The Trial of the Chicago 7 and the Oeuvre of Aaron Sorkin: An Assessment by Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast (#89)

In lieu of an Oscars episode, the Pret­ty Much Pop pod­cast this week con­sid­ers one of the nom­i­nat­ed films, The Tri­al of the Chica­go 7, and the career of its writer/director, Aaron Sorkin, which start­ed with A Few Good Men through four TV series (most notably The West Wing), and films like The Social Net­work, Steve Jobs, and Mol­ly’s Game.

Your hosts Bri­an Hirt, Eri­ca Spyres, and Mark Lin­sen­may­er con­sid­er Sork­in’s stock recur­ring char­ac­ters and their polit­i­cal dia­tribes, plots often based on true events, and how his writ­ing cre­ates dra­ma. Do we feel uplift­ed or vague­ly dirty after a Sorkin bath? It’s great to have char­ac­ters that aren’t stu­pid, but are they actu­al­ly smart or just designed to seem that way? Are the devi­a­tions from fact just good use of dra­mat­ic license or pos­i­tive­ly harm­ful? We touch on vir­tu­al­ly all of Sork­in’s pro­duc­tions (well, except for the plays; he actu­al­ly con­sid­ers him­self native­ly a play­wright) and still have ener­gy for a few Oscars mus­ings and reflec­tions about includ­ing real loca­tions or news events in fic­tion.

Here are some arti­cles we used to pre­pare our­selves:

Hear more of this pod­cast at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

The Decay of Cinema: Susan Sontag, Martin Scorsese & Their Lamentations on the Decline of Cinema Explored in a New Video Essay

This deep into the coro­n­avirus pan­dem­ic, how many cinephiles haven’t yet got word of the bank­rupt­cy or shut­ter­ing of a favorite movie the­ater? Though the coro­n­avirus has­n’t quite killed film­go­ing dead — at least not every­where in the world — the cul­ture of cin­e­ma itself had been show­ing signs of ill health long before any of us had heard the words “social dis­tanc­ing.” The pre­vi­ous plague, in the view of Mar­tin Scors­ese, was the Hol­ly­wood super­hero-fran­chise block­buster. “That’s not cin­e­ma,” the auteur-cinephile told Empire mag­a­zine in 2019. “Hon­est­ly, the clos­est I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the cir­cum­stances, is theme parks.”

This past March, Scors­ese pub­lished an essay in Harp­er’s called “Il Mae­stro.” Osten­si­bly a reflec­tion on the work of Fed­eri­co Felli­ni, it also pays trib­ute to Fellini’s hey­day, when on any giv­en night in New York a young movie fan could find him­self torn between screen­ings of the likes of La Dolce Vita, François Truf­faut’s Shoot the Piano Play­er, Andrzej Waj­da’s Ash­es and Dia­monds, John Cas­savetes’ Shad­ows, and the work of oth­er mas­ters besides. This was ear­ly in the time when, as New York­er crit­ic Antho­ny Lane puts it, “adven­tur­ous moviego­ing was part of the agreed cul­tur­al duty, when the duty itself was more of a trip than a drag, and when a review­er could, in the inter­ests of cross-ref­er­ence, men­tion the names ‘Drey­er’ or ‘Vigo’ with­out being accused of sim­ply drop­ping them for show.”

Alas, writes Scors­ese, today the art of cin­e­ma today is “sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly deval­ued, side­lined, demeaned, and reduced to its low­est com­mon denom­i­na­tor, ‘con­tent.’ ” Video essay­ist Daniel Simp­son of Eye­brow Cin­e­ma calls this lament “more than an artist rail­ing against a busi­ness­man­’s ter­mi­nol­o­gy, but a yearn­ing for a time when movies used to be spe­cial in and of them­selves, not just as an exten­sion of a stream­ing ser­vice.” In “The Decay of Cin­e­ma,” Simp­son con­nects this cri de cinephilic coeur by the man who direct­ed Taxi Dri­ver and Good­Fel­las to a 25-year-old New York Times opin­ion piece by Susan Son­tag. A mid­cen­tu­ry-style film devo­tee if ever there was one, Son­tag mourns “the con­vic­tion that cin­e­ma was an art unlike any oth­er: quin­tes­sen­tial­ly mod­ern; dis­tinc­tive­ly acces­si­ble; poet­ic and mys­te­ri­ous and erot­ic and moral — all at the same time.”

Some may object to Son­tag’s claim that tru­ly great films had become “vio­la­tions of the norms and prac­tices that now gov­ern movie mak­ing every­where.” Just two weeks after her piece ran, Simp­son points out, the Coen broth­ers’ Far­go opened; soon to come were acclaimed pic­tures by Mike Leigh and Lars von Tri­er, and the next few years would see the emer­gence of Wes Ander­son and Paul Thomas Ander­son both. But what of today’s mas­ter­pieces, like Chung Mong-hong’s A Sun? Though released before the hav­oc of COVID-19, it has nev­er­the­less — “with­out a fran­chise, rock-star celebri­ties, or an ele­va­tor-pitch high con­cept” — lan­guished on Net­flix. And as for an event of such seem­ing­ly enor­mous cin­e­mat­ic import as the com­ple­tion of Orson Welles’ The Oth­er Side of the Wind three decades after his death, the result wound up “sim­ply dumped on the plat­form with every­thing else.”

In a time like this, when the many stuck at home have few options besides stream­ing ser­vices, one hes­i­tates to accuse Net­flix of killing either cin­e­ma or cinephil­ia. And yet Simp­son sees a con­sid­er­able dif­fer­ence between being a cinephile and being a “user,” a label that sug­gests “a cus­tomer to be sati­at­ed” (if not an addict to be grant­ed a fix of his habit-form­ing com­mod­i­ty). “There’s only one prob­lem with home cin­e­ma,” writes Lane. “It doesn’t exist.” Choice “pret­ty much defines our sta­tus as con­sumers, and has long been an unques­tioned tenet of the cap­i­tal­ist feast, but in fact carte blanche is no way to run a cul­tur­al life (or any kind of life, for that mat­ter).” If we con­tin­ue to do our view­ing in algo­rithm-padded iso­la­tion, we sur­ren­der what Simp­son describes as “the human con­nec­tion to the film expe­ri­ence” — one of the things that, when all the social dis­tanc­ing ends, even for­mer­ly casu­al movie­go­ers may find them­selves des­per­ate­ly crav­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Susan Sontag’s 50 Favorite Films (and Her Own Cin­e­mat­ic Cre­ations)

Mar­tin Scors­ese Explains the Dif­fer­ence Between Cin­e­ma and Movies

Mar­tin Scors­ese on How “Diver­si­ty Guar­an­tees Our Cul­tur­al Sur­vival,” in Film and Every­thing Else

Watch the New Trail­er for Orson Welles’ Lost Film, The Oth­er Side of the Wind: A Glimpse of Footage from the Final­ly Com­plet­ed Film

This Is Your Kids’ Brains on Inter­net Algo­rithms: A Chill­ing Case Study Shows What’s Wrong with the Inter­net Today

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Story of Stalker, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Troubled (and Even Deadly) Sci-Fi Masterpiece

Andrei Tarkovsky is a pop­u­lar film­mak­er. This will come as a sur­prise to those who know the Sovi­et mas­ter most­ly by his rep­u­ta­tion as a mak­er of movies so poet­ic, seri­ous, and delib­er­ate of pace that they alter their view­ers’ rela­tion­ship to time itself. Yet Stalk­er, which ranks among his very most poet­ic, seri­ous, and delib­er­ate works, was, as of the record­ing of the video essay above by Youtu­ber Cin­e­maTyler, the most streamed movie on the Cri­te­ri­on Chan­nel. Not only that, but the essay itself, Stalk­er (1979): The Sci-Fi Mas­ter­piece That Killed Its Direc­tor,” has as of this writ­ing racked up more than 1.6 mil­lion views.

As Cin­e­maTyler’s most-seen episode, this Stalk­er exe­ge­sis out­ranks in pop­u­lar­i­ty his analy­ses of clas­sics like Blade Run­nerNorth by North­west, and Mon­ty Python and the Holy Grail. It has also drawn more view­ers than his many videos on the work of Stan­ley Kubrick, from The Shin­ing and 2001: A Space Odyssey to Bar­ry Lyn­don and A Clock­work Orange. But for an auteur enthu­si­ast of his kind, one can hard­ly begin dis­cussing Kubrick with­out bring­ing up Tarkovsky, and vice ver­sa. Some points of com­par­i­son are more obvi­ous than oth­ers: Cin­e­maTyler men­tions Tarkovsky’s low opin­ion of 2001, which played a part in shap­ing the stark­ly dif­fer­ent look and feel of his own first sci­ence-fic­tion pic­ture Solaris.

There’s also a ref­er­ence to “Kubrick/Tarkovsky,” a video essay pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture that cat­a­logs the sub­tler visu­al res­o­nances between their films. “Kubrick is one side of the brain,” as Cin­e­maTyler puts it, “and Tarkovsky the oth­er.” As much as they have in com­mon on a deep­er lev­el, on the sur­face Kubrick and Tarkovsky’s oeu­vres both oppose and com­ple­ment each oth­er. While Kubrick worked only in gen­res, Tarkovsky most­ly eschewed them: Stalk­er, which came out sev­en years after Solaris, pulls sci-fi almost unrec­og­niz­ably far into his own aes­thet­ic ter­ri­to­ry.

This thrust Tarkovsky and his col­lab­o­ra­tors into their most ardu­ous film­mak­ing effort yet: they had to exe­cute com­pli­cat­ed setups in real indus­tri­al waste­lands, make sev­er­al changes of cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er, and even shoot the entire movie twice after prob­lems with the ini­tial film stock. Cin­e­maTyler recounts these dif­fi­cul­ties and oth­ers, not ignor­ing the wide­ly held sus­pi­cion that these poi­so­nous loca­tions ulti­mate­ly caused the deaths of sev­er­al of its cre­ators, includ­ing Tarkovsky him­self. Kubrick­’s shoots were also noto­ri­ous­ly dif­fi­cult, of course, but none demand­ed quite the sac­ri­fice Stalk­er did — and arguably, none pro­duced quite an inex­plic­a­bly com­pelling a cin­e­mat­ic expe­ri­ence.

You can pick up a copy of Stalk­er on Blu-ray.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online: Watch the Films of Andrei Tarkovsky, Arguably the Most Respect­ed Film­mak­er of All Time

Slavoj Žižek Explains the Artistry of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Films: Solaris, Stalk­er & More

“Kubrick/Tarkovsky”: A Video Essay Explores the Visu­al Sim­i­lar­i­ties Between the Two “Cin­e­mat­ic Giants”

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Mas­ter­piece Stalk­er Gets Adapt­ed into a Video Game

Tarkovsky’s Advice to Young Film­mak­ers: Sac­ri­fice Your­self for Cin­e­ma

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The World of Wong Kar-Wai: How the Films of Hong Kong’s Most Acclaimed Auteur Have Stayed Thrilling

I’ve just seen the future of cin­e­ma.” So declared the Amer­i­can film crit­ic Peter Brunette after stum­bling, “still dazed,” from a screen­ing at the 1995 Toron­to Inter­na­tion­al Film fes­ti­val. “Oh,” replied TIFF Ciné­math­èque pro­gram­mer (and respect­ed author­i­ty on Asian cin­e­ma) James Quandt. “You’re just com­ing from the Wong Kar-wai film?” Brunette includes this sto­ry in his mono­graph on Wong’s work, which was pub­lished in 2005. At that point, his pic­tures like Days of Being WildChungk­ing Express, and In the Mood for Love had already torn through glob­al film cul­ture, inspir­ing cinephiles and film­mak­ers alike to believe that an intox­i­cat­ing range of cin­e­mat­ic pos­si­bil­i­ties still lay unex­plored.

What’s more, they seemed to do it all of a sud­den, hav­ing come out of nowhere. Of course, they came out of some­where: Hong Kong, to be pre­cise, a small but dense­ly pop­u­lat­ed and eco­nom­i­cal­ly mighty soon-to-be-for­mer-colony whose dis­tinc­tive cul­tur­al and indus­tri­al mix­ture pro­duced a kind of moder­ni­ty at once famil­iar and alien to behold­ers around the world.

Or at least it felt that way to those behold­ing it through Wong Kar-wai movies, which cre­at­ed their very own aes­thet­ic world with­in the con­text of Hong Kong. That “neon-drenched” world in which “lone­ly souls drift around, des­per­ate­ly try­ing to make a mean­ing­ful con­nec­tion, no mat­ter how fleet­ing,” is the sub­ject of the new BFI video essay at the top of the post.

As a part of Hong Kong’s “sec­ond new wave,” Wong found his cin­e­mat­ic voice by telling “high­ly atmos­pher­ic sto­ries of restrained pas­sion, using daz­zling visu­als, mem­o­rable songs, and uncon­ven­tion­al nar­ra­tives,” all the while “push­ing the bound­aries of Hong Kong genre cin­e­ma to cre­ate some­thing fresh and inven­tive.” The West got its first big dose of it in 1994 through Chungk­ing Express, whose world­wide release owed in part to the enthu­si­asm of Quentin Taran­ti­no. In the clip above Taran­ti­no does some enthus­ing about it and the rest of Wong’s oeu­vre up to that point, which “has all that same ener­gy that Hong Kong tends to bring to its cin­e­ma, but he’s also tak­ing a cue from the French New Wave” — and espe­cial­ly Jean-Luc Godard, who showed how to “take genre pieces and break the rules.”

None of Wong’s films has made as much of an impact as 2000’s In the Mood for Love, the tale of a man and woman brought togeth­er — though not all the way togeth­er — by the fact that their spous­es are cheat­ing on them with each oth­er. Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as the Nerd­writer, ana­lyzes the movie’s pow­er in the video essay “Frames with­in Frames.” Watch­ing it, he says, “you can’t help but feel that you’re in the hands of some­body in com­plete con­trol.” By restrict­ing his cin­e­mat­ic lan­guage, Wong “echoes the restric­tion of action that plagues Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan in 1960s Hong Kong.” The recent 20th-anniver­sary restora­tion of In the Mood for Love and those of Wong’s oth­er work are even now being screened around the globe. Hav­ing caught one such screen­ing just last night, I feel like I’ve seen the future of cin­e­ma again.

Note: The Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion now offers a Wong Kar-wai box set that fea­tures sev­en blu-rays, includ­ing 4k dig­i­tal restora­tions of Chungk­ing Express, In the Mood for Love, Hap­py Togeth­er and more. Find it here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Best 100 Movies of the 21st Cen­tu­ry (So Far) Named by 177 Film Crit­ics

Jean-Luc Godard’s Breath­less: How World War II Changed Cin­e­ma & Helped Cre­ate the French New Wave

How the French New Wave Changed Cin­e­ma: A Video Intro­duc­tion to the Films of Godard, Truf­faut & Their Fel­low Rule-Break­ers

The Secret of the “Per­fect Mon­tage” at the Heart of Par­a­site, the Kore­an Film Now Sweep­ing World Cin­e­ma

Quentin Taran­ti­no Picks the 12 Best Films of All Time; Watch Two of His Favorites Free Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Why Do Wes Anderson Movies Look Like That?

The dom­i­nant form of Hol­ly­wood and/or main­stream film­mak­ing has been real­ism, the sense that even in our wildest fan­ta­sy, sci-fi, and super­hero films there’s still an attempt to hide the cam­era, the crew, and the light­ing, and that what we’re see­ing just *is*, that noth­ing has been con­struct­ed for us. Despite the tricks that edit­ing and non-diegetic sound (music, etc.) play on us, we are still will­ing to believe that we are see­ing a thing that hap­pened.

There’s very few film­mak­ers that explic­it­ly resist this and still make pop­u­lar and suc­cess­ful Hol­ly­wood films, and Wes Ander­son is one of them. Hence the above video essay from Thomas Flight, who recent­ly vis­it­ed Anderson’s films to pull out the more eso­teric of his ref­er­ences.

Flight’s the­sis runs thus­ly. Ander­son chose to use real fur on the stop-motion pup­pets in the Fan­tas­tic Mr. Fox not despite the hair mov­ing from the ani­ma­tors’ hands’ manip­u­la­tion, but *because* of it. Show­ing the fin­ger­prints as it were of the cre­ators with­in the film itself is a con­stant styl­is­tic choice in his cin­e­ma, and one that is also reflect­ed in his use of flat, dio­ra­ma-like frames. This is what crit­ic Matt Zoller Seitz, who has writ­ten sev­er­al beau­ti­ful cof­fee table books on Wes Ander­son, calls Plani­met­ric Com­po­si­tion. But it’s also there in the titles, use of the­ater cur­tains, of the numer­ous sto­ry­book and com­ic book ref­er­ences that shape Anderson’s work.

This is not new of course, if you fol­low any writ­ing on Ander­son. It’s a key to under­stand­ing his aes­thet­ic. But Flight goes fur­ther to ask why. Why con­struct some­thing so arti­fi­cial and risk alien­at­ing audi­ences?

Flight comes to the point: it’s a risk worth tak­ing. It’s a moment in childhood—he com­pares it to a par­ent read­ing a bed­time sto­ry. A par­ent is present, often the focus of the child’s atten­tion (there might not even be a book) but at the same time so is the sto­ry. Words unfold in speech and also unfold in a child’s mind. Both exist in the same space, the arti­fi­cial and the real.

So many Ander­son films unfold like storybooks—we often see a hard­back book with the same title in the film itself, or in the case of The Grand Budapest Hotel, a series of sto­ries and books, all nes­tled inside each oth­er. Flight doesn’t make the com­par­i­son, but it is worth doing so: Anderson’s films are like epis­to­lary nov­els of the 19th cen­tu­ry, such as Franken­stein or Wuther­ing Heights, sto­ries with­in let­ters with­in sto­ries.

But here’s the inter­est­ing part: when Ander­son has a moment of height­ened emo­tion in his films, where char­ac­ters let down their guard and speak from the heart, the direc­tor will give us the clas­sic real­ist shot/reverse shot. It’s fleet­ing but it’s there.

And that works exact­ly because Ander­son holds off on reveal­ing it to us until that one moment. The sto­ry­teller knows it’s spe­cial and knows we’re going to find it spe­cial. At a time when the auteur the­o­ry is under attack from crit­ics on one side and the cap­i­tal­ist machine, it’s good to know there’s a direc­tor like Ander­son who doesn’t give us what we want, but gives us what we so sore­ly need.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wes Anderson’s Shorts Films & Com­mer­cials: A Playlist of 8 Short Ander­son­ian Works

A Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Wes Ander­son Video Essays

Wes Ander­son Releas­es the Offi­cial Trail­er for His New Film, The French Dis­patch: Watch It Online

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

On “Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar” and the Female Buddy Comedy–Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #87

The bud­dy com­e­dy is a sta­ple of Amer­i­can film, but using this to explore female friend­ship is still fresh ground. Eri­ca, Mark, Bri­an, and Eri­ca’s long-time friend Mic­ah Greene (actor and nurse) dis­cuss tropes and dynam­ics with­in this kind of film, focus­ing pri­mar­i­ly on Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar, the 2021 release writ­ten and star­ring Kristin Wiig and Annie Mumo­lo as a cou­ple of mid­dle aged near-twin odd­balls expand­ing their hori­zons in a sur­re­al­is­tic, gag-filled trop­i­cal venue.

While male pair­ings of this sort (Cheech and Chong, Bob and Doug McKen­zie, Beav­is and Butthead et al) stick to sil­ly jokes, Barb and Star base their antics around their evolv­ing rela­tion­ship toward each oth­er. As with the 2019 film Books­mart and many TV shows includ­ing Dead to Me, PEN15, and Grace and Frankie, the trend is toward dram­e­dy as the dynam­ics of friend­ship are tak­en seri­ous­ly. We also touch on Brides­maids, Sis­ters, The Heat, BAPS, I Love You Man, and more.

A few rel­e­vant arti­cles:

Hear more of this pod­cast at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

What Andrei Tarkovsky’s Most Notorious Scene Tells Us About Time During the Pandemic: A Video Essay

In his films, Andrei Tarkovsky shows us things no oth­er auteur does: an unbro­ken eight-minute shot, for exam­ple, of a man slow­ly walk­ing a lit can­dle across an emp­ty pool, start­ing over again when­ev­er the flame goes out. One of the best-known (or at least most often men­tioned) sequences in the Russ­ian mas­ter’s oeu­vre, it comes from Nos­tal­ghia, a late pic­ture made dur­ing his final, exiled years in Italy. Some cite it as an exam­ple of all that’s wrong with Tarkovsky’s cin­e­ma; oth­ers as an exam­ple of all that’s right with it. But both the crit­i­cism and the praise are root­ed in the direc­tor’s height­ened sen­si­tiv­i­ty to and delib­er­ate use of time — a resource about which we’ve all come to feel dif­fer­ent­ly after a year of glob­al pan­dem­ic.

“Our sense of time dur­ing the pan­dem­ic was just as warped as our sense of space,” says Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as the Nerd­writer, in his new video essay above, a fol­low-up to his pre­vi­ous explo­ration of how lock­downs turned cities around the world into de Chiri­co paint­ings.

At first, “time felt simul­ta­ne­ous­ly slow and fast: hours dragged on at a snail’s pace, but weeks flew by. 2020 seemed end­less while it was hap­pen­ing, but in ret­ro­spect it feels brief, short­er than a nor­mal year.” But even under “nor­mal” con­di­tions, it holds true that “the more atten­tion we give to time, the slow­er it feels.” And when we think back to our past expe­ri­ences, “the more we can remem­ber in a giv­en peri­od expands our sense of its length.”

Watch­ing Nos­tal­ghia’s can­dle-in-the-pool scene, “you become aware of the odd encounter you’re hav­ing with time itself. You can feel the tex­ture of it, its pres­ence, as if time were not only a con­cept, but a sub­stance, stretch­ing out in front of you, expand­ing and con­tract­ing with every breath. It’s beyond inter­est, beyond bore­dom.” Unlike most film­mak­ers, Tarkovsky does­n’t manip­u­late time to keep us on a pre-laid emo­tion­al track, but to make us aware of our own move­ment through it. “It’ll be the same for the pan­dem­ic,” says Puschak. “There are some rhythms we’ll be eager to get back to, and oth­ers, now that we’ve expe­ri­enced their absence, we’ll be eager to leave behind.” Right now, we’d do well to ques­tion the new forms of nos­tal­gia that have beset us. Or we could use the time still on our hands to hold Tarkovsky ret­ro­spec­tives of our own.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online: Watch the Films of Andrei Tarkovsky, Arguably the Most Respect­ed Film­mak­er of All Time

The Poet­ic Har­mo­ny of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Film­mak­ing: A Video Essay

“Auteur in Space”: A Video Essay on How Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris Tran­scends Sci­ence Fic­tion

Andrei Tarkovsky Answers the Essen­tial Ques­tions: What is Art & the Mean­ing of Life?

When Our World Became a de Chiri­co Paint­ing: How the Avant-Garde Painter Fore­saw the Emp­ty City Streets of 2020

Why Time Seems to Speed Up as We Get Old­er: What the Research Says

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch the Classic Silent Film The Ten Commandments (1923) with a New Score by Steve Berlin (Los Lobos), Steven Drozd (Flaming Lips) & Scott Amendola

For Passover 2021, the cul­ture non­prof­it Reboot has released “a mod­ern day score to Cecil B. Demille’s 1923 clas­sic silent film The Ten Com­mand­ments with Steve Berlin (Los Lobos), Steven Drozd (Flam­ing Lips) and Scott Amen­dola.”

Reboot writes: “Berlin, Drozd and Amen­dola cre­at­ed a momen­tous new score for the Exo­dus tale, musi­cal­ly fol­low­ing Moses out of Egypt and into the Dessert where he receives the Ten Com­mand­ments. Cecil B. DeMille’s first attempt at telling the Ten Com­mand­ments sto­ry was in the Silent era year of 1923. The film [now in the pub­lic domain] is bro­ken up into two sto­ries: the sto­ry of the Jew­ish Exo­dus from Egypt and a thin­ly relat­ed ‘present day’ melo­dra­ma.”

Enjoy it all above.

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via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Film, The Golem, with a Sound­track by The Pix­ies’ Black Fran­cis

Pub­lic Domain Day Is Final­ly Here!: Copy­right­ed Works Have Entered the Pub­lic Domain Today for the First Time in 21 Years

Radiohead’s Thom Yorke Per­forms Songs from His New Sound­track for the Hor­ror Film, Sus­piria

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