Grace Marmor Spruch – Squirrels at my Window (2)
The different stances of people from varying strata and cultural backgrounds take toward animal life in general, and those animals that have become closely associated in one way or another to human life, is fascinating on one hand, and fairly predictable on the other. City dwellers, who suffer property damage and the risk of diseases from rats, abhor and vilify them, while at the same time adoring squirrels, who in many respects resemble their shady cousings. While in the countryside squirrels are hunted for food, and face extinction in many places because of habitat loss, the city dwelling species enjoy much attention and feeding by their primate hosts. And needless to say, each faction considers their way the natural state of affairs.
This particular book, to get away from stating the obvious, is both entertaining in the stories of squirrel-man interaction its author has accumulated over the years, and somewhat frustrating in its lack of reflection, and Spruch’s tendency to attribute human psychology to her charges.
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.
Watching movies about the holocaust, even – or especially – ones that are as well made as this one, is exhausting and disturbing, and I’m not entirely sure why I keep doing it again and again. Partly it’s the general feeling that an evil forgotten is one likely to be repeated, but there also is the irrational, yet very compelling obligation to understand the monstrosity which seems to stem from my being a member of the culture that committed this singular crime. These matters aside, this particular documentary, drawn from material collected for Spielberg’s Visual History Foundation, is masterfully composed and edited, and should be seen by many, including you.
I consider this a great book, not so much because I agree with what Searle says in it. In fact, I don’t agree with hardly anything he says. But it does provide a nice, comprehensive introduction into the philosophy of mind, and it lists several recent major arguments in the field. Searle’s deliberately naive style, calling whole schools of thoughts “complete desasters”, is fun to read, and invites counterarguments. The downside might be that it encourages half baked criticism and opinionation much like what I’m putting down here. Did I say downside? Upside, I meant. So let’s start ranting.
While Clooney did seem a bit too proud of the things he’s been doing lately at the Oscar’s, the things he does are indeed pretty great, and he wasn’t quite deserving of the scorn heaped upon him by pop reactionaries Parker and Stone in a recent South Park episode (that puts him in a league with recently mocked Al Gore. Apparently poop jokes aren’t controversial enough any more. But I digress). This movie depicts, in rather beautiful black and white cinematography, the courageous act of a few TV journalists at CBS defying overpowering senator Joe McCarthy, and contributing significantly to his eventual downfall. An inspiring and encouraging story at any time, the present context makes this indispensable.
This should by rights have been an awesome movie, with awesome music and an intriguing story, and it didn’t quite fail at achieving it, but it didn’t quite make it, either. Phoenix and Witherspoon were doing an amazing job, especially with the music, but several aspects of the script left me wanting more. We don’t really understand why any of the people do what they do, especially so for the negative influences, his father and his first wife. We get hardly a glimpse of why they act the way they do, and I didn’t really connect to Cash’s reactions to them, either. And the predictable story arc of success – gutter – redemption and it’s edifying connotations may have been unavoidable in a Cash biopic, but still disappointed me in its simplicity. The music made up for much of that, though, and the cinematography and design helped a lot, too.
I’m not sure whether entering a field of knowledge through a basic introduction, or from the middle of an ongoing controversial debate is preferable. Bix’s book represents both aspects, being aimed at those familiar with Japanese history, arguing the case for a change in the perception of wartime emperor Hirohito, from benevolent onlooker and powerless figurehead to bearing full responsibility for Japanese war atroctities and aggression both before and during the second world war. At the same time, it adresses the general reader, using the Sh?wa emperor’s biography as the focal point for depicting the making of modern Japan. The balance between these two different books is worked out fairly well, with some passages dragging on a bit too long, due partly to an overabundance of detail and a flurry of Japanese names and concepts that are sometimes not introduced well enough to properly keep track of for the non-initiated reader. 
It is a disturbing fact of post-war German history that plenty of active National Socialists continued on to positions of power and influence in the Bundesrepublik, partly because of a lack of skilled leadership personnel not involved with the regime, but also because the anti-communist notions of the old criminals fit well into the new political struggle emerging in Europe. Against this historical background, Riefenstahls particular story becomes all the more fascinating. Her unsettlingly effective propaganda documentaries, Triumph des Willes and Fest der Völker, on the 1935 Nuremberg rally and the 1936 Olympic Games, created a fame for her that was probably the reason for her fall after the war. She wasn’t able to make any more movies, and all her other creative efforts – most notably her photography of the people – got subjected to close scrutiny and harsh criticisms for suspicions of a fascist esthetic, and were always contextualized with her past. This movie portrays her both as the victim of scapegoating and a stubborn denier of aspects of her life, but most of all it paints the fascinating picture of a multifaceted woman, who had the misfortune to live in evil times. You might not like her after this documentary, but you won’t regret having seen it.