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Archive for April 24th, 2009

owen! video!

with one comment

I showed up too late to see this, for reasons mentioned two posts above….  Wish the person who posted this would put the rest online for us all to see!

Written by adswithoutproducts

April 24, 2009 at 11:57 pm

Posted in modernism

nostalgie de la boue

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Notes for a future post or more:

From an article by Iain Sinclair on films set in the East End in today’s Guardian:

But these films are not just memory devices to fix a period, or an excuse for nostalgic revivals. They are an important element in forging a mythology of place. One of the significant local traditions is of the established outsider travelling east with missionary zeal, like a pioneer into the wilderness. Robert Hamer, most celebrated for Kind Hearts and Coronets, was certainly a film industry toff. (Less so than Anthony Asquith, son of a Liberal prime minister. More so than David Lean, who rose from the non-commissioned status of the cutting-room.) Hamer’s East End invasion of a place that was never quite there, for It Always Rains on Sunday, was a marker for much that followed.

Hamer garnished social realist material from a novel by Arthur La Bern (whose later work, Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square, became the vehicle for Hitchcock’s London return, Frenzy). The tone is relentlessly downbeat, morbid: without the incessant rain, necks would remain unwashed. Mean English streets are photographed by Douglas Slocombe with the melancholy lyricism of Marcel Carné or Renoir’s La Bête Humaine. Backlit smoke. A poetry you can smell: hot tar, bacon, cabbage, tobacco, wet dogs, armpits. Real places glorying in defiant entropy: rail yards, markets, mortuary pubs, tight backyards with Anderson shelters and rabbit hutches. Slocombe goes on, in terms of this London project, to work with Joseph Losey on The Servant: and thereby to connect with Dirk Bogarde (former bit-part delinquent) and Harold Pinter. Pinter attended the same school as Alexander Baron and Roland Camberton, those forgotten realists. Although his play The Caretaker was based on a glimpse into a Chiswick room, he returned, with director Clive Donner, to shoot the film version on his old turf: a house alongside the snow-covered Hackney Downs.

I’ve bolded the bit that I’m most interested in, and even more specifically, I’m really interested in the phrase defiant entropy.

It seems to me that there are a few options for how we play this defiant entropy, and not to give the game away (these are only notes), I’m not sure that any of them are truly convincing when thought into for more than a few minutes.

  1. The entropy is defiant because it marks a sort of decerteauvian resistance to municipal order, to instrumental rationalization, to gentrification. Street life vs. the redevelopment plan, the lived tactical vs. the cost-tested strategic. (But how do rail yards fit into this picture? And how do we know, for sure, the difference between defiance and abjection?)
  2. The entropy is defiant because it is ugly in a world that is supposed to be pretty. The world wants Costa Coffee and All Bar One, not mortuary pubs and markets. (But we certainly don’t think it’s really ugly, do we? Thus the article, thus our fascination and Sinclair’s… and the developers’…)
  3. The entropy is defiant because it is more real than other things. Blueglass flats being craned to life back behind Kings Cross are not real; urban squalor is real. (What slippery ground we are on when we play this game out, the game of the really real…)

There are other options, of course, and perhaps the three above are all one reason spread out and rephrased a bit, but let’s just leave it there for a second. In short, I worry a bit about the aesthetic fetishization of squalor. It has all the marks of a well-fed decadence, the likes of which we’ve seen before, we’ve seen recur at certain moments for a hundred years or more. I am wondering, in the end, whether we’re right about the defiance that we’ve attributed to urban entropy, squalor, and the like. Wouldn’t Sinclair’s sentence make as much sense if it read, say, Real places notable for their abject squalor. How, exactly, are they “glorying” – other than in Sinclair’s appropriative retransmission?

It’s a real question – and, of course, an old question – and I’d like to hear what you think. I love these things and places too, perhaps more than I should, and I just worry a bit about my love for them. Maybe, I think, everything should be bright glass boxes and intermodal transport links, maybe everyone should drink in a nice place and not a mortuary pub, if they want to anyway.

Sorry. Tired. Notes for Future Post, as I said….

Written by adswithoutproducts

April 24, 2009 at 10:59 pm

Posted in aesthetics, london

number two

with 5 comments

Ah, well she’s here and everyone’s healthy. Some things went smoothly and others distinctly didn’t, which amounted to a stressful series of days (when did all this start? Monday…. And now it’s Friday night, and only now we’re all home…), the sort of days that take months off the end of your life, but now it’s done.

My now-less-limited experience of the NHS suggests that it kicks the living shit out of what you’re provisioned, even with good insurance, back home. Efficiency, rationing, and triage are one thing, but profit has no place in the realm of healing and birthing. (It’s not really me, and it might sound a bit dunno, but I’m actually thinking about launching a wee malpractice suit against a certain hospital in Brooklyn. Pretty angry, I am. It’s not nice to hear about the clear evidence of past medical miscues – miscues that are retrospectively obvious now –  from an NHS surgeon as your wife’s dripping pints of blood off of an operating table, a few hours after delivery… But the truth of the matter is, and all of you Americans have seen this, that there are so many disincentives for medical practitioners in the US to go looking for possible problems – paperwork, won’t get to go on the next Blue Cross sponsored golf weekend in Hilton Head, better money in one thing rather than another – that it’s a wonder anything is ever caught and fixed at all…)

Anyway, today, back from home with a car seat (which we didn’t end up using, the taxi driver was non-plussed by the idea of installing it) and riding the elevator up to the room, someone who was a grandmother saw what I was carrying and said, Ah, lucky. You’re taking yours home today. I’m not. Mine’s in the ICU. Mine’s three months early. But mine’s a fighter.

That’s the thing about cliched speech, speech that traffics in what they’d say if they were saying this not in real life but on television, bad television. But mine’s a fighter. I won’t say what the thing is, but I’m guessing you know. I had nothing to say back so I said, Good luck, good luck, I’m sure it’ll all be fine. And then she left the lift, a floor before mine. It was straight out of a handbook for writing the scene, she was straight out of central casting, and so was I. Wonder how it’ll end for her and hers.

I’ll be getting to the accrued comments over the next few days. Jinxing myself a bit, but Christ is it easier the second time around. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Sorry for a rough, self-centered post – had to do this one, on to other things soon, perhaps in minutes.

Written by adswithoutproducts

April 24, 2009 at 10:21 pm

Posted in me