Notes on “Sabotage”, and Triggers

Fenster writes:

I have paid essentially zero attention to Arnold Schwarzenegger the actor after his political career ended.  I knew faintly of a film, or maybe several, that included Arnold with a gaggle of his aging action figure buddies.  I figured I would get around to that sooner or later since I like action films and enjoyed him back in the day.

I saw a DVD at the library that showed him standing in the front of a bunch of armed and suited-up individuals and thought it must be the movie I was thinking of.

But no, as I have since discovered, the movie series I had in mind, The Expendables, has Stallone standing in front with Arnold on the side.

The-Expendables-31

whereas the DVD I saw had Arnold in the center.  It was Sabotage, and I could not place it at all.

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A similar pose but a different group of characters.  And an odder one, too.  Here, Arnold is surrounded by a gaggle that includes Mirielle Enos, the depressed detective from the downbeat and perennially overcast TV series The Killing

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and Olivia Williams, the ultra-depressed wife from the excruciatingly downbeat Maps to the Stars.

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I took it out to see if it was up to its billing as “A NON-STOP ADRENALINE RUSH!”

I thought Prozac, maybe.

Well, I am no fan of trigger warnings but if there is ever a movie that should come with one, it is Sabotage.  And I mean that mostly in a good way.

Film has portrayed gore, mayhem and blood in ever explicit ways but very often employing techniques that allow for some distance on the part of the viewer.  Evil Dead 2 was funny in the manner of the Three Stooges.  Fargo had deadpan humor.  The Wild Bunch had slow-motion ballet.  De Palma uses a seductive luxuriousness.  The clock ticks down on the bomb.  The good guy makes the difficult shot.  It’s usually the bad guy’s blood in the end.  Trope trope tripe.

By contrast the treatment of violence as sudden and brutal and completely unsentimental is less common.

As always Friedkin did it well.  As I wrote here, with him it could be “cut-cut-boom, and that’s the way it goes.”

(Note: extra shots added unnecessarily by someone posting to YouTube.  The original is one shot to Petersen and it’s done.)

Sabotage has some of that energy going for it.

There’s plenty of formula in the movie, don’t get me wrong.  But it plays with the formulas in interesting ways.  Schwarzenegger and his manic band of DEA agents are wild and macho in the conventional way–or are they?  The plot gets you on their side as the lovable good guys with some bad tendencies and then oscillates the bad and good in destabilizing ways.

And Arnold–well, he still can’t act in the Method sense, but he does take on a somewhat more complicated character.

The extra documentary on the filming process on the DVD makes much of the director’s military background.  And for sure, there is a documentary quality to a good deal of the action that forces you to strip away your expectations.  It may be random violence or not around that corner, and not just another dramatic trope, or pop-up shooter in the style of a video game.  And there are a couple of moments–no spoilers here–where I felt like the director fairly earned the fact that I jumped out of my seat.

Do you think students who complain about trigger warnings with Homer give the question much thought when they see violence in movies?

I think not.

I find the trigger warning stuff on campuses laughable but who knows?  Maybe the constant exposure to fake violence, typically portrayed with one of more of the distancing effects above, has the ultimate effect of telling viewers that they are safe.  Maybe when kids are reminded that civilization contains disturbing elements in its core it gets upsetting.

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Architecture and Color

Paleo Retiree writes:

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I was Surprised at a Scythian Speaking Greek

Fabrizio del Wrongo writes:

Invasion of the Barbarians or The Huns approaching Rome

When Attila entered the village he was met by girls advancing in rows, under thin white canopies of linen, which were held up by the outside women who stood under them, and were so large that seven or more girls walked beneath each. There were many lines of damsels thus canopied, and they sang Scythian songs. When he came near the house of Onegesius, which lay on his way, the wife of Onegesius issued from the door, with a number of servants, bearing meat and wine, and saluted him and begged him to partake of her hospitality. This is the highest honour that can be shown among the Scythians. To gratify the wife of his friend, he ate, just as he sat on his horse, his attendants raising the tray to his saddlebow; and having tasted the wine, he went on to the palace, which was higher than the other houses and built on an elevated site. But we remained in the house of Onegesius, at his invitation, for he had returned from his expedition with Attila’s son. His wife and kinsfolk entertained us to dinner, for he had no leisure himself, as he had to relate to Attila the result of his expedition, and explain the accident which had happened to the young prince, who had slipped and broken his right arm. After dinner we left the house of Onegesius, and took up our quarters nearer the palace, so that Maximin might be at a convenient distance for visiting Attila or holding intercourse with his court. The next morning, at dawn of day, Maximin sent me to Onegesius, with presents offered by himself as well as those which the Emperor had sent, and I was to find out whether he would have an interview with Maximin and at what time. When I arrived at the house, along with the attendants who carried the gifts, I found the doors closed, and had to wait until some one should come out and announce our arrival.

As I waited and walked up and down in front of the enclosure which surrounded the house, a man, whom from his Scythian dress I took for a barbarian, came up and addressed me in Greek, with the word Xaire, “Hail!” I was surprised at a Scythian speaking Greek. For the subjects of the Huns, swept together from various lands, speak, besides their own barbarous tongues, either Hunnic or Gothic, or — as many as have commercial dealings with the western Romans — Latin; but none of them easily speak Greek, except captives from the Thracian or Illyrian sea-coast; and these last are easily known to any stranger by their torn garments and the squalor of their heads, as men who have met with a reverse. This man, on the contrary, resembled a well-to-do Scythian, being well dressed, and having his hair cut in a circle after Scythian fashion. Having returned his salutation, I asked him who he was and whence he had come into a foreign land and adopted Scythian life. When he asked me why I wanted to know, I told him that his Hellenic speech had prompted my curiosity. Then he smiled and said that he was born a Greek and had gone as a merchant to Viminacium, on the Danube, where he had stayed a long time, and married a very rich wife. But the city fell a prey to the barbarians, and he was stript of his prosperity, and on account of his riches was allotted to Onegesius in the division of the spoil, as it was the custom among the Scythians for the chiefs to reserve for themselves the rich prisoners. Having fought bravely against the Romans and the Acatiri, he had paid the spoils he won to his master, and so obtained freedom. He then married a barbarian wife and had children, and had the privilege of eating at the table of Onegesius.

He considered his new life among the Scythians better than his old life among the Romans, and the reasons he gave were as follows: “After war the Scythians live in inactivity, enjoying what they have got, and not at all, or very little, harassed. The Romans, on the other hand, are in the first place very liable to perish in war, as they have to rest their hopes of safety on others, and are not allowed, on account of their tyrants to use arms. And those who use them are injured by the cowardice of their generals, who cannot support the conduct of war. But the condition of the subjects in time of peace is far more grievous than the evils of war, for the exaction of the taxes is very severe, and unprincipled men inflict injuries on others, because the laws are practically not valid against all classes. A transgressor who belongs to the wealthy classes is not punished for his injustice, while a poor man, who does not understand business, undergoes the legal penalty, that is if he does not depart this life before the trial, so long is the course of lawsuits protracted, and so much money is expended on them. The climax of the misery is to have to pay in order to obtain justice. For no one will give a court to the injured man unless he pay a sum of money to the judge and the judge’s clerks.”

In reply to this attack on the Empire, I asked him to be good enough to listen with patience to the other side of the question. “The creators of the Roman republic,” I said, “who were wise and good men, in order to prevent things from being done at haphazard made one class of men guardians of the laws, and appointed another class to the profession of arms, who were to have no other object than to be always ready for battle, and to go forth to war without dread, as though to their ordinary exercise having by practice exhausted all their fear beforehand. Others again were assigned to attend to the cultivation of the ground, to support both themselves and those who fight in their defence, by contributing the military corn-supply…. To those who protect the interests of the litigants a sum of money is paid by the latter, just as a payment is made by the farmers to the soldiers. Is it not fair to support him who assists and requite him for his kindness? The support of the horse benefits the horseman…. Those who spend money on a suit and lose it in the end cannot fairly put it down to anything but the injustice of their case. And as to the long time spent on lawsuits, that is due to concern for justice, that judges may not fail in passing correct judgments, by having to give sentence offhand; it is better that they should reflect, and conclude the case more tardily, than that by judging in a hurry they should both injure man and transgress against the Deity, the institutor of justice…. The Romans treat their servants better than the king of the Scythians treats his subjects. They deal with them as fathers or teachers, admonishing them to abstain from evil and follow the lines of conduct whey they have esteemed honourable; they reprove them for their errors like their own children. They are not allowed, like the Scythians, to inflict death on them. They have numerous ways of conferring freedom; they can manumit not only during life, but also by their wills, and the testamentary wishes of a Roman in regard to his property are law.”

My interlocutor shed tears, and confessed that the laws and constitution of the Romans were fair, but deplored that the governors, not possessing the spirit of former generations, were ruining the State.

— Priscus of Panium, as translated by J.B. Bury

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Scholarly Writing and “The Fall of Rome”

Fenster writes:

Though I have a doctorate I am not a scholar.  That’s partly because I got a doctorate late in life, well past the time I might have developed good, or at least acceptable, scholarly habits.  It is also a matter of character.  I just can’t rouse myself to care about, much less to write in, high scholarly style.

When I was defending my dissertation my dissertation chair (who was, in good academic fashion, my champion) went on the offense in committee on my behalf, remarking that my dissertation was not written in scholarly style but in clear and plain English, and that he found that a good thing.  That was enough to ward off another committee member or two, who liked the work but were probably privately concerned I was not writing in the opaque manner that had guaranteed their own success in the academy.

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Fenster Stands and Delivers

Fenster writes:

This is a follow on to a post I wrote earlier today on gun control, which should be read first.

That post dealt with the Second Amendment issues and pretty clearly suggested Fenster was persuaded that the Amendment sets a pretty high hurdle where significant gun restrictions are concerned.  By emanation and penumbra, it might also suggest that Fenster is anti-gun control down the line.

But is that so?  After all, the law review article that formed the basis for most of the discussion in favor of a fulsome reading of the Second Amendment was penned by someone in favor of restrictions, so where one stands on the matter of  Constitutional interpretation does not necessarily have any bearing on where one stands in terms of preferred policy.

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Another Kind of Trigger Warning

Fenster writes:

I awoke an hour or so ago with guns on my mind.  Maybe it was a hangover from a dream or, more likely, the residue of the many gunshots going off of late, and of the dust-ups resulting.  I am no lawyer but I had Second Amendment questions stuck in my mind, too, especially that pesky and disputed language:

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.

I reflected uncouthly on the apparent awkwardness of the construction of the sentence.  Was the intention to limit the amendment’s scope to militias?  Or did the second half of the sentence stand on its own, irrespective of how one parsed the meaning of the first half? That suggested a textual analysis.

It also suggested a historical analysis: if the amendment revolved around militias what kind of militias?  Were militias official bodies of the states, the other level of government under the federal system?  Or were militias viewed more broadly as a function of the citizenry?

And that suggested in turn an analysis relative to the rest of the Constitution.  On the one hand the Constitution vests government sovereignty in both the federal and state governments.  But under the Tenth Amendment, any powers not specifically designated for either level of government are considered reserved for the people.  Was that relevant?

I stumbled out of bed and turned on the computer to look for some sort of readable legal explication of the mess.  I checked Facebook first and there found a posting–by someone well known in these parts, as it turns out–on just this point.  The residue of those gunshots does seem to be everywhere.

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Architecture and Color

Paleo Retiree writes:

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“Nightdreams”

Fabrizio del Wrongo writes:

Cow-girls-nightdreamsIn the opening scene of the 1981 “Nightdreams,” porn princess Dorothy LeMay furiously works her pussy as she barks lines at the camera. The sound of a heartbeat thumps below her monologue. “I know you’re watching me,” she says, “I can feel your eyes like fingers, touching me in certain places. I can feel my pussy, so open you can see inside me.”

Those lines reveal what writers Jerry Stahl and Stephen Sayadian, and director Francis Delia, are after: they want to play around in the confluence of voyeurism and subjective fantasy. LeMay is playing Mrs. Van Houten, the subject of a series of tests in which two doctors administer electric shocks intended to inspire erotic dreams. The doctors, a man and a woman, constantly observe Van Houten through a large window. They analyze her reactions, and comment on them. But their professorial demeanors can’t mask their amorous agitation. Like the porn audience, they occupy a position of helplessness: Unable to act on their arousal, or participate in their subject’s visions, they’re forced to consider both in the abstract. They’re rendered impotent by the act of observation.

This theme of postmodern frustration — born of the gulf separating experience from our analysis of it — seems an important one for the creators of “Nightdreams.” Delia and Sayadian returned to it the following year. In their “Cafe Flesh,” a post-apocalyptic group of theatergoers, neutered by exposure to radiation, is forced to watch the world’s remaining “sex positives” engage in naughty acts — the very acts they are no longer capable of performing.

Yet “Nightdreams” is a lot more fun than “Cafe Flesh,” because it consistently builds on its premise, and because its fantasy sequences have a conceptual daringness — a drive — that’s keyed to LeMay’s peculiar fervency. (That fervency is wrought on her face, which has the uncouth animal jaw of Elizabeth Siddal, the Pre-Raphaelites’ favorite model.) Strung one after the other, separated by ever-more-exasperated banter on the part of the two doctors, these scenes progress from a playroom penetration by an animated jack-in-the-box into weirder and more sinister territory. The visions eventually culminate in a netherworld tryst in which LeMay swallows the load of Satan himself. It’s here that Mrs. Van Houten finally climaxes (if the devil can’t get you off, you’re hopeless), and in the following scene we see her enter the heaven of the sexually satisfied, where she lovingly screws an angel to the calming strains of Satie.

These fantasy sequences are the movie’s raison d’être, and each of them is conceived with an art director’s fastidiousness (they’re like porno Powell & Pressburgers). Delia’s and Sayadian’s experiences in publishing and on Madison Avenue serve them well: Despite the picture’s modest budget, its components have a sensual and iconographical pithiness that evokes television and magazine advertisements. The filmmakers court rather than duck these comparisons: They like the pre-packaged absurdity of commercialism. More importantly, they know that ads are readymade fantasies, and that longing and frustration are built right into them.

In one of these fantasy bits, LeMay is dressed in Western gear. Her pussy and ass are eaten by two subordinate cowpokes while a new wave rendition of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” plays on the soundtrack. (The song’s title can be taken as an allusion to the redheaded LeMay’s vulva.) The Old West iconography — a cow skull, a blue-black horizon, the orange glow of a campfire — is the simple, boiled-down stuff of dreams and cartoons; it connects to our predigested fantasies. And the cutting and camera movement, which proceed according to the tempo of the song, give the action a choreographed, self-contained quality that help it to avoid the monotony of standard hardcore fare.

In the succeeding fantasy, LeMay is laid out for the delectation of a group of Arabs inside what seems to be a torchlit seraglio. This time there’s no musical accompaniment, but the cramped compositions and stark lighting give the images a Caravaggio-like intensity, and the incessant murmuring — the only sounds aside from LeMay’s moans — suggests a spatial depth that the images barely hint at. There’s an air of suspense. Who, you wonder, is lurking back there, waiting to fuck her next?

But the film’s most memorable sequence is more satirical than titillating. It’s a comic sketch in which LeMay, interrupted while fixing breakfast, jauntily blows a black man (the chipper Fast Steppin’ Freddie) who is dressed as a box of Nabisco Cream of Wheat. (“It really fills a girl up,” announces the package-cum-pitchman, “nutritious and delicious.”) Scored to a swinging (and very white) version of “Old Man River,” the scene prods the nexus of advertising, consumerism, sex, and race in ways you can’t quite parse. And in its gleefully subversive rudeness, it recalls the best underground movies of the ’60s and ’70s, like Robert Downey’s “Putney Swope” and Brian De Palma’s “Hi, Mom!”

There is more in “Nightdreams” that is suggestive of De Palma. Sayadian and Delia, who helped to design a number of posters for Hollywood movies, use one of the fantasy sequences in “Nightdreams” to recreate their poster for De Palma’s “Dressed to Kill,” in which a pair of stockinged legs is threatened by a murderer sliding through a door in the composition’s background. (Of course, in “Nightdreams,” the figure doesn’t murder the woman; he fucks her.)  Many of the predilections that make “Nightdreams” so memorable are on display in that poster, namely a capacity for activating cramped, box-like spaces; a love of pop iconography; and a willingness to spice titillation with menace.

Perhaps it’s no surprise that De Palma recently named “Nightdreams” as one of his favorite guilty pleasures. Certainly, it’s easy to imagine the director of “Carrie” responding to the movie’s ending, in which the character we know as Mrs. Van Houten appears outside of her cage, and reveals a twist that inverts the meaning of all that has come before it. Well fucked and triumphant, LeMay looks directly into the camera. You’ve watched her. Now she’s watching you.

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Beer Day Out (2015 Edition)

Eddie Pensier writes:

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I had so much fun at last year’s Beer Day Out (which I recounted for readers here) that I decided to return. Once again, the event was held at the Old Bus Depot in Kingston: once again, the atmosphere was friendly and lively without the hordes of staggering drunks one might expect. At least 50 domestic and international brewers were represented. I decided for the most part to focus on the weird, whacky, and otherwise unusual.

Young Henry’s Natural Lager
A hazy, pale-yellow lager with a clean initial flavor punch. Once the hop-hit subsided, the strong inclination was to return for a second 100ml helping. With several dozen untried beers in my immediate vicinity, this was a good sign.

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Books Journal: “Too Big to Fail”

Paleo Retiree writes:

sorkin2

With “Too Big to Fail,” New York Times columnist Andrew Ross Sorkin was obviously inspired by “Barbarians at the Gates,” Burroughs and Helyar’s tale of 1980s financial misbehavior, as well as (perhaps) by the Washington D.C.-based novels of David Baldacci. It’s a moment-by-moment, beyond-the-headlines, NYC-and-D.C.-centric account of the 2008 financial meltdown that’s presented in the breathless, portentous tones of a pop thriller. One by one, huge financial companies approach the breaking point; the world itself teeters on the brink; and officials and regulators race around trying to patch things up before it all topples over.

And that’s it. There’s no overview, little analysis, and zero attempts to explain the significance of much of what we witness. Sorkin’s occasional efforts to explain how exactly these Master of the Universe are making their money, or how the larger system itself works, aren’t a lot more enlightening than what you’d get from a quick glimpse at the Business pages of a decent newspaper. The thriller dimension of the book struck me as a flop — there are only so many ways you can try to extract excitement from a bunch of guys in business suits racing from conference room to conference room. It’s a business-and-finance book for people who are already business-and-finance kinda people.

For a curious outsider, the book’s real value is in the details. Ross seems to be an enthusiastic and scrupulous reporter (even if one does regularly have the impression that the author is dumping the contents of entire shelves of reporter’s notebooks into the book), and the settings, clothing and language seem authentic. What strange lives these people lead, obsessing 24/7/365 about money. How do they sustain their interest year after year? A small bitch even here, though: Sorkin is almost as prone to using bizworld jargon as the finance guys themselves are. Without much contrast between his narrative voice and their style of speaking, their language — which often has a Mamet-like aggression and juiciness — doesn’t stand out as colorfully as it could.

The main thing the book made clear to me that I hadn’t fully realized before was why zero efforts were made by regulators and legislators to take advantage of the crisis to reform or revamp the system. It was evidently less a failure of decency or political will than a failure of imagination. The possibility of reform simply didn’t occur to them. When catastrophe was spotted approaching rapidly, all anyone could think to do was to try to get things Back to Normal as quickly as possible, even if the financial world’s “normal” strikes the rest of us as absurd and corrupt — as the real catastrophe.

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