Why Does Art Affect Me?

Why do we expect art to affect us rationally? Art exists outside the realm of rationality, so why do we expect to react to it rationally? Perhaps, as rational creatures, we cling to the notion of a rational world that reveals itself to those with the patience to examine it.

But the world is not rational. Rational thought helped us move out of the trees and, eventually, let humans conquer the world. But it does not explain what drives us, any more than an understanding of the seasons helps us understand what drives the birds around us. Because they are attuned to the mechanisms of the world (if not the motivations underpinning those mechanisms), birds are free to react to the impulses of the seasons. Humans, who live in defiance of those impulses, can not understand them at any level beyond the intellectual.

". . .the hardest thing in this world… is to live in it." The line is from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but the feeling comes from the depths of human experience. If humans lived in concert with nature, then we would have never left the trees. We live in defiance of the imperatives nature imposes on us. But at what cost? Does life in opposition to the divine plan deny us any hope for a contented existence? It may be that it does. Perhaps in the next world we may come upon something that satisfies our longing, but we have no assurance of this in this life, baring the grace of divine knowledge that some of us experience.

As it happens, I have experienced the grace of divine knowledge. But it would be hubris to expect others to take my word for it. Some of the greatest saints have experienced spiritual aridity, so to expect others to take my word for the experience of divine knowledge is obviously a fool's errand. For whatever reason, I have been blessed. All I can say is this: I believe that there is something beyond what we can experience. Take that as you will.

Things that Shouldn't Be: Rock Edition

I heard from a friend of mine who went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Annex in New York over the weekend that the gift shop featured an obscenely expensive Led Zeppelin shot glass. Now consider for a moment the sordid end of John "Bonzo" Bonham, who consumed as many as forty shots of vodka the day he choked on his own vomit. Should Led Zeppelin shot glasses even exist? Obviously, no.

And yet they do. So indulge me for a moment as I try a free form writing experiment to see how long a list I can make (without research) of rock and roll memorabilia that the Hall of Fame might want to keep off its shelves:

• Sid Vicious Ginzu knives;
• Lynrd Skynrd air sickness bags;
• Janis Joplin hypodermic needles;
• Marc Bolan gear shift knobs;
• the phone number for the "Hells Angels Crowd Control Service;"
• Lou Reed's copy of the book" So You Want to Make Electronic Music;"
• The lyric sheet to the Spin Doctors' song "Cleopatra's Cat"
• Rick Wakeman ice skates;
• Jeff Buckley water wings;
• John Denver "Build It Yourself" plane kit (oh, wait, that might exist for real);
• A facsimile edition of Duane Allman's copy of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance;"

Well, that's enough for now.

In Praise of Tracy Morgan

Tracy Morgan possesses a rare gift: the ability to say with a straight face anything, no matter how ludicrous. Judging by today's comment page at hulu.com, many still do not appreciate this. But really, in today's comedy world does anyone do a better deadpan than Morgan?

I had hoped to post a link to the final sketch of last night's Saturday Night Live, where Morgan playing the director of a family film called "Rocket Dog," displays a somewhat cavalier regard for the lives of the dogs (and actors) under his charge. Hulu does not have that sketch up yet, unfortunately, so instead I will ask you to remember how much Morgan brings to 30 Rock (the link goes to last week's show; I'm thinking mostly of the bit starting at about 2:10). Like a good left tackle or a solid bass player, Morgan is so good at what he does that you don't notice what he does, but everything else would not (could not) work without his contribution.

Plus, who else can just sit passively in a chair in a shirt made out of money?

Worst Moviegoing Experiences (from Onion AV Club): Ang Lee's "Hulk"

Although I have not seen Ang Lee's "Sense and Sensibility" since 1996, I can still recall the scene where Kate Winslet stands dumbfounded at both her love's infidelity and her rival's contempt, while Emma Thompson, knowing that each second her sister stands exposed will expose her to more scorn from London's scolds, desperately whispers into Winslet's ear trying to convince her to leave the room. Lee, therefore, had won a place in my heart even before "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," so the prospect of him directing a new version of the Hulk seemed promising. So good, in fact, that I ignored a major warning sign: Lee had pointed a camera at Jewel during "Ride With the Devil" and expected her to act.

Normally, being a cheap bastard, I don't walk out of movies. I sat through many films that I detested -- "Cocoon," "National Lampoon's European Vacation," "The English Patient" and "Synecdoche, New York," to name a few. in fact, the only movie I ever walked out on was Lee's "Hulk."

Part of this was not Lee's fault. I watched the film in a very poor multiplex screening room, with odors and poor soundproofing. Moreover, someone in front of me had ignored the movie's PG-13 rating and brought in far too young a child. When the intense violence began, the kid naturally became disturbed, and the parent began aggressively disciplining the child. In a theater it is hard to tell what an adult does to a child, so I took no action. I may have erred in this, but I do not think so, and in any event this did not make for a pleasurable viewing experience.

But even aside from this, it is hard to see "Hulk" as anything but an absolute failure. All of the action in the film is predicated on someone, when confronted by a difficult choice, to use his or her imagination to find the worst possible course of action and then follow it to hell or high water. All of the major characters quickly learned that making Bruce Banner angry led nowhere good. Nevertheless, over and over again a character would decide to see what would happen if he or she provoked Banner. Surprise! Bruce turns into a green CGI blob, and watching that blob bounce through desert terrain like a Pong ball invoked as much Existential despair as anything Sartre ever wrote. Add to this Nick Nolte's horrific performance as Banner's father -- really, it looks like Lee just pointed a camera at Nolte and printed everything he said, including random bellows -- and "Hulk" becomes an indictment of one's way of life. Can one really justify one's existence if one rationally chooses to spend two hours of one's life watching such a monstrosity? So when Nolte, apropos of nothing, bellowed near the end of "Hulk," that was my cue to make for the door.

I am willing to give a pass to an artist whose work I have admired in the past over an utter failure. So I did not, thankfully, let "Hulk" keep me from seeing "Brokeback Mountain." But the experience of "Hulk" has added a certain wariness to the choices I make. The fact that this runs counter to what I ideally seek in film experiences makes "Hulk" the worst experience in movie going I have ever had.

On Listenig to Trout Mask Replica

It is amazing how art can really and truly affect you. One benefit of my job is that I can listen to music all day doing it, and for the last week or so I've listened almost exclusively to Trout Mask Replica, Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band's 1969 magnum opus. Trout Mask Replica invariably winds up on music critics' lists of the best rock albums of all time, and as a sucker for those lists it was only a matter of time before I bought a copy. At this point I don't remember if I had any expectations (although obviously the cover does lead one to certain conclusions), but learning of Frank Zappa's involvement did little to raise them. Listening to it for the first time quickly devloved into a chore. Blaring saxophones, shifting rhythms and odd time signatures -- not to mention Beefheart's, shall we say, nontraditional vocal approach -- made for quite a change from the traditional country and Southern rock I'd been listening to recently. So on the first listen I didn't get it.

But I kept at it. Obviously Beefheart designed Trout Mask Replica to be heard more than once, and its very opaqueness started to seem like a virtue. Plus I sometimes find myself revisiting works of art, culture or entertainment that do not work for me, but nevertheless have a large following. For the most part this has been unproductive (I've spent far too much of my life watching The Brady Bunch and Family Guy), but for whatever reason I could not stop listening to the record. And I still didn't get it.

Until I realized that the whole point of the album was to point out the fallacy of trying to "get" art. Trout Mask Replica indites the whole notion that artistic expression must adhere to the same logic that governs rational thought. What makes art work generally has roots outside the realm of logic, whether the artist consciously intends this or not. Beefheart deliberately draws from an extensive knowledge of different musical genres to create his dense melange, something that defies understanding but that nevertheless communicates with his audience.

And because of this work, I finally have an understanding of what modern artists of all stripes try to accomplish. To paraphrase von Clausewitz, art is continuation of communication by other means.

24 Idiocy

after watching this week’s episodes of 24 on hulu.com I must confess to a total loss of faith in the series. Let us leave aside the presence of Jon Voight -- an actor I cannot stand -- slurping Chinese food into his maw. And also ignore the mortal danger to two characters I like, Aaron Pierce and Bill Buchanan. At this point, the quickest way to get me to drop this series would be to put a bullet in Pierce’s brain (despite the fact that I do find his charge, the President’s daughter, hot enough to take the paint off the walls).

Do I really need to tell you why I find this latest plot twist so ridiculous? Suspending disbelief is one thing, but come on! We live in a world where Constitutional rights do not apply within a mile of a Vice-Presidential Candidate!!!!! I have long argued that we spend far too much money, and sacrifice far too many of our civil liberties, to protect the President’s life. No one holds a gun to the heads of Presidential aspirants, and the Constitution spells out the terms of Presidential succession well enough for the country to endure an assassination. But the shield around the President is there, and anyone who has even a casual acquaintance with the Presidency knows it is there. The producers of 24, then, do a great disservice to their audience by pretending that this attack would get anywhere near the President.