Every Wes Anderson Movie, Explained by Wes Anderson

That Wes Ander­son is per­haps the most assid­u­ous mak­er of short films today becomes clear when you look close­ly at his recent work. The four adap­ta­tions of “The Won­der­ful World of Hen­ry Sug­ar” and three oth­er Roald Dahl sto­ries he made for Net­flix were pre­sent­ed as a sin­gle anthol­o­gy film; his slight­ly ear­li­er fea­ture The French Dis­patch did­n’t hide the essen­tial sep­a­rate­ness of its sto­ries, each one based on an arti­cle for a fic­tion­al­ized ver­sion of the New York­er. Though both Ander­son­’s fans and crit­ics read­i­ly note the increas­ing­ly elab­o­rate con­struc­tions of his pic­tures, it’s worth remem­ber­ing that his career began with a sim­ple short: the thir­teen-minute black-and-white ver­sion of Bot­tle Rock­et that would evolve into his first full-length work.

Ander­son tells the sto­ry of not just that first fea­ture but also the twelve that would fol­low in the new video from Van­i­ty Fair above, men­tion­ing details even ded­i­cat­ed Ander­so­ni­ans may not know. The orig­i­nal, “very, very, very long” Bot­tle Rock­et script got a severe cut­ting under the guid­ance of Hol­ly­wood pro­duc­er James L. Brooks. Loca­tions for Rush­more were scout­ed based on whether move­ments through them could prop­er­ly be chore­o­graphed to cer­tain British Inva­sion songs.

Ander­son promised the late Gene Hack­man that he’d have a “good time” on The Roy­al Tenen­baums, a promise that went not-quite-ful­filled. When he hired Seu Jorge to sing David Bowie songs for The Life Aquat­ic, he did­n’t know he was already a pop singer in Brazil. When talk­ing to him about The Dar­jeel­ing Lim­it­ed, peo­ple tend to call it “The Dar­jeel­ing Express.”

Many of these rec­ol­lec­tions have to do with his inspi­ra­tions, which for The Dar­jeel­ing Lim­it­ed were spe­cif­ic sub­con­ti­nen­tal films like Jean Renoir’s The Riv­er, Louis Malle’s Phan­tom India, and Satya­jit Ray’s Apu tril­o­gy. Moon­rise King­dom was made pos­si­ble when Ander­son, long res­i­dent in France, came to “see Amer­i­ca like some for­eign coun­try.” Writ­ing The French Dis­patch, he looked to the New York­er as it was under its con­trast­ing first edi­tors, Harold Ross and William Shawn. Aster­oid City orig­i­nat­ed as a kind of trib­ute to the Actors Stu­dio in the nine­teen-fifties. He describes his lat­est pic­ture The Phoeni­cian Scheme as hav­ing been inspired by the work of Luis Buñuel and writ­ten for Beni­cio del Toro, who plays a tycoon out of a “nine­teen-fifties Ital­ian movie” sub­ject to “Bib­li­cal visions” dur­ing his fre­quent brush­es with death. “I haven’t had the moment where I don’t know what I want to do next,” Ander­son says at the end of the video. As sure as film­go­ers may feel that they know just what to expect from him, he sure­ly has many more sur­pris­es in store for us.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Wes Ander­son Explains How He Writes and Directs Movies, and What Goes Into His Dis­tinc­tive Film­mak­ing Style

A Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Wes Ander­son Video Essays

Why Do Wes Ander­son Movies Look Like That?

Wes Ander­son Explains How He Built Aster­oid City, the Fic­tion­al Amer­i­can Desert Town in His New Film

Wes Anderson’s Break­through Film Rush­more Revis­it­ed in Five Video Essays: It Came Out 20 Years Ago Today

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

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

The History of the World in One Beautiful, 5‑Foot-Long Chart (1931)

In the image above, we see an impres­sive pre-inter­net macro-info­graph­ic called a “His­tom­ap.” Its cre­ator John B. Sparks (who lat­er cre­at­ed “his­tom­aps” of reli­gion and evo­lu­tion) pub­lished the graph­ic in 1931 with Rand McNal­ly. The five-foot-long chart—purportedly cov­er­ing 4,000 years of “world” history—is, in fact, an exam­ple of an ear­ly illus­tra­tion trend called the “out­line,” of which Rebec­ca Onion at Slate writes: “large sub­jects (the his­to­ry of the world! every school of phi­los­o­phy! all of mod­ern physics!) were dis­tilled into a form com­pre­hen­si­ble to the most une­d­u­cat­ed lay­man.” Here we have the full descrip­tion of most every polit­i­cal chart, graph, or ani­ma­tion in U.S.A. Today, most Inter­net news sites, and, of course, The Onion.

The sim­i­lar­i­ty here isn’t sim­ply one of form. The “out­line” func­tioned in much the same way that sim­pli­fied ani­ma­tions do—condensing heavy, con­tentious the­o­ret­i­cal freight trains and ide­o­log­i­cal bag­gage. Rebec­ca Onion describes the chart as an arti­fact very much of its time, pre­sent­ing a ver­sion of his­to­ry promi­nent in the U.S. between the wars. Onion writes:

The chart empha­sizes dom­i­na­tion, using col­or to show how the pow­er of var­i­ous “peo­ples” (a qua­si-racial under­stand­ing of the nature of human groups, quite pop­u­lar at the time) evolved through­out his­to­ry.

Sparks’ map, how­ev­er, remains an inter­est­ing doc­u­ment because of its seem­ing dis­in­ter­est­ed­ness. While the focus on racial­ism and impe­r­i­al con­quest may seem to place Sparks in com­pa­ny with pop­ulist “sci­en­tif­ic” racists of the peri­od like Lothrop Stod­dard (whom Tom Buchanan quotes in Fitzgerald’s Gats­by), it would also seem that his design has much in com­mon with ear­ly Enlight­en­ment fig­ures whose con­cep­tion of time was not nec­es­sar­i­ly lin­ear. Fol­low­ing clas­si­cal mod­els, thinkers like Thomas Hobbes tend­ed to divide his­tor­i­cal epochs into ris­ing and falling actions of var­i­ous peo­ple groups, rather than the grad­ual ascent of one race over all oth­ers towards an end of his­to­ry. For exam­ple, poet Abra­ham Cow­ley writes a com­pressed “uni­ver­sal his­to­ry” in his 1656 poem “To Mr. Hobs,” mov­ing from Aris­to­tle (the “Sta­girite”) to the poem’s sub­ject Thomas Hobbes. The move­ment is pro­gres­sive, yet the his­tor­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tives of each civ­i­liza­tion receive some equal weight and sim­i­lar empha­sis.

Long did the mighty Sta­girite retain
The uni­ver­sal Intel­lec­tu­al reign,
Saw his own Coun­treys short-liv’ed Leop­ard slain;
The stronger Roman-Eagle did out-fly,
Oft­ner renewed his Age, and saw that Dy.
Mecha it self, in spight of Mahumet pos­s­est,
And chas’ed by a wild Del­uge from the East,
His Monar­chy new plant­ed in the West.
But as in time each great impe­r­i­al race
Degen­er­ates, and gives some new one place:

The peri­od of Cow­ley rec­og­nized the­o­ries of racial, cul­tur­al, and nat­ur­al suprema­cy, but such qual­i­ties, as in Sparks’ map, were the prod­uct of a long line of suc­ces­sion from equal­ly pow­er­ful and note­wor­thy empires and groups to oth­ers, not a social evo­lu­tion in which a supe­ri­or race nat­u­ral­ly arose. Rand McNal­ly adver­tised the chart as pre­sent­ing “the march of civ­i­liza­tion, from the mud huts of the ancients thru the monar­chis­tic glam­our of the mid­dle ages to the liv­ing panora­ma of life in present day Amer­i­ca.” While the blurb is filled with pseu­do­sci­en­tif­ic colo­nial­ist talk­ing points, the chart itself has the dat­ed, yet strik­ing­ly egal­i­tar­i­an arrange­ment of infor­ma­tion that—like much of the illus­tra­tion in Nation­al Geo­graph­ic—sought to accom­mo­date the best con­sen­sus mod­els of the times, dis­play­ing, but not pros­e­ly­tiz­ing, its bias­es.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2013.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

180,000 Years of Reli­gion Chart­ed on a “His­tom­ap” in 1943

The Big Map of Who Lived When Shows Which Cul­tur­al Fig­ures Walked the Earth at the Same Time: From 1200 to Present

Joseph Priest­ley Visu­al­izes His­to­ry & Great His­tor­i­cal Fig­ures with Two of the Most Influ­en­tial Info­graph­ics Ever (1769)

10 Mil­lion Years of Evo­lu­tion Visu­al­ized in an Ele­gant, 5‑Foot Long Info­graph­ic from 1931

The His­to­ry of the World in One Video: Every Year from 200,000 BCE to Today

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

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How the BIC Cristal Ballpoint Pen Became the Most Successful Product in History

If you want to see a tour de force of mod­ern tech­nol­o­gy and design, there’s no need to vis­it a Sil­i­con Val­ley show­room. Just feel around your desk for a few moments, and soon­er or lat­er you’ll lay a hand on it: the BIC Cristal ball­point pen, which is described in the Pri­mal Space video above as “pos­si­bly the most suc­cess­ful prod­uct ever made.” Not long after its intro­duc­tion in 1950, the Cristal became ubiq­ui­tous around the world, so ide­al­ly did it suit human needs at a price that would have seemed impos­si­bly cheap not so very long ago — to say noth­ing of the sev­en­teenth cen­tu­ry, when the art of writ­ing demand­ed mas­tery of the quill and inkpot.

Of course, writ­ing itself was of lit­tle use in those days to human­i­ty’s illit­er­ate major­i­ty. That began to change with the inven­tion of the foun­tain pen, which was cer­tain­ly more con­ve­nient than the quill, but still pro­hib­i­tive­ly expen­sive even to most of those who could read. It was only at the end of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry, a heady age of Amer­i­can inge­nu­ity, that an inven­tor called John Loud came up with the first ball­point pen.

Though crude and imprac­ti­cal, Loud’s design plant­ed the tech­no­log­i­cal seed that would be cul­ti­vat­ed there­after by oth­ers, like Las­z­lo Biro, who under­stood the advan­tage of using oil-based rather than tra­di­tion­al water-based ink, and French man­u­fac­tur­er Mar­cel Bich, who had access to the tech­nol­o­gy that could bring the ball­point pen to its final form.

Bich (the for­eign pro­nun­ci­a­tion of whose sur­name inspired the brand name BIC) fig­ured out how to use Swiss watch­mak­ing machines to mass-pro­duce tiny stain­less steel balls to pre­cise spec­i­fi­ca­tions. He chose to man­u­fac­ture the rest of the pen out of mold­ed plas­tic, a then-new tech­nol­o­gy. The Cristal’s clear body allowed the ink lev­el to be seen at all times, and its hexag­o­nal shape stopped it from rolling off desks. Its polypropy­lene lid would­n’t break when dropped, and it dou­bled as a clip to boot. What did this “game chang­er” avant la let­tre cost when it came to mar­ket? The equiv­a­lent of two dol­lars. As an indus­tri­al prod­uct, the BIC Cristal has in many respects nev­er been sur­passed (over 100 bil­lion have been sold to date), even by the ultra-high-tech cell­phones or tablets on which you may be read­ing this post. Bear that in mind the next time you’re strug­gling with one, patchi­ly zigzag­ging back and forth on a page in an attempt to get the ink out that you’re sure must be in there some­where.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Wes Ander­son Directs & Stars in an Ad Cel­e­brat­ing the 100th Anniver­sary of Montblanc’s Sig­na­ture Pen

Mont­blanc Unveils a New Line of Miles Davis Pens … and (Kind of) Blue Ink

Ver­meer with a BiC

Neil Gaiman Talks Dream­i­ly About Foun­tain Pens, Note­books & His Writ­ing Process in His Long Inter­view with Tim Fer­riss

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

Marie Curie Invented Mobile X‑Ray Units to Help Save Wounded Soldiers in World War I

A hun­dred years ago, Mobile X‑Ray Units were a brand new inno­va­tion, and a god­send for sol­diers wound­ed on the front in WW1. Pri­or to the advent of this tech­nol­o­gy, field sur­geons rac­ing to save lives oper­at­ed blind­ly, often caus­ing even more injury as they groped for bul­lets and shrap­nel whose pre­cise loca­tions remained a mys­tery.

Marie Curie was just set­ting up shop at Paris’ Radi­um Insti­tute, a world cen­ter for the study of radioac­tiv­i­ty, when war broke out. Many of her researchers left to fight, while Curie per­son­al­ly deliv­ered France’s sole sam­ple of radi­um by train to the tem­porar­i­ly relo­cat­ed seat of gov­ern­ment in Bor­deaux.

“I am resolved to put all my strength at the ser­vice of my adopt­ed coun­try, since I can­not do any­thing for my unfor­tu­nate native coun­try just now…,” Curie, a Pole by birth, wrote to her lover, physi­cist Paul Langevin on New Year’s Day, 1915.

To that end, she envi­sioned a fleet of vehi­cles that could bring X‑ray equip­ment much clos­er to the bat­tle­field, shift­ing their coor­di­nates as nec­es­sary.

Rather than leav­ing the exe­cu­tion of this bril­liant plan to oth­ers, Curie sprang into action.

She stud­ied anato­my and learned how to oper­ate the equip­ment so she would be able to read X‑ray films like a med­ical pro­fes­sion­al.

She learned how to dri­ve and fix cars.

She used her con­nec­tions to solic­it dona­tions of vehi­cles, portable elec­tric gen­er­a­tors, and the nec­es­sary equip­ment, kick­ing in gen­er­ous­ly her­self. (When she got the French Nation­al Bank to accept her gold Nobel Prize medals on behalf of the war effort, she spent the bulk of her prize purse on war bonds.)

She was ham­pered only by back­wards-think­ing bureau­crats whose feath­ers ruf­fled at the prospect of female tech­ni­cians and dri­vers, no doubt for­get­ting that most of France’s able-bod­ied men were oth­er­wise engaged.

Curie, no stranger to sex­ism, refused to bend to their will, deliv­er­ing equip­ment to the front line and X‑raying wound­ed sol­diers, assist­ed by her 17-year-old daugh­ter, Irène, who like her moth­er, took care to keep her emo­tions in check while work­ing with maimed and dis­tressed patients.

“In less than two years,” writes Aman­da Davis at The Insti­tute, “the num­ber of units had grown sub­stan­tial­ly, and the Curies had set up a train­ing pro­gram at the Radi­um Insti­tute to teach oth­er women to oper­ate the equip­ment.” Even­tu­al­ly, they recruit­ed about 150 women, train­ing them to man the Lit­tle Curies, as the mobile radi­og­ra­phy units came to be known.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

via Brain Pick­ings

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Marie Curie’s Research Papers Are Still Radioac­tive a Cen­tu­ry Lat­er

Marie Curie Became the First Woman to Win a Nobel Prize, the First Per­son to Win Twice, and the Only Per­son in His­to­ry to Win in Two Dif­fer­ent Sci­ences

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Life & Work of Marie Curie, the First Female Nobel Lau­re­ate

Marie Curie Attend­ed a Secret, Under­ground “Fly­ing Uni­ver­si­ty” When Women Were Banned from Pol­ish Uni­ver­si­ties

Marie Curie’s Ph.D. The­sis on Radioactivity–Which Made Her the First Woman in France to Receive a Doc­tor­al Degree in Physics

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. 

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The Dylatov Pass Incident: Has One of the Biggest Soviet Mysteries Been Solved?

Most of us would go out of our way not to set foot any­where near a place the local natives refer to as “Dead Moun­tain.” That did­n’t stop the Dyat­lov Hik­ing Group, who set out on a six­teen-day ski­ing expe­di­tion across the north­ern Urals in late Jan­u­ary of 1959. Expe­ri­enced and intre­pid, those ten young Sovi­et ski hik­ers had what it took to make the jour­ney, at least if noth­ing went ter­ri­bly wrong. A bout of sci­at­i­ca forced one mem­ber of the group to turn back ear­ly, which turned out to be lucky for him. About a month lat­er, the irra­di­at­ed bod­ies of his nine com­rades were dis­cov­ered scat­tered in dif­fer­ent areas of Dead Moun­tain some dis­tance from their camp­site, with var­i­ous trau­mat­ic injuries and in var­i­ous states of undress.

Some­thing had indeed gone ter­ri­bly wrong, but nobody could fig­ure out what. For decades, the fate of the Dyat­lov Hik­ing Group inspired count­less expla­na­tions rang­ing wide­ly in plau­si­bil­i­ty. Some the­o­rized a freak weath­er phe­nom­e­non; oth­ers some kind of tox­ic air­borne event; oth­ers still, the actions of Amer­i­can spies or even a yeti.

“In a place where infor­ma­tion has been as tight­ly con­trolled as in the for­mer Sovi­et Union, mis­trust of offi­cial nar­ra­tives is nat­ur­al, and noth­ing in the record can explain why peo­ple would leave a tent undressed, in near-sui­ci­dal fash­ion,” writes the New York­er’s Dou­glas Pre­ston. Only in the late twen­ty-tens, when the Dyat­lov Group Memo­r­i­al Foun­da­tion got the case reopened, did inves­ti­ga­tors assess the con­tra­dic­to­ry evi­dence while mak­ing new mea­sure­ments and con­duct­ing new exper­i­ments.

The prob­a­ble caus­es were nar­rowed down to those explained by experts in the Vox video above: a severe bliz­zard and a slab of ice that must have shift­ed and crushed the tent. Dense­ly packed by the wind, that mas­sive, heavy slab would have “pre­vent­ed them from retriev­ing their boots or warm cloth­ing and forced them to cut their way out of the downs­lope side of the tent,” pro­ceed­ing to the clos­est nat­ur­al shel­ter from the avalanche they believed was com­ing. But no avalanche came, and they could­n’t find their way back to their camp in the dark­ness. “Had they been less expe­ri­enced, they might have remained near the tent, dug it out, and sur­vived,” writes Pre­ston. “The skiers’ exper­tise doomed them.” Not every­one accepts this the­o­ry, but then, the idea that knowl­edge can kill might be more fright­en­ing than even the most abom­inable snow­man.

Relat­ed con­tent:

What Caused the Mys­te­ri­ous Death of Edgar Allan Poe?: A Brief Inves­ti­ga­tion into the Poet’s Demise 171 Years Ago Today

The Denali Exper­i­ment: A Test of Human Lim­its

The Curi­ous Death of Vin­cent van Gogh

The Grue­some Doll­house Death Scenes That Rein­vent­ed Mur­der Inves­ti­ga­tions

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er 1300-Year-Old Pair of Skis, the Best-Pre­served Ancient Skis in Exis­tence

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

Hear What Shakespeare Sounded Like in the Original Pronunciation

What did Shakespeare’s Eng­lish sound like to Shake­speare? To his audi­ence? And how can we know such a thing as the pho­net­ic char­ac­ter of the lan­guage spo­ken 400 years ago? These ques­tions and more are addressed in the video above, which pro­files a very pop­u­lar exper­i­ment at London’s Globe The­atre, the 1994 recon­struc­tion of Shakespeare’s the­atri­cal home. As lin­guist David Crys­tal explains, the theater’s pur­pose has always been to recap­ture as much as pos­si­ble the orig­i­nal look and feel of a Shake­speare­an production—costuming, music, move­ment, etc. But until recent­ly, the Globe felt that attempt­ing a play in the orig­i­nal pro­nun­ci­a­tion would alien­ate audi­ences. The oppo­site proved to be true, and peo­ple clam­ored for more. Above, Crys­tal and his son, actor Ben Crys­tal, demon­strate to us what cer­tain Shake­speare­an pas­sages would have sound­ed like to their first audi­ences, and in so doing draw out some sub­tle word­play that gets lost on mod­ern tongues.

Shakespeare’s Eng­lish is called by schol­ars Ear­ly Mod­ern Eng­lish (not, as many stu­dents say, “Old Eng­lish,” an entire­ly dif­fer­ent, and much old­er lan­guage). Crys­tal dates his Shake­speare­an ear­ly mod­ern to around 1600. (In his excel­lent text­book on the sub­ject, lin­guist Charles Bar­ber book­ends the peri­od rough­ly between 1500 and 1700.) David Crys­tal cites three impor­tant kinds of evi­dence that guide us toward recov­er­ing ear­ly modern’s orig­i­nal pro­nun­ci­a­tion (or “OP”).

1. Obser­va­tions made by peo­ple writ­ing on the lan­guage at the time, com­ment­ing on how words sound­ed, which words rhyme, etc. Shake­speare con­tem­po­rary Ben Jon­son tells us, for exam­ple, that speak­ers of Eng­lish in his time and place pro­nounced the “R” (a fea­ture known as “rhotic­i­ty”). Since, as Crys­tal points out, the lan­guage was evolv­ing rapid­ly, and there was­n’t only one kind of OP, there is a great deal of con­tem­po­rary com­men­tary on this evo­lu­tion, which ear­ly mod­ern writ­ers like Jon­son had the chance to observe first­hand.

2. Spellings. Unlike today’s very frus­trat­ing ten­sion between spelling and pro­nun­ci­a­tion, Ear­ly Mod­ern Eng­lish tend­ed to be much more pho­net­ic and words were pro­nounced much more like they were spelled, or vice ver­sa (though spelling was very irreg­u­lar, a clue to the wide vari­ety of region­al accents).

3. Rhymes and puns which only work in OP. The Crys­tals demon­strate the impor­tant pun between “loins” and “lines” (as in genealog­i­cal lines) in Romeo and Juli­et, which is com­plete­ly lost in so-called “Received Pro­nun­ci­a­tion” (or “prop­er” British Eng­lish). Two-thirds of Shakespeare’s son­nets, the father and son team claim, have rhymes that only work in OP.

Not every­one agrees on what Shake­speare’s OP might have sound­ed like. Emi­nent Shake­speare direc­tor Trevor Nunn claims that it might have sound­ed more like Amer­i­can Eng­lish does today, sug­gest­ing that the lan­guage that migrat­ed across the pond retained more Eliz­a­bethan char­ac­ter­is­tics than the one that stayed home.

You can hear an exam­ple of this kind of OP in the record­ing from Romeo and Juli­et above. Shake­speare schol­ar John Bar­ton sug­gests that OP would have sound­ed more like mod­ern Irish, York­shire, and West Coun­try pro­nun­ci­a­tions, an accent that the Crys­tals seem to favor in their inter­pre­ta­tions of OP and is much more evi­dent in the read­ing from Mac­beth below (both audio exam­ples are from a CD curat­ed by Ben Crys­tal).

What­ev­er the con­jec­ture, schol­ars tend to use the same set of cri­te­ria David Crys­tal out­lines. I recall my own expe­ri­ence with Ear­ly Mod­ern Eng­lish pro­nun­ci­a­tion in an inten­sive grad­u­ate course on the his­to­ry of the Eng­lish lan­guage. Hear­ing a class of ama­teur lin­guists read famil­iar Shake­speare pas­sages in what we per­ceived as OP—using our phono­log­i­cal knowl­edge and David Crystal’s criteria—had exact­ly the effect Ben Crys­tal described in an NPR inter­view:

If there’s some­thing about this accent, rather than it being dif­fi­cult or more dif­fi­cult for peo­ple to under­stand … it has flecks of near­ly every region­al U.K. Eng­lish accent, and indeed Amer­i­can and in fact Aus­tralian, too. It’s a sound that makes peo­ple — it reminds peo­ple of the accent of their home — and so they tend to lis­ten more with their heart than their head.

In oth­er words, despite the strange­ness of the accent, the lan­guage can some­times feel more imme­di­ate, more uni­ver­sal, and more of the moment, even, than the some­times stilt­ed, pre­ten­tious ways of read­ing Shake­speare in the accent of a mod­ern Lon­don stage actor or BBC news anchor.

For more on this sub­ject, don’t miss this relat­ed post: Hear What Ham­let, Richard III & King Lear Sound­ed Like in Shakespeare’s Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2013.

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:

Behold Shakespeare’s First Folio, the First Pub­lished Col­lec­tion of Shakespeare’s Plays, Pub­lished 400 Year Ago (1623)

3,000 Illus­tra­tions of Shakespeare’s Com­plete Works from Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land, Pre­sent­ed in a Dig­i­tal Archive

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Shakespeare’s Globe The­atre in Lon­don

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

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An Introduction to George Orwell’s 1984 and How Power Manufactures Truth

Soon after the first elec­tion of Don­ald Trump to the pres­i­den­cy of the Unit­ed States, George Orwell’s Nine­teen Eighty-Four became a best­seller again. Shoot­ing to the top of the Amer­i­can charts, the nov­el that inspired the term “Orwellian” passed Danielle Steel’s lat­est opus, the poet­ry of Rupi Kaur, the eleventh Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, and the mem­oir of an ambi­tious young man named J. D. Vance. But how much of its renewed pop­u­lar­i­ty owed to the rel­e­vance of a near­ly 70-year-old vision of shab­by, total­i­tar­i­an future Eng­land to twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, and how much to the fact that, as far as influ­ence on pop­u­lar cul­ture’s image of polit­i­cal dystopia, no oth­er work of lit­er­a­ture comes close?

For all the myr­i­ad ways one can crit­i­cize his two admin­is­tra­tions, Trump’s Amer­i­ca bears lit­tle super­fi­cial resem­blance to Ocea­ni­a’s Airstrip One as ruled by The Par­ty. But it can hard­ly be a coin­ci­dence that this peri­od of his­to­ry has also seen the con­cept “post-truth” become a fix­ture in the zeit­geist.

There are many rea­sons not to want to live in the world Orwell imag­ines in Nine­teen Eighty-Four: the thor­ough bureau­cra­ti­za­tion, the lack of plea­sure, the unceas­ing sur­veil­lance and pro­pa­gan­da. But none of this is quite so intol­er­a­ble as what makes it all pos­si­ble: the rulers’ claim to absolute con­trol over the truth, a form of psy­cho­log­i­cal manip­u­la­tion hard­ly lim­it­ed to regimes we regard as evil.

As James Payne says in his Great Books Explained video on Nine­teen Eighty-Four, Orwell worked for the BBC’s over­seas ser­vice dur­ing the war, and there received a trou­bling edu­ca­tion in the use of infor­ma­tion as a polit­i­cal weapon. The expe­ri­ence inspired the Min­istry of Truth, where the nov­el­’s pro­tag­o­nist Win­ston Smith spends his days re-writ­ing his­to­ry, and the dialect of Newspeak, a severe­ly reduced Eng­lish designed to nar­row its speak­ers’ range of thought. Orwell may have over­es­ti­mat­ed the degree to which lan­guage can be mod­i­fied from the top down, but as Payne reminds us, we now all hear cul­ture war­riors describe real­i­ty in high­ly slant­ed, polit­i­cal­ly-charged, and often thought-ter­mi­nat­ing ways all day long. Every­where we look, some­one is ready to tell us that two plus two make five; if only they were as obvi­ous about it as Big Broth­er.

Relat­ed con­tent:

George Orwell Explains How “Newspeak” Works, the Offi­cial Lan­guage of His Total­i­tar­i­an Dystopia in 1984

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

George Orwell’s Har­row­ing Race to Fin­ish 1984 Before His Death

George Orwell’s Final Warn­ing: Don’t Let This Night­mare Sit­u­a­tion Hap­pen. It Depends on You!

What “Orwellian” Real­ly Means: An Ani­mat­ed Les­son About the Use & Abuse of the Term

Aldous Hux­ley to George Orwell: My Hell­ish Vision of the Future is Bet­ter Than Yours (1949)

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

Talking Heads Release the First Official Video for “Psycho Killer”: Watch It Online

On social media, the Talk­ing Heads teased a major announce­ment on June 5th, lead­ing fans to won­der if a reunion—41 years after their last tour—might final­ly be in the off­ing. As one fan put it, “If this is a tour announce­ment, I am going to freak out!” Alas, we did­n’t quite get that. (Maybe next time!) Instead, we got the first offi­cial music video for “Psy­cho Killer.” Direct­ed by Mike Mills and star­ring Saoirse Ronan, the video helps com­mem­o­rate the band’s first show at CBGB 50 years ago. You can watch the video above, and footage from CBGB in 1975 here.

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 

The Talk­ing Heads Play CBGB, the New York Club That Shaped Their Sound (1975)

A Brief His­to­ry of Talk­ing Heads: How the Band Went from Scrap­py CBGB’s Punks to New Wave Super­stars

Hear the Ear­li­est Known Talk­ing Heads Record­ings (1975)

How Talk­ing Heads and Bri­an Eno Wrote “Once in a Life­time”: Cut­ting Edge, Strange & Utter­ly Bril­liant

Talk­ing Heads Fea­tured on The South Bank Show in 1979: How the Ground­break­ing New Wave Band Made Nor­mal­i­ty Strange Again

CBGB’s Hey­day: Watch The Ramones, The Dead Boys, Bad Brains, Talk­ing Heads & Blondie Per­form Live (1974–1982)

 

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