Every time I open the microwave to put in a frozen burrito, I look around for the little plates I use and can only find one of them. I wash the plate if needed, position the burrito on it, and open the microwave.
And there’s the other plate, with a half-cooked burrito on it.
This has happened three times since the weekend.
Three things to consider, when regarding an expressive work:
1) How well it says what it’s trying to say
2) Whether what it’s trying to say is worth hearing
3) Whether there’s worth to what it actually does say
When you’ve found all your answers, the order in which to weight them is: 3, 1, 2.
Looking back the last few months, I realize that all my big dips in energy, to the point of being sick in bed for several days, have been immediately before and after the full moon. I had noticed that it seemed to be working in a monthly cycle, more or less. I didn’t take much notice of it, though.
You can see how I’m reaching for explanations, here. The correlation is convincing, though. I know there’s a family history of seasonal affective disorder. I don’t have that, exactly. Still, this may be related?
I’m really into film and TV restoration. I don’t know if this comes out of my childhood love of archaeology. It would be hard to overstate the influence of Tintin and Uncle Scrooge… Yet I’m maybe a bit spoiled. I pay attention to massive projects like Rear Window and My Fair Lady, to revolutionary ones like the Murnau Foundation Metropolis job, and to compulsive, continually-improving efforts from guys like the Doctor Who Restoration Team. I’m used both to employing every available tool to repair material and present it in the best possible light, and extensive features geared to contextualize the work both contemporarily and retrospectively, examine its production, and illustrate its place in any relevant oeuvre. The point is to put a work back on its feet again, and send it back into mainsteam culture.
The Universal and Warner Hitchcock discs, though relatively unhailed, do a decent job at all of this. Kino is a mixed bag — even their meticulously restored Nosferatu has some amazing undergraduate blunders — yet they clearly try hard under a limited budget to present something significant.
Thing about Criterion — they strike me as sort of a lowest common denominator of film preservation. They’re not into preservation, really; into keeping works healthy and relevant and in circulation. They pander to film fetishists and collectors. They kind of do a half-assed job at both restoration and extras. For reasons I cannot understand, they don’t stabilize film weave. They don’t paint out dust and scratches, or even socket holes. They rarely clean up the sound. Most of their extras, though certainly well-researched, are off-the-shelf and dry as hell. Their DVDs strike me as academic, snooty, overpriced, and not particularly ambitious in the very areas where they claim superiority.
They do good presentation, though. And they do a good job of raising awareness of less obvious films (at least, to a point). And then they put them out in limited editions, and number them so their fans can buy ’em all (at prices around double of other publishers). They’re like the Working Designs of film preservation. (According to that article, Vic Ireland is starting a company called Gaijinworks. Oh my dear Lord Numpty…)
Criterion’s relationship with Janus also weirds me out a little. I realize that it’s basically the commercial arm of Janus, and I understand that Janus is to be credited with a certain amount of US exposure of independent and foreign films, before the boom of indie cinema. In retrospect I always find it a little weird to see their logo plastered in front of so many important movies that they didn’t have anything directly to do with. It’s almost like a corporate collector-fetishism, if maybe for the ultimate cultural good, sort of? This isn’t something I’ve put a lot of thought into; it’s just been scampering around my subconscious. It may be based on nothing but my own prejudices.
Anyway. People keep asking me what I think of Criterion. My answer: phooey!
Though the packaging to their Yojimbo/Sanjuro set is just devine.
(Full disclosure: I have about half a dozen Criterion DVDs, from Hitchcock to Wong Kar-Wai. I’m more impressed with their “new” movies than their classic library. Mostly because they don’t require restoration or much context; all they need is nice packaging and presentation. And yes, In the Mood for Love is classy as hell.)
I’m thinking that it’s the shortcuts an artist takes that tend to date a work. I’ve had Smooth Criminal in my head for a litlte while. And it’s an excellent song, for what it is. It’s well-written — but the entirety of that album is cheap synthesizers, with MJ singing on top.
That song could have been properly orchestrated and performed. And you could trace what decade it came from, stylistically, but it wouldn’t sound “dated”, in the sense that it’s somehow… no longer as relevant? The synth is so cheap and tinny that it’s distracting. And again, the entire album is kind of like that. It was a way for Jackson to have complete control over what he was doing. Which is fine, but then he didn’t go back and flesh it out. The synth was “good enough”. So twenty years later, it sounds like a bit of a cop-out.
And I’m just projecting here, but it strikes me that many of the things that seem laughable or outdated in film or music or videogames are similarly cheap compromises. Some kind of a contemporary easy solution. Whereas the things that still seem relevant today, however you might trace them to a particular era stylistically, tend to find all their own custom solutions to their problems: The Maltese Falcon; The Good, the Bad and the Ugly; a lot of the later-on Beatles stuff.
There are phases that a medium goes through, artistically. Pop trends in simple solutions. Videogames go through a lot of them. “Oh, here’s the proper way to deal with this.” Which is one of the things that bugs the hell out of me with that Ludology business.
Ludology is the academic study of videogames. Which is, you know… it generally tries to be very objective, in studying what videogames are, and how they work right now, and what has been done before, and how to hone that model. It’s proscriptive by implication of description. So what it tends to do is it objectifies videogames as an end unto themselves. As opposed to, you know, exploring how this tool set might be used to say something new or interesting. And it’s got that whole academic sniffiness about it, just to make it the more obnoxious.
An analytical breakdown is useful, but in context. In service to a greater goal. Videogames are about communication, as is all art. Though to a certain extent more overtly than most. Any analysis should be about exploring the mechancis and ramifications of that discussion. Rather than focused on What Videogames Are.
Anyway. I guess this kind of ties into the shortcut thing — the objective treatment of a work, using the standards of the day, tends to in the long run turn the work into a bit of an artifact. So. Basically, there’s something complex going on when you throw a band-aid on and say “yeah, this’ll work.” In a few years, the patchwork will become opaque, and it will begin to define your work.
And that’s also how genres get dumb, when people say “Oh, I like that — I’m going to do something just like it!” That’s the same thing. You’re taking someone else’s solution and applying it out of context. You’re taking a subjective goal and treating it objectively. Until the solutions begin to define what things are, rather than what they’re trying to solve.
What’s amazing about something like The Maltese Falcon — the Huston version — is that there are virtually no shortcuts. There’s pretty much never a sense that anyone involved just pulled something off the shelf and said “okay, this takes care of that. No one will notice.” Even though it’s the third version of the same movie to be made by the same studio, in under ten years. So you come at it now, and everything feels like they’re figuring it out for the first time, on their feet. Everything is custom-tailored to the situation. And it’s gripping and relevant and alive, every time you see it. And this is what makes a work timeless.