Steven "Smalley" Spielberg

There was rumbling at the time that Spielberg's War of the Worlds was about 9/11. It really didn't matter because it was a failed scifi horror flick, so who cares what he, or anyone else thought it “meant”.

As noted earlier in this weblog, Spielberg's Munich is a disaster of another order — attempting to lecture about goodness sans moral compass in an arena where values are daily an issue of life and death. Spielberg's thesis is simply that they aren't terrorists at all — they are people with a valid cause. If we just listen to them (and by implication give them what they want — the Tony Judt formula) then peace will dwell on earth.

Edward Rothstein doesn't agree in this article in the NYT. Rothstein makes some cogent points:

[Spielberg's] theory asserts that terrorism is a violent and extreme reaction to injustice - the last resort of the oppressed. Typically, this injustice theory is used to explain left-wing terrorism. It not only coincides with the justifications offered by terrorists themselves, but it also accompanies a belief that a just cause lies behind the terrorist attack. The theory is never applied to right-wing terrorism - whether of the brown-shirt or Timothy McVeigh variety - and thus pre-selects its proofs.

…Moreover, the film, to make its argument about the cycle of violence, ends up treating the Munich massacre almost as if it were the original act of Palestinian terror. The elimination of context makes the Israeli response seem intemperate, while all future acts of Palestinian terror are treated as if they were responses to the Israeli assassinations. But…in the years before Munich, maniacal terrorists aligned with the Palestinian cause had bombed a Swissair jet, thrown hand grenades into crowds at Israel's airport, hijacked planes and associated themselves with other terror groups trained and partly financed by the Soviet Union. These, like the attacks that followed Munich, were part of a continuing war, not evidence of an amorphous cycle of violence that developed out of Israel's attempts to undermine terror.

Spielberg's movies are good at warming over cozy adolescent movie-derived conventions regarding morality and human (usually child-centered) feeling — he gives great fairy tale. But in real life Spielberg is surrounded by sycophants and a self-indulgent Hollywood community continually trying to prove it isn't just that in its self-conscious displays of ostentatious do-goodism. Without the self-check critical intelligence or a moral compass might provide, without a community that would tell him he isn't getting it, Spielberg, playing the fool, cluelessly devolves to braying.

Stern's Farewell

There was a lot of praise for “we” in Howard Stern's farewell speech, when he really meant “I”. It's surprising that performers who talk for a living can't be more effective, more articulate. Public speaking is a special skill. Stern focused on the audience in what he did say to the crowd outside his studio on his last day on terrestial radio; he spoke about the way the impassioned loyal audience had empowered him to trump the commercial forces that run radio stations and would censor him — the large vocal audience at least provided a holding action. Stern picked up a commentator's term as a refrain: “last of a dying breed”, to acclaim what “we” had done.

With all the emptiness of such a spectacle — a sometime entertaining radio show is forced to another venue — there is the telling truth Stern mentioned at the end with justifiable anger: he is being driven off the public airwaves by the thought control police who have been enabled by the current administration; a government agency acting in this instance as an arrogant enemy of free speech. It really didn't matter that Stern wasn't articulate — Stern's anger about that sad truth has a communal ring.

FireFox, Bye Bye

Firefox was such a great browser, and now, with its recent update, it is unusable on a Mac — at least for me. I was just trying to renew our car registration at AAA and Firefox was choking, not reading form data correctly, drop down menus don't work, it keeps cycling even after the page is loaded — I loved this browser.

Well, it is back to Safari.

Be Still, Jack Black

Did you see Jack Black on Letterman last night? Black was promoting King Kong — which looks like it might be good. Black is one of those performers you like the minute you see him. Like Chris Farley or John Belushi or a ton of other comedians — they have something convivial that emanates from them on first sight. They don't even try — at least outwardly; but you can just see that Old Debil inside these comedians is yearning to get out, and you know it will.

Jack Black came out after Letterman's intro, the usual performer perp walk. That celebrity walk has its own interest — watching a celebrity just walk onstage. I'm not sure why. Years ago one of Howard Stern's guests said that he watched a talk show in which a beautiful actress was to appear, just to see her walk out — he tuned out immediately after her entrance. In that case you can understand the interest; but that odd ritual of the entrance of a guest on a talk show is strangely engrossing.

Coming out from side stage Black seemed the usual celeb, centered, undistracted by the crowd so happy to see him, then, in the midst of the walk, he did one of those little wild dances comedians are so good at — comedy is music after all, a kind of rhythmic series of incantations — nearly all comedians have tremendous physical grace. I remember what a joy it was to watch Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin dancing behind the credits in All Of Me.

I really posted this note for one reason, to point out the quiet on the other end of the manic comedic spectrum: Black sits down and says a few things; then he says something funny — and then he is just very still, almost disinterested, as the audience laughs. He looks off, not at Letterman, nor the audience, just off somewhere into his own quadrant of the universe. It was fascinating — that stillness.

Richard Pryor

In a beautifully written NYT obituary that amounts to a tribute, Richard Pryor is laid to rest.

…Mr. Pryor's often harsh observations and explicit language did offend some audiences. But he insistently presented characters with little or no distortion. “A lie is profanity,” he explained. “A lie is the worst thing in the world. Art is the ability to tell the truth, especially about oneself.”

He told the truth with all its weight and lightness and freedom. So frail and fierce, so strong and fearful, so flawed and clear-eyed, he invoked the human spirit in his very presence on stage. Exposed, so exposed in center stage — the place he was meant to be.

Munich Fantasy

Spielberg is a director who can't grow up. His imagination and extraordinary skills as a story teller serve adolescent and childhood fantasies. No mean feat to realize on screen the magic of such fantasies— but such magic, not informed by adult complexity, devolves into entertaining confections — not the resonant work of a mature artist.

David Brooks indicates what many suspected: that Spielberg would drink deeply of moral equivalence in his new movie Munich. Spielberg, woozy on his goodness, has run true to type — Peter Pan never can grow up and still retain his magic — he needs to live in his fantasy. If only we can be nice enough to each other, gosh darn, we can achieve peace.

Spielberg has the affliction of the unsophisticated do-gooder — his sensibility devolves into narcissistic self-regard — look at me, how kind I am, how understanding — he leaves out the real world (and its suffering).

David Brooks has it nailed:

In Spielberg's Middle East the only way to achieve peace is by renouncing violence. But in the real Middle East the only way to achieve peace is through military victory over the fanatics, accompanied by compromise between the reasonable elements on each side. Somebody, the Israelis or the Palestinian Authority, has to defeat Hamas and the other terrorist groups… this kind of violence is the precondition to peace…

David's Enthusiasm

David Pogue has an infectious way of communicating his desire to be amazed and delighted. He writes the best manuals and how-to computer articles — with wonderful clarity, and most importantly, a marvelous ability to sense the questions that arise as you read his books, and then answer those questions, right then and there. Pogue is a chirpy geek, the Doug Henning of computerdom, amazed by his own amazement.

Pogue writes an email column which he sends out on the day Circuits is published by the NYT. He has found something to be amazed about in his latest mailing. It is a DVD called Animusic — a combo of animation with synthesized music. The result is well, um, chirpy and geeky.

David has determined that the content of this DVD is art because…

The best part of Animusic …is people's reactions. …if viewer conversation, discussion and thinking are part of the definition — it's art.

Well Dave, for you, that's what art is.

David points to the site of this clever and entertaining stuff: “You can see and hear segments of the Animusic tracks at www.animusic.com, although you should remember that the effect is 100 times more powerful when played on a TV (especially a big one) and through a sound system, preferably 5.1 Dolby surround.”