Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts

Monday, February 9, 2015

The Imitation Game


Remember the Simpsons episode when Mr. Burns lost all his money and was forced to fend for himself for the first time? Though he couldn't quite figure out the difference between condiments ("Ketchup ... Catsup. Ketchup ... Catsup. Cats... K... K... uh... I'm in way over my head!"), he just had to exclaim to nearby strangers:

"I'm shopping!" 

Similarly, once Mr. Burns managed to understand the mysteries of mass transit, he announced his growing confidence to a new friend:

"I'm riding a bus!" 

That's me these days. Sometimes when I'm shopping, I'll hear some toddler shrieking about something, and I'll think to myself, "Yeah, but at least he can shriek in Russian." All I can do is point and hope that someone will take pity on me.

Well, no more.

First I found an app that provides real-time route-planning for buses and trams, so I can stop hiking so much and just get where I want to go (without being so metro-bound).

Better yet, I'm starting to recognize and pronounce names in Cyrillic.

It started last night when I was waiting for my pizza to arrive, and I noticed an interesting item on the menu: "тирамису."

"Lessee," I thought. "I can figure this out."

"т..." thank goodness, is just like "t" in the States.

"и…," I paused. The dreaded Reverse N. But I'd been working on that character earlier in the day, so I was able to figure it out. It sounds like "ee."

"Tee," I said to myself.

"р…" Uh huh. I won't get fooled by the Russian "р." That sounds like "r" in English.

"а…" Another easy one. Just like "a" in English. [Well, that depends on the syllable-stress, but... OK, stick with the basics.]

"м…" Yep, same as English.

There are five letters that are interchangeable between our languages, and I lucked out and got three of them in one word. "Tee-ra-m…"

I should be playing Wheel of Fortune!

OK...

"и…" A repeat. Another "ee." So "Tee-ra-mee…"

"с…" That's a tricky one, but I remembered that "c" sounds like "s" in English. Makes sense, I guess.

"у…" Just a matter of memory. In Russian, "y" sounds like "oo." So…

"Tee-ra-mee-su…

"Tiramisu!" I announced to the restaurant.

Thank goodness for cognates. Now if only I actually liked the stuff.

Outside looking in
Anyway, that was last night. Today, I went to Minsk's new Zamak shopping mall, practicing the bus system and double-checking the location of the nearby Expo building where I'll be presenting a talk next week. And I spotted a movie theater.

A few days ago, I went to another theater and discovered that you can't just "sound out" Cyrillic words as if they're English words. I stood there in front of the ticket-seller, flummoxed and embarrassed. The woman at the window pushed a list of movies in front of me and I pointed at one randomly.

That's how I ended up seeing an execrable bank robbery flick starring Hayden Christensen and Adrien Brody that had been dubbed into Russian (no subtitles, of course). Later that evening, IMDB revealed that I'd seen a 2014 direct-to-video-quality movie called American Heist.

Oh, and no, I don't recommend it, in any language.

Today, though, would be different. They're still playing The Imitation Game at the Zamak. I've seen it already, so I presume that I'll have a better chance of following the Russian version. But there was that poster...


... And that name:

"ИГРА В ИМИТАЦИЮ"

Once again, I heard Burns' voice: "I'm in way over my head!"

So I snapped a pic and moved off to a corner, sounding out the letters and feeling like a child.

Little by little I figured it out.

It didn't take long for "ИГРА" to become "egra." That word means nothing to me. Still, I had hope. If only…

"Lessee… ee-m-ee-ta-dz-ee-u…" Another cognate...

Imitation. The Imitation Game!

I mean, sure, I would presume that it'd be the same name, just translated from English to Russian. But The Imitation Game in English hardly sounds like "eg-ra ee-mee-tadz-ee-u" in Russian. Hell, it sounds better in Russian!

I slapped down 60,000 Belarusian Rubles (a little less that four bucks for an evening show) and smiled.

"eg-ra ee-mee-ta-dz-ee-u!"

Now I'm about to put on my warm clothes and catch the next bus heading northwest on Pobediteley Avenue. And as God is my witness, I'm seeing a decent movie tonight!

Monday, April 21, 2014

Everytown: 2036



This is a video I've wanted to edit for more than 20 years. Really. For even longer than that, I've had a love affair with retro-futurism. Things to Come. Metropolis. Streamlined moderne architecture. Teardrop-shaped cars... For as long as I can remember, I've been entranced by the wind tunnel efficiency and earnest optimism of yesterday's tomorrows. William Gibson's "The Gernsback Continuum" reminded me also of the totalitarian underside to these fantasies, particularly those arising from the Great Depression. But I am drawn to their plucky can-do spirit all the same. So when I found myself in the middle of this semester's crush of projects, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the minutia of these days' obligations, I dug up hours of source material and cut this video. The song is by Donald Fagen. The scenes range from 1927 to 1968, the year I was born. The future, of course, is where it has always been: Just beyond today's fears.

Source Material

American Telephone and Telegraph (1961) Seeing the Digital Future

David Butler [Dir.] (1930) Just Imagine

Fritz Lang [Dir.] (1927) Metropolis

General Motors (1940) To New Horizons

General Motors (1956) Design for Dreaming

General Motors (1956) Keys to the Future

Peter Bogdanovich [Dir.] (1968) Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women

Philco-Ford Corporation (1967) Year 1999 A.D.

Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color (1956) Man and the Moon

Westinghouse Electric Company (1939) The Middleton Family at the New York World's Fair

William Cameron Menzies [Dir.] (1936) Things to Come

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Andy Neary

For no particular reason...

Thanks to Jenny's masterful photography help!

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Working on Benjamin in the Age of Internet Distraction

Walter Benjamin image by Cornelie Statius Muller 
Walter Benjamin's (1936) The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction is a famously dense but rich essay. To aid my students' reading (and refresh my own), I've developed this paragraph-by-paragraph summary that details three potentially revolutionary values deployed by twentieth century media forms:

(1) broad distribution over limited access

(2) collective sensibility over individual reflection

(3) direct experience over detached contemplation

I've also summarized Benjamin's concluding reminder that modern media may be used to perpetuate class oppression by encouraging an aesthetic of violence over a politic of struggle.

Somewhat ironically I must emphasize that scanning this "reproduction" cannot replace direct, thoughtful reading of the original text. Even so, I hope that these tentative jots provide a roadmap to help you follow Benjamin's broader chain of reasoning.

  • [NOTE: Page numbers refer to the PDF that I've shared with my students. I've also included the first words of each paragraph to provide further orientation.]

Broad distribution over limited access

p. 1 ("When Marx undertook…"): Karl Marx studied how increasing exploitation of workers would eventually lead to a breakdown of capitalism.

p. 2 ("The transformation of the superstructure…"): While it's important to imagine a post-capitalist world, we should also learn about the ways in which art is used today to support the contemporary consumer society.

pp. 2-3 ("In principle a work of art…"): Mechanical reproduction of artwork has profound social implications.

p. 3 ("Even the most perfect reproduction…"): Mechanical reproduction can never contain the essence of the original.

pp. 3-4 ("The presence of the original…"): Mechanical reproduction allows us to bypass limitations of perception and distance.

p. 4 ("The situations into which…"): Mechanical reproduction reduces our concern for authenticity.

p. 4 ("One might subsume the eliminated…"): A medium like cinema may be viewed negatively and positively. Negatively, cinema detaches us from material reality. Positively, cinema enables mass participation in (potentially revolutionary) public life.

p. 5 ("During long periods of history…"): Material and social circumstances affect human perception; changes in perception in turn produce social transformation.

p. 5 ("The concept of aura…"): Aura refers to the unique quality of a thing, its essence, that can be perceived but not entirely consumed. In modern society, most people prefer the power of the mechanical reproduction, despite its tendency to devalue the original.


"Buy her singles and see all her films/Paste her pictures on my windowsill/But that's not quite the same - It isn't, is it?"
"To pry an object from its shell, to destroy its aura, is the mark of a perception whose 'sense of the universal equality of things' has increased to such a degree that it extracts it even from a unique object by means of reproduction. Thus is manifested in the field of perception what in the theoretical sphere is noticeable in the increasing importance of statistics. The adjustment of reality to the masses and of the masses to reality is a process of unlimited scope, as much for thinking as for perception." - Walter Benjamin
p. 6 ("The uniqueness of a work…"): Historically, aura has been associated with social ritual and order - qualities often used to oppress the mass of working people. In modern society, art became detached from regulatory functions (even from categories themselves).

p. 6 ("An analysis of art…"): Once art becomes detached from ritual, it may become a device for change.

pp. 6-7 ("Works of art are received…"): Art may be valued for its limited accessibility, its "cult value." Conversely it may be valued for the ease by which it can be shown, its "exhibition value."

p. 7 ("With the different methods…"): Modern culture prizes exhibition value over cult value.

Collective sensibility over individual reflection

pp. 7-8 ("In photography…"): Aside from some portraits, most photography (and other media, such as cinema) employ various forms of instruction (eg., captions, sequencing) to ensure exhibition on a broad scale.

Victorian death photo (Huffington Post)
pp. 8-9 ("The nineteenth-century dispute…"): Some folks celebrate the power of photography and cinema to convey revolutionary ideas "with incomparable persuasiveness."

p. 9 ("The artistic performance…"): Dispensing with cult value, photography and cinema dismantle and demystify the process of production, enabling anyone to become an artist, a director, and/or a critic.

pp. 9-10 ("For the film…"): Photography and cinema further reduce aura by detaching actors from audiences.
"For the first time - and this is the effect of the film - man has to operate with his whole living person, yet forgoing its aura." - Walter Benjamin
p. 10 ("It is not surprising…"): The dismantling of production into technical details reduces the value of the "beautiful semblance" (the sense of "being there").

p. 11 ("The feeling of strangeness…"): Modern production causes alienation between the actor and her/his labor (and audience), particularly when that actor becomes a cult item whose mystery is both protected from and consumed by the public. As long as studios use mass production methods to sell actors as cult items ("personalities"), cinema will serve no revolutionary purpose.

p. 11 ("It is inherent…"): Cinema allows all people to imagine themselves as potential heroes.

Andy Warhol image from Off the Grid [blog]
pp. 11-12 ("For centuries a small number of writers…"): In a broader sense, the formerly durable division between producer and consumer of art has broken down.

p. 12 ("All this can easily be applied to the film…"): While Hollywood's fetishization of the cult hero perpetuates class divisions (eg. the one/few vs. the many), Marxist-inspired film can reflect the collective realities of the working class.

p. 12 ("The shooting of a film…"): Cinema production has changed what counts as reality; we now expect some sort of artificiality in everything we see.
"The equipment-­free aspect of reality here has become the height of artifice; the sight of immediate reality has become an orchid in the land of technology." - Walter Benjamin
Direct experience over detached contemplation

pp. 12-13 ("Even more revealing…"): The power of cinema production may be illustrated by the act of a surgeon using a scalpel to cut into a body. The relationship between surgeon and patient is "detached" to a certain degree, but it is nonetheless penetrative.

Franz Ferdinand (2009) Take Me Out
p. 13 ("Magician and surgeon…"): Modern cinema, though its fragmentation and re-articulation of reality, allows for experience that feels "even better than the real thing."

p. 13 ("Mechanical reproduction of art…"): The collective nature of cinema, along with its penetrative capacity and the expert orientation it inspires among audience members, enables a critical sensibility that challenges the power of cult value.

pp. 13-14 ("Painting simply is in no position…"): Mechanical reproduction threatens social hierarchy. Indeed even the most banal pop culture ("a grotesque film") may have more revolutionary potential than supposedly radical artwork (eg., "surrealism"), because the the latter is viewed collectively while the former is viewed in relative isolation.

p. 14 ("The characteristics of the film…"): The ability for cinema to control what is seen and heard - reflecting the merger of artistic and scientific perspectives - encourages audience members to develop keener senses of perception.

pp. 14-15 ("By close-ups of the things around us…"): In a manner similar to psychoanalysis, the camera allows us to peer more precisely into things that previously could not be perceived, revealing heretofore invisible prisons.
"Our taverns and our metropolitan streets, our offices and furnished rooms, our railroad stations and our factories appeared to have us locked up hopelessly. Then came the film and burst this prison-­world asunder by the dynamite of the tenth of a second, so that now, in the midst of its far-­flung ruins and debris, we calmly and adventurously go traveling." - Walter Benjamin
p. 15 ("One of the foremost tasks of art…"): Preliminary forms of creativity that are initially dismissed as barbaric (eg., Dadaism) are necessary stages in more progressive artwork.

pp. 15-16 ("Even fundamentally new…"): Dadaists [proponents of an early twentieth century European art form that mocked dominant conventions] were especially keen to attack the concept of aura by replacing contemplation with distraction.

Marcel Duchamp (1917) "Fountain" - photograph by Andrew F. Wood
p. 16 ("From an alluring…"): Dadaists previewed later cinematic experiences of active immersion rather than passive reflection.
"The spectator’s process of association in view of these images is indeed interrupted by their constant, sudden change. This constitutes the shock effect of the film, which, like all shocks, should be cushioned by heightened presence of mind." - Walter Benjamin
pp. 16-17 ("The mass is a matrix…"): Those who mock cinema as "mere" spectacle invoke an ancient denigration of class.

p. 17 ("The question remains…"): Distraction can actually be a powerful way to raise mass consciousness.
"Architecture has always represented the prototype of a work of art the reception of which is consummated by a collectivity in a state of distraction." - Walter Benjamin
p. 17 ("Buildings have been man’s companions"): Architecture illustrates the ways in which tactile experience can teach more effectively than abstract learning.

pp. 17-18 ("The distracted person…"): Cinema can teach by lulling audience members into a useful sort of mindlessness, freeing them to learn about their collective potential in a visceral way.

Warning: An aesthetic of violence over a politic of struggle

p. 18 ("The growing proletarianization"): Fascism represents a counterpoint to Marxism. Fascism uses art to ennoble the cult of the individual, which enables further oppression of the masses.

pp. 18-19 ("All efforts to render politics aesthetic…"): Fascists use art to justify an aesthetic of war as "beautiful" (eg., Italian Futurism), obscuring how wars are used to displace international workers' solidarity with nationalist fictions.

p. 19 ("Fiat ars – pereat mundus" ["Let art be created. Let the world perish" - Futurist slogan]): While Marxists transform entertainment into politics, fascists transform violence into beauty.
Starship Troopers/Fascism collage by Andrew F. Wood
Would you like to know more?
The question remains, however, whether these two objectives are as different from one another as their partisans might imagine.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Datalandia



Thanks to David Goldman for telling me about GE's "Datalandia" campaign. It's a series of short videos that mash up cheesy pop culture references (vampires, X-Files, and even CE3K) to get tech-friendly hipsters talking about the Internet of Things. Best of all, many scenes were shot at Hamburg, Germany's Miniatur Wunderland.

Check 'em out here! http://www.ge.com/datalandia/

Learn more

• brandchannel: "GE hopes to simplify the complex topic so consumers and users alike can start to realize the benefits that big data can have on everyday life."

• Ad Age: "'What if there was a little town that had the industrial internet and they were using it every day to keep the town folks happy, healthy and productive?' asked Tommy Means, founder and creative director at Mekanism, the creative agency behind the campaign."

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Another Terminal Dweller


Describing the strange journey of surveillance whistleblower Edward Snowden, now supposedly holed up in Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport, Washington Post social media reporter Caitlin Dewey describes those omnitopian corridors that connect hotel lobbies to airport terminals without seeming to touch the world outside.

This article describes "the legal limbo between the arrival gate and customs" encountered by some refugees, activists, and other stateless persons, noting the case of Mehran Karimi Nasseri who fled Iran with plans to settle in the UK but ended up living for 18 years in Charles de Gaulle Airport (a story transmogrified by Steven Spielberg into the 2004 movie The Terminal).

Feel-good summer stories aside, Dewey reminds readers that, "the magical-seeming lawlessness of the transit zone can cut both ways: For the political figures that find themselves there, it’s both a sanctuary and a prison."

Read the full piece: Here’s what happens to asylum-seekers who stay in airport limbo indefinitely

Friday, April 5, 2013

Roger Ebert

Yesterday evening I received a Google news alert that two of my favorite movies, The Last Picture Show and Dazed and Confused, will be shown as a double feature at San Francisco's Castro Theatre. I've already seen a proper projection of Richard Linklater's ode to 70s ennui, but I'd promised myself I'd fly anywhere in the country to see Peter Bogdanovich's masterpiece on the big screen. I'd waited years for this opportunity. One automated email and I was already planning my moviegoing pilgrimage (just an hour's drive away!). Ten minutes later I saw the news that Roger Ebert died.

Roger Ebert won the Pulitzer Prize for criticism, but he also wrote the screenplay to Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. He failed to appreciate Starship Troopers, but at least he loved Dark City. He saw through the blood-soaked finale of Bonnie and Clyde to spot a masterpiece, and he recognized a nihilistic genius in Rob Zombie's The Devil's Rejects. When Vincent Gallo made fun of his weight, Ebert replied, "It is true that I am fat, but one day I will be thin, and he will still be the director of The Brown Bunny." Then when Gallo revised his film, Ebert praised the transformation.

Roger Ebert took movies, and people, as they came, accepting them on their own terms. He'd call them on their cowardice or their senselessness, he'd hurl epithets from the balcony, but he'd stand up from the seats and shout the praises for any movie willing to deliver on its promises (We might want to reconsider our expectations afterward, and he reflected upon those implications too). Ebert inspired me to read A.O. Scott, Jonathan Rosenbaum, and Pauline Kael, but he never called for his readers to sacrifice the pleasure of movies for the highfalutin demands of "cinema."

Ebert studied movies and somehow also managed to affirm that we should strive to love others, to live well, to be tolerant, and to take risks. He championed unknown creators, embraced social media, and shared freely of his thousands of reviews. He wrote a book about rice cookers (The pot and how to use it) after losing part of his jaw to cancer. He communicated more widely and more broadly after losing his capacity for speech. And only a couple days before his death at 70 did he announce his "Leave of Presence."

I never met Roger Ebert. I never attended one of his famed frame-by-frame screenings. I never even commented on his insanely prolific blog. But I imagined that I knew him. I could visualize this geeky kid growing up in Illinois. I could imagine him trying to look cool when he summoned the guts to drink with Mike Royko. And I could guess at the pleasures he found at the opportunity to collaborate with Russ Meyer, an artist who shared his predilection for a particular aspect of the female anatomy. Roger Ebert was cultured but not uptight, passionate but not dogmatic, respectful but not afraid to stick the analytical knife. He was the kind of person I'd like to be.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

The Sandbox Project - Enhance

Inspired by Darcy Osheim's thesis that examines World of Warcraft from a pedagogical perspective, I'm launching a little experiment in paragraph-level writing that explores the intersection of pedagogy and sandbox style gaming, focusing mainly on console games like GTA, Red Dead Redemption, and LA Noire. Aside from common interest, my project and Darcy's thesis are unrelated. These 'graphs are written without an outline. Their connections may be tenuous or superfluous. I may never finish.

"Freeze and enhance."

This command, typically ordered up by the lead investigator in some neo-brutalist command center, conveys technological sophistication. Blade Runner was my first encounter with this fantasy of infinite gaze, back in '82. There's Decker with his Esper machine, trying to glean the truth from an old photograph: "Enhance 224 to 176. Enhance. Stop. Move in. Stop…" He commands and the image clicks, left then right. Closer. Left then… Decker's machine somehow manipulates a mirror's reflection to peer around a corner. "Enhance."

Image from The RPF
Halo's Theater option offers up a similar thrill, allowing the player a chance to halt gameplay and fly through the expansive battlespaces of previously saved missions, to click frame by frame through every minute of an encounter, to zoom and enhance - even the boring parts, such as when hero stands lazily in the hanger bay while marines are getting annihilated by aliens nearby ("Ah yeah, that's when I got up for a snack and forgot to pause the game"). Halo's narrative pathways are far too rigid to enact a sandbox experience. Yet in Theater-mode, the player becomes a director: tilting, panning, and advancing through scenes [sometimes racing, sometimes crawling], discovering previously unknown options. "So that's where the sniper was hiding!"

The player-as-director reveals an important dimension to the sandbox concept, one that might offer useful insights for anyone interested in teaching and learning. Instructors often deliver course concepts in dribs and drabs, epitomized by the click of phrases on a slideshow. Knowledge wasn't there; now it is. Better write it down. But what if all the information, all the tools, and all the toys are present in one open space, and the student isn't reliant upon the steady drip-drip of instructor-wit? What if the student can direct her or his learning narrative, or at least feel some sense of control and creativity in the process?

That latter proviso ["some sense" - italicize either word] is, of course, the point. After all we have such a world right now. Someone seeking knowledge could do far worse than to cruise the vast and growing Wikipedia data-sphere. Sure, there's plenty of dreck in those pages: vandalism, provincialism, and goofy editorial nonsense by folks who have more time than expertise. Still Wikipedia is undeniably able to offer up at least a semblance of knowledge, not to mention useful breadcrumbs to genuinely peer-reviewed research. Add YouTube educational videos, a decent local library, and the occasional free public lecture, and the determined student can learn nearly anything without setting foot in a school. Yet while a student may enter a grand and seemingly endless array of ideas [Isn't there something creepily antisocial about the much-hyped "Internet of Things?"], that person needs guidance and encouragement to make sense of it all.

An alarming number of university administrators dream of Intelligent Agents that whisk students from automated prompt to automated prompt. They envision a spreadsheet comprised of one hundred professionals, one thousand technicians, and one million students [clients? customers?]. For many of these folks, the long-form lecture and small group seminar makes no sense; it just costs too much. A few of us, particularly those who bemoan the de-professionalization of our craft, will guard the old barricades for another generation. We will practice the art of first-person learning. Few of our students, though, will replace us at the gate.

Our goal therefore should be to adapt the sandbox to our purposes. To "direct" student learning - dripping knowledge at our pace - is one approach. And sometimes such direction is the best way to teach. I merely hope we can practice a more experimental, more entrepreneurial ethos too, one not easily commodified into the MOOC model. We all have the tools, and goodness knows, there are plenty of people yearning to learn. What we must build is a practical and economical model to craft learning spaces that meet local needs. A hundred or so professionals can design the widgets and interfaces that enable our best creative efforts, But no one can know our students as we do. We can help students become directors of their own lives (and not cells on a spreadsheet), maybe to investigate the knowledge-space as they might fly through a Halo theater. The question that remains is a matter of will.

Will we master the games of our new world, or will we get played?

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Sandbox Project - Virtual borders

Inspired by Darcy Osheim's thesis that examines World of Warcraft from a pedagogical perspective, I'm launching a little experiment in paragraph-level writing that explores the intersection of pedagogy and sandbox style gaming, focusing mainly on console games like GTA, Red Dead Redemption, and LA Noire. Aside from common interest, my project and Darcy's thesis are unrelated. These 'graphs are written without an outline. Their connections may be tenuous or superfluous. I may never finish. 

Sometimes the edges of a sandbox video game make sense; others, not so much. The best way to establish a border to a theoretically endless world is to install a natural barrier. I'm now playing Red Dead Redemption, and it appears that those white mountains in the North -- beyond the Tall Trees region where the bear and wolves await hapless explorers -- cannot be climbed. You can try, and I have indeed managed to coax myself up to dizzying heights. But eventually all players face the merciless constraints of virtual gravity.

I've read that Rockstar Games patterned the Redemption Mountains after the Rockies. Thinking about this choice summons memories of my family's first drive back in '96 through the snowy pass that drops into Denver. I recall an image of towering stone and frozen water emptying past the city into a flat green plain. Beyond that pancake prairie land lies more towns, more people. Drive long enough and you reach the ocean, yet another boundary that beckons us to beat on against the current.

Of course the ocean in some games is merely another kind of border. For players of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, the ocean means certain death, which seems pretty funny to me. There I am, pumped and armed, a walking gun show, walking to my doom in four feet of water. A few steps, just a few more, and then… there I am, a virtual tough guy drowning in a sea of pixels. Apparently my avatar never learned how to swim.

Later iterations in the GTA series relax this draconian restriction somewhat, allowing players to swim for a while (conceivably forever in GTA: San Andreas, though into an endless plain of undifferentiated monotony). The GTA IV oceans, however, are not endless. Supposedly you can swim for about a half hour (real time) until the hitting a virtual wall [a gamer named indianasmith27 even produced a YouTube video to demonstrate this feat].

In one GTA forum, players compare this feature to The Truman Show, raising some interesting philosophical questions about the necessity of boundaries, both physical and virtual. One illustrative quote: "There's going to be nothing 'out there.' It's just the ocean or the desert. It would have mattered if we had some incentive to go out there and look for something. But that has never been the case."

Fair enough. Yet I wonder, what if there is something "out there," past the point where most players stop clicking those buttons (or peel the tape off their trigger), a new level waiting for that chosen few willing to endure to the end. Moments like this, I can't help but imagine that the next religion will be founded in virtual space.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

2013's Banned Words and phrases (Part 2 of 2)


Following up on yesterday's rant, let's wrap up 2013's list of words, phrases, or things that need to be banished to the land of wind and ghosts.

Honey Boo Boo Alana Thompson portrays this gawdawful character on TLC, a station once called The Learning Channel (former actual slogan: "A Place for Learning Minds"). When the cameras are off, I'm sure Alana's pretty much like any other kid. I hope so. So I'm not dissing a little girl. Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, though: that show's got to go. No less a D-lister than Kathy Griffin said as much while working to elicit girlish giggles from Anderson Cooper this past New Year's Eve. And when Kathy Griffin says your time is up, your time is up.

"_____ on steroids" I'm not sure what's worse about this phrase, the sense that its user has simply stopped caring about saying anything original, or the icky images conjured by its use. Either way, unless we're talking about bulging muscles, leathery skin, and bad acne, let's ban steroids from all future political and pop culture commentary.

Record Needle Scratch So you're sitting in a movie theater, watching the trailers. Let's see, there's that new blockbuster about comic book heroes (in 3D!), there's another Fast and Furious sequel (just how furious can these people be? Too much fury just makes me sleepy), and, ah, there it is: the Cute Family Comedy involving meddling mothers-in-law, adorable kids, and a scene where the family dances in the kitchen to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" -- but there's a twist, something like, "Except. Everyone. Is. A. Robot... In 3D!" That's when we hear the dreaded Scratch, the Wilhelm Scream of movie trailers. Note to Hollywood Producers On Cocaine: Most folks in your audience have never played a record. Lose the scratch.

"At the end of the day" TV talk shows about politics and the economy are one of my guilty pleasures. I've got a crush on Rachel Maddow, of course, but I switch things up too. I give Bill O'Reilly a listen from time to time, and I've been known to watch an entire Ann Coulter segment without piercing my eyeballs. But no matter the network, I want to throw my remote at the screen every time someone says, "at the end of the day." For many politicians, journalists, and commentators, the phrase seems to bolster otherwise trite analysis with some sort of credibility, as if one person's words can summon forth the debate's closure. Each time someone says, "at the end of the day," that person's IQ drops 10 points. Every time.

YOLO This is a sign of my age, but I don't know a single person who has said or written YOLO, which is an acronym for "You only live once." Suddenly I'm reminded of Pauline Kael's response to Nixon's 1972 election: "I don't know how he won. None of my friends voted for him." Anyway, I only read about YOLO in articles who've texted the phrase before attempting a stupid feat ("I'm going to produce a shot-by-shot remake of Jackass: The Movie. Looking for a shopping cart. YOLO!"). So I guess the phrase works as a gene pool scrubber. Hmmm… Maybe YOLO can stay.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

The Image of the City


Yesterday I reread Kevin Lynch's The Image of the City. The book, published in 1960, is dated by a number of anachronistic terms, the masculine-gendered pronoun usage, and its obvious focus on white, middle class folks (and, of course, the anxious feeling that one is grooving on Sean Connery's version of James Bond when everyone else is buzzing about the Daniel Craig model). Add the obligation to plod through numbingly detailed analyses of three U.S. cities (Boston, Jersey City, NJ, and L.A.), peering through thick layers of history to imagine then-contemporary images urban life, and you've got much potential for frustration.

Even so, this is a remarkable book, one whose precepts, elementary as they may appear to today's readers, offers useful insights well beyond the realm of urban planning. Indeed, I found myself connecting The Image of the City to a number of ongoing personal and professional projects: improving the flow and "legibility" of my classroom Prezis, exploring "navigation" as an analogy for writing/teaching/learning, and considering a range of broader community-building opportunities. Here are some of my favorite quotations.

The Image as Communication Artifact/Process - Notes on social change and pedagogy 

Definition of the image: "the generalized mental picture of the exterior physical world that is held by an individual" (p. 4).

Among its several benefits (listed on page 4), a good image "can furnish the raw material for the symbols and collective memories of group communication" (p. 4).

Social change: "A frequent problem is the sensitive reshaping of an already existing environment: discovering and preserving its strong images, solving its perceptual difficulties, and, above all, drawing out the structure and identity latent in the confusion… It will probably be more difficult to gain an understanding of the problem and to develop the necessary design skill than it will be to obtain the necessary powers, once the objective is clear" (p. 115, 117).

Pedagogy: "The final objective of such a plan is not the physical shape itself but the quality of an image in the mind. Thus it will be equally useful to improve this image by training the observer, by teaching [him or her] to look at [the] city, to observe its manifold forms and how they mesh with on another… Such education might be used, not only to develop the city image, but to reorient after some disturbing change" (p. 117, emphasis in original).

"In the development of the image, education in seeing will be quite as important as the reshaping of what is seen" (p. 120).

The role of agency and perspective in image production and analysis [more links to pedagogy here]

"The observer ... should play an active role in perceiving the world and have a creative part in developing [the] image. [He or she] should have the power to change that image to fit changing needs. An environment which is ordered in precise and final detail may inhibit new patterns of activity… What we seek is not a final but an open-ended order, capable of continuous further development" (p. 6).

On the frustration of fruitless journeys [unnamed subject reflecting on Los Angeles]: "It's as if you were going somewhere for a long time, and when you got there you discovered there was nothing there, after all" (p. 41).

"The image of a given physical reality may occasionally shift its type with different circumstances of viewing. Thus an expressway may be a path for the driver, [an] edge for the pedestrian" (p. 48, emphasis added).

"The image itself [is] not a precise, miniaturized model of reality, reduced in scale and consistently abstracted. As purposive simplification, it [is] made by reducing, eliminating, or even adding elements to reality, by fusion and distortion, by relating and structuring its parts. It [is] sufficient, perhaps better, for its purpose if rearranged, distorted, 'illogical.' It [resembles] that famous cartoon of the New Yorker's view of the United States" (p. 87).

"If the environment is visibly organized and sharply identified, then the citizen can inform it with [his/her] own meanings and connections. Then it will become a true place, remarkable and unmistakable" (p. 92, emphasis in original).

"The city is not built for one person, but for great numbers of people, of widely varying backgrounds, temperaments, occupations, and class… The designer must therefore create a city which is as richly provided with paths, edges, landmarks, nodes, and districts as possible, a city which makes use of not just one or two form qualities, but of all of them. If so, different observers will all find perceptual material which is congenial to their own particular way of looking at the world" (pp. 110-111).

"It is important to maintain some great common forms: strong nodes, key paths, or widespread regional homogeneities. But within this larger framework, there should be a certain plasticity, a richness of possible structures and clues, so that the individual observer can construct [his/her] own image: communicable, safe, and sufficient, but also supple and integrated with [his/her] own needs" (p. 111).

Potentially important link to Walter Benjamin/Susan Buck-Morss/Carlos Gallego [and Michael Calvin McGee?]: "We need an environment which is not simply well organized, but poetic and symbolic as well… By appearing as a remarkable and well-knit place, the city could provide a ground for the clustering and organization of these [personal] meanings and associations. Such a sense of place in itself enhances every human activity that occurs there, and encourages the deposit of a memory trace" (p. 119, emphasis in original, bolding added).

The method of image analysis

Five types of elements: paths, edges, districts, nodes, and landmarks. (p. 46).

• A note about edges: "An edge may be more than simply a dominant barrier if some visual or motion penetration is allowed through it - if it is, as it were, structured to some depth with the regions on either side. It then becomes a seam rather than a barrier, a line of exchange along which two areas are sown together" (p. 100).

• A note about nodes: "Nodes are points, the strategic spots in a city in which an observer can enter, and which are the intensive foci to and from which he is traveling" (p 47). Example: "The subway stations, strung along their invisible path systems, are strategic junction nodes" (p. 74).

• A note about landmarks: "A landmark is not necessarily a large object; it may be a doorknob as well as a dome" (p. 101).

• A note about the potential for regionalization: "A spatial region would be distinguished from a spatial node (a square) because it could not be scanned quickly. . It could only be experienced, as a patterned play of spatial changes, by a rather protracted journey through it. Perhaps the processional courts of Peking, or the canal spaces of Amsterdam, have this quality. Presumably they evoke an image of great power" (p. 105).

Two types of image construction: hierarchical and continuous organization

Hierarchical: "This organization [has] the quality of a static map. Connection [is] made by moving up to the necessary bridging generality, and back down the desired particular" (p. 89)

Continuous organization: "The image [is] put together in a more dynamic way, parts being interconnected by a sequence over time… and pictured as if seen by a motion picture camera" (p. 89).

Beyond hierarchical and continuous organization: "Intuitively, one could imagine that there might be a way of creating a whole pattern, a pattern that would only gradually be sensed and developed by sequential experiences, reversed and interrupted as they might be. Although felt as a whole, it would not need to be a highly unified pattern with a single center or an isolating boundary. The principal quality might be sequential continuity in which each part flows from the next -- a sense of interconnectedness at any level or in any direction. There would be particular zones that for any one individual might be more intensely felt or organized, but the region would be continuous, mentally traversible in any order. This possibility is a highly speculative one: no satisfactory concrete examples come to mind" (p. 115).

Good places [whether in cities, in teaching, or in other environments]

The value of the panoramic view: "There [is] an emotional delight arising from a broad view… Would it be possible, in our cities, to make this panoramic experience a more common one, for the thousands who pass every day? A broad view will sometimes expose chaos, or express characterless loneliness, but a well-managed panorama seems to be a staple of urban enjoyment" (p. 44)

A good street often "acts ambiguously either as linear node, edge, or path for various people at various times" (p. 65).

"Where the journey contains such a distinct series of distinct events, a reach and passing of one sub-goal after another, the trip itself takes on meaning and becomes an experience in its own right" (p. 97).

Effective nodes: "If a break in transportation or a decision point on a path can be made to coincide with the node, the node will receive even more attention" (p. 102)

Summary clues for urban design: singularity, form simplicity, continuity, dominance, clarity of joint, directional differentiation, visual scope, motion awareness, time series, names and meanings" (pp. 105-108).

A note about time series: "Here what would be imaged would be the developing pattern of elements, rather than the elements themselves - just as we remember melodies, not notes" (p. 107).

"If an environment has a strong visible framework and highly characteristic parts, then exploration of new sectors is both easier and more inviting" (p. 110).

Monday, December 3, 2012

Cars Land 2

For no particular reason, a few more photos from DCA's Cars Land. Oh, and if you haven't yet seen the video, here's a link!






[Photographs by Andrew F. Wood]

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Cars Land


Jenny and I finally visited Cars Land, a remarkable addition to Disney California Adventure. Quick verdict? Cars Land presents an intricately detailed reproduction of Radiator Springs, and a perfect illustration of how Route 66 is becoming "Route 66." This is not to critique the achievements of those amazing Disney imagineers. Touring a life-sized Cozy Cone Motel, gazing upon Ornament Valley's perpetual late-afternoon glow, and savoring the thrill of glorious animated neon at night, you get a charming Route 66 fantasy squeezed into 12 kid-friendly acres. [Check out my video, and click 720 for highest quality!]



Cars Land is predictably crowded, but that's part of the fun. And folks seemed to enjoy the sense of place in this part of the park (something DCA hasn't quite pulled off with their 1920s Hollywood reboot). Sure, beneath the colorful facade resides the same Disney experience: wander-wait-ride-eat-shop. If only Cars Land included more spaces built to inspire interaction among park guests, perhaps a wandering storyteller or two, or at least a couple educational displays about the real Mother Road. Maybe Disney will add a little more Route 66 to their version of "Route 66." But there's no point in complaining. Cars Land, simulacrum that it is, still offers up one heck of a ride.




Planning a visit? Here are a few tips:

1. If you want a chance of snagging one of those Radiator Springs Racers fastpasses, line up early outside the DCA entrance, before the park opens. On both days we visited, they were gone by about 9 a.m.

2. Got your Radiator Springs Racers fastpass? Great. Prepare for frustration anyway. The ride seems to break down a lot.

3. Missed a fastpass? Try the single-rider line, which allows the park to fill every last seat with folks willing to separate from their groups. When Jenny and I used that line (twice!), we managed to sit together anyway.

4. One last Radiator Springs Racers tip: Ride it at night. The neon glow adds to your personal show.

5. Grab a meal at Flo's V8 Cafe. The food is tasty and reasonably priced (considering that you're on a Disney property).

6. Take a look at the Blue Sky Cellar near the Cars Land entrance. They've got a small but interesting set of "making-of" displays.




Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Not my obediance

Lecturing on Socrates today. Figured this clip from Gandhi would offer some useful context.



Bonus! To illustrate Socrates' statement, “This is the first that I have ever come before a law court; thus your manner of speech here is quite strange to me” (17d-18a), I may include a snippet from Phil Hartman's Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer!

Bonus 2! Thanks to Detroit Dog for posting a nice comment about this entry. Somehow I accidentally deleted it. But I do appreciate the kind words!

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Yo, Socrates!


Time for another pseudo-script, this time for an upcoming lecture on Plato's Apology. Our scene begins after Socrates has rebuked his "first accusers." Now he faces Meletus and other Athenian citizens who condemn Socrates for various impieties and - even worse - accuse our hero of corrupting the city's youth. Plato may have called this piece a dialogue, but be prepared: The Apology is mostly a broadside by Socrates against those who would condemn him. 

Socrates: OK, you say I teach the youth not to believe in the gods – at least not the gods recognized by Athens.

Meletus: Worse. You don’t believe in any gods.

Socrates: Man, for someone who claims to “care” so much, you certainly don’t care to get your facts straight. You’re prosecuting the wrong guy. It’s either that phantom “Socrates” you read about in that play by Aristophanes, or it's that atheist Anaxagoras. I mean, sure, I dabbled in cosmology back in my youth. Come on, we all did! It was the early Fifth Century, for gods’ sakes. We were all hanging out with the Oracle of Delphi, getting high on fumes. But that doesn’t make me Anaxagoras! Here’s a hint, Care-Bear: We spell and pronounce our names differently. Get it? I may be many things, but I’m sure as hell no atheist.

Meletus: Like I said, you’re a complete atheist.

Socrates: And you’re nothing but a little pipsqueak. Look, you know I believe in divine things. So how can you say I don’t believe in those things that make them divine? You know, the gods? See? See? You must be joking, Meletus. You’re making a mockery out of this trial, trying to confuse folks with these petty charges. Admit it, dude; admit that you’ve brought me here for one reason and one reason only: You’re a tool of those fools who can’t handle my righteous Truth Bombs. Just admit it. I mean, if I’m gonna die for something, let me at least die for something worthwhile. Hey, remember Achilles? Yeah, that guy was brave. He didn’t fear death, even when he knew that fighting Hector would seal his fate. No, he didn’t fear death; he feared dishonor. And you know what? I’m kind of like that guy. Sure, I’m old now. But back in the day, I kept my courage in battle when other soldiers were soiling their armor. I wasn’t scared then, and I’m not scared now. Not of you. No, what scares me is the idea of running away from my duty. To quote that esteemed philosopher Eminem, “God sent me to piss the world off.” And I’m just getting warmed up. Really. So go ahead, release me. Let me go. Know what’ll happen? I’ll tell you what’ll happen. You may release me, but I won’t release you. I’ll come at you until every last Athenian knows that they do not know. I’ll do it because, again quoting Brother Eminem, “I'm sick of you little girl and boy groups. All you do is annoy me. So I have been sent here to destroy you.” And that’s exactly what I’ll do. But with love, the love of a momma cat whose barbed tongue cleans off the muck from her kitties’ coats, the love of a philosopher who will strip away every last piece of ignorance from each and every one of you. Oh, you think you can hurt me? You can’t do a thing to me. Not a thing. "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine." Yeah, I'm quoting Star Wars. Deal with it. In fact, if you kill me, you’re just hurting yourselves. Think about it. I’m that alarm clock you want to smash in the morning, the very same clock that wakes you up. Remember The Matrix? Yeah, Dark City was better, but whatever. Wake up suckers! Know what I'm sayin'? Ring-ring-ring. Clue-Phone. It’s for you! That’s what I’m saying. And I’m gonna keep on saying it. And I’ll do it for free too. I’ll do it freely, even if it costs me. Check with my wife, my three kids. Am I around for them? Hell no. I’m always out there, helping you idiots. So now you ask, “But oh, oh, why won’t you become a politician, Socrates, why won’t you serve us that way?” Yeah, right. That’s what you need, another politician. There’s a little voice in my head – call it God, call it divinity; call it an undigested bit of beef, whatever – there’s that little voice that keeps reminding me that political life is a sucker’s bet: Have you ever noticed what happens to politicians who stand up against this mob you call a democracy? Huh? How does that work out? Screw that. I’ll keep my number private. I mean, sure, once I held an office. And when our government decided to use that office to punish folks unfairly, I told the government to bite me. “Bite me,” I said. I wasn’t scared. You think I’m scared of you? Oh, and one more thing. Let me remind you: Anything I ever said, I said for free. Free. That means, I wasn’t acting as a professional – like one of those loony Sophists. I was acting as a person, just asking questions. That’s it. That’s what I do: I ask questions, yo. I seek the truth. And look around you. See all those men here who’ve answered my questions? Are they corrupted? Are they injured? Yeah, maybe. If you consider truth to be an injury. And that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? We’re here because you don’t want the truth. You can’t handle the truth. No truth-handlers, you. So bring it on. Judge me according to the law, if you’ve got the guts.

[The Jury finds Socrates guilty]

Socrates: Wimps. But really, I’m not surprised. Well, I am a little surprised. I’m surprised it was this close. So now Meletus would have you sentence me to death. And me, I’m supposed to offer some sort of alternative sentence. So, OK, let’s see, what would be an ideal punishment for me? Hmmm, when you think about it, there’s only one proper penalty: free meals at the town hall. Yeah, punish me with free food. After all, I’m always trying to get you to stop thinking from your stomachs, to think from your souls. So fill me with Happy Meals, the least nourishing thing you’ve got. A stuffed belly: that’s a fit punishment for a good philosopher. Oh, but perhaps you think I’m kidding, like silly Meletus here who helped concoct this joke of a trial. So what else should I propose? Throw me in jail? Throw me out of town? No way. I won’t go. What kind of life would that be? Me, unable to do what I’m here to do, unable to help people examine their lives. So, should I pay a fine? Yeah, that’s rich. I have no money, people! Got it? No money. Well, I guess I could pay a small fine, one as small as my means – and as worthless as this trial. I’ve got rich pals who’re rolling in dough. A few tokens are useless to them, like this whole thing has been useless to me. So that’s my proposal, I guess: Take some money, for the good it will do you.

[The jury deliberates and selects Socrates’ punishment]

Socrates: Death, huh? Yeah, I figured. But, seriously, what do you think you’ll accomplish? My death needs no help from the likes of you. I'm like, 70 years old, remember? What’s worse, I’m not the one getting punished here. You are. You think I’m the last gadfly to bother you? Forget it. There’ll be others. And they’ll be younger than you. Kids may be my downfall, but they’ll dance on your graves too. So now I’m off to die. No worries here. But before I go, a brief word to those jurors who voted for acquittal… Remember that inner voice that has guided me all these years? Well that voice guided me to this moment; it led me here to die. And that voice has never steered me wrong. So I can tell you with some confidence that my death is not evil, no matter how unjust it may seem. In fact, death is likely to a good thing. Just imagine: Me, Socrates, wandering among truly great men and women in the afterlife, pestering them with my questions. “So, Mr-Epic-Hero, you think you’re so good? You sure? How do you know?” Yeah, that’ll be cool. And they’ll appreciate it, those who died like me. They'll be like, "Thanks, Socrates!" And I'll be all, "No problem, dudes." See? They’ll understand my value. As to those folks who condemned me, I wouldn’t blame them if they actually believed in the crap that tried to sling. Ah, but there’s no point in being bitter. I’m ready for my reward. Just do me this one favor: Take care of my kids. Don’t worry about their wealth or their stature of course. I never did. What I mean is, if you see ‘em acting a fool, if you see ‘em putting on airs, promise me you’ll give ‘em a swift kick. They may complain. You know how kids can be. But that’s OK. If someone’s being an ass, ya gotta kick ‘em in the rear. In the end, it’s the kindest thing you can do.

More Pseudo Scripts

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Beijing World Park (2 of 2)

Following up on yesterday's post, here are more pix from my summer visit to Beijing's World Park - backdrop for Zhang Ke Jia 2004 movie, Shijie ("The World").











Monday, October 15, 2012

Beijing World Park (1 of 2)

Back in '04, Zhang Ke Jia directed a movie called Shijie ("The World"), a sort-of love story set in a decaying Beijing amusement park that features miniature monuments from around the globe. I found Zhang's film to be somber and thought-provoking, but mostly I was intrigued at the prospect of a park where you can tour Egyptian pyramids, photograph the Taj Mahal, and even drift by the Twin Towers on a boat. I was even more amazed to learn that this amusement park exists! Here are some pix from my summer visit. [And here's a link to that day's blog.]







Monday, August 6, 2012

Seven days in the DPRK - Day 7

Note: These posts provide a summary of one tourist’s experience in North Korea in summer 2012. This trip was conducted without external financial support, and nothing herein should be construed as condoning or supporting the actions or policies of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.

I approached the yellow striped line outside our hotel and froze.

Yellow Line
Since the Yanggakdo Hotel - the so-called “Alcatraz of Fun” - is located on a narrow island in the Taedong River, we’re free to wander without restriction. We just can’t cross the bridges. Even so, I’d never walked outside the Yanggakdo without a guide. The days had been so packed that I got used to sleeping as late as possible. By evenings, I just wanted to shower and watch a little TV. Dave was partial to the Olympics, which meant that I saw lots of table tennis and badminton.

This morning, though, I decided to leave the hotel alone. So I woke early, pulled on my least stinky set of clothes, and took the elevator down. Outside, buses were wheezing in lines, waiting for Chinese tourists (most of the Westerners were gone). The air was damp. The glass doors closed behind me and I strode down the tree-lined road. That's when I saw that painted line.

The border was probably meant for auto traffic, maybe to limit the passage of bus drivers. Still, I was afraid to cross. I thought about all the times we’d been reminded not to get our guides into trouble, and I recalled that second visit to the Mass Games, the panicky prospect that one of our guides might get fired because of my cluelessness. I also flashed back to last night, the fear of being alone outside an amusement park. Transgressing DPRK rules can be dangerous.

Consequently, it’s easy to internalize North Korean discipline. After just a few days I’d composed a mental map that pulsated with yellow neon lines, significations of authorized movement and permissible passage. This line, the one etched on the road, hailed all the others. Someone told me that he’d jogged around the island a few days ago. I could therefore certainly cross the line.

I’d been standing in the middle of the road for the past five minutes.

Now a new anxiety began to metastasize. Was I being watched? Did my odd behavior inspire a supervisor somewhere to pick up a phone? Just what was I doing out here? I needed a rationale, an excuse for standing in the road like this. I fished out my camera and turned around slowly. I’d stepped outside to snap a photo of the Yanggakdo. Of course! Just position the building in my viewfinder, check the vertical alignment, and...

Crap.

I couldn’t get the entire building in my frame; I was too close. Maybe I could settle for a close-up shot. Perhaps a nice shot of those buses. Then my photographer’s instincts took hold and I turned back around. I was going to get that shot. I started to walk and then to jog, bounding away from the Yanggakdo. No way I’d let some silly traffic border scare me.

Loping toward the island’s edge, I imagined this place as a sort of North Korean Disneyland where each manicured hedge obscures secret machinery [William Gibson once called Singapore “Disneyland with a Death Penalty,” which is nothing compared to this place]. The yellow line had fallen from view when I turned around a second time. There it was: the Yanggakdo Hotel, neatly captured in my frame.


On the road to the Yanggakdo Hotel
I snapped my pictures and hurried back.

Later that morning David and I met our guides and toured the Party Founding Museum. This was the site where Kim Il Sung led his party to establish nearly unbreakable control over the country. We joined our docent, an older woman who regretted that she’d never met the Eternal Leader, and toured the building. We saw Kim’s original office and a drawing for an alternative version of the Workers' Party of Korea hammer-brush-sickle insignia. As usual, the tour was produced solely for us. Of course what we lacked in numbers we augmented with questions.


Party Founding Museum
In the afternoon, we drove to the Pyongyang’s Korean Film Studio to wander the backlots. For days, David and I had traded questions about our experiences. “Front stage or back stage?” I’d ask, using theoretical shorthand to gauge David’s perception of whether we were experiencing a scripted moment or something more (presumably) genuine. Thus we both were jazzed at the prospect of touring a literal backstage transformed into a perfect "front": a reservoir for the construction of ideology.



Here we found near life-sized versions of an ancient Korean village, a Japanese city, and even DPRK versions of European mansions. On many structures, facades are painted and ornamented uniquely, meaning that one backdrop could be transformed into four different buildings for the same movie. Along the edge of the property, corn grows, both as a potential setting for an agriculturally-themed flick and also to help feed studio workers. David whispered to our guides that I study these sorts of places, assuring them that I was probably enjoying this stop more than any tourist they’d ever had. They insisted that I take every picture I could possibly want.

Andy stalks the perfect frame
For almost a couple of hours we drove from lot to lot, each a tightly packed conflation of styles and references, collectively an empire of signs signifying the power to spin out an endless stream of messages. I twisted my cap backward to more easily snap pictures. This place seemed like a great site for HDR post-processing. How else could the Korean Film Studio appear but as a hypersaturated cartoon version of itself? I thought about these pictures as proof of the place I’d visited, and I dreaded the prospect of losing them. With their disappearance, the trip might as well have never happened.

Thumb's up
At one spot, David took a picture of his thumb, mirroring a poster of a guy giving a thumbs-up. I naturally took a picture of David. Just a little Photoshop magic and I could rotate his thumb to more closely reflect the poster. Maybe one day I will. And why not? The studio is a spectacle of simulation for the most earnest of purposes. In the DPRK, words like “propaganda” and “ideology” contain no sense of absurdity or detachment. They are performances of power without a hint of irony.

Korean Film Studio
Before we left, a studio representative allowed us to watch about ten minutes of a movie they’re editing. It’s the story of a woman who refuses to marry a man until he becomes worthy of being photographed with the Dear Leader. Spoiler alert: He smartens up, they marry, and she is blessed. The script is based on a true story. Apparently Kim Jong Il heard about this woman and ordered the production of a movie about her life. And he insisted that she portray herself on the screen.

Backward reels the mind.


Film studio mural
There's just one more major stop: the Grand People’s Study House. Our docent is especially determined to assure us that the library has some books in English. At a computer terminal she says, “We have Mark Twain.” I'm not sure how to respond, so I go for something safely generic: “That’s great," I say.

“Would you like to see?”

“Well, no. I’m sure you have him.”

“Really, it’s easy. I just type in his name...
”

Now I can confirm that North Korea’s Grand People’s Study House has some Mark Twain. They also have “American Pie" on CD.

Unfortunately it’s the Madonna version.

Grand People's Study Room
Outside a window I catch sight of Kim Il Sung Square. Clouds have rolled in and a drizzle has begun to fall. The place is filled with kids - thousands of them standing and sitting in lines - practicing for the upcoming torchlight parade (“They can go home if the rain gets really bad,” one of our guides assures us).
"Can we take pictures of the Square?"

Of course we can.

Kim Il Sung Square
Before we get dropped off at our hotel, the guides take us to a coffee shop. David and I flip through overstuffed menus featuring cappuccinos and day-glo fruit drinks. One of our guides asks an oddly general question: “When is the happiest day you can remember?” We all pause and think before taking turns. David tells his story and I tell mine. We wait for her to share. She starts, painting broad outlines, setting the scene. Then she stops.

The story might get her in trouble, she explains.

David and I grab dinner back in the hotel before rejoining our guides for beers in the “Teahouse.”
Throughout the afternoon we’ve praised our guides. We’ve thanked them for being so helpful and kind to us. They’ve thanked us for our patience and open-mindedness. But now after so many days in such close quarters, we’re running out of things to say. 

Then the guide flashes a shy smile. 

“I’ll tell you my story... 

... as long as you promise not to tell anyone.”
One last view from the Juche Tower

Postscript

The next morning [“Day Eight,” technically] we pack and meet our guides one last time. They confirm that we’re checked out of the hotel, and they return our passports. David and I have prepared three innocuous gray envelops, each containing cash. Our goal is to ensure that the driver and each guide receive an envelope without being seen by the others. We have no idea whether we’re following appropriate protocol or just making asses of ourselves. Throughout this trip, that's been a common concern.

Approaching the airport, we cruise by posters and murals of heroic North Koreans standing tall against foreign aggression, praising the brilliance of their Leaders, and building the Pyongyang Worker’s Paradise. I think about another picture I saw years ago: Boris Vallejo’s poster for National Lampoon's Vacation. The image features Chevy Chase atop a marble hill, his muscles glistening with sweat, his legs gripped by scantily clad women. He’s two parts suburban schlub, one part Conan the Barbarian.

Such has been this trip, a labored performance and a performance of labor. We have only spent a week in the DPRK, and we’ve encountered few moments that have not been carefully scripted. A
glow with our own heroic deeds, we will share an epic adventure with friends and colleagues. But we can’t take ourselves too seriously. It wasn't that amazing, really. We filled out applications, paid fees, stood in lines, sat on buses, took pictures, bowed on command, and left without incident. We played our roles. 

Still, I wonder about our guide's secret story. Was it real? Were her words a revelation of something beneath the surface of things? Or were they just another layer of artifice? One last souvenir.

Predictably, David and I put the pieces together differently. David’s no fool. He possesses healthy skepticism about what we’ve seen. But he feels something genuine in these moments too. Me? I remember moments that mattered, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to have come here. At the same time, I can never quite get rid of a nagging fear that the entire trip was merely a stage-set for artful storytelling. We'll take a long time sifting through this experience. We agree entirely about one thing, though.



We will never tell the guide’s secret.
Day 6 | Return to Beginning

All photographs - except for "Andy stalks" - © Andrew Wood