Inside Breaking Bad: Watch Conan O’Brien’s Extended Interview with the Show’s Cast and Creator

“The Mad Men col­lec­tion at Banana Repub­lic is okay,” joked a com­e­dy-writer friend of mine, “but the Break­ing Bad col­lec­tion at TJ Maxx is to die for.” A fan­tas­tic line, for sure — though I would argue that Banana Repub­lic’s Mad Men col­lec­tion is not, in fact, okay — and one that high­lights just how wide a spec­trum of sen­si­bil­i­ty and set­ting this new wave of crit­i­cal­ly acclaimed cable tele­vi­sion offers us. Over the past half-decade, these two dra­mas, Mad Men set in the ear­ly six­ties’ high-fly­ing adver­tis­ing indus­try and Break­ing Bad set on the con­tem­po­rary New Mex­i­can meth-cook­ing scene, have togeth­er drawn the lion’s share of this acclaim. What’s more, they’ve both done it on AMC, the chan­nel whose pre­vi­ous ser­vice con­sist­ed pri­mar­i­ly of Audrey Hep­burn movies, served to your great aunt. Sure, maybe you’d expect from them a peri­od series some­thing like Mad Men. But the grit­ti­er, more trou­bling Break­ing Bad? How did all involved pull it off?

In the hour-long video above, the astute inves­ti­ga­tor known as Conan O’Brien leads a pan­el dis­cus­sion about the show fea­tur­ing, among sev­er­al oth­ers, cre­ator Vince Gilli­gan and star Bryan Cranston. From his web series Seri­ous Jib­ber-Jab­ber, on which he’s held in-depth con­ver­sa­tions with the likes of his­to­ri­an Edmund Mor­ris and sta­tis­ti­cian Nate Sil­ver, we’ve learned that Conan can do long-form inter­views and get answers to the impor­tant ques­tions. Here we have the impor­tant ques­tion — not least, nat­u­ral­ly, to AMC itself — of how Break­ing Bad became, in the words of var­i­ous crit­ics, a “taut exer­cise in with­held dis­as­ter,” a “feel-good show about feel­ing real­ly bad,” a “superla­tive­ly fresh metaphor for a mid­dle-age cri­sis” and a “com­bi­na­tion of stag­ger­ing and trans­fix­ing weird­ness” that “ele­vates the artis­tic achieve­ments of the medi­um,” ulti­mate­ly becom­ing “one of tele­vi­sion’s finest dra­mat­ic accom­plish­ments.” If these words strike you as hyper­bol­ic, watch the com­pi­la­tion just above that pro­files the long-term trans­for­ma­tion of Bryan Cranston’s pro­tag­o­nist Wal­ter White. Then you’ll want to watch the series, which ends this sum­mer, and add some words of your own.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Physics of Mosh Pits at Heavy Metal Concerts (Explained by Cornell Grad Students)

Speak­ing at the Amer­i­can Phys­i­cal Soci­ety last month, Matthew Bier­baum, a Cor­nell grad stu­dent, pre­sent­ed a talk called “Col­lec­tive Motion at Heavy Met­al Con­certs,” where he made the case that physics is every­where, even in a mosh pit at a heavy met­al show. Along with three oth­er Cor­nell researchers, Bier­baum has ana­lyzed and mod­eled the col­lec­tive motions of mosh­ers in var­i­ous YouTube con­cert videos (like the one below) and dis­cov­ered that “dancers col­lide with each oth­er ran­dom­ly and at a dis­tri­b­u­tion of speeds that resem­bles par­ti­cles in a two-dimen­sion­al gas,” writes Lau­ren Wolfe in Chem­i­cal & Engi­neer­ing News.

To try and under­stand what’s hap­pen­ing in mosh pits, the researchers used a flock­ing-based sim­u­la­tion that helps “mod­el liv­ing beings as sim­ple par­ti­cles, reduc­ing com­plex behav­ioral dynam­ics to a few basic rules,” says Itai Cohen, the head of the research team. From this study, the Cor­nell team hopes to learn more about how seem­ing­ly chaot­ic crowds behave, and how smarter exit routes and evac­u­a­tion strate­gies can be designed.

You can learn more about their research by perus­ing the team’s pub­lished paper “Col­lec­tive Motion of Mosh­ers at Heavy Met­al Con­certs” or by watch­ing Bier­baum’s afore­men­tioned pre­sen­ta­tion in the grainy video below below.

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Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Physics of Cof­fee Rings Final­ly Explained

Physics from Hell: How Dante’s Infer­no Inspired Galileo’s Physics

Michio Kaku Explains the Physics Behind Absolute­ly Every­thing

The Physics of the Bike

Free Physics Cours­es Online

Kurt Cobain’s Isolated Vocal Track From ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit,’ 1991

In 1991, Nir­vana’s Nev­er­mind album explod­ed into main­stream pop­u­lar cul­ture like–as one writer describes it– “a grenade det­o­nat­ing in your car radio.” The album, and the Seat­tle-based grunge rock move­ment it emerged from, was like a boost­er shot of 70s punk atti­tude into heavy met­al, sweep­ing away the hedo­nism and van­i­ty of 80s bands like Qui­et Riot and Möt­ley Crüe. The song that epit­o­mized the new atti­tude, for many, was the open­ing track of Nev­er­mind, “Smells Like Teen Spir­it,” with its explo­sive expres­sion of youth­ful alien­ation:

With the lights out, it’s less dan­ger­ous
Here we are now, enter­tain us
I feel stu­pid and con­ta­gious
Here we are now, enter­tain us

The line “Here we are now, enter­tain us” was a joke Nir­vana’s gui­tarist and singer Kurt Cobain liked to call out to break the ice when­ev­er he would arrive at a par­ty. “A lot of times,” Cobain told Rolling Stone in a 1994 inter­view, “when you’re stand­ing around with peo­ple in a room, it’s real­ly bor­ing and uncom­fort­able. So it was ‘Well, here we are, enter­tain us.’ ”

The title of the song was tak­en from some­thing his friend Kath­leen Han­na, lead singer of Biki­ni Kill, had spray paint­ed across his wall: “Kurt Smells Like Teen Spir­it.” Han­na meant that Cobain smelled like Teen Spir­it, a brand of deodor­ant worn by his girl­friend, but Cobain claimed not to know that until much lat­er. Instead, he saw irony and rebel­lion.

You can hear Cobain’s iso­lat­ed vocal track from “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” above.  The song was record­ed at Sound City stu­dios in Van Nuys, Cal­i­for­nia in May of 1991. The band report­ed­ly chose the sec­ond of three takes. The extreme dynam­ics of the performance–soft to loud, apa­thy to rage–were inspired by the music of the Pix­ies. To watch a video of Nir­vana try­ing out an ear­ly ver­sion of “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” before an audi­ence at Seat­tle’s OK Hotel a month before the song was record­ed, see Josh Jones’s Decem­ber post, “The First Live Per­for­mance of Nir­vana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spir­it’ (1991).”

via That Eric Alper

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith’s Cov­er of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” Strips the Song Down to its Heart

Nirvana’s Home Videos: An Inti­mate Look at the Band’s Life Away From the Spot­light (1988)

The Pix­ies “Acoustic Ses­sions”: See the Alt-Rock Stars Rehearse for the 2005 New­port Folk Fes­ti­val

Watch Them Watch Us: A History of Breaking the “Fourth Wall” in Film

Remem­ber that scene in Nashville, when Kei­th Car­ra­dine sings “I’m Easy,” and every woman in the club thinks he’s speak­ing direct­ly to her?

Break­ing the fourth wall—also known as direct address—can have the same effect on a film­go­ing audi­ence. The com­pi­la­tion video above makes it clear that actors love it too. Break­ing from con­ven­tion can tele­graph an unim­peach­able cool, à la John Cusack in High Fideli­ty, or afford a vet­er­an scenery chew­er like Samuel L. Jack­son the oppor­tu­ni­ty to turn the hog loose. It’s most often deployed in the ser­vice of com­e­dy, but a stone-cold killer can make the audi­ence com­plic­it with a wink.

Screen­writer and jour­nal­ist Leigh Singer pulled footage from 54 films for this mash up, and freely admits that time con­straints left some favorites on the cut­ting room floor. What would you add, if you hap­pened to have Mar­shall McLuhan right here?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Artist Rob­bie Cooper’s Video Project Immer­sion Stares Back at Gamers and YouTu­bers

The Film Before the Film: An Intro­duc­tion to the His­to­ry of Title Sequences in 10 Min­utes

Sig­na­ture Shots from the Films of Stan­ley Kubrick: One-Point Per­spec­tive

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is that rare Gen­er­a­tion X‑er who did­n’t see Fer­ris Bueller’s Day Off until 2013. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The Power of Food in Quentin Tarantino’s Films

Few liv­ing film­mak­ers have proven as able to spin their obses­sions into cin­e­mat­ic gold as Quentin Taran­ti­no. The most obvi­ous of these spring from film­go­ing itself — he’s rein­vent­ed and con­tin­ues to rein­vent so many of his favorite tech­niques from genre pic­tures of all eras and nations — but it does­n’t take an obses­sion with Taran­ti­no to find oth­ers. His sweep­ing, often motor­mouthed­ly expressed ideas about vio­lence in mod­ern soci­ety will give film schol­ars plen­ty to write about for decades to come; those of baser inter­ests might find some sat­is­fac­tion track­ing the direc­tor’s pen­chant for shots of wom­en’s feet. And any­one who thrilled, ear­ly in Pulp Fic­tion, to John Tra­vol­ta and Samuel Jack­son’s con­ver­sa­tion about what the French call a Quar­ter Pounder with cheese knows that he also must main­tain a deep per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al inter­est in food.

Fur­ther­ing this very spe­cif­ic sub­field of Quentin Taran­ti­no Stud­ies, Dan Good­baum has edit­ed togeth­er the video above, which com­piles images from notable food scenes in Taran­ti­no’s work. (Grant­land’s Zach Dionne cat­a­logued twen­ty of them here.) Over it, we hear a seg­ment from Elvis Mitchell inter­view­ing Taran­ti­no on his radio show, The Treat­ment. Mitchell, ace noticer of his film­mak­ing guests’ themes, tricks, and tics, men­tions to Taran­ti­no “how food is used for pow­er in your movies.” We then see and hear about the mean­ing of, among oth­er comestibles, the burg­er in Pulp Fic­tion, the nachos in Death Proof, the rice in Kill Bill Vol­ume 2 , the strudel in Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds, and all the sweets (tak­en from Leonar­do DiCapri­o’s real eat­ing habits) in Djan­go Unchained. “When you watch Jack­ie Brown,” Taran­ti­no says, “you want a screw­driv­er.” We see a shot of the drink, albeit dom­i­nat­ed by Patri­cia Arquet­te’s feet. But that’s anoth­er video.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wes Ander­son from Above. Quentin Taran­ti­no from Below

The Best of Quentin Taran­ti­no: Cel­e­brat­ing the Director’s 50th Birth­day with our Favorite Videos

My Best Friend’s Birth­day, Quentin Tarantino’s 1987 Debut Film

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Lady Lazarus: Watch an Experimental Film Spoken by Sylvia Plath

Dying
Is an art, like every­thing else.
I do it excep­tion­al­ly well.

These three terse lines—with their offhand­ed­ly mor­bid bravado—may be the most remem­bered from Sylvia Plath’s body of work. The stan­za pops out of the cen­ter of Plath’s “Lady Lazarus,” a poem Helen Vendler once called “a tantrum of style.” Like many of the poems from Plath’s late peri­od, “Lady Lazarus” is play­ful­ly per­verse, alter­nate­ly shock­ing read­ers with grotesque imagery and invit­ing them to dis­miss the speak­er with abrupt shifts into insou­ciant melo­dra­ma. It is an unset­tling per­for­mance, not least because of Plath’s iden­ti­fi­ca­tion of her own sui­cide attempts with the suf­fer­ings of Holo­caust vic­tims. Plath intro­duced the poem quite mat­ter-of-fact­ly:

The speak­er is a woman who has the great and ter­ri­ble gift of being reborn. The only trou­ble is she has to die first. She is the phoenix.… She is also just a good, plain, very resource­ful woman.

Fifty-two years after the pub­li­ca­tion of Ariel—the col­lec­tion that appeared two years after her suicide—Plath’s final poems have lost none of their men­ace. And there was per­haps no one bet­ter suit­ed to imag­ine their haunt­ed psy­chic land­scapes on the screen than exper­i­men­tal fem­i­nist film­mak­er San­dra Lahire, who was com­plet­ing a doc­tor­al dis­ser­ta­tion on Plath before her own death in 2001.

In her 1991 film Lady Lazarus, Lahire takes audio of Plath read­ing from “Cut,” “Dad­dy,” “Lady Lazarus,” “Ariel,” “Oui­ja,” as well as excerpts from a 1962 inter­view. Mix­ing images of Plath’s obses­sions (oui­ja boards, hors­es, vio­lent self-harm) with pho­tographs of the poet and her work, the film delves deeply into an exis­tence that Plath her­self, in a voice-over inter­view, calls “liv­ing on air.” Lehire describes the film as

a visu­al­ly woven response to Sylvia Plath’s own read­ings of her poet­ry… which cel­e­brates her macabre humour and cin­e­mat­ic vision. A carousel of images in win­dows, an atmos­phere of con­stant meta­mor­pho­sis; her poet­ry as cin­e­ma.

Lady Lazarus is the first in a tril­o­gy of Plath films called Liv­ing on Air that Lahire shot over a peri­od of nine years. It was fol­lowed by In Night Dances in 1995 and John­ny Pan­ic in 1999.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

On 50th Anniver­sary of Sylvia Plath’s Death, Hear Her Read ‘Lady Lazarus’

Sylvia Plath Reads “Dad­dy”

Anne Sex­ton, Con­fes­sion­al Poet, Reads “Want­i­ng to Die” in Omi­nous 1966 Video

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Richard Feynman Introduces the World to Nanotechnology with Two Seminal Lectures (1959 & 1984)

In Decem­ber of 1959, Richard Feyn­man gave a talk called “There’s Plen­ty of Room at the Bot­tom” at an annu­al meet­ing of the Amer­i­can Phys­i­cal Soci­ety at Cal­tech. In this famous lec­ture, Feyn­man laid the con­cep­tu­al foun­da­tions for the field now called nan­otech­nol­o­gy when he imag­ined a day when things could be minia­tur­ized — when huge amounts of infor­ma­tion could be encod­ed onto increas­ing­ly small spaces, and when machin­ery could be made con­sid­er­ably small­er and more com­pact. He asked his audi­ence:

I don’t know how to do this on a small scale in a prac­ti­cal way, but I do know that com­put­ing machines are very large; they fill rooms. Why can’t we make them very small, make them of lit­tle wires, lit­tle ele­ments, and by lit­tle, I mean lit­tle?

Although some have ques­tioned the degree to which Feyn­man influ­enced the rise of nan­otech­nol­o­gy, his lec­ture is still seen as a sem­i­nal event in the short his­to­ry of the nano field. It’s impor­tant enough that, 25 years lat­er, Feyn­man was invit­ed to give an updat­ed ver­sion of “There’s Plen­ty of Room at the Bot­tom” at a week­long sem­i­nar held at the Esalen Insti­tute in Octo­ber, 1984.

This time around, he called his talk “Tiny Machines.” And while stick­ing close to the 1959 script, Feyn­man’s revised lec­ture shows what tech­no­log­i­cal advances had been made since he first out­lined his vision for a nano world. You can watch the full 79 minute talk above.

Final­ly, since we’re talk­ing about things nano, let me leave you with this — Stephen Fry’s 2010 primer on nanoscience. Pro­duced in part­ner­ship with Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty, NANO YOU was named the best short film at the Scin­e­ma Sci­ence Film Fes­ti­val and it does a pret­ty good job of explain­ing the nano world in 17 short min­utes.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free: Richard Feynman’s Physics Course from Cor­nell (1964)

The Richard Feyn­man Tril­o­gy: The Physi­cist Cap­tured in Three Films

Richard Feynman’s Ode to a Flower: A Short Ani­ma­tion

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A Cult Classic: William Shatner Sings Elton John’s “Rocket Man” at 1978 SciFi Awards Show

Start­ing in the 1960s, William Shat­ner, rid­ing high on his Star Trek fame, began his idio­syn­crat­ic musi­cal career. With his 1968 con­cept album, The Trans­formed Man, the actor gave us the first taste of his musi­cal schtick. He would­n’t sing songs. He would speak them, often in a melo­dra­mat­ic, exag­ger­at­ed fash­ion. Just lis­ten to his ver­sions of “Lucy in the Sky with Dia­monds” and “Mr. Tam­bourine Man” to see what I mean.

Four decades lat­er, the Shat has­n’t changed his style. In 2011, he released a pop­u­lar ver­sion of Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” (watch below) on his space-themed album, Seek­ing Major Tom. But real­ly, if you want to expe­ri­ence the high water­mark of Shat­ner’s musi­cal work, you need to beam your­self back to 1978. That’s when the actor host­ed The Sat­urn Awards (essen­tial­ly the Oscars for sci­ence fic­tion, fan­ta­sy & hor­ror films) and “sang” a ver­sion of “Rock­et Man,” the 1972 song co-writ­ten by Elton John and Bernie Taupin. It’s Taupin who intro­duces Shat­ner, and Karen Black who intro­duces Taupin.

As you will see (above), the broad­cast used chro­ma key video tech­niques to por­tray three dif­fer­ent images of Shat­ner, each of which rep­re­sent­ed a dif­fer­ent part of the Rock­et Man’s char­ac­ter. Now a cult clas­sic, Shat­ner’s per­for­mance has been par­o­died over the years by Beck, Fam­i­ly Guy, and Chris Elliot on a 1992 episode of Late Night with David Let­ter­man, among oth­ers. You can find a new record­ing of “Rock­et Man” on Seek­ing Major Tom.

Final­ly, if you’re won­der­ing who brought home the hard­ware from the ’78 Sat­urn Awards, it was George Burns, Jodie Fos­ter, Star Wars and Close Encoun­ters of the Third Kind.

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