By David Ross. The word “neo-conservatism” suffered a wild and unfortunate distortion during the last nine years, coming to mean something like “the neo-fascist philosophy of George W. Bush and his Satanic cohort,” or even more simply, “the wicked tendency to invade other countries.”
Given this slippage of meaning, I cannot recommend highly enough Joseph Dorman’s documentary Arguing the World (1998), which provides a thoughtful and accurate account of neo-conservatism as it traces the careers of literary critic Irving Howe, political thinker Irving Kristol (father of Bill), Columbia/Harvard sociologist Daniel Bell, and Harvard sociologist Nathan Glazer. The story will be familiar to conservatives who know their own lineage: bookish, Jewish New Yorkers arrive at City College; fall under the spell of Trotsky; revolt against the murderous tyranny of Stalin; begin to qualify their leftism; cast their lot with the high modernism of Partisan Review; found Commentary; begin to take seriously the Soviet threat; increasingly recognize the perverse incentives and disincentives created by LBJ’s Great Society; recoil from the brainless nonsense of the counter-culture; begin creating the intellectual foundations of modern conservatism in a series of groundbreaking books and articles; preside over conservatism’s return to power on the back of their own ideas.
While remaining strictly neutral and objective, Arguing the World explains these weighty developments in American political and intellectual history and rescues an important tradition from cartoonish caricature.
By Jennifer Baldwin. The Boomers love making TV shows and movies about the 1960s; it fulfills their narcissistic desire to relive their own adolescence and young adulthood – and it makes their generation seem “important,” the most important generation of all. Naturally, most of these shows and movies about the turbulent 60s approach the era from the point of view of young people: teenagers, college students, the youth movement and the hippie scene.
The reason AMC’s original series Mad Men was such a sensation when it debuted four seasons ago, and what continues to make it one of the best shows on TV, is that it approaches the 1960s from a somewhat different angle. It’s the angle of men in suits, women in tasteful and elegant clothing, cocktails and business meetings – in other words, the world of grown ups. This is the 1960s from the point of view of the adults. What makes the show so brilliant is that by focusing on the adults of the era it shows where the real breakdown of society occurred in the 60s: not with the kids, but with their parents.
Kids will always rebel, in any era, in any time period. It’s part of our adolescent development to test boundaries and question our world. But it’s up to the adults in a society to maintain civilization in the face of this adolescent upheaval. Where the 60s went wrong – where the rot set in – wasn’t that the youth started tuning out and turning on, it’s that the adults did as well.
At the end of the third season, there was quite a lot of upheaval in the adult world of Don Draper (Jon Hamm) and his cohorts: JFK was assassinated; Betty (January Jones) went to Reno to divorce Don and remarry Rockefeller Republican Henry Francis (Christopher Stanley); British firm Putnam Powell and Lowe were preparing to sell Sterling Cooper; and in perhaps the most exhilarating finale of the show’s entire run, Don, Roger (John Slattery), Bert Cooper (Robert Morse), and English newcomer Lane Pryce (Jared Harris) all joined forces and left Sterling Cooper to form their own advertising agency (Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce) – taking Peggy (Elisabeth Moss), Pete (Vincent Kartheiser), Joan (Christina Hendricks), and Harry (Rich Sommer) along with them.
Season three ended with the show going through such a radical change that fans have been anxiously waiting to see just where things would pick up in season four. Would Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Pryce still be in existence and would they be successful? Would Betty finalize her divorce and marry Henry? Would Don be happy in his new role as bachelor and big shot creative director and face of the company at his new “scrappy underdog” agency?
In the season four premiere, “Public Relations,” Matt Weiner has jumped ahead one year in the story – to Thanksgiving, 1964 – and the changes we witnessed in the last episode of season three are now in full bloom. Weiner doesn’t reset anything. Don is living the bachelor life; Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce is now an established agency (though not without the headaches and anxieties of being a small upstart); Betty is remarried to Henry Francis; and Don Draper is faced with a new professional challenge: promoting himself.
In the past, Draper has always emphasized that the goal of advertising is, first and foremost, to sell the product. An ad may be cute or clever, but if it doesn’t sell the product, it’s worthless.
Now in season four, Don is confronted with a new paradigm. He’s not just selling other people’s products; he must sell himself. It’s an uncomfortable role for a man who has stolen another man’s name, a man who has spent most of his adult life constructing a new identity for himself. As we open the episode, a reporter for Advertising Age is interviewing Don, asking him, “Who is Don Draper?” Don can’t/won’t answer that question. He says he’s from the Midwest where he was taught that it wasn’t polite to talk about oneself. Don’s trying to be modest, to remain the man behind the scenes who is just doing his job.
But when the article comes out mid-way through the episode, the reporter has mistaken Don’s modesty for aloofness, his humility and professionalism for coldness and mystery – and mystery is a killer for someone who is trying to be a salesman. It’s a huge misstep for Don, because as Roger and others point out, Don is the agency’s biggest asset – he needs to sell himself to the world in order for Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce to get more business.
The thematic counterpoint to this storyline is the plot with the Jentzen bathing suit executives, who make two-piece bathing suits (not “bikinis,” as the prudish executives are always pointing out) and who want to sell their suits without resorting to salacious sexiness the way their bikini-making competitors do. Again, the theme here is modesty. Whether it’s modesty in dress or modesty in terms of humility, this first episode is drawing a contrast between the traditional way of thinking and the new, more “authentic” way of thinking. The world is becoming more sensationalized, more in your face. It’s about not holding back anymore when it comes to your wants and desires. It’s about, as Don puts it to the Jentzen men, “would you rather be comfortable and dead, or risky and possibly rich?” In other words, standards, decorum, modesty – these are the things which must be sacrificed in order to stand out in the world, and standing out in the world is what will get people’s attention, and getting people’s attention is the key to success. Continue reading Mad Men Season Four Premiere: “Public Relations”
By Patricia Ducey. Kisses, a 2008 Irish film and favorite at many important festivals, is now in wider release throughout the US this summer. [See the trailer below.] Writer/director Lance Daly spins a tale of two abused Irish kids from the unfashionable outskirts of Dublin who run away from home to find freedom from family strife. No leprechauns or legends in this Ireland – the film takes place in a modern, industrialized Ireland, chockablock with rusting warehouses, traffic jams, and pop culture references. Daly, after a few preview screenings in the US, has wisely provided subtitles to aid the American ear in decoding the Irish patois. [I implore other filmmakers whose films are not in spoken American English to do the same. I’m talking to you, Sarah Gavron.]
The Irish Film Board, Bord Scannán na hÉireann, which has been financing and promoting the national cinema of Ireland since the 1990s, helped finance Kisses. What is the “national” cinema of Ireland, though, in actuality? Films written or produced by Irish persons, or films about Ireland? Or some permutation of both? Irish filmmakers have borrowed from early American films, like the docudrama Man of Aran or the romanticized The Quiet Man, and vice versa. I spent some time in Ireland in the ’90s, when the Board first starting supporting these films – I was researching my thesis on this subject – and came to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a purely national cinema. But times were good in Ireland then, and the Board plowed ahead. Irish moviegoers, though, voted with their feet and many of these board-supported films ended up, oddly, being shown in art houses in Ireland – while the likes of Mrs. Doubtfire drew the crowds near Grafton Street. Whether it is smart for any government to support the arts is debatable – just look at the bidding war over tax incentives for movie production here in the US – but such a debate has begun in Ireland due to the now faltering Irish economy.
Young Shane Curry in "Kisses."
The truth is that film and narrative have always been ‘globalized’ and Kisses is no exception. The two runaways, Kylie and Dylan, live in a neighborhood Antoine Doinel would feel at home in. The runaways cadge a ride down the canal ala Huck Finn, courtesy of a Russian émigré boatman who introduces the kids to Dylan’s namesake – Jewish/Christian American folk rocker Bob Dylan – with his impromptu rendition of “Shelter From the Storm.” And later Dylan learns a lesson about the give and take of love from a Jamaican prostitute eking out a living in Dublin.
Dylan and Kylie’s world, though, is a drab working class Ireland. The two families live in comfortable enough homes, but Dylan’s father, a handsome guy, drinks and bullies, while Kylie’s uncle fools everyone in the family except her – she knows from bitter experience what he really is. Both Dylan and Kylie reach the end of their respective ropes on Christmas Day; one battle royale, one unwanted advance too many, and they are off, with Kylie egging Dylan on to make a run for it. They hop a river barge to the city, and the adventure begins – for good and ill.
The cinematography is lovely. Daly shoots the opening scenes of the housing development in bleak black and white, and lets the color slowly seep into the frame as the kids and the boatman get farther and farther away from home (a nod to The Wizard of Oz? Again, the cross-pollination of film). The two child stars, real Dublin kids Kelly O’Neill as Kylie (a Drew Barrymore look-alike) and Shane Curry as Dylan, shine as newcomers. Daly draws joyous and heartbreaking performances from both of them, without the wise-assery or precociousness we see in so many preteen stories. I wished that perhaps Kylie was a little less heroic a heroine, but that’s a minor quibble.
If you liked a recent Irish film Once, you will like Kisses. Kisses is the anti-Inception. It is small and slight but you won’t forget it – just like your first kiss.
Before I tell you how deliciously pleasurable and cathartic Salt is, before I begin to gush in embarrassing ways over Angelina Jolie’s pouty lips and high cheekbones – and how sexy she looks decked out in a Russian fur hat (I’m buying one for Govindini immediately; every beautiful woman should have one) – I need to let you in on a few things that may shock you. So here we go:
The premise of the new Angelina Jolie/Phillip Noyce action-thriller Salt is that the United States has been massively penetrated by Cold War-era Soviet communist sleeper agents, who even in exile from contemporary Russia are dead set on America’s destruction. These agents are nasty, dangerous, and out to get every one of us. They hide out in the open, but also in upper echelons of power – where they wait patiently to strike. And there are a helluva lot of them, far too many for our otherwise overloaded intelligence bureaucracies to handle.
A dangerous woman on the run.
How dangerous are these sleeper agents? For starters, their first successful operation – as we are informed by way of flashback – was nothing less than the killing of President Kennedy by Lee Harvey Oswald, who (and here Salt’s fictional story dovetails nicely with actual history) spent several years living in the Soviet Union before returning to his life as an underworld drifter in New Orleans. And now our nation is flooded with such men – cold, calculating, highly effective killers trained to strike on command and plunge America into its final, richly-deserved (from the communist perspective) apocalypse.
Oh, and by the way – one of them might be Angelina Jolie. [I knew those lips were too good to be true!]
Does this premise surprise you? It certainly surprised me, because Hollywood hasn’t been telling stories like this since the 1980’s. But in point of fact, I don’t even recall films with this sort of premise appearing in the 80’s! And it’s for this reason that Jolie, Noyce and producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura deserve a lot of credit for bringing this taut, intelligent and politically incorrect thriller to the screen right now, when – ironically – we would seem to need it the most.
I’d like to tell you more about the plot of this film, actually, and take you through every suspenseful twist and turn, but that would spoil the fun when you see it – and really you should see Salt. Because months before Red Dawn is released, months before Mao’s Last Dancer hits theaters – and even, frankly, with an otherwise commendable film like the French Cold War thriller Farewell in theaters right now – Salt is the dealbreaker for me that suggests that Hollywood is not as irretrievably left-liberal-progressive as we’ve been led to believe. It can’t be, at least not any longer; there is simply no way this film could’ve been made, were it so. The sense I have is that a fight is underway in the industry right now, that our national narrative is up for grabs. Maybe it’s backlash against Obama causing this. Maybe it’s too many years of bad movies belittling the war on terror. Who knows? [Plus, there’s also the issue of Jolie’s father, noted Tea Partier Jon Voight. Is some of the old man’s craggy wisdom finally rubbing off on his formerly estranged daughter?]
Good girls wear black.
In any case, Salt really helps matters right now, provided that you’re oriented toward liberty. Salt won’t take back Avatar or a lot of other nonsense that the industry has been dishing out, but it definitely is a shot in the arm. All you really need to know about Salt‘s storyline is this: the film has two major cathartic moments in it, both of which revolve around Angelina Jolie terminating communist agents. And if that doesn’t get your freedom-loving blood flowing, you’re insensate [Or, alternately, you’re one of those well-tailored, narcotized characters in a Christopher Nolan film.]
Salt sets up a situation in which C.I.A. agent Angelina Jolie may be a Soviet sleeper agent. For quite a while we don’t know – indeed, we’re not even sure she knows, a la Bourne. Outwardly, she appears to be a highly effective C.I.A. field operative. We first get to see her in the midst of a harrowing, torture-filled captivity by the North Koreans (the North Koreans wisely keep her in lingerie, however), before she’s released by way of a spy transfer; listen in this sequence, by the way, for the film’s nice potshot at Kim Jong Il. Once back in the States, Jolie just wants to settle down with her nerdy, German entomologist husband and retire upward to a desk job.
Jolie married to a nerdy German entomologist. Holding down a desk job. I know – I laughed, too.
But events won’t let her settle down, of course, because in through the C.I.A.’s door (literally) walks a Soviet agent with a story to tell – a story about a secret communist operation, dating back decades, to train a generation of super-spies to infiltrate the West. These agents are trained to remain undercover, to adopt Western ways (in Jolie’s case, this obviously includes looking fabulous in a pant suit), and to then strike at the opportune moment. Continue reading Jolie vs. The Communists; LFM Reviews Salt
David Soul (left) with Fred Ward as Ronald Reagan in "Farewell."
By Joe Bendel. Instead of the man who knew too much, he was the spy who knew everything. Codenamed “Farewell” by the French, Colonel Vladimir Vetrov was charged with reviewing the intelligence the KGB gathered on the free world—every speck of it, including the extent to which each western intelligence agency had been compromised. He also knew the Soviet government had failed to live up to its promises. President Ronald Reagan called the resulting L’Affaire Farewell: “one of the most important espionage cases of the 20th century.” It also inspired Christian Carion’s espionage drama Farewell (trailer below), which opens in Los Angeles and New York this Friday night.
Like the real-life Vetrov on whom he is based, Colonel Grigoriev was once stationed in Paris, where he rebuffed the advances of the French and American intelligence services. However, by 1981, the Colonel had come to the conclusion the Soviet Union needed drastic reform – so he approached the DST, the French equivalent of the FBI (the only western intelligence agency the KGB had not bothered to infiltrate) through Pierre, a French businessman with no formal involvement in the world of espionage.
Out of his element, Pierre wants to extricate himself from the affair as soon as possible, but Grigoriev insists on dealing only with him, considering the professionals untrustworthy. Partly in recognition of the value of Grigoriev’s intel and partly out of a sense of budding friendship, Pierre becomes the Colonel’s amateur handler, passing a wealth of information on to the DST.
While Pierre and Grigoriev meet in parks and train stations, another alliance in being forged between President Reagan and Mitterrand, France’s newly elected socialist prime minister. The President is less than thrilled at the prospect of Communist ministers in the new French cabinet, but Mitterrand has an olive branch to offer: “Farewell.”
Farewell’s portrayal of these influential world leaders is quite fascinating and surprisingly even-handed. Philippe Magnan’s Mitterrand is intelligent but aloof, coming across like more than a bit of a cold fish. Refreshingly, Pres. Reagan is not depicted as a doddering bumbler, but as an engaged and commanding leader. Yes, there are scenes of Reagan using classic film as a metaphor with his National Security Advisor (played by an almost unrecognizable David Soul), but never in way that calls his judgment into question.
Yet, there is something about Reagan’s distinct mannerisms that are hard to emulate without lapsing into caricature. American actor Fred Ward takes a good shot, but he still sounds more like a Saturday Night Live impersonation than a real flesh and blood individual. Frankly, Ronald Reagan remains such a commanding presence in the national consciousness it makes any dramatic representation problematic.
Not too friendly: Vselovod Shilovsky as Gorbachev in "Farewell."
Fortunately, Farewell’s primary leads are uniformly excellent. Though he looks appropriately rumpled, Emir Kusturica plays Grigoriev sharp as a tack, keenly aware of his own personal contradictions. As Pierre, Guillaume Canet’s performance is also smart and understated, avoiding the headshaking “what-did-I-get-myself-into” histrionics. As a result, viewers believe the unqualified trust Grigoriev places in him.
Technically well produced, cinematographer Walther Vanden Ende and designer Jean-Michel Simonet effectively capture the oppressive drabness of the Brezhnev era. Yet ideologically, Farewell resists easy classification. While it certainly conveys the repressive and corrupt nature of Soviet Communism, the film sometimes suggests a John Le Carre-like equivalency, at least between the rival spy masters. However, the shrewd conclusion again challenges the audience’s conceptions of faith and loyalty, within the context of the preceding “L’Affaire Farewell.”
Considering how long it has been since a brainy spy film sneaked into theaters, Farewell is quite welcome indeed. Featuring two compelling lead performances and a meaty story that intrigues on several levels, it is an engrossing film. It also might be the fairest shake Pres. Reagan has gotten on screen since his inauguration in 1981, ironically coming by way of France. Definitely recommended, Farewell opens Friday (7/23) in both Los Angeles and New York, expanding to other cities the following week.
From the 1995 BBC version of "Pride and Prejudice."
By David Ross. I have previously commented on film’s mismanagement of the lives of authors (see here). Film does somewhat better with the works of authors, and indeed regularly eclipses its source texts. Who recalls that The African Queen was a 1935 novel by C.S. Forrester? Or that Rear Window began as a 1942 short story by one Cornell Woolrich (1903-1968), a second-tier crime novelist in the Hammett/Chandler mode? Or that Vertigo was a 1954 novel by Pierre Boileau and Pierre Ayraud, writing under the pen name “Boileau-Narcejac”? Or that Psycho was a 1959 novel by Robert Bloch?
Jennifer Ehle as the perfect Elizabeth Bennett.
Upstart movies supplant even relatively good novels. Stanislaw Lem’s Solaris, Larry McMurtry’s The Last Picture Show, Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, and Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001 come to mind. Between them, James Ivory and David Lean gave E.M. Forster a run for his money no less than four times. Poor James M. Cain, a gritty crime novelist of no mean talent, gave film a bountiful gift of storylines and wound up rendering his own works nearly irrelevant. Double Indemnity (1944), Mildred Pierce (1945), and The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) were all adaptations of his largely forgotten novels. Even Ernest Hemingway has been outdone. Howard Hawks’ To Have and Have Not (1944) – the first film to pair Bogart and Bacall – turned Hemingway’s mediocre novel of 1937 into a kind of Caribbean Casablanca. As far as I know, nobody has read Hemingway’s novel since. Hemingway himself hated the novel, so we can hardly blame ourselves for ignoring it.
Truly great literature is typically too dense, intricate, linguistic, and interior to be anything but a celluloid fiasco. Melville, Dickens, Tolstoy, Joyce – they’ve all been made ridiculous by directors who believed they were up to the challenge of world-historical storytelling. Orson Welles tried to match wits with Kafka’s Trial (1962), but even he should have known better. Martin Scorsese brought the eye of a Dutch master to the period detail of Edith Wharton’s Age of Innocence (1993), but in the end his film is undone per Hollywood formula: too much eye candy (Michelle Pfeiffer and Winona Ryder), not enough theatrical competence. John Woo, best known for realizing that tough guys look twice as cool with a gun in each hand, recently tried to bring the greatest of all Chinese novels, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, to the big screen. The resulting epic, Red Cliff, crams several thousand pages into three hours of film, a good two hours of which are devoted to shots of arrows whizzing in thick bunches. Those training to be Olympic archers will love it; students of Chinese literature not so much.
Lyme Park, Cheshire.
The only major author to emerge smelling something like roses is Jane Austen. While no film is likely to rival her novels, which may be the greatest – and are certainly the most charming – ever written, the BBC’s 1995 miniseries is a marvelous effort, perhaps the most faithful adaptation of a canonical literary work in the history of film. Jennifer Ehle (a North Carolinian no less) is the perfect Elizabeth Bennett. She shifts with liquid ease between sense and sensibility without upsetting the comfortable equilibrium of Elizabeth’s personality. This is indeed the trick: Elizabeth must be dual without being divided; her different sides must be integrated and seamless; she must be both things at once. In terms of craft, Ehle, who was then twenty-six, throws looks like some character actress of the 1930s cannily drawing on the stage experience of six decades. Her every shift of expression has logic and purpose; this is not method acting, but something like sculptural creation, each gesture like the tap of the chisel. It’s a testament to Ehle’s performance that her looks grow upon us just as they are supposed to grow upon Mr. Darcy. We begin by overlooking her unassuming loveliness; by the end, her dark ringlets and mischievous smile have thoroughly captured our attention. If there is a quibble to be made, it’s only that Ehle is likely to invade our mind’s eye next time we read Pride and Prejudice. Continue reading Pride and Prejudice: 1995 vs. 2005
