Movie Review: District 9

This is a good one! It's also pretty bizarre, and not just because there's a dude turning into fish-(super)man.

It's all in the way it starts. "Looky here! I am an out-and-proud in-your-face allegory! When I say 'alien refugee in the ghetto' you see an outer-space fishy man, but you know - oh yes, you KNOW - that what I'm really talking about is HUMAN refugee in the ghetto! Like someone from Sudan, or Iraqi Kurdistan, or Gaza, or even like a Mexican in America!"

Very clear, very upfront. Thus, you gets the impression that the next couple of hours are going to either be 1) an all-out liberal attack on American foreign dealings 2) a surprisingly nuanced commentary on the same subject or 3) An arty exposition of South African apartheid which will probably fly right over your head.

But then suddenly the movie becomes a straight-up sci-fi/action/suspense smashup. And that all plays out in none-too-unpredictable a way. And then we're briefly reminded of the original allegorical premise. And that's it. Whoa.

To be fair, District 9 maintains a consistent anti-xenophobia, pro-human rights stance throughout. But the main plot works entirely apart from all that. The realism of the Johannesburg setting and the characterization of the aliens as refugee-types definitely makes the story more engaging, but we would expect the initial allegory to manifest itself in the plot, and this doesn't happen.

So, the movie's weird. It's some of one thing, some of another, and together these things are very entertaining...but there's little lasting impact. I don't come away feeling any different about the politics of immigration and refugees and exploitation and Blackwater (=MNU?).

Oh. Wait. This thing is South African, through and through. Gah. So I guess all of these American-angled musings are, at best, invented interpretations. Darn. And Mendocino Talon True Style Barley Wine Ale (this is better) has left me in no condition to go back and reapproach this monster from a more proper angle. Well, at least I anticipated it with option 3 above. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow with something unstupid to say.

Wow. I guess District 9 gave this reviewer a whuppin'. Several stars for that.

***

The Fool's Discontent, Part 6

The seventh part is best...

Read Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

VI.

At last you walk on down the stair
Away from lights
Far from the show
To the heart
The heart and soul
Or so it should be
Right?

I too thought so

The library indeed is full
Full of things that were said
And things that were dreamt
And known and learned and taught
So much is here that can be bought…
You shudder at the thought

Who could price these dusty volumes?
The spirit held in long-dormant slumber
Yet alive and banished from all sight
Dying from a world
That tramples down the highways
Of the Great Conversation
With the grinding gold-thirsty desires
Of Now Especially
Or whatever comes next
(And does it matter?)
There is no conversation now!
Have you spoken once today?
Will you ever speak
Is the toll too steep?

And now your liquid thoughts are running
Rolling down your cheeks as though
They might just freeze and crack and shatter
Success success, oh does it matter?

Your smiling guide, unheeding, beams
“Finally see
The library free
From thoughts rank and musty
From words dry and rusty
From almost all the nets and traps
(Just avoid the dusty jackets)

“And after years of service here
Perhaps you will have some
Great, sincere, well-wrought, clear
Song that you might hum
And if your song is strong and proud
And your head is set on straight
And if your poem is well-formed
And your steps are never late
And if your story is a tale
Of length and depth and quick-spun fate
Well then!
You may stand up proud in the place that ours
And the masters’ works call home-
Find some space in the long back row
And proudly add your own”






But…

The Fool's Discontent, Part 5

Seven parts. The seventh part is best.

Read Part 1, 2, 3, 4


V. Meanwhile…

A window open in the westward wing
Allows well-calculated prescriptions to be delivered
To those outside whose time is passed
Or not to come.
Your mother is one.
Her heart is heavy in her breast
Crying out
Do I not know myself best?

The reply is soft, well practiced
Like warm mist to the ears
Black smoke to the mind:
   Good mother, if life were truly your own
   And this generous well were dry to the bone
   And the things that we know were nevermore shown
   Do you really believe you could go it alone?

Now awakened
Now she plumbs the depths of her deepest thought
There is something – something!
Unordered, wild, empty
It could have been…it will not be.

In loneliness of clouded dreams
She has everything she needs
Everything she cannot reach
Everything she cannot say.

She stalls, she prays
His stare is learned
It does not stray
Backed by the power of knowledge in gray
The sacrosanct peer-reviewed cards on display
And under its weight she concedes

A good quotation

Before finishing up The Fool's Discontent I have to mention a great quote from Andrew Klavan (author/screenwriter, apparently, though I've never heard of him) in an article for the Wall Street Journal.

It is a sentiment that I agree with, so far as I understand how things work:

Free people can treat each other justly, but they can't make life fair. To get rid of the unfairness among individuals, you have to exercise power over them. The more fairness you want, the more power you need. Thus, all dreams of fairness become dreams of tyranny in the end.

I am no "quotes" person - In almost all cases I prefer working out my own way of verbalizing a sentiment to finding another speaker that shares the same view.

But this one statement struck me in a funny way. I don't know why, exactly. It's not as though there is something unusually perceptive in it, or that the words are put together especially elegantly. I mean, I think I would have said a very similar thing in the context of the right conversation.

I guess it's just the simplicity and profundity all at once. Read the quote. Is this not truth? Is this not what history has repeatedly demonstrated to us? What if every American citizen - especially given our current political issues - were to consider this sentiment, in these words? This much is sure: we would all have a much better understanding of our own personal political positions.

Oh, by the way, the article, which is right here, is a hypothetical look at "death panel" situations that presumably will arise if the President gets his way with healthcare reforms. Not sure the article, aside from the quote above, is something to take too seriously.

But then again, who knows? I guess I'll be good either way if I can just avoid the cancer.

The Fool's Discontent, Part 4

Seven parts. The seventh part is best. The rest? Well...

Read Part 1, 2, 3


IV.

Your guide glows as he takes you
To the high court room where the high judge sits
Before the residents
Over radiant glories you try to perceive
But it is so hard to make sense
The gold medallion round his neck
The silver crown with ruby lights
Upon his head of snow-white hair
And iron staff and granite jaw
All is meant to culture awe-
You know, yet feel it not so well
As you should, perhaps…?

But is this not a curious thing!
From the mighty hand of the judge hang strings
A panel of experts with numbers they bring
Pull and twist the hanging strings
Under great strain the strings will swing
The hand will slide
The numbers sing
Though alone they might be silent…

And now comes a man with a word of his own
Kneeling before the judge he throws
The offering
Up unto the iron scepter
The scepter dips
The experts stand
With excitement on their faces
They do the dance of tongues
All at once the word goes flying
Soaring over, up, around
Spinning, whirling, laughing, changing
Drawing life, becoming, being
Landing on the ground
Confusion now! You know not what to say -
The formless formed, a man in tatters
One the slave – now the master
Is it boon or bright disaster?

“Someday I’ll be welcome here”
Your smiling guide exalts
“After weeks
And days and years
Years of working with the leaders
I will stand along!
After dancing to their meters
I will make my song!
And step in step we all shall stand
Gathered here before the hand.”

So warm, the thought of brotherhood
(And sisterhood, lest we forget)
But some are not so blessed
Have you closely watched the hand?

There are years the hand points east.
There are years the hand points west.
(But of course it never marks the wrong direction)
Some have dared to turn away
Some have dared to laugh
Some have dared to reinvent
Some have dared to cry

Some have dared to try, and failing
Not to lie

But you should hear it:
The cost of divergence from the hand of the judge!
The scorn and the heat and the cold metal buzz
The head-shaking frowns and lament for what was
The ironic grip of the crowd’s gleeful jaws
The trampled-on feeling of truth that just gnaws
You might find your name all buried in sludge
You might find yourself locked away in a grudge
If you should ever dare turn from the judge

But when the judge himself turns
Which happens
Quite often indeed
Like black oil
On the open sea
It just slides by
Unmentionably

The Fool's Discontent, Part 3

Seven parts. The seventh part is best. The rest? Well, let's just say it essentially works as a multi-way comment on a certain subject...

Read Part 1, 2


III. (The Smiling Guide)

      Is it true what they say
      Are you a ghost
      Are you a slave?
      Are your veins ensheathed in cloudy ice?

“Oh, no, no!
This is my home
I was once inside your shoes
I was once a foolish child
But now with mastery of form
I proceed unharmed and warm”

      But warmth in full?
      In speech and face
      In subtle touch
      One feels it but – what of the heart? What of the soul?

“Of the soul?
Oh yes, in full
I am warmed in all, in full
I have learned the proper way
The way is here, my friend, I promise
My path to now has been the strongest”

      And truly think you this?
      No question
      Or hesitance
      Ever marks your placid brow?

“It could be true
It once was true
I used to wander late at night
Scattered in uncertainty
But here my mind with truth enfolded,
Heart and soul were gently molded
I can give you all my word
For I am now free as a bird
As such I’ve read, or so been told
Or seen in some art-form of old”

      But what of the wild plain
      The dark wood
      The burning sun?
      Even now you cringe in the light of the window!

“The light, the light
The outer light?
I don’t…
I mean…
Ah yes…
But no…
It is not what you think

“Our light in here
Is much more clear
than that of cloudy outside dreaming
I need not those foolish charms
Put point to point, in here is better
This I claim, and to the letter

“Now pray do not continue asking
Things so fully unalarming
I am equipped to take your tasking
Words so sharp yet so unharming
Have a little better manner
If you hope to hold our banner”


So round the halls and through the rooms you sweep
A smiling guide, an anxious hopeful son
Through gliding doors
Over spotless white tiles
Up the stone-stepped stair
Past the humming piercing lights
Past the sparkling gleaming granite statue
Of Old J--, the local conquering hero
A trailblazing fearless giver of most importance…

  (But oh the dust and shadows of the back rooms!
  What dark and lofty secrets do they hide?
  What souls and speeches now vilified
  Might have been heard, long, long ago
  By the thin and humorless window-light
  By the fading crusty leather volumes
  Before their melancholy night?)

“…and that was Old J--
What a hooligan
He was back in his stodgy day!
We owe him all, or so I say –
Do you listen not today?” your smiling guide inquires
“Never mind - this is your time
Follow me on up the tower
Come and see the honest power
Of all we are and want to be
Look through me, I’m not ashamed
Of what you see, of what I am
And soon you’ll know the cause!”

The Fool's Discontent, Part 2

Seven parts. The seventh part is best. The rest? Well, let's just say it essentially works as a multi-way comment on a certain subject. The subject? If it doesn't become clear then it's probably not relevant to you...

read Part I first


II.

In the high-arched entry of the guarded house
Stand fruits of thought, of history
The magic smell of faded mystery
enchants the pure clean figures all in rows:
Artifacts of kings and sages
Ideas of the ages,
Borne on the leaves
Of countless books
And ghostly shades
Of a thousand faces –

But what a curious condition:
Some faces bright, the remnant hidden
For light streams from the inner halls!
The lens of Then and Now Especially
Bends the light in beams directly
On a few of these wise faces
And peeking from the shadowed places
The rest all stifle scornful smiles
Your eyes adjust – you now beguiled
Feeling like a foster child
Scorned by hidden ancestry

  Is this meant to be?

“Too vaguely formed this question!”; thus
Your smiling guide replies:
“Oh surely you could not expect
A room awash in untrained light!
Those who strive to see it straight
The residents who bear the weight
They work so hard to aim this light
Time is short it must aim right
And choice is forced you see.

“But do not fear
All are hear!
Some are just…not so near
Some are just…not so right
Some to us are now a blight
You of course may meet them all
But only in our thought-safe light!

“And…well-” (he reads from a glossy tract)
“Well it may be to meet the darkened faces
Out somewhere in the wild open places
Where ruby burns the dawn and black the night
And sirens of the hollow grasping wood
Call to you…

"-We would not go so wrong with you
Casting spells upon you
We would not send you out from pasture
Lacking compass, map, or measure

“…Come now, forget this room
It is but show, and you find gloom!”

Ten thousand books
A thousand faces
laugh at one – not you, the other
You wonder that he is not bothered
Perhaps he cannot see
Perhaps he chooses not to see

The Fool's Discontent, Part I

I wrote most of this over a year ago, and haven't laid a finger on it in several months. To my eyes most of it looks rather lame. But that's only natural, I guess, given that it wasn't made yesterday.

So now I'm throwing it out there. Seven parts. The seventh part is best. The rest? Well, let's just say it essentially works as a multi-way comment on a certain subject. The subject? If it doesn't become clear then it's probably not relevant to you...

The Fool's Discontent

I.

And have you waited for this?

A brimming stronghold of the minds
All so neatly unaligned
In step in rhyme in time
  Behind the toll-gate
  Where knowledge waits
  On silver, gold and plastic plates
And all who would feast
On that which thought brings
Or just pleasant things
Must pass through this gate

Oh, but you!
You of open heart and liquid thought
“So much is here that could be bought”
Your smiling guide intones
“Dip your hand in the courtyard well for a vision
Of all we hope shall soon be yours to hold
See! How pure and clear the fragile sunrise
Shines, dissected and explained. And hear
The living breath of music fastened to
The page. And watch the colors all come out
And you’ve seen black and white and blue and green
Now marvel at the splendor of true gray!”

And speaking he recedes
Through the heavy doors
The eager open doors
You look out one more time
Past the wall and gate
Over the open lea
To the black forest hills
All at once the fire burns!
and dreaming of the sun you turn…
But you, they always said that you know best.

So enter now and long stay set
On slumber, peace, and happiness
And falter not as I have done
Yet there is no one race to run
And I am waiting here

A POEM, now

I'm really not that into creating poetry. I like reading it, sometimes. But as far making it up, here's the thing:

There are no more rules. Nothing that you can think of to do in poetry is outside of 1) the already done or 2) the legitimate.

Don't agree? Note the straight-faced critiques of a recent poetry movement based on compiling random search engine results

I rest my case.

Poetry is a maddening thing, in which the concepts of "good" and "bad" are now hopelessly lost behind the concepts of "new" and "different".

Example:

So much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

Good? Bad? Who's to say? But tell me that anything in this poem demonstrates some necessary skill or unique intellect! Tell me that the poem would be anything special if the author were anonymous.

This reality is why I much prefer making songs, where poetic phrases can be combined with musical textures, and thus at least one part of the equation must carry some level of objective decency (i.e. the music must be listenable, otherwise the words are irrelevant). Not to mention the diverse moods that different music can confer up an identical line of text...

But I digress. Anyway, it was lyrics I was imagining when I came up with the key part of the long poem I am going to begin posting.

This part is the 7th (and last) section, which I imagined not in terms of how it would look on a page, but rather how it would sound spoken/sung aloud.

The other six sections were created to set up the finale (and to comment on...well, you'll see).



What was written above hopefully makes sense. "Poetry" is a pretty big bite to attempt to chew. Especially in conjunction with "beer enjoyment".