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grandhotelabyss · 4 years ago

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Defeated by the hype, I watched the new Adam Curtis. I hadn't seen one of his films since 2007 and wasn’t enamored of the celebrated ones back then. I thought he was a more middlebrow Mark Fisher[*]: nostalgia for the welfare state cloaked in avant-garde aesthetics, which I was used to as a longtime reader of British-Invasion comics—the feeling is similar in Moore and Morrison and Milligan and Delano and Ellis (though not the genteel Gaiman)—but couldn’t as an American petit bourgeois quite appreciate. At the time, I was trying out dogmatic Marxism as an intellectual style, so I also took it as obvious that avant-garde aesthetics, for a variety of reasons, inherently degrade the social and conduce to the very fragmentation and alienation being lamented. Which Curtis does analyze as the theme of his work—and the sometimes patronizing voiceovers are like a parody of top-down state-socialist pedagogy—but his visual style, with its debts to Godard and Marker and MTV, enact in form what’s being attacked as content.

I also thought Curtis also had an air of New-Atheist-type Brit-twit reasonableness that undermines the acuity of his political analyses. He persistently portrays powerful political actors as naive psychological cases, delusive and fearful types who can’t face the facts. As a literary technique developed by Curtis’s English forerunner Shakespeare, this replacement of politics with psychology can be dramatically powerful, as in the new doc’s best thread, the tragedy of Jiang Qing; but it can also impede a more precise sense of the interests in play.

I'm no longer a dogmatic Marxist, or even a Marxist at all, and no longer think the relation between politics and artistic form is perfectly clear, so some of my objections have dropped away, even reversed—Curtis grieves that the corruptions of socialism and communism have led us to fear changing the world at all, but doesn’t his own persistent discrediting of anarchic ideas because they were co-opted by neoliberalism mirror the nouveaux philosophes?

The power of Can't Get You Out of My Head is in the nuance of the analysis. I am tempted to call it dialectical. Here Curtis does closely attend to economic motivations in recent history. Despite the banal citation of Richard Hofstadter, he also refuses to moralize and psychologize away conspiracy theory; he shows what secret agencies are known to have been doing throughout the second half of the 20th century, a record so egregious that people can be forgiven for suspecting them of more. Some of his own bland reassurances of their bumbling incompetence tripped my own paranoia—isn't that what they want us to think?—and I didn’t find his use of the JFK assassination at all compelling. Whatever you think of Jim Garrison, and I concede I was influenced early in life both aesthetically and politically by Oliver Stone, whose montage style Curtis’s also resembles, I take the Zapruder film as definitive, no-theories-needed, you-can-see-it-with-your-own-eyes evidence (“Back and to the left”) that there were at least two shooters.

Curtis places the most incendiary material in episode four, where he comes close to saying outright what I hesitated even to suggest in my Habermas post—that “humanitarian intervention” is, when we cut through the sentimentality, a mode of militarist imperialism that doesn’t even effect, and whose proponents perhaps don’t intend to effect, its stated humanitarian aims. He draws a line between the bombing of Serbia and the invasion of Iraq, but he nicely balances Bernard Kouchner with Eduard Limonov, two versions of post-political benightedness, to avoid straying into Peter Handke territory. To this he strangely adds the story of Julia Grant, the implications of which, given the rest of the film’s thesis, he mutes by creating sympathy for this person beleaguered by vicious street kids and fascoid NHS psychiatrists. Still, the inclusion of a pioneering trans activist—whose anti-feminist statements are highlighted—in a montage on the delusions of individualism will have some viewers wondering about the message. (Surprisingly, I saw no criticism to this effect on social media.)

There are vertiginous tidbits—the Boole thread connecting the Russian Revolution to managerial western democracy in the Cold War in episode one, for instance, or the fact relayed in episode five, news to me, that the director of Dr. No did western-backed propaganda for Saddam Hussein. Curtis also gives good book and music recommendations as well (but leave the sarcastic music cues—“Lady in Red” played over the radicalization of Abu Zubaydah, etc.—to Zack Snyder): I want to read My Bones and My Flute now, and the song that heads this post, which I'd never heard before, perfectly distills the epoch.

I can forgive much for Curtis’s conclusion, finally, with its exposure of the (I hope delegitimating) replication crisis in psychology and the social sciences; his satire on the squalid, hateful, maddening, and at this point almost genocidal derangement of the western liberal class, an enemy of humanity equal in its horror to its answering populist fervors, or worse because it incites them; and his call to reestablish the sovereignty of the imagination, which credo is the true part of both individualism and communism, not invalidated by what was false in those utopian ambitions, though the falsehoods in seemingly impenetrable combination are all that our present societies, from China to the U.S., currently offer.

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[*] I’ve effaced traces of this part of my life as much as possible, but I've been hanging around the weird side of cultural politics online for almost two decades now. From 2003 to 2006, I was part of the same circle of leftist blogs as Fisher—to be clear, I was a minnow in this pond—and was a contributor to a group blog that included a number of people in his milieu, notably Nina Power, who is now a member of Justin Murphy’s Salon des Cancelés. Like all left-wing social climates, this was a ruthlessly sectarian and ever-more-micro-fractionated ideological space, and I belonged to the tendency opposite that of Fisher’s. The conflict could perhaps be captioned “anti-humanists vs. radical humanists” or maybe “left-Nietzscheans vs. left-Hegelians.” I was in the camp of another still-controversial online-left microcelebrity, the figure now known on social media as Red Kahina—who was, by the way, whatever people have against her, never anything but the soul of kindness and generosity to me when I was just a 23-year-old nobody writing from a dial-up connection somewhere in Pennsylvania. Here, for instance, is Fisher’s part of one debate (the figure he variously calls with class-and-gender venom “Le Currency Trader” and “Le Opera Goeur” is Kahina). Even then, I was impressed by his characteristically electric prose: “The non-organic product of capital's ‘Frankensteinian surgery of the cities’ (Lyotard), the proletariat emerges from the destruction of all ethnicities, the desolation of all tradition, the destitution of any home.” Red’s long-defunct blog is still for me the model of the form, but Fisher’s is one of the first blogs to enter the annals of literature and will probably be regarded, not at all undeservedly, as a germinal text of our time.

#adam curtis #mark fisher #film #documentary #cinema #politics #marxism

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