Ben Peek's Blog, page 14

March 14, 2013

The Australian Election: March





April can only bring us comparisons to Nazi Germany.
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Published on March 14, 2013 00:31

March 11, 2013

The Son and the Father's Work

Here's an interesting article about Christopher Tolkien, talking about his father's work, about the films.

"Tolkien has become a monster, devoured by his own popularity and absorbed into the absurdity of our time," Christopher Tolkien observes sadly. "The chasm between the beauty and seriousness of the work, and what it has become, has overwhelmed me. The commercialization has reduced the aesthetic and philosophical impact of the creation to nothing. There is only one solution for me: to turn my head away."


I have always had a vague interest in Christopher Tolkien, though not, I will admit, much in the father. I never finished Lord of the Rings or the Hobbit. I hated them as a child and I don't have much time for them as an adult, but Tolkien's son... now that, truly, is a different matter. His obsession with his father's work, his control, his family ownership of it, is, I think truly fascinating. The article makes mention of money disputes between the family and New Line Cinema, but that's not the real basis of Christopher Tolkien's control, I believe. The dispute is there because it links back to that further question of control, of keeping an element of purity involved.

What is fascinating is Christopher's relationship with that purity. It is clear, from his comments in regards to The Silmarillion, that keeping it is important to him, but yet because there is no J.R.R. Tolkien himself, there can be no true authorial vision. To a degree, the son has become the equivalent of the family who release demos and live shows of musicians once they are dead, adding, always adding, but doing so imperfectly, poorly, and in a fashion that always leaves the question of what the original artist would have thought, had they been alive to see it.

Link.
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Published on March 11, 2013 19:25

March 7, 2013

The Western Suburbs of Sydney

For the last week Julia Gillard has been out in Rooty Hill. It has been awful to watch.

You wouldn't know it from the media, but the Western Suburbs of Sydney (covering the majority of Sydney) is reportedly home to a population of close to two million people, not all of them white. You may not know this, because to find anyone from a Non-White background on the TV is a rare thing, and you certainly wouldn't want to ask those 'minority' populations what they thought of the state of their country's politics. No, Non-White people only know about the Sudan, or Vietnam, or China. Instead, you might have seen what is politely referred to as bogans, found outside chicken shops, wandering malls, occasionally without teeth, vaguely employed and all with an opinion that the carbon tax, brown people and, oh, I dunno, Obama, are to blame for their various ills. We call them bogans. You may call them trailer park trash. You may call them inbred. Everyone has names: we call them bogans. Originally, the word came from Victoria, or so I understand it.

Despite the fact that these people are the true minority of Western Sydney, not because of the colour of their skin, but because they're poorly educated and stupid, something, I might add, anyone can be born into... despite this fact, this is the face of Labor's lost Heartland, the disenchanted voters of Labor who have been cast aside and need reassurance that people from overseas on foreign worker applications don't come in and steal their jobs. They need reassurances that the evil illegal boat people aren't terrorists. They need this so much that the underlying message from the Prime Minister during her visit was so racist that Australia's own racist politician, Pauline Hanson agreed with her. But despite this farce, what it really highlighted was just why Labor has been losing voters in its heartland: because it no longer knows what it looks like, because it has been unable to view it as the multi-cultural city centre that it is, that there is no one voice, no single voice, and it is certainly not a voice that responds to racist election promises and hate campaigning.

Why would it? A glance around the Western Suburbs of Sydney will reveals thousands and thousands of first generation migrants, people who have left their country for the stability of Australia, for the future it promises. Rather than the narrative of a fear of the other that is so popular in today's media, a large portion of the Western Suburbs understand why refugees risk a boat journey to enter the country, and they understand why draconian detention facilities are a failure on a number of levels. But of course, the real point of the refugees has never been what voters think: it is a low cost political football that be kicked around for political rhetoric without many consequences. Well, or so it has been believed by the major two parties. Given the ever growing multicultural population of Australia as a whole, you have to wonder just when they will realise that their rhetoric is racist on both sides of the narrow political divide and that it has started to cost them more than they realise in electorates of all colours.

It has been said that Julia Gillard has come to Rooty Hill and the West of Sydney because Labor need the votes, that they cannot hold power without the seats. The belief is that they have lost it, and by large, I would say it was likely. It is hard for the average person in Sydney as a whole not to look at the current federal Labor Government and not see a similarity between it and the State government that was removed not so long ago. Swamped by corruption, ineptness, and a general level of infighting that was, frankly, embarrassing, Barry O'Farrell's trip to power was ensured so long as he did not eat a child on national TV. Tony Abbott's trip to power is, at least as far as I am concerned, pretty much on the same path. It is an unappealing notion, since Abbott and his Coalition aren't very inspiring, but it's a reasonable response to Labor in a two party system. Labor has bought its potential downfall upon itself by its political failings in regard to the taxation of miners, the introduction of a carbon tax, and so on and so forth. Neither of my two examples were bad, or hated, they just went about it all wrong, and ended up, in the first, with a weak tax, and in the second, with an easy football villain for people to kick to them. Even the presence of Kevin Rudd is nothing but an embarrassment for the party and himself. Once removed, he should have gone quietly, like so many other ex-leaders, or he should have been tossed from the Labor Party, where he could no longer be present as a viable leader. You can't go back, after all. It didn't happen, of course, and Rudd has just contributed to be a disgrace that the Labor Party has presented to the country.

It would not, lets be honest, be entirely unfair for the Labor Party to disappear from the political map like the Democratic Party some years earlier. The Greens, having recognised the chance to become the Left leaning mainstream party of Australia, are a much more competent and reasonable Party, and if there wasn't still the lingering belief that they'd value trees above everything else (a false belief), the party would rightfully surpass Labor. But, it won't, not yet, at any rate. The Western Suburbs of Sydney, much like the rest of Australia, are not quite willing to replace Labor with the Greens. But should the party fail to realise that they are completely and utterly alienating this huge, diverse population with their overtly racist politics that allow Pauline Hanson to nod wisely, then that day will not be so far in the future.
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Published on March 07, 2013 01:43

March 3, 2013

Argo

It is difficult to approach Argo, Ben Affleck's third film, completely free of expectation. Much talked about, in both good and bad terms, the girl and I had been intending to watch it for a while. We did so finally after it won an Oscar.

Set in the 1980s, the film retells the story of the CIA's rescue of six Americans from Iran. Having fled the embassy due to riots, the six are hiding in the house of a Canadian diplomat, but the situation cannot continue. Bought in to give his opinion on the rescue (the original plan is of bikes), Tony Mendez, played by Ben Affleck, comes up with the idea to create a fake film, in which to give the six Americans jobs, and sneak them out of the country. With the aid of Hollywood insiders, the CIA funds a film they never intends to make, entitled Argo. Once the cover is created, Mendez then enters Iran, where within two days both he and the other six, leave. Someone will chase them down the runway, of course, which may or may not have happened in reality (it didn't), but outside this one false dramatic note, Affleck's film is a tense thriller.

The film's major flaw is an imbalance between the depiction of Hollywood and Iran. It begins at the opening of the film where comic panels are used to explain the political unrest in Iran and ends on a shot that flows across various Star Wars figures, forcing you to wonder if Boba Fett figurines were really out then, though perhaps they were. Regardless, the two don't sit well against each other in the film, even when John Goodman and Alan Arkin are introduced. The two are fine, of course, but it doesn't matter if they are or they aren't. Part of this is because the film Argo within Argo can never match the seriousness of the Iranian hostage crisis, which is where the strength of Affleck's film lies. It is not just that the film's weaker scenes take place in Hollywood, it is also that the film itself is so obviously awful that when a reading of the script is set against the hostages to emotional leverage, you cannot but feel a sense of embarrassment.

It is a genuine shame this is the case, since--outside the plane--the scenes in Iran are done well and laden with tension. Of course, all the Iranians are completely and utterly evil, much like an evil genre villain, but Affleck does a good job in bringing out the tension between the six in hiding, their fear, and the general belief that they will not escape with their own lives. It is just a shame that the science fiction element is there, though I'm not quite sure how it could have been used in the film differently, given that the costumes, designs, and so forth, are all by and large authentic to the 1980s. It may be, in fact, that my general dislike for science fiction film from that time period influences my ability to appreciate it, and for others, their ability to enjoy that may indeed be different.

Still, Argo is, by and large, a decent film. It is a film about how good Hollywood is, which explains its complete success, given that the film never really rises about being decent and watchable... yet, those last two categories are rare enough these days in Hollywood.
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Published on March 03, 2013 20:15

February 28, 2013

February 26, 2013

The Boob Show

There's been a lot of talk about the Oscars the other day. I didn't watch it, but it was hard to escape the conversation after, in which Seth MacFarlane was roundly criticised for being sexist. He opened with a song about seeing boobs, so, y'know, it's not a hard line to draw.



The problem that I am unable to escape is how people were even surprised. This is Hollywood. In same show that MacFarlane sung about boobs, Adelle and Shirley Bassey performed two songs that were themes in one of the most misogynistic franchises ever.



For fifty years James Bond has strolled across the screen treating women like shit, fucking them, leaving them, using them and, in a show where the host was roundly condemned, the songs of these films were celebrated. It's not even as if we are looking back at these films as bygone pictures of an old era (such as when Alec Guiness putting on face paint in Lawrence of Arabia). Skyfall, the most recent Bond film, is considered by many to be one of the best Bond films in years, a revitalisation of the franchise by returning to its misogynistic roots by turning, of all people, Judy Dench into nothing more than a Bond woman who can't shoot straight and must be saved by Bond, only to die in his arms and be replaced a man.

It is not, in these conversations, that I disagree that MacFarlane's song about boobs or his general jokes about women were in poor taste, because they were. Rather, I fail to see how people did not expect this. This is Hollywood. I could repeat that line a hundred times. This is Hollwyood and MacFarlane was hired to bring in the young, teenage audience who keep Hollywood afloat through bad teen comedy films where, yeah, bad sex jokes (mostly at the expense of women) is part of the deal. And don't even get me started about bad action films where famous men saved unknown women who may or may not show some skin, and those ridiculous teen horror films where you, barely known starlets are constantly in danger--or, well, their clothing is, anyhow.

Hollywood.

If you're a woman, it is exactly what the Oscar ceremony showed you.
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Published on February 26, 2013 17:38

February 24, 2013

The Bonehunters, Steve Erikson

The Bonehunters is Steve Erikson's sixth book in his ten book series, Books of the Malazan Fallen. I read one every five or six months, so it'll likely be a while before I've finished it entirely, but I will, for as a whole, I've liked the series so far enormously.

As a book itself, The Bonehunters is largely inaccessible to anyone who hasn't read the preceding five books. It follows the 14th Malazan Army who, under Adjunct Tavore, were denied a battle against the Sha'ik in the Holy Desert in book four, House of Chains, and who now pursue its remnants to the city of Y'Ghatan and lay siege to it. With the forces populared by survivors of the Bridgeburners (Gardens of the Moon and Memories of Ice) and survivors of the Chain of Dogs (Deadhouse Gates), the newly christened Bonehunters struggle for identity and purpose as their Empire changes around them. Which, as an introduction, should be fairly confusing, have no frame of reference to you and essentially leave wondering why you should read the rest of this post.

Which is why most of this post will discuss the series as a whole (so far).

As a sixth book, Bonehunters suffers structurally from being one of the books in a large sequence where a lot of changes have to happen and where a lot of strands are bought together from the proceeding five books. It is a big book at 1200 pages. It is big and feels big but at the same time, it feels like one big turning circle and you can feel that by the end. Outside that, the narrative ticks across all the books continues, where at times Erikson plays his secrets a little too close and the meaning of events and characters a little too obscurely, but your mileage will vary on that.

But beyond that, what works is still there, still strong. What is most impressive about Erikson's series is the consistency of the world building, the sense of completeness that exists in it. A lot of fantasy novels are, by and large, a vague European medieval setting, in which personal hygiene is of a higher standard than it once was. In a grand generalisation, a lot of the books take the historical props, the vague attitudes, the vague morals, and some swords. It is never as messy as real history, nor as detailed, and frequently, there's a dragon (but infrequently, black people and independent women). Erikson, who has been an anthropologist and archaeologist, draws heavily from history as well--it is hard not to draw a line between his use of Gods in the series and those of the Greek Gods in various myths, legends--but it is a messy, grey shaded world, heavily multicultural, multi-gendered, multi-sexuality and the vast amount of diversity in it speaks to the many cultures and ways of living that exist on the Earth.

I would not argue that Erikson is using his series as a mirror for anything in our society, however. His world, heavily detailed in cultures and characters, is an insular thing in that fashion, but in the way that our world itself is a varied, multi-layered being, so is Erikson's, and his ability to portray that throughout all six of his books so far is, I believe, his singular most impressive feat. It is worth reading the series alone, in my mind, to watch him build the world, to watch him layer and cut it, to show this angle, then that. It is worth reading the series of the sense of immersion that arises from his skill of world building. All of which must seem like a strange thing to say, since it is not often that such a thing is said about a ten book series, not to mention the fact that in saying so I can avoid noting that the narrative of a retreating army in Deadhouse Gates is done superbly, Memories of Ice is utterly hearbreaking, and Midnight Tides has an excellent set up that is let down only because its final quarter can't equal it... but there you go, I have said it.

I dig it, as they say.
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Published on February 24, 2013 20:50

February 21, 2013

Cloud Atlas Book/Photo Review & My Busy Week



Here is Nik's photo review of Cloud Atlas, the book, not the film. I think it's my favourite, so far.

For myself? Well, I have been mostly busy. It was a busy week: I did the edits on Immolation for the agent, which actually took less time than I thought, then I designed a workshop, had some flyers printed and, soon, I will begin stuffing envelopes. It is nothing but glamour here, of course.

But, y'know, quiet week on the blog.
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Published on February 21, 2013 17:07

February 14, 2013

No One Ever Warns You About Mickey Rooney

On Valentine's Day, N. and I decided to watch Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Neither of us had seen it before, though we had both read Truman Capote's novella, and both liked it. Yet, we both knew that the film would not be the original, because Capote's story isn't really all that romantic--it's quite dark and cynical, actually--and the awareness we had of the film suggested it was nothing like that. Audrey Hepburn was not going to be a prostitute, George Peppard was not going to be so meek, and the cat, well, the cat you know, would need to be rescued by Hepburn at the end of the film. (Which, as an aside, I was fine with: I have long had an aversion to animals being mistreated in a film or book. Even fake, I just dislike it. I don't enjoy it. And yes, in the story the cat finds a home, so it's not mistreated either, but still. Still.)

And yeah, the film changes a lot from the story. It drops pretty much all the meat from Capote's work, keeps the framework of it, and both downplays Holly's prostitution and gives the narrator some of his own sleeze to offset the 'free loving' nature of Hepburn's character. It is a skillful little reshuffling of the personalities of the characters, with enough left in it that, if you know Capote's version, still leaves Holly as a prostitute. If you don't, it leaves her mostly as a cheerful, manipulating gold digger who is just looking for the right rich man. You could write a lot on those two changes, a lot about the sexual politics that, fifty-two years later, will still find resonance in today's life.

Yet, there are still some odd strikes in what they keep in the film. Holly's marriage at fourteen to Doc is still there, but feels, contextually, off, as if it doesn't belong in this family orientated affair, and you can't help but think they would have just been better to turn him into her father, and her a runaway child, rather than a runaway child bride. It doesn't help, either, that Doc is played by Buddy Ebsen, who is probably most well known as the kindly father from The Beverly Hillbillies. But mostly, it just doesn't do anything in the film. In Capote's original, the marriage goes a long way to explaining Golightly's life now, of how she turned to prostitution, and her manipulation of older men--but in the film, it fails to do that, and just sits there, cold and strange and unnecessary.

But man, it's nothing when compared to Mickey Rooney.

My God.

Mickey Rooney.

No one tells you when you watch Breakfast at Tiffany's that Mickey Rooney is lurking in the film, waiting to destroy all its flimsy romance, all its good natured cheer. No one tells you that he will subsequently destroy all the romance that you wish to enjoy. That he will, ultimately, insult you so badly, so awfully, that you will set there slack jawed and go, "My fucking God. Mickey Rooney."



His portrayal of an Asian man is so amazingly offensive, so awful in every aspect that, for a film trying to be the most bland, inoffensive romantic maybe comedy out there, it almost beggars belief that it was included. It shouldn't be Hepburn's dress that is sold and remembered by millions, but Rooney's buck teeth.

It's a terrible portrayal, a terrible act of comedy that, even fifty years ago, must have offended, but it also illustrates just how far Western movies have not come since then. Oh, sure, Rooney could never do the roll now: political correctness would insist that someone at least Asian do it, but the rest of it, the room, the food, the clothes, that isn't difficult to see still existing, and it is all part of the offensive nature of the caricature. As much as you can read a lot into the changes of Hepburn and Peppard's characters, there's even more to make out of the small scenes that Rooney has in the film.

In the end, I have to say, both N. and I couldn't figure out how this film had become a romantic classic, or how it is still played in cinemas on February the 14th, and how nobody, nobody, says to you beforehand, "Yeah, about Mickey Rooney in the film..."
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Published on February 14, 2013 21:49

February 13, 2013