fridaysixpm
Sunday, June 30, 2002
AUSSIE HIP HOP
Friday, June 28, 2002
FOOD PIRACY
Thursday, June 27, 2002
THE THIN BLURRED LINE
Wednesday, June 26, 2002
THIS WEEK'S BUFFY ROUND-UP WITH LYN
NEIGHBOURS AND AMNESIA
Tuesday, June 25, 2002
ANOTHER VITRIOLIC OUTBURST
Monday, June 24, 2002
ON COPYLEFT
ON COPYRIGHT
Saturday, June 22, 2002
CULTURAL VULNERABILITY
MOMENT OF HORROR
Friday, June 21, 2002
WEB SCOUR
Thursday, June 20, 2002
CULTURE AND POLITICS
ON BLUE HEELERS AND TERRORISM
Wednesday, June 19, 2002
ON SEXIST ADVERTISEMENTS
ON BIG BROTHER (2)
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
ON CITIES (1)
ON VULNERABILITY AND FASHION
ON BUFFY
ON BIG BROTHER (1)
Last night I moseyed on down to Revolver to see Sydney hip hop outfit Katalyst. It was exhilirating stuff! If there's a recipe for bliss, I'm pretty sure it involves Beastie Boys basslines, a guy with a microphone and grimy chandeliers.
This epiphany came at a good time. One of the things I've always loved about rap and indie music is the sense that something innovative is always happening. Lately, though, I've been feeling uninspired by what I hear. Everything feels so...not new. The only CD I've been remotely excited by this year has been 1 Giant Leap.
The joy of Aussie hip hop is that it is new (no disrespect to people who have been involved in the scene for years). Watching it happen live, I feel like something is being created -- a fusion of American influences and Australian experiences. That "fusion" line was a Katalyst shout-out, by the way. It's not just funk.
On Tuesday, the European Court ruled that cheese can only be called Parmesan if it comes from the Italian town of Parma. (Seattle Times, Sydney Morning Herald.) Like champagne, parmesan cheese now enjoys a kind of intellectual property protection known as 'geographical indication.' Dijon mustard, Greek feta cheese -- it looks like these names may not be generic food designations, but particular links between product and place.
This trend appears to run counter to globalisation by reaffirming the importance of the specific, physical place. Perhaps there is an idea that the processes of production cannot be simply transferred from one locale to the other -- that there is something unique about Parma that cannot be replicated in Australia. As a person who gets attached to places, I find this touching. Really!
Unfortunately, I think that what is actually going on is rank commercial protectionism. The EU uses tradition as an economic weapon. I've read arguments that 'the value of traditional goods has been usurped by global brands' (GMA article) and accusations of 'the piracy of quality food names from European regions'(here).
Maybe there's an honesty and (dare I say it) authenticity in insisting that place names can only be used by manufacturers in the relevant area. But we have to be sensible about recognising those terms which have become disassociated from place and allowing them to be used freely. Manipulating tradition and nostalgia for economic ends is not something that makes me feel good.
We're all pretty cool about blurred boundaries. A TV show that's also a website and an album. The release of the Beastie Boys' country and western album. Shrinking and expanding our migration/fishing zones. But sometimes the absence of definition is still scary.
There's an art collective called blast theory who stage simulations -- in 1998, they ran a kidnap lottery and abducted a couple of consenting people for 48 hours. They're now in Sydney, planning to stage a virtual stalking game as well as some computer-generated conflict Gulf War style. Eeek!
You can see why these happenings are exciting and uber-cool for the artists. In an interview, Blast Theory talk about "the feeling of having fictional reference points for everything" and "the strength of fiction [which] comes from its ability to structure and giving meaning to events which would ordinarily seem random and meaningless."
Yeah, amen brothers. You're talking my talk. But I'm having trouble reconciling the actual simulations performed by Blast Theory and this theory of gaining stability/strength from fiction. How much structure does your life get from being stalked or kidnapped? Where's the appeal? Is it part of the desire to test our strength (a la Survivor)? A desire to experience real, though controlled, pain and fear (a la Fight Club)? A desire for drama? A desire to take real dangers and remove them to the realm of story? Sheer fascination with the dark side of humanity (a la Australia's Most Wanted)?
Scene: Wedding. For what feels like hours.
Viewer: Well at least they managed to capture the feeling of being endlessly trapped that usually accompanies a wedding.
Old Guy: Xander, I am you, fifty years from now. Remember that advertisement about joining a bank? Well, that's not what I'm here for. And stupidly, I don't give you the lotto results either. This should be a sure fire way that you should pick up on the fact that really, I'm not you. Also we're different heights, clearly have different eye colour, and have very different noses. Look into my crystal ball.
Xander: My god! You're me! and look at all the bad stuff that happens between me and Anya in the future! But just a second - a lot of this seems to have happened because Buffy dies, and I'm injured trying to save her. Why don't you show me how to save Buffy and avoid that whole scenario.
Old Guy: Um. Well. I didn't think of that. Just don't marry Anya, OK?
Xander: Oh (pause). OK.
Anya: Xander, I love you. And throughout the course of this episode I'm going to keep repeating that sentiment. And even though this should get annoying, I manage to convey the fact through such vivid, interesting and sweet expressions that it's genuinely touching and honest.
Viewer: Wow. Anya used to be really annoying. But finally, they've managed to show the side of her that Xander probably fell in love with in the first place.
Xander: You know? that's funny. Because I've picked this exact moment to decide that I don't. Love her. At least I think that's what I decide. It mostly seems to be a fear that I'll turn into my parents. So instead of destroying Anya's life by becoming an abusive husband (which I of course feel I have no power to stop), I'm going to destroy her life by leaving her, literally, at the altar. Because I'm that kind of nice guy.
Viewer: I can't even begin to express how screwed up that is, so I won't even start.
Xander: Hey, you know me, most lovable of the Scoobies . . .
Viewer: ARGH!
One of the current subplots on "Neighbours" involves the sudden onset of amnesia for Susan Kennedy -- wife, mother, school principal and long-term Ramsay St resident. Susan thinks she is 16 years old, is inexplicably terrified of her husband and does not recognise her children or friends.
I think the presentation of amnesia exposes some deep social fears. We are afraid of becoming amnesiac -- losing rationality and logic, losing our history. We are afraid of our loved ones becoming amnesiac -- of seeing blank non-recognition in the faces of those who have been crucial in defining our identities. In both cases the dream of connection between people, of community, is lost.
Ironically, as Lyn has observed, Neigbours is characterised by structural amnesia -- significant characters get written out of the show through death or disaster, and are never mentioned again.
Amnesia has been considered in a number of recent movies (The Majestic, K-Pax, Memento), and was used to title Radiohead's latest album. I think there may be a cultural moment here.
My local train station is currently dominated by a large billboard advertising the "Australian Financial Review". On the left-hand side, this ad depicts a couple of sweaty Australian/American soldiers. On the right-hand side, stark text reads thus: "What, we ask, might this trigger economically?"
The truly offensive nature of this ad has sunk in slowly for me. Now I'm appalled. The idea that the economic implications of the so-called War against Terror are the most interesting/pertinent/profound is grievously inhumane. Now, of course I realise that economic issues are inextricably bound up with human suffering in our world. But economics is not and should never become the endpoint of analysis. The questions we should be asking are these:
"What, we ask, might this trigger in terms of human suffering -- hunger, homelessness, separation from loved ones, injury and death?"
"What, we ask, might this trigger in terms of the ecological devastation wrought by bombing the shit out of an area?"
"What, we ask, might this trigger by allowing Americans to become the global arbiters of good and evil?"
The Financial Review's ad is a blatant attempt to create a sense of elitism -- those plebs might focus on guns and bombs, but we the intelligentsia look at *economics*. I would prefer to have an elite group in society that sees beyond society's insistence on economic justification.
Pursuant to the anti-copyright rant below, Tim let me know about a movement called copyleft. A copyleft is a copyright notice on a piece of software that permits unrestricted redistribution and modification, provided that all copies and derivatives retain the same permissions. That pithy definition comes from "Copyleft and the Information Renaissance." There's another good analysis of the movement at Wired, and some interesting links here.
Microsoft really hates copyleft. That's gotta be good!
I think it's fair to describe myself as anti-copyright. As we all know, information wants to be free, and the main use of copyright law these days seems to be by big corporations who squash the creativity and freedom of individuals. The recent gagging of independent radio stations in the US by exorbitant copyright fees payable to record companies is just one example.
This morning I was forced to rethink the issue a little. Oasis has caused problems for the British Army by refusing permission for their songs to be used in promotional videos. So, while Oasis are pretty unlikely moral heroes, it seems that copyright can perhaps be a sword for good as well as a shield for evil. Of course the issue of who has the financial power to enforce the law remains central.
I read the paper in "Grandma Funks" this afternoon, curled up on the vinyl counch near the window. Nothing in the newspaper engaged my attention at all. I was far more entranced by the juxtaposition of the grey sky and the furled red umbrella of an outdoor table...a tableau enhanced as night fell by the dark road and the glowing red traffic lights. It was an achingly "city" moment.
This dreamy mood has characterised my relationship with pop culture over the last few days. Rather than operating from a critical distance, I seem to be swayed by the emotional currents of events like the soccer and music like Bent's "Always".
My moment of greatest vulnerability was yesterday evening, when for the first time I accessed the live camera on the Big Brother website. Alone in my apartment, I could suddenly see the housemates and, more significantly, hear their live conversation. I was stunned by the impact of what felt like unmediated presence - familiar voices in an intimate setting. In this moment, Big Brother was not a cultural event that I found fascinating, but a source of relationship and comfort. I've been reliably informed that this makes me a Sad Freak. Certainly, it strips me of any delusions of superiority vis a vis other Big Brother fans -- we're all lapping up the illusion of friendship offered by the show.
The tension between analytical distance and emotional connection is one I'll have to manage carefully. I don't want to be reduced to academic justification of personal obsessions (a criticism occasionally levelled at my essay on the Beastie Boys). At the same time, I insist on recognising the many levels on which we relate to culture -- including emotional vulnerability.
Nintendo has produced a video game based on the disastrous 1993 U.S. raid in Somalia. The "thin line between entertainment and war" proclaimed by Rage Against the Machine appears to have disappeared altogether.
Sometimes I just have to play on the internet. It's rejuvenating...like fingerpainting, or rolling down a grassy slope. Here's some good stuff:
Legodeath, as the name suggests, uses lego to construct scenes of execution and mishap. There's something about using kids' toys to make adult points which strikes me as cheap...but still, some of the images are very funny. There's one in the snow that reminds me of Fargo.
I was also intrigued by the Donnie Darko site. I suppose it's a movie promo. Eerie mood (a la radiohead's recently-updated website).
Finally, a fabulous essay that requires more intellectual energy to understand than I have today. Even summarising it is pretty hard, so I'll let the writer's words speak for themselves: "A contrastive analysis of the subtexts of the movies Independence Day and Fight Club and of two George W. Bush's key speeches demonstrate that the choice of connecting the World Trade Center disaster with Independence Day established an ideologically conservative interpretative framework and contributed in building consensus toward the decision to wage war against Afghanistan." Right on, brother!
I finished my Blue Heelers ramble by posing a number of questions including this one: "does [television drama] relocate important questions to the safer, sanitised realm of fiction?" The phrasing of this question sits very uneasily with me. First, as a good English Lit student, I don't think fiction is a safe place. Second, as a good postmodernist, I'm not sure I recognise "fiction" as a concept anyway. Dangerous and profound things happen when we engage with our culture.
Having said that, I do believe there is a need for some issues to be addressed at the political (practical, legal, financial) level. My fear, and the point of my earlier question, is this: will our energy for confronting political issues be exhausted in the cultural medium? Will Tom Croydon's apology to a member of the Stolen Generation on Blue Heelers create a feeling among Australians that the issue has been addressed, justice has been done, and further political action is unnecessary? I don't know.
"Is it true that Arab terrorists are targeting Mt Thomas?" said the country pubowner to the country cop. Noone could accuse Blue Heelers of shying away from the big issues -- a few weeks ago it was the Stolen Generation, and last night terrorism got a guernsey.
Four Arab characters were introduced in the course of the episode. A shop-owning mother and her school-teacher daughter were the Victims of Small Town Racism. Two mysterious men "of Middle Eastern appearance" were the Potential Arab Terrorists. When a bomb goes off in a deserted farmhouse, the town is baying for blood. There's even a vigilante gang.
As it turns out, the Potential Arab Terrorists were confused visitors searching for their long lost father. The real bombmakers were those stalwarts of the Mt Thomas crime scene -- disaffected teenagers. For a twist, these teenagers were mini-Marxists ("We are the powerless underclass!") influenced by the rhetoric of an academic, absent-minded father.
Blue Heelers is the darling of middle Australia, reinforcing middle class values. This episode teaches us that racism is bad, and that teenagers need strong parental figures. Weak writing, superficial characters and predictable plots make it tempting to dismiss the show...but I'm actually inclined to cut it some slack. Hard-hitting drama it ain't, but Blue Heelers at least raises difficult contemporary issues. A for Effort.
The ongoing issue for me is the extent to which Blue Heelers is an appropriate site for negotiating the moral identity of our community. Is a television drama a catalyst for discussion? Or does it relocate important questions to the safer, sanitised realm of fiction? Which social groups control the views expressed on television, and which voices are missing? How does the structure of a one-hour drama with commercial breaks affect the way in which stories are told? I'm going to keep thinking.
And so it appears that calling something sexist just isn't a cutting edge position anymore. Mary Delahunty, Victoria's Women's Minister, has taken issue with the depiction of women in Windsor Smith's latest ads. Emma Tom, who is much cooler, dismisses the whole thing as funny. She predicts a flood of lawsuits: "'We paid $139.99 for the daggy loafers,' the statements of claim will read. 'So where are our freakin' threesomes?'"
She's very witty, of course, but I sense in her writing a reluctance to be associated with anything so passe as feminism -- particularly feminism that (a) takes itself seriously and (b) confronts the advertising machine. Are these our heresies?
I'm thinking more about editorial manipulation. See, the article I referred to yesterday was published on the official Big Brother website -- both the allegations and the denials of manipulation emanated from within the Big Brother machine. This suggests to me two things. First, the allegations were a set-up, designed to give Abbott space to defend his editing team. Second, the allegations were an effort to enhance the mystique of the show by suggesting a conspiracy theory. These apparently dichotomous rationales are both true: ultimately, BB needs viewers to have faith in the process undergirding the show, but in the absence of interesting characters/events it needs to sustain interest in the show by generating controversy.
Gazing out the window of a café this afternoon, I was struck by a sudden visual reordering. The detail of the city disappeared, and I saw it as a collage of squares and triangles.
Not a particularly original insight, I know, but it happened nonetheless and got me thinking about structure and human experience. Were those people walking outside, briefly framed by scaffolding, trapped by the rigidity of the built environment? An essay I read recently suggested that the grid-like arrangement of central Melbourne was an effort by European settlers to deal with the uncertainty of a new environment. Perhaps, then, simple shapes conceal and deny the intricate ambiguities of our lives and thus limit our understanding.
On the other hand, I think there’s a kind of energy that’s mobilised by structure. The imposition of order necessarily creates boundaries and dividing lines – the very places where the most interesting discussions occur. Hmmm.
You’d think buying a belt was a simple piece of shopping. As it happens, buying a belt is a complex mission which approaches the horror of choosing a mobile phone plan. Tassels, shine, embroidery, width, length, elasticity…my head’s still spinning (and I’m still beltless).
Anyway, while I was attempting to try on a belt in Just Jeans this afternoon I overheard an extremely upsetting conversation. An older, male shop assistant was talking over the top of the change room door to a teenage girl: “That style of jeans is always going to be tight around the thighs. It’s the fashion, and it’s really only for the skinny girls. If you want, I’ll find you a more flattering style.” Her responses grew more tentative and insecure with each of his outrageously tactless remarks.
I was angry on two counts. The first is vulnerability: a teenage girl trying on jeans has a fragile self-image and needs to be treated with extreme care. The second is the disturbingly authoritarian nature of fashion, and the didactic language used by its acolytes. “Must-have” items, the type of skirt that needs to be paired with denim jackets, the colours to wear this winter. I know there’s more to clothes than merely covering yourself - living this close to Chapel Street, how could I avoid awareness of the identity-forming dimension of fashion – but at the end of the day, wear what you want. Geez.
Inspired by The Editing Room, Lyn had this to say about last night's Buffy episode.
Buffy: epsiode whatever.
Riley (suddenly appears): hey, here I am. I am manly. Buffy, lust after me.
Buffy: hey you treated me like crap! (pause) Oh, wait. I don't really care about that anymore for some reason.
Wifebot: Hello, I'm Riley's wife. I'm totally perfect. Isn't it amazing that none of you even suspected that I was yet another robot built by
Warren?
Buffy: Nah. Characters can totally be that robotic and annoying on the show. And now I'm just going to gaze at Riley and muse over what might have been.
Spike: But I thought you liked me!
Buffy: Oh, I've stopped liking you because of this lame and totally unexplained and undeveloped plot twist, according to which you're doing something mildly nasty. But I never give you a real chance to defend yourself. And this mildly nasty thing totally rules out all the times you've saved me, and Dawn, and all of my friends in alphabetical order. Because hey - you're just evil. Eevil. Viewers, you should ignore all the signals from this show that there are actually shades of grey in Spike's personality. Evil. Move on. Nothing to see here.
Viewer: But it's more complex than that, isn't it? Or has this show seriously gotten this lame and shallow?
Joss Whedon: Huh? Oh, sorry. I've been changing the tyres on my car this whole time.
Viewer: ARGH!!!
Big Brother is not manipulative. Really. Just ask executive producer Peter Abbott, who said it was impossible to physically and technically manipulate events in the house and so the editing process could not influence public perceptions of the housemates. This is unbelievably naive or deceptive (depending on your level of cynicism). But the really scary thing? Abbott's barely concealed lust for more power over the lives of housemates.
