One of the most arresting art shows I have been privy too in the last year was without a doubt The Parade by Nathalie Djurberg which I saw at the New Museum down in the Bowery in New York.
The show consists of a mix of eighty-two bird sculptures, composed from painted canvas, wire, and clay materials, which accompany five videos interspersed throughout the exhibit. The videos feature nightmarish claymation shorts. Entering into the show is initially unsettling, although the group of bird sculptures are colourful and grand in design, the sheer volume is intimidating. As you journey through the show, you feel you are being stalked, as if you have been selected as prey.
We are guided by the overseeing birds to each film, each a provocative document of the human condition. Greed; violence; the exotic, unknown other; all culminates in a staggering final short, "The Parade of Rituals and Stereotypes," depicting the grotesque dominance of prejudice; of the racial, gender, and religious capacity. One of the figures literally "irons out" another, eradicating the person's right to freedom. An evocative show that demands analysis, themes that we assume have been previously dealt with at length are spectacularly readdressed by Djurberg. She herself has said:
"In the sculptures, Ms. Djurberg said, “I’m trying to show how birds are always trying to get the upper hand” with one another, as evidenced by aggressive expressions and combative poses. The films, which are at times quite violent, with clay figures being mutilated and oozing luridly colored blood, address more “hidden emotions, things that we don’t let out,” she said."
These hidden emotions equate to the upheaval that the 20th century brought with. Although an impressive and successful progress has occurred in terms of civil rights movements, Djurberg's show appears to allude to the suppressed hangover society society still harbor. The monstrous clay figure seem to insinuate that a Jekyll and Hyde quality still exists beneath the remnants of progress.
I feel quite ashamed of the amount of books I read this year. Hmm... more like the amount of books I didn't read.... There were a few left unfinished, Anna Karenina, Lolita, and American Psycho, I'm coming for you! Also, can Anna Karenina taking up two months of reading time be my excuse for the paltry list below? Yes? Right, onward.
By Nightfall, Michael Cunningham
Honestly, I am not exactly sure when I read this, whether it was December or January, but considering I didn't start reading the following entry until February, I'm going to guess By Nightfall was my initial read of 2012.
Cunningham is a beautiful writer, and paints a stunning narrative about a Manhattan art-buyer Peter and his wife Rebecca. Peter is already facing into existential mid-life crisis territory when Rebecca's troubled brother "Mizzy" shows up and further exacerbates tensions.
An addictive read from the author of The Hours. Never has anyone managed to make such narcissistic characters so sympathetic.
The Killer Inside Me, Jim Thompson
My curiosity was struck for this novel when the eponymous film was released to much controversy a couple of years ago. It's funny what the public accept through prose, but freak out about on film, but I digress....
I still have yet to see the film, but the book was thoroughly engaging. I wouldn't say it is any literary masterpiece, but it is uniquely effective in delving into the mind of psychopath; not just merely seeing things from his perspective, but we witness the constant negotiations our protagonist engages with himself; wrestling between his sadistic desires and conscience guilt.
Death in Spring, Merce Rodoreda
Rodoreda's novel is a feast for the senses. It is lush in imagery, allegory, and symbolism. Our protagonist is a fourteen-year-old boy, whom we meet when he watches his father commit suicide. This traumatic opening sets the tone of the novel, one filled with descriptions of the rituals and superstitions that pervade the life of this teen and the village he lives in. Through his eyes we see those who grapple with these limitations that subsequent these rules, and even those who rebel against, and the consequences they suffer.
It's traumatic, terrifying, and emotional, but quite possibly one of the most gorgeous narratives I have ever read, and this is just the translation, just think how beautiful the original Catalan script could be. Highly recommended.
Lady Chatterley's Lover, D. H. Lawrence
Ahm, dare I say this was anti-climatic?
Published in 1928, this is a revolutionary novel in many ways, and faced years of censorship. It even managed to play a role in the American sexual revolution, as referred to in Mad Men that one time when Peggy is still an innocent lost soul.
Lady Chatterley is lost in an unfulfilled marriage. Themes of class, love, and sexuality (obviously) filter throughout the novel.
I guess what disappointed me was the heroine, I didn't expect her to be quite so selfish, obviously she goes through quite a development and become more grounded, but by then the fairy tale ending is of course out of her grasp.
I don't know, overall I was just underwhelmed, as can happen when one reads a cult literary classic I suppose.
Then Again, Diane Keaton
If you want to laugh, cry, and appreciate your parents to no end, then Then Again is the read for you!
Keaton takes us on a lyrical, journey of her life, an undertaking that itself was inspired by the actress's discovery of her own mother's journals.
It's just poignant and refreshing because it has none of the self-serving narcissism you would expect from a Hollywood biography. It's very much to do with who she is as a person and where she has come from. Keaton is a very self aware individual who lives beyond the glamour of her industry, and seeks clarity from the choices she has made. This book is very gratifying and will indeed make you reassess your own life choices.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Tennessee Williams
I guess this technically shouldn't be on the list, not a novel, but, I read the extended version, with the alternate original ending that Williams wanted to be staged. It was far more bleak and abstract and would have been staggering on stage I am sure.
2013 will hopefully bring me to finally watching the film now....
Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, Mindy Kahling
This is the kind of book that makes me re-evaluate what the fuck I am doing with my life. When Kahling was my age she had already achieved so much professionally, and has only continued on to do more amazing things. She was the only female writer during the first series of The Office, and now she writes and stars in her own show. I'm not saying I want to be a "star" of anything, but her ambition is staggering and admirable. And her memoir proves that, as well as that she's humble and hilarious to boot.
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
Back in July I headed to New York, and post-seven hour transatlantic flight I was dying to escape the sorrowful dilemmas in Anna Karenina. My sisterly encouraged me to read Fahrenheit 451, and quite frankly I think she may have been offended that I hadn't already.
It's a dystopian treat for all you masochists out there. A criticism of censorship and dictatorship alike, the novel takes place in a world where books have been banned. Reading is regarded as anarchistic. Fire men no longer stop fires, but rather start them. They are out to punish those who dare stash books under the floor boards, hiding above light fixtures...
Guy Montag is a fireman, we meet him as he himself experiences a moral turning point. Is one man enough to overturn the misconception that society has forced onto literature?
An addictive and evocative read.
Cherish your books children.
Also, avoid the film at all costs.
Valley of the Dolls, Jacqueline Susann
One of the highlights of the year, I happened to be in New York City when I read this, feeling as if I was journeying along with the Dolls, through the Upper East Side, Midtown, and the like. Fortunately I didn't yield the same dependence on men and pills as they did. But never say never I guess.
Anne, Jennifer, and Neely start out as plucky young women who arrive in New York with aspirations, some modest, in Anne's case, some excessive, in Neely's showbiz-obsessed mind.
Life in the big city soon reveals itself to not be as simple as first presumed. When pressures get to much Jennifer turns to her "little dolls" to help her cope and achieve her dreams. This is a decision treacherous for all three woman, and leads to a life of unrelenting misery.
Frustratingly brilliant depiction of women on the wrong side of the feminine revolution.
Talking to Girls about Duran Duran, Rob Sheffield
Sheffield's first novel, Love is a Mixtape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time, weaved an endearing tapestry charting his relationship with his first wife through their shared appreciation of music, specifically through the lost art of the mixtape, and the symbolism that encapsulates. Love is a Mixtape was decidedly poignant because we are aware of the inevitable, Renee's death.
Talking to Girls about Duran Duran is a more light-hearted affair, and thoroughly charming in the process. Sheffield wields an incredible talent of utilizing music to evoke a period in his life and the emotions surrounding that.
Deliriously nostalgic, Sheffield is a candid writer who brings out the feels.
In Zanesville, Jo Ann Beard
I bought this on a whim in The Strand (like I do with most of my purchases in The Strand, the employees there have such impeccable taste). Having never heard of the author, or the book, I wasn't sure what to expect but the plot intrigued me enough to indulge.
It's a book about that contentious time in a teenager's life. You are no longer a child, but you are certainly not an adult yet. In Zanesville poises many questions, some of which many of us can relate to surely. What do you do when your best friend in the whole world, your beacon of safety, suddenly seems aloof? When you have no one on the outside to turn to, where does one turn when the home situation is so precarious?
We don't learn the name of our protagonist, perhaps Beard wanted this to be a novel of self-reflection for the reader. We all went through the same tumultuous time when hormones made surfacing to the day difficult, so there is undoubtedly something here for everyone.
A coming of age tale with a curious sense of doom throughout.
Geek Love, Katherine Dunn
A stunningly complex book about a unique family of unique talents. The Binewski clan are the head of a travelling circus. The patriarch and matriarch, Al and Lil, devise a plan to create their own little circus freaks. Throughout each pregnancy, Lil is willingly subjected to drug taking and radioactive elements in the hopes that at the end of gestation, they'll have a masterpiece befit for a circus. Given how the children come to be, Geek Love is a tale of family with some seriously sinister undertones. Their's is a love they that warns against the dangerous of dependency. Olympia (Oly) is our main narrative voice. The story switches between two periods of time, building towards two equally consuming crescendos.
The highest honour of the year goes to Geek Love, book of the year, wish I had heard of this 1989 publication a long time ago.
Stephen Fry in America, Stephen Fry
Listen, Stephen Fry can do no wrong. Even though he's the smartest person any of us know, as he travels across the United States he is graciously humble and honest. He admits the preconceptions he had about various aspects of American culture, and is respectfully remorseful over then.
The book is entertaining, and isn't simply a feast on tourist attractions. In the prologue he alludes to the fact that America cannot simply be painted with one brush, that every state is like its own country which holds its own culture. His journey of epic proportions proves this, and most states (bar a couple unfortunately) have been given the utmost attention in the portraits he creates for each.
He's a true gent and when I finally get around to my own grand tour of the fifty states, this will undoubtedly be my companion guide.
Miss Peregrine's School for Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs
I spied this book during an ill-advised browse through the Urban Outfitters website. The cover was quite arresting and it was decided it must be purchased.
After his grandfather's mysterious death, Jacob Portman sets out on his own investigation which brings him al the way to Wales, to search for the home where his grandfather was housed as an orphan of World War II. The ensuing adventure is accompanied by reams of old photos that we are assured haven't been doctored in any form.
This was a huge disappointment, but the reason I believe is not because it was a bad or even badly written novel, but because this belongs in the Young Adult genre. I am not saying I am above this genre, but I didn't enter into the book knowing this, and so was woefully underwhelmed by the two dimensional characterizations as well as the predictable narrative progress. Jacob was just such a predictable protagonist! Mighty frustrating stuff.
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2012 brought alot of unexpected treasures my way. Here's hoping my 2013 reading list will be more ambitious and impressive as well as continuing with the amazing quality.
Let's just get one thing out of the way before I continue, a great disservice has been done to the world because Amy Heckerling's I Could Never Be Your Woman was never released in theaters.
Heckerling's film is an ode to the sorry state of 21st century feminism. Michelle Pfeiffer plays the disillusioned heroine, Rosie Hanson, working as script writer and producer for a TV show that invariably encapsulates the garish influence of commercialism in society. Her confidence and personal identity is already under threat due to her neurosis, but that further multiples with the onslaught of her daughter Izzie's adolescence and the unexpected presence of a younger lover, the goofy Adam (Paul Rudd).
Rosie is what has been missing from the canon of the romantic comedy, and what, invariably due to how poorly the film was clearly received, will continue to be absent from this canon. She is an honest depiction of the modern woman, particularly that of the more mature, successful variety. Sure she's sexy and has a thriving career, but she's also a divorcee, a mother, and a frustrated (read - pissed-off) feminist. She is pissed at the male-female dynamic, and she's passing her wise philosophies onto her protege. Saoirse Ronan has often played beyond her years, but this time it's nice to see her play her own age with abandon, if depicting one who is a little precocious. She is well on her way to becoming a very independent and self-possessed lady. She teaches us all a lesson worth noting. See video below. (These days this message may be more applicable to the likes of Katy Perry or Rihanna, amiright?)
The film is not perfect, the plot's a little thin, the subplots are way too Scooby Doo-ish, Paul Rudd is the anti-love interest, but not in a good way. But there's something about the message I just find to be rather empowering, as I just don't see it enough in cinema, or in media for that matter, nowadays. On an aside, the recent backlash targeted towards Girls is just pissing me off.... Which brings us to the best part of the film, Mother Nature. Tracey Ullman brings life to Heckerling's sardonic pessimist and Rosie's personal conscience/wise-ass. She's pretty much a personification of everything women, of the realistic and honest variety, would like to say, do, and eat. She empowers Rosie with her honesty and witticism, but is also there to ground her and call her out for being ridiculous.
This bohemian, rational version of Mother Nature is the antithesis of the Mother Nature that predominates in culture. Usually we are led to believe women are at the mercy to the whim of the all-ruling mistress of our bodies. The cliches of the emotionally unstable crying lady, and the hormone-enraged bitch. Mother Nature is blamed. We are weak because of the apparent existence of this ruler and our subservience to her. Women, Rosie in this instance, can in fact live harmoniously with her. It's a democracy, not a dictatorship. Rosie and her Mother Nature have a back and forth; a relationship rather than a negotiation.
Sorry for the rant, but this film just magnified for me how women are treated and portrayed. I'm not exactly one to talk, one of my favourite genres is War film, where women are one of three things usually, the mother, the devoted partner, or a prostitute. And I couldn't even name a list of fabulous female directors or writers that I respect and yearn to emulate. If anything this movie has called me out on my own sexism. My own ignorance is palpable in my preferred tastes. Rosie struggles to sustain the love of what she does, not because of her own issues, but because there are people like me who are forcing her into to unfulfilling careers because it's convenient for us.
I wanted to love this movie. So bad. It could be my distaste for Kirsten Stewart's acting range that motivated me, but I wanted to adore this film.
Mirror, Mirror as you may, most likely, already know is a retelling of a the Snow White fable, with a few new innovative adjustments to the story. The reference to Stewart of course refers to the second Snow White film which is to follow later this year, while Stewart's takes on a darker, brooding concept, Mirror Mirror bathes in a mash-up of romance, comedy, and caper. This will be one of its downfalls, it doesn't know what it wants to be.
There were many elements going for it, the costume and set design is spectacular, fantastical, and whimsical, everything you would crave from a fairytale. The dresses of the two leads, The Queen and Snow White were particularly impressive, each costume change expressing their character and providing a indicative motif for the viewer. The Queen was ostentatious, Snow White was innocent, decent, and fair.
It was refreshingly tongue-in-cheek. The sarcastic pinging gleam of teeth punctuates the smaltz so as to prevent the audience from lapsing into a sugar coma.
The few narrative additions were surely an attempt to give the Snow White tale relatability for those who aren't fans of princess-romances. The seven dwarves were given motivation in life beyond their lust of Snow White; Prince Charming was given a personality; and to make The Queen really wicked beyond her hatred and neglect of her step-daughter, the film made sure to show the poverty-stricken subjects of the kingdom, whose only hope is, you guessed it, Snow White.
All the elements are there for a successful and enjoyable film, but Mirror, Mirror has spun itself a web too big. It fails to control all these subplots and bring them together as a cohesive entity.
It's disappointing, particularly when the opening is deliciously good. The Queen is narrating over a brief animated summary of the last sixteen years, and we are led to believe this is going to be her story. This is a ploy to lure you in to a false sense of intrigue. Because the apparent focus on Julia Roberts's fantastically wicked Queen bitch is soon overshadowed by Lily Collins's pathetic protagonist. Talk about casting actresses with no emotional dimension as Snow White. Sure she looks the part, but it was if she just copied the Snow White from the original Disney animation. She lacked the endearing passion that is so intrinsic to carrying a film.
Unfortunately for me, this cinema outing lacked the promised fairytale quality. Had the story stuck with the Queen it may have been saved.
I noticed a few weeks ago that I was in a right rut with my music playlist. I was trapped in the repetitive abyss of seeking solace in the recently-played playlist, which ensured that even songs I love dearly have become over saturated in my under-stimulated mind.
It all began after catching up on the "What's in my Bag?" videos on Amoeba's Youtube channel. Even if your taste doesn't match the featured artist, it is the passion with which they speak about their chosen albums that made me yearn for a similar emotional connection with music. I mean we all have it, and when I started thinking about what I would pick out if given the chance to run wild in the Amoeba store, the list and reasons were numerous. But still, I couldn't shake a feeling that I was occupying a bit of a musical wasteland.
First I hit HMV with abandon, yet bought classic albums that I wanted to catch up on. You know, the kind that belong on "listen to this or you will die" lists. Then my mind wandered to a musically fertile time in my life. Why, it was just last summer.
I wanted new music to join my library in a an effort to help fight the cause of mundanity while the leader, moi, was writing and editing her thesis. While most albums were listened to, a few fell through the cracks of the expansive back-catalogue.
The first album I'm going to talk about in this little series is going to be Cat's Eyes's eponymous debut.
Ordinarily with a duo such as this, I should give a little background information considering Faris Badwan comes from a background with British band, The Horrors, and Rachel Zeffira is of a classical background, as Wikipedia would suggest. But because I know nothing about The Horrors's music and nothing about Zeffira, I will just briefly say that I heard about them through Nylon magazine and my interest was piqued. But then the album was abandoned in the annals of my iTunes, only to resurface a fortnight ago.
Straight off, it comes across to me as spooky sixties pop. I'm not talking Monster Mash and the like, there is no kitsch here, and rather than merely reference, they have adopted the structure and dreamy, LSD-soaked sound of the late sixties. Plus, I think Brian Wilson would be impressed with the layers going on throughout these songs. Thus it came as no surprise that when I finally did my research on these guys, that Cat's Eyes was conceived after Fadwan introduced Zeffira to the girl groups of the sixties.
Their sound is more mature and muted than that of sixties girl groups, but Zeffira's lyrics and vocals mirror that same complexity of vulnerability, innocence, and strength at the forefront of the girl group oeuvre.
The closest to a classic ballad you will find on this album, epitomizes the spooky pop feel I spoke of earlier.
I'm not Stupid
One of the stand-out tracks on the album Over You is something akin to what a James Bond theme would sound like if it was sung by a Bond girl done wrong by Mr. Shaken not Stirred. It is everything that is right about sixties pop, a la Nancy Sinatra.
Over You
Apologies for not being able to find a better clip, but hey I just figured out they are really good live, good translation of song from album! So Bandit would have to be the stand out track for me personally, I would describe it as the older sister to Over You. It's a wise woman speaking about a man who done her wrong, but instead of thrashing him, she's just warning the others. Simple as. Perfection.
Bandit
It is pathetic that I was deliriously pleased with this album. You know when you take a chance on a record that you know nothing about and then feel bitterly disappointed that it fails to move you in any way? Luckily I struck gold with this. The talent is palpable, and after studying postmodernism, I always appreciate a good reference. This is a slightly askew ode to the sixties, making it personal and unique and leaving me anticipating more from Cat's Eyes in the future. I'd highly recommend it, especially for those nights with the wind howls outside. It'll add to the atmosphere. Maybe accompany it with Wuthering Heights? I feel like they would go together.
