Bryan Cranston Reads Shelley’s Sonnet “Ozymandias” in Ominous Teaser for Breaking Bad’s Last Season

Since his improb­a­ble but riv­et­ing rise from put-upon, can­cer-strick­en chem­istry teacher Wal­ter White to socio­path­ic meth king­pin Heisen­berg, Bryan Cranston’s char­ac­ter in Break­ing Bad has come to embody all of the char­ac­ter­is­tics of an ancient despot: cun­ning, para­noia, the nurs­ing of old wounds and pre­ten­sions to unde­served great­ness. It seems per­fect­ly in char­ac­ter, then, that the show’s pro­duc­ers would tease the final sea­son with the omi­nous and dusty clip above, with Cranston read­ing Per­cy Bysshe Shelley’s son­net “Ozy­man­dias,” a poem about the hubris of anoth­er desert tyrant—well-known for his mega­lo­ma­ni­a­cal fol­ly—Ramess­es II (also known by a translit­er­a­tion of his throne name, Ozy­man­dias).

The speak­er of Shel­ley’s poem meets a trav­eller from an “antique land,” who describes an immense stat­ue, bro­ken to pieces and lying strewn in the desert where “Noth­ing beside remains.” On the stat­ue’s pedestal, a sculp­tor has inscribed the words, “My name is Ozy­man­dias, king of kings. / Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.” As Slate describes the teaser’s match-up:

The poem echoes all the show’s big themes: the mythol­o­gy of evil, the nuances of moral­i­ty, the arc of coro­na­tion and decay. The images, on the oth­er hand are fleeting—mostly New Mex­i­co desert and sub­ur­bia, though we end with a lin­ger­ing shot of Heisenberg’s dusty, worn hat rest­ing, like the poem’s once-colos­sal stat­ue.

Fans of the show famil­iar with the poem’s most pro­nounced theme, the fleet­ing nature of empires, no mat­ter how great, will know to antic­i­pate the fall of Heisen­berg in some spec­tac­u­lar fash­ion, though all we have so far are the vague hints of Walter’s esca­lat­ing vio­lence and para­noia from the last few episodes. Cranston seethes the poem’s most famous line—that one about despair (and the source of the poem’s cen­tral irony)—with par­tic­u­lar men­ace.

OzymandiasMSpage

The poem’s imagery, so com­mon to the ear­ly nine­teenth cen­tu­ry Egyp­tol­ogy of Shelley’s time and after, was alleged­ly inspired by a pas­sage in Roman-era his­to­ri­an Diodor­us Sicu­lus describ­ing just such a stat­ue. Also fuel­ing Shelley’s imag­i­na­tion were the Napoleon­ic archae­o­log­i­cal finds in Egypt, includ­ing news of the 1816 dis­cov­ery of a mas­sive Ramess­es II stat­ue by Ital­ian explor­er Gio­vani Bel­zoni (who sold it to the British Muse­um in 1821). Shel­ley wrote “Ozy­man­dias” in com­pe­ti­tion with a friend, financier and nov­el­ist Hen­ry Smith. Smith’s sub­mis­sion, “In Egypt’s Sandy Silence,” came first.

Crit­ic and writer Leigh Hunt pub­lished both poems in 1818 edi­tions of his month­ly mag­a­zine The Exam­in­er. While Smith’s poem bare­ly ris­es to the occa­sion, more clum­sy par­o­dy than seri­ous lit­er­ary endeav­or, Shelley’s—like the sculptor’s inscrip­tion in his poem—has out­last­ed the empire of his day and lives on in the micro­cos­mic TV rep­re­sen­ta­tions of our own impe­r­i­al works. Above, see an 1817 draft copy of Shelley’s iambic pen­tame­ter son­net, worked over with cor­rec­tions and revi­sions. Below see the fair copy he sent to Hunt for pub­li­ca­tion. Both copies reside at the Bodleian Library.

Ozymandiasfaircopy

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Dis­cov­ered: Lord Byron’s Copy of Franken­stein Signed by Mary Shel­ley

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

Neil deGrasse Tyson Unveils a Dazzling Preview of the New Cosmos

Sci­ence fans this week got their first tan­ta­liz­ing peek at the long-await­ed sequel to Carl Sagan’s clas­sic PBS series Cos­mos. Astro­physi­cist Neil deGrasse Tyson, who takes Sagan’s place in the new series, trav­eled to Com­ic-Con in San Diego last week for the unveil­ing of this new trail­er.

Cos­mos: A Space­time Odyssey will begin air­ing on the Fox tele­vi­sion net­work in the spring of 2014. As with the first Cos­mos, there will be 13 episodes. Accord­ing to the Fox Web site, “Cos­mos: A Space­time Odyssey will invent new modes of sci­en­tif­ic sto­ry­telling to reveal the grandeur of the uni­verse and re-invent cel­e­brat­ed ele­ments of the leg­endary orig­i­nal series, includ­ing the Cos­mic Cal­en­dar and the Ship of the Imag­i­na­tion. The most pro­found sci­en­tif­ic con­cepts will be pre­sent­ed with stun­ning clar­i­ty, unit­ing skep­ti­cism and won­der, and weav­ing rig­or­ous sci­ence with the emo­tion­al and spir­i­tu­al into a tran­scen­dent expe­ri­ence.”

The new Cos­mos is pro­duced by Sagan’s wid­ow Ann Druyan, who co-wrote and pro­duced the orig­i­nal series with her hus­band and Steven Sot­er. “This series is still about that same thing,” Druyan told reporters, “but we’re telling a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent set of sto­ries, estab­lish­ing the coor­di­nates, but then jump­ing off from there.”

As the new trail­er would sug­gest, the updat­ed series will be rich in spe­cial effects. Accord­ing to a sto­ry this week in Wired, the orig­i­nal series’ use of his­tor­i­cal reen­act­ments by actors will most­ly be replaced with ani­ma­tion in what direc­tor Bran­non Bra­ga called “a sophis­ti­cat­ed graph­ic nov­el-type style.” But the visu­al effects will be there only to serve the nar­ra­tive. “As humans, we like hear­ing sto­ries,” Tyson said in San Diego. “We have what I think is the great­est sto­ry ever told: the sto­ry of the uni­verse, and our place with­in it, and how we came to dis­cov­er our place with­in it. And final­ly, we have the meth­ods and tools to bring that to the screen.”

NOTE: All 13 episodes of the 1980 series Cos­mos: A Per­son­al Voy­age can be seen for free by fol­low­ing this link to Hulu. Alas, free view­ing may not be avail­able in all coun­tries.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Neil deGrasse Tyson Lists 8 (Free) Books Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Should Read

Neil deGrasse Tyson Remem­bers His First Meet­ing with Carl Sagan

Carl Sagan’s Under­grad Read­ing List: 40 Essen­tial Texts for a Well-Round­ed Thinker

Carl Sagan Presents Six Lec­tures on Earth, Mars & Our Solar Sys­tem … For Kids (1977)

Björk and Sir David Attenborough Team Up in a New Documentary About Music and Technology

There’s a long and com­pan­ion­able his­to­ry between music and math­e­mat­ics. While it is often said that every cul­ture has its own form of music, it’s also near­ly just as true that most ancient cul­tures explored the math­e­mat­i­cal prin­ci­ples of sound. Leave it to the Pythagore­ans of Ancient Greece to notice the rela­tion­ship between musi­cal scales and math­e­mat­i­cal ratios.

How music and sci­ence inter­sect is a more mod­ern inquiry. Fields like neu­ro­science and mod­ern med­i­cine and tech­nol­o­gy make both the roots of music and cog­ni­tion, as well as how sci­ence can inspire music, a crack­ling fron­tier.

Chan­nel 4 in Eng­land aired a new doc­u­men­tary When Björk Met Atten­bor­ough on July 27th with—who better?—naturalist David Atten­bor­ough as host. Atten­bor­ough, who was famous­ly grant­ed priv­i­leged access to film Dian Fossey’s research on moun­tain goril­las, teams up with a less elu­sive but fas­ci­nat­ing fig­ure this time around. Atten­bor­ough actu­al­ly co-hosts the pro­gram with Björk.

Björk’s album Bio­phil­ia is the launch­ing-off point for the doc­u­men­tary. It’s an apt choice. Björk has called live per­for­mances of music on the album a “med­i­ta­tion on the rela­tion­ship between music, nature, and tech­nol­o­gy.”

New instru­ments were spe­cial­ly designed for the album and the songs are con­cep­tu­al­ly wed­ded to nat­ur­al phe­nom­e­na. “Moon” fea­tures musi­cal repeat­ing musi­cal cycles; “Thun­der­bolt” includes arpeg­gios inspired by the time between the moment when light­en­ing is seen and thun­der is heard.

In the doc­u­men­tary, Atten­bor­ough explores how music exists in the nat­ur­al world, tak­ing view­ers through the film­ing of the Reed War­bler and Blue Whales. For her part, Björk argues that cut­ting-edge tech­nol­o­gy keeps music intu­itive and acces­si­ble. Fea­tured are the instru­ments Björk devel­oped for Bio­phil­ia: the “pen­du­lum harp,” the “sharp­si­chord” and the “game­leste,” a com­bi­na­tion game­lan and celes­ta pro­grammed to be played remote­ly on an iPad.

You can watch the doc­u­men­tary above.

via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Philip Glass Remix His Own Music—Then Try it Your­self With a New App

Day of Light: A Crowd­sourced Film by Mul­ti­me­dia Genius Bri­an Eno

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Fol­low her on Twit­ter @mskaterix and learn more about her work by vis­it­ing .

Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s … John Lydon in a Butter Commercial?

A few days ago we post­ed an exple­tive-laced let­ter that John Lydon, for­mer­ly known as “John­ny Rot­ten,” faxed to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006 to make it clear that the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of the Sex Pis­tols would have noth­ing to do with their induc­tion. “We’re not your mon­key,” he wrote. At least one read­er felt edi­fied. “Thanks JR,” he said, “for not sell­ing out.”

So we thought it would be a fun time to bring back Lydon’s 2008 com­mer­cial for Coun­try Life But­ter. The ad, which report­ed­ly net­ted Lydon a cool $8 mil­lion, plays on the incon­gruity between two very British things: the icon­ic punk rock­er and a rather bucol­ic-sound­ing brand of but­ter. The com­mer­cial places Lydon in a series of unchar­ac­ter­is­tic sit­u­a­tions — read­ing the news­pa­per in a gen­tle­men’s smok­ing room, wav­ing the Union Jack as the Queen’s motor­cade goes by, run­ning from cows in the Eng­lish coun­try­side — as he says to the view­er, “Do I buy Coun­try Life But­ter because it’s British?” Do I buy Coun­try Life because I yearn for the British coun­try­side? Or because it’s made only from British milk? Nah. I buy Coun­try Life because I think it’s the best.”

Lydon drew a great deal of crit­i­cism for his deci­sion to appear in the ad, but he has been stead­fast­ly unapolo­getic. “The advert was for a British prod­uct,” he told The Sun last year. “All Britain. Fan­tas­tic. We don’t seem to believe in our­selves as a coun­try any more. And I found great empa­thy with that. Plus it was the most mad­dest thing to con­sid­er doing. I thought it was very anar­chic of the dairy com­pa­ny to want to attach them­selves to me. And they treat­ed me with the utmost respect and I love them for­ev­er as it all allowed me to set up my record label and put out this record.”

Lydon was refer­ring to This Is PiL, the first album in 20 years from his post-punk band Pub­lic Image Ltd. He report­ed­ly used some of the mon­ey from the com­mer­cial to bring the group back togeth­er for rehearsals, record the album and launch their 2012 tour. “The mon­ey,” he said, “got us out of no end of trou­bles.” And any­way, Lydon has always had a sense of humor when it comes to the finan­cial demands of life. His 1996 reunion with the Sex Pis­tols was offi­cial­ly named the “Filthy Lucre Tour.”

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

John­ny Rotten’s Cor­dial Let­ter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pis­tols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock: A Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Punk, MOCA’s Series of Punk Doc­u­men­taries, Begins with Black Flag

Mal­colm McLaren on The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Punk Meets High Fash­ion in Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Exhi­bi­tionPUNK: Chaos to Cou­ture

Mr. Rogers Takes Breakdancing Lessons from a 12-Year-Old (1985)


Feb­ru­ary 13th, 1985 shall be remem­bered as a tru­ly beau­ti­ful day in the neigh­bor­hood, for that is the date on which Fred Rogers learned to break­dance (sort of).

In no time at all, 12-year-old instruc­tor Jer­maine Vaughn had Mr. Rogers wav­ing, moon­walk­ing and learn­ing how to press play on a boom box so he could demon­strate some “very fan­cy things” regard­ing the first pil­lar of hip hop. (“I’d nev­er be able to do that,” his pupil says admir­ing­ly, and pre­sum­ably truth­ful­ly.)

The tele­vi­sion icon’s leg­endary sin­cer­i­ty is on dis­play through­out, even in this pirat­ed ver­sion, which swaps out the wimpy orig­i­nal track in favor of NWA’s 1989 “Fuck Tha Police,” a move that would’ve pleased Eddie Mur­phy’s Mr. Robin­son.

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.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mr. Rogers Goes to Wash­ing­ton

See Ste­vie Won­der Play “Super­sti­tion” and Ban­ter with Grover on Sesame Street in 1973

Ayun Hal­l­i­day will always be Fred Rogers’ tele­vi­sion neigh­bor. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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

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.

Watch “The Secret Tournament” & “The Rematch,” Terry Gilliam’s Star-Studded Soccer Ads for Nike

We’ve nev­er known footwear giant Nike to spare the adver­tis­ing dol­lars, just as we’ve nev­er known film­mak­er Ter­ry Gilliam to com­pro­mise his vision. Only nat­ur­al, then, that the two would cross cre­ative and finan­cial paths. Shot in late 2001 and ear­ly 2002, the 12 Mon­keys direc­tor’s pair of Nike spots, meant to coin­cide with the 2002 World Cup, brought togeth­er some of the era’s finest foot­ballers for a char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly grim, dystopi­an, but visu­al­ly rich and smirk­ing­ly humor­ous tour­na­ment to end all tour­na­ments.  “Hid­den from the world,” announces Nike’s orig­i­nal press release about the first com­mer­cial, “24 elite play­ers hold a secret tour­na­ment, with eight teams, and only one rule… ‘First goal wins!’ ”

“Con­trol­ling the action is Eric Can­tona,” the text con­tin­ues, “who over­sees every three-on-three match noir that takes place in a huge con­tain­er ship docked in an unknown har­bor. With Mon­sieur Can­tona at the helm, you can be assured there will be no whin­ing, no judg­ment calls, and no mer­cy.” The teams assem­bled include “Triple Espres­so” (Francesco Tot­ti, Hidetoshi Naka­ta, and Thier­ry Hen­ry), “Equipo del Fuego” (Her­nan Cre­spo, Clau­dio Lopez, and Gaiz­ka Mendi­eta), and the “Funk Seoul Broth­ers” (Deníl­son de Oliveira Araújo, Ki Hyeon Seol, and Ronald­in­ho). You’ll see quite a lot of action between them on this bro­ken-down futur­is­tic prison of a pitch in the three min­utes of “The Secret Tour­na­ment,” but things inten­si­fy fur­ther in “The Rematch” just above. You can find more behind-the-scenes mate­r­i­al at Dreams: The Ter­ry Gilliam Fanzine.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Ter­ry Gilliam’s Debut Ani­mat­ed Film, Sto­ry­time

A Very Ter­ry Gilliam Christ­mas: Season’s Greet­ings, 1968 and 2011

Lost In La Man­cha: Ter­ry Gilliam and the “Curse of Quixote”

Ter­ry Gilliam: The Dif­fer­ence Between Kubrick (Great Film­mak­er) and Spiel­berg (Less So)

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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