When spoken in reference to a person the word "bitterness" denotes an individual's anger or disappointment over some aspect of their life, especially an enduring and likely personal outlook-defining anger and disappointment over an aspect likely to have been unimportant.
A person's being bitter is commonly considered a failing on that person's part.
Of course, I will not deny that bitterness can be toxic. But were that merely the issue I do not think that there would be so much opprobrium toward persons who give evidences of being bitter.
After all, consider what we associate bitterness with--a sense on the part of person feeling that way that others have treated them less than justly. Implicit in this is an indictment of those others, and perhaps of society itself, and this is a thing that people of conventional mind cannot countenance, and accordingly dismiss or attack anyone whose speech or action even hits at such indictment. The fault must not be with society, but with the individual, making their feeling illegitimate. And even if they really were unjustly treated in a way that cannot be denied, they think the person who suffered the injustice at others' hands should simply "Whatever. Get over it!"
As an attitude toward another individual is concerned it is not empathetic or sympathetic, respectful or tolerant. As an attitude toward society it is, at best, complacent in the extreme--and for those whose opinions generally count, which is to say the privileged and elite, the authority-holding and the comfortable, selfish and self-serving in the extreme, with all that tends to flow from that, including the ready demand of "convenient social virtue" on the part of others as they brush off any and every problem in a manner not only callous toward others, but inimical to any enlightened conception of their own self-interest.
Considering all that the very least one should do is stop and think before they rush to condemn others merely for feeling something less than convenient to the comfortable. Indeed, they should recall that if people have any right to a subjectivity whatsoever that includes the right to be bitter, the more in as bitterness may well be a valid response to life experience--and that denying those already mistreated that right too can scarcely be expected to do anything but add to their bitterness.
Saturday, April 20, 2024
Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and Mystery Science Theater 3000
Not long ago I happened across the story of Mystery Science Theater 3000 writer and performer Kevin Murphy (the guy who was Tom Servo) meeting Kurt Vonnegut Jr..
It seems that Vonnegut did not care for the show's concept.
Given Vonnegut's reputation as a satirist this may seem surprising--but then I find myself remembering Vonnegut's creation Kilgore Trout, and how, in a way very rare for fiction of its generation, Trout's tale showed how lonely and sad and bleak the odyssey of an artist can be. How little appreciated, to the point that they may not even think of themselves as artists, because no one else does, and in spite of all the cheap "Believe in yourself" self-help dross and "artists don't need other people's support" crap people of feeble and conventional mind love to peddle, this matters.
A show that is literally all about punching down at makers of "bad movies" via an hour and a half of heckling is a far cry from the outlook on life that produced a Kilgore Trout, and it is in that spirit that I take Vonnegut's answer to Murphy that "every artist deserves respect."
Indeed, I have to admit that while back when the show was on the air I was a fan I find myself sympathizing with Vonnegut's stance more and more all the time.
It seems that Vonnegut did not care for the show's concept.
Given Vonnegut's reputation as a satirist this may seem surprising--but then I find myself remembering Vonnegut's creation Kilgore Trout, and how, in a way very rare for fiction of its generation, Trout's tale showed how lonely and sad and bleak the odyssey of an artist can be. How little appreciated, to the point that they may not even think of themselves as artists, because no one else does, and in spite of all the cheap "Believe in yourself" self-help dross and "artists don't need other people's support" crap people of feeble and conventional mind love to peddle, this matters.
A show that is literally all about punching down at makers of "bad movies" via an hour and a half of heckling is a far cry from the outlook on life that produced a Kilgore Trout, and it is in that spirit that I take Vonnegut's answer to Murphy that "every artist deserves respect."
Indeed, I have to admit that while back when the show was on the air I was a fan I find myself sympathizing with Vonnegut's stance more and more all the time.
The False Image of the Professoriat's Gentility
Fiction, especially that kind of contemporary fiction which reaches the broader public, overwhelmingly deals with those leading lives of relative comfort and privilege--like the more affluent professionals. So it goes with our depiction of college. Yes, we had a sitcom about a community college not so long ago, but now as before the college we are most likely to see pop culture depict is a four year research institution with graduate programs and sports teams and dorms and campus life, staffed by professors living a cloistered but essentially genteel existence.
Of course, it may seem that in spite of that the popular view today is a bit more nuanced. The lot of the adjunct professor of whom American higher education has made ever more, and ever more exploitative, use, has been increasingly discussed, for example. Still, even those who know of such things think it a recent novelty. By contrast, those who read Upton Sinclair's The Goose-Step learn that even if the extreme, semester-to-semester insecurity of the professor is a new and unwelcome change, a poverty that makes even a shabby gentility out of the question has been the lot of a very large part of the American professoriat for a very long time.
Of course, it may seem that in spite of that the popular view today is a bit more nuanced. The lot of the adjunct professor of whom American higher education has made ever more, and ever more exploitative, use, has been increasingly discussed, for example. Still, even those who know of such things think it a recent novelty. By contrast, those who read Upton Sinclair's The Goose-Step learn that even if the extreme, semester-to-semester insecurity of the professor is a new and unwelcome change, a poverty that makes even a shabby gentility out of the question has been the lot of a very large part of the American professoriat for a very long time.
A Few Words on Keisuke Kinoshita's Army
I was unfamiliar with even the name of Keisuke Kinoshita until early one morning I happened upon his 1944 film Army on TCM.
What overwhelmed everything else for me while watching the film was the official value system the movie presented as prevailing in the Japan of the movie's day. The world over people are told that it is right that the state draft the children they spent their adult lives raising to fight and possibly die in the state's wars--and that they ought to be proud of their children doing so.
However, here it went further--parents told they should not merely be willing to have their children drafted and fight and die, and proud of those who fight and lay down their lives, but that they should be ashamed for caring whether those children are alive or dead, whether they will ever see them return home, instead of being content that they are "serving the Emperor" (and not simply by pompous authority figures, but supposedly "right-thinking" peers). And indeed the film is above all remembered for infuriating the censors with its final scene in which a mother seeing her son off to war, shows herself unable to let go of the child she raised.
I was aghast at the propaganda line this film was intended to promote, and which (as I later learned) at least some of the makers of the film bravely defied in that final scene, and that reaction has stayed with me ever since. In fact it has been much on my mind in these years as the Japanese people protest the rehabilitation of wartime militarism by the nationalist right in their country. This was what they lived through--and they have no desire to repeat the experience.
What overwhelmed everything else for me while watching the film was the official value system the movie presented as prevailing in the Japan of the movie's day. The world over people are told that it is right that the state draft the children they spent their adult lives raising to fight and possibly die in the state's wars--and that they ought to be proud of their children doing so.
However, here it went further--parents told they should not merely be willing to have their children drafted and fight and die, and proud of those who fight and lay down their lives, but that they should be ashamed for caring whether those children are alive or dead, whether they will ever see them return home, instead of being content that they are "serving the Emperor" (and not simply by pompous authority figures, but supposedly "right-thinking" peers). And indeed the film is above all remembered for infuriating the censors with its final scene in which a mother seeing her son off to war, shows herself unable to let go of the child she raised.
I was aghast at the propaganda line this film was intended to promote, and which (as I later learned) at least some of the makers of the film bravely defied in that final scene, and that reaction has stayed with me ever since. In fact it has been much on my mind in these years as the Japanese people protest the rehabilitation of wartime militarism by the nationalist right in their country. This was what they lived through--and they have no desire to repeat the experience.
"It's Only a Movie": Further Thoughts
Considering the dismissal of a movie's content with the remark that "It's only a movie" it seems to me that, aside from the essential flippancy of the remark toward the other person who committed the crime of speaking there is a particular dismissal of anything resembling artistic aspiration and critical standards as we know them--especially when it is the answer to somebody's pointing out a movie's lack of realism.
The plain and simple truth is that as is generally the case with modern art forms those making movies endeavor to achieve the illusion of reality, in part because audiences have to be made to "believe" in what they are seeing to become emotionally involved in it in that conventional "dramatic" way most storytelling, and most movies, aim for, all as the same effect matters even in light entertainment. ("It's funny because it's true!" goes the common explanation of something that the person in question finds funny.)
Of course, there is such a thing as artistic license--in part because transforming the stuff of life into a 90-minute or 2-hour or 3-hour dramatic presentation requires a good deal of selection and compression and combination and distillation. (Hence such innovations as the montage.) Yet their makers generally do not aspire to get things wrong, and their doing so is not generally thought to their credit. It is therefore far from illegitimate to point the fact out--no matter what the idiots who blow off any observation with "It's only a movie!" say.
Of course, there is such a thing as artistic license--in part because transforming the stuff of life into a 90-minute or 2-hour or 3-hour dramatic presentation requires a good deal of selection and compression and combination and distillation. (Hence such innovations as the montage.) Yet their makers generally do not aspire to get things wrong, and their doing so is not generally thought to their credit. It is therefore far from illegitimate to point the fact out--no matter what the idiots who blow off any observation with "It's only a movie!" say.
"It's Only a Movie"
When someone raises the faults of a movie's depiction of its subject a certain sort of person responds with the retort "It's only a movie!"--or words to that effect.
Their meaning seems to be that as the movie is "only a movie" what the movie presented was not to be taken seriously and that the person who said something about it suggesting that it was at all to be taken seriously is a fool to do so, making what was merely flippant actually insulting.
This is all the more the case in that the response is so lazy and dishonest as to be an insult to the intelligence of anyone to whom they are responding. After all, does the person who says "It's only a movie" themselves abide by their own standard--never, ever taking any aspect of any movie seriously? And even if they do so do they actually understand the implications of that position, that no one can legitimately do so? That movies mean nothing as art? That they have no impact on perceptions?
Are they really ready to stand by all that?
Almost certainly not. Rather their intent was to shut down the other party, and (perhaps unintentionally, but very likely intentionally) do it in this pointedly disrespectful way.
Consider, then, how much respect someone who does that deserves in return.
Their meaning seems to be that as the movie is "only a movie" what the movie presented was not to be taken seriously and that the person who said something about it suggesting that it was at all to be taken seriously is a fool to do so, making what was merely flippant actually insulting.
This is all the more the case in that the response is so lazy and dishonest as to be an insult to the intelligence of anyone to whom they are responding. After all, does the person who says "It's only a movie" themselves abide by their own standard--never, ever taking any aspect of any movie seriously? And even if they do so do they actually understand the implications of that position, that no one can legitimately do so? That movies mean nothing as art? That they have no impact on perceptions?
Are they really ready to stand by all that?
Almost certainly not. Rather their intent was to shut down the other party, and (perhaps unintentionally, but very likely intentionally) do it in this pointedly disrespectful way.
Consider, then, how much respect someone who does that deserves in return.
Is News Avoidance Surging?
Back in October 2023 the Pew Research Center reported that Americans follow the news less closely than they used to do. Where in 2016-2018 the percentage describing themselves as closely following the news was in the 50 percent range the figure was in the 37-38 percent range in 2021-2022--a dramatic drop-off over those few years that can seem related to what people see objectively getting worse. There is the pandemic, the economic turmoil, the wars escalating and spreading across the face of the Earth, the horrific intrusion of ecosystem collapse into more and more lives, among much, much else--and the way in which the media continue to live down to the lowest expectations every sane and informed person has of them as they propagandize rather than inform, terrify rather than enlighten, break the spirits of those who care rather than perform the democratic mission about which they are so pompous, while disgustingly praising themselves for their "responsibility" and "professionalism" as they set about it.
Still, it can seem that after a low point in 2021 there were hints of a mild rebound in attentiveness to the news--with the rebound not so mild among those in the 18-29 age range. If less inclined to follow the news closely than their elders at all those points in time covered by the survey it seems worth remarking that over the longer term the drop was smallest in their case (8 percent for the 2016-2022 period, as against the 19 percent drop among the age 30-49 group), due to a 5 percent surge in the percentage claiming to follow the news from 2021 to 2022.
Might that be indicative of increasing attentiveness to politics among the young? Perhaps--though one should remember that this is a matter of self-reporting in response to a question of a rather general nature, subjective perceptions of which may have changed over time (these six years rather a long time in the media world). One should also remember that even if entirely accurate it still leaves them a long way from the engagement level of their elders--with of those 65 and up, even at this low point, nearly two-thirds (64 percent) still following the news closely. All the same, it is something for those hopeful that an age cohort many associate with withdrawal from life will become more engaged with the world they live in to watch.
Still, it can seem that after a low point in 2021 there were hints of a mild rebound in attentiveness to the news--with the rebound not so mild among those in the 18-29 age range. If less inclined to follow the news closely than their elders at all those points in time covered by the survey it seems worth remarking that over the longer term the drop was smallest in their case (8 percent for the 2016-2022 period, as against the 19 percent drop among the age 30-49 group), due to a 5 percent surge in the percentage claiming to follow the news from 2021 to 2022.
Might that be indicative of increasing attentiveness to politics among the young? Perhaps--though one should remember that this is a matter of self-reporting in response to a question of a rather general nature, subjective perceptions of which may have changed over time (these six years rather a long time in the media world). One should also remember that even if entirely accurate it still leaves them a long way from the engagement level of their elders--with of those 65 and up, even at this low point, nearly two-thirds (64 percent) still following the news closely. All the same, it is something for those hopeful that an age cohort many associate with withdrawal from life will become more engaged with the world they live in to watch.
Len Deighton's Blood, Tears, and Folly: An Objective Look at World War II: Some Reflections
Still, if the book fell well short of the promise it seemed to make it seems to me to, three decades on, have interest at least as a reflection of the years in which it appeared. Deighton's Blood, Tears and Folly appeared as part of that body of revisitation and revaluation of the was that questioned the received, patriotic, view of Britain's role in the way--the years when Correlli Barnett was still putting out his "Pride and Fall" quartet, when British government whistleblower-turned-historian Clive Ponting published 1940: Myth and Reality--and when those defending the received view, from people like Ponting more than Barnett, fired back at them (with such counterblasts coming from some surprising places, as I was surprised to see when I read Angus Calder's The Myth of the Blitz).
At the same time there is what gave that revisitation a contemporary edge, namely the parallels of the Britain of the World War II era as Barnett, Ponting et. al. described it, and the Britain of their own time--not least the country's elite overrating its strength and importance in the world, and failing to come to grips with important industrial and economic weaknesses. Indeed, writing of Britain (and America) up against Germany and Japan in the 1940s Deighton drew an explicit parallel with the English-speaking powers in their economic competition with Germany and Japan in the 1990s--which, like many at the time, he thought Germany and Japan might have already won. ("Is the European Community . . . about to become that faceless bureaucratic machine that Hitler started to build? Is the Pacific already Japan's co-prosperity sphere?" Deighton asks in the introduction.) In his thoughts about such matters Deighton struck me as orthodox and conventional and unimpressive in his thinking (certainly relative to the impression he makes as a novelist, and his promise of a "revisionist" view), with his remarks about the U.S.-Japanese competition in particular telling in this respect. (In his book's last pages he describes that competition as a matter of whether a "closed, class-conscious, racially exclusive" society would triumph over "the world's most open and dynamic one." Japan did not triumph as many expected, of course, but the causes and consequences of Japan's failure to do so were quite remote from what he seemed to think.)
Still, had he focused on developing that idea, rather than devoting most of his time to recounting the familiar highlights yet again in the familiar ways (Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain, the fall of Singapore)--and in the process, maybe moved his thinking beyond the conventionalities--he might have delivered that "fresh perspective" the book he delivered so sorely lacks.
The Wearisomeness of Les Claqueurs
Over the years I have paid a good deal of attention to the entertainment press simply because of the subjects I write about--and personally think that press has got worse. Looking at particular web sites over the years it certainly seems to me that many a site that had once provided at least some interesting comment has been reduced to a platform for listicle-packed clickbait, while the proportion of breathless hype to substance has exploded--enough so that I find myself less and less inclined to bother with anything my immediate research needs do not require me to look at, the claquing that was always an annoyance simply become intolerably exhausting. The result is that where once upon a time the trivia of entertainment news seemed at least capable of offering a respite from the horrors of the headlines, it now seems to me something to avoid just as much.
William Gibson on "Toughness"
As I have remarked in the past William Gibson's nonfiction, even taken on its distinctly postmodernist terms, can be very uneven--but at his very best Gibson can and does offer an important insight, strikingly phrased.
One, rather off-handedly presented in his tribute to Japanese film actor Takeshi Kitano, referred to how toughness and its display is so often "simply the pornography of fascism."
The words ring as true for me now as when I first read them. Indeed, I suggest that the reader watch very carefully the way "journalists" use the word "tough" in referring to politicians and their policies, all too revealing of the real sensibility of many of those who not only would never present themselves as fascists, but indeed react with outrage whenever anyone uses the word at all (even in reference to literal fascists).
One, rather off-handedly presented in his tribute to Japanese film actor Takeshi Kitano, referred to how toughness and its display is so often "simply the pornography of fascism."
The words ring as true for me now as when I first read them. Indeed, I suggest that the reader watch very carefully the way "journalists" use the word "tough" in referring to politicians and their policies, all too revealing of the real sensibility of many of those who not only would never present themselves as fascists, but indeed react with outrage whenever anyone uses the word at all (even in reference to literal fascists).
"Brutally Honest"
Just as "tough love" is more often about toughness than love, brutal honesty tends to be more about brutality than honesty. A certain kind of person can never pass up a chance to say something hurtful--and does not when they have handy the excuse that they are being "honest."
Considering such "honesty" I find myself thinking about those people with wealth and power and status one hears about, surrounded by people who always tell them what they want to hear, and accordingly tell them only what will flatter them, often to their longer-run cost.
I suspect most of the people on this planet, who lack wealth and power and status, are in the opposite position--surrounded by people telling them what they do not want to hear, not because the person in question needs to hear it, but because it gives those around them pleasure to say it, and in line with brutal honesty being about the brutality rather than the honesty, the brutal things they say need not have anything to do with facts or truth at all.
Considering such "honesty" I find myself thinking about those people with wealth and power and status one hears about, surrounded by people who always tell them what they want to hear, and accordingly tell them only what will flatter them, often to their longer-run cost.
I suspect most of the people on this planet, who lack wealth and power and status, are in the opposite position--surrounded by people telling them what they do not want to hear, not because the person in question needs to hear it, but because it gives those around them pleasure to say it, and in line with brutal honesty being about the brutality rather than the honesty, the brutal things they say need not have anything to do with facts or truth at all.
"Tough Love"
I have always viewed claims of "tough love" with suspicion. It is undeniable that people may not always have the option of being gentle with those they care about--that the only possible way to help them in a situation where they cannot not help them may require them to be blunt and even harsh. Still, it is the case that many a person seizes on any excuse to be brutal, and it seems to me that the cultural moment in which are living has been overly indulgent to those throwing about the excuse--because it approves brutality. This is especially insofar as it is those who have power who are in a position to be brutal, and it approves those who have power, with all that says about that moment.
Another Crappy Celebrity Bio Headed Your Way!
You may have noticed this pattern:
Some celebrity you probably haven't heard much about in a while is suddenly in the news--not for things they are doing now, but because of stories they are telling about the past, which media outlets treats as headline stuff even when, frankly, the stories are pretty trivial, with the practice not necessarily limited to entertainment news. You wonder "Why am I hearing so much about this idiot?" Then you hear they have a memoir coming out. And you realize that is why you were hearing about them.
In this situation the news media was not reporting the news, but acting as advertisers for the book, a book the world almost certainly does not need, ghostwritten on behalf of someone who contributed nothing but a name and maybe some gossip, so that that book the celebrity did not write and which the world does not need might be on the bestseller list the week of its appearance.
This rather revolting game is yet another reminder that it is the Dauriats calling the shots in publishing--and that the media elites who demand so much respect consistently prove themselves unworthy of that respect, all as the portion of the public that still reads books all too depressingly rewards the vile behavior of all of the above, just about every time.
Some celebrity you probably haven't heard much about in a while is suddenly in the news--not for things they are doing now, but because of stories they are telling about the past, which media outlets treats as headline stuff even when, frankly, the stories are pretty trivial, with the practice not necessarily limited to entertainment news. You wonder "Why am I hearing so much about this idiot?" Then you hear they have a memoir coming out. And you realize that is why you were hearing about them.
In this situation the news media was not reporting the news, but acting as advertisers for the book, a book the world almost certainly does not need, ghostwritten on behalf of someone who contributed nothing but a name and maybe some gossip, so that that book the celebrity did not write and which the world does not need might be on the bestseller list the week of its appearance.
This rather revolting game is yet another reminder that it is the Dauriats calling the shots in publishing--and that the media elites who demand so much respect consistently prove themselves unworthy of that respect, all as the portion of the public that still reads books all too depressingly rewards the vile behavior of all of the above, just about every time.
"It's Called . . ."
I am sure the reader is familiar with how in some situations a person will start discussing or explaining something and the person listening to them will, in reply, speak a sentence beginning with the words "It's called . . ."
"I just don't have the stamina anymore," the first person might say feeling winded after a run.
"It's called 'Getting old,'" the second person says.
The first person in that little dialogue is probably well aware that they are aging--and that as one ages their stamina tends to decline, and that feeling winded when they did not expect to do so is likely to be reflective that (even if the reason may well be something else). Telling them "It's called 'Getting old'" is not informative, but rather rubs an unpleasant fact in their face condescendingly--and only served to the purpose of providing the speaker with an unwarranted sense of superiority over the second person as they said something essentially nasty.
That is called "being an asswipe."
Don't be one.
"I just don't have the stamina anymore," the first person might say feeling winded after a run.
"It's called 'Getting old,'" the second person says.
The first person in that little dialogue is probably well aware that they are aging--and that as one ages their stamina tends to decline, and that feeling winded when they did not expect to do so is likely to be reflective that (even if the reason may well be something else). Telling them "It's called 'Getting old'" is not informative, but rather rubs an unpleasant fact in their face condescendingly--and only served to the purpose of providing the speaker with an unwarranted sense of superiority over the second person as they said something essentially nasty.
That is called "being an asswipe."
Don't be one.
David Walsh Meets Andrew Sarris
Andrew Sarris, of course, is one of the more prominent figures in twentieth century American film criticism--the one who introduced Americans to the auteur theory emergent in the circle centered on the French film journal Cahiers du Cinema.
Sarris also played an important role in the politics of the era's film criticism. As Peter Biskind argued, Sarris and Pauline Kael were the two predominant figures of the post-war years, and Sarris as well as Kael a Cold War centrist, along with her fighting against "ideology" in filmmaking with his typewriter.
Naturally Sarris' exchange with film critic David Walsh makes for very interesting reading, the more in as in spite of their significant intellectual and political differences each is respectful of and gracious to the other. Indeed, Sarris, at least the Sarris of the interview, can come off as more leftish than one might expect from having read a good deal of his work. Answering a question from Walsh about the tenability of the social situation Sarris confessed that it was "awful" and no "fair-minded person" seeing anything at all could call "the situation . . . ideal," the "bourgeois complacency" of political debate reached "a stage . . . such as even a bourgeois like me finds unthinkable," the more in as, if comfortable and secure in his own life at this point, Sarris says that he "can understand the pain out there."
Sarris' remark is the more interesting because the exchange took place way back in 1998--just when the tech boom was reaching its climax, when we were constantly being told how great everything was, globalized info-utopia that would just get better and better near at hand--illusions today long since shattered as the realities to which Sarris alluded remain, and grow only more pressing.
Sarris also played an important role in the politics of the era's film criticism. As Peter Biskind argued, Sarris and Pauline Kael were the two predominant figures of the post-war years, and Sarris as well as Kael a Cold War centrist, along with her fighting against "ideology" in filmmaking with his typewriter.
Naturally Sarris' exchange with film critic David Walsh makes for very interesting reading, the more in as in spite of their significant intellectual and political differences each is respectful of and gracious to the other. Indeed, Sarris, at least the Sarris of the interview, can come off as more leftish than one might expect from having read a good deal of his work. Answering a question from Walsh about the tenability of the social situation Sarris confessed that it was "awful" and no "fair-minded person" seeing anything at all could call "the situation . . . ideal," the "bourgeois complacency" of political debate reached "a stage . . . such as even a bourgeois like me finds unthinkable," the more in as, if comfortable and secure in his own life at this point, Sarris says that he "can understand the pain out there."
Sarris' remark is the more interesting because the exchange took place way back in 1998--just when the tech boom was reaching its climax, when we were constantly being told how great everything was, globalized info-utopia that would just get better and better near at hand--illusions today long since shattered as the realities to which Sarris alluded remain, and grow only more pressing.
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