As an arts major who dooÂdled my way through every required sciÂence course in high school and colÂlege, I am deeply gratÂiÂfied by filmÂmakÂer Michel Gondry’s approach to docÂuÂmentÂing the ideas of Noam ChomÂsky. HavÂing filmed about three hours worth of interÂviews with the activist, philosoÂpher, and father of modÂern linÂguisÂtics in a sterÂile MIT conÂferÂence room, Gondry headÂed back to his charmÂingÂly anaÂlog BrookÂlyn digs to spend three years aniÂmatÂing the conÂverÂsaÂtions. It’s nice to see a filmÂmakÂer of his stature using books to jerÂry-rig his camÂera set up. At one point, he hudÂdles on the floor, puzÂzling over some sequenÂtial drawÂings on 3‑hole punch paper. Seems like the kind of thing most peoÂple in his field would tackÂle with an iPad and an assisÂtant.
Gondry may have felt intelÂlecÂtuÂalÂly dwarfed by his subÂject, but there’s a kind of genius afoot in his work too. DescribÂing the stop-motion techÂnique he used for Is the Man Who Is Tall HapÂpy?, he told Amy GoodÂman of DemocÂraÂcy Now, “I have a lightÂbox, and I put paper on it, and I aniÂmate with Sharpies, colÂor Sharpies. And I have a 16-milÂlimeÂter camÂera that is set up on a triÂpod and looks down, and I take a picÂture. I do a drawÂing and take a picÂture.”
A pretÂty apt summation—watch him in action above—but the curiosÂiÂty and humanÂiÂty so eviÂdent in such feaÂtures as EterÂnal SunÂshine of the SpotÂless Mindand The SciÂence of Sleep is a magÂiÂcal ingreÂdiÂent here, too. He attribÂutÂes bioÂlogÂiÂcal propÂerÂties to his Sharpie markÂers, and takes a break from some of ChomÂsky’s more comÂplex thoughts to ask about his feelÂings when his wife passed away. He doesÂn’t seem to mind that he might seem a bit of a schoolÂboy in comÂparÂiÂson, one whose talÂents lie beyond this parÂticÂuÂlar proÂfesÂsor’s scope.
As ChomÂsky himÂself remarks in the trailÂer, below, “LearnÂing comes from askÂing why do things work like that, why not some othÂer way?”
Is the Man Who Is Tall HapÂpy? is availÂable on iTunes.
Ayun HalÂlÂiÂday puts her lifeÂlong penÂchant for dooÂdling to good use in her award-winÂning, handÂwritÂten, illusÂtratÂed zine, The East VilÂlage Inky. FolÂlow her @AyunHalliday
Alain de BotÂton is a not a philosopher’s philosoÂpher. This means that his work is givÂen litÂtle conÂsidÂerÂaÂtion inside acadÂeÂmia. It also means that he speaks to many, many more people—ordinary peoÂple hunÂgry for humanÂist ideas about living—than his peers. In his six-part video series, PhiÂlosÂoÂphy:A Guide to HapÂpiÂness, de BotÂton tells us that he’d always looked to phiÂlosÂoÂphy as a disÂciÂpline that “has wise things to say about everyÂday worÂries…. PhiÂlosÂoÂphy promised someÂthing that might sound a litÂtle naĂŻve, but was in fact rather proÂfound: A way to learn to be hapÂpy.” I’m still not sure if this sounds more naĂŻve or proÂfound, but de Botton’s videos, each nearÂly 25 minÂutes long, conÂcern thinkers who sureÂly knew the difÂferÂence. Each video also funcÂtions as a travÂelÂogue of sorts, as de BotÂton visÂits the cities that proÂduced the thinkers, and tries to square their hisÂtoÂries with the modÂern world around the relics.
Above, de BotÂton disÂcussÂes Roman stoÂic philosoÂpher and trageÂdiÂan Seneca. An adviÂsor to Nero, Seneca’s life may have been hapÂpy, at times, but it was hardÂly restrained. In any case, he had someÂthing to teach us about the futilÂiÂty of anger, and he was also, like de BotÂton, a great popÂuÂlarÂizÂer of othÂer peoÂple’s ideas. Seneca charÂacÂterÂized anger as a ratioÂnal response that nonetheÂless relies on false premisÂes, nameÂly that we have more conÂtrol over our cirÂcumÂstances than we actuÂalÂly do, and that our optiÂmism about outÂcomes is unfoundÂed and sets us up with unreÂalÂisÂtic expecÂtaÂtions. De BotÂton has before proÂfessed an affinÂiÂty for the tragÂic view, and Seneca’s horÂriÂbly bloody works, which inspired the ElizÂaÂbethan genre known as “Revenge Tragedy,” are parÂticÂuÂlarÂly grotesque exploÂrations of anger. But perÂhaps it is those who most clearÂly see the perÂniÂcious effects of an emoÂtion, or lack of it, who underÂstand it best.
Take Arthur SchopenÂhauer, whom de BotÂton conÂsults as his authorÂiÂty on love. Like Seneca, SchopenÂhauer seems very much at odds with much of his philoÂsophÂiÂcal writÂing on love and comÂpasÂsion. His essay “On Women” earned him a perÂmaÂnent repÂuÂtaÂtion as a misogÂyÂnist, deserved or not. He’s rumored to have had a vioÂlent temÂper and wrote approvÂingÂly of keepÂing one’s disÂtance from the mass of peoÂple, most of whom annoyed him disÂproÂporÂtionÂateÂly. SchopenÂhauer also famousÂly wrote that it would have been preferÂable not to have been born at all, a posiÂtion of extreme misÂanÂthropy known as antiÂnaÂtalÂism.
But there are othÂer aspects of SchopenÂhauer’s romanÂtic life to disÂcuss, both its earÂly sucÂcessÂes and latÂer failÂures. “NothÂing in life,” says de BotÂton, “is more imporÂtant than love for SchopenÂhauer.” Even with all of its pains of rejecÂtion, romanÂtic love, SchopenÂhauer wrote in The World as Will and RepÂreÂsenÂtaÂtion, “is more imporÂtant than all othÂer aims in man’s life; and thereÂfore it is quite worÂthy of the proÂfound seriÂousÂness with which everyÂone purÂsues it.”
AnothÂer popÂuÂlar British philoÂsophÂiÂcal thinker, John Gray, has a very difÂferÂent take on the great GerÂman pesÂsimist, callÂing his philosophy “more subÂverÂsive of humanÂist hopes than any othÂer.” But de Botton’s techÂnique seems in many ways calÂcuÂlatÂed as a mild subÂverÂsion of expecÂtaÂtion, choosÂing as he does such conÂtraÂdicÂtoÂry, and often very soliÂtary figÂures.
One soliÂtary thinker who occuÂpies a treaÂsured place in the library of every humanÂist is Michel de MonÂtaigne, the genial French essayÂist who inventÂed the litÂerÂary term essai, and who some might say also perÂfectÂed the form. MonÂtaigne has always struck me as the hapÂpiÂest of men, even in, or espeÂcialÂly in his long stretchÂes of soliÂtude, puncÂtuÂatÂed by conÂsciÂenÂtious pubÂlic serÂvice (despite his lifeÂlong painful kidÂney stones). While both SchopenÂhauer and MonÂtaigne engaged in lengthy self-examÂiÂnaÂtion, MonÂtaigne seems to have genÂuineÂly liked himÂself and othÂers. He treats himÂself in his writÂings as an old and honÂest friend with whom one can be perÂfectÂly canÂdid withÂout any fear of reprisal. This is perÂhaps why de BotÂton chose him to illusÂtrate self-esteem.
MonÂtaigne comes from a traÂdiÂtion much friendÂlier to phiÂlosÂoÂphy as memÂoir (he inventÂed the traÂdiÂtion). And so, in this age of the memÂoir, he has seen a great resurÂgence. In 2011, at least three popÂuÂlar books on MonÂtaigne came out, one titled How to Live and anothÂer subÂtiÂtled MonÂtaigne and Being in Touch With Life. Of all the six philosoÂphers de BotÂton surÂveys in his series, which also includes NietÂzsche, EpiÂcuÂrus, and Socrates, MonÂtaigne would seem the most comÂpliÂmenÂtaÂry to de Botton’s casuÂal, perÂsonÂal approach to phiÂlosÂoÂphy, which seeks not to dig new ground nor disÂcovÂer disÂtant counÂtries but to conÂfront the vexÂing human quesÂtions that meet us always at home.
You can view all six episodes in the embedÂded playlist below:
Beethoven’s iconÂic Ninth SymÂphoÂny preÂmiered in VienÂna in 1824, at “a time of great represÂsion, of ultra-conÂserÂvÂaÂtive nationÂalÂism” as the old orders fought back against the revÂoÂluÂtions of the preÂviÂous cenÂtuÂry. But it’s difÂfiÂcult to imagÂine the comÂposÂer havÂing any nationÂalÂist intent, what with his well-known hatred of authorÂiÂty, parÂticÂuÂlarÂly impeÂriÂalÂist authorÂiÂty (and parÂticÂuÂlarÂly of Napoleon). Even less obviÂous is the impuÂtaÂtion of nationÂalÂist tenÂdenÂcies to Friedrich Schiller, whose poem, “Ode to Joy” Beethoven adapts to a gloÂriÂous choÂrus in the fourth moveÂment. Schiller’s poem, writes Scott HorÂton in Harper’s, “enviÂsions a world withÂout monÂarchs” in which uniÂverÂsal friendÂship “is essenÂtial if humankind is to overÂcome its darkÂer moments.” And in his take on the ubiqÂuiÂtous piece of music, conÂtrarÂiÂan theÂoÂrist Slavoj Ĺ˝iĹľek acknowlÂedges in the clip above from his latÂest film, A Pervert’s Guide to IdeÂolÂoÂgy, that the Ninth is genÂerÂalÂly takÂen for grantÂed “as a kind of an ode to humanÂiÂty as such, to the brothÂerÂhood and freeÂdom of all peoÂple.”
And yet Ĺ˝iĹľek , being Ĺ˝iĹľek, draws our attenÂtion to the Ninth SymÂphoÂny as a perÂfect ideÂoÂlogÂiÂcal conÂtainÂer, by refÂerÂence to its unforÂgetÂtable use in StanÂley Kubrick’s A ClockÂwork Orange, as unsparÂing a look at humanity’s “darkÂer moments” as one might find on film (excerpt above). Kubrick (and comÂposÂer Wendy CarÂlos) drew on a long, dark hisÂtoÂry of assoÂciÂaÂtions with the Ninth. As eviÂdence of its “uniÂverÂsal adaptÂabilÂiÂty,” Ĺ˝iĹľek points to its well-known use by the Nazis as a nationÂalÂist anthem, as well as by the SoviÂet Union as a comÂmuÂnist song; in ChiÂna durÂing the CulÂturÂal RevÂoÂluÂtion, when almost all othÂer WestÂern music was proÂhibÂitÂed; and at the extreme Apartheid right in South RhodeÂsia. “At the oppoÂsite end,” Ĺ˝iĹľek says, the Ninth SymÂphoÂny was the favorite of ultra-leftÂist ShinÂing Path leader AbiÂmael GuzÂman, and in 1972, it became the unofÂfiÂcial “Anthem of Europe” (now of the EuroÂpean Union). The towÂerÂing piece of music, Ĺ˝iĹľek claims, enables us to imagÂine a “perÂverse scene of uniÂverÂsal fraÂterÂniÂty” in which the world’s dicÂtaÂtors, arch-terÂrorÂists, and war crimÂiÂnals all embrace each othÂer. It’s a deeply disÂturbÂing image, to say the least. Watch the full excerpt for more of Ĺ˝iĹľek’s examÂiÂnaÂtion of the ideÂoÂlogÂiÂcal weight Beethoven carÂries.
NeuÂroÂsciÂenÂtist StuÂart Firestein, the chair of ColumÂbia University’s BioÂlogÂiÂcal SciÂences departÂment, rejects any metaphor that likens the goal of sciÂence to comÂpletÂing a puzÂzle, peelÂing an onion, or peekÂing beneath the surÂface to view an iceÂberg in its entireÂty.
Such comÂparÂisons sugÂgest a future in which all of our quesÂtions will be answered. In Dr. Firestein’s view, every answer can and should creÂate a whole new set of quesÂtions, an opinÂion preÂviÂousÂly voiced by playÂwright George Bernard Shaw and philosoÂpher Immanuel Kant.
A more apt metaphor might be an endÂless cycle of chickÂens and eggs. Or, as Dr. Firestein posits in his highÂly enterÂtainÂing, 18-minute TED talk above, a chalÂlenge on par with findÂing a black cat in a dark room that may conÂtain no cats whatÂsoÂevÂer.
AccordÂing to Firestein, by the time we reach adultÂhood, 90% of us will have lost our interÂest in sciÂence. Young chilÂdren are likeÂly to expeÂriÂence the subÂject as someÂthing jolÂly, hands-on, and advenÂturÂous. As we grow oldÂer, a delÂuge of facts often ends up trumpÂing the fun. PrinÂciÂples of NeurÂal SciÂence, a required text for Firestein’s underÂgradÂuÂate CelÂluÂlar and MolÂeÂcÂuÂlar NeuÂroÂscience course weighs twice as much as the averÂage human brain.
The majorÂiÂty of the genÂerÂal pubÂlic may feel sciÂence is best left to the experts, but Firestein is quick to point out that when he and his colÂleagues are relaxÂing with post-work beers, the conÂverÂsaÂtion is fueled by the stuff that they don’t know.
Hence the “purÂsuit of ignoÂrance,” the title of his talk.
GivÂen the eduÂcaÂtionÂal conÂtext, his choice of wordÂing could cause a knee-jerk response. He takes it to mean neiÂther stuÂpidÂiÂty, nor “calÂlow indifÂferÂence,” but rather the “thorÂoughÂly conÂscious” ignoÂrance that James Clerk Maxwell, the father of modÂern physics, dubbed the preÂlude to all sciÂenÂtifÂic advanceÂment.
I bet the 19th-cenÂtuÂry physiÂcist would have shared Firestein’s disÂmay at the test-based approach so prevaÂlent in today’s schools.
The ignoÂrance-embracÂing reboot he proÂposÂes at the end of his talk is as radÂiÂcal as it is funÂny.
Even if you regÂuÂlarÂly read Open CulÂture, where we make a point of highÂlightÂing unusuÂal interÂsecÂtions of culÂturÂal curÂrents, you probÂaÂbly nevÂer expectÂed a colÂlabÂoÂraÂtion between the likes of Michel Gondry and Noam ChomÂsky. Gondry we’ve known as an imagÂiÂnaÂtive filmÂmakÂer behind feaÂtures like EterÂnal SunÂshine of the SpotÂless Mind and Be Kind Rewind (as well as music videos for artists like Beck, Kanye West, and the White Stripes), one driÂven to purÂsue a ConÂtiÂnenÂtal whimÂsy temÂpered by a dedÂiÂcaÂtion to elabÂoÂrate, difÂfiÂcult-lookÂing hand craft and an apparÂent interÂest in AmerÂiÂcan culÂture.
ChomÂsky we’ve known, dependÂing on our interÂests, as either a notÂed linÂguist or a conÂtroÂverÂsial writer and speakÂer on polÂiÂtics, sociÂety, and the media. Gondry’s new docÂuÂmenÂtary Is the Man Who Is Tall HapÂpy?, the project that brings them togethÂer at least, showÂcasÂes both the less-seen pureÂly philoÂsophÂiÂcal side of ChomÂsky, and the also rarely acknowlÂedged inquisÂiÂtive, conÂverÂsaÂtionÂal side of Gondry. In the New York Times“AnatoÂmy of a Scene” clip at the top, the direcÂtor explains his process.
NatÂuÂralÂly, Gondry went through a fairÂly unusuÂal process to make the film, givÂen that he based the whole thing on nothÂing more elabÂoÂrate than a long-form in-office conÂverÂsaÂtion with the MIT-based proÂfesÂsor and activist. To get the footage he needÂed of ChomÂsky talkÂing, he brought in — natÂuÂralÂly — his vinÂtage wind-up Bolex 16-milÂlimeÂter film camÂera. He then wove those shots in with his also highÂly anaÂlog hand-drawn aniÂmaÂtion, which illusÂtrates ChomÂsky’s ideas as he describes them — and as Gondry prods him for more. “The camÂera is very loud,” Gondry explains over a delibÂerÂateÂly shaky frame, “and that’s why I have to draw it each time you hear it.” Just above, you can watch the film’s trailÂer, which offers ChomÂsky’s voice as well as Gondry’s. “Why should we take it to be obviÂous that if I let go of a ball,” we hear the interÂvieÂwee ask, “it goes down and not up?” We also hear the interÂviewÂer admit that he “felt a bit stuÂpid here,” but these two men’s conÂsidÂerÂable difÂferÂences — in genÂerÂaÂtion, in nationÂalÂiÂty, in senÂsiÂbilÂiÂty, in their conÂcerns, in the forms of their work — proÂvide all the more reaÂson to lisÂten when they talk. And if you find the intelÂlecÂtuÂal trip not to your taste, just behold the visuÂal one.
Today, as you must sureÂly know, marks the 50th anniverÂsary of John F. Kennedy’s assasÂsiÂnaÂtion and also sureÂly marks a revival of interÂest in the myrÂiÂad conÂspirÂaÂcy theÂoÂries that abound in the absence of a satÂisÂfacÂtoÂry explaÂnaÂtion for the events at Dealey Plaza on NovemÂber 22nd, 1963. One theÂoÂry I’ve nevÂer heard floatÂed before comes to us via Andy MarÂtin, lecÂturÂer in French at CamÂbridge UniÂverÂsiÂty and author of The BoxÂer and the GoalÂkeepÂer: Sartre vs Camus. In an artiÂcle for Prospect magÂaÂzine, MarÂtin writes:
To the massed ranks of the CIA, the Mafia, the KGB, CasÂtro, Hoover, and LBJ, we can now add: Jean-Paul Sartre. FBI and State DepartÂment reports of the 1960s had drawn attenÂtion to Sartre’s memÂberÂship of the Fair Play for Cuba ComÂmitÂtee, of which Lee HarÂvey Oswald was also a memÂber. And—prophetically?—Sartre had “disÂmissed the US as a headÂless nation.” […] Could he, after all, have been the SecÂond ShootÂer?
It’s probÂaÂbly fair to say that Martin’s tongue is wedged firmÂly in his cheek throughÂout this openÂing of his fasÂciÂnatÂing chronÂiÂcle of the FBI’s surÂveilÂlance of Sartre and his oneÂtime friend and ediÂtor Albert Camus. But Martin’s interÂest in the misÂalÂliance of Sartre and the Feds is very seriÂous. What he finds durÂing his invesÂtiÂgaÂtion of the FBI files on exisÂtenÂtialÂism is that “the G‑men, iniÂtialÂly so anti-philoÂsophÂiÂcal, find themÂselves relucÂtantÂly phiÂlosÂoÂphizÂing. They become (in GK Chesterton’s phrase) philoÂsophÂiÂcal policeÂmen.”
While we have become accusÂtomed, since the days of Joe McCarthy, to ideÂoÂlogÂiÂcal witch hunts, it seems that Sartre and Camus served as test casÂes for the sort of thing that freÂquentÂly plays out in overÂheatÂed ConÂgresÂsionÂal hearÂings and media denunciations—agents with furÂrowed brows and litÂtle philoÂsophÂiÂcal trainÂing desÂperÂateÂly tryÂing to work out whether such and such abstruse acaÂdÂeÂmÂic is part of a grand conÂspirÂaÂcy to underÂmine truth, jusÂtice, the AmerÂiÂcan Way, etc.. Sartre appeared earÂly on the anti-ComÂmuÂnist radar, though, ironÂiÂcalÂly, he did so as a plant of sorts, brought over in 1945 by the Office of War InforÂmaÂtion as part of a group of jourÂnalÂists the UnitÂed States’ govÂernÂment hoped would put out good proÂpaÂganÂda.
“Hoover wonÂdered,” howÂevÂer, writes MarÂtin, “what kind of good proÂpaÂganÂda you can hope to get out of the author of NauÂsea and Being and NothÂingÂness.” It turned out, not much, but a year latÂer Hoover latched on to Sartre’s friend and ediÂtor Albert Camus, whose name he and his agents spelled, varÂiÂousÂly, as “Canus” or “Corus.” Where Sartre had breezed into the country—smitten by its litÂerÂaÂture and music—Camus was held at immiÂgraÂtion on Hoover’s orders. He would spend a brief, depressÂing time and nevÂer return.
How we get from post-war surÂveilÂlance of French exisÂtenÂtialÂist philosoÂphers to Sartre and the grassy knoll is a long and comÂpliÂcatÂed tale, befitÂting the paraÂnoid imagÂinÂings of J. Edgar Hoover. He was, after all, the conÂspirÂaÂcy theÂoÂrist par excelÂlence and “he needÂed to know,” writes MarÂtin, “if ExisÂtenÂtialÂism and AbsurÂdism were some kind of front for ComÂmuÂnism. To him, everyÂthing was potenÂtialÂly a codÂed re-write of the ComÂmuÂnist ManÂiÂfesto.” What Hoover feared from Sartre, howÂevÂer, was that the latÂter was himÂself an influÂenÂtial believÂer in a conÂspirÂaÂcy, one that cast doubt on the FBI’s strongÂly-held belief that Oswald was the lone gunÂman.
MissÂing for almost a month, imprisÂoned Pussy Riot memÂber NadezhÂda TolokonÂnikoÂva has been reportÂed by her husÂband as recovÂerÂing in a SiberÂian hosÂpiÂtal from issues relatÂed to her hunger strike. As The Guardian reports, TolokonÂnikoÂva didn’t only resist by refusÂing to eat, she also kept up a liveÂly corÂreÂsponÂdence with SlovenÂian theÂoÂrist Slavoj Ĺ˝iĹľek while endurÂing reportÂed abuse at the penal colony in MorÂdovia where she had been senÂtenced. It seems from the editÂed corÂreÂsponÂdence pubÂlished by The Guardian that Ĺ˝iĹľek began the conÂverÂsaÂtion in earÂly JanÂuÂary. “All hearts were beatÂing for you” he writes, until “it became clear that you rejectÂed globÂal capÂiÂtalÂism.” In a latÂer, April 16 reply, TolokonÂnikoÂva explains exactÂly what Pussy Riot rejects:
As a child I wantÂed to go into adverÂtisÂing. I had a love affair with the adverÂtisÂing indusÂtry. And this is why I am in a posiÂtion to judge its merÂits. The anti-hierÂarÂchiÂcal strucÂtures and rhiÂzomes of late capÂiÂtalÂism are its sucÂcessÂful ad camÂpaign. ModÂern capÂiÂtalÂism has to manÂiÂfest itself as flexÂiÂble and even eccenÂtric. EveryÂthing is geared towards gripÂping the emoÂtion of the conÂsumer. ModÂern capÂiÂtalÂism seeks to assure us that it operÂates accordÂing to the prinÂciÂples of free creÂativÂiÂty, endÂless develÂopÂment and diverÂsiÂty. It glossÂes over its othÂer side in order to hide the realÂiÂty that milÂlions of peoÂple are enslaved by an all-powÂerÂful and fanÂtasÂtiÂcalÂly staÂble norm of proÂducÂtion. We want to reveal this lie.
Pshaw! As she’s very likeÂly aware, there’s not a thing wrong with her dancÂing. If there were, I doubt she’d be sportÂing saucy hot pants in the above video for the first sinÂgle off of the PlasÂtic Ono Band’s Take Me to the Land of Hell.
Her 80-year-old stems are in fanÂtasÂtic shape. MayÂhaps this youthÂful vibe is a reflecÂtion of the comÂpaÂny she keeps. A bunch of nifty pals from GenÂerÂaÂtions X and Y showed up to shake their tail feathÂers on camera—the surÂvivÂing BeastÂie Boys (who also proÂduced), RegÂgie Watts, Cibo MatÂto’s Yuka HonÂda and Miho Hatori, genÂder-bendÂing perÂformer Justin Vivian Bond, and pubÂlic radio star Ira Glass, to name but a few.
ApparÂentÂly, she’s not quite as tight with all her dance partÂners as the video would imply. Glass describes his involveÂment thusÂly:
She’s graÂcious, has to be remindÂed by a hanÂdler who in the world I am. Then totalÂly acts nice, says someÂthing along the lines of “I appreÂciÂate the work you do” which either means she’s heard my work or she hasn’t…. The song is called “Bad Dancer” so I’m the perÂfect parÂticÂiÂpant because—though I love to dance, I have no illuÂsions. I’m a spaz. I stand in front of the camÂera and 20 hanÂdlers and hipÂsters and pubÂliÂcists and crew and Yoko Ono and I think a reporter from Rolling Stone and I tell myself to preÂtend I can do this and I dance.
PerÂhaps declarÂing herÂself a Bad Dancer is Ono’s way of encourÂagÂing self-conÂscious wall hugÂgers to drop their inhiÂbiÂtions and join in the fun. It’s an approach to life, and aging, that made a cult clasÂsic of Harold and Maude.
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