Archive for the ‘magazines’ Category

Apollo’s Girl

May 14, 2017


Exiles: Away From Home…

Stefan Zweig: Farewell to Europe
(Opens May 12 in NYC at Lincoln Plaza;
June 16 in LA at Laemmle Royal)

For a rich and deeply satisfying look back at Germany between the wars (this time through the eyes of one of its most celebrated exiles), see Maria Schrader’s Stefan Zweig: Farewell to Europe. This is a big, beautifully made film, powerful and affective. The screenplay (by Schrader and Jan Schomburg) gives all of Zweig’s complexities their due; his refusal to condemn Germany, his ambivalence about his fame, his need for both solitude and for friends and family in exile. Schrader has chosen a cool, objective approach to her subject, which frames the white heat of politics and culture threatening to burst into flame in every sequence, and hooks you from Scene One.

The cast is an Olympian match for the material: Josef Hader (as Zweig); Barbara Sukowa and Aenne Schwarz (as Zweig’s first and second wives, both of whom accompanied him abroad en famille), and a host of others (playing the many artists and politicians who were integral to Zweig’s circle) create an entirely believable moment when the world was turned upside down and changed forever. Schrader, famous for her role in Aimėe & Jaguar, applies all her acting smarts to her cast’s talents and draws a gorgeous film from DP Wolfgang Thaler and editor Hanzjőrg Weißrich.

Because the technical, aesthetic and dramatic elements are always in perfect balance, and the tensions between Zweig’s inner life and his public persona heighten the intensity of the portrait, it’s as close to total immersion as you can get without actually having been there. Surely you will be inspired to move on to Zweig’s novels and essays, which made him the most successful writer of his time and have continued to remain the basis of dozens of films right up to Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel of 2014. (P.S.: Pay attention to the way the end of Zweig is shot. Fascinating choices!) Deservedly Austria’s nominee for Best Foreign Film.

(Opens May 12 in NYC at Cinema Village;
June 2 at O Cinema Miami Beach)

Full of turbulence and moving at warp speed, Elián will keep you breathless and on the edge of your seat right up to the end of the narrative: Elián Gonzalez was only a little boy when he was found alone, clinging to an inner tube, in the ocean between Havana and Miami. The boat on which he had traveled with his mother, her boyfriend and dozens of Cuban refugees had sunk, and his mother had drowned. Overnight, the beautiful child became a sensation—television crews and reporters swarmed the house where he lived with the Miami aunts, great-uncles and cousins who had claimed him. The media circus exploded into a cause célèbre for Miami’s Cuban exiles, always at the boiling point, and for the many public officials who joined the efforts (pro and con) to grant American citizenship to Elián and to prevent his return to Cuba, where his father (who had learned he was gone only after the boy and his mother had fled under cover of darkness) had immediately sought to reclaim his son.

Photo by Shaun Best REUTERS

Eventually, members of Congress and Janet Reno (then Attorney General) determined Elián should live in Cuba with his father. The fire and brimstone that accompanied every twist in the story were shocking in their ferocity. There were daily confrontations on the streets of Miami and Havana; instead of cooling with the passing of time, the violence escalated, with demonstrators, police, Federal agencies, religious institutions and—always—hordes of media pouring accelerant on the flames. The ugliness lasted six months, until Elian’s father flew to Andrews Air Force Base to join his son after Federal agents stormed the home in Miami where Elian, hiding in a closet, was literally snatched from the arms of the fisherman who had originally found him. The entire affair could not be forgotten; its after-effects impacted the presidential election of 2000, and US foreign policy for over a decade.

Benefitting from a wealth of footage (which spares us none of the competing opinions and shameful frenzy of the many participants), Elián is still remarkably even-handed. Not only in exposing the disturbing zealotry of the exiles in Miami (which caused the INS the Border Patrol to stage the armed rescue raid that terrified the little boy), but in Cuba as well. Through no fault of his own, Elián had became a pawn in the United States as a symbol of “democracy”, and then again in Cuba where, after his return, he was “adopted” by Castro as a symbol of Cuban ideals.

Despite the heat of its subject, this film is told and made by experts who really know their stuff: Ross McDonnell and Tim Golden have, between them, filmed and written prize-winning material that is both intensely emotional and impeccably researched. As I discovered while digging through the internet, Golden published a piece in 1994 (it haunts me still) read article here about how the US destroyed the then-state-of-the-art Cuban health care system, several others about Elián Gonzalez, and a series on the abuses of Guantanamo.

There is no question that Elián will roil your heart and your mind as you are horrified by the brutality of the forces pulling at the traumatized six-year-old. The film also spends quality time with the grownup Elian, who seems to have weathered the storms of politics, just as he once weathered the shipwreck that left him without a mother and at the mercy of forces far beyond his control. Whatever your feelings about the issues, you will be shaken by this chapter of very recent history whose ending still remains to be written. Don’t miss it.

Cogito: John Branch

August 26, 2013

Film, TV, DVDs, Books, Magazines

JB photo-painting by RC 2



On Watching TV:
The Long and the Short of It

Last year, Jennifer Egan wrote a piece of short fiction for The New Yorker, called “Black Box,” eganthat she designed for Twitter. link Beginning on May 24, TNY’s fiction department tweeted the story in 10 nightly installments before printing it complete in the magazine. I hadn’t read any Twitter fiction but admired Egan, so I sat down the first night to watch. The six opening tweets hooked me. Wondering what to call the experience (punctuated unfolding?), I followed avidly to the end and re-read “Black Box” as soon as I received the printed magazine. Surely something was new about this, my overexcited brain proposed.

Was I right? As Kirby used to say in the Hertz car-rental ads, “Not exactly.” If you close one eye and hold your head just so, you can see parallels for this in earlier times, and even in other media today.

sterneWay back in 1759, Laurence Sterne began publishing Tristram Shandy in parts. Apparently he wrote and published a volume or so whenever he felt like it; the novel eventually ran to nine volumes released over about eight years without ever reaching a conclusive ending. At almost the same time, Tobias Smollettismolle001p1 (a name that begs to be re-used) began serializing his novel The Life and Adventures of Sir Launcelot Greaves in a monthly magazine he had just launched. Fast-forward a few decades; in the 19th century, serialization became quite the thing. Charles Dickens first published all of his novels dickensserially, from The Pickwick Papers (begun in 1837) through Our Mutual Friend, the last one he completed (published in 1864–65). Wilkie Collins did it; Henry James did it. joyceEven James Joyce did it, publishing Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man serially (1914–15) and doing it again with Ulysses (1918–20).

Fast-forward again. The new serial forms of the 20th century, in particular the TV series, were for the most part simple, morally unambiguous, and open-ended. How hard was it to star trekdrop into any of the Star Trek shows and find your footing? It did matter a little what happened along the way, as with Dallas (1978–91), or at least at the end, as with The Fugitive (1963–67); the ravening desire to learn who shot J.R. infiltrated a ballet audience I was part of one night. But to be snooty about it—which I can do because I watched some of that stuff myself—these were pretty shapeless tales, which as much as anything else satisfied a compulsion for repetition.

Eventually, the idea of doing more and better dawned on the creators of TV shows. Since sometime in the 90s, the most ambitious of these men and women have been charting the path of characters, situations, and themes across multiple story arcs (episode, season, entire run) and employing what writer Steven Berlin Johnson concisely called “complex, multithreaded storytelling.”

Writing in the mid-naughts, Johnson was describing sophisticated and elaborate TV programs such as The Sopranos and Lost. These shows get serious attention in academia. Mad Men, for instance,mad men inspired an excellent book of critical essays, link and also a blog from the Unit for Criticism and Interpretive Theory at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. link They’re among the popular entertainments that Johnson wrote about in his 2005 book, Everything Bad Is Good for You, which argued that the best TV series and video games don’t dull your mind but cultivate it. In a way, these shows are the new novels.

Almost all of them have been hour-long dramas, although New Yorker critic Emily Nussbaum recently made a strong case for including HBO’s 30-minute comedy Sex and the City among the pathbreakers. link They’ve mostly been on cable, not broadcast networks, in part because the FCC’s onerous constraints, sex and the cityintended to keep the public airwaves clean enough not to shock time travelers from Dickens’s era, don’t apply to cable networks.

One thing about the novelistic shows—and other successful TV series—might be recognizable to the Victorians: their delivery. The tale is told first in serial installments, which are then gathered into a whole. In Victoria’s time, serialized novels were gathered into books; in our time, TV shows are collected into boxes of DVDs or Blu-ray disks. The main difference is that with TV the process repeats for subsequent seasons. (Sadly, if there’s no second season, there’s typically no DVD release either. AMC’s fine conspiracy drama, Rubicon, is now gone unless you’re willing to use “enhanced acquisition techniques”—that is, downloading a torrent file.)

I don’t want to read a novel as if it were a TV show, in weekly nibbles across a long span of time. I don’t even want to watch TV—the better shows, that is—on TV, in bits and bites. (No doubt the challenge of keeping track of things for months is part of what’s good for you, but I’m lazy.) Charles McGrath tipped me to an alternative with a 2006 article in The New York Times, in which he reported discovering that “DVD…seems the best way to watch any of the new, extended-plotline series: not just ’24,’ but also ‘Lost,’ ‘Alias’ and ‘The Wire.’” But the value of this didn’t register with me until early 2010, when a former colleague in the TV business persuaded me I had to watch Mad Men. For a few weeks as its disks came and went in the mail, my head was dizzy with the developments in Mad Men’s first two seasons, which had taken nearly a year and a half to reach cable viewers.

Even better than DVDs is Netflix streaming. (Other sources exist, but Netflix is tops in my book.) This is bingeing par excellence. No fussing with disks; just push a few buttons and away you go. Netflix is so sure you’ll want to watch multiple episodes that it keeps ’em coming—you have to tell it to stop. This is very modern, except that it’s exactly what happens when you pick up a novel. I saw the first four seasons of Breaking Bad this way; I think it took me about 10 days.

Tradition dies hard; until this year, TV always parceled out its series at one-week intervals. That changed on February 1, when Netflix released 13 episodes of House of Cards all at once. It was popular and also well-regarded; the show earned nine Emmy nominations. house of cardsOther Netflix streaming productions earned four more. At last, conditions were right for a serious-minded, novelistic TV drama to be released as though it really were a novel: in one piece. I watched the whole batch over the course of four days; some viewers saw it all within about 24 hours. It left us hungry for more. Luckily, there will be at least one further season of House of Cards.

A final thought: The Netflix House of Cards was based on a BBC mini-series of the same name. And what was it based on? A novel.

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