Search Results for "anal"

Hear Michel Foucault Deliver His Lecture on “Truth and Subjectivity” at UC Berkeley, In English (1980)

Michel Fou­cault first arrived at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, Berke­ley in 1975. By this time, he was already a celebri­ty in France. He had just pub­lished his enor­mous­ly influ­en­tial his­to­ry and cri­tique of the penal sys­tem, Dis­ci­pline and Pun­ish, and he occu­pied a posi­tion at the pres­ti­gious Col­lège de France as chair in the “his­to­ry of sys­tems of thought,” a posi­tion he cre­at­ed for him­self. But when he arrived on the West Coast, writes Mar­cus Wohlsen, “few at Berke­ley had heard of Michel Fou­cault.” Leo Bersani, then chair­man of the French depart­ment, even had to call phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor Hubert Drey­fus to help “come and fill out the ranks” for Foucault’s lec­tures.

After the pub­li­ca­tion of vol­ume one of The His­to­ry of Sex­u­al­i­ty, Fou­cault would return to Berke­ley in the fall of 1979, then again in 1980. By then, the scene had changed dra­mat­i­cal­ly. Fou­cault was invit­ed to deliv­er the How­i­son Lec­ture that year, a dis­tin­guished invi­ta­tion pre­vi­ous­ly extend­ed to such thinkers as John Dewey, Willard V.O. Quine and, the year pre­vi­ous, John Rawls. By this time, Wohlsen writes, Fou­cault was, reluc­tant­ly, “an inter­na­tion­al aca­d­e­m­ic super­star.” Fill­ing the hall for his lec­tures would not be an issue. In fact, Wohlsen tells us,

Crowds crammed the 2,000-seat Zeller­bach Hall so quick­ly that police had to bar the doors. Fou­cault fans milled around rest­less­ly out­side until [phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor Hans] Slu­ga arranged for a live broad­cast of the letures to Wheel­er Hall. Its 760 seats filled almost imme­di­ate­ly.

Accord­ing to Slu­ga, Fou­cault, increas­ing­ly wary of his fame, inten­tion­al­ly titled his lecture—“Truth and Sub­jec­tiv­i­ty: the Sto­ic Prac­tice of Self Examination”—to sound “learned, abstract, remote” in order to deter a large crowd. That ploy clear­ly failed.

In the first part of the lec­ture (at top), the pre­sen­ter who intro­duces Fou­cault begins by ges­tur­ing to the philosopher’s fame, then com­ments that Foucault’s promi­nent post at the Col­lège de France was “very para­dox­i­cal, since Michel Fou­cault, although pres­ti­gious, is not a typ­i­cal kind of aca­d­e­m­ic. He is sus­pi­cious of all titles and claims to dis­in­ter­est­ed truth that has been [sic] asso­ci­at­ed with acad­e­mia.” After men­tion­ing Foucault’s fierce crit­i­cism of every his­tor­i­cal assump­tion and method­ol­o­gy (he was a guest of the His­to­ry and French Depart­ments), he breaks off his remarks to note that “there’s a mob of peo­ple all around, try­ing to get in.”

Fou­cault begins his lec­ture in French (at 8:08), then switch­es to Eng­lish for the remain­der (at 9:18). He quotes from a his­tor­i­cal French psychiatrist’s account of a “cure” involv­ing an “inter­ro­ga­tion” and a coerced con­fes­sion of mad­ness. Fou­cault calls this one among many exam­ples of “truth ther­a­pies,” and it serves—as do such vivid­ly spe­cif­ic archival exam­ples in his books—as a har­row­ing intro­duc­tion to the polic­ing of capital‑T Truth that is the essence of the human­ist enter­prise.

Despite the often pro­found­ly unset­tling nature of his inves­ti­ga­tions, and his attempt to scare off the crowd, Fou­cault is not dour or bor­ing, nor does he seem at all unap­proach­able or for­bid­ding. He is patient and self-dep­re­cat­ing­ly fun­ny: in a cut­ting, rue­ful ref­er­ence to the grow­ing dom­i­nance of ana­lyt­ic phi­los­o­phy in British and Amer­i­can uni­ver­si­ties, he says, “I con­fess, with the appro­pri­ate cha­grin, that I am not an ana­lyt­i­cal philoso­pher. Nobody is per­fect.” Then he sums up his project suc­cinct­ly: “I have tried to explore anoth­er direc­tion. I have tried to get from a phi­los­o­phy of sub­jec­tiv­i­ty to a geneal­o­gy of the sub­ject.”

Fou­cault is a very charm­ing speak­er, sprin­kling his lec­ture with lit­tle jokes like “It goes with­out say­ing… but it goes bet­ter with say­ing…” and drop­ping in Amer­i­can­isms like “Mon­day morn­ing quar­ter­back­ing,” to the amuse­ment of the crowd. He shows him­self to be very much aware of his audience—these are deeply seri­ous lec­tures, with­out a doubt, but Fou­cault nev­er for­gets that he’s fac­ing liv­ing human beings, with their own domains of knowl­edge and subjectivities—and he seeks to reach them where they are while report­ing on his dis­turb­ing dis­cov­er­ies as an archae­ol­o­gist of West­ern human­ist dis­course.

Fou­cault returned to Berke­ley again as a vis­it­ing pro­fes­sor in 1981 and again 1983, the year before his death. Alain Beaulieu, who has cat­a­logued Foucault’s Berke­ley archives, described his time in Cal­i­for­nia as hap­py and pro­duc­tive, “while he remain[ed] crit­i­cal of some fea­tures asso­ci­at­ed with the ‘Cal­i­forn­ian cult of the self.’” In fact, “Cult of the Self” was the title of three lec­tures Fou­cault deliv­ered at Berke­ley in 1983 (lis­ten here), along with six lec­tures on “Dis­course and Truth.” Dur­ing his time at Berke­ley in 1980, when he deliv­ered the lec­ture above, grad­u­ate stu­dent Michael Bess inter­viewed the philoso­pher. Fou­cault spoke plain­ly and pas­sion­ate­ly about the impe­tus for his relent­less cri­tiques of insti­tu­tion­al pow­er and knowl­edge:

In a sense, I am a moral­ist, inso­far as I believe that one of the tasks, one of the mean­ings of human existence—the source of human freedom—is nev­er to accept any­thing as defin­i­tive, untouch­able, obvi­ous, or immo­bile. No aspect of real­i­ty should be allowed to become a defin­i­tive and inhu­man law for us.

We have to rise up against all forms of power—but not just pow­er in the nar­row sense of the word, refer­ring to the pow­er of a gov­ern­ment or of one social group over anoth­er: these are only a few par­tic­u­lar instances of pow­er.

Pow­er is any­thing that tends to ren­der immo­bile and untouch­able those things that are offered to us as real, as true, as good.

Read the com­plete inter­view, first pub­lished in the Novem­ber 10, 1980 Dai­ly Cal­i­forn­ian, here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michel Foucault’s Con­tro­ver­sial Life and Phi­los­o­phy Explored in a Reveal­ing 1993 Doc­u­men­tary

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

Down­load Free Cours­es from Famous Philoso­phers: From Bertrand Rus­sell to Michel Fou­cault

Michel Fou­cault: Free Lec­tures on Truth, Dis­course & The Self

90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es in our Col­lec­tion of 800 Free Cours­es Online

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

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Watch Michel Gondry Animate Philosopher, Linguist & Activist Noam Chomsky

As an arts major who doo­dled my way through every required sci­ence course in high school and col­lege, I am deeply grat­i­fied by film­mak­er Michel Gondry’s approach to doc­u­ment­ing the ideas of Noam Chom­sky. Hav­ing filmed about three hours worth of inter­views with the activist, philoso­pher, and father of mod­ern lin­guis­tics in a ster­ile MIT con­fer­ence room, Gondry head­ed back to his charm­ing­ly ana­log Brook­lyn digs to spend three years ani­mat­ing the con­ver­sa­tions. It’s nice to see a film­mak­er of his stature using books to jer­ry-rig his cam­era set up. At one point, he hud­dles on the floor, puz­zling over some sequen­tial draw­ings on 3‑hole punch paper. Seems like the kind of thing most peo­ple in his field would tack­le with an iPad and an assis­tant.

Gondry may have felt intel­lec­tu­al­ly dwarfed by his sub­ject, but there’s a kind of genius afoot in his work too. Describ­ing the stop-motion tech­nique he used for Is the Man Who Is Tall Hap­py?, he told Amy Good­man of Democ­ra­cy Now, “I have a light­box, and I put paper on it, and I ani­mate with Sharpies, col­or Sharpies. And I have a 16-mil­lime­ter cam­era that is set up on a tri­pod and looks down, and I take a pic­ture. I do a draw­ing and take a pic­ture.”

A pret­ty apt summation—watch him in action above—but the curios­i­ty and human­i­ty so evi­dent in such fea­tures as Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind and The Sci­ence of Sleep is a mag­i­cal ingre­di­ent here, too. He attrib­ut­es bio­log­i­cal prop­er­ties to his Sharpie mark­ers, and takes a break from some of Chom­sky’s more com­plex thoughts to ask about his feel­ings when his wife passed away. He does­n’t seem to mind that he might seem a bit of a school­boy in com­par­i­son, one whose tal­ents lie beyond this par­tic­u­lar pro­fes­sor’s scope.

As Chom­sky him­self remarks in the trail­er, below, “Learn­ing comes from ask­ing why do things work like that, why not some oth­er way?”

Is the Man Who Is Tall Hap­py? is avail­able on iTunes.

H/T @kirstinbutler

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Film­mak­er Michel Gondry Presents an Ani­mat­ed Con­ver­sa­tion with Noam Chom­sky

Noam Chom­sky Schools 9/11 Truther; Explains the Sci­ence of Mak­ing Cred­i­ble Claims

Ayun Hal­l­i­day puts her life­long pen­chant for doo­dling to good use in her award-win­ning, hand­writ­ten, illus­trat­ed zine, The East Vil­lage Inky. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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View Bill Gates’ Mobile Library: The Books & Courses That Help Him Change The World

Step­ping down as Microsoft’s chief exec­u­tive offi­cer in 2000 had giv­en Bill Gates some extra time, which the auto­di­dact imme­di­ate­ly expend­ed by attempt­ing to learn… well, every­thing. Per­haps Gates threw him­self at learn­ing to make up for aban­don­ing col­lege for greater pursuits—he attend­ed Har­vard but left after two years’ study to pur­sue his pas­sion for com­put­ers. What­ev­er his rea­sons, Gates has begun to assid­u­ous­ly learn all he can about the world, and is record­ing his edu­ca­tion process for pos­ter­i­ty on his web­site, The Gates Notes. As the video above explains, Microsoft’s founder has lis­tened to hun­dreds of hours of uni­ver­si­ty lec­tures from The Teach­ing Com­pa­ny; he got hooked after lis­ten­ing to Robert Whap­les’ Mod­ern Eco­nom­ic Issues and breez­ing through Tim­o­thy Tay­lor’s Amer­i­ca and the New Glob­al Econ­o­my. His num­ber one pick? Big His­to­ry which is taught by David Chris­t­ian and, Gates says, “is still my favorite course of all. The course is so broad that it syn­the­sizes the his­to­ry of every­thing includ­ing the sci­ences into one frame­work.”

Wher­ev­er Gates trav­els, he is also eter­nal­ly accom­pa­nied by his read­ing bag. Sur­prised that the her­ald of the dig­i­tal age is pack­ing paper­backs? Don’t be. “I’m still pret­ty much an old-school print guy,” Gates writes, “because I like to jot notes in the mar­gins, but I assume I’ll move over to ebooks when anno­ta­tion fea­tures get bet­ter.”

Last week, Gates showed WIRED the con­tents of his decid­ed­ly 20th cen­tu­ry mobile library. The books, which Gates replen­ish­es at an impres­sive rate, encom­pass an admirable breadth of top­ics. As befit­ting the over­seer of the Bill and Melin­da Gates Foun­da­tion, the major­i­ty of Gates’ read­ing con­sists of non-fic­tion (only Gary Shteyn­gart’s recent nov­el made the fic­tion cut this round). His­to­ry, psy­chol­o­gy, sci­ence, sound busi­ness coun­sel, soci­ol­o­gy, eco­nom­ics, and his­to­ry all make up the dizzy­ing array of Gates’ every­day read­ing. Here is a selec­tion from WIRED’s par­tial list, includ­ing Gates’ own com­ments on the impor­tance of each choice:

-Feynman’s Tips on Physics by Richard Feyn­man– A short com­pan­ion book to Richard Feynman’s clas­sic Lec­tures on Physics. Always worth­while to return to the feet of the mas­ter.

-Super Sad True Love Sto­ry: A Nov­el by Gary Shteyn­gart– I don’t read a lot of fic­tion, but I thought this was an inter­est­ing study of the moral impli­ca­tions of tech­nol­o­gy. Will tech­nol­o­gy con­tribute to everyone’s well-being or just make peo­ple more nar­cis­sis­tic?

-The Car­toon Intro­duc­tion to Sta­tis­tics by Grady Klein– Bought this to use with one of my kids. Help­ful in explain­ing a com­pli­cat­ed sub­ject to a teenag­er.

-The Path Between the Seas: The Cre­ation of the Pana­ma Canal by David McCul­lough – I read this to pre­pare for a fam­i­ly vaca­tion to Pana­ma. It’s pure McCul­lough: epic dra­ma, polit­i­cal intrigue, heart­break­ing defeats, and even­tu­al tri­umph.

-The Bet­ter Angels of Our Nature: Why Vio­lence Has Declined by Steven Pinker– One of the most impor­tant books I’ve read. Steven Pinker demon­strates how the world evolved to be far less vio­lent. Coun­ter­in­tu­itive, if you watch the news, but true.

We’ve also used the trusty Con­trol + Scroll func­tion to zoom in and name a few addi­tion­al titles:

An Uncer­tain Glo­ry: India and its Con­tra­dic­tions by Jean Drèze and Amartya Sen

Engi­neers of Vic­to­ry: The Prob­lem Solvers Who Turned The Tide in The Sec­ond World War by Paul Kennedy

The Price of Inequal­i­ty: How Today’s Divid­ed Soci­ety Endan­gers Our Future by Joseph Stiglitz

Why Does Col­lege Cost So Much? By Robert Archibald and David Feld­man

Mon­do Agnel­li: Fiat, Chrysler, and the Pow­er of a Dynasty by Jen­nifer Clark

How Chil­dren Suc­ceed: Grit, Curios­i­ty, and the Hid­den Pow­er of Char­ac­ter by Paul Tough

The One World School­house: Edu­ca­tion Reimag­ined by Salman Khan

Far From The Tree by Andrew Solomon

For the orig­i­nal list, head over to WIRED. For more of Gates’ com­men­tary, check out his site, The Gates Notes, here. You can also con­tin­ue your self-edu­ca­tion by vis­it­ing our lists of Free Online Cours­es, Free eBooks, Free Audio Books, Free Lan­guage Lessons, Free Text­books, and Free MOOCs.

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

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Did Leonardo da Vinci Paint a First Mona Lisa Before The Mona Lisa?

Leonar­do da Vin­ci’s Mona Lisa has been called “the best known, the most vis­it­ed, the most writ­ten about, the most sung about, the most par­o­died work of art in the world.” (Did you catch the Lego Mona Lisa that made the rounds on the web last week?) Com­plet­ed in the ear­ly 16th cen­tu­ry, the paint­ing offers a por­trait of Lisa Gher­ar­di­ni, wife of a Flo­ren­tine cloth mer­chant named Francesco del Gio­cond. (Hence why the paint­ing is some­times called La Gio­con­da or La Joconde.) Today, the Renais­sance mas­ter­piece hangs in the Lou­vre in Paris, where it’s vis­it­ed by an esti­mat­ed six mil­lion peo­ple each year.

There’s no short­age of debates sur­round­ing the Mona Lisa. Was it com­plet­ed in 1506? Or is 1517 a more accu­rate date? Does the por­trait actu­al­ly fea­ture Lisa Gher­ar­di­ni? (Most art his­to­ri­ans think so, but schol­ars have spec­u­lat­ed about oth­er fig­ures, includ­ing Leonar­do’s own moth­er, Cate­ri­na.) And then there’s this big­ger ques­tion. Was da Vin­ci’s Mona Lisa his first Mona Lisa? That debate starts with a tan­ta­liz­ing piece of text writ­ten by the artist/art his­to­ri­an Gior­gio Vasari in his 16th cen­tu­ry book, The Lives of the Most Excel­lent Painters, Sculp­tors, and Archi­tects. In a sec­tion called “Life of Leonar­do da Vin­ci: Painter and Sculp­tor of Flo­rence,” Vasari wrote: “Leonar­do under­took to exe­cute, for Francesco del Gio­con­do, the por­trait of Mon­na Lisa, his wife; and after toil­ing over it for four years, he left it unfin­ished.…” And then Vasari attrib­uted to the por­trait some char­ac­ter­is­tics that don’t quite line up with the famous paint­ing hang­ing in the Lou­vre today — “rosy and pearly tints,” eyes that had a “lus­tre and watery sheen which are always seen in life,” a nose “with its beau­ti­ful nos­trils, rosy and ten­der,” etc. All of this left some to won­der: Was Vasari talk­ing about anoth­er paint­ing? Per­haps an ear­li­er, unfin­ished ver­sion of the Mona Lisa?

Mona-Lisa-merge

Enter The Mona Lisa Foun­da­tion, a non-prof­it based in Switzer­land, that claims they’ve per­haps found an ear­li­er Mona Lisa. In an essay appear­ing on their web­site, and in a 20 minute video (top), the Foun­da­tion makes the case that “Isle­worth Mona Lisa” (right above) was prob­a­bly paint­ed by da Vin­ci around 1505, though nev­er com­plet­ed. Cen­turies lat­er the por­trait end­ed up in the hands of an Eng­lish col­lec­tor Hugh Blak­er, only to be then locked away in a Swiss vault for 40 years. It was final­ly brought out, and made avail­able to the pub­lic for the first time, in 2012.

Skep­tics have been quick to point out prob­lems with the “Isle­worth Mona Lisa.” Some note that it was paint­ed on can­vas, where­as Leonar­do typ­i­cal­ly paint­ed on wood. Oth­ers claim that x‑rays of the paint­ing call its authen­tic­i­ty into doubt. And then oth­ers sug­gest that the “Isle­worth Mona Lisa” is mere­ly a late 16th cen­tu­ry copy of the paint­ing now hang­ing in the Lou­vre. (The Mona Lisa Foun­da­tion web site doc­u­ments the skep­ti­cal claims and offers a rebut­tal for reach.)

To be sure, the Isle­worth Mona Lisa has its crit­ics, but it also has some sup­port­ers. In Sep­tem­ber 2012, the Swiss Fed­er­al Insti­tute of Tech­nol­o­gy in Zurich car­ried out car­bon-dat­ing tests on the can­vas and con­firmed that it was like­ly man­u­fac­tured between 1410 and 1455, which helped refute claims that the paint­ing was a late 16th cen­tu­ry copy. Mean­while, John Asmus, a UCSD physics pro­fes­sor who “intro­duced the use of holog­ra­phy, lasers, ultra­son­ic imag­ing, dig­i­tal image pro­cess­ing, and nuclear mag­net­ic res­o­nance to art-con­ser­va­tion prac­tice,” car­ried out a brush­stroke analy­sis and con­clud­ed that “the same con­struc­tion prin­ci­ples” were used in the design of both Mona Lisas, increas­ing the like­li­hood that they were cre­at­ed by the same artist. And final­ly, Joe Mullins, a foren­sic spe­cial­ist trained at the FBI, “age regressed” the orig­i­nal Mona Lisa to see what she would have looked like at an ear­li­er point in time. His con­clu­sion? “Every­thing lined up per­fect­ly.” “This is Mona Lisa, two dif­fer­ent images at two dif­fer­ent times in her life.”

But still, skep­tics cer­tain­ly remain.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

NASA Sends Image of the Mona Lisa to the Moon and Back

Watch Leonar­do da Vinci’s Musi­cal Inven­tion, the Vio­la Organ­ista, Being Played for the Very First Time

The Anatom­i­cal Draw­ings of Renais­sance Man, Leonar­do da Vin­ci

What Leonar­do da Vin­ci Real­ly Looked Like

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Filmmaker Michel Gondry Presents an Animated Conversation with Noam Chomsky

Even if you reg­u­lar­ly read Open Cul­ture, where we make a point of high­light­ing unusu­al inter­sec­tions of cul­tur­al cur­rents, you prob­a­bly nev­er expect­ed a col­lab­o­ra­tion between the likes of Michel Gondry and Noam Chom­sky. Gondry we’ve known as an imag­i­na­tive film­mak­er behind fea­tures like Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind and Be Kind Rewind (as well as music videos for artists like Beck, Kanye West, and the White Stripes), one dri­ven to pur­sue a Con­ti­nen­tal whim­sy tem­pered by a ded­i­ca­tion to elab­o­rate, dif­fi­cult-look­ing hand craft and an appar­ent inter­est in Amer­i­can cul­ture.

Chom­sky we’ve known, depend­ing on our inter­ests, as either a not­ed lin­guist or a con­tro­ver­sial writer and speak­er on pol­i­tics, soci­ety, and the media. Gondry’s new doc­u­men­tary Is the Man Who Is Tall Hap­py?, the project that brings them togeth­er at least, show­cas­es both the less-seen pure­ly philo­soph­i­cal side of Chom­sky, and the also rarely acknowl­edged inquis­i­tive, con­ver­sa­tion­al side of Gondry. In the New York Times “Anato­my of a Scene” clip at the top, the direc­tor explains his process.

Nat­u­ral­ly, Gondry went through a fair­ly unusu­al process to make the film, giv­en that he based the whole thing on noth­ing more elab­o­rate than a long-form in-office con­ver­sa­tion with the MIT-based pro­fes­sor and activist. To get the footage he need­ed of Chom­sky talk­ing, he brought in — nat­u­ral­ly — his vin­tage wind-up Bolex 16-mil­lime­ter film cam­era. He then wove those shots in with his also high­ly ana­log hand-drawn ani­ma­tion, which illus­trates Chom­sky’s ideas as he describes them — and as Gondry prods him for more. “The cam­era is very loud,” Gondry explains over a delib­er­ate­ly shaky frame, “and that’s why I have to draw it each time you hear it.” Just above, you can watch the film’s trail­er, which offers Chom­sky’s voice as well as Gondry’s. “Why should we take it to be obvi­ous that if I let go of a ball,” we hear the inter­vie­wee ask, “it goes down and not up?” We also hear the inter­view­er admit that he “felt a bit stu­pid here,” but these two men’s con­sid­er­able dif­fer­ences — in gen­er­a­tion, in nation­al­i­ty, in sen­si­bil­i­ty, in their con­cerns, in the forms of their work — pro­vide all the more rea­son to lis­ten when they talk. And if you find the intel­lec­tu­al trip not to your taste, just behold the visu­al one.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er (1971)

Noam Chom­sky vs. William F. Buck­ley, 1969

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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The 10 Hidden Cuts in Rope (1948), Alfred Hitchcock’s Famous “One-Shot” Feature Film

Among his many accom­plish­ments at the inter­sec­tion of show­man­ship and pure cin­e­ma, Alfred Hitch­cock man­aged, in 1948, to make a fea­ture film with­out any cuts — or rather, more impres­sive­ly, he made a fea­ture film peo­ple believed had no cuts. Though cinephiles will know sev­er­al fine exam­ples of no-cut or few-cut movies from recent years (I’ve enjoyed Mike Fig­gis’ four-screen Time Code since it came out in the nineties, and I often rec­om­mend Il-gon Song’s more recent but rar­er one-cut Magi­cians), they’ll also know that, due to phys­i­cal lim­i­ta­tions in the film tech­nol­o­gy of Hitch­cock­’s day, nobody — not even Hitch­cock — could pos­si­bly have made a film longer than ten min­utes out of a sin­gle, unbro­ken shot.

So how did Rope, one of Hitch­cock­’s less­er-cel­e­brat­ed but still thor­ough­ly fas­ci­nat­ing projects, con­vinc­ing­ly fake its own form? Edi­tor Vashi Nedo­man­sky shows us in the three-minute video above. “On fur­ther exam­i­na­tion,” Nedo­man­sky writes on his blog, “Hitchcock’s gem actu­al­ly con­tains ten edits. Five of them are hid­den as the cam­era lens is filled by fore­ground objects. The oth­er five edits are reg­u­lar hard cuts that not many peo­ple either real­ize or acknowl­edge.”

Nofilm­school offers a post that goes into greater depth on Rope and edit­ing: “Even though there is edit­ing, it’s often described as a film that plays out in real time. Why? Prob­a­bly because it’s such an immer­sive piece of film­mak­ing; the hid­den edits and use of hand­held cam­eras fol­low and track its char­ac­ters, allow­ing audi­ences to expe­ri­ence and react to each sit­u­a­tion at the same moment the actors do — right in the thick of the action.” You can find a more the­o­ret­i­cal take from Peter J. Del­lo­lio at Flick­head, who describes Rope as a pic­ture explor­ing “some of the fun­da­men­tal char­ac­ter­is­tics of the cin­e­mat­ic abstrac­tion of time and space by using the mobile cam­era as an agent that gives plas­tic real­i­ty to sub­jec­tive mate­r­i­al” whose “syn­the­sis of real time and filmic space forces the view­er to absorb nar­ra­tive infor­ma­tion on mul­ti­ple, often dis­taste­ful­ly iron­ic lev­els.” For a dif­fer­ent fram­ing, pre­sen­ta­tion, and analy­sis of Rope’s cuts, see also the short video essay “Skip­ping Rope.” Hitch­cock may not have had the abil­i­ty to real­ly make the movie in one shot, but he cer­tain­ly had the abil­i­ty to keep us all tak­ing about it these 65 years.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

21 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

Hitchcock’s Sev­en-Minute Edit­ing Mas­ter Class

Who Cre­at­ed the Famous Show­er Scene in Psy­cho? Alfred Hitch­cock or the Leg­endary Design­er Saul Bass?

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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Stephen Fry Explains Cloud Computing in a Short Animated Video

Just the oth­er day, I did the unthink­able: I actu­al­ly watched a pre-video adver­tise­ment. The spot, for a major bank, spent its first few min­utes explain­ing the mechan­ics of cred­it rat­ing. Promis­ing use­ful knowl­edge, this bank received my atten­tion in return — for about two thirds of the com­mer­cial, any­way. The video above, com­mis­sioned by a com­pa­ny called Data­bar­racks, does much the same by offer­ing an expla­na­tion of “cloud com­put­ing,” a con­cept you’ve sure­ly heard much thrown around over the past sev­er­al years. Sweet­en­ing the deal, it uses for its visu­als a drawn-as-you-watch style of edu­ca­tion­al ani­ma­tion you may have encoun­tered here before, and it employs as its nar­ra­tor writer, come­di­an, and man-about-inter­net Stephen Fry, from whom I’ve always enjoyed a good expla­na­tion. “Today,” he begins, “we are in the mid­dle of a rev­o­lu­tion in busi­ness com­put­ing.”

In ser­vice of this the­sis, he then goes back to 2700 BC, when the Sume­ri­ans invent­ed the aba­cus, con­tin­u­ing on through Leonar­do da Vin­ci’s plans for a mechan­i­cal cal­cu­la­tor, Charles Bab­bage’s dif­fer­ence engine, Alan Tur­ing and Tom­my Flow­ers’ for­ward-look­ing sep­a­ra­tion of hard­ware from soft­ware, and Tim Bern­ers-Lee’s real­iza­tion that com­put­ers could oper­ate on some­thing like a neur­al net­work — some­thing like this very World Wide Web. We then see and hear an anal­o­gy made between com­put­ing and elec­tric­i­ty. Where once firms want­i­ng to use elec­tric­i­ty had to build and main­tain their own bur­den­some pow­er plants, now they have elec­tric­i­ty as a util­i­ty, pay­ing only for what they need at the time. And while firms have main­ly, up to this point, pur­chased and oper­at­ed their own stores of com­put­ing pow­er, doing it cloud-style will free them all to pay for that, too, as a util­i­ty. A bold pitch, per­haps, but every­thing sounds rea­son­able — inevitable, even — com­ing from Stephen Fry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Fry Hosts “The Sci­ence of Opera,” a Dis­cus­sion of How Music Moves Us Phys­i­cal­ly to Tears

Stephen Fry: What I Wish I Knew When I Was 18

Stephen Fry Intro­duces the Strange New World of Nanoscience

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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Everything You Wanted to Know About the L.A. Aqueduct That Made Roman Polanski’s Chinatown Famous: A New UCLA Archive

chinatown-nicholson

Next year marks the 40th anniver­sary of a mod­ern clas­sic, Roman Polanski’s Chi­na­town. And sure­ly no oth­er film has even come close to mak­ing the con­struc­tion of an aque­duct so thrilling.

For sure, the siz­able serv­ings of incest, cor­rup­tion, and greed help car­ry Robert Towne’s bril­liant screen­play. But under Towne’s script are the bones of anoth­er sto­ry, the sto­ry of an engi­neer­ing feat that eclipsed the Pana­ma Canal. Yes we’re talk­ing about the build­ing of the great Los Ange­les aque­duct start­ing in 1908.

In the pref­ace to the script Towne wrote this, “the great crimes in Cal­i­for­nia have been com­mit­ted against the land—and against the peo­ple who own it and future gen­er­a­tions. It was only nat­ur­al that the script should evolve into the sto­ry of a man who raped the land and his own daugh­ter.”

Towne didn’t wor­ry about stick­ing to the facts (he set the action of Chi­na­town in the 1930s—an inher­ent­ly more glam­orous peri­od, espe­cial­ly in Los Ange­les). Some even argue that the film cre­ates an entire­ly dif­fer­ent (and wrong) his­to­ry of the project that is remem­bered as fact.

UCLA has cre­at­ed the Los Ange­les Aque­duct Dig­i­tal Plat­form, a col­lec­tion of arti­cles, maps, images and gen­er­al his­to­ry of the project and time that sets the record straight. Among its great­est resources are those about the film that made South­ern Cal­i­for­ni­a’s water issues famous. In fact, there is an abun­dance of infor­ma­tion about the film itself, even if it wasn’t his­tor­i­cal­ly accu­rate.

There are links to, among oth­er resources, a con­ver­sa­tion with Robert Towne where he dis­cuss­es his inspi­ra­tion for the screen­play.

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Fol­low her on Twit­ter.

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In His Latest Film, Slavoj Žižek Claims “The Only Way to Be an Atheist is Through Christianity”

For some time now, Slavoj Žižek has been show­ing up as an author and edi­tor of the­ol­o­gy texts along­side ortho­dox thinkers whose ideas he thor­ough­ly nat­u­ral­izes and reads through his Marx­ist lens. Take, for exam­ple, an essay titled, after the Catholic G.K. Chester­ton, “The ‘Thrilling Romance of Ortho­doxy’ ” in the 2005 vol­ume, part­ly edit­ed by Žižek, The­ol­o­gy and the Polit­i­cal: The New Debate. In Chesterton’s defense of Chris­t­ian ortho­doxy, Žižek sees “the ele­men­tary matrix of the Hegelian dialec­ti­cal process.” While “the pseu­do-rev­o­lu­tion­ary crit­ics of reli­gion” even­tu­al­ly sac­ri­fice their very free­dom for “the athe­ist rad­i­cal uni­verse, deprived of reli­gious ref­er­ence… the gray uni­verse of egal­i­tar­i­an ter­ror and tyran­ny,” the same para­dox holds for the fun­da­men­tal­ists. Those “fanat­i­cal defend­ers of reli­gion start­ed with fero­cious­ly attack­ing the con­tem­po­rary sec­u­lar cul­ture and end­ed up for­sak­ing reli­gion itself (los­ing any mean­ing­ful reli­gious expe­ri­ence).”

For Žižek, a mid­dle way between these two extremes emerges, but it is not Chester­ton’s way. Through his method of teas­ing para­dox and alle­go­ry from the cul­tur­al arti­facts pro­duced by West­ern reli­gious and sec­u­lar ideologies—supplementing dry Marx­ist analy­sis with the juicy voyeurism of psychoanalysis—Žižek finds that Chris­tian­i­ty sub­verts the very the­ol­o­gy its inter­preters espouse. He draws a con­clu­sion that is very Chester­ton­ian in its iron­i­cal rever­sal: “The only way to be an athe­ist is through Chris­tian­i­ty.” This is the argu­ment Žižek makes in his lat­est film, The Pervert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy. In the clip above, over footage from Scorsese’s The Last Temp­ta­tion of Christ, Žižek claims:

Chris­tian­i­ty is much more athe­ist than the usu­al athe­ism, which can claim there is no God and so on, but nonethe­less it retains a cer­tain trust into the Big Oth­er. This Big Oth­er can be called nat­ur­al neces­si­ty, evo­lu­tion, or what­ev­er. We humans are nonethe­less reduced to a posi­tion with­in the har­mo­nious whole of evo­lu­tion, what­ev­er, but the dif­fi­cult thing to accept is again that there is no Big Oth­er, no point of ref­er­ence which guar­an­tees mean­ing.

The charge that Chris­tian­i­ty is a kind of athe­ism is not new, of course. It was levied against the ear­ly mem­bers of the sect by Romans, who also used the word as a term of abuse for Jews and oth­ers who did not believe their pagan pan­theon. But Žižek means some­thing entire­ly dif­fer­ent. Rather than using athe­ism as a term of abuse or mak­ing a delib­er­ate attempt to shock or inflame, Žižek attempts to show how Chris­tian­i­ty dif­fers from Judaism in its rejec­tion of “the big oth­er God” who hides his true desires and inten­tions, caus­ing immense anx­i­ety among his fol­low­ers (illus­trat­ed, says Žižek, by the book of Job). This is then resolved by Chris­tian­i­ty in an act of love, a “res­o­lu­tion of rad­i­cal anx­i­ety.”

And yet, says Žižek, this act—the crucifixion—does not rein­state the meta­phys­i­cal cer­tain­ties of eth­i­cal monothe­ism or pop­ulist pagan­ism. “The death of Christ,” says Žižek, “is not any kind of redemp­tion… it’s sim­ply the dis­in­te­gra­tion of the God which guar­an­tees the mean­ing of our lives.” It’s a provoca­tive, if not par­tic­u­lar­ly orig­i­nal, argu­ment that many post-Niet­zschean the­olo­gians have arrived at by oth­er means. Žižek’s read­ing of Chris­tian­i­ty in The Pervert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy—along­side his copi­ous writ­ing and lec­tur­ing on the subject—constitutes a chal­lenge not only to tra­di­tion­al the­is­tic ortho­dox­ies but also to sec­u­lar human­ism, with its qua­si-reli­gious faith in progress and empir­i­cal sci­ence. Of course, his cri­tique of the vul­gar cer­tain­ties of ortho­doxy should also apply to ortho­dox Marx­ism, some­thing Žižek’s crit­ics are always quick to point out. Whether or not he’s suf­fi­cient­ly crit­i­cal of his com­mu­nist vision of real­i­ty, or has any­thing coher­ent to say at all, is a point I leave you to debate.

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Slavoj Žižek’s Pervert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy Decodes The Dark Knight and They Live

Noam Chom­sky Slams Žižek and Lacan: Emp­ty ‘Pos­tur­ing’

A Shirt­less Slavoj Žižek Explains the Pur­pose of Phi­los­o­phy from the Com­fort of His Bed

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

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Vintage Film Shows How the Oxford English Dictionary Was Made in 1925

There was lots of mon­ey to be made at the end of the 19th cen­tu­ry and Dud­ley Dock­er made his share of it. He was what they called a “baron of indus­try” at a time when man­u­fac­tur­ing was explod­ing in Britain. Dock­er made his for­tune in paint, motor­cy­cles, arms man­u­fac­tur­ing, rail­ways, and bank­ing. He was an indus­tri­al boost­er, act­ing as one of the three major financiers behind Ernest Shackleton’s Trans-Antarc­tic Expe­di­tion. In 1916, he found­ed a major asso­ci­a­tion of British indus­try to pro­mote busi­ness inter­ests.

A charm­ing result of that work is a recent­ly dig­i­tized film made in 1925 to demon­strate the work inside Oxford Uni­ver­si­ty Press. For book arts lovers, this is a fas­ci­nat­ing peek into the ear­ly days of mech­a­nized print­ing.

Above we watch a work­er use a mould to make lead type, hun­dreds of them, by pour­ing the molten lead in at the top, mak­ing a quick upward motion and releas­ing the quick­ly dried type. A sep­a­rate team of work­ers then sets up mono­type com­pos­ing machines, and we watch as men demon­strate their use.

The film fol­lows the process of print­ing a run of Oxford Eng­lish Dic­tio­nar­ies. Books were bound by gen­der-divid­ed teams: A room of women labored in the “girls” bindery sec­tion while men bound books in their own sep­a­rate room. We see the sewing, cut­ting and the fas­ci­nat­ing process of gild­ing the page edges.

In our dig­i­tal age, the old ana­log process­es take on a new, deep­er sig­nif­i­cance. This film presents a ter­rif­ic 18-minute tuto­r­i­al on one of the great­est achieve­ments of the mod­ern age: print­ing mass quan­ti­ties of bound books.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Mak­ing of a Stein­way Grand Piano, From Start to Fin­ish

How Walt Dis­ney Car­toons Are Made (1939)

Spike Jonze Presents a Stop Motion Film for Book Lovers

The His­to­ry of the Eng­lish Lan­guage in Ten Ani­mat­ed Min­utes

Kate Rix writes about edu­ca­tion and dig­i­tal media. Fol­low her on Twit­ter.

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