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When Marlon Brando Refused the Oscar for His Role in The Godfather to Support the Rights of Native Americans (1973)

At the 45th Acad­e­my Awards, Mar­lon Bran­do won the Best Actor award for his per­for­mance in The God­fa­ther — but sent a Native Amer­i­can civ­il rights activist named Sacheen Lit­tle­feath­er to decline it on his behalf. “The twen­ty-six-year-old activist took the stage in a fringed buck­skin dress and moc­casins,” writes the New York­er’s Michael Schul­man. “When she explained that Brando’s rea­sons for refus­ing the award were Hollywood’s mis­treat­ment of Native Amer­i­cans and the stand­off in Wound­ed Knee, South Dako­ta, there were loud boos and scat­tered cheers.”

More sev­en­ties things have hap­pened, but sure­ly not many. With time, Schul­man writes, “the whole thing cement­ed into a pop-cul­ture punch line: preen­ing actor, fake Indi­an” — the “cry­ing Indi­an” envi­ron­men­tal PSA had aired just a few years before — “kitschy Hol­ly­wood freak show. But what if it wasn’t that at all?”

Almost half a cen­tu­ry lat­er, this notable chap­ter in Oscars his­to­ry has come back into the news in the wake of the Acad­e­my of Motion Pic­ture Arts and Sci­ences’ offi­cial apol­o­gy to Lit­tle­feath­er. It’s now more wide­ly under­stood who Lit­tle­feath­er is, and what Bran­do was going for when he made her his emis­sary that night in 1973.

Bran­do was­n’t espe­cial­ly hes­i­tant to explain his actions even at the time: less than three months after the event, he laid out all his rea­sons on The Dick Cavett Show. “I don’t think that peo­ple gen­er­al­ly real­ize what the motion pic­ture indus­try has done to the Amer­i­can Indi­an,” he tells Cavett. “As a mat­ter of fact, all eth­nic groups.” He then runs down the “sil­ly ren­di­tions of human behav­ior” deliv­ered night­ly on tele­vi­sion, high­light­ing the phe­nom­e­non of “Indi­an chil­dren see­ing Indi­ans rep­re­sent­ed as sav­age, as ugly, as nasty, vicious, treach­er­ous, drunk­en.”

Such clichéd por­tray­als were what Bran­do meant to address by speak­ing through Lit­tle­feath­er. But the pub­lic’s imme­di­ate reac­tion, as Cavett puts it, went along the lines of, “There’s Bran­do jump­ing on a social-cause band­wag­on now, get­ting in on the Indi­ans.” They’d for­got­ten that the actor’s con­nec­tion with Native Amer­i­can caus­es went back at least to 1964, when he was arrest­ed at a Pacif­ic North­west “fish-in” by the Puyallup tribe protest­ing the denial of their treaty rights. And as Lit­tle­feath­er’s fêt­ing by the Acad­e­my shows, that con­nec­tion has long sur­vived even Bran­do him­self.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Inter­ac­tive Map Shows the Seizure of Over 1.5 Bil­lion Acres of Native Amer­i­can Land Between 1776 and 1887

Albert Ein­stein Sports a Native Amer­i­can Head­dress and a Peace Pipe at the Grand Canyon, 1931

1,000+ Haunt­ing & Beau­ti­ful Pho­tos of Native Amer­i­can Peo­ples, Shot by the Ethno­g­ra­ph­er Edward S. Cur­tis (Cir­ca 1905)

The God­fa­ther With­out Bran­do?: It Almost Hap­pened

How Dick Cavett Brought Sophis­ti­ca­tion to Late Night Talk Shows: Watch 270 Clas­sic Inter­views Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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The Art of Translating Hamilton into German: “So Kribbeln Schmetterlinge, Wenn Sie Starten”

The city of Hamburg’s nick­name is Tor zur Welt- the gate­way to the world.

If the Ger­man lan­guage pro­duc­tion of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s record break­ing hiphop musi­cal now in pre­views in that city’s St. Pauli The­ater is as warm­ly received as the Eng­lish orig­i­nal has been in Lon­don, Mel­bourne, and, of course, the US, it may earn itself with an addi­tion­al one — Hamil­ton­burg.

Excite­ment has been build­ing since ear­ly sum­mer, when a dual lan­guage video mashup of the open­ing num­ber placed the orig­i­nal Broad­way cast along­side their Ger­man lan­guage coun­ter­parts.

One need not speak Ger­man to appre­ci­ate the sim­i­lar­i­ties in atti­tude — in both per­for­mance, and inter­nal asso­nances, a lyri­cal aspect of hip hop that Miran­da was intent on pre­serv­ing.

Trans­la­tor Kevin Schroed­er quipped that he and co-trans­la­tor rap­per Sera Finale embraced the mot­to “as free as nec­es­sary, as close as pos­si­ble” in approach­ing the score, which at 46 num­bers and over 20,000 words, more than dou­bles the word count of any oth­er musi­cal:

At least we had all these syl­la­bles. It gave us room to play around.

Good thing, as the Ger­man lan­guage abounds with mul­ti­syl­lab­ic com­pound nouns, many of which have no direct Eng­lish equiv­a­lent.

Take schaden­freude which the cre­ators of the musi­cal Avenue Q summed up as “hap­pi­ness at the mis­for­tune of oth­ers.”

Or torschlusspanik — the sense of urgency to achieve or do some­thing before it’s too late.

Might that one speak to a trans­lat­ing team who’ve devot­ed close to four years of their lives to get­ting every­thing — words, syl­la­bles, meter, sound, flow, posi­tion, musi­cal­i­ty, mean­ing, and dou­ble mean­ings — right?

Before Schroed­er and Finale were entrust­ed with this her­culean task, they had to pass muster with Miranda’s wife’s Aus­tri­an cousin, who lis­tened to their sam­ples and pro­nounced them in keep­ing with the spir­it of the orig­i­nal.

As trans­la­tors have always done, Schroed­er and Finale had to take their audi­ence into account, swap­ping out ref­er­ences, metaphors and turns of phrase that could stump Ger­man the­ater­go­ers for ones with proven region­al res­o­nance.

In a round up demon­strat­ing the Ger­man team’s dex­ter­i­ty, the New York Times Michael Paul­son points to “Sat­is­fied,” a song where­in Hamilton’s prospec­tive sis­ter-in-law recalls their first encounter:

ORIGINAL

So this is what it feels like to match wits

With some­one at your lev­el! What the hell is the catch?

It’s the feel­ing of free­dom, of see­ing the light

It’s Ben Franklin with a key and a kite

You see it right?

 

GERMAN

So kribbeln Schmetter­linge, wenn sie starten

Wir bei­de voll auf einem Lev­el, offene Karten!

Das Herz in den Wolken, ich flieg’ aus der Bahn

Die Füße kom­men an den Boden nich’ ran

Mein lieber Schwan!

 

ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF GERMAN

So that’s how but­ter­flies tin­gle when they take off

We’re on the same lev­el, all cards on the table!

My heart in the clouds, I’m thrown off track

My feet don’t touch the floor

My dear swan!

Miran­da, who par­tic­i­pat­ed in shap­ing the Ger­man trans­la­tion using a 3 col­umn sys­tem remark­ably sim­i­lar to the com­pare and con­trast con­tent above, gives this change a glow­ing review:

That sec­tion sounds fan­tas­tic, and gives the same feel­ing of falling in love for the first time. The metaphor may be dif­fer­ent, but it keeps its propul­sive­ness.

And while few Ger­man the­ater­go­ers can be expect­ed to be con­ver­sant in Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War era Amer­i­can his­to­ry, Ger­many’s size­able immi­grant pop­u­la­tion ensures that cer­tain of the musical’s themes will retain their cul­tur­al rel­e­vance.

The Ham­burg pro­duc­tion fea­tures play­ers from Liberia and Brazil. Oth­er cast mem­bers were born in Ger­many to par­ents hail­ing from Ghana, the Philip­pines, Aru­ba, Benin, Suriname…and the Unit­ed States.

For more of Michael Paulson’s insights into the chal­lenges of trans­lat­ing Hamil­ton, click here.

Hamil­ton is in pre­views at Hamburg’s St. Pauli The­ater, with open­ing night sched­uled for Octo­ber 6.

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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Goodbye to the Nakagin Capsule Tower, Tokyo’s Strangest and Most Utopian Apartment Building

On many of my trips to Japan I’ve stayed at the Cap­sule Inn Osa­ka, which is exact­ly where and what it sounds like. To any for­eign­er the place would be an intrigu­ing nov­el­ty, but to those inter­est­ed in Japan­ese archi­tec­ture it also has great his­tor­i­cal val­ue. Designed by archi­tect Kurokawa Kisho, the Cap­sule Inn Osa­ka opened in 1979 as the world’s first cap­sule hotel, a form of lodg­ing now wide­ly regard­ed as no less quin­tes­sen­tial­ly Japan­ese than the ryokan. At that point Kurokawa had already been advanc­ing cap­sule as an archi­tec­tur­al unit for years, con­tribut­ing a “cap­sule house” and cap­sule-based cor­po­rate pavil­ions to the Osa­ka World Expo 1970, and even build­ing a curi­ous mas­ter­work of the genre in Toky­o’s Nak­a­gin Cap­sule Tow­er.

The oth­er archi­tects involved in Expo ’70 includ­ed Tange Ken­zo, Kawa­zoe Noboru, Maki Fumi­hiko, Kiku­take Kiy­onori, and Isoza­ki Ara­ta — all asso­ci­at­ed to one degree or anoth­er with Metab­o­lism, an archi­tec­tur­al move­ment inspired by the rapid eco­nom­ic growth, enor­mous urban expan­sion, and unprece­dent­ed tech­no­log­i­cal change then trans­form­ing post­war Japan. The Metabolists “approached the city as a liv­ing organ­ism con­sist­ing of ele­ments with dif­fer­ent meta­bol­ic cycles,” writes Lin Zhongjie in Ken­zo Tange and the Metabolist Move­ment: Urban Utopias of Mod­ern Japan. “To accom­mo­date a city’s growth and regen­er­a­tion, Metabolists advanced trans­formable tech­nolo­gies based on pre­fab­ri­cat­ed com­po­nents and the replace­ment of obso­lete parts accord­ing to vary­ing life cycles.”

When it opened in 1972, the Nak­a­gin Cap­sule Tow­er did so as the first ful­ly real­ized Metabolist project. Abroad in Japan host Chris Broad intro­duces it as “not only my favorite build­ing in all of Tokyo, but in all of Japan.” He also con­tex­tu­al­izes it with­in a brief his­to­ry of Metab­o­lism, as well as of the post­war Japan­ese soci­ety that fired up its prac­ti­tion­ers’ aes­thet­i­cal­ly brazen, tech­no-Utopi­an ideals. Geared to the work-dom­i­nat­ed, peri­patet­ic lifestyle of what Kurokawa called “homo movens,” the Nak­a­gin Cap­sule Tow­er actu­al­ly con­sist­ed of two con­crete cores onto which were bolt­ed 140 cap­sules (archi­tec­tur­al the­o­rist Charles Jencks likened their aspect to “super­im­posed wash­ing machines”), each a self-con­tained liv­ing space replete with cut­ting-edge ameni­ties up to and includ­ing a bath­tub ash­tray Sony reel-to-reel tape play­er.

Kurokawa envi­sioned the cap­sules being replaced every 25 years over a life­time of cen­turies. Alas, the dif­fi­cul­ty of such an oper­a­tion meant that the orig­i­nals were sim­ply left in, and by the end of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry many had bad­ly dete­ri­o­rat­ed. “Iron­i­cal­ly,” writes Lin, “Tokyo is grow­ing and trans­form­ing itself so rapid­ly that it even out­paces the ‘metab­o­lism’ that the Metabolists envi­sioned, and requires renewals on the scale of entire build­ings instead of indi­vid­ual cap­sules.” First announced in 2007, the year of Kurokawa’s death, the build­ing’s demo­li­tion began this past April, and it has occa­sioned such trib­utes as Stu­dio Ito’s ele­giac ani­ma­tion just above. The Nak­a­gin Cap­sule Tow­er stood for half a cen­tu­ry, long out­liv­ing Metab­o­lism itself, but its cap­sules will now scat­ter across the world, sug­gest­ing that there was some­thing to the bio­log­i­cal metaphor all along.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Every­thing You Ever Want­ed to Know About the Beau­ty of Bru­tal­ist Archi­tec­ture: An Intro­duc­tion in Six Videos

How the Rad­i­cal Build­ings of the Bauhaus Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Archi­tec­ture: A Short Intro­duc­tion

Why Do Peo­ple Hate Mod­ern Archi­tec­ture?: A Video Essay

New York’s Lost Sky­scraper: The Rise and Fall of the Singer Tow­er

Build­ing With­out Nails: The Genius of Japan­ese Car­pen­try

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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Historian Timothy Snyder Presents 20 Lessons for Defending Democracy Against Tyranny in a New Video Series

Yale pro­fes­sor and his­to­ri­an Tim­o­thy Sny­der has sound­ed alarm bells about autoc­ra­cy and fas­cism for sev­er­al years now, in both his schol­ar­ly and pop­u­lar books about Russ­ian and Ger­man his­to­ry. Whether you’ve fol­lowed his warn­ings or just start­ed pay­ing atten­tion, it’s not too late to get caught up on the lessons he brings from his rig­or­ous stud­ies of 20th cen­tu­ry total­i­tar­i­an­ism. To make his rel­e­vant points more acces­si­ble, Sny­der has dis­tilled them over the years, aim­ing at the widest pop­u­lar audi­ence.

First, he pub­lished On Tyran­ny in 2017, draw­ing 20 lessons about unfree­dom from the lives of those under the Nazi, Sovi­et, and oth­er fas­cist and total­i­tar­i­an regimes. With­out argu­ing that his­to­ry repeats, exact­ly, Sny­der not­ed sim­i­lar­i­ties and dif­fer­ences to past events, and adapt­ed gen­er­al prin­ci­ples to the geopol­i­tics of the ear­ly 21st cen­tu­ry. These lessons get reit­er­at­ed and dis­tilled even fur­ther in an edi­tion of the best-sell­ing On Tyran­ny illus­trat­ed by artist Nora Krug.

Pub­lished in 2021 and reflect­ing four years of Trump­ism, the illus­trat­ed edi­tion con­tin­ues what we might call Sny­der’s Chom­skyan com­mit­ment to pub­lic intel­lec­tu­al­ism. Trump may be out of pow­er, but the threats to democ­ra­cy are wired in — in one judi­cial action after anoth­er, and in states like North Car­oli­na, where an ille­gal, racial­ly-ger­ry­man­dered state leg­is­la­ture has held pow­er for years, and now seeks to nul­li­fy fed­er­al elec­tions at state lev­el, with many oth­er states threat­en­ing to fol­low suit.

This kind of polit­i­cal seces­sion­ism impos­es the per­ma­nent will of a minor­i­ty on a rapid­ly chang­ing nation, ensur­ing that his­to­ry nev­er catch­es up with the elites, a cat­e­go­ry that includes lead­ers on both sides of the euphemistic “aisle.” For increas­ing num­bers of Amer­i­cans, polit­i­cal divi­sions are more apt­ly char­ac­ter­ized by bar­ri­cades, prison walls, or indi­vis­i­ble codes of silence(ing), repres­sion, and com­plic­i­ty. Sny­der meets this time of creep­ing (lop­ing?) fas­cism  with a YouTube series in which he speaks direct­ly to the cam­era.

He isn’t giv­ing up on more peo­ple pay­ing atten­tion to the big­ger pic­ture, and he’s nev­er giv­en up on effec­tive respons­es to 21st cen­tu­ry tyran­ny. Vot­ing alone has nev­er been enough, and it could be ren­dered mean­ing­less in the near future. The lessons — “Do not obey in advance”; “Defend insti­tu­tions”; “Beware the one-par­ty state” — may be famil­iar to us now, or they may not. But if they bear repeat­ing, it’s worth hear­ing them from Sny­der him­self, who clos­es some of the dis­tance between the intel­lec­tu­al and the pub­lic by step­ping away from print alto­geth­er — a medi­um per­haps unsuit­ed to the mal­leable demands of the online present.

How does the media affect, or become, Sny­der’s mes­sage, espe­cial­ly when it’s effec­tive­ly one-sid­ed­ly tele­vi­su­al, the medi­um of the 20th cen­tu­ry of fas­cism par excel­lence? Sny­der does not address these the­o­ret­i­cal ques­tions, except indi­rect­ly by way of a gener­ic book talk aes­thet­ic com­plete with rum­pled shirt, rustling lapel mic, and req­ui­site back­ground shelves of books you’ll find your­self try­ing to iden­ti­fy as you learn to “be wary of para­mil­i­taries.”

Being wary is one thing, but to what does Sny­der’s hyper vig­i­lance add up with­out the pow­er to make change where we are? Ah, but in ask­ing such a ques­tion, maybe we find we are already in the trap, obey­ing in advance by assum­ing pow­er­less­ness and freely giv­ing up con­trol. It’s our job as indi­vid­u­als to apply the rel­e­vant lessons where we can in our own lives, and to read (or watch) Sny­der crit­i­cal­ly, in rela­tion to oth­er trust­wor­thy voic­es with­in, and far out­side of, Ivy League aca­d­e­m­ic depart­ments.

We do not lack the infor­ma­tion we need to under­stand our moment through a his­tor­i­cal lens. But we often lack the knowl­edge to make sense of things at world-his­tor­i­cal scale. His­to­ri­ans like Sny­der can bridge the gap, and it’s good to take advan­tage of the freely-offered pro­fes­sion­al expe­ri­ence of skilled read­ers, researchers, and edu­ca­tors. In this instance, Sny­der’s approach seems well-tai­lored to counter innu­mer­able pre­sen­ta­tions that triv­i­al­ize WWII his­to­ry into over­fa­mil­iar­i­ty and per­verse spec­ta­cle… or what anoth­er anti-fas­cist pub­lic intel­lec­tu­al, Wal­ter Ben­jamin, iden­ti­fied as the aes­theti­ciza­tion of pol­i­tics — fas­cism-by-pas­sive-con­sumerism that leads us down the path to hor­rors we’d nev­er con­tem­plate out­right.…

Watch all 20 lessons above, or find them here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Noam Chom­sky Explains the Best Way for Ordi­nary Peo­ple to Make Change in the World, Even When It Seems Daunt­ing

20 Lessons from the 20th Cen­tu­ry About How to Defend Democ­ra­cy from Author­i­tar­i­an­ism, Accord­ing to Yale His­to­ri­an Tim­o­thy Sny­der

A Beau­ti­ful­ly Illus­trat­ed Edi­tion of On Tyran­ny: Twen­ty Lessons from the Twen­ti­eth Cen­tu­ry, the Best­selling Book by His­to­ri­an Tim­o­thy Sny­der

The Mak­ing of Mod­ern Ukraine: A Free Online Course from Yale Pro­fes­sor Tim­o­thy Sny­der

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

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5 Ways to Build an Alzheimer’s-Resistant Brain: Neuroscientist Lisa Genova Explains

Though not eas­i­ly dealt with in main­stream enter­tain­ment, Alzheimer’s dis­ease has inspired pop­u­lar works of fic­tion. Take the 2007 nov­el Still Alice by Lisa Gen­o­va, lat­er adapt­ed into a fea­ture film star­ring Julianne More. As a neu­ro­sci­en­tist, Gen­o­va brought an under­stand­ing of the sub­ject by no means com­mon among nov­el­ists in gen­er­al. Since her debut she has pub­lished four more nov­els, all of them built around char­ac­ters suf­fer­ing from neu­ro­log­i­cal impair­ments of one kind or anoth­er. But her lat­est book, last year’s Remem­ber: The Sci­ence of Mem­o­ry and the Art of For­get­ting, is a work of non­fic­tion, and in the video above she dis­cuss­es a few of its points about how to build an “Alzheimer’s-resis­tant brain.”

After briefly explain­ing the bio­log­i­cal process­es behind Alzheimer’s (and assur­ing her old­er view­ers that their day-to-day for­get­ful­ness is prob­a­bly noth­ing to wor­ry about), Gen­o­va offers five ways to ward off their effects. The first is sleep­ing, which gives glial cells, “the jan­i­tors of your brain,” time to clear away the amy­loid plaque that sets the dis­ease in motion if left to accu­mu­late.

Keep­ing a Mediter­ranean diet — full of “green leafy veg­eta­bles, the bright­ly col­ored fruits and berries, fat­ty fish­es, nuts, beans, olive oils” — has sim­i­lar­ly salu­tary effects. So does engag­ing in reg­u­lar exer­cise, which also comes with the ben­e­fit of reduc­ing chron­ic stress, a con­di­tion that inhibits the for­ma­tion of neu­rons involved in mak­ing new mem­o­ries.

Gen­o­va names yoga, med­i­ta­tion, mind­ful­ness, and “being with peo­ple” as oth­er ele­ments of an Alzheimer’s-resis­tant life. But she saves for last the strat­e­gy per­haps most rel­e­vant to Open Cul­ture read­ers. “If you’ve lived a life where you’re cog­ni­tive­ly active, you’re reg­u­lar­ly learn­ing new things. You are build­ing what we call a ‘cog­ni­tive reserve.’ Every time you learn some­thing new, you’re build­ing new synaps­es.” All the neur­al con­nec­tions thus estab­lished will help you “dance around those road­blocks” put up by the ear­ly effects of Alzheimer’s or oth­er dele­te­ri­ous men­tal con­di­tions. This means that no mat­ter how young you are, you’ll ben­e­fit lat­er from form­ing the habit of learn­ing new things on a dai­ly basis. As for which new things you learn — 1,700 free cours­es worth of which we’ve gath­ered here — that’s entire­ly up to you.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Yoga Changes the Brain and May Guard Against Alzheimer’s and Demen­tia

How Music Can Awak­en Patients with Alzheimer’s and Demen­tia

For­mer Bal­le­ri­na with Demen­tia Grace­ful­ly Comes Alive to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake

The French Vil­lage Designed to Pro­mote the Well-Being of Alzheimer’s Patients: A Visu­al Intro­duc­tion to the Pio­neer­ing Exper­i­ment

The Restau­rant of Mis­tak­en Orders: A Tokyo Restau­rant Where All the Servers Are Peo­ple Liv­ing with Demen­tia

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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The Clock That Changed the World: How John Harrison’s Portable Clock Revolutionized Sea Navigation in the 18th Century

In the ear­ly eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry, a pock­et watch could keep rea­son­ably accu­rate time, give or take a minute per day. This may not sound too bad, giv­en how we now regard even the most advanced tech­nol­o­gy of that era. But it cer­tain­ly was­n’t good enough for marine nav­i­ga­tion: each day, a ship could tol­er­ate its clocks gain­ing or los­ing only a cou­ple of sec­onds. With­out prop­er reli­able infor­ma­tion about the time, sailors on the open sea had no way of know­ing quite where they were. More specif­i­cal­ly, the sun told them how far north or south they were, their lat­i­tude, but they did­n’t know how far east or west they were, their lon­gi­tude.

The­o­ret­i­cal­ly speak­ing, the “lon­gi­tude prob­lem” was eas­i­ly solv­able. You could cal­cu­late it, writes Gear Patrol’s Ed Est­low, “by sight­ing the sun at high noon where you were, and if you had a good enough clock for the time back home, you could com­pare the two and, with some sim­ple math­e­mat­ics, deter­mine your posi­tion.” But engi­neer­ing such a good-enough clock in real­i­ty took about half a cen­tu­ry. “In 1714, the British gov­ern­ment offered the huge prize of £20,000 (rough­ly £2 mil­lion today) to any­one who could solve the lon­gi­tude prob­lem once and for all.” But the mon­ey was­n’t ful­ly claimed until 1773, by a York­shire clock­mak­er John Har­ri­son.

Har­rison’s name looms large in the annals of chronom­e­try, and not with­out rea­son. His work of invent­ing an accu­rate ship clock involved the cre­ation of five dif­fer­ent mod­els, known by his­to­ri­ans as H1 through H5. H1 was a portable ver­sion of the kind of siz­able wood­en clock with which he’d already made his name. It was only in with H4, in 1765, that he real­ized small is beau­ti­ful, or rather accu­rate, at least if equipped with over­sized inter­nal bal­ance wheels to hold up more reli­ably against the con­stant move­ment of a ship at sea. This design worked with­out a hitch, but even so, the Board of Lon­gi­tude only saw fit to award him half the mon­ey offered.

Nei­ther Har­rison’s solv­ing of the lon­gi­tude prob­lem nor his receipt of a dis­ap­point­ing­ly halved prize seem to have stopped his obses­sion with build­ing ever-bet­ter time­keep­ing devices. This comes as no sur­prise giv­en the qual­i­ties of mind that emerge in “The Clock That Changed the World,” the episode of BBC’s A His­to­ry of the World at the top of the post. While work­ing on H5, Har­ri­son “sought the sup­port of King George III” (he of the famous mad­ness). “The King, a nat­ur­al philoso­pher in his own right, test­ed H5 him­self and promised Har­ri­son his sup­port.” That sup­port final­ly got the elder­ly Har­ri­son his promised amount and then some, but one sens­es that — like any pur­suit wor­thy of one’s life­long ded­i­ca­tion — it was nev­er real­ly about the mon­ey.

Relat­ed con­tent:

New Archive Reveals How Sci­en­tists Final­ly Solved the Vex­ing “Lon­gi­tude Prob­lem” Dur­ing the 1700s

How Clocks Changed Human­i­ty For­ev­er, Mak­ing Us Mas­ters and Slaves of Time

The Plan­e­tar­i­um Table Clock: Mag­nif­i­cent 1775 Time­piece Tracks the Pass­ing of Time & the Trav­el of the Plan­ets

How Did Car­tog­ra­phers Cre­ate World Maps before Air­planes and Satel­lites? An Intro­duc­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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RIP Jean-Luc Godard: Watch the French New Wave Icon Explain His Contrarian Worldview Back in the 1960s

For almost forty years, we’ve been los­ing the French New Wave. François Truf­faut and Jacques Demy died young, back in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry; Hen­ri Colpi, Éric Rohmer, and Claude Chabrol fol­lowed in the ear­ly years of the twen­ty-first. The last decade alone saw the pass­ings of Chris Mark­er, Alain Resnais, Jacques Riv­ette, and Agnès Var­da. But not until yes­ter­day did la Nou­velle Vague’s hardi­est sur­vivor, and indeed its defin­ing fig­ure, step off this mor­tal coil at the age of 91. Jean-Luc Godard did­n’t launch the move­ment — that dis­tinc­tion belongs to Truf­faut’s The 400 Blows, from 1959 — but in 1960 his first fea­ture Breath­less made film­go­ers the world over under­stand at once that the old rules no longer applied.

Yet for all his will­ing­ness to vio­late its con­ven­tions, Godard pos­sessed a thor­ough­go­ing respect for cin­e­ma. This per­haps came from his pre-auteur­hood years he spent as a film crit­ic in Paris, writ­ing for the estimable Cahiers du ciné­ma (an insti­tu­tion to which Truf­faut, Rohmer, Chabrol, and Riv­ette also con­tributed). “It made me love every­thing,” he says of his expe­ri­ence with crit­i­cism in the 1963 inter­view just above.

“It taught me not to be nar­row-mind­ed, not to ignore Renoir in favor of Bil­ly Wilder.” A con­trar­i­an from the begin­ning, the young Godard dis­dained what he saw as the for­mal­ized and intel­lec­tu­al­ized prod­ucts of the French film indus­try in favor of vis­cer­al­ly crowd-pleas­ing pic­tures made in the U.S.A.

“We Euro­peans have movies in our head, and Amer­i­cans have movies in their blood,” says Godard in the 1965 British tele­vi­sion inter­view above. “We have cen­turies and cen­turies of cul­ture behind us. We have to think about things. We can’t just do things.” To “just do things” is per­haps the prime artis­tic desire dri­ving his oeu­vre, which spans sev­en decades and includes more than 40 fea­ture films as well as many projects of less eas­i­ly cat­e­go­riz­able form. But this went with a life­long immer­sion in clas­si­cal Euro­pean cul­ture, evi­denced by a fil­mog­ra­phy dense with ref­er­ences to its works. The weight of his for­ma­tion and ambi­tions took a cer­tain toll ear­ly on: “I’m already tired,” he says in a 1960 inter­view at Cannes, where Breath­less was screen­ing. Did the per­ma­nent rev­o­lu­tion­ary of cin­e­ma sus­pect, even then, how far he still had to go?

Relat­ed con­tent:

An Intro­duc­tion to Jean-Luc Godard’s Inno­v­a­tive Film­mak­ing Through Five Video Essays

How the French New Wave Changed Cin­e­ma: A Video Intro­duc­tion to the Films of Godard, Truf­faut & Their Fel­low Rule-Break­ers

Jean-Luc Godard Takes Cannes’ Rejec­tion of Breath­less in Stride in 1960 Inter­view

How Jean-Luc Godard Lib­er­at­ed Cin­e­ma: A Video Essay on How the Great­est Rule-Break­er in Film Made His Name

Watch Jean-Luc Godard’s Film­mak­ing Mas­ter­class on Insta­gram

RIP Jean-Paul Bel­mon­do: The Actor Who Went from the French New Wave to Action Super­star­dom

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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Two Women in Their 90s Recall Their Teenage Years in Victorian 1890s London


Mud everywhere…and where there wasn’t mud, there was fog, and in between was us, enjoy­ing our­selves. — Berta Ruck

Berta Ruck and Frances ‘Effy’ Jones were teenagers in the 1890s, and while their rec­ol­lec­tions of their for­ma­tive years in mud­dy old Lon­don are hard­ly a por­trait of Jazz Age wild­ness, nei­ther are they in keep­ing with mod­ern notions of stuffy Vic­to­ri­an mores.

Inter­viewed for the BBC doc­u­men­tary series Yesterday’s Wit­ness in 1970, these nona­ge­nar­i­ans are for­mi­da­ble per­son­ages, sharp­er than prover­bial tacks, and unlike­ly to elic­it the sort of agist pity embod­ied in the lyrics of a pop­u­lar dit­ty Ruck remem­bers the Cock­neys singing in the gut­ter after the pubs had closed for the night.

“Do you think I might dare to sing [it] now?” Ruck, then 91, asks (rhetor­i­cal­ly):

She may have known bet­ter days

When she was in her prime

She may have known bet­ter days

Once upon a time…

(Raise your hand if you sus­pect those lyrics are describ­ing a washed up spin­ster in her late 20s or ear­ly 30s.)

The 94-year-old Jones reach­es back more than 7 decades to tell about her first job, when she was paid 8 shillings a week to sit in a store­front win­dow, demon­strat­ing a new machine known as a type­writer.

Some of her earn­ings went toward the pur­chase a bicy­cle, which she rode back and forth to work and overnight hol­i­days in Brighton, scan­dalous­ly clad in bloomers, or as Jones and her friends referred to them, “ratio­nal dress”.

Ruck, pegged by her head­mistress as an “indo­lent and feck­less girl”, went on to study at the Slade School of Art, before achiev­ing promi­nence as a best­selling romance nov­el­ist, whose 90 some titles include His Offi­cial Fiancée, Miss Million’s Maid and In Anoth­er Girl’s Shoes.

We do hope at least one of these fea­tures a hero­ine resent­ful­ly brush­ing a skirt mud­died up to the knees by pass­ing han­som cabs, an impo­si­tion Ruck refus­es to sweet­en with the nos­tal­gia.

As the British Film Institute’s Patrick Rus­sell writes in 100 British Doc­u­men­taries, the Yesterday’s Wit­ness series, and Jones and Ruck’s episode, in par­tic­u­lar, pop­u­lar­ized the oral his­to­ry approach to doc­u­men­tary, in which the direc­tor-inter­view­er is an invis­i­ble pres­ence, cre­at­ing the impres­sion that the sub­ject is speak­ing direct­ly to the audi­ence, unprompt­ed:

The series’ mak­ers suc­cess­ful­ly resist­ed any temp­ta­tions to patron­ize or edi­to­ri­al­ize, and aimed at sym­pa­thet­ic curios­i­ty rather than nos­tal­gia. The two women tell their sto­ries flu­ent­ly, humor­ous­ly, intel­li­gent­ly — offer­ing con­sid­ered ret­ro­spec­tive com­ment on their generation’s assump­tions, nei­ther sim­ply accept­ing nor reject­ing them…Unlike text­books, and oth­er types of doc­u­men­tary, films like Two Vic­to­ri­an Girls gave the youth access to the mod­ern past as pri­vate­ly expe­ri­enced. 

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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All of the Different Kinds of Acoustic Guitars, and the Different Woods They’re Made Of: The Ultimate Acoustic Guitar Guide

If you’re just start­ing out on acoustic gui­tar, buy­ing your first instru­ment might seem sim­ple enough…. Head to your local music shop (or ecom­merce retail­er), thrust out your hand, and say some­thing like, “Give me a begin­ner gui­tar now!” Pay your mon­ey, take your lessons, Bob’s your uncle, right?

Ah, but say you encounter one of those things known as a gui­tar sales­per­son? And say that per­son has some ques­tions… “Ok, we’ve got tra­di­tion­al-style dread­noughts with cut­aways or no cut­aways. We’ve got con­cert sized gui­tars, par­lor gui­tars, clas­si­cal, all sorts!” And you, for­mer­ly con­fi­dent shop­per, now find your­self at sea. What’s the dif­fer­ence?

They’re already on to talk­ing about dif­fer­ent mate­ri­als used in mak­ing gui­tars and you check out. You imag­ine a pur­suit where you know what you’re doing: I could learn har­mon­i­ca…. How many kinds of those are there?

Fear not, begin­ner, YouTube gui­tar edu­ca­tor Paul Davids is here to teach us the types of acoustic gui­tars we’re like­ly to encounter in the wild, as well as the dif­fer­ent kinds of “tone woods” and why they make a dif­fer­ence.

Tone wood sim­ply means the kinds of trees used to make the gui­tar – maple, mahogany, rose­wood, spruce, etc. – and it’s called “tone wood” instead of just “wood” for a rea­son. Among mak­ers and play­ers of elec­tric gui­tars, a nev­er-end­ing argu­ment per­sists about how much tone wood mat­ters. There should be lit­tle debate when it comes to acoustic gui­tars.

The sound of an acoustic gui­tar comes from the pick, or the fin­gers, and from the neck, where the strings’ con­tact with the fret­board trav­els down to the res­onat­ing cham­ber of the body and gets sent out into the world. At each of these con­tact points, the prop­er­ties of the wood in ques­tion nat­u­ral­ly con­di­tion the shape of the sound waves.

Enlist­ing the help of East­wood Gui­tars Pepi­jn ‘t Hart above, who donat­ed the gui­tars in the first video for demon­stra­tion pur­pos­es, Davids demon­strates beyond ques­tion that dif­fer­ent woods used to con­struct the back, sides, and top of an acoustic gui­tar have a tremen­dous effect on the tone.

From brighter to dark­er, tre­bli­er to bassier, or what­ev­er you want to call the range of tones, you’ll hear them in these exam­ples of dif­fer­ent mate­ri­als used to make the same sized gui­tars. Why is this impor­tant? As Hart explains, an acoustic gui­tar is basi­cal­ly its own ampli­fi­er. While you can adjust the tone some­what with tech­nique, the first thing you need to do as an acoustic gui­tar play­er is deter­mine the best type of instru­ment you’ll need for the kind of music you’re play­ing.

Gui­tarists may also need to con­sid­er (even­tu­al­ly), the kinds of musi­cians they’re play­ing with. A heavy rock ensem­ble with rum­bling bass and drums will require a much brighter gui­tar to cut through the mix, where­as accom­pa­ny­ing a ban­jo play­er or vio­lin­ist will call for more low end.

You can still grab the first begin­ner acoustic gui­tar you find online and call it a day. But if you’re seri­ous about learn­ing the instru­ment – and learn­ing to play in a musi­cal tra­di­tion, be it folk, blues, coun­try, clas­si­cal, rock, or what­ev­er – you’ll need this essen­tial infor­ma­tion. Davids and Hart make it fun and easy to acquire in the two-part edu­ca­tion­al series above.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How to Build a Cus­tom Hand­craft­ed Acoustic Gui­tar from Start to Fin­ish: The Process Revealed in a Fas­ci­nat­ing Doc­u­men­tary

Musi­cian Plays the Last Stradi­var­ius Gui­tar in the World, the “Sabionari” Made in 1679

What Does a $275,000 Clas­si­cal Gui­tar Sound Like?

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

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Elton John Presents 14 of His Iconic Looks: From 1968 to Now

Elton John is pack­ing up his fab­u­lous out­fits and hit­ting stages for the last time, mak­ing a grace­ful exit from the road at age 75 with his “Farewell Yel­low Brick Road” tour. He will, of course, make a stop at Dodger Sta­di­um, where he played one of his most famous con­certs in 1975, strid­ing onto the stage in a sequined Dodgers uni­form, one of many shim­mer­ing cos­tumes he would don dur­ing the 3‑hour marathon set.

When John played Dodger sta­di­um, his songs had been “hit­ting the air­waves with a sense of fan­tas­ti­cal futur­ism,” writes Far Out, “all pack­aged in flam­boy­ant cos­tumes and dressed in num­ber one albums. Loved by crit­ics and adored by fans, he resem­bled some­thing entire­ly dif­fer­ent.” Dif­fer­ent from what?

John answered that ques­tion in a 2020 inter­view with Vogue: “I was­n’t glam rock. I was­n’t David Bowie. I was me being a blokey guy wear­ing these clothes. I had to have humor in my cos­tume.” Thus, his turns as Don­ald Duck, Min­nie Mouse, and the Stat­ue of Lib­er­ty, all cos­tumes “designed to com­ple­ment the cor­re­spond­ing per­for­mance,” Janelle Okwodu writes at Vogue.

John may not have thought of him­self as a glam rock super­star, but his lega­cy of sparkling, sequined out­fits, plat­form boots, feath­er boas, and bluesy rock hits says oth­er­wise. In the video above, see the retir­ing Rock­et­man break down his most icon­ic looks. “Let’s begin,” he says, “at the very begin­ning” — decades before design­er Sean Dixon tai­lored 30 bespoke suits (at 90 hours each to make) for John’s 2018 Mil­lion Dol­lar Piano show.

In 1968, John donned bell bot­toms, a three-but­ton jack­et, and a fedo­ra for his first pub­lic­i­ty shot. “That was prob­a­bly all I could afford, and it shows,” he remarks. Not a sin­gle Swarovs­ki crys­tal in sight. In the ear­ly 70s, it was den­im, “and I absolute­ly loathe den­im now.” In 1997, for his 50th birth­day par­ty, John appeared in glo­ri­ous full drag ensem­ble made by Sandy Pow­ell, but in his lat­er years, he’s most­ly dressed down.… which for Elton John means chang­ing into an end­less series of bespoke, bedaz­zled suits.

Now that he’s head­ing into retire­ment from per­form­ing, we may be enti­tled to won­der about his bathrobe col­lec­tion.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Elton John Takes Us Through the Cre­ative Process of His Ear­ly Hit “Tiny Dancer” (1970)

Revis­it Six of Elton John’s Most Icon­ic Con­certs, Stream­ing in Their Entire­ty for 72 Hours

Elton John Proves He Can Turn any Text into a Song: Watch Him Impro­vise with Lines from Hen­rik Ibsen’s Play, Peer Gynt

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

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