Month: March 2007

Posted on

Monday Morning Montaigne: Of Cannibalism

This week’s essay was Of Cannibals, which raised all sorts of expectations. Unfortunately, Montaigne’s depictions of man-eating tribes in Brazil (or ‘Antarctic France’) were pretty much in the “noble savage” mode. On the plus side, he never went into a rant about how Europe needs to bring them religion. If anything, he seemed pretty envious of the stories he heard about life among the Indians.

In fact, even their cannibalism was just part of their warrior culture. As soon as they found that the Portuguese had a more sadistic way of killing their enemies, he tells us, the natives started abandoning their cannibalism:

They saw the Portuguese, who had joined forces with their adversaries, inflict a different kind of death on them when they took them prisoner, which was to bury them up to the waist, shoot the rest of their body full of arrows, and afterward hang them. They thought that these people from the other world, being men who had sown the knowledge of many vices among their neighbors and were much greater masters than themselves in every sort of wickedness, did not adopt this sort of vengeance without some reason, and that it must be more painful than their own; so they began to give up their old method and to follow this one.

He immediately follows with this caveat:

I am not sorry that we notice the barbarous horror of such acts [the cannibalism], but I am heartily sorry that, judging their faults rightly, we should be so blind to our own.

Which is to say, he doesn’t consider the Indian form of cannibalism — treating prisoners hospitably for a few months before killing them, roasting them, eating them and “send[ing] some pieces to their absent friends” — as bad as European practices of torturing people to death.

This actually heads ’round to the point that Montaigne makes at the beginning of this essay, and throughout a number of essays: that we’re really not in a position to judge anything:

I think there is nothing barbarous and savage in that nation, from what I have been told, except that each man calls barbarism whatever is not in his own practice; for indeed it seems we have no other test of truth and reason than the example and pattern of the opinions and customs of the country we live in. There is always the perfect religion, the perfect government, the perfect and accomplished manners in all things.

Instead, he figures, the “natural way” of life is better, less corrupted by our laws. Unfortunately, I had enough of this during my undergrad years at Hampshire to take it very seriously. Or, as M. puts it:

All this is not too bad — but what’s the use? They don’t wear breeches.

Posted on

College whoops

I’ve learned a ton from reading Charley Rosen’s basketball columns, particularly his single-game analyses. He’s got a mailbag up this week, and it includes a vituperative response to the “NCAA or NBA” question:

Although I do not always agree with your opinions, I respect them because you seem to know a lot about the actual substance of the game. I know a few people who say that the NBA is not good basketball, and that college ball is much better in regard to defense and team work. They believe that college basketball is played the right way as compared to the showmanship that’s the mainstay of the NBA game. It seems that the college game is more focused on teamwork, while the NBA highlights individual stars. Is the college game really better? — Luke Ford, Minerva, Ohio

No, no, a thousand times no!

The college game is sloppy and the “amateur” players are prone to making innumerable mistakes. Which is why 20-point leads often vanish in a few minutes.

The defense seems to be good in the collegiate ranks only because the overall offense is so poor. Which is why the likes of J.J. Reddick and Adam Morrison struggle so much to score when they come to the NBA. And why so many of the NCAA’s scoring-average leaders in recent years can’t even play in the NBA: Ruben Douglas, Jason Conley, Ronnie McCollum, Alvin Young, Charles Jones, Kevin Granger, Greg Guy, Brett Roberts, Kevin Bradshaw, and so on.

The preponderance of zone defenses in NCAA competition assures that too many players never really learn how to play straight-up defense. Inferior (to the NBA) ball-handling, passing, ball-catching skills, footwork and overall creativity are additional reasons for college defenses appearing to be better than they really are. Which is why the primary difficulty for virtually every NBA rookie is playing defense.

And don’t mistake passing per se for teamwork. The truth is that most college offenses are so poorly constructed (especially against zones) that multiple passes are necessary to find an open shot or to create space in which a designated scorer can operate. In fact, teamwork is much more critical, and much more subtle — the execution of plays, defensive rotations — in the NBA.

It’s economics that pressures the NBA to focus on individuals rather than on teams. Whereas the best college players remain “amateurs” for one or two seasons, NBA stars are around for a decade or more. Add in the fact that playoff teams in the NBA annually play three times as many games every season as do NCAA qualifiers, and pro hoopers’ recognizability is understandably greater. That translates into commercial opportunities, also millions of dollars in player-jerseys, autographed balls, bobbleheads and similar trinkets.

The NBA game has a huge advantage in player talent, offensive and defensive prowess, coaching, officiating and the overall quality of performance in every aspect but one. The only advantage the college game enjoys is the consistent enthusiasm of its players. And this is true only because some veteran NBA players on basement-dwelling teams will take an occasional game off late in the season.

The worst NBA team would trounce the NCAA champs by upwards of 30 points.

Considering I just watched UNC completely melt down and miss 20 of its final 22 shots in its loss to Georgetown, I’m inclined to give some credence to Rosen’s take on this. That said, I think players take a lot more than the “occasional game off late in the season.”

Posted on

Box me in

I don’t do much car-blogging. I’ve never been a gearhead, and I’ve never believed that I “should be driving” a fancy sportscar or luxury sedan. I drive a Honda Element.

Or, as BusinessWeek put it in its review of the new Asian street gang version of the Element, I drive a “boxy trucklet,” the “automotive equivalent of a cardboard box on wheels,” a “cube-on-wheels” “with aerodynamics only slightly better than a concrete slab.”

Which is to say: guilty as charged.

Posted on

Parking as a bloodsport

George Will on anger exhibitionism:

The politics of disdain — e.g., Howard Dean’s judgment that Republicans are “brain dead” and “a lot of them never made an honest living in their lives” — derails politics by defining opponents as beyond the reach of reason. The anger directed at Bush today, like that directed at Clinton during his presidency, luxuriates in its own vehemence.

Posted on

Lynch Mob

I was grooving through Guy Rundle’s review of Steven Soderbergh’s recent film noir, The Good German, for a while. I thought the writer did a good job of explaining why the film is not the experimental triumph some critics have lauded it as, but rather a nice little mannerist exercise:

You could say it’s an interesting experiment, but the trouble is we already knew what it establishes. We’ve been theorising film noir for a half-century now, and no genre in cinema history has been more written about. In other words, The Good German is not an essay in experimentation, but in mannerism — the characteristic of mannerism in any art form being the exhaustive exploration of permutations for their own sake, beyond any usefulness they might once have possessed. Mannerism tends to break out when there has been a tremendous burst of artistic innovation and quality — as there was in Hollywood in the Thirties and Forties, and again in the Seventies — and a way to further revolutionise the form has not yet been fully conceived.

I thought he was making a good argument against overpraising movies such as Far From Heaven and Kill Bill; I enjoyed the latter, mainly for its affection for trashy movies. It wasn’t high art, and it had some dull moments, but it entertained me.

That said, Rundle lost me when he tried to compare the development of movies to the novel. He complains that cinema is stuck in “the existing framework of popular film – that of externalised third-person realism – has been utterly exhausted in the 70 years since the classic Hollywood style came together.”

What does it need to do? Go Joycean!

The next step — a popular cinema that incorporates the significant representation of internal psychological states, shifting points of view, discontinuous story as more than novelty elements within a traditional presentation — has not yet been substantially attempted.

And who’s going to lead the way? David Lynch! [insert sound of record-needle skipping off its groove here]

In that respect it’s no coincidence that the one director to come from outside the film world — David Lynch, a one-time surrealist painter — has been the only mainstream director to at least make the attempt at such a leap into the full incorporation of non-realist techniques into popular genres. But by now half the movies in the multiplex should be using the techniques that Lynch and others have developed in works such as Lost Highway and Inland Empire.

Wow. I don’t know where to begin. I can understand complaining that art films should be taking more chances, but to complain that big budget multiplex films should be incorporating techniques from Lost Highway is mind-blowing. I’ve seen my share of attempts at “portraying psychological reality” in moderate-budget movies (like In the Cut and Demonlover) and let me tell you: they make for awful, self-indulgent movies with storytelling that comes off as arbitrary and half-assed.

Moreover, the reason they’re not part of “popular cinema” is because the public avoids these flicks in droves. Which is to say, I can understand blasting the critical fawning over mannerist exercises, but I don’t see how that leads to the thesis that hundred-million-dollar movies (the aforementioned multiplex flicks) need to venture into the realm of “non-realism.”

In fact, you could argue that the implausibility and impossible action sequences are a filmic reaction against “realism,” but I’m just talking outta my butt.

Posted on

Will I never learn?

Oh, sure, I know you all think it’s easy being me. I know how you envy the dashing, romantic, debonair life of a pharmaceutical trade magazine editor who lives in a quiet, no-restaurant town a little beyond the suburbs. But it’s not all wine and roses, I tellya!

Take today, for example. Last night, I crashed at a friend’s apartment on 13th St. so I could get to an 8:30am presentation at the Waldorf. No problem, except that the presentation went on till noon with a short coffee break. That ran out of coffee. So I grabbed some scorched Starbucks in the lobby and figured I’d get something to eat on the way back down to the garage where I’d parked the night before.

Unfortunately, it was awfully cold out, and I’d forgotten that there aren’t any restaurants up around the Waldorf. I figured I’d pass on the street-meat kiosk, since I wouldn’t have anywhere to sit down and eat, and caught a cab down to 13th St.

Perhaps I was getting a little punchy with hunger, but I thought, “Well, as long as I’m in the area, I may as well stop in at the Strand on the way back to the car.”

And that’s where my troubles began.

See, dear reader, it’s one thing for me to go without food (and with crappy coffee) for a while. It’s another to be in a low blood sugar mode while walking around a giant used bookstore.

Now, I’ve never been a huge fan of the Strand, in part because it’s not a very serendipitous bookstore for me. For some reason, I can’t just meander around, pick something up, and start unspooling creative threads all around the labyrinth of the mythocreative mind. Maybe the shelves are too tall in the sides of the store, or the selections are too extensive. I’m not sure. But I have far greater luck when I go to a place like the Montclair Book Center.

That said, I usually find books to buy at the Strand. I just don’t find inspiration.

So I picked up a bunch of books today, including a collection of journalism about Chechnya by Anna Politkovskaya, some gifts for friends, and a couple of discounted comic collections. I began my trek to the checkout line, resigned to carry both a bag of books and my work-bag (laptop inside) a few blocks along 13th to my friend’s place, where I would pick up my overstuffed overnight bag (Amy stayed last night too, which cut her morning commute from 2 hours to 10 minutes) before walking back down the block to the car.

And that’s when I saw it:

Yep: 11 volumes of the 20-volume Complete Works of George Orwell edited by Peter Davison (reviews here). Never released in the U.S., and exorbitantly expensive to order from the UK.

So, minutes later, I found myself slinging my work-bag over my shoulder and hauling 2 enormous bags of books down 13th St. Where the overstuffed overnight bag awaited. Somehow, I got back down the block with all 4 bags; my slanted shoulders were not happy and kept shrugging the non-Strand bags off. But I got to the garage, picked up my car, and figured I’d just get out of NYC and get something to eat back in NJ.

I spent the next 45 minutes sitting in various stages of traffic and regretting that decision. Only two things got me through the trip home: the promise of White Manna and Howard Stern playing an audio clip of David O. Russell flipping out on Lily Tomlin. And $125 in Orwell books. Okay, so maybe it is pretty easy being me. I’ll shut up now.