Over the weekend my wife and I attended a fun event at the Musical Instrument Museum here in Scottsdale. With non-fiction literary readings and a performance from the folksy band The Senators, it was a great time for people of all ages. This summer be sure to take time to visit an event in your area to support local musicians and writers. Here's a little taste of The Senators...
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Grammar award of the week goes to NBA commentator Chris Webber during last night's Game 5 of the Western Conference Finals. Notice the grammatical adjustment Webber makes for star guard Stephen Curry... Curry even recognized his speech error in his post-game comments:
“That’s great grammar, right?” Curry said later before giving a nod to his alma mater. “My Davidson people would be very embarrassed.” There you go, kids. Even the greatest three-point shooter in basketball history knows he still has a few things to work on. This video was posted today on the Nerdwriter YouTube channel. He does a pretty good job of describing an element of literary theory called intertextuality as it applies to recent films. He doesn't quite go far enough though, as his analysis is limited to a sort of complaint against self-referential connections in popular movie franchises. Intertextuality actually has some interesting elements and allows for a broader exposure to great works of literature, be they in film or other forms. Here's some more info...
Using the latitude offered by poststructuralism, in which work and text can be interchangeable and complementary, and messages can be interpreted and reinterpreted, we may be able to bridge the divide of various perspectives of art and implement a logical, cohesive, and respectable network of intertextuality. The detractors of intertextuality are many in number and vocal in position. Such critics have said that today’s popular culture promotes anti-intellectualism through the mocking of smart characters and the over-simplification of important issues for the sake of comedy or convenience. The emptiness and decadence of intertextuality is often claimed for its ultimate relegation as a substandard creative form. Literary critic Q.D. Leavis once described popular culture as “cheap and easy pleasures” that “do not encourage or demand active participation” or “critical thought” and “is not worthy of being analyzed as true or authentic literature or culture." In her intertextual study of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and its reproduction and reinterpretation in both film and television, critic Linda Dryden surmises that “popular culture is reliant upon high culture for much of its imaginative and creative inspiration,” and that without literature, “popular culture itself would be impoverished.” On a similar note, Frederic Jameson believes that the constant replication of artistic material eliminates original style as “depth is replaced by surface, or by multiple surfaces (what is often called intertextuality is in that sense no longer a matter of depth)." “Intertextual practice,” Jameson says, “…collapses into a kind of pointless resurrection of past styles and past voices.” Fordham University professor Jonathan Gray, however, believes in intertextuality. He states, “Textual studies have a long history of fetishizing the text as a solitary, pristinely autonomous object….Even now intertextuality is often invoked in a merely hit-and-run manner, without its full ramifications for televisual form and phenomenology of reception being carefully considered.” Blurring the lines between classic and popular forms of text is nothing new, as fiction went through a similar process. “English professors used to be what TV professors are now,” professor Robert Thompson says, concerning the fun and creative (and initially controversial) use of popular literature in the classroom. “There have always been complaints about making room for the next tier of popular entertainment.” Admittedly, however, there are some serious issues to be raised with regard to such postmodern creations. Steven Connor writes that “in contemporary fiction, telling has become compulsorily belated, inextricably bound up with retelling, in all its idioms: reworking, translation, adaptation, displacement, imitation, forgery, plagiarism, parody, pastiche.” We have become a culture that can only copy and comment on art, rather than produce original, imaginative work. And in these reproductions, the allusions that the new text relies upon are excluding, through their obscurity, the very audience to whom the text aims to entertain. Consequently, the back-and-forth dynamic intended by the creator is only possible if the viewer of the medium is aware that it has a literary origin. Therefore, the creator of the newly reinterpreted work is simply producing references for his or her own amusement and the intellectual entertainment of those who happen to be “in” on the allusion. While appearing to be inclusive through popular and accessible media, a resulting exclusivity and elitism occurs. In clarifying and adapting the previous theories of Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure, theorist Barbara Johnson states, “While Literature is seen as a series of discrete and highly meaningful Great Works, textuality is the manifestation of an open-ended, heterogeneous, disruptive force of signification and erasure that transgresses all closure.” The relationships between signs, signifiers, and the signified become mutable, and if we apply the same structural theories of language to literary works as whole units, the understanding of literature is altered and expanded, as well. Julia Kristeva took this view a step further in first coining the word ‘intertextuality’ by explaining that “Since there is no end to the text’s significance, inside and outside are merely product of any particular reading of the text, which itself can always proceed further, ceases arbitrarily, never comes to the end of the text’s threads.” Barthes concurs in that “The intertextual in which every text is held, it itself being the text-between of another text, is not be confused with some origin of the text.” Barthes goes on to outline the evolving definition of text: it is always in motion and production; it cannot be classified in a hierarchy by perceived quality or by genre; it is based in signification; it is irreducibly plural; it is constantly filiated as different readers acquire authorship; it is to be consumed, regardless of its history; and it is innately pleasurable. This analysis means that text is constantly being reinterpreted by whomever the reader is at the time or by whomever decides to use it in a subsequent creation. This is the basis for intertextuality, whereby art or literature can be reproduced with a borrowed set of meanings or an entirely new set of meanings. The respective texts are simply links in a never-ending chain of literary interpretation that cannot be classified due to its constant motion. Novels, television, plays, films, artwork, architecture, music or other forms of creation can be examined for intertextuality, not simply to recognize references, but to create connections. Understanding our place in culture and history requires an analysis that compares where we are to where we have come from. Theorist Mikhail Bakhtin writes, “The text lives only by coming into contact with another text (with context). Only at the point of this contact between texts does a light flash, illuminating both the posterior and anterior, joining a given text to a dialogue.” It is this illumination and dialogue we should seek when using the intertextuality literary creations. Understanding intertextutality can be an entertaining and insightful excavation of previously inaccessible literary terminology, topics, and concepts that will enhance the cultural experience that lies ahead and engrain upon all the quality and creativity that has come before. For those out there fearful that the world will be overrun by machines and humans will be replaced for every task, take heart. Turns out, machines can't (yet, anyway) write quality poetry.
The Associated Press reported a few days ago that in a writing contest held at Dartmouth College, computers were programmed with algorithms for writing sonnets, and their work was tested against human poets. In every case, the computer poetry was noticeably worse and easily detected by the judges. This fun experiment is a great example of why literature is the defining area of study for the broader Humanities field. If one wants to truly learn about people and their myriad fascinating complexities, literature is best place to start. The computers may be gaining on us, but we aren't going away just yet. This week's posts have been devoted to two opposing views of the world. One view holds that individuals are responsible for themselves, can overcome circumstantial obstacles, and choose to be successful in their own unique ways. The other view believes in lack of opportunity, systemic inequity, and collective blame. One view stands for personal empowerment, the other for social victimhood. But let me tie all of this back to English.
We all (should have) learned as children that sentences are made up of subjects and objects, among other things. Subjects are words that do the actions of the verbs, while objects are those words that receive such actions. "I bought Susie some ice cream" gives us "I" as the subject and "Susie" as the indirect object (with "ice cream" as the direct object). "I" performs the action. "Susie" receives the action. Indirect objects usually reveal "to whom" or "for whom." They are passive. Actions happen to/for them. With each passing year of adulthood, I continue to notice a sad trend among people I meet. Whether they be students in my classes or people in various businesses or anyone else, there are those in this world that always seem to have life happening "to" them. The teacher was unfair to them. The customer didn't call them back. The government didn't help them. The spouse was annoying them. The boss didn't respect them. Granted, we are social beings in an ever-changing environment, so facing complications with those around us is a given. But there are people who constantly live in this passive state, whose very mode of existence is reliant upon others for the decisions they make and actions they take. Initiative is low. Excuses are common. And stagnancy is inevitable. These are people who have decided to live their lives as objects, rather than subjects. This worldview is especially common among those who struggle the most. But living as an object is not only hopeless, it is illogical. No social structure forces people to deal drugs. No oppressive hegemony forces people to continue dating abusive idiots. No conspiratorial cabal forces people to buy homes, cars, or college educations they cannot afford. No economic inequality forces people to disregard fundamental intellectual and social skills, such as reading, writing, articulate speech, and basic politeness. The world is not happening to them. They should be acting upon their world. They should become subjects in their own lives. On Wednesday, I quoted a few lines from a recent speech that claimed luck is a primary determinant in success and that there are countless people just as smart and talented--they just weren't as lucky. For such believers, people are simply objects. This disrespectful outlook encourages them to be passive agents, like passengers on a cosmic train over which they have no control. This is the epitome of uninspiring rhetoric. And it negates the drive within each human to strive for improvement, to have a voice, to make a difference. I prefer a different mindset. President Calvin Coolidge once said, “Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan Press On! has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.” You are the difference--your personal initiative to stand up and say, "No, I will not live like this. I will do better. I will work harder. I will take charge of this situation and prepare for my future." No one else can do this for you. This is what it means to be a subject in life. Those of you who may be graduating from high school or college right now have a choice to make. Will you face the world in front of you like those I mentioned in Monday's column, or with the attitude depicted in Wednesday's column? Will you simply hope for "luck" and look to others to determine your success in life? Or will you choose to be the master of your fate and the captain of your soul? Subjects and objects are not just tedious parts of a grammatical education. They can be a key to your whole life. You are not an accident, and the world is not just happening to you. The verbs of life need to be done by someone--will you be the active subject or the passive object? The decision of which one you will embrace, as always, is up to you. On Monday, I posted an example of one way of looking at the world--a way in which people are empowered to take charge of their own lives, regardless of circumstance. This worldview encourages personal responsibility and spiritual empowerment to overcome obstacles, to lead a successful life, and to inspire others--to be masters of our own fate.
But there is a competing worldview, as well. This perspective was demonstrated in the words of a prominent American recently. Here were some of his words: "We cannot sleepwalk through life." Good. "We cannot be ignorant of history." Yes, I'm with you. "We can’t meet the world with a sense of entitlement." Excellent. "We can’t walk by a homeless man without asking why a society as wealthy as ours allows that state of affairs to occur." Wait, what? "We can’t just lock up a low-level dealer without asking why this boy, barely out of childhood, felt he had no other options." Hold on a second... "We have cousins and uncles and brothers and sisters who we remember were just as smart and just as talented as we were, but somehow got ground down by structures that are unfair and unjust." Oh, my. Consider the not-so-subtle implications of those last three sentences. "Allows" homelessness to occur? "No other options"? "Structures"? These words all put responsibility on others rather than those involved. Therefore, people aren't homeless because they've made some poor choices in life. We did it to them. People don't sell drugs for selfish reasons. We didn't give them enough ways to say no to that life. People aren't successful because they don't work as hard or seek opportunities for advancement. We have built an unfair system. Kind of goes against the Invictus mentality, doesn't it? You are not responsible for your life. This was all unavoidable. Other people made your life this way. But the speaker didn't stop there. "Yes, you've worked hard, but you've also been lucky. That's a pet peeve of mine: People who have been successful and don’t realize they've been lucky. That God may have blessed them; it wasn’t nothing you did." Aside from the terrible grammar of that final line, this is not only a straw-man position, but it also contradicts not just the very essence of Americanism, but of humanity itself. First the straw-man: everyone is lucky in some way, and those most successful are often the first to admit to their good fortune. To the point above, being homeless may not feel very lucky, but being homeless in America instead of the Amazonian jungles is extremely lucky. Being in prison may not feel very lucky, but being in prison in America instead of a Siberian gulag is extremely lucky. In fact, those participating in the Invictus games may be the most unlucky. These are smart, strong, kind individuals who were trying to be helpful to mankind by fighting evil and oppression around the world. And they had their lives and bodies torn apart. Strangely, they are not the ones complaining about bad luck. Secondly, being an American is one of the luckiest qualities one can possess. Why do you think more people immigrate here than anywhere else in the world? But the fortune of America only matters if it is acted upon by individuals. Simply being lucky doesn't make one successful. Lebron James hit the genetic jackpot by being 6'8'' and 250 pounds of solid muscle. But he couldn't possibly have become Lebron James without endless hours of practice in gym. The world is filled with "lucky" people who never did anything with their talents. It is the personal drive of the individual that makes the difference. We are all lucky in some way. But only the determined will break away from mediocrity. These few sentences are the opposite of inspiring. They present a way of life that is hopeless and weak. What is the point of getting out of bed each day if I believe the "structures" of life are unfair, or if I don't have "other options," or if I have no control over my potential for success? If I am not "the captain of my soul," as the poem states, why participate in anything? Consider these two worldviews carefully and decide what path you will take. This week we will be looking at two distinct worldviews and how they appeared in our culture recently. Today's comes from last week's Invictus Games, an Olympic-type event in which wounded soldiers met for competitive sports in Orlando, Florida. The Invictus Games are beyond inspiring and are a healthy kick in the backside for our world's complainers. Try telling these amazing men and women that you are too sick to go to school, or too tired to go to work, or that your life is hard or unfair. And in true English Champion fashion, the Games' motto comes from a piece of literature: Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. --British poet William Ernest Henley, 1875 I just finished reading Peter Thiel's new book, Zero to One, about building businesses for the future. The most interesting passage to me was about paying CEOs:
Whenever an entrepreneur asks me to invest in his company, I ask him how much he intends to pay himself. A company does better the less it pays its CEO--that's one of the single clearest patterns I've noticed from investing in hundreds of startups. In no case should a CEO of an early-stage, venture-backed startup receive more than $150,000 per year in salary. It doesn't matter if he got used to making much more than that at Google or if he has a large mortgage and hefty private school tuition bills. If a CEO collects $300,000 per year, he risks becoming more like a politician than a founder. High pay incentivizes him to defend the status quo along with his salary, not to work with everyone else to surface problems and fix them aggressively. A cash-poor executive, by contrast, will focus on increasing the value of the company as a whole. So what does this have to do with English or academics? Try replacing the words company and startup with "financially strapped college" and CEO with "college president." Would our schools start to look any different? On Sunday afternoon, I caught a community theater production of one of my favorite pieces of literature, David Mamet's Pulitzer Prize-winning Glengarry Glen Ross, performed at the Desert Stages Theater here in Scottsdale. I have read the text several times and seen the 1992 film version dozens of times, but this was my first live performance. With a running time of only around 75 mintues, Mamet packs a flurry of punches into his tiny script.
On a minimalist stage in a room with about 50 seats (the furthest being a mere 20 feet from the actors), no line flubs are allowed as Mamet's jargon is the ultimate test of effective rehearsal and a deterrent to improv. In order to stay on pace and elicit the high-wire tension of each verbal exchange, Mamet crafted his play so that every pause, um, and stutter must be voiced as it is on the page, and any mistake in dialogue diminishes the actors' ability to convey the urgency of the plot and the desperation of the characters. What many people unfamiliar with the play may not know is that the play is slightly different than the film, with less background information offered and the noticeable absence of the iconic "Always Be Closing" monologue delivered in the film by Alec Baldwin. But these extra bits of character development are not crucial for the stage. For this play is about talking. And more importantly, not listening. In nearly every scene one character steamrolls another into believing him. Constant interruptions and half-sentences become power dynamics, and raised voices turn into weapons. Selling real estate is a man's game and real men are closers, they say. But such commitment comes with a willingness to lie--to clients, to bosses, to each other. And lies can only remain hidden for so long. The film version, admittedly, is almost impossible to top. After all, among the five main actors, they have 26 Oscar nominations among them. But the play is not about superstar celebrities. It's about regular guys doing a regular job. The men in the play could be any of us. Their job could be any job. And the audience must constantly ask themselves, "What would I do in that situation?" GGR is almost an experience, like some grand musical, in which most of the fun is wondering if the performers can actually pull it off. Perhaps no other play is as simple, yet as dangerous to perform. At its heart, GGR is a play about words, those we say and those we want to hear. Like some type of linguistic hyperkinesis, Mamet's language patters off the actors' tongues and bounces across the stage like a verbal ping pong match with more than one ball in play. His speed, wit, and rhythm make Aaron Sorkin's writing sound like The Old Man and the Sea. And the live performance actually comes off as funnier than the film does, which surprised me. Though the play is VERY R-rated, if you ever get a chance to see GGR live, I highly recommend it. The UK Telegraph is reporting today that a new study of early grade teachers shows children are becoming less prepared for school because of constant interaction with their parents' smartphones. Let me show you my surprised face... Teachers are finding that young children are lacking in social skills and are displaying higher rates of speech problems than ever before. One head teacher said, “There is limited parent/child interaction. Four year-olds know how to swipe a phone but haven't a clue about conversations." The article also states that "levels of reading, writing and numeracy were lower than they should be."
Yes, the ever-advancing technology available at our fingertips is awesome, and I understand that parents need peace and quiet so they shove their phones in kids' hands to shut them up. But this is the result. Our children are not prepared for school because parents have fewer conversations with them and spend less time practicing valuable academic and life skills. Do your kid a favor. Put the phone away. Your family bond will be stronger and your kid will be smarter. Sounds like a pretty easy sacrifice to me. As this semester comes to a close, many of us (both students and teachers) are desperate for a break, a chance to let our brains cool off as the temperatures warm up. And that is understandable. This is a great time to recharge and get away from the everyday grind of academics. But I want to offer a challenge for this summer to keep your English muscles flexing away from the classroom.
I am going to tackle a task that I've been putting off my entire career. I don't mind enormous books--my copies of Crime and Punishment and Moby Dick run well over 500 pages each, and my Atlas Shrugged is over 1000. But there's one important big book I've never taken the time to read: James Joyce's Ulysses. My copy I recently purchased is nearly 800 pages and is widely considered the greatest novel in the English language. It may sound strange that English professors have not read certain famous books, but it's actually not that uncommon. Often we just haven't had the time, or particular books are simply not our taste. I like Joyce's Dubliners and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, but I've always been somewhat intimidated by his modernist masterpiece. No more! This summer I will read Ulysses and report back on my experience before school is back in session. That is my personal challenge for the summer. What big book have you been avoiding? I encourage everyone (whether you are a teacher, student, or neither) to push yourself in the field of English this summer by picking a big book and diving in. Let me know your choice! I've taken some time away from writing movie reviews, mainly because I wanted to write about different things here for a while and because spring is usually the worst time of year for film releases. But now I'm back, so let's get to it.
I was excited for Elvis and Nixon because it is an independent film with two great character actors, and the trailer looked truly funny. But while the film tries desperately to engage, as if holding up a neon sign glowing, "Look how interesting this is," it doesn't quite reach an effect worthy of its aims. With a running time of 100 minutes, the film feels like it labors to fill the space. A 70-minute HBO or Netflix release would suit the story better. Though the leads (Michael Shannon as Elvis and Kevin Spacey as President Nixon) are excellent, there simply isn't much for them or other characters to do. While these two men were indeed larger than life, they are not quite large enough to tell this particular story. In 1970, Elvis Presley wrote a letter to President Nixon requesting a meeting and sauntered to the front gates of the White House to hand-deliver it. He was concerned with the drug culture, the spread of communism, and diminishing American values the 1960s had wrought and wanted to serve as an undercover "federal agent at large." With a real badge, of course. President Nixon was dismissive of Presley, but his aides were able to convince him it would be an effective PR move. So they did meet and what resulted was one of the most iconic photographs in American history. This is all historically true. However, what actually happened in that meeting remains a mystery (since no recordings or transcripts exist), and the legend of their secret conversation grew over time. The premise of Elvis and Nixon is obviously entertaining. Stodgy and disliked Nixon has to meet the flashiest and most beloved entertainer on the planet. Elvis, who wears capes and gold sunglasses and is recognized the world over, actually believes he can go undercover and bust up drug rings and mob organizations. Everyone involved knows this is a ridiculous idea, but they go ahead with it anyway--and Nixon actually likes Elvis. And what the heck is a "federal agent at large" anyways? This is funny. Unfortunately, because we can only guess at what happened behind that closed Oval Office door, the pure speculation as to what occurs in their meeting only heightens the absurdity, while reducing the reality. This leads to what feels like an extended skit on Saturday Night Live instead of an honest exploration of these two men and their desires for serving America. Shannon and Spacey are both excellent. Spacey effectively impersonates Nixon, but Shannon's Elvis is much more nuanced, despite the garish accoutrements. There's no curled lip or hip wriggling. He is serious and charming, polite and endlessly confident. Shannon makes us believe that a man with jet black hair and an enormous gold belt could actually be helpful in FBI investigations. And his karate demonstration with Nixon, while hammy, is superbly funny. He gives several brilliant mini-monologues that would be perfect in a better film, but here they feel, unfortunately, out of place. Though no one would say Shannon looks like the King, we don't care at all, as his southern drawl and folksy quirks are plenty to convince us. Shannon is the main reason this film works. It's interesting that Elvis and Nixon is even considered a story worth telling these days. After all, the mixing of celebrity and politics is nearly so commonplace that not seeing politicians invite stars to the White House would be strange. The film presents a premise that Elvis wanting to meet with the president is inherently humorous, since he clearly knows nothing about the tangled web of bureaucracy or the minutia of public policy initiatives. Yet, that is what happens all the time, and few seem perturbed by it. Why does no one think it's weird that Jay-Z and George Clooney pop into the West Wing now and then? Isn't it just as strange that they have President Obama's ear? Of course, Presley was a once in lifetime personality who even became a caricature of himself in his later years of performing. But the point remains: why pick on Nixon here for his odd interactions with celebrity culture (as was similarly depicted in Frost/Nixon and elsewhere), but we don't do the same with other high-ranking politicians? Elvis and Nixon is a film that tries hard to be important, but it doesn't quite make it. And perhaps the same could be said for most celebrities and politicians. Grade: C+ |
AuthorDr. Spivey is a college English professor and lives in Scottsdale, Arizona. Archives
October 2017
Movie Reviews |