| | wednesday, june 03, 2009 | | | College football and my beloved Crimson Tide are still a good three months away but I’m already getting ready. The season preview for Alabama Football, Yea Alabama is now available for pre-order through Maple Street Press. It will ship on July 6.
Why would you care? Because not only is it 128 pages of top-notch Alabama football coverage it boasts an article I penned, “A Bama Fan Abroad” describing the trials of a college football fanatic forced to reside beyond the borders of the USA.
Yea Alabama is produced by the same group that produces the website Roll ‘Bama Roll which I contribute to as well. So check them out and, as always, Roll Tide! 
| | | more: Alabama Crimson Tide | Yea Alabama | | | | | | monday, may 25, 2009 | | |  ilm, due to its nature as a primarily visual medium, is often a pursuit of the proper objects of our obsessions. More often than not this ends up with a product that spends its energies putting a premium on pulchritude and lacks any suitable involvement of desire. Few directors understood this as early and as well as silent film director Georg Wilhelm Pabst.
It's difficult to know if the director understood what he was getting when he espied the young, and undeniably lovely, Louise Brooks and selected her as his lead in Pandora's Box (Die Büchse der Pandora) - the retelling of Frank Wedekind's "Lulu" plays. Brooks, it turned out, was much much more than just another pretty face.
Her attractiveness - both in terms of physical appearance and sexual magnetism - didn't simply provide a centerpiece for a particular film; it scratched the deeper levels of the medium's potential. Critic Andrew Sarris felt her beauty was evidence of cinema's ability to touch on the universal aspects of the human condition.
"The preeminence of Miss Brooks as the beauty of the twenties indicates the classic nature of the cinema, and its built-in machinery for an appeal to the verdict of history," he wrote.
As a film, Pandora's Box stands in pretty good stead itself. It's a classic of German Expressionism and Pabst brought the full box of tricks to the film Box - exaggerated shadows, angular sets and unsettling camera angles. Yet this isn't as experimental an effort as Pabst's later - and superior - effort, The ThreePenny Opera, but it's also stylistically smoother as a result.
The relatively controlled touch on Pabst part in Pandora's Box makes the influence of the work would have on the film noir that much more obvious. The exaggerated visual style gives the film an allegorical feel that can be interpreted as a universal statement about sexuality or as a historical commentary about a very specific span of German history - the brief "golden period" of the Weimar Republic between the wars.
The devastation of the WWI had left the Germany in ruins but by the mid-1920s the economic policies of the Dawes Plan produced a period of largess in the country and even outright decadence in Berlin. Yet the unsettling reverberations of the Treaty of Versailles and the undergoing social turmoil were evident in the artistic explosion that occurred.
By the time Pabst made Pandora's Box, the Great Depression had already taken hold in Europe and the influx of economic support from the United States had ceased. The unsettling underpinnings of the society were already beginning to show and the forces that would shape the terrible era to come were beginning to stir to life. Widekind's plays, depicting "riven by the demands of lust and greed" were the perfect vehicle to capture the zeitgeist and Pabst clearly knew it.
It is, perhaps, possible to look at the story as an allegory of German institutions destroying themselves chasing after an American strumpet who eventually allows herself to be destroyed by a murdering Brit anyway. Yet Pabst seemed less interested in the social implications of the tale as he was with plumbing the human condition - the female libido in particular. And no actress was more perfect for that particular task than Louise Brooks.
Brooks' legacy as the preeminent beauty of the silent era is usually eclipsed by Greta Garbo who had considerably more commercial success than her American counterpart. But comparing them directly somewhat does a disservice to both. Roland Barthes insisted that Garbo's visage was that of the divine; a Platonic idea of the female form. J. Hoberman countered that Brooks' countenance embodied the "universal object of desire."
For the French film historian, Henri Langlois, it was no contest: "There is no Garbo, there is no Dietrich, there is only Louise Brooks."
Testimonies to Brooks appeal (like this one) invariably itemize her distinctive look; the trademark bob haircut, the swanlike neck, the dark expressive eyes. Yet, as daunting as her attractiveness may have been, the unexpected radiance of her smile had the power to shatter cynicism about her and cement her already formidable charisma.
All of which are undeniably delightful to behold and indivisible from Brook's daunting allure but fall woefully short of explaining the mesmerizing effect of her presence on the screen. The famed German film critic Lotte Eisner said that she was the rarest of actresses, needed no directing "but could move across the screen causing the work of art to be born by her mere presence."
Pandora's Box makes a convincing argument but Pabst stacked the deck in her favor, providing her with a role that closely matched her natural temperament. Although only in her early 20's when the film was made, Brooks had an natural physical grace from her years as a vaudeville dancer and a voracious sexual appetite that lifestyle had fostered. The parallels to Frank Wedekind's Lulu were obvious.
Lulu was featured in the plays Erdgeist (Earth Spirit) and Die Büchse der Pandora (Pandora's Box) that recount the young dancer's rise through Berlin society and subsequent downfall. Wedekind described her as "the personification of primitive sexuality, who inspires evil unaware." Not only does her uncontained sexuality brings destruction to the men who try to possess her; it leads her into the murderous arms of a sex maniac (her deepest desire in Brooks' assessment of the character).
In Pabst's film, Lulu is completely defined by her sexual nature but at the same time she is almost completely naive of how her desirability warps the mores of those about her. Which makes sense. A purely hedonistic creature such as Lulu would be invariably focused on her own individual desires. In fact she's almost completely passive beyond them. (And despite her similarity to the character, Brooks herself had none of this same naivete).
It's a trait made clear by Lulus complete inability to pass in front of a mirror without stopping to admire herself. Pabst's affection for mirrors as a visual device in his films was recurrent and he supplied the character with ample opportunities to preen in such a manner. Even at the very end of the film, when she is suffering the afflictions of poverty, Lulu finds a reflective surface to behold herself in.
Brooks herself, in an article she penned for Sight & Sound magazine in 1965, declared Lulu a "a tragic creature with no sense of sin."
It's an assessment of the character that parallels the character of Pandora in mythology. According to Hesiod's Works and Days, Pandora was created as a punishment for mankind. Blessed by many gifts but she is also entrusted with a jar, or box, and warned not to open it. Yet open it she does and the ills of the world, which had not been known until that time, are then loosed upon mankind. Only hope remains in the box she has been entrusted.
The story has similar parallels to the Garden of Eden and how the power of enlightenment also brings and understanding of the evils in the world as well. And both carry a not-so-subtle implication for the act of sex particularly since Pandora's Box can be easily interpreted as symbolic of the womb.
In the Garden of Eden, sex isn't an issue. Love seems to be completely platonic. But the dawning of awareness introduces an understanding of decency with Adam and Eve scrambling to cover their nakedness. Lust and its sordid implications have arrived, along with the pains of childbirth and the agonies of mortality.
Despite the import of Pandora's act (and, possibly, Eve's) and the punishments she incurs, blaming her is misguided, argued Willem Jacob Verdenius.
"There is no reason to think Pandora acted out of malice in opening the jar," he wrote."For she was exercising her curiosity, and when she saw what was let out of it, she quickly closed it."
Similarly, since Lulu acts according to her nature, its difficult to blame her for her actions. Yet, that isn't to say she isn't responsible for the destruction that follows in her wake. Lulu, Brooks noted, possesses an astonishing indifference to the suffering of others. Her abject hedonism implies a powerful selfishness that renders her nigh incapable of sympathy for those around her.
So while wickedness might be absent in Lulu, it's very clear she possesses an abundance of vanity. And that provides her an extreme competitiveness when it comes to her conquests. As winning as her smile is when aimed at men she wishes to entice, its radiance is matched by the victorious smirk she presents when she has claimed her quarry from another.
In fact the scene that precedes the smile in questions is possibly the most overt depiction of sexual intercourse committed to film during the silent era. Pabst clearly didn't feel the need to be subtle and the throes of anger and the thrashings of conflict are unmistakably comparable with the acts of passion. And the crescendo of intimacy isn't as much a culmination of the conflict as its coda.
The scene contrasts remarkably with a similar one at the end of the film when Lulu has been driven to prostitution by poverty and unwittingly chooses Jack the Ripper as her first John. But instead of a financial transaction, it turns into one almost spiritual in overtone as she is slain by her new lover.
(The clear analogy between the knife and an erection is somewhat overdone but serves to contrast the famous scene in Fritz Lang's M released two years later. In the latter the young victim hands the knife to the sex maniac -a chilling moment of horror. The suspense is there in Pandora's Box as well, but the willingness of the victim completely changes the tone of the scene.)
For Brooks herself, the ending is inevitable because Lulu "feels passion for the first time" because it has been her childhood dream to die by the hand of a sex maniac. That assessment seems... unfulfilling. Because Lulu's passion, for all its destructiveness, never seems particularly perverse.
What seems different is that Lulu chooses to give herself in this particular congress. Jack lacks money but she decides to continue anyway. Money, of course, never motivates Lulu. Her sexuality isn't a commodity that she uses for her advantage and, until her final lover, the motivations of the men she chooses to consort with has never seemed part of the excitement for her.
Every other person in Pandora's Box beholds Lulu and feels the need to possess her. It's not the having her that is so terribly destructive, it's the quest to contain her. Jack is different, is like Lulu in the sense they are both creatures of complete passion. The ecstasy is what they each want to possess - not the object that inflames it. | | | more: 52 films 26 books | Movies | | | | | | wednesday, may 20, 2009 | | | The $5.25 billion Third Lane Expansion of the Panama Canal has made quite a bit of progress in the past 21 months and it's getting ready to kick into an even higher gear.
To date, substantial work has been done on the Pacific Access Channel as well as dredge works on the Pacific entrance to the waterway. (In addition to ongoing dredge and construction efforts undertaken by the Panama Canal Authority).
In July, the Panama Canal Authority is slated to award the estimated $3.3 billion design/build contract for the construction of the new locks. Three consortia comprised of more than two dozen international firms are vying for the historic job.
To prepare for that vast undertaking, the canal authority has partnered with Denver, Col.-based CH2M Hill to create an innovative management team that will oversee the effort.
I traveled to Panama last month and spent almost two weeks researching an overview on the canal expansion that is available in this week's Engineering News-Record.
The package includes a look at the ACP/CH2M Hill partnership, Panama Widens Horizons, an overview of the dry excavation effort, Ongoing Canal-Related Work Is a Blast and a look at how construction firms are using the opportunity, Firms Seize Panama's Non-Canal Construction Opportunities. There is also an online-only Q&A with the head of CH2M Hill's expansion effort, Ten Minutes With Mike Kennedy.
This issue is one of ENR's "digital only" efforts and an online copy can be found here and a two-minute narrated slideshow of the expansion effort I made is available here. | | | more: Engineering News & Record | Panama | The Panama Canal | | | | | | monday, april 06, 2009 | | |  pon first viewing, Jean Cocteau's 1946 film Beauty and the Beast (La belle et la bete) is a delightful interpretation of Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont's version of the famous fairy tale. It appears to be an innocent diversion for any age but appearances are often deceiving.
Like it's source, Cocteau's story of Beauty (Josette Day) and her improbable lover (Jean Marais) proves to have a very deep and somewhat darker subtext when subjected to a more concentrated examination. Still, not only does it prove capable of the scrutiny, it loses none of its considerable charm as a result. Beauty and the Beast belongs to that rare category of cinema where watching the film encourages the viewer to explore the possibilities of their own imagination.
Like all great works of art, the testament of the filmmaker's craftsmanship of the filmmakers is the seeming effortlessness in telling the tale. And the delights of the film are a starting point for those who are open to perceiving its splendors. At some point, Beauty and the Beast takes willing suspension of belief and allows it to blossom into a fantastic adventure for the imagination.
At it's unvarnished core, all filmmaking is a subtle game of deceit and making something appear to be what it is not. There is a significant challenge in controlling the degrees of this deception to cast an effective spell upon a viewer. One of the reasons Beauty and the Beast succeeds so splendidly is that it creates a vivid contrast between the ordinary mundane world and the fantastic magical realm of the beast.
The opening sequence - which works wonderfully due partially to Michel Auclair's devouring of any and all available scenery as Beauty's rakish younger brother Ludovic - does much more than introduce the characters and their respective places in the story. It sets the ground rules of the "real" world in the film.
The tawdry reality of the farmhouse and the rough physicality necessary for life there is repeatedly - but not overtly - emphasized.
This is clear as the sisters Felicie (Mila Parely) and Adelaide (Nane Germon) prepare to go calling; they have to awaken the lazy servants, farm animals fill their unused sedan chairs and an unruly gate must be kicked open, causing one of the bearers to drop his burden, to the discomfiture of the passenger.
The viewer is presented with a world that works very much under the rules in their own. In as much as there is an assumption in the real world that the laws of physics will continue to apply, Beauty and the Beast begins by inviting a similar assumption that this will be the ground rules for the world of the film as well.
But things are about to change and when Beauty's father (Marcel Andre) enters the forest following his disastrous trip to the town, suddenly the rules of reality begin to warp and transform: gates open unassisted, lamps ignite spontaneously and statues peer curiously at goings on about them. As Cocteau begins reaching into his impressive bag of cinematic tricks to present a strange realm of magic and fantasy, the wonder of Belle's father provides an anchor for the audience.
His awestruck gaze at these fantastic occurrences is a cue for our own. No, we don't believe them, but we believe they are happening to him. This is reinforced in a very simple reaction by Belle's father when the ghostly hand pours his wine - he peers under the table to see if there is a person there. His reaction suggests there is not but, almost certainly, there was during the filming.
This conditioning prepares us for Beauty's entrance into this world which is as fantastic as the place itself - her father returned to the world as he was, she is being transformed.
It's a gloriously hallucinogenic sequence where time and motion bend and transform with seeming impunity. The visual power of the imagery overwhelms the viewer much as one would expect Beauty to feel faced with such a place of wonder.
Cocteau certainly intended the contrast between the two settings in Beauty and the Beast. In terms of design and cinematography the farmhouse portion was modeled on the works of Dutch painter the paintings of Jan Vermeer and the Beast's kingdom was based on the engravings of Gustave Dore.
The differences are even more apparent when there are elements of one world present in the other such as the fact gates open by themselves for the Beast's horse, Magnificent, no matter which world he is in. Yet there is a scene in the "mundane" setting that touches on the substantial illusion of the work as a whole. It's a passage that appears in Leprince de Beaumont's version of the fairy tale but Cocteau gives it an unexpected prominence in the film.
Beauty's sisters want to convince her to stay away from the beast longer than the week she had promised in the hope he will be wrathful and kill her. Incapable of feeling sorrow for their sister - and, most likely, anyone but themselves - they have to find way to project the illusion of sorrow.
They then use an onion to make themselves cry and then, with the appearance prepared, they put on an act for Beauty, pleading with her using an earnestness neither of them has ever felt for their sibling. Beauty, who believes her sisters are being sincere, is torn by grief and chooses to break her vow to Beast with terrible consequences.
While the satiation that prompted Beauty's emotional state was illusory, the feelings she experiences are very real. And, in much the same manner (but certainly not the same spirit) the filmmakers use their skills to manipulate the feelings of the viewer.
The film consists of actors and effects that seem to be something when viewed in the context of the work but, when filmed, were something else entirely. By inserting this scene Cocteau suggests there is an applicability of the story to the real world but without resorting to gross proselytization.
The groundwork for this scene and its apparent ontological ramifications is set in the opening sequence which is delightfully curious and even startling in its originality. An old man writes the film's credits in chalk on a black board as a man, and then a woman erases them. Who these people are and why they would be doing this is simply left unexplained. But it suggests a meta story beyond the talein the film itself.
This idea dovetails with Cocteau's surrealist sensibility and its emphasis on evoking the imagery of the unconscious. Although he disavowed the label, much of Cocteau's work fits well within the Surrealist school and Beauty and the Beast is certainly not an exception. The problem is there is a common perception of this in terms of art that can mislead grievously. While Dali's paintings and Brunel's films were certainly vivid examples of surrealism, they certainly didn't define it.
Cocteau fits well into the surrealist camp when one examines the tenets of the movement and its dedication to depicting the workings of the unconscious mind. The neglected associations, the omnipotence of dream and the disinterested play of thought, as the textbook definition put it.
And that meant an emphasis on the then-popular theory of Sigmund Freud. While the surrealists embraced the idiosyncratic aspects of his theories they had little use for his darkness of the mind - in part because much of that ground had been covered by Dada. And while much of Freud's work has fallen out of favor, the influence on aesthetic efforts like Beauty and the Beast certainly remains valid.
By the 1940 the theories of the Austrian psychiatrist had also been aimed at the Brothers Grimm. Because they are remarkably robust in imagery and symbolism, fairy tales were a natural subject for psychoanalytical interpretation.
The story, Beauty and the Beast, got its first serious analysis in Freudian terms by Jacues Barchilon more than a decade after Cocteau's film. But while the published work was after the general examination of such tales was certainly common as Cocteau undertook his work.
So when Cocteau undertook his film version of Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont's 1756 version of the tale it was a logical confluence of his artistic interests and the growing tendency to see such stories in psychoanalytical terms. Filled with symbols such as keys, roses and mirrors, the story is a treasure trove for cinematically explicating Freud's view that sexual desire is the primary motivational energy of human life.
Freud turned to mythology as a means to bolster his theory of psychosexual development so, in an interesting way; Cocteau's film is an interesting reverse-engineering of the approach. Freud suggested the myths showed there existed a need to repress certain sexual desires until proper awareness emerged.
The beast, in this line of thinking, is a representation of the gross sexual drive that is inherent to the "id." It would be tough to come up with a better cinematic depiction of Freud's "cauldron full of seething excitations" than Cocteau's beast prowling the halls of his castle inflamed with animalistic desire. The twisted dark and mysterious forest that surrounds his domain is this same mythical territory of the unconscious traversed by Dante and little red riding hood on the start of their respective adventures.
But the Beast - despite his base nature - struggles to contain his urges much as the instinct of the id is balanced by the critical and moralizing function of Freud's "super-ego." His refinement isn't simply a facade, it is a part of who he is and part of the reason he succeeds in taming his lust.
While the balance between these two was necessary they also need to be rectified with the organized realistic part of the psyche, the "ego." Partly this is the struggle of the beast to control his animal desire and realize his romantic devotion to Beauty. In another, it's Beauty coming to terms with the base aspect of her lover and accepting it as part of him as well.
The introduction of Avenant into the story helps create a cohesiveness of meaning in the story that is invaluable for the structure of the film. It also marginalizes the importance of Beauty's father in terms of her motivations. The story is full enough of psychological import that pushing the Electra overtones to one side was probably a prudent decision.
Beauty and Avenant are not seen until they are alone and together. There is a reflection and an arrow - two items weighted with meaning that will grow in importance as the film progresses. The sexual conflict between them is established as well with Avenant trying to force himself upon her and she resisting. Later, she confesses she was in love with him despite denying his advances.
It is unsurprising that the climax of the film occurs with Beauty and the Beast prone and entwined as lovers at the foot of the spring. The acceptance on the sexual level - and the likely consummation of their desire - permits the beast aspect of her lover to become subdued by the realistic aspect.
Still, it is interesting that Beauty admits she has loved the more beastly aspect and will have to "learn" to live with the more normal man he has become. It's a very interesting observation that touches on aspects of psychology and human sexuality much more subtle than the broad symbolism of the story itself.
Yet this interpretation raises some interesting questions concerning the conclusion of the film. Avenant is struck by the arrow of Diana - a Roman goddess whose toxophilite prowess is only rivaled by her vengeful chastity. It's an act that echoes back to the initial confrontation between Avenant and Beauty that led to him forcing himself upon her.
In terms of the narrative it could be read that as one curse ends, another begins. This presumes Prince Charming and Avenant - despite their similar appearance - are two distinct individuals. But on a slightly more allegorical plane - and one no less likely due to the fantastic nature of the film - it could be that they same individual and it is the beastly aspect of Avenant that is defeated (as well as Beauty's virginal aspect).
There is one interesting issue the presence of Avenant creates in the film is the question of homosexuality in all of this. The nature of Avenant's relationship with Ludovic is left somewhat vague but it is certainly a valid question given the fact the actor and the director were known to have had been in a relationship.
If the interpretation of Beast as a form of the raw sexual drive is valid - the object of desire is somewhat less important. It's as likely such an overpowering libido would be most driven to be sated rather than a proper object of desire. It's at this point interpretation of scene at Diana's pavilion and it's abundance of symbolism that can become quasi-comical if considered for overlong.
The seemingly effortless synthesis of charm and significance in Beauty in the Beast is very much apparent in the final sequence of the film when Beauty and Prince Charming leap into the air and fly away through billowing clouds.
On the one hand it is an enchanting visual image of the lovers being transported to their "happily ever after" - a superb conclusion to a well-told version of the tale. Within the context of dreams, flight can be representative of liberation and, for Freud; it was distinctive hallmark of sexual release. A fitting end to the psychoanalytical odyssey the story represents.
Take your pick, both are supremely enjoyable and you can always watch it again. | | | more: 52 films 26 books | Movies | | | | | | friday, march 27, 2009 | | | The dramatic implosion of oil prices in the past year has put a huge dent in Venezuela's budget which relies on the exports of the commodity for financing.
Last week Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez unveiled a new budget featuring a package of austerity measures and tax hikes that did little to put concerns to rest.
Officials with Odebrecht Venezuela say that they will slow down projects if obtaining funds from the government gets tight but will not stop work on any projects. These include the $990 million "third bridge" over the Orinoco River.
The bigger question will be payments to companies whose assets were seized in the past two years as part of Chavez's nationalization push. Cement producers Lafarge, Holcim and Cemex have yet to receive any payment for the loss of their plants and production facilities in Venezuela last year.
My story on the situation, Venezuela Oil-Driven Budget Woes Concern Construction Efforts, is in this week's edition of Engineering News-Record. | | | more: Engineering News & Record | Venezuela | | | | | | friday, march 27, 2009 | | | A year-long investigation into corruption involving Camargo Correa, one of the largest construction firms in South America, came to a head on Wednesday when Brazilian federal police raided the firm's Sao Paulo headquarters and arrested four directors.
The company is accused of various financial crimes as well as bribing public officials. According to the Brazilian federal prosecutor's office Camargo officials were laundering money through a system of fake companies and illegal currency traders.
In a statement released Thursday, Camargo Correa said they were "perplexed" by the accusations and insisted all of their business transactions were legal and proper.
My story on the situation, Brazilian Construction Giant Camargo Correa Hit With Corruption Charges is in this week's edition of Engineering News-Record. | | | more: Brazil | Engineering News & Record | | | | | | monday, march 23, 2009 | | |  alley Girl is a film that really had no right to be as good as it actually turned out to be. It emerged from the odious low-budget teen flick genre that was almost inescapable the early '80s.
Most of these films consisted of a threadbare plot, a surfeit of scatological humor and a minimum number of breasts to keep the audience interested. The vast majority were completely forgettable with, perhaps, a few dozen or so being memorable for a particular sequence or, perhaps, the presence of an actor far better than the material. But maybe a handful were very good and one or two absolutely superb.
And in 1982, director Martha Coolidge made one of the very best with Valley Girl. Although she had the sparse budget typically given to these efforts she was determined to make a movie that told a story. In doing so, she created a film that became a truer document of a particular place and time - Southern California in the early 1980s - than any number of cinematic efforts that followed in its footsteps.
Story wise, it's a pretty simple boy meets girl/boy loses girl drama between Julie (played by a radiant Deborah Foreman), an upper-middle-class girl from the valley, and Randy (Nicholas Cage), a working class, quasi-punk boy from West Hollywood.
What is clear from pretty much the start is that Coolidge obviously had an idea of the film she wanted to make and had spent considerable time looking back at older works to get a sense of pacing, tone and nuance. While perhaps it isn't necessarily art, Valley Girl is a fantastic example of film as craft - and that's often where the subtle glories of nuance start to seep in around the edges.
The film was clearly designed to cash in on the Val-speak phenomena that had entered the national consciousness via Frank Zappa's 1981 hit "Valley Girl." The sprechgesang approach of the song featured Zappa's then 14-year-old daughter, Moon Unit, speaking in the distinctive manner typical of upper-middle-class girls who inhabited California suburbs such as the San Fernando Valley (thus the name).
In retrospect it seems more of a weird mutation of surf lingo and the now pretty much forgotten preppy stereotype but it clearly had a pejorative insinuation from pretty much the get-go. The archetype was a ditzy, self-centered, materialist bimbo more interested in social status than personal development.
Instead of taking the easy option of making a film that mocked the phenomena (which is exactly what Zappa did) Coolidge cannily decided to play against type and chose to make Valley Girl about why teenage girls would participate in such seemingly ridiculous behavior. The answer she came up with was pretty simple actually - protection.
The girls of Valley High are pretty much adrift in their suburban universe despite the seeming idyllic setting it provides them. For all intents and purposes they only have each other to rely on.
Their parents, when not totally absent, are almost as emotionally undeveloped as themselves. Their teachers seem only slightly better by virtue of the fact they are actually present.
Their relationships with boys are possibly even worse. They are seen, at best, as objects for simple possession and, at worst, completely disposable. One of the most painful but brutally honest scenes of the film is at the party when Julie's now ex-boyfriend Tommy (Michael Bowen) tries to have sex with her best friend Loryn (the vastly underrated Elizabeth Daily).
The scene captures the terrible moment in a teenage girl's life when she longs to be physically close with someone and the crushing fear of the emotional vulnerability it entails. The disappointment she suffers when she realizes she has been taken advantage off is palpable and, as hard as it is to watch, its lack of sentimentality is actually refreshing.
(It's telling the only scene that comes close to matching it is the opening sequence in Fast Times at Ridgemont High - a teen-genre film of the era also directed by a woman, Amy Heckerling.)
One interesting thing about Valley Girl is how, despite it's clear lack of pretension, it's almost a neo-realist classic. There is a verisimilitude to the film that is partly due to the way Coolidge chose to film it but also because of the bare-bones necessity forced upon her due to the miniscule budget.
As a result it presents the characters completely in their environment - not in a staged formal setting that would interrupt the attention on them. So you find yourself watching them interact with each other rather than how they exist in the world around them. And the fact she chose a fantastically talent group of actors didn't hurt her chances any either.
Even the montages in Valley Girl - the most unreal technique Coolidge utilizes - add to the realism of the work, developing character and the films strong sense of place geographically. And the fantastic selection of music didn't hurt either.
The materialism of the stereotype also provides an interesting class conflict in Valley Girl between the hyper-consumer consciousness of the valley kids and the more working class denizens of the Hollywood scene. The later "brat pack" director John Hughes made a great deal of hay of these same distinctions in his film Pretty in Pink but it never really seems to resonate with the degree of authenticity Coolidge achieves in Valley Girl. (There is also a disturbing current of racism in several of Hughes's films that is entirely absent in Coolidge's work.)
That's partly because Coolidge understood the distinction was a fallacy to begin with. The valley kids define themselves through what they buy while the Hollywood kids do it by what they don't - but they still show their allegiances via what they wear. And it's important that, in Valley Girl, when Julie and Randy first see each other - first become interested in each other - it's at the beach when they are not in the usual garb of their tribes. It's also no accident the film starts inside a mall but ends outside it.
Neither knows it but they both are looking for something more than what their own corner of the world offers them. Because she's actually looking for something that goes deeper than just the surface impressions that make up the bulk of her world and he's really looking for something more hopeful than the dour cynicism begat by being too cool too much of the damn time.
At its core, Valley Girl is dealing with divisions - cultural, generational, geographical and even those of gender - and the importance of crossing them, of bridging them in a meaningful manner. Coolidge sets this up from the very start beginning the movie with a sweeping aerial shot of the famous Hollywood sign on Mount Lee above Griffith Park. The camera rises over the Hollywood Hills and then pans across the vast suburb of the San Fernando Valley on the other side.
(To make the point even clearer, the opening features a radio announcer at a Hollywood rock station but then, as the valley comes into view, it changes to a station on that side playing the very New Wave "Girl Like Me" by Bonnie Hayes and the Wild Combo).
The Hollywood Hills are the geographic barrier between the city of West Hollywood and the valley itself but they also represent the divide between the two social groups. Many of the key scenes in the film - Randy's decision to go back to the party, he and Julie's "first date" - occur on Mulholland Drive which runs roughly across the hilll's crest line - symbolically athwart the two places and groups the teenagers hail from.
The geographic divide is then emphasized brilliantly using color and clothing The initial scenes of Valley Girl on the San Fernando side are saturated in the famous plastic decor that came to be associated with the more disposable aspects of New Wave. It's an onslaught of pastels and popped up collars worn without a shred of irony. The walls of girl's bedroom are plastered with the teen heartthrobs of the era - Rick Springfield and David Lee Roth and... um, Devo.
The contrast is the gritty, urban aspect of West Hollywood where the norm is that of street fashions and thrift-store chic, the latter which was epitomized by the granny garb worn by Exene Cervenka - the lead singer for the legendary Los Angeles band X. In Valley Girl, the powdery pigments of the Valley contrast dramatically with the primary shades of the Hollywood set - sharp blacks and reds and a willingness to take a chance with a razor and colored mousse for the hair.
It's somewhat interesting that X was initially considered for the role of the band in the club but they turned it down out of a concern of alienating their fans in the Valley. As much hay as Valley Girlmakes of the contrasts between denizens on either side of Mulholland Drive, the fact is a huge number of the punks hailed from vast bedroom communities around Los Angeles. In fact, it is a long-held precept of punk rock that it took something has culturally vapid and empty as the vast suburbs of America to create it.
"Hardcore," wrote author Steven Blush. "Comes from the bleak suburbs of America. Parents moved their kids out of the cities to these horrible suburbs to save them from the 'reality' of the cities and what they ended up with was this new breed of monster."
But Valley Girl isn't interested in the nihilistic horror of hardcore which was only a small segment of the scene anyway and it certainly doesn't see the suburbs as monstrous. Los Angeles was actually a breeding ground for dynamic and powerful bands in the early 1980s that were only "punk" in the sense they were staunchly DIY and unswayed by the lure of selling out that they never figured was going to happen anyway.
There was a lot of great music that came out of the West Coast during those for which it wasn't obligatory to have a Mohawk to attend the concert. The movie's own Plimsouls, the Blasters, the Burning Sensations, hell, even the notoriously combative shows Black Flag put on weren't hardcore punk by definition.
One more reason Valley Girl succeeds is that there is a very conscious effort to avoid presenting the music in the film ironically. Coolidge instinctively seems to understand what is important is depicting what the music means to the characters than the music in and of itself. And that goes for every style of music.
"As a teenager we live our lives to the rhythms of the music we listen to," she says and she's 100 percent correct.
Because the point isn't having the music in the film, but having the film show the music in the lives of the characters. It's a detail that George Lucas understood perfectly a decade prior with American Graffiti even though he made that film a period piece.
And let's face it; it's not controversial to claim The Plimsouls were a great band but the fact is that a lot of the New Wave was really pretty good as well. There is a reason Modern English's "Melt With You" took off after Coolidge put it in the film - people realized it was a great song. And the fact it's now a staple of advertising aimed a folks my age is a sadder testament to the song's power.
Which touches on one of the difficulties people from that era have in rewatching a film like Valley Girl. It's damned tough to step away from a powerful nostalgia the film has the power to evoke and judge it objectively. For me it sort of sums up a weird sense of hopeful possibility without the concern the knives of cynicism would descend on you for feeling it.
Personally, I always felt there was an interesting sense of... well, optimism to much of the music that emerged in that period. Even the darkest bands penned songs that were downright uplifting for some bizarre reason. Which is odd, because there were a lot of serious concerns about the state of the world at the time.
The late 1970s was a time of turbulence and economic unease in the United States. In the wake of that, there really was a strange pervading optimism at the onset of the Reagan years - although how much of that had to do with the former actor taking up residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is an open question.
Yet even inside these safe suburban communities like depicted in Valley Girl there was also a nagging sense of anxiety about the state of the world and the very real danger of nuclear war that is almost unimaginable today. There was a reason a year later the TV movie The Day After airing which portrayed the effects of a full-on nuclear conflict became a massive hit.
Still, to a certain point, when you are 17-years-old there are just a handful of things in your world that really matter and mutually assured destruction dents that sense of priorities only intermittently.
More often it's eclipsed by that terribly beautiful sense of possibility and optimism wrapped up in a litany of horrible embarrassments that are the hallmark of one's teen years.Valley Girl, somehow, captures all of that and instead of trying it hammer the point home, has the grace to understand acknowledging it is sufficient and let it be. | | | more: 52 films 26 books | Movies | | | | | | thursday, march 19, 2009 | | | A plan to build an elevator to ferry tourists up to the famous 'lost' city of the Incas, Machu Picchu, has been proposed by the regional government in Peru.
The regional tourism board for the Department of Cusco says the elevator will ascend 1,500 feet from the level of the Urubamba River to the ridge where the ancient citadel is located. (Tourists presently use a bus service that winds it's way up a dirt road on the side of the mountain.)
If built, the number of tourists could increase fourfold over the current daily maximum of approximately 2,500. That concerns many who feel the site is already in danger due to the influx of visitors.
My story on the project, Peru Proposes Elevator to Increase Access to Machu Picchu Site, is on ENR.com. | | | more: Archeology | Engineering News & Record | Peru | | | | |
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