This morning, Angela and I were awakened at around 5:30AM by, of all things, people screaming at each other. Perhaps if we lived in another neighborhood this would be something de rigeur, but in Takoma Park, it's a bit unusual. It is even more unusual that I woke up at all: I am known, after all, for having slept through bombs and four-year-olds crawling over my body. This must have been some fight.
After I discerned what was going on, I thought to myself, Who the heck is this? Our neighbors? No -- it's definitely a man and a woman fighting. The new folks across the way with the baby? No no, and besides, her parents are staying with them, so why would they be outside? The relatively new folks behind us? The semi-redneck next door? No, none of them, because the voices were too... too...
"I can't believe you would say that!!"
"Oh yeah? Tell me: HOW COULD YOU FUCK HIM??!"
"Aaargh!!"
...young. Ah yes, the world of the young, when everything is overly dramatic and the world is going to end at any moment. Granted, there is clearly some infidelity going on here and, well, clearly some craziness is inspired, perhaps warranted. And goodness knows that when it comes to movies, I'm a total sap for over-the-top melodrama. To spar on a public street in quiet Takoma Park at 5:30 in the morning, however?
Well, that's something for the young, I think. Let 'em have it. I'm thrilled to be old. Let me go back to sleep.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Monday, June 08, 2009
Hot off the press!
Back in 1998, I was floundering about for a dissertation topic when I took a graduate level French course on Cahiers du Cinéma with Carina Yervasi and was introduced to the concept of film journals. By this point, I had already learned a great deal about Latin American film history and, as a final project for this class, I decided to examine each and every page of Cahiers to look for material on Latin American film. This proved to be an arduous project -- but, oddly enough, also an exhilerating one, of sorts. (That paper is still in my electronic "trunk" of sorts, trying to burst its chains to try publication again. Quieto, quieto, soon, my friend...) I started looking for Latin American film journals written around the period of the 1960s and 70s, a high point of filmmaking from the region and discovered that the only one to survive the period of New Latin American Cinema from beginning to supposed end happened to come from Lima.
Lima? Peru?? Home?? But were there any movies made around then? Then why would one of the most respected film journals in Latin America come from a place that really didn't make any movies? It didn't make any sense.
Eleven years later, you can finally really read what I learned. Behold: my book. Finally. I hold the first copy, before the go on sale for real at the end of the month (although Amazon has it available at a discount for pre-order now! I know, I hate Amazon -- but, hey, discount!). In this picture, you can also see the snazzy cover art. I have to say: UPNE definitely knows how to make a pretty book. They rock.
Eleven years. Given that I've already started the next project, here's hoping it's not another decade until the next one. Huzzah!
Lima? Peru?? Home?? But were there any movies made around then? Then why would one of the most respected film journals in Latin America come from a place that really didn't make any movies? It didn't make any sense.
Eleven years later, you can finally really read what I learned. Behold: my book. Finally. I hold the first copy, before the go on sale for real at the end of the month (although Amazon has it available at a discount for pre-order now! I know, I hate Amazon -- but, hey, discount!). In this picture, you can also see the snazzy cover art. I have to say: UPNE definitely knows how to make a pretty book. They rock.Eleven years. Given that I've already started the next project, here's hoping it's not another decade until the next one. Huzzah!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Don't look back in anger
It has been quite a spring semester. Much teaching, a couple off-campus talks, a frazzled dash to the end of the semester and, oh yeah, tenure. The semester ended and the nuclear family rallied off to Lima for about 10 days, in between the spring and summer semesters, to meet the large extended part of the family residing down south.
If I blog lots about Peru over the next few days, it will undoubtedly be random and in fits and starts. Nonetheless, I figure I should do this. Peru is on my mind quite a bit now these days, and not just because I've been talking up Peruvian film (a presentation at the alma mater, where I also found out that the book will physically be done on Monday! whee!). The trip was the first time I have been "home" in about five years and Lima has changed in many significant ways.
A plus from the trip -- and, admittedly, a main goal -- was to get Xan interested in Peru in general. Given that he has a cousin who is only two months older than he is, this was an easy task. Now, all of a sudden, he isn't shutting out all the Spanish he is hearing, and has been mildly amused to find that folks speak the language not just in Peru. I'm not sure if we'll make like my parents and ship him off to South America when he turned 12 and surly (which is what happened to me), but who knows?
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Big News
From the beginning of this blog, the masthead has read "Musings on movies, fatherhood, the pre-tenure stresses, life in Takoma Park and other randomness."
The careful reader will observe that the masthead has now subtly been altered.
Because I am "pre-tenure" no more.
(aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!! ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!)
Thank you, thank you, un millón de gracias to everyone who has helped me through this.
Perhaps needless to say, I don't think my grading will be done by tomorrow.
The careful reader will observe that the masthead has now subtly been altered.
Because I am "pre-tenure" no more.
(aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!! ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!)
Thank you, thank you, un millón de gracias to everyone who has helped me through this.
Perhaps needless to say, I don't think my grading will be done by tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
If we have to wear green on the 17th...
(And check out the eyes in the banner, from Y tu mamá también, which I actually screened tonight to my class!)
Celebrating the two filmmakers I most associate with the color green: director Alfonso Cuarón and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. Not even remotely Irish, just like me!
Celebrating the two filmmakers I most associate with the color green: director Alfonso Cuarón and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. Not even remotely Irish, just like me!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Going against Amazon
Truth be told, I love Amazon. Not only do I have friends who work there (hi, Ted!), but it is an impressive space where one can find almost anything. I have found all sorts of obscure movies, CDs and books, many from used bookstores and bought at wonderful discounts. (Hour of the Assassin for 85 cents plus shipping! Woohoo!!) As a soon-to-be-published author myself, I will also admit that it has given me a minor kick to find my own book up there already available for pre-order, even as I am frantically in the midst of doing the index as I type this. (Although I am not actually attending my 20th high school reunion in a month, somehow the Amazon listing legitimizes my work for all my former classmates who otherwise could care less about academia.)
And then, on the blogroll to the right, I saw this: "Saving Shaman Drum."
Oh no, I thought. Not Shaman Drum.
The fact that Shaman Drum might be on its last legs probably should not be a surprise to me, but it fills me with great sorrow. I arrived in Ann Arbor right around the time that they moved into their current space on State Street, and I attended the opening party because it was a cool thing for a first-year graduate student in the humanities to do. I remember wandering around that party with my old friend Jack Chen (now atUCLA, apparently) as he made faces at a baby facing backwards in a backpack. I also got a phone call two days afterwards with a message that I had won a door prize: a new dictionary. I don't need a new dictionary, I have a perfectly good old one, I thought, and went in intending to ask to trade in the dictionary for perhaps a gift certificate so that I might be able to buy more textbooks. That is, until they handed me the gigantic, lovely American Heritage Dictionary, which immediately and inexplicably made me drool, causing me to say "thank you" and head for the door with a book that sits on the main floor of my house and still gets used regularly.
That book-love is what makes news of Shaman Drum's near-passing so sad -- and, as I read with horror, I realized that the reason it is probably failing is something I currently practice at my own institution: making my reading lists available to students early so that they can purchase them online. In my case, the reasoning is simply because the only option for our students at AU is the soul-less Follett bookstore which routinely has horrible service, never orders a sufficient amount of books and prices everything way over the list price. I have a number of saved e-mails where I tried to get someone to contact me about a book I had ordered that I was assured would come in, which never came in at all. This set my whole syllabus for that semester in a tailspin. I have not forgiven them for that. As such, I have actually recommended to students that they not buy at the bookstore, that they take the search into their own hands.
In part, however, my reasoning behind this was simply because our own university bookstore has a monopoly on the situation; at Michigan, I had the option of choosing between two more mainstream stores, or this little local one. I opted for the latter and loved it. At Dartmouth and UCSC, there were also other grass-roots oriented textbook-stores that successfully cut into the monopoly stores with better service and prices; in the case of the former, Wheelock Books, I was actually one of the first employees when they opened in the year after I graduated. I always wished I had another option at AU, but perhaps the large nature of Washington couldn't support that.
Shaman Drum, however, was much more than a textbook experience for me: they really do have an amazing commitment to the humanities and cultural studies in general, and I spent hours as a graduate student poring over their shelves for stuff that I should probably read. Given that my parents still live in Ann Arbor, I have actually gone there now that I am much older and done something similar (although doing it with a two- or three-year-old in tow is less of an idyllic experience, since he wants to visit a different section from the one I want to go to).
I miss Shaman Drum and it pains me that they might go. That said, I am now actively considering joining their Great Lakes Literary Arts Center solely to help them out -- and if there is a book I need, I may even bypass my own local bookstore (that would be Politics and Prose) to have them ship from Ann Arbor, if it will help them out. I certainly hope they stay alive, as that store helped shape me into the academic that I am in many ways. They deserve the support.
And then, on the blogroll to the right, I saw this: "Saving Shaman Drum."
Oh no, I thought. Not Shaman Drum.
The fact that Shaman Drum might be on its last legs probably should not be a surprise to me, but it fills me with great sorrow. I arrived in Ann Arbor right around the time that they moved into their current space on State Street, and I attended the opening party because it was a cool thing for a first-year graduate student in the humanities to do. I remember wandering around that party with my old friend Jack Chen (now atUCLA, apparently) as he made faces at a baby facing backwards in a backpack. I also got a phone call two days afterwards with a message that I had won a door prize: a new dictionary. I don't need a new dictionary, I have a perfectly good old one, I thought, and went in intending to ask to trade in the dictionary for perhaps a gift certificate so that I might be able to buy more textbooks. That is, until they handed me the gigantic, lovely American Heritage Dictionary, which immediately and inexplicably made me drool, causing me to say "thank you" and head for the door with a book that sits on the main floor of my house and still gets used regularly.
That book-love is what makes news of Shaman Drum's near-passing so sad -- and, as I read with horror, I realized that the reason it is probably failing is something I currently practice at my own institution: making my reading lists available to students early so that they can purchase them online. In my case, the reasoning is simply because the only option for our students at AU is the soul-less Follett bookstore which routinely has horrible service, never orders a sufficient amount of books and prices everything way over the list price. I have a number of saved e-mails where I tried to get someone to contact me about a book I had ordered that I was assured would come in, which never came in at all. This set my whole syllabus for that semester in a tailspin. I have not forgiven them for that. As such, I have actually recommended to students that they not buy at the bookstore, that they take the search into their own hands.
In part, however, my reasoning behind this was simply because our own university bookstore has a monopoly on the situation; at Michigan, I had the option of choosing between two more mainstream stores, or this little local one. I opted for the latter and loved it. At Dartmouth and UCSC, there were also other grass-roots oriented textbook-stores that successfully cut into the monopoly stores with better service and prices; in the case of the former, Wheelock Books, I was actually one of the first employees when they opened in the year after I graduated. I always wished I had another option at AU, but perhaps the large nature of Washington couldn't support that.
Shaman Drum, however, was much more than a textbook experience for me: they really do have an amazing commitment to the humanities and cultural studies in general, and I spent hours as a graduate student poring over their shelves for stuff that I should probably read. Given that my parents still live in Ann Arbor, I have actually gone there now that I am much older and done something similar (although doing it with a two- or three-year-old in tow is less of an idyllic experience, since he wants to visit a different section from the one I want to go to).
I miss Shaman Drum and it pains me that they might go. That said, I am now actively considering joining their Great Lakes Literary Arts Center solely to help them out -- and if there is a book I need, I may even bypass my own local bookstore (that would be Politics and Prose) to have them ship from Ann Arbor, if it will help them out. I certainly hope they stay alive, as that store helped shape me into the academic that I am in many ways. They deserve the support.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
The questions only get tougher
To his parents, after seeing the WAMU radio tower, "Why does the radio come over in waves? How does it get to our radio?"
To his mother, on the metro ride into work: "Mama, where does the sidewalk end?"
And, in a moment I'm not sure I necessarily want repeated, to his female babysitter lying next to him in bed after they have played for a few hours: "What's your name?"
To his mother, on the metro ride into work: "Mama, where does the sidewalk end?"
And, in a moment I'm not sure I necessarily want repeated, to his female babysitter lying next to him in bed after they have played for a few hours: "What's your name?"
Sunday, March 01, 2009
I am turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding
Yes, well, I dare anyone to say the above isn't true.
But that's not the reason I'm posting it here. It also happens to be a line from Walt Whitman's massive poem "Song of Myself." Despite the fact that I was an English major in college, have a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature and currently teach literature at a university, I had never read Whitman's poem. This is a major oversight, one that I cannot even justify by my emphasis in Latin American literature -- for I knew that José Martí's "Our América" is a response in the tradition of Whitman. I cannot even justify this as an oversight on the film front. After all, upon coming back to the United States for college, several of my friends wrote to me back in Lima that I had to see this movie which was all about me; when I went to see it, I discovered that ol' W.W. lorded over the English classroom like a spectre, sounding his "barbaric yawp" like the "sweaty toothed madman" that he is.
In any case, the oversight has been corrected in a most wonderful way.
On Friday, my colleague Linda Voris hosted a one-time public reading of "Song of Myself." It was possible to say that she decided to do this "just becuase," but she explained at the outset that this whole endeavor was inspired on Obama's inauguration day and the fervor his election alone generated. Each participant selected one of the 52 sections of the poem.
My colleague Katherine (who, mind you, we only just discovered was also an English major at Dartmouth at the same time I was!) threw down the gauntlet when she announced her choice, lamenting that "I would love to do #24, but I think that one should be read by someone manly." Naturally, I took this as a challenge; naturally (and blindly, really), I chose that selection.
I would suggest trying to read it out loud for yourself to see if you get the same results. I only read it once to myself the night before while watching ER, and discovered I really could not read it any other way with with a low, gravelly voice. It was all about sensuality, the corporeal -- and it was really fun to read:
I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whateve I touch or am touch'd from,
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles and all the creeds.
If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it,
Transluscent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Breat that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
I mean, really. You don't get better than this. No wonder why I am a Unitarian. I even got to do an encore when a couple people didn't show up and I got to pinch-hit with #42 as well. This particular section got a big laugh:
I know perfectly well my own egotism,
Know my omniverous lines and must not write any less,
And must fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.
The entire reading was really a magical experience, one I haven't had with poetry for a long time. All the different voices -- men, women, all with different accents and inflections -- made for a really exciting evening, one that finished in three hours, which was much shorter than I imagined. I wonder if it is a common occurrence to read Whitman like this -- or whether any other poets merit such a reading. Certainly, I'm using a bookstore gift certificate that has been burning a hole in my jacket pocket to buy some Whitman before I lose all this feeling.
And as for my section? Let me put it this way: three students came up to me afterwards to tell me that they were going to have a hard time coming to my class again next week; a fourth said he now never plans to miss any of my classes again.
But that's not the reason I'm posting it here. It also happens to be a line from Walt Whitman's massive poem "Song of Myself." Despite the fact that I was an English major in college, have a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature and currently teach literature at a university, I had never read Whitman's poem. This is a major oversight, one that I cannot even justify by my emphasis in Latin American literature -- for I knew that José Martí's "Our América" is a response in the tradition of Whitman. I cannot even justify this as an oversight on the film front. After all, upon coming back to the United States for college, several of my friends wrote to me back in Lima that I had to see this movie which was all about me; when I went to see it, I discovered that ol' W.W. lorded over the English classroom like a spectre, sounding his "barbaric yawp" like the "sweaty toothed madman" that he is.
In any case, the oversight has been corrected in a most wonderful way.
On Friday, my colleague Linda Voris hosted a one-time public reading of "Song of Myself." It was possible to say that she decided to do this "just becuase," but she explained at the outset that this whole endeavor was inspired on Obama's inauguration day and the fervor his election alone generated. Each participant selected one of the 52 sections of the poem.
My colleague Katherine (who, mind you, we only just discovered was also an English major at Dartmouth at the same time I was!) threw down the gauntlet when she announced her choice, lamenting that "I would love to do #24, but I think that one should be read by someone manly." Naturally, I took this as a challenge; naturally (and blindly, really), I chose that selection.
I would suggest trying to read it out loud for yourself to see if you get the same results. I only read it once to myself the night before while watching ER, and discovered I really could not read it any other way with with a low, gravelly voice. It was all about sensuality, the corporeal -- and it was really fun to read:
I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whateve I touch or am touch'd from,
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles and all the creeds.
If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it,
Transluscent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Breat that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
I mean, really. You don't get better than this. No wonder why I am a Unitarian. I even got to do an encore when a couple people didn't show up and I got to pinch-hit with #42 as well. This particular section got a big laugh:
I know perfectly well my own egotism,
Know my omniverous lines and must not write any less,
And must fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.
The entire reading was really a magical experience, one I haven't had with poetry for a long time. All the different voices -- men, women, all with different accents and inflections -- made for a really exciting evening, one that finished in three hours, which was much shorter than I imagined. I wonder if it is a common occurrence to read Whitman like this -- or whether any other poets merit such a reading. Certainly, I'm using a bookstore gift certificate that has been burning a hole in my jacket pocket to buy some Whitman before I lose all this feeling.
And as for my section? Let me put it this way: three students came up to me afterwards to tell me that they were going to have a hard time coming to my class again next week; a fourth said he now never plans to miss any of my classes again.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Cine peruano es lo mejor
And when I say that Peruvian film is the best, this time (and for the first time) I actually have some proof to back me up.
A few weeks ago, Peruvian film blogs were all aflutter because Claudia Llosa's new film, La teta asustada, became the first Peruvian film to play in competition at the Berlin Film Festival, one of the top film festivals in the world (the level of Cannes, Venice, etc.). The movie considers the idea that the fear experienced during the period of high terrorism in Peru (the Shining Path years through the 1980s, which actually correspond with my own time in Lima) can be trasmitted through breast milk across generations, particularly among those who were raped. Certainly, Peruvian filmmaking has tackled the subject of Sendero Luminoso before, but perhaps not quite from a perspective this personal or traumatic, certianly not from the perspective of a woman. Selection for the festival was huge news and one which the Peruvian cineblogosphere got very excited about. Sure, Peruvian films had gone to San Sebatian, or Sundance, but none had ever gotten this far. It was quite an honor to be nominated, and the Peruvians were having a great time with it.
I'm pretty sure no one expected the movie to win.
And yet, lo and behold, there you can see Claudia Llosa, the director of La teta asustada kissing her Golden Bear. Reuters reports that Llosa commented simply, "This is for Peru. This is for our contry." The first time a Peruvian film actually gets to play in the game, it wins.
Wow.
Granted, I have a huge vested interest in this film and Peruvian film in general since, after all, I have a book on the topic coming out in just a few months. (You can even pre-order it! Shameless plug!) I have not even seen the film, but the trailer is very impressive. I also confess to being a smitten fan of Llosa's only other film, Madeinusa, which I knew I had to write about even before I finished watching it. That movie completely rocked my foundation about film in general, not to mention films coming from my "other country." It is beautiful, disturbing, unique in its storytelling. I am not surprised that Llosa's follow-up appears to have similar qualities.
Very few people are pointing out the fact that Llosa is only the third woman to ever direct a feature-length movie in Peru (along with Nora de Izcué and Marianne Eyde). Filmmaking (and film criticism) in Peru has been dominated by men since the very beginning and the number of impressive films centered around women are very few; even fewer are those focusing on Quechua-speaking women. The win is a huge thunderbolt to Peruvian film and may shake many foundations there.
Not to mention that drop-dead gorgeous lead actress Magaly Solier now has the honor of being kissed on the hand by none other than drop-dead gorgeous (and amazonian in her own way) jury president Tilda Swinton.
I can't wait to see the film for myself. ¡Viva Perú!
UPDATE: Variety has its review up as well as coverage of the event. And there is a YouTube clip of the announcement, including a mesmerizing speech by Magaly in Quechua. (No, I cannot translate it.)
A few weeks ago, Peruvian film blogs were all aflutter because Claudia Llosa's new film, La teta asustada, became the first Peruvian film to play in competition at the Berlin Film Festival, one of the top film festivals in the world (the level of Cannes, Venice, etc.). The movie considers the idea that the fear experienced during the period of high terrorism in Peru (the Shining Path years through the 1980s, which actually correspond with my own time in Lima) can be trasmitted through breast milk across generations, particularly among those who were raped. Certainly, Peruvian filmmaking has tackled the subject of Sendero Luminoso before, but perhaps not quite from a perspective this personal or traumatic, certianly not from the perspective of a woman. Selection for the festival was huge news and one which the Peruvian cineblogosphere got very excited about. Sure, Peruvian films had gone to San Sebatian, or Sundance, but none had ever gotten this far. It was quite an honor to be nominated, and the Peruvians were having a great time with it.
I'm pretty sure no one expected the movie to win.
And yet, lo and behold, there you can see Claudia Llosa, the director of La teta asustada kissing her Golden Bear. Reuters reports that Llosa commented simply, "This is for Peru. This is for our contry." The first time a Peruvian film actually gets to play in the game, it wins.Wow.
Granted, I have a huge vested interest in this film and Peruvian film in general since, after all, I have a book on the topic coming out in just a few months. (You can even pre-order it! Shameless plug!) I have not even seen the film, but the trailer is very impressive. I also confess to being a smitten fan of Llosa's only other film, Madeinusa, which I knew I had to write about even before I finished watching it. That movie completely rocked my foundation about film in general, not to mention films coming from my "other country." It is beautiful, disturbing, unique in its storytelling. I am not surprised that Llosa's follow-up appears to have similar qualities.
Very few people are pointing out the fact that Llosa is only the third woman to ever direct a feature-length movie in Peru (along with Nora de Izcué and Marianne Eyde). Filmmaking (and film criticism) in Peru has been dominated by men since the very beginning and the number of impressive films centered around women are very few; even fewer are those focusing on Quechua-speaking women. The win is a huge thunderbolt to Peruvian film and may shake many foundations there.
Not to mention that drop-dead gorgeous lead actress Magaly Solier now has the honor of being kissed on the hand by none other than drop-dead gorgeous (and amazonian in her own way) jury president Tilda Swinton.
I can't wait to see the film for myself. ¡Viva Perú!UPDATE: Variety has its review up as well as coverage of the event. And there is a YouTube clip of the announcement, including a mesmerizing speech by Magaly in Quechua. (No, I cannot translate it.)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
If you're looking for something to watch on DVD this week...
...AU's Media Services currently has my suggested flicks on their blog. Feel free to peruse at your leisure -- and let me know what you think if you've seen any of them.
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