Tagged: poetry

Beasts vs. Bits, A Joint Movie Review of Beasts of the Southern Wild by Benh Zeitlin and Tron: Ares by Joachim Rønning

How does one land on 2012’s Beasts of the Southern Wild in 2026? Easy—if you’re a helicopter pilot.

Here’s how.

You call a friend, a fellow helicopter pilot, and while talking entertainment, he recommends True Detective (only S1). You watch it. During the call to discuss and thank for the recommendation, the conversation includes “really like the setting as character” and turns to Louisiana, and fears and love of that place. Next you recall that your friend has spent some time there because of “flying in the gulf”. Intermix some marriage and family chatter, mostly involving cross-cultural marriage, and the self-same friend mentions Beasts.

That said, here is what I sent him after my viewing.

1. Not in category of my “favorite movies” but definitely in category of “perfect movies”.

2. Can’t say I have ever seen a better performance by an actress than that girl.

3. I’ve been reading books on Jesus’ parables for a couple months now (on second book…) and this movie definitely fits as parable or allegory—but on steroids. It is amazing how many aspects of life it covers, and that I want to think more about all of them.

4. I think a lot about death and dying, and the lack of dignity we give it. The “plug you into a wall” line is the best summary of what is wrong with modernity’s handling of it that I have ever heard. And I cannot think of a better way to go than while holding someone I love.

Today I will add another thought I had—which will connect to Tron: Ares.

5. I love when a movie is clearly made by one and only one person. Beasts is so singular in its focus there is no doubt in my mind that we are watching a true artist at work—not the shapings a committee or AI.

Tron: Ares on the other hand is clearly, and unsurprisingly, the work of a ‘system’. The ‘system’ being the largest contributor to the death of art. Even when only one director is named, everyone (who cares) knows Mr. Fancy “O” didn’t make the movie he wanted to make. Instead, he made the movie he was allowed to make. Who gave him permission? Unspoken facial expressions. Indirect, latent meanings to rhetorical questions. The lowest common denominator of risk aversion. At every level, Tron: Ares was adulterated. I’m not trying to start a new conspiracy theory, but very really and truly Tron was made using the precise methods AI uses. Unfortunately for us, that is not how good art is made.

As far as the movie goes, the visuals were exactly what I wanted to see and watch. The jet ski chase seen being a definite win. The story was lame for anyone who knows the word that follows “paperclip” when talking about AI.

But the nuance I want to emphasize here is that Tron fails for every reason that Beasts succeeds, and yet Beasts is not made by Beasts.

In short, there is a terrifically false urban legend that tribal peoples have some great “lore” or stories from which they draw strength and unity of purpose and longevity. The sober truth is nothing could be farther from the truth. It is the leading civilizations, it is Western Civilization that has the great “lore” or stories from which we draw strength and unity of purpose and longevity.

To be clear, all that needs to occur for me to be proven wrong on this point is some tribe, be it one with truly no contact with modernity, or, say the Somalis, to make Tron: Ares. Or even the first Tron. Hell, I would happily recant if they used an ink pen of their own creation to write a story, or a Somali assault rifle to board a ship, or even musket in the case of piracy. But they don’t, won’t, and haven’t. This lack of good story is not the result of some external circumstances, it is the reason for external circumstances.

In using Somalis, I am not bashing some “race” here. I am merely making the point that even the film and story Beasts, for all its Beast-y-ness is not being told by its own protagonists, unless we alter it to the most metaphorical sense, more like “beast mode.” Instead, it is being told by Western Civilization. The strength of the story is contained in its unflinching depiction of truth, which includes some welcome criticism of WC.

If there is one feature that primitive peoples and the communists behind Disney movies share, it is that in storytelling, success aligns perfectly with honesty.

Does Finishing A Book Ever Make You Sad?

I have been reading the two volume set of Reporting Vietnam since March 19 of this year. That’s 8 months. Today I will finish the set.

I am sad.

I already have Reporting World War II waiting in the wings, another two volume set. And I am very excited about that one, given how profoundly this one affected me. But that excitement does not override the sadness.

It feels weird to be sad about finishing a book. I think this is because there are obviously so many others. Maybe it is sad because it’s not the book that is concluded, but the conversation. Yeah. I like that.

What is better, after all, than a good conversation?

I’m Terrified of Top Gun 3 and Heat 2

For the record, while my feeds are abuzz with Heat 2 casting news and resultant excitement, I am terrified. The reason I am terrified is that nothing in Heat says “sequel”. And the entire point of Heat is to capture at the premier level the modern “Cops and Robbers” game.

The world has changed and while a new “cops and robbers” game is surely possible, it cannot have any ties to a previous game. Like, “Nerd alert! Johnny Law here wants to use the rules from last game!” Also, Mann used the whole “bank’s money” line from Heat in Public Enemies already. A third delivery will make him truly a contender for “one trick pony”. Add to this that Blackhat and Ferrari, while adored by yours truly—especially Blackhat—were panned or ignored by general audiences. This means the train has left the station. Michael Mann’s star (he is my favorite direct and it does not pain me to say this) has fallen.

The path Mann should now follow is to become a film critic who harshly condemns every attempt at film (most are terrible these days) until he irritates the right director into producing something great and classic.

Re: TG3, I cannot say I have ever finished a movie thinking “I cannot wait for the sequel” more than Top Gun. Similarly, I cannot say that anyone I ever heard talk about TG:Maverick after the credits rolled said, “I cannot wait for the sequel.” The entire success of Maverick was “satisfaction of audience’s hyper-specific needs.” There is no chance of accomplishing the same feat again as our needs are met. We are fat and happy. As Papa once told me, the Ghanans, upon completion of a feast, lovingly rub their bellies and ponder, “Why did I get married?”

To both movies, I say, “No, no, no. Thank you but no thank you. Please take it away. I am full.”

On Being a “One Mistake” Man

It just occurred to me that I am a “one mistake” man. The way this came to mind just now was while driving. Picture me in the classic post-stoplight intersection need to merge right (to get to Freddy’s) and there are cars zipping into the new right lane with whom I need to merge. Rather, we all need to zipper merge.

If you drive a good car and can’t merge, I respect you—you’re probably just decompressing from a hard days work. If you drive a disproportionately small car for an adult man who can grow a decent beard and can’t merge, then that’s one mistake too many. And I do not respect you anymore.

One mistake at a time please.

Jack White said, “Drop the Screens” nervously

Metallica’s 2009 Rock’n’roll induction ceremony was epic, and I am sure I could nitpick it. Since then, I have always enjoyed giving some attention to the ceremony. Jack White and Co. were inducted the other day. In his speech, he played it safe. This struck me as odd.

He encouraged the young artists to “drop the screens”.

Wow. Edgy.

Or not.

This causes me to wonder just what it is about some tier one Artists that they cannot recall that they were not handled with kid gloves, by life or other musicians?

If I had written Seven Nation Army, I would look around the room and say, “Thank you for being here. The honor is yours.

“Since Metallica’s induction in the HoF, the quality of inductee and their actual qualifications as ‘Rock’n’roll’ has only deteriorated. Disagree if you like. But you know I am right. You feel it in your bones. Rather, you don’t feel it in your bones. The younger generations are completely devoid of soul, totally out of touch with truth, and utterly unremarkable. They are dishonest, superficial, and technically deficient.”

(I could go on. And if I had written Seven Nation Army, I would slowly and gradually build the tempo and rhythm of the words into singsong.)

The point is, if I was being inducted after having truly “done it my way”, I would give a “my way” speech that would be worthy of study by white nationalist kids at Hillsdale and might, just might, inspire some kid somewhere to make rock’n’roll again.

The Infrequently Discussed, But True (If Mean-Sounding), Reason For Some Blacks’ Inability to Understand the Context of Kirk’s “[Black Women] Do Not Have the Brain Processing Power” Claim

Faithful readers know (and should be able to predict) what this post is going to assert. To them, I say, “Thank you for paying attention.”

To the rest of you, please pay close attention.

We’re all watching with amazement as Black preachers lead the way in calling Charlie Kirk a racist. The particular phrase these men use to defend their claim is in my title.

Now, every good little literate “whitey” knows how to call up the full conversation/debate from which the phrase came and determine for themselves the context within which Kirk uttered his assessment. That’s step 1.

Step 2 for those of us who were pretty sure Kirk was not a racist, but have been wrong before and so wanted to check for ourselves, is felt utter confusion (not me, mind you) at how even our “black friends” are siding with these ignorant preachers instead of the plain meaning of the English language.

Here’s what is going on. There is no need to be confused.

Bluntly: Some Blacks (maybe most) still believe in incantation. Incantation, recall, is context free.

To flesh this out a bit, let’s review what incantation is all about. In short, the phrase “abra cadabra” (that we all know from some Disney movie we all watched years ago) is a phrase that we, as children, used to magically turn objects into other objects. Or the like. For us, it was a game. We usually had a wand or our finger cocked in a special way as we said it. “Abra cadabra, and POOF!, you’re unfrozen.” Sometimes it was in finding oneself holding what appeared as a wand which caused our utterance of the phrase. Like we’re in a gift shop, see a stick with a star at one end and suddenly are inspired to grab it and tap our unwitting friend on the head and say, “Abra Cadabra, you pay for Starbucks after we’re done here.”

What were we doing? We were playfully using what people in antiquity seriously used, that is, we were incanting. Even as children we knew it wasn’t merely the phrase but the specific sounds, the way we said the phrase, that mattered. In fact, this feature of incantation often explained why the change didn’t happen. “You didn’t say it right!” we would explain. Again, as children, we knew that you couldn’t achieve the intended result by an all business-like or all medical-assessment-like utterance of the phrase. No. It had to be said a certain way. Plainly, it had to be uttered intoned with belief.

The point here is that we (the confused, literate whites) don’t believe incantation works now that we’re adults.

But many Blacks, of all ages, do.

And that is how even your “black friends” do not budge when they are shown the full context of Kirk’s remarks.

For many Blacks, there is a distinct evil associated with such a phrase (“black women do not have the brain processing power”). The context doesn’t matter any more than it does for abra cadabra.

By way of another example, Shakespeare’s “Double, Double Toil and Trouble” comes to mind as something similar in Western culture. Did the witches’ prophecy actually cause MacBeth’s troubles? No. Now, it’s true that there was a coincidence, but this is merely a cerebrally fun feature of great storytelling. On the whole, though, while we servants of the West would never think twice about saying, “Double, Double, Toil and Trouble”, our Black neighbors (keep in mind they also don’t know Shakespeare—and this is not coincidence) believe there are certain things you just don’t say. Again, this is not because of the meaning’s of the words, it is because of an exceedingly old school (Old Testament and older) belief in how human speech works vis-à-vis the invisible world.

Please don’t let the NSFW part of my claim cause you to miss the actual significance of my claim. You are now no longer confused why many Blacks don’t care about context. But this clarity does not reveal the solution to the larger problem that still remains: Many Blacks don’t care about context.

What can be done?

I have no idea.

Fantasy Speech

I remember wondering if it was smart to skip seeing TDKR in Denver after the shooting in Aurora. Everyone I knew said we had to go. We went. We survived.

This time, I find myself wondering if I should go to church, and if I should take my kids to our church, a Black church, tomorrow. Why? Because obviously the crazies are out and about.

We’re going. And I would love the opportunity to speak.

So here’s what I would say if the pastor, who I don’t yet know well, pulled me aside and said, “We could use a word. I was hoping it wouldn’t be imposing to ask if you would say something.”

****

Let the church say, “Amen.”

Let the whole church say, “Amen.”

Pastor asked me to say a word. I was actually hoping he would. Here’s the truth. I almost didn’t come today. Then I decided that I would come for sure, but I almost didn’t bring my kids. Almost. What tipped the scales? The blood.

The blood.

Did you see the blood?

Seriously, I am curious. I want to know if you saw it.

The blood, did you see it?

I am a pilot. We take yearly checkrides. Mine was scheduled for that night and I needed to focus. So it was late at night before I saw the blood.

The blood, did you see it?

Seeing the blood was shocking, right? In my line of work, I often seen blood-soaked cloth. Or dried blood on a person. But blood like that? I can’t say I have seen that. Is that happening inside my body right now? If so, I don’t feel it, which is weird.

The blood, did you see it?

Is that what it takes to keep a human going? He was sitting. Is there a difference between sitting calmly and, say, running? Would there have been more pumping power if he had been running or just finished a set?

The blood, did you see it?

So despite some instincts which told me not to, I showed up today because of the blood. Do you get it?

The blood, did you see it?

Did you see the blood?

I did. And that’s why I came.

Pastor.

Two Updates on the Boy Child

First, during my attempt to get more of the cookie for myself, when I told him that the cookie was very big, J- innocently said, “My mouth is big!”

Second, we have this game Poop Tracks which is actually a pretty fantastic board game for little kids (if you care to have them turn into Tom Brown Jr.-like trackers). You spin a spinner and do what it says. The options are, “Draw 1 (or 2), Trade, Swipe, or Skip.” Naturally, I take it upon myself to teach my progeny the proper way to trade and swipe. And, naturally, the proper way to swipe is through distraction. So my kids now look forward to the spinner landing on “swipe” so they can say, “Look at that, Dad!” before proceeding to take one if my cards. Well, just now, as J- and I (A- is now in kindergarten 😦 ) were having a donut, he says, “Look out the window, Day-ad!” Obviously he was priming me for the take, but for what? I played along and then he swiped my napkin. What a guy!