I am the beewulf now
Crusted beard and hard hands clutching gravel
feet racing at no real pace through sticks and snow and snakes
the warrior at once the wild child, the suckling babe
I see a red cloud and make the mist my home
I am the straight man now
Cut from angles, hewn from sheet rock
The lover of stars spangled and moving strobes
Cars that shoot at my side as I walk in line
I see a green cloud, opened my mouth
My parents embracing in a blue cloud
I enter - jealous, lustful
Found a canal, took gulps by the cupful
Reborn into this sensory blitz
Reborn, but already dead
All these lights are in my head
Friday, July 27, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
At last, The Dark Knight Rose
Bruce Wayne is compelling for his wealth, his well-bred disregard for anything that's not wearing 6-inch plus heels, and his minor gap of humanity - allowing his character to remain accessible despite having almost nothing in common with your typical comic book reader or movie goer.
Batman is compelling for his ever growing supply of unbelievable gadgets, his insane dedication to the unrealistic principle that you only bring your mind and your tech to a gun fight, and his total adaptation of the iconography of terror - shrinking close to the corner of a shadow only to return suddenly with explosive force.
Bane is compelling for his transition from a lucid, loyal foot-soldier to a disfigured 'army general,' his unprecedented ability to use heavy-handed fighting styles and smash Batman into submission, and his (Tom Hardy's) incredibly convincing application of authoritative body language - giving Bane an aura of unflinching, unquestionable leadership.
Selina Kyle is compelling for her dynamic personality shift when exposed to Bruce/Batman over time, her curiously fluid and seemingly well-trained physicality, and her injection of the thematic abjection and notes of poverty/financial disparity that were present (and important) in Batman Begins - looping Nolan's finale in a wide arc over The Dark Knight (which would have been impossible to top using the same tool set) and instead linking emotionally and tonally with the original film, forming a bond of spiritual succession that warrants watching all three in one sitting.
John Blake (Robin) is compelling for his level head in a city infected with a wildly unpredictable neurosis, his characteristic balance of Bruce Wayne's persona as the stilted orphan dumped into Gotham's sea of high-rises and deep alleys without an ounce of privilege to his name, and his utilization of this connection to finally piece together the largely unexplored idea that Gotham's most well-known son could also be its most notorious vigilante-turned-villain - setting up Blake as a world-class detective and an intuitive fit (emotionally and idealistically) to don the cape and cowl.
Gordon, as always, is compelling (mostly because of Gary Oldman) for his humanity as Commissioner, his struggle as to whether or not he should reveal the shocking truth about Harvey Dent and risk harming the eye-of-the-storm peacetime that's descended over Gotham, and his adoption of the vigilante ethos (his speech to Blake that when the structures in power fail your sense of justice, you have to branch outside the influence of those structures and sometimes appear to be a rogue) - instilling in Blake the thought-seed that eventually sprouts into Robin's ascension.
Talia al Ghul is not compelling.
----------------------------------------
The Dark Knight Rises left me lost in my seat thinking, "I have to enjoy this movie. This is the last time I'll get to experience Bale as Batman with Nolan at the helm. The Dark Knight was amazing, so this must be too." Obsessed with that pattern of thought, I couldn't really absorb the movie as it happened, rather tracking back every 5 minutes to appreciate a certain scene or line of dialogue.
I didn't - as I assume with most other fans - have this problem with The Dark Knight because it was such an unexpected god damn spectacle. Coming off Batman Begins (which contained much less of the massive scale pieces as TDK and TDKR) only gave us a taste of the hero Batman would develop into and did what was necessary for the first film in the series - it set up the insecurities/character foundation of Bruce Wayne and made sense of his eccentric decision to dress up as a bat and stalk the night.
So when masked robbers burst into a bank on that widescreen, slowly pick each other off, and then we catch a glimpse of Ledger's addicting Joker, Nolan has already enticed us with his prestige and guaranteed undivided attention for the rest of the atypically lengthy sequel.
The Dark Knight pulled off this trick well because it didn't have a controversial zeitgeist preceding it. Batman Begins was a popular and refreshing film, but it didn't have the capacity to generate news stories like The Dark Knight. Probably the biggest "controversy" surrounding Batman Begins was that Katie Holmes was starting to get involved with Tom Cruise and Christian Bale was undergoing rapid weight transformations to adapt to his various movie roles - consequently, when you place these events alongside Heath Ledger's shocking death, they are rightly dwarfed in comparison.
Already, then, The Dark Knight Rises was at a disadvantage. Audiences pouring into theaters came with their favorite shots from The Dark Knight still buzzing in their brains, and watching The Dark Knight Rises felt like a test of concentration.
This viewing didn't disappoint me because of the quality of the film, but rather because of those preconceived ideas that I couldn't shake my first time watching.
I can already tell - after ~12 hours from when I saw TDKR - that it's a movie I want to revisit soon with a more prepared mindset. In fact, even though I claimed to be disappointed (more by myself than the movie), I couldn't stop jogging through the plot when I was supposed to be asleep that night, the soundtrack was still ringing in my ears with its interplay between thunderous and nostalgic compositions, and I was still getting chills if I thought about when Alfred - frustrated and troubled at failing to keep Bruce safe as he promised Thomas Wayne - gives Bruce an ultimatum that ends with the Batman persona preferred.
Thematically and narratively, The Dark Knight Rises couldn't have been made in a way that better aligned the trilogy. It's almost as if any flaws in the film were necessary either by way of our hyped expectations or by the fact that Nolan would have been unable to please everyone with a strict ending (which he chose to use instead of an Inception-like open ending). My friend Adam compared the trilogy to the original Star Wars films - A New Hope the underdog that put a spell on audiences, The Empire Strikes Back the anticipated sequel that reached new heights with little competition from the first film, and Return of The Jedi the necessarily flawed, yet amazing ending to a trilogy that would attach itself to our pop culture consciousness and has remained there since.
That both Christopher and Jonathan Nolan are immensely talented and innovative filmmakers has been apparent since Jonathan helped inspire Memento with his writing and since the pair teamed up on The Prestige, but I truly believe that in hindsight we will come to see their collaboration on the Batman trilogy as a watershed moment in our notions of what can be captured behind a hunk of recording equipment.
To sum up my thoughts, films like Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises have introduced a new paradigm in the short-lived and often corny genre of "Comic Book" movies. We can already notice the tint of this perspective in the teaser for Man of Steel - with its almost Malickian cinematography and its stark contrast to 2006's Superman Returns. This is the difference we can now expect from movies based on comics: the difference between Eric Bana's Hulk and Edward Norton's Hulk, the difference between The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and Watchmen, the difference between Tobey Maguire's goofy swagger and Andrew Garfield's almost method-acted play on the Webbed Warrior - these are the differences we have been offered: between playful and grim, between Razzies and Oscars, between pulp fiction and realistic adaptation.
For better or for worse, Comic Book Movies have been forced to evolve. They have been lambasted to hell, parodied, mocked, and avoided - mostly all for valid reasons. But this evolution was not slow to form or ambling in its uprising. A breed of superhero movies died out for their failings and the new generation of comic book lovers - seeing this happen in real time - have decided to heed the call of responsibility, suit up in Kevlar rather than spandex, and forgo cheesy lines and cheap tricks for real-world reflection and philosophical conflicts.
DC and Marvel have taken varying approaches to this root shift, but both paths deepen the playing field for superheros on film. For DC this has meant work along the lines of the new Batman, with dark tones and sharp etchings of loss, fear, pain, and redemption; whereas Marvel has chosen the more theatrical (yet still complex) route of introducing likable characters, perfecting the art of role-casting (Garfield as Spiderman, RDJ as Iron Man, Mark Ruffalo as The Hulk, and Tom Hiddleston as Loki were all flashes of brilliance), and picking filmmakers (like Joss Whedon) whose style parallels this new found emphasis on balancing what's comical to what's human.
There is no longer room in the genre for half-measures. Simple, light, half-baked concepts can't match the new league of movies that have already earned acclaim. As Batman prepares to make the ultimate sacrifice for his city, Catwoman - desperate to save Bruce - says "You don't owe these people anymore. You've given them everything." Bruce knows this isn't true and brings his long-lasting process of catharsis and self-realization to a close, shutting the book on Bruce Wayne's injured psyche.
In much the same way, filmmakers approaching the genre need to put away the pain of past failures and move on. They haven't completely given us what we crave.
Not everything. Not yet.
Batman is compelling for his ever growing supply of unbelievable gadgets, his insane dedication to the unrealistic principle that you only bring your mind and your tech to a gun fight, and his total adaptation of the iconography of terror - shrinking close to the corner of a shadow only to return suddenly with explosive force.
Bane is compelling for his transition from a lucid, loyal foot-soldier to a disfigured 'army general,' his unprecedented ability to use heavy-handed fighting styles and smash Batman into submission, and his (Tom Hardy's) incredibly convincing application of authoritative body language - giving Bane an aura of unflinching, unquestionable leadership.
Selina Kyle is compelling for her dynamic personality shift when exposed to Bruce/Batman over time, her curiously fluid and seemingly well-trained physicality, and her injection of the thematic abjection and notes of poverty/financial disparity that were present (and important) in Batman Begins - looping Nolan's finale in a wide arc over The Dark Knight (which would have been impossible to top using the same tool set) and instead linking emotionally and tonally with the original film, forming a bond of spiritual succession that warrants watching all three in one sitting.
John Blake (Robin) is compelling for his level head in a city infected with a wildly unpredictable neurosis, his characteristic balance of Bruce Wayne's persona as the stilted orphan dumped into Gotham's sea of high-rises and deep alleys without an ounce of privilege to his name, and his utilization of this connection to finally piece together the largely unexplored idea that Gotham's most well-known son could also be its most notorious vigilante-turned-villain - setting up Blake as a world-class detective and an intuitive fit (emotionally and idealistically) to don the cape and cowl.
Gordon, as always, is compelling (mostly because of Gary Oldman) for his humanity as Commissioner, his struggle as to whether or not he should reveal the shocking truth about Harvey Dent and risk harming the eye-of-the-storm peacetime that's descended over Gotham, and his adoption of the vigilante ethos (his speech to Blake that when the structures in power fail your sense of justice, you have to branch outside the influence of those structures and sometimes appear to be a rogue) - instilling in Blake the thought-seed that eventually sprouts into Robin's ascension.
Talia al Ghul is not compelling.
----------------------------------------
The Dark Knight Rises left me lost in my seat thinking, "I have to enjoy this movie. This is the last time I'll get to experience Bale as Batman with Nolan at the helm. The Dark Knight was amazing, so this must be too." Obsessed with that pattern of thought, I couldn't really absorb the movie as it happened, rather tracking back every 5 minutes to appreciate a certain scene or line of dialogue.
I didn't - as I assume with most other fans - have this problem with The Dark Knight because it was such an unexpected god damn spectacle. Coming off Batman Begins (which contained much less of the massive scale pieces as TDK and TDKR) only gave us a taste of the hero Batman would develop into and did what was necessary for the first film in the series - it set up the insecurities/character foundation of Bruce Wayne and made sense of his eccentric decision to dress up as a bat and stalk the night.
So when masked robbers burst into a bank on that widescreen, slowly pick each other off, and then we catch a glimpse of Ledger's addicting Joker, Nolan has already enticed us with his prestige and guaranteed undivided attention for the rest of the atypically lengthy sequel.
The Dark Knight pulled off this trick well because it didn't have a controversial zeitgeist preceding it. Batman Begins was a popular and refreshing film, but it didn't have the capacity to generate news stories like The Dark Knight. Probably the biggest "controversy" surrounding Batman Begins was that Katie Holmes was starting to get involved with Tom Cruise and Christian Bale was undergoing rapid weight transformations to adapt to his various movie roles - consequently, when you place these events alongside Heath Ledger's shocking death, they are rightly dwarfed in comparison.
Already, then, The Dark Knight Rises was at a disadvantage. Audiences pouring into theaters came with their favorite shots from The Dark Knight still buzzing in their brains, and watching The Dark Knight Rises felt like a test of concentration.
This viewing didn't disappoint me because of the quality of the film, but rather because of those preconceived ideas that I couldn't shake my first time watching.
I can already tell - after ~12 hours from when I saw TDKR - that it's a movie I want to revisit soon with a more prepared mindset. In fact, even though I claimed to be disappointed (more by myself than the movie), I couldn't stop jogging through the plot when I was supposed to be asleep that night, the soundtrack was still ringing in my ears with its interplay between thunderous and nostalgic compositions, and I was still getting chills if I thought about when Alfred - frustrated and troubled at failing to keep Bruce safe as he promised Thomas Wayne - gives Bruce an ultimatum that ends with the Batman persona preferred.
Thematically and narratively, The Dark Knight Rises couldn't have been made in a way that better aligned the trilogy. It's almost as if any flaws in the film were necessary either by way of our hyped expectations or by the fact that Nolan would have been unable to please everyone with a strict ending (which he chose to use instead of an Inception-like open ending). My friend Adam compared the trilogy to the original Star Wars films - A New Hope the underdog that put a spell on audiences, The Empire Strikes Back the anticipated sequel that reached new heights with little competition from the first film, and Return of The Jedi the necessarily flawed, yet amazing ending to a trilogy that would attach itself to our pop culture consciousness and has remained there since.
That both Christopher and Jonathan Nolan are immensely talented and innovative filmmakers has been apparent since Jonathan helped inspire Memento with his writing and since the pair teamed up on The Prestige, but I truly believe that in hindsight we will come to see their collaboration on the Batman trilogy as a watershed moment in our notions of what can be captured behind a hunk of recording equipment.
To sum up my thoughts, films like Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises have introduced a new paradigm in the short-lived and often corny genre of "Comic Book" movies. We can already notice the tint of this perspective in the teaser for Man of Steel - with its almost Malickian cinematography and its stark contrast to 2006's Superman Returns. This is the difference we can now expect from movies based on comics: the difference between Eric Bana's Hulk and Edward Norton's Hulk, the difference between The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and Watchmen, the difference between Tobey Maguire's goofy swagger and Andrew Garfield's almost method-acted play on the Webbed Warrior - these are the differences we have been offered: between playful and grim, between Razzies and Oscars, between pulp fiction and realistic adaptation.
For better or for worse, Comic Book Movies have been forced to evolve. They have been lambasted to hell, parodied, mocked, and avoided - mostly all for valid reasons. But this evolution was not slow to form or ambling in its uprising. A breed of superhero movies died out for their failings and the new generation of comic book lovers - seeing this happen in real time - have decided to heed the call of responsibility, suit up in Kevlar rather than spandex, and forgo cheesy lines and cheap tricks for real-world reflection and philosophical conflicts.
DC and Marvel have taken varying approaches to this root shift, but both paths deepen the playing field for superheros on film. For DC this has meant work along the lines of the new Batman, with dark tones and sharp etchings of loss, fear, pain, and redemption; whereas Marvel has chosen the more theatrical (yet still complex) route of introducing likable characters, perfecting the art of role-casting (Garfield as Spiderman, RDJ as Iron Man, Mark Ruffalo as The Hulk, and Tom Hiddleston as Loki were all flashes of brilliance), and picking filmmakers (like Joss Whedon) whose style parallels this new found emphasis on balancing what's comical to what's human.
There is no longer room in the genre for half-measures. Simple, light, half-baked concepts can't match the new league of movies that have already earned acclaim. As Batman prepares to make the ultimate sacrifice for his city, Catwoman - desperate to save Bruce - says "You don't owe these people anymore. You've given them everything." Bruce knows this isn't true and brings his long-lasting process of catharsis and self-realization to a close, shutting the book on Bruce Wayne's injured psyche.
In much the same way, filmmakers approaching the genre need to put away the pain of past failures and move on. They haven't completely given us what we crave.
Not everything. Not yet.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Propinquity. Alternative Title: A word introduced to me by a close friend, and as I savor the increasingly rare experience of obtaining a new word, I thought to share it. Alternative Title 2: The material or mental nearness between human beings. Propinquity.
I was thinking the other day about how much of an impact our early teachers can have on the course of our lives. At their worst, those teachers show us what we want to absolutely avoid on our journeys (especially when it comes to the more down-trodden variety of teacher). At their best, however, these people nurture a specific skill or two that they envision in us - and while that is a massive responsibility on their part, it's a task that becomes completely necessary when students spend an impressionably large amount of their waking hours in a school.
Although I believe that responsibility is an extremely important function of teachers, they also incubate (ideally) one specific, comprehensive skill that transcends the usefulness of even the most well-written curriculum. That skill would be the ability to appreciate certain types of information, and more importantly, the ability to devote ourselves to the process of learning itself. Not learning as a means to an end, but learning as it is. I say this because loving to learn will inherently lead to the type of thought that engenders powerful ends; therefore, we need to hone in on the standalone tool-set rather than the structures we can raise with that tool-set.
Here in America, we tend to don economic blinders that are both short-sighted and severely narrowing in regards to our long-term outlook. We believe that in order to resuscitate whatever pipe-dream status we once held, we should emphasize certain career brackets. As a result, we flood the job market with workers who not only have an overly specific skill-set, but are also sub-par because they lack a more comprehensive vision for themselves. These workers, however strong their attunement to a national narrative, are missing a narrative constructed to account for their own growth in our society.
By all means, national narratives are crucial to the formation of a cultural event-course, but if those participating in such a narrative can't conceptualize their individual contributions, then they lose sight of the importance of those contributions and fail to adequately buttress the foundations of their community. In this way, highlighting the development of autonomous, critical thought patterns forms the core of an adaptable, globally competitive culture.
If I was to choose a single teacher to make an example of to aid my thesis, it would almost certainly have to be Mrs. Pulse, who taught Eighth Grade English.
I understand it's a cliche to mention English teachers (yada yada all-too-easy Dead Poets Society joke), but Mrs. Pulse, whether purposefully or not, fostered my liking of discourse. I didn't gain much in the way of literary exposure in that class, but to me (and futhermore, at that point in my education) adopting the mindset that allows you to later dive into literature and cultural theory was essential.
See, in reality, it wasn't the most intellectually engaging class (firstly, it was early in the morning - secondly, Eighth graders are typically, but not always, incapable of intellectual engagement in the form that we currently value). However, Mrs. Pulse understood what our capabilities were and spent more time sitting and conversing with us as a class rather than purely lecturing. In this way, she made sure that we comprehended the value of a level-headed conversation with a peer while simultaneously making us feel that we were much older than 13 or 14 (which is vital for an adolescent's confidence).
I specifically recall a writing assignment that consisted of writing a short story based on the self-help bestseller "Who Moved My Cheese?". I can't remember the details of the purported help offered by that book (mainly because it was rubbish), but I chose to take a dystopian spin on the core thought-line of two mice taking different approaches to maze navigation. The piece was probably unclear, frenzied, and written using a pen with faulty ink (there were black splotches all over the flimsy pages), but regardless of those setbacks, Mrs. Pulse appreciated what I was going for and pushed me to keep writing with a unique voice.
Voice - the subtle yet incredibly potent difference between shoddy and quirky, addicting writing - clearly meant a lot to her, and that preference was reflected in her choice of assignments. We had a few writing assignments throughout the year that paralleled the "Cheese" essay, and with each one (presented, albeit shakily, in front of the whole class) I felt more confident in my voice and my understanding of the potential words have to weave ideas seamlessly through both space and time - translating beautiful and horrible ideas from one mind to another. Of course, I also became more confident in my understanding of how easily it is to get middle-school aged kids to laugh at jokes about slutty math teachers (I'm talking about you, Mrs. Schneider).
To wrap that nostalgia trip up, now I notice how strikingly similar Mrs. Pulse's teaching format was to that of my Liberal Arts professors in college. We desperately need more teachers in young classrooms educating in this style - which prepares students far better for quick-witted, deep thought than merely repeating (as is currently the case) that higher education is rigorous and that we should almost fearfully approach our movement to that level.
In the end, there are few concrete action items we can currently shoulder to immediately implement a more out-dated, University-style teaching approach in lower level classrooms; but, if we can adjust our awareness of this issue, we might just go from singlemindedly valuing teachable moments to having a national school system others will want to learn from.
Although I believe that responsibility is an extremely important function of teachers, they also incubate (ideally) one specific, comprehensive skill that transcends the usefulness of even the most well-written curriculum. That skill would be the ability to appreciate certain types of information, and more importantly, the ability to devote ourselves to the process of learning itself. Not learning as a means to an end, but learning as it is. I say this because loving to learn will inherently lead to the type of thought that engenders powerful ends; therefore, we need to hone in on the standalone tool-set rather than the structures we can raise with that tool-set.
Here in America, we tend to don economic blinders that are both short-sighted and severely narrowing in regards to our long-term outlook. We believe that in order to resuscitate whatever pipe-dream status we once held, we should emphasize certain career brackets. As a result, we flood the job market with workers who not only have an overly specific skill-set, but are also sub-par because they lack a more comprehensive vision for themselves. These workers, however strong their attunement to a national narrative, are missing a narrative constructed to account for their own growth in our society.
By all means, national narratives are crucial to the formation of a cultural event-course, but if those participating in such a narrative can't conceptualize their individual contributions, then they lose sight of the importance of those contributions and fail to adequately buttress the foundations of their community. In this way, highlighting the development of autonomous, critical thought patterns forms the core of an adaptable, globally competitive culture.
If I was to choose a single teacher to make an example of to aid my thesis, it would almost certainly have to be Mrs. Pulse, who taught Eighth Grade English.
I understand it's a cliche to mention English teachers (yada yada all-too-easy Dead Poets Society joke), but Mrs. Pulse, whether purposefully or not, fostered my liking of discourse. I didn't gain much in the way of literary exposure in that class, but to me (and futhermore, at that point in my education) adopting the mindset that allows you to later dive into literature and cultural theory was essential.
See, in reality, it wasn't the most intellectually engaging class (firstly, it was early in the morning - secondly, Eighth graders are typically, but not always, incapable of intellectual engagement in the form that we currently value). However, Mrs. Pulse understood what our capabilities were and spent more time sitting and conversing with us as a class rather than purely lecturing. In this way, she made sure that we comprehended the value of a level-headed conversation with a peer while simultaneously making us feel that we were much older than 13 or 14 (which is vital for an adolescent's confidence).
I specifically recall a writing assignment that consisted of writing a short story based on the self-help bestseller "Who Moved My Cheese?". I can't remember the details of the purported help offered by that book (mainly because it was rubbish), but I chose to take a dystopian spin on the core thought-line of two mice taking different approaches to maze navigation. The piece was probably unclear, frenzied, and written using a pen with faulty ink (there were black splotches all over the flimsy pages), but regardless of those setbacks, Mrs. Pulse appreciated what I was going for and pushed me to keep writing with a unique voice.
Voice - the subtle yet incredibly potent difference between shoddy and quirky, addicting writing - clearly meant a lot to her, and that preference was reflected in her choice of assignments. We had a few writing assignments throughout the year that paralleled the "Cheese" essay, and with each one (presented, albeit shakily, in front of the whole class) I felt more confident in my voice and my understanding of the potential words have to weave ideas seamlessly through both space and time - translating beautiful and horrible ideas from one mind to another. Of course, I also became more confident in my understanding of how easily it is to get middle-school aged kids to laugh at jokes about slutty math teachers (I'm talking about you, Mrs. Schneider).
To wrap that nostalgia trip up, now I notice how strikingly similar Mrs. Pulse's teaching format was to that of my Liberal Arts professors in college. We desperately need more teachers in young classrooms educating in this style - which prepares students far better for quick-witted, deep thought than merely repeating (as is currently the case) that higher education is rigorous and that we should almost fearfully approach our movement to that level.
In the end, there are few concrete action items we can currently shoulder to immediately implement a more out-dated, University-style teaching approach in lower level classrooms; but, if we can adjust our awareness of this issue, we might just go from singlemindedly valuing teachable moments to having a national school system others will want to learn from.
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