Walking Up and Stumbling Down

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960)

After having begun the movie yesterday, I found it unbearable to finish it quickly. This is a quiet, meditative and intimate movie that captures the feeling of yearning that we all have to find a place and to escape the degradation that accompanies modern commercial society. The portrait of a bar hostess working in the Ginza district in Tokyo and forced to reflect uneasily on the pressures of modern life is unforgettable. This quiet aesthetic in move making, capturing a society in transtion, is compelling, and speaks to the deep uneasiness that I feel as well.



Of Messiahs and Men

I'm almost done with "The Odyssey", a classic that I've been yearning to read throughout my life but was only recently able to incorporate. In many ways, it feels very familiar, something that corresponds to the nature of a text that is foundational. So much of our Western culture derives from this book, and I can't help but find many resonances between this work and other books that I've read, ranging as much from the situations (the feeling of struggling against fortune, of living with regret, of appealing to justice, of striving for family unity, of lamenting the loss of community) as from characters. The "wily tactician" represents a part of our identity as well, as we seek to find redress and pursue that eternal quest to return home, Thomas Wolfe not withstanding.

In particular, I have noted a certain biblical quality in the Odyssey, especially in the description of the returning adventurer who will right the wrongs that have beset his household, but who in the meantime has to adopt a disguise in order to root out the extent of the corruption in his household. The disguised Odysseus, aided by Athena, returns as an old beggar, asking for hospitality and being denied by the suitors, a pack of aristocratic brigands who have little intent to live according to the values that are asserted in this community. What are these values? Modesty, respect for authority, an acceptance of fate, and humility. When the characters defy the gods they are punished for exceeding he bounds of what is allowed, and yet, one can't help but feel that by doing so they are rendered more human. We all are made in such a way as to seek and find, and if this involves at times defying the will of the gods, so be it. What else could Odysseus be expected to do when cornered in a cave with the Cyclops, that evil one-eyed giant that devours a handful of men every night? Was he supposed to accept that fate, even though, by blinding the giant and escaping, he incurred the wrath of Poseidon, the father of the monster? Perhaps it is a way of asserting, once again, that life is a struggle, but it can be rendered all the more pleasurable by the intimacy and dramatic flair of epics such as this one.

The biblical resonance furthermore recalls the idea of the suffering "Son of Man" who we encounter in the Old Testament, and whose significance was demonstrated for me by the work of the biblical scholar Bart Ehrman. This suffering character is paradigmatic, and is meant to suggest a hidden quality as well, a being who, like the gods who disguise themselves among men in the Odyssey in order to try the will of men, will return to render judgement. In this case we are talking as well of a certain Mesiah-like quality, for Odysseus will assert control of his kingdom and assert a new epoch of justice for his community, rewarding his faithful employees and family members while killing the guilty. In the meantime he suffers, but does so willingly, prolonging a certain giddy sensation of doom that is held in abeyance for just a short moment, providing thus a certain pleasure in the reader. With each act of outrage we can be sure that punishment will be quick and justified.

The other book I have just received today is Robert Crumb's version of the Book of Genesis. I've already started reading it, and I can't help but perceive a certain sardonic commentary, despite the author's assertions that he has tried to remain true to the text and has tried to avoid editorializing.

When one comes upon the visual vocabulary of Crumb, with the heftiness and the seeming sexual essence of his physical characterizations, and the broad and somewhat  crude expressions, we have entered into a special landscape. Perhaps it has to do with the cross-hatching technique, as well as the memory of all the other characters that he has drawn that highlight wild and lurid sexual fantasies. I can't help but find that his depiction of Eve recalls "Devil Woman", from his works of the 60s. The people seem to have an almost Cro-Magnon quality that highlights, as always, the physical, and the poses seem to suggest this quality of motion that would acompany athletes who are involves in certain physical exploits that necesitate strength rather than stealth. This is a way of saying that his people have a certain Jack Kirby quality, a reference to the bulging depictions of that classic comic book author.

The juxtaposition of the biblical text with Crumb's drawings is a novel experience. It seems almost impossible to read a certain subversive quality. I will continue my observations at a latter point.

In the meantime, I am getting ready to finish instruction in my classes. It has become an almost intolerable experience. Part of it has to do with the nature of the material, which involves, frequently, explanations and illustrations of grammar. The other factors have to do with exhaustion after eight weeks of instruction and, what has proven to be an almost insurmountable obstacle, the fact that classes last for one hour and fifty minutes. Each class is a marathon, and I find myself stumbling at the end.

I've seen students in other classes, and I've been a student for a considerable portion of my life, so I know how dreary such a long class can be. However, it is the nature of a class such as this one and the impetus of new pedagogical techniques that emphasize the "student-centered" approach that I find myself lagging. If I were to rely on my students to provide the impetus for the class, I think we would quickly lag behind. I just can't be expected to recede into the background, or assume the role of a moderator. In the end, the teacher has to teach because, otherwise, the temptation for students will be to put the minimum effort with the expectation of obtaining the maximum return. I certainly receive enough complaints as it is from students who turn in atrocious assignments then complain about the grades they receive.

And, when you have a group with bad chemistry, things are worse. Such is the case with my Tuesday/Thursday class. I dread each time I have to face this group. However, I try to soothe myself by saying that we only have a few more weeks. Still, it is a terrible feeling. Perhaps I will expound on this in the future as well.

(I feel as if I have established a connection between myself and the disguised Odysseus in the Odyssey. I am the harried, humiliated and abused character who will assert his domain at the end. This can't help but make me chuckle because of how incongruous it is. I am no action figure.)

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

Cutting the umbilical cord (Mother)

Yesterday, amidst all the preparations for another exhausting and depressing class session, I had a chance to see the South Korean film "Mother" (2009). It is a thriller that turned out to be more engaging than I expected, with resonances that recalled the Alfred Hitchcock classic "Psycho".

It begins in a somewhat unsettling manner, with a woman in late middle-age walking through a beautiful field surrounded by trees. She seems to be obsessed, and yet she gives way to a fit of dancing, celebrating something of which we will remain unaware until the last thirty minutes of the film, and which will then send chills down our spine.

The setting seems to be a small town in South Korea, and the season seems to be fall, when rain abounds and there is a perpetual gloom in the air. It reminds me very much of the setting to the film "A History of Violence", which takes place in a small town in Indiana. The lighting contributes to this sense of weight and oppression. We have melancholy and expectancy.

The plot revolves around a supremely protective mom and her son who seems to be developmentally disabled. At first impression the teenager would seem to be a normal laggard, obsessed with lounging around and being popular, but we quickly become aware that he is mentally challenged. He is an eternal child, incapable of taking care of himself, and his mother would seem to be consumed with some form of guilt.

In the course of these events a young schoolgirl is murdered, and suspicion falls on the boy. He is summarily arrested and convicted, and his mother begins a crusade to prove his innocence. The depths to which she will descend in her mission proved to be alternately heartwarming as well as chilling, and it is this change of tone that provides much of the impact to this film.

Suffice it to say, she will pursue her mission to exculpate her son with what can only be described as mother's zeal, and she will find out many dark secrets about this town. Unfortunately, she is not exempt, and the audience will find out her own dark secret, that of attempting to poison her son when he was a five year old.

After several false pursuits she will find the real killer, who will turn out to be her son after all, acting out in rage against the girl who had called him a "retard", thus eliciting a killing instinct. This instinct will become evident in the mother as well, who will kill the only eyewitness to the crime, seeking to preserve a shred of doubt. It is a terrible moment in which we see the tranmutation of a mother's love into a homicidal instinct. It reminds me as well of the Buddhist injunction against attachment, and how it can lead to all manner of suffering.

In the end, this was an engaging thriller that left me pensive in a way that other thrillers haven't. There are no cheap thrills here. Everything seems to proceed with an inexorable logic, and if anything,the quest of this mother reminds me of an ancient Greek drama, that of Oedipus the King. Like that character, this mother insists on pursuing her quest to discover the killer of the young lady, and at several moments she is warned about the possible impact, but she refuses to desist. When she makes her discovery, it is almost unbearable, leaving her profoundly shocked and the audience similarly perturbed. The secret is hard to contain, and it warps our perspective.

While we many continue to empathize with this mother and her obsession/guilt, it is hard to identify with her any longer. She is punished by a sense of crushing guild and her puzzlement over her instinctive actions, and it seems she has lost part of her illusions about herself. As with the chopping scene in the beginning where she cuts a finger, she is no longer whole. And we are left to wonder at the illusions that we weave about ourselves, and how vulnerable we all are.

 

 

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

The World Comes to Southern California

Today I had the chance to attend the International Festival that took place at a local university in Southern California. If I am reticent to mention the name of this institution it is only because I don't want to place too much emphasis on location. This was a world-spanning event that has been ongoing for ten years, and afforded the opportunity for many cultures to perform. It was a meeting ground for people of all ages and all backgrounds, and there was an excitement and eagerness that was evident as people walked among the booths, sampling products and foods from throughout the world.

The event was very-well attended. There was a long line of cars waiting to enter, and at first I thought I wouldn't be charged the $10 parking fee. It turns out that those people who arrive before 10:00 a.m. are assumed to be vendors, and are directed to free and adjacent lots. I am not a vendor, however, and these lots were already filled. So, I paid and parked in a field.

The first group I saw as a ballet folklorico from Lake Forrest. It was a spirited group that I have seen at other venues. Today they brought their entire troupe, from children to adults, and performed dances from various states ranging from Zacatecas (the opening suite) to Baja California Norte.  

I was pleased to see how many people were in the audience at an early point of the day. It was cloudy and cool, and yet there were many who made the trip to see these performers.

There were many other performing groups. Here are a few pictures of Son Merekumbe, an Afro/Latin Dance group that performed dances from the Ivory Coast, from Belize and from Colombia. They were quite vigorous, with insistent drums of varying rhythms to accompany their dances.

The Taiko groups were very energetic, producing pounding rhythms that were projected throughout the indoor recreation facility. Their dance moves were visually entrancing as well, and they seemed to have a certain visual flair. I say this because they were in synch, and because they incorporated various gestures and ritual chants (including shouts) that served as a choreography for the music.

There were several Taiko groups. Since this is a university that was financed by contributors from Japan, it was to be expected that they would highlight Japanese culture, although this was only one element of the experience here.

It was a beautiful day that started as well as ended on a cloudy note, but that was amply compensated for by the energy and light of the performers.

I look forward to this event, having attended for two years and hoping to attend many future installments. It is an uplifting experience.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

The never-ending 70s nostalgia trip

Today I had the opportunity to watch the 1976 thriller "Marathon Man", staring Dustin Hoffman, Laurence Olivier, Roy Scheider and, among others, a young William Devane. In many ways it was a predictable thriller, formulaic in the way it incorporated treachery as well as selected action sequences. The sadistic torture scene was novel, but otherwise, it didn't seem to offer anything more memorable than the character played by Olivier, an escaped Nazi seeking to recuperate a lost fortune in diamonds. And, as always, the feel of the big city, New York, with all its seediness but also, yes, its glamour.

I remember hearing about this movie in the 70s, but it seemed to be relegated to adult fare that wasn't appropriate for me as a child. This came up, as I recall, in the television programs that I remember watching. It certainly wasn't among the film staples viewed by my parents who were living in their own cultural bubble, pining desperately for the Mexico they had left behind and dragging us unwillingly to see Cantinflas movies, that babbling rural bumpkin who was already old-fashioned back then but who evoked all that was most quintessentially Mexican. My dad used to howl when watching those movies, and we, his children, marvelled and were a little afraid at his transformation.

This movie highlighted a trope that was much in evidence in the 70s, and that was the theme of the escaped Nazi as villain. It was still fashionable to continue to relive the drama of World War Two, but now transmuted to more modern times, in which the relics of that regime were said to have somehow survived and were staging a resurgence. We saw it in other movies as well, such as "The Boys from Brazil", and it seemed to be an enduring theme. Nazis seemed to figure large in popular culture, and in my memories as well of the kitsch in my cousin Tony's bedroom. He used to keep a glazed clay sculpture of a skull wearing a helmet with a swastika. It seems they were popular momentos bought in Tijuana as people waited to reenter the United States.

The ending was very much in evidence. The Nazi character would be cornered and defeated in the end, and some measure of retribution would be enacted. The only problem was that this ending rang false. It seemed as if it was too trite and predictable, as if the Dustin Hoffman character (Babe) had not undergone any form of permanent change as a result of having been tortured. It hardly falls into our expectations of what this form of treatment entails. Pain changes personalities, and this was part of the central affirmation of William Goldman's novel. Originally, as explained in the short documentary that accompanied the DVD, the story ended with the hero sadistically disposing of the villain, killing him outright. It was changed to suit different considerations, among them the unwillingness of Hoffmann to have his character undergo that transformation. Goldman explains that he accepted the change, in which the Nazi ends up impaling himself with the knife as he falls down some steps. However, he seems ambivalent, as if he might secretly have regretted this. I certainly did, because the change didn't conform to what I imagined might have been the true consequences of such an experience. It felt dishonest.

We speak of torture in a light way, and this only goes to show that very few of us (fortunately) have any experience with it. Torture plays on our worse fears and highlights precisely how tied we are to our material selves, and how we are unable to escape our bodies. Pain is insistent and unbearable, and as manifested in a movie such as this one, in which the Nazi, a former dentist, cuts away into the nerves of the hero's mouth, it is hardly to be imagined. Although the torture seems somehow muted in this film, however unsettling it may have been for audiences in the 70s. There have been much more gruesome depictions in more contemporary films, such as the Japanese classic "Ichi the Killer", in which slices of an unfortunate man's skin and other assorted body parts are slowly snipped away, and a vat of boiling oil is poured on his naked, suspended back. I found that film much too difficult to watch, and had to return it without finishing it.

The villains evolve and conform to several prototypes. We had the savage and barbaric Mexican in several old Westerns, and then, of course, the Nazis and the inscrutable and implacable Soviets. We've had drug dealers and Communists and Russian nationalist as well as Middle Eastern terrorists. We've also had corporate thugs of various stripes. They seem to be generated in response to a certain zeitgeist that finds it easy to personify villains as examples of a deranged, damaged personalities. As if we could exculpate much less personalized institutional factors, such as the economic, political and cultural processes. If structuralists proclaimed the death of the author, wouldn't a necessary corollary be as well the death of the villain? There are much more fundamental underlying processes at work.

And yet it was satisfying at that time to be able to neatly rely on certain types to fulfill the role of villain. And Laurence Olivier did make a convincing, sinister and satifying villain. It is a tribute to his mastery of the craft of acting. Another master of this craft, Dustin Hoffmann, didn't acquit himself nearly as well in this film.

I enjoyed the film but, ultimately, it was ephemeral. It may seem unusual to confess this but, as I viewed the scenes in which the hero jogged around the bay and viewed the New York skyline, I found myself reflecting that this was the period in which John Lennon had chosen to withdraw and lead a private life. And this brought to the fore all the sadness as well as nostalgia I felt for this seminal artist and for the life he led. The New York skyline and the look of 70s films will always bring this out, whatever the genre of the film I am watching.

My obsession continues with the 70s.


Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

A Redemptive Friendship (Midnight Cowboy)

The film "Midnight Cowboy" is still resonating with me after watching it. It was a movie that I remembered hearing about long ago, when I was a child, but had never actually seen. It details the unlikely friendship of two misfits, and how this leads to a moment of redemption.

It was astonishing to see a young Jon Voight. He plays a hustler from Texas who has a desperate desire to escape what would promise to be a very limited life in a small backwater in Texas. The theme of escape from rural and provincial settings is a long-running theme in literature, and it can't help but offer a contrast to what has been another enduring and contrary theme, that of rural life as an antidote for the ills of modernity.

The Texan character is charming in his own way, brimming with self-confidence that is tempered at the same time by innocence and good cheer. The character has decided to pursue a career as a gigolo in New York, and he undertakes a long and exhausting bus trip to the capital of the East Coast. It is perhaps due to this mission, as well as a few select scenes of nudity and sex that seem very tame in comparison with the norms that exist today, that garnered the film an X rating. This seems thoroughly unjustified after viewing the film. Were we that prudish a culture back in the 60s?

It is inevitable that the character would prove lost in the urban landscapes of Manhattan. He is unable to find any clients, and is instead swindled by the people he meets so that he quickly lapses into penury. In the course of his wanderings he meets the character of Rico (Enrico), a many who is a small-time hood and who is limited by a limp that was apparently due to a bout with Polio. He is played with a certain grace by Dustin Hoffmann.

Rico (known as "Ratso" as well) joins the group of people who take advantage of the Texan (Buck), but it is difficult to see him as anything other than a graceful charmer. He is quite a vulnerable character as well, and what sticks to me is the way he smiles at Buck when he is found in a cafe, disarming him and steering him away from his murderous intent to punish him for the loss of all his illusions.

Buck will join Ratso in his place of abode, a derelict, abandoned building, and together they will undertake a partnership to ensure their survival. This is one of the most enduring and appealing aspects to this film, the way in which this unlikely pair come to trust and rely on each other. They are a mismatched pair, one the paragon of health and wide-brimmed optimism, the other a small knot of despair and jealosy that is tempered by a genuine wish for friendship and fellowship. They bicker with each other but they also become mutually dependent, and this becomes all the more evident as the Rico character becomes progressively more and more sick during the cold winter they spend in the building.

The new focus of their obsession becomes Florida. The difference in clime, the tropical airs, the "coconut-milk" that Ratso feels is so necessary for good health, the relaxed ambiance and the available of women, throngs and throngs of young and healthy bikini-clad women. This feeds the fantasies of Ratso, and he communicates his Florida fever to his friend Buck in an understated fashion, forcing the issue of their eventually uprooting themselves to venture south. (One suspects that Buck was initially resistant precisely because he already had a Southern background and a history of abandonement and solitude from which he was fleeing, as revealed in flashbacks.)

In the end, Buck commits a desperate act in order to acquire money for the bus trip south, and this culminates in the most poignant aspect of the film. Their friendship is solidified by the care which Buck lavishes on the ailing Ratso, a friend who is dying even as Florida looms ever nearer.

The final scene, in which Buck wraps his arms around a dead friend, with palm trees evident outside the windows and their final destination just minutes away, is one that is profoundly affecting, and demonstrates to what extent the Ratso character provided the emotional heart for this film. We are like Buck, and our innocence has been similary stripped. But we have been uplifted as well by the beauty of this friendship.

Idyllic Easter Moments

Today is Easter. I have so many memories of this holiday from my childhood, and all of them seem to revolve around our trips to see our cousins in Carlsbad, where we would gather and spend the day at Mission San Luis Rey.

Elsa, Tili, Rafa, Tony, Sixto, we would all gather and romp around the landmark. Well, perhaps not Tony and Sixto, who were older and who eschewed behaving like children. Tony always chuckled as he saw us running to look for Easter eggs. Maybe it was a form of criticism, but I didn't want to miss the pleasures of this holiday. And Sixto was already courting his future wife, who he would soon marry, producing a niece who joined us during the last few ocassions when we would still gather at this locale.

I remember my parents joining in conversation with my aunt and uncle as they prepared the barbeque. In hindsight, it is amazing that they had these grills located about the landmark. Fires of any kind would pose an understandable threat to the locale, especially given the fact that this was a historical site. If I recall correctly, these grills have since been removed.

Surprisingly, it was not crowded at all, although they would hold Easter church services which I never attended. It seemed as if we had the place to ourselves, and it offered, as always, wonderful vistas. It was sedate and sunny, with brown hills surrounding it, and we would run around the buildings as well as venturing into the interior gardens. Rafa's silly laugh still rings in my ears.

There is a special sheen to these memories from decades past. I associate it with a special light and a feeling of warmth. Those were exciting times back in the seventies, and we always looked forward to them. It has been at least a decade since we have gathered on this holiday.

Tha past, as with any wave, submerges us in memories that come crashing down but that also, from time to time, lift us up as well.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011