Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness.
“This should be the responsibility of photographers today: to free women, and finally everyone, from the terror of youth and perfection.” ~Peter Lindbergh
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The story goes that Bruce Springsteen recorded his darkest album Nebraska (1982) in his bedroom, most of it in one day. There are absolutely no adornments, no frills, just his voice and his guitar, sometimes a short bit from his harmonica, not much more. He intended those recordings as demo versions, but they just wouldn’t fly when he played them together with his E-Street Band. So the demo version it was for the album for almost all of the songs. Because the Boss is strumming away on his guitar, the effect is one of being there listening, as if it was a live album in a more unusual sense of the word. The same is true for the Cowboy Junkies’ debut album The Trinity Sessions (1988), which was recorded live in Toronto’s Church of the Holy Trinity, and the band gathered around the only microphone. Like with Springsteen’s album, there is an immediateness that would be hard to replicate in any studio.
Continue readingWelcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness.
Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness!
Synchronization is a tricky little bugger, isn’t it? First off, there is always something that gets lost in translation; many fine points of the original language always go out the window. Take any film in an unknown language: do you opt for the subtitles, or do you press the button that puts foreign words in the mouths of the cast? I mostly go for subtitles, because even if I don’t understand Toshiro Mifune’s precise words, I want to hear his drawls, his mutterings and his shouts. I want to be there when he finally tips over the edge and goes berserk, even if that does not involve much dialogue – either grunts and shouts, or total silence. Him unsheathing his sword is just not enough.
Continue readingWelcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness.
~ There are answers to everything. There were answers everywhere you looked…
In Act 2, Scene 2 of Hamlet, two courtiers appear in order to gain the Prince’s confidence and to spy on him. Our “much changed” Prince appears to have gone bonkers, and the two old friends are to find out what afflicts him. The King can barely tell them apart and the Queen steps in to correct him.
Continue readingWikipedia describes Man with a Movie Camera, directed by Dziga Vertov, filmed by his brother Mikhail Kaufman and edited by Vertov’s wife Yelizaveta Svilova, as an “experimental 1929 Soviet silent documentary film”. What kind of images does this conjure in your mind? My knowledge of Soviet art isn’t particularly broad, but it’s biased by what I’ve seen of Soviet propaganda: heroic, productive workers, didactic visuals showing us what the ideal communist world ought to look like. A utopia that, with the benefit of hindsight, often looks phoney, frightening or both.
Whatever I might have expected of Man with a Movie Camera, it’s very different from what the film actually is: an audacious, joyful approach to an art form that, even 36 years after its birth, was still in its infancy in many ways.
Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness.
Just like Mege confessed in last week’s post, I also stopped watching Game of Thrones after few seasons, not because I hadn’t initially found it riveting and exciting, but because the rampant sex, violence and surprise deaths had taken away pretty much all the characters I cared for by just the end of season 3 (especially in the infamous ‘Red Wedding’ episodes). My nerve-rattling and character-investing had largely been in vain, and so my friends and I called it quits.
Continue readingWelcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness!
There is something intensely likeable about movie quizzes. If you know the answer, you feel really quite smug: Yes, I’ve seen the movie, and I know a whole lot about that film – it was even produced by someone you wouldn’t expect. You get that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach because you’ve scored a point, while a lot of the others didn’t, you can tell from their puzzled faces, and you are inching just a tiny bit closer to the top spot. And on the other hand, if you don’t know the answer, you go into instant detective mode: I should know the answer, now how can I deduce that from the other movie that very same director has made just before this one? Hmmm… You rack your brain about a name, and then, with your last ounce of with and memory, you may just come up with the right answer. Most of the time, anyway.
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Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness
Continue readingAnd once again, the year just keels over and ends. At least that’s how it feels: ever since history decided that we can’t complete a single orbit around the sun without some major upheaval or crisis, it’s continued in that vein. Or has it always been that way, and I’ve just been too Euro- or phallo- or whatevercentric to notice that that’s just what history is: one kind of crisis after another?
A Damn Fine Cup of Culture 