January 30, 2008
Which One Was Logjammin'?
From my Criminal Procedure casebook: "The Court found that the affidavits in the instant case [New York v. P.J. Video, 475 U.S. 868 (1986)] contained more than enough information to conclude that there was a 'fair probability' that the movies satisfied the statutory definition of obscenity (i.e., predominant appeal to prurient interest in sex, specific sexual conduct presented in patently offensive manner, and no serious redeeming social value). Justice Marshall, joined by Justices Brennan and Stevens, dissented. He argued that the affidavits described only some excerpted scenes, and not the entirety of each film. So in his view the magistrate could not have determined that the sex acts pervaded the films or that the films as a whole lacked artistic value; while the affidavits were pervaded with sex acts, it did not necessarily follow that the films were obscene. The majority's response to Justice Marshall's argument was that one of the affidavits, for example, described five hardcore sex scenes, taking place in a 93 minute film; therefore the sheer volume of sex acts depicted in the such an [sic] affidavit established at least a fair probability that there was no time left for the film to include any matters of redeeming social value."
January 29, 2008
The Constitution According to Akhil Amar - Class 3
Class 3 (Chapter 3)
Note that classes after the first have consisted predominantly of Amar responding to students' mandatory discussion board posts, which need not be about the week's reading. Hence the disjointedness of my notes.
Sample quote from today's class: "People look at Barack Obama and ask whether he's Lincoln, JFK, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy...these are all very good comparisons. They look at Hillary and ask, 'Is she Nixon?'" I guess Amar supports Hillary.
Note that classes after the first have consisted predominantly of Amar responding to students' mandatory discussion board posts, which need not be about the week's reading. Hence the disjointedness of my notes.
Sample quote from today's class: "People look at Barack Obama and ask whether he's Lincoln, JFK, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy...these are all very good comparisons. They look at Hillary and ask, 'Is she Nixon?'" I guess Amar supports Hillary.
Some Thoughts on the Sources of Originalist Constitutional Interpretation
It's important to distinguish among different originalist sources of potentially authoritative interpretations of the constitution, namely the framers, the ratifiers, and the people.
My view is that the framers' understandings of a constitutional provision – considered either individually or, somehow, collectively – should not be regarded as inherently authoritative. Why should an article by Publius be afforded any more legal weight than one by Posner? Each is the product of a private citizen in a private capacity. Of course, Publius (all three of him) acted in a public capacity, but it's still problematic to extrapolate his intentions from his writings and to give those intentions special authority. A judge must read, say, the Federalist Papers as either the law review of their day or as a window into the minds of the public Publius. The former reading only deserves as much weight as a (really good) law review article, and the second reading has two difficulties of its own. First, the Federalist Papers are probably not the best, and are certainly not the only, evidence of Publius's intentions. A judge who wants to figure out what Madison, Hamilton, and Jay had in mind when they drafted a clause would be advised also to consult sources such as records of convention debates and personal correspondence. (But how often do judges purporting to uphold framers' – or even a framer's – intent actually play historian?) Second, framers' intentions in a public capacity are still private. Analogously, if a state legislature had Judge Posner draft its antitrust statute, that state's high court shouldn't resolve antitrust cases by asking "what would Posner do?" The people, at least in theory, consented to the governors who appointed the court and to the legislature that confirmed the appointments and passed the law; they didn't consent to what Posner, however wise, thinks the law means.
I've held off on mentioning the difficulty of ascribing intentions to a group because it also applies to the second historical source in question: the state ratifying conventions. The important difference is that these conventions, unlike the framers, legitimated the constitution. They spoke for "we the people" and gave the constitution the force of supreme law. Thus it seems that their understandings of the constitution actually carry some authority. But how should these understandings be conceptualized? The main problem is that different delegates had different reasons for supporting, and different interpretations of, the same provisions. And the ratifying conventions didn't publish statements of understanding representing the views of at least a majority of delegates. In short, ratifiers' intent seems to have the same pros and cons as legislative intent, plus the absence of official ratification history. Notably, the Federalist Papers, given their influence in the debates over ratification, are quite relevant to inferring ratifiers’ readings of the constitution. What I argue against above are the leaps that some people make, for example, from what Madison thought a provision meant to how the provision should be interpreted. Even worse are the naked assertions we sometimes encounter along the lines of "The framers would be shocked to learn that the First Amendment protects X." These are easy targets, but they underscore the importance of distinguishing between the authoritativeness of the framers and of the ratifiers.
Lastly, there are the people. More precisely, I mean the populace at large during the founding (or during the passage of a given amendment), through which one can discern the common usage of terms. Needless to say, the people at large aren't an independent source of legal authority, but their use of language can shed light on what they, through the ratifying conventions, thought they were consenting to when they ordained and established the constitution. For example, consider Professor Amar's discussion of the meaning of "commerce." He writes, "'[C]ommerce' also had in 1787, and retains even now, a broader meaning referring to all forms of intercourse in the affairs of life, whether or not narrowly economic or mediated by explicit markets."
I hope this is a decent starting point for thinking about what to make of Professor Amar's extended history lesson – aside from the fact that it's eye-opening and intrinsically interesting.
My view is that the framers' understandings of a constitutional provision – considered either individually or, somehow, collectively – should not be regarded as inherently authoritative. Why should an article by Publius be afforded any more legal weight than one by Posner? Each is the product of a private citizen in a private capacity. Of course, Publius (all three of him) acted in a public capacity, but it's still problematic to extrapolate his intentions from his writings and to give those intentions special authority. A judge must read, say, the Federalist Papers as either the law review of their day or as a window into the minds of the public Publius. The former reading only deserves as much weight as a (really good) law review article, and the second reading has two difficulties of its own. First, the Federalist Papers are probably not the best, and are certainly not the only, evidence of Publius's intentions. A judge who wants to figure out what Madison, Hamilton, and Jay had in mind when they drafted a clause would be advised also to consult sources such as records of convention debates and personal correspondence. (But how often do judges purporting to uphold framers' – or even a framer's – intent actually play historian?) Second, framers' intentions in a public capacity are still private. Analogously, if a state legislature had Judge Posner draft its antitrust statute, that state's high court shouldn't resolve antitrust cases by asking "what would Posner do?" The people, at least in theory, consented to the governors who appointed the court and to the legislature that confirmed the appointments and passed the law; they didn't consent to what Posner, however wise, thinks the law means.
I've held off on mentioning the difficulty of ascribing intentions to a group because it also applies to the second historical source in question: the state ratifying conventions. The important difference is that these conventions, unlike the framers, legitimated the constitution. They spoke for "we the people" and gave the constitution the force of supreme law. Thus it seems that their understandings of the constitution actually carry some authority. But how should these understandings be conceptualized? The main problem is that different delegates had different reasons for supporting, and different interpretations of, the same provisions. And the ratifying conventions didn't publish statements of understanding representing the views of at least a majority of delegates. In short, ratifiers' intent seems to have the same pros and cons as legislative intent, plus the absence of official ratification history. Notably, the Federalist Papers, given their influence in the debates over ratification, are quite relevant to inferring ratifiers’ readings of the constitution. What I argue against above are the leaps that some people make, for example, from what Madison thought a provision meant to how the provision should be interpreted. Even worse are the naked assertions we sometimes encounter along the lines of "The framers would be shocked to learn that the First Amendment protects X." These are easy targets, but they underscore the importance of distinguishing between the authoritativeness of the framers and of the ratifiers.
Lastly, there are the people. More precisely, I mean the populace at large during the founding (or during the passage of a given amendment), through which one can discern the common usage of terms. Needless to say, the people at large aren't an independent source of legal authority, but their use of language can shed light on what they, through the ratifying conventions, thought they were consenting to when they ordained and established the constitution. For example, consider Professor Amar's discussion of the meaning of "commerce." He writes, "'[C]ommerce' also had in 1787, and retains even now, a broader meaning referring to all forms of intercourse in the affairs of life, whether or not narrowly economic or mediated by explicit markets."
I hope this is a decent starting point for thinking about what to make of Professor Amar's extended history lesson – aside from the fact that it's eye-opening and intrinsically interesting.
January 28, 2008
On Underlying Similarities in Legal Procedure in Different Cultures
There are indeed underlying similarities in legal procedure in different cultures, including cultures that have had no contact with each other. This is not surprising, since humanity's fundamental genetic similarity has given rise to universal human impulses, such as reciprocity and revenge. The aim of law is to channel and restrain these impulses in order to advance the interests of society. Law enables greater social harmony than would the mere interplay of moral instincts, because law systematically subordinates the interests of individuals to groups that are larger than those that individuals would naturally care about. Imagine how fractured Melanesian society would have been if people had free rein to value the interests of others in proportion to their kinship. Or consider the fact that primate societies never expand much beyond the bounds of readily discernible relatedness. These examples illustrate that law – a rational, collective instrument of social organization – stands in contrast to moral instincts – which are intuitive and genetically driven – although it stems from them. (For reasons I need not get into, natural selection has almost always, if not always, acted on individuals, not groups, and therefore has produced instincts that favor one's genes, not one's society. Hence the cross-cultural incidence of ineradicable familial bonds and kin-preferencing altruism.)
Common human impulses have given societies common problems in need of legal solutions, which have themselves presented common challenges. One of these is how to ensure respect for the law. In what follows, I will discuss some of the similar ways in which the Azande and the Melanesians addressed this difficulty. To begin with, consider the use of ritual and myth to justify the law to those on whom it is imposed, thereby encouraging them to obey it for its own sake. Bronislaw Malinowski distinguishes law from other social obligations in that it is considered qualitatively more binding. He writes, "The rules of law stand out from the rest in that they are felt and regarded as the obligations of one person and the rightful claims of another." Of course, one of the reasons why this is so is that the law is backed by force, but not just any force will do if the law is to be both feared and loved. This is important because it is obviously not in a society's interests for people generally to obey the law out of fear alone. If people don’t also "love" the law – if they don't perceive its coercion as legitimate and its requirements as consistent with those of morality – then more "fear" is necessary to ensure a given level of social order. Needless to say, this is costly, risky, and oppressive. Accordingly, the Melanesians and the Azande, like perhaps all peoples, used ritual and myth to ensure that justice was done and seen to be done. As Oscar Chase observes, these practices both arose from, and reinforced, traditional cultural commitments. In the case of the benge oracle, the ritual itself was the means of dispensing justice, and acceptance of its "verdict" came naturally to the Azande. Thus the oracle was an ideal decision-making procedure for Zande law to systematize and formalize. This is not to suggest that the Azande first developed the oracle and then consciously decided to make it the cornerstone of their legal system; the process, like the development of the common law, was surely an organic one. The point is that the oracle engendered respect for the law because the Azande had mythological faith in it, and they augmented and entrenched its power through rules governing who could use it (men only), when it should be used (to resolve important, speculative questions), and what to do when one disagreed with it (it was never deemed wrong, only corrupted or misused). Regarding the Melanesians, Malinowski explains how, by requiring a certain "semi-commercial transaction" to be performed in the context of a public ceremony, they effectively guaranteed that the parties adhered to cultural values. Such a law seems easily justified as ensuring, by the light of public scrutiny, that people do what they know to be right; it does not, or at least does not appear to, make any substantive ethical demands of its own. In sum, as Chase puts it, "Social construction works best when the effect is unstated and seems part of the natural order of things." Ritual and myth serve these ends.
Another way in which these societies promoted respect for the law, as well as improved its functionality, was by building discretion into the legal process. Malinkowski notes that Melanesian legal rules were "essentially elastic and adjustable, leaving a considerable latitude within which their fulfilment [sic] is regarded as satisfactory." Similarly, Chase describes the Zande "appeals process," which culminated in the "Supreme Oracle" of the king. Naturally, these discretionary procedures enabled the legal systems of these societies to reach more reasonable, and therefore more acceptable, results; after all, the human capacity for rationalization is not quite boundless. There are clear benefits to having discretion within a legal system, primarily that it can be regulated moreso than the extralegal alternatives that would inevitably arise in response to excessive legal rigidity. However, it is arguably beneficial, and at least understandable, for discretion not to be too aboveboard. Perhaps some proponents of the American regime of plea bargaining, responsible for some 98% of all criminal convictions, would take such a position; they may claim that given the practical necessity of extracting guilty pleas, it's better for the average person not to be aware of their incidence and lose faith in the justice system. Analogously, neither the Azande nor the Melanesians fully acknowledged the disparity between law as practiced and law as professed. Through epicycles of rationalization, the Azande sustained their belief in the inherent infallibility of the benge oracle, and the Melanesians maintained that obligatory vendettas were the rule despite being carried out only under exceptional circumstances, in lieu of the more common practice of accepting financial compensation. These illusions, however incomplete, surely induced greater reverence for the law and more aversion to its transgression. Interestingly, Malinowski claims that despite its plasticity, Melanesian law was "systematically circumvented by well-established methods" (emphasis added), namely magical alternatives to the legal process. He does not clearly distinguish these magical alternatives from magical infringements. I want to briefly raise the suggestion that at least some of these alternatives should be regarded as instances of discretion within the Melanesian legal system. After all, both magic and law rested on tradition and procedure, and they do not seem to have been sharply differentiated in the Melanesian mind. There is a meaningful difference between "a system of magic consisting of spells and rites..., which when correctly carried out, is completely efficient in undoing the bad results of clan incest" and "a system of magic to estrange the affections of a woman from her husband and to induce her to commit adultery." Admittedly, both systems encouraged legal violations, but only the former can properly be characterized as remedial, akin to the legally sanctioned demand by a Melanesian clan for money in lieu of blood.
Common human impulses have given societies common problems in need of legal solutions, which have themselves presented common challenges. One of these is how to ensure respect for the law. In what follows, I will discuss some of the similar ways in which the Azande and the Melanesians addressed this difficulty. To begin with, consider the use of ritual and myth to justify the law to those on whom it is imposed, thereby encouraging them to obey it for its own sake. Bronislaw Malinowski distinguishes law from other social obligations in that it is considered qualitatively more binding. He writes, "The rules of law stand out from the rest in that they are felt and regarded as the obligations of one person and the rightful claims of another." Of course, one of the reasons why this is so is that the law is backed by force, but not just any force will do if the law is to be both feared and loved. This is important because it is obviously not in a society's interests for people generally to obey the law out of fear alone. If people don’t also "love" the law – if they don't perceive its coercion as legitimate and its requirements as consistent with those of morality – then more "fear" is necessary to ensure a given level of social order. Needless to say, this is costly, risky, and oppressive. Accordingly, the Melanesians and the Azande, like perhaps all peoples, used ritual and myth to ensure that justice was done and seen to be done. As Oscar Chase observes, these practices both arose from, and reinforced, traditional cultural commitments. In the case of the benge oracle, the ritual itself was the means of dispensing justice, and acceptance of its "verdict" came naturally to the Azande. Thus the oracle was an ideal decision-making procedure for Zande law to systematize and formalize. This is not to suggest that the Azande first developed the oracle and then consciously decided to make it the cornerstone of their legal system; the process, like the development of the common law, was surely an organic one. The point is that the oracle engendered respect for the law because the Azande had mythological faith in it, and they augmented and entrenched its power through rules governing who could use it (men only), when it should be used (to resolve important, speculative questions), and what to do when one disagreed with it (it was never deemed wrong, only corrupted or misused). Regarding the Melanesians, Malinowski explains how, by requiring a certain "semi-commercial transaction" to be performed in the context of a public ceremony, they effectively guaranteed that the parties adhered to cultural values. Such a law seems easily justified as ensuring, by the light of public scrutiny, that people do what they know to be right; it does not, or at least does not appear to, make any substantive ethical demands of its own. In sum, as Chase puts it, "Social construction works best when the effect is unstated and seems part of the natural order of things." Ritual and myth serve these ends.
Another way in which these societies promoted respect for the law, as well as improved its functionality, was by building discretion into the legal process. Malinkowski notes that Melanesian legal rules were "essentially elastic and adjustable, leaving a considerable latitude within which their fulfilment [sic] is regarded as satisfactory." Similarly, Chase describes the Zande "appeals process," which culminated in the "Supreme Oracle" of the king. Naturally, these discretionary procedures enabled the legal systems of these societies to reach more reasonable, and therefore more acceptable, results; after all, the human capacity for rationalization is not quite boundless. There are clear benefits to having discretion within a legal system, primarily that it can be regulated moreso than the extralegal alternatives that would inevitably arise in response to excessive legal rigidity. However, it is arguably beneficial, and at least understandable, for discretion not to be too aboveboard. Perhaps some proponents of the American regime of plea bargaining, responsible for some 98% of all criminal convictions, would take such a position; they may claim that given the practical necessity of extracting guilty pleas, it's better for the average person not to be aware of their incidence and lose faith in the justice system. Analogously, neither the Azande nor the Melanesians fully acknowledged the disparity between law as practiced and law as professed. Through epicycles of rationalization, the Azande sustained their belief in the inherent infallibility of the benge oracle, and the Melanesians maintained that obligatory vendettas were the rule despite being carried out only under exceptional circumstances, in lieu of the more common practice of accepting financial compensation. These illusions, however incomplete, surely induced greater reverence for the law and more aversion to its transgression. Interestingly, Malinowski claims that despite its plasticity, Melanesian law was "systematically circumvented by well-established methods" (emphasis added), namely magical alternatives to the legal process. He does not clearly distinguish these magical alternatives from magical infringements. I want to briefly raise the suggestion that at least some of these alternatives should be regarded as instances of discretion within the Melanesian legal system. After all, both magic and law rested on tradition and procedure, and they do not seem to have been sharply differentiated in the Melanesian mind. There is a meaningful difference between "a system of magic consisting of spells and rites..., which when correctly carried out, is completely efficient in undoing the bad results of clan incest" and "a system of magic to estrange the affections of a woman from her husband and to induce her to commit adultery." Admittedly, both systems encouraged legal violations, but only the former can properly be characterized as remedial, akin to the legally sanctioned demand by a Melanesian clan for money in lieu of blood.
January 26, 2008
January 24, 2008
A Cultural Anthropologist's Take on Comparative Law
"Whether the adjudicative styles that gather around the Anschauungen projected by haqq, dharma, and adat are properly to be called 'law' or not (the rule buffs will find them too informal, the dispute buffs too abstract) is of minor importance; though I, myself, would want to do so. What matters is that their imaginative power not be obscured. They do not just regulate behavior, they construe it.
"It is this imaginative, or constructive, or interpretive power, a power rooted in the collective resources of culture rather than in the separate capacities of individuals (which I would think in such matters to be, intrinsically anyway, about the same everywhere; I rather doubt there is a legal gene), upon which the comparative study of law, or justice, or forensics, or adjudication should, in my view, train its attention. It is there - in the method and manner of conceiving decision situations so that settled rules can be applied to decide them (as well, of course, of conceiving the rules), in what I have been calling legal sensibility - that the informing contrasts lie. And it is there, too, that the passion of the anthropologist to set local views in local contexts and that of the jurist to set instant cases in determinate frames can meet and reinforce each other."
***
"Taken together, these two propositions, that law is local knowledge not placeless principle and that it is constructive of social life not reflective, or anyway not just reflective, of it, lead on to a rather unorthodox view of what the comparative study of it should consist in: cultural translation....[A] comparative approach to law becomes an attempt, as it has become here, to formulate the presuppositions, the preoccupations, and the frames of action characteristic of one sort of legal sensibility in terms of those characteristic of another....This is, of course, like Englishing Dante or demathematizing quantum theory for general consumption, an imperfect enterprise, approximate and makeshift, as I trust I have proved. But, aside from resigning ourselves to the fixity of our own horizons or retreating into mindless wonder at fabulous objects, it is all there is, and it has its uses."
***
"My concern is with what law is like when what most lawyers, and most anthropologists too, would probably regard as the sine qua non of its existence - 'agreement about the things that are fundamental' - is rather spectacularly absent.
"So far as we, anthropologically-minded lawyers or law-minded anthropologists, are concerned, the issue that faces us is, as I say, how to describe such situations in a usefully informative way; informative both as to them and as to the implications they have for how we need to think about legal processes as a general phenomenon in the world, now that the pieties of natural law, the simplicities of legal positivism, or the evasions of legal realism no longer seem of very much help. It is a matter of talking about irregular things in regular terms without destroying thereby the irregular quality that drew us to them in the first place; as noted before, a most irregular business."
***
"Law, with its power to place particular things that happen - this promise, that injury - in a general frame in such a way that rules for the principled management of them seem to arise naturally from the essentials of their character, is rather more than a reflection of received wisdom or a technology of dispute settlement. Small wonder that it draws toward it the same sorts of passions those other begetters of meanings and proposers of worlds - religion, art, ideology, science, history, ethics, and commonsense - draw toward them." - from Clifford Geertz, "Local Knowledge: Fact and Law in Comparative Perspective"
"It is this imaginative, or constructive, or interpretive power, a power rooted in the collective resources of culture rather than in the separate capacities of individuals (which I would think in such matters to be, intrinsically anyway, about the same everywhere; I rather doubt there is a legal gene), upon which the comparative study of law, or justice, or forensics, or adjudication should, in my view, train its attention. It is there - in the method and manner of conceiving decision situations so that settled rules can be applied to decide them (as well, of course, of conceiving the rules), in what I have been calling legal sensibility - that the informing contrasts lie. And it is there, too, that the passion of the anthropologist to set local views in local contexts and that of the jurist to set instant cases in determinate frames can meet and reinforce each other."
***
"Taken together, these two propositions, that law is local knowledge not placeless principle and that it is constructive of social life not reflective, or anyway not just reflective, of it, lead on to a rather unorthodox view of what the comparative study of it should consist in: cultural translation....[A] comparative approach to law becomes an attempt, as it has become here, to formulate the presuppositions, the preoccupations, and the frames of action characteristic of one sort of legal sensibility in terms of those characteristic of another....This is, of course, like Englishing Dante or demathematizing quantum theory for general consumption, an imperfect enterprise, approximate and makeshift, as I trust I have proved. But, aside from resigning ourselves to the fixity of our own horizons or retreating into mindless wonder at fabulous objects, it is all there is, and it has its uses."
***
"My concern is with what law is like when what most lawyers, and most anthropologists too, would probably regard as the sine qua non of its existence - 'agreement about the things that are fundamental' - is rather spectacularly absent.
"So far as we, anthropologically-minded lawyers or law-minded anthropologists, are concerned, the issue that faces us is, as I say, how to describe such situations in a usefully informative way; informative both as to them and as to the implications they have for how we need to think about legal processes as a general phenomenon in the world, now that the pieties of natural law, the simplicities of legal positivism, or the evasions of legal realism no longer seem of very much help. It is a matter of talking about irregular things in regular terms without destroying thereby the irregular quality that drew us to them in the first place; as noted before, a most irregular business."
***
"Law, with its power to place particular things that happen - this promise, that injury - in a general frame in such a way that rules for the principled management of them seem to arise naturally from the essentials of their character, is rather more than a reflection of received wisdom or a technology of dispute settlement. Small wonder that it draws toward it the same sorts of passions those other begetters of meanings and proposers of worlds - religion, art, ideology, science, history, ethics, and commonsense - draw toward them." - from Clifford Geertz, "Local Knowledge: Fact and Law in Comparative Perspective"
January 23, 2008
Big Tuna and Market Failure
There are some interesting comments, if I may say so myself, on this Grobstein post regarding bears and markets (but not bear markets).
For background information, and as a dire warning, you should first read this New York Times article on rising mercury in sushi tuna.
For background information, and as a dire warning, you should first read this New York Times article on rising mercury in sushi tuna.
January 22, 2008
The Constitution According to Akhil Amar: Classes 1 & 2
Preface
This semester I have the fortune of taking "Reading the Constitution" with Akhil Reed Amar. (Sorry, I lied about my class schedule earlier. But I meant it when I said that I'm pro-war and pro-family.) A more accurate title would be "Reading America's Constitution: A Biography," because that's what we're actually reading. Not that I'm complaining: I've read the constitution before, and the writing's a bit stale.
In all seriousness, this is a tremendously informative and interesting class. Amar's book is primarily an historical work, and it is addressed to the intelligent layperson, who he feels doesn't care enough about the constitution and is tragically ignorant about it.
"So what?" you're probably thinking, to put it euphemistically. (I know my readership. Hi Dave. Hi Googlecrawler.)
So this semester you also have the fortune of taking "Reading the Constitution!" Except you don't get Akhil Amar. You don't get 2 credits. You don't pass "Go" and collect $200.
And you don't have to pay for it.
Now that you're on board, welcome aboard. Class is about to begin. Here's the deal: just about every Tuesday this semester, starting today, I'll post links to my class notes (Blogger screws up the formatting). Since I'm a week behind, I'm going to post the first two sessions worth of notes today. (Consider it a super Tuesday.) You're responsible for reading them. There will be a final exam. The grading scale will consist of PASS, FAIL, and EPIC FAIL. Any questions?
That's what I thought.
All rise. Class is now in session.
Class 1 (Chapter 1)
Class 2 (Chapter 2)
This semester I have the fortune of taking "Reading the Constitution" with Akhil Reed Amar. (Sorry, I lied about my class schedule earlier. But I meant it when I said that I'm pro-war and pro-family.) A more accurate title would be "Reading America's Constitution: A Biography," because that's what we're actually reading. Not that I'm complaining: I've read the constitution before, and the writing's a bit stale.
In all seriousness, this is a tremendously informative and interesting class. Amar's book is primarily an historical work, and it is addressed to the intelligent layperson, who he feels doesn't care enough about the constitution and is tragically ignorant about it.
"So what?" you're probably thinking, to put it euphemistically. (I know my readership. Hi Dave. Hi Googlecrawler.)
So this semester you also have the fortune of taking "Reading the Constitution!" Except you don't get Akhil Amar. You don't get 2 credits. You don't pass "Go" and collect $200.
And you don't have to pay for it.
Now that you're on board, welcome aboard. Class is about to begin. Here's the deal: just about every Tuesday this semester, starting today, I'll post links to my class notes (Blogger screws up the formatting). Since I'm a week behind, I'm going to post the first two sessions worth of notes today. (Consider it a super Tuesday.) You're responsible for reading them. There will be a final exam. The grading scale will consist of PASS, FAIL, and EPIC FAIL. Any questions?
That's what I thought.
All rise. Class is now in session.
Class 1 (Chapter 1)
Class 2 (Chapter 2)
January 21, 2008
Does Every Dog Have Its Day?
"[T]he Balinese, though they have lots of them - mangy, emaciated, endlessly barking creatures, kicked about like offal in the road - despise [dogs] with an almost pathological passion born of the notion that they represent the demonic end of a god-to-human-to-animal hierarchy." - from Clifford Geertz, "Local Knowledge: Fact and Law in Comparative Perspective"
"There has been a great surge lately of scientific and not-so-scientific publications claiming to show the medical benefits of canine companionship in lowering our blood pressure and cheering up old folks in nursing homes. I would be the last person to deny the very real joy and pleasure that dogs bring. But neither joy nor pleasure, nor even low blood pressure, is an evolutionary force that carries very much weight. For this much-vaunted 'human-companion animal bond' to have been a force of evolutionary significance—for it to be the biological glue that holds our species together, as the authors of such papers claim—it would have had to confer some tangible, adaptive value to humankind that translates into net increased survival. The key word here is net, and if one objectively adds up the biological benefits of dogs and sets that against the biological costs, it does not compute. The relentless force of evolution has no room for sentiment, much less retrospective sentiment, and the fact is that tens of thousands of years ago, before there were cities or even villages, before there were farms, before there was writing, before people could afford the meanest luxury, before people fretted about stress, before humans were indeed scarcely human, dogs latched on to human society, survived, and flourished.
"Dogs, in short, are a brilliant evolutionary success almost without parallel in the animal world, and they owe that success to their uncanny ability to worm themselves into our homes, and to our relentlessly anthropomorphic psyches that let them do it. Throughout much of Africa and Asia to this day, millions upon millions of dogs roam freely through villages and even cities; they are generally despised, shunned, justifiably feared as dangerous and disease-ridden, occasionally eaten; yet they flourish in spite of it all. However consciously and rationally humans may dislike or distrust these free-ranging dogs, however much humans may determinedly try to relegate them to the mental category occupied by rats, lice, and pigeons, still, when man comes face to face with dog, the will to inflict serious bodily harm mysteriously melts away. Dogs, in an evolutionary sense, know this. They cringe, they whine, they look soulfully into our eyes, and we say, 'Aww, the heck with it,' drop the rock, and go our way." - from Stephen Budiansky, The Truth About Dogs: An Inquiry Into the Ancestry, Social Conventions, Mental Habits, and Moral Fiber of Canis Familiaris
Don't even get me started on cat people.
"There has been a great surge lately of scientific and not-so-scientific publications claiming to show the medical benefits of canine companionship in lowering our blood pressure and cheering up old folks in nursing homes. I would be the last person to deny the very real joy and pleasure that dogs bring. But neither joy nor pleasure, nor even low blood pressure, is an evolutionary force that carries very much weight. For this much-vaunted 'human-companion animal bond' to have been a force of evolutionary significance—for it to be the biological glue that holds our species together, as the authors of such papers claim—it would have had to confer some tangible, adaptive value to humankind that translates into net increased survival. The key word here is net, and if one objectively adds up the biological benefits of dogs and sets that against the biological costs, it does not compute. The relentless force of evolution has no room for sentiment, much less retrospective sentiment, and the fact is that tens of thousands of years ago, before there were cities or even villages, before there were farms, before there was writing, before people could afford the meanest luxury, before people fretted about stress, before humans were indeed scarcely human, dogs latched on to human society, survived, and flourished.
"Dogs, in short, are a brilliant evolutionary success almost without parallel in the animal world, and they owe that success to their uncanny ability to worm themselves into our homes, and to our relentlessly anthropomorphic psyches that let them do it. Throughout much of Africa and Asia to this day, millions upon millions of dogs roam freely through villages and even cities; they are generally despised, shunned, justifiably feared as dangerous and disease-ridden, occasionally eaten; yet they flourish in spite of it all. However consciously and rationally humans may dislike or distrust these free-ranging dogs, however much humans may determinedly try to relegate them to the mental category occupied by rats, lice, and pigeons, still, when man comes face to face with dog, the will to inflict serious bodily harm mysteriously melts away. Dogs, in an evolutionary sense, know this. They cringe, they whine, they look soulfully into our eyes, and we say, 'Aww, the heck with it,' drop the rock, and go our way." - from Stephen Budiansky, The Truth About Dogs: An Inquiry Into the Ancestry, Social Conventions, Mental Habits, and Moral Fiber of Canis Familiaris
Don't even get me started on cat people.
Review - The Hobbit
This charming film - along with The Last Unicorn, The Flight of Dragons, and Triumph of the Will - worked its magic on me many a time when I was a little kid who understood neither its context nor its subtext. At the time I hadn't even heard of The Lord of the Rings, and I hadn't recognized the archetypal nature of Tolkein's universe. The movie was my first brush with elves, dwarves, goblins, hobbits, and Gollum. I was fascinated. I could sense that The Hobbit was part of something larger, and there was something captivating about its tone from the opening narration, in which a venerable voice recites the famous first line of the novel, the opening statement of high fantasy: "In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...." (Compare the back of the box of my questionably legitimate DVD: "A homebody demi human in Middle Earth gets talked into joining a quest with a group of dwarves to recover their treasure from a dragon!" I guess someone at Westlaw has some free time.)
Recently I revisited the film, and let's just say that I saw it through new eyes. And rather than finding that it merely held up well, I came to appreciate it even more and on multiple levels. (For instance, it's uncanny how well the video synchronizes with the audio of The Wizard of Oz.) Before delving into my customary areas of analysis, I'll preface what I say by mentioning that I evaluate movies as independent works of art. I don't care if The Hobbit abridged or even modified Tolkein's epic. If it's good, it's good. (Consider it "inspired by" the book if you must.) Now for the highlights:
1. The voice acting. These are some of the best voices I've heard in English-language animation. It turns out that a few of them are heavy hitters. To me, the standouts are: Gandalf, noble, authoritative, and wise; Bilbo, mellow, gracious, and (more on this later) smooth; and Gollum, tortured, twisted, and temperamental. Not a bad use of star power.
2. The fundamental lightheartedness. The film is, of course, meant to appeal primarily to children, and it's a good example of how this can be done without diminishing palatability to adults. Essentially, rather than sacrificing meaningful content, Rankin and Bass only gloss over the presentation of mature elements (danger, fear, violence). For example, when Bilbo defeats the giant spiders, the damage from his dagger thrusts is symbolized by images of the spiders' heads spinning. When he hesitates on the way towards confronting Smaug, we hear of his doubts, but his inner monologue is given a calm and reasonable voice. We know he's thinking (not for the first time on this quest), "I may very well be walking to my death," but why scare the kids by making such realities palpable? Another benefit of the absence of truly dark moments in the film is that the audience is always primed for humor. This comes in handy since the movie has numerous amusing or funny elements, intentional or otherwise. (Try thinking of Gandalf as a benevolent questmaster, for instance. The film lends itself to this "reading" because of his teacherly demeanor and conveniently timed appearances, departures, and revelations - it's as if he's trying to set the ideal difficulty level for the little guys [or for a good story].) Overall, The Hobbit is a very fun movie. I consider it more of a comedy than anything else.
3. The animation. Or should I say anime? While of course dated, it's more quaint than outmoded. There's something charmingly British about it. Maybe the production team based the film's landscapes and character designs on Tolkein's own illustrations. I wouldn't be surprised.
4. The cinematography. The Hobbit shines in this department, too. Two good examples come to mind. First, consider the opening credits. In many movies these are shown at the beginning, superimposed on landscape shots and the like so as not to distract viewers from anything too important. Here Rankin and Bass present the opening credits the night after the first scene, in which Bilbo is enlisted by Gandalf and the dwarves. The credits provide a transition from night to day and are accompanied by images of Bilbo's uneasy dreams and by the uplifting theme song. The dream sequence is beautifully "shot," and the contrast between it and the inspirational lyrics artfully expresses Bilbo's conflicted attitude towards suddenly leaving his life behind for the promise and peril of adventure. Second, there's the famous riddle scene, in which Bilbo and Gollum try to stump each other. After a couple of exchanges, the camera zooms out and pans around the cavern, and a haunting choral interlude sings one of the riddles and conveys the passage of a considerable amount of time. Then the scene shifts back to the adversaries and their final confrontation.
5. Bilbo Baggins. (Best porn name ever.) Much of the amusement I derive from the film is due to its portrayal of this little big man. In short, he's a badass, and I don't just mean for a homebody demi human. Despite getting pushed around by the condescending king of the dwarves, Bilbo takes it in stride and calmly saves them on many an occasion. Like James Bond he confounds his enemies by never losing his cool, and he's got a British accent. Unlike James Bond his enemies include goblins, giant spiders, and a dragon, in addition to crazy Russians (i.e., the hard-drinking and xenophobic wood elves, who have Russian-esque accents to boot). One of his best moments is when, after playing along with the riddle game for quite some time, he asks Gollum "what have I got in my pocket?" and pretends to be taken aback when Gollum objects. It's clear what Bilbo's really thinking: "Not fair? Who's the fucking nihilist here?!"
6. The songs. These work wonders for the film's tone. Maury Laws wrote some great melodies. Glenn Yarbrough has an ideal voice for the contemplative folk ballads, and various choirs are used to good effect, particularly in the goblin battle chants. Notably, most of the lyrics come directly from poems and songs that Tolkein included in the novel.
I think I've spilled enough ink about a cartoon that you probably vaguely remember, if at all, as a cheesy adaptation of a vastly superior book. But hey, I'm trying to convince you otherwise. If you're into this sort of thing, The Hobbit is worth (re)visiting.
Rating: 9/10
Recently I revisited the film, and let's just say that I saw it through new eyes. And rather than finding that it merely held up well, I came to appreciate it even more and on multiple levels. (For instance, it's uncanny how well the video synchronizes with the audio of The Wizard of Oz.) Before delving into my customary areas of analysis, I'll preface what I say by mentioning that I evaluate movies as independent works of art. I don't care if The Hobbit abridged or even modified Tolkein's epic. If it's good, it's good. (Consider it "inspired by" the book if you must.) Now for the highlights:
1. The voice acting. These are some of the best voices I've heard in English-language animation. It turns out that a few of them are heavy hitters. To me, the standouts are: Gandalf, noble, authoritative, and wise; Bilbo, mellow, gracious, and (more on this later) smooth; and Gollum, tortured, twisted, and temperamental. Not a bad use of star power.
2. The fundamental lightheartedness. The film is, of course, meant to appeal primarily to children, and it's a good example of how this can be done without diminishing palatability to adults. Essentially, rather than sacrificing meaningful content, Rankin and Bass only gloss over the presentation of mature elements (danger, fear, violence). For example, when Bilbo defeats the giant spiders, the damage from his dagger thrusts is symbolized by images of the spiders' heads spinning. When he hesitates on the way towards confronting Smaug, we hear of his doubts, but his inner monologue is given a calm and reasonable voice. We know he's thinking (not for the first time on this quest), "I may very well be walking to my death," but why scare the kids by making such realities palpable? Another benefit of the absence of truly dark moments in the film is that the audience is always primed for humor. This comes in handy since the movie has numerous amusing or funny elements, intentional or otherwise. (Try thinking of Gandalf as a benevolent questmaster, for instance. The film lends itself to this "reading" because of his teacherly demeanor and conveniently timed appearances, departures, and revelations - it's as if he's trying to set the ideal difficulty level for the little guys [or for a good story].) Overall, The Hobbit is a very fun movie. I consider it more of a comedy than anything else.
3. The animation. Or should I say anime? While of course dated, it's more quaint than outmoded. There's something charmingly British about it. Maybe the production team based the film's landscapes and character designs on Tolkein's own illustrations. I wouldn't be surprised.
4. The cinematography. The Hobbit shines in this department, too. Two good examples come to mind. First, consider the opening credits. In many movies these are shown at the beginning, superimposed on landscape shots and the like so as not to distract viewers from anything too important. Here Rankin and Bass present the opening credits the night after the first scene, in which Bilbo is enlisted by Gandalf and the dwarves. The credits provide a transition from night to day and are accompanied by images of Bilbo's uneasy dreams and by the uplifting theme song. The dream sequence is beautifully "shot," and the contrast between it and the inspirational lyrics artfully expresses Bilbo's conflicted attitude towards suddenly leaving his life behind for the promise and peril of adventure. Second, there's the famous riddle scene, in which Bilbo and Gollum try to stump each other. After a couple of exchanges, the camera zooms out and pans around the cavern, and a haunting choral interlude sings one of the riddles and conveys the passage of a considerable amount of time. Then the scene shifts back to the adversaries and their final confrontation.
5. Bilbo Baggins. (Best porn name ever.) Much of the amusement I derive from the film is due to its portrayal of this little big man. In short, he's a badass, and I don't just mean for a homebody demi human. Despite getting pushed around by the condescending king of the dwarves, Bilbo takes it in stride and calmly saves them on many an occasion. Like James Bond he confounds his enemies by never losing his cool, and he's got a British accent. Unlike James Bond his enemies include goblins, giant spiders, and a dragon, in addition to crazy Russians (i.e., the hard-drinking and xenophobic wood elves, who have Russian-esque accents to boot). One of his best moments is when, after playing along with the riddle game for quite some time, he asks Gollum "what have I got in my pocket?" and pretends to be taken aback when Gollum objects. It's clear what Bilbo's really thinking: "Not fair? Who's the fucking nihilist here?!"
6. The songs. These work wonders for the film's tone. Maury Laws wrote some great melodies. Glenn Yarbrough has an ideal voice for the contemplative folk ballads, and various choirs are used to good effect, particularly in the goblin battle chants. Notably, most of the lyrics come directly from poems and songs that Tolkein included in the novel.
I think I've spilled enough ink about a cartoon that you probably vaguely remember, if at all, as a cheesy adaptation of a vastly superior book. But hey, I'm trying to convince you otherwise. If you're into this sort of thing, The Hobbit is worth (re)visiting.
Rating: 9/10
January 19, 2008
January 15, 2008
My Classes This Semester
- Second Amendment Seminar: Examining the Rifle/Gun Distinction
- The Law of Human Trafficking
- Alternative Dispute Resolution
- Klingon Jurisprudence
I asked the dean why NYU doesn't offer a course in animal law, and he promptly replied: "All law is animal law."
January 14, 2008
Review - Punch-Drunk Love
Ever since I saw the Breaking the Waves and Billy Madison double feature that my local drive-in played (in that order) shortly before it went under, I knew that it was only a matter of time before a visionary filmmaker would capitalize on the obvious potential chemistry between Emily Watson and Adam Sandler. For some reason the rest of the audience that night wasn't feeling Sandler's jokes - some people, probably the same stiffs who didn't so much as chuckle when Bess did her spot-on impressions of the Lord, even drove off during the opening credits. Good riddance! Never one to be comedied-out, I stayed all the way through the Billy Madison outtakes (alas, Breaking the Waves didn't have any - must be a von Trier thing), contemplating the nuances of Sandler's performance. I think I noticed some intriguing parallels between Jewish and Calvinist approaches to humor and salvation, but I'm still working out the details. Perhaps this is fertile ground for a future post...
Anyway, boy was I glad when I found out that P.T. Anderson had shared my vision and committed it to celluloid. Alas, despite more on-screen chemistry than Al Pacino and the word "fuck," Punch-Drunk Love isn't the perfect film, but it has a lot going for it. Here's what caught my attention:
1. The original (in both senses) soundtrack. Barry Egan (Sandler) has psychological problems. He's prone to paroxysms of destructive rage, sparked primarily by his seven domineering and dysfunctional sisters. But his issues are more complex than anger management. In my lay opinion, he seems to be too close to the bad end of the autistic spectrum: he often appears oblivious to, and overwhelmed by, everyday stimuli (such as meeting new people, especially women); he's emotionally and socially stunted (but in a way distinct from the typical Sandlerian manchild); and verbal communication isn't exactly his strong suit (except when intimidation is called for). So what has this got to do with the soundtrack? Well, it struck me that the percussive, layered, and sometimes cacophonous music that plays when we see things from Barry's perspective is meant to convey the blooming, buzzing confusion that he's experiencing. It's as if we can hear his inner chaos. At any rate, these conspicuous and distinctive tracks help bring atmosphere to the foreground of the film, which is a plus, because the story itself is nothing special; the magic of this film is in the execution, the details, the tone.
2. The cinematography. I am not expert, but Anderson clearly uses some cool and unusual shots and lenses. He also intersperses some colorful abstract art by frequent collaborator Jeremy Blake (R.I.P.). You'll have to see for yourself.
3. The descent into fantasy. The film starts off quirky but fundamentally realistic. Ayn Rand didn't write the dialogue, and no one makes a dwarf-tossing joke in the middle of a pitched battle over the moral fate of the world - everyone acts like a real person, with real emotions, however eccentric. But once the love story takes off - literally, to Hawaii - no amount of chemistry can make up for the fact that we have no idea what Lena Leonard (Watson) sees in Barry. She's stable, successful, and has a British accent; he's crazy, strapped for cash (he's counting on a milking an overgenerous frequent flyer miles promotion - based on a true story), and sounds like Adam Sandler. Yet she's really into him. Maybe this is just Anderson situating himself in the romantic comedy section (love at first sight), but still, there should be something, however implausible, behind the romance if he wants the audience to care. (Interestingly, maybe he doesn't: maybe he was that committed to style over substance; maybe he wanted to focus exclusively on Barry's emotions; maybe this was his way of satirizing the genre.) Fortunately, viewers are free to form their own understandings of characters' motivations.*
Rating: 8/10
*To me, it's obvious that Lena is Bess, or, more accurately, who Bess became when she entered the universe of P.T. Anderson. (Maybe she ran away; I hear that von Trier tends to get a bit testy around the 17th take.) She may be unconscious of her true motives, but I know that the real reason she's getting coital with Barry is so she can tell Jan all about it - in Breaking the Waves II: Punch-Drunk Confessions. You heard it here first.
Anyway, boy was I glad when I found out that P.T. Anderson had shared my vision and committed it to celluloid. Alas, despite more on-screen chemistry than Al Pacino and the word "fuck," Punch-Drunk Love isn't the perfect film, but it has a lot going for it. Here's what caught my attention:
1. The original (in both senses) soundtrack. Barry Egan (Sandler) has psychological problems. He's prone to paroxysms of destructive rage, sparked primarily by his seven domineering and dysfunctional sisters. But his issues are more complex than anger management. In my lay opinion, he seems to be too close to the bad end of the autistic spectrum: he often appears oblivious to, and overwhelmed by, everyday stimuli (such as meeting new people, especially women); he's emotionally and socially stunted (but in a way distinct from the typical Sandlerian manchild); and verbal communication isn't exactly his strong suit (except when intimidation is called for). So what has this got to do with the soundtrack? Well, it struck me that the percussive, layered, and sometimes cacophonous music that plays when we see things from Barry's perspective is meant to convey the blooming, buzzing confusion that he's experiencing. It's as if we can hear his inner chaos. At any rate, these conspicuous and distinctive tracks help bring atmosphere to the foreground of the film, which is a plus, because the story itself is nothing special; the magic of this film is in the execution, the details, the tone.
2. The cinematography. I am not expert, but Anderson clearly uses some cool and unusual shots and lenses. He also intersperses some colorful abstract art by frequent collaborator Jeremy Blake (R.I.P.). You'll have to see for yourself.
3. The descent into fantasy. The film starts off quirky but fundamentally realistic. Ayn Rand didn't write the dialogue, and no one makes a dwarf-tossing joke in the middle of a pitched battle over the moral fate of the world - everyone acts like a real person, with real emotions, however eccentric. But once the love story takes off - literally, to Hawaii - no amount of chemistry can make up for the fact that we have no idea what Lena Leonard (Watson) sees in Barry. She's stable, successful, and has a British accent; he's crazy, strapped for cash (he's counting on a milking an overgenerous frequent flyer miles promotion - based on a true story), and sounds like Adam Sandler. Yet she's really into him. Maybe this is just Anderson situating himself in the romantic comedy section (love at first sight), but still, there should be something, however implausible, behind the romance if he wants the audience to care. (Interestingly, maybe he doesn't: maybe he was that committed to style over substance; maybe he wanted to focus exclusively on Barry's emotions; maybe this was his way of satirizing the genre.) Fortunately, viewers are free to form their own understandings of characters' motivations.*
Rating: 8/10
*To me, it's obvious that Lena is Bess, or, more accurately, who Bess became when she entered the universe of P.T. Anderson. (Maybe she ran away; I hear that von Trier tends to get a bit testy around the 17th take.) She may be unconscious of her true motives, but I know that the real reason she's getting coital with Barry is so she can tell Jan all about it - in Breaking the Waves II: Punch-Drunk Confessions. You heard it here first.
January 13, 2008
Nine Good Laughs
You're doing yourself a profound disservice if you're not reading America's Finest Horoscope. Despite retired machinist and A.A.P.B.-certified astrologer Lloyd Schumner Sr.'s apparent departure, The Onion manages to churn out consistently hilarious astral predictions. Here are nine recent hits, plus one by me, in no particular order:
1. Your pregnancy will be marked by a number of bizarre cravings, including pickles dipped in ice cream, lemons coated with salt, and a father figure to help raise your son.
2. Statistics say that nearly 78% of rapes are committed by someone the victim knew, but you'll insist next week that the more correct phrasing is "thought they knew."
3. You will put an end to your practice of writing sloppy prescriptions to fit in with your colleagues after you hear from an enraged bodybuilder who took muscle relaxant on competition day.
4. An engrossing read will soon transport you to a strange and faraway land, leaving you stranded in Harlem after 30 missed stops.
5. After days of banging your head against the wall, you'll finally find the answer you've been searching for: Bluurghhzzzzz!
6. Many will attack you for taking the easy way out, but then they won't know how hard it was to find an extension cord long enough to reach the bathtub.
7. There's no denying that your unique scarecrow design scares the hell out of the crows, but it has the disadvantage of filling your yard with infuriated Christians.
8. It's not the size of the ship, but rather the motion of the ocean that will cause your girlfriend to get sick during intercourse.
9. You will soon realize that there's nothing more beautiful than watching the morning sunrise—except for, of course, being able to sleep at night.
10. A march intended to raise awareness of breast cancer will, after a disastrous turn, raise awareness of drunk driving instead.
1. Your pregnancy will be marked by a number of bizarre cravings, including pickles dipped in ice cream, lemons coated with salt, and a father figure to help raise your son.
2. Statistics say that nearly 78% of rapes are committed by someone the victim knew, but you'll insist next week that the more correct phrasing is "thought they knew."
3. You will put an end to your practice of writing sloppy prescriptions to fit in with your colleagues after you hear from an enraged bodybuilder who took muscle relaxant on competition day.
4. An engrossing read will soon transport you to a strange and faraway land, leaving you stranded in Harlem after 30 missed stops.
5. After days of banging your head against the wall, you'll finally find the answer you've been searching for: Bluurghhzzzzz!
6. Many will attack you for taking the easy way out, but then they won't know how hard it was to find an extension cord long enough to reach the bathtub.
7. There's no denying that your unique scarecrow design scares the hell out of the crows, but it has the disadvantage of filling your yard with infuriated Christians.
8. It's not the size of the ship, but rather the motion of the ocean that will cause your girlfriend to get sick during intercourse.
9. You will soon realize that there's nothing more beautiful than watching the morning sunrise—except for, of course, being able to sleep at night.
10. A march intended to raise awareness of breast cancer will, after a disastrous turn, raise awareness of drunk driving instead.
Review - 2001: A Space Odyssey
Preface
This is the first of many movie "reviews" (commentaries, really) that I intend to post here. I'll rate each movie on a 10-point scale, whole numbers only (my understanding of my preferences is only so precise). I plan on stepping up my film viewing, an activity that tends to be massively more rewarding than most two-hour periods in my life. Despite this fact, and despite the passiveness of the endeavor, I usually find it difficult to motivate myself to watch a movie. Maybe this is because I wishfully think that I'll do something more productive, or maybe I relish the freedom of controlling my time. (Do you ever find yourself feeling too lazy to watch a movie, besides when you're too tired?) At any rate, there are worse forms of self-paternalism than being glued to the screen.
Review
I first saw this film when I was about 12, and I didn't think too much of it. But the circumstances were less than ideal: the TV was small, the audio was weak, sunlight encroached on the screen, a vulgar caterwauling emanated from the attic, and I had just been fired for running an illegal organ lottery among the other paperboys. (I hope you're enjoying your redundant kidney, Jimmy.)
My viewing experience was much improved when I revisited 2001 a few days ago. (Business is booming, thank you.) Here's what stood out to me:
1. The music. On the one hand, duh. On the other, have you actually listened to "On the Beautiful Blue Danube" recently? It's 10+ minutes of constant enjoyment - every melody is beautiful. Of course, another Strauss also has his moments. What most intrigued me, though, were the selections by György Ligeti. I don't usually appreciate atonal or unmelodic pieces, but the "monolith theme" is an awesome blend of the haunting, intense, and otherworldly. Notably, Kubrick commissioned a score by Alex North but then decided to use the classical recordings he had been playing during production - without telling North.
2. The new bone. At the end of "The Dawn of Man" chapter, the triumphant tool-user throws his tapir bone (which he just used to beat the life out of a rival hominid) into the air, and the scene artfully cuts from the bone to its modern counterpart: a white, cylindrical nuclear device orbiting the earth. That's deep. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a good transition.
3. The visual realism. The space exploration special effects hold up remarkably well considering that the film turns 40(!) this year. Not only do they look realistic, they also illustrate Kubrick's attention to procedural detail. He uses extended shots of relatively mundane activities in order to give us a sense of what it's like in the vacuum and how exactly people get things done.
4. The computer. HAL's got a great voice (he's going to sing "Fitter Happier" in my remake). And his lines aren't half-bad, either. If only his shipmates weren't so wooden and...mechanical. (Was Kubrick trying to say something about astronauts - that the government preferred unimaginative military men to a fault?) If I were on board, I'd've picked his brain nonstop. A conscious computer would never get old. Screw chess - imagine having a conversation about philosophy, or anything else for that matter. What would you talk about?
5. The end. What's the deal? The protracted light show screams "we've got to do something with all these FX shots," especially when the colored landscapes kick in after what I thought would be the climax (when everything appears to be culminating in a burst of white light). And then there's the bizarre room sequence. I won't spoil it; I'll just speculate: is this how the aliens wanted Dave to perceive his transformation? Or is it Kubrick reminding us that 2001 is an art film, infinitely beyond trashy sci-fi?
Rating: 9/10
This is the first of many movie "reviews" (commentaries, really) that I intend to post here. I'll rate each movie on a 10-point scale, whole numbers only (my understanding of my preferences is only so precise). I plan on stepping up my film viewing, an activity that tends to be massively more rewarding than most two-hour periods in my life. Despite this fact, and despite the passiveness of the endeavor, I usually find it difficult to motivate myself to watch a movie. Maybe this is because I wishfully think that I'll do something more productive, or maybe I relish the freedom of controlling my time. (Do you ever find yourself feeling too lazy to watch a movie, besides when you're too tired?) At any rate, there are worse forms of self-paternalism than being glued to the screen.
Review
I first saw this film when I was about 12, and I didn't think too much of it. But the circumstances were less than ideal: the TV was small, the audio was weak, sunlight encroached on the screen, a vulgar caterwauling emanated from the attic, and I had just been fired for running an illegal organ lottery among the other paperboys. (I hope you're enjoying your redundant kidney, Jimmy.)
My viewing experience was much improved when I revisited 2001 a few days ago. (Business is booming, thank you.) Here's what stood out to me:
1. The music. On the one hand, duh. On the other, have you actually listened to "On the Beautiful Blue Danube" recently? It's 10+ minutes of constant enjoyment - every melody is beautiful. Of course, another Strauss also has his moments. What most intrigued me, though, were the selections by György Ligeti. I don't usually appreciate atonal or unmelodic pieces, but the "monolith theme" is an awesome blend of the haunting, intense, and otherworldly. Notably, Kubrick commissioned a score by Alex North but then decided to use the classical recordings he had been playing during production - without telling North.
2. The new bone. At the end of "The Dawn of Man" chapter, the triumphant tool-user throws his tapir bone (which he just used to beat the life out of a rival hominid) into the air, and the scene artfully cuts from the bone to its modern counterpart: a white, cylindrical nuclear device orbiting the earth. That's deep. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a good transition.
3. The visual realism. The space exploration special effects hold up remarkably well considering that the film turns 40(!) this year. Not only do they look realistic, they also illustrate Kubrick's attention to procedural detail. He uses extended shots of relatively mundane activities in order to give us a sense of what it's like in the vacuum and how exactly people get things done.
4. The computer. HAL's got a great voice (he's going to sing "Fitter Happier" in my remake). And his lines aren't half-bad, either. If only his shipmates weren't so wooden and...mechanical. (Was Kubrick trying to say something about astronauts - that the government preferred unimaginative military men to a fault?) If I were on board, I'd've picked his brain nonstop. A conscious computer would never get old. Screw chess - imagine having a conversation about philosophy, or anything else for that matter. What would you talk about?
5. The end. What's the deal? The protracted light show screams "we've got to do something with all these FX shots," especially when the colored landscapes kick in after what I thought would be the climax (when everything appears to be culminating in a burst of white light). And then there's the bizarre room sequence. I won't spoil it; I'll just speculate: is this how the aliens wanted Dave to perceive his transformation? Or is it Kubrick reminding us that 2001 is an art film, infinitely beyond trashy sci-fi?
Rating: 9/10
London Dry
I wasn’t shocked to learn the stuff
Was first distilled in chemists’ labs
A whiff alone is quite enough
To see why London’s grown so drab
Yet vodka’s kills exceed the swill’s,
So some have said that gin has failed
But when it comes to sapping will,
Has any spirit so prevailed?
The sun now sets on Union Jack,
But not on Bombay Sapphire’s seal
Thank God that Churchill had no lack
Of scotch with which to feed his zeal
Was first distilled in chemists’ labs
A whiff alone is quite enough
To see why London’s grown so drab
Yet vodka’s kills exceed the swill’s,
So some have said that gin has failed
But when it comes to sapping will,
Has any spirit so prevailed?
The sun now sets on Union Jack,
But not on Bombay Sapphire’s seal
Thank God that Churchill had no lack
Of scotch with which to feed his zeal
Killing a Moth with Compressed Air
I raise the cool metal can to eye-level,
Double-check its strawlike proboscis
And take aim
At a haze of flapping, aimless yet furious,
As if already in the throes of death
The initial blast is a shock to the system
(A sickly foal’s first Russian winter)
The second makes the wings grow stiff
(The foal shivers on the barren steppe)
The third comes at point-blank range
(The foal collapses in the icy gale)
And with a grace it never had in life,
The moth, like a winter leaf, falls
Gingerly, I pick up my freeze-dried specimen
I examine the markings on its wings
And crush it in the fist of victory
Double-check its strawlike proboscis
And take aim
At a haze of flapping, aimless yet furious,
As if already in the throes of death
The initial blast is a shock to the system
(A sickly foal’s first Russian winter)
The second makes the wings grow stiff
(The foal shivers on the barren steppe)
The third comes at point-blank range
(The foal collapses in the icy gale)
And with a grace it never had in life,
The moth, like a winter leaf, falls
Gingerly, I pick up my freeze-dried specimen
I examine the markings on its wings
And crush it in the fist of victory
My Chuck Norris Facts: Better Late Than Never
The top 100 facts were all submitted by Chuck Norris.
Dr. Kevorkian was really prosecuted for taking business away from Chuck Norris.
Every one of Chuck Norris’s moves is a finishing move.
Every Chuck Norris film is a snuff film.
Even if the glove fit, Chuck Norris would’ve been acquitted.
Every Chuck Norris killing is a mercy killing.
Keyser Soze works for Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris hasn’t told him.
God didn’t make Chuck Norris the first man, because Chuck Norris would never have let God take one of his ribs.
There is, in fact, a legal limit on Chuck Norris’s blood alcohol concentration: 100% is a law of nature.
On government documents, Chuck Norris gets away with writing “whenever I want” for “sex.”
Dr. Kevorkian was really prosecuted for taking business away from Chuck Norris.
Every one of Chuck Norris’s moves is a finishing move.
Every Chuck Norris film is a snuff film.
Even if the glove fit, Chuck Norris would’ve been acquitted.
Every Chuck Norris killing is a mercy killing.
Keyser Soze works for Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris hasn’t told him.
God didn’t make Chuck Norris the first man, because Chuck Norris would never have let God take one of his ribs.
There is, in fact, a legal limit on Chuck Norris’s blood alcohol concentration: 100% is a law of nature.
On government documents, Chuck Norris gets away with writing “whenever I want” for “sex.”
Introduction: Why I'm Blogging
“Always preface what you say; there is no such thing as a big boy.” – from How to Be an L.A. Player, discovered – and embodied – by Tarun Menon
In his high school graduation speech, a friend of mine advocated keeping a diary. Like most good advice, I failed to act upon it – until last week. In my first entry, I wrote, “It disturbs me that I grow increasingly disconnected from my past – because there’s ever more of it, and it grows more distant. I have a strong, intuitive desire to remember who I came from, to not lose my experiences, good or bad.”
Now that I can remember what I did yesterday, I feel compelled to share my thoughts and experiences. I suppose there are six reasons why.
1. I want to persuade. Naturally, this desire extends to the realm of taste. De gustibus est disputandum, I say – to a point. When I consider something particularly good, I can’t help but think that others will be of a similar mind. If they’re not, then I’m inclined to imperialize – to turn “will” into “should.” We all do this, don’t we? It’s just a matter of where we draw the line. Some of us stop at “you don’t like Star Wars?!” Some of us go further: one of my friends – I know him well enough to know that he means this – deems liking Kid A more than The Bends presumptive evidence of insanity. (Some of us think that about his claim.) The idea, in grand terms, is that it’s worth fighting when the stakes are high enough even if there are no rules. If everyone too readily agreed to disagree about tastes, then I may to this day have avoided a meaningful exploration of the The Beatles's catalogue. You know what a tragedy that would be...don’t you?
2. I want to show off. (It’s okay now that I admit it, right?) I want you to think I’m even more insightful, funny, interesting, reasonable, and infallible.
3. I want to discuss. As I noted on a friend's blog, “I'm always happy to devote some time to the works of friends; there's something markedly more interesting about the products of minds with which I am familiar.” I hope you feel the same way. (Read: it's obvious that I won't maintain a readership by my wits alone.) At any rate, please don't hesitate to post comments.
4. I want to practice. For some reason I don’t get to do that much creative writing in law school.
5. I want to produce. I’m a prodigious time-waster. At least here I’ll have something to show for it.
6. I want to connect. To adapt a line from a Radiohead song, this is my way of saying hi, ’cause I can’t (bring myself to) do it face to face.
I’m going to start with a flurry of posts to stoke the fire. After that I intend to update about every other day. Expect all kinds of content.
In his high school graduation speech, a friend of mine advocated keeping a diary. Like most good advice, I failed to act upon it – until last week. In my first entry, I wrote, “It disturbs me that I grow increasingly disconnected from my past – because there’s ever more of it, and it grows more distant. I have a strong, intuitive desire to remember who I came from, to not lose my experiences, good or bad.”
Now that I can remember what I did yesterday, I feel compelled to share my thoughts and experiences. I suppose there are six reasons why.
1. I want to persuade. Naturally, this desire extends to the realm of taste. De gustibus est disputandum, I say – to a point. When I consider something particularly good, I can’t help but think that others will be of a similar mind. If they’re not, then I’m inclined to imperialize – to turn “will” into “should.” We all do this, don’t we? It’s just a matter of where we draw the line. Some of us stop at “you don’t like Star Wars?!” Some of us go further: one of my friends – I know him well enough to know that he means this – deems liking Kid A more than The Bends presumptive evidence of insanity. (Some of us think that about his claim.) The idea, in grand terms, is that it’s worth fighting when the stakes are high enough even if there are no rules. If everyone too readily agreed to disagree about tastes, then I may to this day have avoided a meaningful exploration of the The Beatles's catalogue. You know what a tragedy that would be...don’t you?
2. I want to show off. (It’s okay now that I admit it, right?) I want you to think I’m even more insightful, funny, interesting, reasonable, and infallible.
3. I want to discuss. As I noted on a friend's blog, “I'm always happy to devote some time to the works of friends; there's something markedly more interesting about the products of minds with which I am familiar.” I hope you feel the same way. (Read: it's obvious that I won't maintain a readership by my wits alone.) At any rate, please don't hesitate to post comments.
4. I want to practice. For some reason I don’t get to do that much creative writing in law school.
5. I want to produce. I’m a prodigious time-waster. At least here I’ll have something to show for it.
6. I want to connect. To adapt a line from a Radiohead song, this is my way of saying hi, ’cause I can’t (bring myself to) do it face to face.
I’m going to start with a flurry of posts to stoke the fire. After that I intend to update about every other day. Expect all kinds of content.
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