Wow. Coincidentally, I have been treated to two absolute tour de forces in two days and both have managed to knock me out with their raw emotional power. These films, "500 Days of Summer" and "Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father," speak to the power of human emotion and the way that life doesn't always work out the way we want it to.
"500 Days of Summer"
"500 Days of Summer" was a fantastic film. It's a wonderfully shot story of a relationship, 500 days of Tom (Joseph Gordon Levitt) and Summer (Zoey Deschanel). Another film that is hard to do justice to, "Summer" would technically be classified as a romantic comedy, but it's really a movie about the little things and the emotional intimacies of a relationship. Tom and Summer don't make it, I'm afraid, and it's something we know from the very beginning, which makes the story have a certain gravitas as it unfolds, with us looking for little details and hints of how it ends along the way.
"Summer" is the story of Tom, a greeting card writer, who meets Summer when she starts as an assistant at his work. They connect over The Smiths on the elevator and have a brief courtship highlighted by an amazing work function at a karaoke bar. The music has been carefully chosen and is a defining element of the film, helping set the tone and convey its meaning. The film is non-linear and jumps back and forth between the different stages of the relationship, from the courtship to the inevitable end.
This is director Mark Webb's first feature film, having come from a background in music videos, and he has an incredible eye for beauty in his cinematography. He has slick transitions between moments, split screens, and creative innovations in story-telling combined with a real understanding of the human heart. "Summer" manages to weave an engaging and gorgeous around this failed relationship. Summer was never going to marry Tom and sometimes life doesn't work out like the way we want it to. This is a hard lesson for Tom and we really feel his pain, but we also feel the joy along the ride and really come to understand why he loves her. Levitt and Deschanel are both incredible in their roles, which serves to elevate the film even further. This one will require multiple viewings to catch all of the intricacies. I can't wait.
Grade: A-
"Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father"
Simply put, this movie destroyed me and left me emotionally raw in a way that only a few movies ever have. It is on the short-list for most devastating picture I've ever experienced and that's saying a lot, trust me. When I reflect, I've only been affected to the point of tears a few times in my life: "I Am Sam", "Requiem for a Dream", "American History X", "United 93", and now "Dear Zachary." Of the bunch, "Zachary" and "United 93" had the biggest visceral impact, perhaps because of the power that the truth of the story provides their narrative. I know that "Requiem for a Dream" didn't happen, as attached as I am to the characters, and there's something to be said for the credibility that a true story or a documentary attaches to the emotional impact.
"Zachary" is the story of Andrew Bagby, who was murdered by his pregnant girlfriend, as told by the director Kurt Kuenne, who is a child-hood friend that made many an amateur film with Andrew growing up. Zachary is Andrew's son and Kurt wants him to know his father. He has some incredible footage and photographs to work with here, but that's not where he shines. Kurt tirelessly travels the country to interview those that knew and loved Andrew. He interviews extended family, classmates, co-workers, and, most extensively, his parents.
Andrew seems like he was an incredible kid, a best friend to many and a great son, who found his niche as a doctor. After a rough break-up with his fiance, he started dating a much older woman who didn't seem quite right to his friends, who ignored it because they wanted to see him happy. He eventually broke up with her and sent her home on a plane, thinking it was over. She drove across the country and murdered him.
The film is a testament to those that loved Andrew with its immeasurable warmth and personal touch, but during filming Andrew's murderer is released and receives custody of their child. It changes the direction of the film dramatically and provides it with additional urgency, not that it really needed it. The movie packs emotional punch after emotional bunch, but it's better not to release anymore of the plot points and you should know as little as possible heading into the film.
Trust me, bring tissues. This film is truly overwhelming. It's almost impossible to compare it to anything else or assign it any kind of relative value. However, I always say that the point of art is to convey the emotion and experience of the human condition. By that measure, few films, if any, will stack up to this one.
Grade: A
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
"The Hurt Locker" Review: A+ - Go go see it now
I can already tell "The Hurt Locker" is going to be difficult to give its proper due. Part of me thinks it's going to be dismissed as another Iraq movie rather than a serious contender for best picture or, frankly, among the best war films ever made. At the very least, it's the defining film on the Iraq war. "The Hurt Locker" uses the vehicle of a war to make a film about human nature, living on the edge, and the things that motivate us. As a result, it looks for insight into the human experience during war rather than a cheap politically dig.
I'll be upfront about it, I'm getting tired of the brash nature of political commentary in films today-all most accomplish is an excessively negative and basic criticism that rarely, if ever, borders on something nearly as constructive as most of the love and diversity messages in children's television. Don't get me wrong, it can be well executed like "Wall-E", but documentaries are the most successful medium here. Most of Hollywood's attempts seem self-serving or so shallow you wish they'd never tried in the first place.
For my money, movies that have genuine insight into human relationships are the ones I'm bound to find profound. Last year's "Rachel Get Married" blew me away on that front and films like "Requiem for a Dream" and "American Beauty" get multiple viewings a year in my house. If the end of art is to communicate experience, I think that films that really put you into someone else's shoes are so much more incredible than these cheap-thrills-huge-special-effects-so-dumb-you-don't-even-have-to-think blockbusters. Besides, I'll take the thrills in "The Hurt Locker" against pretty much anything else anyway. I was borderline exhausted entering the theatre, but my adrenaline pumped for 2 hours and 13 minutes and the classic Craig falling asleep in a movie he really wants to see trap never had a chance.
"The Hurt Locker" follows Jeremy Renner (the marine from "28 Weeks Later") who deserves Oscar consideration for his portrayal of Staff Sergeant William James, a bomb specialist working with Anthony Mackie (Papa Doc from "8 Mile"), also masterful as his by-the-book Sergeant Sanborn, to diffuse the IED's, car bombs, and suicide bombings that happen all too frequently in Iraq.
It is the grittiest, most realistic portayal of a soldier's life in Iraq I've seen and goes much further than "Three Kings" did years ago. It's 2004 and Renner replaces Guy Pearce, who played it safe and still gets dusted in the first five minutes. Renner is reckless-he refuses to use the bomb robot and while diffusing a huge car bomb he takes off his protective suit saying, "If I'm going to die, I'm going to die comfortably." He's a badass because, despite his bravado, he's incredible at his job; he can think like the bomb maker and stays in the line of danger until the very last second.
The movie opens with the line "War is a drug" and the adrenaline is something that keeps Renner hooked on war. He's disabled 873 bombs, which is an absolutely staggering amount and makes it tough to balance his need to be with his family. This isn't unique to bomb techs-those who publish newspapers or become investment bankers get hooked on the constant rush and often can't settle into less exciting environments; however, the adjustment is so extreme for those coming home from war, from fighting for life and death on a daily basis to the mundane of the American routine. We feel for Renner, who, despite his swagger, is a good guy who's just a little nuts. You have to be a little crazy for that job, right?
The movie itself is excellent-it's taut and provides the kind of details that bring the soldier's experience to life. Pinned down by snipers, the soldiers must remain alert for hours and hours after they're pretty sure they've finished them off. They can't take chances. Running out of water packets, they are fighting fatigue and dehydration as they bake in the heat. You feel how brutal that must be. One of the squad members constantly struggles with his fear of the front-line ("Does be all you can be mean dead on the streets of Baghdad") against the party line of the military psychiatrist ("War doesn't have to be a bad time in your life.") and the tension is palpable.
The cinematography and direction are perfect here, really illuminating the story without making it feel too Hollywood or dramatic. The attention to detail, from the details on the bombs to the realism of the scenarios, lets this incredible reality speak for itself rather than dramatize the situation. I recently watched "Pearl Harbor" at the behest of a friend and I feel grateful for a war movie that doesn't feel the least bit exploitative. The characters in "Pearl Harbor" feel shallow and unlikable and you come to understand and admire the ones here.
I could really talk about this movie all-day and I suspect I've already spoken about it too much. Do yourself a favor and go see it, I'm going to go see it again soon.
Grade: A+
I'll be upfront about it, I'm getting tired of the brash nature of political commentary in films today-all most accomplish is an excessively negative and basic criticism that rarely, if ever, borders on something nearly as constructive as most of the love and diversity messages in children's television. Don't get me wrong, it can be well executed like "Wall-E", but documentaries are the most successful medium here. Most of Hollywood's attempts seem self-serving or so shallow you wish they'd never tried in the first place.
For my money, movies that have genuine insight into human relationships are the ones I'm bound to find profound. Last year's "Rachel Get Married" blew me away on that front and films like "Requiem for a Dream" and "American Beauty" get multiple viewings a year in my house. If the end of art is to communicate experience, I think that films that really put you into someone else's shoes are so much more incredible than these cheap-thrills-huge-special-effects-so-dumb-you-don't-even-have-to-think blockbusters. Besides, I'll take the thrills in "The Hurt Locker" against pretty much anything else anyway. I was borderline exhausted entering the theatre, but my adrenaline pumped for 2 hours and 13 minutes and the classic Craig falling asleep in a movie he really wants to see trap never had a chance.
"The Hurt Locker" follows Jeremy Renner (the marine from "28 Weeks Later") who deserves Oscar consideration for his portrayal of Staff Sergeant William James, a bomb specialist working with Anthony Mackie (Papa Doc from "8 Mile"), also masterful as his by-the-book Sergeant Sanborn, to diffuse the IED's, car bombs, and suicide bombings that happen all too frequently in Iraq.
It is the grittiest, most realistic portayal of a soldier's life in Iraq I've seen and goes much further than "Three Kings" did years ago. It's 2004 and Renner replaces Guy Pearce, who played it safe and still gets dusted in the first five minutes. Renner is reckless-he refuses to use the bomb robot and while diffusing a huge car bomb he takes off his protective suit saying, "If I'm going to die, I'm going to die comfortably." He's a badass because, despite his bravado, he's incredible at his job; he can think like the bomb maker and stays in the line of danger until the very last second.
The movie opens with the line "War is a drug" and the adrenaline is something that keeps Renner hooked on war. He's disabled 873 bombs, which is an absolutely staggering amount and makes it tough to balance his need to be with his family. This isn't unique to bomb techs-those who publish newspapers or become investment bankers get hooked on the constant rush and often can't settle into less exciting environments; however, the adjustment is so extreme for those coming home from war, from fighting for life and death on a daily basis to the mundane of the American routine. We feel for Renner, who, despite his swagger, is a good guy who's just a little nuts. You have to be a little crazy for that job, right?
The movie itself is excellent-it's taut and provides the kind of details that bring the soldier's experience to life. Pinned down by snipers, the soldiers must remain alert for hours and hours after they're pretty sure they've finished them off. They can't take chances. Running out of water packets, they are fighting fatigue and dehydration as they bake in the heat. You feel how brutal that must be. One of the squad members constantly struggles with his fear of the front-line ("Does be all you can be mean dead on the streets of Baghdad") against the party line of the military psychiatrist ("War doesn't have to be a bad time in your life.") and the tension is palpable.
The cinematography and direction are perfect here, really illuminating the story without making it feel too Hollywood or dramatic. The attention to detail, from the details on the bombs to the realism of the scenarios, lets this incredible reality speak for itself rather than dramatize the situation. I recently watched "Pearl Harbor" at the behest of a friend and I feel grateful for a war movie that doesn't feel the least bit exploitative. The characters in "Pearl Harbor" feel shallow and unlikable and you come to understand and admire the ones here.
I could really talk about this movie all-day and I suspect I've already spoken about it too much. Do yourself a favor and go see it, I'm going to go see it again soon.
Grade: A+
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Platonic Ideal?
I'm not a man who believes in the existence of the ideal, metaphysical or otherwise. I don't think it's something we can accomplish on Earth and I'm there with Feuerbach that we should focus on the human aspect instead-what can we accomplish as men if we push ourselves to the limit? Nothing can ever reach perfection, but it's a worthy goal to see how much better you can become. As an extreme extrovert, I'm also someone who reflects a fair amount on his social relationships, thinking and overthinking these things.
So when my friend asked me if men and women could ever be Platonic best friends, I doubt she knew what she was getting into. It's an extremely interesting question and an impossible one to discuss without weaving in your own metanarrative, very difficult to stay impartial and leave out personal examples. Of course we didn't anyway, which certainly made it more colorful.
Personal gossip aside (yes, I learned from the whole LiveJournal thing in 8th grade), we came to some conclusions. Best friends are an interesting sort-it implies a ton of solo time together, a fair amount of family interaction, and a kind of devotion that is difficult to keep up with more than one person at a time. How can a man have a female best friend and a girlfriend at the same time? Other issues aside, it's an enormous time commitment that could really only be kept up in the utopian euphoria of high school or college where you might actually have enough leisure for that. One really can't develop both at the same time in the real world, unless there is the close coworker relationship. Like same project close.
Anyways, we aren't dealing with the common relationships of male and female best friends, we're looking at the fringes, the very possibility of the Platonic ideal. And, let's be honest with ourselves anyway, the vast majority of those friendships have at least one party (if not both) hopelessly in love with and serving the other anyway.
I think the very notion of the Platonic friendship stems from the idea that we can learn to sublimate our sensual side in favor of the spiritual, which in and of itself admits the way that nature really works here. I think that we can learn to sublimate certain things and trick ourselves, but eventually human nature prevails. Similar to the way that our most animal instincts will rear their ugly head in crisis and our tribal affiliations in times of war, the basic sexual attraction of men and women is difficult to permanently eliminate or "civilize."
Men and women constantly reevaluate those around them as potential partners, consciously or subconsciously, and best friends who really get to know each other often cross that line because they find they love the person as they get to know them. Those who manage to control this urge usually have a huge opportunity cost or deterrent to getting together-they're together with someone they love more, etc. Often times, the best friends I've seen as male/female pairings are those who've been together and realize they love each other but don't work romantically.
Still, I think it's ultimately impossible to do more than sublimate in these situations, it's an ideal we like to convince ourselves of because it's not really an option to be together, for whatever reason. As we age and pair off with life partners, it becomes extremely difficult to be friends with people that aren't also paired off into couples and it can spark huge issues when you hang out 1 on 1 with someone. It's painful to consider, but most of these relationships trail off into the sunset as we begin a life as a family, dedicating what used to be friend time to family time. Friendships are maintained through yearly trips, Fourth of July rituals, and Christmas cards, but they're never afforded the time you could give when you were single and your network of friends is powerless to avoid its inevitable decline.
A friend of mine once told me that you can never really be friends with the opposite sex, at least long term anyway. I think he's wrong, but there's some truth to the idea that those relationships are much more difficult to maintain. Like most things in life, we've got a fundamental inability to alter our circumstances; if we're lucky enough to understand them a little bit before they dramatically change, that's all you can ask for. Armed with foresight, you can at least set expectations. Even for the prematurely sagacious, life is full of surprises, wonder, and bemusement.
So when my friend asked me if men and women could ever be Platonic best friends, I doubt she knew what she was getting into. It's an extremely interesting question and an impossible one to discuss without weaving in your own metanarrative, very difficult to stay impartial and leave out personal examples. Of course we didn't anyway, which certainly made it more colorful.
Personal gossip aside (yes, I learned from the whole LiveJournal thing in 8th grade), we came to some conclusions. Best friends are an interesting sort-it implies a ton of solo time together, a fair amount of family interaction, and a kind of devotion that is difficult to keep up with more than one person at a time. How can a man have a female best friend and a girlfriend at the same time? Other issues aside, it's an enormous time commitment that could really only be kept up in the utopian euphoria of high school or college where you might actually have enough leisure for that. One really can't develop both at the same time in the real world, unless there is the close coworker relationship. Like same project close.
Anyways, we aren't dealing with the common relationships of male and female best friends, we're looking at the fringes, the very possibility of the Platonic ideal. And, let's be honest with ourselves anyway, the vast majority of those friendships have at least one party (if not both) hopelessly in love with and serving the other anyway.
I think the very notion of the Platonic friendship stems from the idea that we can learn to sublimate our sensual side in favor of the spiritual, which in and of itself admits the way that nature really works here. I think that we can learn to sublimate certain things and trick ourselves, but eventually human nature prevails. Similar to the way that our most animal instincts will rear their ugly head in crisis and our tribal affiliations in times of war, the basic sexual attraction of men and women is difficult to permanently eliminate or "civilize."
Men and women constantly reevaluate those around them as potential partners, consciously or subconsciously, and best friends who really get to know each other often cross that line because they find they love the person as they get to know them. Those who manage to control this urge usually have a huge opportunity cost or deterrent to getting together-they're together with someone they love more, etc. Often times, the best friends I've seen as male/female pairings are those who've been together and realize they love each other but don't work romantically.
Still, I think it's ultimately impossible to do more than sublimate in these situations, it's an ideal we like to convince ourselves of because it's not really an option to be together, for whatever reason. As we age and pair off with life partners, it becomes extremely difficult to be friends with people that aren't also paired off into couples and it can spark huge issues when you hang out 1 on 1 with someone. It's painful to consider, but most of these relationships trail off into the sunset as we begin a life as a family, dedicating what used to be friend time to family time. Friendships are maintained through yearly trips, Fourth of July rituals, and Christmas cards, but they're never afforded the time you could give when you were single and your network of friends is powerless to avoid its inevitable decline.
A friend of mine once told me that you can never really be friends with the opposite sex, at least long term anyway. I think he's wrong, but there's some truth to the idea that those relationships are much more difficult to maintain. Like most things in life, we've got a fundamental inability to alter our circumstances; if we're lucky enough to understand them a little bit before they dramatically change, that's all you can ask for. Armed with foresight, you can at least set expectations. Even for the prematurely sagacious, life is full of surprises, wonder, and bemusement.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Memories in the Making
The last few months have seen a pretty significant number of hallmark events, memories, and soon-to-be epic stories that I could tangibly feel becoming family/personal lore as I was experiencing them. This kind of self-awareness is novel to me and I can't really recall when else I'd had this feeling except my college graduation a few years back.
The short-list of memories includes:
-Staying up all night for bro's graduation
-Post-graduation road trip across the US of A (Pittsburgh to LA in 36 hours, whoo!)
-Cousin's wedding and post-wedding bar hopping with family patriarchs
-Laker's championship and my attendance of Game 2 (the Courtney Lee layup)
-My parent's 30th wedding anniversary party and all the epic times that endured there
These are hallmark events as much for their context as much as their good times. Of course I'm going to remember the trip to see my brother graduate or my cousin get married-they're important people in my life and it will be something we can reminisce about for years to come-but there's a deeper reason why these memories will be the ones I focus on when I'm old and grey: the narrow windows in my life where I get to see these people.
I mean, and let's be honest with ourselves here, we see less and less people as we age. Once you have kids, forget about it - you maybe get a couple of escapes a year if you're lucky, but there is a steady growth throughout our lives in responsibilities and time commitments. After college, good lucky getting 4 months off every summer. Once you have a wife, fat chance you'll see your buddies 5 nights a week to gamble, watch sports, and shoot the shit. Add in the fact that many of your best friends and family members will disperse around the globe, requiring special trips to see them, and what chance do we have to really keep in touch long term?
My cousin's wedding was special because it tied two people who truly love each other together, but for me it was particularly special because I got to see family members I hadn't seen in nearly 10 years for the first time as an adult. It was the night of the reception that I first realized how truly small our window of interaction can be with people, even people that are critically important. I see my grandparents maybe 3x a year, for instance. As we age, that window gets smaller except for a select few that can stay in your inner circle. This realization dawned on me and I came to an important conclusion: carpe diem.
So cliche, I know, but far from trite. I mean carpe diem more narrowly than the traditional notion of living life to the fullest; to me, carpe diem is a mantra for maximizing the opportunities we have with the people around us and recognizing how limited they can be. At my cousin's wedding, I forced my family to go out after the wedding for some drinks and it ended up being a great story we'll tell at reunions for the rest of our lives. How many of these opportunities have we passed up in our lives only to realize the window for seeing our friends and loved ones was smaller than we once thought?
When I started work, I had a tight-knit group that started with me and we all seemed destined be one unit, hanging out all the time and really enjoying each other's company. Two years later, I feel I haven't made enough of an effort and am not nearly as close as I wish I'd been. Some of my friends have left and so has my opportunity to get to know them better. I'm not trying to lament about friends lost and friends made, we all make choices and have to live with them; rather, I'm trying to impress the importance of making the most of the chances we've got.
That's why I took the opportunity of my parent's 30th wedding anniversary this weekend to really make the best impression that I could with the guests I had never met or hadn't seen in years. I took the time to have short 5 minute conversations with people to get to know them and see who I am a bit. Obviously I couldn't talk to all 110 people, but I think I did about as well as could be expected catching up with people, meeting new ones, and generally trying to maximize that time while still enjoying myself and checking out the dance floor. And, you know what, I think they appreciated the effort too.
The short-list of memories includes:
-Staying up all night for bro's graduation
-Post-graduation road trip across the US of A (Pittsburgh to LA in 36 hours, whoo!)
-Cousin's wedding and post-wedding bar hopping with family patriarchs
-Laker's championship and my attendance of Game 2 (the Courtney Lee layup)
-My parent's 30th wedding anniversary party and all the epic times that endured there
These are hallmark events as much for their context as much as their good times. Of course I'm going to remember the trip to see my brother graduate or my cousin get married-they're important people in my life and it will be something we can reminisce about for years to come-but there's a deeper reason why these memories will be the ones I focus on when I'm old and grey: the narrow windows in my life where I get to see these people.
I mean, and let's be honest with ourselves here, we see less and less people as we age. Once you have kids, forget about it - you maybe get a couple of escapes a year if you're lucky, but there is a steady growth throughout our lives in responsibilities and time commitments. After college, good lucky getting 4 months off every summer. Once you have a wife, fat chance you'll see your buddies 5 nights a week to gamble, watch sports, and shoot the shit. Add in the fact that many of your best friends and family members will disperse around the globe, requiring special trips to see them, and what chance do we have to really keep in touch long term?
My cousin's wedding was special because it tied two people who truly love each other together, but for me it was particularly special because I got to see family members I hadn't seen in nearly 10 years for the first time as an adult. It was the night of the reception that I first realized how truly small our window of interaction can be with people, even people that are critically important. I see my grandparents maybe 3x a year, for instance. As we age, that window gets smaller except for a select few that can stay in your inner circle. This realization dawned on me and I came to an important conclusion: carpe diem.
So cliche, I know, but far from trite. I mean carpe diem more narrowly than the traditional notion of living life to the fullest; to me, carpe diem is a mantra for maximizing the opportunities we have with the people around us and recognizing how limited they can be. At my cousin's wedding, I forced my family to go out after the wedding for some drinks and it ended up being a great story we'll tell at reunions for the rest of our lives. How many of these opportunities have we passed up in our lives only to realize the window for seeing our friends and loved ones was smaller than we once thought?
When I started work, I had a tight-knit group that started with me and we all seemed destined be one unit, hanging out all the time and really enjoying each other's company. Two years later, I feel I haven't made enough of an effort and am not nearly as close as I wish I'd been. Some of my friends have left and so has my opportunity to get to know them better. I'm not trying to lament about friends lost and friends made, we all make choices and have to live with them; rather, I'm trying to impress the importance of making the most of the chances we've got.
That's why I took the opportunity of my parent's 30th wedding anniversary this weekend to really make the best impression that I could with the guests I had never met or hadn't seen in years. I took the time to have short 5 minute conversations with people to get to know them and see who I am a bit. Obviously I couldn't talk to all 110 people, but I think I did about as well as could be expected catching up with people, meeting new ones, and generally trying to maximize that time while still enjoying myself and checking out the dance floor. And, you know what, I think they appreciated the effort too.
Monday, February 2, 2009
In Defense of Bruce Springsteen: Why the Boss is Boss
I’ve taken some crap lately for my appreciation of the Boss recently and I would like to articulate why I like Bruce Springsteen in more thoughtful prose than a discussion (see: yelling match) over loud music, sports, or even a game of beer pong. I’ve even heard ridiculous comparisons of Bruce Springsteen to acts like Bon Jovi who are inferior and evoke certain connotations about quality I believe that are less than apt descriptions for the Boss.
I think Bruce Springsteen is generally unappreciated by my generation, whose exposure to the Boss has been limited to his Born in the U.S.A. arena anthems (i.e. Glory Days, Dancing in the Dark, and Born in the U.S.A.). Our generation has mostly seen his commercial failures (the folk days in the 1990’s, the Tracks box set, Human Touch, and Tunnel of Love) within our living memory. The only real successes I actually remember by Springsteen before this year’s “The Wrestler” have been his Academy Award for “Streets of Philadelphia” and the release of “The Rising.”
So why does Bruce Springsteen deserve my time, you might ask? I’m fond of dismissing bands like Interpol with the question, “Why would I listen to them when it’s a rip-off of Joy Division and represents such an opportunity cost for good music or original bands?” Why would I listen to Bruce Springsteen for my dose of American singer songwriters when you have Dylan and Young, who I believe to be better than the Boss (although it’s pretty damn close call with Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen for me)? And with all those anthems permeating the airwaves as unfit microcosms of his catalog, I’m sure some people are debating why I’d even consider him a singer songwriter.
Bruce’s first two albums, both in 1973, were much more in the vein of Bob Dylan or Van Morrison than “Born in the U.S.A.” They just barely scratched the surface of his potential and had people giving him the Next singer/songwriter tag, particularly the Next Dylan. By 1975 when “Born to Run” was released, Morrison was dead, the Beatles were done, Hendrix was out of the picture, and Janis Joplin had already passed. The surviving rock royalty like Led Zeppelin, the Who, and Pink Floyd had all peaked and were about to start their declines. There was a vacuum in rock and roll and Bruce Springsteen released what was his breakthrough album, “Born to Run,” which saw his transition from folk music influences to rock and roll.
I’ll be honest with you when I say that I used to dislike Bruce Springsteen. My dad played him all the time and I didn’t even start to like him until high school. My brother and I mercilessly mocked him all the time and sang the most outlandish lyrics from his “Tracks” collection (“You do the crying/ba ba/I’ll do the dishessss”) back at him. Bruce Springsteen took some weird risks and definitely didn’t bat 1.000, let me tell you that. But neither did anyone else, including fan favorites like the Beatles, Zep, the Rolling Stones, or the great rock’n’roll savior himself, Bobbie Dylan. Everyone who takes enough risks or plays long enough fails a fair amount. Artists who don’t take any risks aren’t really artists after a point.
So when did the change happen? Did I wake up and all of the sudden appreciate the man? The answer is no, it happened grudgingly and over time. I really started to like the Boss when I was forced to watch a DVD of a live concert where it was impossible to deny his greatness as a performer or watch his relentless energy and not be amazed. The man puts on an incredible show. As someone who has seen a lot of shows with performers that mail it in or only perform their new albums (I’m looking at you, Ray Davies!), it’s always a breath of fresh air when someone understands that selling a million records is as much of an obligation as it is a release from the bonds of your fans.
Still, it wasn’t until I saw him live in person and was able to gauge him for myself that I really bought into Bruce Springsteen as a bona fide legend. The thing that had always held me back was whether I bought the amount of emotion in his work; I think that it is both his greatest strength and his most divisive weakness. He’s intensely personal and no one questions his sincerity, but I really think most people dislike Bruce Springsteen because they can’t handle the overpowering emotion and drama that sometimes dominate his songs. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if a line should make you wince or appreciate the glorification. When I saw him live, it ceased to be cheese and I began to view his work as a passionate, romanticized vision of America from the perspective of a blue collar kid from New Jersey.
Getting back to “Born to Run,” this album saw the boss fully embrace his lens of ordinary life as something more beautiful and heavier than it seemed. The Boss created a world that understood the reckless passions of youth and saw the seedy underbelly of New Jersey as a battleground for their souls. It wasn’t about the cold realities; instead, the everyday routines were fantastic and just maybe life would be OK if you busted town with your sweetheart. It is this Bruce Springsteen that really drew me in. It’s no secret that the American dream is one of my great passions, both in the rosy optimism of a rags to riches story that engenders hope and the crushing disillusionment for those that find a failed education system and a de facto aristocracy resulting from America’s failure to close the income gap between the have’s and the have nots. To me, Bruce Springsteen represents the incredible highs and lows of the American experience. Even when Bruce Springsteen was at his peak, he never lost his devotion to this America.
The Boss may not be the preeminent modern American storyteller (he’s not), but the way he portrays the lives of Americans conveys the hope and the substance of their stories. He’s made songs about the dreams of high school kids, small towners who peaked on their high school football teams, the plight of Vietnam vets, police brutality, and ultimately the American psyche after 9/11. His catalog rides the drama up and down in a way that leads me to suspect the Boss himself can’t really control them, similar to the bipolar writings of Hunter S. Thompson and Jack Kerouac as they explored and struggled to embrace the opportunities and contradictions underlying the American dream.
As an American storyteller and singer songwriter, Bruce Springsteen is most commonly compared to the other greats, notably Bob Dylan and Neil Young. If you don’t buy that the Boss transcends the cheese in his music, you probably compare him to Bob Seger, who suffers from my Interpol argument in terms of listening hours on my iPod. Dylan and Young are the more apt comparison. The three are moralists in how they frame the world and tell their stories of the late 20th century American experience. Among them, the Boss is the most prone to glorify the mundane and give it an epic treatment. He’s also largely credited as the best performer, although I think all three are probably exceptional.
Dylan is more about the metaphysical context of the injustices and his storytelling was the least straight forward of the three. He has the most folk records in his catalog and is the best lyricist. He’s also clearly had the most influential career-the other two largely succeeded because of the ground that Dylan broke before them. Young is much more similar to Bruce Springsteen; he’s taken the weird chances and has played more rock and roll than Dylan. Young was more about the conflicts and idealism swirling around internally than Bruce. He tackled the longing of the American heart, both through his voice and his words, and struck a powerful chord. Neil Young wrote the nine, ten minute epics like “Cortez the Killer” and “Like a Hurricane” and, in the modern era, writes among the most explicitly political songs around. Young and Springsteen have both been extremely vocal critics of the former (former!) president Bush.
Although there’s a lot more to say, I think that the other point I wanted to touch on was “The Rising,” which was what really cemented him as an icon in my mind. “The Rising” may not be the most articulate expression of post-9/11 America, but Bruce Springsteen is not known for his lyrical eloquence or verbal craftiness. To me, the point of art is to convey an emotion, an experience, or capture a feeling. The Boss can be better at that than almost anyone, he makes you soar and sink with him, and “The Rising” proves to be no exception. It is an album that follows the Boss as he tries to make sense of such a horrific occurrence. It has somber tones and joyous choruses, hope and loss, confusion and warnings. ‘The Rising” embodies cautious optimism for the future without anger and warns against acting impulsively. The record shows the resilience and strength that it takes to be hopeful and rebuild from an unprecedented tragedy. Someone will find the right words, but I haven’t felt anyone capture the tone and the mood of a backpedaling America the same way since.
Bruce Springsteen is not for everyone certainly. Some people will simply never like him or be unable to get past the cheese that is inherent to his brand of dramatization. But I think he should be recognized for more than his arena anthems or he’d really be no better than Bob Seger. He’s a great songwriter and has been a powerful voice in music for over a generation. He's an authentic artist who has not pandered and can never be accused of not trying when far more artists quit than we'd like to admit. He belongs in the echelon of rock and roll royalty, love him or hate him.
I think Bruce Springsteen is generally unappreciated by my generation, whose exposure to the Boss has been limited to his Born in the U.S.A. arena anthems (i.e. Glory Days, Dancing in the Dark, and Born in the U.S.A.). Our generation has mostly seen his commercial failures (the folk days in the 1990’s, the Tracks box set, Human Touch, and Tunnel of Love) within our living memory. The only real successes I actually remember by Springsteen before this year’s “The Wrestler” have been his Academy Award for “Streets of Philadelphia” and the release of “The Rising.”
So why does Bruce Springsteen deserve my time, you might ask? I’m fond of dismissing bands like Interpol with the question, “Why would I listen to them when it’s a rip-off of Joy Division and represents such an opportunity cost for good music or original bands?” Why would I listen to Bruce Springsteen for my dose of American singer songwriters when you have Dylan and Young, who I believe to be better than the Boss (although it’s pretty damn close call with Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen for me)? And with all those anthems permeating the airwaves as unfit microcosms of his catalog, I’m sure some people are debating why I’d even consider him a singer songwriter.
Bruce’s first two albums, both in 1973, were much more in the vein of Bob Dylan or Van Morrison than “Born in the U.S.A.” They just barely scratched the surface of his potential and had people giving him the Next singer/songwriter tag, particularly the Next Dylan. By 1975 when “Born to Run” was released, Morrison was dead, the Beatles were done, Hendrix was out of the picture, and Janis Joplin had already passed. The surviving rock royalty like Led Zeppelin, the Who, and Pink Floyd had all peaked and were about to start their declines. There was a vacuum in rock and roll and Bruce Springsteen released what was his breakthrough album, “Born to Run,” which saw his transition from folk music influences to rock and roll.
I’ll be honest with you when I say that I used to dislike Bruce Springsteen. My dad played him all the time and I didn’t even start to like him until high school. My brother and I mercilessly mocked him all the time and sang the most outlandish lyrics from his “Tracks” collection (“You do the crying/ba ba/I’ll do the dishessss”) back at him. Bruce Springsteen took some weird risks and definitely didn’t bat 1.000, let me tell you that. But neither did anyone else, including fan favorites like the Beatles, Zep, the Rolling Stones, or the great rock’n’roll savior himself, Bobbie Dylan. Everyone who takes enough risks or plays long enough fails a fair amount. Artists who don’t take any risks aren’t really artists after a point.
So when did the change happen? Did I wake up and all of the sudden appreciate the man? The answer is no, it happened grudgingly and over time. I really started to like the Boss when I was forced to watch a DVD of a live concert where it was impossible to deny his greatness as a performer or watch his relentless energy and not be amazed. The man puts on an incredible show. As someone who has seen a lot of shows with performers that mail it in or only perform their new albums (I’m looking at you, Ray Davies!), it’s always a breath of fresh air when someone understands that selling a million records is as much of an obligation as it is a release from the bonds of your fans.
Still, it wasn’t until I saw him live in person and was able to gauge him for myself that I really bought into Bruce Springsteen as a bona fide legend. The thing that had always held me back was whether I bought the amount of emotion in his work; I think that it is both his greatest strength and his most divisive weakness. He’s intensely personal and no one questions his sincerity, but I really think most people dislike Bruce Springsteen because they can’t handle the overpowering emotion and drama that sometimes dominate his songs. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if a line should make you wince or appreciate the glorification. When I saw him live, it ceased to be cheese and I began to view his work as a passionate, romanticized vision of America from the perspective of a blue collar kid from New Jersey.
Getting back to “Born to Run,” this album saw the boss fully embrace his lens of ordinary life as something more beautiful and heavier than it seemed. The Boss created a world that understood the reckless passions of youth and saw the seedy underbelly of New Jersey as a battleground for their souls. It wasn’t about the cold realities; instead, the everyday routines were fantastic and just maybe life would be OK if you busted town with your sweetheart. It is this Bruce Springsteen that really drew me in. It’s no secret that the American dream is one of my great passions, both in the rosy optimism of a rags to riches story that engenders hope and the crushing disillusionment for those that find a failed education system and a de facto aristocracy resulting from America’s failure to close the income gap between the have’s and the have nots. To me, Bruce Springsteen represents the incredible highs and lows of the American experience. Even when Bruce Springsteen was at his peak, he never lost his devotion to this America.
The Boss may not be the preeminent modern American storyteller (he’s not), but the way he portrays the lives of Americans conveys the hope and the substance of their stories. He’s made songs about the dreams of high school kids, small towners who peaked on their high school football teams, the plight of Vietnam vets, police brutality, and ultimately the American psyche after 9/11. His catalog rides the drama up and down in a way that leads me to suspect the Boss himself can’t really control them, similar to the bipolar writings of Hunter S. Thompson and Jack Kerouac as they explored and struggled to embrace the opportunities and contradictions underlying the American dream.
As an American storyteller and singer songwriter, Bruce Springsteen is most commonly compared to the other greats, notably Bob Dylan and Neil Young. If you don’t buy that the Boss transcends the cheese in his music, you probably compare him to Bob Seger, who suffers from my Interpol argument in terms of listening hours on my iPod. Dylan and Young are the more apt comparison. The three are moralists in how they frame the world and tell their stories of the late 20th century American experience. Among them, the Boss is the most prone to glorify the mundane and give it an epic treatment. He’s also largely credited as the best performer, although I think all three are probably exceptional.
Dylan is more about the metaphysical context of the injustices and his storytelling was the least straight forward of the three. He has the most folk records in his catalog and is the best lyricist. He’s also clearly had the most influential career-the other two largely succeeded because of the ground that Dylan broke before them. Young is much more similar to Bruce Springsteen; he’s taken the weird chances and has played more rock and roll than Dylan. Young was more about the conflicts and idealism swirling around internally than Bruce. He tackled the longing of the American heart, both through his voice and his words, and struck a powerful chord. Neil Young wrote the nine, ten minute epics like “Cortez the Killer” and “Like a Hurricane” and, in the modern era, writes among the most explicitly political songs around. Young and Springsteen have both been extremely vocal critics of the former (former!) president Bush.
Although there’s a lot more to say, I think that the other point I wanted to touch on was “The Rising,” which was what really cemented him as an icon in my mind. “The Rising” may not be the most articulate expression of post-9/11 America, but Bruce Springsteen is not known for his lyrical eloquence or verbal craftiness. To me, the point of art is to convey an emotion, an experience, or capture a feeling. The Boss can be better at that than almost anyone, he makes you soar and sink with him, and “The Rising” proves to be no exception. It is an album that follows the Boss as he tries to make sense of such a horrific occurrence. It has somber tones and joyous choruses, hope and loss, confusion and warnings. ‘The Rising” embodies cautious optimism for the future without anger and warns against acting impulsively. The record shows the resilience and strength that it takes to be hopeful and rebuild from an unprecedented tragedy. Someone will find the right words, but I haven’t felt anyone capture the tone and the mood of a backpedaling America the same way since.
Bruce Springsteen is not for everyone certainly. Some people will simply never like him or be unable to get past the cheese that is inherent to his brand of dramatization. But I think he should be recognized for more than his arena anthems or he’d really be no better than Bob Seger. He’s a great songwriter and has been a powerful voice in music for over a generation. He's an authentic artist who has not pandered and can never be accused of not trying when far more artists quit than we'd like to admit. He belongs in the echelon of rock and roll royalty, love him or hate him.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Hilarious Onion article
http://www.theonion.com/content/news/god_help_him_but_area_man_loves?utm_source=onion_rss_daily
Monday, November 3, 2008
Best sentence I've read today
"Synecdoche is a stunning directorial debut and reflects a level of ambition largely absent from American film directors. Through all the gross out, quirkiness, despair and confusion the film revels in it always maintains a whimsical sense of humor and a steady sense of itself. Directors who have plumed far less emotional depths aren't able to maintain a rudder through their own eccentricity (paging: Wes Anderson) with this sort of perverse clarity. "
-Steady Diet of Film Blog
Synecdoche, NY is the best film of the year.
-Steady Diet of Film Blog
Synecdoche, NY is the best film of the year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
