…in front of my house. Bringing the car into the city + alternate-side parking + pumping WiFi out your window = posting from said car, now double-parked, waiting for the Brownies to pass you by.
Join a WTC Memorial Discussion/Charette
A couple of people saw some cynicism my last post on the WTC Memorial competition’s designation as “open to all” and “part of the mourning process.” It was partly a reaction to that member of the axis of eager, Jeff Jarvis. And there’s my (not unfounded) skepticism about poorly guided democratic/populist design solutions. But mostly, it was about my own ambivalence about the process itself, what role a memorial there will play, and the use/impact/value of my own response.
I made a film about memorials, which looks at how people and places mark and deal with terrible events. I intended it to be something useful to people–to New York–for dealing with the WTC attacks. It occurred to me that the WTC Memorial competition is precisely when I/it can be of some use. But since it’s not in any way definitive, or authoritative, or even necessarily that influential, the way it can contribute is as one perspective in a discussion among equals. If I am ambivalent-yet-still-interested in proposing a design for the WTC Memorial, there are probably others in the same situation.
For me, and you (if you’re in the same competition boat as me), I’m putting together a WTC Memorial charette.
What’s a charette, you say? In architecture, it’s a quick-fire, problem-solving design exercise. When MoMA held one to select their architect, participants whipped up their ideas, models and sketches and submitted them in a shirt-box. Even though it’s called a charette, this exercise will put more emphasis on discussion and problem-solving and less on specific design. The goal will be to discuss our own real–not hypothetical–questions, ideas, and challenges around making our proposals for the WTC Memorial. Then, after an invigorating, thoughtful, and (hopefully) interesting charette, we’ll all be primed to make our proposals to the competition.
Here’s how I envision it so far:
Mr. Nunberg Goes To Washington
NPR’s Fresh Air may be the only media outlet with a linguist on its masthead. Check out Geoff Nunberg‘s fascinating 29 April discussion of the Right’s writers’ distinctive and repeated and rhythmic use of conjunctions, a rhetorical device known as polysyndeton. Nunberg (whose site at Stanford has a transcript and extensive excerpts in the footnotes) traces polysyndeton’s “voice of the common man”-ist usage from Walt Whitman through some thought-provoking film world sources.
On First Films
John Malkovich has been doing the media circuit for The Dancer Upstairs, his directorial debut, and it sounds pretty respectable.
It got me thinking, so I made some Amazon lists for your blogger-/info-/shopper-tainment:
Bonus links [thanks, Fimoculous]: 25th Hour author David Benioff writes in the Guardian about adapting his nearly unpublished novel, first for Tobey Maquire, then for Spike Lee. He sounds a lot tougher than he did in W Magazine. Maybe it’s because he’s sharing writing credit with, um, Homer on his next movie.
Or because he’s published alongside Thomas freakin’ Pynchon, who takes a thoughtful, ultimately optimistic look at Orwell’s 1984.
Libeskind’s Uncomfortable Wedgie of Light
A controversy is brewing over Daniel Libeskind’s design for the WTC site, which is moving, rapidly and significantly, from what he’d originally proposed–and won with. The NYTimes‘ Edward Wyatt is on top of things. Yesterday, he reported on a study which showed one of the Libeskind design’s core elements, the Wedge of Light–a zone where unobstructed sunlight shone in between his buildings every Sept. 11th morning–was a physical impossibility. Busted, Libeskind tried to pretend that, all along, the Wedge wasn’t literal but metaphorical. From someone whose design is based on making symbolism and metaphor into the literal and physical, it’s an unconvincing crock.
Today, Wyatt collects some other opinions, including one from “Dream Team” member, Richard Meier (himself no slouch in the not-coming-clean-about-your-WTC-design department), who asks, “How could you not take it literally?” (Remember, a Liberty Wall, symbolizing the Constitution and a 1,776-foot tower are the other major elements of the design.) In addition to the collapsed tower fragment-shaped, tic-tac-toe buildings, the Dream Team proposal included a garden of trees and lights,in the shape of the Twin Towers’ shadows, which would have extended across the World Financial Center and into the Hudson. It was a moving design; I hope they’ll pony up $25 and enter it in the memorial competition.
Other changes Libeskind’s made so far: making room for the MTA’s bus station by shortening his foundation wall from 7 stories to 3 (roughly the depth of the Rockefeller Center skating rink), placing said bus station under the designated Memorial site, encasing said wall in a “glazed screen,” and cantilevering his museum over the footprint of the North Tower. Maybe these were all part of his winning proposal. Why not ask Libeskind about that?
Tina’s Pity She’s A Horse
Hear she got some friends together and put on a show. Missed it. Sushi & too-low-flying airplanes in Arlington. When Tina first broached Topic A, she threatened/promised more Larry than Charlie; if Gawker’s transcript of the Brown-on-Diller&Gladwell action’s any indication, she delivered. We can’t say we weren’t warned.
But in her Times column, she kicks herself (“I should have booked Celine Dion.”), Philip Johnson-style, who quickly called himself a whore before anyone else could beat him to it. But in an article where she also describes the dismal White House Correspondents’ dinner, is not the whores, or even Celine Dion (ba-dum-bum), but a horse, whose image lingers longest. Not just any horse, mind you, a “Republican warhorse,” the best the dinner could do in the “celebrity” department, Bo Derek.
“Horse,” a not-unimportant word to the actress herself (more on that later), turns out to be one of only nine words (7 distinct words, 9 total) I actually remember hearing from Bo Derek’s mouth, in a torturous scene from Tarzan, the Ape Man. Derek, as Jane, and her father (played by the late, lamenting Richard Harris) had been captured by (literally whitewashed) savages. As the savages prep her as an offering to their Chief, Bo, on all fours, moans the immortal line, “They’re painting me! They’re washing me like a horse!” It’s worth noting that the director who put Bo in this scene was her husband (and Richard Harris age-alike), John Derek. (See another clip here for some equally unforgettable readings.)
Rather than buy this horrible movie (which is only on VHS, anyway), why not get Bo’s revealing new book about her relationships with her creepy old ex-husband and his other ex-wives, Ursula Andress and Linda Evans. It’s title? Riding Lessons: Everything That Matters in Life I Learned from Horses Let’s see Rick Santorum explain that one. Forget Celine. Tina on Bo and Rick: now that’s a 3-way worth watching
Painless Prediction: A Wave of Raves for Jerry Springer: The Opera
Guardian‘s Michael Billington’s got one that begins: “Reviewing an already acclaimed show is a bit like arriving sober at a party where everyone else is drunk.” Here’s a giddy Telegraph profile of Tom Morris, who put on the show at London’s Battersea Arts Centre. Comedian/bookwriter/director Stewart Lee’s site has dozens more.
As one who is writing an Animated Musical on a counterintuitive, quite contemporary subject, I, for one, hail our new operatic overlords.
JSTO opened tonight at the Lyttleton, National Theatre
Bloghdad.com/The_Police
[Boston Globe, via Travelers Diagram, et al]
”The President looks in the mirror and speaks
His shirts are clean but his country reeks
Unpaid bills
Afghanistan hills.”
These pointedly political lyrics to ”Bombs Away,” a song on The Police’s 1980 album ”Zenyatta Mondatta,” were penned by the New Wave band’s drummer Stewart Copeland, who knew exactly what he was talking about. Born in 1952 and raised in the Middle East, Stewart is the son of Miles Copeland, a notorious American CIA agent. According to a report on the Saddam Hussein-CIA connection issued earlier this month by United Press International, in the early 1960s Miles Copeland was frequently in contact with the future Iraqi president, who’d been smuggled into Cairo with CIA assistance after his failed assassination attempt on Iraq’s prime minister.
Read Richard Sale’s UPI story.
Read Miles Copeland’s 1974 “humintel classic,” Without Cloak or Dagger: The Truth About the New Espionage.
Decipher another line from “Bombs Away,” courtesy the Sting, etc. lyrics archive: “The general only wants to teach France to dance”
Buy the CD (In the off chance this wasn’t the first CD you bought when you started replacing your tape collection)
WTC Memorial: We’re All Designers Now
That could be the sub-title of this site, really. I made Souvenir (November 2001), in part, to ask what could New York be like in 80 years, after the generation of us who experienced the attacks are all gone. How would the as-yet unborn people then and there remember us here and now? I should clarify: us=those who experienced (ie, died, survived, rescued, ran, watched, etc.). And already, in less than two years, here and now is becoming then and there.
Now, (tens of? hundreds of?) thousands of designs for the WTC Memorial will start pouring in, invariably affected by the intervening events, mourning, healing, revenge, renewal, bitterness, anger, loss, politics, war, protest, obfuscation, certainties and uncertainties. Although Rules have been set, but not in stone: submitters should feel free to “go where their imaginations, where their mourning needs to take them.” On the LMDC’s registration information site, the only surprise is that they’re not accepting Paypal.
WWI itself changed the memorial game. For the first time, it was not just the generals and heros, but the average soldier–the individual, not an abstracted symbol–was to be memorialized and remembered. Metal dogtags were a standardized response to the sheer numbers of the Missing in WWI. Like the Thiepval Memorial, the object of two New Yorkers’ search in S(N01), the WTC Memorial will also serve as a grave-by-proxy for the hundreds whose remains were never identified.
Due in part to an overly individual-centric reading of the Viet Nam Memorial’s personal/collective experience, the focus of memorial designs in Oklahoma City and the Pentagon is almost wholly on the lost individual and “achieving closure.” And now, the individual is designing the memorial. Maybe if designing is such an effective way to meet our memorializing needs, we should just set up a perpetual workshop on the site. Of course, what would that look like to people 80 years from now?
“We must protect her, Lily, or all will darkness be for ever”
There are so many pear tree blossoms blowing around outside, it’s only a matter of time before the Last Unicorn comes scampering down my street, with Jack following behind, spouting ridiculous dialogue.
Things you should see, if only it weren’t too late
See Landscape Escape a group show at the Crosby street SlingShotProject. Of special note: John Powers’ headscratchingly beautiful sculpture, Daisy Cutter (above); Raphael Renaud’s paintings of Marseilles, Cairo, Sao Paulo (which reminded me a bit of RIchter’s late 60’s Townscapes); and John Cliett’s memorable (literally) photos of deMaria’s Lightning Field. Read an incredible interview at Cabinet about taking them. Unfortunately, the show closed Sunday.
See artist Robert Melee’s incredible performance, This is for you, starring a diverse troupe of dancers made up like the main subject of Melee’s video, photographs, and installation works, Mommy. Mommy is played (to frequently disturbing effect) by the artist’s mother. It’s at Judson Memorial Church on Wash. Sq., at 8pm. Tonight. So you missed that one, too. And the Costume Institute Ball’s over…
OK, here’s one you still have time for. Check out the addition to my Amazon lists, Books I’ve Read by Tycoons I’ve Known [with props to Monkey Disaster’s Lists-As-Entertainment program]
I Like Sites We Like
On The Real The Real Cancun
“Who wants to star in The Real Cancun 2?” image: therealcancun.com
As a maker of documentary-looking films, I was a reluctant fan of New Line’s The Real Cancun once I figured out what it was. Now that I’ve read Joel Stein’s hi-larious review in New Line’s corporate sibling pub, Time, I’m now a fan of entertainment synergy, too. The real Real Cancun sounds even better than the film itself:
…[the film’s 16 thrown-together non-actors] indirectly deliver the requisite moral lesson of a teen comedy: casual sex, even for loutish frat boys, is a pain. “In our house, the girls got all hurt if we brought another girl home,” says Matt, 20, an Arizona State student. “They acted like we were a big family, but we’d only known each other for a few days.”
…
“There were things that the producers told me I couldn’t do,” says Casey, 25, a Miami model. “There was one point where I hooked up with Trishelle from The Real World Las Vegas [who was there for MTV], and the producer said I wasn’t allowed to hang out with her because she’s under contract for other things.”
And unlike documentarians, the producers, who have to work with MTV in their day jobs, felt it prudent to edit out the more controversial scenes, such as the one in which the twins have an angry, cursing fight with rapper Snoop Dogg in his post-concert trailer after, they say, he tried to get amorous with them…says twin Nicole, “Celebs like him are just average normal people. But he’s more of a slut than the average person”
…
“I’d rather be known for this instead of being smart or something,” says [other twin, Roxanne]. “There’s a million people who are smart. There’s only 16 of us who were in Cancun together.”
Maybe this year, Roxanne. [Even Lawrence Van Der Gelder’s entirely point-missing NYT review is entertaining.]
Bloghdad.com/Just_For_Kids
A new kid in town is competing with Club Iguana at
The Westin Rio Mar Beach’s Club, image:westinriomar.com
“At Club Iguana kids get to have all the fun! Every day, we welcome Westin’s young guests age 4 to 12 with activities planned especially for them.”
Sensing that Westin missed a lucrative opportunity, Brown & Root, the operators of the 16-and over Camp Delta on Guantanamo, Cuba (just a short military flight from Rio Mar, PR!), have created Camp Iguana, specially designed for kids ages 13-15. While it’s admittedly no Westin, if the extreme loyalty of Camp Delta’s clientele is any gauge (read my October review), Camp Iguana’s operators, Brown and Root, are sure to have a sensation on their hands. When Camp Iguana’s normally tight-lipped staff talk about their program, they do so in metaphors that pay homage to Cuba’s two national sports, baseball and repression:
[Camp Counselor] Richard Myers: “They may be juveniles, but they’re not on a little-league team anywhere, they’re on a major league team, and it’s a terrorist team. And they’re in Guantanamo for a very good reason — for our safety, for your safety.”
[Camp Director] Donald Rumsfeld: “And this constant refrain of ‘the juveniles,’ as though there’s a hundred children in there — these are not children … There are plenty of people who have been killed by people who were still in their teens.”
Like so many other Caribbean hideaways, Camp Iguana is almost unknown in the US, but Europeans are sure excited about it. So how can your juvenile get a spot? Well, it may sound unfair, but like so much in life, scoring a spot in Camp Iguana depends on attending the right madrassas. Call for reservations.
*Ah-choo!* Sorry. Just got back from Toronto and I can’t seem to shake this cold
I told this, the newest Worst Joke In The World, last night at dinner, which turned out to be an inadvertent prelude to a Night Of Canadian Hilarity.
Talked about the AM script, which has several Canadian settings and elements, and is, obviously hilarious. Talked about South Park, too.
Read this funny, slight Timothy Noah piece in Slate about “the novelty of seeing the words “danger” and “Toronto” in the same sentence.”
Saw the kooky Mayor of Toronto on The Daily Show. He reminded me of Robert Novak doing a bad Ed Koch.
But the surprise was a midnight screening of the first contemporary film to deal with the Torontonian Threat, a film I only recently learned was about the US staging a phony war against Canada, a film you might even call the 300-pound gorilla of Blame Canada Movies,Canadian Bacon.
It was largely funny, intermittently hilarious, but it had some really slack moments, too. Like Orgazmo, Gangs of New York or The Cremaster Cycle, Canadian Bacon feels made by a supreme creator, someone who can’t/won’t take (or doesn’t get) any suggestions or advice. They’re all unconventional concepts coming from auteurs with unassailable-seeming points of view, which may inhibit people from giving suggestions. Maybe the auteurs, having convinced themselves that no one else could understand their vision, closed themselves off to outside perspectives. Whatever, in any case, all thesemovies had tremendous promise, moments of greatness and unnecessary flaws.
Perhaps one IMDb user said it best: “Of course, only somebody like Roger Moore could make this movie.”