Hannah Arendt Discusses Philosophy, Politics & Eichmann in Rare 1964 TV Interview

Han­nah Arendt’s work has come under some crit­i­cal fire late­ly, what with the release of the Mar­garethe Von Trot­ta-direct­ed biopic, star­ring Ger­man actress Bar­bara Sukowa as the con­tro­ver­sial polit­i­cal the­o­rist. At issue in the film and the sur­round­ing com­men­tary are Arendt’s (alleged­ly mis­lead­ing) char­ac­ter­i­za­tions of the sub­ject of her 1963 book Eich­mann in Jerusalem, as well as her ambivalent—some have said cal­lous, even “victim-blaming”—treatment of oth­er Jews. None of these con­tro­ver­sies are new, how­ev­er. As Arendt schol­ar Roger Berkowitz notes in a recent New York Times edi­to­r­i­al, at the time of her book’s pub­li­ca­tion, “Near­ly every major lit­er­ary and philo­soph­i­cal fig­ure in New York chose sides in what the writer Irv­ing Howe called a ‘civ­il war’ among New York intel­lec­tu­als.”

While acknowl­edg­ing Arendt’s flaws, Berkowitz seeks to exon­er­ate the best-known con­cept that emerged from her work on Eichmann’s tri­al, the “banal­i­ty of evil.” And while it can be com­fort­ing to have an inter­preter explain, and defend, the work of a major, con­tro­ver­sial, thinker, there is no intel­lec­tu­al sub­sti­tute for engag­ing with the work itself.

In the age of the media interview—radio, tele­vi­sion, pod­cast and otherwise—one can usu­al­ly see and hear an author explain her views in per­son. And so we have the inter­view above (in Ger­man with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles), in which Arendt sits with tele­vi­sion pre­sen­ter and jour­nal­ist Gunter Gaus for a Ger­man pro­gram called Zur Per­son (The Per­son), a Char­lie Rose-like show that fea­tured celebri­ties, impor­tant thinkers, and politi­cians (includ­ing an appear­ance by Hen­ry Kissinger).

A blog­ger at Jew­ish Phi­los­o­phy Place writes that Arendt’s interview—a tran­script of which was lat­er pub­lished in The Portable Han­nah Arendt as “What Remains? Lan­guage Remains”—is “slow and delib­er­a­tive, not sharp and declar­a­tive, mov­ing in cir­cles, not straight lines.” The inter­view touch­es on a vari­ety of top­ics, draw­ing on ideas expressed in Arendt’s ear­li­er works, The Ori­gins of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism and The Human Con­di­tion. She is some­what cagey when it comes to the so-called “Eich­mann Con­tro­ver­sy,” and she may have had per­son­al as well as pro­fes­sion­al rea­sons for indi­rec­tion. Her affair with her for­mer pro­fes­sor, avowed and unre­pen­tant Nazi Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger, dogged her post-war career, and the afore­men­tioned intel­lec­tu­al “civ­il war” prob­a­bly increased her cir­cum­spec­tion.

Arendt’s crit­ics, then and now, often remark upon what the Jew­ish Phi­los­o­phy Place writer suc­cinct­ly calls her “dis­dain for oth­ers.” While the new biopic (trail­er above) may obscure much of this crit­i­cal controversy—unfilmable as such things are anyway—readers wish­ing to under­stand one of the Holocaust’s most famous inter­preters should read, and hear, her in her own words before mak­ing any judg­ments.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Han­nah Arendt’s Orig­i­nal Arti­cles on “the Banal­i­ty of Evil” in the New York­er Archive

Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Talks About Lan­guage, Being, Marx & Reli­gion in Vin­tage 1960s Inter­views

Down­load 90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

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

Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?: A 1958 Look at How Modern Gadgets & Conveniences Lead to Existential Hell

Think grow­ing feel­ings of iso­la­tion in a world of mod­ern con­ve­niences is a new phe­nom­e­non? Slap a dial on that smart­phone, shove a col­lectible rock­et in your kid’s cere­al box, hop in a Cad­dy with fins and think again, pal!

Have I Told You Late­ly That I Love You, a cau­tion­ary tale cre­at­ed by Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia stu­dents in 1958, is a far-from-silent film marked by a near-total absence of human speech. The lit­tle boy char­ac­ter seems hap­py enough with his pop­si­cle and tele­vi­sion West­erns, but his white-col­lar dad and house­wife mom are marooned in their indi­vid­ual exis­ten­tial hells, unable to con­nect. Could the new­fan­gled, labor sav­ing devices with which their home and dad’s work­place abound be to blame?

The newsy radio report play­ing inter­mit­tent­ly in the back­ground would cer­tain­ly have it so. Sto­ries of hair loss, headaches and a kid shoot­ing his father over a TV-relat­ed dis­pute sug­gest none too sub­tly that progress has long been a source of anx­i­ety.

I might sug­gest that the moth­er is suf­fer­ing more from the rigid gen­der roles of her era than the tyran­ny of an auto­mat­ic dish­wash­er. Per­haps the sub­urbs weren’t offer­ing them much in the way of com­mu­ni­ty. Isn’t it pos­si­ble that the rela­tion­ship has gone cold due to the father’s pen­chant for hop­ping in bed with the girls from the steno pool?

That’s pret­ty stan­dard behav­ior on Mad Men, no?

While this short film offers none of the afore­men­tioned’s sexy, booze-soaked highs, there’s quite a bit of black-and-white design porn on dis­play. Dic­ta­phones, gleam­ing kitchen appli­ances,  a music box that dis­pens­es cig­a­rettes…

Oth­er­wise it’s a vision of an aver­age Amer­i­can 1950’s fam­i­ly as con­ceived of by Ing­mar Bergman.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Before Mad Men: Famil­iar and For­got­ten Ads from 1950s to 1980s Now Online

How a Clean, Tidy Home Can Help You Sur­vive the Atom­ic Bomb: A Cold War Film from 1954

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

Ayun Hal­l­i­day has always pre­ferred the Roar­ing Twen­ties. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Rare Print of Censored 1972 Rolling Stones Concert Film Cocksucker Blues Goes on Sale for £25,000

In 1971, The Rolling Stones record­ed their mas­ter­ful dou­ble album Exile on Main Street, under some fab­u­lous cir­cum­stances in the south of France. That same year, they embarked on their first Amer­i­can tour since the 1969 dis­as­ter at Alta­mont tar­nished their brand. Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Frank was there to film it all, and I mean all, with cam­eras back­stage and every­where else, wield­ed by band mem­bers, groupies, and road­ies. The result­ing film, Cock­suck­er Blues (short clip above)—named after an equal­ly elu­sive and deca­dent unre­leased sin­gle—was embar­goed by the band, banned by cen­sors, and only shown in 1979 and then only once every five years there­after, with Frank present, under a strange agree­ment nego­ti­at­ed with much legal wran­gling by Frank, the band, and the courts.

The film’s depic­tion of drug use and debauch­ery is to be expect­ed, but it’s an arti­fact that deserves to be seen on oth­er grounds as well, and it has been by many in boot­leg ver­sions cir­cu­lat­ing for decades. Don DeLil­lo made a point­ed ref­er­ence to the film in the fourth sec­tion of his Great Amer­i­can Nov­el ™, Under­world, and as one of the few crit­ics to review the film has said, it’s a movie as much about late 20th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca as about the Rolling Stones, “a far truer pic­ture of the USA than any­thing else Frank ever did.” Now, British rare book­seller Peter Har­ring­ton has obtained one of the few qual­i­ty prints of the film and offers it for sale for 25,000 pounds. On the Peter Har­ring­ton web­site, writer Glenn Mitchell cites Ter­ry Southern’s remem­brance of Kei­th Richard’s response to the film. When Robert Frank explained to Richards his idea by say­ing, “it’s vérité,” Richards appar­ent­ly respond­ed, “nev­er mind vérité, I want poet­ry.” “Maybe,” writes Mitchell, “they both got what they want­ed.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gimme Shel­ter: Watch the Clas­sic Doc­u­men­tary of the Rolling Stones’ Dis­as­trous Con­cert at Alta­mont

Jean-Luc Godard Cap­tures The Rolling Stones Record­ing “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il” (1968)

Watch Phish Play All of The Rolling Stones’ Clas­sic Album, Exile on Main Street, Live in Con­cert

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

Selling Cool: Lou Reed’s Classic Honda Scooter Commercial, 1984

In the ear­ly 1980s the Hon­da Motor Com­pa­ny was try­ing to get peo­ple to think of its new Hon­da Elite scoot­ers as a cool way of get­ting around. To that end, the com­pa­ny enlist­ed a series of celebri­ties, includ­ing Miles Davis, Grace Jones and Devo, to appear in its ad cam­paign. The most notable piece in the cam­paign, by far, was a one-minute TV com­mer­cial in 1984 star­ring for­mer Vel­vet Under­ground front­man Lou Reed.

The film was shot in what was then a very rough-and-tum­ble Low­er East Side of Man­hat­tan. Direc­tor Steve Horn, hired by the Port­land, Ore­gon-based agency Wieden & Kennedy, under­ex­posed and overde­vel­oped the film to give it a grainy, doc­u­men­tary appear­ance. Edi­tor Lawrence Bridges, well-known for his work on Michael Jack­son’s “Beat It” video, was hired to piece it all togeth­er.

Bridges found the task of set­ting the images to Reed’s clas­sic 1972 song “Walk on the Wild Side” extreme­ly daunt­ing. The idea of using that song in a com­mer­cial seemed like a sac­ri­lege. “The gen­er­a­tion being adver­tised to at that point was prob­a­bly the most cyn­i­cal and sus­pi­cious toward the medi­um to date,” writes Bridges at Vimeo, “and, more­over, I had this mon­u­men­tal piece of music that I had to hon­or. For me, the answer was to make it into an ‘under­ground’ film.”

Bridges used tech­niques he had learned from French New Wave films and that he had exper­i­ment­ed with in MTV videos. “I got to work and used the junk cuts,” says Bridges, “includ­ing flash frames and run outs and whip pans that would nor­mal­ly end up being left on the floor for an assis­tant to clean up. I did all the things I’d done in music videos, like tak­ing a shot and divid­ing it ran­dom­ly in jump cuts, and all oth­er man­ner of post-pro­duc­tion tech­niques we used in music videos when we had less footage than the length of the actu­al video.”

When it was fin­ished, Bridges and his col­leagues arranged a meet­ing with a mar­ket­ing man­ag­er from Hon­da. It was a nerve-rack­ing encounter.  “The client was a very shrewd, prac­ti­cal per­son and I knew that he was averse to con­spic­u­ous­ly dar­ing cre­ative work,” says Bridges. “This grit­ty, almost avant-garde spot, set in pre-gen­tri­fied Low­er Man­hat­tan with every art film trope you could imag­ine might have put con­sid­er­able demands on his charm.” Instead, Bridges recalls, when the com­mer­cial was fin­ished play­ing the man from Hon­da broke the ten­sion by say­ing, “We need to be THAT scoot­er com­pa­ny.”

The spot made a huge splash on Madi­son Avenue. Its influ­ence could be seen all over the next gen­er­a­tion of com­mer­cials. But it did­n’t sell many scoot­ers. “For all its impact on the adver­tis­ing indus­try,” writes Ran­dall Rothen­berg in Where the Suck­ers Moon: The Life and Death of an Adver­tis­ing Cam­paign, “the Lou Reed com­mer­cial did lit­tle for Hon­da. Young Amer­i­cans had lit­tle inter­est in scoot­ers, no mat­ter how hip they were made out to be.”

NOTE: To see some of the ear­li­er scoot­er ads cre­at­ed for Hon­da by the Los Ange­les-based Dai­ley & Asso­ciates, you can fol­low these links: DevoMiles DavisGrace Jones and Adam Ant.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

Fellini’s Fan­tas­tic TV Com­mer­cials

Ing­mar Bergman’s Soap Com­mer­cials Wash Away the Exis­ten­tial Despair

Two Scenes from Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, Recreated in Lego

Stan­ley Kubrick, among the many oth­er skills that made him per­haps the best-known auteur of the sec­ond half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, could craft an imme­di­ate­ly mem­o­rable scene. More­over, he could con­struct entire films out of noth­ing but imme­di­ate­ly mem­o­rable scenes. This goes espe­cial­ly for his Cold War black com­e­dy Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Wor­ry­ing and Love the Bomb, whose fans tend to quote to each oth­er not indi­vid­ual lines but entire five‑, ten‑, fif­teen-minute stretch­es from the movie. One such oft-reen­act­ed scene, the phone con­ver­sa­tion in which Pres­i­dent Merkin Muf­fley warns ine­bri­at­ed Pre­mier Dim­itri Kisov of the U.S. bombers head­ed toward Rus­sia appears at the top of the post, in the orig­i­nal black-and-white, with the orig­i­nal voic­es of Peter Sell­ers, Peter Bull, and George C. Scott, and — with noth­ing in front of the cam­era but Lego bricks and Lego men.

Just above, you can see Sell­ers’ per­for­mance as the tit­u­lar eccen­tric, alien hand-syn­drome-suf­fer­ing doc­tor phys­i­cal­ly ren­dered in Lego. Dr. Strangelove fans know the scene comes late in the film, when a long series of errors and acts of unrea­son on all sides has made immi­nent the moment of mutu­al­ly assured destruc­tion. “I had to take out the famous scene of Slim Pick­ens rid­ing the bomb and the nuclear holo­caust cred­its to have this video view­able, because those scenes were tak­en direct­ly from the movie,” explains these videos’ cre­ator, a Youtube user by the name of XXxO­PRIMExXX. “I was hop­ing to have the Slim Pick­ens scene done in Lego by now but I just nev­er had enough time or effort to do it, maybe some time in the future.” Let me say that, if I have con­fi­dence in any­one to get that job done, I have con­fi­dence in some­one with the sta­mi­na to suc­cess­ful­ly build a Lego War Room.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Inside Dr. Strangelove: Doc­u­men­tary Reveals How a Cold War Sto­ry Became a Kubrick Clas­sic

Aban­doned Alter­nate Titles for Two Great Films: Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove and Hitchcock’s Ver­ti­go

Clas­sic Pho­tographs Remade Lego Style

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 Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Three Great Films Starring Charlie Chaplin, the True Icon of Silent Comedy

Writ­ing about the sort of cre­ators and works of art we do here at Open Cul­ture, I con­stant­ly strug­gle not to overuse the word “icon­ic.” But in the case of actor and film­mak­er Char­lie Chap­lin, no oth­er adjec­tive could do. When we call Chap­lin icon­ic, we mean it lit­er­al­ly: not only did he find great suc­cess as a com­ic fig­ure in the silent-film era, he visu­al­ly rep­re­sents the con­cept of a com­ic fig­ure in the silent film era. Yet he did­n’t attain icon sta­tus in just one form, hav­ing con­tin­u­al­ly tweaked, refined, and improved his look and sen­si­bil­i­ty through­out his 75-year career. Now, 35 years after his death, we see all of these per­for­mances as sub­tly dif­fer­ent but still rec­og­nize them as expres­sions of the broad­er Chap­lin per­sona. At the top of the post, you can watch the film that estab­lished his most beloved one, 1915’s The Tramp.

But the Lit­tle Tramp did­n’t emerge ful­ly formed just then and there. Tech­ni­cal­ly, the char­ac­ter debuted in the pre­vi­ous year’s Kid Auto Races at Venice, and even before that, Chap­lin por­trayed a few fel­lows we might call pro­to-Tramps. Just above, you’ll find 1914’s Mak­ing a Liv­ing, a pic­ture that casts the Lon­don-born Chap­lin, with hat, cane, and mus­tache, as flir­ta­tious thief Hen­ry Eng­lish. His crim­i­nal ways lead him into the path of those oth­er silent-com­e­dy stal­warts (if not quite icons), the Key­stone Kops. A decade lat­er, Chap­lin, by that point the quin­tes­sen­tial writ­ing-direct­ing-act­ing auteur, would­n’t need to share the screen. In 1925, he made the Klondike-set The Gold Rush, whose “streaks of poet­ry, pathos, ten­der­ness, linked with brusque­ness and bois­ter­ous­ness” drew spe­cial praise from the New York Times, and for which Chap­lin said he want­ed to be remem­bered. You can watch it below, and then you can browse our col­lec­tion of 25 Free Char­lie Chap­lin Films on the web.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pow­er of Silent Movies, with The Artist Direc­tor Michel Haz­anavi­cius

Hol­ly­wood, Epic Doc­u­men­tary Chron­i­cles the Ear­ly His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

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 Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Alfred Hitchcock Explains the Plot Device He Called the ‘MacGuffin’

Alfred Hitch­cock liked to call it the “MacGuf­fin” — the mys­te­ri­ous object in a spy thriller that sets the whole chain of events into motion.

But despite the sup­posed cen­tral­i­ty of the MacGuf­fin, a Hitch­cock movie is always about some­thing else. In The 39 Steps, for exam­ple, the MacGuf­fin turns out to be the cov­et­ed plans for an advanced air­plane engine, stored in the mind of a vaude­ville per­former named “Mr. Mem­o­ry.” But real­ly the film is about a wrong­ful­ly accused man’s des­per­ate strug­gle to solve a mys­tery so he can clear his name and live to see anoth­er day.

The MacGuf­fin is always par­tic­u­lar — often to the point of absur­di­ty — while the hero’s moti­va­tion is uni­ver­sal. Some of the char­ac­ters may care about the MacGuf­fin, but the audi­ence cer­tain­ly does not. In his 1962 inter­view with François Truf­faut, Hitch­cock explains:

The main thing I’ve learned over the years is that the MacGuf­fin is noth­ing. I’m con­vinced of this, but I find it very dif­fi­cult to prove it to oth­ers. My best MacGuf­fin, and by that I mean the emp­ti­est, the most nonex­is­tent, and the most absurd, is the one we used in North by North­west. The pic­ture is about espi­onage, and the only ques­tion that’s raised in the sto­ry is to find out what the spies are after. Well, dur­ing the scene at the Chica­go air­port, the Cen­tral Intel­li­gence man explains the whole sit­u­a­tion to Cary Grant, and Grant, refer­ring to the James Mason char­ac­ter, asks, “What does he do?”  The coun­ter­in­tel­li­gence man replies, “Let’s just say that he’s an importer and exporter.” “But what does he sell?” “Oh, just gov­ern­ment secrets!” is the answer. Here, you see, the MacGuf­fin has been boiled down to its purest expres­sion: noth­ing at all!

The term “MacGuf­fin” was coined by a screen­writer Hitch­cock worked with named Angus MacPhail, accord­ing to Don­ald Spo­to in The Art of Alfred Hitch­cock: Fifty Years of His Motion Pic­tures. But the prin­ci­ple goes back at least as far as Rud­yard Kipling, as Hitch­cock explains in this whim­si­cal lit­tle film by Isaac Nie­mand with audio from Hitch­cock­’s June 8, 1972 appear­ance on the Dick Cavett Show. Per­haps the most impor­tant thing to remem­ber about the MacGuf­fin is that it con­tains the word “guff,” which means a load of non­sense. “There’s a lot to look for in Hitch­cock­’s films,” writes Spo­to, “but watch out for the MacGuf­fin. It will lead you nowhere.”

NOTE: The 39 Steps and oth­er Hitch­cock thrillers can be found in our col­lec­tion of 16 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online, not to men­tion our big col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

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:

Alfred Hitch­cock on the Film­mak­er’s Essen­tial Tool: ‘The Kuleshov Effect’

Hitchcock’s Sev­en-Minute Edit­ing Mas­ter Class

37 Hitch­cock Cameos over 50 Years: All in One Video

Four American Composers: Peter Greenaway on John Cage, Philip Glass, Meredith Monk, and Robert Ashley (1983)

Why would a not­ed British film­mak­er want to take as a sub­ject four Amer­i­can com­posers? Per­haps the ques­tion answers itself, in part, when I tell you the iden­ti­ty of the film­mak­er, Peter Green­away, and the com­posers, Philip Glass, Mered­ith Monk, John Cage, and Robert Ash­ley. No won­der this selec­tion of musi­cal per­son­al­i­ties appealed to the direc­tor of The Draughts­man­’s Con­tract;The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover; and Pros­per­o’s Books, whom crit­ics have labeled, at var­i­ous times, a clas­si­cist, an exper­i­menter, a for­mal­ist, and a weirdo. Alas, Green­away’s fans may not know much about Glass, Monk, Cage, and Ash­ley, just as those com­posers’ adher­ents may nev­er have encoun­tered a movie of Green­away’s. To bridge the gap, we give you the doc­u­men­tary series Four Amer­i­can Com­posers, free to watch online. At the top of this post, you’ll find the first episode, on Cage. The sec­ond, below, cov­ers Glass. The third and fourth take on Monk and Ash­ley, respec­tive­ly.

Green­away die-hards such as myself may, watch­ing these doc­u­men­taries the film­mak­er cre­at­ed in 1983, think back to his ear­ly career. At that time, he made pic­tures like The Falls, which rigid­ly fol­lowed the doc­u­men­tary form while com­plete­ly aban­don­ing its aspi­ra­tions to cap­ture the lit­er­al truth. Thor­ough­ly non­fic­tion­al, or at least seem­ing that way, the doc­u­men­taries that make up Four Amer­i­can Com­posers nonethe­less exude the Green­away sen­si­bil­i­ty. “Because he made most­ly mock-doc­u­men­taries in the sev­en­ties,” writes Amy Lawrence in The Films of Peter Green­away, “the ‘real’ doc­u­men­taries are near­ly indis­tin­guish­able from the fakes. Real peo­ple (espe­cial­ly John Cage) tend to become Green­away char­ac­ters.” The project thus slides neat­ly in with his oth­er, more “straight­for­ward” films, all of which take place in a delib­er­ate­ly struc­tured labyrinth of joke and allu­sion peo­pled by archi­tects, inven­tors, aris­to­crats, and artists — obses­sives, all.

You can find two oth­er films by Green­away — Dar­win and Rembrandt’s J’accuse — in our col­lec­tion of 525 Free Movies Online.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dar­win: A 1993 Film by Peter Green­away

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

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 Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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