"The Sievers Project" (Centre for Contemporary Photography)

Six early career artists working mostly in photography in response to the photos of Wolfgang Sievers; Sievers' own pieces, luminous black and white studies of people and machines, stood out from the rest.

(w/ Jade)

Guardians of the Galaxy

Very enjoyable! Funny and fast moving.

(w/ David, Daniel L, Rob, Laura and some friends of David's)

"Italian Masterpieces" (NGV)

"from Spain's royal court, Museo del Prado"

Raced through this in about 45 minutes last weekend, dazed and light-headed. 16th to 18th century, and not art that I know much about, have seen a lot of, or particularly respond to (all of those being related to each other, obviously). Still, I quite enjoyed the exhibition, for the use of colour - including in evoking light - if nothing else, as well as adding something to my store of art knowledge, both historical and more generally in terms of visual education.

Election

I've seen most of this in bits and pieces before, but never all the way through. Not a kind film, but a good one.

Reservoir Dogs

Rewatched while eating dinner. The shock of the new that it must have carried back in '92 is long gone, but there's still something to it. Also, Steve Buscemi never fails to reward.

Thomas Pynchon - The Crying of Lot 49

Some books loom very large, and The Crying of Lot 49 is one of them. On and off for the last few months, I've been feeling that it was about time for a re-read (looks like the last time was a full decade ago) - another in a long line of returns since that first discovery about halfway through uni - and then when Trang likened my current life situation to that of Oedipa Maas, I felt like I hardly had any further choice in the matter.

Over time, I've come to think of Lot 49 as the key that can unlock all of Pynchon's other novels - it's by far his most concise, as well as being the one in which his major themes and animating concerns are most explicit and clearly visible - and the combination of that personal frame with my familiarity with the novel caused me to be surprised by its difficulty, particularly through the first couple of chapters as I re-learned how to read its idiomatic prose. But it was a pleasurable difficulty, as it always has been with Pynchon and I - the complexities of syntax and meaning matched by the rewards of working through their circuitous layers.

And once I'd found my stride again, that old familiar tumble down the rabbit hole was well and truly on, and I was reminded of just how much it can seem to be the key not only to Pynchon's considerable canon, nor even only to the very large and rich stream of literature flowing from those sources, but indeed to the world at large, legible - or otherwise - in just the same way as Pierce's will and its ultimate inheritance. And of how it - The Crying of Lot 49 - really is one of the very few (countable on the fingers of one hand) books that to me seem like they actually capture in a meaningful sense an essential truth about the underlying nature of the world itself. It really is that profound, and that great.

[Edit 3/9: I meant to mention - somehow I never specifically registered before this reading that it starts with a letter (although of course I knew it in a plot sense), doubly meaningful in terms of things purloined and W.A.S.T.E.]

The Immigrant (MIFF)

Darius Khondji on cinematography so of course it looks amazing; I'm sure its palette is actually much wider than this, but the impression I've retained of its version of early 1920s New York is all browny-russet shadows, tinged with gold - though not romanticised, except to the extent that it seeks, I think, to render that time and place with a precise specificity. Marion Cotillard's good (she always is) as the titular Polish immigrant, and Joaquin Phoenix and Jeremy Renner are also effective though maybe a touch more showily; the film commits to dramatic truth through the straight road of character and actions and so there's the ever present risk of boring-ness, a prospect that it narrowly avoids but avoids nonetheless.

(w/ Daniel L and David)

Inception

What a brilliant piece of cinema this is - its vision powerful, its execution unerring, from the (at times literally) skyscraping heights of realised imagination to the uncanny, unnerving, unfinished shadows lurking just beneath consciousness for us all (personified in Mal) and all at such a vividly kinetic whirl. I just finished re-reading The Crying of Lot 49 (more on that later) - 'shall I project a world?' indeed.

(first time, second time)

Brandon Stanton - Humans of New York

Arrived in the post a little while back - from Wei (I think). I was sceptical but it's actually v pleasing. Oh New York. (web)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Coolly elegant. Fits my image of a spy movie to a tee.

(last time)

The Unity of All Things

Classic MIFF experience really. The most challenging film I've seen in a while, taking in particle physics, much jargon, weirdly dubbed dialogue messing with the affect, a huge jaguar, slippage in time, adolescent homosexual twincest plus plenty of other strange psychosexual dynamics and more in a whole that felt like a more avant-garde, queerer, grainier and more difficult to understand Herzog film.

(w/ Trang and Meribah)

Snowpiercer

Very good - stylish, exciting, mordant, imaginative (including in how it uses its high concept of the endless train), high stakes (it's willing to kill off a significant number of its main cast at intervals throughout the story) and, at times, gruelling ... the fight scenes, and particularly the one with the axes, reminded me of the hammer fight in Oldboy in their viscerality - the director of which, incidentally, Park Chan-wook, produces here. It can't be a coincidence that William Hurt's character is named 'Gilliam', as the influence is writ large, including in the combination of the spectacular and the grotesque. (Speaking of grotesque, Tilda Swinton is memorable, as is Alison Pill's cameo.)

(w/ Rob and Laura - a cheeky Monday night outing)

Parks and Recreation season 5

Parks and Rec keeps on truckin', still good. (As an aside, about two thirds of the way through the season, I realised who Rashida Jones reminds me of - LP.) But in another news, as part of the current round of self-improvement, I was wondering whether tv is overall a force for good or bad in my life at the moment, and figured that switching off my tv and unplugging at the main might be no bad things - which I duly did after finishing this dvd set, and haven't yet turned it back on since.

(seasons 1-3, 4)

Sleater-Kinney - All Hands on the Bad One

By any measure - whether the record's release date (2000) or the time when I was really into this kind of music (probably about the same) - I'm more than a decade late on this one, though I remember liking the title track at the time; I bought it after hearing it playing in Goldmine Records on Nicholson St a few weeks back. Anyhow, it's pretty good, and it's not the kind of thing that I get super into nowadays.

Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter (MIFF)

Beautifully shot and tonally precise, even as it - deliberately, I think - evades any single frame through which to easily view and understand it. Kumiko, 29 years old in Tokyo and going nowhere, becomes convinced that the suitcase buried by Steve Buscemi in Fargo really exists and sets off to Minnesota in the dead of winter in search of it; the film's far less whimsical than that description makes it sound, though it balances an ambiguous dreaminess with what I thought was a pretty compelling depiction of mental illness (also, it feels impressively like a Coen brothers film in its own right). Played - well - by Rinko Kikuchi, aka the Japanese actress who shows up everywhere - see also Babel, The Brothers Bloom, Norwegian Wood (a pretty good trio).

(w/ Trang and Meribah)

Louise Doughty - Apple Tree Yard

A holiday read recommendation and it turned out to be fit for purpose, even though I ended up finishing it back home. It opens in a court room and sets up as a mystery/thriller while also exploring the psychological and social elements leading to the central crime, as doled out piece by piece by the narrator, 52 year old geneticist Yvonne Carmichael. I read it quickly and enjoyed it - but I don't think I'm looking for the things in literature that this genre offers, as well put together as Apple Tree Yard struck me as being - the plot unfolding in a way that played fair yet revealed a series of surprises as it went, the underlying elements of motivation and character fitting together plausibly, but ultimately the whole proving a good diversion and nothing more.

Balli Kaur Jaswal - Inheritance

Funny how things come in waves; like the last book I read, We Were Liars, Inheritance is haunted by mental illness and more literal ghosts - and just a couple of days ago, there was “The Effect”, too, on mental disorders - although it locates them in a very different setting, namely Singapore, 1970 to 1990, through the eyes of a Punjabi family undergoing traumatic change seemingly paralleling that of the young nation state itself.

Place comes to life; to a lesser extent time; there's a certain amount of telling rather than showing. The characters are cleanly drawn and easy to picture, including as they're coloured in further as time and events progress (Amrit and Harbeer in particular). And there's some nice writing and storytelling, even if both tend somewhat towards the simple and straightforward; all up, a nice novel.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

Mainly I just wanted to switch off my brain for a while; mission accomplished. The film's confidence in the quality of its ape effects, evident in its liberal use of close-ups, is merited; the other effects are fine too.

E Lockhart - We Were Liars

Some books you can tell right from the start are going to be good, and We Were Liars is one of them. The first pages and chapters are full of promise, sparkling with short, lively sentences quickly establishing setting and character - particularly that of narrator Cadence (Cady) Sinclair Eastman, as she introduces the Sinclair family, establishing and signalling subversion of expectations more or less at once. How’s this for a first chapter (in its entirety):

   Welcome to the beautiful Sinclair family.

   No one is a criminal.

   No one is an addict.

   No one is a failure.

   The Sinclairs are athletic, tall, and handsome. We are old-money Democrats. Our smiles are wide, our chins square, and our tennis serves aggressive.

   It doesn’t matter if divorce shreds the muscles of our hearts so that they will hardly beat without a struggle. It doesn’t matter if trust-fund money is running out; if credit card bills go unpaid on the kitchen counter. It doesn’t matter if there’s a cluster of pill bottles on the bedside table.

   It doesn’t matter if one of us is desperately, desperately in love.

   So much in love that equally desperate measures must be taken.

   We are Sinclairs.

   No one is needy.

   No one is wrong.

   We live, at least in the summertime, on a private island off the coast of Massachusetts.

   Perhaps that is all you need to know.

The Liars - Cady, Johnny (he is bounce, effort, and snark), Mirren (she is sugar, curiosity, and rain) and Gat (contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee), whose arrival in summer eight precipitates their formation in the first place (the year when they were all eight; all are nearly the same age, with birthdays in the fall) - are memorable creations, and especially in the context of the wider Sinclair family; the overtones of fable and fairytale throughout are quite explicit and add another layer (which actually, now I think about it, is perhaps partial explanation for why the main characters feely oddly slightly under-developed despite their vividness).

So it works on those levels and also on multiple others: as evocation of young love, mystery story, and (in a way) narrative of self-discovery. And, through all that, it's involving and emotionally affecting - I wanted to know what would happen (and had happened) and the revelations reshaping my understanding of events, when they came, were powerful. There are times when the prose is maybe a little too precious - too YA - but it's as much about the character's voice as the author's and thoroughly forgivable. So, a big yes to this one.

Lucy Prebble - “The Effect” (STC)

This one turned out to be rather timely for me, albeit a bit indirectly - a four-hander playing out the interactions of two participants in a drug trial who fall in love but then can’t be sure whether their feelings are real or drug-induced (and whether it matters anyway), their psychiatrist whose personal history of mental health and romantic difficulties becomes sharply relevant, and her supervisor who holds an evangelical belief in medical science’s ability to treat mental illness.

It was more concerned with dramatising a set of questions than providing answers; obviously these are difficult issues, but I wouldn’t have minded more of an attempt at a ‘line’, particularly given that the play came across a bit programmatic, albeit also quite committed to its characters as real people and not just types mouthpieces for particular views.

(Leaving the Wharf Theatre, I saw a yellow and black sign beside the street: "ART AHEAD"; on the traffic island in the middle of the small roundabout ahead, a red sports car crushed beneath a large grey boulder.)

East coast art hop (Hobart, Sydney, Brisbane)

Down to Hobart on Friday night, and then Mona (‘Red Queen’) the next day - with Trang. Both city and museum felt familiar from my previous visit, the familiarity at times diffuse and at others specific - particularly on re-encountering individual works from last time. I think I enjoyed this return visit to Mona more than the first and got more out of it, probably due to both being more open in the particular moment and more readily able to grasp it on a second pass - although I hesitate over the second of those, as its cluttered and non-linear space and arrangement are very much part of the impact. 

A few slices:

Two pieces partaking of the ancient (I also saw both last time, I think). A small, oval-shaped piece of stone (steatite) - ‘Commemorative Scarab of Amenhotep III’ (Egypt 1379 BCE) - inscribed on its flat face with tiny hieroglyphics which somehow I found very affecting. And Brigita Ozolins’ pyramid dream “Kryptos” (2008-10), an eerily darkened installation in concrete, steel, aluminium, gold and lead, encircling catacomb walls embossed with raised sequences of binary digits interspersed with the occasional word (HIDDEN, FOUNDATION, SECRET, DARKNESS, SUN, RAYS, DEAD, LIGHT, HEARS, SEES, FACE, VOICE, DEATH … ‘death’ was the first that I noticed, in the square central chamber, having just given myself a shock after looking up to unexpectedly see my own reflection in the mirror overhead).

 

David Claerbout’s video installation - actually an extended series of black and white stills - “The Algiers’ Sections of a Happy Moment” (2008) had something special to it. A rooftop soccer game, some birds, and not much more, yet luminously perhaps infraordinary, like some lost naturalistic piece of French new wave.

E: I can’t go on like this.

V: That’s what you think.

(Todd McMillan - “Go On”, 2007 - Sydney staircase, man on crutches)

Others: Tracey Moffatt’s ‘Something More’ series of nine; some Henry Darger (disquieting); various Roger Ballen (very disquieting); Zhang Huan’s “Berlin Buddha”; Balint Zsako’s colourful untitled (it had also jumped out at me last time); Nolan’s two Leda and Swans; Sandra Selig’s ‘Universes’ (spider silk sprayed with coloured enamel paint against black backgrounds); Julius Popp’s “bit.fall” at the ‘entrance’ displaying contemporary words including ‘Ukraine’ and ‘MH17’.

* * *

Sydney, NSW Art Gallery, currently on: the 2014 Archibald Prize, along with the Wynne (landscape painting or figurative sculpture) and Sulman (subject, genre or mural).

I’ve never taken particularly to portrait, which makes me particularly susceptible to responding to and forming judgements about examples of the form to a very large extent based on my well established aesthetic sensibilities - and, indeed, on their surface elements rather than the deeper factors that established those sensibilities in the first place. And so I wonder about my liking of, say, Sophia Hewson’s “Artist kisses subject” (the subject is Missy Higgins, the kiss rendered in glowing pastels and light that I’d be even more suspicious of if the artist were a straight man) and Heidi Yardley’s “Julia DeVille” (moodily on the verge of romanticisation - though I think actually very good).

One of the pleasures of portraiture is the chance to see some familiar faces, but they don’t predominate in this year’s selection, though both Dan Sultan and Cate Blanchett were readily recognisable; also, there was James Powditch’s faux-movie poster “Citizen Kave” (as it’s clearly intended to, making me think what a great film it would’ve been, whether made in 1983, today, or, in fact, never). And one of the more striking - and stronger - pieces was Paul Ryan’s “Rox”, an expressionistic view of Richard Roxburgh (face only).

More of the finalists for the Wynne particularly caught my eye. I liked a couple of the semi-abstracts near the beginning (Steve Burley’s “Hillside landscape” and John R Walker’s “The Darling at Kalyanka”); also, the breadth - at once geometric and natural - of Michael Johnson’s “Oceania high low” (the winner of the prize; the title plaque aptly characterises it as exploring convex space rather than horizontal perspective), Philip Wolfhagen’s small, dreamy “Landscape reinvention no 17” (pink-red scrub, a small strip of blue sky) and Max Berry’s “Goat farm, overlooking Norfolk Bay”, whose lilacs, mauves, light aquamarines and browns add up to a poetic, not overly engineered whole. Plus Alexander McKenzie’s Japanese-inspired “Man moves mountain” - pleasing.

Perhaps unsurprisingly given its scope, the Sulman pieces drew more heavily on pop culture and pop art. A handful especially appealed, for various reasons: Andrew Sullivan’s “T-rex (tyrant lizard king)” with its nice sense of humour and touch of pathos, Cameron Hayes’ teeming, panoplic “Martina Navratilova versus Chris Evert Lloyd” (children, castle towers, things upside down, detailed, large-scale), the straightforward but well rendered “Memory Drift” (Richard Baxter - a wooden house blown off the ground by the wind, with all the archetypal associations summoned by that image; a hare looking up at it, a white cat on the roof, a kite tangled on a telephone wire). And the one I most liked, Jason Moad’s “What death leaves behind”, very Magritte-ean with its view of the reflected image of a succulent seemingly growing directly from an otherwise empty bed in a large circular mirror mounted on a nightstand.

 

Elsewhere, a Sol LeWitt exhibition (‘Your Mind is Exactly at that Line’), including several pieces that I’d seen in past visits as part of the rotating collection; I’ve always thought I should find him more interesting than I actually do, though the large wall drawing of the five floating cubes against grey backdrop, all with different coloured sides, was at least striking.

Then MCA - exhibitions good as always. One, a collection from a Japanese artist called Tabaimo (‘Mekurumeku’), comprising a set of video, projection and animation (hand-drawn then computer animated) works appearing one by one through a series of dark rooms and corridors, in some cases using the corridors themselves for the works. There were six, I think (plus some drawings), all on the short side at around 5 to 10 minutes and all worth the time, playful and whimsical, the imagery at times fantastic and even surrealistic but also seeming to invite and open up rather than hold the viewer at a distance.

To take the first, living up to its title - “Japanese Commuter Train” - by locating the viewer in a corridor on the interior of a distended hexagonally-shaped room, with train carriages extending in either direction: intercut with titles that are both literal and elusive (in ‘Chicken and egg question’, chickens lay eggs which then roll through the carriages, from which various things emerge; in ‘Everybody can be so good material’, people wrapped as sushi rolls are laid on the train floor as giant hands from outside reach in and stuff them into similarly huge mouths), it offers all manner of oddity amidst the normal without any reaction from the train’s other passengers. The others explore different terrain, although a recurring theme is an interest in water and in blurring the lines between the human body and other forms of biology (limbs morphing into aquatic vegetation).

The other was Annette Messenger (‘Motion/emotion’), a French artist working with drawing, photography, needlework, sculpture and installation forms; I think I’ve come across her before. Only a couple stood out, but the two that did, I really liked. There was “Histoire des robes” (1990) (‘Story of dresses’), comprising 17 dresses each in long individual wooden boxes mounted landscape-orientation on a single wall, visible through glass fronts, with the boxes also containing other framed images and words, invoking or gesturing towards possible meanings bound up with the dresses themselves (one, for example, stark: “jalousie”).

And also the installation “Casino” (2005), a darkened room into which billowing red silk blows across the floor from an adjoining chamber; underneath, the illuminated outlines of buildings and less identifiable objects, some gelatinous and vaguely oceanic; the whole evokes the red desert spaces of the imagination, capped by the mysterious black objects, suggestive and alien, that descend to the surface at the end.

* * *

And next Brisbane - first time in more or less a decade - to find a few things going on at GOMA.

“Harvest: Art, Film and Food”: ‘Objects in circulation’ (looking at the movement of food around the globe - including Jonathan Froese’s elegant b&w photos of figs, fish, pawpaw segments), ‘Pop and the vernacular’, ‘A portrait of labour’ (Tracey Moffatt appearing again, with another series of kitschily striking photos, and also a playful 10 minute video, “Lip”, montaging a number of short movie clips of black women serving white) and ‘Imagining another future’, themed around visions of alternatives to the cultural and environmental status quo in food production and distribution.

My two favourites were in that last section - both large-scale. There was Tomas Saraceno’s set of ‘Biosphere’ sculptures (2008-09) - large plastic bubbles attached to ground and walls by webbed rope, about five or six of them across the large, light-filled central space on the ground floor. And Emily Floyd’s “Permaculture crossed with feminist science fiction” (2008) - varnished pieces of timber (circular cross-sections, blocks, longer planks and one burnt egg-like structure at the centre)  laid out on the floor, inscribed with passages from Bill Mollison’s books on permaculture and Ursula Le Guin’s and Doris Lessing’s novels.

“Seen and Heard: Works and Multiples from the Collection”, multiples being (I learned) works conceived and produced as multiple units. The exhibition is around crossovers between popular culture, music, sound and visual art, and includes a bunch of record covers (including some that are iconic for me - Velvet Underground, Joy Division, the Smiths etc), a bunch of Nam June Paik (I liked his ‘TV Cello’, 2000) and various Fluxus/Cage, Robert Rauschenberg’s screen print poster and limited edition vinyl for Speaking in Tongues, and Bill Viola’s visual score to Edgard Varese’s “Deserts”…made me think about the significance that music has held for me in the past and wonder to what extent it’s still current, and may be in the future.

Separately, a nice Hiraki Sawa installation, “O” (2009). Single darkened room, three large screens projecting scenes from central Australia, an abandoned house (along with animated white birds and miniature fairground wheel) and, apparently, the surface of the moon; on the surrounding walls, smaller tv screens each showing a single rotating object (light bulb etc) with sounds projected from similarly spinning speakers mounted on wooden plinths.

QAG I only intended to browse through, and it turned out there wasn’t that much to see. A good de Kooning landscape, a general survey of Australian art 1840-1970 with an emphasis on modernism (Nolan stood out again; also the clustering of Roy de Maistre (one of his also caught my eye at the AGNSW), Roland Wakelin and Grace Cossington-Smith); and my introduction to the glorious colours of Sam Fullbrook (best of all “Pike’s farm at Haden”, 1982-7). 

"From the sky we look so organised and brave": Jason Isbell - Southeastern

Generally speaking, sensitive singer-songwriter guys aren't really my thing these days, but Jason Isbell's Southeastern has cracked that surface and taken hold of me a bit, its mix of alt-country balladeering, laments and rockier moments nicely hitting the spot.

Isbell sings in a voice that's rich and warm while also carrying a pleasing scratchiness that complements his carefully observed vignettes, and there's a nice sense of 'just-enoughness' to the arrangements; I particularly like the fiddle wherever it appears. I wouldn't say I have a favourite, but I do like "Cover Me Up" and "Travelling Alone" (the fiddle's particularly effective on this one, providing mournful folky accents), the anthemic (and electric-guitars-out) "Flying Over Water" and slow-burn mid-tempo piece "Songs That She Sang In The Shower" (actually maybe that one's my favourite ... and the songs that she sang in the shower all ring in my ear / Like Wish You Were Here / How I wish you were here ... ).

R A W Rhodes and Anne Tiernan - The Gatekeepers: Lessons from Prime Ministers' Chiefs of Staff

An interesting read, drawing and quoting heavily from roundtable discussions held by the authors with eleven chiefs of staff going back to Fraser's administration. Struck me as quite valuable in shedding light on an important position about which probably relatively little is publicly known, primarily in the way that it organises and sets out the various roles and functions of the office; if various media commentary is anything to go by, one suspects that matters of political management, and particularly in relation to the ministry and party, may be more prominent in practice than their fairly brief treatment in this account would suggest (unsurprising if so, as those are the elements that former chiefs of staff are probably least likely to highlight and speak candidly about), and of course the book tends to emphasise the similarities (and certain historical trends) more than the significant differences that would surely exist for each individual PM-CoS relationship.

(also)

Community season 4

Another time round with season 4. Yep, it's moderately good, certainly nowhere near the level of the first three, too beholden to the 'Community formula', and at once too sentimental and not sufficiently fleshed-out. On the upside, though, it has Sophie B Hawkins.

Rebecca Lee - Bobcat and other stories

Two mentions in less than a week - brought up by one of the new book club members, one Ariella, and also Believer's book award for last year - and then happening across it while browsing in a bookstore and opening to this passage -

Truthfully, I was not pleased with his book. I had just finished reading it for the first time, in galleys, and within the first forty pages, the protagonist had slept with three women, none of whom even remotely resembled me ...

-  was enough for me, and I'm glad it was because this is an exceptional collection, destabilising, insightful and human.

The titular story is a particular highlight - all it is, is a dinner party description, and yet I can't remember the last time I read anything so liberally sprinkled with exquisite little lines and images, at once direct and mysterious. And "Fialta", a poetic and deeply satisfying boy meets girl, also stood out. For all of them, though, the meanings of the stories are seemingly all there for the grasping, and yet they defy any easy explication - the apparently pellucid prose and clearly signposted narrative beats in fact cover for deeper structuring lacunae and a logic which has more in common with poetry or perhaps the unconscious than with most literature, and which turn out to be just as much what the stories are 'about' as their surface lines, and as a whole continuing to work on me in the days since I finished them. 

The Both - The Both

Ted Leo I've heard two songs from that I can think of ("Me and Mia" and "Bomb Repeat Bomb") and both are good but Aimee Mann is simply one of the very biggest objects in my musical firmament, and that inevitably shapes how I hear this collab between the two; also, the fact that I have basically a pavlovian response to Mann's voice anywhere it shows up.

So what that means is that, to me, The Both pretty much sounds like a somewhat more crisply rocky Aimee Mann record with some dude doing a fair bit of the singing and the addition of plenty of brightly crunching electric guitars (Bachelor No 2), which turns out to be no bad thing. Upbeat back-and-forth power-pop cuts like "Milwaukee" and "Volunteers of America" grab the attention, broody mid-tempo numbers like "No Sir" are welcome in their familiarity, and in "Hummingbird" there's the quiet, prettily sad tune without which no Mann record is complete - plus there are jauntier moments like "Pay For It" and "Bedtime Stories" which presumably reflect the Leo influence and carry it off well too.

How I Met Your Mother seasons 1-8

31/5/14

I mentioned some of the ways in which HIMYM has acquired personal meaning for me when writing about its seventh season last year:

When I started watching HIMYM ... it resonated - there was, and is, a dual, related appeal in its depiction of this certain time of life, in being able to both identify with it and enjoy what is, given its framing premise (ie the title!), the promise of a happy ending, however inevitably digressively arrived at. ... And in terms of (relevant) autobiographical note, the show actually did play some part in shaping my ideas of modern romance at the time ...

Out in the ether, it's all over now - season 9 is done, and so's the show...in the more real sense, for me, it's still on hold, suspended with the final shot reveal of the mother at the end of season 8. But I thought it would be nice to watch the whole lot through again, in anticipation of that final season and ending.

(Also from the first time through: 1-5, 6.)

So, season 1. A lot of markers for what's to come are laid down here, and those five characters - Ted, Robin, Barney, Lily, Marshall - are satisfyingly recognisable from the get-go, as are (with the benefit of still-incomplete hindsight) the elements in their personalities, relationships and back-stories that will drive a lot of what comes over the next several years.

It starts in 2005; Ted turns 28 during the season, making him I guess about five or six years older than me; at this point, while he's of course already hopelessly romantic, single-ness is his default setting. The long-running saga with Robin kicks off and undergoes plenty of turns even during this first season (I don't have a Robin in my life, but that doesn't mean I don't empathise with the pang of the situation); and then there's sentimental favourite Victoria, who deserves better than to just be collateral damage to that particular mess. And - we get Ted's list of requirements for 'the one'...including that she play bass.

3/6/14

Season 1 ended with Ted and Robin getting together and Lily leaving Marshall for San Francisco; the arc of season 2 is basically the playing out and reversal of those two strands, finishing with Ted and Robin's split, unveiled (ha ha) at Lily and Marshall's wedding. And, in between, we get more colouring in of Barney's history as well as evidence of his redeeming qualities.

10/6/14

And then in season 3 we meet Stella; indeed, the season ends on Ted's proposal. I guess, given the foreshadowing that the show's already thrown in by this point, that the writers already knew at least the outlines of how that was going to end; also during this season, if it wasn't already strongly enough implied previously, it's made explicit that Robin isn't going to be the mother - and there's more on the slow-burn lead-up to her and Barney.

Also striking over the course of season 3 are several elements that I've noticed on previous watches: the (large) extent to which its logic is fundamentally reassuring in the way that it moves inevitably - if peregrinatorily - towards happy endings for all concerned (important not only because we of course come to care for the characters, but also because we - okay, I - identify with them, so that if things end well for them, well, so should they for us! Reinforced not only by the very title of the show and its framing narratorial device but also by the occasional flash-forward showing the characters several years on and still fundamentally themselves); the close attention to, and signposting of, specific dates and times ("in the spring of 2008..." etc); and the playing with narrative, story-telling and perspective (which is, of course, inherent in the structure and conceit of the show as a whole).

16/6/14

The Stella arc that plays out over season 4 highlights many of the show's strengths. There's the wedding episode early in the season - a set piece that gets the balance right between amusing and serious (zanier and more colourful than real life, though only just - and also emotionally poignant, not least through Ted and Robin's exchanges), it also advances the overall story and our understanding of all the main characters and their relationships with each other. There's the nuanced treatment of adult relationships and feelings where the heart is involved, in all of its ambiguity and confusion. There's the unabashed romantic-ness - Stella leaves Ted at the altar because of happenstance, because their rush to marriage had been at least in part from being in love with the idea of each other and happily ever after rather than being entirely about the person themselves ... but also because Tony is 'the one'.

And there's the kindness of its worldview and fundamental optimism - given how much the show positions us to identify with Ted, Stella could easily have ended up an unsympathetic character, and the episode showing how Ted intends to confront her at her home and the choice he actually makes could have exacerbated that. But instead, to round out her story, the show has them later run into each other on the street, leading to their lovely, quiet conversation, side by side in the car - "she's getting here as fast as she can, Ted" ... and the narration reassures us that this, too, is a link in the chain that will finally lead to Ted meeting the one for him.

Meanwhile, Barney and Robin, Marshall and Lily - the different parts of their lives (and of Ted's, beyond his romantic quest - architect career taking more of a centre stage) all continue to be filled in...with a decent quota of laughs scattered throughout too.

25/6/14

Season 5: Barney and Robin get together and then break up; Lily and Marshall keep moving forward; Ted continues his romantic and professional journey (feelings for Robin still simmering); the Maggie episode ('The Window') feels like a small gift, giving us a sweetly romantic capsule 'girl and boy next door' that intersects with the main story and serves as a reminder of the many beyond it.

29/6/14

Maybe part of the reason why it feels like things don't move forward that much during season 6 is the way that it's bookended - in its first episode we learn that Ted will meet the mother at a wedding, and in its last we see that the wedding is Barney's.

In between, Zoey and the Captain enter Ted's life and while both Zoey and her storyline veer ever so slightly towards the cartoonish, that tendency is offset by the real feeling and emotion that the show's able to elicit from the episode where she and Ted get together, as well as (to a lesser extent) their later breakup - the former sequenced to arrive very close to Marshall's father's death, which also packs an emotional punch. (One of the less obvious, but important, elements of the show is that it's a solid ensemble cast, all of whom can hold their own when required to deliver important and believable moments.)

There's also Barney and his father, and his first attempt at Nora - both important parts of his growing up. And then, in that same final episode, he runs into her again, ending on a hopeful note...on which two things: first, the show does rely quite a bit on coincidental crossings of paths to bring or re-bring characters together (another example in this season is Cindy's reappearance - her roommate will later prove to be the mother), which I don't have any difficulty in assimilating into the imagined city of NYC that I carry around even independently of HIMYM; and second, it's a real old finale of a closing episode, from Barney and Nora (and Robin's expression in the background), to Lily's pregnancy, the closing of the Zoey arc and the (related) metaphor as the Arcadian comes down so that Ted can create something new.

3/7/14

Music isn't generally particularly a feature of this show - a well placed burst of Regina Spektor's "Better" and another of Radiohead's "(Nice Dream)" in earlier seasons notwithstanding - but there is one standout use in season 7 and, appropriately, it's via foreshadowing, in the episode early in the season where the key riff appears and recurs throughout before the Kinks' "Victoria" finally bursts into full voice late in the ep as the character herself reappears.

What follows is another season continuing the developments of the sixth - including Barney's growing maturity and his and Robin's deeper feelings for each other (both evidenced in the way things end with Nora as well as how Robin supports him in getting together with Quinn) and the birth of Lily and Marshall's child - and as I noticed on first watch through, closing off several of what would otherwise be loose ends in Ted's story.

There's also a bit of playing with the format, most notably Robin talking to her future 'children' - a good example of the pathos that the show is able to extract from its recurring device of showing events before revealing that they're only being imagined by a character...which also aligns with the show's focus on the importance of the perspective from which stories are told.

... and then a flurry at the end, with Barney and Quinn getting engaged, and then Victoria's re-reappearance, and the further reveal that the bride at Barney's wedding, signalled in season 6, is Robin.

9/7/14

It's also worth mentioning how very relatable these characters are. A large part of the show's appeal - and this is obviously implicit in what I've been thinking and saying about the extent to which it's resonated and to which I've identified with its situations and characters - is in how recognisable its characters' personalities and lifestyles are, and how referable to my own and those of people I know, yes idealised of course, but that's part of the effect.

By season 8 (as an aside, music seems to be relatively more prominently and better used throughout this season, starting with "The Funeral" crashing through the closing stages of its opening episode), much growing up has been done by all, and by and large it's seemed organic and through experience as much as reflection - ie much the way it works in real life. There's a definite sense of things being wrapped up - even Jayma Mays' coat check girl, from right back in season 1, is brought back to be taken off the table (along, more substantially, with Victoria) ... and by season's end we know what the mother looks like, and have a fair idea about where things are going to land with the other four main characters. So the question really becomes: will the final season be worth the wait, after eight years' worth of build-up? With the frankly surprising extent to which I've found myself invested in this show, it turns out to be a large question, with lots of layers.

Daniel Kahneman - Thinking, Fast and Slow

In Isaiah Berlin's typology, I think I've leant more towards the hedgehog for most of my life, though with  increased fox-like tendencies over the last few years - so, generally, it's been big ideas with the potential to seemingly explain everything that have tended to really capture my attention. First, there was Sartre's take on existentialism, his articulation of the underlying knot of freedom, responsibility, authenticity and angst resonating as both description and design for life. Then at uni came postmodernism and deconstruction, meanings I pursued through a series of texts, seminars etc with a zeal only sharpened by the elusive, riddling nature of the insights in play (some of my enduring memories of university involve puzzling over and over through various passages of Derrida). And finally, overlapping and circling back, the phenomenology of Husserl and Heidegger and Gadamer's philosophical hermeneutics, which - individually and collectively - underlaid all of those others.

(I've put the political to one side here, for a couple of reasons. Those views were developing along related, but in some respects fairly separate tracks, from what felt at the time like more personal and specifically moral - as opposed to intellectual - values.)

Anyway, more recently, for a while now I've been increasingly drawn to some contemporary streams that have in common an emphasis on the cognitive biases and other factors limiting human rationality, much of it wrapped up under the behavioural economics rubric. A different kind of 'big idea' from those that preoccupied me through, I guess, my late teens and then most of my twenties - indeed, maybe a set of ideas that go better with a fox-like outlook (whereas I guess that capital-letter Phenomenology, Existentialism and Postmodernism present more as hedgehog systems, subject (ha) to caveats about postmodernism, hedgehog-fox distinction, and the possibility of a metaphysics of absence) - but what behavioural economics has in common with those others is an applicability to both a wider social context and individual choices, actions and experience, an argument about how the two spheres are inherently connected, and (for me) the promise, if realised, of better ways of understanding and being, both for myself and much more widely.

One consequence of all this for my reading of Thinking, Fast and Slow - I've been through it twice now over the last few months or so - is that much of it was already familiar, and more than that, that I'd already accepted many of its premises; part of the field's appeal for me is that its picture of the ways that individuals actually make decisions, systematic and predictable biases and all, is intuitively plausible, and certainly more so than the rational actor of traditional economics (in the language of behavioural economics, its actors are Humans rather than Econs). Plus, much of the empirical basis for the book's analysis has now been in wide circulation for some time now, to the extent that much of it has now assumed the status of common sense, at least in some circles - the notion of confirmation bias comes to mind.

So for me, the real value of the book came from four elements. First, the systematic way that it lays out this familiar terrain of heuristics, biases and other departures from rational decision-making models and assumptions and shows how the framework - story - provided by Kahneman's 'two systems' account of the mind is able to provide a meta-explanation (to a certain extent) of those interesting observations and findings. Second, its treatment of prospect theory, which I hadn't previously grappled with properly, and again in a wider context that helps to make sense of familiar elements like loss aversion, diminishing sensitivity to gains and losses, and endowment and other related effects. Third, the distinction between the experiencing and the remembering selves and hints of what this might mean in seeking to design societies that maximise their members' wellbeing. And fourth, the sheer conceptual richness of the whole, in bringing together all of these ideas and coining some new ones (WYSIATI). A book, I imagine, that I'll return to in future, for particular sections or in full - and with interest to see what else it leads to.

"The Good Person of Szechuan" (Malthouse)

Brecht makes a natural subject for contemporary treatment, and particularly in the Malthouse house style, given his emphasis on stylising and highlighting the artificial nature of his plays (the alienating principle underlying his theatrical philosophy); this production runs with that but doesn't quite land it despite some committed performances, most enjoyably from the three gods who set events in motion with their gift to Shen Te, the so-called 'good person' who offers them a bed to stay (one of whom, Emily Milledge, I saw in Frankenstein a few months back, where she also stood out).

So anyway overall, while I thought it was a bit of a hot mess, I enjoyed the play, and it had both an overall design and moments showing flashes of brilliance - and after all, getting the tonal balance right between evoking the nightmarish imagined Szechuan and human society and characters on the one hand, and deliberately throwing the audience out of its involvement to force us to think about the structural socio-political dimensions being depicted on the other, is a tricky pitch.

(w/ Erandathie and Jon, and also Cass arriving late and stuck up back)

Community season 4

Here's a small but indicative example of how Community, seasons 1 to 3, has made my life better: at an after-work drinks a few months ago, when in passing I used the phrase 'the darkest timeline', a colleague picked up the reference - which made me both feel that small warm glow of a shared connection with her and, later as I was walking home, came back into my mind and reminded me of the odd (and, in the particular case of Community, apt) way that tv show characters can, in some respects, come to feel like friends.

Season 4 isn't as good - it doesn't have the freewheeling inventiveness of the three that came before it, feeling more like it's re-treading familiar ground (in terms of situation, characters and devices) or its deftness in at once subverting and using our expectations of the form, which may have something to do with the inevitable difficulties of sustaining such a flow and perhaps more to do with show creator Dan Harmon's absence from the season. Still, even as an approximation of the magic of the first three seasons, it ain't too bad either.

Gladiator

Gladiator and Braveheart have long been the two against which I've benchmarked all other epic films (plus, nowadays, the three Lord of the Rings films) - the experience that they provided on first and subsequent viewings being exactly the kind that I look for in the genre. (I don't know whether it's coincidence or dramatic necessity that both end with the deaths of the main protagonist - no doubt along with plenty of other common story beats and structural elements.) I don't know how many times I've watched it; it remains good.

Vampire Weekend - Modern Vampires of the City

Tail end of 2013, I noticed this album topping both popmatters' and pitchfork's lists of the best albums of the year - intriguing, after a pair of nice but not, for mine, outstanding predecessors in Vampire Weekend and Contra. But this is one that I'm out of step with the critics on - to my ears, Modern Vampires is perfectly pleasant listening (the stand out is "Steps") but not a lot more.

First Aid Kit - Stay Gold

These days I'm pretty bad about listening to albums all the way through - it's all too tempting to skip through after a first couple of listens, just listening to the songs that've caught my ear rather than absorbing records as a whole. So what that means, though, is that I have to particularly like a new album for it to induce me to repeatedly listen to it in toto - which is just what Stay Gold has done.

It's not really a surprise, I guess, seeing as The Big Black & The Blue and The Lion's Roar were both excellent; if it lacks any individual moments as immediately utterly swoon-worthy as "Emmylou" or "To A Poet", it's maybe a touch overall more consistent. Thoughts and things I especially like:

• Three strong songs straight out of the blocks: "My Silver Lining", "Master Pretender", "Stay Gold", all of which you like straight away and only realise on repeated listens how actually interesting they are.
• "Cedar Lane" is as good as any country ballad recorded this side of the year 2000.
• The way the "we" is drawn out on "Shattered & Hollow" makes me think of Taylor Swift's "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together", and once that got in my head, the whole thing reminded me, in a vague, shadowy way of that other.
• I've drawn comparisons between First Aid Kit and Neko Case before; the surging "The Bell" again evokes the Canadian redhead.
• There's got to be a reason why the figure (trope) of the small town waitress - generally with some combination of a Past, a rich inner life or both - is such a popular one...I guess it's an archetype, or metaphor, that people can identify with. Anyhow, rarely can it have been set to such a triumphant musical backdrop as here ("Waitress Song").
• And just generally, the way that the underlying 'folk-ness' of their sound so clearly comes through, even if all embroidered and prettied up with electric instruments, country urges, little twinkling details and everything else.

* * *

As an aside, albums that I've listened to all the way through at least 10 times since I got itunes, according to itunes (number of times in brackets):

The xx - xx (23)
The National - Boxer (20)
The National - High Violet (20)
Amaya Laucirica - Early Summer (16)
Jen Cloher & the Endless Sea - Hidden Hands (15)
Laura Cantrell - No Way There From Here (15)
Beach House - Bloom (14) 
Sally Seltmann - Heart That's Pounding (14)
Wild Nothing - Gemini (14)
Holly Miranda - The Magician's Private Library (13)
First Aid Kit - Stay Gold (12)
Robert Plant - Band of Joy (12)
Girls - Album (11)
Patty Griffin - American Kid (11)
The War on Drugs - Lost in the Dream (11)
Aimee Mann - Bachelor No 2 (10)
First Aid Kit - The Lion's Roar (10)
Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes (10)
Grimes - Visions (10)
Lykke Li - Wounded Rhymes (10)
Patty Griffin - Impossible Dream (10)
The xx - Coexist (10)

The Fifth Element

Haven't watched this one for a while!

Things it reminded me of:
1. Luc Besson sure knows his way around a visual.
2. Bruce Willis' pleasingly surly charisma.
3. How enjoyable Gary Oldman was during that spate of hammily evil villains that he was playing during through the 90s (see also: Air Force One ... by contrast Besson's The Professional, which had the villainy without the hamminess).

Things it made me wonder:
1. Was Milla Jovovich's Leeloo my first MPDG? Does she even count?