Watch a Super Cut of Wes Anderson’s Signature Slo-Mo Shots

When you watch a director’s work for a while, you get to know his/her sig­na­ture tricks — the themes and cam­era work that appear again and again. A cou­ple years ago, we fea­tured a video called Wes Ander­son // FROM ABOVEa mon­tage cap­tur­ing Anderson’s pen­chant for the aer­i­al shot, a move that con­tributes to the light­ness, play­ful­ness and quirk­i­ness of his films. Now comes a super cut of Ander­son­’s slo-mo shots, com­piled by Ale­jan­dro Prul­lan­sky, set to The Shins’ song, “New Slang.” If you’re look­ing for a good overview of Wes Ander­son­’s fil­mog­ra­phy, we’d encour­age you to watch this series: 7 Video Essays on Wes Anderson’s Films: Rush­more, The Roy­al Tenen­baums & More.

Don’t miss any­thing from Open Cul­ture. Sign up for our Dai­ly Email or RSS Feed. And we’ll send cul­tur­al curiosi­ties your way, every day.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wes Anderson’s First Short Film: The Black-and-White, Jazz-Scored Bot­tle Rock­et (1992)

Watch Wes Anderson’s Charm­ing New Short Film, Castel­lo Cav­al­can­ti, Star­ring Jason Schwartz­man

Has Wes Ander­son Sold Out? Can He Sell Out? Crit­ics Take Up the Debate

The Curious Story of London’s First Coffeehouses (1650–1675)

coffee englandIn his 1621 opusThe Anato­my of Melan­choly, Robert Bur­ton wrote, “The Turks have a drink called cof­fa (for they use no wine), so named of a berry as black as soot, and as bit­ter … which they sip still of, and sup as warm as they can suf­fer; they spend much time in those cof­fa-hous­es, which are some­what like our ale­hous­es or tav­erns…”

Sev­er­al decades lat­er, read­ers would require no such expla­na­tions: Eng­land would be awash in cof­fee­hous­es, num­ber­ing in the thou­sands. The curi­ous sto­ry of how the British swapped much of their dai­ly ale con­sump­tion for this “syrop of soot, or essence of old shoes,” is told by Matthew Green in “The Lost World of The Lon­don Cof­fee House,” on the Pub­lic Domain Review.

Pri­or to 1652, when Pasqua Rosée estab­lished a small cof­fee­house in St. Michael’s Alley in Lon­don, cof­fee was vir­tu­al­ly unknown in Eng­land. Rosée, a ser­vant of a cof­fee-lov­ing trad­er to the Lev­ant, found tremen­dous suc­cess with his ven­ture and, accord­ing to Green, was soon sell­ing over 600 serv­ings a day. Above, read­ers can view Rosée’s orig­i­nal hand­bill, where the entre­pre­neur adver­tised both the ther­a­peu­tic and pro­phy­lac­tic effects of his wares on diges­tion, headaches, rheuma­tism, con­sump­tion, cough, drop­sy, gout, scurvy, and mis­car­riages. It’s a won­der any­one ever drink­ing the stuff got sick.

Cof­fee­hous­es quick­ly became pop­u­lar places for men to con­verse and con­gre­gate, and Green notes that women soon grew tired of their absence. This exas­per­a­tion mount­ed until the 1674 Women’s Peti­tion Against Cof­fee, which claimed that “Exces­sive use of that New­fan­gled, Abom­inable, Hea­then­ish Liquor called COFFEE” led to England’s falling birthrate, mak­ing men “as unfruit­ful as the sandy deserts, from where that unhap­py berry is said to be brought.” Men, as they are wont to do, expressed their dis­agree­ment, and stat­ed in Men’s Answer to the Women’s Peti­tion Against Cof­fee that cof­fee made “the erec­tion more vig­or­ous, the ejac­u­la­tion more full, add[ing] a spir­i­tu­al ascen­den­cy to the sperm.”

A year lat­er, cof­fee­hous­es found more for­mi­da­ble oppo­si­tion in the form of King Charles II, who issued the “Procla­ma­tion for the sup­pres­sion of Cof­fee Hous­es” in 1675. Charles, how­ev­er, was more inter­est­ed in their polit­i­cal effects than the spir­i­tu­al ascen­den­cy of his sub­jects’ sperm. Cof­fee­hous­es pro­vid­ed an oppor­tu­ni­ty for more mind­ful and seri­ous con­ver­sa­tions than did ale­hous­es, and allowed any­one who paid the sin­gle pen­ny entrance charge to par­tic­i­pate in dis­cus­sions — to Charles, these were the ide­al cir­cum­stances for plot­ting sedi­tion and trea­son among the pop­u­lace. Despite the King’s procla­ma­tion, the cof­fee­hous­es, buoyed by a sup­port­ive pub­lic, pre­vailed.

To read Green’s fas­ci­nat­ing essay in full, includ­ing a descrip­tion of the cof­fee­house fre­quent­ed by Alexan­der Pope, Jonathan Swift, Joseph Addi­son, and Richard Steele, head over to the Pub­lic Domain Review.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hon­oré de Balzac Writes About “The Plea­sures and Pains of Cof­fee,” and His Epic Cof­fee Addic­tion

Men In Com­mer­cials Being Jerks About Cof­fee: A Mashup of 1950s & 1960s TV Ads

 

The His­to­ry of Cof­fee and How It Trans­formed Our World

Black Cof­fee: Doc­u­men­tary Cov­ers the His­to­ry, Pol­i­tics & Eco­nom­ics of the “Most Wide­ly Tak­en Legal Drug”

 

Highlights from the First Ever Stanford Code Poetry Slam

I was lucky enough to be liv­ing in Chica­go when Marc Smith’s Poet­ry Slam move­ment became a thing. What fun it was to hit the Green Mill on Sun­day nights to hear such inno­va­tors as Lisa Bus­cani or Patri­cia Smith tear­ing into their lat­est entries in front of packed-to-capac­i­ty crowds. Those ear­ly slam poets inspired a lot of oth­er word­smiths to brave the mic, a glo­ri­ous rev­o­lu­tion whose gleam was inevitably tar­nished for me once it caught on for real.

I remem­ber think­ing some­thing like, “If I nev­er hear anoth­er poem about some­one’s rela­tion­ship trou­bles, it’ll be too soon.”

To fur­ther illus­trate my wan­ing enthu­si­asm, here’s the above thought, ren­dered in Stan­dard Spo­ken Word Venac­u­lar:

If

I nev­er heeeear  

Anoth­er Po

Em About Some­one’s 

Re-la-tion-ship…

Trou­bles, it’ll be

Too

Soon.

Some two-and-a-half decades fur­ther along, Leslie Wu, a doc­tor­al stu­dent in Com­put­er Sci­ence at Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty, has been crowned the win­ner of the inau­gur­al Code Poet­ry Slam, and I’m mourn­ing the loss of those long-ago rela­tion­ship trou­bles.

To cre­ate her win­ning entry, “Say 23,” Wu donned a Google Glass head­set, as she recit­ed and typed 16 lines of com­put­er code, which were pro­ject­ed onto a screen. When Wu ran the script, three dif­fer­ent com­put­er­ized voic­es took over per­for­mance duties, sam­pling the 23rd Psalm along with an uncred­it­ed snip­pet of In the Hall of the Moun­tain King.

I may be too hot-blood­ed to appre­ci­ate the artistry here.

Melis­sa Kagen, who orga­nized the com­pe­ti­tion with fel­low grad­u­ate stu­dent Kurt James Wern­er, stat­ed on the uni­ver­si­ty’s web­site that in order “to real­ly get into the intri­ca­cies you real­ly need to know that lan­guage.”

I guess that goes dou­ble for the com­peti­tors. Accord­ing to Wern­er, Wu’s poem wove togeth­er a num­ber of dif­fer­ent con­cepts, tools, and lan­guages, includ­ing Japan­ese, Eng­lish, and Ruby. Philis­tine that I am, I had always thought of the lat­ter as an uncap­i­tal­ized gem­stone and noth­ing more.

Not that I’m align­ing myself with those cur­mud­geons whose typ­i­cal reac­tion to a Rothko or a Jack­son Pol­lack is, “My two-year-old could do bet­ter.” For one thing, I’ve got teenagers, and giv­en their druthers, they’d eat their way through the con­tents of Wern­er Her­zog’s shoe clos­et before agree­ing to learn so much as a sin­gle line of code.

What a won­der­ful world in which so many of us are free to pur­sue our indi­vid­ual pas­sions to the point of poet­ry!

If you’re the type to whom code poet­ry speaks—nay, sings—you should con­sid­er putting some­thing togeth­er for the fast approach­ing sec­ond slam. Have a look at the work of the eight final­ists, if you’re in need of inspi­ra­tion. Entries are being accept­ed through Feb. 12.

Find 74 free cours­es from Stan­ford in our col­lec­tion: 825 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Learn to Code with Harvard’s Intro to Com­put­er Sci­ence Course And Oth­er Free Tech Class­es

Codecademy’s Free Cours­es Democ­ra­tize Com­put­er Pro­gram­ming

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky, an award-win­ning, hand­writ­ten zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Behold Pablo Picasso’s Illustrations of Balzac’s Short Story “The Hidden Masterpiece” (1931)

BalzacFrontis

Pablo Picas­so had a long and com­plex rela­tion­ship with book illus­tra­tion. The mod­ern painter hat­ed to work on spec and resist­ed tak­ing com­mis­sions. Nonethe­less, when it came to lit­er­a­ture, he made well over 50 excep­tions, illus­trat­ing the work of scores of authors he admired. As John Gold­ing writes in The Inde­pen­dent, Picas­so had always grav­i­tat­ed toward the lit­er­ary; he wrote pro­lif­i­cal­ly, was “attract­ed to art that had a lit­er­ary fla­vor,” and “pre­ferred the com­pa­ny of writ­ers, par­tic­u­lar­ly poets, to that of oth­er painters and sculp­tors.” Gold­ing writes of the artist’s par­tic­u­lar love for the Span­ish Baroque poet Luis de Gongo­ra, whose work he illus­trat­ed in a 1948 edi­tion, and who was to “affect the future devel­op­ment of Picasso’s art in a way that his oth­er lit­er­ary col­lab­o­ra­tions did not.” But this may be a hasty judg­ment. As it turned out, Picasso’s 1931 illus­tra­tion of a short sto­ry by Hon­oré de Balzac, “The Hid­den Mas­ter­piece” (Le Chef‑d’oeuvre incon­nu), would affect him great­ly, and indi­rect­ly con­tributed to the cre­ation of his most famous work, the enor­mous anti-war can­vas Guer­ni­ca.

PicassoBalzac

Picas­so accept­ed the Balzac com­mis­sion from art deal­er Ambroise Vol­lard (see the title page and fron­tispiece at top, Picasso’s por­traits of Balzac above) and com­plet­ed the thir­teen etch­ings in 1931 for a cen­ten­ni­al edi­tion (see ten of the illus­tra­tions here). Many have con­sid­ered these etch­ings “land­marks in the his­to­ry of engrav­ing.” Balza­c’s sto­ry, admired by oth­er painters like Cézanne and Matisse, is among oth­er things a tale of an artist ahead of his time. Set in the 17th cen­tu­ry, “The Hid­den Mas­ter­piece” tells of an aging painter named Fren­hofer, who obses­sive­ly labors over a work he has kept secret for years. When two younger admir­ers, painters Poussin and Por­bus, final­ly man­age to see Fren­hofer­’s secret can­vas, they are appalled—it appears to them noth­ing more than an indis­tinct mess of lines, col­ors and shapes—and they mock the old­er artist and assume their cel­e­brat­ed friend has gone insane. The next day, Fren­hofer destroys all his work and kills him­self.

BalzacPicasso1

Picas­so, writes Thomas Ganzevoort, “had faced some­thing of the same dumb­found­ed reac­tion from fel­low artists upon show­ing them his ground­break­ing pro­to-Cubist mas­ter­piece Les Demoi­selles d’Avignon.” He lat­er claimed that the ghost of Balzac haunt­ed him, and he found him­self so com­pelled by the sto­ry that in 1937, he chose for his new stu­dio a 17th cen­tu­ry town­house locat­ed at 7 Rue des Grands-Augustin, the very house many believed to be the set­ting of the open­ing scene in “The Hid­den Mas­ter­piece.” In April of that year, Ger­man war­planes bombed the Span­ish Basque city of Guer­ni­ca, and Picas­so aban­doned all oth­er projects and set to work on his famous large can­vas, which he com­plet­ed in June of that same year (below, see him in his Grands-Augustin stu­dio, at work on Guer­ni­ca). Like his ear­li­er, cubist work, Guer­ni­ca divid­ed crit­ics and per­plexed some of his peers. At its unveil­ing in the 1937 Paris Exhi­bi­tion, the paint­ing “gar­nered lit­tle atten­tion.” Unlike the trag­ic Fren­hofer of Balzac’s sto­ry, how­ev­er, Picas­so did not suc­cumb to self-doubt and lived to see his work vin­di­cat­ed. See this site to learn more about Balzac and Picas­so, includ­ing dis­cus­sion of a dis­put­ed 1934 draw­ing some believe to be Picasso’s own “hid­den mas­ter­piece.”

PicassoworkingonGuernica

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See Pablo Picasso’s Spare, Ten­der Illus­tra­tions For a Lim­it­ed Edi­tion of Aristo­phanes’ Lysis­tra­ta (1934)

Watch Picas­so Cre­ate Entire Paint­ings in Mag­nif­i­cent Time-Lapse Film (1956)

A 3D Tour of Picasso’s Guer­ni­ca

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Against All Odds: A Gentle Introduction to Statistics Hosted by Harvard Geneticist Pardis Sabeti (Free Online Course)

Worth a quick men­tion: Dr. Par­dis Sabeti, a media-savvy com­pu­ta­tion­al geneti­cist at Har­vard, has teamed up with the Annen­berg Foun­da­tion, to cre­ate a new intro­duc­tion to sta­tis­tics. In 32 nice­ly-pro­duced videosAgainst All Odds: Inside Sta­tis­tics guides “view­ers through the wide range of sta­tis­ti­cal appli­ca­tions used by sci­en­tists, busi­ness own­ers, and even Shake­speare schol­ars, in their work and dai­ly lives.” It’s all about “real peo­ple work­ing on real prob­lems.”

The series starts with What Is Sta­tis­tics?. And then, along the way, the course cov­ers top­ics like Stan­dard Devi­a­tion, Cor­re­la­tion, Sam­ples and Sur­veys, and more. The clip above comes from the unit called Check­ing Assump­tion of Nor­mal­i­ty. And do note that each video mod­ule is com­ple­ment­ed by a Stu­dent Guide and Fac­ul­ty Guide spe­cif­ic to the unit.

Against All Odds: Inside Sta­tis­tics has been added to our col­lec­tion of Free Math Cours­es, a sub­set of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sta­tis­tics Explained Through Mod­ern Dance: A New Way of Teach­ing a Tough Sub­ject

Cal­cu­lus Life­saver: A Free Online Course from Prince­ton

The Math of Rock Climb­ing

Math: Free Cours­es Online

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Stanford Prof Makes Ukuleles from Wood Floor of New Concert Hall

Last year, Stan­ford opened a glo­ri­ous new con­cert hall. Some­where dur­ing its con­struc­tion, Steven Sano, a pro­fes­sor in the Music Depart­ment, found some extra scraps of Alaskan yel­low cedar, the wood used to build the stage floor. He took the wood known “for its res­o­nance and fine grain” to a luthi­er and came home with two blond-top tenor ukes. They’re on dis­play above. Stan­ford News has more on the sto­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jake Shimabukuro plays “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” on the Uke

Musi­cians Re-Imag­ine the Com­plete Song­book of the Bea­t­les on the Ukulele

Amaz­ing Fact: Spaghet­ti and Ukulele Strings Actu­al­ly Grow on Trees

George Orwell Explains in a Revealing 1944 Letter Why He’d Write 1984

via Wikimedia Commons

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Most of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry’s notable men of let­ters — i.e., writ­ers of books, of essays, of reportage — seem also to have, lit­er­al­ly, writ­ten a great deal of let­ters. Some­times their cor­re­spon­dence reflects and shapes their “real” writ­ten work; some­times it appears col­lect­ed in book form itself. Both hold true in the case of George Orwell, a vol­ume of whose let­ters, edit­ed by Peter Davi­son, came out last year. In it we find this mis­sive, also pub­lished in full at The Dai­ly Beast, sent in 1944 to one Noel Will­mett, who had asked “whether total­i­tar­i­an­ism, leader-wor­ship etc. are real­ly on the up-grade” giv­en “that they are not appar­ent­ly grow­ing in [Eng­land] and the USA”:

I must say I believe, or fear, that tak­ing the world as a whole these things are on the increase. Hitler, no doubt, will soon dis­ap­pear, but only at the expense of strength­en­ing (a) Stal­in, (b) the Anglo-Amer­i­can mil­lion­aires and © all sorts of pet­ty fuhrers of the type of de Gaulle. All the nation­al move­ments every­where, even those that orig­i­nate in resis­tance to Ger­man dom­i­na­tion, seem to take non-demo­c­ra­t­ic forms, to group them­selves round some super­hu­man fuhrer (Hitler, Stal­in, Salazar, Fran­co, Gand­hi, De Valera are all vary­ing exam­ples) and to adopt the the­o­ry that the end jus­ti­fies the means. Every­where the world move­ment seems to be in the direc­tion of cen­tralised economies which can be made to ‘work’ in an eco­nom­ic sense but which are not demo­c­ra­t­i­cal­ly organ­ised and which tend to estab­lish a caste sys­tem. With this go the hor­rors of emo­tion­al nation­al­ism and a ten­den­cy to dis­be­lieve in the exis­tence of objec­tive truth because all the facts have to fit in with the words and prophe­cies of some infal­li­ble fuhrer. Already his­to­ry has in a sense ceased to exist, ie. there is no such thing as a his­to­ry of our own times which could be uni­ver­sal­ly accept­ed, and the exact sci­ences are endan­gered as soon as mil­i­tary neces­si­ty ceas­es to keep peo­ple up to the mark. Hitler can say that the Jews start­ed the war, and if he sur­vives that will become offi­cial his­to­ry. He can’t say that two and two are five, because for the pur­pos­es of, say, bal­lis­tics they have to make four. But if the sort of world that I am afraid of arrives, a world of two or three great super­states which are unable to con­quer one anoth­er, two and two could become five if the fuhrer wished it. That, so far as I can see, is the direc­tion in which we are actu­al­ly mov­ing, though, of course, the process is reversible.

As to the com­par­a­tive immu­ni­ty of Britain and the USA. What­ev­er the paci­fists etc. may say, we have not gone total­i­tar­i­an yet and this is a very hope­ful symp­tom. I believe very deeply, as I explained in my book The Lion and the Uni­corn, in the Eng­lish peo­ple and in their capac­i­ty to cen­tralise their econ­o­my with­out destroy­ing free­dom in doing so. But one must remem­ber that Britain and the USA haven’t been real­ly tried, they haven’t known defeat or severe suf­fer­ing, and there are some bad symp­toms to bal­ance the good ones. To begin with there is the gen­er­al indif­fer­ence to the decay of democ­ra­cy. Do you realise, for instance, that no one in Eng­land under 26 now has a vote and that so far as one can see the great mass of peo­ple of that age don’t give a damn for this? Sec­ond­ly there is the fact that the intel­lec­tu­als are more total­i­tar­i­an in out­look than the com­mon peo­ple. On the whole the Eng­lish intel­li­gentsia have opposed Hitler, but only at the price of accept­ing Stal­in. Most of them are per­fect­ly ready for dic­ta­to­r­i­al meth­ods, secret police, sys­tem­at­ic fal­si­fi­ca­tion of his­to­ry etc. so long as they feel that it is on ‘our’ side. Indeed the state­ment that we haven’t a Fas­cist move­ment in Eng­land large­ly means that the young, at this moment, look for their fuhrer else­where. One can’t be sure that that won’t change, nor can one be sure that the com­mon peo­ple won’t think ten years hence as the intel­lec­tu­als do now. I hope they won’t, I even trust they won’t, but if so it will be at the cost of a strug­gle. If one sim­ply pro­claims that all is for the best and doesn’t point to the sin­is­ter symp­toms, one is mere­ly help­ing to bring total­i­tar­i­an­ism near­er.

You also ask, if I think the world ten­den­cy is towards Fas­cism, why do I sup­port the war. It is a choice of evils—I fan­cy near­ly every war is that. I know enough of British impe­ri­al­ism not to like it, but I would sup­port it against Nazism or Japan­ese impe­ri­al­ism, as the less­er evil. Sim­i­lar­ly I would sup­port the USSR against Ger­many because I think the USSR can­not alto­geth­er escape its past and retains enough of the orig­i­nal ideas of the Rev­o­lu­tion to make it a more hope­ful phe­nom­e­non than Nazi Ger­many. I think, and have thought ever since the war began, in 1936 or there­abouts, that our cause is the bet­ter, but we have to keep on mak­ing it the bet­ter, which involves con­stant crit­i­cism.

Yours sin­cere­ly,
Geo. Orwell

Three years lat­er, Orwell would write 1984. Two years after that, it would see pub­li­ca­tion and go on to gen­er­a­tions of atten­tion as per­haps the most elo­quent fic­tion­al state­ment against a world reduced to super­states, sat­u­rat­ed with “emo­tion­al nation­al­ism,” acqui­es­cent to “dic­ta­to­r­i­al meth­ods, secret police,” and the sys­tem­at­ic fal­si­fi­ca­tion of his­to­ry,” and shot through by the will­ing­ness to “dis­be­lieve in the exis­tence of objec­tive truth because all the facts have to fit in with the words and prophe­cies of some infal­li­ble fuhrer.” Now that you feel like read­ing the nov­el again, or even for the first time, do browse our col­lec­tion of 1984-relat­ed resources, which includes the eBook, the audio book, reviews, and even radio dra­ma and com­ic book adap­ta­tions of Orwell’s work.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to George Orwell

The Only Known Footage of George Orwell (Cir­ca 1921)

George Orwell and Dou­glas Adams Explain How to Make a Prop­er Cup of Tea

George Orwell’s Polit­i­cal Views, Explained in His Own Words

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

Watch Beer Ferment in Time-Lapse Motion, and Then Learn How to Make Beer with an Animated Video

In one time-lapse minute, you can watch Big­foot Bar­ley­wine Style Ale, made by Sier­ra Neva­da, tur­bu­lent­ly slosh­ing around, ris­ing and falling, over the course of six days. The clip is set to the music of Edvard Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46. Now if you want to put this visu­al dis­play into a bit of a larg­er edu­ca­tion­al con­text, then we rec­om­mend you spend anoth­er two min­utes watch­ing a short ani­mat­ed video explain­ing the beer-mak­ing process, from start to fin­ish. For the impa­tient, the fer­ment­ing comes at the 1:20 mark.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Physics of Guin­ness Beer Demys­ti­fied

A Beer Bot­tle Gets Turned Into a 19th Cen­tu­ry Edi­son Cylin­der and Plays Fine Music

Wim Wen­ders Cre­ates Ads to Sell Beer (Stel­la Artois), Pas­ta (Bar­il­la), and More Beer (Car­ling)

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