Don’t Bump the Mango Tree

After becoming fuming mad, and I mean fuming like a nuclear kettle, at the end result of Game Four of the NBA Western Conference Finals Lakers-Spurs match-up, I paced about my house yearning to punch a hole in the wall, itching to scream at the top of my lungs, but then this calmed me down:

“Mangoes don’t do that Manu.”

from the commercial:

There are many more commercials in that vein with equally soothing properties.

If you bump the mango tree, it should be a foul.

Last Year at Marienbad

I went to see Alain Resnais’ 1961 French film, Last Year at Marienbad, at the Dryden Theatre this Friday and again on Sunday. I had been anxiously waiting for this film to screen after learning it was inspired, or drew from–or some conjecture of that sort–a book by Adolfo Bioy Casares called The Invention of Morel, which I read recently and loved. The similarities can seem slight, but they scream if look for it. In fact, another story by Bioy Casares, Asleep In the Sun, can equally be construed to be influential in Alain Robbe-Grillet’s screen play, as can opening scenes from Bioy Cesares’ A Plan for Escape (which I haven’t finished yet). They all lend some superficial scenes and depictions, but only The Invention of Morel lends the metaphysical conundrum central to the entire film and its many repetitions and representations. But I can’t help but feel that Sadegh Hedayat’s The Blind Owl trumps them all in potential influence.

I believe there is a one-to-one correspondence between The Blind Owl and the screen play of Last Year at Marienbad, both plot and style. (If you haven’t read The Blind Owl, here is a free online version.) The topic of both pieces dwell on memory, real and fake. The line between the real memories and fake memories become blurred beyond recognition. The protagonist undergoes a metamorphosis, there are repeated scenes, phrases, and events throughout both works. Sometimes there are variations in the repetition, like a phrase attributed to one character is next attributed to another, sometimes the repetition is strict. There are deaths (real or fake, we don’t know the whole story, now do we?), and a host of other events that make The Blind Owl and Marienbad more similar than Marienbad and Morel, in my opinion, of course. Then again, I also hold the firm belief that Albert Lamorisse’s 1956 French film The Red Balloon, a seemingly innocuous and playful film about a boy and his red balloon, is a veiled censure of France and the Algerian War, where the color red references either Toussaint Rouge (the start of the Algerian War in 1954) or Main Rouge (Red Hand; terrorist group opposing the Algerian occupation by France). I can overanalyze anything put before my eyes.

Back to Marienbad, if you know the film, you know how non-linear, abstract, and outlandish it can be. Which makes this quotation by screenplay writer Alain Robbe-Grillet all the more puzzling:

We can imagine Marienbad is a documentary on a statue.

Puzzling because we learn in the film that the statue depicts King Charles III (we can only assume of France), his wife, and a dog; a dog that is faced in the opposite direction of the king and queen, as if intentionally avoiding something, or is perhaps trying to call out attention to itself by being turned around (the presence of the dog is another reason I think Asleep in the Sun is an influence). Charles the III also known as Charles the Straightfoward, disposed king, his statue features prominently in a film that seems to be anything but straightforward, or is it? (By the way, I don’t have a reference for the quote, I found it here.)

The most straight forward interpretation is given in the opening scene, where the actors of the film sit and watch a portrayal by two actors in a play. This sets the whole apparatus that is the absurdity of humanity in motion. We, the audience, are shown an audience of motionless figures with eyes glued on the imaginary and staged lives that we and the audience portrayed consider, with aid suspended disbelief, to be true. But the audience’s motionless trance becomes peculiar to us, so much so that we do not pay as much attention to the play as we do to the frozen audience. By this slight of hand, we miss the spoiler, but beyond that, if you stop to think, you realize that you are portrayed there on the screen, you sit motionless with your eyes glued to the screen, and yet you think it is the most peculiar thing when you see others doing it. You see, when we suspend our disbelief, we suspend ourselves, we become momentarily disposed. We, ourselves, are reflected back to us and yet few people make that connection (as indicated by the numerous expositions of the films available on the web, none of which don this notion). We are looking into the mirror and we do not recognize ourselves, which is, in a nutshell, the absurdity of humanity.

Amazing, one could spend years analyzing this film. I went to see it again because I had questions from my first viewing, once I answered them at the second viewing, I found I had even more questions. Unfortunately, the DVD is hard to come by. Region 1 version are going for 200 dollars on Amazon. Region 2 versions seem to be more abundant.

Self-Abnegation

In the March/April 2008 Believer, Oregon artist, movie projectionist, and creator of the Vladmaster (which I received and love!), Vladimir says “[w]hen you’re a movie projectionist, the goal is actually one of self-abnegation. A good projectionist is an unnoticed projectionist.” That, in a nutshell, is my problem with the Little Theatre since the change in management and staff occurred. It is also the main reason for my current boycott (the film selection being the other reason).

Since the change, the projectionist and his/her practice has failed to evade my notice. Whether it be mis-registration in the first seconds of film, horrible cropping due to misalignment, or–and I’d have trouble believing this one if I hadn’t been there myself–leaving on a digital projector that gave a blue hue on the 4:3 portion of the 16:9 film presentation. It wasn’t until the projector went to sleep about 3/4 of the way through the film that the true colors in the film, its blacks, etc., could be appreciated.

Now, you might say, I thought you were boycotting the place, how could you have experienced this. Well, yes, I admit was in the theatre, it was during the High Falls International Film Festival and I was volunteering for the festival, which comes with a handful of free movie vouchers. Anyway, a funny thing about the festival, one of the films was Young People Fucking, which I had to see because I had the greatest time mildly harassing the people who were requesting their will call tickets from me.

I would see the film on their ticket, and ask “And what film are you picking up tickets for?” with a mischievous smile beginning to break the surface of my lips. Invariably, the replies from the mostly older and affluent attendees were some censored form of the title, from euphemisms like “Young People Having a Good Time” to the safe cop-out “Young People F-ing” to the extremely uncomfortable, “Young, People…[awkward silence]”. I’d play dumb to draw out the silence, then suddenly recall (”Oh, yes!”) and release the full smile, “Here are your tickets, enjoy the film!”.

The film itself was hilarious. It is exactly what the title suggest, though I should quantify that: if you think the title suggests you are going to see hardcore pornography, then you will be disappointed, it is, instead, an exposition of the sexual component of the many types of relationships two–and sometimes three–people can have. It was very well acted, which was evident from the first few scenes where the different relationship roles are presented. Before the director went through and labeled them, it was clear to me who were the ex’s, the couple, etc. I was not sexually aroused once during this film, which says something about the hilarity. The film also presents a good schema for analysis of your own relations. If that is the kind of thing you are into.

You know that sound you get…

…when you’ve been to a loud music event and you foolishly forgot your ear plugs? That long steady shhhhhhhhhhhh, well, I have that right now. I recall hearing in the film The Children of Men that it is the last time you’ll hear those frequencies, I wonder how much truth is in that statement?

In the film, the character is exposed to a one-time high pressure, i.e. the explosion, this leads to permanent cochlear damage, also called acoustic trauma. I was exposed to a steady dose of rock and/or roll at the BugJar. The Gifted Children (they seem to be having some website issues) had their CD release party, they had a clear vinyl album called Cordless Miles with an excellent hand drawn rendition of this photograph I took some time back. The CD is supposed to have my foto on it, but they didn’t have any of those.

The show was entertaining; front man Jeff has a hilarious presence on the stage, occasionally channeling a little David Bryne. The songs are often just as hilarious, We saw the vultures… is probably my favorite, and it isn’t just because they played it three times, or was it four? If you want to read more about them, check out this interview in the City Newspaper.

It is pretty cool that Jeff likes my fotos and wants to use some more on upcoming albums. It is also pretty cool that my friend Roxane liked a foto–no digital version exists at this moment in time and the punks at Rochester Photography scratched my negative, grrr!–anyway, she liked a foto I sent her so much that she decided to put it in this month’s Vega Estates The Vega Caucus art show in Chicago, IL. The show is/was tonight, so that makes two events tonight semi-featuring fotos by me, woo hoo! I wish I could have gone to Chicago, but that’ll have to wait for another time.

I remember when I used to be good a tooting my own horn, but the past few reclusive years have put a fast stop to all that. Maybe I should renew my shameless self-promotion? Ha! Hear ye, hear ye… hmm… the hearing thing (shhhhhhh) also makes the sound of my own voice extremely foreign and extremely annoying.

Longing for the Days…

…or nights–late nights–of aimless driving, bags of chips, and a large bottle of juicy juice.

My current state of inwardness is bordering on absurdity. I’ve grown increasingly uncomfortable in my public skin, but extremely satisfied in my private skin. Yet I have no real qualm since I can envision my life continuing this way with no strong aversion, but I can also imagine a return to the aimless driving.

My dreams are as vivid as ever. Its likely that their absence of lucidity is the source of my calm. The characters in my dreams, while building a Freytag Pyramid, do not disappoint unless I need them to, but even then I am unaware of their minds.

I am standing on a solipsistic cliff; looking back, looking down, then back again.