Robert Sullivan – Rats (3)
This is a disappointing book. That’s not to say it’s not entertaining in parts, and that the rat related historic stories Sullivan has dug up aren’t worth your time. But as this book is modeled on Walden, and attempts to be a natural history of the urban rat, these are marginal issues. The problem of the book is that its author despises its subject. Sullivan freely confesses not to like rats, and he goes out of his way to go out of their way. An odd premise for any study, and not at all a good starting point for observations. Consequently, Sullivans contribution to his subject is collecting stuff from libraries, and the observations in the alley, that his study supposedly started from and centers around, are all but nonexistent. Rats keep close to walls and eat garbage, he tells us, as though anybody needed to spend a night out with a notebook to know that. Ultimately, the book celebrates the cunning and resourcefulness of New Yorkers, with the rats providing a despised tapestry against which to compare human history – adding to the myths Sullivan himself has fallen prey to. Too bad.
This book evokes memories of the seventies, when I was a little boy in school, and many textbooks had illustrations in a style similar to Sasek’s. These are lovely and slightly odd renderings of everyday life in Munich several decades ago, and the slight mismatch between the english and german versions of the text, and the terseness in general, only add to this piece of nostalgia. And I don’t even like Munich all that much.
Never before has the decay of society, the random death and destruction, and the hopeless metaphysical void that was left by the scourge of the black death depicted as stylish as in this chessgame action thriller. I expected dreary symbolism and found a wonderful meditation on death and life.
The staggering story of a Russian who invented one of the weirdest musical instruments of all time, single handedly launching electronic music, then got abducted by the KGB, for whom he then invented the electornic spy bug, and after decades got reunited with his friends, who didn’t know where he was, or whether he was still alive, should have made an awesome movie. Unfortunately, this is not that movie. The reliance of interview material that is less than thrilling and talking head shots instead of interactions draws out the plot, and it is only at the very end, when Theremin meets a woman he knew as a 18 year old singer before his abduction, when the tragedy of the story gets some stage – and five minutes later the movie is over. Still worth watching, but more for factual content than for its artistry.
I am exactly a fan of the romantic movie genre, often citing its lack of explosions as a reason. More accurately stated, the romantic comedy and drama in general lack an element that allows me to overlook faults in plot or character exposition, or overall execution. This is because I am unwilling to let myself become emotionally involved with people whose existence has clearly been disproven by shoddy filmmaking. I harbor no such objections against unrealistic explosive devices, and I blame my genes for said unfounded bias.
For years I had suspected that the historic truth is being stretched and bended, possibly even mutilated, in order to make Dresden into the innocent symbol of allied war atrocities dominating the German discourse of the bombings. Now, having read Schubert’s book on the subject, I am better equipped to dispel the myths, and predictably find my inferences confirmed. No liquid phosphor rained down, the city was not full of fugitives or innocents any more than any of the other cities inhabited by Nazis was, and the local industry was neither insignificant nor unimportant for the war. Dresden has turned into a monumental tool for relativists, for whom the outcome – the destruction of human life and property – is the only determinant of the morality of an action, and for whom dead Nazis and their dead victims form one soppy canvas to paint a kitschy portrait of their nationalism disguised as benevolent peacefulness upon.
I came across this book on one of the shelving carts in the main UC Berkeley library while searching for a completely different one that had gone missing (and sadly hasn’t been located since). Its author, briefness and subject matter immediately commanded my attention, and after having read it, I’m happy I stumbled upon it. This brief treatment of Hegel’s work is a small miracle, capturing his theory of history, dialectics and the master/slave dichotomy rising from his theory of Selbstbewusstsein, and in turn giving rise later to Marx’ alienated labor. A wonderful introduction, and a solid argument for libraries where books are accessible rather than being ordered from closed stacks through a catalogue.
I have seen Frears version of de Laclos’ awesome book multiple times, and wasn’t surprised that a movie from the 1950s fails to stand up to Malkovich, Close and Pfeiffer. I was surprised, however, to see the plot transplanted to the present, and Valmont and Merteuil made into a married couple, odd decisions both, and while interesting, not helping the movie. But the real weakness is Vadims failure to convey any of the intricate psychology of de Laclos’ plot and the beautyfully crafted letters it consists of. Having seen this certainly makes me appreciate Frears quite a bit more. And as a final note, I’m not sure I’d want to see another movie with eternally sulky femme banale Jeanne Moreau any time soon.
The puzzle, it seems to me, is not how to find out about the multiple ways the current setup of commerce and power is defective, producing forces that can not help but be evil. Rather, it’s how to turn this realization into smething that has practical consequences, and not being forced into quiet resignation, because the mechanisms are too far removed from our daily life for them to be able to lie within our sphere of influence. The great thing, then, about movies like this one, is that in all it’s complexity and intricateness – and I didn’t find it remotely as hard to follow the plot as all the reviewers were whining, by the way. Sure, you miss some details, but the main pieces are in plain view – it creates the feeling that everything is connected, providing the unlikely hope that stems from the fact that even what we lowly watchers of movies do in our lives will make a difference, shifting the distribution of power.
I had heard that his movie was good, but I was surprised to find just how well this 1951 SciFi-Horror crossover has withstood the test of time. An intelligent script and believable characters, a stroy relying on try suspense instead of cheap effects, a truly frightening creature and well acted and filmed scenes all make this a gem worth remembering. While Carpenter’s remake, especially its intense atmosphere of paranoia, is superior in some ways, I would find it hard to compare the two overall. Which means that for its sheer age, Nyby’s version wins. Yay Nyby!