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The Lives of John Coltrane & Billie Holiday Are Now Told in Two Graphic Novels

How do you tell the sto­ries of larg­er-than-life cul­tur­al figures—of peo­ple whose his­to­ries inter­sect with piv­otal moments in Amer­i­can his­to­ry, whose careers set new stan­dards for excellence—without over­sim­pli­fy­ing and risk­ing car­i­ca­ture? With com­ic art, of course. Graph­ic nov­els have long proven them­selves wor­thy vehi­cles for biog­ra­phy. Some­thing about the bold strokes of the illus­tra­tions, the dia­logue in word bub­ble form, and the pan­el style of sto­ry­telling makes for a par­tic­u­lar­ly vivid encounter with his­to­ry.

Artist Pao­lo Parisi has cap­i­tal­ized on this kismet of form and con­tent in three bio­graph­i­cal graph­ic nov­els now, one of which—the sto­ry of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s rise to fame and for­tune—we high­light­ed just a cou­ple days ago.

Parisi’s ear­li­er efforts took on no less icon­ic fig­ures than John Coltrane and Bil­lie Hol­i­day in Coltrane and Blues for Lady Day: The Sto­ry of Bil­lie Hol­i­day. The Ital­ian artist has demon­strat­ed a pas­sion for Amer­i­can music, espe­cial­ly jazz, in his career as an illus­tra­tor. As a writer, he also dis­plays a tal­ent for restraint, large­ly let­ting the images tell the sto­ry.

As in Basquiat, these images are both drawn from famous pho­tographs and from imag­i­na­tive recon­struc­tions of what it might have been like, sit­ting in on record­ing ses­sions, in the clubs, and in the heat­ed con­ver­sa­tions. Parisi may inevitably view his sub­jects through an out­sider’s lens—he may roman­ti­cize them at times and may elide impor­tant, but hard to visu­al­ize, details, as is the nature of the form.

But he excels at mak­ing these two musi­cal giants approach­able, telling their sto­ries in broad strokes so that those who haven’t read the dense, heav­i­ly-foot­not­ed tomes about them can devel­op appre­ci­a­tion and empa­thy for their art and too-short lives. It is a sad irony that those who burn bright and die young leave behind the most com­pelling mate­r­i­al for those who tell their sto­ries.

Parisi seems drawn to such trag­ic fig­ures, or per­haps the form itself requires high-con­trast highs and lows. “How could a graph­ic treat­ment pro­vide any­thing oth­er than the sketchi­est of details?” asks Coltrane review­er William Rycroft Tring. “Per­haps by choos­ing the right sub­ject.” In Coltrane and Hol­i­day, Parisi has two sub­jects whose lives were inher­ent­ly dra­mat­ic, full of major tri­umphs and tragedies.

Above all is the music. Graph­ic nov­els may not be sub­sti­tutes for a “prop­er biog­ra­phy,” as Tring writes, but they are excel­lent sup­ple­ments for get­ting to know the artists as you lis­ten to Lady Sings the Blues or A Love Supreme, whether for the first time or the mil­lionth.

You can pick up copies of Coltrane and Blues for Lady Day: The Sto­ry of Bil­lie Hol­i­day online.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s Rise in the 1980s Art World Gets Told in a New Graph­ic Nov­el

An Ani­mat­ed John Coltrane Explains His True Rea­son for Being: “I Want to Be a Force for Real Good”

How “America’s First Drug Czar” Waged War Against Bil­lie Hol­i­day and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends

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

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Discover Kōlams, the Traditional Indian Patterns That Combine Art, Mathematics & Magic

Have accom­plished abstract geo­met­ri­cal artists come out of any demo­graph­ic in greater num­bers than from the women of South Asia? Not when even the most demand­ing art-school cur­ricu­lum can’t hope to equal the rig­or of the kōlam, a com­plex kind of line draw­ing prac­ticed by women every­where from India to Sri Lan­ka to Malaysia to Thai­land. Using hum­ble mate­ri­als like chalk and rice flour on the ground in front of their homes, they inter­weave not just lines, shapes, and pat­terns but reli­gious, philo­soph­i­cal, and mag­i­cal motifs as well — and they cre­ate their kōlams anew each and every day.

“Feed­ing A Thou­sand Souls: Kōlam” by Thacher Gallery at the Uni­ver­si­ty of San Fran­cis­co is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

“Tak­ing a clump of rice flour in a bowl (or a coconut shell), the kōlam artist steps onto her fresh­ly washed can­vas: the ground at the entrance of her house, or any patch of floor mark­ing an entry­point,” writes Atlas Obscu­ra’s Rohi­ni Cha­ki.

“Work­ing swift­ly, she takes pinch­es of rice flour and draws geo­met­ric pat­terns: curved lines, labyrinthine loops around red or white dots, hexag­o­nal frac­tals, or flo­ral pat­terns resem­bling the lotus, a sym­bol of the god­dess of pros­per­i­ty, Lak­sh­mi, for whom the kōlam is drawn as a prayer in illus­tra­tion.”

Col­or­ful Kolam — Sivasankaran — Own work

Kōlams are thought to bring pros­per­i­ty, but they also have oth­er uses, such as feed­ing ants, birds, and oth­er pass­ing crea­tures. Cha­ki quotes Uni­ver­si­ty of San Fran­cis­co The­ol­o­gy and Reli­gious Stud­ies pro­fes­sor Vijaya Nagara­jan as describ­ing their ful­fill­ing the Hin­du “karmic oblig­a­tion” to “feed a thou­sand souls.” Kōlams have also become an object of gen­uine inter­est for math­e­mati­cians and com­put­er sci­en­tists due to their recur­sive nature: “They start out small, but can be built out by con­tin­u­ing to enlarge the same sub­pat­tern, cre­at­ing a com­plex over­all design,” Cha­ki writes. “This has fas­ci­nat­ed math­e­mati­cians, because the pat­terns elu­ci­date fun­da­men­tal math­e­mat­i­cal prin­ci­ples.”

“Kolam” by resakse is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0

Like any tra­di­tion­al art form, the kōlam does­n’t have quite as many prac­ti­tion­ers as it used to, much less prac­ti­tion­ers who can meet the stan­dard of mas­tery of com­plet­ing an entire work with­out once stand­ing up or even lift­ing their hand. But even so, the kōlam is hard­ly on the brink of dying out: you can see a few of their cre­ators in action in the video at the top of the post, and the age of social media has offered kōlam cre­ators of any age — and now even the occa­sion­al man — the kind of expo­sure that even the busiest front door could nev­er match. Some who get into kōlams in the 21st cen­tu­ry may want to cre­ate ones that show ever more com­plex­i­ty of geom­e­try and depth of ref­er­ence, but the best among them won’t for­get the mean­ing, accord­ing to Cha­ki, of the for­m’s very name: beau­ty.

Read more about kōlams at Atlas Obscu­ra.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Math­e­mat­ics Made Vis­i­ble: The Extra­or­di­nary Math­e­mat­i­cal Art of M.C. Esch­er

New Iran­ian Video Game, Engare, Explores the Ele­gant Geom­e­try of Islam­ic Art

The Com­plex Geom­e­try of Islam­ic Art & Design: A Short Intro­duc­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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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Paris, New York & Havana Come to Life in Colorized Films Shot Between 1890 and 1931

Cities have long pro­vid­ed a rich envi­ron­ment for pho­tog­ra­phy, at least to pho­tog­ra­phers not inter­est­ed exclu­sive­ly in nature. But only with the advent of the motion pic­ture cam­era did the sub­ject of cities find a pho­to­graph­ic form that tru­ly suit­ed it. Hence the pop­u­lar­i­ty in the 1920s of “city sym­pho­ny” films, each of which sought to cap­ture and present the real life of a dif­fer­ent bustling indus­tri­al metrop­o­lis. But while city sym­phonies cer­tain­ly hold up as works of art, they do make mod­ern-day view­ers won­der: what would all these cap­i­tals look like if I could gaze back­ward in time, look­ing not through the jit­tery, col­or­less medi­um of ear­ly motion-pic­ture film, but with my own eyes?

Youtu­ber Igna­cio López-Fran­cos offers a step clos­er to the answer in the form of these four videos, each of which takes his­tor­i­cal footage of a city, then cor­rects its speed and adds col­or to make it more life­like.

At the top of the post we have “a col­lec­tion of high qual­i­ty remas­tered prints from the dawn of film tak­en in Belle Époque-era Paris, France from 1896–1900.” Shot by the Lumière com­pa­ny (which was found­ed by Auguste and Louis Lumière, inven­tors of the pro­ject­ed motion pic­ture), the sights cap­tured by the film include the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Tui­leries Gar­den, the then-new Eif­fel Tow­er, and the now-soon-to-be-reha­bil­i­tat­ed but then-intact Notre Dame cathe­dral.

The Paris footage was col­orized using DeOld­ify, “a deep learn­ing-based project for col­oriz­ing and restor­ing old images.” So was the footage just above, which shows New York City in 1911 as shot by the Swedish com­pa­ny Sven­s­ka Biografteatern and released pub­licly by the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art. “Pro­duced only three years before the out­break of World War I, the every­day life of the city record­ed here — street traf­fic, peo­ple going about their busi­ness — has a casu­al, almost pas­toral qual­i­ty that dif­fers from the mod­ernist per­spec­tive of lat­er city-sym­pho­ny films,” say the accom­pa­ny­ing notes. “Take note of the sur­pris­ing and remark­ably time­less expres­sion of bore­dom exhib­it­ed by a young girl filmed as she was chauf­feured along Broad­way in the front seat of a con­vert­ible lim­ou­sine.”

Shot twen­ty years lat­er, these clips of New York’s The­ater Dis­trict have also under­gone the DeOld­ify treat­ment, which gets the bright lights (and numer­ous bal­ly­hoo­ing signs) of the big city a lit­tle clos­er to the stun­ning qual­i­ty they must have had on a new arrival in the 1930s. The streets of Havana were seem­ing­ly qui­eter dur­ing that same decade, at least if the col­orized footage below is to be believed. But then, the his­to­ry of tourism in Cuba remem­bers the 1930s as some­thing of a dull stretch after the high-liv­ing 1920s that came before, dur­ing the Unit­ed States’ days of Pro­hi­bi­tion — let alone the even more daiquiri- and moji­to-soaked 1950s that would come lat­er, speak­ing of eras one dreams of see­ing for one­self.

via Twist­ed Sifter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Immac­u­late­ly Restored Film Lets You Revis­it Life in New York City in 1911

The Old­est Known Footage of Lon­don (1890–1920) Fea­tures the City’s Great Land­marks

Time Trav­el Back to Tokyo After World War II, and See the City in Remark­ably High-Qual­i­ty 1940s Video

Berlin Street Scenes Beau­ti­ful­ly Caught on Film (1900–1914)

Pris­tine Footage Lets You Revis­it Life in Paris in the 1890s: Watch Footage Shot by the Lumière Broth­ers

The Old­est Known Footage of Lon­don (1890–1920) Fea­tures the City’s Great Land­marks

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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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A Mesmerizing Trip Across the Brooklyn Bridge: Watch Footage from 1899

It’s hard­ly orig­i­nal advice but bears repeat­ing any­way: no one vis­it­ing New York should leave, if they can help it, before they cross the Brook­lyn Bridge—preferably on foot, if pos­si­ble, and at a rev­er­en­tial pace that lets them soak up all the Neo-goth­ic structure’s sto­ried his­to­ry. Walk from Man­hat­tan to Brook­lyn, then back again, or the oth­er away around, since that’s what the bridge was built for—the com­mutes of a nine­teenth cen­tu­ry bridge-but-not-yet-tun­nel crowd (the first NYC sub­way tun­nel didn’t open until 1908).

In 1899, film­mak­ers from Amer­i­can Muto­scope and Bio­graph elect­ed for a mode of trav­el for a New York cen­tu­ry, putting a cam­era at “the front end of a third rail car run­ning at high speed,” notes a 1902 Amer­i­can Muto­scope cat­a­logue. They accel­er­at­ed the tour to the pace of a mod­ern machine, chos­ing the Man­hat­tan to Brook­lyn route. “The entire trip con­sumes three min­utes of time, dur­ing which abun­dant oppor­tu­ni­ty is giv­en to observe all the struc­tur­al won­ders of the bridge, and far dis­tant riv­er panora­ma below.” (See one-third of the trip just below.)

Film­mak­er Bill Mor­ri­son looped excerpts of those three New York min­utes and extend­ed them to nine in his short, stereo­scop­ic jour­ney “Out­er­bor­ough,” at the top, com­mis­sioned by The Muse­um of Mod­ern Art in 2005 and scored with orig­i­nal music by Todd Reynolds. Tak­ing the 1899 footage as its source mate­r­i­al, the film turns a rapid tran­sit tour into a mov­ing man­dala, a frac­tal rep­e­ti­tion at fright­en­ing­ly faster and faster speeds, of the bridge’s most mechan­i­cal vistas—the views of its loom­ing, vault­ed arch­es and of the steel cage sur­round­ing the tracks.

One of the engi­neer­ing won­ders of the world, the Brook­lyn Bridge opened 136 years ago this month, on May 24th, 1883. The first per­son to walk across it was the woman who over­saw its con­struc­tion for 11 of the 14 years it took to build the bridge. After design­er John Roe­bling died of tetanus, his son Wash­ing­ton took over, only to suc­cumb to the bends dur­ing the sink­ing of the cais­sons and spend the rest of his life bedrid­den. Emi­ly, his wife, “took on the chal­lenge,” notes the blog 6sqft, con­sult­ing with her hus­band while active­ly super­vis­ing the project.

She “stud­ied math­e­mat­ics, the cal­cu­la­tions of cate­nary curves, strengths of mate­ri­als and the intri­ca­cies of cable con­struc­tion.” On its open­ing day, Emi­ly walked the bridge’s 1,595 feet, from Man­hat­tan to Brook­lyn, “her long skirt bil­low­ing in the wind as she showed [the crowd] details of the con­struc­tion,” writes David McCul­lough in The Great Bridge. Six days lat­er, an acci­dent caused a pan­ic and a stam­pede that killed twelve peo­ple. Some months lat­er, P.T. Barnum’s Jum­bo led a parade of 21 ele­phants over the bridge in a stunt to prove its safe­ty.

Barnum’s the­atrics were sur­pris­ing­ly honest—the bridge may have need­ed sell­ing to skep­ti­cal com­muters, but it need­ed no hype. It out­lived most of its con­tem­po­raries, despite the fact that it was built before engi­neers under­stood the aero­dy­nam­ic prop­er­ties of bridges. The Roe­blings designed and built the bridge to be six times stronger than it need­ed to be, but no one could have fore­seen just how durable the struc­ture would prove.

It elicit­ed a fas­ci­na­tion that nev­er waned for its pal­pa­ble strength and beau­ty, yet few­er of its admir­ers chose to doc­u­ment the jour­ney that has tak­en mil­lions of Brook­lynites over the riv­er to low­er Man­hat­tan, by foot, bike, car, and yes, by train. Leave it to that futur­ist for the com­mon man, Thomas Edi­son, to film the trip. See his 1899 footage of Brook­lyn to Man­hat­tan by train just above.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Immac­u­late­ly Restored Film Lets You Revis­it Life in New York City in 1911

An Online Gallery of Over 900,000 Breath­tak­ing Pho­tos of His­toric New York City

New York City: A Social His­to­ry (A Free Online Course from N.Y.U.) 

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

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What is Camp? When the “Good Taste of Bad Taste” Becomes an Aesthetic

Even if you don’t care about high fash­ion or high soci­ety — to the extent that those two things have a place in the cur­rent cul­ture — you prob­a­bly glimpsed some of the cov­er­age of what atten­dees wore to the Met Gala ear­li­er this month. Or per­haps cov­er­age isn’t strong enough a word: what most of the many observers of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art’s Cos­tume Insti­tute annu­al fundrais­ing gala did cer­tain­ly qual­i­fied as analy­sis, and in not a few cas­es tipped over into exe­ge­sis. That enthu­si­asm was matched by the flam­boy­ance of the cloth­ing worn to the event — an event whose co-chairs includ­ed Lady Gaga, a suit­able fig­ure­head indeed for a par­ty that this year took on the theme of camp.

But what exact­ly is camp? You can get an in-depth look at how the world of fash­ion has inter­pret­ed that elab­o­rate and enter­tain­ing but nev­er­the­less elu­sive cul­tur­al con­cept in the Met’s show Camp: Notes on Fash­ion, which runs at the Met Fifth Avenue until ear­ly Sep­tem­ber.

“Susan Son­tag’s 1964 essay Notes on ‘Camp’ pro­vides the frame­work for the exhi­bi­tion,” says the Met’s web site, “which exam­ines how the ele­ments of irony, humor, par­o­dy, pas­tiche, arti­fice, the­atri­cal­i­ty, and exag­ger­a­tion are expressed in fash­ion.” But for a broad­er under­stand­ing of camp, you’ll want to go back to Son­tag’s and read all of the 58 the­ses it nailed to the door of the mid-1960s zeit­geist.

Accord­ing to Son­tag, camp is “not a nat­ur­al mode of sen­si­bil­i­ty” but a “love of the unnat­ur­al: of arti­fice and exag­ger­a­tion.” It offers a “way of see­ing the world as an aes­thet­ic phe­nom­e­non.” Most any­thing man­made can be camp, and Son­tag’s list of exam­ples include Tiffany lamps, “the Brown Der­by restau­rant on Sun­set Boule­vard in L.A.,” Aubrey Beard­s­ley draw­ings, and old Flash Gor­don comics. Ele­vat­ing style “at the expense of con­tent,” camp is suf­fused with “the love of the exag­ger­at­ed, the ‘off,’ of things-being-what-they-are-not.” Camp is not irony, but it “sees every­thing in quo­ta­tion marks.” The essen­tial ele­ment of camp is “seri­ous­ness, a seri­ous­ness that fails.” Camp “asserts that good taste is not sim­ply good taste; that there exists, indeed, a good taste of bad taste.”

“When Son­tag pub­lished ‘Notes on Camp,’ she was fas­ci­nat­ed by peo­ple who could look at cul­tur­al prod­ucts as fun and iron­ic,” says Son­tag biog­ra­ph­er Ben­jamin Moser in a recent Inter­view mag­a­zine sur­vey of the sub­ject. And though Son­tag’s essay remains the defin­i­tive state­ment on camp, not every­one has agreed on exact­ly what counts and does not count as camp in the 55 years since its pub­li­ca­tion in the Par­ti­san Review. “Camp to me means over-the-top humor, usu­al­ly cou­pled with big dos­es of glam­our,” says fash­ion design­er Jere­my Scott in the same Inter­view arti­cle. “To be inter­est­ing, camp has to have some kind of polit­i­cal con­scious­ness and self-aware­ness about what it’s doing,” says film­mak­er Bruce Labruce, chal­leng­ing Son­tag’s descrip­tion of camp as apo­lit­i­cal.

And what will become of camp in the all-dig­i­tiz­ing 21st cen­tu­ry, when many eras increas­ing­ly coex­ist on the same cul­ture plane? Our time “has can­ni­bal­ized camp,” says cul­tur­al his­to­ry pro­fes­sor Fabio Cle­to, “but to say that it’s no longer camp because its aes­thet­ics have gone main­stream is an over­ly sim­plis­tic read­ing. Camp has always been mourn­ing its own death.” Even so, some of cam­p’s most high-pro­file cham­pi­ons have cast doubt on its via­bil­i­ty. The phrase “good taste of bad taste” brings no fig­ure to mind more quick­ly than Pink Flamin­gos and Hair­spray direc­tor John Waters (who speaks on the ori­gin of his good taste in bad taste in the Big Think video above). But even he speaks pes­simisti­cal­ly to Inter­view about cam­p’s future: “Camp? Noth­ing is so bad it’s good now that we have Trump as pres­i­dent. He even ruined that.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why So Many Peo­ple Adore The Room, the Worst Movie Ever Made? A Video Explain­er

David Fos­ter Wal­lace on What’s Wrong with Post­mod­ernism: A Video Essay

The Star Wars Hol­i­day Spe­cial (1978): It’s Oh So Kitsch

Susan Sontag’s 50 Favorite Films (and Her Own Cin­e­mat­ic Cre­ations)

John Waters Talks About His Books and Role Mod­els in a Whim­si­cal Ani­mat­ed Video

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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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Why the World’s Best Mathematicians Are Hoarding Japanese Chalk

Here’s the lat­est from Great Big Sto­ry: “Once upon a time, not long ago, the math world fell in love … with a chalk. But not just any chalk! This was Hagoro­mo: a Japan­ese brand so smooth, so per­fect that some won­dered if it was made from the tears of angels. Pen­cils down, please, as we tell the tale of a writ­ing imple­ment so irre­place­able, pro­fes­sors stock­piled it.”

Head over to Ama­zon and try to buy it, and all you get is: “Cur­rent­ly unavail­able. We don’t know when or if this item will be back in stock.” Indeed, they’ve stock­piled it all.

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:

Stephen Hawking’s Lec­tures on Black Holes Now Ful­ly Ani­mat­ed with Chalk­board Illus­tra­tions

The Map of Math­e­mat­ics: Ani­ma­tion Shows How All the Dif­fer­ent Fields in Math Fit Togeth­er

Free Online Math Cours­es

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Meanwhile, Inside the Box, Schrodinger’s Cat Plans Its Revenge…

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Watch Six New Short Alien Films: Created to Celebrate the 40th Anniversary of Ridley Scott’s Film

Alien came out 40 years ago this month, not that its age shows in the least. The ter­ror of the ever-dimin­ish­ing crew of the Nos­tro­mo trapped on their ship with the mer­ci­less extrater­res­tri­al mon­ster of the title remains as vis­cer­al as it was in 1979, and the dank, pre-dig­i­tal con­fines of its set­ting have tak­en on a retro pati­na that suc­ces­sive gen­er­a­tions of film­mak­ers strug­gle to recre­ate for them­selves.

Now, in a series of brand new short films set in the Alien uni­verse, you can see how six young film­mak­ers pay trib­ute to Rid­ley Scot­t’s orig­i­nal film and its cin­e­mat­ic lega­cy, each in their own way. These shorts come as the fruits of an ini­tia­tive launched by 20th Cen­tu­ry Fox to mark 40 years of Alien.

“Devel­oped by emerg­ing film­mak­ers select­ed from 550 sub­mis­sions on the Ton­gal plat­form,” writes Col­lid­er’s Dave Trum­bore, “the anniver­sary ini­tia­tive focused on find­ing the biggest fans of the Alien fran­chise to cre­ate new, thrilling sto­ries for the Alien fan­dom.”

These sto­ries include many of the ele­ments that fan­dom has come to expect — iso­lat­ed and endan­gered space­far­ers, bleak colonies on dis­tant plan­ets, tough women, fear­some crea­tures lurk­ing in the dark­ness, escape pods, chest-burst­ing — as well a few it has­n’t. Indiewire’s Michael Nor­dine high­lights Noah Miller’s Alone, “which fol­lows a woman named Hope who’s hurtling through space on her lone­some. She even­tu­al­ly gains access to a restrict­ed part of her ship after a sys­tem mal­func­tion, and you can prob­a­bly guess what’s on the oth­er side of that sealed-off door.” But you cer­tain­ly won’t be able to guess what hap­pens next.

Nor­dine also has praise for the pro­tag­o­nist of the Spears Sis­ters’ Ore: “A min­er about to wel­come her lat­est grand­child, she puts her­self in harm’s way rather than risk let­ting the lat­est alien spec­i­men make it out of the mine and threat­en the colony (and, more to the point, her fam­i­ly) above. That’s a sim­ple, famil­iar tack, but it’s well told — some­thing true of most Alien sto­ries.”  Col­lec­tive­ly, he writes, these shorts “empha­size what makes Alien such an endur­ing fran­chise: its indus­tri­al, work­ing-class envi­rons full of clunky green-screen com­put­ers and dis­grun­tled labor­ers; its bleak view of the cor­po­rate bureau­crats who enable the xenomorphs’ car­nage by try­ing to con­trol them and writ­ing off their under­lings as col­lat­er­al dam­age; and, of course, its hero­ines.”

Tak­ing pitch­es from fans through a crowd­sourc­ing plat­form and dis­trib­ut­ing the result­ing films on Youtube may seem like an almost par­o­d­i­cal­ly 21st-cen­tu­ry way of extend­ing a fran­chise that began in the 1970s, but test­ing out dif­fer­ent film­mak­ers’ visions has long been a part of the greater Alien project: the sequels direct­ed in the 1980s and 90s by James Cameron, David Finch­er, and Jean-Pierre Jeunet hint­ed at the great vari­ety of pos­si­bil­i­ties laid down by Scot­t’s orig­i­nal, the cin­e­mat­ic stan­dard-bear­er for the con­test of wills between man and alien — or rather, woman and alien.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

High School Kids Stage Alien: The Play and You Can Now Watch It Online

Sigour­ney Weaver Stars in a New Exper­i­men­tal Sci-Fi Film: Watch “Rak­ka” Free Online

42 Hours of Ambi­ent Sounds from Blade Run­ner, Alien, Star Trek and Doc­tor Who Will Help You Relax & Sleep

Three Blade Run­ner Pre­quels: Watch Them Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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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Hear Raymond Carver’s Story “Fat” Read by Anne Enright

“Fat” is the first sto­ry in Ray­mond Carver’s 1976 col­lec­tion Will You Please Be Qui­et Please?. Thanks to The Guardian, you can hear the sto­ry read above by Irish author Anne Enright.

Find the sto­ry list­ed in our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

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!

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Hear Five JG Ballard Stories Presented as Radio Dramas

Image by Thier­ry Erhmann via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

These episodes of the Cana­di­an radio dra­ma series Van­ish­ing Point were adapt­ed from the short sto­ries of British writer J.G. Bal­lard (1930–2009). “The writ­ers com­mis­sioned to cre­ate the dra­mas includ­ed Lawrence Rus­sell (A Ques­tion of Re-entry, The Dead Astro­naut), Mar­garet Hollingsworth (The Cloud Sculp­tors of Coral D), Bri­an Wade (Low Fly­ing Air­craft, News From The Sun), Paul Mil­liken (Hav­ing A Won­der­ful Time), and James R. Wallen (Escape­ment). Laud­ed at the time, these for­got­ten gems explore the dra­mat­ic aspects of JGB’s ear­ly short sto­ries with­in an audi­to­ry medi­um.” Stream them below, and find them list­ed in our col­lec­tion 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free:

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!

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