Two Persistent Myths About Woody Allen’s Oeuvre

Now that Magic in the Moonlight is out, I’m seeing the usual spate of online articles that accompany the release of all Woody Allen’s films, and nearly every one repeats two myths I’ve been reading for well over a decade now.

 

Myth 1: All Woody Allen films are the same. This is an extraordinary claim in light of even the broadest view of Allen’s work. The first thing anyone familiar with his films knows is that he began with the slapstick of Take the Money and Run and Love and Death, developed into a master of rom-com with Annie Hall and Manhattan, and in the 1980s moved on to more serious dramas like Hannah and Her Sisters and Crimes and Misdemeanors.

The claim is even more extraordinary upon a closer look, for in addition to wacky comedies, love stories and serious explorations of human nature, we also see experimentalism, art film, historical movies, magical realism, musicals, philosophical reflection, pure fluff, mockumentaries, parodies, tragedies and a singular ability for mixing any of the above at whim. And all that before Match Point, his first genuine noir thriller in 2006.

Of course, certain themes recur: sex, infidelity, hypochondria, reflections on death, neurotic writers, psychoanalysis, men in love with younger women, and so on. It would take a very deluded Woody Allen fan not to admit that, but the variety of genres and cinematic techniques, the variety of reappearing themes themselves, make it a stretch past the breaking point to say he is merely repeating himself. Rather, these themes are like motifs that, rather than running throughout individual works, run throughout his work as a whole.

 

Myth 2: Woody Allen’s recent work isn’t very good. To contradict this, we need merely look at the last ten years of films he has written and directed, a total of ten films from 2004 to present. Based on my own recollection of their reception, four have been unqualified successes, pleasing fans, garnering positive reviews, or winning prestigious awards: Match Point (2005), Vicki Cristina Barcelona (2008), Midnight in Paris (2011) and Blue Jasmine (2013). The other six might have been the subject of negative or mixed reviews--while still pleasing many fans--but how many directors can come up with a bona fide gem every two or three years?

If there was a slump, I think it came earlier, for a four-film run from 2000 to 2003: Small Time Crooks, The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, Hollywood Ending and Anything Else. Not only is that not recent, but it’s only three years in a career now spanning nearly five decades with numerous masterworks both before and since. To speak of even the last few years, Midnight in Paris was Woody Allen’s highest-grossing film to date and Cate Blanchett won the Oscar for Best Actress for her performance in Blue Jasmine.

 

I can’t for the life of me understand how these myths persist. Film critics must be familiar enough with Allen’s work to see the daylight between Bananas, Stardust Memories, The Purple Rose of Cairo and Cassandra’s Dream. Surely cinema reportage can’t laud Allen for Midnight in Paris in 2011, Blue Jasmine in 2013 and forget all that by Magic in the Moonlight in 2014.

It’s baffling.

One of the perks of living in a big city like Tokyo is the guarantee that some movie theater somewhere is showing Woody Allen’s latest film. My wife and I used to enjoy going to a little theater in Ebina and getting our fix with all the other die-hard Allen fans, but that’s off the tables now that we have a toddler. I’ll pick up the DVD sometime and determine for myself whether Magic in the Moonlight is any good. Either way, I’ll look forward to his next film and grit my teeth when these myths pop up again.

 

Why Even a Liberal Can Love Ayn Rand

Many prominent names in political conservatism today mention novelist and philosopher Ayn Rand as an influence. This has made her a recurring joke in liberal circles, but it is possible to be on the left and still like Ayn Rand.

I once wrote a MySpace blog post about my love affair with Ayn Rand. I met her through Anthem and we became better acquainted through For the New Intellectual. Then came the days of infatuation as I devoured The Fountainhead, Atlas Shrugged and everything I could get my hands on. The relationship deepened as years passed and I even read a 706-page collection of her letters. Alas, it wasn’t meant to last. Her flaws began to wear on me and we eventually went our separate ways.

I didn’t, however, turn away from Rand’s thought as a whole so much as drop the parts I didn’t like. Something had always bothered me about how far she took selfishness as a virtue, and I was uncomfortable with her belief that she had established premises by which every question could be judged. My worldview has become less foundationalist, but Objectivists are still turning to Atlas Shrugged for a definite answer to every question. And then there is her devotion to shrinking the social contract to the very minimum. Here, we have developed a major disagreement.

This last issue is what many conservatives today love about Ayn Rand. She insisted that the government shouldn’t extend any further than the police and courts at home, plus an army for fending off threats from abroad. When conservatives start talking about all the government departments they would ax, the idea is to decrease government interference in order to increase individual freedom. I'm not sure if his views have changed recently now that he is a regular in the political spotlight, but Kentucky Senator Rand Paul, a professed fan of Ayn Rand, has stated a desire to abolish the departments of education, energy and commerce. He has also been in favor of getting rid of the income tax, as was Ayn Rand (article).

Modern day liberalism has a less restricted view of government, but in keeping with the spirit of dialogue in our times, today’s liberals don’t merely criticize her views on politics and economics. Instead, they throw in deprecatory comments about her literary style, her personal life, and her followers. No one ever finishes her books, the characters are one-dimensional, the prose is unreadable, she led a bizarre personal life, she’s for people who are a little smart but not really (according to comedian Bill Maher), her books are only for adolescents or for adults stuck in adolescence, and so on.

In the current climate, it would seem one must either be a devoted con man like Wisconsin Representative Paul Ryan or an imbecile to find anything of value in Ayn Rand’s life, philosophy and books.

That’s too bad, because Ayn Rand was the last of the systematic philosophers, and as such her thought covers a lot of ground. One can reject her support for peapod government and still find her critique of socialism to be keen. One can accept her emphasis on individualism without abandoning altruism. One can champion capitalism and free markets but with restrictions on monopolies and cutthroat tactics. One can believe in the heroic potential of humanity without believing each person has a moral obligation to be demigodly after the fashion of Atlas Shrugged characters Dagny Taggart and John Galt. One can reject her claim that humor should never be used in writing except to ridicule evil, while still finding in The Art of Fiction a cousin to Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style for its encouragement of brevity, simplicity and clarity.

Consider the fiction through which Rand conveyed her ideas. Anthem is no more objectionable to most people than similar works like George Orwell’s 1984, Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We, Rush’s classic album 2112, or any number of other imaginative works championing the triumph of the individual spirit over oppressive regimes. We the Living is a similar tale, only it is based on Rand’s experiences growing up in early Communist Russia. There is much in these books that Americans of any political stripe can enthusiastically endorse because they are part of the underlying values of all liberal democracies today.

Ayn Rand’s major works The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged hold more that is controversial, but surely one can reject some of the dogma while still appreciating the characters and the stories. I always felt a special affection for Henry Rearden, the steel magnate in Atlas Shrugged. Despite his extreme competence, he was vulnerable in ways that many of Rand’s heroes aren’t. Dagny Taggart, while nearer perfection, was also a favorite. When Henry first sees her, she is standing atop a pile of steel girders, the sun is in her golden hair, and she is radiating joy and confidence. These are unforgettable heroes of a scale and grandeur that we rarely see in literary fiction today. The recent films were dead before arrival as far as the mainstream media was concerned, but Taylor Schilling and Grant Bowler in the first film did an excellent job of playing these lovers’ beauty, composure, strength and mutual respect.

 

Ayn Rand would spin in her grave to think that any of her ideas could be separated from another, or that her fiction could be separated from her ideas, but you shouldn’t let that stop you. You don’t have to accept or reject a work of art, a system of thought, or its creator as a whole--and especially not because someone on television or the internet tells you to for the sake of toeing a political line. When they do, you have my permission to be offended. You’re smarter than that.

 

 

Thor Is the Woman of the Day!

 

"τὰ ὄντα ἰέναι τε πάντα καὶ μένειν οὐδέν" --Heraclitus

As a rule, I never blog about anything until the issue is cold, but perhaps I can get this post out during the initial buzz. Marvel has announced an upcoming arc in which Thor will be a woman. The move has created a minor sensation and generated what is sure to be brief controversy.

 

The move follows a number of changes in recent years to prominent superheroes’ basic descriptions. I’m not as in touch as I wish, but some examples that spring to mind are Batwoman as a lesbian, a Muslim Ms. Marvel, and a black boy as Spider-Man. Nick Fury is a great example. White for decades, he became black in Marvel’s Ultimate imprint when Samuel L. Jackson gave permission for the character to take on his likeness.  Given Jackson’s actual portrayal of Fury in the insanely popular Marvel Cinematic Universe, this latest incarnation of Fury may very well be the most widely known.

I would guess there are many more examples touching on race, ethnicity, religion, gender and sexuality, but I don’t want to focus solely on diversity because comics are given to other big changes as well. Superheroes quit, they get married, their costumes change, their groups disband, they switch allegiances, their identities are revealed, they die, they come back to life, and they do much of this with alarming regularity.

When I was a kid, Robin died in Batman: A Death in the Family. Jason Todd wasn’t the first Robin and there have been others since--including a girl.  When I was in high school, the villain Doomsday killed Superman, an assassin named Azrael filled in as Batman, and Magneto stripped Wolverine’s claws of their adamantium. In 2007, Captain America died, and in 2010 artist Jim Lee redesigned Wonder Woman’s iconic outfit. Soon after, the Human Torch died and the Fantastic Four itself ended as a group and a comic.

 

Those are merely a few examples that spring to mind. A more avid fan could produce a much lengthier list. And each time these changes occurred, they were played up by DC or Marvel as a major event. Now that we have the Internet, major media outlets sensationalize these changes and fans and the general public get worked up. But not one of the changes mentioned above stuck for very long or, in the case of recent changes, shows any indication of being irreversible. Bruce Wayne is Batman again, Wolvie has his adamantium claws, the Fantastic Four has been relaunched.

Superman isn’t dead.

The protean nature of comics is something I love. Without a single version of each character, creators can explore them from fresh angles and present them anew to younger generations. I’ve often thought superheroes were like ancient gods for their boundless natures. It makes no sense to ask for the definitive Pan or Zeus. Their attributes and behavior change from place to place and across time. They have many guises and superheroes are similar shapeshifters.

 

I’ve been disappointed to see fans reacting negatively to many recent changes. Sometimes, the discomfort results from political dogma, for in today's climate, political affiliation drives many people’s views on race, religion, art, sex, you name it. Casting a black man as the Human Torch for a Fantastic Four reboot suddenly becomes an affront to all that is holy. Already, I have seen online rants proclaiming the upcoming female Thor as another in a long series of feminist attacks on men.

Discomfort also simply stems from a psychological need for orthodoxy, for something solid that can't be fucked with dammit. But that's where the fun is. Frank Miller’s portrayal of Batman in All Star Batman & Robin, the Boy Wonder (2005-2008) was too gritty for some, and there were complaints about Superman killing General Zod in the film Man of Steel (2013). Apparently, these two heroes are so saintly they never take life. Please. Comics and movies had more edge than that in pre-Leave It to Beaver days.

The point is this: Heroes change. Superheroes change. That’s the nature of story, of myth. It’s a good thing, so no need to fret over it. But if Thor as a woman bothers you, don’t worry. The way things change in comics, she won’t be a woman for long.

 

Amor Fati and the Birth of a Child

A curious thing happened when my son was born. I found I was now okay with everything that had ever happened to me--both bad and good. Doubts about decisions made, resentment over wrongs received, pain over past suffering, it all disappeared. In fact, if given the chance to do life, with all its bumps, over again, I would have chosen for it all to happen exactly the same way, for all of it led to the birth of my son.

Other choices, other events would have led to a different life, maybe one with more money, maybe a professionally more successful one--or maybe not--but in any case, a life that, from my vantage point in this life, I don’t want. I didn’t have any thoughts along those lines before my son came along, but once he did, I found this change had occurred within me.

At the time, despite having already long been an atheist, I saw something of the Christian idea of redemption in my experience, for the sacrifice of Christ on the cross is said to effect a pardon for sins past and future. The retroactive nature of what had happened was stunning.

It recently occurred to me, however, how the nature of my experience is even more precisely described by Friedrich Nietzsche’s concept of amor fati. This Latin phrase literally means the love of fate and is used by Nietzsche to describe the love of everything, not just the good, that happens. Furthermore, you don’t just tolerate the bad, you love it, you love it all:

“Did you ever say Yes to one joy? O my friends, then you said Yes to all woe as well. All things are chained and entwined together, all things are in love; if ever you wanted one moment twice, if ever you said: ‘You please me, happiness, instant, moment!’ then you wanted everything to return! You wanted everything anew, everything eternal, everything chained, entwined together, everything in love, O that is how you loved the world . . . ” (Thus Spoke Zarathustra)

As the above passage makes clear, Nietzsche’s concept of amor fati is closely linked to that of eternal recurrence: the belief that everything that happens will happen again and again in exactly the same way for eternity. An analysis of eternal recurrence isn’t necessary here, we only need note that you want the good moments to come again, and that means affirming the not-so-good moments tangled with them.

Have I ever said yes to one joy? Yes. When my son was born. And there have been many moments with him since that are, as they say, worth the world, moments that I would love to have come twice, or thrice, or countless times for infinity. And that means wanting everything that led to those moments and everything that stems from them.

Constantly holding on to this love of all amidst the daily grind is not easy, probably not even possible, but despite it all, the world has granted me a wonderful blessing that makes it possible in the precious moments to assert and truly believe that I live in the best of all possible worlds.

 

 

Two Narratives, Both Alike In Dignity--The Cover of Teen Titans #1

Something that keeps getting forgotten in the culture wars is how one and the same work, and even individual signs within a work, can be interpreted in exactly opposite ways.

Former DC Comics editor Janelle Asselin tore into the cover of Teen Titans #1 in a recent post on Comic Book Resources. She criticizes cover artist Kenneth Rocafort’s grasp of anatomy, perspective, design, and even signature placement. She also criticizes publisher DC Comics for not understanding the Teen Titan fanbase and potential markets. Along the way, a great deal of text is dedicated to what she considers the cover’s poor social sensibilities. Why does the teenage Wonder Girl have breasts the size of her head and the shape of implants? Why is she wearing a top that she’s going to fall out of the first time a supervillain sneezes? Why is Bunker, who is Mexican, so far in the background?

As is only to be expected, some people did not agree and spoke out. Those people included Teen Titans interior artist Brett Booth (tweets here), comic book fans who felt Asselin’s critique was overwrought, and men who express disagreement through rape threats. Also as only to be expected, a vigorous defense was mounted on Asselin’s behalf (an example).

Many of Asselin’s points are fine enough with me, but let’s look at the cover again. Why doesn’t she praise Rocafort for putting a female Teen Titan in the center, a position that indicates leadership and commands attention? Why doesn’t she compliment the fact that the Teen Titans have a person of color in their group at all? Bunker is indeed in the back, but he’s also hovering above everyone and noticeable at a glance. Why charge DC with being resistant to targeting diverse audiences, when only one of the five pictured Teen Titans is a white male (two if you count Beast Boy who is now green)?

Asselin does mention some of the aspects of the cover I have just highlighted, but she does not say anything positive about them. They merely come up in passing as part of a stream of insults. Why choose to put this particular spin on the cover? Because one narrative has been chosen at the exclusion of another.

 

A few more examples of opposing narratives:

 

If Jared Leto plays a trans woman and wins accolades (Dallas Buyers Club), does this show Hollywood’s willingness to embrace alternate lifestyles? Or because Leto himself isn’t transgender, does it show that trans people are still marginalized?

If Avril Lavigne uses Japanese backup dancers in a music video shot in Japan (“Hello Kitty”), is she using her dancers as props in an act of cultural appropriation? Or is she showing respect for her fans in Japan?

If DC Comics introduces a Muslim Green Lantern, is this mere tokenism? Or is this a move to include a minority in a medium traditionally geared toward white men?

What determines which narrative one chooses?

Narratives stitch together certain facts at the exclusion of others, projecting a version of the truth that is incomplete. Some narratives will be better grounded in fact than others, some more rigorous in their logic, and some offered in better faith. Some will be really bad: erroneous, ill-reasoned and deceptive. But here we have cases in which both narratives make reasonable claims based on a shared work of art.

Is it not possible to grapple with all the narratives? To negotiate them? To navigate them? If those prone to one-sided harangues have done so, they do not act like it. They do not write like it. Instead, they give every sign of a predisposition choosing, driving, their narrative. The same lack of critical thought is occurring throughout public discourse on nearly every issue. Everyone begins with a narrative. They’re just looking for a new excuse, a new stimulus, to begin laying it down.

What keeps amazing me is that the people who should know better, the educated bloggers and other critics who speak the language of postmodernism, are little better than their worst opponents at this level. They know better in theory, but their behavior, their tone, is that of the self-righteous who are certain they possess The Truth. One would think the only thing they learned from intersubjectivity is that their subjectivity is right.

Which is to say they haven’t really learned anything at all.

Asselin presents a compelling narrative--a selective take on a Teen Titans cover--but other narratives no less compelling or grounded in the same material are possible. The same plurality of responsible interpretations is available in many of the issues of our day. Surely most of us can recognize that and stitch together multiple threads into a broader tapestry?