February 22, 2011
From the Outbox -- What Am I, a Fucking Park Ranger?
You know, it's the little things that make The Big Lebowski a true masterpiece, a contender for my favorite overall film, as opposed to just an awesome one. One thing that just occurred to me, dudes, is that Walter was probably under the impression that an actual marmot had invaded the Dude's home. This would explain why Walter, though no park ranger, brings up aquatic rodents and wild animal law.
February 17, 2011
From the Outbox -- If Marijuana Were Legal and Taxed, Would A Large Percentage of People Grow Their Own?
You ask: "how many people will really want to pay commercial prices plus taxes when they can grow their own (thus knowing exactly what they are getting) for next to nothing?"
I answer: lots, even assuming a tax proportional to that on cigarettes. Growing one's own would almost certainly not be the preferred option for most tokers. It's a non-trivial process in terms of space, time (e.g., care and feeding), upkeep (e.g., plant food, avoiding fertilization), and encroachment (e.g., smell). Of course, it's an easier undertaking if one lives in an appropriate climate and can grow outdoors. But it's still nowhere near as easy and efficient as it would be for the Philip Morris of the green economy. Moreover, it seems likely that the product of Big Pot, at least at the high end, would be way better than the homegrown alternatives for a number of reasons. And it would sure be marketed as such.
I mean, maybe it's largely a cultural thing, but most smokers don't roll their own cigarettes even though I believe they could save a considerable amount of money doing so. Don't underestimate the combined forces of laziness and branding. And note that branding -- and regulated selling -- includes a number of substantive signals such as consistency, product data, and the opportunity to support a government cool enough to legalize it.
***
I'm no expert, but my impression is that growing kind bud isn't easy. Maybe pot plants thrive in most climates without much attention, but I think producing a good yield of potent buds requires significant attention and know-how. In today's circumstances, this is of course partially due to the need to avoid detection, but it's also due to the finicky procedures necessary to induce optimal THC production. This has two main implications. First, commercial growers likely could grow significantly better stuff. They'd have better machines, better methods, and better strains. I don't see why these things couldn't be kept proprietary. Second, people love convenience. Maybe you think they're often suckers for it, but that's irrelevant to this discussion. What matters is that many people would pay to avoid having to go through all of the hassle and initial investment of growing -- even people who know they'll be partaking regularly. People are lazy and shortsighted; DIYers are idiosyncratic to varying degrees. I mean, what percentage of people get most of their produce from gardens? What percentage of people even make their own coffee? I think the situation would basically be like homebrewing.
***
I agree that the tax revenue might not be that substantial. I suspect legal pot would be quite cheap in general, but companies might be able to charge a fair amount for designer strains, alternative active ingredient delivery mechanisms, and the like. Regardless, I'd like to get back to the issue of how prevalent homegrowing would be.
You raise some valid points, but I think you're overstating your case. Consider:
I answer: lots, even assuming a tax proportional to that on cigarettes. Growing one's own would almost certainly not be the preferred option for most tokers. It's a non-trivial process in terms of space, time (e.g., care and feeding), upkeep (e.g., plant food, avoiding fertilization), and encroachment (e.g., smell). Of course, it's an easier undertaking if one lives in an appropriate climate and can grow outdoors. But it's still nowhere near as easy and efficient as it would be for the Philip Morris of the green economy. Moreover, it seems likely that the product of Big Pot, at least at the high end, would be way better than the homegrown alternatives for a number of reasons. And it would sure be marketed as such.
I mean, maybe it's largely a cultural thing, but most smokers don't roll their own cigarettes even though I believe they could save a considerable amount of money doing so. Don't underestimate the combined forces of laziness and branding. And note that branding -- and regulated selling -- includes a number of substantive signals such as consistency, product data, and the opportunity to support a government cool enough to legalize it.
***
I'm no expert, but my impression is that growing kind bud isn't easy. Maybe pot plants thrive in most climates without much attention, but I think producing a good yield of potent buds requires significant attention and know-how. In today's circumstances, this is of course partially due to the need to avoid detection, but it's also due to the finicky procedures necessary to induce optimal THC production. This has two main implications. First, commercial growers likely could grow significantly better stuff. They'd have better machines, better methods, and better strains. I don't see why these things couldn't be kept proprietary. Second, people love convenience. Maybe you think they're often suckers for it, but that's irrelevant to this discussion. What matters is that many people would pay to avoid having to go through all of the hassle and initial investment of growing -- even people who know they'll be partaking regularly. People are lazy and shortsighted; DIYers are idiosyncratic to varying degrees. I mean, what percentage of people get most of their produce from gardens? What percentage of people even make their own coffee? I think the situation would basically be like homebrewing.
***
I agree that the tax revenue might not be that substantial. I suspect legal pot would be quite cheap in general, but companies might be able to charge a fair amount for designer strains, alternative active ingredient delivery mechanisms, and the like. Regardless, I'd like to get back to the issue of how prevalent homegrowing would be.
You raise some valid points, but I think you're overstating your case. Consider:
- Moichandising. It seems to me that there would be sizable market segments that would inhale the commercial offerings. Connoisseurs, tourists, first-timers, and "social smokers" come to mind. Connoisseurs would be curious about the latest strains being promoted by the various brands and headshops. Tourists and first-timers obviously would be unlikely to have homegrower connections. And by social smokers I mean the kinds of people who would primarily or exclusively partake in clubs and the like. I mean, just imagine what things would be like if pot were flat-out legal in California. Yeah, you'd have plenty of homegrowers, communes, and underground farmers' markets (green markets?). But you'd also have loads of commercialization.
- The "soft costs" of homegrowing. I've already mentioned the nontrivial time and effort I believe it would take to grow high-end product. Raising, cultivating, farming, gardening -- whatever you want to call it -- is work; it's something that people who are wealthy enough (and who generally have less free time) would not be keen on doing unless they enjoyed it. But I also think many people would psychologically and/or socially be deterred from becoming homegrowers. They may worry about being stigmatized, and even if that's too harsh a word, in the early stages of legalization, there would at least be a lot of skittishness. Lastly, there's the product itself. I don't see why you think corporations wouldn't be able to produce significantly better stuff. They have more resources, and pot appears to have a lot of potential for resource-intensive development. Companies could isolate which combinations of cannabinoids produce which effects and then engage in hybridization and/or genetic modification. They could also presumably enhance other qualities such as aroma, potency, and appearance. And they might be able to breed strains that would produce very efficient yields compared to what's out there. Now, of course, some of this technology would eventually be reverse-engineered or otherwise discovered. But a lot of it could be kept proprietary, and a lot of it simply requires a corporate amount of resources to take advantage of. Additionally, companies could let users know exactly what they're smoking (strain, THC content, cannabinoid profile, etc.) so they can figure out their preferences and take on less risk.
From the Outbox -- Good People and Bad People
We can't really tell what's going on in other people's heads. And there's a (basically useless) sense in which all voluntary actions are done out of self-interest. Nevertheless, I perceive instances in which I do a better or a worse job of controlling my urges to do things I regard as bad. It's possible that my perception of self-control variation is an illusion and that what's really going on is that the urges win out when they're sufficiently strong and/or when my capacity for self-control is sufficiently low. But I just don't think that's how it is with me. I think I rarely actually "lose it" and instead in some sense choose to go apeshit by giving into perverse desires (a combination of self-pity and attention-seeking being a particularly gross example). Now who knows if this is what goes on with other people (though maybe we could increase our confidence through neuroscience and psychology). But I'm pretty sure my internal mental experiences aren't fundamentally idiosyncratic. Of course, people do have different capacities, temperaments, and inclinations, so the point at which someone's being a dick -- i.e., being weak-willed about behaving properly -- varies; external behavior alone isn't sufficient to confidently judge someone. But if I know what it's like to be a dick and also what it's like to resist the urge, then presumably we're all fighting the same internal battle, just on different battlefields. And I doubt we all have the same win percentage. So some of us are worse people than others.
Do some of us get away with it more than others? Absolutely. Such is life. But the closer you get to someone, the easier it is to look into her heart, and the harder it is for her to get away with it.
***
Suppose everyone who comes off as a good person is really motivated ultimately by something selfish (such as wanting to be praised or feeling better about himself because he's doing good), just like everyone who comes off as a bad person. What then? At least there's a real difference, and the more you engage with someone, the better you can tell how they're going to behave and whether you like them. Practically, in the words of Bill Munny, "Deserve's got nothing to do with it."
In other words, the universe may have no moral arc, but we have moral compasses. Your concern is analogous to one's decision whether or not to eat meat even though he "knows" it's wrong. Some rationalize, some say "fuck it," and some stop (to some extent). With questions like this, there's no issue of "hiding" one's badness. It's simply a question of caring enough about doing the right thing, for whatever reason. So yeah, maybe the guy who gets his caring/willpower from a selfish wellspring is no better, in some sense, than the guy who says, "fuck it, meat's too tasty and my friends would give me shit if I gave it up." But in a real sense he is a better person.
In sum:
1. Some people seem to care about being good people; others seem to embrace selfishness.
2. Perhaps, either way, we all ultimately care about feeling good about ourselves, about being able to live with ourselves.
3. One who does good because he feels good about being a good person is still a good person.
Do some of us get away with it more than others? Absolutely. Such is life. But the closer you get to someone, the easier it is to look into her heart, and the harder it is for her to get away with it.
***
Suppose everyone who comes off as a good person is really motivated ultimately by something selfish (such as wanting to be praised or feeling better about himself because he's doing good), just like everyone who comes off as a bad person. What then? At least there's a real difference, and the more you engage with someone, the better you can tell how they're going to behave and whether you like them. Practically, in the words of Bill Munny, "Deserve's got nothing to do with it."
In other words, the universe may have no moral arc, but we have moral compasses. Your concern is analogous to one's decision whether or not to eat meat even though he "knows" it's wrong. Some rationalize, some say "fuck it," and some stop (to some extent). With questions like this, there's no issue of "hiding" one's badness. It's simply a question of caring enough about doing the right thing, for whatever reason. So yeah, maybe the guy who gets his caring/willpower from a selfish wellspring is no better, in some sense, than the guy who says, "fuck it, meat's too tasty and my friends would give me shit if I gave it up." But in a real sense he is a better person.
In sum:
1. Some people seem to care about being good people; others seem to embrace selfishness.
2. Perhaps, either way, we all ultimately care about feeling good about ourselves, about being able to live with ourselves.
3. One who does good because he feels good about being a good person is still a good person.
February 16, 2011
From the Outbox -- Have We Taken Irony Too Far?
I'm cynical, too. I mean, just consider these four facts: (i) it's very hard for a person to turn out decently enough -- a lot of genetic and environmental things have to go right at the right times; (ii) it's very hard to solve countless collective action problems, particularly global ones that require action well in advance of the manifestation of the harms; (iii) we know so little about so many important things, including our ignorance, so our actions are often very risky; and (iv) we as a species have global dominance. So, in a sense, we're "destined" to fuck shit up. We as a species may of course end up thriving if technological progress continues for long enough, but a lot of damage will have been done in the meantime, and a lot of good things will have been irrevocably lost. So, yeah, "everything" turns to shit.
I lack the knowledge to really evaluate David Foster Wallace's claim that, in your words, "we've gone through an irony revolution that has made earnestness and sincerity seem campy and risible," but it does resonate with me. It seems that everyone who's taking something seriously, especially a cause, has to toe a fine line to avoid being accused of self-righteousness, self-importance, overearnestness, heavy-handedness, and/or overzealouness. This may have always been true to some extent -- none of our opposition to these things is purely cultural -- but it does seem to have become more an issue these days. I suppose there are at least two main reasons: (i) the business of modern real-time mass media, which thrives on controversy, gossip, and the like, and often creates or amplifies these things when they don't really exist (e.g., giving every issue two sides, characters, and a traditional narrative, even if it's not an open question and/or is more complicated); and (ii) changes in our culture. I can't really speak to (ii), which of course is intertwined with (i), but I think I know what Wallace is getting at. People tend to be regarded as uncreative, lame, self-indulgent, too personal, and the like when they don't throw in enough self-reflection, self-awareness, and ironic distance from their concerns . It's like people have to put up disclaimers for their passion and sincerity, especially if it's about an issue that "everyone" already "gets." It's like people have to apologize for speaking from the heart, as if everything that comes from the heart is sentimental bullshit. (Perhaps one way of looking at this is that the logic of the anti-emo movement has been overextended. Perhaps another way is that everyone's so afraid of being "called out," so we wrap our basic points in irony, complexity, and qualifiers, which reduces clarity and dilutes our messages -- at least until the time comes when we feel comfortable being straightforward about these messages.) That said, I think we do want this "ironic check" to exist in our society to some extent. Some people should be mocked for the lack of self-awareness and critical distance that comes from never taking the ironic pose. But yeah, we're too inclined to say "Get over yourself!" Some selves aren't worth getting over.
Incidentally, I love that things like The Daily Show exist, because they seem to be able to get away with more passion and sincerity by virtue of being funny and possessing an overarching irony of sorts.
I lack the knowledge to really evaluate David Foster Wallace's claim that, in your words, "we've gone through an irony revolution that has made earnestness and sincerity seem campy and risible," but it does resonate with me. It seems that everyone who's taking something seriously, especially a cause, has to toe a fine line to avoid being accused of self-righteousness, self-importance, overearnestness, heavy-handedness, and/or overzealouness. This may have always been true to some extent -- none of our opposition to these things is purely cultural -- but it does seem to have become more an issue these days. I suppose there are at least two main reasons: (i) the business of modern real-time mass media, which thrives on controversy, gossip, and the like, and often creates or amplifies these things when they don't really exist (e.g., giving every issue two sides, characters, and a traditional narrative, even if it's not an open question and/or is more complicated); and (ii) changes in our culture. I can't really speak to (ii), which of course is intertwined with (i), but I think I know what Wallace is getting at. People tend to be regarded as uncreative, lame, self-indulgent, too personal, and the like when they don't throw in enough self-reflection, self-awareness, and ironic distance from their concerns . It's like people have to put up disclaimers for their passion and sincerity, especially if it's about an issue that "everyone" already "gets." It's like people have to apologize for speaking from the heart, as if everything that comes from the heart is sentimental bullshit. (Perhaps one way of looking at this is that the logic of the anti-emo movement has been overextended. Perhaps another way is that everyone's so afraid of being "called out," so we wrap our basic points in irony, complexity, and qualifiers, which reduces clarity and dilutes our messages -- at least until the time comes when we feel comfortable being straightforward about these messages.) That said, I think we do want this "ironic check" to exist in our society to some extent. Some people should be mocked for the lack of self-awareness and critical distance that comes from never taking the ironic pose. But yeah, we're too inclined to say "Get over yourself!" Some selves aren't worth getting over.
Incidentally, I love that things like The Daily Show exist, because they seem to be able to get away with more passion and sincerity by virtue of being funny and possessing an overarching irony of sorts.
From the Outbox -- On College Rankings
In order to simultaneously post more and remain lazy -- I make no representation that standards have not fallen -- I'm going to periodically post material drawn from my deep well of emailed ramblings, starting, arbitrarily, with the following:
The U.S. News school rankings seem sort of like a natural monopoly to me, in that despite the absence of anti-competitive practices (as far as I know), it's virtually impossible for a competing ranking system to obtain any market share. The vast majority of students understandably take the rankings into account when deciding where to go to school, and they have been doing so for years -- the rankings aren't perfect, but it's certainly better to take them into account than to ignore them. In order for a competing ranking system to achieve any influence, enough students would have to rely on it instead. But what incentive do most students have to take the risk of relying on rankings that most of their peers will likely ignore and that aren't necessarily any better?
For example, suppose U.S. News ranks School A #5 and School B #10, and a critical competitor ranks School B higher on its own list. Could the competitor succeed? Almost certainly not. To begin with, as flawed as the U.S. News rankings are, they do heavily take into account the factors that most college-bound students care about (average SAT score, GPA, class size, etc.). They do a good job of indicating where the most qualified students go to school. Therefore, a credible competitor couldn't have substantially different rankings, such as one with no Ivy League schools in the top 10. Unlike in, say, the market for portable electronic devices, there's only so much innovating a competitor can do. Furthermore, even if the competitor's methodology seems more credible, there is a real risk that it's no better, especially given the great lengths to which schools go to massage the data they report. Finally, there's the fact that most students consult the U.S. News rankings due to their ubiquity and don't even consider the more obscure competition. Thus, most students who get into both School A and School B will go to School A, meaning that School A will continue to get the better students. A student who thinks that School B may, in fact, be better may nevertheless choose to go to School A to be with his more accomplished peers. The U.S. News rankings are therefore self-perpetuating.
Because of the power of the rankings, and the money at stake, schools have worked hard at gaming the system. Once one school successfully games the system, other schools naturally feel pressured to follow suit (kind of like with grade inflation). Then we end up with what we have now: a system that's almost completely gamed. Indeed, it would be better if every school gamed the system in the same way, because then no school would be ahead by virtue of its better gamesmanship. For example, if every school equivalently inflated its employment statistics by creating jobs for its unemployed graduates, no school would have an unfair advantage. Obviously, this isn't the case: some schools have moved way up the rankings due to dishonest practices. The other obvious tragedy is that certain data in the rankings simply can't be trusted.
In sum, we have a classic example of a system that's bad but that everyone understandably relies on anyway. The only potential solution seems to be government intervention of some sort, which of course may be more trouble than it's worth. At least, as this article mentions, there are organizations committed to the public service of exposing these serious frauds.
The U.S. News school rankings seem sort of like a natural monopoly to me, in that despite the absence of anti-competitive practices (as far as I know), it's virtually impossible for a competing ranking system to obtain any market share. The vast majority of students understandably take the rankings into account when deciding where to go to school, and they have been doing so for years -- the rankings aren't perfect, but it's certainly better to take them into account than to ignore them. In order for a competing ranking system to achieve any influence, enough students would have to rely on it instead. But what incentive do most students have to take the risk of relying on rankings that most of their peers will likely ignore and that aren't necessarily any better?
For example, suppose U.S. News ranks School A #5 and School B #10, and a critical competitor ranks School B higher on its own list. Could the competitor succeed? Almost certainly not. To begin with, as flawed as the U.S. News rankings are, they do heavily take into account the factors that most college-bound students care about (average SAT score, GPA, class size, etc.). They do a good job of indicating where the most qualified students go to school. Therefore, a credible competitor couldn't have substantially different rankings, such as one with no Ivy League schools in the top 10. Unlike in, say, the market for portable electronic devices, there's only so much innovating a competitor can do. Furthermore, even if the competitor's methodology seems more credible, there is a real risk that it's no better, especially given the great lengths to which schools go to massage the data they report. Finally, there's the fact that most students consult the U.S. News rankings due to their ubiquity and don't even consider the more obscure competition. Thus, most students who get into both School A and School B will go to School A, meaning that School A will continue to get the better students. A student who thinks that School B may, in fact, be better may nevertheless choose to go to School A to be with his more accomplished peers. The U.S. News rankings are therefore self-perpetuating.
Because of the power of the rankings, and the money at stake, schools have worked hard at gaming the system. Once one school successfully games the system, other schools naturally feel pressured to follow suit (kind of like with grade inflation). Then we end up with what we have now: a system that's almost completely gamed. Indeed, it would be better if every school gamed the system in the same way, because then no school would be ahead by virtue of its better gamesmanship. For example, if every school equivalently inflated its employment statistics by creating jobs for its unemployed graduates, no school would have an unfair advantage. Obviously, this isn't the case: some schools have moved way up the rankings due to dishonest practices. The other obvious tragedy is that certain data in the rankings simply can't be trusted.
In sum, we have a classic example of a system that's bad but that everyone understandably relies on anyway. The only potential solution seems to be government intervention of some sort, which of course may be more trouble than it's worth. At least, as this article mentions, there are organizations committed to the public service of exposing these serious frauds.
February 9, 2011
Review - Let the Right One In
Let the Right One In is a recent vampire movie, but it’s also one of the better melancholy films I’ve seen. It’s set in a small Swedish town that lies in the shadow of the Iron Curtain and under a foot of snow. Oskar, a withdrawn and bullied 12-year-old, lives in a small apartment with his mother, an unconcerned parent. (In a clichéd, but nonetheless poignant, scene, she asks him how he got a cut on his face and unhesitatingly accepts his answer, admonishing him to be more careful on the playground.) Oskar dreams of exacting violent revenge on his tormentors, going so far as to act out scenes with a pocketknife. He also covertly collects newspaper clippings about murders and other grisly incidents. But the most troubling thing about him is his apparent detachment from his predicament. It’s not that he’s underconcerned or perversely content with being bullied; it’s that, outwardly at least, he responds dispassionately, as if he’s come to terms with hopelessness. He doesn’t ever run, cry, or raise his voice, even though he’s clearly suffering and has been engaged in an internal struggle over whether, and if so when, to strike back. Notably, we have every reason to believe that he regards striking back as the ideal. It is not compassion or an aversion to “lowering” himself that stays his hand, but rather something else, such as the inherent gravity of revolutionary action. Perhaps he is also concerned with the physical act of revenge, for he takes up weight training under the tutelage of his amiably eccentric gym teacher.
One night, in the snowfield outside his apartment building, Oskar meets Eli (rhymes with "deli"), who recently moved in next door. She is also 12, in her words, “more or less.” Though Oskar maintains his emotional flatness in her presence -- even after she confirms her sanguinivorous nature -- he is obviously fascinated. He begins, shly, to let her in. He tells her about the bullies, and she advises him to hit back. He questions her willingness to kill, and she points out his. Eli and Oskar are both sympathetic characters in that they are constantly victimized by circumstance, but they are not innocent characters. They are both outsiders, but they must confront the conventional world. Naturally, they are drawn together, certain irreconcilable differences be damned. The subsequent plot developments are largely unremarkable, but their execution is wondrous and moving.
Often, the film successfully resonates by economizing on the explicit, in the same way that a lingering shot of a snowscape can say more about doleful desolation than could even a Roy Batty voiceover. For instance, there are two scenes in which I recall Oskar expressing childlike delight in contrast to his usual aloofness: one where he goes sledding while visiting his dad, and another where he and his mom start brushing their teeth in unison and turn to each other with amusement in their eyes, perhaps engaging in a nightly ritual for the thousandth time. These glimpses of realistic domesticity -- a rare treat in film -- flesh out the viewer’s psychological portrait of Oskar; they suggest that he is not entirely consumed by his bullying and not always so removed from the viscerality of emotion -- that he feels his pleasure and therefore his pain. In another telling domestic scene, a man arrives while Oskar is hanging out at the dinner table with his dad, and the relaxed mood immediately shifts: Oskar stiffens, and his father, invoking the obligation of hospitality, gets the door and pours a couple of drinks. Oskar quickly leaves, and we are left to wonder what prompted his anxiety. His dad comes across as a genial, easygoing man, but is he a horrible drunk? Is the other man his lover? Was Oskar simply crushed by the disruption of his fragile tranquility? Such moments bow my heart strings as much as the bullying, because they convey the tortuous inner life of a tortured child. And like the wordless scenes of delight, they do so in a way that leaves unnecessary details to the richness of imagination.
Let the Right One In also succeeds atmospherically. From the opening fade-in of a gentle flurry, snow plays a prominent role in the film. Fittingly, there is something about snow that complements the vampiric. Perhaps it is that snow signifies short, dark days. Perhaps it is that in its presence we cling bitterly to the very warmth that the vampire craves. Perhaps it is the lifelessness of a whited-out landscape. Perhaps it is simply our association of cold and death. At any rate, the omnipresence of snow contributes to the town’s air of remoteness and repose. There is little vivacity in the dead of winter, and the moonlight, reflected and amplified by the snow, bathes the town in a subdued, blue-tinged glow. Practically, it is hard to argue that a vampire wouldn’t be better off in a big city, where victims are anonymous and hideouts are plentiful, but aesthetically Eli has come to the right place. Overall, the film’s atmosphere is in harmony with its pacing -- the exposition of important plot developments is unhurried, and the viewer is given time and space to reflect on characters’ experiences. Thus, while the film has its share of violent and passionate events, its intensity is never at odds with its contemplative tone.
I am compelled to discuss Let the Right One In’s take on vampirism, because a review of a vampire movie isn’t worth its weight in blood without such a discussion, and also because the film presents a particularly compelling account. Most significantly, Let the Right One In does not glamorize vampirism. Many vampires, particularly the more recent creations, are charismatic creatures who -- bloodthirst and daylight curfew aside -- have transcended their physicality in the manner of ageless superheroes. We are inclined to envy them, especially in this age of blood banks and limitless indoor stimulation. Not so with Eli, who, in the vein of Nosferatu, elicits an uneasy sympathy. She is trapped in a child’s body, so she is limited in her ability to function independently and feed ethically. She possesses preternatural physical prowess, but she is unable to seduce or entrance her victims. When she is underfed, she smells of death. She derives no apparent pleasure from the taking of life. Yet take life she does, wantonly at that, so we cannot comfortably sympathize. She is still childlike in many respects, despite her apparently great age, so perhaps her responsibility is diminished. Indeed, with the selfishness of a child, she has rationalized her murderousness as a need, and is apparently unburdened by the arguable moral imperative to end her life. Moreover, we cannot help but perceive her as a child, for fundamental elements of her identity have been frozen in time. But there is no escaping the fact that she is a serial killer, albeit probably not the first one you’ve rooted for.
Oskar certainly seems to have few qualms about this fact. After all, he is 12 and troubled, and he is in love, or something like it. But so is Eli. At first, she prudently attempts to dissuade his efforts at friendship, but it is clear that she, too, is suffering from loneliness. (For how long has she endured a life of permanent juvenility, perpetual night, forced seclusion, and desensitized murder?) Soon it is not just Oskar who is opening his heart.
It is wonderful to watch their love unfold, but it is also tragic. The romantic endeavors of 12-year-olds do not ordinarily inspire such gravity, but in this case it feels appropriate. Together Oskar and Eli have found a happiness it seems they had never known, but it is a happiness that cannot last. Oskar will become a teenager, then a man, and they will have to let each other go. But all is not lost if they never regret having let each other in.
Rating: 8/10
One night, in the snowfield outside his apartment building, Oskar meets Eli (rhymes with "deli"), who recently moved in next door. She is also 12, in her words, “more or less.” Though Oskar maintains his emotional flatness in her presence -- even after she confirms her sanguinivorous nature -- he is obviously fascinated. He begins, shly, to let her in. He tells her about the bullies, and she advises him to hit back. He questions her willingness to kill, and she points out his. Eli and Oskar are both sympathetic characters in that they are constantly victimized by circumstance, but they are not innocent characters. They are both outsiders, but they must confront the conventional world. Naturally, they are drawn together, certain irreconcilable differences be damned. The subsequent plot developments are largely unremarkable, but their execution is wondrous and moving.
Often, the film successfully resonates by economizing on the explicit, in the same way that a lingering shot of a snowscape can say more about doleful desolation than could even a Roy Batty voiceover. For instance, there are two scenes in which I recall Oskar expressing childlike delight in contrast to his usual aloofness: one where he goes sledding while visiting his dad, and another where he and his mom start brushing their teeth in unison and turn to each other with amusement in their eyes, perhaps engaging in a nightly ritual for the thousandth time. These glimpses of realistic domesticity -- a rare treat in film -- flesh out the viewer’s psychological portrait of Oskar; they suggest that he is not entirely consumed by his bullying and not always so removed from the viscerality of emotion -- that he feels his pleasure and therefore his pain. In another telling domestic scene, a man arrives while Oskar is hanging out at the dinner table with his dad, and the relaxed mood immediately shifts: Oskar stiffens, and his father, invoking the obligation of hospitality, gets the door and pours a couple of drinks. Oskar quickly leaves, and we are left to wonder what prompted his anxiety. His dad comes across as a genial, easygoing man, but is he a horrible drunk? Is the other man his lover? Was Oskar simply crushed by the disruption of his fragile tranquility? Such moments bow my heart strings as much as the bullying, because they convey the tortuous inner life of a tortured child. And like the wordless scenes of delight, they do so in a way that leaves unnecessary details to the richness of imagination.
Let the Right One In also succeeds atmospherically. From the opening fade-in of a gentle flurry, snow plays a prominent role in the film. Fittingly, there is something about snow that complements the vampiric. Perhaps it is that snow signifies short, dark days. Perhaps it is that in its presence we cling bitterly to the very warmth that the vampire craves. Perhaps it is the lifelessness of a whited-out landscape. Perhaps it is simply our association of cold and death. At any rate, the omnipresence of snow contributes to the town’s air of remoteness and repose. There is little vivacity in the dead of winter, and the moonlight, reflected and amplified by the snow, bathes the town in a subdued, blue-tinged glow. Practically, it is hard to argue that a vampire wouldn’t be better off in a big city, where victims are anonymous and hideouts are plentiful, but aesthetically Eli has come to the right place. Overall, the film’s atmosphere is in harmony with its pacing -- the exposition of important plot developments is unhurried, and the viewer is given time and space to reflect on characters’ experiences. Thus, while the film has its share of violent and passionate events, its intensity is never at odds with its contemplative tone.
I am compelled to discuss Let the Right One In’s take on vampirism, because a review of a vampire movie isn’t worth its weight in blood without such a discussion, and also because the film presents a particularly compelling account. Most significantly, Let the Right One In does not glamorize vampirism. Many vampires, particularly the more recent creations, are charismatic creatures who -- bloodthirst and daylight curfew aside -- have transcended their physicality in the manner of ageless superheroes. We are inclined to envy them, especially in this age of blood banks and limitless indoor stimulation. Not so with Eli, who, in the vein of Nosferatu, elicits an uneasy sympathy. She is trapped in a child’s body, so she is limited in her ability to function independently and feed ethically. She possesses preternatural physical prowess, but she is unable to seduce or entrance her victims. When she is underfed, she smells of death. She derives no apparent pleasure from the taking of life. Yet take life she does, wantonly at that, so we cannot comfortably sympathize. She is still childlike in many respects, despite her apparently great age, so perhaps her responsibility is diminished. Indeed, with the selfishness of a child, she has rationalized her murderousness as a need, and is apparently unburdened by the arguable moral imperative to end her life. Moreover, we cannot help but perceive her as a child, for fundamental elements of her identity have been frozen in time. But there is no escaping the fact that she is a serial killer, albeit probably not the first one you’ve rooted for.
Oskar certainly seems to have few qualms about this fact. After all, he is 12 and troubled, and he is in love, or something like it. But so is Eli. At first, she prudently attempts to dissuade his efforts at friendship, but it is clear that she, too, is suffering from loneliness. (For how long has she endured a life of permanent juvenility, perpetual night, forced seclusion, and desensitized murder?) Soon it is not just Oskar who is opening his heart.
It is wonderful to watch their love unfold, but it is also tragic. The romantic endeavors of 12-year-olds do not ordinarily inspire such gravity, but in this case it feels appropriate. Together Oskar and Eli have found a happiness it seems they had never known, but it is a happiness that cannot last. Oskar will become a teenager, then a man, and they will have to let each other go. But all is not lost if they never regret having let each other in.
Rating: 8/10
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)