Sylvia Plath’s “Ariel”

December 2, 2009

Plath’s poems are as difficult to write about as they were to read. I think her story is particularly haunting because she was a beautiful, intelligent, gifted and successful woman; to see someone possessing those characteristics fall into such horrible despair is disturbing for us, I think.

I have to agree with what was said in class about Plath’s way with language. Although I’m not necessarily well-versed in poetry, and I especially don’t know much about confessional poetry, I think anyone can appreciate the way her words sound together when her poems are recited out loud. She plays with assonance and consonance in her work in a way that I think is completely unique. All of Daddy is assonance, the repated “oo” sound we talked about. Another example is at the end of “Cut”:

How you jump—-
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.

“Cut” is disturbing for sure, but it sounds totally beautiful. I think the disagreement between Plath’s subject matter and the sound of the language is what makes reading her poetry so chillding.

Antonia’s Line

December 2, 2009

This movie was extremely powerful. This wasn’t a comedy of remarriage in the same vein as the previous films (that is to say, not literally), though I definitely thought of it as a complement to what we’ve already watched. We needed to see a film that challenges the way we conceive of love and romance, and Antonia’s Line definitely did that–it showed many different characters in many different kinds of love. It is interesting to contrast a feminist film with the movies we’ve already seen.

I was interested in all of the ways that feminism was depicted in the movie. The women seemed to be in control of everything in their society, including the men. Danielle’s character was interesting in that she challenged conventions; she chooses single motherhood over raising a child with a partner, and eventually ends up in a homosexual relationship. Antonia has a healthy relationship with her lover, but never sees the need to marry him. And while Therese ends up with Simon, she remains particularly headstrong and independent throughout the entire movie. Many of the previous films have shown women in subordinate roles–the institution of marriage functions to keep them there, in many ways. But in Antonia’s line, there were no real marriages, only relationships. The film seems to suggest that an absence of marriage is one way for women to remain independent.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

December 2, 2009

What about this film is comedic at all? I swear, I nearly lose it every time Clementine gives her “I’m just a fucked-up girl looking for peace of mind” speech. The only humorous moment I can think of right now is when David Cross’s character is “building a bird house.”
Anyway. I did think the whole movie was a unique addition to the romance paradigm we’ve been discussing in class. As I mentioned during discussion, I do think the movie could be read in a way to suggest that there is “only one person for everyone.” It certainly suggests that Clementine and Joel will constantly return to each other. The film presents us with a number of romantic pairings; Clementine/Joel and Mary/Howard both return to one another after the memory erasure procedure, which to me suggests that attraction is somehow biological, innate, that we just “can’t help” wanting the people we do. Even when Patrick tries to imitate Joel as best he can–repeating his words, hijacking his gifts–Clementine just doesn’t love him. To me, this says that there is more to love than pretty language, material gifts, convenient situations.
But ALL of these movies suggest that, in some way. Eternal Sunshine is unique because it calls into question the “romance” of the one-person-for-everyone idea. If you were to ask me whether or not this movie has a happy ending, it would be a struggle to answer; this is one movie where the main characters end up together, and you’re not quite sure whether they should be. They certainly can’t solve each other’s problems–in the end, they know that they will be nothing but who they are. Clementine will get bored because “that’s what she does.” Eternal Sunshine is jarring because it forces us to look at the absolute best and worst of our own relationships and really question if it all is worth it–which is, I think, why it brings on the waterworks for me, and I seriously NEVER cry at movies. In the end, Clementine and Joel seem to decide that the good is worth all of the bad they’ve been through, but I’m not sure the audience is supposed to support their decision. I think we’re definitely supposed to feel uneasy about it, at least.

Hannah and Her Sisters

November 30, 2009

I can understand why we played this movie last in the Woody Allen trio–because it ends happily for Woody Allen’s character at least. And isn’t that the esential definition of comedy?

We talked in class about how Woody Allen’s character is always setting himself up for tragedy–some people linked this to Freud’s death drive, which I think is a pretty intriguing and accurate way to describe his characters’ actions throughout the films. He always seems to be going for the most lethal possible outcome. He definitely does this in Manhattan, where he doesn’t realize until the end that he’s made a “terrible mistake” in letting Tracy go. While Annie Hall doesn’t seem to leave him in as much despair, we can tell as an audience that his relationship with Annie was one of the most formative of his life. He even tries to do this in Hannah and Her Sisters, when he goes on a date with Holly that he perceives as utterly miserable.

But in the end, Mickey finally seems to overcome this nearly-fatal flaw of all of Woody Allen’s characters and seemingly choose someone he can “marry”–and after all, isn’t a happy marriage the ultimate goal of all of the films we’ve seen thus far? If a happy marriage means “success,” then Mickey is finally successful in this film, where Isaac and Alvy were not.

Annie Hall

November 30, 2009

Most people who know me know that Annie Hall is one of my favorite movies of all time. I fell in love with it from the first time I saw Woody Allen’s opening monologue and have been obsessed with it ever since.

I feel like a cliche loser saying that I like this movie because it seems “real,” but I guess that’s hard to find in a romantic comedy these days. I don’t know exactly what makes a movie feel “real”–that is to say, authentic, as if the actors aren’t acting at all–but I know that it’s something our generation seems to particularly admire in film. Because Woody Allen cast his real-life love interest, Diane Keaton, in the role of the leading lady, and also because he steps outside of character at times to directly address the audience and other passers-by in the film, the audience gets the feeling that they are playing a crucial role in how the events of the movie pan out; funny, because we know from the beginning (because of Woody Allen–I mean, Alvy Singer’s monologue) that Alvy and Annie don’t end up together. This beginning allows us to suspend our romantic ideals that the two are “made” for each other and embark on a realistic journey to discover exactly how, and why, their relationship doesn’t work out.

Annie Hall has an intimate, almost voyeuristic quality which makes it especially enjoyable to watch. Woody Allen makes us feel as though we are actually participating in the movie by letting us in on his thoughts (in the forms of subtitles, monologues, narration, etc.), which seemed very innovative to me when I first saw it, thirty years after it was originally produced.

The previous films (with the exception of Manhattan, of course) were full of attractive, flashy and affected movie stars. Alvy is not especially attractive or likable, but the audience definitely sympathizes (and relates) to Alvy in a way they might not with glamorous Katherine Hepburn or handsome Cary Grant. With movies like The Philadelphia Story and The Lady Eve, I felt invested, but I never forgot I was watching a movie. But Annie Hall tells the “real” story of two “real” people in a “real” relationship–its interactivity is simple but groundbreaking, in my opinion.

Manhattan

November 18, 2009

I’d seen this movie once before, but forgotten most of it by the time we watched it in class.

I was intrigued by the idea that Manhattan could be thought of as a “main character” in the movie–now, after watching it again, this idea made more sense to me. It’s not that Manhattan is a character that participates in dialogue (or is it?) but it definitely takes center stage in scenes where the main characters and their immediate surroundings are in silhouette, but the city is illuminated. This is even more striking given the fact that the entire movie is shot in black and white–it becomes all about contrast.

The black and white scenes coupled with George Gershwin’s music sets us up for a kind of nostalgia, which I think relates to the nostalgia Isaac feels for New York. The monologue at the beginning exemplifies this: Isaac struggles to write a novel with a main character as “tough and romantic as the city he loved … New York was his town.”  The monologue is comical both to us and to Isaac, who throws away his drafts and starts over, because we realize no place can be quite as “romantic” as the New York he’s envisioning.

But yet Isaac still sees New York as the center of the universe. When he and Mary run out of the rain and into the planetarium, they are in shadow, set against a backdrop of space. In this scene, instead of the New York backdrop being highlighted, the entire moon is–which, as I see it, is symbolic for at least two things: One, the fact that the world revolves around New York in the mind of Isaac and Mary. Two, the fact that feelings of lust and love can become a person’s universe–their mate is the center of their world.

The Work of Art in the Age of its Technological Reproducibility

November 18, 2009

Comments and questions in response to Benjamin’s essay.

I. I am not sure whether to take this as an introduction or a separate section in a disjointed collection of essay-pieces. Benjamin seems to be setting the reader up to analyze the relationship between capitalism and art–how art has developed with the economy.

II. He makes a good point in saying that reproducibility is nothing new–since art existed, people have replicated it. But now with the ease of reproducing art (“technological” reproduction), we have to consider what this new development will do to our society. I’ve often thought about this at museums while looking at photographs (an artform Benjamin talks about in this section). I always love looking at portraits of people, but there is something slightly less thrilling about looking at a photograph because of its reproducibility. No one can “own” an original of a photograph–it is made to be made over again.

III. I had never thought about “changes of ownership” as something which differentiates one work of art from another. Benjamin uses the word “authentic” in this section–but is authenticity becoming less important now that artwork can be reproduced? There is no “authentic” film in the same way there is an authentic painting or sculpture.

IV. Bejamin says here that “the aura is going through a decay.” I think of the aura as not only the original work of art, but the feeling we get when looking at the original work of art. I have trouble understanding the way Benjamin relates this to perception–is he saying that what we perceive to be “real” is different, or simply that we don’t care what is “real” anymore??

V. What is the ritual Benjamin is speaking of here? Is he talking about religious ritual–worshipping of images, for instance? He gives the example of Venus as a “sinister idol”–and isn’t idolatry simply a reproduction of some imagined figure to give people something tangible to worship?

VI. It is interesting that Benjamin talks about different kinds of value of artwork here. While I was abroad, I worked at an art gallery that specialized in Victorian painting. I found myself often wondering what gave each piece value–we put prices on everything, so it undoubtedly had monetary value, and clients invested in pieces as they might the stock market. The amount of skill an artist possessed was important to some extent, as was how aesthetically pleasing the piece actually was, but more important was the monetary value that an appraiser assigned to it. This may not be exactly what Benjamin was talking about in this section, but it certainly relates to the idea of art as a commodity.

VII. I love that Benjamin points out a time when “captions became obligatory.” The purpose of an early photographic portrait is obvious–to “maintain the aura” of a person long after they’re gone. The very essence of photography in the beginning was our fascination with it and the fact that it seems impossible to capture a still, real-life image. But once the artform evolved into something that didn’t necessitate human content–like Atget’s photos–a number of different artistic elements developed which hadn’t applied to photographs before.

VIII. Film’s “artistic character is entirely determined by its reproducibility”–what point is there in making a film if no one is going to see it? But I don’t think film is the only artform that is the “exact antithesis of work created at a single stroke”–writing is like that, though technology has made it even easier to edit literary art.

IX. “Film had not yet realized its real purpose.” I think this is interesting–we can definitely see an evolution of film when we compare contemporary films to the comedies of remarriage we’ve watched in the past. Film had to take the same path that photography did and move away from its most simple purpose of recording reality and become a means for creating a new reality, a work of art.

X. I feel like Benjamin is setting up an opposition between the film and stage actor–perhaps film is less close to “reality” because the film actor is given multiple takes in order to complete one shot. As a result, he must “assert his humanity against the apparatus”–come across as a human, relating to other human beings, though he is only in actuality “relating” to a camera.

XI. I find the description of the film actor as “exiled” to be completely melodramatic. Benjamin suggests that, because a film character is separated from his “aura,” it is impossible for us to think of him as a character at all, as we would with a theater performance–but I think this is something that has changed in recent years, and separates good actors from great ones.

XII. To put yourself before the masses is to open yourself up to scrutiny; I suppose if Benjamin is right and it really is impossible to separate the image of the human being from the image of the character, it is also impossible to separate the scrutiny of a film from the scrutiny of the person playing in it. This might be changing even more now that we have movies which are entirely computer animated–they don’t require any real actors (other than voiceovers) or a camera apparatus at all.

XIII. “Literary competence is no longer founded on specialized higher education but on polytechnic training, and thus is common property.” I’ve heard this said about our current time, that “everyone is a writer.” This is one instance where Benjamin’s studies could be applied to a contemporary society which is far beyond his lifetime–couldn’t he completely be talking about blogs here?

XIV. Painting does not have the power to convince us that it is reality like film does. Is that right?

XV. I don’t really understand the point Benjamin is making here, again–certainly painting was originally meant to be received by a smaller audience. But now every art form is reproducible.. Maybe my mindset is just tainted because I grew up in the internet age, but I don’t get it.

XVI. To say that human beings have an”optical unconscious” seems a little frivilous, but there is something to the fact that we are able to examine human motion when it’s recorded in film. But what does that mean? What good does that do? Is this another way film changes our perception, as he argues?

XVII. I struggle to think that Dadaism had much to do with the invention of film. Film would’ve come about regardless because our society hungers for new technology constantly, in a progressive way. Although both Dadism and film definitely turn every day absurdities into art, their similarity is not so great that Dadaism neccessitated film.

XVIII. I like this sentence: “The masses are criticized for seeking distraction in the work of art, whereas the art lover supposedly approaches it with concentration. In the case of the masses, the artwork is seen as a means of entertainment; in the case of the art lover, it is considered an object of devotion.” I feel like this discrepency is not only between art viewers, but between art itself–some of it is made to be examined, some of it is made to entertain. Film can fit into both.

XIX. Is all art politicized?

The Awful Truth

November 4, 2009

Someone told me once that generations are separated by–among other things–the sort of humor they enjoy. I’ve always thought that this was an interesting idea.

As a kid, I watched a lot of I Love Lucy. I can’t really remember if I laughed at it or not, but I must’ve been entertained, because I watched it religiously–it was my favorite TV show. In the past few years, I’ve revisited a lot of the old episodes without being quite so enamored with the humor. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been socially conditioned by my generation not to find Lucille Ball funny anymore.

I bring this up because I noticed a lot of similarities between Bringing Up Baby and I Love Lucy–and I did the same with The Awful Truth. They are all contemporaries of each other, and there are similar elements of humor in all of them, what we learned to be “screwball comedy” in class. The action in The Awful Truth happens as a result of suspicion and misunderstanding–there are characters we understand are meant to be comical, and they end up in situations which seem almost too ridiculous to be true (I’m thinking of the scene where Cary Grant’s character “hides” in the same room as Irene Dunne’s music teacher).

I know we discussed in class that upon first viewing, The Awful Truth is not the most likable film. I wondered, at least in the case of our class, if this might be a generational thing–we simply don’t find this sort of comedy funny anymore. I felt the same way with Bringing Up Baby–we, as a class, did not respond in quite the same way that audiences must’ve at the time it was released.

This relates to Benjamin’s idea of how film has changed our perceptions, our expectations–does it also have the power to mold and create a brand of humor for us?

His Girl Friday

October 26, 2009

I was having a hard time imagining what this film would be like with a male lead character, as it was originally intended to be, given the fact that the heterosexual romance is at the very center of the film.

But I did notice that Hildy does take on a decidedly masculine role, functioning in the newsroom as a “newspaper man,” as she says. Cavell points out that Walter is far more vain than Hildy, which I thought was an interesting gender role reversal. For some reason, I found Walter to be the least appealing of all Cary Grant’s characters–and perhaps that is because of this vanity.

But Hildy also is able to assert her feminine characteristics–for instance, she is extremely nurturing to Earl, the accused murderer, at first–she seems to exert both her cunning newspaper know-how and her “natural” nurturing feminine instincts to promote his innocence. However, in the end, her presence as a woman in a “man’s world” is reaffirmed at the end when she rejects her dreams of domesticity and life with Bruce to live with Walter in the world of newspaper.

Bringing Up Baby

October 13, 2009

Bringing Up Baby showcases what is probably the most ridiculous of all of the “adventures” we’ve seen in these films so far. I think the theme of seclusion in these movies is interesting–for Hepburn and Grant to have their adventure, they run away to Connecticut (Hepburn essentially kidnaps Grant). This had to happen in order for them to fall in love; had they not run away, Mr. Bone would have married Ms. Swallow.

The same themes of running away and being in seclusion pop up in It Happened One Night and The Lady Eve, and even in the James Joyce stories (in the sense that Eveline needs to be “rescued” from her current situation–she cannot find happiness where she is). This makes me think of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where all common sense and “natural behavior” is turned on its head when the characters enter an enchanted forest. The road trip in It Happened One Night, the boat in The Lady Eve, and the farm house in Connecticut in Bringing up Baby all serve a similar purpose. They remove all outside distractions (Grant’s fiancee, for example) and allow the characters to truly “fall in love.”

This makes sense if we think of marriage as a social construct, and the characters in these films as challengers of that social construct. They have to be removed from society and put into a kind of magical setting in order to find true love.


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