A quick list of what's jumping on at me on the HotDocs schedule:
The Relationship Doctrine of Don Blanquito - a doc about a goofy Brazilian Enimen wannabe? Yes please!
Brooklyn Castle - Searching for Bobby Fischer meets Waiting For Superman? Or maybe not. But it still sounds right up my alley.
The Revisionaries - Texas school board creationism follies
Queen of Versailles - the Sundance hit sounds like a must-see
The Imposter - a real-life changeling story
The Betrayal - au autobiographical doc on a woman who flirted with neo-Naziism in her youth.
Detropia - a portrait of the dying city
Bones Brigade: An Autobiography - Stacy Peralta's sequel to Dogtown and Z-Boys
Buzkashi! - can't resist a doc about a Tajikistani sport I've never heard of
The Final Member - The description begins with "Iceland's famous Penis Museum..." Sold!
All Divided Selves - a doc on R.D. Laing
Outing - a teenager deals with the growing realization that he may have pedophilic impulses. If I'm going to be disturbed by a film, this seems the one to pick...
Despite the Gods - a behind-the-scenes look at Jennifer Lynch's train wreck of an attempt to return to filmmaking
Booker's Place: A Mississippi Story - a filmmaker tells the story of his father, a civil rights activist murdered after his participation in a TV doc in 1965
Big Easy Express - Mumford & Sons, Old Crow Medicine Show, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros in a concert doc... sure, why not
Charles Bradley: Soul of America - doc about a 62-year-old soul singer suddenly with a shot at the big time
Shut Up and Play the Hits - the LCD Soundsystem doc
An Affair of the Heart - the Rick Springfield doc. No, really.
Beware of Mr. Baker - the Ginger Baker doc
We Are Legion: The Story of the Hacktivists - an Anonymous doc. Sure, why not. How bad can it be?
Gambler - a doc about Nic Refn. Wheeee!
Last Night's Epiphany
While having a ridiculously good time at the Saul Williams show last night, I think for the first time I finally understood the Situationist movement.
I went more or less at random. An awesome, gorgeous co-worker is a huge fan of his, and had been pestering me for a few days to come with. All I knew of Saul's work was his early slam stuff like Coded Language, so it seemed like both a good opportunity to try out his new material and hang out with someone I'd been looking for more opportunities to hang out with (because don't we all want to surround ourselves with awesome, gorgeous people?)
So I went. It being a CMW event, I got there just about mid-card, which means I also caught the whole set of Spoek Mathambo, the act on before Saul, who was pretty damn tremendous. I love musicians that have fun transcending their influences, and while Spoek is clearly from the Fela Kuti school of party Afrofunk, little glimpses of stuff like Prince and the Ventures' Sleep Walk kept poking their heads out. He closed with a Joy Division cover by way of South Africa, and opened with what I could only describe as what Arcade Fire would sound like if they were fronted by Jeru the Damaja.
Saul himself was a fucking powerhouse. The band behind him killed it, he killed it. The new stuff is still lyrically intense but backed with a percussion and beat heavy sound that isn't so much hip hop as the heart beat of the universe. And a few times between songs he'd bust out his old slam stuff, including the 'in the name of' section from Coded Language is which he hilariously walked away from the mic and right up to the edge of the stage, which caused most of the crowd to go nuts and one sorry bastard behind me to desperately try to shush them so he could hear what Saul was saying (which he probably knew by heart anyway).
And in the middle of that sonic and lyric maelstrom, the penny finally dropped for me on what Guy Debord was hiding underneath all his academese and philosophical bafflegab.
Capitalism commodifies everything, right down to the iconic images of your heroes, and right down to your own experiences. That's what the Society of the Spectacle is about, at its core. When I plunked down my $30 to see Saul Williams, I'm not being sold entertainment. I'm the one engaged in and creating my own enjoyment of that show. The sad bastard shushing the crowd did not see the same show I did, dancing with at times total abandon alongside two awesome, gorgeous people (my co-worker was there with another friend) and getting my eyes and ears opened to the existence and power of two artists I was ignorant of until that moment.
No, what I'd been sold for my $30 was access. Privilege. The commodity, in this case, was the opportunity to engage in and create my enjoyment. If the show had been free, fundamentally, my experience would have been exactly the same.
In Situationist language, a spectacle is a commodified experience. A situation is a non-commodified experience. Dunno why it took so long for that simple distinction to clue in for me, but there it is.
Now that I understand it, though, I'm not sure that distinction is an entirely terrible thing in some cases.
Take pirated content, for instance. Sure, I can download a digital copy of a movie for free and watch it at home, but that's an entirely different experience from watching it in a darkened movie palace in 70 mm. Frankly, that's a privilege I am happy to pay for. Recorded music, on the other hand, there's no difference at all between buying a little CD or downloading the tracks for free. (Again, though, a lovely piece of vinyl with a great piece of art on the sleeve... different experience altogether. Which perhaps explains why vinyl didn't die when it was supposed to.)
Or take what I've always jokingly referred to as my two big Situationist events of the year, Nuit Blanche and TIFF. In both cases I can literally wander the streets and enjoy art or movies for "free" (never mind that someone is footing the bill for my participation somewhere along the way, and that I'm bombarded by advertisements in both. The fact is that I don't have to take money out of my wallet for the privilege.) Nuit Blanche, being just one evening long, is no problem. TIFF though, more and more I find that I simply can't live for 10 days straight in that mindset. It's not that I feel compelled to rush out and spend money on something. It's that 10 consecutive days of nothing but experience burns me out. I need time to process those experiences in some fashion, rather than just pile one on top of the other.
From this new perspective, I also realize that the one true Situationist joy in my life is my beloved karaoke addiction. I can wander into a bar, sing and be sung to, and never have to pay a dime to do it. (Of course, the expectation that you will buy food or booze or whatever is there, to keep the bar afloat, but it's not a requirement. It's a very PWYC kind of community.) But again, I couldn't do it 24/7.
The distinction between spectacle and situation is an important one, especially in a media-driven culture like ours, and it's one Hollywood would do well to understand and embrace as it watches its business model crumble around its ears. But unlike Guy Debord, I don't have enough Marxism in my blood to decry that distinction as an inherently evil one.
I went more or less at random. An awesome, gorgeous co-worker is a huge fan of his, and had been pestering me for a few days to come with. All I knew of Saul's work was his early slam stuff like Coded Language, so it seemed like both a good opportunity to try out his new material and hang out with someone I'd been looking for more opportunities to hang out with (because don't we all want to surround ourselves with awesome, gorgeous people?)
So I went. It being a CMW event, I got there just about mid-card, which means I also caught the whole set of Spoek Mathambo, the act on before Saul, who was pretty damn tremendous. I love musicians that have fun transcending their influences, and while Spoek is clearly from the Fela Kuti school of party Afrofunk, little glimpses of stuff like Prince and the Ventures' Sleep Walk kept poking their heads out. He closed with a Joy Division cover by way of South Africa, and opened with what I could only describe as what Arcade Fire would sound like if they were fronted by Jeru the Damaja.
Saul himself was a fucking powerhouse. The band behind him killed it, he killed it. The new stuff is still lyrically intense but backed with a percussion and beat heavy sound that isn't so much hip hop as the heart beat of the universe. And a few times between songs he'd bust out his old slam stuff, including the 'in the name of' section from Coded Language is which he hilariously walked away from the mic and right up to the edge of the stage, which caused most of the crowd to go nuts and one sorry bastard behind me to desperately try to shush them so he could hear what Saul was saying (which he probably knew by heart anyway).
And in the middle of that sonic and lyric maelstrom, the penny finally dropped for me on what Guy Debord was hiding underneath all his academese and philosophical bafflegab.
Capitalism commodifies everything, right down to the iconic images of your heroes, and right down to your own experiences. That's what the Society of the Spectacle is about, at its core. When I plunked down my $30 to see Saul Williams, I'm not being sold entertainment. I'm the one engaged in and creating my own enjoyment of that show. The sad bastard shushing the crowd did not see the same show I did, dancing with at times total abandon alongside two awesome, gorgeous people (my co-worker was there with another friend) and getting my eyes and ears opened to the existence and power of two artists I was ignorant of until that moment.
No, what I'd been sold for my $30 was access. Privilege. The commodity, in this case, was the opportunity to engage in and create my enjoyment. If the show had been free, fundamentally, my experience would have been exactly the same.
In Situationist language, a spectacle is a commodified experience. A situation is a non-commodified experience. Dunno why it took so long for that simple distinction to clue in for me, but there it is.
Now that I understand it, though, I'm not sure that distinction is an entirely terrible thing in some cases.
Take pirated content, for instance. Sure, I can download a digital copy of a movie for free and watch it at home, but that's an entirely different experience from watching it in a darkened movie palace in 70 mm. Frankly, that's a privilege I am happy to pay for. Recorded music, on the other hand, there's no difference at all between buying a little CD or downloading the tracks for free. (Again, though, a lovely piece of vinyl with a great piece of art on the sleeve... different experience altogether. Which perhaps explains why vinyl didn't die when it was supposed to.)
Or take what I've always jokingly referred to as my two big Situationist events of the year, Nuit Blanche and TIFF. In both cases I can literally wander the streets and enjoy art or movies for "free" (never mind that someone is footing the bill for my participation somewhere along the way, and that I'm bombarded by advertisements in both. The fact is that I don't have to take money out of my wallet for the privilege.) Nuit Blanche, being just one evening long, is no problem. TIFF though, more and more I find that I simply can't live for 10 days straight in that mindset. It's not that I feel compelled to rush out and spend money on something. It's that 10 consecutive days of nothing but experience burns me out. I need time to process those experiences in some fashion, rather than just pile one on top of the other.
From this new perspective, I also realize that the one true Situationist joy in my life is my beloved karaoke addiction. I can wander into a bar, sing and be sung to, and never have to pay a dime to do it. (Of course, the expectation that you will buy food or booze or whatever is there, to keep the bar afloat, but it's not a requirement. It's a very PWYC kind of community.) But again, I couldn't do it 24/7.
The distinction between spectacle and situation is an important one, especially in a media-driven culture like ours, and it's one Hollywood would do well to understand and embrace as it watches its business model crumble around its ears. But unlike Guy Debord, I don't have enough Marxism in my blood to decry that distinction as an inherently evil one.
My Worst Nightmare Is About To Become Reality
I'm weird when it comes to sports.
Growing up in a town without a professional franchise (Knoxville) I didn't have a hometown loyalty. By the time I moved north to Toronto, I had no innate instinct to root for the home team. Which is not to say I hate the home team, either; I certainly cheered with the city when Joe Carter touched 'em all, but as a fan of baseball not of the Jays.
Instead, what happened is that my loyalties became tied to specific players I admired. I wasn't an A's fan, I was a Jose Canseco fan. I wasn't a Lions fan, I was a Barry Sanders fan. Pavel Bure, John Stockton, my rooting interest was in the player, not necessarily the uniform he wore.
I still felt like I was missing out on something though. When those players changed cities or left the game entirely, there was usually a gap of a year or two before I found a replacement I could hang my hat on. And there was always a bit of envy for people who had been fans of the same team since before they ever knew who or what it was they were rooting for.
Which is why, when Peyton Manning became a pro, I was able to somewhat scratch that itch. Rooting for him and the previously sad-sack Colts in part because he played his college ball in Knoxville made me feel a little like I was finally part of that club.
On the other hand, my hatreds are forever. From Ron Hextall to Eric Lindros to Chris Pronger, the Flyers have always been a team of thugs and punks. I despised Isaiah Thomas long before he was ruining franchises from the front office, because he hid behind scum like Bill Laimbeer. But of all the teams I loathe, one has always stood head and shoulders above the other: the Broncos.
The first professional sports game I have any kind of clear memories of is Super Bowl XII, when the Cowboys whupped the Broncos. I was rooting for the Cowboys because Tony Dorsett was awesome, and the Denver's uniforms were about the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. (This coming from a kid living in a sea of Volunteer orange.) Fast forward a few years, and John Elway earned my emnity by doing his primadonna thing to avoid playing for the Colts and wound up with the Broncos. At that point the hatred was cemented, once and for all. The Tim Tebow Travelling Revival Show was just gravy by that point, although I thought it was awesome that they'd be forced to stick with him because of that playoff run. Except they didn't.
And now Peyton's signed with the Orange A-holes, and broken my heart. I can't root against Peyton, not in his comeback season, but I can't root for him either, not with Elway grinning from the owner's box like a cheshire surfer dude. Not this, Peyton. Anything but this. I'd rather seem him in a Patriots uniform, frankly.
It's unfair. It's evil. It's unseemly, is what it is.
You broke my heart today, Peyton Manning. I can only hope now that you have a setback, and never play a real game in that uniform.
Growing up in a town without a professional franchise (Knoxville) I didn't have a hometown loyalty. By the time I moved north to Toronto, I had no innate instinct to root for the home team. Which is not to say I hate the home team, either; I certainly cheered with the city when Joe Carter touched 'em all, but as a fan of baseball not of the Jays.
Instead, what happened is that my loyalties became tied to specific players I admired. I wasn't an A's fan, I was a Jose Canseco fan. I wasn't a Lions fan, I was a Barry Sanders fan. Pavel Bure, John Stockton, my rooting interest was in the player, not necessarily the uniform he wore.
I still felt like I was missing out on something though. When those players changed cities or left the game entirely, there was usually a gap of a year or two before I found a replacement I could hang my hat on. And there was always a bit of envy for people who had been fans of the same team since before they ever knew who or what it was they were rooting for.
Which is why, when Peyton Manning became a pro, I was able to somewhat scratch that itch. Rooting for him and the previously sad-sack Colts in part because he played his college ball in Knoxville made me feel a little like I was finally part of that club.
On the other hand, my hatreds are forever. From Ron Hextall to Eric Lindros to Chris Pronger, the Flyers have always been a team of thugs and punks. I despised Isaiah Thomas long before he was ruining franchises from the front office, because he hid behind scum like Bill Laimbeer. But of all the teams I loathe, one has always stood head and shoulders above the other: the Broncos.
The first professional sports game I have any kind of clear memories of is Super Bowl XII, when the Cowboys whupped the Broncos. I was rooting for the Cowboys because Tony Dorsett was awesome, and the Denver's uniforms were about the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. (This coming from a kid living in a sea of Volunteer orange.) Fast forward a few years, and John Elway earned my emnity by doing his primadonna thing to avoid playing for the Colts and wound up with the Broncos. At that point the hatred was cemented, once and for all. The Tim Tebow Travelling Revival Show was just gravy by that point, although I thought it was awesome that they'd be forced to stick with him because of that playoff run. Except they didn't.
And now Peyton's signed with the Orange A-holes, and broken my heart. I can't root against Peyton, not in his comeback season, but I can't root for him either, not with Elway grinning from the owner's box like a cheshire surfer dude. Not this, Peyton. Anything but this. I'd rather seem him in a Patriots uniform, frankly.
It's unfair. It's evil. It's unseemly, is what it is.
You broke my heart today, Peyton Manning. I can only hope now that you have a setback, and never play a real game in that uniform.
Sloppy Math Is Sloppy
So according to the Washington Post, more evangelicals are voting in this year's GOP primaries.
The proof? The percentage of voters who call themselves evangelical is up to 50% from 44% in 2008.
Ummm... dunno if you've noticed, Washington Post, but overall turnout is down in the GOP primaries. Like, more than 10% down. So while evangelicals represent a bigger share of the total, that doesn't mean their raw numbers are up. In fact, they're just about the same.
But you are going to believe, the laws of mathematics or a narrative that requires 'evidence' of a close race to survive?
The proof? The percentage of voters who call themselves evangelical is up to 50% from 44% in 2008.
Ummm... dunno if you've noticed, Washington Post, but overall turnout is down in the GOP primaries. Like, more than 10% down. So while evangelicals represent a bigger share of the total, that doesn't mean their raw numbers are up. In fact, they're just about the same.
But you are going to believe, the laws of mathematics or a narrative that requires 'evidence' of a close race to survive?
Team Uterati
I officially joined the Ladyparts Uprising and did my first little bit of digging around for Team Uterati tonight, as a break from grinding through the baseball prospect piece that various illnesses keep me from putting to bed.
What I learned in my digging: apparently back in my childhood home of Tennessee, anti-abortion forces didn't get the memo that the time for subtle, stealthy legislation has past, and that the time to be aggressively misogynist has arrived.
What I learned in my digging: apparently back in my childhood home of Tennessee, anti-abortion forces didn't get the memo that the time for subtle, stealthy legislation has past, and that the time to be aggressively misogynist has arrived.
Where My Empathy Fails Me
I can, almost, put myself in George Zimmerman's shoes.
I can imagine being so fearful and tightly wound that simply seeing an unfamiliar figure, wearing the wrong clothes and walking at the wrong speed with the wrong body language, might trigger paranoia. I see enough of what passes for news among the right wing to know which buttons they are trying to press.
I can imagine being the right mix of arrogant and protective that I didn't think I could wait for the authorities, and had to take action myself before the Unfamiliar Figure did the things that the poison poured into my ear for years has led me to believe were about to happen.
I can imagine tracking the Unfamiliar Figure down, confronting him, and after a scuffle pulling my gun.
What I can't imagine doing, ever, is listening to these screams, listening to the Unfamiliar Figure beg for his life... and still pulling the trigger.
Trayvon Martin 911 Call
His father says he's not a racist. I have no reason to doubt him. Maybe George Zimmerman still pulls that trigger if Trayvon is Hispanic, or white, or whatever.
This is worse than racism though. This is a complete denial of one's own humanity. I don't comprehend how you can hear those screams, and then silence them with a bullet, without already being dead inside yourself.
I can't even say I'm angry at Zimmerman. If his life wasn't a miserable ruined hell before, it certainly is now.
My anger is reserved for the Sanford police, for not doing their fucking jobs, and for forcing Trayvon Martin's parents to listen to those screams.
I can imagine being so fearful and tightly wound that simply seeing an unfamiliar figure, wearing the wrong clothes and walking at the wrong speed with the wrong body language, might trigger paranoia. I see enough of what passes for news among the right wing to know which buttons they are trying to press.
I can imagine being the right mix of arrogant and protective that I didn't think I could wait for the authorities, and had to take action myself before the Unfamiliar Figure did the things that the poison poured into my ear for years has led me to believe were about to happen.
I can imagine tracking the Unfamiliar Figure down, confronting him, and after a scuffle pulling my gun.
What I can't imagine doing, ever, is listening to these screams, listening to the Unfamiliar Figure beg for his life... and still pulling the trigger.
Trayvon Martin 911 Call
His father says he's not a racist. I have no reason to doubt him. Maybe George Zimmerman still pulls that trigger if Trayvon is Hispanic, or white, or whatever.
This is worse than racism though. This is a complete denial of one's own humanity. I don't comprehend how you can hear those screams, and then silence them with a bullet, without already being dead inside yourself.
I can't even say I'm angry at Zimmerman. If his life wasn't a miserable ruined hell before, it certainly is now.
My anger is reserved for the Sanford police, for not doing their fucking jobs, and for forcing Trayvon Martin's parents to listen to those screams.
How Democrats Dog Whistle
It's a little on the nose, but you have to respect Robert Gibbs' effort here.
It comes right at the end of the piece in the wake of Santorum's wins in Mississippi and Alabama, right about the 3:10 mark:
Translation: he's not a Christian, he's a Mormon heretic.
Since the whole point of dog whistles is to inflame someone's prejudice without actually naming the prejudice, and that Romney's biggest weakness will be his difficulty in getting the GOP's evangelical base to muster any enthusiasm for him at all, it's nice to see the Obama campaign is already locking and loading their anti-Romney attack lines.
It comes right at the end of the piece in the wake of Santorum's wins in Mississippi and Alabama, right about the 3:10 mark:
Look, Mitt Romney has said... his campaign has said that it would take an act of God for him not to be the nominee. Usually, a campaign with divinity on its side would be doing better than they are tonight.
Translation: he's not a Christian, he's a Mormon heretic.
Since the whole point of dog whistles is to inflame someone's prejudice without actually naming the prejudice, and that Romney's biggest weakness will be his difficulty in getting the GOP's evangelical base to muster any enthusiasm for him at all, it's nice to see the Obama campaign is already locking and loading their anti-Romney attack lines.
The Empty Suit
CNN is missing something interesting in its exit polls tonight.
According to the numbers they showed earlier, about half of the voters in the Alabama and Mississippi GOP primaries said that Romney was the most electable candidate. Of them, roughly two-thirds actually voted for him. Two-thirds of one-half = one-third of the whole.
Now look at the votes coming in. Romney's getting roughly one-third of the total in both states. That means that the only people voting for him are those who think he can beat Obama. Nobody is voting for him if they don't think he can win the general election.
Santorum and Gingrich are both pulling in votes for other reasons. People might not think they're the best candidate to beat Obama, but they get behind their guy anyway.
Romney? Basically nobody is voting for him for any kind of ideological reason. They are only voting for him if they think he can beat Oboogeyman.
Ask the Democrats in 2004 how well it works out when you nominate a candidate purely because you think he's your best shot at beating the other guy, and not because you actually like him or anything.
According to the numbers they showed earlier, about half of the voters in the Alabama and Mississippi GOP primaries said that Romney was the most electable candidate. Of them, roughly two-thirds actually voted for him. Two-thirds of one-half = one-third of the whole.
Now look at the votes coming in. Romney's getting roughly one-third of the total in both states. That means that the only people voting for him are those who think he can beat Obama. Nobody is voting for him if they don't think he can win the general election.
Santorum and Gingrich are both pulling in votes for other reasons. People might not think they're the best candidate to beat Obama, but they get behind their guy anyway.
Romney? Basically nobody is voting for him for any kind of ideological reason. They are only voting for him if they think he can beat Oboogeyman.
Ask the Democrats in 2004 how well it works out when you nominate a candidate purely because you think he's your best shot at beating the other guy, and not because you actually like him or anything.
February Travesties
20! Much, much better.
#1 Crush - Garbage
25 or 6 to 4 - Chicago
Behind Closed Doors - Charlie Rich
Chelsea Dagger - Fratellis
Everlong - Foo Fighters
Five Years - David Bowie
Heroes - David Bowie
I Don't Like Mondays - Boomtown Rats
In The End - Linkin Park (duet w/Johnny Priceless)
Karma Police - Radiohead
Midlife Crisis - Faith No More
My Sacrifice - Creed
One Step Closer - Linkin Park
Perfect Day - Lou Reed
Rebellion (Lies) - Arcade Fire
Sunshine Of Your Love - Cream
The Boys Are Back In Town - Thin Lizzy
Valerie - Zutons
Where Did You Sleep Last Night - Nirvana
World In My Eyes - Depeche Mode
#1 Crush - Garbage
25 or 6 to 4 - Chicago
Behind Closed Doors - Charlie Rich
Chelsea Dagger - Fratellis
Everlong - Foo Fighters
Five Years - David Bowie
Heroes - David Bowie
I Don't Like Mondays - Boomtown Rats
In The End - Linkin Park (duet w/Johnny Priceless)
Karma Police - Radiohead
Midlife Crisis - Faith No More
My Sacrifice - Creed
One Step Closer - Linkin Park
Perfect Day - Lou Reed
Rebellion (Lies) - Arcade Fire
Sunshine Of Your Love - Cream
The Boys Are Back In Town - Thin Lizzy
Valerie - Zutons
Where Did You Sleep Last Night - Nirvana
World In My Eyes - Depeche Mode
January Travesties
10. Feh.
Fascination Street - Cure
Good Vibrations - Beach Boys
Hungry Heart - Bruce Springsteen
Jersey Girl - Bruce Springsteen
Life During Wartime - Talking Heads
Modern Love - David Bowie
Moondance - Van Morrison
Rock n Roll Suicide - David Bowie
Safety Dance - Men Without Hats
Shock the Monkey - Peter Gabriel
Time Is Running Out - Muse
Fascination Street - Cure
Good Vibrations - Beach Boys
Hungry Heart - Bruce Springsteen
Jersey Girl - Bruce Springsteen
Life During Wartime - Talking Heads
Modern Love - David Bowie
Moondance - Van Morrison
Rock n Roll Suicide - David Bowie
Safety Dance - Men Without Hats
Shock the Monkey - Peter Gabriel
Time Is Running Out - Muse
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