Gamer Entitlement and the Myth of Ownership
Posted: April 16, 2012 Filed under: Essays, News, Opinion, Video games | Tags: art, artists, bad guys, bob dylan, colin moriarty, dlc, ea, electronic arts, firefly, good guys, humble bundle, IGN, kickstarter, mass effect 3, origin, ownership, producers, publishers, steam, video game industry Leave a commentArt is a tricky damn thing. It’s almost impossible to define, to begin with, and it’s pretty damn hard to decide who the owner ever is. I mean, sure, there’s often the original piece of art, like with a painting or a fresco or a sculpture or whatever. Things get much more complicated when you consider other mediums like music, where that piece of art, be it Beethoven or the Beatles, can be recreated and redone (or even duplicated) by a third party. Read the rest of this entry »
The Artist
Posted: January 5, 2012 Filed under: Opinion, Review | Tags: art, Bérénice Bejo, George Valentin, Jean Dujardin, Michel Hazanavicius, movies, Peppy Miller, Prince, reviews, silent, silent-films, the artist Leave a commentI had the good sense and fortune to watch The Artist, a film that netted star Jean Dujardin Best Actor at Cannes 2011 and which has six Golden Globe nominations going for it, the most of any film for 2011 (not that, you know, Golden Globes mean anything).
The artist is about silent film star George Valentin, his relationship with up-and-coming actress Peppy Miller, and the decline of silent films and the advent of “talkies”. Valentin, like perhaps any professional scared of a new medium of art (like Ebert’s fear of video games or the fear of 3D films), insists that these talkies are just a fad and that silent film is here to stay. Obviously, he’s proven wrong.
The movie is, itself, mostly silent. There is a musical score, like a silent picture would have, and aside from a few (very, very few) lines and sound effects at key places, we’re left only to read lips and read the occasional card on screen. Our focus however isn’t entirely on why Valentin won’t star in a talkie, but why Valentin refuses to talk. And that is exactly how he phrases it. He “talks” with his fellow stars, but the audio is always on mute: the silent-film era audiences don’t hear him talk, and neither do we. Valentin spends his career talking to the audience using gestures and intertitles. Talking, we’re meant to learn, is as much about being heard as talking itself. If no one hears you talk, you aren’t talking.
And I think, to some extent, that is the problem that silent-film stars who, like Valentin, refused to adapt to talkies faced. It’s what happens to new directors, new artists, new actors. You can write the best novel, paint the best portrait, or sing the best song in the world, but if no one reads it, sees it, or hears it, it is nothing. When movies are all about being seen, well, everyone sees Valentin. When movies are about hearing and seeing, and Valentin refuses to be heard, he loses that.
Something that I really appreciated, and I think writer and director Michel Hazanavicius deserves a ton of credit for this, is that we are made to feel pity for Valentin, but never meant to hate him or think he’s an idiot. We’re in a position of dramatic irony: we know that Valentin’s refusal to talk is going to spell the end of his career. We know that silent-films die in the era of talkies. While people who say(/said) things like “computers will never catch on” or “the internet is just a fad”: we treat these people as rubes and with scorn. It’s funny for us, here in the digital era, to hear people say that. But throughout The Artist, I only found myself feeling sorry and sad for Valentin. And that’s how, I think, the film manages to maintain its humanity. It’s a movie about a man’s futile struggle against technology (and ultimately himself), but doesn’t end with his complete ruin or with us hating him. And while some have tried to argue that making a silent-film about silent-films is gimmicky, it isn’t. Hazanavicius manages to convey everything that we need with a few intertitles, gesture, music, and a couple lines of dialogue (star Dujardin as Valentin has but a single line in the film, and only two words; his co-star Bérénice Bejo as Peppy Miller has none). And in that regard, it’s absolutely brilliant. Show, don’t tell, is almost always a good rule of thumb, and Hazanavicius spends almost the entire film showing. Maybe audio killed the silent film (and maybe video killed the radio star), but we’re meant to remember that an artist is always an artist.
If you can find a theatre still playing it, go watch it. It’s awesome. Oh yeah, noted heroes John Goodman and James Cromwell also star and are magnificent. If you were on the fence before, that should seal the deal.
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Anecdotes — even more spoilers ahead:
I had the displeasure of sitting beside some clowns during the film. While my girlfriend was between me and the worst of them, we still had to endure their whispering throughout the film. There is a moment where Valentin is seconds away from eating his gun. The audio track has gone silent and, one row back, two morons are whispering.
After a pause “BANG!!!” appears as an intertitle. Some boobs who were likely still alive during the silent-film era read the card out loud, for the illiterates in the audience. It cuts to Miller, who has crashed her car outside of Valentin’s home. The obvious conclusion is that the “BANG!!!” refers specifically to her crashing her car, and not Valentin eating lead. Alas, these fools were still surprised.
What shocked me the most, the absolute most, was at the very end when Valentin utters his only line: “With pleasure.” Jean Dujardin, if you haven’t guessed it, is French. George Valentin is not a very American sounding name. Valentin utters his line in a French accent: when he does so, the tools beside me gasp in surprise, one even says “huh?”. Yes. A man named George Valentin, played by Jean Dujardin, has a French accent. Deal with it.
If you go to the movies, please shut the hell up. Especially if it is a silent-film. I didn’t pay money to hear your bullshit.
Considering Art
Posted: December 16, 2011 Filed under: Essays, Opinion | Tags: aesthetic, art, authenticity, bad, being, berger, brilliance, bullshit art, canvas, considering, edgar allan poe, elitism, good art, henry james, intentionality, john cage, lacan, painter, penny-arcade, philosophy, sculptor, the cloud, thought-machine, tycho, what is, writer, writing, zizek Leave a commentAs an English major, a writer, and someone who has been reading prodigiously for years, the issue of art and what is art is an issue particularly close to my heart. I’ve found, from my own experience, that the field is wide-open. The simplest explanation, I think, is that when an object is meant to inspire thought (or even lack of thought, I guess), that object can be considered an art object. Clearly what that object can be to be an art object is practically limitless. For example, Seoul’s “The Cloud” can be considered art. It is designed to be functional, certainly, but one cannot deny it holds an aesthetic beauty and inspired considerable philosophical thought from some (and thoughtless outrage from others). It can be ridiculously easy to consider just about anything art, from this perspective. A very simplistic tower, in contrast to The Cloud, could inspire thought about austerity or modernity or even man’s inability to copy nature or whatever. In the visual arts, a happy face on a canvas or a single black line or even a blank canvas can be considered art. That isn’t to say we shouldn’t or can’t judge art (“good” art, “bad” art), but that we should keep in mind both what is art and that very frequently, what we consider to be good or bad art is completely arbitrary. Some of the greatest art from the medieval era of painting, for example, was commissioned by nobility and was described by them to the exact detail: because it is strictly commercial and because what we consider to be creativity isn’t of huge importance, do we not consider it art? Do we only consider it art if x number of dollars have gone into its production, or if the artist spent y hours of time? These are all very important questions, and I guess when it comes to art, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But I think restricting what is art is negative and leads to elitism of the worst kind.
Given all this, I was pleased to read Tycho’s take on the thing over at Penny-Arcade:
I don’t think I’ve ever read a definition for art that wasn’t stupid. Generally speaking, when a person constructs a thought-machine of this kind, what they’re actually trying to do is determine what isn’t art. I have always been white trash, and will never cease to be so; what that means is that I was raised with an inherent distrust in the Hoity and a base and brutal urge to dismantle the Toity. This is sometimes termed anti-intellectualism, usually by intellectuals, when what it is in truth is an opposition to intellect for intellect’s sake. The reality is that what “is” and “isn’t art” is something we can determine with a slider in our prefrontal cortex.
If this thought-machine had any purpose other than to create a world with less art, I could cut it some slack. But it doesn’t. Its entire purpose is to rarify art, controlling expression thereby. The aperture must be cinched, and quickly, before someone creates a cultural product without elite imprimatur. Its effete and its fucking disgusting.
I would of course argue that art is a thought-machine, itself. Art is, or should, or can, or might, allow us to view the world from a certain perspective (or no perspective at all). Art is, or can be, or might be, an expression of an idea (that idea, at times, being art). Whether or not that idea is beneficial, or useful, or unique, or anything like that, is a different issue (and perhaps not an issue at all). It becomes so hard to draw a dividing line that it is pointless to do so.
One of the biggest drivers seems to me the intentionality and even authenticity of the piece of art. Regarding authenticity (which itself is such a nebulous term, only by taking it at face value with only the most cursory examination is it useful as an adjective), art that is made for the express purpose of making money, for example, is not considered art by some. This would, for those that hold that view, exclude such things as Harlequin romances. By that same token, however, do we then exclude movies and video games and TV shows automatically, or do we take it for granted that the creators are simply trying to tell a story rather than make money, whereas pulp novels written a dime a dozen are less about story and more about dollars. But, given that we know in today’s day and age at the very least anything that is created that can be considered art can be commercialised, where can we even begin to draw the line?
Regarding intentionality, what does it matter what the artist thought? I’m an artist in that what I create is intended to have some aesthetic value and is meant to impart some kind of message and impart some kind of thought. An interpretation of how I write, for example, is useful but why I write it, my intentionality, is much less so. My intentionality is useful in terms of my argument, of course, but in terms of any sort of aesthetic appreciation it becomes next to useless. A great example that always comes to mind is one from an English course I took a year or two ago. Reading Edgar Allan Poe, the issue of intentionality popped up (as it did in a discussion on Henry James some weeks earlier). When the professor asked us what we thought the author thought, I stated that I didn’t care what the author thought and that it doesn’t matter what he thought, what matters is what we think his art is expressing. In this sense, the artist is kind of a hero. He, or of course she, has the potential to harness a brilliant idea and spill it out on canvas or paper fresco or .doc, but once they leave the picture, what they thought ceases to be of great import. They can interpret their own art, and we can take that as being important or relevant or helpful (in that they may be an authority and in that any interpretation can be helpful), but we certainly don’t have to take it for gospel.
I think that when philosophy ceases to be useful for mankind and begins to be useful only for philosophy, we may be missing the point. I don’t mean to be like some douchebag first-year philosophy major who walks into a bar and says what… is? like some pocket Rousseau. Sure, what is is an important question if we’re talking about what it is to be sentient, or to think, or to just be. But the goal should be to come up with a practical set of ground rules, or to at least recognize that we don’t have a practical set of ground rules, and what is and isn’t art varies from day-to-day based on current sociopolitical thought, market trends, education levels, and even the weather. More importantly, I think, we should be more mindful and more critical of thought itself. We should assess and evaluate not just what is art, but why it is art and why we think it is art.
But limiting what is art with bullshit elitism is probably not the way to go.