The Oncoming Hope

Wee Scorcese once cast Marlon Brando, Alec Guinness and Richard Burton in the Roman epic of his dreams, as Tumblr informed me yesterday.

What's stunning isn't Scorsese's attention to blocking and framing in his storyboards, nor the parallels of his imagination with one Amy Pond:

What strikes me is the thematic similarity with his later work: that lone acolyte fighting against the tides of conformity even if he doesn't really want to:

The importance of music to any tale worth its salt:

Above all, how following the paths of the right leaders can elevate yourself beyond your wildest imagination:

Such clarity of vision isn't typical of 11-year-olds, s'all I gotta say.

In a development that will be of particular interest to those living in unsanitary conditions, in college (do I repeat myself?), and in tempestuous marriages, two Chinese material engineers have invented self-cleaning cotton clothing.

If you're interested in the science behind the new material (it is shockingly simplistic, even to this noted chemistry-phobe), I recommend this article by ExtremeTech. Nutshell: titanium dioxide + nitrogen = laundry bliss.

Basically, the nanoparticles clean themselves when exposed to visible daylight. They break down stains, bacteria and smells so they can be rinsed off with water. Think of it as armor for cotton, keeping out the nasty stains (I can see the ad campaign already!).

All is not perfect, however; the chemical compounds are highly toxic and turn your skin blue. It's up to you to decide: look like a Na'avi, or keep your pockets heavy with quarters?

Says one of the greatest directors of our time, in 1991:

Suddenly, one day some little fat girl in Ohio is gonna be the new Mozart…and make a beautiful film with her father’s little camera-corder, and for once this whole professionalism about movies will be destroyed, forever, and it will really become an art form.” ~ Francis Ford Coppola

(via Brainpicker)

Life Magazine published a set of photographs inside a Nazi Christmas Party, shot by Hugo Jaeger. In 1941, two weeks after implementing his "final solution," Hitler throws this lifeless "party" for his generals and officers.

Only the Nazis could turn Christmas into the dark universe equivalent of a Hogwarts dinner. (Can you imagine what kind of sorting hat the Nazis would have? The possibilities are too terrible to even contemplate).

As always, read the original post, but here are a few highlights.

Tis' the season to be...not even slightly jolly:

You wanna talk about a war on Christmas? In the words of Nazi propagandist Friedrich Rehm:

"We cannot accept that a German Christmas tree has anything to do with a crib in a manger in Bethlehem. It is inconceivable for us that Christmas and all its deep soulful content is the product of an oriental religion."

So what did they do? They rewrote Christmas carols, erasing all reference to Christ. They tried to return Christmas to its pagan origins.

When that failed (and the Reich failed more broadly), they tried to change it's meaning again, attempting to re-characterize the holiday as a remembrance day for fallen troops.

Narcissism really knows no bounds.

Before sexting, before coded bracelets, there were...stamps? Rio Wang has written a fascinating piece about how the angle that stamps were placed on the envelope conveys different meanings. According to the OP, the tradition began with the Austro-Hungarians in the 1860's and swiftly spread throughout Europe.

I highly recommend reading the original post, but here are some of the highlights:

Meanwhile, the English make it exceptionally formal, including the phrase: "Beware your dearest lady-friend!"

What's fascinating is that the code wasn't local to English speaking nations, there are guides in Russian, in Polish and in other languages I can't identify. Naturally, the French take romance to the next level:

Go read the full post! http://riowang.blogspot.com/2011/12/language-of-stamps.html

I owe a personal apology to Hello, Tailor for not watching X-Men until now. Sometimes, when people get unreasonably excited about things, I assume I won't enjoy it as much and then I just feel guilty when I don't.

In this case, I was wrong.

After 15 minute of breathless stupidity, after which I very nearly switched the film off, Rose Byrne graced the screen (mmmm...Rose Byrne). The movie quickly shifted into something far more interesting, almost an espionage thriller.

Did you notice that Jennifer Lawrence and Michael Fassbender were wearing the same black turtleneck in one scene?

Like they are both fighting for Xavier's soul. Mystique longs for X to be a better man than he actually is, while Magneto longs for approval/ pragmatism. In a lovely twist, they both lose him and join together instead.

It's only fair, because Xavier doesn't deserve either of them. He's continually phrased as this radical idealist who cares neither for people nor politics, just a mythical idea of what's right. Until the end of the film, it's far too easy to hate him, especially considering the way he treats my beloved Jennifer Lawrence.

Seriously, Xavier's such a dick to her that I'm surprised she leaves him with such equanimity. A punch in the face seems like a bare minimum.

THE FUTURE

This movie sets up a far more interesting X-Men narrative than is likely: one where the villains are only in the eye of the beholder. I'm aware that X-Men isn't Homeland; there's only room for a certain amount of complexity in a blockbuster movie. That said, I'm still hopeful they can achieve something thought-provoking and cerebral with this team of actors.

We've got the younger mutants like Havoc and Beast to provide the action pyrotechnics and comic relief, so the adults should be left free to behave like...adults. After all, working for the CIA doesn't exactly place Xavier's team on the side of righteousness. It makes him a collaborator in the destruction of his own people, and it makes sense that Magneto would rebel against that.

For all the shocking twists and turns of Homeland's season finale, the most surprising realization came after it was over. Underneath the moral and political complications of terrorism policy, beneath the sensitive portrayals of the mentally damaged, lies a simple retelling of the story of Cassandra.

You remember Cassandra. She was given the gift of prophecy, but then she pissed off Apollo, who put a curse on her that no one would believe her predictions.

Carrie's mental illness becomes the modern simulacrum of Apollo's curse. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? She's gifted with a brain that functions in marvelous ways, but her malfunctions deprive her of all credibility.

In this scenario, Brody clearly becomes Odysseus, who is often described as "Odysseus the cunning" or "cruel Odysseus," depending on whose side you're on. He returns to his long-suffering wife after journeying through torment, war, and unimaginable delight, all the while expecting nothing to have changed at home.

Like Odysseus, he's clearly both a hero and a villain, and neither aspect negates the other. (Is it an accident that Carrie's "wise man" is named Virgil? For The Aeneid's Odysseus is a villain, only Homer's is heroic. In the end, only Virgil trusts Carrie's instincts.) Only Carrie is able to process these two selves, and her knowledge is rewarded with ostracization, derision and finally self-mutilation.

For Carrie's prophecy has now been ignored, and lost even to herself. The Trojan Horse has now been planted at the highest echelons of the government.

In conclusion, I give you my favorite retelling of Cassandra, by ABBA:

I was saddened to hear about the passing of Vaclav Havel, who's a bit of a personal hero. A playwright and a politician, an essayist and a revolutionary, he used art and words to fight totalitarianism.

Havel led a movement that exemplifies one of the core ideals of The Oncoming Hope: that acts of peace can be just as aggressive as acts of violence.

In a century when Czechoslavia became a pawn in all the major geopolitical wars of the 20th century, Havel relied on the most old-fashioned weapon: words.

His words followed four main themes: that every human being has personal responsibility to make the world a better place. That even the tiniest white lies can lead to intellectual dishonesty. That you cannot govern from ideology, only through care and responsibility. That power must not be used in service of preserving that power.

Most importantly, he championed the notion that ideals cannot and should not be compromised for the sake of expediency, or you poison the well entirely.

These are the ideological bases for non-violent revolution. Like Gandhi, he protected principle at all costs. Unlike Gandhi, he lived to govern the nation he helped to liberate, and governed its peaceful transition into two states.

I've had the pleasure of visiting both the Czech Republic and Slovakia in recent years. There's something in the air in both of those countries, something intangible, a freedom from the guilt that mars the history of so many European nations. A forward motion, perhaps, that comes from the immaculate conception of their nationhood.

As our political culture devolves into something almost as mature as a children's playground, Havel reminds us that politics should not be treated as an end unto itself, it's a tool to protect our free and just lives as humans.

I leave you with his motto: "Truth and love must prevail over lies and hatred."

Do yourself a favor. Read Reason's account of Havel and how he was inspired by the Velvet Underground and other rock acts.

There's an adored pub on Clerkenwell Green called The Crown Tavern, which sits in the hub of 20th century communist thought (this is where Lenin first met Stalin, for instance). Well, I was looking for more information about this particular establishment, and found an interesting bit of ephemera.

There's a wonderful website called My Time Machine, which republishes eyewitness accounts throughout history (I recommend that you spend some time on that site, though you may never leave).

In a nutshell, Karl Marx and our author, Wilhelm Liebknecht, set out to hit every saloon between Oxford Street and Hampstead Road. Drunkenness, brawling, and streetlamp assaults ensue. But I'll let Herr Liebknecht speak for himself:

A London pub crawl with Karl Marx, late 1850s

One evening, Edgar Bauer, acquainted with Marx from their Berlin time and then not yet his personal enemy […], had come to town from his hermitage in Highgate for the purpose of “making a beer trip.” The problem was to “take something” in every saloon between Oxford Street and Hampstead Road – making the something a very difficult task, even by confining yourself to a minimum, considering the enormous number of saloons in that part of the city. But we went to work undaunted and managed to reach the end of Tottenham Court Road without accident.

There loud singing issued from a public house; we entered and learned that a club of Odd Fellows were celebrating a festival. We met some of the men belonging to the “party,” and they at once invited us “foreigners” with truly English hospitality to go with them into one of the rooms. We followed them in the best of spirits, and the conversation naturally turned to politics – we had been easily recognised as Germany fugitives; and the Englishmen, good old-fashioned people, who wanted to amuse us a little, considered it their duty to revile thoroughly the German princes and the Russian nobles. By “Russian” they meant Prussian nobles. Russia and Prussia are frequently confounded in England, and not alone of account of their similarity of name. For a while, everything went smoothly. We had to drink many healths and to bring out and listen to many a toast.

Then the unexpected suddenly happened…

Edgar Bauer, hurt by some chance remark, turned the tables and ridiculed the English snobs. Marx launched an enthusiastic eulogy on German science and music – no other country, he said, would have been capable of producing such masters of music as Beethoven, Mozart, Haendel and Haydn, and the Englishmen who had no music were in reality far below the Germans who had been prevented hitherto only by the miserable political and economic conditions from accomplishing any great practical work, but who would yet outclass all other nations. So fluently I have never heard him speak English.

For my part, I demonstrated in drastic words that the political conditions in England were not a bit better than in Germany [… ] the only difference being that we Germans knew our public affairs were miserable, while the Englishmen did not know it, whence it were apparent that we surpassed the Englishmen in political intelligence.

The brows of our hosts began to cloud […]; and when Edgar Bauer brought up still heavier guns and began to allude to the English cant, then a low “damned foreigners!” issued from the company, soon followed by louder repetitions. Threatening words were spoken, the brains began to be heated, fists were brandished in the air and – we were sensible enough to choose the better part of valor and managed to effect, not wholly without difficulty, a passably dignified retreat.

Now we had enough of our “beer trip” for the time being, and in order to cool our heated blood, we started on a double quick march, until Edgar Bauer stumbled over some paving stones. “Hurrah, an idea!” And in memory of mad student pranks he picked up a stone, and Clash! Clatter! a gas lantern went flying into splinters. Nonsense is contagious – Marx and I did not stay behind, and we broke four or five street lamps – it was, perhaps, 2 o'clock in the morning and the streets were deserted in consequence. But the noise nevertheless attracted the attention of a policeman who with quick resolution gave the signal to his colleagues on the same beat. And immediately countersignals were given. The position became critical.

Happily we took in the situation at a glance; and happily we knew the locality. We raced ahead, three or four policemen some distance behind us. Marx showed an activity that I should not have attributed to him. And after the wild chase had lasted some minutes, we succeeded in turning into a side street and there running through an alley – a back yard between two streets – whence we came behind the policemen who lost the trail. Now we were safe. They did not have our description and we arrived at our homes without further adventures.

Source: Karl Marx: Biographical Memoirs, by Wilhelm Liebknecht. First German edition, Nuremberg, 1896; first English translation (by E Untermann), 1901. Reprinted by Journeyman Press, London, 1975.

Seriously, folks, check out the original site.

"Invented by an Italian engineer, a queer "horseless sulky" has been rolling on the roads near Brussels, Belgium, in recent tests. The seats, engine, and controls are located between the two huge, rubber tired wheels. According to the designer, the vehicle can attain speeds of 116 miles an hour." (Popular Science, pg. 19, 1935).

I would love to see photos of this thing being driven around Brussels.

In case you thought the Belgians were good for nothing but beer and international organizations, you can add totally useless transportation to the list. Do you think this is incredibly silly? Cause I sure do. Today's automakers, however, don't seem to agree.

Harley Davidson seems very enamored of the design, developing their own one-wheeled motorcycle:

(courtesy of Autoblog)

It appears that Bombardier has taken the design and simplified it even further, with the Embrio, which is hydro-powered and relies on gyroscopes to stay up:

Another variation of the "monocycle", the Wheelsurf, was premiered at Wired Nextfest:

I won't lie, I kind of want one. It tops out at 30 mph and sets you back around $4000. Which is a small price to pay to be transported STRAIGHT INTO THE FUTURE.