For what it is worth, which is much to me, I don't believe in settling in a negative sense. . .I've never known someone who has claimed settlement negatively and not been gripped with an ennui of regret and an excuse of tortured eyes, a dismissive tone in their valid accomplishments, and a torch burning so bright for something that is not impossible, that it blinds the steps taken, so they can be made towards the goals that they chose with eyes darting to the next downfall. I've known many who have made sacrifices, for many reasons, and I can include myself in that group, and we have done so to get to the next step- the next precipice- the next great unknown. And it's terrifying and invigorating. I've also learned that blindness to those steps, whether it be clouded in regret or drama or whatever vice is chosen, debilitates the beauty of those steps chosen to be taken. Those steps inform your journey, no matter what. Whether you choose to decide them, or allow them to be decided, doesn't matter. We are in our element when we embrace what we have, and implement what we want. It is that fucking simple.
To bolster this idea, I'll use my own growing story. As I write this tonight, I am scared shitless about what my life will become, if I am lucky enough to live long enough to accomplish half of the goals I've set out toward. That's a pretty good incentive, as it is, and one that was instilled by my family, to whom I was clearly the trouble-child, the non-conformist, and the one who carries the torch of all we were taught. A torch that helps me understand those who attach themselves to the negative form of settling. My family is comprised of educators and academics. Brilliant artists, too. My writing will never hold a candle to my father's poeticism. My painting(or sewing skills) will never be nearly so expert and precise as my mothers, nor will I ever have the meticulous patience or skill that my step-father has for color saturation. I will never have the visual aptitude, or the drawing sensibilty that Susan has, nor will I ever have the intense appreciation, knowledge, encouragement and articulation of art that Anne has built so effortlessly. I could mire under the weight of ineptitude in comparison with my family. The influence of this admiration and clear appreciation is what makes my work what it is. I love it- it is messy and precise, funny and extending, wonky and interpretive. It is what it is, and it is clearly my voice, from a generation of influence.
I understand my place in my family, for this reason, and I am lucky for this. When I decided to move out to Los Angeles, after how many moves? New York, Memphis, Atlanta, Chicago, I was scared to death to tell them, even though they had clearly seen both the successes and failures incurred in each city. I could have stayed in New York. I could have stayed in Memphis. I could have stayed in Chicago. Had I done so, I'd have negatively settled. The hardest thing about leaving Chicago was not leaving Striding Lion, it was telling my family that I was on the move again.
And they were relieved, which was a great support. And I was excited and following multiple dreams- some that were manifested the dream of California, as an actor, some that were dreams of the heart, as I had been led first with that, as I always am, and finally the dream of moving forward with adventure and hope, because I was lucky enough to do so. So, I did.
I drove out here in order to set a meditation of crossing at least some of the beautiful land of this country. To finally see it, because I could. Through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, I found myself turning off my ipod, and driving along in silence, mouth agape. I paced the journey with a photo documentation of a Mr. Potato-head. Some of these photos were sent to a person who held my heart, when I felt alone. I never was alone. I had my family, I had my friends, I had the absurdity of my Mr. Potato-head documentation.
Since moving out here, I have found a reconnection with some of my dearest friends. I found that the person who first turned my eyes and focus out here was drenched in excuses and dismissal, once the awareness that identified our relationship was clear, and there was no way to turn that around.I don't regret that, as it's not my regret to take, but i acknowledge it, and assure that I will never make those decisions in my world, which I protect and in which I believe. I've been out here for only four months and have incurred confusion, exultation, loss, dismissal, wonder and a myriad of other experiences. Sunny skies and unexpected drenchings. What strikes me about this transition is that, above everything else, I have built the awareness and luck to appreciate that which is clear: Clarity and truth are far more settling than manipulation or dishonesty. When my eyes close for good, they won't be wounded. Rather, they will be full of the wisdom that is continually built and shared. The art that I create is consistently built of those moments of transition, leading to the next. It is full of characters, interpretation, stasis and corrupted settling. A mirror, perhaps, of a wayward journey that is constantly found and accessible. I can't wait to see how it manifests when I have finally settled, and the wayward aspect is an influence, rather than an apex. To use a cheap navigation metaphor- I've definitely entered a phase where I'm comfortable with my role as a rudder, playing direction and skewing. I have a distinct feeling that the Anchor phase is presenting itself, and that is great. Of course, it will begin in a city that is famous for both it's fascination with constant filming,the make-believe believabilty and the unstable constitution of the land upon which we stand. Perhaps the treat of an earthquake actually works better for me- I'm accustomed to tornadoes, blizzards and terrible driving conditions. All of which can be forseen. It's terrifying to me to build upon both literal and metaphoric instability. Sigh. And I love challenges. So, here goes- I'm suddenly in a place of few responsibilities, beautiful weather, reinvention around every corner huddled with the experience to know that reinvention is nothing more than an introduction. I like that. A lot.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Black Swan- holy shit. What a film.
"We're all mad here, I'm mad. You're mad."
-Lewis Carroll
Madness is the apex of all great conflict. We all have points of madness, awareness of mania in the circumstances that surround, and a fascination with those steps that lead to that point, that apex, that loss of control resulting in a need to assess, reorganize, rebuild or let go. We all know madness. It falls apart, at some point, or it builds- a never-ending ebb and flow of humanity, emotion, investment, call it what you will. We are trained to achieve- to build- to grow- to accomplish- to ascertain and to revel in the reward, whatever it may be, or to move on, lessons learned, tucked into the back pocket of identity. Madness is a part of the human condition.
It is no surprise that madness is in the architecture of many, if not most, films, literary works, works of art, performance and other forms built for an audience. Madness and beauty. Film-making, itself, is a maddening art. Madness is not pretty. It is not gorgeous. It is meticulous. It is laborious. It is a series of steps getting to a place of completion that is arguably completed. If a film is to be released, it is just that- released. Let go. Like the release of any goal, whether it to be to achievement, growth, distance, back pockets, what you will.
It is rare that an American film catches madness as Darren Aronofsky's film, Black Swan, has done. This film catches madness in simplicity and familiarity, following Nina in a place of consistent discipline as she traverses, not into madness, but with it. That is madness. So many performances and journeys focus on the descent into madness, and this film articulates the maintenance. The result of this difference is that the aftermath, if there really is one, is almost a relief. Beauty is as translucent and visceral as simple scenes and camera angles that catch pedestrian moments and associations: the muscled back of an aged ballet instructor, building and contorting with escalating movement and precision in a simple frame demonstrating a wingspan growing into flight- articulating an architecture of discipline and prowess, while showcasing the movement of each muscle and years of formation and structure as only a veteran of the movement can do. Black Swan is not about ballet, or the rigors involved in the precision of that particular discipline. But you see it. It is clear and accessible where madness fits within Nina; as a punctuation. It is beautiful and gruesome. And a sidenote. A structured evidence. It is a given circumstance. In this quick shot, anyone knows that Nina's journey is one that has been prepared and accepted and a part of a process. There is no "Rocky Balboa triumphant running up the hill" to it. Nina is clearly skilled and trained and aspiring, and has been for years. No need for concern about her well being, on that point.It is what it is, and the focus remains on her as the protagonist, deemed fragile, clearly being guided, and craving perfection. Ballet is a perfect industry for a backdrop to this story, for that point. It is an art built on precision. A perfect choice. She is clearly marked by the scars of direction, again placed in a pedestrian denouement. Because the story of her journey, again, in not a descent into madness; it is the maintenance of madness. There is no blame, no fall, merely following through. Kudos to all involved in this film- it is a delicate balance to tow the line of madness in this manner as there are so many temptations for all involved to "jump the shark" of imagery, performance and direction. This film is full of that constant opportunity, with a clear budget to do so. Constantly teetering on the edge, form and function maintained itself with integrity and real simplicity. How balletic, right?
For this reason, madness gets to take center stage. This is a treat, a ride and completely terrifying. As an audience, we are not confused by side plot-lines and confusing choices. It all makes sense. There is no muddling, aside from some lighting choices in the ecstasy sequence, which I can forgive, and the idea that Mila Kulis' character, Lily, could be on the same level in ballet with shoulder tattoos and approving dancing sequences with free-flying hair, while overseen by superiors in the dance studio. I know enough about the ballet world to raise my eyebrows there and shrug my shoulders, because I get that it establishes her "rebel" stature. I understand that we are still an american audience. I could even create a list of moments, other than these, that I'd normally attach myself to in disbelief. But I won't, because I didn't, while watching the film. There are some definite points of the film that get "that close" to making me want to call bullshit and rolling my eyes. But those points weren't pushed past the melodrama point in which they could have been. Which makes it more authentic. Because melodrama is also pushed in pedestrian life. I bought it all.
The only film that I've seen that has hit madness so closely is Roman Polanski's "Repulsion." He, however, was not able to so deftly avert melodrama. His heroine did hurt others, rather than merely herself(which true madness is so closely married to self destruction), outside of the visions and dream sequences, and that built the waves to carry the madness ship home. Polanski didn't skirt melodrama in "Repulsion." He hit the madness, but Aronofsky eclipsed him with the maintenance. I guess it was time. 45 years will do that, right? There is something more horrific and identifiable in the vision of hurting and haunting, without the actual implementation. If, as a society, we were to look at those who are truly influenced by this idea of terror, the truly terrific awareness would not be in those who find a means to an end by hurting others, but by those who end themselves. It's all terrible and frightening, yes, and certainly not to be celebrated, as neither Black Swan nor Repulsion do, but Black Swan almost seems more disconcerting because it hits a bit closer to the madness that we all share. Varying degrees, of course, but to stand on the outside of watching someone accomplish their goals and potentially expire because of them, versus watching someone haunted and reacting to that haunting. There's something to that. Perhaps it is more terrifying because Nina is as haunted as Catherine Denouve's character, leaving a trail of evidence along the way that the audience sees, while those around her do not. But Nina's character is more public, watched over in every moment by friends, trainers, herself, and not "left alone for an uncomfortable weekend of rage." Is that the melodramatic difference? That it is public, in every sense? Is that the comparison between the two films, and a statement on the world now, versus then, in a cinematic sphere? It's certainly not "The Social Network." I love this film.
All of the performances by the actors were stunning. Good work, guys.
-Lewis Carroll
Madness is the apex of all great conflict. We all have points of madness, awareness of mania in the circumstances that surround, and a fascination with those steps that lead to that point, that apex, that loss of control resulting in a need to assess, reorganize, rebuild or let go. We all know madness. It falls apart, at some point, or it builds- a never-ending ebb and flow of humanity, emotion, investment, call it what you will. We are trained to achieve- to build- to grow- to accomplish- to ascertain and to revel in the reward, whatever it may be, or to move on, lessons learned, tucked into the back pocket of identity. Madness is a part of the human condition.
It is no surprise that madness is in the architecture of many, if not most, films, literary works, works of art, performance and other forms built for an audience. Madness and beauty. Film-making, itself, is a maddening art. Madness is not pretty. It is not gorgeous. It is meticulous. It is laborious. It is a series of steps getting to a place of completion that is arguably completed. If a film is to be released, it is just that- released. Let go. Like the release of any goal, whether it to be to achievement, growth, distance, back pockets, what you will.
It is rare that an American film catches madness as Darren Aronofsky's film, Black Swan, has done. This film catches madness in simplicity and familiarity, following Nina in a place of consistent discipline as she traverses, not into madness, but with it. That is madness. So many performances and journeys focus on the descent into madness, and this film articulates the maintenance. The result of this difference is that the aftermath, if there really is one, is almost a relief. Beauty is as translucent and visceral as simple scenes and camera angles that catch pedestrian moments and associations: the muscled back of an aged ballet instructor, building and contorting with escalating movement and precision in a simple frame demonstrating a wingspan growing into flight- articulating an architecture of discipline and prowess, while showcasing the movement of each muscle and years of formation and structure as only a veteran of the movement can do. Black Swan is not about ballet, or the rigors involved in the precision of that particular discipline. But you see it. It is clear and accessible where madness fits within Nina; as a punctuation. It is beautiful and gruesome. And a sidenote. A structured evidence. It is a given circumstance. In this quick shot, anyone knows that Nina's journey is one that has been prepared and accepted and a part of a process. There is no "Rocky Balboa triumphant running up the hill" to it. Nina is clearly skilled and trained and aspiring, and has been for years. No need for concern about her well being, on that point.It is what it is, and the focus remains on her as the protagonist, deemed fragile, clearly being guided, and craving perfection. Ballet is a perfect industry for a backdrop to this story, for that point. It is an art built on precision. A perfect choice. She is clearly marked by the scars of direction, again placed in a pedestrian denouement. Because the story of her journey, again, in not a descent into madness; it is the maintenance of madness. There is no blame, no fall, merely following through. Kudos to all involved in this film- it is a delicate balance to tow the line of madness in this manner as there are so many temptations for all involved to "jump the shark" of imagery, performance and direction. This film is full of that constant opportunity, with a clear budget to do so. Constantly teetering on the edge, form and function maintained itself with integrity and real simplicity. How balletic, right?
For this reason, madness gets to take center stage. This is a treat, a ride and completely terrifying. As an audience, we are not confused by side plot-lines and confusing choices. It all makes sense. There is no muddling, aside from some lighting choices in the ecstasy sequence, which I can forgive, and the idea that Mila Kulis' character, Lily, could be on the same level in ballet with shoulder tattoos and approving dancing sequences with free-flying hair, while overseen by superiors in the dance studio. I know enough about the ballet world to raise my eyebrows there and shrug my shoulders, because I get that it establishes her "rebel" stature. I understand that we are still an american audience. I could even create a list of moments, other than these, that I'd normally attach myself to in disbelief. But I won't, because I didn't, while watching the film. There are some definite points of the film that get "that close" to making me want to call bullshit and rolling my eyes. But those points weren't pushed past the melodrama point in which they could have been. Which makes it more authentic. Because melodrama is also pushed in pedestrian life. I bought it all.
The only film that I've seen that has hit madness so closely is Roman Polanski's "Repulsion." He, however, was not able to so deftly avert melodrama. His heroine did hurt others, rather than merely herself(which true madness is so closely married to self destruction), outside of the visions and dream sequences, and that built the waves to carry the madness ship home. Polanski didn't skirt melodrama in "Repulsion." He hit the madness, but Aronofsky eclipsed him with the maintenance. I guess it was time. 45 years will do that, right? There is something more horrific and identifiable in the vision of hurting and haunting, without the actual implementation. If, as a society, we were to look at those who are truly influenced by this idea of terror, the truly terrific awareness would not be in those who find a means to an end by hurting others, but by those who end themselves. It's all terrible and frightening, yes, and certainly not to be celebrated, as neither Black Swan nor Repulsion do, but Black Swan almost seems more disconcerting because it hits a bit closer to the madness that we all share. Varying degrees, of course, but to stand on the outside of watching someone accomplish their goals and potentially expire because of them, versus watching someone haunted and reacting to that haunting. There's something to that. Perhaps it is more terrifying because Nina is as haunted as Catherine Denouve's character, leaving a trail of evidence along the way that the audience sees, while those around her do not. But Nina's character is more public, watched over in every moment by friends, trainers, herself, and not "left alone for an uncomfortable weekend of rage." Is that the melodramatic difference? That it is public, in every sense? Is that the comparison between the two films, and a statement on the world now, versus then, in a cinematic sphere? It's certainly not "The Social Network." I love this film.
All of the performances by the actors were stunning. Good work, guys.
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