Posts
Tonight is the premiere of the second season of Sons of Anarchy, an FX series that purports to be a modern rendering of Hamlet set against the backdrop of a biker gang. The show has delighted me not only with its pacing, its intricate plotlines, and its cinematographic merit (the camera work and the soundtrack are both spot-on), but more so with its psychological depth and allusions to everything from Emma Goldman to Shakespeare, an aspect of the show that might escape many but is nonetheless present. I am always impressed with a show that functions on both a high culture and a mass culture level -that is a show that entertains without compromising its artistic integrity.
Sons of Anarchy follows the story of Jackson (Jax) Teller, the second-in-command of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcylce Club, Redwood Original, (SAMCRO, as it is referred to in the series), as he becomes increasingly disillusioned with the club following the birth of his first son. Feeding his doubts is an unpublished manuscript he unearths that contains his father's memoirs of the "rise and fall of SAMCRO," his father having been one of the original founders. Sons of Anarchy, Jax learns, was founded as a quasi-utopian anarchist club in the radical fervor of the '60s and evolved into a criminal enterprise over the years, giving new meaning to the old phrase about every great movement starting up as an idea and ending up as a racket.
Trying to quell Jax's newly-found idealism (and covering up their own secrets) are his mother, Gemma Teller (who could give Lady Macbeth a run for her money) and her new husband, the current president of the club, Clay Morrow. As events progress in the series, Jax becomes increasingly distanced from Clay, offering a competing vision of the club; their differences crystallize in what appears to be the beginning of an inter-club civil war, sparked by Jax assaulting another member of the club in the final episode of Season 1.
What I find most interesting about this show are the various philosophical sub-themes explored. The transformation of SAMCRO from a haven for utopian radicals to a hardboiled crime organization mimicks the fate of all radical movements once their abstract plans run into concrete hurdles (the Jacobins, the Bolsheviks, etc.). There are also meditations on globalism; located in the small town of charming, SAMCRO is allowed to operate unhampered by the local county sheriff's office so long as it keeps both drug dealers and developers off of Charming's territory; banditry becomes a means for the preservation of the integrity of small communities (a reason why so many folk heroes are bandits; one is also reminded of Hobsbawm's primitive revolutionary). Also interesting is the distinction made between outlaws and cirminals; SAMCRO considers itself a band of outlaws, but not, properly speaking criminal, because though it operates outside of the law, it tries to preserve a certain moral integrity (a pirate's code, so to speak).
An entertaining, fast-paced drama replete with literary and socio-political allusions, Sons of Anarchy is a smart man's popcorn movie, Hamlet meets Hell's Angels; tune in.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Hyperreality and Glenn Beck
Over the past two decades, with the rise of new media (including cable TV, the Internet, blogging, etc), American politics has become a national redemptive spectacle; it is no accident that the seemingly sempiternal contest between the Left and the Right has taken on the terminology of a military conflict. It is no accident that we speak of a "Culture War," or say that Democrats have "taken" the White House, as if it were a strategic encampent, or that a Congressman is in an "embattled" district. Over the last two years, we saw the quest for the Presidency (formerly called an election) become the nation's prime-time entertainment, wilder than anything that could be conjured up by the Sopranos and the West Wing. The entire affair took on a sort of mythic character (Obama as Arthur, H. Clinton as Morgana?); one could almost see the stages of Joseph Campbell's hero cycle playing out before our eyes.
What was perhaps most striking, again, is the degree to which the language of commentary was militarized. One would be forgiven if, upon hearing that Mitt Romney had been "routed" from Iowa after Mike Huckabee's Evangelical "surge," or that John McCain had attacked Hillary Clinton in Pennsylvania, one would for a moment imagine that we are hearing the commentary of some grand conflict. Switch the names to Gen. Robert E. Lee and Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, and one would be entirely within one's wits to think the subject being covered was the American Civil War. But this is precisely the point; television and the Internet, the "news cycle," by nature are sensationalizing. They take the brute facts of existence and weave them into stories; they are vehicles for constructing and assembling plots, on a scale both stranger and more effective than mere writing.
The news cycle is a mechanism by which the plain facts of daily existence are taken, turned around, and spat out as stories; the news, instead of being an outlet for what has happened, becomes an outlet for stories of what has happened, removing itself a degree from reality. In a sense, this means that the news cycle makes events hyperreal; like works of literature, news stories detail the particulars but suggest the universals. I do not mean to suggest that this is a new phenomenon -one can see it in the early yellow journalism or even, in a sense, in Thucydides' account of the Pelopennesian War, which went beyond mere history. What I do mean to suggest is that television and the Internet -by the nature of their medium- are far more prone to this. Indeed, whereas the writer must go out of his way to be a sensationalist, the TV presenter must go out of his way to not be a sensationalist. This is natural, of course, because television allows the presenter to tell a story to the audience as if he were telling it in a bar; that is, whenever one speaks live, one is prone to sensationalism.
Back to my title.
Perhaps the greatest illustration of the hyperreality our "news cycle" produces is Glenn Beck's show on FOX. My purpose here is not to bash Beck; my sympathies, which are in fact in his favor, are irrelevant. The point is Beck's program, which purports to be the "fusion of entertainment and enlightenment," has reached a Howard Beale level of sensationalism -the host cries, guests faint, patriotic rallies are held at the Alamo, fish, turtles, and other wildlife are brought on routinely as props, ominous exposes are lurking behind every corner. Above all the mayhem is Beck himself, who rarely if ever admits dissenters on his program, in one of his two modes; mocking or prophetic. The show's ratings are, for its time-slot, off the charts, while the Left decries Beck as a demagogue and clamors for boycotts. The Right, meanwhile, is split over what to do with their primetime Jeremiah and his following.
Over everyone is an unease; an unease because they feel that the show is a delusion and yet they cannot call out any of its facts as delusional. What is most peculiar about Beck is that he is, by and large, right; he has taken his facts from the tapestry of everyday life. But in the way in which he weaves them and presents them, like some Surrealist painter, he paints a picture which seems above reality; composed of it and yet outside of it. To see just what I mean, watch the following clip from his show:
The above clip captures the essence of Beck; one wants to feel that it is fantasy, but one is disconcerted by the fact that his fantasy is composed of quotes and videos; his fantasy is composed by facts. Near the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry asks his mentor, "Is this real? Or is it just in my head?" "Of course it's just in your head," his mentor replies, "but why on earth should that mean it isn't real?" Is Glenn Beck's news fantasy? Of course it is, but why on earth does that mean it isn't true?
What was perhaps most striking, again, is the degree to which the language of commentary was militarized. One would be forgiven if, upon hearing that Mitt Romney had been "routed" from Iowa after Mike Huckabee's Evangelical "surge," or that John McCain had attacked Hillary Clinton in Pennsylvania, one would for a moment imagine that we are hearing the commentary of some grand conflict. Switch the names to Gen. Robert E. Lee and Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, and one would be entirely within one's wits to think the subject being covered was the American Civil War. But this is precisely the point; television and the Internet, the "news cycle," by nature are sensationalizing. They take the brute facts of existence and weave them into stories; they are vehicles for constructing and assembling plots, on a scale both stranger and more effective than mere writing.
The news cycle is a mechanism by which the plain facts of daily existence are taken, turned around, and spat out as stories; the news, instead of being an outlet for what has happened, becomes an outlet for stories of what has happened, removing itself a degree from reality. In a sense, this means that the news cycle makes events hyperreal; like works of literature, news stories detail the particulars but suggest the universals. I do not mean to suggest that this is a new phenomenon -one can see it in the early yellow journalism or even, in a sense, in Thucydides' account of the Pelopennesian War, which went beyond mere history. What I do mean to suggest is that television and the Internet -by the nature of their medium- are far more prone to this. Indeed, whereas the writer must go out of his way to be a sensationalist, the TV presenter must go out of his way to not be a sensationalist. This is natural, of course, because television allows the presenter to tell a story to the audience as if he were telling it in a bar; that is, whenever one speaks live, one is prone to sensationalism.
Back to my title.
Perhaps the greatest illustration of the hyperreality our "news cycle" produces is Glenn Beck's show on FOX. My purpose here is not to bash Beck; my sympathies, which are in fact in his favor, are irrelevant. The point is Beck's program, which purports to be the "fusion of entertainment and enlightenment," has reached a Howard Beale level of sensationalism -the host cries, guests faint, patriotic rallies are held at the Alamo, fish, turtles, and other wildlife are brought on routinely as props, ominous exposes are lurking behind every corner. Above all the mayhem is Beck himself, who rarely if ever admits dissenters on his program, in one of his two modes; mocking or prophetic. The show's ratings are, for its time-slot, off the charts, while the Left decries Beck as a demagogue and clamors for boycotts. The Right, meanwhile, is split over what to do with their primetime Jeremiah and his following.
Over everyone is an unease; an unease because they feel that the show is a delusion and yet they cannot call out any of its facts as delusional. What is most peculiar about Beck is that he is, by and large, right; he has taken his facts from the tapestry of everyday life. But in the way in which he weaves them and presents them, like some Surrealist painter, he paints a picture which seems above reality; composed of it and yet outside of it. To see just what I mean, watch the following clip from his show:
The above clip captures the essence of Beck; one wants to feel that it is fantasy, but one is disconcerted by the fact that his fantasy is composed of quotes and videos; his fantasy is composed by facts. Near the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry asks his mentor, "Is this real? Or is it just in my head?" "Of course it's just in your head," his mentor replies, "but why on earth should that mean it isn't real?" Is Glenn Beck's news fantasy? Of course it is, but why on earth does that mean it isn't true?
Not in My Backyard
Social criticism is all well and good, as long as the society in question begins outside my doorstep.
That is, people in general are quite open to hearing criticisms of society, of the media, of their habits of consumption, and so on; not only will they hear these criticisms, they will applaud them. They will applaud them and cheer them on and likely mutter something to the effect of, "There's someone who really gets it." So long, of course, as the criticism is directed at an elusive people or through the use of an abstract we; so long, that is, that it is not personal. The average citizen can only entertain the prospect of social criticism so long as that criticism presumes that he himself is not part of the "problem." So long as the "problem" is not individualized, so long as it does not have a face, so long as it is a problem among a numberless, faceless mass composed of others, then all criticism goes; but once that criticism reaches the citizen's doorstep, it will find his door firmly shut.
Take, for example, consumerism. It is more or less agreed upon within the opinion-industrial complex (the news media, the politicians, the film/television industry) that America's collective drift towards a society of consumers is problematic. We live in a society of 300 million consumers live off credit extended by banks whose loose fiscal policies are insured by a government that is in turn kept running by other nations' credit; each of the major parties accepts this. Liberals, moderates, conservatives, politicians, pundits, artists; all bemoan some aspect of consumer society, be it our accumulating debt or be it the unraveling of our national character or be it the commercialization and standardization of ever-increasing swathes of our personal lives. So long as criticism is kept at this level, everything is well and good. But say someone takes the logical conclusion that, as this criticism is generally agreed upon, we should now act upon it; such a reasoner would find himself strangely alone.
If one wanted to do something about consumerism, one might begin by doing something about consumption. But to talk thus appears radical; for consumption, you see, is precisely what drives forward the economic-orgy that is modern America. Consumption leads to growth and growth is the supreme good, before which all other goods must lie prostrate; to be against consumption is to be against growth, and to be against growth is modern apostasy. Down with consumerism! shouts the modern citizen, But don't touch my consumption.
This is the central problem of translating social criticism into a social program, or philosophy into policy. Philosophy deals with the realm of ideas, which is abstract, whereas policy deals with the realm of action, which is concrete. Almost all are in agreement that one should not lie; almost all lie regardless. This is not hypocrisy; rather it is a result of humanity's defective nature, which distinguishes and sometimes separates the realm of ideas from the realm of action. So long as something is an idea, it is relatively harmless. Once it begins to be translated into action, it suddenly becomes dangerous. A man of ideas is a radical, because his sphere permits radicalism; but a man of actions is a conservative, because his sphere permits no pipe-dreams. The whole art of governance is finding a way to achieve abstract ends through concrete means.
Yours, &c,
That is, people in general are quite open to hearing criticisms of society, of the media, of their habits of consumption, and so on; not only will they hear these criticisms, they will applaud them. They will applaud them and cheer them on and likely mutter something to the effect of, "There's someone who really gets it." So long, of course, as the criticism is directed at an elusive people or through the use of an abstract we; so long, that is, that it is not personal. The average citizen can only entertain the prospect of social criticism so long as that criticism presumes that he himself is not part of the "problem." So long as the "problem" is not individualized, so long as it does not have a face, so long as it is a problem among a numberless, faceless mass composed of others, then all criticism goes; but once that criticism reaches the citizen's doorstep, it will find his door firmly shut.
Take, for example, consumerism. It is more or less agreed upon within the opinion-industrial complex (the news media, the politicians, the film/television industry) that America's collective drift towards a society of consumers is problematic. We live in a society of 300 million consumers live off credit extended by banks whose loose fiscal policies are insured by a government that is in turn kept running by other nations' credit; each of the major parties accepts this. Liberals, moderates, conservatives, politicians, pundits, artists; all bemoan some aspect of consumer society, be it our accumulating debt or be it the unraveling of our national character or be it the commercialization and standardization of ever-increasing swathes of our personal lives. So long as criticism is kept at this level, everything is well and good. But say someone takes the logical conclusion that, as this criticism is generally agreed upon, we should now act upon it; such a reasoner would find himself strangely alone.
If one wanted to do something about consumerism, one might begin by doing something about consumption. But to talk thus appears radical; for consumption, you see, is precisely what drives forward the economic-orgy that is modern America. Consumption leads to growth and growth is the supreme good, before which all other goods must lie prostrate; to be against consumption is to be against growth, and to be against growth is modern apostasy. Down with consumerism! shouts the modern citizen, But don't touch my consumption.
This is the central problem of translating social criticism into a social program, or philosophy into policy. Philosophy deals with the realm of ideas, which is abstract, whereas policy deals with the realm of action, which is concrete. Almost all are in agreement that one should not lie; almost all lie regardless. This is not hypocrisy; rather it is a result of humanity's defective nature, which distinguishes and sometimes separates the realm of ideas from the realm of action. So long as something is an idea, it is relatively harmless. Once it begins to be translated into action, it suddenly becomes dangerous. A man of ideas is a radical, because his sphere permits radicalism; but a man of actions is a conservative, because his sphere permits no pipe-dreams. The whole art of governance is finding a way to achieve abstract ends through concrete means.
Yours, &c,
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)