence and sexual violence and drug use and torture (did I mention the violence?), yet so long as they keep John D. MacDonald's words intact such a warning shouldn't stop the daring amongst you from enjoying the sun drenched noir that awaits you.
If only someone had cast Jeff Bridges as McGee and Saul Rubinek as Meyer back in the late-80s. Now that would have been a series of films to rival even the great noir streak of Bogie.
Anywho ... The Deep Blue Good-by is on its way, and I am keen to take the journey back from #1 to #11 just to see what I think about Dress Her in Indigo with all the information I should have had this time through. I hope I end up liking it even more. ...more
My favourite "crime/mystery /police procedural" books of all time (and you already know this if you read my reviews on a regular basis) are the ten boMy favourite "crime/mystery /police procedural" books of all time (and you already know this if you read my reviews on a regular basis) are the ten books of the Martin Beck Series. I have read a physical copy of each book at least once, and many of them multiple times; I have also listened to all ten books every year for the last four years. Funnily enough, though, it isn't because I am a giant fan of crime fiction. I love the Martin Beck novels because they go well beyond simple crime fiction into the realm of societal reflection. They are a mirror and a chronicle and a criticism of the societies the West has created, and they are brilliant indictments of who we've become.
Having just finished Louise Penny's first Chief Inspector Armand Gamache novel, I can say that her series has the potential to make me love it for a completely different, though parallel reason. Like the Martin Beck books, the crime in Still Life, the mysterious death of Jane Neal, is an excuse to do something entirely different; here that something different is not a sociological examination of Western Society but an exercise in contemporary world building, where Three Pines -- the town at the heart of the Gamache novels -- is as much a character as its denizens are, and is as lived in and rich as any Fantasy world or Sci-Fi galaxy you've ever read.
Indeed, it is clear after just this one, first book, that Penny's Three Pines goes far beyond the small slice of the community that we first see through the eyes of Armand Gamache.
Every community in every small town is filled with mini-communities. In Quebec, where Three Pines makes its fictional home, there is bound to be a curling community, a hockey community, a softball or soccer community, a community of farmers, a community of bikers, a clique of car enthusiasts (or motorcycle enthusiasts), a clique of gardeners, church groups, school groups, groups of musicians, theatre groups, blue collar organizations, birdwatchers, drunks and ne'er-do-wells and any number of charitable groups. All these and more. On and on. And in Still Life we get just such a group at the heart of the mystery -- the artistic community. Yet all around the fringes of that community we see hints of all the other communities, and when we first open the pages of Still Life we get a glorious, rich map of the town, just as it must be in Louise Penny's head.
Still Life is crime writing as an excuse to create a fantasy world and populate it with its own people, its own history, its own mythologies, its own legends, and it is as immersive as any world filled with dragons and elves and orcs has ever been, maybe even more so because the folks of Three Pines could be you or me or us. I have a feeling that I am going to get as sucked into Three Pines as Armand Gamache did, and I am okay with that. ...more
As is so often the case with Harold Schechter, Maniac: The Bath School Disaster and the Birth of the Modern Serial Killer only spends about half of itAs is so often the case with Harold Schechter, Maniac: The Bath School Disaster and the Birth of the Modern Serial Killer only spends about half of its time talking directly about its ostensible subject -- Andrew Kehoe -- and his destruction of the Bath Consolidated School.
Schechter, you see, aspires to be more than a "true crime writer;" he aspires to be a "true crime historian," going so far as to coin the term near the end of the book, and in all of his books that I've read, he achieves his goal. In fact, it is in the half of Maniac, where he switches to other topics, that his aspiration comes to fruition, and it has always been so.
In Maniac, Schechter -- the true crime historian -- first appears in what seems an odd leap away from Andrew Kehoe (after a painstaking recollection of the nature and nurture that led Kehoe to the brink of bombing a school and taking the lives of 45 people, mostly children): Schechter takes us on a journey with a young and daredevily Charles Lindbergh. My knee jerk reaction was, "what?! why?" -- what possible link to a school bombing could Charles Lindbergh have? As it turns out, this link was the actual thesis of Schechter's Maniac.
Lindbergh's heroic achievement -- the first solo transatlantic flight -- was so awe inspiring to the U.S. of 1927, that America completely forgot about Kehoe's terrifying crime, thus the single greatest death toll on U.S. soil (not tied to military actions and massacres), until 1995's Oklahoma City Bombing was swept into the dust bin of history, proving just how short our memories can be and just how willing we are to avoid pain and sadness whenever and however we can. And this is may be why we are doomed to see these tragedies repeated over and over again.
Schechter moves on from Kehoe and Lindbergh, touching on a number of other mass killers whose killings were spoken of in the superlative, described in the aftermath as "the worst mass killing in history" or "the worst tragedy of the nation," only to have someone dig up a reminder of Kehoe in an attempt to contextualize the repetitiveness of the U.S. penchant for mass killings. Moreover, many of the killings Schechter evokes also find themselves disappearing into the background of memory when something big happens or when a more scintillating crime comes along.
Schechter wants us to understand that shooting up or blowing up schools has a long history and that right now, in our contemporary world, we've cycled from serial killings to mass killings. It's happened before and it's happening again. It is nothing new, and the regularity of these cycles of crime should command our attention and our action.
But ... oh look ... there's something shiny and new. What was I saying? Doesn't matter. I'm gonna go play with my shiny new toy now.
gotta go for the moment ... i'll continue this later (so if you get this far before i have come back, make sure to check in again for the finished product)...more
A rare time I was thrilled to have the author read his own book, Billy Jensen's voice, I think, was crucial to the audio experience. He is a sound narA rare time I was thrilled to have the author read his own book, Billy Jensen's voice, I think, was crucial to the audio experience. He is a sound narrator, and since this book is as much a memoir of his life obsessed with True Crime, both as a journalist and an independent investigator, as it is a look at some of America's most interesting crimes, his voice was perfectly suited to proceedings.
My grandfather was murdered many years ago (no worries, everyone, I've made peace with it and we knew who committed the crime), and I think that is where my interest in True Crime sprang up, so much of what Jensen had to say spoke to me, but I felt his "call to action" grew a little bit tiresome, and I think that may have made my heart and mind push back a bit on my enjoyment of his narrative. Who knows ... maybe it is simply my shame at having never read about my grandfather's murder, or maybe it is because deep down I'd like to pursue some unsolved mystery, but I have too many other things I love, too many other things I pursue to pursue some ephemeral justice for people I don't know, so when Jensen was trying to recruit for his quite brilliant method (and if you have the time and inclination to engage in cold case work you should definitely listen to this book at take a long hard look at what Jensen is proposing) I simply couldn't stay engaged. And Billy, for the record, I know that is more about me than you. And I did enjoy your work, even if I wanted it to end by the end....more
I would have given this one star but for the fact that Gene Hackman wrote it, and I feel like at least part of the blame is mine for thinking that theI would have given this one star but for the fact that Gene Hackman wrote it, and I feel like at least part of the blame is mine for thinking that there was any way this could have been anything but crap. But you know how it is ... he plays smart on the screen, he has been in plenty of movies I like, and I was curious about the quirkiness of Hackman trying out his hand on a novel.
I should have known better. Actors turned authors are often shiite, and it is rare for an actor to be as strong as Ethan Hawke. Hackman no Ethan Hawke. I can tell you that. (Actually, now that I say that, I would love to see Ethan take a crack at a western. I bet his western would kick ass.)
Now this isn't to say that Payback at Morning Peak was terrible. It was actually not too difficult to get through, and more than once I thought it would make a totally serviceable film western. But it was ridden with cliche, had a ridiculously evil villain, an even more ridiculously competent teen hero, and a lovely, intelligent young lady who, through the awesomeness of her beau, avoided getting raped and realized that he place was with him rather than following her dream of becoming a doctor.
Still, there were some good shootouts. And even if the sexism was just about era correct, Hackman did manage to keep the racism to a minimum. Ugh!
I made the mistake of buying Payback at Morning Peak in a bundle pack with some ocean tale of Hackman's. It may take me a while to get there, however, because once I put down Payback at Morning Peak I stopped reading everything but the newspaper for two weeks. That kind of break is a break too long for me. ...more
Saying that The Ionian Mission is disappointing and one of the lesser instalments of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey & Maturin series is a bit like being a DSaying that The Ionian Mission is disappointing and one of the lesser instalments of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey & Maturin series is a bit like being a Duran Duran fan and complaining about The Reflex. It's true that it isn't the book (or the song) I would choose to read (or listen to) any old time, but I'd still rather spend time in its pages (or with my headphones) than with almost anything else I can get my hands on.
My problem with The Ionian Mission, I think, is that this book spends too much time -- most of its time -- flirting with a big Naval action, then delivers that action in one, final, orgiastic burst, only to leave us hanging just as the climax is achieved. Like a lover achieving orgasm, jumping out of bed without any cuddling or after care, whipping on his clothes and saying "I'll call you," The Ionian Mission does its thing then disappears from your life, leaving you unfulfilled and a little jaded.
Even so, the book builds well to the action, and there are some classic character moments within its pages, especially when it comes to Captain Jack's realizations about his age and what it is to be a Captain with so little true companionship, and what it means to him that he is a rare Captain who actually has mostly regular companionship with Dr. Maturin. His need for their relationship is rarely plainer than it is in The Ionian Mission, and it is even plainer when the men are parted, which makes this lesser novel worth reading all the same. ...more
Tell me Good Woman & Good Man, are we supposed to hate the mad artists who do things we don't understand? Are we supposed to scoff at their arrogance Tell me Good Woman & Good Man, are we supposed to hate the mad artists who do things we don't understand? Are we supposed to scoff at their arrogance and their clear stupidity? Or are we supposed to worship them blindly? To look at their work, and even if we don't have a clue what they are doing, should we say "Yes! This is genius," even if it is genius we don't understand?
I don't know. I can't tell you.
Mark Rothko may or may not have had something to say about this, but under the creative fictionality of John Logan, Rothko had something definite to say, and that was that we -- all of us who are not initiated, and even some who are -- are unworthy of his greatness.
That may be.
But maybe we should hate Rothko. After all, he painted colours in geometric shapes. Surely our two-year-olds can do the same?! But no. No we shouldn't hate Rothko. And no ... our two-year-olds can't. We should celebrate Rothko because no two-year-old could do what he did. Watch the light. See what it does. Watch the darkness and shadows, see how they play with the light, see what they do to his shapes and his colours and his Red. Wonder what it means. Be angry at his arrogance, but consider it, wrestle with it, embrace it, make love to it, make hate to it, and see the greatness we are lucky enough to touch, even if it is through the extra filter of a playwright and only with our eyes and ears but not our fingers.
I was reading and right in the middle of a good page Like all at once I wake up from something that keeps knocking at my brain Before I go inDear Leigh,
I was reading and right in the middle of a good page Like all at once I wake up from something that keeps knocking at my brain Before I go insane I hold my pillow to my head And spring up in my bed screaming out the words I dread I think I love Kaz (I think I love Kaz)
This morning I woke up with this feeling I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it And did not go and shout it when I read another page I think I love Kaz (I think I love Kaz)
I think I love Kaz so what am I so afraid of I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for
I think I love Kaz isn't that what life is made of Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way
I don't know what Iwe're up against I don't know what it's all about We've got so much to think about
Hey, I think I love Kaz so what am I so afraid of I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for
I think I love Kaz isn't that what life is made of Though it worries me to say I never felt this way
Believe me you really don't have to worry I only wanna make you happy and if you say "hey go away" I will But I think better still I'd better stay around and read you Do you think I have a case let me ask you to your face Do you think you dig me?
I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz I think I love Kaz
If you happen to live in the snowier parts of the north when it is fall to the south but winter is already settling your home under its white blanket,If you happen to live in the snowier parts of the north when it is fall to the south but winter is already settling your home under its white blanket, and it happens to be the shift to daylight savings time so the darkness descends earlier and earlier in the afternoon, and if you happen to be one who can only see November as a month of death, take my advice and do not watch or read or listen to Henrik Ibsen's An Enemy of the People until the spring because you might be lucky to make it through the month without an attempt on your life.
One could look at An Enemy of the People as a play speaking to climate catastrophe, one could look at An Enemy of the People as a play speaking to the human response to contagions (especially were one to still be in a pandemic that so many around them deny), one could look at An Enemy of the People as a play speaking to the tension between survival and luxury, one could look at the An Enemy of the People as speaking to the tensions rising between the "experts" and the "technocrats," and I've no doubt there are more (and more that were more relevant to Ibsen in his time) than I have outlined here, but there is one commonality I see in all of the possibilities: Ibsen has offered these dilemmas and their conclusions in the most depressing -- though comic -- manner.
Imagine the darkest episodes of MASH, or maybe even the MASH movie itself, and you have found a relative to Ibsen's An Enemy of the People. Truth, whatever that is, is no guarantor of right, nor a wedge one can use to make change. Comfort comes first, and the more comfort one has, the more truth doesn't make one ounce of difference.
I decided after listening to the excellent L.A. Theatreworks performance to listen to something fun instead. So I went with Sic Degrees of Separation. I know. I know. But at least I was able to put the x-acto knife away without making any cuts. ...more
My brain is working in two directions when it comes to Keanu ReevesBRZRKR, vol. 1. The first has to do with the man himself and the second has to do My brain is working in two directions when it comes to Keanu ReevesBRZRKR, vol. 1. The first has to do with the man himself and the second has to do with the story. I'll talk about the latter first.
The Latter -- A stew of violence that mixes Highlander, Wolverine and Conan into one frothing broth of bloodiness, BRZRKR, vol. 1 doesn't even come close to matching its ingredients for tastiness, but that doesn't mean it is inedible. It may not fill you up on a Saturday afternoon, but it'll give you some sustenance and make you keen for a little more to eat. It helps that Keanu is the model for the beserker in question, B, because it becomes much easier to picture the live action version of the tale (which is in the works at Netflix), adding a little extra spice to the stew. Yet it remains difficult for me to give it a high recommendation. It's a diversion. A bloody, mildly interesting, well drawn, decently scripted diversion. But not much more.
The Former -- What I think is far more interesting is the other thoughts -- the thoughts about Keanu Reeves -- that BRZRKR, vol. 1 has conjured in me. Maybe I am wrong about the cultural moment that imagines Keanu as the finest, kindest, most down to earth star imaginable. Perhaps the narrative doesn't exist and I have merely imagined it, but without seeking anything out about Keanu, this is what I "know": that he is currently praised for dating someone who is age appropriate (and *GASP* even has grey hair!), that he is widely seen as a good man because of the simple way he lives his life, including his use of public transportation, that he is praised for being kind on sets, a pleasure to work with, and respectful of all the cast and crew (but shouldn't that be the bare minimum for all of us in every job?), and that he seems to have a total lack of ego. As I say, I could be wrong about this, but that is certainly the image of Keanu that I have osmosed over the last little while.
But having read BRZRKR, vol. 1 I can't help wondering if he is as amazing as we all seem to think. Some of those assumed positives I mentioned seem to have humility all wrapped up in them, but how much humility can a man have when he is writing about an indestructible demi-god and then adding his own face to the character? I'm going to venture ... not very much. And what about the idea that Reeves is a simple man, living well beneath his means? If that is true then Keanu has money to burn, so why on earth does he need a Kickstarter campaign to produce his pet project? He raised over one million dollars from fans, but surely he could have hired his collaborators and paid for publication on his own dime, without asking for money from hundreds of thousands of folks who surely have a fraction of what Keanu has.
Then there is his movie career. There are some cute parts mixed in, and some parts that are heavy on kindness, but most of Keanu's career has seen him as a purveyor of violence, often ultraviolence. From Johnny Utah to Neo, from Jack Traven to John Wick, Reeves plays violent killers, albeit violent killers with style, and now, with BRZRKR, vol. 1, Reeves has penned his own ultraviolent killer to make all of his other ultraviolent killers seem like Smurfs by comparison.
The Keanu Reeves we imagine should be using his superstardom to break down the Hollywood obsession with violence rather than reinforcing the obsession, but here he is giving us another "hero" who bathes in blood. None of this means that what our culture seems to think of Keanu Reeves is wrong. He may be all those things I mentioned before, but BRZRKR, vol. 1 suggests that he is much more complex than we seem to be convincing ourselves he is, and maybe what we need to recognize that this current myth of Keanu Nice Guy Extraordinaire is just that -- myth.
This epistle from Sam to the Fundamentalist Yankee Christians started out so well. I came to it hoping to find new tools for talking to the theists inThis epistle from Sam to the Fundamentalist Yankee Christians started out so well. I came to it hoping to find new tools for talking to the theists in my life, new tools for coaxing them into hearing me rather than just yelling me down and attempting to shame my atheism, and though it started well and raised my hopes, Mr. Harris just couldn't help falling into belligerence and a touch of condescension that couldn't possibly sway any concreted hearts are steeled minds.
This letter definitely isn't for the atheists in Sam Harris' audience. But by the end it's clear that it is not for those on the extreme right fringes of American Christendom either. Sam Harris is really trying to reach those Liberal Christians who run the gamut from socially tolerant to fully socially accepting, to teach them that their stubborn clinging to Christianity actually facilitates the fringes of their faith, to try and get them to see that they don't need the scriptures of long dead sheep herders for their morals, their community, or their "spirituality," to try to get them to strangle out the outmoded beliefs that cause harm, even if their own version of those beliefs seem benevolent.
As an atheist I am all for what he's saying, but I am afraid that the way he says it isn't going to sway too many of the moderate Christians out there.
Yet there is a group to whom this letter would speak -- the deconverting. Those who find themselves earnestly turning away from religion need to read this letter. It will affirm their deconversion and give them tools to protect themselves from those who are trying to keep them in the flock. Had Harris addressed his letter the "Christian Deconverting" I would have given him more stars, but considering his stated target and what I see as a failure to communicate effectively to them I can only give him three, despite the fact that everything he said was spot on. ...more
Sitting out in the woods at night, listening to the way the leaves in the wind sound like the ocean washing in and out of the shoreline, hearing the wSitting out in the woods at night, listening to the way the leaves in the wind sound like the ocean washing in and out of the shoreline, hearing the way our natural world breathes all around us not caring about our existence, knowing -- in those moments of clarity -- that our short time means absolutely nothing, I feel at peace. This knowledge that frightens so many gives me calm. The inevitability of it all is comforting.
When I find a book that moves with that same inexorability, when a character or a plot set a course that must end with a price being paid for that little, ephemeral, tendril of life that we represent, I find myself reading with something approaching awe (and sometimes it actually reaches the level of awe). I'm not sure that Kimi Cunningham Grant's These Silent Woods takes me all the way into awe, but it moved me with all the power of a magnet tugging at a ferrous metal until the two click together metallically.
The story of Finch and Marie and Judge and Mrs. Judge and Jake and Scotland and Grace Elizabeth and Marcus and Cindy and Kenny and Lincoln and Walt Whitman and Casey and Cooper hits a groove in the strata that moves them all forward ineluctably -- or almost so -- flowing on that path that will go from trickle to creek to river over eons. But eons packed in These Silent Woods into eight years or maybe even eight months. There are branches, cracks in the strata that Grant creates that allow one person here or there to take the diversion of the river on themselves, thereby making the inevitable cost of existence exact its price from someone unintended, someone “graceful,” from someone further down the river, or someone in a convenient tributary, or someone in a deep pool where a fat trout awaits a veteran and his crickets stained black by wildfires.
And that sort of pull to what must be touches me deeply. Kimi Cunningham Grant made me cry, and I thank her for These Silent Woods. It is a beautiful book (and I would give anything to play Scotland on stage or screen). ...more
The Korean War: A History is first and foremost a scream of rage into the void at the precipice of past-present-future U.S.A..
Bruce Cumings is mad asThe Korean War: A History is first and foremost a scream of rage into the void at the precipice of past-present-future U.S.A..
Bruce Cumings is mad as hell that the Korean War is "forgotten" by those nations who fought on the peninsula under the banner of the UN and at the behest of the United States and the Truman Doctrine. He is disgusted by the crimes against humanity committed by those who made the war happen, those who vilified and continue to vilify an enemy to which they gave little choice, those who got in bed with fascists and imperialists only to become the world's policeman in a rush to "stop the spread of communism." He wants us all to know that Korea -- more than the World Wars, and more than Vietnam -- led to the kind of nation the U.S. has become, from its bullying ways to its inner tensions to its financial priorities to its untenable place in the greater world.
He wants us to see the truth. And for Cumings seeing that truth means that if his words aren't enough to convince you, all you need do is follow his sources. He tells you exactly which box in which archive, or which book in which library, or which article in which journal each and every piece of evidence comes from. He wants you to see that what he has laid out before us isn't revisionism, nor is it a take down of American spirit, it is simply the uncomfortable truth about one of the 20th century's most pivotal moments -- if not its most pivotal.
And he wants you to remember that the Korean War is not over. And he wants you to fear what will happen when it spills out of the DMZ, and the hawks of that war return to the sky. And he wants you to think about how you and I and we can stop new Koreas and Iraqs and Afghanistans from being added to the U.S.'s growing list of failures of imagination. He wants peace for us all because there is value in peace.
9. Experimental theatre excites the hell out of me, but it scares the shit out of most audiences. This thought makes Nine Thoughts on Never Swim Alone
9. Experimental theatre excites the hell out of me, but it scares the shit out of most audiences. This thought makes me wonder if Never Swim Alone could even gain a contemporary audience that wasn't at a Fringe festival. I doubt it.
8. We are all so damaged.
7. Canada is a much darker place than those of you who see us as a kind and gentle land can know. All that is sinister in Scandinavian Literature comprises our everyday hidden layers. We are as they.
6. We talk about white male privilege, but don't dig into what that entails beyond the "privileges." We need to be thinking more deeply about this, talking more deeply about this, following it to all its drafty and rotting crawlspaces and attics.
5. Swimming as murder metaphor? Swimming as rape metaphor? Swimming as rape-murder metaphor? Not in 1988 when Daniel MacIvor wrote Never Swim Alone, but now, forty-two years later, the experience of reading the play means those unintended metaphors create expectations the literal action of the play cannot meet. What does that say about who we've become and what today's expectations are?
4. The homoerotic triangle is at work in this play, and Frank & Bill and their guns ... well, that metaphor may have been intended in 1988.
3. Like father like son. Too right.
2. We often think of men as children; the infantile structure of our Western Economic and Political systems (and the deep erosion of our Social systems) make men so, and increasingly women (as they engage more equally in a system that no one should aspire to be part of).
1. How are we still a species on this planet? How?...more
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