Wednesday, March 31, 2004
John Kerry is my Friendster!
Finally, the windsurfing poseur approved my Friendster request. John Kerry has been on Friendster for some time, using the service to promote. Friendster gave him perks, like not capping his friends or testimonials (the cap on friends is 500). Now I'll get hit up for money not only over e-mail and snail mail, but on Friendster as well.
Plus side? The guy gave me access to hundreds of thousands of Friendsters.
(Favorite movie: Old School? I watched about half of that thing and laughed maybe four times. Apparently I'm in the distinct minority in not finding this supposed comedy funny. Well, at least the dude's a die-hard Sox fan.)
Plus side? The guy gave me access to hundreds of thousands of Friendsters.
(Favorite movie: Old School? I watched about half of that thing and laughed maybe four times. Apparently I'm in the distinct minority in not finding this supposed comedy funny. Well, at least the dude's a die-hard Sox fan.)
Tiger Shark (Hawks, 1932): A++++++++
As a learned cineaste and master of the auteurial arts, I have learned to develop many erudite and penetrating theories concerning the art of the auteurs of the cinema. One of my infallible theories is this: the summit any auteur's art is achieved on his or her twelfth film. At this precise nexus of art and experience, something magical happens, and a masterpiece is created. Under this theory, everything before the twelfth film in a filmography can be aptly described as juvenilia -- of academic interest in viewing the development of the auteur's powers and craft, but not as mature works of art. The films made after a dozen efforts may retain an imprimatur of greatness, but most of these can be largely described as refinement and honing of that ineffable twelfth film.
While those of you not nearly as well versed in auteurial study may express skepticism, my theories are, in fact, unassailable. They are arrived at after decades of talmudic examination of various directors' careers, and ladies and sirs, I will kindly suggest here that your auteurist knowledge is but a pittance -- a mere wad of sticky bubblegum -- compared to my vast Great Wall of cinematic knowledge.
Let's apply my theory to two of the great auteurs, Orson Welles and Jean Renoir. It is clear, after careful analyses of their respective oeuvres, that Welles' The Immortal Story, his twelfth feature by my count, is his crowning achievement, the most perfect synthesis of his late baroque style with his goal to cinematically transcribe high literature. While philistines champion Citizen Kane or The Magnificent Ambersons, overlooking Welles' psychologically insecure mise-en-scene and ham-fisted storytelling, Immortal Story's sublime poetics eludes the grasp of their sophomoric aesthetics. The same goes for Renoir, whose otherwise formidable body of work -- including the vaunted Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion -- are largely Ravellian variations on and restatements of the extraordinary La nuit du Carrefour, the first perfect statement of Renoir's cinematic Balzacianism.
This brings me to the American Cinematheque's screening of Howard Hawks' rarely screened twelfth and thirteenth features, The Crowd Roars and Tiger Shark. As I am on record declaring Hawks to be one of the top three directors in my personal pantheon, I was especially eager to see what would undoubtedly be his greatest work. Indeed, immediately after the screening, I was ready to declare The Crowd Roars one of the greatest narrative features of all-time. That is, until some killjoys in the lobby announced that what just screened wasn't the Hawks movie at all, but a film with the same title directed by one Richard Thorpe. A mix-up of prints, it turns out.
Disappointed, I remembered a corollary to the Magic 12 theory, which is this: if the twelfth feature is otherwise unavailable, then an auteur's most perfect film will be his thirteenth. As luck would have it, the next feature, Tiger Shark, is Hawks' thirteenth. As predicted, it was an astonishing statement of Hawks' main themes of group masculinity under strain and the existentialism of work, with Hawks' virtuoso flat visual field and his indescribably moving editing choices, from that tear-inducing cut in the third act from tracking establishing shots to a static two-shot of Robinson and friend placed vertically on the boat (in homage, no doubt, to von Stroheim's shot of same in Queen Kelly), to the anguished close-ups that make the viewer recall not a mere film, but Goya's stark, raw paintings of fallen warriors. Oh, you will find ignorant critics that will cite Red River or Bringing Up Baby or His Girl Friday or Rio Bravo or perhaps The Big Sleep as Hawks' best film. But they are all wrong. Hawks' masterpiece is in fact Tiger Shark. At least until I see The Crowd Roars.
(And if you happened to be an idiot who is still not convinced by my superior reasoning above, Tiger Shark is still worth watching for auteurist and non-auteurist reasons. It's a Hawksian romantic triangle set in San Diego among immigrant tuna fisherman, with Edward G. Robinson playing a flaming Portugese fisherman whose hook-arm renders him undesirable to women. Yes, it is even more bizarre than it sounds.)
While those of you not nearly as well versed in auteurial study may express skepticism, my theories are, in fact, unassailable. They are arrived at after decades of talmudic examination of various directors' careers, and ladies and sirs, I will kindly suggest here that your auteurist knowledge is but a pittance -- a mere wad of sticky bubblegum -- compared to my vast Great Wall of cinematic knowledge.
Let's apply my theory to two of the great auteurs, Orson Welles and Jean Renoir. It is clear, after careful analyses of their respective oeuvres, that Welles' The Immortal Story, his twelfth feature by my count, is his crowning achievement, the most perfect synthesis of his late baroque style with his goal to cinematically transcribe high literature. While philistines champion Citizen Kane or The Magnificent Ambersons, overlooking Welles' psychologically insecure mise-en-scene and ham-fisted storytelling, Immortal Story's sublime poetics eludes the grasp of their sophomoric aesthetics. The same goes for Renoir, whose otherwise formidable body of work -- including the vaunted Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion -- are largely Ravellian variations on and restatements of the extraordinary La nuit du Carrefour, the first perfect statement of Renoir's cinematic Balzacianism.
This brings me to the American Cinematheque's screening of Howard Hawks' rarely screened twelfth and thirteenth features, The Crowd Roars and Tiger Shark. As I am on record declaring Hawks to be one of the top three directors in my personal pantheon, I was especially eager to see what would undoubtedly be his greatest work. Indeed, immediately after the screening, I was ready to declare The Crowd Roars one of the greatest narrative features of all-time. That is, until some killjoys in the lobby announced that what just screened wasn't the Hawks movie at all, but a film with the same title directed by one Richard Thorpe. A mix-up of prints, it turns out.
Disappointed, I remembered a corollary to the Magic 12 theory, which is this: if the twelfth feature is otherwise unavailable, then an auteur's most perfect film will be his thirteenth. As luck would have it, the next feature, Tiger Shark, is Hawks' thirteenth. As predicted, it was an astonishing statement of Hawks' main themes of group masculinity under strain and the existentialism of work, with Hawks' virtuoso flat visual field and his indescribably moving editing choices, from that tear-inducing cut in the third act from tracking establishing shots to a static two-shot of Robinson and friend placed vertically on the boat (in homage, no doubt, to von Stroheim's shot of same in Queen Kelly), to the anguished close-ups that make the viewer recall not a mere film, but Goya's stark, raw paintings of fallen warriors. Oh, you will find ignorant critics that will cite Red River or Bringing Up Baby or His Girl Friday or Rio Bravo or perhaps The Big Sleep as Hawks' best film. But they are all wrong. Hawks' masterpiece is in fact Tiger Shark. At least until I see The Crowd Roars.
(And if you happened to be an idiot who is still not convinced by my superior reasoning above, Tiger Shark is still worth watching for auteurist and non-auteurist reasons. It's a Hawksian romantic triangle set in San Diego among immigrant tuna fisherman, with Edward G. Robinson playing a flaming Portugese fisherman whose hook-arm renders him undesirable to women. Yes, it is even more bizarre than it sounds.)
Friday, March 26, 2004
GOP Jumping the Shark
On Monday night, just thinking about these despicable wingers gave me a pounding headache (my bud Jo can vouch for my wingnut-induced headache). Then on Wednesday, it happened. The Rethugs, it seems, have finally jumped the shark.
Before the 9/11 commission, Richard Clarke put in one of most impressive appearances by a public figure I've seen. Clarke was knowledgeable, smart, candid, blunt, reasonable, and he obviously cared. And gratifyingly, the dude just straight spanked the Republican hacks on the Commission who were trotting out White House talking points in their desperate attempts to smear him. (Check out that link to Milbank's WaPo recount; it's a great read.) It's guys like Clarke -- prudent, straightfoward, factual -- that the Bush White House (and the GOP) have purged from their ranks. Now, because the Bushies have no facts on their side (almost every pertinent claim against Bush that Clarke has made has been corroborated by other sources, including Woodward's Bush at War and the _Time_ and _Newsweek_ investigative stories on 9/11 failures in 2002), they resort to launching the most vicious public smear campaigns in recent history, enlisting the GOP to do their dirty work. Too bad they keep contradicting one another, and too bad Clarke's outmaneuvered them at every turn. (Check out these ugly allegations.)
(Ironically, it's guys like Clarke (and Senators Hagel and McCain) who have become almost an oxymoron: the Republican with integrity. GOPer hackery has become so pervasive that I was shocked that Hagel didn't parrot the absurd White House BS on Clarke when he appeared on CNN. It's a good thing there are a few good ones left.)
Anyway, this week's activities exposed to the public what the Bushies really are, as Clinton correctly observed last night at the Democratic Unity dinner: they're people whose primary goal is to concentrate power in their hands. They'll stop at nothing for power -- smears, destruction, outright lies. It's Nixon redux (but at least Nixon got some things right on policy and didn't wage an assault on facts). And folks paying attention (and with an open mind) cannot escape this reality.
Wingnuts, of course, are still in denial. Question: Why do right-wingers hate America, and why do they worship at the altar of terrorists-enablers and terrorists-fomenters like Bush and Co.? Do right wingers want terrorists to win? By supporting the inane policies of the Bush administration, are they *appeasors*?
Alas, a few real questions:
* If your stated goal is to spread democracy throughout the Arab world, wouldn't you want to also engage in policies that make the "Arab street" hate you less? Otherwise, wouldn't they end up electing anti-American zealots?
[As a corollary, isn't our "realist" (and bi-partisan) foreign policy of supporting pro-American despots (in Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Egypt) a much more effective and safe policy, if our most important priority is American security?]
* Why the urgency to go after Saddam Hussein when bin Laden hadn't yet been caught, and most of al Qaeda's leadership remained at large?
[You'll all be glad to know that the next few posts, when I get to them, will be non-politics related. You'll have to excuse these rants. It's just that, in the last month, I've been consumed by that question famously raised by Bob Dole: where oh where is the fucking outrage?]
Before the 9/11 commission, Richard Clarke put in one of most impressive appearances by a public figure I've seen. Clarke was knowledgeable, smart, candid, blunt, reasonable, and he obviously cared. And gratifyingly, the dude just straight spanked the Republican hacks on the Commission who were trotting out White House talking points in their desperate attempts to smear him. (Check out that link to Milbank's WaPo recount; it's a great read.) It's guys like Clarke -- prudent, straightfoward, factual -- that the Bush White House (and the GOP) have purged from their ranks. Now, because the Bushies have no facts on their side (almost every pertinent claim against Bush that Clarke has made has been corroborated by other sources, including Woodward's Bush at War and the _Time_ and _Newsweek_ investigative stories on 9/11 failures in 2002), they resort to launching the most vicious public smear campaigns in recent history, enlisting the GOP to do their dirty work. Too bad they keep contradicting one another, and too bad Clarke's outmaneuvered them at every turn. (Check out these ugly allegations.)
(Ironically, it's guys like Clarke (and Senators Hagel and McCain) who have become almost an oxymoron: the Republican with integrity. GOPer hackery has become so pervasive that I was shocked that Hagel didn't parrot the absurd White House BS on Clarke when he appeared on CNN. It's a good thing there are a few good ones left.)
Anyway, this week's activities exposed to the public what the Bushies really are, as Clinton correctly observed last night at the Democratic Unity dinner: they're people whose primary goal is to concentrate power in their hands. They'll stop at nothing for power -- smears, destruction, outright lies. It's Nixon redux (but at least Nixon got some things right on policy and didn't wage an assault on facts). And folks paying attention (and with an open mind) cannot escape this reality.
Wingnuts, of course, are still in denial. Question: Why do right-wingers hate America, and why do they worship at the altar of terrorists-enablers and terrorists-fomenters like Bush and Co.? Do right wingers want terrorists to win? By supporting the inane policies of the Bush administration, are they
Alas, a few real questions:
* If your stated goal is to spread democracy throughout the Arab world, wouldn't you want to also engage in policies that make the "Arab street" hate you less? Otherwise, wouldn't they end up electing anti-American zealots?
[As a corollary, isn't our "realist" (and bi-partisan) foreign policy of supporting pro-American despots (in Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Egypt) a much more effective and safe policy, if our most important priority is American security?]
* Why the urgency to go after Saddam Hussein when bin Laden hadn't yet been caught, and most of al Qaeda's leadership remained at large?
[You'll all be glad to know that the next few posts, when I get to them, will be non-politics related. You'll have to excuse these rants. It's just that, in the last month, I've been consumed by that question famously raised by Bob Dole: where oh where is the fucking outrage?]
Monday, March 22, 2004
The Emperor's Minions
I deleted The Weekly Standard link. I had put it up because it seemed one of the few right-wing outlets still capable of *some* intellectual honesty, whether or not I agree with their editorial stance. But since the election season started they're back on pure wingnuttery. Except on a few middle-right blogs like Volokh's Conspiracy (and my beloved Economist it's a chore trying to find any semblence of independent thought on the Right. Every week, it seems, truth dribbles out (from someone inside the administration) about the Bushies' (1) mendacity; (2) incompetence; (3) hypocrisy; (4) hostility for any attempt at good faith factfinding and data-collecting. This week, the Bushies' former terrorism czar reveals just how incompetent these schmucks were in the War Against Al Qaeda. Check out this comprehensive timeline here for more.
Wingnut response? Smears, obfuscations, smears, ad hominems. No direct challenge to the statements, just faith in Saint Shrub's infinite wisdom.
* When the facts counter your position -- no WMDs, no cheering Iraqis, no easy democracy, no plans for reconstruction --change the subject.
* The question why did Bush not finish the job and destroy Al Qaeda and kill Osama before launching an attack on an unrelated and largely unthreatening country is and will never be answered by these obfuscating fools.
* Resort to Wingnut Playbook #21 when cornered and squeal "Would you rather have Saddam Hussein still in power?" (Answer: No, you freaking idiots, but I'd also don't want Kim Il-jong in power either. But not at the cost of destroying American international credibility, formenting hatred for us in allied and non-allied countries, $150 billion, 600 American lives and thousands of Iraqi civilians, and a country that has a good change of descending into civil war. It's like I'd like the common cold to be eradicated but not at the cost of $500 billion and 1,000 test subjects dying. But possibly these moronic absolutists have forgotten the idea of cost/benefit analysis or any other balancing test.
Bush has no clothes, but you'll never know reading these self-deluded wingnuts. It'd all be just kinda sad if lives and our fucking safety weren't at stake.
Wingnut response? Smears, obfuscations, smears, ad hominems. No direct challenge to the statements, just faith in Saint Shrub's infinite wisdom.
* When the facts counter your position -- no WMDs, no cheering Iraqis, no easy democracy, no plans for reconstruction --change the subject.
* The question why did Bush not finish the job and destroy Al Qaeda and kill Osama before launching an attack on an unrelated and largely unthreatening country is and will never be answered by these obfuscating fools.
* Resort to Wingnut Playbook #21 when cornered and squeal "Would you rather have Saddam Hussein still in power?" (Answer: No, you freaking idiots, but I'd also don't want Kim Il-jong in power either. But not at the cost of destroying American international credibility, formenting hatred for us in allied and non-allied countries, $150 billion, 600 American lives and thousands of Iraqi civilians, and a country that has a good change of descending into civil war. It's like I'd like the common cold to be eradicated but not at the cost of $500 billion and 1,000 test subjects dying. But possibly these moronic absolutists have forgotten the idea of cost/benefit analysis or any other balancing test.
Bush has no clothes, but you'll never know reading these self-deluded wingnuts. It'd all be just kinda sad if lives and our fucking safety weren't at stake.
Spartan (Mamet) B-
In case you haven't heard, David Mamet's kind of paranoid. Everyone's playing an angle, and if you're not careful, you're bound to get it in the back. His worldview is a natural for the spy thriller, the genre of double and triple crosses. But Mamet's like the poker player who's always bluffing; when he shows his hand the only real surprise is if he's raising with a J5 suited or a 72 unsuited.
The first half of SPARTAN is compulsively watchable, as tight and taut as anything Mamet or anyone else has ever done. But as with HEIST and THE SPANISH PRISONER, the plotting becomes increasingly ridiculous as the hand is revealed, with the film relying on ever-more-absurd coincidences and 'Winstons' (plant & payoffs) that whiz by so quickly that their absurdity doesn't become apparent until (or unless) one starts to reflect on them.
Derek Luke finds the "Girl's" earring stuck to his bag? He locates Val Kilmer from the nametag of a chain, even though Kilmer's been established as a hyper-alert superagent? Said superagent finds GPS bugs in his phone, yet doesn't search his gun for the same bug? Most ridiculous of all, the old woman who holds up Kilmer is first secret service then immediately turns out to be the Girl's nanny? Get real.
Normally I wouldn't be such a stickler for superior plotting, but Mamet's recent minimalist thrillers, which deliberately reduce characters to cyphers, eliminate motivation and offer nothing but trite thematic variations on "Trust No One", give you nothing to latch on to but plot and Mametese (which I *am* a sucker for). Except for a bit of self-parody, SPARTAN's regrettably short on the latter (which Kilmer can't get down anyway). Typical line: "Where is the girl? Where *is* the girl? Where is *the* girl? *Where* is the girl? Where is the *girl*?" Sorry Dave, maybe if it made a little more sense, I might've cared more.
The first half of SPARTAN is compulsively watchable, as tight and taut as anything Mamet or anyone else has ever done. But as with HEIST and THE SPANISH PRISONER, the plotting becomes increasingly ridiculous as the hand is revealed, with the film relying on ever-more-absurd coincidences and 'Winstons' (plant & payoffs) that whiz by so quickly that their absurdity doesn't become apparent until (or unless) one starts to reflect on them.
Derek Luke finds the "Girl's" earring stuck to his bag? He locates Val Kilmer from the nametag of a chain, even though Kilmer's been established as a hyper-alert superagent? Said superagent finds GPS bugs in his phone, yet doesn't search his gun for the same bug? Most ridiculous of all, the old woman who holds up Kilmer is first secret service then immediately turns out to be the Girl's nanny? Get real.
Normally I wouldn't be such a stickler for superior plotting, but Mamet's recent minimalist thrillers, which deliberately reduce characters to cyphers, eliminate motivation and offer nothing but trite thematic variations on "Trust No One", give you nothing to latch on to but plot and Mametese (which I *am* a sucker for). Except for a bit of self-parody, SPARTAN's regrettably short on the latter (which Kilmer can't get down anyway). Typical line: "Where is the girl? Where *is* the girl? Where is *the* girl? *Where* is the girl? Where is the *girl*?" Sorry Dave, maybe if it made a little more sense, I might've cared more.
Friday, March 19, 2004
Thoughts on the Presidential Election in Taiwan
The atmosphere in the United States has been so sharply polarized that I've stopped talking politics with the few Republicans I know in LA for fear of popping that protruding vein that throbs near my temple. It's almost impossible to even assume good faith anymore. Until the present administration took power, I've never thought of any of our country's leaders as unredeemable scumbags. But here are these guys campaigning and governing under a cloud of lies, wrecking fiscal havoc on the country and fermenting hatred of our country throughout the world. And to top it off, they get their rocks off demonizing secularists, urban dwellers, and educated types everywhere.
Yet the US is freaking Lothlorien compared to Taiwan. My mother, for example, refuses to get into a taxi that has a green flag (representing the DPP -- the ruling party). Political rants abuzz. Only place you might escape wingnut diatribes is a smoke filled pool hall, or maybe a movie theater. And here in the United States, my relatives, like other immigrants ultimately more concerned with politics of their native country than their adopted one, are more nutty and obsessive about Taiwanese politics than I am about American politics.
The Taiwanese presidential election is on March 20. Like Israel and maybe a few other small, endangered, and highly polarized countries, the election will offer two genuinely opposed visions. The incumbent, President Chen Shui-bian of the DPP, wants to take dramatic steps to Taiwanese independence. His support comes largely from native Taiwanese in rural areas. His opponent, Lien Chan of the KMT, supported by mainlander population and the economic elite, wants to take a more moderate, reconciliatory approach with China. With 500 short-ranged missles aimed at Taiwan and $400 billion dollars worth of Taiwanese private investment in China, the stakes are awfully high. Life and death -- and Taiwan's economic well-being -- hangs in the balance.
Framed in that way, voting for Lien seems to be a no brainer. And riding a wave of voter discontent with the economy and Chinese relations, Lien seemed poised for a strong win against Chen. That was before Chen got shot last night. Now, with hours before the election, it's anyone's call. If the election in Spain is any guide, never underestimate last minute violence to alter election outcomes.
However, the election is as much about national and economic security as it is about identity and the island's troubled history. President Chen is a folk hero to the native Taiwanese population who were historically oppressed by the ruling Nationalist (KMT) party. Led by incompetent "Generalissimo" Chiang Kai-shek, the KMT party installed an alternative "Chinese" government in Taiwan after their defeat by the Communists in 1949, with the official goal of "re-taking China" from the Commies. Beyond such fantasies, the KMT were a brutal, corrupt authoritarian regime that snuffed out political opponents and attempted to wipe out the native Taiwanese dialect. The native Taiwanese, composing of 90% of the population, were disenfranchised as a result.
But Chiang's regime, propped up by the US (as part of their anti-Red China containment policy) also ushered in their tremendously successful export-oriented industrial strategy. By the 1980s, Taiwan was one of the "Four Dragons" -- an East Asian powerhouse which held the second largest foreign reserve in the world. But when the country finally became democratic in the 1990s, the Taiwanese elected a leader who spoke about Taiwanese national identity rather than economics. The native Taiwanese dialect, not Mandarin, became widely used. The old mainlander CEOs and political leaders were ousted, replaced by native Taiwanese. And most provocatively, the Taiwanese began to seriously talk about themselves as a nationally if not ethnically distinct people from the Chinese.
Both of my grandfathers were mainlanders who fled to China after Chiang's defeat. They were also major figures in Taiwan. My paternal grandfather was a deputy commissioner of police under the KMT. My maternal grandfather started one of the major government contracting firms, and he was one of the Chairmans ousted by the DPP in their mainlander purge. So my family is stridently pro-KMT and anti-Taiwanese, which has always made me uncomfortable, given that they're on the wrong side of history. But Chen has proven to be a rank ideologue, putting nationalist identity above national and economic security. So I'm hoping for a Lien win. My mom's and my grandfather's lives may be at stake. Heck the world order may be at stake. (I have little doubt that China would fire missles at Taiwan if Chen were to declare independence; that would lead to either a major war or embargoes that will lead to a major world recession.)
Election update!: Bush v. Gore redux. Lien, the candidate of the internationalists and urbanites, lose by a razor-thin margin and refuses to concede, demanding a recount. Less than 30,000 votes separate the two candidates out of about 15 million cast. Lien's party is insinuating that Chen staged a late-hour shooting of himself to generate sympathy votes, a story that everyone in my family has bought into.
Yet the US is freaking Lothlorien compared to Taiwan. My mother, for example, refuses to get into a taxi that has a green flag (representing the DPP -- the ruling party). Political rants abuzz. Only place you might escape wingnut diatribes is a smoke filled pool hall, or maybe a movie theater. And here in the United States, my relatives, like other immigrants ultimately more concerned with politics of their native country than their adopted one, are more nutty and obsessive about Taiwanese politics than I am about American politics.
The Taiwanese presidential election is on March 20. Like Israel and maybe a few other small, endangered, and highly polarized countries, the election will offer two genuinely opposed visions. The incumbent, President Chen Shui-bian of the DPP, wants to take dramatic steps to Taiwanese independence. His support comes largely from native Taiwanese in rural areas. His opponent, Lien Chan of the KMT, supported by mainlander population and the economic elite, wants to take a more moderate, reconciliatory approach with China. With 500 short-ranged missles aimed at Taiwan and $400 billion dollars worth of Taiwanese private investment in China, the stakes are awfully high. Life and death -- and Taiwan's economic well-being -- hangs in the balance.
Framed in that way, voting for Lien seems to be a no brainer. And riding a wave of voter discontent with the economy and Chinese relations, Lien seemed poised for a strong win against Chen. That was before Chen got shot last night. Now, with hours before the election, it's anyone's call. If the election in Spain is any guide, never underestimate last minute violence to alter election outcomes.
However, the election is as much about national and economic security as it is about identity and the island's troubled history. President Chen is a folk hero to the native Taiwanese population who were historically oppressed by the ruling Nationalist (KMT) party. Led by incompetent "Generalissimo" Chiang Kai-shek, the KMT party installed an alternative "Chinese" government in Taiwan after their defeat by the Communists in 1949, with the official goal of "re-taking China" from the Commies. Beyond such fantasies, the KMT were a brutal, corrupt authoritarian regime that snuffed out political opponents and attempted to wipe out the native Taiwanese dialect. The native Taiwanese, composing of 90% of the population, were disenfranchised as a result.
But Chiang's regime, propped up by the US (as part of their anti-Red China containment policy) also ushered in their tremendously successful export-oriented industrial strategy. By the 1980s, Taiwan was one of the "Four Dragons" -- an East Asian powerhouse which held the second largest foreign reserve in the world. But when the country finally became democratic in the 1990s, the Taiwanese elected a leader who spoke about Taiwanese national identity rather than economics. The native Taiwanese dialect, not Mandarin, became widely used. The old mainlander CEOs and political leaders were ousted, replaced by native Taiwanese. And most provocatively, the Taiwanese began to seriously talk about themselves as a nationally if not ethnically distinct people from the Chinese.
Both of my grandfathers were mainlanders who fled to China after Chiang's defeat. They were also major figures in Taiwan. My paternal grandfather was a deputy commissioner of police under the KMT. My maternal grandfather started one of the major government contracting firms, and he was one of the Chairmans ousted by the DPP in their mainlander purge. So my family is stridently pro-KMT and anti-Taiwanese, which has always made me uncomfortable, given that they're on the wrong side of history. But Chen has proven to be a rank ideologue, putting nationalist identity above national and economic security. So I'm hoping for a Lien win. My mom's and my grandfather's lives may be at stake. Heck the world order may be at stake. (I have little doubt that China would fire missles at Taiwan if Chen were to declare independence; that would lead to either a major war or embargoes that will lead to a major world recession.)
Election update!: Bush v. Gore redux. Lien, the candidate of the internationalists and urbanites, lose by a razor-thin margin and refuses to concede, demanding a recount. Less than 30,000 votes separate the two candidates out of about 15 million cast. Lien's party is insinuating that Chen staged a late-hour shooting of himself to generate sympathy votes, a story that everyone in my family has bought into.
Notes on movies seen in Taiwan in December
Like a lot of what I write for this blog, my travel journals from China, Hong Kong and Taiwan from December 2003 were never completed. I figured I might as well tack on some quick notes on some of the films I caught in Taiwan while the iron's still kinda warm.
As luck would have it, the complete Ozu series came to Taiwan with much help from Hou Hsiao-hsien, whose movie house/noodle joint The Spot is probably my favorite place in Taipei. I was able to catch three films in the series. An Inn in Tokyo (1935) is my first Ozu silent. Ozu's style of quiet devastation hasn't been fully formed yet, so's this well-acted neo-realist melodrama never reached the level of the sublime, like the later Ozus. On a lark, I also caught Tokyo Twilight (1957), a late Ozu with almost no rep to speak of. Allegedly overly dark and melodramatic, I found the Sirkian story compelling from beginning to end. And of course Setsuko Hara is a goddess.
Lastly, there was Mikio Naruse's Floating Clouds (1955), which my slothful pal Sally made me miss when it played in LA. This time, playing as part of the Ozu (and associates) retrospective, it was sold out. As I rued my bad luck a kind usher snuck me into the theater so I got my chance to watch this near-masterpiece sitting on the floor. Phillip Lopate wrote the definitive Naruse piece, to which I don't have much to add except that his films feel like Japanese versions of Fassbinder melodramas as directed by Rohmer. Utterly unsentimental and materialist, this sad tale about a lilly-livered, selfish man indifferent to his headstrong but emotionally dependent mistress leaves the viewer no room for catharsis.
The other movie I saw was the godawful Purple Butterfly (Lou) C. In Toronto, some of my movie pals warned me of this Zhang Ziyi spy picture of utter vapidity. My response? Continue to proclaim it a masterpiece even as I did my best to avoid actually watching it. My obnoxious shtick was only half-serious, but hey, here's a lavishly mounted spy movie set in decadent 30s Shanghai. How can it go wrong? Nearly everything, as it turned out. (Sorry for doubting, buds.) Purple Butterfly is the flipside to another Chinese debacle, the wildly overrated Platform (2000). That interminable film consisted entirely of ugly Chinamen standing around while framed in carefully composed mastershots (full of rectangular frame-within-frames for that cineaste-approved "rigor"). Purple Butterfly consists entirely of tight close-ups of pretty Asians brooding impassively. It's more fun to look at, I suppose, but ultimately the formal rigor felt just as empty and impenetrable as Platform's. Lou's fatal error is to ask Zhang, a limited actress, to convey 15 different emotions with her face; she's able to do about three (determination, anxiety, sadness). So there's no emotional throughline to carry this otherwise trite double agent tale. Maybe the "exotic" setting and period carries some weight, but as someone who grew up watching anti-Japanese soap operas set in 20s/30s Shanghai, this was barely passable as TV dreck.
I should've known not to expect too much. This was, after all, made by the same guy who brought us "Vertigo as made by Wong Kar-wai". And if anything ever sounded awesome on paper, it was that one.
As luck would have it, the complete Ozu series came to Taiwan with much help from Hou Hsiao-hsien, whose movie house/noodle joint The Spot is probably my favorite place in Taipei. I was able to catch three films in the series. An Inn in Tokyo (1935) is my first Ozu silent. Ozu's style of quiet devastation hasn't been fully formed yet, so's this well-acted neo-realist melodrama never reached the level of the sublime, like the later Ozus. On a lark, I also caught Tokyo Twilight (1957), a late Ozu with almost no rep to speak of. Allegedly overly dark and melodramatic, I found the Sirkian story compelling from beginning to end. And of course Setsuko Hara is a goddess.
Lastly, there was Mikio Naruse's Floating Clouds (1955), which my slothful pal Sally made me miss when it played in LA. This time, playing as part of the Ozu (and associates) retrospective, it was sold out. As I rued my bad luck a kind usher snuck me into the theater so I got my chance to watch this near-masterpiece sitting on the floor. Phillip Lopate wrote the definitive Naruse piece, to which I don't have much to add except that his films feel like Japanese versions of Fassbinder melodramas as directed by Rohmer. Utterly unsentimental and materialist, this sad tale about a lilly-livered, selfish man indifferent to his headstrong but emotionally dependent mistress leaves the viewer no room for catharsis.
The other movie I saw was the godawful Purple Butterfly (Lou) C. In Toronto, some of my movie pals warned me of this Zhang Ziyi spy picture of utter vapidity. My response? Continue to proclaim it a masterpiece even as I did my best to avoid actually watching it. My obnoxious shtick was only half-serious, but hey, here's a lavishly mounted spy movie set in decadent 30s Shanghai. How can it go wrong? Nearly everything, as it turned out. (Sorry for doubting, buds.) Purple Butterfly is the flipside to another Chinese debacle, the wildly overrated Platform (2000). That interminable film consisted entirely of ugly Chinamen standing around while framed in carefully composed mastershots (full of rectangular frame-within-frames for that cineaste-approved "rigor"). Purple Butterfly consists entirely of tight close-ups of pretty Asians brooding impassively. It's more fun to look at, I suppose, but ultimately the formal rigor felt just as empty and impenetrable as Platform's. Lou's fatal error is to ask Zhang, a limited actress, to convey 15 different emotions with her face; she's able to do about three (determination, anxiety, sadness). So there's no emotional throughline to carry this otherwise trite double agent tale. Maybe the "exotic" setting and period carries some weight, but as someone who grew up watching anti-Japanese soap operas set in 20s/30s Shanghai, this was barely passable as TV dreck.
I should've known not to expect too much. This was, after all, made by the same guy who brought us "Vertigo as made by Wong Kar-wai". And if anything ever sounded awesome on paper, it was that one.
Friday, March 05, 2004
Favorite Velvet Underground songs
That was the most recently concluded poll in a indie rock music nerd discussion group I kinda belong to. That got me to playing some of my neglected Velvets recordings, like the bootleg Quine Tapes that I hadn't played more than once. Listening to those songs again, it reminded me of just how fucking amazing this band -- my favorite rock band ever -- really were. They're rightly celebrated as the progenitors of white noise art rock, but their spare ballads are as beatifully melodic as anything McCartney ever wrote, without ever being saccharine. They had an edge that the Beatles, White Album aside, never had.
The rocker "What Goes On" from Velvet Underground won the poll. Instead of reposting a haphazardly assembled ballot, I'll post my 20 favorite Velvets songs, as divided by categories.
Sing-a-long throwaways.
"Who Loves the Sun" from Loaded. As heard on The Royal Tenenbaums.
"I'm Sticking With You" from VU. Maureen Tucker doing a wonderful child-like ditty.
"After Hours" from Velvet Underground. Again Maureen, child-like.
Ballads
"Sunday Morning" from Velvet Underground and Nico. The most beautiful opening number ever.
"Pale Blue Eyes" from Velvet Underground.
"Sweet Jane" from 1969: Live.
"I'll Be Your Mirror" from Velvet Underground and Nico.
"Femme Fatale" from Velvet Underground and Nico. The definitive version.
"All Tomorrow's Parties" from Velvet Underground and Nico. I dig Nico, what can I say.
...Says
Lou Reed in the consciousness of an emotionally unhinged woman.
"Lisa Says" from VU
"Candy Says" from Velvet Underground
"Stephanie Says" from VU
Sprawlers
"Ocean" from 1969: Live. Majestic. Probably my favorite Velvets track.
"Heroin" from Velvet Underground and Nico
"New Age" from 1969: Live
Rock & Roll
"There She Goes Again" from Velvet Underground and Nico
"I'm Waiting for the Man" from Velvet Underground and Nico
"White Light/White Heat" from White Light/White Heat
"Beginning to See the Light" from 1969: Live
"What Goes On" from Velvet Underground
Yeah, I like "Sister Ray", too, but not *that* much.
[More commentary later.]
The rocker "What Goes On" from Velvet Underground won the poll. Instead of reposting a haphazardly assembled ballot, I'll post my 20 favorite Velvets songs, as divided by categories.
Sing-a-long throwaways.
"Who Loves the Sun" from Loaded. As heard on The Royal Tenenbaums.
"I'm Sticking With You" from VU. Maureen Tucker doing a wonderful child-like ditty.
"After Hours" from Velvet Underground. Again Maureen, child-like.
Ballads
"Sunday Morning" from Velvet Underground and Nico. The most beautiful opening number ever.
"Pale Blue Eyes" from Velvet Underground.
"Sweet Jane" from 1969: Live.
"I'll Be Your Mirror" from Velvet Underground and Nico.
"Femme Fatale" from Velvet Underground and Nico. The definitive version.
"All Tomorrow's Parties" from Velvet Underground and Nico. I dig Nico, what can I say.
...Says
Lou Reed in the consciousness of an emotionally unhinged woman.
"Lisa Says" from VU
"Candy Says" from Velvet Underground
"Stephanie Says" from VU
Sprawlers
"Ocean" from 1969: Live. Majestic. Probably my favorite Velvets track.
"Heroin" from Velvet Underground and Nico
"New Age" from 1969: Live
Rock & Roll
"There She Goes Again" from Velvet Underground and Nico
"I'm Waiting for the Man" from Velvet Underground and Nico
"White Light/White Heat" from White Light/White Heat
"Beginning to See the Light" from 1969: Live
"What Goes On" from Velvet Underground
Yeah, I like "Sister Ray", too, but not *that* much.
[More commentary later.]
Thursday, March 04, 2004
BC 04/Rove -- Ivan Drago redux
Like Ivan Drago, Max Von Sydow's Exorcist, or for that matter, Saruman, this election is beginning to feel like one of those movies where the entire movie is spent talking about some dude being an invincible badass only to see them go down in flames with little more than a finger tap.
Essentially, this administration has spent their entire four years running for re-election, perfectly executing the routes drawn up by "genius" offensive guru Karl Rove. Talk up compassionate conservatism. Take Democratic strengths off the table (as the Medicare prescription drug bill and No Child Left Behind was supposed to do) but mainly spend your time promoting false patriotism and packing sacks of goodies for your rightwing base and campaign contributors by borrowing money like mad (because nobody cares about deficits, as Dick-C says). Then amass an unprecendented war chest, with the implicit promise of more giveaways.
After a national tragedy created a chance to build a long-lasting Republican majority and give the President staggering approval ratings, all of that has been squandered. Partly, that's less a problem with the campaign as it is with their refusal to actually examine facts when making decisions. But Rove hasn't helped. By January 2004, these guys were trotting out weekly desperado tactics like the Mars mission and the immigration amnesty pitch (politically calculated proposals which had Rove's fingerprints all over them). Then came the State of the Union address, another dud. And after all that, they're behind in the polls, losing ground among independents, and left to wage a campaign centering on a culture war and fear-mongering to appease a grumbling base. The Shrub/Dick re-election campaign has thus far been nothing short of pathetic, and they've shown no signs of getting better.
Ah, but what about their bottomless well of campaign loot? For one thing, check out the theme: "It's not my fault". (Good job being "strong and decisive", Mr. War President.) For another, their inept first spot has already been predictably shredded by *firefighters* and relatives of 9/11 victims, two of the last groups of people you'd want to publicly offend. So the play on these rehabilitation ads over the next couple of days will be: Is the President exploiting 9/11 for political purposes? That's not what these fools were bargaining for, I'm sure.
Perhaps the more apt analogy is the 2003 World Series, in which a much unloved but scrappy franchise outplayed and outhustled the sloppy-fielding chokers with the unlimited resources and a team of superstars.
Even though neither Reagan nor Clinton had trailed their opponent in the polls in March or thereafter and undecideds break 3 to 1 against the incumbent, it's early yet and things can turn on a dime. But given the first phase of the battle, we can at least put to rest the idea that Karl Rove is some Kongming-like omniscient svengali. Let's remember, the guy didn't even win the last election he ran.
Essentially, this administration has spent their entire four years running for re-election, perfectly executing the routes drawn up by "genius" offensive guru Karl Rove. Talk up compassionate conservatism. Take Democratic strengths off the table (as the Medicare prescription drug bill and No Child Left Behind was supposed to do) but mainly spend your time promoting false patriotism and packing sacks of goodies for your rightwing base and campaign contributors by borrowing money like mad (because nobody cares about deficits, as Dick-C says). Then amass an unprecendented war chest, with the implicit promise of more giveaways.
After a national tragedy created a chance to build a long-lasting Republican majority and give the President staggering approval ratings, all of that has been squandered. Partly, that's less a problem with the campaign as it is with their refusal to actually examine facts when making decisions. But Rove hasn't helped. By January 2004, these guys were trotting out weekly desperado tactics like the Mars mission and the immigration amnesty pitch (politically calculated proposals which had Rove's fingerprints all over them). Then came the State of the Union address, another dud. And after all that, they're behind in the polls, losing ground among independents, and left to wage a campaign centering on a culture war and fear-mongering to appease a grumbling base. The Shrub/Dick re-election campaign has thus far been nothing short of pathetic, and they've shown no signs of getting better.
Ah, but what about their bottomless well of campaign loot? For one thing, check out the theme: "It's not my fault". (Good job being "strong and decisive", Mr. War President.) For another, their inept first spot has already been predictably shredded by *firefighters* and relatives of 9/11 victims, two of the last groups of people you'd want to publicly offend. So the play on these rehabilitation ads over the next couple of days will be: Is the President exploiting 9/11 for political purposes? That's not what these fools were bargaining for, I'm sure.
Perhaps the more apt analogy is the 2003 World Series, in which a much unloved but scrappy franchise outplayed and outhustled the sloppy-fielding chokers with the unlimited resources and a team of superstars.
Even though neither Reagan nor Clinton had trailed their opponent in the polls in March or thereafter and undecideds break 3 to 1 against the incumbent, it's early yet and things can turn on a dime. But given the first phase of the battle, we can at least put to rest the idea that Karl Rove is some Kongming-like omniscient svengali. Let's remember, the guy didn't even win the last election he ran.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Should I move this blog to TypePad?
If you check out TypePad blogs like James Callan's and Mark Schmitt's, isn't their useability and layout so much more appealing than Blogspot-hosted blogs like this one? It certainly is for me. So I'm thinking of packing up my bags and hopping on over there. The biggest consideration is archiving by categories, since I've never been that interested in writing the topical one-liner type of blog. Actually I've never been that interested in keeping up a site, so this blog surviving even this long is something of a shock. (I suppose when I switch to a more serious job as I planned to do shortly, updates will be even more sporadic. We'll see.)
Only drawbacks as far as I can see:
(1) comments don't seem to be importable. I'd like to save the old reader comments since many of them are more interesting than the actual entries on which they are commenting;
(2) I've got like 20 drafts concerning all kinds of shit (review of Ozu movies, travel journal, etc.) saved here that I'd never finish if I went over to movable type. But maybe that's a good thing.
Anyone care to comment on this?
Only drawbacks as far as I can see:
(1) comments don't seem to be importable. I'd like to save the old reader comments since many of them are more interesting than the actual entries on which they are commenting;
(2) I've got like 20 drafts concerning all kinds of shit (review of Ozu movies, travel journal, etc.) saved here that I'd never finish if I went over to movable type. But maybe that's a good thing.
Anyone care to comment on this?
The Bigger Man Usually Wins
Looks like our presumptive nominee packs a hefty salami sandwich. Once this pic makes its way around, Kerry's sure to shore up the John Holmes Memorial Society vote.
(Courtesy of Wonkette. Be sure also to check out the hilarious reader comments.)
(Courtesy of Wonkette. Be sure also to check out the hilarious reader comments.)
Yesterday, I voted...
...for Edwards and "No" on all the propositions. I typically vote no on propositions because (as I've previously mentioned) the California's initiative system is an abysmal way to govern. Complex budgetary issues put up for a vote from a citizentry who, by and large, learned most of what they know about propositions only from propoganda aired on TV and radio. Whoever makes the best propoganda wins; and the bond measures to finance California's enormous $15 billion dollar debt passed on the strength of Arnold's propoganda. Yeah, the same Arnold who claimed he's against "Special Interests" and went to New York and collected millions to finance his Yes on 57 & 58 campaign from the yankee financiers who'll make a killing if the bond passes. The same Arnold who was supposed to "clean up" Sacramento and save $15 billion by cutting waste.
Oh, but I forgot, this dude was CONAN. He beat up Wilt the Stilt forgodsakes. How can we not listen to him?
Nobody who paid any serious attention to the recall election should be surprised by Arnold's cynical hypocrisy, but to be fair, Arnold's has been largely a centrist and pragmatic governor so far. Still, I'd rather not bear the debt burden of the guy's craven refusal to raise any taxes, even though that bond measure will patch up this state's budgetary problems in the short term.
I probably should've voted yes on Prop 56, which would change the procedure for approving the budget in California from 2/3 of the legislature to 55%. Procedural matters that can't be decided by the legislature (and certain bond measures) are really the only matters that should be decided by the public on the ballot. But I pulled a retarded move and voted no. It didn't matter anyway, as that measure went down to defeat.
Wasn't a big fan of having to vote for Superior Court judges either. I passed on voting for any of them, even though I'd actually appeared in front of some of the judges on the ballot as an attorney.
A shitty day. Later that night, the fuckheads at VICE didn't have it together and shut my and my pals out of an advance screening of ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND at the Arclight which they promoted. We did get into the afterparty at the new hip spot Spider Club, but neither the venue nor the party was anything to write home about. (I just wanted to make sure Kate wasn't there.) And it only confirmed that Defarge and New Edition are the new Prince and MJ for cheesy club DJs tired of spinning "Kiss" for the 83,000th time.
Oh, but I forgot, this dude was CONAN. He beat up Wilt the Stilt forgodsakes. How can we not listen to him?
Nobody who paid any serious attention to the recall election should be surprised by Arnold's cynical hypocrisy, but to be fair, Arnold's has been largely a centrist and pragmatic governor so far. Still, I'd rather not bear the debt burden of the guy's craven refusal to raise any taxes, even though that bond measure will patch up this state's budgetary problems in the short term.
I probably should've voted yes on Prop 56, which would change the procedure for approving the budget in California from 2/3 of the legislature to 55%. Procedural matters that can't be decided by the legislature (and certain bond measures) are really the only matters that should be decided by the public on the ballot. But I pulled a retarded move and voted no. It didn't matter anyway, as that measure went down to defeat.
Wasn't a big fan of having to vote for Superior Court judges either. I passed on voting for any of them, even though I'd actually appeared in front of some of the judges on the ballot as an attorney.
A shitty day. Later that night, the fuckheads at VICE didn't have it together and shut my and my pals out of an advance screening of ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND at the Arclight which they promoted. We did get into the afterparty at the new hip spot Spider Club, but neither the venue nor the party was anything to write home about. (I just wanted to make sure Kate wasn't there.) And it only confirmed that Defarge and New Edition are the new Prince and MJ for cheesy club DJs tired of spinning "Kiss" for the 83,000th time.
