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Just wanted to share an interesting interview with a prolific short story writer I had never read / heard of. Loved the excerpt lines from her stories and her quotations on the mysterious nature of one’s own writing.
“For months or years on end, you’re just a total dray horse, and then you finally finish something, and the next day you look at it and you think, How did that get there?”
(still working on that Lone Wolf & Cub essay - so this one will be relatively short too. It’s funny how something (LWC) you’ve loved so intensely for so long, you’ve thought about and re-read, becomes that much harder to work on once the time comes. Sometimes a personal passion gets in the way of good writing. Hopefully it’ll come out the stronger for it, eventually when I’m done!)
But anyways…. East of Eden
My friend, one of the truest cinephiles I’ve ever met, hosts a weekly film screening at his apartment — wherein he chooses classics across the spectrum from Filmstruck (highly recommend). He’s screened things like Johnnie To’ MISSION to Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN and, as I previously posted, ADVISE AND CONSENT.
This week was EAST OF EDEN by Elia Kazan, adapted from the Steinbeck novel. This was James Dean’s first real role — coming on the heels of bit work and minor TV roles. He was amazing, though I was more taken with Julie Harris’ sensitive, self-aware yet raw emotional performance to be honest. Dean was fascinating to watch because of his physical discomfort, his sort of manic shyness and bursts of rage while Harris was the glue of the film, the glue that held all the characters together.
Basically, it’s the re-telling of Cain and Abel (Dean is Cain, ostensibly) in 1917 rural California around Salinas and Monterey, just before the U.S. joins the war effort. The most fascinating thing about the film to me was how conflicting the ending is — I guess I won’t get into spoilers here, but generally, the happiness imposed on the ending really does feel difficult to absorb given all that’s happened leading up to it. One brother is destroyed, self-abused and going to the war (though how good a guy he was is in of itself a difficult question to answer). The father is physically, mortally wounded and disabled. And though there is a love story that comes to fruition, it comes at the price of all this - though Abra (Julie Harris) seems to be the only one capable of redeeming the whole situation, the only one available of giving unconditional love while also understanding the gray zones of morality that Cal (Dean) inhabits. It’s a complicated, almost abrupt conclusion to a very winding and emotional tale. I think I liked it, regardless! It was my first Kazan film, and I’m a big fan — he really pulls the viewer into unique emotional moments by setting things a little off-kilter, but combining angles and unusual character movement on screen (the swing scene, the masterpiece moment). I look forward to watching more of his work - maybe ON THE WATERFRONT should be next… Anyway, it’s worth the watch!
I have to jam today on a deadline for my video essay on Lone Wolf & Cub and the recreation of Edo era Japan — so can’t take too much time for a considered post. Instead, going to share the introduction to the essay here:
“Even if you’ve never read Lone Wolf and Cub, you’ve seen stories that are heavily influenced by it. Samurai Jack. Frank Miller. Road to Perdition. Or how about Wu Tang Clan? If Liquid Swords doesn’t ring a bell, Quentin Tarantino probably will…
It’s hard to qualify Lone Wolf & Cub’s influence in Western culture, let alone the revolution it started in Japanese manga and cinema. No dive, no matter how deep, could cover everything in the series’ 9000 pages across 28 volumes from “The Assassin’s Road” to “The Lotus Throne.”
So let’s look at just one essential aspect: setting. Edo era Japan, the time of the Tokugawa shogunate. The country a mosaic of feudal Han domains with ruthless Daimyo lords, the Shogun’s secret forces of shinobi ninjas and Kogi Kaishakunin executioner reign in terror.
So, spoiler alert from here on out… It’s in this complex, unforgiving landscape that Ogami Itto, former executioner for the shogun, turns himself and his young son into assassins for hire in order to seek vengeance on the Yagyu clan, who murdered his wife and framed him in a conspiracy. They become known as the supremely badass Lone Wolf & Cub as they travel across every Han in Japan, carrying out missions and taking the Yagyu down.
Looking at the myriad ways that Koike & Kojima recreate the entire country and era will give us insight into why Lone Wolf & Cub is not only an awesome story, but one that transcends culture and time.
Let’s start with the story itself. In Vol. 1, we learn how the elder Retsudo forces Itto’s fall from grace – entirely through symbols.”
From Madeline Miller’s Circe:
“I did not see the worst of him. Even at his best he was not an easy man. But he was a friend to me in a time when I needed one.”
“It is strange to think of a goddess needing friends.”
”All creatures that are not mad need them.”
“I think he got the better bargain.”
”I did turn his men to pigs.”
… “All these gods, all these mortals who aided him. Men talk of his wiles. His true talent was in how well he could take from others.”
“There are many who would be glad for such a gift,” I said.
“I am not one.”
- - - - - - - - - - - -
I just find it fascinating how Miller chooses to methodically pick apart the myth of Odysseus as the book progresses. When you meet him, about halfway through her novel, you’re sort of awestruck and curious. He’s out for the rest of the book, after he departs, but we get all sorts of drawn out accounts of him from Telemachus and Penelope and others — things totally original to Miller’s imagination. And it’s interesting how she chooses to gradually ramp up his skewering to the point where becomes a tragic villain. To me, this is a more interesting sort of “Character Rursus” to accomplish — the successful undermining of a mythic hero. And she does it by focusing on the unglamorous and unknown segments of his life rather than flip the famous moments on their head.
I don’t have much intellectual material available for today so I’m just going to note a short film I saw last night - HOW TO BE ALONE written & directed by Kate Trefry. Hopefully it’ll make it to Sundance, or have an accessible availability down the line. Was a really cool psychological thriller — a woman battles (sort-of) physical manifestations of her repressed fears and desires. Stars Maika Monroe (IT FOLLOWS), pulling off a surprising sort of narration too. Trefry leaned into a fun and slightly trendy aesthetic - glossy 80s panoramic colors and pulsing music. It may be one of the only short films I’ve seen that understands it has absolutely zero time to waste and moves at a clip worthy of Lydia Davis…
Knowing absolutely nothing about Latin, I’ve decided to butcher the language a little bit and use the word rursus (again) to cobble together a phrase: “Character Rursus.” This is when a famous character from literary history (or perhaps even just, history) is brought back in a contemporary work to be rexamined and reinvented. Rursus means “(in) return, again, on the contrary, or turned back.”
I started discussing the idea of it because I’m reading Madeline Miller’s “Circe,” which I talked about in a previous post. Miller does a deep dive into a peripheral (yet always compelling) character in Greek mythology. And while doing so, she tweaks and spins countless other famous Greek figures from Helios to Athena and Odysseus.
When discussing with my wife, we realize this strategy has become extremely trendy in books and even more so television. Once Upon A Time is a entire show built on the mechanics of Character Rursus. Older shows like Supernatural (and most long running episodic genre shows) tend to pull famous people and characters in for one episode cameos, giving their show’s spin on it. Lucifer is an obvious example too. Riverdale, to some degree. There are several others. I guess the distinction for me is that it’s not just a famous person, but a widely recognizable character that’s achieved literary status - that everyone knows the inherent traits of and such.
To me, the older the character being invoked the more interesting it is — the more you can learn. Because it tells us that there’s something resonant about that character, and so the way they change informs how we’ve changed (or would like to change) as the creator/audience.
It makes sense, why artists do this - especially for film/TV/books. There’s a draw to revisiting a character you’re already familiar with, to see how they’ve changed. And, as an audience member, it gives you a certain power-of-the-critic. You already know this character as well as anyone else, so you can be a confident arbiter of whether their re-portrayal is warranted. On top of that, when a character is successfully reinvented it’s thrilling in a different sort of way than meeting a new character altogether, who you have to work to get to know. I find this to be the case with Circe at least. Every detail I associated with her previously is kept, on some superficial level, but the deeper understanding undermines those stereotypes and allows me to root for a character I had never even considered before - but always known.
I just have to record my excitement here, that Jim Woodring has come out with a new graphic novel, POOCHYTOWN. It’s really difficult to describe Woodring’s style, and even more difficult to describe the experience of being immersed in his work. It’s fableistic, universal in ways that are almost disturbing to try to comprehend. Disturbing because it’s so psychedelic, so foreign, and the characters behave so oddly - and without any dialogue at all - that to feel related to them is inherently disturbing. But once you feel like you’ve gotten to know them, at times it can be comforting. No matter how strange and nightmarish our different worlds are, we can still find a connection to one another. It’s also just amazing how much expression and nuance he gets across with no dialogue. A CONGRESS OF ANIMALS is one of the greatest graphic novels I’ve ever read, so I’ll be excited to report back how this one compares.
This is a follow-up post, inspired by my viewing of MANDY starring Nicolas Cage. Both during and after the film, I found myself thinking: Cage is a truly original actor and truly dedicated to his craft. And simultaneously: I would never dare approach him in real life. And thinking the latter totally reinforced the former. Certainly Cage already has a cult of personality around him, one I think he’s continued to cultivate either consciously or through the sheer creative energy unique to him. It had me wondering why we like to idolize the “insanity” of artists. Why people love the mythology of Van Gogh and all that. I think it provides an easy explanation to most people who don’t consider themselves artists, or most artists who consider themselves insecure (which is… most artists). The idea that: I can comfortably accept this person’s “genius” because I get where it comes from, from a place nobody but them could ever access. And more importantly, it comes from a place that I would never want to access - because it’s unnatural and self-destructive, etc. But there’s a nastier implication there, which I think drives this false narrative. That, oh they’re insane - that’s why they’re brilliant, implies that it’s a natural source, unconscious even. There’s less skill required, less training. And in some cases, that narrative goes so far as to say: proper training would’ve ruined them. Their “uniqueness.” I don’t have a rebuttal to this, but I inherently think this is a wrong and damaging view. To “other” someone like that, discount their talents and no doubt their training (self-taught or otherwise) in order to comfort yourself is a dastardly act. To say they’re not working as hard rather than admit that you don’t understand their process or their struggle is not going to further anyone’s understanding of art. It also blocks out important other facets of each artist’s narrative. For Van Gogh, it was the selfless brother who tried again and again to help and supported him no matter what happened. I honestly don’t know what Cage’s process is (and I’m not saying he’s Van Gogh) but I am saying: I don’t understand him one bit, but damn does he commit to his craft. And that’s all I need to know.
Additional note: just wanted to share this link of a recent interview with Cage. “The Klaus Kinski of California.”
Most movies aren’t perfect - MANDY certainly isn’t, but who needs perfection? This film is epic and that’s enough. It’s a film that leans into what it knows it does well: angry psychedelia, pure Nicolas Cage Rage, a bold retro and original soundtrack by the late Johan Johansson, and a solid method of homage with direct appropriation (to metal/rock, to all sorts of 80s films and horror canon). Tonally, it tries to strike a balance between earnest visual beauty (and emotional beauty, for Red & Mandy’s relationship) and balls to the wall demon fighting orgy. The audience I watched it with laughed a lot, at all the right moments. Personally, it was testament to me that Nicolas Cage has secured a place for himself as a truly unique artist — batshit crazy, dedicated to unbelievable emotional displays, and only the finest fringe feature films. MANDY is a great addition to that chapter, and personally I think achieves some newfound visual techniques that I hope to see bleed into mainstream. Panos Cosmatos is a director to watch.
I’ve already decided to cycle another book into my reading roster, to accompany The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay and it’s going to be Circe by Madeline Miller. I love the idea of taking a known character from historical literature and flipping it on its head, giving us a far more in-depth view than we were ever allowed previously. In this case, Miller is taking a vilified sorceress known for her vile deeds in the Odyssey (at least, that was mostly how I knew her) and starts with her birth. An entire novel from the first person perspective. It makes me think back to how, when I started writing short fiction, I almost only felt comfortable if I was using this setup: a famous literary character, or an ensemble character in a famous story, and diving into their perspective. I did it with the drunken brother in the Nick Adam’s “Indian Camp” story, and Elpenor in the Odyssey, the ephemeral monster in “The Circular Valley” and the killer in “The Delicate Prey” both by Paul Bowles. There’s something assuring about getting to play in the playground that’s already been built by someone who knows more than you, or at least a playground that’s been made resonant by sheer time of existence (the Odyssey). To be in that world means you’re doing something right. And you have the added bonus of revisiting those same favored main characters, but from a mysterious POV. Basically, you have a lot going for you as a writer. But for me, I could only muster a short story out of this setup. And in reading Circe, a true novel, it strikes me how all your advantages turn to disadvantages. How you could lose someone’s interest when they realize Odysseus will only be a bit player, when you won’t get to learn about your favorite empires but instead will have to absorb new ones, the ones Circe sees. These become challenges to overcome and it’s all the more impressive that Madeline Miller chose this as her world. Chose Greek Mythology for a contemporary update while still diving deeper into it than most. It’s a pleasure to read so far, will check back when I’m done!
