#i think the specificity makes it more unique and compelling as comedy and as commentary. but that's just me

[skrunksthatwunk]

actually i'm still thinking about the moral orel finale.

he has a cross on his wall. do you know how much i think about that bc it's a lot.

a lot of stories ((auto)biographical or fictional) centering escape from abusive/fundamentalist christianity result in the lead characters leaving behind christianity entirely. and that makes complete sense! people often grow disillusioned with the associated systems and beliefs, and when it was something used to hurt them or something so inseparable from their abuse that they can't engage with it without hurting, it makes total sense that they would disengage entirely. and sometimes they just figure out that they don't really believe in god/a christian god/etc. a healthy deconstruction process can sometimes look like becoming an atheist or converting to another religion. it's all case by case. (note: i'm sure this happens with other religions as well, i'm just most familiar with christian versions of this phenomenon).

but in orel's case, his faith was one of the few things that actually brought him comfort and joy. he loved god, y'know? genuinely. and he felt loved by god and supported by him when he had no one else. and the abuses he faced were in how the people in his life twisted religion to control others, to run away from themselves, to shield them from others, etc. and often, orel's conflicts with how they acted out christianity come as a direct result of his purer understanding of god/jesus/whatever ("aren't we supposed to be like this/do that?" met with an adult's excuse for their own behavior or the fastest way they could think of to get orel to leave them alone (i.e. orel saying i thought we weren't supposed to lie? and clay saying uhhh it doesn't count if you're lying to yourself)). the little guy played catch with god instead of his dad, like.. his faith was real, and his love was real. and i think it's a good choice to have orel maintain something that was so important to him and such a grounding, comforting force in the midst of. All That Stuff Moralton Was Up To/Put Him Through. being all about jesus was not the problem, in orel's case.

and i know i'm mostly assuming that orel ended up in a healthier, less rigid version of christianity, but i feel like that's something that was hinted at a lot through the series, that that's the direction he'd go. when he meditates during the prayer bee and accepts stephanie's different way to communicate, incorporating elements of buddhism into his faith; when he has his I AM A CHURCH breakdown (removing himself from the institution and realizing he can be like,, the center of his own faith? taking a more individualistic approach? but Truly Going Through It at the same time), his acceptance (...sometimes) of those who are different from him and condemned by the adults of moralton (stephanie (lesbian icon stephanie my beloved), christina (who's like. just a slightly different form of fundie protestant from him), dr chosenberg (the jewish doctor from otherton in holy visage)). his track record on this isn't perfect, but it gets better as orel starts maturing and picking up on what an absolute shitfest moralton is. it's all ways of questioning the things he's been taught, and it makes sense that it would lead to a bigger questioning as he puts those pieces together more. anyway i think part of his growth is weeding out all the lost commandments of his upbringing and focusing on what faith means to him, and what he thinks it should mean. how he wants to see the world and how he wants to treat people and what he thinks is okay and right, and looking to religion for guidance in that, not as like. a way to justify hurting those he's afraid or resentful of, as his role models did.

he's coming to his own conclusions rather than obediently, unquestioningly taking in what others say. but he's still listening to pick out the parts that make sense to him. (edit/note: and it's his compassion and his faith that are the primary motivations for this questioning and revisal process, both of individual cases and, eventually, the final boss that is christianity.) it makes perfect sense as the conclusion to his character arc and it fits the overall approach of the show far better. it's good is what i'm saying.

and i think it's important to show that kind of ending, because that's a pretty common and equally valid result of deconstruction. and i think it cements the show's treatment of christianity as something that's often (and maybe even easily) exploited, but not something inherently bad. something that can be very positive, even. guys he even has a dog he's not afraid of loving anymore. he's not afraid of loving anyone more than jesus and i don't think it's because he loves this dog less than bartholomew (though he was probably far more desperate for healthy affection and companionship when he was younger). i think it's because he figures god would want him to love that dog. he's choosing to believe that god would want him to love and to be happy and to be kind. he's not afraid of loving in the wrong way do you know how cool that is he's taking back control he's taking back something he loves from his abusers im so normal

[popblank]

Year-end personal goals and culture roundup for 2022:

I deliberately set no personal goals out of laziness and also to see what would happen. What happened was a mixed bag: 

Did not exercise basically all year

Was less politically engaged than in previous election years

Read fewer books than expected

Did maintain a 300+ day streak in Duolingo, with the help of many streak freezes

Worked a lot of extra hours

Saw a lot of theater

This year I think I will set some sort of health goal because the lack of exercise (and poor sleep habits) made themselves pretty apparent toward the end of the year.

Culture stuff

Theater:

Went back to my pre-pandemic habits and saw 23 unique shows (plus a few repeats). Individual posts are linked; for ones where I didn’t write a post it was probably because I didn’t have the time or energy.

Everybody’s Talking About Jamie

Slave Play

Assassins

The Lehman Trilogy

Hadestown

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Tootsie

Aida

King James

Pretty Woman

Come From Away

Lempicka

Moulin Rouge

Dear Evan Hansen

The Prom

+ More thoughts on The Prom

Oklahoma!

Jagged Little Pill

To Kill A Mockingbird

Omar

2:22: A Ghost Story

Invincible

Clyde's

Bat Out Of Hell

Music:

It is the first time in a while that my most-listened to song has not been from Eurovision or Melodifestivalen. I am finding that if I don’t make an effort to listen to music, I don’t listen to music, which is disappointing.  In any case, my most listened to track appears to have been Tove Styrke’s 2020 cover of “Bara du och jag” from Så mycket bättre season 11.  (My most-played Eurovision song was “Með hækkandi sól” by Systur, which ended up around #3 overall.)

Television:

Supergirl S1 (yes I am still trying to finish Season 2)

The Great American Barbecue Showdown (unexpectedly engaging)

The Great British Baking Show/GBBO S13 (liked the contestants, still puzzled by the taco technical)

The Midnight Club (not especially scary or horrifying, which is fine since I am not typically into horror; even so this has got me interested in Mike Flanagan’s other work)

Street Food: USA (apparently food holds my attention well)

Andor S1 (as good as everyone says)

Kalifat (compelling, also a bit depressing and cynical)

Movies:

Not much of a year for movie-watching since I spent so much time on live theater. Of the things I saw that were released this year, I think there was only Avatar 2 and Glass Onion. Might rewatch Glass Onion if there’s a commentary available.

Books:

Sprinting Through No Man’s Land: Endurance, Tragedy, and Rebirth in the 1919 Tour de France by Adin Dobkin: First book I managed to finish this year and it wasn’t until late August. Knew basically nothing about the Tour de France but this felt like part history and part travelogue, which kept me interested.

The Future is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia by Masha Gessen: Listened to on audio, does provide some context for the current war in Ukraine, though history of Russia prior to 1980s or so remains a large gap in my knowledge

Less by Andrew Sean Greer: Essentially a bit of a slow-burn romantic comedy, fun airplane read

Brown Girl in the Ring by Nalo Hopkinson: dystopia + magic, good combo; very specific location (post-apocalyptic Toronto) is also good 

[comixconnection]

Counter Monkey John Arminio reviews ‘Mister Miracle’ #5

Now that Entertainment Weekly has declared Mister Miracle “Best Series” in it’s 2017 comic book roundup, it seems Jack Kirby’s vaunted Fourth World has gone... mainstream? So why do I need to add my voice to the avalanche of acclaim to Tom King and Mitch Gerads’s revolutionary take on the DC universe’s greatest escape artist? Heck, why do I need to offer yet more praise to the body of work of both Tom King and Mitch Gerads, whose comics I have already gushed with prolix prose and conversation about how much I adore them? Because Mister Miracle deserves it, that’s why. It’s a book that is creating an entirely new vision of a character while paying homage to his legendary creator. It celebrates in nostalgia while making it clear that such an outlook could have a deleterious effect on our psyches if we continue to gaze backwards. It comments on the metatextual nature of Mr. Miracle and of incorporating the intellectual property of an artist and creator whose own intellectual property was frequently co-opted while he was alive, yet is, at its core, a story about love, family, and how we combat despair. The is real deal comics.

(Image from Mister Miracle #1)

What immediately separates King and Gerads’s Mister Miracle from anything Kirby did is how restricted the movements of the characters are and how they are so confined by the panels we find them in. There is no room for the hyper-exaggerated poses or trademark Kirby Krackle that made Jack Kirby’s work so distinctive and dynamic. Much of the current series in structured in a ridged panel grid system, trapping the characters in an unvarnished, harsh reality with no escape (even for an escape artist). When the grid system is abandoned for a looser page setup, the images are still frequently dominated by close-ups and faces, the depressed or angry expressions of the characters telling much of the story thanks to Gerads’s incomparable facial renderings. We as readers are as trapped with the inescapable rage and angst as these characters, contained in their emotional myopia. It’s a harrowing experience, one made all the more desperate when it’s Mister Miracle, Scott Free himself, who is the trapped individual we are reading about. The greatest escape artist is trapped in this 12-issue story arc, riding to its inevitable conclusion.

Issue #5 opens with Scott Free, in full Mister Miracle garb, standing in front of a Grauman’s Chinese Theater-esque movie house, putting his own hands in the handprints, immortalized in concrete in front of the theater, of Jack Kirby himself. Later, resting on a hill with his wife Big Barda, Scott will pontificate on the nature of existence, God, and the “I Think Therefore I Am” philosophy of Rene Descartes. We have Scott putting his hands in those of his own creator, then, while reflecting with the woman he loves more than anything in the Universe, if he even exists; if anything exists. It’s an incredibly poignant moment, made all the more powerful by the fact that Kirby created the Fourth World and the New Gods as a means to ask those questions of himself.

This collision of meta-commentary and genuine, heartfelt emotion is something I would never have expected in... any narrative. Sure, we have Deadpool breaking the fourth wall and Christopher Nolan has used some of his non-Batman films (The Prestige and Inception in particular), to comment on the process of filmmaking itself, but those examples are usually an end unto themselves and tend to lack any emotional connection to the audience. I am hard-pressed to think of such synchronicity in which a story is using the medium of its own specific storytelling to comment on the medium and the story itself, WHILE being a compelling and heartbreaking narrative all at the same time. It brings to mind Shakespeare’s “All The World’s A Stage” monologues or Dante writing The Divine Comedy about ascending to Paradise all the while banished from his native home and an enemy of his church. Fitting, that the family dynamics of Mister Miracle are downright Shakespearean and the war of the New Gods is comparable to that between Heaven and Hell.

And even with all of that lofty presentation and historicity, both in the real world and in the Fourth World, Issue #5 resonates most powerfully as a love story between a husband and wife, a couple who love and depend on one another as fully when they are playing carnival games as when they are combating the innumerable parademon legions of Apokolips. Mister Miracle and Big Barda (can I call them “Bardacle?”) are a fascinating and unique couple, especially in comics, where stable, fulfilling marriages are rare. Jack Kirby purportedly modeled their marriage after his relationship with his own wife, and it manifests with a spirit of equanimity and trust. Free and Barda fully depend upon one another when they need to, have faith in each other’s emotions and motivations, and those aspects are mined by King and Gerads and made even richer and more fulfilled in this story. This Mister Miracle series is not an all-ages book and, since the physical relationship between any married couple is an essential part of a healthy relationship, it represents the sex life of Bardacle in an honest, funny, heartwarming, and even tasteful way. The height disparity between Scott and Barda is evident but never played for laughs. Instead, it is a charming aspect of their relationship; part of what makes their marriage unique. Issue #5 allows us to explore how perfect these two New Gods are for each other and how intimate and human their marriage really is.

Of course, this being a book by Tom King and Mitch Gerads, these moments of bliss are few and far between, tragically constructed to make us feel the full, desperate force of the despair to follow. In Issue #4, Scott Free was sentenced to death by his own step brother, Orion, for daring to question his leadership abilities in the New Gods’ war against Apokolips. Thus, Issue #5 functions as a sort of “Last Night On Earth” for our illustrious couple, at least before Scott is dragged away by the denizens of New Genesis to see his sentence carried out. When this finally occurs, every scene previous becomes more powerful and poignant in retrospect; the debates about existence, the stubbornness in the face of pointless carnival games, the last time the couple would make love; it all coalesces in a beautiful statement on how these two people love each other and why. Why, amid all the fighting and pain they have experienced in their lives, they are still willing to endure anything for each other, to go to war for each other. Now, that war has come home and woe to anyone who seeks to tear them apart.

[nofomoartworld]

Art F City: Documenta 14: Learning From Athens, Learning From Crisis

Marta Minujín and Pierre Bal-Blanc, “The Parthenon of Books,” 2016 – ongoing. Photo by Anastasia Tuazon.

You don’t need to go to Kassel, Germany to know that the world seems on shaky ground. But this year’s documenta exhibition, “Learning From Athens,” nails home that idea, nonetheless. That’s quite intentional, given that documenta 14 artistic director Adam Szymczyk, along with a team of more than a dozen curators, chose to stake out a markedly “political” point of view. Though the word “political” can refer to pretty much anything or nothing when it comes to curation, Szymczyk and team have carved out a specific focus: the local is the global. And right now, documenta envisions that the world is in need of being rebuilt entirely—from the ground up.

When national and international coalitions have been unable to prevent the dispersal and death of refugees, a major focus in both the Athens and Kassel editions of documenta, the crisis cannot be remedied by the powers that be. There must be alternatives, and as far as the curatorial through-line goes with documenta 14, those alternatives rely on finding strength in what we have around us. With this void in place, “everything is possible now.” That statement, both powerful and cliche, comes from a video shown in Norwegian artist Joar Nango’s collaborative installation “European Everything” (2017). The text-only video moves at a rapid-fire speed, spitting out bold-Arial font text telling how to reinvent the Norwegian “eskimo,” the indigenous Sami people, by poking fun at Eskimo-brand refrigerators. The video and installation, located in Kassel’s glass pavilion section, is one of the stronger, stranger, and sillier works in Kassel.

Given that this year’s documenta lacks much humor whatsoever, the comedy of refrigerators gives the breathing room necessary to imagine that hope still exists. Indeed, “European Everything” does portray a hopeful dystopia, however constructed out of scrap materials from Athens, built with traditional Norwegian hand-axes, strewn with furs, and covered in knick-knacks. Think Mad Max, but less murder; after all, the video describes how, without the need for electricity, “fridges will be dance floors.” That sounds like a fun party, maybe, but not a world I’d want to live in. Regardless, that world seems near on the horizon when artists like Nango feel compelled to prepare for a time when what once seemed solid (like the EU) might break apart. As you can tell, documenta 14 is about as much fun as waiting for the world to end.

That seriousness is by no means a jab at documenta; a year of dour art is much preferred to, say, last year’s Berlin Biennale, where sleek, post-internet works embraced the gloss and branding of international corporations. In 2017, seriousness of purpose has taken over passive compliance.

Additionally, that seriousness is in keeping with documenta’s reputation for dryly conceptual wall work. That’s not my favorite genre of art making, but thankfully those works tend be found inside the museums and exhibition halls, rather than on the streets, where performances, sculptures, and concerts will continue through the end of documenta in mid-September. At the very least, it’s a new turn for documenta, which deviates from the overbearing conceptualism of its last edition, directed by curator Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev. In the words of critic Roberta Smith, documenta 13 was an “incomprehensible, viewer-defying vastness,” that was “most effective as a disembodied state of mind.” Five years later, documenta 14 may be more targeted in purpose, but the disembodiment, in terms of imaginary projects rather than actual political action, continues. More on that in the commentary and images we’ve compiled below. (Corinna Kirsch)

Photos by Anastasia Tuazon.

Hans Haacke, “Wir (alle) sind das Volk—We (all) are the people,” 2003/2017. Here: located on the corner of a department building off of Friedrichsplatz. Note that above the building’s portico you can see Thomas Schütte’s little-people sculpture, “The Strangers,” (1992), permanently installed at documenta 9.

Hans Haacke, “Wir (alle) sind das Volk—We (all) are the people,” 2003/2017. Location: Wienerstrasse tram stop across from the Aral gas station.

Corinna Kirsch: Definitely one of the most noticeable public works at documenta: these rainbow signs are everywhere. The banners and posters show “We (all) are the people” in several different languages. That statement could be a slogan for documenta 14 itself, as so much of the work leans towards upending what it means to be a local, national, or global citizen. It’s an uplifting message to have on a bus stop; on the other hand, it might be a feel-good update to “We are the World,” the 1980s USA for Africa anthem. I sure hope not.

Of course, this is a work by Hans Haacke, whose works of institutional critique, among others, rarely feel straightforward or easy-to-place. They hide as much as they disclose. If there’s a way out of the feel-good-vibes, it’s with the “all” hidden inside the parentheses. Stuck, buried inside a parentheses, “all” is both an afterthought and interlude.

But I’m still conflicted about this work. It’s too open-ended.

Olu Oguibe, “Monument for Strangers and Refugees,” 2017. Location: Königsplatz. Photo by Corinna Kirsch.

Anastasia Tuazon: Haacke’s banners and posters seem to resonate with Olu Oguibe’s massive obelisk. With the phrase “I was a stranger and you took me in” inscribed in a glittery gold color on each of its four sides in English, German, Turkish and Arabic, it heralds a kind of utopian togetherness intended to speak to people of various backgrounds.

Corinna: I wonder if those are the most widely spoken languages in Germany? Regardless, they’re all languages you’re bound to hear or read at some point when you’re here.

This might sound obvious, but like any multicultural state or city, no such reality of “Germanness” or “Americanness” exists any longer. Berlin has nearly as many foreign-born residents as New York City, and as a whole, 10 million people living in Germany come from another country. And those are just the official numbers. This obelisk is a big finger shoved in the face of “Make America Great Again.”

Anastasia: “I was a stranger and you took me in” happens to be a well-known line from the New Testament—but I wasn’t aware of where that phrase came from until another documenta-goer mentioned that to me. It may be well-known, but to whom? Again, like the Haacke work, “Monument for Strangers and Refugees” invites questions of who precisely the “we” and “you” might refer to, or whether the words could ever function as truly open signifiers.

Hiwa K, “When We Were Exhaling Images,” 2017. Located exterior to documenta Halle.

Close-up of Hiwa K, “When We Were Exhaling Images,” 2017

Corinna: So these are micro-housing units that nobody except circular people can live in. But I guess you can hide in them fairly well.

Anastasia: It seems like a sort of pre-fab, post dystopian dwelling. The furniture and objects contained within the pipes don’t appear to be unique or personal to an individual, though the plants make the interiors a bit more inviting, though the plants make the interiors a bit more inviting. It’s kind of reminiscent of Andrea Zittel’s “Living Units,” which are self-contained structures equipped with items to meet the needs of their inhabitants—just much, much more austere. 

Regina José Galindo, “El objectivo [The objective],” 2017

Anastasia: It might be heavy-handed, but this performance-installation succeeded in making visitors, such as myself, uncomfortable. Galindo has built a stark white chamber within a room at Kassel’s Stadtmuseum, and each of its four corners has an assault rifle attached to it, facing the inside. Anyone who visits, and is willing, stands in front of a rifle and views Galindo through its viewing mechanism, which contains a green target. You can also pull the trigger, which does nothing. Some people immediately grabbed it, others hesitated, and how many pulled the trigger—and where they targeted the gun—I don’t know. She rotated her body at intervals, taking a turn facing each gun, and the whole time she had an absolutely affectless expression. According to documenta press materials, the work comments on how major weapons industries export their products to “conflict zones in the Americas” where they ultimately fulfill their function. But that doesn’t quite capture the emotional quality of the performance. When Galindo is not inside her white cube, anyone can come in the room to become the target. I suspect people might have some fun playing with it, which could be part of the intended concept, darkly enough.

Pope. L, “Whispering Campaign,” 2016 – present. Mobile sound performances and installations. Locations: Königstrasse and throughout Kassel.

Corinna: We tried so hard to find one particular location of this performance. We never did, but we tried so hard!

Anastasia: Many performances at documenta are not fixed in a specific location, making it sometimes hard to encounter them, like when we attempted to find Pope.L’s “Whispering Campaign” performance. It was happening somewhere on one of Kassel’s main roads between the rathaus (town hall) and a plaza, but we never saw the people with speakers we were told to look out for.

Corinna: Exactly. According to the official documenta map as well as documenta staff, we were told to look out for people who “may or may not” be carrying a speaker around their neck. We walked up and down the street, but nothing. Point is: don’t rely on the map to find a performance.

Irena Haiduk, “Spinal Discipline,” 2017. Location: Outside Neue Galerie.

Anastasia:  While we couldn’t find that Pope.L performance, we did run into Irena Haiduk’s “Spinal Discipline” shortly after, in which part of the artist’s so-called “army of beautiful women” march together with matching outfits and books by Proust balanced on their heads. Conceptually, I find this piece puzzling—others might find the Proust addition pretentious—but it was a visually arresting sight to come across.

Corinna: Yes, at documenta 14 you’re better off letting the performance come to you, not the other way around.

Guillermo Galindo performing “Sonic Borders 2,” 2017.

Galindo’s installation-cum-music-instrument,”Fluchtzieleuropahavarieschallkörper,” 2017.

Anastasia: Galindo, an experimental composer originally from Mexico City, filled the hall with this solo performance, a “sonic ritual” in which he played the strings of massive musical instruments made out of the remains of fiberglass boats. In the performance, bottles full of liquid, a wooden pipe, and a handheld rainbow fan were a few of the objects used to generate sound, and his synthesized vocals added to what struck me as a haunting lamentation on the perilous realities facing migrants. Curator Candice Hopkins writes that Galindo has been developing scores for documenta 14 (in both Athens and Kassel) to function as “odes for border crossers.” Even when he’s not performing, these scores find a material connection in his instruments-as-art-pieces on display in Kassel: they contain remnants from a boat wreckage near Lesbos in which dozens of Turkish refugees drowned.

Corinna: Truly, truly haunting and mesmerizing. By far, Galindo’s performance was the most packed I’d seen: the hall downstairs near where he played was standing-room only; those wishing for a more distant view from above, stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the stairwell to hear him play. His guttural utterances, strengthened by the sonic feedback could have been shaking the walls. You couldn’t make out all the words he screamed, whispered, and barked out, but that didn’t matter. This digital-analog cornucopia of human-animal sounds and repurposed instruments transformed him into an electronic shaman. An apt song for those who have perished at sea. But were “we,” the visitors to documenta Halle, the ones who needed to hear it most? Probably not, but I definitely needed some catharsis given that

  from Art F City http://ift.tt/2t4Lie2 via IFTTT