With that recent study of the magpie recognizing itself in the mirror and thus joining the select group of humans, some apes, bottlenose dolphins and Asian elephants, and another on whether apparently grieving animals really perceive death (the latter concern voicing the opinion that quite a few humans seemed to have trouble with that particular concept as well), the human/non-human intelligence gap seems to be blurring.
One thing that seems true over the decades is that humans, or should I say certain academics, are so obsessed with delineating all the things they can do and animals cannot, that when these supposed specialties are being broached by certain species, the investigators tend to then develop new barriers to joining the smart club. Though I am wary of anthropomorphizing, and do feel from time to time that my dog is so utterly alien that its a wonder than we share space, I also believe that same dog to take pleasure in existence, to make decisions, to have an aesthetic sense. Its so much easier than coming up with reasons as to why its brain would preclude those possibilities.
But what I really want to say here is that everytime someone waxes on about how amazing humans are, they tend to hold up the Einsteins as examples when the Einsteins are not what you call typical. Whenever I read someone writing about an animal failing some intelligence test I can only think that quite a few people might have done the same.
I’m not saying we’re not smarter as a species. But we seem to be a little too obsessed with not only being at the top of the food chain but also being tops in gray matter. And I am pretty pleased magpies came to the dance. As annoying as their chatter is, I love those birds. They are the definition of street smart.
Worth repeating this video which I saw just now on Scanners; those voices you hear on the movie trailers. The article at Scanners is about the passing of one of those, Don La Fontaine.
Just about every day we walked by this magnificent building, the Barcelona Cathedral, which as you can see, was being refurbished. In the square facing it, were always throngs, and often events of one kind or another. One time we came upon groups of people doing the Catalan dance which was not unlike that Greek dance which waiters do in Greek restaurants but sort of a slow motion or shall we say a challenged version of it. Not really much of a spectator sport really.
On this particular drizzly day, we entered the square only too see these multitudes of red balloons.
A gay pride gathering was just getting under way…booths, and people milling about. The red balloons were utterly magical against the sky.
I’m not much for the armchair sports but I am a true Olympics junkie. Day and night until they are over. But the opening ceremonies have never been a highlight for me until now.
The Beijing production near struck me dumb.
What I found so remarkable was that there was such a different aesthetic than I had seen before. This production could only have taken place in such a culture. The hundreds of drummers in unison were moving in a way that a single performer could not have been. That complemented by the precision fireworks were something I felt could only have taken place in a culture that treasured mass movement and a communitarian ideal. It was something that just would not work in the west. We are much too obsessed with the singular talent, the one rising above the mass, the god.
For those who missed it and are interested, here are a few links though they may not last forever.
I saw only a few minutes of the closing ceremonies and what I saw was part of the British look to the next games, and what I saw was so sad, so high school in comparison, embarrassing really,Jimmy Page doing Whole Lotta Love with a singer belting it out and all a little blurry.
What London has to do, because they will never match the majesty of Beijing is go the whole other direction and do a futuristic industrial/punky Olympics. Get Banksy as the chief talent and go gritty. Tattoo the athletes. Go street.
On my note about Vicky Christina Barcelona, I mentioned how it had reminded me of a film I had not seen in years but fondly remembered, Jules and Jim. It turns out my girlfriend, despite having taken film studies had somehow missed this one over the years. A good excuse then to find a copy and become reacquainted with a film which I remembered as whimsical yet moving.
Though she found it less tedious than I, I now saw a film which though it had small moments of brilliance (Truffaut had these great little stop motion bits that somehow just encapsulated moments, literally), was an almost unbearably ludicrous tale of absurdly limited characters (possibly Oskar Werner manages to attain a little dignity near the end). Jeanne Moreau plays an absurdly self possessed woman who is the lamp to the fireflies of the two men who are really not men at all but children.
I still enjoyed the literary quality of the film, having always had some affection for a good voiceover narration. But the character dynamics made no sense to me anymore. All I can say is that I first encountered this film as a teenager, my knowledge of gender relations and my own place in them still unsettled, and the men living to this mercurial woman’s whim seemed somehow desperately romantic to me. Now it seems insane and foolish.
Francois Truffaut had never been one of my favourites; I never found his films to be profound in any way but this I had thought was an exception. Of his compatriots in the French new Wave, I now find Claude Chabrol to be the standout, someone I had previously ignored. See previous notes on his La Ceremonie and Comedy of Power.)
Jean-Luc Godard seemed for the most part too involved in experimentation to ever be able to tell a story, and the others as well still had difficulties moving from being critics to being filmmakers. Chabrol was one of the most genre bound and least radical, and he has emerged as the authentic artist.
Its always a little scary going back to pleasures of earlier times. How many will stand the test of time? Though I feel a little bereaved with examples like Jules and Jim, it is more than made up for by those films or books or cds, that only seem to get better.
Afternote (a day later):
what comes on to the television but Y Tu Mama Tambien. Voice over, two guys one girl and the whole package just leaves Jules and Jim in the dust. The older film just seems lifeless in comparison. Viva la Mexico!!
Woody Allen’s Vicky Christina Barcelona is a very good film. It reminded me a little of Manhattan and even more of Jules and Jim. The latter because of the voice over throughout; the telling of a story of three people, within a European sensibility, and the former because it also was about the conflict between the heart and the head.
Two good friends, Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Christina (Scarlett Johansson), are in Barcelona for the summer. Whereas Christina is a self described free spirit, Vicky is more of a life planner and is engaged to be married (known as the sensible one). There they run up against the romantic painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) and eventually his tempestuous ex-wife Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz).
Both of the friends end up involved with the painter, and both find their world’s in some disarray. Like the people in Manhattan, these people find themselves confronting their ideas of who they thought they were and the place of passion in their lives.
I’ll leave the rest for you to see for yourselves because this is a film that should be seen. It is a triumphant return of the erratic genius of Allen; the writing ranks with his best, and every actor in it perfect. It is his perfect European film and though on the surface it plays like a romantic holiday comedy it is a little melancholy at its core.
Rebecca Hall is a true discovery and Bardem is acting miles above his sombre take in No Country for Old Men. Much more than that, this deserves recognition. Johansson too is wonderful and Cruz note perfect. And while many films shot in interesting places only hint at them, this incredible city is no small part of this film.
After the cheap thrills of the Dark Knight, this brought back to me what movies were really about. It is deceptively light but does what those even accomplished superhero movies don’t - make you actually think about your own life. Its a feel good and a feel deep movie.
Slight conflict of interest here in the sense that I may have enjoyed the film a little more than I might have was I not already enthralled with Barcelona and did I not have a good friend who seemed to me very like Vicky.
And in other media, and perhaps to be expanded later:
Just saw Memories of Murder - a phenomenal Korean murder mystery, beautifully shot with uncharacteristically subtle performances (the best Korean movie I have seen I think); and just read Karin Fossum’s Broken - continues her unbroken string of great books, this time slightly postmodern.
Great but short holiday away and rather than bore you with the good times I’ll entertain you with the stranger stuff.
1. Big sale at the Lululemon.
I don’t know if this says anything about the town but when Lululemon decided to have a warehouse inventory sale, just before the place opened, and bear in mind that Kelowna is not a large town, there was a line up that stretched for more than five blocks.
I can’t think of anything I would do that for. Much less a piece of cloth.
2. Mission Hill Wine Tour
One of those places that looks kind of interesting when you first see it and then as you get closer, and especially if you’ve been around the real stuff in the old countries, it just seems a little sad. Hot day and it was nice to get down into the wine cellars. But here’s the thing. You watch a film about how much the owner is devoted to making world class wines and how they won Canadian Winery of the Year for their Chardonnay in 93 or so.
If you were playing with the big boys you think you might not mention an award that really needed to happen again to mean anything, and chardonnay?? So you put out your 18 dollars and what do you get? A little bit of interesting information but the tasting consisted of low end wine that you could get in any restaurant, and the four wines in total came to less than half a glass. And did I mention the wine was not very good or even interesting?
On the walk back, all we could think about was having a good glass of something to wash out the disappointment.
I think they should turn their desire to be world class to the tour and give people a taste of some good wine, that is if they make any. Though I have never liked Mission Hill I thought on a tour I might be exposed to something new, something better, something unusual. But no; just the house stuff. If I ran the place, the tour would be free and the wine would be medium to high end. Get people interested in actually buying your wine. Showcase your skill and versatility. The tour should be marketing rather than a money grab. But I guess when you sink your money into faux classical buildings rather than taste, and self aggrandizing films rather than the grape, that’s what you get.
Another great Aussie writer. An unbeatable first novel. Another dysfunctional family saga but one that excels at what those other strong Australians excel at: great yarns, unique characters, precise but meandering and unpredictable plots, and gobs of humour throughout. Yes, I think that Steve Toltz joins that company of David Ireland, Peter Carey, and Murray Bail.
An excerpt:
A crowd had gathered around to watch. They chanted in their best Lord of the Flies manner. I searched the faces for allies. No luck. They all wanted to see me go down screaming. I didn’t take it personally. It was just my turn, that’s all. I tell you, it’s indescribable the joy children get from watching a fight. It’s a blinding Christmas orgasm for a child. And this is human nature undiluted by age and experience! This is mankind fresh out of the box! Whoever says it’s life that makes monsters out of people should check out the raw nature of children, a lot of pups who haven’t yet had their does of failure, regret, disappointment, and betrayal but still behave like savage dogs. I have nothing against children, I just wouldn’t trust one not to giggle if I accidentally stepped on a land mine.
or
“Terry has made it easy for me, far easier than most of my patients, not necessarily with his own self-awareness, which, to be honest, is nothing special, but with his candor and total willingness to answer without pause or detour any question I put to him. Actually, he may be the most straightforward patient I’ve ever had in my life. I would like to say at this point, you have done a tremendous job in raising a truly honest and open person.”
“So, he’s not insane?” my father asked.
“Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He’s crazy as a coconut. But open!”
We’re not violent people,” my father said. “This whole thing is a mystery to us.”
“No man’s life is a mystery. Believe me, there is order and structure in the most ostensibly chaotic skull. There seem to be tow major events in Terry’s life that have shaped him more than any others. The first I would not have believed had I not unwavering faith in his honesty.” The doctor leaned forward and said, almost in a whisper, “Did he really spend the first four years of his life sharing a bedroom with a comatose boy?”
My parents looked at each other with a start.
“Was that wrong?” my mother asked.
“We didn’t have any room,” my father said, annoyed. “Where were we supposed to put Martin? In the shed?”
Taking off for a week to Kelowna. There is a good chance of no posting for the week or so but we’ll see. Not sure of the facilities and I am not a laptop guy.
Little anecdote: for those who worry about the musical tastes of the young, my daughter who is 13 and listens to a lot of music typical of her cohort (I Kissed a Girl, etc..) still gets into some of my stuff. We agree on the the Beatles and Frank Black but the latest little bit is odd. She refuses my offers of teaching her piano except for the odd tune, so without any background or scales or such, she likes to learn songs. Though she kind of avoided the piano for a while, when she wants to learn a tune, she is monomaniacal until she has it down. The first one was Pachelbal’s Canon…not so hard. Then she learned a popular thing I forget the title of but then she was doodling and found a sequence that she thought was familiar but did not know where it was from. I told her it was a Phillip Glass tune from his piano solos. And off she went, and now she is working on her second Glass, and here is what really kills me….her friend now has it on her ipod. Phillip Glass solo piano music is going through the Miley Cyrus crowd.
There is hope.
And then she was singing along toTV on the Radio. Wow!
I am the happy dad, and happy also because the fellows are coming to town in September.
Just a few metres away from the Boqueria is this cafe. Cafe Ra has a couple of tables inside a small room and then a large outside area as well as tables inside a long red-lit hallway that is actually a public thoroughfare. The food is very good. Though the cuisine was all over the map, many of the dishes were Catalan or with a Catalan twist. And the prices are good (as we found, the prices varied from day to day). The house wine was superb and so were the lovely and punky young tattooed waitresses.
