Thoughts

creatives in a world of more creatives....

It's hard to imagine sustaining the creative class as the numbers inflate and the capital diminishes.  But, we are also in the throws of the chopped hierarchical tree, in which a select few where given the whole share of resources and attention for their creative endeavors.

Length, size, genre, mediums, fidelity, production values are just some of the things that seem to matter less and less, as ultimately, attention becomes the trophy creatives seek, sometimes in the most desperate ways.

The death of the critical class is inevitable because the distribution of the voice is constant. An opinion is an opinion after all, and control of content doesn't exist.  What you ultimately get is the good with the bad.  Then this naturally follows, "what is good and what is bad". Nobody gets to decide for you anymore. 

9.7.14 - 9.14.14 - THE LIST

Film list from the previous week:

1. Steamboy - Kazahuro Otomo 
2. Metropolis - Rintaro 
3. Battles Without Honor and Humanity - Kinji Fukasaku
4. Dodes'ka-den - Akira Kurosawa
5. Galaxy Express 999 - Rintaro (the film version)

This was an anime heavy month for me, as I had to reexamine the form for various purposes. The sensibilities at times are out of sync with what I personally enjoy, but in other moments and depending on direction, the works are spellbinding.  

Some of my favorite films of all time are "anime", although most of those titles fall unto the Ghibli team, which mostly functions in a separate category then "anime" in it's most common associations. It's almost impossible to dislike what Ghibli produces, but I feel hesitant to even write about those works, because to do so feels heavily redundant. If you don't enjoy what Ghibil has to offer, you're probably not interesting in movies in general.  

But there are some other anime classics that remain deeply integrated into my psyche.  The sheer weight of imagery in AKIRA, the collective works of Satoshi Kon, and Shinichirō Watanabe's Cowboy Bebop series are some examples.  Yes, these examples are generally the touchstones for the genre, but again, I'm far from an expert in this subject.   

just gander at the insanity of this image....

just gander at the insanity of this image....


Japanese cinema, "now" now, and then....

I've been on a Japanese kick of late.  I happen to return to this culture, frequently, for a vast bouquet of inspiration.  Simply, the well is never dry.

The last five films I've watched this week were Japanese. One observation I've made is that the Western Cinematic tradition has lifted heavily from this world, and Akira Kurosawa ( i feel silly leaving a link here, but I'm going to assume that a good percentage of people are not that familiar with him, and do not give the same unwavering adulation to say, Stanley Kubrick) being on the receiving end of this homage ripping, while also being the most universally influential. But aside from the good type of artistic stealing which is mostly an "influential" lifting, there has been a much more malignant form of culture appropriation, which comprises of the more serious form of perjury. And yes, this bad form of stealing is rampant in cinema.

In the prior decades, distribution was the real barrier to familiarity with international cinema. The world, before NETFLIX and the web was a localized arena.  So localized in fact, that believe it or not, you'd have to go to a movie theater to see a movie (perhaps a film festival, or art-house theater, school, etc).  And, if you didn't catch it, then you'd have to hope for some form of taped distribution.  It wasn't till the late 70's whereby people were actually renting and buying movies.  At this juncture in the space time continuum, the selection was incredible limited.

With the explosion of VHS and the video store, more titles could be discovered. But, media was not ubiquitous, and our reference points were limited to stuff we heard about, or actually saw; which again, had serious limitations in breath, scope, and in memory. Image those days, in which Wikipedia, Google and Youtube were not at your beckon call, and did not serve as your assistant brain (soon to be, First Brain). Yes, scary indeed.       

Say you saw something really interesting in an obscure Japanese movie from the early 70's, and were a filmmaker in the 80's and even early 90's, and you happened to steal heavily from it.  In fact, even go so far as to purge it's images, its style, its flow.   People would hardly know.  Only a relative few.  And surprisingly, unlike music and other types of arts, this type of heavy lifting would not even be frowned upon critically, and certainly not by the general movie going audience.  For the most part.

The idea of originality in Western Cinema has long been a secondary by-product; a term Hollywood tried to bury (and successfully) in the 50's (purely conjecture here).  It's worked.  This is one of the only arts where familiarity gets a pass almost every-time.  And as the post-modern infiltrated movie making in the early nineties, it was even considered cool.  

But on a personal level, I always felt a more kindred liking to original works (herein I'm referring to a more direct style of moviemaking) then post modern assemblies of those styles.  But that was then, and now is now.      

But, "now" now, is not like the 90's now.  People dream up movement phrases like, "The New Sincerity", and while this might last for "now", it can never congeal into anything resembling the classical arts movements of a prior century.  Because we have moved past time oriented "movements".  We are in a post-movement world; better yet, post-mechanical-watch.  Human time doesn't neatly pack itself into bubbles anymore, because it's umbilical cord to our evolutionary clock has been cut.  

And "now" is like the scene from the Mel Brooks film SPACEBALLS:  Now "Now", Not "Then" Now.  This sentence above, however is not my own, i'll gladly admit.  In fact, I lifted it from a wonderful conversation between media theorist David Ryan Polgar and Douglas Rushoff.  If only cinema were so nice to attribute.

I'll leave you with this apropos image from Kinji Fukasaku's BATTLES WITHOUT HONOR AND HUMANITY

a quantum question....

a quantum question....

 

Birthdays & national tragedies....

Today is one of my best friends birthdays. His is never forgotten. Although I forget many other birthdays, a habit I am not proud of given the breadth of technology available to remind you, his is my second thought of the day.  The first is reserved to 911, the American Tragedy.

It's been 13 years, a fact equally astonishing to realize the unequivocal changes throughout the world since. Their was no youtube, iphones, gopros, twitter or facebook.  We didn't personally document everything like a desperate hoarder, grasping to no avail at a slipping life.

The memories now of that horrific date are living and breathing ones.  They feel tangible, and although they might not be accurate given our subjective and changing memory, they can be as raw as the real thing. In this case, that's a truth. It burns. The heart.

 

 

ical meets virus....

Sometimes we plan the week, in precise, efficient detail, and then, a cold comes knocking on the door changing everything.  Life is not linear.  

And if you force it as such, the joy and spontaneity of the game, the game of life vanishes.  Life is just one giant improvisational game, ephemeral and hardly meant for seriousness.  The mood of the moment or time might feel grave, but mortality is our constant reminder; this is fleeting, don't be a jerk about it.   

what we notice, what evades...

I got into a discussion with my father yesterday about Downtown Los Angeles.  I happened to be watching some television with him while on one of my little retreats to Orange County.  I go there often to get away from among other things, the parking hassle in LA.  The stress of Trader Joe's I hear is soul crushing.  I'm immune because I don't step into grocery stores.  But, getting coffee at a Coffee Bean is a fucking ordeal.

Anyways, we were watching a movie staring the most underrated actor in American Cinema, Keanu Reeves (who just happened to turn 50 in an ode to Dorian Grey, and is by all accounts the nicest son of a bitch in Hollywood) and a tracking helicopter shot a moving car racing through a completely empty Time Square.  The next cut showed our hero (Keanu) with a few passengers including the beautifully eyebrowed Jennifer Connelly (is my memory eluding me) and my mothers favorite leading man, Jon Hamm racing through fake New York, which was in fact real Downtown Los Angeles.  Movies and commercials often do this.  Shoot exteriors of NY, film in dtla.  They look somewhat similar in what is called the Historic Core, but, with any scrutiny, the deceit becomes obvious.  Alright, here is the title of the film;  THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL.  And a confession, this was my third time seeing it.

So, the discussion wasn't about the validity of using the two spaces.  When I made the observation of the two spaces being used in the cut, to my father, he replied that it wasn't possible because palm trees litter LA.  I argued that palm trees don't exist in downtown.  And we went back and fourth.  My argument was superior because, "I live and work in downtown".  And that was the end, he conceded.  

Now, cut to today; here I am looking at some shots I developed from my trustee Nikon One Touch, and lo and behold, a shot of the art's district in downtown LA.  What we can see in the back is a lovely group of palm trees.  I've passed by this area many times, and in a moment of argument, palm tree's where wiped from my memory.  As if all the palms in downtown where wiped off the landscape, in favor of a more urban LA, best used to create car commercials or Hollywood films that were meant to be NY.

Memory is an illusion.  Enjoy the rest of your day.  Never argue from a source of fantasy.

the never ending story....

Sometimes creative projects take a very long time to finish.  Especially in these modern times, when you can control the flow with new tools and without the same financial pressures of previous times.  Storage is cheap. Film stock and processing is not.

But, process changes with technology.  The context of creation is the factor.  Creativity is not an internal force exerted unto the outer realm.  It is a reaction to the outer realm.  This is our rebellion against the ambiguous rules set force, by unforeseen energy, into human order.  

We try to mimic nature, or in our esteem, to conquer its beauties in words and visuals, to make sense of the chaos.  But this chaos is our flame.  This chaos is our master.  

what is awake?

"out of insecurity"

"attached" 

"amazing" 

"that being said" 

"you don't have to prove anything to anyone" 

"i got some black in me, I'll fuck a bitch up" 

"she's not stupid, and she works in finance" 

Those were the few phrases I heard late afternoon, while sitting in a downtown LA bar yesterday as two middle aged women raged on about relationships.  It seems one of them was in a revolving door situation, and she mostly remained quiet.  The married one, without any loss of words and an unsettling bravado.  A natural, one might say.

Much later that night, I watched Satoshi Kon's 2006 anime masterwork PAPRIKA.  

Throughout the day, starting as early as my first coffee run, I was told that I looked like someone.  This happened a total of 9 times yesterday.  The people of said doppelgänger lineage, a bewildering and confusing range.

All these things coalesced into one hellish nightmare with a pedantic, but truthful message. Acoustically all those phrases above made entrances.  The rest is too personal and solipsistic to dictate here but I did wake up with a profound insight into my recent life.

We are all fragments of what happens to us, and in reverse, we are also the producers of such happenings.   No separation exists within the dream and the awake.  They are the same expression.  They are like the head and the body, a singular unit.

image.jpg

the in the out....

what if you love how it was done before?

The arts are places where obsessions form identities.  And new forms build incrementally, from the past.  A snails pace, where the market generally reflects changes very slowly.  That's often why the avant-garde, or the creationist class never make the big bucks like those who refine the new concepts into familiar forms, or, when so happens that the market and the audience catches on.  This usually occurred a long time afterwards.  This is in reverse order from tech, which handsomely rewards the futurist and early adopters, of which are many.  But, like Sam Cooke sings beautifully, "A change is gonna come".   And it has, without any knock on the proverbial door, giving artist very little choice but to fight or flight.

The fast changing landscapes creates three classes of artist.  Artist whom, "made it" in the classical sense before the grand digital divide, those who exist, still in relative obscurity after this grand divide, and one's who came after this grand chasm. For argument sake, I place this grand chasm around the mid 2000's.  This theory on dates demands more than I'm willing to write this morning, and I'm sure many arguments can be made for placing the divide at different times.  In fact, from an empirically personal standpoint, the real disruption has occurred most forceable in the last couple years. 

If you came on the scene as a child of the internet, you understand the rules of the game better then Jean Renoir.  If you came before and already "made it" in the classical sense, most of this has no immediate consequences for you at the time being, as long as you are working. However, those in the middle of the two, the one's who were still toiling with arts and crafts and still hadn't made a name for themselves, those are the ones with the hardest times.  Not quite sure where their affinity lays. 

The changes in the landscape demand and dictate a change in identity. Why?  Well, all of your prior heroes did it the old school way.  They did it in a way that was familiar and easy to point to. Even though gatekeepers, creation and distribution and all the old shit was even more impossible then it is today, it was safer.  You could toil in obscurity till you make it, or, even in obscurity there was a certain badge of honor in pursuing something against all odds.  There even existed an UNDERGROUND that accepted your invisibility.  And in the case of something like filmmaking, you could always point to the lack of financial support, but we are not talking about the non-doers here.

Now, that luxury of obscurity as honor badge doesn't quite exist.  You cannot hide.  You must get out in front and do like the new school, and leave your heroes behind.  And if they don't adjust, well, after the last of their pre digital clout dies, they will be left like you.  Starting from scratch.  So, adjust now, try new things, let go of old and dying ideas and jump in.  Play.  Look foolish.  It doesn't matter anyways, because the stream might never forget, but it does forgive.   

melatonin days - some type of way

the day was filled with heaps of molasses
brain function, enslaved by an under the influence and angry source
a day where "you just can't fucking do anything"
except think of the scattered-ness of everything
and all worldly things
like an old, cool nikon lens you found in your grandma's attic
that just doesn't focus 
and even though it's kind of hip with that softness, deep down you know
it's only producing shit
but where do you take it
are there such things as camera stores anymore

 

technology.

the woman worked at a bar in little tokyo

and she loved her phone so much

and one day, on a cold and rare rainy night in Los Angeles, she made love through her phone 

but the very next day, the phone broke

and it broke her heart

"love is fleeting" , she concluded

but I think she's a bit immature

park.

he looked straight ahead, as far as his eyes could see in the middle of the warm summer night.  this was where he spent his childhood.  a park, in the middle of the quietest suburb on planet earth.  the grass felt nice.

it was here that he tasted alcohol, and it was here that he first tried marijuana.  It was here that he saw his best friend Arthur body slam Robbie the bully.  it was here, that he and Arthur would discuss what they would do to girls, had they had the chance.  and this certainly changed from year to year.  drastically in fact.

it was at this location that he lay, sprawled out on the grass, looking up at the sky for countless hours, wondering if life would ever change.  It was here that the legion of emotional experiences tickled his bored soul.

and now, if only he could crawl back into that tiny space, and feel those feelings once more, everything would be ok.

generation gaps.

“you got some molly?"
“actually no, I don't.  back in my day they called it ecstasy.”
“back in your day, you were young. now your old so shut da fuck up.”
“that’s not nice.”
“neither is your face.”
“so mature.”
“yeah.”
“i got coke though.”
“ok.”