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The Joys of Dystopian Thinking: Max Weber, Andre Gorz and the Film "Skyline"

The other night, I experienced one of those intoxicating moments where what I was reading seemed to provide the exact key I needed to unlock a mysterious, hidden meaning.

In this case, it was the meaning of a movie --  panned as one of year's worst -- which I, of course, had found utterly entrancing.

The movie was Skyline, which I rented on Pay-Per-View.  It's an alien invasion flick -- more or less a pastiche of films like Cloverfield, War of the Worlds and Independence Day, with a dash of The Matrix thrown in.  As Umberto Eco wrote: "Two cliches make us laugh.  A hundred cliches move us."  The trailer offers a taste: 

 

I couldn't put my finger on what moved me about this particular heap of cliches until when,  soon afterwards, I began reading an essay by the late, great social philosopher Andre Gorz.

Gorz was making a case for the continuing relevance of early 20th century sociologist Max Weber:

"Long before the creators of contemporary scientific dystopias," Gorz wrote, "Max Weber thought that bureaucratization and the onward march of machines would progress to the point where society would become a single megamachine which its human cogs 'would be forced to serve, as powerless as the fellah of Ancient Egypt.'"

The bureaucracy, in Weber's mind, I think, wasn't just "big government", as people often interpret the word today, but any massive, highly rationalized organization -- including corporations, institutions,  and (in our time) the entertainment industry itself -- with goals all of its own.  Goals that its "cogs" may not care about, agree with or even understand.

Such "megamachines" gain your support, in theory at least, by offering benefits (cash, jobs, recognition, distraction, etc. ) -- but often "at the cost of deprivation of meaning and freedom."  This all results in "dehumanization."

Gorz' short exposition reframed, for me, many of the "humans vs. machines" Science Fiction films I've seen in the last few years.  (Think of The Matrix!)  In Skyline, though, it seemed to speak to the specific anxieties of indie artists -- particularly filmmakers.

The film opens with Jarrod, an artist of some sort, and his partner, Elaine, at a ritzy party in L.A. They are boho types (I think from Brooklyn) who are impressed, but almost a little taken aback by, the success of Jarrod's best friend, Terry.  It seems Terry's special effects company has made it to the big time in a big, big way.

The party (at Terry's new pad) is stocked with all the accoutrements of L.A. glamour: posh decor, very beautiful, flirty people, booze and presumably all sorts of other decadent highs.

Mid-way through the party, a friend of Terry's congratulates Jarrod for joining the company and deciding to move to L.A.  Elaine is shocked (has Jarrod sold out?) -- and reveals that she's pregnant.  Jarrod assures her that this is the first he's heard of the gig (and that the matter isn't decided).  Soon after they crash -- and that's when the weirdness begins.

Jarrod wakes in the middle of the night to bright lights.  We soon learn these are from aliens in humongous, robotic craft, hovering near the high rise's window.  And it's not only their overwhelming size and force that make them terrifying.  It's the way the draw you in.

It seems the light they shine into your face is incredibly beautiful.  If you stare a moment too long, you get vacuumed into their craft.  Next thing you know, your brains are sucked out and used as a sort of neurological fuel (and the rest of you is cast, headless, into a pile of other victims).  Your mind becomes one with the machine.  Talk about dehumanization...

But Is It All a Dream?

After reading Gorz, I began to wonder if the last two-thirds of this flick were in fact a literal nightmare -- one expressing the artist Jarrod's anxieties about selling out. Isn't one of the cliches about organizational exploitation that you get sucked dry of your ideas (and cast into the heap of fellow burnouts)?

With a little imagination, you can extend this interpretation to the situation of the film's directors, the special effects gurus the Brothers Strause.  Is not an indie outfit like their own always faced with such creative pressures (not to mention battles over who owns "intellectual property") from the big studios they deal with?

But Why Now?

The theme of humanity vs. "the machine" is older than Science Fiction itself.  Why then its almost incessant repetition today?  I guess one quick answer is that we're simply surrounded by more machines and mega organizations than ever.

A friend told me recently, for example, that after resisting Facebook for years, she finally relented. Upon joining, one of her first welcomes was from a friend who quoted Pink Floyd.

He wrote, simply, eloquently: "Welcome to the Machine."  Thoughts? 

 

Derrick Rose vs. Richard Gere: Who Owns Chicago?

I've been living in NYC over 20 years, but I still root for the teams of the town where I grew up: Chicago.

Some would call this evidence of the "tribal" aspect of fandom.  It's easier to switch the city you live in than your sports allegiances.

So I was happy to see my favorite player, Derrick Rose, featured on the cover of ESPN, the magazine. And as a fan also of media studies, I was just as taken with the way the image of this about-to-superstar is being created.

Writer Ric Bucher's piece on Rose (with the star's name over  the cover headline of "The Rebirth of Chicago Style,") sees him, more than just an individual, as the personification of a town.  And a believable one -- as Rose grew up in some of the city's (and the nation's) roughest neighborhoods.

And just as the best ads nowadays often grab your attention by referring to other ads, so this personification of the city gets some of its power by its relation to the town's other personifications. The image of the President, for example.  Bucher writes:

"The same springboard of big-city aggression and heartland work ethic that launched the first black man to the White House has now catapulted [MVP candidate] Rose to the highest office in the NBA. 'Chicagoans appreciate Midwestern values,' President Obama says, 'Like hard work, humility and giving back to those around you.  Plus, it doesn't hurt if you're playing MVP quality ball.'"

This substance is expressed in an understated style.  A thin "Jazz Age mustache", and a few tats (none near the face) Bucher notes, "are his lone accessories.  No iced watches or gold ropes.  That would be akin to claiming a gaudy nick name, like the City that Never Sleeps or the City of Angels, rather than, say, the City of Broad Shoulders."

All this is said to carry over into his style of play.  "Rose owes Chicago for making him the player that he is: short on flash, long on dash."

It seems Rose's style was shaped by participating, early in his career, in a Chicago program where he played small, exceptionally fast players.  This discouraged any frills.  As Bucher puts it:

"It becomes all about getting a step, protecting the rock like a football and getting to the rim.  A fancy dribble will likely get swiped by one of those mighty mites.  So while New York point guards are known for mesmerizing dribbling and L.A.'s 1's for dazzling passing, Chicago point guards simply put you in the rearview mirror.  'Derrick grew up playing against those little guys, ' says former Bulls guard B.J. Armstrong.  'That's why he plays just like them.  He just grew to be 6'3"."

All-in-all, it's an intriguing picture.  And certainly one that makes a former Chi-town native, via our inevitable tendency to identify, feel positively cool.  But one thing that keeps me from totally buying into Bucher's portrait is Rose's play itself.

Check out this clip on his "crossover" move.  As much as Rose himself describes it as "basic", it seems pretty dazzling to me:

 

The Authentic Chicago's Phony Double...

The sort of blue-collar (super)stardom Rose's image projects, is, of course, incredibly appealing.  As Bucher points out, "his first signature shoe outsold Lebron's."  It proposes a brand of style ruled strictly by substance, offering a sharp contrast to the over-the-top flash of the previous generation of NBA stars.  Rose is something new.

At the same time, this portrait heightens the paradox of Chicago's national image.  For is not this most authentic of towns, with its modest, hard-working folks (and sports stars), often portrayed as also the phoniest?  Doesn't Chicago own a place in the popular imagination as the home of con artists, corrupt politicians and the mob?  What about Rod Blagojevich?

Here's a personification of that other side -- in the form of Richard Gere as the sleazebag laywer (Billy Flynn), and master of rhetorical bling, in the musical film, Chicago: 

 

What gives with such contrasts?  Is popular culture inherently schizoid in the way it imagines its things?

Literary critics trained in deconstruction might argue that such wildly opposing views of a city, an object, or even a person, are more normal than neurotic.  Meanings only achieve solidity, they might insist, by their contrast to other, opposing meanings.

In other words, the idea of the honest and incorruptible is most convincingly (if problematically) brought to life when it lives next door to a rotten-to-the-core image of a "cynical Other."

But I wonder if such dichotomies also express a sort of uncertainty or undecideability.  But about what exactly?  Chicago?  City life in general?  Belief vs. cynicism?  Political views? Thoughts?

 

Existential Pop: Dr Pepper Meets the Incredible Shrinking Man

Lately, I 've found myself amused at a Dr Pepper commercial (originally created, I think, in 2009) set in a self-help group.  It seems the animated characters in the spot meet for support in dealing with a particular social handicap: the world refuses to acknowledge their existence:

 

What caught my eye about this commercial was its comic light touch -- even when alluding to something everyone from therapists, to philosophers, to the great modern writers seem to agree is a serious one: the establishment of a personal sense of "being" -- or, as it's more commonly referred to today, an "identity."

This concern even got translated into a specific form of cultural politics (usually called "identity politics" or "the politics of recognition").  In the 80s and 90s, "identity" movements arose on the liberal side of the spectrum (concerning rights around the issues of gender, ethnicity and sexuality).  Later, this style of politics was mimicked on the Right, often around religious beliefs and traditionalist lifestyles.

Cultural Studies scholar Nancy Fraser analyzes the philosophical roots of this tendency:

"The usual approach to the politics of recognition -- what I call the 'identity model' -- starts from the Hegelian idea that identity is constructed dialogically, through a process of mutual recognition. According to Hegel, recognition designates an ideal reciprocal relation between subjects, in which each sees the other both as its equal and also as separate from it.  This relation is constitutive for subjectivity: one becomes an individual subject only by virtue of recognizing, and being recognized by, another subject.  Recognition from others is thus essential to the development of a sense of self."

As Fraser indicates, a sense of identity is created socially as much as it is internally.  One essential for its establishment is that others take you seriously.

What's comic about the spot is that you see this logic  applied to establishing a brand identity.  The problem the Dr Pepper guy has is signaled by Santa Claus: people think what he stands for (a diet soda with great flavor) is a laughable myth.

Intentionally or not, what this setting also brings to mind is the brand identity issue a soda with a hard-to-categorize taste like Dr Pepper already carries with it.  As the Wiki about Dr Pepper puts it:

"W.W. Clements, a former CEO and president of the Dr Pepper/7-Up Company, described the taste of Dr Pepper as one-of-a-kind, saying "I've always maintained  you cannot tell anyone what Dr Pepper tastes like because it's so different. It's not an apple, it's not an orange, it's not a strawberry, it's not a root beer, it's not even a cola."

For that matter, even where the name "Dr Pepper" comes from is somewhat of a mystery.

In any case, such a lighthearted take on angst about the "question of existence" brought to my mind, by way of contrast, another version of pop-culture existentialism -- this one from a much earlier era...

"The Incredible Shrinking Man" Ponders His Existence

If you're obsessed with classic Science Fiction films like I am, you may be familiar with the story of "The Incredible Shrinking Man."  In the 1957 movie, the hero of this flick runs into a radioactive cloud, while he's out boating.  Soon after, as a side effect, he begins to shrink.

As he gets smaller and smaller, common household creatures -- cats and spiders -- turn into horrific monsters.  But as the movie progresses, he becomes too small for even them to see (or torment). Then his problems grow more philosophical.  As he faces the prospect of becoming as tiny as a molecule, or even an atom, he wonders whether, since living things can no longer recognize him, he even still exists.

Here's the way he resolves his quandary in the closing monologue (which ends "I still exist!"):

 

Whatever Happened to the Age of Anxiety?

In this clip, it's the gaze of God that assures the hero of his continuing identity/existence.  But today, it seems to me, many people look elsewhere for the recognition they need to build their sense of self.

Is not one of the appeals of social media, with all the "friending" it encourages, that it offers a quick, technologic way to make a person feel like somebody?  And, establishing an identity this way is certainly achieved with a lighter touch than in previous eras: a modicum of recognition is just a few clicks away.  No wonder even "identity politics" seems to be fading from the scene.

But I wonder, does this mean the "search for authenticity" will soon be passe?  Any thoughts on this -- or these clips?

 

It's Out! Here's a Sample From Elaine Equi's New Poetry Book "Click and Clone"

Elaine Equi (my wife!) has a new book of poems that's just out now from the very cool Coffee House Press. It's called Click and Clone.  Since I'm obviously biased in its favor, here's what two distinguished poets have to say about it:

"Elaine Equi seems to know all our foibles and, instead of edging toward the door, reports the latest developments with precise, loving equanimity.  Her voice is unique: poised, witty, intimate, and somehow interstellar.  It's as if she's visiting from a future where we all appear transparent.  Click and Clone is an electrified pleasure field."  -- Aram Saroyan

"Spick and span, cut and dry, shake and bake, and now Elaine Equi introduces Click and Clone.  These poetically altered texts punch wholes into the multiverses of pop and splendor, short and longing, prose and dreams.  Equi says that art can no longer imitate life, it just needs to keep up.  As they might say at the racetrack, she leads by a verse." -- Charles Bernstein

And now, for a sampler from the book itself.  Here are four of its "interstellar" poems.  Enjoy!
 

Role Reversal

Stendahl claimed he held a mirror to nature.

Like Flaubert, many readers of Madame Bovary exclaimed: "C'est Moi!"

Once reality was dumb and brutish --
in need of art for elevation.

But it's changed --
grown baroque and multifaceted.

Today we can no longer take reality for granted.

Now art is the simpleton. 

____________________________________

Led Zeppelin Revision

That stairway only leads halfway to heaven. 

_____________________________________

Everybody Has Dreams

Last night, the cook dreamt a giant mouth dribbling blood
or ketchup.  He has trouble relating to women.

The woman in the beige pantsuit dreamt of a computer that
transports objects into the future.

The woman by the window was a little girl holding her mother's
hand.

The guy near the door followed a melody into a forest.

The busboy was driving a sports car fast.

The skinny girl was a military general in a country ruled by a giant
inflatable cat.

The waitress murdered somebody.  Even now, she looks guiltily
over her shoulder as she wipes the silverware clean.

___________________________________ 

Pyrokinesis

Cast of Characters

Jerome, a poet with light brown hair and glasses
Elaine, a poet with medium brown hair and contact lenses
Martine, a poet with dark brown hair and glasses

Jerome: Pyrokinesis is when you look at a person and
they burst into flames.

Elaine: I'm the opposite.  I look at a person and I burst
into flames.

Martine: When I look at a person, they turn into water.

Jerome: I try to avoid looking at people.