Hereunder

The End of Satire

“You can’t make up anything anymore. The world itself is a satire. All you’re doing is recording it.” -- Art Buchwald

Tomorrow is the birthday of hotel heiress Paris Hilton.

Recently, Miss Hilton was arrested for suspicion of petty theft in West Hollywood, California. “There was an incident, and she is alleged to have taken something,” sheriff's Deputy Steve Suzuki said immediately following the arrest.

A video posted on website of the television show “Celebrity Justice” shows Miss Hilton buying several magazines at a newsstand. After she received her change, she grabbed a video from the counter and walked off with it -- without paying. The video was the tape of Miss Hilton's famous sex tape, "One Night in Paris", the one showing her and paramour Rick Saloman, well, in flagrante delicto, so to speak.

Miss Hilton, who in 1999 received her GED, the high school equivalence diploma usually earned by adults who, through diligence and persistence, finally receive in middle age the diploma denied them in their youth by circumstances and misfortune, identifies herself as model, jewelry designer, recording artist, and actress, apparently based on her role in the reality TV show, The Simple Life. At the ripe age of 23, she has released an autobiography. She even has her own calendar. Paris and her family are reportedly worth $3.8 billion.

Besides the aforementioned Mr. Saloman, Hilton has dated, been engaged to, or otherwise spent extensive amounts of time with, actors Jason Shaw, Leonardo DiCaprio, Edward Furlong, Jared Leto, Simon Rex, Brandon Davis, Jamie Kennedy, musicians Rob Mills, Deryck Whibley, Nick Carter, and tennis player Mark Philippoussis and boxer Oscar De La Hoya. Miss Hilton turns 24 tomorrow.

Following her recent arrest, the newsstand employee, Gerry Castro, said that Hilton became enraged after spotting the sex video on sale at the newsstand. “She threw her 80 cents change at me and took the video and said, ‘I'm taking this and I'm not buying it,’” Castro told reporters. Castro then called police. “Nobody steals on my shift,” Castro said.

According to Paris' sister, Nicky, Castro overreacted. “She did something anyone would have done in this situation,” Nicky Hilton said. “It's not a big deal. Whatever - she doesn't care. I think this guy is trying to make it into a big deal, to get some publicity for his newsstand.”

Charges against Hilton were recently dropped for lack of evidence.

Originally posted by Palinurus.

Out of a Danish Closet

A most amazing film was re-released in its entirety after being lost (or left unwittingly) for 75 years in the closet of a Danish psychiatric hospital. "The Passion of Joan of Arc," directed by Denmark's Carl Theodor Dreyer and first released in 1927, was the big-budget French film of its time. I've forgotten exactly why the original version was lost, but some edited variations were still shown over the years but these never quite matched Dreyer's original cut. I saw it on DVD from the local rental place, and this is helpful, because you can watch it with or without the new score Voices of Light by Richard Einhorn. (Each viewing is powerful in its own way.) Most moving of all is the performance of Maria Falconetti, who plays the title role of Joan, somewhat teetering on the edge of despair but always grounded in her absolute faith. The closeup shots of the good, the bad, and the ugly characters--something for everyone!--and the cinematography in general are profoundly beautiful in their starkness.

(Hey, I ain't Pauline Kael, but I know what I'm talking about.)

In a museum once, I was viewing a series of paintings about St Joan of Arc with a scholarly friend, who mused that if it weren't for her military exploits, France would have fallen under the English and would be a very different place after Henry VIII's "troubles." ('Oh, Harry, what mischief you have visited upon your kingdom!') In any case, click on the following for more erudite links (than mine!) to Joan of Arc.

Originally posted by Blue Clinkers.

Screen Time

Oh, for more time before the screen. Any screen: TV, DVD, video, monitor, display. At home, at work; in car, plane, train; on lap; in pocket, hand; eye.

Ah, yes. You can almost feel the blue phosphors tickling your iris, working up a rather aqueous humour; the cathode rays gently massaging your corneas, reaching back relaxation to the retinas; the little light-emitting diodes dancing and gliding like floaters in vitreous.

Then, in time, you might advance in the devotion to passive reception: moving to the thin, healing powers of liquid crystals or to flat-out plasma -- aye, man, good for the blood -- filled as it is with rare and noble gases. Whatever the means of manifestation, it is the demigod phosphoros, the "light bearer" (Lucifer, in vulgar tongue), bringing virtual apparition to this otherwise vacant, lazy pupil.

Think of all the hours you might have wasted in the dull, "real" world: the same 100 million aspects to things we've all seen before: the rose lamp, the mottled conch shell, the Eiffel Tower off its paper-weight base, the paper clips at odds, the dusty stapler, the near-empty cup -- "40 Years & Over The Hill" -- the coiled phone cord, the soccer plaque -- "Dear Leader & Coach for Life" -- the young, smiling faces -- Hornets, Panthers, Pythons, all -- the muted speakers, the demented mouse, and... yes, the screen.

Unless... you were to look up into the light-invaded night and find the morning star at its rising. And, wish upon it? Well, no. Maybe, wonder at it, take it as sign, and strike out as pilgrim. To the Magic Kingdom? Well, no. To do as the magi-kings did -- travelling far, coming upon a bright tableau, with the glittering gifts reflected in the infant eye.

That might be something to see -- an epiphany.

Dynamite Epic

Gentle visitors, we are not in the habit or business of reviewing movies on these pages; however, a recent gift from Klaus prompts an exception to this rule.

The movie is Napoleon Dynamite.

Warning: semi-spoiling analysis ahead.

The epynomous protagonist, Napoleon, is everything his name does not imply: geeky, plodding, and hopeless. Indeed, he appears to be saved, in the end, only by a bizarre deus ex machina. But, all is not is as it seems.

The film opens with a particularly dweebish allusion to magical, supernatural influences, that pop up throughout, to comic effect. The husband-and-wife writing and directorial team -- Jared and Jarusha Hess -- have brought the mock heroic genre back to life in a post-modern setting -- the wilderness of boring, rural Idaho -- and, the story has the marks of an epic.

It features mythical creatures, such as Pegasus, Nessie ("our underwater ally"), "Ligers", and Tina the Llama. The harsh but ordering goddess Grandma -- like some smoke-raspy, dune-riding Hera -- whose unexpected absence from home occasions ground-shaking changes in the earthly Idaho realm. A thrift shop and "glamour" photo studio appear as secret stores of the gods, offering our oddball hero vital aids in his seemingly impossible quest, which is no other than to win the hand of the sweetly goofy lady, Deb, and to vanquish his foes. Late in the story, after hours of devotion on the Internet altar, a latter-day and larger-than-life Venus appears to transform and rescue Napoleon's hapless older brother and to give Napoleon the last gift necessary for his quest.

In the end, Pedro Sanchez, Napoleon's apparently moribund ally, utters an almost imperceptible prayer, with an allusion to El Nino. His prayer is answered in the most unexpected way, and Pedro casts a glance heavenward, as he sees that the cake that was rejected has become the cake of victory. Sweet! Even the stand-in babysitter, Uncle Rico, suffers chastisement at the hands of Rex -- a kind of preposterous Zeus -- for his vain and dishonorable pursuits; but, with the chance for redemption.

But, there's even more here, namely

• Napoleon's world is an exaggerated illustration of our own unavoidable propensity for creating our own world -- our umwelt, as some outlandish and incomprehensible philosophers call it.   Unlike Napoleon, most of us spend a great deal of effort attempting to order this world, reconciling it to "The World" -- that is, to the most sensible determinative of acceptance and success.
• Our lives are, again, unavoidably strange -- at least, in some respects. If we invest all of our effort seeking to avoid, deny, or otherwise cancel this strangeness, then we will ultimately be disappointed by an unaccountable defeat, by psychological breakdown, or, worse, by death. If, however, we accept the strangeness, then we might be liberated, even jovial, in the face of it.
• With the acceptance of this inherent life-is-strangeness, we are then open to the inexplicable and unexpected hand of Providence -- the deus ex machina occasionally dropping into the disasters on our little stages to set things right or, at least, to offer some explanation.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, you say. Our humble Contributor is, once again, too anxious to find fullness in emptiness, everything in nothing -- in this case, by reading way, way into what is, at best, a quirky, marginally entertaining, indie flick.

Well... perhaps. I would simply note that the closing scene of the film will only add to the deepening and mysterious significance of tetherball to the history of the world and the progress of the soul. (Despite the pleas, rejoinders, and threats received, more on this, anon.)

You Go, Miss Pounsford!

Looking for some interesting alternative TV viewing in this age of vacant Hollywood twaddle and reality shows that reveal just how low society can go? Then go back in time to TV's roots in 1928! In the lab of Scottish television pioneer John Logie Baird, vivacious Miss Pounsford turns her elegant head this way and that (rather endlessly, thanks to modern-day technology) as one of the first persons to have her image televised. We're only sorry, we could not see her having a smoke! In any case, Miss Pounsford's efforts in the cause of science are quite an improvement over Stookie Bill.

Originally posted by Blue Clinkers.