Recently in Arts and Letters Category

"'It's tangible, the misery and hopelessness and the bleakness,' Mortensen says. 'It gives you much more to work with if you're filming in that world instead of a green screen.' Well, they know where they're going, but they don't know where they've been...USA Today scores the first official still from John Hillcoat's take on The Road, with Viggo Mortensen, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Robert Duvall, Charlize Theron, Guy Pearce, Michael K. Williams, and Garret Dillahunt. I found McCarthy's book decent enough but considerably overpraised -- As with mainstream critics' overheated embrace of Pan's Labyrinth, I thought The Road was post-apocalyptic sci-fi for people who normally condescend to the genre, and thus haven't read/seen very much of it. And, more than most McCarthy, I found the style seriously grating after while: "The Man, ashen-faced, sifted through the ash-gray ash. The Child whimpered. His mouth tasted like ash."

All that being said, I really like the cast they've put together here, and, given The Proposition, John Hillcoat sounds like an intriguing choice for this. So, count me in.

"Not everything assumes a name. Some things lead beyond words. Art inflames even a frozen, darkened soul to a high spiritual experience. Through art we are sometimes visited - dimly, briefly - by revelations such as cannot be produced by rational thinking." Alexander Solzhenitsyn, 1918-2008.

"What I have wanted most to do...is to make political writing into an art." By way of Return of the Reluctant, it seems George Orwell's diary entries will be posted online in blog form beginning August 9, seventy years after he initially wrote them. Welcome to the political blogosphere, George! (And good luck breaking into the TNR-Politico-Atlantic-TPM mutual-regard society.)

"Like other broad-minded and big-hearted works of American culture from the first half of the 20th century -- H.L. Mencken's American Language, John Dos Passos' U.S.A. trilogy of novels, the Federal Writers' Project American Guide series, Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music -- Names on the Land reflects a glorious union of two primal forces in the American mind. On one hand, Americanism: the inclination toward the large-scale and industrial, toward manifest destiny and the farthest shore...On the other, Americana: the craving for the local and the lo-fi, for the inward heart of things, for the handcrafted and the homemade." In Slate, Matt Weiland sings the praises of George Rippey Stewart's Names on the Land.

In the trailer bin, assassin-prodigy James McAvoy foregoes the doldrums of cubicle life for quality time with Angelina Jolie in the new domestic trailer for Timur Bekmambetov's Wanted, a.k.a. this summer's big dumb Matrix-y action flick (and, mind you, I don't mean that perjoratively in the slightest.) And director Alex Gibney of Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room and Taxi to the Dark Side takes on the Good Doctor in the new trailer for Gonzo: The Life and Work of Hunter S. Thompson. Not sure if the latter will make it to this area, but I'm looking forward to it.

"Pity the would-be Romeo who earnestly confesses middlebrow tastes: sometimes, it’s the Howard Roark problem as much as the Pushkin one. 'I did have to break up with one guy because he was very keen on Ayn Rand,' said Laura Miller, a book critic for Salon. 'He was sweet and incredibly decent despite all the grandiosely heartless "philosophy" he espoused, but it wasn’t even the ideology that did it. I just thought Rand was a hilariously bad writer, and past a certain point I couldn’t hide my amusement.'" In the NYT, Rachel Donadio looks at relationships undone by differing book tastes (and, along the way, quotes a college friend of mine, Christian Lorentzen.)

Funnily enough, my last serious relationship, lo, 18 months ago now, didn't end because of book taste, but -- like Laura Miller above -- I always considered the Ayn Rand citation on her Friendster profile an ominous red flag (and, in the clear light of retrospect, I was absolutely correct in this regard.) In the relationship before that, things started out ok, and then, eight or nine months in, we daringly ventured to trade lists of recommended books. At first, all was well: She seemed to dig All the King's Men, and I finally got around to reading Moby Dick (I liked it, but also found most of it the longest...Atlantic piece...ever...) But we got on shakier ground when I didn't cotton at all to her favorite tome, Thomas Wolfe's Look, Homeward Angel. (If you've never read it, here's the short version: I, the protagonist, am more brilliant and tortured than absolutely everybody here in fake-Asheville, NC, and thus noone will ever understand me. After 500 pages of complaining about it, I will leave, and seek my fortune elsewhere.) Meanwhile, she was so embarrassed to be seen with Dan Simmons' Hyperion -- a book I don't love, but thought might make a good intro to decent sci-fi yarns for someone with highbrow sensibilities, what with all the Chaucer and Keats nods therein -- that she'd hide it from people on the train. Whether all this brought about or hastened the end, I know not...but it surely didn't help. The point being, be wary, young lovers: The book collection can be a minefield, as the Donadio essay attests.

"Historians and novelists are kin, in other words, but they’re more like brothers who throw food at each other than like sisters who borrow each other’s clothes. The literary genre that became known as 'the novel' was born in the eighteenth century. History, the empirical sort based on archival research and practiced in universities, anyway, was born at much the same time. Its novelty is not as often remembered, though, not least because it wasn’t called 'novel.' In a way, history is the anti-novel, the novel’s twin, though which is Cain and which is Abel depends on your point of view." By way of The Late Adopter, historian Jill Lepore surveys the origins of -- and often-thorny relation between -- history and the novel.

"Sir John Gielgud admired Mr. Scofield’s stillness and sense of mystery, describing him as 'a sphinx with a secret.' Peter Hall, who directed Mr. Scofield’s acclaimed Salieri in Peter Shaffer’s 'Amadeus' in London in 1979, said that as a young man Mr. Scofield brought 'a sulfurous passion, an entirely new note' to the stage, and that there was always a tremendous tension beneath the surface, 'like a volcano erupting.'" Paul Scofield, 1922-2008.

"The point of Obama's candidacy is that the damaged state of American democracy is not the fault of George W. Bush and his minions, the corporate-controlled media, the insurance industry, the oil industry, lobbyists, terrorists, illegal immigrants or Satan. The point is that this mess is our fault. We let in the serpents and liars, we exchanged shining ideals for a handful of nails and some two-by-fours, and we did it by resorting to the simplest, deepest-seated and readiest method we possess as human beings for trying to make sense of the world: through our fear. America has become a phobocracy."

In the WP, author Michael Chabon makes his case for Obama, and argues we should vote against fear. "Thus in the name of preserving hope do we disdain it. That is how a phobocracy maintains its grip on power. To support Obama, we must permit ourselves to feel hope, to acknowledge the possibility that we can aspire as a nation to be more than merely secure or predominant."

"'All doubts about the identity of the Mona Lisa have been eliminated by a discovery by Dr. Armin Schlechter,' a manuscript expert, the library said in a statement on Monday...'There is no reason for any lingering doubts that this is another woman,' Leipzig University art historian Frank Zoellner told German radio. 'One could even say that books written about all this in the past few years were unnecessary, had we known.'"

After studying notes scribbled in a 1503 book, German art historians argue they've definitively pinned down the identity of the Mona Lisa. "Lisa Gherardini, the wife of a wealthy Florentine merchant, Francesco del Giocondo, has long been seen as the most likely model for the 16th-century painting...[the notes] confirm once and for all that Lisa del Giocondo was indeed the model for one of the most famous portraits in the world." [Via Daily Dish.]

When I first saw the trailer for Joe Wright's version of Ian McEwan's Atonement, I figured I'd probably give it a pass -- It had that staid period piece look to it that screams inert Oscar bait (see also The English Patient), and seemed far too dry and conventional to do justice to Ian McEwan's powerful, absorbing novel. But, having sat through it several more times, I got Dario Marianelli's pensive piano-and-typewriter score stuck in my head, and when the reviews came back significantly better than I expected (and, indeed, the film garnered 7 Globe nominations this morning), I figured I'd give it a go. And the verdict...well, it comes out somewhere in-between. Atonement is solid enough entertainment of the Merchant-Ivory sort, and it features break-out performances by The Last King of Scotland's James McAvoy (that whooshing sound you hear is all of Ewan MacGregor's old scripts getting remailed) and newcomer Romola Garai. But, although occasionally you can see director Joe Wright try to stick his head under the water, the movie sadly just skims along the surface of McEwan's book. And as an adaptation of said book, it must be considered a failure.

Now, admittedly, there's a pretty tough degree of difficulty here. I hesitate to think any book is inherently unfilmable -- just this month we've had two excellent adaptations in No Country for Old Men and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly -- but McEwan's dense tome, with its rich inner worlds, abrupt shifts in time, and philosophical musings on the power and moral dangers of writing and imagination, comes pretty darn close. Regardless, Atonement the film never plumbs the depths that McEwan's novel does, a fact that unfortunately becomes more and more unmistakable as the movie progresses. By the end, all the crisp British diction and sweeping long-takes can't disguise the fact that Atonement, however pretty, never captures the book's mordant pulse.

To the story: Atonement begins at an edenic English manor on one of the hottest days of 1935, where an ambitious, headstrong 12-year-old girl named Briony Tallis (Saoirse Roman, a find) has just completed her first full-length play, The Trials of Arabella. (Like many aspiring writers, myself included, Ms. Tallis just loves her some descriptive adjectives.) Young Briony is unsuccessfully trying to convince her bored cousins, visiting on account of a hush-hush impending divorce, to take her magnum opus seriously, when she sees something unexpected. Outside her window, Robbie the housekeeper's son (McAvoy) appears to be ogling Briony's soaking wet, nearly-naked sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley) with amusement and maybe even something darker...what's the word? As Briony tries to piece it together, we discover Cecilia and Robbie are Oxford classmates, although (by Cecilia's design as well as by class distinctions) they travel in rather different circles. Yet, something flickers between them, and Robbie, while mustering up the nerve to express his affection, types out several different drafts of a love note in his nearby cottage...one of which, composed as a bit of a joke, gets right to the point. (It uses the c-word, and alone gives the film an R-rating. Gasp!) Well, you can then guess which version of the letter mistakenly gets delivered, and by Briony no less, who takes it upon herself to examine it first. Her pre-adolescent confusion mounting, Briony is now seriously distressed by Robbie, on whom she once had a barely understood crush. And when further events that hot summer evening eventually take a turn towards tragedy, she -- knowing full well now that he's a sex maniac -- mounts a false accusation against him, one that changes irrevocably the lives of Robbie, Cecilia -- and Briony -- forever.

Wright's Atonement does alright by most of this, the first act of McEwan's book. He cleverly uses the Rashomon device of showing us the same scene several times, and always from Briony's limited perspective first. But, while Roman seems a gifted and composed actress for her age, the film never really gets across the crucially important fact about Briony: her constant flights of fancy. (It's not my movie, of course, but I kept thinking what Atonement needed here is something like what Peter Jackson does in Heavenly Creatures, a brief dramatization of her inner fantasy world.) This becomes a constant problem in the film, particularly as it moves on to the fields of Dunkirk and the hospitals of London just before the Blitz -- the movie never does a particularly good job of getting into its characters' heads. As a result, it shows us what happens in the book, but it barely conveys why these events are important or meaningful for our story.

One of the most egregious example of this is an extremely long shot of the chaos at Dunkirk, rivaling the similar extended takes in Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men last year: Wounded and dog-tired, Robbie and his two soldier mates wander around the beach, seeing all manner of wartime horror and tomfoolery. But, as it lingers on and on, the shot feels more and more like a stunt, completely dissociated from the tale we've theoretically been following. I guess it'd probably play great in a WWII epic that's actually about Dunkirk, but the important action at that moment for our story is happening within Robbie. Perhaps Wright was trying to make a similar point about film with that exasperating stunt-take as McEwan ultimately does about writing...but, if so, I missed it. (There are other, subtler moments where he comes closer, tho' -- I quite liked Nurse Briony's red curtain (stage) entrance to her conversation with the French soldier.)

This inherent flaw of Wright's Atonement -- its inability to depict the characters' interior lives -- reaches its nadir in the final moments of the film, when it almost completely botches the final reveal. I won't give away what happens here, other than to say that, as Matt Zoller Seitz points out, what was a quietly devastating confession to the reader in the book now -- because it is voiced in public -- instead plays like a tacked-on mea culpa that offers a twist-ending, a saccharine moral, and a few moments of cinema apotheosis, all wrapped up in a Hollywood bow. (Again, not my movie, but having this reveal explained in voiceover over images of the character's last, lonely days, a la TLJ in No Country, would've made a lot more sense.) In a way, Atonement makes exactly the same misstep as Weitz's Golden Compass: The very last images of the movie are pitched right at the Titanic demographic (and I don't mean that as a sneer -- I loved Titanic.) But they completely sidestep the inherent darkness of McEwan's ending, and even let the character in question off the hook. Atonement, in McEwan's world, was never so neat, or easy to come by.

Timed to release with The Golden Compass this Friday, the trailer for Andrew Adamson's The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian is now online. Liam Neeson and the kids are back again (if a little older), while replacing Tilda Swinton, James McAvoy, and Ray Winstone in the support department are Ben Barnes (of Stardust), Warwick Davis, and Peter Dinklage (of The Station Agent.)

"Zemeckis took the oldest and most important text of our ur-language, and turned it into a 3-D Disneyland ride so cheesy he should have called it 'Anglo-Saxons of the Caribbean.'...But the 'Beowulf' travesty is especially glaring, because of the obvious contrast with another work that mined the same ancient field: J.R.R. Tolkien's 'The Lord of the Rings.'" Taking issue with the "plastic entertainment' that is Zemeckis' Beowulf much more than I did, Salon's Gary Kamiya movingly explains what Tolkien understood about the poem, and how it informed his own work. "Tolkien's brilliant essay can be seen as a ringing defense not just of 'Beowulf,' but of the work he was soon to embark on, another great tower composed of ancient stones. And the themes of lateness, of heroic loss, being caught between one age and another (his world is not called 'Middle-earth' for nothing), are the deepest and most sublime parts of his own epic."

America. Land of the free, home of the obese illiterates? "We are doing a better job of teaching kids to read in elementary school. But once they enter adolescence, they fall victim to a general culture which does not encourage or reinforce reading. Because these people then read less, they read less well. Because they read less well, they do more poorly in school, in the job market and in civic life." An extremely frightening new study by the National Endowment for the Arts finds that, despite the best efforts of the First Lady (which I applaud) over the past seven years, Americans increasingly can't read so good. "The NEA reports that in 2006, 15-to-24-year-olds spent just 7 to 10 minutes a day voluntarily reading anything at all. It also notes that between 1992 and 2003, the percentage of college graduates who tested as 'proficient in reading prose' declined from 40 percent to 31 percent."

Uh, what?! How can over two-thirds of college graduates not be able to read "proficiently"? This is the type of dire news that demands a Sputnik-level response from our political leaders. “A popular Government, without popular information, or the means of acquiring it, is but a Prologue to a Farce or a Tragedy; or, perhaps both, as James Madison put it in 1822. "[A] people who mean to be their own Governors, must arm themselves with the power which knowledge gives" Or, see Thomas Paine: "[I]t is monarchical and aristocratical government only that requires ignorance for its support," and that's what we'll be getting (more of) if this troubling trend continues. Not to get all progressive up in here, but education and citizenship are the lifeblood of the republic. Without them, the whole experiment falls apart.

Viggo Mortensen as Edgar Allan Poe? Quite possibly. Apparently Mortensen is thinking of signing on for the Sylvester Stallone-helmed biopic, "although he wants some slight revisions in the script." Maybe take out that Ivan Drago sequence.

"But even those who hailed absinthe saw unsettling shadows. Wilde explained: 'After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see them as they are not. Finally you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world.'" In the NYT, critic Edward Rothstein sings the praises and surveys the notoriety of "the green muse," absinthe, which is apparently making a legal comeback both here and in the EU. "Absinthe was the premier bohemian drink, as inseparable from the avant-garde of mid-19th-century Paris as was scorn the bourgeoisie. It played the role well; absinthe helped overturn that bourgeois world with seductive visions of another."

"Later the young soldier, by now out of uniform, approached me on the street and introduced himself as a writer. His name, he said, was Mailer. He had just seen my play ['All My Sons']. 'I could write a play like that,' he said. It was so obtusely flat an assertion that I began to laugh, but he was completely serious and indeed would make intermittent attempts to write plays in the many years that lay ahead." Norman Mailer, 1923-2007. To be honest, Mailer's writing never much appealed to me, and his public persona less so. But, if nothing else, he proved how far sheer, undiluted ambition can take you in this world. (Remembrances.)

"'Oh, my god,' Rowling, 42, concluded with a laugh, 'the fan fiction.'" So, as you probably heard, in a moment of retroactive characterization (a la Elisabeth Röhm on Law and Order), J.K. Rowling revealed that Albus Dumbledore is gay. Well, ok then. "A spokesman for gay rights group Stonewall added: 'It's great that JK has said this. It shows that there's no limit to what gay and lesbian people can do, even being a wizard headmaster.'" And if nothing else, the news should make the witchcraft yahoos that much more livid.

"This man has advanced Communist views, and several of his Indian friends say that they have often seen him at Communist meetings. He dresses in a bohemian fashion both at his office and in his leisure hours." Big Brother was watching him: Ralph Luker of Cliopatria points the way to the recently-released UK Security Service files on George Orwell (as well as those on folk music archivist Alan Lomax and others.) "[W]hile his left-wing views attracted the Service's attention, no action was taken against him. It is clear, however, that he continued to arouse suspicions, particularly with the police, that he might be a Communist. The file reveals that the Service took action to counter these views."

Even more Comic-Con riches: A new, extended, walk-you-through-the-plot trailer for The Golden Compass is now online, and it looks...well, to be honest, it looks pretty darn good! Big ups to the art direction and casting people -- Iorek (the polar bear), the daemons (particularly Miss Coulter's twisted golden monkey), and the main players (Lyra, Lord Asriel, Mrs. Coulter, Lee Scoresby) all look note-perfect.

For those others who were looking for more information from the epilogue of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling offered her take on what happened to the surviving characters in a recent online chat. For example [spoilers], "Harry Potter...was named head of the Auror Department under the new wizarding government headed by his friend and ally, Kingsley Shacklebolt." (She also reveals the fate of Ginny, Ron, Hermione, George, and Luna.) Well, ok then...but why, exactly, wasn't this squeezed somewhere in those last few pages? I'd have taken this info over some of the interminable shenanigans in the English countryside.

Naturally, like most of the wizarding world, I spent Saturday deeply ensconced in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling's long-awaited final installment of the tale of the Boy Who Lived. And the verdict? Well, I enjoyed it, and I appreciate the degree of difficulty Rowling faced in closing this much-beloved tale. But, I'll go ahead and put a word in for the muggle-hearted: It was easily my least favorite in the series (Put another way, it was the first book in seven where I started flipping forward every so often to see how much I had left, and the first where I found myself thinking the movie would assuredly be better than the book.) For obvious reasons, the rest of the discussion will involve spoiler-vision, so click the space below to highlight (and don't click anything if you don't want to know the end) [Update: Spoiler-vision turned off, now that the book has been out for awhile]:

* First off, I very much agree with this Laura Miller Salon review: I thought the book sorely missed the presence and the rhythms of Hogwarts. I get that Harry, Ron, and Hermione might have to break out of their safety zone to prosecute the war on You-Know-Who, but in all honesty, I didn't find the wandering around the English countryside nearly as engaging as all the boarding school shenanigans that have marked the series in the past.

* The action scenes. I've complained as recently as my Order of the Phoenix film review that Rowling's action sequences tend to be kinda clunky. Well, as befitting the last book in a seven-tome saga, there's a lot of action in here, from escapes from the Ministry, Godric's Hollow, Luna Lovegood's house, and Gringotts to the final, climactic Battle of Hogwarts. And, most of it, in my humble opinion, didn't really jump off the page. In a way, Hallows felt more like a screenplay treatment than a book, and, as I said, I expect the inevitable movie will make more of these myriad escape and battle scenes.

* The "homages." Yes, all fantasy is derivative, often intentionally so. (As every fanboy and fangirl knows, Tolkien, Lewis, Lucas, and others all deliberately hearken back to collective myths in their writings and films.) Still, there was a lot in Deathly Hallows that felt lifted, from the very One-Ringish locket (As my sister wryly noted, it was "Share the load" all over again.") to Harry's Aslan-like sacrifice in the final battle, from the Sword in the Lake to Ma Weasley paraphrasing Ripley's most memorable catchphrase from Aliens. Each time, it was pretty distracting.

* The fifth element is love? Ok, it's been obvious it's going this way for awhile now, but I still found it rather irritating. But that assuredly speaks worse of me than it does the books. Let's move on.

* The deaths. As it turns out, my guesses about where this was all going turned out to be pretty on the money. (I've long been of the school that Snape was deep undercover, and -- while I always thought Harry would end up losing his magic when he lost his horcrux/scar -- my basic contention that he'd end up all grown up and outside the magical world of Hogwarts was somewhat substantiated by the epilogue.) But the deaths here...well, to be honest, they felt pretty arbitrary to me, as if Rowling wanted it both ways. None of the major characters (except Snape and Voldemort, both givens) ended up on the other side of the veil (even if Ron seemed a goner after leaving in a huff, and Hagrid's been a one-trick-pony for at least five books now.) But Rowling pretty remorselessly cuts a swath through her supporting characters, including offing Hedwig, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevy, some random Muggle Studies prof, and, most shockingly for most, I'd guess, Fred Weasley. In short, all of these deaths seemed to me the equivalent of Haldir kicking the bucket in Lord of the Rings...a way of bringing the high stakes of death into the equation without it actually affecting any of the major characters. (Ok, Fred may be a Theoden level loss, but it's a toss-up.) In short, the lack of major deaths, especially when compared to the catastrophic losses among the second tier, makes Hallows seem at once painless and bloodthirsty.

Not to miss the forest for the trees, I didn't hate Deathly Hallows, and would still, without a doubt, number the series as a whole as a masterful work of children's fantasy. (I'm not about to recant The Leaky Cauldron at this late date.) I do find myself wishing Harry's final year at Hogwarts had taken a somewhat different direction. but it'd have been hard in any case for the seventh book to live up to the mighty expectations before it (although I actually found David Chase's infamous Sopranos non-ending to be a more satisfying piece of pop culture closure.) Still, the surviving characters of Deathly Hallows -- and especially J.K. Rowling -- have more than earned a happy retirement. So, so long, y'all, and here's hoping future Gryffindors are up to snuff.

"I am also still convinced that voters originally liked George W. Bush's inarticulacy: At least he didn't sound quite as smooth, and ultimately meaningless, as everyone else. Only with time did his natural-born inability to speak English begin to produce infuriating phrases of truly unique pointlessness." Slate's Anne Appelbaum surveys the sad state of political rhetoric in this country, concluding that, while "the brightest new hope for the English language is Barack Obama," "[n]o good writer, however eloquent, can possibly survive a two-year presidential campaign." I have to agree, it is pretty bad out there. The main problem, and it's no secret, is that most speeches today prize concepts over imagery. Read classic nineteenth-century political speeches today -- Lincoln's Second Inaugural, say, or Bryan's Cross of Gold -- and they're flush with vivid imagery and extended metaphors. But, be it due to video killing the oratory star, the need for shorter, quicker, soundbites, or just a general fuzziness about the basic principles undergirding contemporary legislation, most speeches today languish in abstraction and platitudes. (The work of former Dubya speechwriter Michael Gerson is a notable exception in this regard.)

"Solidarity is not discovered by reflection, but created. It is created by increasing our senstivity to the particular details of the pain and humiliation of other, unfamiliar sorts of people. Such increased sensitivity makes it more difficult to marginialize people different from ourselves by thinking, 'They do not feel as WE would,' or 'There must always be suffering, so why not let THEM suffer?'" Richard Rorty, 1931-2007.

Elijah Wood as Iggy Pop? Um, I'm not sure I see it. But, in more intriguing entertainment news, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Ewan MacGregor will team up for Othello on the London stage, as Othello and Iago respectively. That'd be great to see.

"Sexual tension is at the heart of Hopper's Room in New York, a scenario we peer at through an open window. Home from work, the man reads the sports page. Dressed to go out, the woman plays a single note on the piano, knowing it will annoy him. Their faces are almost as featureless as the blank sheet of music on the piano. Separated by the abstract expanse of the tall brown door, they are literally out of touch. But look a little closer at that fleshy pink armchair...Doesn't that pink chair look unsettlingly like a huge hand, a jutting thumb and curled fingers, ready to clutch the unsuspecting man from behind and give him a shake? Is this the woman's fantasy?"

Mount Holyoke English professor Christopher Benfey surveys "Edward Hopper's secret world" for Slate, commenting at length on a painting whose iconography I've been shamelessly pilfering for years here, at the personal site, and elsewhere. Interesting...I always felt the picture captured a state of anomie and self-inflicted loneliness more than it did sexual tension -- It's a furtive through-the-window look at two people crammed into a tiny little room in New York basically ignoring each other. Or, more to the point, the man at left, caught up in the newspaper (news, not sports!) is so distracted by the world at large that he's shut out his neglected lover at the piano: In his attention to distant events, he's missing out on the beautiful things in his own life. But, hmm, that chair...

"But reading Mansfield has real value for understanding the dominant right-wing movement in this country. Because he is an academic, and a quite intelligent one, he makes intellectually honest arguments, by which I mean that he does not disguise what he thinks in politically palatable slogans, but instead really describes the actual premises on which political beliefs are based. And that is Mansfield's value; he is a clear and honest embodiment of what the Bush movement is." Glenn Greenwald eviscerates Harvard professor Harvey Mansfield after the latter pens an op-ed for the WSJ entitled "The Case for the Strong Executive -- Under some circumstances, the Rule of Law must yield to the need for Energy." See the problem in that title? It kinda jumps out at you.

"Morgan's grasp of Nixon's place in American culture is confirmed near the play's end, when Reston endorses an opinion that one seldom hears in routine journalistic commentary but that I believe is undoubtedly true: Nixon was never rehabilitated. He never came back. Despite the pomp and fine words at his funeral, his name remained a synonym for presidential corruption and crime, and the '-gate' suffix attached to scandals ever since certified Watergate's cultural importance" Rutgers professor and author of Nixon's Shadow David Greenberg reviews Frost/Nixon for Slate.

No, Mayra Daemon, as in Mayra the Hare, because I'm apparently "modest, humble, spontaneous, inquisitive, and solitary." (Well, they got the solitary part right.) Discover your daemon at the official Golden Compass movie site, which does a decent job of trying to explain the basics of Philip Pullman's world to non-readers. (And, sorry, Mayra m'dear, but I've already got a power animal...no hard feelings.)

The 2007 Pulitzers are announced: Cormac McCarthy wins the fiction prize for The Road; Lawrence Wright's The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 takes non-fiction; Gene Roberts and Hank Klibanoff win the history prize for The Race Beat: The Press, the Civil Rights Struggle, and the Awakening of a Nation, and Debby Applegate's biography The Most Famous Man in America: The Biography of Henry Ward Beecher wins in that category. Congrats to all.

As noted here last September, Christopher Tolkien has completed one of his father's earliest works, The Children of Hurin, for publication -- It comes out tomorrow. "Already told in fragmentary form in 'The Silmarillion,' which appeared in 1977, the new book is darker than 'The Hobbit' and 'The Lord of the Rings,' for which Tolkien is best known...The story is set long before 'The Lord of the Rings' in a part of Middle-earth that was drowned before Hobbits ever appeared, and tells the tragic tale of Turin and his sister Nienor who are cursed by Morgoth, the first Dark Lord."

Update: "I came away from 'The Children of Hurin' with a renewed appreciation for the fact that Tolkien's overarching narrative is much more ambiguous in tone than is generally noticed...What sits in the foreground is that persistent Tolkienian sense that good and evil are locked in an unresolved Manichaean struggle with amorphous boundaries, and that the world is a place of sadness and loss, whose human inhabitants are most often the agents of their own destruction." Salon's Andrew O'Hehir favorably reviews Tolkien's dark new tome.

Her name is Yoshimi, she's got a black belt in karaoke...Two choice links via Webgoddess. I thought for sure this was a Slings and Arrows-type April Fool's joke at first, but no: The Flaming Lips' Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots is coming to Broadway. "There's the real world and then there's this fantastical world. This girl, the Yoshimi character, is dying of something. And these two guys are battling to come visit her in the hospital. And as one of the boyfriends envisions trying to save the girl, he enters this other dimension where Yoshimi is this Japanese warrior and the pink robots are an incarnation of her disease. It's almost like the disease has to win in order for her soul to survive. Or something like that." And, weirder still, it's apparently being written by Aaron Sorkin of The West Wing and Sports Night.

And, also via Kris, my old site The Leaky Cauldron has posted the cover art for the final Potter installment, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which you can see at right. Clean, simple, I like it.

"Faust's interpretation helps explain the way the US responded to the 9-11 terrorist attacks with a war on Iraq. 'Even a war against an enemy who had no relationship to September 11's terrorist acts would do,' she notes. People supported war not just because of the rational arguments offered by the White House, but also 'because the nation required the sense of meaning, intention, and goal-directedness, the lure of efficacy that war promises.' It was especially necessary to restore a sense of control after the terrorism of 9-11 had 'obliterated' it. The US, she concludes, 'needed the sense of agency that operates within the structure of narrative provided by war.'" In the pages of The Nation, Jon Wiener evaluates new Harvard president Drew Gilpin Faust's work on war mania.

10,000 Men of Harvard...and one woman leading the charge: According to the Crimson, author and historian Drew Gilpin Faust is set to become Larry Summers' replacement as president of Harvard, and the first female president of dear alma mater in 371 years. She's already an improvement on Summers just by showing up.

"It's hard to imagine what freshmen think when they wander into Professor Banzai's lecture hall. Weller reports that he loses a lot of students after the first class. 'They thought they were going to get the easy A from old RoboCop,' he says with a laugh." Peter Weller, Ph.D. (pending) (By way of Quiddity.)

"These examples help bring a crucial issue of plagiarism into focus. Behind the talk of originality lurks another preoccupation, less plainly voiced: a concern about the just distribution of labor." After reading Richard Posner's Little Book of Plagiarism, Slate's Meghan O'Rourke ruminates on the ethics of stealing someone's words. (Also seen at -- shamelessly plagiarized from? -- The Late Adopter.)

Old news now, but it happened while on the track: Harry Potter's final chapter gets a title: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

"Said's everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach is counterproductive. It may have swelled the ranks of subaltern studies programs and provided grist for numerous postcolonial studies Ph.D. theses, but that doesn't make his argument correct. In the end, bad books are just bad books, and when they are canonized for instrumental reasons, the result is a coarsening of thought and an ever-widening and unhealthy divide between the academy and mainstream culture." In his review of Robert Irwin's Dangerous Knowledge: Orientalism and Its Discontents, Salon's Gary Kamiya rails against the canonical status of Edward Said's Orientalism. "Said's radically skeptical position...was so abstract and chameleonic that it was impossible to disprove it, since it constantly dissolved (and hid behind) a multitude of deconstructive readings." At the risk of seeming relentlessly pre-mo, I also tend to get irritated with arguments that rely on the immutability and inescapability of an all-powerful, trans-historical discourse. But at least, unlike too many of his advocates, Said's work is relatively clear and readable. When it comes to a lot of post-colonial writing, I wonder: Is it that the subaltern cannot speak, or that nobody can hear him/her over all the jargon-riddled shouting?

"But if the list is for real, it's evidence of presidential dereliction of duty, and perhaps an outright threat to national security. Two books a week is an uphill battle for a graduate student whose responsibilities don't even include showering. For a president, who lives at work, reading and comprehending two serious books a month takes a Herculean effort." (Hey, I shower!...um, most days.) Slate's Bruce Reed discusses Dubya's newfound love for books, suggesting that his recent reading contest with Karl Rove is part of the reason why things have gone so astray of late for this president. Well, call me old-fashioned, but -- My Pet Goat notwithstanding -- I'd usually rather see Dubya with his nose in a good book than see him make any more lousy world-threatening decisions. Besides. Dubya dug himself in this hole long before 2006...some healthy book learnin' might've done him right earlier in his tenure. Hey, at the very least, he might've locked down that whole pesky Shia-Sunni thing.

So, my sister, her boyfriend, and I went to check out The Times They Are A-Changin', the new Twyla Tharp-choreographed reimagining of famous Bob Dylan songs, last Thursday (with, as a star-gazing aside, some heavy-hitters in attendance: Annie Leibowitz sat directly in front of me, and Tharp herself sat directly behind. Yes, I'm a celebrity hound.) And the verdict? Well, first let me say, that -- some early dabbling in community-theater notwithstanding -- I'm really not much of a musical guy. I tend to find the American Idol-ish histrionics of Broadway singing really distracting, and particularly when the song in question is something like "Masters of War." Nor have I seen Moving Out, Mamma Mia!, Ring of Fire, Almost Heaven or any of the other "Broadway Karaoke" shows that currently seem to be the rage, so I can't really compare it to any of the others -- I was really more interested to see some intriguing interpretations of Dylan than I was to partake in a group sing-a-long (which, thankfully, Times is not.) With all that said, I found Times to be...kinda hit-or-miss. While some of the visions here do their source material justice in memorable fashion, others fall flat or just seem ill-conceived. And, while the circus acrobatics on display are amazingly well-performed and at times mesmerizing, too many numbers slip into the same dark carnival-of-the-absurd pattern. The cast works hard, but surely, when you get down to it, there is more to Dylan's oeuvre than just aggro carny folk.

To its credit, Times samples songs from across Dylan's career, from the hoary ("The Times They-Are A Changin'," "Blowing in the Wind") to the obscure ("Man Gave Names to All the Animals," "Please, Mrs. Henry"), through the lean years ("I Believe in You," "Dignity") and up to the recent critical revival ("Not Dark Yet," "Summer Days.") Set in a traveling circus run by the vicious, heavy-handed Captain Ahrab (Thom Sesma) -- a character from one of Dylan's great American fables,"Bob Dylan's 115th Dream," not included -- the play basically centers around a love triangle among Ahrab, his son Coyote (Michael Arden), and the lady Cleo (Lisa Brescia), one of the circus performers. Through their story -- and the larger tale of a power struggle over the circus -- are refracted these thirty or so Dylan tunes, strung togther in haphazard but decently compelling fashion.

I'd like to say there's a formula for when a song works and when it doesn't, but it doesn't go over like that. One of the two best numbers, "Simple Twist of Fate" (the only cut from Blood on the Tracks here), is played basically straight. Alone in spotlight, Ahrab sings wistfully in the foreground (as seen at left) while the younger couple cavorts behind him, a haunting memory. "He woke up, the room was bare. He didn't see her anywhere. He told himself he didn't care, pushed the window open wide. Felt an emptiness inside, to which he just could not relate." The bleak, melancholic staging matches the song perfectly, and Ahrab/Sesma channels both its poetry and its pain.

But, in the other most successful number, "Mr. Tambourine Man" (a song I can usually take or leave), Tharp & co. have taken a tune that's ostensibly about a drug deal and just ran with it. Now, it's a gripping, Bergmanesque dance of death, with one of the sadder clowns (Charlie Neshyba-Hodges) holding center stage as the ensemble circles around him in black, recalling the doomed pilgrims of The Seventh Seal. Obviously, Tharp isn't the first to read "Tambourine Man" as a disquisition on mortality. ("I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade...into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it.") Nevertheless, the staging both feels innovative and cuts close to the bone of the song in surprising fashion.

There are other good moments scattered throughout the show, although few that hold their power over the course of an entire track: For example, a contortionist writhes horribly on a hospital bed during the "Dr. Filth" passage of "Desolation Row," flashlights whirl and twirl (held by people brandishing them vaguely like tusken raiders) during "Knocking on Heaven's Door", the cast memorably get their drink on for "Please, Mrs. Henry," and one clown reenacts Dylan's "Subterranean" signage during the latter half of "Like a Rolling Stone."

But, when a song's off, it's pretty off. The most obvious offenders are "The Times They Are A-Changin'," "Blowing in the Wind," and arguably "Lay, Lady, Lay," all of which are performed in a deadly earnest Broadway patter that just stop the show dead. (This is particularly unfortunate in the case of the first one, since that's how the show begins.) But, there are other problems. The bizarre welcome-to-the-carnival-of-beasties routine works well for "Desolation Row" (since, after all, "The circus is in town") and maybe even for other rousing numbers such as "Like a Rolling Stone." But, it's overdone -- in "Highway 61 Revisited," "Everything is Broken," "Gotta Serve Somebody," "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" -- to the point that the musical numbers become indistinguishable. ("Masters of War" also falls somewhat into this pattern -- I liked it better than most, but was reminded more of ABT's splendid recent revival of "The Green Table," which captured the sam