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Umberto Eco Explains the Poetic Power of Charles Schulz’s Peanuts

eco loves peanuts

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons and Snoopy­’s YouTube Channel

Anthro­pol­o­gy, authen­tic­i­ty, medieval aes­thet­ics, the media, lit­er­ary the­o­ry, con­spir­a­cy the­o­ry, semi­otics, ugli­ness: the late Umber­to Eco, as any­one who’s read a piece of his bib­li­og­ra­phy (which includes such intel­lec­tu­al­ly seri­ous but thor­ough­ly enter­tain­ing nov­els as The Name of the RoseFou­cault’s Pen­du­lum, and the still-new Numero Zero) can attest, had the widest pos­si­ble range of inter­ests. That infi­nite-seem­ing list extend­ed even to com­ic strips, and espe­cial­ly Charles Schulz’s Peanuts (which did tend to fas­ci­nate literati, even those of very dif­fer­ent tra­di­tions).

Just over thir­ty years ago, the Ital­ian nov­el­ist-essay­ist-crit­ic-philoso­pher-semi­oti­cian wrote an essay in The New York Review of Books about what made that strip one of the most, if not the most com­pelling of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry.

“The cast of char­ac­ters is ele­men­tary,” writes Eco, rat­tling off the names and lat­er enu­mer­at­ing the res­o­nant qual­i­ties of Char­lie Brown, Lucy, Vio­let, Pat­ty, Frie­da, Linus, Schroed­er, Pig Pen, and “the dog Snoopy, who is involved in their games and their talk.” But from this sim­ple design aris­es a rich and com­plex read­er expe­ri­ence:

Over this basic scheme, there is a steady flow of vari­a­tions, fol­low­ing a rhythm found in cer­tain prim­i­tive epics. (Prim­i­tive, too, is the habit of refer­ring to the pro­tag­o­nist always by his full name—even his moth­er address­es Char­lie Brown in that fash­ion, like an epic hero.) Thus you could nev­er grasp the poet­ic pow­er of Schulz’s work by read­ing only one or two or ten episodes: you must thor­ough­ly under­stand the char­ac­ters and the sit­u­a­tions, for the grace, ten­der­ness, and laugh­ter are born only from the infi­nite­ly shift­ing rep­e­ti­tion of the pat­terns, and from fideli­ty to the fun­da­men­tal inspi­ra­tions. They demand from the read­er a con­tin­u­ous act of empa­thy, a par­tic­i­pa­tion in the inner warmth that per­vades the events.

In this sense, Peanuts suc­ceeds on the same lev­el as Krazy Kat, George Her­ri­man’s high­ly absurd, high­ly artis­tic, and enor­mous­ly respect­ed strip (though it some­times took up entire pages) that ran from 1913 to 1944. Thanks only to the ear­li­er work’s rig­or­ous adher­ence to themes and vari­a­tions, Eco writes, “the mouse’s arro­gance, the dog’s unre­ward­ed com­pas­sion, and the cat’s des­per­ate love could arrive at what many crit­ics felt was a gen­uine state of poet­ry, an unin­ter­rupt­ed ele­gy based on sor­row­ing inno­cence.” But Peanuts’ cast of chil­dren adds anoth­er dimen­sion entire­ly:

The poet­ry of these chil­dren aris­es from the fact that we find in them all the prob­lems, all the suf­fer­ings of the adults, who remain off­stage. These chil­dren affect us because in a cer­tain sense they are mon­sters: they are the mon­strous infan­tile reduc­tions of all the neu­roses of a mod­ern cit­i­zen of indus­tri­al civ­i­liza­tion.

They affect us because we real­ize that if they are mon­sters it is because we, the adults, have made them so. In them we find every­thing: Freud, mass cul­ture, digest cul­ture, frus­trat­ed strug­gle for suc­cess, crav­ing for affec­tion, lone­li­ness, pas­sive acqui­es­cence, and neu­rot­ic protest. But all these ele­ments do not blos­som direct­ly, as we know them, from the mouths of a group of chil­dren: they are con­ceived and spo­ken after pass­ing through the fil­ter of inno­cence. Schulz’s chil­dren are not a sly instru­ment to han­dle our adult prob­lems: they expe­ri­ence these prob­lems accord­ing to a child­ish psy­chol­o­gy, and for this very rea­son they seem to us touch­ing and hope­less, as if we were sud­den­ly aware that our ills have pol­lut­ed every­thing, at the root.

But the capa­cious mind of Eco finds even more than that in the out­ward­ly hum­ble Schulz’s work. If we read enough of it, “we real­ize that we have emerged from the banal round of con­sump­tion and escapism, and have almost reached the thresh­old of med­i­ta­tion.” And aston­ish­ing­ly, it works equal­ly well for all audi­ences: “Peanuts charms both sophis­ti­cat­ed adults and chil­dren with equal inten­si­ty, as if each read­er found there some­thing for him­self, and it is always the same thing, to be enjoyed in two dif­fer­ent keys.” And Schultz con­tin­ues, even six­teen years after his own death and the strip’s end, to show us, “in the face of Char­lie Brown, with two strokes of his pen­cil, his ver­sion of the human con­di­tion.”

You can read Eco’s com­plete essay, On ‘Krazy Kat’ and ‘Peanuts,’ over at The New York Review of Books.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Charles Schulz Draws Char­lie Brown in 45 Sec­onds and Exor­cis­es His Demons

Umber­to Eco Dies at 84; Leaves Behind Advice to Aspir­ing Writ­ers

Umber­to Eco’s How To Write a The­sis: A Wit­ty, Irrev­er­ent & High­ly Prac­ti­cal Guide Now Out in Eng­lish

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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Existentialist Psychiatrist, Auschwitz Survivor Viktor Frankl Explains How to Find Meaning in Life, No Matter What Challenges You Face

Free will often seems like noth­ing more than a cru­el illu­sion. We don’t get to choose the times, places, and cir­cum­stances of our birth, nor do we have much con­trol over the state of our states, regions, or nations. Even the few who can design con­di­tions such that they are always secure and com­fort­able find them­selves unavoid­ably sub­ject to what Bud­dhists call the “divine mes­sen­gers” of sick­ness, aging, and death. Biol­o­gy may not be des­tiny, but it is a force more pow­er­ful than many of our best inten­tions. And though most of us in the West have the priv­i­lege of liv­ing far away from war zones, mil­lions across the world face extrem­i­ties we can only imag­ine, and to which we are not immune by any stretch.

Among all of the psy­chi­a­trists, philoso­phers, and reli­gious fig­ures who have wres­tled with these uni­ver­sal truths about the human con­di­tion, per­haps none has been put to the test quite like neu­rol­o­gist and psy­chother­a­pist Vik­tor Fran­kl, who sur­vived Auschwitz, but lost his moth­er, father, broth­er, and first wife to the camps.

While impris­oned, he faced what he described as “an unre­lent­ing strug­gle for dai­ly bread and for life itself.” After his camp was lib­er­at­ed in 1945, Fran­kl pub­lished an extra­or­di­nary book about his expe­ri­ences: Man’s Search for Mean­ing, “a strange­ly hope­ful book,” writes Matthew Scul­ly at First Things, “still a sta­ple on the self-help shelves” though it is “inescapably a book about death.” The book has seen dozens of edi­tions in dozens of lan­guages and ranks 9th on a list of most influ­en­tial books.

Fran­kl’s the­sis echoes those of many sages, from Bud­dhists to Sto­ics to his 20th cen­tu­ry Exis­ten­tial­ist con­tem­po­raries: “Every­thing can be tak­en from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s atti­tude in any giv­en set of cir­cum­stances, to choose one’s own way.” Not only did he find hope and mean­ing in the midst of ter­ri­ble suf­fer­ing, but after his unimag­in­able loss, he “remar­ried, wrote anoth­er twen­ty-five books, found­ed a school of psy­chother­a­py, built an insti­tute bear­ing his name in Vien­na,” and gen­er­al­ly lived a long, hap­py life. How? The inter­view above will give you some idea. Fran­kl main­tains that we always have some free­dom of choice, “in spite of the worst con­di­tions,” and there­fore always have the abil­i­ty to seek for mean­ing. “Peo­ple are free,” says Fran­kl, no mat­ter their lev­el of oppres­sion, and are respon­si­ble “for mak­ing some­one or some­thing out of them­selves.”

Fran­kl’s pri­ma­ry achieve­ment as a psy­chother­a­pist was to found the school of “logother­a­py,” a suc­ces­sor to Freudi­an psy­cho­analy­sis and Adler­ian indi­vid­ual psy­chol­o­gy. Draw­ing on Exis­ten­tial­ist phi­los­o­phy (Fran­kl’s book was pub­lished in Ger­many with the alter­nate title From Con­cen­tra­tion Camp to Exis­ten­tial­ism)—but turn­ing away from an obses­sion with the Absurd—his approach, writes his insti­tute, “is based on three philo­soph­i­cal and psy­cho­log­i­cal con­cepts… Free­dom of Will, Will to Mean­ing, and Mean­ing in Life.”

You can hear how Fran­kl works these prin­ci­ples into his phi­los­o­phy in the fas­ci­nat­ing inter­view, as well as in the short clip above from an ear­li­er lec­ture, in which he rails against a crude and ulti­mate­ly unful­fill­ing form of mean­ing-mak­ing: the pur­suit of wealth. Even us mate­ri­al­is­tic Amer­i­cans, renowned for our greed, Fran­kl notes with good humor, respond to sur­veys in over­whelm­ing num­bers say­ing our great­est desire is to find mean­ing and pur­pose in life. Like no oth­er sec­u­lar voice, Fran­kl was con­fi­dent that we could do so, in spite of life’s seem­ing chaos, through—as he explains above—a kind of ide­al­ism that brings us clos­er to real­i­ty.

Note: You can down­load Fran­kl’s major book, “Man’s Search for Mean­ing,” as a free audio book if you join Audi­ble’s 30-Day Free Tri­al pro­gram. Find details on that here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cre­ativ­i­ty, Not Mon­ey, is the Key to Hap­pi­ness: Dis­cov­er Psy­chol­o­gist Mihaly Csikszentmihaly’s The­o­ry of “Flow”

Albert Ein­stein Tells His Son The Key to Learn­ing & Hap­pi­ness is Los­ing Your­self in Cre­ativ­i­ty (or “Find­ing Flow”)

The Phi­los­o­phy of Kierkegaard, the First Exis­ten­tial­ist Philoso­pher, Revis­it­ed in 1984 Doc­u­men­tary

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

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You Can Now Get a Master’s Degree in Samuel Beckett: Here’s How to Apply, and Maybe Get a Scholarship

beckett radio plays 1950s

Image by Bib­lio­thèque nationale de France, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

FYI: The Uni­ver­si­ty of Read­ing now offers stu­dents the chance to enroll in a new Mas­ter’s degree pro­gram focus­ing on the work of the avant-garde nov­el­ist, play­wright, the­ater direc­tor & poet Samuel Beck­ett. He’s been the sub­ject of many past posts here on Open Cul­ture.

Here’s what the pro­gram has to offer:

This inno­v­a­tive new taught MA pro­gramme on the work of Samuel Beck­ett is taught by world lead­ing experts on his work: Pro­fes­sor Jonathan Bignell, Pro­fes­sor Anna McMul­lan, The­atre & Tele­vi­sion and Pro­fes­sor Steven Matthews, Dr Mark Nixon and Dr Conor Carville in Eng­lish. Here you will engage in advanced archival research tech­niques using the exten­sive hold­ings of the uni­ver­si­ty’s world lead­ing Samuel Beck­ett Col­lec­tion, apply­ing these skills to the analy­sis of Beck­et­t’s writ­ing and per­for­mance work. The MA will also pro­vide the oppor­tu­ni­ty to explore the com­plex and fas­ci­nat­ing inter­dis­ci­pli­nary rela­tion­ship Beck­ett demon­strat­ed in his life­time through his work in a vari­ety of mul­ti­me­dia includ­ing film, the­atre, tele­vi­sion and radio.

You can find more infor­ma­tion on the pro­gram here, includ­ing details on appli­ca­tion process and the schol­ar­ship that’s being offered for the 206‑2017 aca­d­e­m­ic year. If you’re look­ing to get bet­ter acquaint­ed with Beck­et­t’s work, don’t miss the items in the Relat­eds below.

via Rhys Tran­ter

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:

Samuel Beck­ett Play Brought to Life in an Eerie Short Film Star­ring Alan Rick­man & Kristin Scott Thomas

Take a “Breath” and Watch Samuel Beckett’s One-Minute Play

Hear Samuel Beckett’s Avant-Garde Radio Plays: All That Fall, Embers, and More

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Rare Audio: Samuel Beck­ett Reads Two Poems From His Nov­el Watt

Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es

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The 120 Minutes Archive Compiles Clips & Playlists from 956 Episodes of MTV’s Alternative Music Show (1986–2013)

In the first cou­ple years after MTV’s 1981 debut, the fledg­ling cable net­work more or less repro­duced the 70’s album-ori­ent­ed rock radio for­mat with video accom­pa­ni­ment, to the exclu­sion of a num­ber of emerg­ing pop­u­lar artists (a fact David Bowie bemoaned in ’83). In the mid-80s, the net­work diver­si­fied: Michael Jackson’s “Bil­lie Jean” broke the col­or bar­ri­er in 1984, and in the fol­low­ing years, the net­work moved toward edgi­er music with shows like Headbanger’s Ball in ’85 (orig­i­nal­ly Heavy Met­al Mania) and, a few years lat­er, Yo! MTV Raps.

In 1986, anoth­er show appeared that solid­i­fied MTV’s status—for a few years at least—as a gen­uine source for new, “alter­na­tive” music, before that term became an emp­ty mar­ket­ing word. Tucked away in a mid­night to 2 A.M. slot, 120 Min­utes ini­tial­ly “guid­ed view­ers through the late ‘80s col­lege rock land­scape, which was large­ly inspired by trends hap­pen­ing in the UK at the time.”

So writes Tyler at Tylerc.com, who hosts the huge­ly impres­sive 120 Min­utes Archive, a recre­ation of the 27-year run of the two-hour music video, news, and inter­view show that broke many an “alter­na­tive” artist in the U.S. and gave many more a plat­form to pro­mote their music, caus­es, and per­son­al­i­ties. Enter the archive here.

I well remem­ber stay­ing up late, the vol­ume turned down as low as pos­si­ble so as not to wake the fam­i­ly, and catch­ing videos for the Pix­ies’ “Here Comes Your Man” (above) and R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World (As We Know It),” among so many oth­er bands art-pop, new wave, post-punk, indus­tri­al, etc. The show was like a video ana­logue to Trouser Press—and brows­ing the online data­base of that “’bible’ of alter­na­tive rock” will give you a good sense of 120 Min­utes’ breadth. Though it fea­tured a very healthy mix of hard­core, elec­tron­ic, and new wave music from both sides of the pond, the show often seemed to be dom­i­nat­ed by British bands like the Cure (whose Robert Smith once guest host­ed), Depeche Mode, the Psy­che­del­ic Furs, and (sec­ond from top) Big Audio Dyna­mite, Mick Jones’ post-Clash project, which Lou Reed dis­cuss­es briefly in the clip at the top from his 1986 stint as a guest host. (See sev­er­al more clips of his host­ing here.)

In the 90s, 120 Min­utes became a show­case for much more home­grown prod­uct as the “blender of post-punk, goth, indus­tri­al, and jan­gle-rock gave way… to a coa­lesced grunge move­ment” after the seis­mic debut of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” in 1991, with the likes of Mud­honey, Soundgar­den, the Dandy Warhols, and the Smash­ing Pump­kins tak­ing over for much of the British new wave. Those who came of age in the 90s will remem­ber the show’s host Matt Pin­field­’s obses­sive, rock critic’s approach to “the rise and fall of alter­na­tive rock.” Soon, the show became a heav­i­ly eclec­tic mix: Brit pop arrived (along with the bag­gy Mad­ch­ester of the Hap­py Mon­days, Stone Ros­es, etc.), and “post-grunge bands, left of cen­ter singer-song­writ­ers, west coast ska-inspired bands, and alter­na­tive hip hop acts” joined the playlist.

The mid-nineties seem like gold­en years in ret­ro­spect. Flush with cash, record com­pa­nies threw mon­ey at any­thing vague­ly Nir­vana-shaped, which enabled a num­ber of excel­lent bands and artists to break out of their local scenes and into larg­er stu­dios and stages like the trav­el­ing cir­cus of Lol­la­palooza. (The sit­u­a­tion also pro­duced a drag of deriv­a­tive, dumb­ed-down awful­ness.) Scroll through the playlists Tyler C has com­piled for 1994, for exam­ple, a year I fond­ly, most­ly, remem­ber, to get a sense of the range of artists and gen­res the show embraced by this time—from the ham­mer­ing indus­tri­al-met­al of Min­istry (above) to the hazy, ethe­re­al psych-folk of Mazzy Star (below). Post-Nir­vana “alter­na­tive rock” went so main­stream that the net­work even­tu­al­ly ran a com­pan­ion show every week­night called Alter­na­tive Nation, so named despite the fact that “alter­na­tive” came to mean pre­cise­ly the oppo­site of the out­sider sta­tus it had once described.

The boom times couldn’t last. As the mil­len­ni­um waned, so did the hey­day of alt-rock music videos. Real­i­ty TV and bub­blegum pop took over. “In the era of TRL,” writes Tyler C, “the future of 120 Min­utes on MTV was uncer­tain.” As MTV rel­e­gat­ed music videos—once its rai­son d’e­tre—to the mar­gins, 120 Min­utes became MTV’s “de fac­to rock show,” then moved to MTV 2, then off the air alto­geth­er in 2003 after a 17-year run. Then, as indie rock ascend­ed to pop­u­lar­i­ty, the show was revived for a 2003–2011 run as Sub­ter­ranean and again as 120 Min­utes until 2013.

Though Tyler C’s exhaus­tive archive con­tains few actu­al clips from the show, it does doc­u­ment 120 Min­utes’ entire his­to­ry, from its under­ground late 80s incep­tion, through the main­stream 90s, and into the sub­dued 2000’s, with playlists from each episode and, writes Buz­zfeed, “his­to­ries of what bands played, descrip­tions of tours the show appeared on, and anec­dotes where pos­si­ble.” You can watch full episodes of the show’s last cou­ple years with Matt Pin­field on MTV Hive (Many, like this one, broad­cast from New York’s Cake Shop).

The archive, Tyler told Buz­zfeed, res­onates with Gen X’ers because “it’s all about nostalgia”—and I can cer­tain­ly tes­ti­fy to that effect—and appeals to younger peo­ple “because that era of music in the ’90s was so impor­tant. It was the age of EVERYTHING alter­na­tive.” For those of us who lived through the decade, and who aged out of MTV’s demo­graph­ic around the time that Tyler aged in, it’s also an oppor­tu­ni­ty to catch up with lat­er sea­sons of the show we prob­a­bly missed. They may be as essen­tial someday—in their own way—as the ones we so wist­ful­ly recall.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First Live Per­for­mance of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” (1991)

Jim Jarmusch’s Anti-MTV Music Videos for Talk­ing Heads, Neil Young, Tom Waits & Big Audio Dyna­mite

The First 10 Videos Played on MTV: Rewind the Video­tape to August 1, 1981

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

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Music in the Brain: Scientists Finally Reveal the Parts of Our Brain That Are Dedicated to Music

The late neu­rol­o­gist and writer Oliv­er Sacks had a big hit back in 2007 with his book Musi­cophil­ia: Tales of Music and the Brain, address­ing as it did from Sacks’ unquench­ably brain- and music-curi­ous per­spec­tive a con­nec­tion almost all of us feel instinc­tive­ly. We know we love music, and we know that love must have some­thing to do with how our brains work, but for most of human his­to­ry we haven’t had many cred­i­ble expla­na­tions for what’s going on. But sci­ence has dis­cov­ered more about the rela­tion­ship between music and the brain, and we’ve post­ed about some of those fas­ci­nat­ing dis­cov­er­ies as they come out. (Have a look at all the relat­ed posts below.)

But now, a study from MIT’s McGov­ern Insti­tute for Brain Research has revealed exact­ly which parts of our brains respond specif­i­cal­ly to music. They’ve put out a brief video of this research, which you can watch above, explain­ing their process, which involved putting sub­jects into an MRI and play­ing them var­i­ous sounds, then study­ing how their brains respond­ed dif­fer­ent­ly to music than to, say, the spo­ken word or a flush­ing toi­let. Not look­ing to test any hypoth­e­sis in par­tic­u­lar, the research team found “strik­ing selec­tiv­i­ty” in which regions of the brain lit up, in their spe­cial­ly designed ana­lyt­i­cal mod­el, in response to music.

“Why do we have music?” asks the McGov­ern Insti­tute’s Dr. Nan­cy Kan­wish­er in a New York Times arti­cle on the research by Natal­ie Ang­i­er. “Why do we enjoy it so much and want to dance when we hear it? How ear­ly in devel­op­ment can we see this sen­si­tiv­i­ty to music, and is it tun­able with expe­ri­ence? These are the real­ly cool first-order ques­tions we can begin to address.” The piece also quotes Josef Rauscheck­er, direc­tor of the Lab­o­ra­to­ry of Inte­gra­tive Neu­ro­science and Cog­ni­tion at George­town Uni­ver­si­ty, cit­ing “the­o­ries that music is old­er than speech or lan­guage,” and that “some even argue that speech evolved from music,” which “works as a group cohe­sive. Music-mak­ing with oth­er peo­ple in your tribe is a very ancient, human thing to do.” Which all, of course, goes to sup­port the bold hypoth­e­sis put forth by the late Tow­er Records: No Music, No Life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Neu­ro­science of Bass: New Study Explains Why Bass Instru­ments Are Fun­da­men­tal to Music

The Neu­ro­science of Drum­ming: Researchers Dis­cov­er the Secrets of Drum­ming & The Human Brain

Play­ing an Instru­ment Is a Great Work­out For Your Brain: New Ani­ma­tion Explains Why

New Research Shows How Music Lessons Dur­ing Child­hood Ben­e­fit the Brain for a Life­time

Why We Love Rep­e­ti­tion in Music: Explained in a New TED-Ed Ani­ma­tion

This is Your Brain on Jazz Impro­vi­sa­tion: The Neu­ro­science of Cre­ativ­i­ty

Free Online Psy­chol­o­gy & Neu­ro­science Cours­es

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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Take a Virtual Tour of Hieronymus Bosch’s Bewildering Masterpiece The Garden of Earthly Delights

Bosch 1

Art his­to­ri­ans have argued about the mean­ing of The Gar­den of Earth­ly DelightsHierony­mus Bosch’s enor­mous­ly sized, lav­ish­ly detailed, and com­pelling­ly grotesque late 14th- or ear­ly 15th-cen­tu­ry triptych—more or less since the painter’s death. What does it real­ly say about the appear­ance and fall of man on Earth that it seems to depict? How seri­ous­ly or iron­i­cal­ly does it say it? Does it offer us a warn­ing against temp­ta­tion, or a cel­e­bra­tion of temp­ta­tion? Does it take a reli­gious or anti-reli­gious stance? And what’s with all those creepy ani­mals and bizarre pseu­do-sex acts? “In spite of all the inge­nious, eru­dite and in part extreme­ly use­ful research devot­ed to the task,” said schol­ar Erwin Panof­sky, “I can­not help feel­ing that the real secret of his mag­nif­i­cent night­mares and day­dreams has still to be dis­closed.”

Bosch 2

Panof­sky said that in the 1950s, by which era he summed up the accu­mu­lat­ed efforts to decode Bosch as hav­ing “bored a few holes through the door of the locked room; but some­how we do not seem to have dis­cov­ered the key.” Now you can at least try your own hand at knock­ing on the door with this “inter­ac­tive doc­u­men­tary” of The Gar­den of Ear­ly Delights, which allows you to explore the paint­ing in depth, read­ing and hear­ing what sto­ries we know of the many images night­mar­ish­ly and often hilar­i­ous­ly pre­sent­ed with­in, while you zoom far clos­er than you could while even stand­ing before the real thing at the Pra­do.

(Assum­ing you could suc­cess­ful­ly elbow your way past all the tour groups.)  “The vis­i­tor of the inter­ac­tive doc­u­men­tary will get a bet­ter under­stand­ing of what it was like to live in the Late Mid­dle Ages,” says the offi­cial descrip­tion, which also assures us we can “come back after a vis­it and pick up the book again from the shelf to fur­ther explore.”

Bosch 3

The project comes as part of a larg­er “trans­me­dia tryp­tich,” which also con­sists of the tra­di­tion­al doc­u­men­tary film Hierony­mus Bosch, Touched by the Dev­il (whose trail­er you can see below) and a “vir­tu­al real­i­ty doc­u­men­tary” called Hierony­mus Bosch, the Eyes of the Owl. I find that last title espe­cial­ly appro­pri­ate, since I’ve long enjoyed Bosch’s recur­ring owls and appre­ci­ate the abil­i­ty this high­ly zoomable Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights offers me to count them one by one. Spend some time roam­ing Bosch’s vision’s par­adise, bac­cha­nal, and damna­tion and, whether you take the guid­ed tour through them or not, you’ll find much to stare at in sheer fas­ci­na­tion — and, as often as not, dis­be­lief.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dutch Book From 1692 Doc­u­ments Every Col­or Under the Sun: A Pre-Pan­tone Guide to Col­ors

300+ Etch­ings by Rem­brandt Now Free Online, Thanks to the Mor­gan Library & Muse­um

Rijksmu­se­um Dig­i­tizes & Makes Free Online 210,000 Works of Art, Mas­ter­pieces Includ­ed!

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

Mas­ter of Light: A Close Look at the Paint­ings of Johannes Ver­meer Nar­rat­ed by Meryl Streep

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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“20 Rules For Writing Detective Stories” By S.S. Van Dine, One of T.S. Eliot’s Favorite Genre Authors (1928)

ss dine rules for writing detective fiction

Every gen­er­a­tion, it seems, has its pre­ferred best­selling genre fic­tion. We’ve had fan­ta­sy and, at least in very recent his­to­ry, vam­pire romance keep­ing us read­ing. The fifties and six­ties had their west­erns and sci-fi. And in the for­ties, it won’t sur­prise you to hear, detec­tive fic­tion was all the rage. So much so that—like many an irri­ta­ble con­trar­i­an crit­ic today—esteemed lit­er­ary tastemak­er Edmund Wil­son penned a cranky New York­er piece in 1944 declaim­ing its pop­u­lar­i­ty, writ­ing “at the age of twelve… I was out­grow­ing that form of lit­er­a­ture”; the form, that is, per­fect­ed by Edgar Allan Poe, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Wilkie Collins, and imi­tat­ed by a host of pulp writ­ers in Wilson’s day. Detec­tive sto­ries, in fact, were in vogue for the first few decades of the 20th century—since the appear­ance of Sher­lock Holmes and a deriv­a­tive 1907 char­ac­ter called “the Think­ing Machine,” respon­si­ble, it seems, for Wilson’s loss of inter­est.

Thus, when Wil­son learned that “of all peo­ple,”Paul Grim­stad writes, T.S. Eliot “was a devot­ed fan of the genre,” he must have been par­tic­u­lar­ly dis­mayed, as he con­sid­ered Eliot “an unim­peach­able author­i­ty in mat­ters of lit­er­ary judg­ment.” Eliot’s tastes were much more ecu­meni­cal than most crit­ics sup­posed, his “atti­tude toward pop­u­lar art forms… more capa­cious and ambiva­lent than he’s often giv­en cred­it for.” The rhythms of rag­time per­vade his ear­ly poet­ry, and “in his lat­er years he want­ed noth­ing more than to have a hit on Broad­way.” (He suc­ceed­ed, six­teen years after his death.) Eliot pep­pered his con­ver­sa­tion and poet­ry with quo­ta­tions from Arthur Conan Doyle and wrote sev­er­al glow­ing reviews of detec­tive nov­els by writ­ers like Dorothy Say­ers and Agatha Christie dur­ing the genre’s “Gold­en Age,” pub­lish­ing them anony­mous­ly in his lit­er­ary jour­nal The Cri­te­ri­on in 1927.

One nov­el that impressed him above all oth­ers is titled The Ben­son Mur­der Case by an Amer­i­can writer named S.S. Van Dine, pen name of an art crit­ic and edi­tor named Willard Hunt­ing­ton Wright. Refer­ring to an emi­nent art his­to­ri­an—whose tastes guid­ed those of the wealthy indus­tri­al class—Eliot wrote that Van Dine used “meth­ods sim­i­lar to those which Bernard Beren­son applies to paint­ings.” He had good rea­son to ascribe to Van Dine a cura­to­r­i­al sen­si­bil­i­ty. After a ner­vous break­down, the writer “spent two years in bed read­ing more than two thou­sand detec­tive sto­ries, dur­ing with time he method­i­cal­ly dis­tilled the genre’s for­mu­las and began writ­ing nov­els.” The year after Eliot’s appre­cia­tive review, Van Dine pub­lished his own set of cri­te­ria for detec­tive fic­tion in a 1928 issue of The Amer­i­can Mag­a­zine. You can read his “Twen­ty Rules for Writ­ing Detec­tive Sto­ries” below. They include such pro­scrip­tions as “There must be no love inter­est” and “The detec­tive him­self, or one of the offi­cial inves­ti­ga­tors, should nev­er turn out to be the cul­prit.”

Rules, of course, are made to be bro­ken (just ask G.K. Chester­ton), pro­vid­ed one is clever and expe­ri­enced enough to cir­cum­vent or dis­re­gard them. But the novice detec­tive or mys­tery writer could cer­tain­ly do worse than take the advice below from one of T.S. Eliot’s favorite detec­tive writ­ers. We’d also urge you to see Ray­mond Chan­dler’s 10 Com­mand­ments for Writ­ing Detec­tive Fic­tion.

THE DETECTIVE sto­ry is a kind of intel­lec­tu­al game. It is more — it is a sport­ing event. And for the writ­ing of detec­tive sto­ries there are very def­i­nite laws — unwrit­ten, per­haps, but none the less bind­ing; and every respectable and self-respect­ing con­coc­ter of lit­er­ary mys­ter­ies lives up to them. Here­with, then, is a sort Cre­do, based part­ly on the prac­tice of all the great writ­ers of detec­tive sto­ries, and part­ly on the prompt­ings of the hon­est author’s inner con­science. To wit:

1. The read­er must have equal oppor­tu­ni­ty with the detec­tive for solv­ing the mys­tery. All clues must be plain­ly stat­ed and described.

2. No will­ful tricks or decep­tions may be placed on the read­er oth­er than those played legit­i­mate­ly by the crim­i­nal on the detec­tive him­self.

3. There must be no love inter­est. The busi­ness in hand is to bring a crim­i­nal to the bar of jus­tice, not to bring a lovelorn cou­ple to the hyme­neal altar.

4. The detec­tive him­self, or one of the offi­cial inves­ti­ga­tors, should nev­er turn out to be the cul­prit. This is bald trick­ery, on a par with offer­ing some one a bright pen­ny for a five-dol­lar gold piece. It’s false pre­tens­es.

5. The cul­prit must be deter­mined by log­i­cal deduc­tions — not by acci­dent or coin­ci­dence or unmo­ti­vat­ed con­fes­sion. To solve a crim­i­nal prob­lem in this lat­ter fash­ion is like send­ing the read­er on a delib­er­ate wild-goose chase, and then telling him, after he has failed, that you had the object of his search up your sleeve all the time. Such an author is no bet­ter than a prac­ti­cal jok­er.

6. The detec­tive nov­el must have a detec­tive in it; and a detec­tive is not a detec­tive unless he detects. His func­tion is to gath­er clues that will even­tu­al­ly lead to the per­son who did the dirty work in the first chap­ter; and if the detec­tive does not reach his con­clu­sions through an analy­sis of those clues, he has no more solved his prob­lem than the school­boy who gets his answer out of the back of the arith­metic.

7. There sim­ply must be a corpse in a detec­tive nov­el, and the dead­er the corpse the bet­ter. No less­er crime than mur­der will suf­fice. Three hun­dred pages is far too much pother for a crime oth­er than mur­der. After all, the read­er’s trou­ble and expen­di­ture of ener­gy must be reward­ed.

8. The prob­lem of the crime must he solved by strict­ly nat­u­ral­is­tic means. Such meth­ods for learn­ing the truth as slate-writ­ing, oui­ja-boards, mind-read­ing, spir­i­tu­al­is­tic se’ances, crys­tal-gaz­ing, and the like, are taboo. A read­er has a chance when match­ing his wits with a ratio­nal­is­tic detec­tive, but if he must com­pete with the world of spir­its and go chas­ing about the fourth dimen­sion of meta­physics, he is defeat­ed ab ini­tio.

9. There must be but one detec­tive — that is, but one pro­tag­o­nist of deduc­tion — one deus ex machi­na. To bring the minds of three or four, or some­times a gang of detec­tives to bear on a prob­lem, is not only to dis­perse the inter­est and break the direct thread of log­ic, but to take an unfair advan­tage of the read­er. If there is more than one detec­tive the read­er does­n’t know who his cod­e­duc­tor is. It’s like mak­ing the read­er run a race with a relay team.

10. The cul­prit must turn out to be a per­son who has played a more or less promi­nent part in the sto­ry — that is, a per­son with whom the read­er is famil­iar and in whom he takes an inter­est.

11. A ser­vant must not be cho­sen by the author as the cul­prit. This is beg­ging a noble ques­tion. It is a too easy solu­tion. The cul­prit must be a decid­ed­ly worth-while per­son — one that would­n’t ordi­nar­i­ly come under sus­pi­cion.

12. There must be but one cul­prit, no mat­ter how many mur­ders are com­mit­ted. The cul­prit may, of course, have a minor helper or co-plot­ter; but the entire onus must rest on one pair of shoul­ders: the entire indig­na­tion of the read­er must be per­mit­ted to con­cen­trate on a sin­gle black nature.

13. Secret soci­eties, camor­ras, mafias, et al., have no place in a detec­tive sto­ry. A fas­ci­nat­ing and tru­ly beau­ti­ful mur­der is irre­me­di­a­bly spoiled by any such whole­sale cul­pa­bil­i­ty. To be sure, the mur­der­er in a detec­tive nov­el should be giv­en a sport­ing chance; but it is going too far to grant him a secret soci­ety to fall back on. No high-class, self-respect­ing mur­der­er would want such odds.

14. The method of mur­der, and the means of detect­ing it, must be be ratio­nal and sci­en­tif­ic. That is to say, pseu­do-sci­ence and pure­ly imag­i­na­tive and spec­u­la­tive devices are not to be tol­er­at­ed in the roman polici­er. Once an author soars into the realm of fan­ta­sy, in the Jules Verne man­ner, he is out­side the bounds of detec­tive fic­tion, cavort­ing in the unchart­ed reach­es of adven­ture.

15. The truth of the prob­lem must at all times be appar­ent — pro­vid­ed the read­er is shrewd enough to see it. By this I mean that if the read­er, after learn­ing the expla­na­tion for the crime, should reread the book, he would see that the solu­tion had, in a sense, been star­ing him in the face-that all the clues real­ly point­ed to the cul­prit — and that, if he had been as clever as the detec­tive, he could have solved the mys­tery him­self with­out going on to the final chap­ter. That the clever read­er does often thus solve the prob­lem goes with­out say­ing.

16. A detec­tive nov­el should con­tain no long descrip­tive pas­sages, no lit­er­ary dal­ly­ing with side-issues, no sub­tly worked-out char­ac­ter analy­ses, no “atmos­pher­ic” pre­oc­cu­pa­tions. such mat­ters have no vital place in a record of crime and deduc­tion. They hold up the action and intro­duce issues irrel­e­vant to the main pur­pose, which is to state a prob­lem, ana­lyze it, and bring it to a suc­cess­ful con­clu­sion. To be sure, there must be a suf­fi­cient descrip­tive­ness and char­ac­ter delin­eation to give the nov­el verisimil­i­tude.

17. A pro­fes­sion­al crim­i­nal must nev­er be shoul­dered with the guilt of a crime in a detec­tive sto­ry. Crimes by house­break­ers and ban­dits are the province of the police depart­ments — not of authors and bril­liant ama­teur detec­tives. A real­ly fas­ci­nat­ing crime is one com­mit­ted by a pil­lar of a church, or a spin­ster not­ed for her char­i­ties.

18. A crime in a detec­tive sto­ry must nev­er turn out to be an acci­dent or a sui­cide. To end an odyssey of sleuthing with such an anti-cli­max is to hood­wink the trust­ing and kind-heart­ed read­er.

19. The motives for all crimes in detec­tive sto­ries should be per­son­al. Inter­na­tion­al plot­tings and war pol­i­tics belong in a dif­fer­ent cat­e­go­ry of fic­tion — in secret-ser­vice tales, for instance. But a mur­der sto­ry must be kept gemütlich, so to speak. It must reflect the read­er’s every­day expe­ri­ences, and give him a cer­tain out­let for his own repressed desires and emo­tions.

20. And (to give my Cre­do an even score of items) I here­with list a few of the devices which no self-respect­ing detec­tive sto­ry writer will now avail him­self of. They have been employed too often, and are famil­iar to all true lovers of lit­er­ary crime. To use them is a con­fes­sion of the author’s inep­ti­tude and lack of orig­i­nal­i­ty. (a) Deter­min­ing the iden­ti­ty of the cul­prit by com­par­ing the butt of a cig­a­rette left at the scene of the crime with the brand smoked by a sus­pect. (b) The bogus spir­i­tu­al­is­tic se’ance to fright­en the cul­prit into giv­ing him­self away. © Forged fin­ger­prints. (d) The dum­my-fig­ure ali­bi. (e) The dog that does not bark and there­by reveals the fact that the intrud­er is famil­iar. (f)The final pin­ning of the crime on a twin, or a rel­a­tive who looks exact­ly like the sus­pect­ed, but inno­cent, per­son. (g) The hypo­der­mic syringe and the knock­out drops. (h) The com­mis­sion of the mur­der in a locked room after the police have actu­al­ly bro­ken in. (i) The word asso­ci­a­tion test for guilt. (j) The cipher, or code let­ter, which is even­tu­al­ly unrav­eled by the sleuth.

You can find S.S. Van Dine’s detec­tive nov­els on Ama­zon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ray­mond Chandler’s Ten Com­mand­ments for Writ­ing a Detec­tive Nov­el

H.P. Love­craft Gives Five Tips for Writ­ing a Hor­ror Sto­ry, or Any Piece of “Weird Fic­tion”

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writ­ers

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

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The Wisdom & Advice of Maurice Ashley, the First African-American Chess Grandmaster

I don’t know about you, but when I’ve thought of chess grand­mas­ters, I’ve often thought of Rus­sians, north­ern Euro­peans, the occa­sion­al Amer­i­can, the guy on the Chess­mas­ter box — pure­ly by stereo­type, in oth­er words. I’ve nev­er thought of any­one from, say, Jamaica, the coun­try of birth of Mau­rice Ash­ley, not just a chess grand­mas­ter but a chess com­men­ta­tor, writer, app and puz­zle design­er, speak­er and Fel­low at the Media Lab at MIT. Since we’ve only just entered Feb­ru­ary, known in the Unit­ed States as Black His­to­ry Month, why not high­light the Brook­lyn-raised (and Brook­lyn-park trained) Ash­ley’s sta­tus as, in the words of his offi­cial web site, “the first African-Amer­i­can Inter­na­tion­al Grand­mas­ter in the annals of the game”?

Giv­en the impres­sive­ness of his achieve­ments, we might also ask what we can learn from him, whether or not we play chess our­selves. You can learn a bit more about Ash­ley, the work he does, and the work his stu­dents have gone on to do, in The World Is a Chess Board, the five-minute Mash­able doc­u­men­tary at the top of the post. Even in that short run­time, he has much to say about how the game (which, he clar­i­fies, “we con­sid­er an art form”) not only reflects life, and reflects the per­son­al­i­ties of its play­ers, but teach­es those play­ers — espe­cial­ly the young ones who may come from less-than-ide­al begin­nings — all about focus, deter­mi­na­tion, choice, and con­se­quence. Per­haps the most impor­tant les­son? “You’ve got to be ready to lose.”

Ash­ley expounds upon the val­ue of chess as a tool to hone the mind in “Work­ing Back­ward to Solve Prob­lems,” a clip from his TED Ed les­son just above. He begins by wav­ing off the mis­per­cep­tion, com­mon among non-chess-play­ers, that grand­mas­ters “see ahead” ten, twen­ty, or thir­ty moves into the game, then goes on to explain that the sharpest play­ers do it not by look­ing for­ward, but by look­ing back­ward. He pro­vides a few exam­ples of how using this sort of “ret­ro­grade analy­sis,” com­bined with pat­tern recog­ni­tion, applies to prob­lems in a range of sit­u­a­tions from proof­read­ing to biol­o­gy to law enforce­ment to card tricks. If you ever have a chance to enter into a bet with this man, don’t.

That’s my advice, any­way. As far as Ash­ley’s advice goes, if we endorse any par­tic­u­lar take­away from what he says here, we endorse the first step of his chess-learn­ing strat­e­gy for absolute begin­ners, which works equal­ly well as the first step of a learn­ing strat­e­gy for absolute begin­ners in any­thing: “The best advice I could give a young per­son today is, go online and watch some videos.” Stick with us, and we’ll keep you in all the videos you need.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­cel Duchamp, Chess Enthu­si­ast, Cre­at­ed an Art Deco Chess Set That’s Now Avail­able via 3D Print­er

Kas­parov Talks Chess, Tech­nol­o­gy and a Lit­tle Life at Google

Free App Lets You Play Chess With 23-Year-Old Nor­we­gian World Cham­pi­on Mag­nus Carlsen

Watch Bill Gates Lose a Chess Match in 79 Sec­onds to the New World Chess Cham­pi­on Mag­nus Carlsen

A Famous Chess Match from 1910 Reen­act­ed with Clay­ma­tion

Chess Rivals Bob­by Fis­ch­er and Boris Spassky Meet in the ‘Match of the Cen­tu­ry’

Vladimir Nabokov’s Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Mind-Bend­ing Chess Prob­lems

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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85 Compelling Films Starring and/or Directed By Women of Color: A List Created by Director Ava DuVernay & Friends on Twitter

ava1

Image by Marie Maye, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

If you fol­low film news—or real­ly, just news—you’re well aware of the con­tro­ver­sy sur­round­ing the cur­rent crop of Acad­e­my Award nom­i­nees. While awards extrav­a­gan­zas seem like lit­tle more than pop­u­lar­i­ty con­tests, it is curi­ous that nei­ther the acclaimed lead actors nor the direc­tors received nom­i­na­tions for two of the most pop­u­lar films of the year—Creed and Straight Out­ta Comp­ton. (See SNL’s satir­i­cal take on this.) There’s been no short­age of crit­i­cal praise for the tal­ent in those films and oth­ers, cast­ing doubt on claims that actors, writ­ers, direc­tors, etc. of col­or sim­ply weren’t up to snuff. The truth is like­ly more banal: most of the Acad­e­my vot­ers are old­er white men. (“Old­er and more dude-heavy than just about any place in Amer­i­ca,” says The Atlantic, “and whiter than all but sev­en states.”) No need to allege out­right con­spir­a­cy when implic­it bias oper­ates to exclude peo­ple all the time with­out mali­cious intent.

Nor do cor­po­rate buzz­words like “diver­si­ty” car­ry much weight when it comes to cre­at­ing a more inclu­sive indus­try. “It’s a med­i­c­i­nal word,” says Sel­ma direc­tor Ava DuVer­nay, “that has no emo­tion­al res­o­nance… Diver­si­ty’s like, ‘Ugh, I have to do diver­si­ty.’ ” No one wants to attend a “diver­si­ty train­ing” or read a hir­ing man­u­al about how to “do diver­si­ty”; rec­og­niz­ing tal­ent should­n’t be a forced, pro­ce­dur­al mat­ter, but a mat­ter of course. The Acad­e­my has vowed to make changes by retir­ing many inac­tive mem­bers to non-vot­ing emer­i­tus sta­tus and—in an Orwellian turn of phrase—“doubling the num­ber of diverse mem­bers” by 2020, what­ev­er that means. The afore­men­tioned DuVer­nay has been sow­ing seeds of dis­con­tent with the sta­tus quo for quite some time now, online and in the indus­try itself with her dis­tri­b­u­tion com­pa­ny AFFRM+Array Releas­ing, which attempts to coun­ter­bal­ance the racial and gen­der dis­par­i­ties in the film world.

In a tweet last year, writ­ten off the cuff dur­ing a writ­ing break, she put out a call to fol­low­ers to “name three films you like with black, brown, native or Asian women leads” or direc­tors. Indiewire com­ments that “it seems like com­mon sense that these films exist,” yet “the ques­tion proved to be a seri­ous chal­lenge for Twit­ter.” Even­tu­al­ly, DuVer­nay and the Twit­ter denizens came up with a list of 85 titles star­ring and/or direct­ed by women of col­or, and you can see them all list­ed below. If you find your­self watch­ing movie after movie about the same kinds of expe­ri­ences, maybe con­sid­er mak­ing your own view­ing habits more “diverse” by check­ing out some of these excel­lent, and in most cas­es lit­tle-seen movies, includ­ing two well-reviewed films from DuVer­nay her­self, 2010’s I Will Fol­low and 2012’s Mid­dle of Nowhere.

“35 Shots of Rum” by Claire Denis (2008)
“A Dif­fer­ent Image” by Alile Sharon Larkin (1982)
“A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night” by Ana Lily Amir­pour (2014)
“Advan­ta­geous” by Jen­nifer Phang (2015)
“Ala Modalain­di” by Nan­di­ni Bv Red­dy (2011)
“All About You” by Chris­tine Swan­son (2001)
“Alma’s Rain­bow” by Ayoka Chen­zi­ra (1994)
“Appro­pri­ate Behav­ior” by Desiree Akha­van (2014)
“B For Boy” by Chi­ka Anadu (2013)
“Bande de Filles/Girlhood” by Céline Sci­amma (2014)
“Belle” by Amma Asante (2013)
“Bend it Like Beck­ham” by Gurinder Chad­ha (2002)
“Bessie” by Dee Rees (2015)
“Beyond the Lights” by Gina Prince-Bythe­wood (2014)
“Bha­ji on the Beach” by Gurinder Chad­ha (1993)
“Caramel” by Nadine Laba­ki  (2007)
“Cir­cum­stance” by Maryam Keshavarz (2011)
“Civ­il Brand” by Neema Bar­nette (2002)
“Com­pen­sa­tion” by Zeinabu irene Davis (199)
“Daugh­ters of the Dust” by Julie Dash (1991)
“Dou­ble Hap­pi­ness ” by Mina Shum (1994)
“Down in the Delta” by Maya Angelou (1998)
“Dry­long­so” by Cauleen Smith (1988)
“Earth” by Deepa Mehta (1998)
“Elza” by Mari­ette Mon­pierre (2011)
“End­less Dreams” by Susan Youssef (2009
“Eve’s Bay­ou” by Kasi Lem­mons (1997)
“Fire” by Deepa Mehta (1996)
“Fri­da” by Julie Tay­mor (2002)
“Girl in Progress” by Patri­cia Riggen (2012)
“Girl­fight” by Karyn Kusama (2000)
“Habibi Rasak Khar­ban” by Susan Youssef (2011)
“Hiss Dokhtarha Faryad Nem­izanand (Hush! Girls Don’t Scream)” by Pouran Der­ahkan­deh (2013)
“Hon­ey­trap” by Rebec­ca John­son (2014)
“I Like It Like That” by Dar­nell Mar­tin (1994)
“I Will Fol­low” by Ava DuVer­nay (2010
“In Between Days” by So-yong Kim (2006)
“Intro­duc­ing Dorothy Dan­dridge” by Martha Coolidge (1999)
“It’s a Won­der­ful After­life” by Gurinder Chad­ha (2010)
“Jumpin Jack Flash” by Pen­ny Mar­shall (1986)
“Just Anoth­er Girl on the IRT” by Leslie Har­ris (1992)
“Just Wright” by Sanaa Ham­ri (2010)
“Kama Sutra” by Mira Nair (1996)
“Los­ing Ground” by Kath­leen Collins (1982)
“Love & Bas­ket­ball” by Gina Prince-Bythe­wood (2000)
“Luck by Chance” by Zoya Akhtar (2009)
“Mi Vida Loca” by Alli­son Anders (1993)
“Mid­dle of Nowhere” by Ava DuVer­nay (2012)
“Mis­sis­sip­pi Damned” by Tina Mabry (2009)
“Mis­sis­sip­pi Masala” by Mira Nair (1991)
“Mix­ing Nia” by Ali­son Swan (1998)
“Mon­soon Wed­ding” by Mira Nair (2001)
“Mosqui­ta y Mari” by Auro­ra Guer­rero (2012)
“Na-moo-eobs-neun san (Tree­less Moun­tain)” by So-yong Kim (2008)
“Night Catch­es Us” by Tanya Hamil­ton (2010)
“Pari­ah” by Dee Rees (2011)
“Pic­ture Bride” by Kayo Hat­ta (1994)
“Rain” by Maria Gov­an (2008)
“Real Women Have Curves” by Patri­cia Car­doso (2002)
“Sav­ing Face” by Alice Wu (2004)
“Sec­ond Com­ing” by Deb­bie Tuck­er Green (2014)
“Some­thing Nec­es­sary” by Judy Kibinge (2013)
“Some­thing New” by Sanaa Ham­ri (2006)
“Still the Water” by Nao­mi Kawase  (2014)
“Stranger Inside” by Cheryl Dun­ye (2001)
“Sug­ar Cane Alley/Black Shack Alley” by Euzhan Pal­cy (1983)
“The Kite” by Ran­da Cha­hal Sabag (2003)
“The Rich Man’s Wife” by Amy Hold­en Jones (1996)
“The Secret Life of Bees” by Gina Prince-Bythe­wood (2008)
“The Silence of the Palace” by Moufi­da Tlatli (1994)
“The Water­mel­on Woman” by Cheryl Dun­ye (1996)
“The Women of Brew­ster Place” by Don­na Deitch (1989)
“Their Eyes Were Watch­ing God” by Dar­nell Mar­tin (2005)
“Things We Lost in the Fire” by Susanne Bier  (2007)
“Wad­j­da” by Haifaa Al-Man­sour (2012)
“Water” by Deepa Mehta (2005)
“Whale Rid­er” by Niki Caro  (2002)
“What’s Cook­ing?” by Gurinder Chad­ha (2000)
“Where Do We Go Now?” by Nadine Laba­ki  (2011)
“Whit­ney” by Angela Bas­sett (2015)
“Woman Thou Art Loosed: On The 7th Day” by Neema Bar­nette (2012)
“Xiu Xiu: The Sent-Down Girl” by Joan Chen (1998)
“Yelling to the Sky” by Vic­to­ria Mahoney (2011)
“Young and Wild” by Mar­i­aly Rivas (2012)

via Indiewire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Spike Lee’s List of 95 Essen­tial Movies – Now with Women Film­mak­ers

The 10 Great­est Films of All Time Accord­ing to 358 Film­mak­ers

725 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc. 

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

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Producer Tony Visconti Breaks Down the Making of David Bowie’s Classic “Heroes,” Track by Track

Those famil­iar with David Bowie lore may know one or two things about the record­ing of his sem­i­nal 1978 track “Heroes.” One is that the record­ing stu­dio did, in fact, look out over the Berlin Wall and the lovers that Bowie saw made it into the lyrics (“I can remem­ber stand­ing by the wall/And the guns shot above our heads/And we kissed as though noth­ing could fall”). The oth­er is the micro­phone set up in Hansa’s expan­sive record­ing stu­dio: one next to Bowie’s mouth, anoth­er 15 — 20 feet away, and anoth­er at the far end of the room to catch the reverb. (Hands up how many of us learned about that when Steve Albi­ni copied it for Nirvana’s “All Apolo­gies”? Any­body?) But as this video above with pro­duc­er Tony Vis­con­ti shows, that’s only a few of the mag­i­cal inven­tions and dar­ing deci­sions made for this record­ing. The ses­sion con­tains lessons for any young pro­duc­er end­less­ly fid­dling about with their Pro­Tools and the mil­lions of choic­es afford­ed by a $2.99 synth app for the iPad.

When Bowie added his vocals at the end of the record­ing ses­sion, there was only one track left on the tape, hav­ing filled up the 23 oth­er tracks with the band’s back­ing track, Eno’s synths, extra per­cus­sion, three (!) tracks of Robert Fripp com­mand­ing the gods through his gui­tar pick­up and feed­back, and more. If they didn’t like the take, they’d erase over it with the new one. Those were the ana­log days. But as Vis­con­ti says, that scary deci­sion elec­tri­fied Bowie. As an artist, every­thing was at stake. It’s like they knew they were mak­ing a song for the ages. Maybe it’s Visconti’s 20/20 hind­sight, but they were right.

This small seg­ment above is part of a longer three-hour tour through Visconti’s career, record­ed in 2011 for the Red Bull Acad­e­my lec­ture series. Vis­con­ti talks about work­ing with Marc Bolan, Mor­ris­sey, Paul McCart­ney and oth­ers, along with his thoughts on pro­duc­ing, and a great deal about Bowie’s “Berlin Tril­o­gy.” (The sec­ond half of the talk is here.)

But there’s so much more to be dis­cov­ered among those 24 audio tracks of “Heroes.” In this won­der­ful BBC doc­u­men­tary from 2012 (also see up top), Vis­con­ti sits down with the dig­i­tal­ly trans­ferred mas­ter tapes and takes us through the con­struc­tion of the song. Here we get to hear Robert Fripp’s raw gui­tar tracks which sound so incred­i­bly abra­sive it’s hard to believe they exist in the song; Visconti’s “cow­bell,” which is him hit­ting a pipe out­side in the yard; Eno’s synth in a brief­case, the EMS Synthi‑A; and numer­ous painter­ly daubs of audio that all make up the mix. And then there’s that vocal, which Vis­con­ti lets play with­out any of the music, a song for the his­to­ry books, a voice that couldn’t be con­strained to just one mic. The video unfor­tu­nate­ly could­n’t be embed­ded on our site, but it’s def­i­nite­ly worth your time.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie Per­forms a Live Acoustic Ver­sion of “Heroes,” with a Bot­tle Cap Strapped to His Shoe, Keep­ing the Beat

Hear Demo Record­ings of David Bowie’s “Zig­gy Star­dust,” “Space Odd­i­ty” & “Changes”

Dave: The Best Trib­ute to David Bowie That You’re Going to See

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

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