Tasty Tacos

Oh, that's good, Nils. Touche, as they would say in La France (the very small town in backwoods South Carolina).

It's been a while since my flights of fancy took me into the blogging world. Perhaps I needed a fall break.

I must admit that I cannot take the high road as Mark can. I succombed. I went out Friday night, me and my wifie, and watched, gasp!, Kill Bill.

It's as violent as you think.

Before I can get into that, I need to address something else, however. Mark said a while ago that the point of this blog was not to debate, and I must debate that. Darn, that's good. How can I help but debate Mark's assertions when he claims to be "really counter-cultural"? It's a great argument, one that I'm all for: does watching Terms of Endearment make one counter-cultural? Probably so, seeing as no one else watches that movie, certainly not the snobbishly theory-driven, Procrustean bed-making cultural elite (of which I hope to one day be a part). It's a funny thing when the counter-culture becomes non-culture.

So no, Kill Bill isn't really counter-cultural. It all seems like old hat by now. Pulp Fiction and Resevoir Dogs already did it and did it better. Kill Bill will not be a cult favorite, at least not in the same way that Pulp Fiction was. Kill Bill will not revolutionize anything.

I want to talk about two things the movie did well, though.

First, it combined live-action with animation. A fifteen-minute episode chronicling a villain's life is all animation.

Second, that animation sequence was full of horrifying violence, the likes of which I had never seen. I had heard that Kill Bill was Monty Python-esque in its blood-spattering, and indeed it was. But it wasn't flippant about it. It relished in its gore, but it was never funny, at least not to me. Where we laughed when the black kid got shot in Pulp Fiction, we don't laugh at the violence in this movie. It's truly horrifying. I may have laughed because the blood seemed a bit over-the-top, but it was a nervous laughter, one that refused to recognize the extreme violence Tarantino was showing us.

The violence is coupled with that seventies-ish feel, though, as if it were Charlie's Angels on mind-altering and deadly snake bite. What the heck was Tarantino doing with that? Why include the stop-shot that announced Lucy Liu was a member of the hilariously-named "Deadly Viper Assassination Squad"? Because it's absurd. It isn't funny. Nope. It's an assassination squad, for Pete's sake. And the whole plot of the movie shows how their deeds, well, let's just say haunt them.

Yep. I have to go. Bye.

Well, we could kick the truth around some more, but we would only keep injuring ourselves by butting heads. I took this BLOG into territory it maybe should have avoided, and now I see the ramifications of that mistake.

The problems are these:
1. Mark and I have similar value systems. I think we probably agree on this issue. I agree that knowledge and culture are different (I never meant to equate them), but I do think certain cultures value certain types of knowledge and others don't. See, there I go. While Mark is willing to stick to something, I'm too wishy-washy, which leads me into problem...

2. I tend to argue in a "yes, but" way, and Mark tends to say "yes" or "no." Mark knows his mind and speaks it. I don't know mine. I don't think the two forms or better or worse, just different.

3. Mark is a smart guy. Really smart. And I'm not willing to let him get the upper hand. All of this means that I have to drop a subject at some point, right?

There is a lot more I want to say, but I will let it go, as of now. Maybe Mark and I can talk face to face at some point. I can't promise I won't return to this issue, however. Race, education, and cultural difference are way too much a part of my life to let it go completely.

But now I will try to decide what piece of trash movie to go see tonight. It's between "Underworld" and "The Rundown."

Critics on "Underworld":
"Has one heck of a poster"
--Jeffrey Anderson.
"The plot unfolds with the grace of a long fall downstairs."
-- Walter Chaw, FILM FREAK CENTRAL
"OK. I really, really, REALLY want a long, leather-like black coat."
-- Linda Cook, QUAD CITY TIMES (DAVENPORT, IA)

On "The Rundown":
"(The Rock) seems to be winking at the audience as if to say, "Yeah, I know it's dumb. But aren't you having a great time?""
-- Rob Blackwelder, SPLICEDWIRE
"The wildly asinine crack-up derby that XXX should have been."
-- Scott Brown, ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY
"I forgot how much I loved this genre and how much it was missed."
-- David Poland, HOT BUTTON

No contest...

Ok, ok, I realize that I did bring up education. Yes, I can definitely see that Mark has "restrained himself" (trust me, I've heard him go off about it before!), and I do agree with him. There is a problem with our educational system, a real problem, a huge problem. And then these students end up in my freshman comp. class, and I have to decide whether I act as gatekeeper or take their educational (mis)histories into account and let them through. And I agree, dang it, I shouldn't have to!

But...

And, like Sir Mix-A-Lot, it's a big but.

What about "culture?" I'm still really curious about the question Mark so astutely avoided (not because he's afraid of it, of course, but because he really wanted to discuss education...). I want to say this: "My students are not politically involved becuase their culture deems politics irrelevant." Can I really say that, though? It almost borders on a generalization that makes me uncomfortable. Is academic culture then an extension of my "white culture?" If my students refuse to accept the types of argument I teach them (and they're resisting, let me tell ya!), then can chaulk that up to cultural difference? They really don't seem to buy arguments about fair play or free speech, and I have never really had this problem before? What accounts for it?

I'm hedging all around the real questions here becuase they make me uneasy. Here goes: If all I'm doing is teaching white culture, can I say it's okay becuase it's what my students need to get ahead in life or to succeed in careers? Possibly so. It's true, isn't it? But then I ask why it's true, and the only answer I can come up with makes me quiver. But what's the alternative?

Crap. Now I feel bad, and I have to go teach in five minutes. Give me purpose! Give me life! Maybe I need Dinesh D'Souza to come and save me!

Socialization, Culture, and the Classroom

I have discovered why I am so frustrated in my classroom. It was a breakthrough, it was. It's because my job is becoming more about socialization than anything I'm really interested in. Here I am, a reader. That's basically all I am. Isn't that why we become English majors? Because we can read, and that's it? If we can write, too, we become creative writers, but I can't do that. So I read. And I love to do it. I love to talk about books with people who like to listen and participate. I'm not getting to do that.

This sounds like a pity party, and I don't mean for it to be.

I want to talk about socialization and higher education. I don't like to think that the people behind me failed. It's a common gripe among college teachers: "If only the high schools would do their job, I wouldn't have to waste so much time on ____." I don't like that argument. The fact is that they're here and we have to make the most of it, making up for all of those things that we think high school missed. Is it really possible, though?

I realized this problem the other day when I tried to discuss "fundamentalism" in an essay by Annie Dillard, an essay about stereotypes of religious fundamentalism. My students had no idea what "fundamentalism" meant. So I added the word "religious" in front of it, and they still had no idea. "Religious right" meant nothing to them. Neither did the word "conservative." At this point I realized that I was starting at the beginning: how are American politics classified? Many of them did not know that democrats were conservative and republicans were liberal (Ha! gotcha!). This wasn't high school that had failed anymore. It suddenly became an issue of social awareness and what knowledge my students considered important.

And the fact is that they don't consider politics important. It has something to do with education, certainly, but it also has to do with disenfranchisement and my students' perception that no politician stands for their needs and rights. I guess I should add that I teach at a 95% black school. Yeah, it makes a difference.

I try to stay away from political problems when discussing culture, but here I realize that they're completely tied up in one another. Culture and ethnicity seemingly define political engagement.

I want other ideas about how culture and politics fit in together or about how culture fits into the classroom. Is it our job as educators to make indoctrinate students into our culture (ahem, I mean academic culture)?

Heck, maybe I haven't really figured anything out.

An Elitist Meditation
In honor of the earlier discussion on Bloom and the canon, here is a little excerpt from Arnold Bennett's book Literary Taste: How to Form It. I'm sure my possession of this little tome (the 1909 edition) goes a long way toward explaining my own admirable taste in literature. Anyway, here goes:

Why does the great and universal fame of classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of classical authors is entirely independent of the majority. Do you suppose that if the fame of Shakespeare depended on the man in the street it would survive a fortnight? The fame of classical authors is originally made, and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when a first-class author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, the majority have never appreciated him so sincerely as they have appreciated second-rate men. He has always been reinforced by the ardour of the passionate few.

For devotional purposes, this passage is best read aloud to the accompaniment of throbbing martial music. Our reading of the Modern Library Top 100 no doubt qualifies us for the "passionate few," so let's not let our "ardour" flag.

Ah, the movie rant. There is nothing better, I say. Something about commentary on two (or more) hours spent in front of the TV makes it all seem worthwhile. I drive three hours a day now, which really sucks--so badly, in fact, that I turn on Rush Limbaugh on Tuesday afternoons because my anger helps keep me awake. And now it's Friday, the day to do nothing but watch movies. So I walk to the video store with my "buy-one-get-one-free" coupon, a man on a mission: one for her, one for me (that she won't object to too much. Needless to say, I fail.).

First up: "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days." I laughed. It looks unbelievably stupid, but it's actually quite humorous. Again, I actually like romantic comedies, even though I only watch them under duress. The Texan Matthew Mc??? is as cute as his pot-smoking self always is, and Kate Hudson is the under-age-looking sex object with the body of a young boy. She worked with "Almost Famous" because, well, she was supposed to be 16! Now she just looks like a girl in women's clothes. Yes, that's me ranting.

Is this movie as smart as "When Harry Met Sally"? Not on your life. It lacks Billy Crystal's charm. It deals with the same types of issues, however, and it's done well. It kept my interest, mainly because the woman is psycho and the guy will do anything to please her. A stretch maybe, but the "awful" things she does are believable enough to make it seem like we've all been through the same thing. The psycho woman bit is there to make the guys laugh and sympathize and the sweet romantic keep-her-at-all costs bit is there to make the women croon. We're all just so simple.

Then comes "Identity," the new John Cusack movie, which began really promising and ended interestingly, but the middle few hours were a bit tiresome. Maybe I should have chosen the theatrical release instead of the extended edition for my first viewing. Scenes are normally deleted for a reason, right? Still, I always have to watch them, even if they don't even have music yet. Just something about the power of the DVD makes me want to watch every freakin' thing they put on there for me. Ah, the Conan commentary.

I can't discuss this movie too much without giving everything away. Let's just say there's a huge twist. The movie tries to be at least two different things, and it does each one well. The problem is that the two things it does well don't really work together. Think "I Know What You Did Last Summer" plus "Raising Cain." Perhaps I give too much away, but no one remembers those movies now anyway. "Identity" will be heaped in the trashbin and no one will remember this "think-piece" in a few years, either. Nevertheless, it has interesting potential. It tries a lot and fails on most counts, but it's still a fun ride. And the ending means that the plot doesn't have to make sense. How freakin' convenient is that?

Both of these movies would make for interesting dates, although my date tonight wasn't too happy about watching "Identity." Still, scary movies always scare me a lot more than her...Maybe I'm the one who needs to be held........

Time to turn off the lights.

I've never seen the theatrical release of Conan, but I've seen it quite a few times on TV, where the editing really shines: the music works up to a crescendo, the violence ramps up to its peak, then suddenly everyone is just standing there, it's quiet, and somebody's severed head is resting on the ground. Mark, your description of the DVD commentary makes me actually want to see it in its original glory -- though I don't think I could vote for Ahnold, in spite of his masculine force.

Night before last, I watched Hitchcock's North By Northwest, more as a protest against what was on the four hundred other channels than because I wanted to. But talk about a masculine aura that's utterly different from Conan's -- Cary Grant in that movie is the epitome of the other kind of guy, the one the thugs can't help but compliment on his exquisite tailoring. Of course, he ends up running from an airplane in the end, whereas Ahnold would have simply "taken it out."

Bring Back the Villains
What a small world it is. David mentioned Charles Baxter's book of essays Burning Down the House in an earlier post on Tasty Tacos, and I was intrigued enough to pick up a copy and dig right in. Lo and behold, the first chapter is an essay, Disfunctional Narratives, Or "Mistakes Were Made", that first appeared in Ploughshares in 1994, when Rosellen Brown edited a nonfiction issue. I was in Rosellen's personal essay class at the time, and when the issue came out, she cracked open a box during the workshop and gave us each a copy. They were fresh off the press, shiny and smelling of ink. I still have mine on a bookshelf somewhere, but if I ever read Baxter's essay, I don't remember it. I wish I did, because it would have helped me understand the issues I was struggling with as a young writer nearly a decade ago.

The premise is simple enough: our "culture of complaint," to borrow Robert Hughes' term, has taken its toll on the way we tell stories. In fiction, characters are defined by their actions, but in a culture where no one is ultimately responsible for his mistakes, authors create stories that are robbed of their villains. If Presidents of the United States, the most powerful men in the world, can pass themselves off as victims, then how can any fictional antagonist be held to account? What's interesting about Baxter's point is that he isn't bemoaning society so much as he is bemoaning what is lost in literature as a result of society's impoverishment. In this climate, he is saying, it is harder to do what an author must:

We have been living, it seems, in a political culture of disavowals. Disavowals follow from crimes for which no one is capable of claiming responsibility. Mistakes and crimes tend to create narratives, however, and they have done so from the time of the Greek tragedies. How can the contemporary disavowal movement not affect those of us who tell stories? We begin to move away from fiction of protagonists and antagonists into another mode, another model. It is hard to describe this model but I think it might be called the fiction of finger-pointing, the fiction of the quest for blame....The trouble with narratives like this without antagonists or a counterpoint to the central character -- stories in which no one ever seems to be deciding anything or acting upon any motive except the search for a source of discontent -- is that they tend formally to mirror the protagonists’ unhappiness and confusion. Stories about being put-upon almost literally do not know what to look at; the visual details are muddled or indifferently described or excessively specific in nonpertinent situations. In any particular scene, everything is significant, and nothing is. The story is trying to find a source of meaning, but in the story, everyone is disclaiming responsibility. Things have just happened.

Interestingly, for Baxter this problem suggests a moral fault in fiction (and presumably in society): a lack of "moral vision" that results in mere moralizing. We're familiar with this kind of thing in popular evangelical fiction, where the action in the story is filtered through a straightlaced orthodoxy -- bad things can happen, but only in the proper context -- but we don't tend to think of the same thing surfacing in stories that aspire to art. But it does. Baxter quotes Marilynne Robinson's model for so-called "therapeutic" narratives:

One is born and in passage through childhood suffers some grave harm. Subsequent good fortune is meaningless because of this injury, while subsequent misfortune is highly significant as the consequence of this injury. The work of one’s life is to discover and name the harm one has suffered.

This is a story being told, according to Baxter, on daytime television and highbrow fiction at the same time. It's a very influential way of looking at things. You might even call it the prevailing orthodoxy (among believers and unbelievers alike, I am tempted to think). This is the moral framework within which many of us are operating. These reflections lead Baxter to a nostalgia for real villains; in other words, people who make bad choices and own up to them.

....I suppose I am nostalgic -- as a writer, of course -- for stories with mindful villainy, villainy with clear motives that any adult would understand, bad behavior with a sense of scale, that would give back to us our imaginative grip on the despicable and the admirable and our capacity to have some opinions about the two.

I share the same nostalgia, and it seems to me that there is a significant incarnational apologetic waiting to emerge from the fact that the reigning moral blandness makes for bad storytelling. That's not Baxter's point, of course -- he sees the problem more as an example of how old liberalism trumps new liberalism -- but his insight lends itself to musings along these lines. I would say that the problem with finger-pointing fiction is that its concept of human nature -- who we are and how we relate to the world around us -- is fundamentally flawed. Reducing the complexity of what it means to be human down to a grid of pathologies, interpreting all of human behavior from a psychological (or even pop psychology) standpoint, is just another way of substituting flat, cardboard placeholders for characters. A good story requires many things, and one of them is an understanding of man as an agent within a complex and sometimes incomprehensible moral universe not of his making. I'm not saying that you can't have good stories without a fully realized Christian moral vision, but I do think that a vision of similar complexity, struggling with similiar issues, is a necessity, if the drama is expected to correspond to reality.