Peter Greenaway Looks at the Day Cinema Died — and What Comes Next

Cin­e­ma went into its death throes on Sep­tem­ber 31, 1983. The instru­ment of its demise? The video remote con­trol. When the “zap­per” endowed the view­er with the abil­i­ty to play, pause, stop, fast-for­ward, and rewind at will, the medi­um’s artists lost their absolute con­trol over the rhythm, dura­tion, and oth­er chrono­log­i­cal sub­tleties of the cin­e­mat­ic expe­ri­ence. Or so film­mak­er Peter Green­away claims in this lec­ture at UC Berke­ley. Any­one fan enough to read all the inter­views the direc­tor has grant­ed — and I count myself in the group — will by now be famil­iar with, even weary of, Green­away’s ideas about cin­e­ma’s tech­ni­cal and eco­nom­ic strait­jack­et­ing, its arbi­trary aes­thet­ic bound­aries, and its squan­dered poten­tial as a free­stand­ing art form. Nowhere else, though, does he explain and elab­o­rate upon these ideas in such detail, or in such an enter­tain­ing­ly ora­tor­i­cal man­ner.

“The death of cin­e­ma,” though? Real­ly? Know­ing how dra­mat­ic that sounds, Green­away frames what’s hap­pened in anoth­er way: per­haps cin­e­ma has yet to be born. What if the last cen­tu­ry or so has offered only the pro­logue to cin­e­ma, and mod­ern film­mak­ers must take it upon them­selves to bring the real thing into the world? These may strike you as the thoughts of a crack­pot, and maybe they are, but watch and lis­ten as Green­away recounts the stunt­ed devel­op­ment of the art form in which he works. We’ve grown so accus­tomed to the lim­i­ta­tions of cin­e­ma, so his argu­ment goes, that we don’t even feel the pres­sure of the “four tyran­nies” that have lord­ed over it since the begin­ning: the frame, the text, the actor, and the cam­era. Even if you loathe Green­away’s films, can you help ask­ing your­self whether the rarely ques­tioned dom­i­nance of an elite class of essen­tial­ly the­atri­cal per­form­ers, fol­low­ing tex­tu­al­ly con­ceived instruc­tions, viewed from one per­spec­tive at a time through a sim­ple rec­tan­gle, holds the movies back?

Since his fea­ture-length debut The Falls in 1980, Green­away has strug­gled against what he sees as the bar­ri­ers put up by cin­e­ma’s unhealthy entan­gle­ment with the nar­ra­tive-dri­ven forms of the­ater and lit­er­a­ture. Trained orig­i­nal­ly as a painter, he won­ders explic­it­ly in pub­lic and implic­it­ly through his work why films can’t enjoy the same free­dom to explore the cre­ative space at their dis­pos­al that paint­ings do. All his pic­tures, even the best-known like The Draughts­man­’s Con­tract; The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover; and 8½ Women, use set­tings, actors, images, words, and sounds like col­ors on a palette, apply­ing them with infini­tude of strokes, cre­at­ing a whole from which no one ele­ment can be eas­i­ly sep­a­rat­ed. In this lec­ture, Green­away mar­shals footage from his projects con­duct­ed even far­ther out at the medi­um’s edge: his trans­for­ma­tion of an actu­al Ital­ian palace into one big non-nar­ra­tive film, his col­lab­o­ra­tions with avant-garde com­pos­er David Lang, and, of course, his VJ-ing ses­sions.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Dar­win, A 1993 Film by Peter Green­away

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The David Foster Wallace Audio Archive: A Little Gift For the Novelist’s 50th Birthday

When we fea­tured David Fos­ter Wal­lace’s big, uncut inter­view yes­ter­day, one impor­tant detail escaped us — the fact that the nov­el­ist would have turned 50 years old today. Kind of a stun­ning thought, espe­cial­ly if you vivid­ly remem­ber the wun­derkind tak­ing the lit­er­ary world by storm with Infi­nite Jest in 1996. Seems like only yes­ter­day.

To cel­e­brate his 50th, we’re high­light­ing for you The David Fos­ter Wal­lace Audio Project — a site that brings togeth­er most of the mean­ing­ful DFW audio avail­able on the web. Built in 2009 by Jor­dyn Bonds and Ryan Walsh, a short while after the nov­el­ist com­mit­ted sui­cide, the audio site is divid­ed into four sec­tions:

As you sift through the col­lec­tion, you will find 70+ clips, includ­ing a seg­ment of DFW’s 2005 com­mence­ment speech at Keny­on Col­lege, his first and sec­ond appear­ances on the Char­lie Rose Show, his read­ing from “Con­sid­er the Lob­ster” at UCLA, and the author con­tem­plat­ing the play of Roger Fed­er­er. Dive into the full col­lec­tion here.

Animated: Robert Johnson’s Classic Blues Tune Me and the Devil Blues


Last year, we fea­tured a slick ani­ma­tion of Cross Road Blues by the leg­endary blues­man Robert John­son. This morn­ing, one of our Twit­ter friends high­light­ed for us a 2007 ani­ma­tion of John­son’s Me and the Dev­il Blues, cre­at­ed by Dutch artist Ineke Goes. Record­ed in 1937 in only two takes, the song (find the lyrics here) helped cement the leg­end of the blues­man. Accord­ing to the old tale, John­son made a Faus­t­ian bar­gain with the dev­il, sell­ing his soul in exchange for bound­less musi­cal tal­ent. And that he had. But, of course, the dev­il even­tu­al­ly demands his pay­back. John­son died in 1938.

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David Foster Wallace: The Big, Uncut Interview (2003)

In 2003, an inter­view­er from Ger­man pub­lic tele­vi­sion sta­tion ZDF sat down with nov­el­ist David Fos­ter Wal­lace in a hotel room. The ensu­ing con­ver­sa­tion, whose raw, unedit­ed 84 min­utes (find links to the com­plete inter­view below) made it to the inter­net after Wal­lace’s sui­cide, remains the most direct, expan­sive, and dis­arm­ing­ly rough-hewn media treat­ment of his themes, his per­son­al­i­ty, and the fas­ci­nat­ing (if at times chill­ing) feed­back loop between them.

You can also expe­ri­ence this con­ver­sa­tion in short, the­mat­i­cal­ly orga­nized clips; above, we have “David Fos­ter Wal­lace on Polit­i­cal Think­ing in Amer­i­ca.” Wal­lace express­es his con­cerns about the strong influ­ence of tele­vi­sion ads on elec­tions, which means, he says, “we get can­di­dates who are behold­en to large donors and become, in some ways, cor­rupt, which dis­gusts the vot­ers, makes them even less inter­est­ed in pol­i­tics, less will­ing to read and do the work of cit­i­zen­ship.” This he sees cou­pled with an indi­vid­u­al­is­tic mar­ket­ing cul­ture which stokes “that feel­ing of hav­ing to obey every impulse and grat­i­fy every desire” — “a strange kind of slav­ery.”

But as his pained, self-ques­tion­ing expres­sion reveals — espe­cial­ly when it retreats into strange­ly endear­ing post-answer cringes — Wal­lace did not believe he pos­sessed the cure for, or even a pre­cise­ly accu­rate diag­no­sis of, a sick soci­ety. Offer­ing social crit­i­cism at a vast remove from the avun­cu­lar con­dem­na­tion of a Noam Chom­sky or the raised mid­dle fin­ger of a Bill Hicks, Wal­lace dis­cuss­es his fears through a nov­el­ist’s con­scious­ness that longs to, as he explains the desire else­where in the inter­view, “jump over the wall of self and inhab­it some­one else.” When the inter­view­er tells him about her peers’ frus­tra­tion at feel­ing edu­cat­ed but “not being able to do any­thing with it,” Wal­lace puts him­self in the mind of stu­dents who go from study­ing “the lib­er­al arts: phi­los­o­phy, clas­si­cal stuff, lan­guages, all very much about the nobil­i­ty of the human spir­it and broad­en­ing the mind” to “a spe­cial­ized school to learn how to sue peo­ple or to fig­ure out how to write copy that will make peo­ple buy a cer­tain kind of SUV” to “jobs that are finan­cial­ly reward­ing, but don’t have any­thing to do with what they got taught — and per­sua­sive­ly taught — was impor­tant and worth­while.”

Under­neath Wal­lace’s respons­es rush­es a cur­rent of the ques­tions his writ­ing leads read­ers to think — and think hard — about: How far has enter­tain­ment evolved toward pure anes­thet­ic? Can we still sep­a­rate our needs from our wants, if we try? Has post-Gen X irony made us not just col­lec­tive­ly inef­fec­tu­al but that much eas­i­er to sell things to? Can we ever again use terms like “cit­i­zen­ship” with­out instinc­tive­ly sneer­ing at our­selves? To the David Fos­ter Wal­lace novice, these clips make for a help­ful the­mat­ic primer, but the full record­ing (see below) will there­after become required view­ing. The inter­view brims with the kind of asides that make it feel like a page from the note­book of one of Wal­lace’s own favorite lit­er­ary crafts­men, Jorge Luis Borges. Wal­lace won­ders aloud how much of what he says will get edit­ed out, if he can dis­cuss his all-con­sum­ing sus­pi­cion that “there’s some­thing real­ly good on anoth­er chan­nel and I’m miss­ing it” while he’s actu­al­ly on tele­vi­sion, and how to talk to the media about how dif­fi­cult it is to talk to the media while pre­tend­ing you don’t know you’re talk­ing to the media. As he admits after unpack­ing one par­tic­u­lar­ly dif­fi­cult issue, “It’s all… com­pli­cat­ed.”

The com­plete inter­view can be viewed right above.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Remembering John Glenn’s Historic Space Flight, 50 Years Ago Today

On this day a half cen­tu­ry ago, Mer­cury Astro­naut John Glenn became the first Amer­i­can to orbit the Earth. On the morn­ing of Feb­ru­ary 20, 1962, an anx­ious nation watched as Glenn climbed into his cramped Friend­ship 7 space cap­sule and was pro­pelled by an Atlas 6 rock­et high above the atmos­phere. He cir­cled the Earth three times before re-enter­ing the atmos­phere and splash­ing down in the Atlantic Ocean. As the vet­er­an space pro­gram reporter John Noble Wil­ford wrote last week in The New York Times, “Per­haps no oth­er spaceflight–all 4 hours, 55 min­utes and 23 sec­onds of it–has been fol­lowed by so many with such par­a­lyz­ing appre­hen­sion.”

You can get a sense of the dra­ma and excite­ment of that day by watch­ing the news­reel above, and by read­ing Wil­ford’s inter­est­ing piece in the Times. Also, NASA has put togeth­er an inter­ac­tive online fea­ture on the mis­sion. At a time when Amer­i­ca’s manned space pro­gram depends on Russ­ian space­craft to car­ry astro­nauts to and from the Inter­na­tion­al Space Sta­tion, it’s all the more poignant to look back on the day 50 years ago when Glenn became, as writer Tom Wolfe put it, “the last true nation­al hero Amer­i­ca has ever had.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“First Orbit”: Cel­e­brat­ing 50th Anniver­sary of Yuri Gagaran’s Space Flight

How the Great George Carlin Showed Louis CK the Way to Success (NSFW)

There’s prob­a­bly not a standup come­di­an big­ger than Louis CK right now. His FX tele­vi­sion show, Louie, earned him two Emmy Award nom­i­na­tions in 2011, and his recent com­e­dy spe­cial, Live at the Bea­con The­ater, made his­to­ry when CK dis­trib­uted the show via the web (not HBO) and net­ted $1,000,000 in sales in a mat­ter of days.

Louis CK is rid­ing a good wave. But times weren’t always so easy. Back in 2010, CK spoke at a trib­ute to George Car­lin (host­ed at the ven­er­a­ble New York Pub­lic Library) and revis­it­ed his ear­ly days in the pro­fes­sion. For years — actu­al­ly 15 long years — CK per­formed the same old act and spun his wheels. Then he looked to Car­lin and turned his career around. As you might expect, the sto­ry is laced with some pro­fan­i­ty. (Come on, it’s Louis CK talk­ing about George Car­lin!) But, when you strip the lan­guage away, you get a good life les­son. Per­se­ver­ance counts. But so does per­spec­tive, get­ting the right per­spec­tive.

Louis CK’s talk appears above. You can find the full Car­lin trib­ute here. And don’t miss a very relat­ed video where Car­lin describes the turn­ing point in his own life — the moment when he learned “not to give a shit” and his com­ic genius came into full bloom.

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Bertrand Russell’s ABC of Relativity: The Classic Introduction to Einstein (Free Audio)

“Every­body knows that Ein­stein did some­thing aston­ish­ing,” writes Bertrand Rus­sell in the open­ing pas­sage of ABC of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty, “but very few peo­ple know exact­ly what it was. It is gen­er­al­ly rec­og­nized that he rev­o­lu­tion­ized our con­cep­tion of the phys­i­cal world, but the new con­cep­tions are wrapped up in math­e­mat­i­cal tech­ni­cal­i­ties. It is true that there are innu­mer­able pop­u­lar accounts of the the­o­ry of rel­a­tiv­i­ty, but they gen­er­al­ly cease to be intel­li­gi­ble just at the point where they begin to say some­thing impor­tant.”

Eighty-sev­en years after it was writ­ten, ABC of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty still stands as one of the most intel­li­gi­ble intro­duc­tions to Albert Ein­stein’s the­o­ries. Rus­sell wrote the book in 1925 as a com­pan­ion to his ear­li­er vol­ume, ABC of Atoms. The project of writ­ing books for a gen­er­al read­er­ship was born of neces­si­ty. Rus­sell had no aca­d­e­m­ic appoint­ment, and need­ed the mon­ey. But as Peter Clark explains in his intro­duc­tion to the Rout­ledge fifth edi­tion to ABC of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty, the ear­ly 1920s were also a time when Rus­sell was becom­ing increas­ing­ly pre­oc­cu­pied with social and polit­i­cal issues. He believed that many of the social ills of the peri­od, includ­ing the rise of nation­al­ism, were con­se­quences of a wide­spread and entrenched irra­tional­i­ty, born of igno­rance and a lack of edu­ca­tion. Writes Clark:

It was cer­tain­ly a hero­ic peri­od in Rus­sel­l’s life, when he earnest­ly believed that the sort of blind unthink­ing prejudice–which he con­ceived to be fun­da­men­tal­ly respon­si­ble for the hor­rors of the First World War–could be tran­scend­ed by the dis­sem­i­na­tion of knowl­edge and the exer­cise in crit­i­cal rea­son­ing pow­er by all class­es of soci­ety. His huge out­put in this peri­od was designed to bring with­in, as far as pos­si­ble, every­one’s grasp the free­dom of thought and action which knowl­edge and learn­ing brings. That spir­it of enlight­en­ment cer­tain­ly per­vades the ABC of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty.

Thanks to UbuWeb, you can lis­ten to an abridged audio ver­sion of ABC of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty online. The book is read by Eng­lish actor Derek Jaco­bi (who also starred in the film we fea­tured last week on Alan Tur­ing: Break­ing the Code). Jaco­bi reads one of the lat­er edi­tions of ABC of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty. In 1959, and again in 1969, Rus­sell con­sent­ed to revi­sions by physi­cist Felix Pirani. Chap­ter 11 was rewrit­ten by Pirani to incor­po­rate the expan­sion of the uni­verse, which was­n’t announced by Edwin Hub­ble until four years after the first edi­tion of Rus­sel­l’s book. The one trou­bling thing about the text, as it now stands, is that Pirani did­n’t lim­it him­self to the revi­sions made under Rus­sel­l’s super­vi­sion. He made more changes in 1985, fif­teen years after Rus­sel­l’s death.

Here is the audio book, divid­ed into chap­ters:

  1. Touch and Sight: The Earth and the Heav­ens
  2. What Hap­pens and What is Observed
  3. The Veloc­i­ty of Light
  4. Clocks and Foot-rules
  5. Space-Time
  6. The Spe­cial The­o­ry of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty
  7. Inter­vals in Space-Time
  8. Ein­stein’s Law of Grav­i­ta­tion
  9. Proofs of Ein­stein’s Law of Grav­i­ta­tion
  10. Mass, Momen­tum, Ener­gy, and Action
  11. The Expand­ing Uni­verse
  12. Con­ven­tions and Nat­ur­al Laws
  13. The Abo­li­tion of ‘Force’
  14. What is Mat­ter?
  15. Philo­soph­i­cal Con­se­quences

Stel­lar cours­es focus­ing on Ein­stein’s physics can also be found in our big col­lec­tion of Free Cours­es Online. Just scroll down to the Physics sec­tion.

The audio text list­ed above also appears in our list of Free Audio Books.

Name That Movie: 26 Films in One Animated Minute

Evan Seitz cre­at­ed this one-minute ani­ma­tion in which each let­ter of the alpha­bet rep­re­sents a famous movie. How many can you name? The answers have been shared on Buz­zfeed and The High Def­i­nite.

Don’t miss our col­lec­tion of 450 Free Movies Online, which includes many great clas­sics, indies, doc­u­men­taries, noir films and more.

By pro­fes­sion, Matthias Rasch­er teach­es Eng­lish and His­to­ry at a High School in north­ern Bavaria, Ger­many. In his free time he scours the web for good links and posts the best finds on Twit­ter.

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