I haven't posted in a very long time because I have been tremendously busy with school. Still am, in fact, and I won't be finished with all my schoolwork until I literally graduate in about a month. I cannot believe it's just around the corner. I still feel like a junior since I'd spent my third year with second-year British kids in England.
In general I am overwhelmed, also, with finding a job since the graduate school thing didn't work out. Oh, thanks, but it's OK. I've gotten over it. I'd wanted to actually post about the rush of feelings I had once I learned the news about three weeks ago, but I never got around to it. I've resolved to apply to different kinds of programs--programs--to start in fall 2009. In the meantime, I hope to do something worthwhile, something I am interested in, something that will make my application so much more appealing. I just don't know what that something is.
Anyway, I am really looking forward to graduation because it will mean that I have finished my thesis (it fascinates me but it is oh-so-tedious), completed all the other work I need to do for my two other classes, and it will mean I can relax. I've thought about this some, and I wanted to give a list of fun, leisurely things I want to do, starting as soon as I graduate. Because you know I hate to be idle.
Now, what I need to do:
1.) Go to NYC for a few days with Stephanie. Have fun. Take pictures.
2.) Read books you've wanted to read for a long time. This includes finishing The Story of French. Start with that and then move on to reading more of those transgender studies books. Also, read some art books so you can participate in lively discussions with Dad. Start with The Private Lives of the Impressionists, the book that instigated his quest to learn more about art.
3.) Use your intermediate-to-advanced French workbook to refresh. One of your lifetime goals is to be as fluent as possible in a language. Start here.
4.) Go to the movies! Determine whether or not you want to keep your Netflix account. You don't go through your queue very quickly, and you probably won't even once you finish school because hopefully you will find a job to occupy your time. You could just rent from the library for cheap.
5.) Blog! And create a separate blog that is only about movies. This way, you can show this to people for writing samples of your work about film.
6.) Edit your thesis and turn it into a book with self-publishing software.
7.) Try to meet people. You need friends, man.
I hope I haven't put too much pressure on myself.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Friday, November 16, 2007
american psycho nightmare
This past week was very hectic. Chaotic even because having Stephanie here sent my routine into a sort of tailspin. See, the weekends are reserved for schoolwork. I don't have any other time during the week where I can get much work done. I prefer to get each thing done all at once, or at least as much as possible in one sitting.
In any case, I had a paper due Thursday for my race and nation in 20th century cinema class. I had written the better part of it on Saturday, and I sat down on Wednesday afternoon to rewrite it. (I'd read the draft before and hated it.) But I'm getting ahead of myself. It might help to explain what the paper is about.
Feeling uninspired by the films we've seen for the class, I chose to write about American Psycho (2000). And let me tell you I really resent that almost everyone I've talked to about the film with regards to the assignment did not think I could write about it, that race was not obvious. I had to tell them each time it was about whiteness. Patrick Bateman the Wall Street yuppie/serial killer has what I have vaguely called "a particular brand of whiteness," which is tied to his job, gender, sexuality, and conformity to yuppie culture. Through him, the point of my paper was to argue that the film (and Bret Easton Ellis's book on which the film is based) claim that capitalism is evil. His materialism has driven him mad; the only thing that fulfills him is his satiating his "nightly bloodlust." Just when you thought he was an oppressive bastard because of his job, he goes and KILLS people. The fucker.
Anyway, I rewrote the paper. Almost pulled an all-nighter, working till 3.15 am. (My friend tells me that it ain't an all-nighter till at least 5 am.) All night, I tossed and turned, thinking the paper was shit. I couldn't turn my mind off; I kept thinking of the teeniest, tiniest details to add but decided not to alter the paper in the morning, thinking such minutiae wouldn't help much. To make a long story short, I have been unable to stop thinking about this paper and its flaws.
I was so depressed I took a two-hour nap today after just being up for about two hours. During that nap, I realized the bit that would have--perhaps--greatly improved my argument. And it was something I had in my original draft: at the end of the film, after Bateman has realized that his identity as a serial killer is not going to be revealed (and probably never will be), then-President Ronald Reagan is on the TV, defending himself amidst the Iran-Contra Affair. If I had mentioned this in my paper, I could have linked the Reagan Administration's murderous hypocrisy. (The scandal revolved around the U.S. selling arms to enemy Iran and then using the profits to fund the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.) Bateman's conformity to what is expected of him as a rich, white, male yuppie and all-American boy and his secret homicidal crimes sort of mirror the Scandal. If only I had mentioned this in my paper; then surely I'd get more points for discussing the historical contexts of the film. Damnit.
By the way, thinking and writing about the film and considering the book throughout this process frightened me a bit when I went to bed Wednesday night in the wee hours of the morning. I haven't scared myself in a long while. The last time I really worked myself up to a fright was thinking about an old and decrepit Howard Hughes.
In any case, I had a paper due Thursday for my race and nation in 20th century cinema class. I had written the better part of it on Saturday, and I sat down on Wednesday afternoon to rewrite it. (I'd read the draft before and hated it.) But I'm getting ahead of myself. It might help to explain what the paper is about.
Feeling uninspired by the films we've seen for the class, I chose to write about American Psycho (2000). And let me tell you I really resent that almost everyone I've talked to about the film with regards to the assignment did not think I could write about it, that race was not obvious. I had to tell them each time it was about whiteness. Patrick Bateman the Wall Street yuppie/serial killer has what I have vaguely called "a particular brand of whiteness," which is tied to his job, gender, sexuality, and conformity to yuppie culture. Through him, the point of my paper was to argue that the film (and Bret Easton Ellis's book on which the film is based) claim that capitalism is evil. His materialism has driven him mad; the only thing that fulfills him is his satiating his "nightly bloodlust." Just when you thought he was an oppressive bastard because of his job, he goes and KILLS people. The fucker.
Anyway, I rewrote the paper. Almost pulled an all-nighter, working till 3.15 am. (My friend tells me that it ain't an all-nighter till at least 5 am.) All night, I tossed and turned, thinking the paper was shit. I couldn't turn my mind off; I kept thinking of the teeniest, tiniest details to add but decided not to alter the paper in the morning, thinking such minutiae wouldn't help much. To make a long story short, I have been unable to stop thinking about this paper and its flaws.
I was so depressed I took a two-hour nap today after just being up for about two hours. During that nap, I realized the bit that would have--perhaps--greatly improved my argument. And it was something I had in my original draft: at the end of the film, after Bateman has realized that his identity as a serial killer is not going to be revealed (and probably never will be), then-President Ronald Reagan is on the TV, defending himself amidst the Iran-Contra Affair. If I had mentioned this in my paper, I could have linked the Reagan Administration's murderous hypocrisy. (The scandal revolved around the U.S. selling arms to enemy Iran and then using the profits to fund the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.) Bateman's conformity to what is expected of him as a rich, white, male yuppie and all-American boy and his secret homicidal crimes sort of mirror the Scandal. If only I had mentioned this in my paper; then surely I'd get more points for discussing the historical contexts of the film. Damnit.
By the way, thinking and writing about the film and considering the book throughout this process frightened me a bit when I went to bed Wednesday night in the wee hours of the morning. I haven't scared myself in a long while. The last time I really worked myself up to a fright was thinking about an old and decrepit Howard Hughes.
Monday, September 10, 2007
life as prosthetic memory
I think I have mentioned before that I am behind in my reading for some of my classes. I've caught up for my "Race and Nation in Twentieth Century US Cinema" class, which is very good news. On the other hand, I have yet to receive from the on-campus bookstore my textbooks for my "Sexuality in the Cinema" class. But that is neither here nor there.
Today I started reading Alison Landsberg's Prosthetic Memory: The Transformation of American Remembrance in the Age of Mass Culture for the US Cinema course. Very interesting. Landsberg defines "prosthetic memory"--and I'm paraphrasing here--as the site where an individual comes face-to-face with an historical narrative that the individual did not directly experience or live through. These historical narratives can be from another time or even ones that mainly just affected people of another race, class, gender, nationality, etc. Anyway, at this moment of confrontation, the person does not just understand the moment's significance, she also absorbs it as a sort of past experience that occupies for her as equal a space in her memory as any event in her archive of actual personal experiences. This sort of memory is important not just because it allows for the historical narrative or event to shape the individual's outlook and "subjectivity," it also allows for empathy.
Landsberg argues that films and experiential museums are the sites where such memory-making moments occur. This is why we're reading it for the class; to see how films can physically and emotionally move audiences to believe they are experiencing an historical moment that they themselves never actually experienced. OK. An example: the Holocaust. There are numerous films about this important event in history, and certainly not all the people who saw Schindler's List (1993) or Life is Beautiful (1997) were Jewish. If these films are filed in a viewer's memory regardless of her race, ethnicity, religion, age, gender, and so on then she may later recall the events depicted in these films, for instance, and confuse them as real events she lived through or experienced. The realism of the cinematic medium can blur the line between what is real and what is imagined, what is "authentic" and what is "inauthentic." Of course, I don't mean that Landsberg actually thinks someone can feel themselves a Holocaust victim or survivor based on seeing one film; what I mean to say is that as viewers we may imagine a past historical event as how we remember seeing it enacted in a film. And because of this, we are more likely to empathize with those who actually experienced it. Not to mention, we're also likely to identify with people who had a similar experience watching the film; we recognize we're similar because we have new "prosthetic memories."
The book is fascinating, and it got me thinking a lot since Landsberg started to deconstruct what she meant by "prosthetic memories" through using modern sci-fi epics Blade Runner (1982) and Total Recall (1990). To start there simply because sci-fi as a genre allows for an imagined future where anything is possible and where memory plays a different role in forming people's identities--as is the case in these two films--wasn't enough of a sell for me. I tried to think of other genres and films where "prosthetic memories" play a central role. And I've thought of three.
The most obvious one being Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). Without going into too much detail about the film because I assume you've seen it, recall how Jim Carrey is racing against the clock to salvage memories before they are taken away from him. To hold onto Kate Winslet, the crazy girlfriend he would rather not forget after all, he decides to take her to memories where she did not appear. In this way, she experiences his boyhood memories of being picked on, watching from under the table an attractive friend of his mother's, and bathing in the kitchen sink. Not only can this change his memory of these past events in his life (now boyhood isn't so lonely), she has also taken on memories of times when she didn't know him and these memories of his have become hers too, informing her perspective on him, her life, and love.
The next example I thought of was Before Sunset (2004). The one-time lovers Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy reflect during this chance meeting in Paris on their affair through Vienna nine years before, as chronicled in Before Sunrise (1995). They also explicitly discuss how this chance meeting can change their memory of the past. For instance, as Delpy's Celine points out, he can no longer go on thinking his return to Vienna was an awful experience. After all, it was fodder for his first bestselling novel. Let's face it: if they had met, perhaps his book would have a different ending. His not knowing what kept her led him to leave the book open-ended because he didn't even want to imagine what an ending to their romance would be like.
But, knowing her reason for not turning up to their planned reunion changes his memory of the event. For it's now likely that he will forever connect her not showing up in Vienna to their chance meeting in Paris where they were able to discuss all sorts of things.
More to the point, the realism and the unique narrative structure (just fly-on-the-wall views of a long, intimate conversation between two strangers-turned-lovers in Sunrise and one between two past lovers in Sunset) allow the viewer to develop a "prosthetic memory" of their rendezvous. More specifically, Before Sunset invites the audience to remember the prequel through splicing scenes from Sunrise into the moments where Hawke's Jesse recognizes Celine. Their conversation that stretches out along the winding backstreets of Paris and along the Seine returns again and again to the topic of their meeting and falling in love. I think that through their words it is possible to follow their love story even if the viewer has never seen Before Sunrise. Since I saw Sunrise before Sunset, every time I watch Sunset, as they talk about the night in Vienna, I am reminded of the actual events that took place in Sunrise. The acting and writing are so superb in each that the film can and does lead one to believe they are real people. This is an effect of "prosthetic memory," I think; Jesse and Celine are real lovers. I remember them meeting in Vienna and later in Paris.
My last example is Zelig (1983). I just saw it last night for the first time. I thought it was absolutely brilliant. It satirizes society through examining in the best mockumentary fashion a human chameleon (Woody Allen as Leonard Zelig). Not only is he present for many historical moments in the 1920s and 30s, hobnobbing with the rich and famous and the regular Joes, he also takes on their physical and emotional characteristics while he is with them. He is able to fool people into thinking he is Native American, for example, because he looks and he acts like he is. Talk about "authenticity"! Talk about extreme empathy! (It's not exactly sympathy because none of his identities is permanent and thus his identities can be thought of as transient, always changing. He has no permanent self from which he can be sympathetic to one group or another all the time as the groups he assumes may be in conflict with each other.)
Then a love interest enters the story in the form of psychiatrist Eudora Fletcher (Mia Farrow). She attempts to cure him of this psychological disorder, concerned he is being taken advantage of by the media. She also wants him to develop a personality of his own.
In any case, a fascination with this period of American history had to have been one of the contributing factors for Allen's making this film. Casting himself in the role of Zelig allows him to play around with history, to imagine how his infamously neurotic self would interact with the times. Of course the story is completely fictional; it is not as if he has transferred any real story or real experience of his to this time. But, fundamentally, the film shows what it is like to insert yourself into all the historical events you wished you saw, strung together by a seemingly ridiculous but ultimately insightful narrative. In other words, the film represents a reclamation of collective history and memory and illuminates how the collective memory of history is subjective and "prosthetic."
Today I started reading Alison Landsberg's Prosthetic Memory: The Transformation of American Remembrance in the Age of Mass Culture for the US Cinema course. Very interesting. Landsberg defines "prosthetic memory"--and I'm paraphrasing here--as the site where an individual comes face-to-face with an historical narrative that the individual did not directly experience or live through. These historical narratives can be from another time or even ones that mainly just affected people of another race, class, gender, nationality, etc. Anyway, at this moment of confrontation, the person does not just understand the moment's significance, she also absorbs it as a sort of past experience that occupies for her as equal a space in her memory as any event in her archive of actual personal experiences. This sort of memory is important not just because it allows for the historical narrative or event to shape the individual's outlook and "subjectivity," it also allows for empathy.
Landsberg argues that films and experiential museums are the sites where such memory-making moments occur. This is why we're reading it for the class; to see how films can physically and emotionally move audiences to believe they are experiencing an historical moment that they themselves never actually experienced. OK. An example: the Holocaust. There are numerous films about this important event in history, and certainly not all the people who saw Schindler's List (1993) or Life is Beautiful (1997) were Jewish. If these films are filed in a viewer's memory regardless of her race, ethnicity, religion, age, gender, and so on then she may later recall the events depicted in these films, for instance, and confuse them as real events she lived through or experienced. The realism of the cinematic medium can blur the line between what is real and what is imagined, what is "authentic" and what is "inauthentic." Of course, I don't mean that Landsberg actually thinks someone can feel themselves a Holocaust victim or survivor based on seeing one film; what I mean to say is that as viewers we may imagine a past historical event as how we remember seeing it enacted in a film. And because of this, we are more likely to empathize with those who actually experienced it. Not to mention, we're also likely to identify with people who had a similar experience watching the film; we recognize we're similar because we have new "prosthetic memories."
The book is fascinating, and it got me thinking a lot since Landsberg started to deconstruct what she meant by "prosthetic memories" through using modern sci-fi epics Blade Runner (1982) and Total Recall (1990). To start there simply because sci-fi as a genre allows for an imagined future where anything is possible and where memory plays a different role in forming people's identities--as is the case in these two films--wasn't enough of a sell for me. I tried to think of other genres and films where "prosthetic memories" play a central role. And I've thought of three.
The most obvious one being Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). Without going into too much detail about the film because I assume you've seen it, recall how Jim Carrey is racing against the clock to salvage memories before they are taken away from him. To hold onto Kate Winslet, the crazy girlfriend he would rather not forget after all, he decides to take her to memories where she did not appear. In this way, she experiences his boyhood memories of being picked on, watching from under the table an attractive friend of his mother's, and bathing in the kitchen sink. Not only can this change his memory of these past events in his life (now boyhood isn't so lonely), she has also taken on memories of times when she didn't know him and these memories of his have become hers too, informing her perspective on him, her life, and love.
The next example I thought of was Before Sunset (2004). The one-time lovers Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy reflect during this chance meeting in Paris on their affair through Vienna nine years before, as chronicled in Before Sunrise (1995). They also explicitly discuss how this chance meeting can change their memory of the past. For instance, as Delpy's Celine points out, he can no longer go on thinking his return to Vienna was an awful experience. After all, it was fodder for his first bestselling novel. Let's face it: if they had met, perhaps his book would have a different ending. His not knowing what kept her led him to leave the book open-ended because he didn't even want to imagine what an ending to their romance would be like.
But, knowing her reason for not turning up to their planned reunion changes his memory of the event. For it's now likely that he will forever connect her not showing up in Vienna to their chance meeting in Paris where they were able to discuss all sorts of things.
More to the point, the realism and the unique narrative structure (just fly-on-the-wall views of a long, intimate conversation between two strangers-turned-lovers in Sunrise and one between two past lovers in Sunset) allow the viewer to develop a "prosthetic memory" of their rendezvous. More specifically, Before Sunset invites the audience to remember the prequel through splicing scenes from Sunrise into the moments where Hawke's Jesse recognizes Celine. Their conversation that stretches out along the winding backstreets of Paris and along the Seine returns again and again to the topic of their meeting and falling in love. I think that through their words it is possible to follow their love story even if the viewer has never seen Before Sunrise. Since I saw Sunrise before Sunset, every time I watch Sunset, as they talk about the night in Vienna, I am reminded of the actual events that took place in Sunrise. The acting and writing are so superb in each that the film can and does lead one to believe they are real people. This is an effect of "prosthetic memory," I think; Jesse and Celine are real lovers. I remember them meeting in Vienna and later in Paris.
My last example is Zelig (1983). I just saw it last night for the first time. I thought it was absolutely brilliant. It satirizes society through examining in the best mockumentary fashion a human chameleon (Woody Allen as Leonard Zelig). Not only is he present for many historical moments in the 1920s and 30s, hobnobbing with the rich and famous and the regular Joes, he also takes on their physical and emotional characteristics while he is with them. He is able to fool people into thinking he is Native American, for example, because he looks and he acts like he is. Talk about "authenticity"! Talk about extreme empathy! (It's not exactly sympathy because none of his identities is permanent and thus his identities can be thought of as transient, always changing. He has no permanent self from which he can be sympathetic to one group or another all the time as the groups he assumes may be in conflict with each other.)
Then a love interest enters the story in the form of psychiatrist Eudora Fletcher (Mia Farrow). She attempts to cure him of this psychological disorder, concerned he is being taken advantage of by the media. She also wants him to develop a personality of his own.
In any case, a fascination with this period of American history had to have been one of the contributing factors for Allen's making this film. Casting himself in the role of Zelig allows him to play around with history, to imagine how his infamously neurotic self would interact with the times. Of course the story is completely fictional; it is not as if he has transferred any real story or real experience of his to this time. But, fundamentally, the film shows what it is like to insert yourself into all the historical events you wished you saw, strung together by a seemingly ridiculous but ultimately insightful narrative. In other words, the film represents a reclamation of collective history and memory and illuminates how the collective memory of history is subjective and "prosthetic."
Sunday, September 9, 2007
kick out your tv
Well, I have gone and done it. After months of talking about it, after weeks of sitting on the fence about it and feeling ashamed that it never looked like I was going to, I have moved the TV out of my room.
What? Were you expecting me to say that I got a tattoo?
Feeling daunted by all the reading I have to complete this week and realizing this amount of work is only likely to continue, I decided the only way I was going to get done what I needed to was if I simulated as closely as possible my room in England. No, I didn't move around any furniture, but I figured that if I could live/survive without a TV for eight months, I could do it here, too. After all, there are TVs everywhere in this house and I happen to live with two people who like to keep them on especially when they are not in the same room as they TV they profess to be in control of. Yes, this means that their noises might hamper my plans on having quiet, reading-full days. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
I have resolved to limit my hours of TV to no more than a couple hours a day. And I really shouldn't watch TV during the day. Evenings can be for relaxation if I am productive during the day. Hopefully these plans will go so well that I will feel motivated to work on studying for the GRE and preparing grad school applications. (Where am I applying, first of all?)
I'll keep you updated on my progress.
What? Were you expecting me to say that I got a tattoo?
Feeling daunted by all the reading I have to complete this week and realizing this amount of work is only likely to continue, I decided the only way I was going to get done what I needed to was if I simulated as closely as possible my room in England. No, I didn't move around any furniture, but I figured that if I could live/survive without a TV for eight months, I could do it here, too. After all, there are TVs everywhere in this house and I happen to live with two people who like to keep them on especially when they are not in the same room as they TV they profess to be in control of. Yes, this means that their noises might hamper my plans on having quiet, reading-full days. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
I have resolved to limit my hours of TV to no more than a couple hours a day. And I really shouldn't watch TV during the day. Evenings can be for relaxation if I am productive during the day. Hopefully these plans will go so well that I will feel motivated to work on studying for the GRE and preparing grad school applications. (Where am I applying, first of all?)
I'll keep you updated on my progress.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
love means having to say you're sorry
I fear my greatest passion is in jeopardy. As if it's slowly becoming extinct. It's still in full force in my life, but I just know that it's going to gradually slip away soon. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to start someplace else.
My greatest passion, as you know, of course, is film. Just look to the right. There are 63 posts about film in my archives.
Now, now, when I write that film is in jeopardy, I do not mean the industry is in jeopardy. (Some might disagree with me there.) What I mean is that I'm not so sure it's going to be a daily fixture in my life for much longer. And here's why:
I've already resolved to move my TV out of my room as soon as school starts. I want to take this measure so that I can concentrate on my schoolwork. This includes my regular assignments for my classes and all the reading, thinking, and writing I must do for my thesis. I figure getting rid of the TV means I won't be so distracted. Because, as you know, it's very easy for me to put in a DVD and sit back and relax. Or is it?
It's not that easy after all, I think. For me, anyway. I keep a film journal, where I write about my experience and interpretation of every film I see for the first time (or the first time in a long time). I have OCD. I must write about the movie. I know that the world will not end if I don't, but I can't not document something that important to me.
Usually, I give myself a day to write about it, but I haven't written about the last eleven movies I've seen, starting with Manhattan (1979) which I saw on July 22nd. I've penned in the films' names (in their original language), year of release, and director on the pages I hope to fill, but I have yet to write about them. And it's driving me crazy. So crazy that I want to slow down watching movies so that I don't end up with twenty movies to write about. Yes, that's right. I said, "I want to slow down watching movies."
But why am I going at such a speed, you ask? Well, I've been renting five to six movies a week from the library. I request online some of the most obscure shit in the catalogue so I hardly have to wait to pick them up at my local library. To make a long story short, before yesterday, I had fourteen movies waiting for me. I have to strategically rent them. This means I end up watching some movies first before I rent the ones I really want to see because they came in later and thus will be on hold for me longer.
In any case, with all the work going on at the house, I can barely get through all five or six movies a week. And the recent upsurge of movies available for my viewing pleasure has really annoyed not only my father but myself. He has requested that I "take it easy with the movies." I agreed that I won't request more for a long time. So this means that gradually the screening of new movies (to me) will die out.
This is perfect. It goes along with what I have planned about getting the TV out of my room. I just don't know which will happen first: the removal of the TV or the dearth of library movies available for me to rent.
I'm sorry.
My greatest passion, as you know, of course, is film. Just look to the right. There are 63 posts about film in my archives.
Now, now, when I write that film is in jeopardy, I do not mean the industry is in jeopardy. (Some might disagree with me there.) What I mean is that I'm not so sure it's going to be a daily fixture in my life for much longer. And here's why:
I've already resolved to move my TV out of my room as soon as school starts. I want to take this measure so that I can concentrate on my schoolwork. This includes my regular assignments for my classes and all the reading, thinking, and writing I must do for my thesis. I figure getting rid of the TV means I won't be so distracted. Because, as you know, it's very easy for me to put in a DVD and sit back and relax. Or is it?
It's not that easy after all, I think. For me, anyway. I keep a film journal, where I write about my experience and interpretation of every film I see for the first time (or the first time in a long time). I have OCD. I must write about the movie. I know that the world will not end if I don't, but I can't not document something that important to me.
Usually, I give myself a day to write about it, but I haven't written about the last eleven movies I've seen, starting with Manhattan (1979) which I saw on July 22nd. I've penned in the films' names (in their original language), year of release, and director on the pages I hope to fill, but I have yet to write about them. And it's driving me crazy. So crazy that I want to slow down watching movies so that I don't end up with twenty movies to write about. Yes, that's right. I said, "I want to slow down watching movies."
But why am I going at such a speed, you ask? Well, I've been renting five to six movies a week from the library. I request online some of the most obscure shit in the catalogue so I hardly have to wait to pick them up at my local library. To make a long story short, before yesterday, I had fourteen movies waiting for me. I have to strategically rent them. This means I end up watching some movies first before I rent the ones I really want to see because they came in later and thus will be on hold for me longer.
In any case, with all the work going on at the house, I can barely get through all five or six movies a week. And the recent upsurge of movies available for my viewing pleasure has really annoyed not only my father but myself. He has requested that I "take it easy with the movies." I agreed that I won't request more for a long time. So this means that gradually the screening of new movies (to me) will die out.
This is perfect. It goes along with what I have planned about getting the TV out of my room. I just don't know which will happen first: the removal of the TV or the dearth of library movies available for me to rent.
I'm sorry.
Monday, July 2, 2007
the tourist gaze
In writing a caption for the photo I plan to submit for the Post's travel photo contest, I mentioned in one of my drafts the concept of "the tourist gaze." I wanted to find a source that would help me write a succinct definition. So I remembered Lucy R. Lippard discussing it in On the Beaten Track: Tourism, Art, and Place. I looked it up in the index and found the page, where she attributed the term to John Urry. No wonder his name came up when I wikied "tourist gaze." John Urry also featured on my Spanish cultural studies exam.
I know what you're thinking: OK. Who cares? Well, at the time of that exam, I wasn't that surprised my professor asked us to respond to one of his ideas. He's a sociology professor at Lancaster. He might be the head of the department. And he's definitely interested in "mobilities." I've walked past his office dozens of times, too.
What a small world.
I know what you're thinking: OK. Who cares? Well, at the time of that exam, I wasn't that surprised my professor asked us to respond to one of his ideas. He's a sociology professor at Lancaster. He might be the head of the department. And he's definitely interested in "mobilities." I've walked past his office dozens of times, too.
What a small world.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
this spanish history chapter is closed
It happened again today. I first wrote only an "OK" essay and then wrote a "great" one by comparison. I wonder if they would have been different if I had tackled them in the opposite order. I wonder because the order I answered them was a sort of strategy, the second question first. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me step back.
Today was my Spanish film exam. I knew that there would be two sections, the first being a scene analysis and the second being more comparative. I decided that since the comparative/more thematic essay would probably take more conceptualization/planning, I would start with that one first because I would have liked to have more energy for it. Turns out I just don't work like that. The longer and the harder I work, it seems, the better the results.
In this comparative essay based around a quotation, I suggested that the statement from Todo sobre mi madre (1999) that the character Huma Rojo as Blanche DuBois in the play A Streetcar Named Desire says ("I have always depended on the kindness of strangers") can be applied to the friendships formed in that film as well as the ones developed between strangers in Flores de otro mundo/Flowers from Another World (1999) and El espiritu de la colmena/The Spirit of the Beehive (1973). Yeah, OK. But it's not very interesting. I like that I used three films, though. One more than the required minimum.
But then I only picked up steam.
For the scene analysis essay, there was one from each of the five films we studied, and I chose the one from Soldados de Salamina/Soldiers of Salamina (2003). I linked how the particular scene (that my professor chose) is extremely important for the overall message of the film: that the younger generations today in Spain owe it to themselves and to those who fought in the Civil War (1936-9) to seek out stories from both sides to reconcile the past. In other words, the main character, Lola, a journalist/novelist, after losing her father (who was probably just a kid during or after the war), represents the younger generation(s) and was once apathetic toward understanding the war. But by the end of the film she sees its importance in her life and how people (like her) should never forget it. After all, the generation that was around during and/or after the war is starting to die off.
If this quick summary was confusing, just keep in mind I was much more articulate throughout my essay. Proud of it. It was another one of those "organic" essay-writing moments where I never lost track of my thoughts and never veered toward contradicting myself.
Before the start of the exam, my professor wished me luck and said that she hoped I would have fun with it. I wouldn't go that far, but it was one of the more pleasant exam-taking experiences I have had here.
Six down. Two to go!
P.S. In their efforts to anonymize the exams for "blind marking," they give us seat numbers and we're required to record our number on the exam booklets. Then later on they can match the number on our notebooks with our number on the master list of names. Today I was number seven. Yeah, I thought that might make me lucky. As in "lucky number seven." But it was a sort of a thrill to write "007" on my exam booklets, let me tell you. Bad ass, really.
Today was my Spanish film exam. I knew that there would be two sections, the first being a scene analysis and the second being more comparative. I decided that since the comparative/more thematic essay would probably take more conceptualization/planning, I would start with that one first because I would have liked to have more energy for it. Turns out I just don't work like that. The longer and the harder I work, it seems, the better the results.
In this comparative essay based around a quotation, I suggested that the statement from Todo sobre mi madre (1999) that the character Huma Rojo as Blanche DuBois in the play A Streetcar Named Desire says ("I have always depended on the kindness of strangers") can be applied to the friendships formed in that film as well as the ones developed between strangers in Flores de otro mundo/Flowers from Another World (1999) and El espiritu de la colmena/The Spirit of the Beehive (1973). Yeah, OK. But it's not very interesting. I like that I used three films, though. One more than the required minimum.
But then I only picked up steam.
For the scene analysis essay, there was one from each of the five films we studied, and I chose the one from Soldados de Salamina/Soldiers of Salamina (2003). I linked how the particular scene (that my professor chose) is extremely important for the overall message of the film: that the younger generations today in Spain owe it to themselves and to those who fought in the Civil War (1936-9) to seek out stories from both sides to reconcile the past. In other words, the main character, Lola, a journalist/novelist, after losing her father (who was probably just a kid during or after the war), represents the younger generation(s) and was once apathetic toward understanding the war. But by the end of the film she sees its importance in her life and how people (like her) should never forget it. After all, the generation that was around during and/or after the war is starting to die off.
If this quick summary was confusing, just keep in mind I was much more articulate throughout my essay. Proud of it. It was another one of those "organic" essay-writing moments where I never lost track of my thoughts and never veered toward contradicting myself.
Before the start of the exam, my professor wished me luck and said that she hoped I would have fun with it. I wouldn't go that far, but it was one of the more pleasant exam-taking experiences I have had here.
Six down. Two to go!
P.S. In their efforts to anonymize the exams for "blind marking," they give us seat numbers and we're required to record our number on the exam booklets. Then later on they can match the number on our notebooks with our number on the master list of names. Today I was number seven. Yeah, I thought that might make me lucky. As in "lucky number seven." But it was a sort of a thrill to write "007" on my exam booklets, let me tell you. Bad ass, really.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
what happens when you spend your saturday sitting an exam?
I literally just got back from my French film exam. I have done three silly things today and it is not even noon. And I'm not too proud to tell you about them here, in chronological order:
1.) It was so crowded in the hallway outside the examination room that I didn't even think to make sure that I was entering the correct restroom. Yes, in other words, I first went into the men's room. Seeing urinals, I thought, "Shit, I could have sworn the women's was on the left." I have no idea if other people noticed. If not, good. If they did, there were probably a lot. So many people were standing near the toilets.
2.) How about some irony? I rewatched five films to prepare for the exam: Subway (1985), Lacombe Lucien (1974), Les 400 Coups (1959), A Bout de souffle (1960), and Diva (1981). I anticipated that I would have to write two essays on the different groupings of the films (i.e. New Wave, cinema du look, etc.), so that's why I did this. But I ended up just writing an essay on Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991). I didn't rewatch it because I thought I remembered it well enough, but I dreaded the moment I actually had to name the main character. I think it's Alex. I hope so. That's what I wrote throughout the essay. I admit it wasn't very structured and that it was half-assed. But then I found myself reenergized for the second essay. Read on.
3.) The second essay, which was considerably a lot longer because I had so much more to say, was about how A Bout de souffle is the "most radically innovative film," "in cinematic terms," that I have studied on the course. Why is this funny other than the fact that I hate watching the film? I wrote a fuckin' killer essay. It is so good in fact that I wish I could get a copy of it. I love it because it was an essay that came together organically, really. There was never a point at which I stopped and realized I might be on the track toward contradicting myself. What a relief!
(In case you're interested, I wrote about how Godard uses innovative technology, editing methods, and storytelling techniques to illustrate his ideology that cinema is just an illusion of reality. In other words, he's acknowledging that there's not much of a story to A Bout de souffle. Instead, he's just manipulating the medium to show how constructed a medium it is.)
Five down. Three to go!
1.) It was so crowded in the hallway outside the examination room that I didn't even think to make sure that I was entering the correct restroom. Yes, in other words, I first went into the men's room. Seeing urinals, I thought, "Shit, I could have sworn the women's was on the left." I have no idea if other people noticed. If not, good. If they did, there were probably a lot. So many people were standing near the toilets.
2.) How about some irony? I rewatched five films to prepare for the exam: Subway (1985), Lacombe Lucien (1974), Les 400 Coups (1959), A Bout de souffle (1960), and Diva (1981). I anticipated that I would have to write two essays on the different groupings of the films (i.e. New Wave, cinema du look, etc.), so that's why I did this. But I ended up just writing an essay on Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991). I didn't rewatch it because I thought I remembered it well enough, but I dreaded the moment I actually had to name the main character. I think it's Alex. I hope so. That's what I wrote throughout the essay. I admit it wasn't very structured and that it was half-assed. But then I found myself reenergized for the second essay. Read on.
3.) The second essay, which was considerably a lot longer because I had so much more to say, was about how A Bout de souffle is the "most radically innovative film," "in cinematic terms," that I have studied on the course. Why is this funny other than the fact that I hate watching the film? I wrote a fuckin' killer essay. It is so good in fact that I wish I could get a copy of it. I love it because it was an essay that came together organically, really. There was never a point at which I stopped and realized I might be on the track toward contradicting myself. What a relief!
(In case you're interested, I wrote about how Godard uses innovative technology, editing methods, and storytelling techniques to illustrate his ideology that cinema is just an illusion of reality. In other words, he's acknowledging that there's not much of a story to A Bout de souffle. Instead, he's just manipulating the medium to show how constructed a medium it is.)
Five down. Three to go!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
there's no time. gotta dash, baby
Hey, pray for me. Well, I doubt that will work, so just give me a wake-up call so that I don't oversleep for my exam tomorrow morning at 9.30. Tomorrow, I need to be up and ready to write two essays in two hours at the time that I usually wake up these days. On second thought, the timezone difference will be too difficult to get round, so just pray for me instead.
Thanks. Much appreciated.
Thanks. Much appreciated.
there's a disparity here i just don't understand
So in my free time today, between taking that modernist literature exam (don't ask) and studying for the exam tomorrow on youth and political culture in 1960s Europe, I've watched two episodes of the British sci-fi show "Primeval" (2007-present). Of course it's ridiculous, but it's entertaining in its own way.
Professor Nick Cutter (played by the suddenly sexy Scot Douglas Henshall) is the leader of a mismatch of experts. Don't actually know the term for his specialty, whether it's archaeology or paleontology or a combination of both plus something else. Anyway, he's got his right hand man (a Stuart Townsend lookalike/twin), who's probably just a more useful and less-wise-cracking sidekick than similar characters in other explorer narratives. Then there's a zookeeper whose expertise is reptiles. She comes in handy when dealing with dinosaurs. (Yeah, I know.) And then there's one of Cutter's students, who's a nerd and a conspiracy theorist.
In any case, "anomalies" keep popping up all over Britain, these portals that afford anyone curious enough to walk through them the ability to transgress time and space. They explain how dinosaurs, other prehistoric animals, and ones completely made up (such as giant spiders and centipedes) wander through suburbia or in the London tubeway system. And also where Cutter's wife, who he thought either went missing or died on an expedition, has been hanging out for eight years.
Watching this show, I am reminded of British and European commercials. This show, along with most of the commercials I have seen, must use so many more special effects than do their American counterparts. I think it's ironic considering British cinema is driven by realism (see anything by Loach, Leigh, or Davies for more information), by performances. And here we have special effects that belong in an American sci-fi blockbuster appearing in a British hour-long serial. Interesting, no?
More than this though are the commercials. Commercials in the U.S., if I remember correctly, do not have many special effects, CGI or otherwise. But they certainly do here. Case in point: an advert showing the effect of hitting a child at 40 mph graphically portrays what happens to the girl. It starts off with her sitting on the side of the road, bleeding from the ear, her limbs twisted. Then in voiceover she explains that she has a very slight chance of surviving the blow at this speed. Then she is suddenly lifted to the middle of the street, where it is clear that she has, instead, just been hit at 30 mph. For this reason, she has "a 90% chance of living." And it shows because she gasps for air this time round. "It's 30 for a reason" is the lesson to be (re)learned here. How graphic, eh? Whether or not it's a successful ad campaign is lost on me because I am never in the car.
The commercial for a plasma TV, expressing the wide range of colors that come in full brightness because of the TV's technology, sees a highrise building splashed over with paints of all colors. It's visually stunning, and I've never seen anything like it before, especially not in the U.S. So these companies must be spending a lot of money to reach the European market and entertaining their TV-watchers. They're just leaving the long-term entertaining up to Hollywood then, eh?
Professor Nick Cutter (played by the suddenly sexy Scot Douglas Henshall) is the leader of a mismatch of experts. Don't actually know the term for his specialty, whether it's archaeology or paleontology or a combination of both plus something else. Anyway, he's got his right hand man (a Stuart Townsend lookalike/twin), who's probably just a more useful and less-wise-cracking sidekick than similar characters in other explorer narratives. Then there's a zookeeper whose expertise is reptiles. She comes in handy when dealing with dinosaurs. (Yeah, I know.) And then there's one of Cutter's students, who's a nerd and a conspiracy theorist.
In any case, "anomalies" keep popping up all over Britain, these portals that afford anyone curious enough to walk through them the ability to transgress time and space. They explain how dinosaurs, other prehistoric animals, and ones completely made up (such as giant spiders and centipedes) wander through suburbia or in the London tubeway system. And also where Cutter's wife, who he thought either went missing or died on an expedition, has been hanging out for eight years.
Watching this show, I am reminded of British and European commercials. This show, along with most of the commercials I have seen, must use so many more special effects than do their American counterparts. I think it's ironic considering British cinema is driven by realism (see anything by Loach, Leigh, or Davies for more information), by performances. And here we have special effects that belong in an American sci-fi blockbuster appearing in a British hour-long serial. Interesting, no?
More than this though are the commercials. Commercials in the U.S., if I remember correctly, do not have many special effects, CGI or otherwise. But they certainly do here. Case in point: an advert showing the effect of hitting a child at 40 mph graphically portrays what happens to the girl. It starts off with her sitting on the side of the road, bleeding from the ear, her limbs twisted. Then in voiceover she explains that she has a very slight chance of surviving the blow at this speed. Then she is suddenly lifted to the middle of the street, where it is clear that she has, instead, just been hit at 30 mph. For this reason, she has "a 90% chance of living." And it shows because she gasps for air this time round. "It's 30 for a reason" is the lesson to be (re)learned here. How graphic, eh? Whether or not it's a successful ad campaign is lost on me because I am never in the car.
The commercial for a plasma TV, expressing the wide range of colors that come in full brightness because of the TV's technology, sees a highrise building splashed over with paints of all colors. It's visually stunning, and I've never seen anything like it before, especially not in the U.S. So these companies must be spending a lot of money to reach the European market and entertaining their TV-watchers. They're just leaving the long-term entertaining up to Hollywood then, eh?
Monday, May 21, 2007
it never ever ends
I have had two of my eight exams already. Still not confident, but I do know that I can in fact write an essay in an hour. It's just not the best essay in the world because I don't spend enough time planning it. The best advice I've been given with regards to studying for these fucking pains in the ass is to just practice everyday answering an essay question under timed conditions. That way I won't feel so pressured by the time constraint during the exam when I have to write two essays in two hours. It's helped a lot because I've realized that an hour is a reasonable amount of time to write an essay.
Wow, on a scale of one to ten, how uninteresting is this blog post, ten being really uninteresting? I think it's an eleven.
Today's exam was for "Re-presenting history: early European culture through the cinema," which I finished in mid-December. I have affectionately referred to the course module as my "history in film" class. It has been one of my favorites because I learned a lot about (ancient and medieval) history. I was over-prepared for the exam today, I realized, because my essay on how Gladiator's (2000) political message is represented through the film's depiction of Rome rambled on a bit. Still, at least I kept bringing it back to my thesis. I was upset I couldn't finagle a comparison with Spartacus (1960) in there, a film, despite its faults, I enjoyed so much more than I will ever like Gladiator.
Tomorrow is my modernist literature exam. I've spent the afternoon and evening filling out a chart to compare the four works we've studied, in relation to at least ten themes or concepts. Oh my god. I'm doing it again. Not only am I reverting back to old behavior (talking about nothing but exams), it's really boring, too.
I promise that as soon as I have enough time to devote to an actual post, I will blog about something that actually matters. Something like, say, "Cinemas of Minor Frenchness."
Wow, on a scale of one to ten, how uninteresting is this blog post, ten being really uninteresting? I think it's an eleven.
Today's exam was for "Re-presenting history: early European culture through the cinema," which I finished in mid-December. I have affectionately referred to the course module as my "history in film" class. It has been one of my favorites because I learned a lot about (ancient and medieval) history. I was over-prepared for the exam today, I realized, because my essay on how Gladiator's (2000) political message is represented through the film's depiction of Rome rambled on a bit. Still, at least I kept bringing it back to my thesis. I was upset I couldn't finagle a comparison with Spartacus (1960) in there, a film, despite its faults, I enjoyed so much more than I will ever like Gladiator.
Tomorrow is my modernist literature exam. I've spent the afternoon and evening filling out a chart to compare the four works we've studied, in relation to at least ten themes or concepts. Oh my god. I'm doing it again. Not only am I reverting back to old behavior (talking about nothing but exams), it's really boring, too.
I promise that as soon as I have enough time to devote to an actual post, I will blog about something that actually matters. Something like, say, "Cinemas of Minor Frenchness."
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