53 Years of Nuclear Testing in 14 Minutes: A Time Lapse Film by Japanese Artist Isao Hashimoto

in Art, History, Technology | September 17th, 2012

It’s strange what can make an impact. Some­times a mes­sage needs to be loud and over-the-top to come across, like punk rock or the films of Oliv­er Stone. In oth­er cas­es, cool and qui­et works much bet­ter.

Take the new time lapse map cre­at­ed by Japan­ese artist Isao Hashimo­to. It is beau­ti­ful in a sim­ple way and eerie as it doc­u­ments the 2,053 nuclear explo­sions that took place between 1945 and 1998.

It looks like a war room map of the world, black land­mass­es sur­round­ed by deep blue ocean. It starts out slow, in July of 1945, with a blue blip and an explo­sion sound in the Amer­i­can southwest—the Man­hat­tan Project’s “Trin­i­ty” test near Los Alam­os. Just one month lat­er come the explo­sions at Hiroshi­ma and Nagasa­ki.

From there the months click by—condensed down to seconds—on a dig­i­tal clock. Each nation that has explod­ed a nuclear bomb gets a blip and a flash­ing dot when they det­o­nate a weapon, with a run­ning tal­ly kept on the screen.

Eeri­est of all is that each nation gets its own elec­tron­ic sound pitch: low tones for the Unit­ed States, high­er for the Sovi­et Union—beeping to the metronome of the months tick­ing by.

What starts out slow picks up by 1960 or so, when all the cold neu­tral beeps and flash­es become over­whelm­ing.

If you’re like me, you had no idea just how many det­o­na­tions the Unit­ed States is respon­si­ble for (1,032—more than the rest of the coun­tries put togeth­er). The sequence ends with the Pak­istani nuclear tests of May 1998.

Hashimo­to worked for many years as a for­eign exchange deal­er but is now an art cura­tor. He says the piece express­es “the fear and fol­ly of nuclear weapons.”

Kate Rix is an Oak­land-based free­lance writer. See more of her work at .

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

63 Haunt­ing Videos of U.S. Nuclear Tests Now Declas­si­fied and Put Online

Kurt Von­negut Gives a Ser­mon on the Fool­ish­ness of Nuclear Arms: It’s Time­ly Again (Cathe­dral of St. John the Divine, 1982)

Haunt­ing Unedit­ed Footage of the Bomb­ing of Nagasa­ki (1945)

How a Clean, Tidy Home Can Help You Sur­vive the Atom­ic Bomb: A Cold War Film from 1954

Heat Mapping the Rise of Bruce Springsteen: How the Boss Went Viral in a Pre-Internet Era

in Google, Music, Technology | September 17th, 2012

A friend of mine and for­mer musi­cal col­lab­o­ra­tor was mar­ried this past week­end in Asbury Park, New Jer­sey, where Spring­steen got his start with his first album in 1973. This was deliberate—she’s  a die-hard Jer­sey girl and the biggest Spring­steen fan I’ve ever met. But while Spring­steen is firm­ly root­ed in his work­ing-class New Jer­sey, he is also a poet of Amer­i­cana writ large (Nebras­ka is my favorite record), and his songs are as much cel­e­bra­tions of his home state as they are eulo­gies of it, or rous­ing calls to hit the road and leave the Jerz behind. All that’s to say, Spring­steen is some­thing of a rock-and-roll geo­g­ra­ph­er, so he’s the per­fect sub­ject for the Map­brief project above which charts his career from folk trou­ba­dour to are­na-rock hit­mak­er and back again–from 1973 to the present–by show­ing the impact of each album’s tour on a map of the U.S. Here are some things to keep in mind as you watch the visu­al­iza­tion above:

• each red dot is a per­for­mance (data cour­tesy of the Killing Floor data­base).
• the inten­si­ty or “heat” gen­er­at­ed is a func­tion of the loca­tion of a show, the size of the venue, and inverse­ly cor­re­lat­ed with the over­all pop­u­la­tion with­in 40km of the con­cert loca­tion. So for instance, a sin­gle are­na show in New York City will gen­er­ate less heat than a sin­gle are­na show in Oma­ha, NE.
• there is a taper­ing effect applied so return­ing to a par­tic­u­lar area with­in a few months will reflect a cumu­la­tive heat effect (**Click here for inter­ac­tive map ver­sion).

Using the geographer’s method­ol­o­gy of read­ing expan­sion dif­fu­sion and hier­ar­chi­cal dif­fu­sion, cre­ator Bri­an Tim­o­ny draws some inter­est­ing con­clu­sions about the nature of “going viral” in a pre-inter­net age, and about the con­tin­u­ing impor­tance of place, despite its osten­si­ble era­sure by the Inter­net. Tim­o­ny writes, “the Jer­sey Shore pro­vid­ed a unique, acces­si­ble sym­bol­ic res­o­nance to audi­ences that res­onates as a Place.  (In stark con­trast to the way a mil­lion bands from Brook­lyn today fail to con­vince the rest of us of the intrin­sic awe­some­ness of…Brooklyn.)”

It’s worth noth­ing that almost none of those “Brook­lyn” bands actu­al­ly come from Brook­lyn and can claim it in the way Spring­steen claims the Jer­sey Shore. That kind of anchor has always seemed to give him license to explore musi­cal forms and metaphors from the South and Mid­west in authen­tic and per­son­al ways. A coun­terex­am­ple, of course, is Bob Dylan, who seems to come from nowhere at all, but the wan­der­ing mys­tic min­strel also fig­ures into Timony’s scheme. He con­cludes by not­ing that the abil­i­ty of Spring­steen, Dylan, and Leonard Cohen to still com­mand the stage and defy the cult of youth in pop cul­ture exem­pli­fies “the wise-man/shaman/en­ter­tain­er who is best equipped to chan­nel both what the audi­ence wants to hear and what it needs to hear.” Not a strict­ly “geo­graph­i­cal” point, but it’s a hard one to argue with all the same.

via Metafil­ter

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bruce Spring­steen Sin­gin’ in the Rain in Italy, and How He Cre­ates Pow­er­ful Imag­i­nary Worlds

Bruce Springsteen’s Per­son­al Jour­ney Through Rock ‘n’ Roll (Slight­ly NSFW But Sim­ply Great)

The Making of Drugstore Cowboy, Gus Van Sant’s First Major Film (1989)

in Film | September 14th, 2012

Port­land, 1988. Film­mak­er Gus Van Sant shoots Drug­store Cow­boy, the project that will bring he and his col­lab­o­ra­tors a for­mi­da­ble burst of main­stream atten­tion. Star­ring Matt Dil­lon, Kel­ly Lynch, and Heather Gra­ham, the film fol­lows a rov­ing quar­tet of drug addicts — and, con­se­quent­ly, drug thieves, espe­cial­ly from the busi­ness­es of the title — who wash up in Port­land’s then-grit­ty Pearl Dis­trict. A death among their own spooks the leader of the pack into try­ing to clean up, and an encounter with a sepul­chral junkie priest does its part to con­vince him fur­ther. Or maybe we should call him a Junkie priest, por­trayed as he is by a con­tro­ver­sial cameo from writer William S. Bur­roughs. “I’m going back to the old days,” Bur­roughs says of his role ear­ly in the above doc­u­men­tary on the mak­ing of Drug­store Cow­boy. “The old days when they used to give peo­ple mor­phine in jail. The old days before the methadone pro­grams.”

This footage cap­tures Van Sant on the point of tran­si­tion between obscu­ri­ty and fame. His pre­vi­ous work — semi-auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal shorts on Super 8 film, the unre­leased fall­en-actress sto­ry Alice in Hol­ly­wood, and the retroac­tive­ly acclaimed grim snap­shot of grim psy­cho­sex­u­al strife Mala Noche — demon­strat­ed that he could make uni­ver­sal­ly affect­ing movies about kids on the skids and their poten­tial redemp­tion. But thrown into this $2.5 mil­lion pro­duc­tion, he found him­self in anoth­er realm entire­ly: a full pro­fes­sion­al cast, a full pro­fes­sion­al crew, and a pho­tog­ra­phy depart­ment that could take up to twen­ty min­utes (he says, with exas­per­a­tion) to light. “I’m caught in the mid­dle of this trav­el­ing cir­cus,” he reflects, weari­ly. “This is exact­ly the kind of thing I did­n’t want to hap­pen: I did­n’t want peo­ple hang­ing around, jok­ing, drink­ing cof­fee,” he says, cof­fee in hand. But from this com­bi­na­tion of col­lec­tive lax­ness and direc­to­r­i­al anx­i­ety arose one of the most crit­i­cal­ly acclaimed Amer­i­can films of 1989. Van Sant describes it as an “anti-drug” film, but Bur­roughs sug­gests a broad­er mes­sage: “Say no to drug hys­te­ria. Or any oth­er kind of hys­te­ria, for that mat­ter.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

Gus Van Sant Adapts William S. Bur­roughs: An Ear­ly 16mm Short

William S. Bur­roughs’ “The Thanks­giv­ing Prayer,” Shot by Gus Van Sant

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Yeah, Baby! Deep Purple Gets Shagadelic on Playboy After Dark

in Music, Television | September 14th, 2012

This is so bad it’s good. Or maybe, as the char­ac­ter played by Tho­ra Birch dead­pans in a mem­o­rable scene in Ter­ry Zwigof­f’s film Ghost World, “This is so bad it’s gone past good and back to bad again.”

In any case once it gets going you may find it hard to resist watch­ing this clip from the Sep­tem­ber 23, 1968 episode of Hugh Hefn­er’s syn­di­cat­ed TV pro­gram Play­boy After Dark. It looks like it came straight out of an Austin Pow­ers movie. The show was chore­o­graphed to rep­re­sent the hippest, groovi­est cock­tail par­ty ever.

The musi­cal guests that night were the British rock group Deep Pur­ple, who had formed only nine months ear­li­er and were still in their orig­i­nal line­up, which fea­tured Rod Evans on vocals and Nick Sim­per on bass (both of whom left the band less than a year lat­er) along with Jon Lord on organ, Richie Black­more on gui­tar and Ian Paice on drums.

Look­ing debonair in his black tie and jack­et, Hefn­er fakes inter­est in a brief gui­tar les­son from Black­more before chat­ting awk­ward­ly with Lord (who died last month) and ask­ing the group to play their first hit, “Hush” (writ­ten and orig­i­nal­ly record­ed by Joe South, who also died recent­ly), which had just made it to the top five in the Amer­i­can pop charts around the time of the broad­cast. Says Hef: “I think it would real­ly groove the kids if you’d do that.”

With Or Without U: Promoting a Scrabble Book to the Tune of U2

in Books, Music | September 14th, 2012

David Buk­sz­pan’s new book for Scrab­ble afi­ciona­dos is out — Is That a Word? From AA to ZZZ, the Weird and Won­der­ful Lan­guage of SCRABBLE®. And, when it comes to pro­mot­ing the book, Buk­sz­pan and his pub­lish­ers aren’t cut­ting cor­ners. In the book trail­er above, we find the author chan­nel­ing the young Bono — the Bono who came into star­dom in 1987’s wide­ly-played video for “With or With Out You” (below). Watch­ing the two clips togeth­er, you’ll see that the aes­thet­ic remains entire­ly the same. But the “You” in “With or With­out You” takes on a new mean­ing. H/T Gal­l­ey­Cat

William S. Burroughs Shows You How to Make “Shotgun Art”

in Art, Literature | September 14th, 2012

It’s no secret that William S. Bur­roughs liked guns. He’s shot both Shake­speare and him­self in effi­gy, and in a bizarre and trag­ic acci­dent, he shot and killed his wife. In addi­tion to shoot­ing at peo­ple, he also shot at spray paint cans to cre­ate abstract paint­ings, known as “shot­gun art.” His paint­ings have appeared in gal­leries and one of them, once owned by Tim­o­thy Leary, was auc­tioned off a few years ago on Ebay. In the film above (date unknown), watch Bur­roughs in action with a rifle. He described the process in an inter­view with Gre­go­ry Ego:

There is no exact process. If you want to do shot­gun art, you take a piece of ply­wood, put a can of spray paint in front of it, and shoot it with a shot­gun or high pow­ered rifle. The paint’s under high pres­sure so it explodes! Throws the can 300 feet. The paint sprays in explod­ing col­or across your sur­face. You can have as many col­ors as you want. Turn it around, do it side­ways, and have one col­or com­ing in from this side and this side. Of course, they hit. Mix in all kinds of unpre­dictable pat­terns. This is relat­ed to Pol­lack­’s drip can­vas­es, although this is a rather more basi­cal­ly ran­dom process, there’s no pos­si­bil­i­ty of pre­dict­ing what pat­terns you’re going to get.

This is, admit­ted­ly, a very lo-fi film. It appears to have been shot on super‑8, and about two thirds of the way through, the cam­era flips upside down, then seems to have been tossed into a car. The sound goes out, and the last minute cap­tures a cloud-strewn Kansans sky speed­ing by in silence. It’s a strange and cap­ti­vat­ing piece of found art that, like Bur­roughs’ work, con­tains casu­al vio­lence, odd per­spec­tives, herky-jerky edit­ing, sud­den con­fu­sion and upheaval, and rare moments of beau­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When William S. Bur­roughs Appeared on Sat­ur­day Night Live: His First TV Appear­ance (1981)

William S. Bur­roughs Teach­es a Free Course on Cre­ative Read­ing and Writ­ing (1979)

William S. Bur­roughs Sends Anti-Fan Let­ter to In Cold Blood Author Tru­man Capote: “You Have Sold Out Your Tal­ent”

William S. Bur­roughs Explains What Artists & Cre­ative Thinkers Do for Human­i­ty: From Galileo to Cézanne and James Joyce

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Pi in the Sky: The World’s Largest Ephemeral Art Installation over Beautiful San Francisco

in Art, Technology | September 13th, 2012

Yes­ter­day, on my way to lunch, I looked up and saw it — the world’s largest ephemer­al art instal­la­tion called “Pi in the Sky.” The instal­la­tion fea­tured planes fly­ing through the San Fran­cis­co Bay Area skies, using dot matrix print­er tech­nol­o­gy to write out the first 1,000 dig­its of the num­ber Pi. Pre­sent­ed as part of the 2012 ZERO1 Bien­ni­al, a fes­ti­val cel­e­brat­ing art and tech­nol­o­gy in Sil­i­con Val­ley, the Pi project was the brain­child of ISHKY, an eclec­tic col­lab­o­ra­tion of artists, pro­gram­mers and sci­en­tists look­ing to explore “the bound­aries of scale, pub­lic space, imper­ma­nence, and the rela­tion­ship between Earth and the phys­i­cal uni­verse.” You can learn more about the ini­tia­tive by watch­ing a video (below) from ISHKY’s Kick­starter cam­paign:

And here you can watch the art instal­la­tion in real­time, as we saw it yes­ter­day:

via Giz­mo­do

Gertrude Stein Recites ‘If I Told Him: A Completed Portrait of Picasso’

in Literature, Poetry | September 13th, 2012

Although her own works are sel­dom read, Gertrude Stein cast an impos­ing shad­ow over the evo­lu­tion of 20th cen­tu­ry lit­er­a­ture. Like oth­er high mod­ernists, she broke from tra­di­tion to exper­i­ment with new forms, but where­as her rival James Joyce’s writ­ing became more dense and com­plex over time, Stein’s became abstract and sim­ple. Like Paul Cézanne and oth­er mod­ern painters, Stein sought to tran­scend rep­re­sen­ta­tion and reveal an under­ly­ing struc­ture in the per­cep­tu­al world. Her non­lin­ear prose and poet­ry are like paint­ings, frozen in what she called a “con­tin­u­ous present.” As Jonathan Levin writes in the Barnes & Noble Clas­sics edi­tion of Stein’s Three Lives:

Stein clear­ly takes plea­sure in words, almost in a way that a sev­en-year-old might, end­less­ly repeat­ing a word, and var­i­ous­ly inflect­ing it, to the point that it is effec­tive­ly emp­tied of all mean­ing. Rely­ing most­ly on sim­ple, often mono­syl­lab­ic words, Stein wields lan­guage much as the mod­ern painters she admired and col­lect­ed were wield­ing paint, sug­gest­ing form through a rad­i­cal­ly sim­pli­fied use of line and color.…By com­bin­ing and repeat­ing such sim­ple words and phras­es, Stein helped rein­vent the Eng­lish lan­guage for the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry. Much as Paul Cézanne, Hen­ri Matisse, and Pablo Picas­so helped peo­ple under­stand how the eye con­structs its field of vision, so Stein helped read­ers under­stand how words con­struct a field of mean­ing.

But most read­ers find Stein tedious and unin­tel­li­gi­ble. As Edmund Wil­son writes in Axel’s Cas­tle: A Study in the imag­i­na­tive Lit­er­a­ture of 1870–1930, “Most of us balk at her soporif­ic rig­maroles, her echolali­ac incan­ta­tions, her half-wit­ted-sound­ing cat­a­logues of num­bers; most of us read her less and less. Yet, remem­ber­ing espe­cial­ly her ear­ly work, we are still always aware of her pres­ence in the back­ground of con­tem­po­rary lit­er­a­ture.”

Among the writ­ers who knew Stein and were influ­enced by her was Ernest Hem­ing­way. Echoes of Stein’s rhythms and rep­e­ti­tions can be sensed in some of Hem­ing­way’s prose. In his pos­tu­mous­ly pub­lished mem­oir, A Move­able Feast, Hem­ing­way offers his own frank assess­ment of Stein and the nature of her influ­ence:

She had such a per­son­al­i­ty that when she wished to win any­one over to her side she would not be resist­ed, and crit­ics who met her and saw her pic­tures took on trust writ­ing of hers that they could not under­stand because of their enthu­si­asm for her as a per­son, and because of their con­fi­dence in her judge­ment. She had also dis­cov­ered many truths about rhythms and the uses of words in rep­e­ti­tion that were valid and valu­able and she talked well about them.

For a sense of Stein’s exper­i­men­tal style you can lis­ten above as she recites “If I Told Him: A Com­plet­ed Por­trait of Picas­so,” a poem Stein wrote in the sum­mer of 1923 while vis­it­ing her friend Pablo Picas­so on the French Riv­iera. (To read along as you lis­ten, click here to open the text in a new win­dow.) The record­ing was made in New York dur­ing the win­ter of 1934–35, when Stein was pro­mot­ing her pop­u­lar but less exper­i­men­tal book The Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Alice B. Tok­las. Encoun­ter­ing Stein today, we can still feel the same annoyed bewil­der­ment that her first read­ers felt. “Per­haps,” writes Levin, “this is because lan­guage, unlike paint, does not sim­ply become ‘beau­ti­ful’ once a style is wide­ly accept­ed. In any event, we might con­sid­er our­selves for­tu­nate to be able still to feel what is shock­ing and irri­tat­ing in mod­ern writ­ing. It reminds us that we are in the pres­ence of some­thing that still feels gen­uine­ly new and dif­fer­ent.”

To hear more of Stein recit­ing, and to hear a rare record­ed inter­view of her from 1934, vis­it the archive at PennSound. And to read sev­er­al of Stein’s works, please vis­it our col­lec­tion of 375 Free eBooks.

Revisit the Radio Sessions and Record Collection of Groundbreaking BBC DJ John Peel

in Music, Radio | September 13th, 2012

Will any radio DJ ever draw more respect than John Peel has? It seems unlike­ly, espe­cial­ly since so many fas­ci­nat­ing arti­facts of his life and career have become avail­able on the inter­net since his death in 2004. You can now explore, thanks to the John Peel Archive, Peel’s dig­i­tized office, a repos­i­to­ry of videos, sound record­ings, pho­tos and broad­casts. But for its obvi­ous pièce de résis­tance, look no fur­ther than Peel’s record col­lec­tion, made vir­tu­al for your brows­ing enjoy­ment. There you’ll find stream­able albums, pop-cul­tur­al arti­facts, and tes­ti­mo­ny from many a famous musi­cian about the vital impor­tance of John Peel to their careers. Those too young or too non-Eng­lish to have tuned in to BBC Radio 1 dur­ing Peel’s hey­day may not real­ize that this is no ordi­nary record col­lec­tion. This is a trea­sure trove of 25,000 LPs and 40,000 sin­gles assem­bled by a man who brought to the rock-enthu­si­ast pub­lic the likes of Bil­ly Bragg, Orches­tral Manoeu­vres in the Dark, The Fall, Pave­ment Buz­zcocks, Elvis Costel­lo, David Bowie… the list goes on.

Peel show­cased such artists on his famous Peel Ses­sions, which would bring these per­form­ers into the BBC’s stu­dios to lay down four or five songs. Quick­ly mixed and read­ied for broad­cast, these songs would retain a rougher, loos­er, often more impro­vi­sa­tion­al feel than the records that made these play­ers famous. Tapes of a band’s Peel Ses­sion thus imme­di­ate­ly became a hot­ly trad­ed com­mod­i­ty among that band’s fans. Today, Peel’s own fans have help­ful­ly uploaded a selec­tion of his broad­casts, offi­cial Peel Ses­sions and oth­er­wise, to the audio-shar­ing site Sound­cloud. Per­haps you’d like to hear a snap­shot of Peel’s view or the rock world on Christ­mas Eve 1979. Or how about Octo­ber 13, 2004? Maybe April 4, 1988? Then, when you’re ready — and if you use Spo­ti­fy — make a return to the John Peel Archive and pull up his Ses­sions with a favorite band, be it The Cure, Smash­ing Pump­kins, PJ Har­vey, Cin­era­ma, or whomev­er. You’ll hear why, 45 years on from his broad­cast­ing debut and eight from his pass­ing, John Peel remains the locus clas­si­cus of knowl­edge­able, dis­cern­ing rock-radio cool.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Jean-Paul Sartre’s No Exit: A BBC Adaptation Starring Harold Pinter (1964)

in Literature, Philosophy | September 13th, 2012

Each time I see a ref­er­ence to Jean-Paul Sartre’s play No Exit (Huis Clos), I think of the night­club scene in Bret Eas­t­on Ellis’s Amer­i­can Psy­cho, which is fit­ting since that nov­el is, in a sense, about a group of peo­ple who hate each oth­er. No Exit con­jures Sartre’s famous phrase “Hell is oth­er peo­ple,” but in the play, hell is, more accu­rate­ly, oneself—or the inabil­i­ty to leave one­self, to “take a lit­tle break,” by sleep­ing, turn­ing off the lights, or even blink­ing. Hell, in Sartre’s play, means being end­less­ly con­front­ed with the sor­did triv­i­al­i­ties of one’s self through the eyes of oth­er peo­ple. Trapped in a room with them, to be exact, for­ev­er. It’s a chill­ing con­cept.

In this BBC adap­ta­tion of Sartre’s play, called In Cam­era, cer­tain details have changed. Instead of the “Sec­ond Empire fur­ni­ture” from Sartre’s descrip­tions of the hell­ish room, we have a bright­ly-lit mod­ernist gallery space. The bronze objet d’art in Sartre’s play has been replaced by mas­sive abstract paint­ing and sculp­ture, a com­men­tary, per­haps, on the way the bour­geois space of art gal­leries impos­es arti­fi­cial deco­rum on every­one inside. It’s as incon­gru­ous with the sit­u­a­tion as the haughty draw­ing room of the orig­i­nal. Aside from the mise en scene, In Cam­era is large­ly faith­ful to the dia­logue and char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of Sartre’s play. Fea­tur­ing absur­dist play­wright Harold Pin­ter as the insuf­fer­able writer and jour­nal­ist Garcin, Jane Arden as Inez, Kather­ine Woodville as Estelle, and Jonathan Hansen as the valet, In Cam­era was part of the BBC series “The Wednes­day Play,” which ran from 1964 to 1970 and pre­sent­ed orig­i­nal work and the occa­sion­al adap­ta­tion. Only the sec­ond episode in the series, In Cam­era ran on Novem­ber 4^th, 1964 and was adapt­ed and direct­ed from Sartre’s orig­i­nal by Philip Sav­ille.

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jean-Paul Sartre Breaks Down the Bad Faith of Intel­lec­tu­als

Sartre, Hei­deg­ger, Niet­zsche: Three Philoso­phers in Three Hours

Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard and Sartre (1960)

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.