Learn 48 Languages for Free Online: A Big Update to Our Master List

SONY DSCRight in time for your trav­els, we’ve just com­plet­ed a big update to our rich col­lec­tion of Free For­eign Lan­guage Lessons. Fea­tur­ing free audio and video lessons, this handy resource will help you learn to speak Span­ish, French, Ger­man, Eng­lish, Chi­nese, Ara­bic, Ital­ian, and Russ­ian, plus 36 oth­er lan­guages. And it’s all for free, which is a lot less than what Roset­ta Stone and oth­er ven­dors will charge you. Not bad, espe­cial­ly con­sid­er­ing that some of the lessons come from ven­er­a­ble insti­tu­tions like Yale, Cam­bridge, Carnegie Mel­lon, Emory, the BBC, the US Peace Corps, the For­eign Ser­vice Insti­tute, and more.

The com­plete list of Free For­eign Lan­guage Lessons, includes the fol­low­ing lan­guages: Ara­bic, Bul­gar­i­an, Cam­bo­di­an, Cata­lan, Chi­nese (Man­darin & Can­tonese), Czech, Dan­ish, Dutch, Eng­lish, Finnish, French, Gael­ic, Ger­man, Greek, Hebrew, Hin­di, Hun­gar­i­an, Ice­landic, Indone­sian, Irish, Ital­ian, Japan­ese, Kore­an, Lao, Latin, Lithuan­ian, Lux­em­bour­gish, Maori, Nor­we­gian, Pol­ish, Por­tuguese, Roman­ian, Russ­ian, Ser­bo-Croa­t­ian, Sign Lan­guage, Span­ish, Swahili, Taga­log, Thai, Turk­ish, Ukrain­ian, Urdu, Viet­namese, Welsh and Yid­dish.

If we’re miss­ing any great resources, please tell us in the com­ments sec­tion below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Free Kids Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Apps, Books, Web­sites & More

Free MOOCs from Great Uni­ver­si­ties (Many Offer­ing Cer­tifi­cates)

Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

Free eBooks: Down­load to Kin­dle, iPad/iPhone & Nook

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David Bowie Narrates Sergei Prokofiev’s Children’s Symphony Peter and the Wolf

Some of the 20th century’s great­est actors have nar­rat­ed Sergei Prokofiev’s sym­phon­ic sto­ry Peter and the Wolf, includ­ing Peter Usti­nov, Alec Guin­ness, Ralph Richard­son, John Giel­gud, Basil Rath­bone, Edna Ever­age, and one of my favorites, Boris Karloff. In 1978, David Bowie joined this illus­tri­ous com­pa­ny with his record­ing of the clas­sic for RCA Vic­tor with the Philadel­phia Orches­tra. Find it above.

Bowie begins, as do all of the nar­ra­tors, with a brief sum­ma­ry of how this sym­pho­ny works, with dif­fer­ent instru­men­ta­tion rep­re­sent­ing the var­i­ous char­ac­ters (see here for full text of the sto­ry and descrip­tion of themes):

Each char­ac­ter in the tale is going to be rep­re­sent­ed by a dif­fer­ent instru­ment of the orches­tra. For instance, the bird will be played by the flute. (Like this.) Here’s the duck, played by the oboe. The cat by the clar­inet. The bas­soon will rep­re­sent grand­fa­ther. The wolf by the French horns. And Peter by the strings. The blast of the hunters’ shot­guns played by the ket­tle drums.

Bowie has said he that he made the record­ing as a present for his son, Dun­can, then 7. Prokofiev, com­mis­sioned by the Cen­tral Children’s The­atre in Moscow in 1936 to help cul­ti­vate the musi­cal tastes of young chil­dren, wrote the sym­pho­ny in four days. As Tim Smith points out in an essay for PBS, Peter and the Wolf has “helped intro­duce gen­er­a­tions of chil­dren to the instru­ments of the orches­tra and the con­cept of telling a sto­ry through music.” I know it will be a part of my daughter’s musi­cal edu­ca­tion. I’m pret­ty sure we’ll start with Bowie’s ver­sion.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

David Bowie Releas­es Vin­tage Videos of His Great­est Hits from the 1970s and 1980s

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

Rare 1946 Film: The Great Russ­ian Com­pos­er Sergei Prokofiev Plays Piano, Dis­cuss­es His Music

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

The Earliest Footage of Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly and Johnny Cash (1955)

Here are some rare home movies from the ear­li­est days of rock and roll. Although accounts dif­fer, this is appar­ent­ly the old­est footage of four leg­endary per­form­ers: Elvis Pres­ley, Bud­dy Hol­ly, John­ny Cash and Carl Perkins. The film was shot in 1955 with an 8mm cam­era in Hol­ly’s home­town of Lub­bock, Texas, by his friend Ben Hall, a local disc jock­ey and musi­cian who would lat­er write the song “Blue Days, Black Nights” from Hol­ly’s That’ll Be The Day album. The silent footage is wide­ly report­ed to have been tak­en at one of Pres­ley’s April 29, 1955 shows at the Cot­ton Club in Lub­bock. But that may not be entire­ly true, because Hol­ly, Cash and Perkins were not on the adver­tised bill for those shows.

Pres­ley per­formed in Lub­bock sev­er­al times that year. He first met Hol­ly at a show at the Fair Park Col­i­se­um on Feb­ru­ary 13, when Hol­ly and his friend Bob Mont­gomery appeared at the bot­tom of the bill as the coun­try duo Bud­dy & Bob. Hol­ly was 18 years old and still a senior in high school. The charis­mat­ic Pres­ley, though still unknown in most parts of the coun­try in 1955, was already treat­ed as a star in the South, where he was mobbed by fans.

Accord­ing to the Scot­ty Moore Web site, the footage of Pres­ley was tak­en on April 29 and the oth­ers were filmed lat­er in the year. Pres­ley is shown onstage and off with his orig­i­nal band, the Blue Moon Boys, with Scot­ty Moore on gui­tar and Bill Black on bass. Perkins appears in an orange jack­et, Cash is wear­ing a white string tie over a black shirt, and Hol­ly, who turned 19 around that time, is eas­i­ly rec­og­niz­able in his trade­mark eye­glass­es.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bud­dy Hol­ly at Age 12: His First Record­ing

Library Card Signed by 13-Year-Old Elvis Pres­ley, the Ear­li­est Known Sig­na­ture of the King

Jim­my Page, 13, Plays Gui­tar on BBC Tal­ent Show (1957)

Two Prison Con­certs That Defined an Out­law Singer: John­ny Cash at San Quentin and Fol­som (1968–69)

The Bea­t­les as Teens (1957)

Deconstructing The Master Track of The Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”

There are sev­er­al ver­sions of the sto­ry of how The Bea­t­les’ most high­ly-acclaimed album Sgt. Pep­per’s Lone­ly Hearts Club came to be. In one, John gives the full cred­it to Paul, who, inspired by “Amer­i­ca and the whole West Coast, long-named group thing”—of bands like Quick­sil­ver Mes­sen­ger Ser­vice and Big Broth­er and the Hold­ing Company—came up with the con­cept. Accord­ing to Lennon, Paul “was try­ing to put some dis­tance between the Bea­t­les and the pub­lic”:

And so there was this iden­ti­ty of Sgt. Pep­per…. Sgt. Pep­per is called the first con­cept album, but it doesn’t go any­where. All my con­tri­bu­tions to the album have absolute­ly noth­ing to do with the idea of Sgt. Pep­per and his band; but it works ‘cause we said it worked, and that’s how the album appeared. But it was not as put togeth­er as it sounds, except for Sgt. Pep­per intro­duc­ing Bil­ly Shears and the so-called reprise. Every oth­er song could have been on any oth­er album.

Lennon’s typ­i­cal mix of grandios­i­ty and self-dep­re­ca­tion prob­a­bly sells the album short in any fan’s esti­ma­tion (cer­tain­ly in mine), but I  believe that Paul cooked up the goofy per­sonas and march­ing-band look. It is, after all, as Lennon says, “his way of work­ing.” Paul him­self has said of Sgt. Pepper’s: “I thought it would be nice to lose our iden­ti­ties, to sub­merge our­selves in the per­sona of a fake group. We could make up all the cul­ture around it and col­lect all our heroes in one place.”

Despite the com­plex of per­son­al­i­ties (both real and imag­ined) in the writ­ing and record­ing of what many con­sid­er the band’s mas­ter­piece, the record­ing process was incred­i­bly sim­ple, at least by today’s stan­dards. Today’s dig­i­tal record­ing enables bands to record an unlim­it­ed num­ber of tracks—either live or, more often, in lay­ers upon lay­ers of overdubs—leaving mix­ing engi­neers with some­times hun­dreds of indi­vid­ual tracks to inte­grate into a coher­ent whole. In 1967, dur­ing the age of tape and the track­ing of Sgt. Pepper’s, engi­neers were lim­it­ed to four tracks at a time, which they could then “bounce,” or merge togeth­er, to free up room for addi­tion­al record­ing.

This is how the title song “Sgt. Pepper’s Lone­ly Heart’s Club Band” was made, and you can hear the four final mas­ter tracks “decon­struct­ed” above. First, in green, you’ll hear the orig­i­nal rhythm tracks, with drums, bass, and two gui­tars, all record­ed on two tracks. The red line rep­re­sents tracks 3 and 4—all of the vocals. The blue por­tion is the horns and lead gui­tar, and yel­low is the audi­ence sounds. You’ll hear each track indi­vid­u­al­ly, then hear them all come togeth­er, so to speak. The descrip­tion below of the record­ing process comes from that inerrant (so I’ve heard) source, The Bea­t­les Bible:

The song was record­ed over four days. On 1 Feb­ru­ary 1967 The Bea­t­les taped nine takes of the rhythm track, though only the first and last of these were com­plete. They record­ed drums, bass and two gui­tars — the lat­ter played by McCart­ney and Har­ri­son.

The next day McCart­ney record­ed his lead vocals, and he, Lennon and Har­ri­son taped their har­monies. The song was then left for over a month, until the French horns were over­dubbed on 3 March. McCart­ney also record­ed a lead gui­tar solo, leav­ing the song almost com­plete.

On 6 March they added the sounds of the imag­i­nary audi­ence and the noise of an orches­tra tun­ing up, a com­bi­na­tion of crowd noise from a 1961 record­ing of the com­e­dy show Beyond The Fringe and out-takes from the 10 Feb­ru­ary orches­tral over­dub ses­sion for A Day In The Life.

For the segue into With A Lit­tle Help From My Friends, mean­while, they insert­ed screams of Beat­le­ma­ni­acs from the record­ings of The Bea­t­les live at the Hol­ly­wood Bowl.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Eric Clapton’s Iso­lat­ed Gui­tar Track From the Clas­sic Bea­t­les Song, ‘While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps’ (1968)

The Bea­t­les: Unplugged Col­lects Acoustic Demos of White Album Songs (1968)

Hear the 1962 Bea­t­les Demo that Dec­ca Reject­ed: “Gui­tar Groups are on Their Way Out, Mr. Epstein”

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

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

Image by Bas­ti­aan Ter­horst, via Flickr Com­mons

The likes of U2, Cold­play, and David Bowie can afford to hire pro­duc­er, artist, and thinker Bri­an Eno to shake up their cre­ative process­es. You and I, alas, prob­a­bly can’t. We can, how­ev­er, afford to con­sult the Oblique Strate­gies, a deck of cards invent­ed by Eno and painter Peter Schmidt in 1975. Each card offers, in its own oblique fash­ion, a strat­e­gy you can fol­low when you find your­self at an impasse in your own work, be it music, paint­ing, or any form at all: “Hon­or thy error as a hid­den inten­tion.” “State the prob­lem in words as clear­ly as pos­si­ble.” “Remem­ber those qui­et evenings.” “Once the search is in progress, some­thing will be found.” “Work at a dif­fer­ent speed.” “Look close­ly at the most embar­rass­ing details and ampli­fy them.”

“The Oblique Strate­gies evolved from me being in a num­ber of work­ing sit­u­a­tions when pan­ic, par­tic­u­lar­ly in stu­dios, tend­ed to make me quick­ly for­get that there were oth­ers ways of work­ing,” said Eno in a 1980 radio inter­view, “and that there were tan­gen­tial ways of attack­ing prob­lems that were in many sens­es more inter­est­ing than the direct head-on approach.”

Should you feel the need for just such a break with the obvi­ous approach, you can track down one of the offi­cial phys­i­cal edi­tions of the Oblique Strate­gies deck. Or you can con­sult one of  its many vir­tu­al ver­sions avail­able on the inter­net. Eno talks about how the deck of cards came into being. Vin­tage sets can be found on Ama­zon here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Watch Bri­an Eno’s “Video Paint­ings,” Where 1980s TV Tech­nol­o­gy Meets Visu­al Art

Day of Light: A Crowd­sourced Film by Mul­ti­me­dia Genius Bri­an Eno

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Blondie Plays CBGB in the Mid-70s in Two Vintage Clips

In hon­or of Deb­bie Harry’s 68th birth­day today, we bring you some very ear­ly clips of Blondie at CBGB. Above, the band plays “A Girl Should Know Bet­ter” in 1975, an unre­leased track that’s got all the garage rock, girl-group sound the band rode in on before going new wave in the 80s. Gui­tarist Chris Stein looks and sounds like John­ny Thun­ders and Har­ry per­forms the almost-whole­some, semi-vacant sex­u­al­i­ty of her Play­boy bun­ny past. While this track didn’t make it onto their first album, 1976’s Blondie, it’s a fun lit­tle num­ber all the same.

Down below watch the band play “Rip Her to Shreds” in 1977, look­ing a lit­tle less trash-rock but still sound­ing hard­er than they would in lat­er, slick­er years. For more vin­tage Har­ry moments, pop on over to Dan­ger­ous Minds to see her arm wres­tle Andy Kauf­man, recount a run-in with Ted Bundy, and intro­duce Amer­i­cans to the pogo dance on Glenn O’Brien’s local New York show TV Par­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Talk­ing Heads Play CBGB, the New York Club that Shaped Their Sound (1975)

Andy Warhol Dig­i­tal­ly Paints Deb­bie Har­ry with the Ami­ga 1000 Com­put­er (1985)

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

New Yorker Cartoon Editor Bob Mankoff Reveals the Secret of a Successful New Yorker Cartoon

A friend of mine rails against the New York­er’s week­ly car­toon cap­tion con­test, insist­ing that while the read­er-sub­mit­ted entries are uni­ver­sal­ly bad, the win­ner is always the weak­est of the lot.

I dis­agree, agog at peo­ple’s clev­er­ness. Any line I come up with feels too obvi­ous or too obscure. Unlike my friend, I nev­er feel I could do bet­ter.

Car­toon edi­tor Bob Mankof­f’s recent TED Talk offers some key insights into what the mag­a­zine is look­ing for (incon­gruity, dis­po­si­tion­al humor, cog­ni­tive mash ups), as well as what it’s not inter­est­ed in (gross-out jokes, mild child-cen­tered can­ni­bal­ism) He also cites for­mer con­trib­u­tor and author of my father’s favorite New York­er car­toon, E.B. White on the futil­i­ty of ana­lyz­ing humor.

Fre­quent con­trib­u­tor Matthew Dif­fee’s short  satir­i­cal film Being Bob sug­gests Mankoff edi­to­r­i­al selec­tions owe much to gut response (and a jerk­ing knee). Such intu­ition is hard won. Mankoff glee­ful­ly alludes to the 2000 rejec­tion let­ters he him­self received between 1974 and 1977, fol­low­ing an uncer­e­mo­ni­ous dis­missal from psy­chol­o­gy school. Then, final­ly, he got his first accep­tance.

That accep­tance let­ter is some­thing to see.

Ayun Hal­l­i­day used Charles Bar­sotti’s New York­er car­toon of a danc­ing bird as her high­school year­book’s senior say­ing. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The New Yorker’s Fic­tion Pod­cast: Where Great Writ­ers Read Sto­ries by Great Writ­ers

Improv with New York­er Car­toon­ists

Einstein’s Rel­a­tiv­i­ty: An Ani­mat­ed New York­er Car­toon

How to Keep Following Open Culture After the Demise of Google Reader

google-readerFor years, many read­ers have fol­lowed our dai­ly posts through Google Read­er. Well, after today, Google Read­er will be no more. It’s get­ting pow­ered down. Before that hap­pens, we want to tell you how to keep fol­low­ing the posts that flow through our RSS feed. Your best bet is Feed­ly. Feed­ly has a nice cus­tomiz­able inter­face. And it gives you the abil­i­ty to import every­thing from Google Read­er in one quick click. You can find tips for migrat­ing to Feed­ly right here. But, if Feed­ly isn’t your cup of tea, Life­hack­er has a bunch of oth­er options for you. Or, as oth­ers have, feel free to add your sug­ges­tions below.

Of course, you can also fol­low our posts via social media plat­forms. You can find us on Face­bookTwit­ter, and Google Plus. If you opt for Face­book, please note this: You most­ly like­ly won’t see every post from Open Cul­ture. But the odds of see­ing our posts on Face­book will sup­pos­ed­ly increase if you click “Like” on our posts when they do appear in your FB news feed.

If you’re a com­mit­ted RSS fan, Feed­ly is prob­a­bly your best bet. So please import your feeds today and start fol­low­ing us there tomor­row.

Just for the record, here is the address for our feed: http://www.openculture.com/rss

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John Searle on Foucault and the Obscurantism in French Philosophy

It is some­times noted–typically with admiration–that France is a place where a philoso­pher can still be a celebri­ty. It sounds laud­able. But celebri­ty cul­ture can be cor­ro­sive, both to the cul­ture at large and to the celebri­ties them­selves. So it’s worth ask­ing:  What price have French phi­los­o­phy and its devo­tees (on the Euro­pean con­ti­nent and else­where) paid for the glam­our?

Per­haps one casu­al­ty is clar­i­ty. The writ­ings of the French post­mod­ernist philoso­phers (and those inspired by them) are noto­ri­ous­ly abstruse. In a scathing cri­tique of the­o­rist Judith But­ler, an Amer­i­can who writes in the French post­struc­tural­ist style, philoso­pher Martha Nuss­baum of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go sug­gests that the abstruse­ness is cal­cu­lat­ed to inspire admi­ra­tion:

Some precincts of the con­ti­nen­tal philo­soph­i­cal tra­di­tion, though sure­ly not all of them, have an unfor­tu­nate ten­den­cy to regard the philoso­pher as a star who fas­ci­nates, and fre­quent­ly by obscu­ri­ty, rather than as an arguer among equals. When ideas are stat­ed clear­ly, after all, they may be detached from their author: one can take them away and pur­sue them on one’s own. When they remain mys­te­ri­ous (indeed, when they are not quite assert­ed), one remains depen­dent on the orig­i­nat­ing author­i­ty. The thinker is heed­ed only for his or her turgid charis­ma.

On Fri­day we post­ed an excerpt from an inter­view in which lin­guist Noam Chom­sky (some­thing of a polit­i­cal celebri­ty him­self) exco­ri­ates Jacques Der­ri­da and Jacques Lacan, along with Lacan’s super­star dis­ci­ple, Sloven­ian the­o­rist Slavoj Žižek, for using inten­tion­al­ly obscure and inflat­ed lan­guage to pull the wool over their admir­ers’ eyes and make triv­ial “the­o­ries” seem pro­found. He calls Lacan a “total char­la­tan.”

Lacan had a pen­chant for using trendy math­e­mat­i­cal terms in curi­ous ways. In a pas­sage on cas­tra­tion anx­i­ety, for exam­ple, he equates the phal­lus with the square root of minus one:

The erec­tile organ can be equat­ed with the √-1, the sym­bol of the sig­ni­fi­ca­tion pro­duced above, of the jouis­sance [ecsta­sy] it restores–by the coef­fi­cient of its statement–to the func­tion of a miss­ing sig­ni­fi­er: (-1).

Chom­sky’s crit­i­cism of Lacan and the oth­ers pro­voked a wide range of com­ments from our read­ers. Today we thought we would keep the con­ver­sa­tion going with a fas­ci­nat­ing audio clip (above) of philoso­pher John Sear­le of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, Berke­ley, describ­ing how Michel Fou­cault and Pierre Bour­dieu–two emi­nent French thinkers whose abil­i­ties Sear­le obvi­ous­ly respected–told him that if they wrote clear­ly they would­n’t be tak­en seri­ous­ly in France.

Sear­le begins by recit­ing Paul Grice’s four Max­ims of Man­ner: be clear, be brief, be order­ly, and avoid obscu­ri­ty of expres­sion. These are sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly vio­lat­ed in France, Sear­le says, part­ly due to the influ­ence of Ger­man phi­los­o­phy. Sear­le trans­lates Fou­cault’s admis­sion to him this way: “In France, you got­ta have ten per­cent incom­pre­hen­si­ble, oth­er­wise peo­ple won’t think it’s deep–they won’t think you’re a pro­found thinker.”

Sear­le has been care­ful to sep­a­rate Fou­cault from Der­ri­da, with whom Sear­le had an unfriend­ly debate in the 1970s over Speech Act the­o­ry. “Fou­cault was often lumped with Der­ri­da,” Sear­le says in a 2000 inter­view with Rea­son mag­a­zine. “That’s very unfair to Fou­cault. He was a dif­fer­ent cal­iber of thinker alto­geth­er.” Else­where in the inter­view, Sear­le says:

With Der­ri­da, you can hard­ly mis­read him, because he’s so obscure. Every time you say, “He says so and so,” he always says, “You mis­un­der­stood me.” But if you try to fig­ure out the cor­rect inter­pre­ta­tion, then that’s not so easy. I once said this to Michel Fou­cault, who was more hos­tile to Der­ri­da even than I am, and Fou­cault said that Der­ri­da prac­ticed the method of obscu­ran­tisme ter­ror­iste (ter­ror­ism of obscu­ran­tism). We were speak­ing in French. And I said, “What the hell do you mean by that?” And he said, “He writes so obscure­ly you can’t tell what he’s say­ing. That’s the obscu­ran­tism part. And then when you crit­i­cize him, he can always say, ‘You did­n’t under­stand me; you’re an idiot.’ That’s the ter­ror­ism part.” And I like that. So I wrote an arti­cle about Der­ri­da. I asked Michel if it was OK if I quot­ed that pas­sage, and he said yes.

NOTE: For more on John Sear­le, includ­ing links to his full Berke­ley lec­tures on the phi­los­o­phy of mind, lan­guage and soci­ety, see our post, “Phi­los­o­phy with John Sear­le: Three Free Cours­es.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michel Fou­cault: Free Lec­tures on Truth, Dis­course & The Self

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Philoso­pher Slavoj Zizek Inter­prets Hitchcock’s Ver­ti­go in The Pervert’s Guide to Cin­e­ma (2006)

Watch “The Secret Tournament” & “The Rematch,” Terry Gilliam’s Star-Studded Soccer Ads for Nike

We’ve nev­er known footwear giant Nike to spare the adver­tis­ing dol­lars, just as we’ve nev­er known film­mak­er Ter­ry Gilliam to com­pro­mise his vision. Only nat­ur­al, then, that the two would cross cre­ative and finan­cial paths. Shot in late 2001 and ear­ly 2002, the 12 Mon­keys direc­tor’s pair of Nike spots, meant to coin­cide with the 2002 World Cup, brought togeth­er some of the era’s finest foot­ballers for a char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly grim, dystopi­an, but visu­al­ly rich and smirk­ing­ly humor­ous tour­na­ment to end all tour­na­ments.  “Hid­den from the world,” announces Nike’s orig­i­nal press release about the first com­mer­cial, “24 elite play­ers hold a secret tour­na­ment, with eight teams, and only one rule… ‘First goal wins!’ ”

“Con­trol­ling the action is Eric Can­tona,” the text con­tin­ues, “who over­sees every three-on-three match noir that takes place in a huge con­tain­er ship docked in an unknown har­bor. With Mon­sieur Can­tona at the helm, you can be assured there will be no whin­ing, no judg­ment calls, and no mer­cy.” The teams assem­bled include “Triple Espres­so” (Francesco Tot­ti, Hidetoshi Naka­ta, and Thier­ry Hen­ry), “Equipo del Fuego” (Her­nan Cre­spo, Clau­dio Lopez, and Gaiz­ka Mendi­eta), and the “Funk Seoul Broth­ers” (Deníl­son de Oliveira Araújo, Ki Hyeon Seol, and Ronald­in­ho). You’ll see quite a lot of action between them on this bro­ken-down futur­is­tic prison of a pitch in the three min­utes of “The Secret Tour­na­ment,” but things inten­si­fy fur­ther in “The Rematch” just above. You can find more behind-the-scenes mate­r­i­al at Dreams: The Ter­ry Gilliam Fanzine.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Ter­ry Gilliam’s Debut Ani­mat­ed Film, Sto­ry­time

A Very Ter­ry Gilliam Christ­mas: Season’s Greet­ings, 1968 and 2011

Lost In La Man­cha: Ter­ry Gilliam and the “Curse of Quixote”

Ter­ry Gilliam: The Dif­fer­ence Between Kubrick (Great Film­mak­er) and Spiel­berg (Less So)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Stephen Fry Reads Oscar Wilde’s Children’s Story “The Happy Prince”

I first encoun­tered Oscar Wilde’s sto­ry “The Hap­py Prince” while work­ing part-time as a tutor on New York’s Upper East Side. Look­ing for suit­able read­ing mate­r­i­al, I came across Wilde’s children’s sto­ries, which I had not known exist­ed. They were perfect—vivid, charm­ing, lit­er­ary fairy tales with some­thing more besides. Some­thing best described by avid Wilde read­er Stephen Fry.

In the pro­mo­tion of a recent Kick­starter project to fund a 20-minute ani­ma­tion of “The Hap­py Prince” around Fry’s read­ing of the sto­ry, the actor talks of com­ing to know Wilde’s fairy tales as a child, before he knew any­thing else about the 19th cen­tu­ry Irish writer. He loved the lan­guage, he says, of all of the sto­ries, and “the beau­ty of thought, the nobil­i­ty of thought.” But “The Hap­py Prince” affect­ed him espe­cial­ly, as it affect­ed my young stu­dents and me. It is a sto­ry, he says, “about the cost of beau­ty. It is hard for me to read The Hap­py Prince with­out cry­ing. I guess because it is also some­how a love sto­ry between the swal­low and the Prince.”

Fry alludes to the two cen­tral char­ac­ters in the sto­ry, but I won’t sum­ma­rize the plot here. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured a 1974 ani­mat­ed film of “The Hap­py Prince.” In the video at the top, hear Fry read the entire­ty of the sto­ry, and direct­ly above, watch the video pre­view for the b good Pic­ture Company’s Kick­starter to bring his read­ing, and Wilde’s sto­ry, to new life. The project has met its min­i­mum goal and now seeks more fund­ing for an orig­i­nal score and a self-pub­lished sto­ry­book, among oth­er things.

Fry’s rela­tion­ship to Wilde, whom he calls “Oscar,” has been, accord­ing to him, life­long, capped by his por­tray­al of the writer in the 1997 biopic Wilde. He has dis­cussed how his read­ing of Wilde helped him come to terms with his own sex­u­al­i­ty. But his love for Wilde’s work exceeds the per­son­al. As he says in the video above, from 2008, he “fell in love with the writ­ing of Oscar Wilde” at the age of 11; after see­ing a film ver­sion of The Impor­tance of Being Earnest,” he found his “idea of what lan­guage could be… com­plete­ly trans­formed.” Fry also says above that he was not exposed to Wilde’s fairy tales as a child, in seem­ing con­tra­dic­tion to his more recent state­ments. Did he read Oscar as a child or did­n’t he?  Only Stephen Fry can say for sure. In any case, as an adult, he’s tak­en on the man­tle of Wilde’s pop­u­lar inter­preter, and I think he wears it pret­ty well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Ani­ma­tions of Oscar Wilde’s Children’s Sto­ries “The Hap­py Prince” and “The Self­ish Giant”

Oscar Wilde Offers Prac­ti­cal Advice on the Writ­ing Life in a New­ly-Dis­cov­ered Let­ter from 1890

Shakespeare’s Satir­i­cal Son­net 130, As Read By Stephen Fry

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


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