Raxivace wrote:Eva Yojimbo wrote:Can't say I'm surprised about Wayne's comments, though I am a bit surprised he was so open about them. People transferring their hatred of the actor onto the films they made is a pretty classical example of not separating the artist from the art, and makes even less sense given how little actors have to do with with a film's stories/themes or general "artistic merit." Even sillier that they'd start talking shit about John Ford.
It particularly gets to me with Ford because even if you really didn't like his westerns with Wayne (And those I don't think should be so casually dismissed to begin with), he did so many other great films.
Regular folks being ignorant is one thing, but even cinephiles doing this nonsense gets to me. And I guarantee you that every one of those latter people love another director that was hugely influenced by Ford whether its Welles, Kurosawa, Godard, Leone, Scorsese, hell even Spielberg and Lucas.
Absolutely. Ford's declining reputation seems, again, to be something of a product of how little people really appreciate the art of direction. I can understand some not caring for his genre films, or even not particularly liking his non-genre films, but I don't think there's any way to watch them while understanding the history of cinema and what directors actually do and not marvel at his craftsmanship and artistry. It's why almost all the classic directors idolized him because they completely got it. Meanwhile, cinephiles can certainly love film without actually recognizing such things.
I've often said it'd actually be a good exorcise for anyone who really loves any medium to just try to attempt it, no matter how small. Love film? Go shoot a short film on whatever you have available (even a cell-phone). Love music? Buy a $100 keyboard/guitar, learn some chords, write a song. Love literature? Write a short novel or poetry. Not because you're going to end up doing it professionally or even as a serious amateur, but because it will give you some small understanding of what actually goes into doing it, and, if you put some effort into, a greater understanding of what goes into doing it well.
Raxivace wrote:Part of me wonders too how much of it is specifically playing off of Connery's recent star imagery as James Bond. I know maz mentioned some of the stuff in those first few Bond films in regards to depictions of women being troubling to him, but we do see similar things in Marnie with Mark.
Of course the Bond franchise owes a bit of a debt to Hitch...maybe this is Hitch's response to that?
Yeah, I've even heard the theory before that Connery was chosen specifically because of that Bond persona, and it makes sense too. However, Marnie is a much stronger foil than most of the Bond girls (back then, at least) were, and Hitch is much more interested in the psychological dynamics between them rather than just the superficially sexy surface. I wouldn't be surprised if Hitch was, in some small way, responding to the Bond phenomena/persona.
Raxivace wrote:As much as I like Vertigo I always felt the nun was kind of a weird note to end on, since IIRC she doesn't even appear in any other part of the film. The ship in Marnie sounds like a better integrated version of the same idea.
I really, really need to rewatch Marnie. Thankfully the blu-ray appears to be pretty cheap on Amazon.
Yeah, the nun does kinda come out of nowhere (literally and metaphorically!), but in a twisted way it works considering the thing that seems demonic ends up being (at least a symbol for) something holy. I've also wondered if Hitch was suggesting some kind of "stairway to heaven" thing with the bell tower. At the same moment you cross the barrier between illusion/reality, you cross between life/death, and the "fall to the death" echoes the "fall of man" (again, knowledge being the thing that ultimately leads there). Maybe the ultimate lesson is that humans need some useful illusions or else curiosity kills the cat? Dunno, I'm just spitballing here. I love doing that with Hitch films. Sometimes it spirals into something good.
Raxivace wrote:I don't know much about music but this whole section is pretty good. The last couple of sentences in particular make me think about how it does seem to be harder to talk about form than content in art, even for critics...or apparently they focus on things that aren't even content in the art, like personal stuff about the artist that might not even be necessarily relevant.
It reminds me about a controversy a few years back about a
Matt Zoller Seitz piece that went into this (Itself in response to an article about a Jazz critic taking issue with music criticism- you probably have a greater idea with what's going on with that part than I would). Some people seemed really offended-
one film podcast I occasionally listen to even did an entire episode about the piece.
I think he's right- why talk about art at all on a higher level if you're not going to ignore the things that make it art to begin with? Even the Academy Awards initially tried to leave out presenting the awards for editing and cinematography for the 2019 ceremony- there was a backlash to that from people like Guillermo del Toro (Who rightly called those two things "the very heart of our craft"), and they ended up showing those awards after all.
This isn't all to say I'm some paragon when it comes to writing about form, I definitely have a lot of room for improvement. The trend is troubling though.
Man, that article hits the nail on the head harder than I ever have or could. I especially love what he says near the end: "Write about form. A little bit. Not all the time. Just whenever you see an opening; whenever you think it might make sense, and call attention to the fact that we don't just mysteriously, magically feel things while we're watching movies and TV shows: that the filmmaking is what made us feel those things." This is what I'm saying. Form should be a part--a significant one, IMO--of a critic's repertoire. Context is important, content is important, theme is important, but form is the thing that ties all this together and helps express and articulate it. You can write really insightfully about the former three, but it's possible to be completely off--to be missing a great many things--because you're ignoring the latter.
I didn't know about the Academy nearly ditching editing and cinematography, but yay for del Toro stepping in to correct them.
I'd also say you do just fine with talking about form when it's warranted. I also think form is easier to talk about if you've seen/heard/read something multiple times because form is something that tends to usually work under the level of consciousness as we process the surface aspects initially; and as those aspects become easy to recognize on rewatches we're freer to focus on the form. Most all of my longer reviews have come after rewatches and after I've had the ability to focus on form to some extent, and, especially in the best films, I tend to find I've missed a lot of what's "being said" in the formal language. A Brighter Summer Day is a perfect example of that, to use a recent masterpiece you saw.
Funnily enough, our discussion on this (even before your last reply) inspired me to write my first music review in years for Taylor Swift's last album, one that I feel's been grossly misunderstood because literally nobody (that I've read) has focused on form at all. As an example,
THIS is a superbly, frustratingly written review; superb in what it does mention, frustrating in what it doesn't, which is mostly the music. When it does mention the music it's in brief nods to the genre Swift is attempting, vague qualitative criticisms, or mood sketches: "EDM-lite track," "huge hook with an obnoxious, stiff beat," "throwback vibe to the spacey production," "bruising wall of sound," "gospel-tinged, wobbly," "Wispy, sensual production helps along a gorgeous melody." etc. if anyone could imagine the music from these descriptions I'd be shocked. I actually think such briefly sketched descriptions can be powerful and even necessary at times (to describe every track of an album musically, like every sequence of a film, would be an epic waste of time); but not when you spend so much text discussing everything else but the music! By all means, throw in such formal sketches on occasion, analyze the lyrics, the context, even a little biography; but when the text spent on those things is a mountain compared to the molehill that is the music, then something's off.
I've made my own attempt, but it's really too long at the moment and I need to do some serious editing. Any constructive criticism would be helpful (particularly, I'm trying to figure out how to get the opening three paragraphs down to 2 or even 1, and perhaps finding some others to eliminate entirely or seriously trim).
Authenticity seems a near-universal criterion for positively judging music artists these days. We have no room for fakers, poseurs, actors, pretenders, phonies, and frauds. If you're not from the country, forget being a “true" country artist; and if you're not from the streets, forget being a “true" hip-hop artist. Hell, you'd think such charlatans believed that “art" and “artificial" share some commonality! You'd think that imagination and creativity implies some break, escape, or transfiguration of reality as it is!
“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality." - TS Eliot
What Eliot said is largely true of the other arts as well. Yet, when it comes to artists, especially musical artists like Taylor Swift, the threats and accusations of being inauthentic seem omnipresent in criticism. Perhaps it's inevitable and natural when artists draw so much from their own life for inspiration; but the key to really understanding how art works and why we care at all is in the transformation of experience, emotion, and personality into art; whether those experiences, emotions, and personality are wholly, partially, or not-at-all those of the artists is, in my estimation, irrelevant to the success of that endeavor.
This preamble is unusually pertinent to an album that's built on the very notion of reputation, of how others see you and, in turn, conflate that perception of the person with the art. Even the stark, black & white cover echoes the lack-of-nuance that people have on the subject: this album either is Taylor or it's not. While the “old Taylor" of 1989 is “dressed up in pastel," (and perhaps “dead") this one's donning the seriousness of a reputable, monochromatic newspaper; or maybe it's so much fake news.
The opening track title even questions whether we're ready for the newness, even before we get the bass-heavy, three-note tonic synth-stomp intro of the music—sounding like a “ghostly phantom" of Beethoven's famous 5th Symphony fate motif, and already far heavier and earthy than anything on the light and empyreal 1989—and Taylor's quasi-rapped lyrics. The bridge introduces a higher 5th and a dotted rhythm, while the first major change happens in the chorus: the heaviness drops out, replaced by airy, echoing synths as the melody dances around in the higher 2nd to 6th degrees of the E-minor scale (compared to the 1st/lower-5th repetition of the verse) in Swift's head-voice, before plunging back into the opening.
This first song isn't a Taylor Swift masterpiece, yet it does, in its own way, reveal her approach to songwriting craft—a quality that's surprisingly almost always ignored in favor of analyzing Swift's lyrical content, or her “reputation." This is not saying that lyrics do not matter, but in my mind they only matter to the degree in which they inform (whether complimenting or contrasting) the musical choices, and again the opening song serves as an illustration.
Why the heaviness? Why the “rapping?" The opening lyrics are a clue: “Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him…" The hip-hop inspired rhythmic approach reinforces the mock-drama metaphor that Swift sets up in the intro: if he's going to be a killer, she can hardly be defending herself against such threats with weak, fluffy pop, now can she? Meanwhile, the introduction of the higher 5th (the “dominant" in musical terms) and dotted rhythm in the bridge is a favorite rhetorical device of Swift's, usually indicating some significant change: here it's her recognition and realization when she “sees" (the dotted 5th is on that word) “how this is gonna go." The chorus departs from the mock-combative “real" relationship into the fantasy: “In the middle of the night, in my dreams," and the music obliges by changing tone completely.
Most of the criticism I've read of this track detaches the music from the lyrics, the tone from the drama. The music is Swift feebly dabbling in hip-hop (and EDM); the lyrics are just about another relationship; the tone is Swift trying to be “hip" and “edgy" and “modern." The musical criticism is arguably true—Swift has never been an innovator on the “sound" side of music; the lyrical criticism is also true (and these lyrics are not interesting by Swift's standards); the tone criticisms to me are misguided as Swift will always be as hip as a mullet, as edgy as a Frisbee, and modern as an Atari. The drama—and by drama I mean the creative concept by which the song is crafted— is ignored entirely; and that's the shame, because it's really that element that informs everything else. Separate they're all fairly subject to negative critique, but together they make up something more than the sum of the parts.
On that level alone, Reputation seems a much more interesting album than 1989; note I say “interesting" rather than “successful." 1989 was almost perfect pop; the kind of album that only someone with Taylor Swift's preternatural melodic gifts could've achieved. Its one weakness was that its success as pop didn't always translate to its success as dramatic, artistic songwriting of the kind I described above. This was, perhaps, natural given it was Swift's first complete break from her country roots, so she played it a bit safe by doing what she did best.
The experimentation of Reputation is mostly with the “darker" sound introduced by …Ready for it? and is mostly contained to the album's first half. The only real failure here is the Ed Sheeren/Future collab “End Game" and continues the bad streak of her collabs. My hunch is that she tends to acquiesce too much to her collaborators, producing far inferior tracks than what she's capable of on her own (or with more supportive collaborators like Max Martin and Jack Antonoff). I Did Something Bad and Don't Blame Me are lighter-spirited versions of the “Taylor Swift as tough bitch/semi-villain" persona, both with their interesting touches; I especially like how the former's “I never trust a narcissist" quickly transitions into the narcissistic “I play 'em like a violin / and I make it look oh-so-easy" (with the last four notes a stand-out, whole-note march down the G-minor scale landing on the tonic). This kind of quick-turn hypocrisy is one clue that Swift is, at least on some level, being ironic, even if it's at the expense of herself.
In that vein, Look What You Made Me Do is the pièce de résistance of the album. A track universally mocked (even reviled) upon its release in my estimation because Taylor Swift pushed the sonic/dramatic irony to such an extreme that everyone felt the punch while the line went over their starry-eyed heads. The end result is one of those songs where good/bad qualitative judgments are trivial in comparison with artistic chutzpah on display.
From the opening chimes, pizzicato strings, and creepy classical vibe it should be clear that we're in the realm of fantasy—perhaps a dark, twisted one—already lending an ironic touch to the low-key, super-serious, almost spoken-word verses of Taylor “not (liking) your little games" (while humorously/hypocritically playing her own games in musical terms). The bridge speeds up the tempo with pounding keyboards and an almost shrilly-high vocal harmony building tension, anticipation, and energy with the Rocky Balboa-esque “But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time."
After that, one would expect the chorus to land with a triumphant, heroic boom, but instead it drops out with a Right Said Fred beat and the “look what you made me do" refrain. If there's every been a better bait-and-switch in popular music I can't think of one, and I've yet to figure out whether the musical joke (which I do feel is utterly intentional; the music video is the dead-giveaway), or the reaction to it—with so many taking it so seriously—is funnier. That Swift manage to take to ultimate tongue-in-cheek ode to narcissism (“I'm Too Sexy") and inject it into the middle of a hate-on-haters-verse to self-congratulatory-pump-up bridge is a kind of comic brilliance that mainstream pop hasn't seen or heard in decades, or perhaps longer.
Yet, for all the “newness" of this reputation (I was ready for it), the majority of the album finds Swift in more familiar territory and consistently succeeding at a remarkably high level. Delicate and Gorgeous are, appropriately, among the most delicate and gorgeous songs in Swift's discography; the former a cousin to a track like Red's Trecherous, the latter to a track like Enchanted from Speak Now. So It Goes and King of My Heart find Swift in a moodier, more atmospheric take on 1989's throwback 80s pop sound. Getaway Car is classic Swiftian storytelling, and Dancing With Our Hands Tied is classic Swiftian melodic/rhythmic progression; its higher/faster legato bridge lines transitioning into a sonic-change chorus—a big synth wash into a slowed down, staccato melody—that's as memorable because of its contrast to what came before as for the actual melody.
If the album's first half (roughly) is experiment, the third quarter (roughly) is tradition, the last quarter is a nice synthesis containing many of the album's best efforts. Dress in particular is a stunner. Not just because of Taylor's new-found lyrical sexuality (“only bought this dress so you could take it off"), but in the new-found musical sensuality to match it. The understated vocal/musical verse, so soft-spoken as to hint at a kind of nakedness itself, transitions to a brilliant bridge, highlighting the “pining and anticipation" with a steady quarter-note pulse in patterns of two-tonics (C) and a falling sixth (A) twice, and a single-C/A to close the measure; then finding minor variations on the pattern, with each change adding to the anxiety; before finally we get an ascending, half-whispered, half-orgasmically sighing “Ah" leading to the chorus, with its chiming background synths and the most ethereal vocals of Swift's career. Further on there's even the cute moment when the music momentarily stops after the line “say my name and everything just stops."
This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things is the most obviously ironic, obviously humorous track here It's playful tone on full display musically, lyrically, and vocally; from the syllabically detached “da-rling" (making the “da" sound like “duh!"), to the bass beat that rattles the chandelier on cue to the lyric, to the twisted reverb on “mind-twist you," to the elongated rubato on words like “shady," “baby," and “mama;" and the chorus-shouted “all that drama" and other bits; to, of course, the “I can't even say it with a straight face" spoken word break. Truth be told, I can't keep a straight face during the song either, donning a big, goofy grin every time I hear it.
The final two songs strip things back considerably and find Swift at her most lyrically mature, musically restrained, and tonally nuanced on the album. Call it What You Want is her best celebration of her new relationship. The only song here without an overt hook, with no flashy displays of new sounds, experiments, or rhetorical devices. So much it would be tempting to call it dull, yet the confidence not to over-do it perfectly matches the confidence she's found through her relationship in the lyrics, and the lyrics probably have more gems than any song on this album. I especially appreciate the progression from “My castle crumbled overnight" to “I'm laughing with my lover, making forts under covers;" suggesting that the love—not unlike art and music—will always be the ultimate sanctuary from every storm reality throws at us.
New Year's Day strips it back even further to just a piano. The song's lack of a slick production adding a hungover, sobered tone to what is a song about being hungover, sober, and reflecting on what's important in life; and, for all its cheese, it's hard not to buy wholesale the “hold onto the memories, they will hold onto you" chorus. It's a perfect closer for the album, and a tantalizing glimpse at what an entire album of Taylor Swift in folkie, indie (“records much cooler than hers"), demo-like mode would be like.
Swift's discography has thus far shown a three-album pattern of “tentative steps forward" (Debut/Red), “perfection of the new formula" (Fearless/1989), and “experimentation with the new formula (Speak Now/Reputation)." But even more so than Speak Now, Reputation really finds Swift trying to figure out ways to match new lyrical personas/dramas to new musical styles with new tonal possibilities. The combination of sonic-sounding seriousness with lyrical and musical hints at humor is, especially, one thing that makes this album more tonally interesting than 1989, and I dare say any in her discography; but it also may be the very thing that's prevented it from being appreciated. Too many have critiqued the actor, or perhaps the character, rather than the performance and the drama. In looking for the black-and-white answer to the question of whether the Old Taylor's dead, of whether this new Taylor is “really her," of whether she's being (or has ever been) “authentic," people have completely missed the kaleidoscopic colors and nuances in the art—namely the part where lyrics, music, and sonics come together to make something that's deeper and more vibrant than any simplistic notions of authenticity.
"As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being." -- Carl Jung