How Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” Video Changed Pop Culture Forever: Revisit the 13-Minute Short Film Directed by John Landis

Michael Jack­son’s Thriller, the album, had spent the pre­vi­ous year at the top of the charts before the John Lan­dis-direct­ed video for the title track debuted in 1983. Two pre­vi­ous videos, for mas­sive hits “Bil­lie Jean” and “Beat It,” kept him on con­stant rota­tion on the fledg­ling MTV and oth­er net­works. It seemed that the “naïve, preter­nat­u­ral­ly gift­ed 25-year-old” couldn’t get any more inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, but then, as Nan­cy Grif­fin writes at Van­i­ty Fair, “it was the ‘Thriller’ video that pushed Jack­son over the top, con­sol­i­dat­ing his posi­tion as the King of Pop.”

His naïveté was matched by a shrewd, cal­cu­lat­ing ambi­tion, and the sto­ry of the “Thriller” video high­lights both. After see­ing An Amer­i­can Were­wolf in Lon­don, he chose Lan­dis to make a video that would goose Thriller’s sales as they start­ed to fall. Lan­dis, the pro­fane, irrev­er­ent direc­tor of The Blues Broth­ers and Ani­mal House, may have seemed an odd choice for the whole­some pop star, who pref­aced his zom­bie spoof with a pious dis­claimer about his “strong per­son­al con­vic­tions.” (Short­ly before the video’s release, Jack­son, under pres­sure from the Jeho­vah’s Wit­ness­es, asked Lan­dis to destroy it.)

It turns out, how­ev­er, that when Jack­son called Lan­dis, he hadn’t seen any of the director’s oth­er films (and Lan­dis hadn’t heard the song). It was Lan­dis who sug­gest­ed that the video be turned into a 14-minute short film, a choice that set the bar high for the form ever since. As he told Billboard’s John Bran­ca on the video’s 35th anniver­sary, just days ago:

Music videos at that time were always just nee­dle drop. Some were pret­ty good, but most were not, and they were com­mer­cials. Michael’s such a huge star that I said, “Maybe I can bring back the the­atri­cal short.” I pitched him the idea, and he total­ly went for it. Michael was extreme­ly enthu­si­as­tic because he want­ed to make movies.

Before “Thriller” even aired, it was a high-pro­file event. “Mar­lon Bran­do, Fred Astaire, Rock Hud­son and Jack­ie Kennedy Onas­sis all turned up on set,” notes Phil Heb­bleth­waite, “and Eddie Mur­phy, Prince and Diana Ross were spot­ted at the pri­vate pre­mier.” After the video pre­miered on MTV at mid­night on Decem­ber 2nd, it sealed the network’s “rep­u­ta­tion as a new cul­tur­al force; dis­solved racial bar­ri­ers in the station’s treat­ment of music,” and “helped cre­ate a mar­ket for VHS rentals and sales.”

“Thriller” turned the mak­ing of music videos into a “prop­er indus­try,” says Bri­an Grant, the British direc­tor who made videos for Tina Turner’s “Pri­vate Dancer” and Whit­ney Houston’s “I Wan­na Dance with Some­body.” It “launched a dance craze,” Karen Bliss writes at Bill­board, and “a red-jack­et fash­ion favorite.” It won three MTV Awards, two Amer­i­can Music Awards, and a Gram­my. In 2009, it became the first music video induct­ed into the Library of Congress’s Nation­al Film Reg­istry, des­ig­nat­ed as a nation­al trea­sure.

But as we look back on unprece­dent­ed his­toric impact “Thriller” had on pop cul­ture, we must also look at its con­tin­ued impact in the present. It remains the most pop­u­lar music video of all time. “’Thriller’ is thriv­ing on YouTube,” Grif­fin writes. Celebri­ties and ordi­nary peo­ple, pro­fes­sion­al and ama­teur dance troops, Fil­ipino pris­on­ers and Nor­we­gian sol­diers, rou­tine­ly per­form its dance moves for the cam­era all over the world. An entire genre of how-to videos teach view­ers how to do the “Thriller” dance. This past Sep­tem­ber, it became the first music video released in IMAX 3D.

The video received the doc­u­men­tary treat­ment in Jer­ry Kramer’s Mak­ing Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which pre­miered at the Venice Film Fes­ti­val last year. Lan­dis tells Bran­ca one sto­ry that did not make it into Kramer’s movie. After Quin­cy Jones refused him per­mis­sion to remix the song, he and Jack­son walked into the stu­dio at night, took the tapes, dupli­cat­ed them and returned them. The song that appears in the video “is very dif­fer­ent than the record,” says Lan­dis. “I only used a third of the lyrics. It’s a 3‑minute song; in the film, it plays for 11 min­utes.” Jones and engi­neer Bruce Swe­di­en didn’t even notice, says the direc­tor, they were so enthralled with what they saw onscreen.

What con­tin­ues to dri­ve “Thriller’s” pop­u­lar­i­ty? The com­bi­na­tion of good clean fun and per­fect­ly-pitched camp horror—Vincent Price voiceover and all? The vir­tu­oso dance moves, zom­bie chore­og­ra­phy, and irre­sistibly sleek 80s fash­ions? All of the above, of course, and also some inde­fin­able sum of all these parts, a per­fect com­bi­na­tion of cin­e­mat­ic depth and shiny pop cul­ture sur­faces that set the bench­mark for the for­mat for three-and-a-half decades.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Michael Jack­son Wrote a Song: A Close Look at How the King of Pop Craft­ed “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough”

The Ori­gins of Michael Jackson’s Moon­walk: Vin­tage Footage of Cab Cal­loway, Sam­my Davis Jr., Fred Astaire & More

James Hill Plays Michael Jackson’s “Bil­lie Jean” on the Ukulele: Watch One Musi­cian Become a Com­plete Band

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

Why Should We Read Kurt Vonnegut? An Animated Video Makes the Case

Beneath Kurt Vonnegut’s grim, absur­dist humor beat the heart of a human­ist, but not, by any stretch, an opti­mist. Von­negut looked bale­ful­ly at every project intend­ed to improve the sor­ry state of human affairs. In Play­er Piano, for exam­ple, he imag­ines a future very much like that envi­sioned for us by our con­tem­po­rary tech­no­crat­ic elite: near­ly all work has been auto­mat­ed and the mass of unem­ployed are giv­en a mod­est stipend for their liv­ing and fun­neled into what anthro­pol­o­gist David Grae­ber might call “bull­shit jobs.”

“Final­ly,” Ed O’Loughlin writes at The Irish Times, “Vonnegut’s non-tech pro­les rise up against the machines that have per­verse­ly enslaved them, smash­ing all that they can find. For Von­negut, ever the pes­simist, this is not a hap­py end­ing; the rev­o­lu­tion runs out of steam, col­laps­es inter­nal­ly, and the remain­ing rebels go hap­pi­ly to work in the wreck­age of their strug­gle, eager­ly repair­ing the machines that they destroyed them­selves.” This bleak satire can seem almost upbeat next to the fatal­ism of his most famous nov­el, Slaugh­ter­house-Five.

In this book, Von­negut uses an alien race called the Tralfamado­ri­ans to illus­trate the idea that “all moments—past, present, and future—always have exist­ed… always will exist,” as the Mia Naca­mul­li-script­ed TED-Ed ani­ma­tion above explains. The aliens keep the novel’s hero, Bil­ly Pil­grim, in a human zoo, where they patient­ly explain to him the inevitabil­i­ty of all things, includ­ing the bomb­ing of Dres­den, an event Von­negut per­son­al­ly sur­vived, “only to be sent into the ruins as prison labor,” notes Paul Har­ris at The Guardian, “in order to col­lect and burn the corpses.”

To say that Von­negut, who once worked as a press writer for Gen­er­al Elec­tric, was skep­ti­cal of sci­en­tif­ic plans for man­ag­ing nature, human or oth­er­wise, would be a major under­state­ment. As he watched GE sci­en­tists embark on a project for con­trol­ling the weath­er (while the company’s “mil­i­tary col­lab­o­ra­tors have more aggres­sive plans in mind”), Von­negut began to demand “an answer to one of science’s great­est eth­i­cal ques­tions,” writes WNYC: “are sci­en­tists respon­si­ble for the pur­suit of knowl­edge alone, or are they also respon­si­ble for the con­se­quences of that knowl­edge?”

The ques­tion becomes even more com­pli­cat­ed if we accept the premise that the future is fore­or­dained, but with­out the inter­ven­tion of all-see­ing aliens, there is no reli­able way for us to pre­dict it. Vonnegut’s expe­ri­ences at GE formed the basis of his 1963 nov­el Cat’s Cra­dle, in which a mil­i­tary tech­nol­o­gy called Ice-nine ends up freez­ing all of the world’s oceans and bring­ing on cat­a­clysmic storms. Cat’s Cra­dle’s char­ac­ters sur­vive by adopt­ing a reli­gion in which they tell them­selves and oth­ers delib­er­ate lies, and by so doing, invent a kind of mean­ing in the midst of hope­less­ness.

Von­negut stressed the impor­tance of con­tin­gency, of “grow­ing where you’re plant­ed,” so to speak. The best options for his char­ac­ters involve car­ing for the peo­ple who just hap­pen to be around. “We are here to help each oth­er through this thing,” he wrote, “what­ev­er it is.” That last phrase is not an eva­sion; the com­plex­i­ties of the uni­verse are too much for humans to grasp, Von­negut thought. Our attempts to cre­ate sta­ble truths and certainties—whether through abstract in-group iden­ti­ties or grand tech­no­log­i­cal designs—seem bound to cause expo­nen­tial­ly more suf­fer­ing than they solve.

Von­negut may have achieved far more acclaim in his life­time than his con­tem­po­rary Philip K. Dick, but he felt sim­i­lar­ly neglect­ed by the “lit­er­ary estab­lish­ment,” Har­ris writes. “They inter­pret­ed his sim­plis­tic style, love of sci­ence fic­tion and Mid­west­ern val­ues as being beneath seri­ous study.” (See, for exam­ple the 1969 New York Times review of Slaugh­ter­house-Five.) But per­haps even more than the peren­ni­al­ly rel­e­vant Dick, Vonnegut’s work speaks to us of our cur­rent predica­ment, and offers, if not opti­mism, at least a very lim­it­ed form of hope, in our capac­i­ty to “help each through this thing,” what­ev­er it is.

If you want to ful­ly immerse your­self in Von­negut’s body of work, the Library of Amer­i­ca has cre­at­ed a box set that con­tains all 14 nov­els plus a selec­tion of the best of his sto­ries.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kurt Von­negut Offers 8 Tips on How to Write Good Short Sto­ries (and Amus­ing­ly Graphs the Shapes Those Sto­ries Can Take)

Kurt Von­negut Maps Out the Uni­ver­sal Shapes of Our Favorite Sto­ries

Kurt Von­negut Cre­ates a Report Card for His Nov­els, Rank­ing Them From A+ to D

Hear Kurt Von­negut Read Slaugh­ter­house-Five, Cat’s Cra­dle & Oth­er Nov­els

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

Watch Classic Performances by Peter Green (RIP), Founder of Fleetwood Mac & the Only British Blues Guitarist Who Gave B.B. King “the Cold Sweats”

Update: Accord­ing to the BBC, Peter Green died peace­ful­ly in his sleep this week­end, at the age of 73.

“Of all the gui­tar giants to emerge from the British blues boom,” writes Stu­art Pen­ny at Emp­ty Mir­ror, “Peter Green was per­haps the most nat­u­ral­ly gift­ed.” After replac­ing Eric Clap­ton in John May­all & the Blues­break­ers (and earn­ing the nick­name “The Green God”), the gui­tarist formed his own band, orig­i­nal­ly giv­en the unwieldy name “Peter Green’s Fleet­wood Mac fea­tur­ing Jere­my Spencer.” Soon short­ened to Fleet­wood Mac, the band record­ed their debut, epony­mous album in 1968, and went on in the fol­low­ing year to spend “more weeks on the UK sin­gles charts than the Bea­t­les, the first time any­one had achieved that feat since 1963.”

Sad­ly, Green suc­cumbed to what Pen­ny describes as “the ear­ly onset of men­tal ill­ness thought to be the result of an unso­licit­ed LSD expe­ri­ence in Munich, Ger­many.” He left his band and joined the ranks of oth­er wild­ly tal­ent­ed 60s musi­cians like Syd Bar­rett, Roky Erick­son, and Moby Grape’s Skip Spence whose careers were cut short by seri­ous men­tal health issues appar­ent­ly brought on, or wors­ened, by seri­ous drug use.

Green began to be for­got­ten, espe­cial­ly as his lega­cy with Fleet­wood Mac was over­shad­owed by albums like the leg­endary Rumours and the band’s sec­ond self-titled record.

1975’s Fleet­wood Mac was like a reboot of the band after the intro­duc­tion of Ste­vie Nicks and Lind­sey Buck­ing­ham, who resist­ed play­ing any of the old mate­r­i­al. Fans may get to hear those old songs live again—Fleetwood Mac is back and tour­ing, and they’ve even reignit­ed old feuds by fir­ing Buck­ing­ham (he’s suing, of course). The move gives them the free­dom draw from their back cat­a­log again. Nicks remarked in May, “we’re gonna lock in to the his­to­ry of Fleet­wood Mac, which we were nev­er able to do since 1975, because cer­tain peo­ple in the band weren’t real­ly inter­est­ed in doing that.”

Green won’t take part in the band’s revis­it­ing of old mate­r­i­al. But he deserves full cred­it for the band’s suc­cess, despite its many suc­cess­ful rein­ven­tions, as Mick Fleet­wood told the Irish Times last year.

For his lega­cy I think it’s impor­tant we remem­ber that Fleet­wood Mac was, first and fore­most, a blues band. We all played and loved blues. And long after Peter left, we went to Chess Records in Chica­go where we record­ed with Willie Dixon and Bud­dy Guy. Can you imag­ine how that made us feel? Such an incred­i­ble expe­ri­ence could not have hap­pened with­out Peter because, even though he wasn’t with us, the rea­son there’s a Fleet­wood Mac at all is because of him.

Green made four albums with the band before depart­ing in 1970 and scored a hit with the sin­gle “Black Mag­ic Woman,” before Car­los San­tana made the song his own. Like Bar­rett, Spence, and Erick­son, he con­tin­ued mak­ing music after leav­ing his famous band, record­ing in the ear­ly 70s with for­mer band­mate John May­all. In 1972, he did a ses­sion with BB King, who called him the only British blues gui­tarist “who gave me the cold sweats.” Vot­ed the third great­est gui­tarist of all time by Mojo (after Hen­drix and Steve Crop­per), Green is still revered by diehard fans and gui­tar play­ers of all kinds, even if his strict­ly blues-rock ver­sion of Fleet­wood Mac nev­er had as wide an appeal as the pop jug­ger­naut the band lat­er became.

But the low pro­file was part of Green’s per­son­al­i­ty. He has always bris­tled at the acclaim heaped on his play­ing, telling The Tele­graph in 1996 “If I was a gui­tar hero, then what does that make my mas­ters and teach­ers?” As Mick Fleet­wood puts it, “Peter could have been the stereo­typ­i­cal gui­tar play­er and con­trol freak. But that was­n’t his style. He named the band after the bass play­er and drum­mer, for Christ’s sake.” Green’s col­lab­o­ra­tive spir­it and self-effac­ing man­ner may be rare qual­i­ties for a rock star, but he nev­er seemed to aspire to that role. Nonethe­less, he left his mark, as All­mu­sic’s Thom Jurek writes, as “the ter­mi­nal­ly shy skin­ny kid who could rain down fire from the heav­ens and draw water from the wells of hell on a gui­tar.”

See and hear some of Green’s clas­sic per­for­mances with Fleet­wood Mac in the videos here (some with out-of-sync audio), includ­ing “Black Mag­ic Woman” at the top. And just above, see a much mel­low­er Green in a much more recent per­for­mance play­ing “Alba­tross” with an acoustic ensem­ble.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Fleet­wood Mac Makes A Song: A Video Essay Explor­ing the “Son­ic Paint­ings” on the Clas­sic Album, Rumours

Ste­vie Nicks “Shows Us How to Kick Ass in High-Heeled Boots” in a 1983 Women’s Self Defense Man­u­al

23-Year-Old Eric Clap­ton Demon­strates the Ele­ments of His Gui­tar Sound (1968)

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

Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” Movingly Performed by the Six-String Soldiers, of The United States Army Field Band

Since 1946, The Unit­ed States Army Field Band has trav­eled through­out the world, per­form­ing at pub­lic con­certs, school assem­blies, edu­ca­tion­al out­reach pro­grams, and oth­er venues. Above you can watch one of the band’s per­form­ing units–the Six-String Sol­diers–play an acoustic ver­sion of Pink Floy­d’s “Wish You Were Here.” Because we all know some­one we sure­ly miss. To explore more of their work, see their cov­er ver­sions of The All­man Broth­ers’ “Ram­blin’ Man” and The Bea­t­les’ “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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!

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Pink Floyd’s 1975 Com­ic Book Pro­gram for The Dark Side of the Moon Tour

How Pink Floyd’s “Com­fort­ably Numb” Was Born From an Argu­ment Between Roger Waters & David Gilmour

Under­stand­ing Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, Their Trib­ute to Depart­ed Band­mate Syd Bar­rett

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Behold the Original Deck of Oblique Strategies Cards, Handwritten by Brian Eno Himself

“Hon­or thy error as a hid­den inten­tion.” “Work at a dif­fer­ent speed.” “Try fak­ing it!” These sug­ges­tions will sound famil­iar to every­one who’s ever flipped through the deck of cards known as Oblique Strate­gies. You can now do that dig­i­tal­ly, of course, but Oblique Strate­gies remains an essen­tial­ly phys­i­cal expe­ri­ence, one whose shuf­fling and draw­ing reminds the user that they’re draw­ing from the well of chance for a way to break them through a cre­ative impasse or just rethink part of a project. It also began as thor­ough­ly a phys­i­cal expe­ri­ence, invent­ed by pro­duc­er-artist-ambi­ent musi­cian Bri­an Eno and painter Peter Schmidt, who first came up with them in the pre-dig­i­tal days of 1974.

Back then, writes Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Mar­tin Schnei­der, the con­cept for Eno and Schmidt’s “set of 115 cards with ellip­ti­cal imper­a­tives designed to spark in the user cre­ative con­nec­tions unob­tain­able through reg­u­lar modes of work” emerged as a form of “rad­i­cal inter­ven­tion with roots in East­ern phi­los­o­phy.”

Hav­ing first come on the mar­ket in the 1970s, Oblique Strate­gies has gone through sev­er­al dif­fer­ent pro­duc­tion runs, usu­al­ly pack­aged in hand­some box­es with the deck­’s name embla­zoned in gold. “The first four edi­tions are out of print and collector’s items (and priced to match). The 5th edi­tion is cur­rent­ly avail­able from Eno’s web­site for £30 (about $50). In 2013 a lim­it­ed 6th edi­tion of 500 num­bered sets were avail­able but quick­ly sold out.” At this moment, you can find one import­ed set on Ama­zon.

But it seems that the very first set of Oblique Strate­gies, fea­tured in Schnei­der’s post, is unavail­able at any price. Writ­ten in Eno’s own hand, some­times cur­sive and some­times block, on cards with a wood­en-look­ing tex­ture and with­out the round­ed cor­ners that char­ac­ter­ize the com­mer­cial ver­sion, these first Oblique Strate­gies include “Don’t be fright­ened to dis­play your tal­ents,” “If a thing can be said, it can be said sim­ply,” and “Do we need holes?” Those who have fol­lowed Eno’s work will sure­ly appre­ci­ate in par­tic­u­lar the card that says to “use non-musi­cians,” “non-musi­cian” being one of Eno’s pre­ferred titles for him­self, espe­cial­ly when work­ing in a musi­cal capac­i­ty. The total pack­age of Oblique Strate­gies may have grown more refined over the years, but this hand­made first set does have a cer­tain imme­di­a­cy, and also, in a sense, the impri­matur of his­to­ry: after all, they worked for Bri­an Eno.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies” Deck of Cards (1975)

How Jim Jar­musch Gets Cre­ative Ideas from William S. Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Method and Bri­an Eno’s Oblique Strate­gies

Mar­shall McLuhan’s 1969 Deck of Cards, Designed For Out-of-the-Box Think­ing

Bri­an Eno on Cre­at­ing Music and Art As Imag­i­nary Land­scapes (1989)

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.

Anatomy of a Fake: Forgery Experts Reveal 5 Ways To Spot a Fake Painting by Jackson Pollock (or Any Other Artist)

In the old days, deter­min­ing an art forgery was most­ly a mat­ter of nar­ra­tive deduc­tion, a la Sher­lock Holmes.

Thi­a­go Piwowar­czyk and Jef­frey Tay­lor, founders of New York Art Foren­sics, employ such tech­niques to estab­lish prove­nance, trac­ing the chain of own­er­ship of any giv­en work back to its orig­i­nal sale by research­ing cat­a­logues, title trans­fers, and cor­re­spon­dence.

But they also bring a num­ber of high tech tools to the table, to fur­ther prove—or in the case of the alleged Jack­son Pol­lock drip paint­ing above, disprove—a work’s authen­tic­i­ty.

In the WIRED video above, these experts, whose pedi­gree includes degrees in Chem­istry, Foren­sic Sci­ence, and Com­par­a­tive His­to­ry, a Visu­al Arts Man­age­ment text­book, and two Frick Col­lec­tion Fel­low­ships, break the sleuthing process down to five crit­i­cal steps:

1. Estab­lish prove­nance

Obso­lete tech­nol­o­gy has a place in the process too, in the form of a high­ly unre­li­able fax, alleged­ly sent in 1997. It pur­ports to be a pho­to­copy of a type­writ­ten let­ter from 1970, writ­ten by a gallery own­er who talked one of the artist’s for­mer girl­friends into part­ing with a num­ber of works after his death.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly for the painting’s cur­rent own­er, Piwowar­czyk and Tay­lor could find no proof that the gallery or its own­er ever exist­ed. The let­ter also botch­es Pollock’s death date and odd­ly, there’s a blank where the sender’s num­ber would nor­mal­ly be.

Due dili­gence reveals noth­ing resem­bling this paint­ing in the cat­a­logue raison­né of Pollock’s work.

2. Close up visu­al analy­sis

This can be accom­plished with tools as sim­ple as the flash­light and plas­tic caliper Tay­lor uses to exam­ine the sta­ple holes found at reg­u­lar inter­vals along the unsigned can­vas’ edges. In the 1940s, artists start­ed grav­i­tat­ing toward sta­ples over tacks as a method for secur­ing their can­vas­es to stretch­er bars, but would Pol­lock have done so? Like­ly not, to hear him tell it:

I hard­ly ever stretch my can­vas before paint­ing. I pre­fer to tack the unstretched can­vas to the hard wall or the floor. I need the resis­tance of a hard sur­face.

Piwowar­czyk and Tay­lor draw on their oth­er sens­es, too, when per­form­ing this in-depth visu­al inspec­tion. A deep sniff reveals that teabags were used to dis­col­or the can­vas, in hope of mak­ing it appear old­er than it is.

3. Pho­tog­ra­phy with a mul­ti­spec­tral imag­ing cam­era 

This camera’s abil­i­ty to see the Ultra-Vio­let spec­trum allows our foren­sic experts to spot restora­tions, under­draw­ing, and pen­ti­men­ti. Here, the cam­era revealed an under­ly­ing paint­ing whose geo­met­ric lay­out is unchar­ac­ter­is­tic of Pol­lock, as well as a sus­pi­cious­ly ama­teur­ish patch job on the back of the can­vas, anoth­er attempt to make the paint­ing appear old­er than it is.

4. Exam­i­na­tion with an X‑ray flu­o­res­cence spec­trom­e­ter

It looks like a cool Star Wars prop, and allows the exam­in­ers to iden­ti­fy ele­ments in the pig­ment. Here, our “Pol­lock” gets a pass. There’s tita­ni­um (as in Tita­ni­um White) in evi­dence, but that’s per­mis­si­ble for any­thing paint­ed from the 30s onward.

5. Mol­e­c­u­lar Imag­ing and Analy­sis by Raman Spec­troscopy

The forg­er might have got­ten away with it if it weren’t for those med­dling kids and their Raman Spec­tro­scope! The minus­cule sam­ples of paint Piwowar­czyk har­vests from the can­vas reveal all sorts of organ­ic debris that have no place in a Pol­lock, such as dry­wall dust and an acrylic that didn’t come into use ‘til the 1960s.

In con­clu­sion, exer­cise cau­tion and con­sult the experts before pur­chas­ing a high val­ue drip paint­ing this hol­i­day sea­son! Accord­ing to Piwowar­czyk, the fakes—over 100 and pre­sum­ably still counting—outstrip the num­ber of drip paint­ings Pol­lock cre­at­ed through­out his life­time.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How an Art Con­ser­va­tor Com­plete­ly Restores a Dam­aged Paint­ing: A Short, Med­i­ta­tive Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Restor­ing a 400-Year-Old Paint­ing: A Five-Minute Primer

How a Book Thief Forged a Rare Edi­tion of Galileo’s Sci­en­tif­ic Work, and Almost Pulled it Off

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC from Decem­ber 6 — 20 for the 10th anniver­sary pro­duc­tion of Greg Kotis’ apoc­a­lyp­tic hol­i­day tale, The Truth About San­ta, and the next month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Thoughtful Note That George H.W. Bush Left on Bill Clinton’s Desk Before Leaving the White House (1993)

With the pass­ing of George H.W. Bush, Bill Clin­ton reflect­ed on the life and lega­cy of his polit­i­cal pre­de­ces­sor, and par­tic­u­lar­ly the thought­ful note that Bush 41 left on his desk, right before leav­ing the White House. Dat­ed Jan­u­ary 20, 1993, it read:

Dear Bill,

When I walked into this office just now I felt the same sense of won­der and respect that I felt four years ago. I know you will feel that, too.

I wish you great hap­pi­ness here. I nev­er felt the lone­li­ness some Pres­i­dents have described.

There will be very tough times, made even more dif­fi­cult by crit­i­cism you may not think is fair. I’m not a very good one to give advice; but just don’t let the crit­ics dis­cour­age you or push you off course.

You will be our Pres­i­dent when you read this note. I wish you well. I wish your fam­i­ly well.

Your suc­cess now is our country’s suc­cess. I am root­ing hard for you.

Good luck—

George

It’s hard not to see this let­ter as a rel­ic of an irre­triev­able age in Amer­i­can pol­i­tics. But Clin­ton won’t quite buy that. He writes today in the Wash­ing­ton Post: “Giv­en what pol­i­tics looks like in Amer­i­ca and around the world today, it’s easy to sigh and say George H.W. Bush belonged to an era that is gone and nev­er com­ing back — where our oppo­nents are not our ene­mies, where we are open to dif­fer­ent ideas and chang­ing our minds, where facts mat­ter and where our devo­tion to our children’s future leads to hon­est com­pro­mise and shared progress. I know what he would say: ‘Non­sense. It’s your duty to get that Amer­i­ca back.’ ” Soon enough, after enough sturm and drang, the major­i­ty of Amer­i­cans (Elec­toral Col­lege includ­ed) may be ready to sign up for that.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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:

The 2,000+ Films Watched by Pres­i­dents Nixon, Carter & Rea­gan in the White House

Gonzo Illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man Draws the Amer­i­can Pres­i­dents, from Nixon to Trump

Barack Oba­ma Shares a List of Enlight­en­ing Books Worth Read­ing

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When South Africa Banned Pink Floyd’s The Wall After Students Chanted “We Don’t Need No Education” to Protest the Apartheid School System (1980)

When Apartheid states get the bless­ing of pow­er­ful nations, lob­bies, and cor­po­ra­tions, they seem to feel empow­ered to do what­ev­er they want. Such was the case, for a time, in South Africa, the coun­try that coined the term when it put its ver­sion of racial seg­re­ga­tion in place in 1948. The Apartheid sys­tem final­ly col­lapsed in 1991, decades after its coun­ter­part in the U.S.—its undo­ing the accu­mu­lat­ed weight of glob­al con­dem­na­tion, UN sanc­tion, boy­cotts, and grow­ing pres­sure from cit­i­zens in wealthy coun­tries.

Of course, cen­tral to Apartheid’s demise were the out­cries and actions of celebri­ty musi­cians. One such celebri­ty, Roger Waters, hasn’t stopped using his fame to lob­by for change, a char­ac­ter­is­tic that can some­times make him seem sanc­ti­mo­nious, but which also gave his most com­pelling Pink Floyd songs an urgency and bite that holds many decades lat­er, even though the cir­cum­stances are much changed (or not). Lines like “we don’t need no thought con­trol” have as much cur­ren­cy now as they did forty years ago.

No doubt, some of the most stri­dent, per­son­al, and pow­er­ful music Waters wrote for the band comes from The Wall. The rock opera to beat all rock operas, it turned out, pro­vid­ed a ral­ly­ing cry for South African stu­dents, who chant­ed the noto­ri­ous lyrics sung by a chil­dren’s cho­rus in “Anoth­er Brick in the Wall (Part II)” to protest racial inequal­i­ties in the school sys­tem. “We don’t need no edu­ca­tion,” they sang in uni­son, and the song “held the top spot on the local charts for almost three months,” writes Nick Deriso at Ulti­mate Clas­sic Rock, “a total of sev­en weeks longer than it did in Amer­i­ca.”

Threat­ened by the phe­nom­e­non, the South African gov­ern­ment banned the song, then the whole album, in 1980, impos­ing what Waters called “a cul­tur­al block­ade… on cer­tain songs.” Deriso explains that “South Africa’s Direc­torate of Pub­li­ca­tions held sweep­ing pow­er in that era to ban books, movies, plays, posters, arti­cles of cloth­ing and, yes, music that it deemed ‘polit­i­cal or moral­ly unde­sir­able.’” The cen­sors were not the only peo­ple to inter­pret the song as a threat. “Peo­ple were real­ly dri­ven to fren­zies of rage by it,” Waters remem­bers.

He has since played the song all over the world, includ­ing Berlin in 1990, and he spray paint­ed its lyrics on the wall in the West Bank in 2006. “Twen­ty-five years lat­er,” he writes at The GuardianThe Wall still res­onat­ed, this time with Pales­tin­ian chil­dren, who “used the song to protest Israel’s wall around the West Bank. They sang: ‘We don’t need no occu­pa­tion! We don’t need no racist wall!” Waters com­pares the cur­rent boy­cott cam­paign to the refusal of major stars in the 80s to play South Africa’s Sun City resort “until apartheid fell and white peo­ple and black peo­ple enjoyed equal rights.”

As for the dura­bil­i­ty of “Anoth­er Brick in the Wall (Part II)” as a ral­ly­ing cry for young activists, the best com­ment may come from an unlike­ly source—the Arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury, who “went on record,” Waters writes, “say­ing that if it’s very pop­u­lar with school kids, then it must in some way be express­ing some feel­ings that they have them­selves. If one doesn’t like it, or how­ev­er one feels about it, one should take the oppor­tu­ni­ty of using it as a start­ing point for discussion—which was exact­ly how I felt about it.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Pink Floyd’s “Com­fort­ably Numb” Was Born From an Argu­ment Between Roger Waters & David Gilmour

Under­stand­ing Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, Their Trib­ute to Depart­ed Band­mate Syd Bar­rett

Hear a 4 Hour Playlist of Great Protest Songs: Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, Bob Mar­ley, Pub­lic Ene­my, Bil­ly Bragg & More

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

Mira Nair, Director of Monsoon Wedding and The Namesake, Teaches an Online Course on Indie Filmmaking

FYI: Mira Nair, the direc­tor of Mon­soon Wed­ding and The Name­sakehas just released an online mas­ter­class on inde­pen­dent film­mak­ing. In 17 video lessons, the Oscar-nom­i­nat­ed direc­tor teach­es stu­dents how to “make a big impact on a small bud­get, evoke the best from actors and non-actors, and pro­tect your cre­ative vision so you tell the sto­ry that can only come from you.” Nair’s course runs $90. But for $180, you can get an All-Access Pass to Mas­ter­class’ cat­a­logue of 45 cours­es, which includes cours­es by a num­ber of oth­er promi­nent filmmakers–Martin Scors­ese, Spike Lee, Ken Burns, Ron Howard, Wern­er Her­zog and more. Not to men­tion actors and actress­es like Samuel L. Jack­son and Helen Mir­ren.

FYI: If you sign up for a Mas­ter­Class course by click­ing on the affil­i­ate links in this post, Open Cul­ture will receive a small fee that helps sup­port our oper­a­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wern­er Her­zog Offers 24 Pieces of Film­mak­ing & Life Advice

Direc­tor Robert Rodriguez Teach­es The Basics of Film­mak­ing in Under 10 Min­utes

The Stu­dent of Prague: The Very First Inde­pen­dent Film (1913)

Blade Runner Getting Adapted into a New Anime Series, Produced by Cowboy Bebop Animator Shinichiro Watanabe

You may remem­ber, in the run-up to the the­atri­cal release of Blade Run­ner 2049 last Octo­ber, that three short pre­quels appeared on the inter­net. Black Out 2022 (above), the most dis­cussed install­ment of that minia­ture tril­o­gy, stood out both aes­thet­i­cal­ly and cul­tur­al­ly: direct­ed by famed Japan­ese ani­ma­tor Shinichi­ro Watan­abe, it expand­ed the real­i­ty of Blade Run­ner through a form that has drawn so much from that uni­verse over the pre­vi­ous 35 years. “I just want an ani­mat­ed bladerun­ner series now,” says the cur­rent top-rat­ed com­ment below that video, “this was mag­i­cal.” And so, a year lat­er, the answer to the prayer of that com­menter (and clear­ly many oth­er view­ers besides) has appeared on the hori­zon: a Japan­ese ani­mat­ed series called Blade Run­ner — Black Lotus.

Over­seen by Watan­abe in the pro­duc­er role and direct­ed by Ken­ji Kamiya­ma and Shin­ji Ara­ma­ki, the lat­ter of whom worked in the art depart­ment on Black Out 2022, the new series will take place in 2032, between the events of the short and those of Blade Run­ner 2049.

“It will also include some ‘estab­lished char­ac­ters’ from the Blade Run­ner uni­verse, but that could mean all sorts of things,” writes The A.V. Club’s Sam Barsan­ti. “Har­ri­son Ford’s Rick Deckard would already be in hid­ing at that point after father­ing the mir­a­cle repli­cant baby, so it could be about him going off on some cool guy adven­tures, but Deckard doesn’t exact­ly seem like a guy who goes on cool guy adven­tures. Ryan Gosling’s K prob­a­bly wasn’t ‘born’ yet, since he’s a Nexus‑9 repli­cant and those weren’t cre­at­ed until lat­er in the 2030s, but we don’t know for sure.”

Per­haps sup­port­ing char­ac­ters from both movies, “like Edward James Olmos’ Gaff (he might still be an LAPD cop) or Jared Leto’s Nian­der Wal­lace (he’s def­i­nite­ly hang­ing around, being an evil rich guy),” will show up. What­ev­er hap­pens, the thir­teen episodes of Blade Run­ner — Black Lotus will cer­tain­ly have no small amount of both famil­iar­i­ty and sur­prise in store for fans of Blade Run­ner, as well as those of Watan­abe’s oth­er work. That goes espe­cial­ly for his philo­soph­i­cal space boun­ty-hunter series Cow­boy Bebop, itself the source mate­r­i­al for a new live-action tele­vi­sion series on Adult Swim, who will air Blade Run­ner — Black Lotus at the same time as it’s streamed on ani­me site Crunchyroll.com. No release date has thus far been announced, but odds are the show’s debut will hap­pen some time in 2019 — the per­fect year for it, as every­one thrilling to the prospect of more Blade Run­ner already knows.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Three New Pre­quels Get You Ready to Watch Blade Run­ner 2049

Watch the New Ani­me Pre­quel to Blade Run­ner 2049, by Famed Japan­ese Ani­ma­tor Shinichi­ro Watan­abe

How Rid­ley Scott’s Blade Run­ner Illu­mi­nates the Cen­tral Prob­lem of Moder­ni­ty

The Exis­ten­tial Phi­los­o­phy of Cow­boy Bebop, the Cult Japan­ese Ani­me Series, Explored in a Thought­ful Video Essay

“The Long Tomor­row”: Dis­cov­er Mœbius’ Hard-Boiled Detec­tive Com­ic That Inspired Blade Run­ner (1975)

When Japan’s Top Ani­ma­tors Made a Thrilling Cyber­punk Com­mer­cial for Irish Beer: Watch Last Orders (1997)

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.

Andy Kaufman Creates Mayhem on Late Night TV: When Comedy Becomes Performance Art (1981)

While there are many styles of com­e­dy, the con­tract between come­di­an and audi­ence is a fair­ly stan­dard one. The come­di­an endeav­ors to get laughs. The audi­ence under­stands that sort of cur­ren­cy, and is eager to lav­ish it on deserv­ing can­di­dates.

The late Andy Kauf­man wasn’t much inter­est­ed in that sort of exchange.

His com­e­dy was exper­i­men­tal to the point of per­for­mance art, and often felt exper­i­men­tal in a sci­en­tif­ic sense as well. When he read long pas­sages from The Great Gats­by to com­e­dy club audi­ences, went after pro­fes­sion­al wrestlers twice his size, or insist­ed he’d found Jesus and got­ten engaged to a Lawrence Welk Show singer, it was as if he was con­duct­ing a stress test. How much dis­ori­en­ta­tion would an audi­ence put up with?

He was a gen­uine weirdo. The genius kid who seems hell­bent on win­ning the ani­mos­i­ty of his class­mates with his cryp­tic remarks and odd behav­ior.

Know­ing young com­e­dy fans who idol­ize prankster Sacha Baron Cohen’s shapeshift­ing stunts may find it hard to appre­ci­ate just how unset­tling the off-kil­ter Kauf­man could be.

Wit­ness his 1981 guest spot on Fri­days, a rival network’s short-lived attempt to dupli­cate Sat­ur­day Night Live’s suc­cess.

In the sketch above, Kauf­man wan­ders pret­ty egre­gious­ly afield of expect­ed con­duct. In an era where guest stars appeared not infre­quent­ly bombed out of their gourds, it wasn’t entire­ly sur­pris­ing that one might appear con­fused, or have trou­ble read­ing cue cards. But Kauf­man seemed to be mak­ing a delib­er­ate choice to scup­per his career, or at the very least, the good­will of Fri­days’ cast and crew, by refus­ing to play along in a sketch about restau­rant patrons sneak­ing off to the bath­room to get high.

“I can’t play stoned,” he breaks char­ac­ter to announce, mid-scene. Hmm. Seems like the kind of thing one might bring up dur­ing the table read. An a‑hole would wait till dress rehearsal, when such a move would for sure inspire the enmi­ty of cast and crew. Kauf­man wait­ed till the sketch was being taped in front of a live stu­dio audi­ence.

But then, Kaufman’s exper­i­ments need­ed an audi­ence to suc­ceed.

As with Sacha Baron Cohen’s elab­o­rate rus­es, it helped to lim­it the num­ber of peo­ple who were in on the joke.

Actor Melanie Chartoff recalled how she and Kaufman’s oth­er two scene part­ners, Mary Edith Bur­rell and Seinfeld’s Michael Richards, were tipped off fair­ly late in the process by producer/announcer Jack Burns, who was thrilled to snap up the live wire whose antics had per­ma­nent­ly burned his bridges with Sat­ur­day Night Live:

Andy’s gonna bust out of the show tonight,” he gleamed. “He’s gonna mess up and break the fourth wall from the top of the mono­logue. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna kick our rat­ings through the ROOF!

And so it did, abet­ted by benight­ed crew mem­bers who sprang to pro­vide back up, when a furi­ous-seem­ing Burns stormed the set as if to kick the ornery guest star’s ass.

But the piece de resis­tance came the fol­low­ing week, when pro­duc­er John Mof­fitt went on air to sat­is­fy the public’s need to know, con­fess­ing that the stunt was indeed a fake and pious­ly sug­gest­ing they should take it as a reminder of the “spon­tane­ity of live tele­vi­sion, some­thing that rarely hap­pens in this basi­cal­ly pas­sive medi­um today.”

Then Kaufman—who gen­uine­ly hat­ed that his sleight of hand had been revealed—turned on Mof­fitt for the halt­ing, mis­er­able, and seem­ing­ly forced 4 minute apol­o­gy below.

When the live audi­ence laughed delight­ed­ly, he lashed out, insist­ing that his pre­vi­ous week’s actions were about to cost him his gig on the hit sit­com Taxi, all future roles, a num­ber of friend­ships, and his mar­riage.

Nev­er mind that he was unmar­ried.

This come­di­an played a long game, and easy laughs were nev­er the goal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Look Back at Andy Kauf­man: Absurd Com­ic Per­for­mance Artist and Endear­ing Weirdo

The Improb­a­ble Time When Orson Welles Inter­viewed Andy Kauf­man (1982)

The Night John Belushi Booked the Punk Band Fear on Sat­ur­day Night Live, And They Got Banned from the Show

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC this Decem­ber for the 10th anniver­sary pro­duc­tion of Greg Kotis’ apoc­a­lyp­tic hol­i­day tale, The Truth About San­ta, and the next month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.


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