Sunday, May 31, 2009

Alain Corneau and noir.

To repeat myself in a few different venues: I saw Alain Corneau speak last night; he presented Police Python 357 starring the reasonably yummy and yet oh-so-French Yves Montand. And he said something (well, quite a few things) that interested me. Someone asked him how he felt watching his film on a large screen for the first time in x amount of years. His answer? "I wasn't there" (i.e., he didn't watch it with us). The reason? He states he rarely watches his films in theaters, 1) because he might look at this old film and say "My god, that was a good film, I've become much worse" or 2) he would watch it and wonder how he could have made something so terrible. These are his fears, and so he won't watch them.

As an aside, apparently Simone Signoret was aggravated by all the make-up and furs, and wanted to look natural, whilst he needed someone who looked the part of a bourgeois woman with a summer home and three cars. She was also quite perturbed by the way her character commits suicide in the film, and long negotiations between director and actress began. Granted, after the screening, a discussion ensued regarding Corneau's use of the "fantastique"...where men throw acid on their faces to avoid recognition; where a woman who's ill and can hardly leave her bed somehow manages to wrangle her legs enough to desperately drive to someone's house and beg them to kill her. Where the main character, in the end, blasts through a scene any modern-day action film director would be proud of.

Apparently he wrote the script in a rather feverish five days. The film was shot in 8 weeks with a "typical crew" of about 40 people. The amazing soundtrack is by Georges Delerue, and quite surprising for the time it was made; as Corneau says, it is full of discord and chorus.

Corneau was asked why he is so interested in loss of identity as a theme, and he said that noir isn't noir without that loss. You shouldn't be able to pinpoint who is good, or bad. If you can, it isn't a noir film.

Boy, I've been paraphrasing the hell out of poor Monsieur Corneau. Anyways...! Here is the LACMA link if anyone is interested in catching the rest of the French Crime Wave shows; and hey, give me a call if you're going! ^^



May 29 7:30 PM Série Noire
May 29 9:30 PM The Clockmaker
May 30 7:30 PM Police Python 357
June 5 7:30 PM Bob le flambeur
June 5 9:20 PM Le Doulos
June 6 7:30 PM Touchez pas au Grisbi
June 6 9:10 PM Rififi
June 12 7:30 PM Le cercle rouge
June 13 7:30 PM Purple Noon
June 13 9:35 PM Elevator to the Gallows
June 19 7:30 PM Classe tous risques
June 19 9:20 PM Garde à vue
June 20 7:30 PM Coup de torchon
June 20 9:45 PM Shoot the Piano Player

Saturday, May 30, 2009

An animation antidote.

This entry is meant as an antidote to the Oshima entry, but it's giving me guff.

As my friends have been hearing ad nauseum, I’ve been watching too many Japanese films from the 60’s. There aren’t a lot of positive female role models to be found; if there’s a film without a beating, humiliation, murder and/or rape, it’s because everyone’s too busy trying to defeat the giant monster. That's a sweeping statement, I know...but I can't even feel guily about it right now.

Thusly, I’ve decided to write about one of the more clever and charming animated shows to come out in recent years: Azumanga Daioh. A friend (a male friend no less) introduced me to the series; I watched several shows and then intended to purchase the dvd boxed set. Years later, I’ve finally gotten around to it!

The show is about school. And girls. And girls in school. It manages to touch on a lot of teen (and pre-teen) issues without going anywhere too dark…and yet doesn’t soften the subject matter either. It becomes almost sentimental at times, but manages to avoid it through the rather eccentric characters, who, while unique, also remind us of people we knew. Or were. Pile on this some very nice animation and an exceptionally charming soundtrack, and I have to say this is something that shouldn’t be missed. The show manages to remain somewhat timeless through anime flairs and school uniforms, and the subject matter never becomes dated. And if you went to school, ever… the show will speak to you.


TECHNICALLY

I may as well begin with a slightly technical approach. My aforementioned friend insisted I wouldn’t be able to find anything like what he had bootlegged – and so, of course, I had to prove him wrong. Which admittedly, was easy enough to do years later. The shows he’d copied had since gone from English-dub-only to a wonderful Japanese language w/English subtitles version (the Class Album boxed set). And it’s marvelous! Not only do you get excellent translations of what characters are saying, but it also translates titles, signs, and any newspaper, poster and random print in the background. Unlike many subtitled films, you feel you’re in on the mise-en-scène jokes. For instance, when the two female teachers (to be discussed later) go out drinking, and one has to carry the other down the alley, the sign in the background says “Please sort your trash.” It’s little things like this that an audience misses when they rely on (sometimes dubious) translation. The show itself is also filled with cultural references and nigh training sessions for the uninitiated. Highly useful for someone intending to visit or live in Japan. I've learned more spoken Japanese from this show than from any cd or book.



And now, on to the characters.


SAKAKI

Sakaki is one of many high school archetypes, the huge girl who scares everyone simply because she’s more developed. She’s taller than anyone in the class, her hair longer, her breasts are bigger, she’s more athletic (despite not belonging to any teams), and in the beginning, people assume she’s a rough, getting into fights outside school (they see the bandages on her hands). Sakaki is a terrifically sweet person and has a vivid imagination that often runs away with her. She’s very shy, quiet and monosyllabic, and it’s especially touching as she begins to enter the group of friends. Everyone thinks she’s cool, but you get the impression she’d rather not be noticed at all. She's always surprised and modest when someone invites her along on an outing...it's nearly heartbreaking. She’s an interesting play on all the poetic romantic stuff we know, with her long hair and quiet manner, and yet is indeed terribly cool.



Sakaki is terribly embarrassed of her large breasts. There’s one entertaining discussion in an early show where Osaka states that Sakaki is an American because her breasts are so huge, and that Tomo is Japanese because hers are so small. This is an ongoing concern for all girls, and women, everywhere…hell, I’m 38 and still feel bad when someone points out another woman with (what I perceive to be) a nicer chest. But when you’re a maturing girl, the fact you have breasts at all can be quite traumatizing; people around you suddenly treat you differently, sexually. Dependent upon whether you start developing early or late, that spins off into its own sets of stressors and trauma as people tease you about being too big (if you started early) or being too small (if you started late, if at all). And bras are a challenge for a little while. I remember the exact turning point for me: walking down a school hall one day in a white blouse, and a boy took me to the side and told me my nipples were visible through the shirt. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might be an issue until that very moment. Rest of day spent with book clutched at chest. And I wore bras from then onward.




KAORIN

One must follow the note on Sakaki with Kaorin. Kaorin is another character easy to identify with. In school, it’s common for both girls and boys to have crushes on peers of the same sex…it might be because of a perceived “coolness” or for other reasons, and isn’t always acted on, but is there nonetheless. Kaorin is a great play on this. She admires Sakaki from afar at first, spouting about how cool she is: “Kakkoii!”

I think Kaorin goes a little beyond the typical girl-girl crushy stuff where you practice kissing each other because you’re learning how to kiss boys (supposedly), and may be a baby lesbian in development - which is a lovely inclusion for a children’s cartoon. She adores Sakaki, and in true crush style, freaks out whenever she misses the chance to see her, get a photo, attend a sleepover, etc. There are some very cute ultra-gay fantasies including showers of petals and rainbows in the back while she and Sakaki dance together, ride a horse together, walk together...in one episode about New Year dreams, she has a fantasy-dream where Sakaki rides in on a horse and saves her from bandits, with Sakaki in the traditional male role and Kaorin gleefully clutching her; so happy! - until her mother wakes her.





KIMURA

The male teacher who’s “fond” of his female students is a problem most girls have to face. I myself went to a school with a rather infamous coach who was overly fond of wrapping girls ankles and giving them "massages". All in the name of sports, of course. This character is brilliantly inserted into the show via Kimura-sensei, the classic lit professor. Much like in any school, he hasn’t done enough to cause real trouble, but everyone knows about his proclivities. The teachers feel they have to put up with him (to a point) and the students, while a little clueless, know enough to realize he’s a bit creepy and start to hypothesize about his personal life (in one episode, the girls suppose he’s a killer who's hiding bodies in the bushes). There’s great shock and perturbation when it’s discovered he has a beautiful and kind wife…no one can quite put it together. This temporarily gains him renewed sympathy and trust from a few of the girls. They finally come to the conclusion that his wife is an unfortunate person with bad judgement and is to be pitied. No one is quite sure how to report him, or whether he’s done anything to truly warrant it (or whether he is indeed a bad person) so he slides by time and time again.

In the end, inside and outside cartoons, the problematic male teacher is a rite of passage for every young woman. I gather from male friends that there's a sort of polar parallel in "the female teacher who was my first time (or who should have been)".





NYAMO and YUKARI

Yukari is the English teacher. She's self-involved and lazy (to the point of having all the same people from her first year class in her second year class because she doesn't want to learn new names); she's a risk-taker, a gambler, a drinker and a loudmouth. Nyamo Kurosawa is the girls’ Physical Education teacher, and is perceived to be inutterably cool by most of the students. She’s very sensitive to the needs of the students and supportive whenever she can be.

Nyamo's amiable rivalry with Yukari is evident at the school, and the girls sometimes wonder about what their relationship could possibly be. Nyamo is prone to admit mistakes, and follows through on promises. This of course provides the “straight man” for Yukari-chan, who is loud, excitable, fun-loving and duplicitous. She’s deeply envious of Nyamo’s popularity among the students and tries to throw a wrench in the works whenever she can (as long as the results are to her advantage). She’s another person the girls have to weigh, deciding what her motivations are and whether they (should) like her. She and Nyamo were peers at the same school, and this lends to their weary acceptance of one another - in this way, foreshadowing Tomo and Yomi's relationship. Nyamo and Yukari add a slightly more adult, if no less immature, flavor to certain stories...and point out that, despite being older, women still have many of the same problems the girls do themselves. Some things never change.




OSAKA

"Osaka" is the spaciest of space cadets. Another type we can all remember from school (and in fact I may have fit into this category). She is sweet and soft-voiced, and prone to believe or hypothesize the most outstanding things. She's intelligent, and can be quite clever at times - or is she clever all the time, and it's us who doesn't get it? Osaka (who gained her nickname because she's a new student from, well, Osaka) has a goal to improve herself, to be more aware, to learn more, to be more like her idols. To "get it together". In reality, she falls asleep often; everywhere, in fact. She's easily distracted and muses on strange things. To be honest, this character is a little too close to me to be fair about ^^ I remember having a boyfriend in early college who called me...hm-mmm, Space Girl? Something like that. He wasn't too fond of the art thing either. Which is fine, as he in turn taught me exactly what I didn't want in men. A call out to all men! Appreciate your artistic spacey girls!




YOMI

Yomi is the other character I'd identify with most...wish I could say it was Sakaki and Chiyo-chan, but nope. Yomi is very studious and serious; she's generally classified in the show as being second in smarts after Chiyo. She's tall, reasonably athletic and has a good shape, but is constantly worried about being fat (something she's relentlessly teased about by Tomo). She seems to me to be the Velma of the show, bright, quick on the uptake, but not as cool as Sakaki, as smart as Chiyo or as sporty as Kagura. I think this is a pretty typical stance for most students; not everyone can be the best at something. Being surrounded by talented and/or attractive peers can be devastating. But she holds herself well - she's strong and is the one who keeps everybody else balanced. Yomi's there to provide support and common sense when the others can't. She and Tomo have been together since the beginning of grade school, although you discover it's not necessarily because of friendship that they still interact. Tomo aggravates Yomi to no end with her skittish fantasies and ennui, but in the end, they're indulgent toward each other. It might be the glasses that make me identify so solidly with her.




TOMO

Tomo is described in the show as being the class wildcat idiot, which isn't too far off. She's the perfect expression of those people who are ruled by their chemistry, off-the-charts energy and twitchiness, lack of patience and focus. She too has a strong fantasy-life, invariably having dreams in which she is somehow better than everyone else. She's insanely competitive even though she excels at nothing. However, her energy lends itself to the others and can be infectious...and deep down, she is kind and can (rarely) have moments of insight. Tomo and Yomi are inextricably linked throughout the series, Tomo relentlessly teasing and aggravating; Yomi frustrated and angry. As I mentioned, we see an early version of Nyamo and Yukari in these two.

Tomo reminds me of almost all the boys in school: legs bobbing at 200 bobs a minute, shaking the desks with energy, joking, teasing, doing malicious things without really thinking about it because they're so bored or frustrated. Except, in an odd play on the type, not only is she a girl, but she likes to think of herself as a particularly cute girl as well. Her fantasies regularly showcase her in bikinis and haute couture, or better yet, as manga-style superheroes (and she seems to have a fixation on Lupin). Tomo is that jittery up-the-wall friend you always hoped you'd see on the playground because they always came up with the best games. And later, the friend who'd con you into going to a college frat party and leave without you.




KAGURA

Kagura is a later addition to the main cast - she's introduced early on, but you don't get to really meet her until the second year. Kagura is the physical type who's struggling in school. She excels at sports and is the best on the swim team - she feels strongly competitive with Sakaki, who beat her in a race the first year, and in fact is in the running with Sakaki for being the coolest girl in school (and also the one with the biggest chest). While they could have fallen completely for the "dumb jock" stereotype, the show manages to develop her character with those facets we miss when we slap labels around. Although I must admit one of my favorite moments is when she, Tomo and Osaka form the "Knuckleheads" to spite Yomi, who won't show them her schoolwork. They play the stupidity up a bit in that segment! Kagura is good-natured and means well, although this doesn't always work out to the advantage of everyone involved, as she has the empathy of a brick.





CHIYO

And finally we get to Chiyo-chan ^^ Chiyo could be said to be the main character...I feel she's far and away the eye of the show. Chiyo is a 10 year-old prodigy who's receiving higher schooling. She's mature for her age, and yet is still a little girl at heart. Ten is right on that cusp between jumping rope and your first menstrual cycle, and she's an excellent representation if this. Chiyo is a peace-maker and organizer. At times she's shown seeing her grade school friends in the street, and she feels the difference and mourns her childhood just a little. But she brushes herself off and realizes she's off to better - or at least different - things. Chiyo worries terribly about dragging her class down in some ways. She's hyper-aware of her small size and poor performance in sports. She looks at her grown friends and can't wait to grow up. Chiyo is the smartest in her class, and the most responsible. Her family is quite wealthy; the house is nearly a mansion. These things might work to a person's disadvantage, but Chiyo is a sparkling individual. She always sees the best in her friends, although at times her age doesn't allow her to see the bigger picture.

It is very touching how she worries that she and the others will grow apart after school is over. It reminds me of similar concerns as grade school moves to junior high; your classes are shuffled, another whole school of kids is mixed with the people you knew and your best friend is in a different lunch period. Times like this, one finds new friends and perhaps grows out of old. You're aware of the changes but can't help it. Circumstance. And certainly when high school ends and college begins, that's a true test of friendship. So her worries seem valid, but in the end, unnecessary.




KAWAII and NON-HUMAN CHARACTERS

There are other characters in the show nearly as important as the humans: Tadakichi-san, Chiyo's dog; Kamineko, the evil stray cat forever cutting Sakaki up; Nekokoneko, the absurdly cute kitten-on-cat plushie; and "Father", which is a very surreal addition to the show, a stuffed cat Sakaki dreams is Chiyo's father. He occurs quite randomly, more often than not floating through the background or shown as a stuffed toy on a shelf. These characters add a sense of the fantastic to the show (for instance, Kamineko bolting 100 miles per minute around an alley, Father inviting Sakaki in for tomatoes, or Tadakichi-san running across a field of multicolored clouds), and an opportunity for more development of the girls personalities (as Sakaki bonds with Tadakichi-san, or Chiyo throws her kawaii Nekokoneko towel over the fence to dry). Animals, live and stuffed, make up a huge portion of the show.




Boy oh boy, I've gone on too much - but this was a hard post to write. I could either create a concise summary of the show and feel I'd cheated you, or do what I've done, which is to go on ad nauseum about something other than Oshima ;) No matter how much I write, I don't feel it lends any strength to the show, which is plenty strong on its own. If you have a chance, watch it.

On an ending note, here's some group shots - these more than anything express the distinct and sometimes eccentric comeraderie of the characters:




Bye y'all! Until soon.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Nagisa Oshima brought me daisies.

I'm ruefully acquainting myself with Nagisa Oshima's filmography.

LACMA has been presenting the retrospective "In The Realm Of Oshima"...an amazing opportunity to see some very rare films. However, I must admit that watching ten films by Oshima in eight days (I missed three last week) has been brutal.

Today I've seen his "100 Years Of Japanese Cinema" and so must revise and review the blog entry I'd originally intended. There's no pretense to my having the writing skill a true movie reviewer would require; I have a passion for film, but it's scattered, erratic; my knowledge regarding Japanese film is thin ice, and my knowledge of Japanese history laughable. I can pretend to understand certain references, metaphors and allegories, but it's unlikely to be well-informed understanding. What you're getting here are responses from the belly, first impressions, immediate reactions.

I started with Boy, which at the time felt quite heavy to me. Little did I know it would almost seem a light-hearted romp compared to some of the other films. Oshima infuses the blackest humor, which I enjoy. And I can handle mind-numbing cynicism and critique of the social milieu. I might agree with him. He's taken ideas that I can feel in my gut, and expressed them so eloquently they're hard to deny. I don't agree with what he does to his female characters, but we'll come to that in the blow-by-blow.

So, in order of viewing:

Shonen aka Boy, 1969

Regarding Boy: a respected friend recommended it, stating it was one of his favorite films. I can see how it would be. It contains a melange of emotional detritus, real thought, not much in the way of sentimentality. [Perhaps this is what's difficult for me when watching these films: they are too real. People make bizarre decisions, sometimes amazingly cruel and whimsical. They base their actions on love or fidelity to family or an ideal, no matter how absurd or contrary. And sometimes they do things for no reason at all, hard bloody things, just to do them. Perhaps to feel, or perhaps because they're so numb they can't perceive consequence anymore. Vengeance is petty and violent, sympathy tends to be punished. Love is crushed under heel.] In Boy (based on a true story), he is torn between escaping (the "grandparents" fantasy always there in his head somewhere) and that familial feeling we all have, much more realistic, of "I dislike you, but I must care for you, you are family". It smacks of adult children who abuse invalid parents. So he returns to crooked and abusive parents who need him for their con, and who (supposedly) can't sustain themselves without him. The con consists of being "hit" by cars and forcing the perturbed motorists to settle in cash to avoid a lawsuit or arrest. He fakes the accidents (even though he is regularly injured in reality) and his parents collect the money. He feels some real love for his little brother, and those moments between the two are touching, and a surprising gift and respite. Oshima has a knack for subtle side-stories, like flash fiction. While walking the streets alone, Boy watches another young boy beaten and bullied by two teens in an alley; when he finally moves in to show sympathy, the beaten boy in turn throws him into the mud. Humiliation begets humiliation.




Taiyo no hakaba aka The Sun's Burial, 1960

The Sun's Burial is the film that laid out the true landscape of what I was in for. It shows you people numbed and crazed by slum living, their choices making no sense to anyone not existing there at that moment. It reminds me of books I've read on internment camp behavior, where empathy is annihilated and the survival instinct takes over. In this film, any vague kindness (you have to look for it) or show of mercy is viciously attacked and snuffed out. I want to call Hanako the main character. She's a young slum-dwelling prostitute running a scam. The film rotates around her actions which are seemingly mindless and vengeful...but it comes back to survival of the fittest. If the other people involved with her hadn't tried to pull cons of their own, essentially manipulating her - which is DEEPLY resented - things may not have occurred as they do. Or maybe it would have played out exactly the same way. She burns everything to the ground, a devastation of bitterness, jealousy and child-like wrath. Honestly, despite the despicable and demonic nature of Hanako, I see a ray of hope in her that I don't see in many of Oshima's other female characters. She at least gets up and frantically tries to claw her way out of the pit.




Nihon no yoru to kiri aka Night and Fog in Japan, 1960

Oh, this was a doozy, as idealism attacks idealism, layered with the personal goals and self-interest of the participants. This film reminded me of a discussion I had with someone regarding non-profits and personal interests: everyone has a goal, and it may not fit cleanly within the larger ideology. The film spews a dog's breakfast of misunderstandings, suspicions and dogma onto the screen, not to make you believe or understand them, but to point them out in glaring relief. They're highlighted with supreme pessimism. It's a seething mass of philosophies and social intrigues. As an aside, I first recognized Oshima's incredible faithfulness to a particular cast while watching this film (notably actors like Kei Sato, Atsuko Kaku and Rokko Toura). You see the same faces again and again...which can be good or bad, depending. It distracts somewhat, perhaps more-so when glutting yourself during an unhealthy binge as I've been doing. These films were never meant to be viewed so closely together.




Ai to kibo no machi aka A Town Of Love And Hope, 1959

No YouTube reults for this one, which is a shame. Much like Boy, it has a sympathetic resonance some of the other films deeply lack. Oshima chooses the subject of a poor family living in a bad area; the characters are good people with slightly warped ethics - warped only because they can't exist any other way. The mother is ill and can't work, so the son takes the homing pigeons she'd purchased for his mentally challenged younger sister and sells them on the street for food money...trusting the pigeons will return in a few days. He doesn't feel right doing this and neither does the mother. But needs must as the devil drives. The film winds up being a statement on naive social sympathies, and misunderstanding motivations. It also has those earmarks of "no one comes out happy in the end". The well-to-do girl who sympathizes with the boy has her innocent ideals dashed when she realizes he's pulling a con (albeit a very small con). The boy - because the deception is discovered - can get neither a good job, nor can he attend school as he has to take care of his mother. I believe the phrase "class alienation" is much-used in reviews. Yet it manages to maintain some hope at the end, regardless of the biting title. And as a side story adding despondent flavor, the mentally challenged sister likes to draw the dead animals she finds in their neighborhood. The drawings are memorable, and one in particular (of a contorted rat) seemed to draw a pitying gasp from the audience.


Gishiki aka The Ceremony, 1971

Right around here is when I seriously started having problems with Oshima. Not because I disliked it, per se, but because I couldn't possibly understand. Each review I've read refers to his disappointment with and criticism of post-war Japan - the Sakurada family being the representation. It was unfortunate that I watched the film solely at face value, but points to Oshima for making it work either way. Although it's a difficult trip without the uber-intellectual platform to stand on. This film takes a difficult family and places it in a new realm of epic insidiousness. All the philandering and warped youth, hopeless women, mental illness and violence...it happens regardless of war. WWII in this particular film is simply a catalyst for certain scenarios. It's a bitter view of familial relations (and of Japan, as it turns out). The grandfather's incessant adultery means he has children by nearly every woman attached to the family, so there are hints of incest as the children become attracted to each other. The film begins with a sour look at one of these relationships, and the rest of the film tracks this path loosely via flashbacks and vignettes. The end is not surprising; weakness and madness reign.




Three Resurrected Drunkards aka Kaette kita yopparai, 1968

Ok, I can't say enough about this film. I adored it from beginning to end. What this says about me, I'm not sure. Three students on a "last fling" from school visit the beach and have their clothes stolen, only to be replaced by Korean uniforms. Thus begins a whirlwind of misunderstandings and evasions. I was delighted to discover that the three charming young men in the film are the gents who perform the title music...three members of the Folk Crusaders, a Japanese psych-folk band. An interesting choice for Oshima, but brilliant. You care for them in that pat-pat-pat-let's-get-you-home-to-your-mum way. It is a quirky and humorous film. But still dark. They're mistaken for stowaway Koreans; the Koreans who stole their clothes need to kill the Japanese boys in their clothes to stop the ongoing search; the beautiful Korean girl who helps them has a boorish husband who whores her out to Korean stowaways. There's a fascinating documentarian scene where the boys walk down city streets asking people if they're Japanese and the bulk of answers are "No, I'm Korean". This movie was certainly taking a hard look at xenophobia, and has a hard end. There's also rampant references to Vietnam, and especially a focus on the South Vietnamese General Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Viet Cong officer with a shot to the head which is an infamous and incriminating picture from Vietnam, although it has come to light the execution may have been warranted. I've read several variants of the story. At the time Three Resurrected Drunkards was made, that photo was the seminal representation of things gone wrong. This film could be considered an excellent example as well; even when the boys are given their second chance (a little tongue-in-cheek, that), nothing turns out right. I've included two separate YouTube clips below...I liked it that much. I gather from The Auteurs site that not everyone is as enthralled as I.






Nihon shunka-kô aka Sing A Song Of Sex, 1967

Personally, I felt this film should have been shown first (it was part of a double-feature with Three Resurrected Drunkards). On the other hand, many people may have left before Drunkards and that would have been a crying shame. Sing A Song Of Sex is not only looking at alienated youth and oppressed sexuality, but again is making a strong statement about Japanese xenophobia and the history of post-war Japan. The final scene was amazing, as old Japan tries to speak and reason with new Japan. However, it's a hard film. How many times have I said that in this entry? I should count. Out of the ten I saw, this was the most difficult. The film "begins" with a senseless act. There's no thought or remorse. A decision is made and you never know why. Someone dies. And the rest of the film stems from there. It is chock-full of unexplained acts. But in reality it isn't as though people turn to you and give graphic explanations or rationales for why they do something. And I found that refreshing, although the actions taken in the film could be quite repulsive (rapes aplenty in this one, even if some are imagined). The boys move from typical teenage responses to a more sociopathic level. Oshima overlaps several concerns, including the Japanese-Korean relationship, a critical look at Japan's youth, and the shallow nod given by many to protest and idealism....I found the protest-parody scene to be vicously accurate.




Gohatto aka Taboo

What a visually stunning film, and a piece of cruel period erotica not to be missed. It includes a breathtaking score by Ryuichi Sakamoto. And, if you read the article linked above, I have an argument to make. Upon first viewing, you say to yourself "Huh?" - this isn't the Oshima I've come to expect (the latter part of this day's double-feature, The Catch, would more than make up for that). However, I have two points to make. One: while it seems as though he is in fact creating a movie of the type he once despised, look at it through Oshima's allegorical lens: he has taken his infamous rape scenes and moved them one rung higher. I quibble a bit about a young man prettier than a girl (played by the surreal-looking Ryuhei Matsuda) gaining the vengeance that I would have liked to see the earlier of Oshima's female characters get, but that is neither here nor there. To refocus, Two: it aggravates me when people expect a director to langorously clutch the same ideals for four decades. That would bore either him or everyone else. People grow and change, thank god. Regardless of whether you feel this is worthy of being an "Oshima" (as he becomes his own definition), it is a striking and worthy piece. As is sadly typical, a few people walked out during the sex scene. Whether it was because it was sex, or because it was anal sex between two men...I try not to judge other than to ask how you could possibly leave such a beautiful film. I'm also trying to decide if Oshima was having a little fun at our expense, as his years have indeed been filled with revealing the skittering undersides of rocks. That he is giving homosexuality that same level of taboo, as it were...and pointing his finger at us to say, "You idiots."




Shiiku aka The Catch

Ah well, couldn't find a video for this either. A shame. This was the last Oshima film I watched; it was presented about ten minutes after Taboo, and I haven't heard a worse grinding of mental gears in a long time. You're swooning from the intoxicating beauty and violence of Taboo, and suddenly watching a black American GI with his leg still in a trap being marched to a tiny isolated Japanese village. I must admit that this film was an excellent choice as the last of the series. It sums up so many of the qualities I've come to look for in Oshima's earlier work. It reminds me of Elevator to the Gallows for some reason, perhaps in a "things can only get worse" way. You can tell immediately that nothing good is going to happen to that soldier, as all the villagers' personal faults, flaws and scandals are blamed on him. He is considered an ill omen, bad luck. This is a dark scrutiny of mob mentality and the ease of rationalizing violence (which, come to think of it, has been another running theme). Oshima does not dwell on certain subjects as you'd expect in contemporary cinema - there's no long running shot of the soldier's festering leg, no weepy lingering hold on the still form of the child at the bottom of the cliff. I think more than anything, the director reviles sentimentality and wants no part of it. But he's a HUGE fan of manipulation.


Nagisa Oshima's 100 Years of Japanese Cinema

Technically, I'm breaking my own rule here and placing this outside of my personal chronology. I saw this before Taboo. However, it seems a fine way to wrap up this entry. Regarding 100 Years of Japanese Cinema, here is a good article (one in a series of four) entitled, "His Will On Film" written by Rob Nelson. Regardless of Oshima's take on the history of Japanese film, I would like to see every example in his documentary. And, in fact, found a site that has a complete or near-complete listing. During the film, he says quite clearly that Japan has been too dependent upon Japan, and that once they break free of those conventions, Japanese cinema will be allowed to evolve. And here's the point where I can relate this film back to comments made about Taboo. It was certainly this sort of statement which made people arch an eyebrow at samurai and cherry blossoms. There was a small uncomfortable laugh that ran through the audience when he states how he dislikes being associated with La Nouvelle Vague. More interesting still that LACMA has decided to pointedly have a celebration of Nouvelle Vague directors once the Oshima retro is completed. Clever on the part of the museum's film program coordinator, and hopefully it will create an intelligent and curious contrast.

“My hatred for Japanese cinema includes absolutely all of it."

Sunday, May 17, 2009

It may be small but I know how to use it.

I have a scanner with a very small bed. I've been unpacking books. While staring at mounds of cloth-bound this 'n that - my collection - the two separate subjects finally clicked.

So today, my tiny scanner presents to you an Old Chestnut. One of my earliest acquisitions and still one of my favorites. The book itself is interesting enough: the large 1894 published guide for New York at the World's Columbia Exposition (1893). Many fascinating presentations (I'm particularly fond of the epic-scaled obsessiveness with which the canned fruit was arranged, towering in a heap). Walls of wool, botanical gardens, inventions, an Iroquois longhouse and a woolly mammoth...but what caught my eye, in truth, was the following.

REPORT ON THE CHARITIES AND CORRECTIONS EXHIBIT: EXHIBIT CLASSED IN LIBERAL ARTS DEPARTMENT, BUT INSTALLED IN THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL BUILDING

A special effort was made by the exposition authorities to secure from all the States exhibits of the methods employed in their charitable, penal, correctional and reformatory institutions, and a special bureau was formed for that purpose in the liberal arts department. New York's board heartily supported the idea and obtained the co-operation of the State Board of Charities. The latter, under the personal supervision of their secretary, Dr. Charles S. Hoyt, prepared a systematic statement of the laws and conditions governing the work in New York, and tabulated charts of results obtained and developments noted, supplemented by models of the best institutions in the State. The Board of General Managers on their part defrayed all expenses connected with the exhibit. As a tangible and graphic representation of the results of many years of liberal expenditure of public money and of the labors of earnest, able and devoted men and women, it possessed a special interest for our own citizens and gave to visitors from other States and countries an impressive conception of the charitable munificence of New York. It is much to be regretted that the installation of the exhibit from New York was so poorly arranged by the exposition director in charge. Scattered about the Anthropological Building in several different places, in accordance with the exposition idea of a comparative exhibit by States and countries of similar subjects, the display lost a great deal of its impressiveness. The paucity of material rendered the "comparative" display in this department a total failure from a scientific standpoint, and the State displays suffered correspondingly in effect because of this fractional arrangement. Much of the confusion was probably due to the indifferent attitude of the exposition officials toward the liberal arts department in the construction period of the fair, and the very late date and consequent hurry in which the Anthropological Building was completed and the exhibits installed.

Among the most noteworthy exhibits from New York in this department were the Rochester Industrial School, containing a full representation of the studies pursued and work done in the institution; the model of the Elmira Reformatory; model of the Utica insane asylum; model of the Letchworth Poorhouse, and splendid series of forty-two statistical charts tabulating volumes of information.

The Letchworth Poorhouse especially attracted wide attention. It was designed by the Hon. Wm. P. Letchworth, of Buffalo, who has been for many years a member of the State Board of Charities, and has made poorhouse architecture a study for twenty years. The objects attained in the model are perfect sanitation, convenience and economy in administration, protection against fire, and a proper classification of the inmates according to their peculiar physical and mental condition, and a complete separation of the sexes. The model on exhibition provided for the accomodation of eighty persons. It is a matter of congratulation that the State was enabled to show a building which virtually represented the experience of the world, and will prove a model for similar instituions in this and other countries.

The following extract from the current annual report of the State Board of Charities will summarize the scope and character of the exhibit:

NEW YORK STATE CHARITABLE EXHIBIT AT THE WORLD'S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION

"At the request of the Managers of the State of New York at the World's Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago in 1893, this board prepared exhibits of the penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory work of the State, which were forwarded to Chicago early in the year, and assigned space in connection with similar exhibits from other States and countries at the exposition. These exhibits, in accordance with instructions issued by the bureau of charities and correction, approved by the director general of the exposition, then in course of preparation and referred to in the last annual report of the board, were as follows:

"1. A map of the State, designating in block characters the location of all its penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory institutions.

"2. A directory of the penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory institutions of this State, showing the object and the purposes of such instututions and their classification by county.

"3. A set of statistical charts, forty-two in number, relating to crime, pauperism, insanity, immigration, etc., with the annual expenditures therefor, and the value of the property of all kinds in the State, held for penal, charitable, correctional and reformatory purposes, October 1, 1892.

"4. A complete set of the annual and special reports of this board, with copies of circulars, blanks, forms, tables, etc., issued from time to time in the prosecution of its work.

"5. Photographic books or albums of various charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions of the State, with the history, objects and purposes, government and management, receipts and expenditures, and the number of beneficiaries of such institutions, prepared, at the request of the board, by their respective managers.

"6. A model of an approved plan for poorhouses, which special reference to separation of the sexes and classification of inmates, heating, lighting, ventilation and drainage, projected and designed by Commissioner Letchworth and constructed under his supervision and direction.

"In addition to these exhibits by this board, other exhibits were prepared by various charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions of the State and sent directly to the exposition, among which were the following: A model of the reformatory at Elmira; a model of a detached hospital building of the Utica State Hospital; a model of the hospital building of the State Custodial Asylum for Feeble-Minded Young Women at Newark, with numerous photographic views of the institution; a large collection of technological work, by the State Industrial School at Rochester; and photographic views of the buildings, plans, etc., of the Buffalo State Hospital at Buffalo, and the St. Lawrence State Hospital at Ogdensburg. The institutions for feeble-minded children, for the blind and the deaf, made their exhibits through their respective national associations for these classes; and, besides those above enumerated, numerous other charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions, societies and associations of the State prepared and forwarded exhibits, through various channels, and were given space at the exposition under the classification to which they respectively belonged.

" It will thus be seen that this State contributed largely to the penal, charitable, correctional and reformatory exhibit at this exposition, and it is believed that its display in this direction, both in the extent and variety of its subjects and the comprehensive and artistic manner in which they were presented, compared favorably with such exhibits by other States and countries, reflecting credit alike upon the State and its institutions. In an address upon the grounds of the exposition upon the occasion of 'New York Day,' his excellency, Governor Flower, referring to the various classes of exhibits by this State, spoke of its charitable exhibits as follows:

" 'The great work which New York State and its civil subdivisions do for the relief of pauperism, for the care of the insane and the education of the defective classes, has been demonstrated at this exposition as it has never been before. The whole range of activity of the charitable, orrectional and reformatory institutions of the State has been shown in a way which makes the subject clearer than volumes of reports would do. It is the boast of our christian civilization that it cares for those whom pagan civilization neglected. The private and public beneficence of New York transcends all limitations of sect or creed, and its graphic delineation here may well challenge the attention of the world.'

"These and other exhibits, the property of the State, have been returned to Albany, and are waiting legislative action for their proper care and proposed permanent exposition."

Me again. Being a native New Yorker, I find the above fascinating as I'm familiar with the institutions mentioned...at least some of them. My mind boggles a bit at phrases like the above comment on christianity and paganism. Now this may seem unfair, but of all the varied things they could present in full-page illustrative glory, they chose the "Kemmler" chair.



On the preceding page it states: "Kemmler" chair; first chair and apparatus used in the world to inflict the death penalty by electricity; first used at Auburn prison August 6, 1890, for the execution of Kemmler.

I mentioned this was an old chestnut, because there are a few potential readers out there who will recognize my incessant obsession with this device. I wish I could explain it; it is an interwovern guilt and shame, and a bamboozled perplexity regarding the decorative punched metal (tin?) seat. I wonder who made that seat. I wonder if Kemmler noticed it. Things like this bother me.



The extremely grim details of the execution can be found here: William Kemmler

Lucky you, more to come! Many books to pry open, many inscrutable and obtuse thoughts to delve.

"They would have done better using an axe."

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Disquieting pals.



Time before last that I was in the Painted desert in Arizona, I made a friend.

It was freezing cold that day...it had snowed during the night, and I was glum. Had so looked forward to the day and the sky was slate, the ground white, the air bitter. There was a diner down the road, and I decided to go get some breakfast (sure to upset my stomach), drink some coffee and wait it out. Lucky me: turned into one of the most gorgeous days I've experienced. The sky lit up like a god was playing with planet-sized flashlights back there behind the clouds...to prove this, divine rays seemed to emanate from the storm front. The temperature was as bitter as ever, and would stay that way throughout, but it lended a crystalline and clear element to the day. It maintained scrims of ice on the water, and patches of snow here and there. When I returned to the hotel that night, I'd notice my hands were frost-burned.

The drive through the Painted Desert is always amazing. There's a particular entrance you want to begin with (I want to say the Southern one), as there's a rise it's important you go over one way and not the other...the one direction provides an eye-widening vista. The other, you start within the vista, and there's no moment of epiphany. But I can't remember which, damn it. Logic decrees it was the Southern entrance, as I wanted to head out on the 40 afterward via the Northern exit.

As for my friend, he joined me about halfway in. The cold had kept all but the most cussed inside. It was just me, a few darling European boys (never quite divined the accents) and an elderly couple in the park, as far as I could tell. Amazing to have the view all to myself, or close enough as to not matter. The wind was so harsh, it pulled my hands. Many of my photos from this trip are askew; there wasn't any way to keep the camera level. At one point I took note of two hook-beaked hoary ravens cuddling up on a fence. They were amazing! And huge. They let me get abnormally close for a shot - I'm sure this is because of hundreds of tourists tossing crumbs each day. I was glad for the luck to see them and drove on.

A few miles down the road, I decided it was time for a snack. The day was wearing on me; it was hard to hike about in the chill and wind. I'd purchased something awful from the entrance store, Fritos or the like....but also still had a few biscuits left over from breakfast (I'd had them wrapped thinking I might need the carbs). I opened my door to swing my feet out and let crumbs fall where they might, when a dark form fluttered down next to me. A very large raven, as big if not bigger than the other two, sat there and peered at me. Or more specifically, at my biscuit. So I tossed him a quarter slice. He seemed to appreciate this, as he followed me from stop to stop for the next few miles. As I drove, he'd fly next to my window, and when I stopped, he'd land, looking for more biscuit.






Keep in mind it was me, the raven and nothing else. Just the howling wind and cliffs. I started to get a little spooked while at the same time charmed. I talked with him, egging him on, seeing if he'd continue to follow me (we pulled the whole "drive and fly" about five times). I'd throw some more biscuit occasionally. I chatted with him, laughing and asking about Coyote (I'd been reading trickster myths), asking what Odin was up to these days...and thinking to myself that he wouldn't mind one bit if I went careening off a cliff, giving him something a bit more toothsome than a biscuit to sink his beak into. Wasn't suffering from any illusions regarding his presence. He was hungry and I had food. Or could be food. I can't say I was unhappy when we finally parted ways. There's something amazing and beautiful about having all that space to yourself, but - much like when I lived in the Adirondacks - you always have that reality check in your head, the one that notes how easy it would be to become a smear on the side of the road, a lump at the bottom of a cliff...The Girl Who Was Bitten By A Rattlesnake In The Middle Of Nowhere...etc. A healthy dose of respect for Nature is required. And I nodded to the raven as he flew off.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Summer pastiche.

This past summer was possibly the worst I've experienced, and the best. It began with poor choices and ended with several choices whose effects have yet to be weighed. I was still traveling for work, staying in hotels predominantly. I'd left my roomie/friend of nearly 10 years to fend for himself, and had decided against getting another place. Problem being: there was a lull in between projects. Things became awkward. Luckily another friend had a house in the desert; he was rarely there and appreciated the house sitting. And so the summer began. I'd just come off a lovely run of desert trips, and had been working in Albuquerque for 4 months, driving back and forth between California and New Mexico. The first thing I did once back was go with my former roomie to Monterrey, driving up the 1 and seeing Big Sur along the way. Symbolically, this ended the project and began a time of depression and restlessness.

Depression and restlessness. It's a fine description. I was either frantically exercising (for two, sometimes three hours a day) or asleep on the couch. A bad sleep, a dull sleep, where you woke and your head hurt. I lived for e-mails and phone calls. The drive into LA ran 2-3 hours as well, and was hard...didn't want to drive all that to see friends and drive back home the same night. Hard. There were a few nights where I nearly went off the road for need of sleep and had to stop. Dangerous.

One night, mind numbed by this and that, I was driving back from the Starbucks via the main drag - everyone drove 40mph, despite the 30mph speed limit; an unwritten law. This time, someone walked into traffic (were they drunk?), and the car next to me going in the opposite direction ran them down, dead. The body flipped over the top of the SUV. It happened right next to my window, like a bad TV show. Shock, panic...stopped the car. By then a crowd had already surrounded the body, and I decided to go home. Numb. What could I tell the police that they weren't going to hear 500 times from other people? When I got home, called friend. Cried. Couldn't sleep. Eyes wide. Drank lots of water, upon advice of said friend. Heat oppressive. Air conditioning the same. I looked the next day but there was no news...I thought about going to the police station, but didn't.


The kitty next door was named Brewskie. A terrible name for a cat, but he was loved and seemed to think it was OK. He was grey and skinny, a good cat. Hiding in the desert plants, coming out for kibble...occasionally freaking me out by playing with black widows. He would follow me to the pool at night. I would always head out at dusk to swim for hours. A lovely older German woman would be swimming each night as well, and compliment me on my energy to which I had nothing to say. It's hard to explain that this time last year you were much heavier, slower, and still think of yourself that way. I became friends with her over time - she made some lovely artwork and had traveled everywhere. Her advice to me was to keep traveling and experience the world. She said with my smile I could get away with just about anything. Brewskie would sit by the pool and watch the laps for a while before he became bored and wandered off. But he'd always be there to greet me as I got back.

An amazing number of insects would gather at the pool. No WAY could you walk in bare feet out there. They were calling it the "Year of the Widow", black widows ran rampant everywhere. Huge; blood clot colored. They would hang upside down from their schizophrenic webs daring you to come closer. They crawled in the dirt at night, along with centipedes, solpugids, scorpions...a few solpugids got in the house and fucking terrified me. I'm an arachnid lover. I have voluntarily had many tarantulas in my home. But these are too alien. And fast. And strong! I couldn't comprehend them, and did little dances of fear when releasing them outside. One night I thought that I'd released one ON me, and adrenaline was pumping as I swirled around trying to find it. Haven't been that scared of anything in a while. Big lazy cockroaches, crickets and cicadas would find their way to the pool. One week, a wind storm blew in at 85-90mph....the next day the pool was filled with detritus. And with a bunch of mimic moths that looked like hornets. I forget what they're called. Was sorry to see them all floating there. But then cleaned the pool. Made a game of it for the day, diving for sticks and pine needles and shingles.

There was a gent who lived down the street, a Vietnam vet. He would come by the pool and chit-chat, and I think he was flirting in his own way. Very blunt discussions about functionality of equipment and the like. He liked to talk about his musicianship and also his guns. He made some comments about the war that I found abhorrent even after reading nearly everything abhorrent there was to read about it, seeing more than I needed to and knowing other vets. The day after the wind storm he came down and wondered what I was doing in the pool. I wondered too, even then. But the answer comes quickly enough. Cleaning the pool by hand kept me busy and preoccupied, thus keeping me from woolgathering and sitting in the house.

I would go to Palm Springs on occasion. It was sweltering, and had the delightful side attribute of being hellishly humid as well. Two minutes there and your shirt was stuck to you. Palm Springs seemed to mainly be inhabited by people with too much money and their spoiled idle children; a California tradition (I recently visited another town like this, north of San Diego). Lots of shops filled with expensive bric-a-brac. Little expensive cafes. A lot of Europeans in the area, so that helped a bit.

One day, sitting in the fly-filled Starbucks, an Italian man tried to become my sugar daddy. May I mention I don't look the part. He offered me money, wanted to take me out gambling, and get some food...the invoice was never mentioned. He started to say I should get a nice dress that showed my legs, a manicure...and so it began before it began. I went to lunch with him for amusement's sake (calling a friend first to let them know what I was doing and where I was going). At lunch he attempted to pay for a $20 meal with a hundred. He pulled about three grand out of his pocket, and I asked him if he was really that stupid. And such was the end of that short-lived friendship. I blocked his calls.

I liked to go to Trader Joe's and get their ginger soda - isn't it the best? Chill it and drink during the hot days while ripping LPs and EPs from my friends' collections. I'd purchased a USB turntable and was figuring out the Audigy program, soda sitting next to me, albums very carefully placed on other side away from potential mishap. Occasionally a random insect would make its way into the house...crickets mainly, with eardrum-shattering chirps made all the more loud by the immense silence of the desert. They'd hide in nooks and crannies that acted as megaphones; some nights I couldn't scare them out. At this point the insomnia started. My sleep, if I got any, became erratic. Up all night, sleep in the morning, exercise/swim, sleep again, go out at night for groceries, and then stare at the walls.

I became edgy and needed to get out more and more; traveled to Joshua Tree a few times, going in the pitch blackness of night, knowing I was asking for trouble but not getting it. I planned a trip to Arizona and New Mexico again, and had great fun. Although as the summer wore on, the need to have someone with me on these trips took away from the joy. At least a little. I'd dated someone very unsuitable the year before, and then fell for a line in the spring. I'd been involved with someone else, but they had too much fun disappearing and reappearing and it was becoming too painful to put up with. I was meeting other people who were real and liked me and confusion was running rampant. I would sit out on the cliffs at Malpais and wonder about my life and where it was heading...who might be in it and when. But luckily, many of the places I visit are so mind-blowingly gorgeous, this bullshit didn't take up all my time.

The summer wore on. I was slimmer and tanned, muscled...I'd gotten my hair chopped and was quite pleased. Was becoming a very confident traveler. Listened to new music every day and enjoying a delightful ongoing conversation and project with a friend overseas. On the other hand, I couldn't sleep. I would linger for hours not doing anything, no motivation to do more than stare at the floor, the sink, the tub. Started taking a lot of baths. I hadn't resolved the other relationship, which was tearing me up. I'd do the backstroke in the pool staring at the stars and wonder what had happened, where exactly I had misstepped and driven him off. This alternated with new love interests and friends, and wondering about them. Or just thinking about travel and where I might like to go. Those were good nights, when I imagined this grassy plain or that island. Around 11pm, I would stop my swim, pet Brewskie and head inside...maybe write an e-mail or find more music. No word yet from work about the next project.

Shazbott Kat died sometime during the summer. I'd felt great guilt about farming my cats out to friends, originally believing I was good for the responsibility of a cat's life. She died in Yucaipa, with loving friends....found her under a bush with her mouth full of dirt. She reeked of rosemary. Was she eating it? What happened? Will never know. But that was a long drive, and even longer coming back, everything smelling of rosemary. She had fans around the world and was missed. When I arrived at the veterinarian's, I pretended I wasn't upset for the benefit of the other patrons. No need to upset anyone. Was difficult under this pretext to get the assistant to understand what I needed. Would have been comical if circumstances were different.

I went out and watched the Perseid meteor shower in early August, which was one of the best moments of my life. I tried to call a friend, but they were away. Hard to share something like that over the phone anyway. So I hung up the cell and stared at all the flashes and blurs above me. I plan on going again this year, hopefully with a telescope. Joshua Tree was more than adequate stomping grounds for amateur astronomers. Was there for hours until my eyes started to hurt from the strain...and stayed a bit past that.

A few weeks before the LA project (had finally gotten word) I was driving back from LA to the desert. People drive very fast out there and so do I. This night, on a stretch of nothing leading nowhere, someone in a black car doing about 90mph didn't see me in their rear view mirror and was going to hit me. So instead, I hit the guardrail. I never got their license plate, and they never stopped. I was lucky - so lucky - for being unhurt. I laughed when I realized my laptop was really in my lap, that everything in the car had flown forward in a blur during the collision. The car still drove, although I wondered if I should move it. But was so tired, and so done in by the summer, I just wanted to get home. Drove back. My door wouldn't open. Whole left side smashed in. I called the insurance company. Looked at my car, and wept a bit. This being the final memorable event before leaving.

The summer was hot, depressing, meandering, sleepless. It introduced me to many new people, a few who've become some of the more important people in my life. It signaled the end of a love affair that shouldn't have happened. It flickered the potential for other affairs. I walked away stronger, healthier..perhaps not happier, but not unhappy either. There were many extremes on both sides. The recession means that half the houses there are for sale or abandoned now. The artist who's work hung next to mine in the desert house died of an OD while I was in London. My former lover wants no part of me. Brewskie cat was found dead the other day. Poison, they think. There are beginnings and ends.

You would think this was all bad, but I'm realizing that it's an ongoing play. At this point I neither applaud nor boo, I simply wait for the next act.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Swine flu boogaloo and the H1N1 shuffle.

So...I can’t believe we actually know who Patient Zero is. I almost could say I’m not beyond the here-and-now and not overly worried (yet a little caution is always wise) about H1N1, but this has presented itself as a fucking fabulous example of how quickly information can travel. Especially considering the fact I can track the exact numbers of people with confirmed cases of swine flu all over the damned world, and that we know who little Edgar is (the youngling listed as the possible source of this strain). Regardless of the issues inherent in statistics - and especially in the focus on one terribly neotonous child - it’s mind-boggling to me. There’s been much noise about how the internet has made this scenario more than it is; that “back in the day” (LOVE that phrase) we wouldn’t have cared as we wouldn’t have known. "Back in the day" we may not have even known that influenza existed. It is a reasonably recent discovery. This hearkens back to what is becoming the apocryphal 1918 Spanish flu comparison, when they really had no fucking clue what was happening and were racing against time (and a phenomenal number of deaths amongst healthcare workers/researchers) to discover a vaccine...once they even figured out that was an option. My point being: how amazing that we can track disease so thoroughly as to seemingly annihilate it before it gets a foothold. “Seemingly” being used because that isn’t how the flu works. But hey, maybe it isn’t highly contagious, maybe it won’t jump and maybe we won’t all be unhappy for one-three random miserable weeks sometime this year.