Thursday, April 24, 2008

Prepubescent Priapism Part I---Farrah Fawcett








I was always turned on by her, even as a little child.

The poster above had launched the Vaseline industry, that caused millions of teenage boys to go blind, and that created the medical condition called "Farrah Claw". Farrah's poster was on the wall of nearly every red-blooded American boy in the 70's.

Farrah continued her success with a brief stint on Charlie's Angels, and after that...well she hasn't done much after that 1 season and the poster. However, her legacy of hotness remains high.


Fight Club II


Gavin Smith goes one-on-one with David Fincher
Film Comment, September/October 1999

It's tempting to describe David Fincher's stunning mordantly funny, formally dazzling new movie Fight Club as the first film of the next century and leave it at that. It certainly suggests a possible future direction for mass-appeal cinema that could lead it out of the Nineties cul-de-sac of bloated, corrupt mediocrity and bankrupt formulas. Indeed, its vertiginous opening credits shot - a camera move hurtling backwards from the deepest recesses of its main character's brain, out through his mouth and down the barrel of the gun that is inserted into it - could almost be a metaphor for the cinema viewer's predicament.

Adapted from Chuck Palaniuk's novel by Jim Uhls, Fight Club is ostensibly an anti-New Age satire on both the dehumanizing effects of corporate/consumer culture and the absurd excesses of the men's movement. Its main character is a twentysomething wage slave (Edward Norton) whose voiceover discloses a sardonic, dissenting, but impotent interior life beneath his subdued exterior conformitu. Finding relief from chronic insomnia by attending multiple self-help group meetings under false pretenses, he leads a pallid, vampiric half-life, feeding vicariously on the catharsis and suffering of others. He reluctantly shares his perverse addiction with Marla, a despised fellow misery "tourist" (Helena Bonham Carter, whose damaged-goods-with-attitude turn is something of a revelation). In the course of his travels as a "recall coordinator" for a major car maufacturer (a job that deeply implicates him in the casual cynicism and corruption of corporate America), this unnamed protagonist encounters and falls in with an elusive, slightly outrageous trickster called Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt).

For all his ironic distance, the nonconformism of Norton's character pales in comparison. Durden, with his outlandish self-presentation and ersatz-Nietzchean pronouncements, is everything our narrator isn't. He answers to nobody, sees through the hypocrisies and agreed deceptions of modern life, given to casually mentioning, say, the recipe for making nitroglycerin out of soap, and in his part-time job as a movie projectionist amuses himself by splicing single frames of pornography into family movies. In his best work to date, Pitt, who's always good when he takes risks as an actor, relishes every juicy moment.

The two men seal a kind of unspoken pact with a spontaneous fistfight - someting that becomes a regular activity. Before long, other men begin to participate, and a club is founded for weekly one-on-one fight sessions. Durden also takes up with Marla, to our narrator's disgust. In sharp contrast to the drab ambiance of the narrator's prosaic daytime world of offices, hotels, and public spaces, Durden inhabits a disorderly realm of eccentric dilapidation that suggests a shadowy subconscious hinterland. As Durden's influence on him grows, the protagonist becomes an accomplice in his escalating program of antisocial pranks and subversive mischief, until they take an abrupt left turn with the formation of a quasimilitary all-male cult with an expressly antisocial, revolutionary agenda - a kind of surreal prole insurrection against bourgeois values.

For all their emphasis on hard surface, vivid texture, and sensational effect, Fincher's previous films staked out suggestively dreamlike psychic/narrative spaces: Ripley's rude awakening from cryogenic suspension in Alien3 (92), Somerset going to sleep to the tick of a metronome in Seven (95), the living nightmare of The Game (97). A tale told by an insomniac who doesn't know when he's asleep, Fight Club takes things one step beyond into new realms of dissociation and movie mindfuck. Suffice to say viewers might wonder just what they can trust: Is Tyler Durden projecting this movie? And just how reliable is this flipped-out narrator anyway?

To be sure, this film is the culmination of a recurrent Fincher scenario: repressed, straight white masculinity thrown into crisis by the irruption of an anarchic, implacable force that destabilizes a carefully regulated but precarious psychosocial order. In Alien3, a shaven-headed, celibate, all-male penal colony of killers that anticipates Fight Club's "space monley" cult of violent, obsolete masculinity, is disturbed first by a woman, then by a libidinously destructive organism. In Seven, locked in an endgame with a killer who's equal parts deranged artist and Old Testament avenger, Morgan Freeman's troubled, paternal detective seems to act with the stoic understanding that an older civilization of culture, values, and reason that he defends has been all but submerged in a Bosch-like world of corruption and chaos. The sterile, controlled universe of Michael Douglas's uptight millionaire tycoon in The Game unravels until he is stripped of everything he relies upon to define himself - though in the end, masculine power and privilege remain intact, indeed reaffirmed, by the ordeal. In Fight Club, sweeping through the main character's tidy, airless life like a tornado, Tyler Durden is a galvanizing, subversive force dedicated to revolt against the inauthenticity and mediocrity of modern life, seeking a nihilistic exaltation of disenfranchised masculinity through abjection and destructive transgression.

Fincher's films seemingly repudiate the values he's paid to uphold in his TV commericals. All his features, Fight Club especially, seem to be reactions to or commentaries upon the seductive, fabricated realities, spectacles of consumption, and appeals to narcissism and materialism of commercials. The dreamlike suspension, relative freedom from conventions and formats, and formidable technique that distinguish Fincher's sensibility have been honed or acquired from commericals and music videos, with their routinization of spectacle and "style," conceit-based construction and permissiveness in terms of breaking down film grammar conventions. (Fincher's 1989 Madonna video "Oh Father" demonstrated the potential aesthetic discipline and integrity of the form at its best.) His features apply these qualities to more complex, rigorous aesthetic strategies: the starkness and fragmentation of Alien3 with its minimization of wideshots and spatial resolution; the gliding, hollow sleekness of The Game; the luxuriating in painstaking degradation and gloomy decay of Fight Club and Seven

Fight Club belongs to a distinct moment of both dread and rupture in American mainstram cinema, also manifested in The Matrix and traceable at least as far back as Verhoeven's Starship Troopers. The acceleration and dissolution potentially ushered in by digital cinema are only a partial manifestation of this. There's a kind of dissociative hyperrealism operating in Fincher's film, and a mocking sense of flux and liminality in its attitudes and values both formally and conceptually. Its recourse to evident digital imagery has less to do with expanding the boundaries of what can be visualized than with a derangement of or insolence toward cinematic codes and conventions concerning authenticity and the narrative representation of space and time. (In an early, defining scene, Fincher's protagonist, ironically contemplating his consumerist lifestyle, moves through his condo as it transforms around him into a living Ikea catalog with prices floating in space.)

Is Fight Club the end of something in cinema, or the beginning? Zeitgeist movie or cult item? Whether you find the state-of-the-art cinematic values of this current moment liberating or oppressive, radical or specious, of lasting significance or entirely transitory, as the little girl in Poltergeist says: they're here. --G.S.

What did you set out to do with this film?

I read the book and thought, How do you make a movie out of this? It seemed kind of a coming of age for people who are coming of age in their 30s instead of in their late teens or early 20s. In our society, kids are much more sophisticated at an earlier age and much less emotionally capable at a later age. Those two things are sort of moving against each other.

I don't know if it's Buddhism, but there's the idea that on the path to enlightenment you have to kill your parents, your god, and your teacher. So the story begins at the moment when the Edward Norton character is 29 years old. He's tried to do everything he was taught to do, tried to fit into the world by becoming the thing that he isn't. He's been told, "If you do this, get an education, get a good job, be responsible, present yourself in a certain way, your furniture and your car and your clothes, you'll find happiness." And he hasn't. And so the movie introduces him at the point when he's killed off his parents and he realizes that they're wrong. But he's still caught up, trapped in this world he's created for himself. And then he meets Tyler Durden, and they fly in the face of God - they do all these things that they're not supposed to do, all the things that you do in your 20s when you're no longer being wathced over by your parents, and end up being, in hindsight, very dangerous. And then finally, he has to kill off this teacher, Tyler Durden. So the movie is really about that process of maturing.

Is the narrator a kind of everyman?

Yeah, definitely. Every young man. Again, The Graduate is a good parallel. It was talking about that moment in time when you have this world of possibilities, all these expectations, and you don't know who it is you're supposed to be. And you choose this one path, Mrs. Robinson, and it turns out to be bleak, but it's part of your initiation, your trial by fire. And then, by choosing the wrong path, you find your way onto the right path, but you've created this mess. Fight Club is the Nineties inverse of that: a guy who does not have a world a possibilities in front of him, he had no possibilities, he literally cannot imagine a way to change his life.

Like The Graduate it's also a satire.

A stylized version of our Ikea present. It is talking about very simple concepts. We're designed to be hunters and we're in a society of shopping. There's nothing to kill anymore, there's nothing to fight, nothing to overcome, nothing to explore. In that societal emasculation this everyman is created.

Tyler says, "Self-improvement is masturbation. Maybe self-destruction is the answer." That's a pretty radical statement.

I totally believe in that. I love the way it was couched. In the book, Tyler's already been on the journey. He's waiting impatiently for the narrator to make the same trip he has. And that was a thing we consciously got rid of. One of the things that Brad brought to it - and I think it was really smart - was, you don't want to pedantic. You don't want to have a guy going, "No, don't you understand, this is bullshit." you have to have a guy that's going, "Well, I can see your point, but it seems to me... You can look at losing all of your stuff both ways. Yeah, it's all of your stuff; yeah, it took you years to collect; yes, they were all tasteful, interesting choices. But there's another side to it, and the other side is, you don't have any of the responsibilities to that. Or to dig deeper, you find responsibilities to that image of yourself. But it's up to you - maybe I'm wrong."

You have the impression that he's making it up as he goes along.

Kind of saying,"We're both on the same path together, there's something in me that says it might be interesting if you just hit me. I don't know where it's going, it's no big deal; if you really don't want to do it, you don't have to."

Were you involved with the adaptation from the start?

Yeah, pretty much. A lot of the typical development-speak was being thrown around: "You can't have it all in voiceover because voiceover's a crutch." The first draft had no voiceover, and I remember saying, "Why is there no VO?" and they were saying, "Everybody knows that you only use VO if you can't tell the story." And I was like, "It's not funny if there's no voiceover, it's just sad and pathetic." I remember having a conversation early on when we were discussing what the feel of the first act should be. I was saying, "it's not a movie, it's not even TV, it's not even channel-changing, it's like pulldown windows. It's like, pffpp, take a look at it, pffpp, pull the next thing down - it's gotta be downloaded. It's gotta move quick as you can think. We've gotta come up with a way that the camera can illustrate things at the speed of thought."

And that's one of the things that was interesting to me, how much can you jump around in time and go: Wait, let me back up a little bit more, okay, no, no, this is where this started, this is how I met this person... So there's you into the present and then leaping back to go, Let me tell you about this other thin. It's almost conversational. It's as erratic in its presentation as the narrator is in his thinking.

I think maybe the possibilities of this kind of temporal and spatial freedom point to a future direction for movies.

Well, I kind of do too in a weird way - just in the amount of freedom over content, and also how those different things are apportioned. You don't necessarily have to make everything so concisely, narratively essential. There are a lot of scenes that, although they feel narratively redundant, are part of a thematic build.

What was the thinking behind the opening shot?

We wanted a title sequence that started in the fear center of the brain. [When you hear] the sound of a gun being cocked that's in your mouth, the part of you brain that gets everything going, that realizes that you are fucked - we see all the thought processes, we see the synapses firing, we see the chemical electrical impulses that are the call to arms. And we wanted to sort of follow that out. Because the movie is about thought, it's about how this guy thinks. And it's from his point of view, soley. So I liked the idea of starting a movie from thought, from the beginning of the first fear impulse that went, Oh shit, I'm fucked, how did I get here?

What was your attitude towards the use of CGI to accomplish these impossible camera moves?

To me it was a selfish means to an end. It wasn't about, Oh it would be cool to try something like this. In the book there are these long passages of description about how nitroglycerin gets made, and what could have happened to cause the explosion at the narrator's condo, and we were going, How do we illustrate that? "The police would later tell me the pilot light could have gone out, letting out just a little bit of gas" - but you can't just cut to a stove, you've got to become the gas. I always loved the threatening nature of the telephone in Scorsese's After Hours. Every time the phone rang, the camera rushed right at it as somebody picked it up and you didn't want to find out who was going to be on the other end. Well, if we were talking about how this tea smells, we'd just push in so we knew we were talking about the tea, and show you the steam coming up, and then follow the steam and see that there's other people in the room, and end up on somebody sniffing. There's a way to tell that story as a narrator's telling you that stuff. That's what makes Chuck's writing so funny - there's this cynical, sarcastic overview, and at the same time when he gets into detail about how things are done, it's sort of wonderfully compulsive. Here's something you need to know, here's the recipe for napalm.

It's the visual equivalent of stream of consciousness.

That's it, that's what the movie is, it's a stream of consciousness. And that's the thing that makes it so fun to follow. Because he's just doling out information as he thinks of it. We take the first forty minutes to literally indoctrinate you in this subjective psychotic state, the way he thinks, the way he talks about what's behind the refrigerator, and you go there. He talks about the bomb, and you zip out the window and the camera just drops thirty stories and goes through the sidewalk, into the underground garage, through the bullet-hole in the van and out the side. We take the first forty minutes to [establish], This is what you're gonna see, this is what he's gonna say, those two things are inextricably tied, this one comments on that one. And then we get to a point where we go: Oh yeah - remember where we were taking you and showing you this whole thing? You only saw this much of it- the other side of it is, this is what was going on.

[WARNING: If you haven't seen Fight Club yet and want to have an optimal viewing experience, skip over the next section.]


I HAVE TO say I didn't see the twist coming.

You can't. I've had this argument with people who go, Yeah, well, I knew. And I go, Bullshit, how could you possibly know? We spent tons of money to get two different people to make sure that you wouldn't know. The point is not whether you're stupid or smart because you didn't see it coming, the point is that that's the realization that this guy comes to. But if you trick people, it's an affront, and you really better be careful about what you're doing. A wise friend of mine once said, "What people want from the movies is to be able to say, I knew it and it's not my fault." And it's so true. I've had this argument with a couple people we've shown the movie to. Like, "Fuck you man, this is like The Game, you're just looking for some way to dick with me." It's not about tricking you, it's a metaphor, it's not about a real guy who really blows up buildings, it's about a guy who's led to feel this might be the answer based on all the confusion and rage that he's suffered and it's from that frustration and bottled rage that he creates Tyler. And he goes through a natural process of experimenting with notions that are complicated and have moral and ethical implications that the Nietzchean ubermensch doesn't have to answer to. That's why Nietzsche's really great with college freshman males, and unfortunately doesn't have much to say to somebody in their early thirties or early forties. And that's the conflict at the end - you have Tyler Durden, who is everything you would want to be, except real and empathetic. He's not living in our world, he's not governed by the same forces, he is an ideal. And he can deal with the concepts of our lives in an idealistic fashion, but it doesn't have anything to do with the compromises of real life as modern man knows it. Which is: You're not really necessary to a lot of what's going on. It's built, it just needs to run now. Thank you very much, here's your Internet access.

Is the Edward Norton character ever named?

In the screenplay we call him Jack. In the credits it says "The Narrator."

Did you see him in terms of the literary device of the unreliable narrator?

Oh, he's totally unreliable.

How does that affect the staging - how do you hint at it?

We had tons of little rules about Tyler. Tyler is not seen in a two-shot within a group of people. We don't play it over the shoulder when Tyler gives him an idea about something that's very specific, that's going to lead him. It's never an over the shoulder shot, it's always Tyler by himself. There's five or six shots in the first two reels of Tyler, where he appears in one frame, waiting for Edward Norton's character. When the doctor says to him, You wanna see pain, swing by First Methodist Tuesday night and see the guys with testicular cancer, that's pain - and, boop, Brad appears over the guy's shoulder for one frame. We shot him in the environment with the people, and then we matted him in for one frame, so that Tyler literally appears like his spliced-in penis shot, just dink, dink. You can see it on DVD. We did a lot of that stuff. When Edward's on the airplane and they have that little promotional Marriott television loop, when they're showing all their banquet facilities, there's this shot of all these waiters going "Welcome!" and Brad's in the middle of those waiters.

I didn't know what the flash frames were but I took them to mean that the movie we're watching has been tampered with by Tyler Durden.

True. Same thing. At the end, when the building blow up, we spliced in two frames of a penis.

Do you see links to The Game in which he goes on this journey where everything is stripped away and nothing is what it seems.

He's humiliated. Yeah, they're cousins. It's a "Twilight Zone" episode. That's all it's supposed to be. In Fight Club it's even worse - having to contend with somebody who's powerful and you look up to them and his ideas become all too questionable, but then to find out that they are indeed your ideas, that this is your mess, that you are the leader.

WHAT DID YOU envisage in terms of style?

Lurid was definitely one of the things we wnated to do. We didn't want to be afraid of color, we wanted to control the color palette. You go into 7-Eleven in the middle of the night and there's all that green-fluorescent. And like what green light does to cellophane packages, we wanted to make people sort of shiny. Helena wears this opalescent makeup so she always has this smack-fiend patina, like a corpse. Because she is a truly romantic nihilistic.

[Cinematographer] Jeff Cronenweth and I taked about Haskell Wexler's American Graffiti and how that looked, how the nighttime exteriors have this sort of mundane look, but it still has a lot of different colors but they all seem very true, they don't seem hyperstylized. And we talked about making it a dirty-looking movie, kind of grainy. When we processed it, we stretched the contrast to make it kind of ugly, a little bit of underexposure, a little bit resilvering, and using new high-contrast print socks and stepping all over it so it has a dirty patina.

What's resilvering?

Lover-scale enhancement. Rebonding silver that's been bleached away during the processing of the print and then rebonding it to the print.

What does that do?

Makes it really dense. The blacks become incredibly rich and kind of dirty. We did it on Seven a little, just to make the prints nice. But it's really in this more for making it ugly.

We wanted to present things fairly realistically, except obviously the Paper Street house - there are no Victorians with 18-foot ceilings on the West Coast. [Production designer] Alex McDowell and I looked at books of [photographer] Philip-Lorca diCorcia because it just felt like the motel-life world that you see. Marla's apartment, which was a set was literally like photographs of a room at the Rosalind Apartments in downtown L.A. We just went in and took pictures of it and said, "This is it, build this." As much as possible we tried to incorporate real office buildings, just went down and said, "All right, put some cubicles in and we'll shoot." Kind of a low-budget approach.

Where did the Ikea catalog scene come from? That was the moment where I knew I'd never seen a movie like this before.

In the book he constantly lists his possessions, and we were like, How do we show that, how do we convey the culmination of his collecting things, and show how hollow and flat and two-dimensional it is? So we were just like, Let's put it in a catalog. So we brought in a motion controlled camera and filmed Edward walking through the set, then filmed the camera pan across the set, then filmed every single set dressing and just slipped them all back together, then used this type program so that it would all pan. It was just the idea of living in this fraudulent idea of happiness. There's this guy who's literally living in this Ikea catalog.

Did you have a sense of biting the hand that feeds you, given that you direct commercials?

Well, I'm extremely cynical about commercials and about selling things and bout the narcissistic ideals of what we're supposed to be. I guess in my heart I was hoping people are too smart to fall for that stuff. But it's unfortunate that it had to be presented in such a low-budget way. I would have loved to have done a whole sequence of it.

What gets you going as a director?

I don't want to be constrained by having to do something new. I look at it as : What are the movies that I want to see? I make movies that other people aren't making. I'm not interested in the Hero With a Thousand Faces - there's a lot of people that do that. A friend of mine used to say there's a pervert on every block, there's always one person in every neighborhood who's kind of questionable. You're looking for that one pervert story.

What's the most creative part of directing?

Thinking. It's thinking the thing up, designing all the sets, and it's rehersals, and then the creative process is fuckin' over. Then it's just war, it's just literally, How do we get through this day? It's 99 percent politics and 1 percent inspiration.

I've had days of shooting where I went, Wow, that's what it is, that's what it's like to be making a movie. Everything's clicking, people are asking questions, and the clock's ticking, but you feel like you're making progress. But most of the time it isn't that. Most of the time it's, How do you support the initial intent of what it is you set out to do, and not undercut that by getting pissed off and letting your attention get away on that? It's priority manangement. It's problem solving. Oftentimes you walk away from a scene going, Wasn't what I thought it was gonna be. Often. But it's also knowing that you don't have to get it exactly the way you see it.

You want to be able to provide something, and you're pissing down a fucking well. It will suck you dry and take everything you have and, like being a parent, you can pour as much love as you want, and your kid still says, "Just let me right out here, you don't have to take me all the way." You're working to make yourself obsolete. I'm not going to make Persona - my movies are fairly obvious in what the people want and what it is that's happening; it;s not that internalized. What's internalized is how you process the information from the singular, subjective point of view. And that becomes the subtext of it.

I'm not Elia Kazan; I'm probably not going to reinvent an actor for the audience or for themselves. But I pay meticulous attention to getting the environment right so that the people have to do less work to pretend to be that person. It makes sense - seeing them next to that desk, and with that light. Michael Douglas and I went through this on The Game a lot. He would say, But you need to be able to make this turn, so that later on you can do this. And I would say, "You know what? That may be narratively essential, but I don't believe that somebody would do that at this point. So go ahead and take the producer cap off and be the selfish actor and make me deliver what's around it to make it make sense. You don't have to help me tell my story. You don't have to get riled over here. You don't have to let people know what your potential is for losing control." There are times when you, as the director, need to say to the actor, "Be selfish, make me do this. Create a hurdle for me to jump over instead of me creating a hurdle for you."

Any example where something turned out the way you wanted it?

No. [Laughs.] I think the master in Seven where they walk in and see big Bob on the table with his face in spaghetti - that was what I thought it was going to be.

What about in Fight Club?

I went into it thinking, Grow up, stop trying to fucking control everything and just let go. Try to give the guidance where you can and be smart editorially about what you allow to happen - directions that you allow things to go in, so you don't create a fucking morass for yourself. But don't try to overthink it, because it's the kind of thing that's got a lot of truths in it, and those truths are going to come through no matter what you do. You have a responsibility to the schedule and the budget and those things, but you're not really responsible for making everything happen. Create a good environment, cast the thing as well as you can, and get the hell out of the way of those people. This is a movie about 26-to-34-year-olds, and I think that there's a definite generational division between Brad and Edward. They're definitely about a different kind of thought process. I thought, There's a thing that Edward Norton's going to bring to this that's going to be really important, and he's safeguarding his generational input, he's the caretaker of that.

Apart, from the fact that directing pays the bills and you enjoy it -

I don't enjoy it at all.

Okay. So what need does it satisfy in you?

Filmmmaking encompasses everything, from tricking people into investing in it, to putting on the show, to trying to distill down to moments in time, and ape reality but send this other message. It's got everything. When I was a kid I loved to draw, and I loved my electric football sets, and I painted little things and made sculptures and did matte painting and comic books and illustrated stuff, and took pictures, had a darkroom, loved to tape-record stuff. It's all of that. It's not having to frow up. It's four-dimensional chess, it's strategy, and it's being painfully honest, and unbelivably deceitful, and everything in between.

When I was a kid I would spend hours in my bedroom drawing. I could never get my fucking hands to do it the way I had it in my head. I used to always go, Someday you'll have the skill to draw exactly what you see in your head, and then you'd be able to show it to somebody, and if they like it, then you will have been able to transfer this thing [in your head] through this apparatus to this, and then you'll truly know your worth. And I gave up drawing and then painting and then sculpture and then acting and then photography for things that were that much more difficult - to get that idea in your head out there.

It's kind of a masochistic endeavor. I know that if I can out all this together, record the sound the way I want to hear it.... You know, we had such a hard time getting the timbre of Edward's voiceover, because it has to sound like a thought. We ended up using five different microphones trying to get this sound. You listen to it and it doesn't sound like a thought, it sounds like a guy talking to you. The voiceover in Blade Runner, if you listen to it, sounds like a guy reading prose while he's sitting on the john. How do you avoid that? So it's all those things, it's so challenging.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Fight Club








Fight Club : A Ritual Cure For The Spiritual Ailment Of American Masculinity
By Jethro Rothe-Kushel
Jethro Rothe-Kushel is a Los Angeles based freelance writer and independent filmmaker. His award-winning films have screened at venues internationally. He is currently living in Mexico City working on his latest film. More info available at jethrofilms.com.

"Motion Pictures are going to save our civilization from the destruction which has successively overwhelmed every civilization of the past. They provide what every previous civilization has lacked -- namely a means of relief, happiness, and mental inspiration to the people at the bottom. Without happiness and inspiration being accessible to those upon whom the social burden rests most heavily, there can be no stable social system. Revolutions are born of misery and despair."
- Mary Gray Peck, General Federation of Women's Clubs, 1917.
"Hollywood is the nearest thing to "hell on earth" which Satan has been able thus far to establish in this world. And the influence of Hollywood is undermining the Christian culture and civilization which our fathers built in this land."
- Dan Gilbert, Chairman of the Christian Newspaper Men's Committee to Investigate the Motion Picture Industry, 1994.
Introduction
When I first saw Fight Club (1999 dir. David Fincher), I had just returned from a workshop in Oregon entitled "Men: Born to Kill?" The program was a four-day workshop for about thirty men in which we learned to hold hands and "discharge." It was the first time since infancy I had been given a forum in which to touch other men and cry together with no discomfort or judgement. In the privacy of this idyllic setting, we discussed the ways in which we use women for touch and to hold us emotionally because we are too afraid to use other men for this purpose.
As a filmmaker and a man, I had been told Fight Club was one of those movies I would like. I tend not to enjoy violent films, but with the new energy from the workshop I thought I would give it a chance. I was not sure how I felt about the movie then and I'm not sure now, but I felt.
Synopsis
Directed by David Fincher, written for the screen by Jim Uhls, and based on a novel by Chuck Plahniuk, Fight Club was released to Americans recovering from the Columbine school shootings in the fall of 1999. From the beginning, the film examines consciousness itself. We hear a gun cock and watch the sound as an electrical impulse inside the psychoneurotic center of the protagonist's brain. "The electricity that's running through it is like photo-electrical stimuli . . . These are fear-based impulses. We're changing scale the whole time so we're starting at the size of a dendrite and we pull through the frontal lobe." Our narrator, Jack, is a product of American problems of meaning. America may promise freedom, especially to the white man, but Jack's life is anything but free. He lives in indentured servitude to his corporate copying office job and his IKEA catalogues. He is on a spiritual (1) train straight to nowhere. But when he sees a doctor for a diagnosis of his spiritual death, the doctor assures him, "No, you can't die from insomnia . . . You want to see pain?" mocks the doctor. "Swing by Meyer High on a Tuesday night and see the guys with testicular cancer. Now that's pain!"
The testicular cancer support group gives Jack the kind of emotional attention he needs. Here people "really listen" and he can cry and feel for the first time. The testicular cancer group inspires him to join support groups for lymphoma, tuberculosis, blood parasites, brain parasites, organic brain dementia, and ascending bowel cancer. He becomes a support group addict with a different group each day of the week-all for a condition he does not have. Accustomed to regarding people as packages, he meets a perfect "single-serving friend" who sits next to him on a business flight. Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) is everything the narrator wishes he could be. Tyler is a walking, talking, cultural commentator. He is cynical, strong, and forthright. This chance encounter with Tyler Durden leads our narrator to his drastic change of "life-style." When the narrator's IKEA-furnished house burns down, he moves in with Tyler Durden. Together, they start Fight Club, a new kind of support group for men that encourages them to sock and punch and tear at each other in order to feel saved. The fights are primal, brutal, and bloody. This is an honorable group with its own codes and ethics. But Fight Club aggression spins out of control into Project Mayhem. When the narrator finally confronts Tyler about the project, he comes to the realization that he is Tyler Durden. The narrator confronts the inner psychological split by placing a gun in his own mouth. He shoots himself to kill off his alter-ego, but it is too late. Project Mayhem ends where it began, at "ground zero," with bombs exploding and corporate skyscrapers crumbling.
Cultural and Archetypal Myth
Fight Club comments profoundly on America's problems of meaning (e.g. indentured servitude to capitalism in a land of freedom, violence in a land of justice, consumer Darwinism in a land of community, meaning in a post-modern reality that understands all meaning as a relative cultural construct, etc.). In sociological terms, Jack, a white male, could represent the hierarchical leadership of the American patriarchy. "I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around." America seems to love him, but he feels hurt and betrayed by his culture and the dulled-down consumerist dreams he has inherited.
We're consumers. We're by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty -- these things don't concern me. What concerns me is celebrity magazines, television with five hundred channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
But according to Fincher, "We're designed to be hunters and we're in a society of shopping. There's nothing to kill anymore, there's nothing to fight, nothing to overcome, nothing to explore. In that societal emasculation this everyman is created." (2) Where does Jack go to discuss his problems? What community exists to support him emotionally and spiritually?
Seeking guidance, Jack stumbles into a group for men with testicular cancer. He finds that a weekly catharsis between Bob's breasts rids him of his insomnia by allowing him to feel. But this apparent solution produces a new dilemma for Jack-crying men.
BOB
We're still men.
JACK
Yes. We're men. Men is what we are.
JACK (V.O.)
Bob cried. Six months ago, his testicles were removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch tits because his testosterone was too high and his body upped the estrogen. That was where my head fit -- into his sweating tits that hang enormous, the way we think of God's as big.
Jack's masculinity has been reduced to undifferentiated tears. But from these tears, he finds "strength." Despite the temporary relief he feels from his catharsis, Jack quickly returns to his initial dilemma:
You are here because the world
As you know it no longer makes sense.
You've been raised on television
To believe we'll all be
Millionaires and movie gods and
Rock stars - but we won't.
You pray for a different life. (3)
If Jack is not allowed to express his creativity as a "movie god" or "rock star," he can create his own god in the theater of his mind that will grant him permission to feel in a more lasting way.
Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961), a disciple of Sigmund Freud, believed that his mentor had neglected the soul and religion in his understanding of human psychology. For this reason, Jung left Freud and spent years of research in religious iconography and mythical stories. His findings suggest that archetypal stories exist cross-culturally and that each individual psyche has the potential for two opposing personalities: ego and shadow. Ego controls the psyche, but when ego is disrupted (through Tyler's cutting frames into the film) or weakened through sleep loss or an emotional void (in Jack's case), the shadow creeps in to take control. The ego is constructed around societal norms and the desire for behavior which "fits into society." However, Post-Modernity challenges these social norms as simply one narrative or structure which is no better than any other structured narrative. The destruction of Jack's ego also parallels the destruction of American hegemony.
Tyler Durden, Jack's alter-ego creation, forces Jack to create binary oppositions (love/fear, ego/shadow, etc.) which perhaps necessitate post-modern "queering" for any resolution.
Howard Teich calls The Solar / Lunar Twin-Ego, "a universal theme that is documented in nearly all cultural histories. Rivalrous pairs such as Romulus and Remus, Jacob and Esau, may be most familiar to us, but examples of amicable solar / lunar Twins abound as well. It is for example, seldom recalled that even our superhero Hercules was born with a twin named Iphicles. Together the Twins represent a balanced, complete energetic principle of the masculine, partaking of both light and dark influences. (4)
It is this "balanced, complete energetic principle of the masculine" which Jack strives to be. Without Tyler, Jack is a spineless, volumeless, emotionless, placid, and flaccid half-man. Jack's creation of Tyler Durden allows him to reclaim his masculinity amidst a culture of post-feminist, cathartic, "self"-help groups.
Eugene Monick, a contemporary of Jung, wrote a recent book entitled Phallos: Sacred Image of the Masculine, in which he explains a concept of Phallos which Jung neglected in his research and writings. According to Monick, masculine identity in the American patriarchy is often taken for granted as dominant; therefore it is neglected. Monick suggests that in a post-feminist America, masculine identity may have become a larger enigma for men than feminine identity for women. He also explains that in his own practice of analysis more men are coming to therapy to correct a psychological situation in which they "feel something is missing." Men often find themselves in a quandary about their violent and sexual urges and tend either to act on them and feel guilty, or to suppress them and remain unfulfilled. Nothing has been written on the archetypal basis of masculinity since Erich Neumann's Origins and History of Consciousness in 1995. (5) Monick explains:
Phallos is subjective authority for a male, and objective for those who come into contact with him. This is what makes phallus archetypal. No male has to learn phallos. It presents itself to him as a god does. (6)
With his addiction to self-help groups, Jack attends a leukemia group and experiences a guided meditation. When he is told to meet his power animal in one meditation, he finds a penguin in a snowy cave who speaks like a child-a poignant image of Jack's lonely and docile masculinity. In an article entitled "What Men Really Want," Robert Bly captures this over-emphasized docility:
When I look out at my audiences, perhaps half the young males are what I'd call soft. They're lovely, valuable people-I like them-and they're not interested in harming the earth, or starting wars, or working for corporations. There's something favorable toward life in their whole general mood and style of living. But something's wrong. There's not much energy in them. They are life-preserving but not exactly life-giving. (7)
In a culture that's been robbed of its masculine principle, Jack finds himself only accepting his masculinity through tears and the estrogen-enriched breasts of another man who completes him.
JACK (V.O.)
The big moosie, his eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears. Knees together, invisible steps.
Bob takes Jack into an embrace.
JACK (V.O.)
He pancaked down on top of me.
BOB
Two grown kids ... and they won't return my calls.
JACK (V.O.)
Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one.
Jack's face is rapt and sincere. Bob stops talking and breaks into sobbing, putting his head down on Jack's shoulder and completely covering Jack's face.
JACK (V.O.)
Then, I was lost in oblivion -- dark and silent and complete.
Jack's body begins to jerk in sobs. He tightens his arms around Bob.
JACK (V.O.)
This was freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
Crying for Jack seems to be one way to address his masculinity and disappointment with a spiritless life. In contemporary America, it seems that an increasing number of men are turning to tears as a way of emoting. Bly discusses this catharsis-obsessed American males.
Often the younger males would begin to talk and within five minutes they would be weeping. The amount of grief and anguish in the younger males was astounding! The river was deep. . . They had learned to be receptive, and it wasn't enough to carry their marriages. In every relationship something fierce is needed once in a while; both the man and the woman need to have it. (8)
Monick suggests that the fierceness excluded from the masculine crying model comes with the re-integration of the shadow. Monick devotes the sixth chapter of his book to the shadow of phallus called chthonic phallus:
. . . characterized by its grossness, brutality and carelessness. It can be characterized by its unmitigated power needs, by a kind of mad drivenness, by the mayhem of war and ruthless competition it occasions. Life is replete with examples of its stupid and devastating behavior, 'the man eater,' as Jung's mother called it in his childhood dream. (9)
Though Freud and Jung saw the mother as the primary relationship for any child, Monick suggests that for a man, religion helps fill the void neglected by his father. "Psychoanalytic theory, whether Freudian or Jungian, gives singular primacy to the mother as the basis of life. This is an error." (10)
The argument could be made that Freud, Jung, and Monick all cater to perhaps outdated gender roles that have no place in a post-modern scholarship where all gender roles are merely conditioned identities to maintain social control. Judith Butler, among others, argues that to speak of gender in any way is to speak of mere conceptual binaries that have been mistakenly mapped onto the human body. Perhaps I am stuck in an outdated paradigm that does not take into account the plurality of roles a human can play for a child and the plurality of circumstances in which a child can be raised, but this writer still finds psychological gender theories interesting if not useful.
Monick claims an individuating spirit cannot become complete until it incorporates the shadowed Other-the darker side of masculinity.
The issue of chthonic phallus is important to men who have a strong spiritual component in their lives and/or a dominant solar masculinity. What do they do with the sweaty, hairy, animal phallos represented by Iron John? (11)
Monick suggests that in the ideal nuclear family, the individuating spirit can grow under the guidance of a mother and a father. But like most American families, Jack's family was anything but ideal:
JACK
My mother would just go into hysterics. My Dad ... Don't know where he is. Only knew him for six years. Then, he ran off to a new city and married another woman and had more kids. Every six years -- new
city, new family. He was setting up franchises.
Tyler smiles, snorts, shakes his head.
TYLER
A generation of men raised by women. Look what it's done to you.
With households across the country either consisting of or dominated by women, young men seem to have trouble finding guidance on the integration of the darker sides of masculinity. Monick claims mothers cannot teach their sons about chthonic phallus.
It is not only the mother's desire to keep her son close and compatible with her style of life that damages chthonic phallos. The father participates, as the king did in the fairy tale. The father who has lost the power and raw energy of chthonic phallos would also deny it to the son. In practical terms, this may become manifest in the abrogation of the father's masculine authority, which by default goes to the mother. And often when the father experiences the return of phallic energy, he leaves the domestic scene to act it out. In such cases, the son is left to fend for himself in a maternal-and often hostile-environment, with no male role-model. (12)
With the lack of a male role-model, all that is left for the American boy without a father is the consumer "product." When there is no other solution, Jack turns to a "modern versatile domestic solution" to fill the void:
Jack flips the page of the catalogue to reveal a full-page photo of an entire kitchen and dining room set.
JACK (V.O.)
I would flip and wonder, "What kind of dining room set *defines* me as a person?"
Jack wants out of his dead end corporate job and his IKEA furnished "life-style." Jack, who does not have enough courage of his own, creates a shadow that has enough nerve to break free and enough audacity to become his own true individual. Jack creates Tyler Durden as a mentoring father figure who will help him integrate his shadow in relationship with sex and violence and bring Jack closer to the Other.
TYLER
Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God.
And if our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?
Increasingly American boys are raised by their mothers with a lack of any strong male role-model in their life. Tyler becomes such a role-model for Jack who paradoxically holds all of Jack's rage and all of his love simultaneously. The fighting itself becomes an act of love through which they can relate to one another. However, Tyler Durden, like Iron John, is only a temporary experience.
The young prince must go into the forest to live for a time with Iron John. A gentleman must know that he is also a beast and know the appropriate times to become that beast-that is the integration of shadow chthonic phallos. The prince must of course emerge from the forest, but with his eyes open to the duality of his nature.
The last scene of the film illuminates Jack's final encounter with Tyler. With a gun to Jack's head, Tyler begins the last scene where the film began.
TYLER
3 minutes. This is it. Here we are at the beginning. Ground zero. Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Jack is at a loss for words, but realizes he no longer craves the destruction Tyler wants. "I don't want this!" But it is too late. Vans loaded with "blasting gelatin" are set to detonate and destroy urban phallic skyscrapers in a matter of minutes. Jack realizes the only way to stop his alter-ego gone awry is to point the gun at himself. Tyler dies when Jack shoots himself in the mouth, but Jack remains a spirit to bear witness to "ground zero." (13) The last image of the film is framed as a vista from within a glass skyscraper. Jack and his lover, Marla Singer, hold hands at the "theater of mass destruction." Two tall towers crumble to the ground. Premiered years before September eleventh, the film serves as chilling prophecy even more profound and ripe with cultura l and historical mythic elements than even this author had expected.
Fight Club as Sacred
But how can a film with such a dark and violent conclusion be classified as sacred? The French anthropologist, René Girard, suggests that sacred violence is an inherent component of any well functioning society throughout history. Girard classifies violence into pure and impure violence. Impure violence is uncontained and lawless and warrants retaliation from the victim's fellowship. Such violence is ultimately destructive to the community because its results are interminable. However, pure violence is contained through a lawful sacrifice in which the victim and his fellowship understand the death as sacred. Such a sacrifice satisfies the cultural need for violence while maintaining order and purpose. Fight Club becomes such a structure wherein violence is contained within a particular communal order. It is worth noting that all participants in Fight Club are white males, kings of American hegemony, who have no scapegoat for their problems but themselves and the corporations. The sacrificial victim becomes a scapegoat by which to purge the society of its anger and hatred. The scapegoat allows the community to project all of its anger onto the victim, thereby eliminating its anger at itself. By sacrificing the scapegoat the community relinquishes itself from its anger. Girard suggest that the scapegoat is both fatherless and randomly chosen so that he will not be avenged after his death. The ideal scapegoat is a king or hero who has achieved success in the community, but is destroyed by destiny. "God giveth and God taketh. The best of scapegoats is thus a dethroned idol, a broken idol marginalized from the society he once ruled. And this is exactly what the action hero is." (14) Tyler Durden is such an action hero-fatherless as Jack is his only creator, and a model of the ultimate American idol, popular icon and movie star Brad Pitt himself. While Tyler Durden becomes a scapegoat for Jack, corporate buildings become a scapegoat for Tyler as the "Demolitions Committee" of "Project Mayhem." The demolition of Brad Pitt and about seven skyscrapers leaves the viewer with a sense of peace leaving the theater. (15) Fight Club, the film, and Fight Club, the cult within the film, becomes the reclamation of American sacred violence.
I would argue Fight Club is avante garde sublime art. However, categorizing the film in artistic terms negates the highest measurement of sacredness in America: box-office success. As with most American endeavors that afford some power, the projected image does not come for free. Film is the most costly and time-consuming art form. (16) Production on such a grand and costly scale will both comment on culture and affect culture profoundly. If money is not sacred in America, what is? The American dollar dictates American values, and by that measure, Fight Club is irrevocably sacred.
Formative Myth and Its Medium
But what is the impact of this violent myth on the community? The space of the movie theater is a sacred ritual arena that few scholars have analyzed as such. Martin discusses the lack of scholarly work linking film and religion:
Scholars engaged in prevailing modes of film criticism have had almost nothing to say about religion. And scholars who study religion have had almost nothing to say about Hollywood film. Instead of encountering an ongoing and stimulating dialogue about religion and film, I encountered silence. (17)
The viewer experiences a cognitive shift when he steps into the movie theater. Fight Club as a cultural artifact has the ability to affect individual and collective consciousness. But how do we measure this effect? In oral traditions, the communication of sacred stories is confined to a specific time and place. However, with a text, cultural effects can be analyzed through critical literary faculties that human consciousness has developed over hundreds of years. The impact of the classic text on its culture is also easily discussed from the privileged temporal position of having a distance of many years with which to measure cultural change. However, discussing the impact of a contemporary film on its community is a much more daunting task for which scholars have only the most archaic tools.
The French philosopher, Emmanuel Levinas, suggests that a significant cognitive distinction exists between the experience of reading a text and the experience of viewing an image. The linearity of the textual narrative empowers its consumer in a way that the image does not. The literary text is only reconstructed through the critical faculties of its reader. Thus, the textual consumer is empowered with ultimate control over his or her interpretation. However, the viewer of the image is instantaneously seduced into an uncontrollable holistic experience. The image dominates its viewer, requires a fundamental passivity, and denies the viewer the freedom of interpretation. Levinas has an abhorrence of images. He critiques the artist whose compulsion for expressing truth supercedes the responsibility of the consequences of such an expression. The question remains: does the artist influence the culture or does the culture merely influence the artist? When people remarked that Gertrude Stein did not look like Picasso's portrait, Picasso replied, "She will." In a similar way, when Fight Club was first released in 1999, many critics were upset by its violence voicing the concern that the film itself creates a violence that does not exist within the culture. However, five years later, the last image of two buildings crumbling confirms the film's prophetic power as young American men come together to fight a new scapegoat--Islamic fundamentalists.
The visual arts bring us to a safe place where we can experience extreme emotion.
Film can have the effect of a formative religious experience more so than the most sublime texts. However, such a film experience is more dangerous; text depends on critical faculties whereas the film requires passive vulnerability.
Film belongs in both the critical worlds of text and image. The rapid projection of twenty-four 35mm photographs every second is reconstructed only in the viewer's memory using both narrative critical faculties and image domination. There becomes a temporal quality to the image that allows the mind to re-create a holistic experience. And sound only complicates this ultimately inarticulatable experience.
Film can seduce and indoctrinate the viewer urging him or her to confront his or her own emotion. Also, film can have a stronger emotional draw than even theater (assuming the audience chooses to accept the film as a reality) by permitting the viewer to suspend critical judgment. The safety of the movie setting allows the viewer to make himself more vulnerable and be affected in emotionally deeper ways. Consumers move from a "normal" sphere to a sphere in which they allow alternative realities to be presented. In this act, the consumer suspends his or her control of how reality "should" operate. Artaud, the French poet, essayist, playwright, and actor conceptualized cinema as "literally a stimulant or narcotic, acting directly and materially on the mind." (18) Artaud's film work combats the medium, attempting to "tear the image from representation and position it in proximity within the viewer's perception/interpretative sensorium." (19) In his work, Artaud interrupts the narrative itself so the audience can become conscious of its existence. He theorized that "raw cinema" would come from eliminating film's narrative qualities and therefore relying solely on the indoctrination of the image. Fight Club moves in this direction.
That the film has its viewers blindly accept a new value structure which undermines and subverts most "normal" values of right and wrong, is a stunning testament to film's ability to create a separate reality within the confines of the theater space.
That the film promotes this idea and wins our involvement, before completely undermining itself and the exercise, displays a clever, highly manipulative comment on the influence of a film to persuade its viewers into accepting a anew set of values . . . (20)
The film's ability to persuade its viewer to accept a moral relativity has some frightening implications:
It's a modern, cerebral world, and these characters go away and be macho not to re-claim some latent untapped masculinity, but to revel in the absurdity of doing so, and thus the absurdity of being cerebral; the power of its world that ropes us in and that we take for granted has us in chains. (21)
The film which exists apart from conventional reality can provide an extasy-an ex stasis allowing the viewer to be taken outside of the domain of normal consciousness and into a reality that is probably most similar to the passive experience of the unconscious dream mixed with conscious memory. The film exists within the inner life of Jack:
JACK
Listen to this. It's an article written in first person. "I am Jack's medulla oblongata, without me Jack could not regulate his heart rate, blood pressure or breathing!" There's a whole series of these! "I am Jill's nipples". "I am Jack's Colon."
From such statements about the inner body of Jack stem further meditations by Jack about his own inner life: "I am Jack's smirking revenge." "I am Jack's cold sweat." "I am Jack's broken heart."
What may be unique about Fight Club is its self-consciousness about its own medium. The breakdown of Jack's ego is manifest through the breakdown of cinematic form itself. Fight Club itself is a radical meditation on film form and language.
Tyler appears to Jack about six times before the audience becomes conscious of the encounter. This is accomplished through a technique that may be truly unique by which Tyler is introduced to single frames in the film. Ironically, Tyler works as a projectionist who cuts in singular frames of pornography into family films. In the last scene of the film a single frame of a naked penis is cut into the film just before the crumbling buildings fade to black. The splice acts as a formal reminder of our journey with "chthonic phallos."
Fight Club also examines the temporal quality of film itself creating a unique stream-of-consciousness experience. Computer concepts like RAM (random access memory) seem to influence Fincher's understanding of time.
We take the first forty minutes to literally indoctrinate you in this subjective psychotic state, the way he thinks, the way he talks about what's behind the refrigerator . . . It's gotta move as quick as you can think. We've gotta come up with a way that the camera can illustrate things at the speed of thought. And that's one of the things that was interesting to me, how much can you jump around in time and go: Wait, let me back up a little bit more, okay, no, no, this is where this started, this is how I met this person.... So there's this jumping around in time to bring you into the present and then leaping back to go, Let me tell you about this other thing. It's almost conversational. It's as erratic in its presentation as the narrator is in his thinking. I think maybe the possibilities of this kind of temporal and freedom points to a future direction for movies. (22)
In addition to temporality, Fincher manipulates the medium itself dirtying the film through specific processing. "When we processed it, we stretched the contrast to make it kind of ugly, a little bit of underexposure, a little bit of re-silvering, and using new high-contrast print stocks and stepping all over it so it has a dirty patina." (23) The processing of the film is apparently similar to Fincher's last film, Seven (1995). "The blacks become incredibly rich and kind of dirty. We did it on Seven a little, just to make the prints nice. But it's really in this more for making it ugly." The deconstruction of the film chemistry itself and Fincher's homage to his own formal past indicates the layers of complexity that contribute to the experience of the film. Gavin Smith positions Fight Club and its form in relation to other contemporary cinema:
Is Fight Club the end of something in cinema, or the beginning? Zeitgeist movie or cult item? Whether you find the state-of-the-art cinematic values of this current moment liberating or oppressive, radical or specious, of lasting significance or entirely transitory, as the little girl in Poltergeist says: they're here.
The speed with which film is produced makes a conscious inter-textual dialogue difficult--or at least undermines the ability of the critic to place himself within a contemporary dialogue about film form.
A performance is only ritualized by its repetition, and only cult viewers naturally watch a movie multiple times. Thus, Fight Club as a film can only become ritualized by its small but growing cult watching public.
After the Theater
When an individual steps into a church, how much do they expect of their experience to follow them out? Great art changes our experience of reality and challenges us to take that experience home with us. Is this great art?
TYLER
3 minutes. This is it. Here we are at the beginning. Ground zero. Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
The film effectively holds up a mirror to the male viewer and suggests that the real story begins at "ground zero" in "three minutes" as the film fades out, the end credits begin, and the audience exits the theater. Most of us are confused when we leave a movie theater and enjoy reveling in the passivity of the experience. However, the film maintains a moral ambiguity which challenges the viewer to "say a few words to mark the occasion." One informant says of his experience, "It didn't let me be a white, middle-class American male, ages 18-24, the most powerful person in the world, and remain comfortable in my seat." (24) During an interview at Yale University, Edward Norton confirmed this reaction as intentional:
I hope it rattles people. I hope it dunks very squarely in your lap because I think one of the things we strove very specifically to do with this was on some levels retain a kind of moral ambivalence or a moral ambiguity--not to deliver a neatly wrapped package of meaning into your lap. Or in any way that let you walk away from the film like this, comfortable in having been told what you should make of it. (25)
But what words can Americans say to "mark the occasion?" Howard Hampton expresses his anger towards an American public that received the film with no noticeable "kamikaze act[s] of homage":
. . . Fight Club generated no noticeably baleful side effects whatsoever. Are left-wing critics and right-wing politicians the only ones left who believe in the potency of "transgression"? What is the world coming to when a movie featuring charismatic performers reveling in anti-social behavior and a host of semi-subliminal advertisements for the joys of chaos can't incite a single unbalanced loner to commit a kamikaze act of homage? (26)
Unfortunately, in the wake of September 11th terrorist attacks, Fight Club's moral aloofness has become less clear. A more courageous cultural critic might argue that the film encouraged Americans to create an alter-ego (Islamic Fundamentalists) which could ignite a new kind of Fight Club-war. However, I would not be so courageous.
While the collective effects of the film remain ephemeral, the individual responses are easier to attain. For example, Alexander Walker of the London Evening Standard is quoted as attacking Fight Club as "an inadmissible assault on personal decency and on society itself." (27) Kenneth Turan of the Los Angeles Times (1999, pg. 1) suggests that, "What's most troubling about this witless mishmash of whiny, infantile philosophizing and bone-crunching violence is the increasing realization that it actually thinks it's saying something of significance. That is a scary notion indeed." Edward Norton challenges dismissing Fight Club because of its violence or moral ambiguity.
My feeling is that it is the responsibility of people making films and people making all art to specifically address dysfunctions in the culture. I think that any culture where the art is not reflecting a really dysfunctional component of the culture, is a culture in denial. And I think that's much more intensely dangerous on lots of levels than considered examinations of those dysfunctions through art is dangerous. I don't believe that it's the chicken and the egg question, I do think there is violence in the culture. I think there always has been violence in our culture in one form or another. I think that it's a very appropriate discussion to ask what are the ways in which the presentations of violence effect us. (28)
After interviewing a dozen American male college students, I feel confident that I have attained some sense of the emotional response it may have warranted from its intended audience (American males age 18-24). Though the sample size was relatively small, the informants included a cross-section of socio-economic and cultural backgrounds. Though the specifics varied, all males interviewed felt something. One informant was "anesthetized":
I guess I felt shock in response to all this destruction, yet the visual image was so beautiful that I was seduced by it and gave myself over to scopophilic consumption. When I left the theater, I felt numb. I was anesthetized. (29)
Others similarly describe the anesthesia of Fight Club as "stress release," "peace," and "liberating."
I felt violated, but not really violated. Like I was tricked into seeing something I shouldn't see. Like taken advantage of. It was a stress release. (30)
It was jarring, I guess, because he shoots himself. But there's a sense of peace in the destruction. He's sitting there holding her hand, and it's just kind of peaceful. It's kind of a defiant peace. It was definitely one of those moments where you're like, 'Whoa! Dude! Like Jesus Christ. I got to think about it.' (31)
Liberating. As unjustified as it was, the buildings were tolerable. You'd expect a feeling of regret for the antagonist to accomplish destruction. But there was a liberating feeling somehow. (32)
Jack, the character, has a similar experience to the informants when he finishes his fight.
JACK (V.O.)
Fight Club was not about winning or losing. It wasn't about words.
The Opponent recovers, throws a headlock on Jack. Jack snakes his arm into a counter headlock. They, wrestling like wild animals. The crowd CHEERS maniacally.
JACK (V.O.)
The hysterical shouting was in tongues, like at a Pentecostal church.
The onlookers kneel to stay with the fight, cheering ever louder. The Opponent smashes Jack's head into the floor, over and over.
JACK
Stop.
Everyone moves in as the Opponent steps away. They lift Jack to his feet. On the floor is a BLOOD MASK of Jack's face -- similar to his TEAR MASK on BOB'S SHIRT, seen earlier.

EXT. BAR - NIGHT
Everyone files out of the bar, sweating, bleeding, smiling.
JACK (V.O.)
Nothing was solved. But nothing mattered. Afterwards, we all felt saved.
The screening of Fight Club itself can become the classic salvation experience for its audience by which an icon (in this case the screen or television) serves as a scapegoat which asks to become an object onto which the viewer can manifest his own darkness. The salvation experience in the Greco-Roman tradition of the Cults of Metamorphosis operates through the re-integration of the self with something lost. The self is saved through sacred violence from a self-alienation it is suffering. The same process governs the Christian cross, an object that materializes and owns human sin. The weight of the human experience is somehow saved, enlightened, or made more peaceful by the presence of a sullied sacred icon. One informant describes the film as such an icon:
I thought it was like destruction, but cathartic destruction. That's what people need at times… I get frustrated… and feel a subconscious or latent desire to react against it all… I don't feel like I have a place to vent my destructive behavior. It eats at my conscience …I also appreciated the scenes where he went to those self-help sessions… I probably wouldn't do anything like that-go and cry and hug and stuff…It might help some people, even me, but it didn't influence me to do anything like that. When I want to cry, I go to my family at home-two older brothers, an older sister, and a mother. My dad's not around. (33)
Conclusion
Fight Club, the movie, exists to solve the very problems of meaning it poses. It holds a mirror up to young white males and says, "This is who you are." And the very act of holding up that mirror allows the film to own a dark part of the culture which cannot be experienced within the culture.
Fight Club frames America lacking a public venue to integrate the emotional component of white male identity. When there is a communal or cultural void, history suggests that violence can complete that lack. Fight Club exposes the void and offers three solutions: crying, violence, and movies. Fight Club asks the question, what do you want to do with the Jacks of our country--those unwanted children of America who were raised on cultural action hero myths and yearn to live those stories? We can send them to support groups to mourn the impossibility of living this dream, send them to war to partake in the battle, or send them to experience the "Fight Club" of American cinema.
Afterward
Since the initial conception and transcription of my argument, I have been given reason to revisit a concern of many critics addressed in an article by Gary Crowdus: "They felt scenes served only as a mindless glamorization of brutality, a morally irresponsible portrayal, which they feared might encourage impressionable young male viewers to set up their own real-life Fight Clubs in order to beat each other senseless." (34)
Since my interest in Fight Club has blossomed, I have been informed on numerous occasions of accounts of real life Fight Clubs formed in honor of the film. In one Ivy League college, fraternity brothers gather weekly in the name of their "Fight Club." On at least one occasion they were seen engaged in a ritual taken directly from the film - pouring lye on each other and burning holes in their brothers' skin. Another informant confesses:
I thought it was very confusing. I was definitely surprised by the ending. I also felt a weird urge to be like the guys in the movie. That is, I wanted to be able to participate in that type of violence except that I knew that I was too scared to do that. I did not feel brave enough to participate in that even though I kind of wanted to. Too afraid of hurting myself... Although at one point a friend of mine and I started punching each other in the head to progressively toughen ourselves. We stopped when we thought of what happened to Mohamed Ali. I also know of a guy whose frat (not here) had a Fight Club like the one in the movie. (35)
One female college student in Mexico informs me that she engages regularly in "fight club" with her brothers after having watched the film in which they bruise each other for the fun of it.
One African-American informant who detested the film offers perhaps the most simple and sober solution:
I thought, "Just great! This is what America needs. Another 'the-solution-to-our-deteriorating-white-male-crisis is violence and rebellion and stuff.' …just replacing one problem with another. The solution is to be honest. Admit how you feel. Love. And feel however it is you feel. The support groups were weird. I was like, "What's this guy doing?" and "What's this all about?" I'm still trying to find a place to feel. I like to think that it takes being alone and by yourself a lot of times so you can truly hear yourself and find out what truly is the problem that's bothering you. I don't want to say that it can't be done with other people, but it's just a very personal thing. To really understand and accept what's happing inside you, it takes getting in touch with the part of you that people tried to kill even before you could speak-when you knew you wanted to cry, but they told you that wasn't okay. You had to sublimate that to exist in this world. So the problem is trying to get back into it. But they've had you sublimate it so long, that you don't even know what the problem is any more. The movie didn't solve anything for me. It just re-confirmed my ideas that society is really wrong. (36)
These examples further problematize my claim that Fight Club the film does in fact solve the problems it poses-or at least that it does so neatly and non-violently without consequences. Herein lies the moral ambiguity of both my argument and the film that I submit to the reader and future scholars for further reflection.

Notes
1. For the purposes of this paper, I am defining spiritual as that experience of wholeness or oneness classically found in religion which is relegated in modern America to the confines of the individual.
2. David Fincher as quoted in Gavin Smith,"Inside out," Film Comment. New York; Sep/Oct 1999; Vol. 35, Iss. 5, 58-66
3. Jim Uhls, Fight Club, "The Shooting Script," February, 16, 1998.
4. M. Greene, 2000
5. Erich Neumann, Translation by R. F. C. Hull, The Origins and History of Consciousness (Mythos Books) (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1995).
6. Eugene Monick, "Studies in Jungian Psychology," Phallos: Sacred Image of the Masculine, 9.
7. Quoted by Keith Thompson in "What Men Really Want: A New Age Interview with Robert Bly," 32.
8. Bly, 23.
9. Monick,, 94.
10. Monick, 96.
11. Monick, 95.
12. Monick, 95.
13. The definition of "ground zero" (http://dictionary.reference.com/) expands on the rich depth of meaning of the term in relation to recent events in America and the film itself:

ground zero n. 1) The target of a projectile, such as a missile or bomb. 2) The site directly below, directly above, or at the point of detonation of a nuclear weapon. 3) The center of rapid or intense development or change: "The neighborhood scarcely existed five years ago, but today it is the ground zero from which designer shops and restaurants radiate" (Robert Clark). 4) The starting point or most basic level: My client didn't like my preliminary designs, so I returned to ground zero.
14. J. David Slocum, Violence and American Cinema. "Passion and Acceleration: Generic Change in the Action Film," by Rikke Schubart. New York: Routledge, 2001, 194.
15. See section entitled "After The Theater" for a chronicle of peaceful feelings and reactions upon leaving the theater.
16. This statement is made solely from the rationality of the author. With the possible exception of rare public architecture, I cannot think of an art form that costs many millions of dollars to produce like the Hollywood film.
17. Joel W. Martin and Conrad E. Ostwalt, Jr., Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995), p. 2.
18. Adrian Gargett. Doppelganger: Exploded States of Consciousness in Fight Club, (http://www.disinfo.com/pages/article/id1497/, 2001), 7.
19. Gargett, 7.
20. Adrian McOran-Campbell, "Recent Incarnations: Generation X-Y," Postmodern Science Fiction and Cyberpunk: The 'New Edge' as Cultural and Evolutionary Leap. Version of Dissertation submitted for degree-level English Literature (Chester, UK, May 2000), 25.
21. McOran-Campbel, 26.
22. Smith, 58.
23. Smith, 60.
24. American male college student, personal interview, March 10, 2003.
25. Edward Norton, Interview printed on Fight Club DVD disc 2 "Special Features."
26. Howard Hampton, "Blood and Gore Wars", Film Comment (New York, Nov/Dec 2000, Vol. 36, Iss. 6) 30.
27. "How to Start a Fight," Fight Club DVD, 200, 14.
28. Edward Norton, Interview printed on Fight Club DVD disc 2 "Special Features."
29. American male college student, interview, March 10, 2003.
30. American male college student, personal interview, March 10, 2003.
31. American male college student, personal interview, March 10, 2003.
32. American male college student, personal interview, March 10, 2003.
33. American male college student, personal interview, March 12, 2003.
34. Gary Crowdus, "Getting Exercised over Fight Club," Cineaste September 2000 (25:4), 47.
35. American male college student, personal interview, March 8, 2003.
36. American male college student, personal interview, March 9, 2003 and March 12, 2003.
Bibliography
Althusser, Louis. For Marx. New York: Vintage Books, 1970.
Arthur, Chris. "Media, Meaning and Method in Religious Studies" in Rethinking Media, Religion, and Culture, ed. S. Hoover and K. Lundby. Thousand Oaks, London, New Delhi: Sage, 1996.
Bellah, Robert N. "Civil Religion in America," in Daedalus, 1967.
Bryant, M. Darrol. "Cinema, Religion, and Popular Culture", in Religion in Film, edited by John R. May and Michael Bird. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1982.
Cavell, Stanley. The World Viewed: Reflections on the Ontology of Film. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979.
Clark, J. Michael. "Faludi, Fight Club and Phallic Masculinity: Exploring the Emasculating Economics of Patriarchy" in Journal of Men's Studies. 11(1):65-76, 2002.
Crowdus, Gary, "Getting Exercised over Fight Club," Cineaste September 2000 (25:4), 46-48.
Deacy, Christopher. "Redemption and Film: Cinema as a Contemporary Site of Religious Activity," in Media Development XLVII (1), 2000, 50-54.
Deacy, Christopher. "Integration and Rebirth through Confrontation: Fight Club and American Beauty as Contemporary Religious Parables," in Journal of Contemporary Religion. London: Carfax Publishing, 2002.
Deren, Maya. "Cinematography: The Creative Use of Reality." Daedalus, the journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Boston, Massachusetts: The Visual Arts Today, 1960.
Dreyer, Richard. Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society. New York: St. martin's Press, 1986.
Durkheim, Emile. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. New York: The Free Press, 1995.
Eliade, Mircea, The Sacred and theProfane; the Nature of Religion. Trans. from the French by Willard R. Trask. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1959.
Gargett, Adrian. Doppelganger: Exploded States of Consciousness in Fight Club. http://www.disinfo.com/pages/article/id1497/, 2001.
Girard, Rene´ (tr. Patrick Gregory). Violence and the Sacred. Baltimore, London: John Hopkins, 1977.
Graham, David John. "The Uses of Film in Theology." In Marsh, C. & Ortiz, G., eds. Explorations in Theology and Film: Movies and Meaning. Oxford: Blackwell, 1997.
Hampton, Howard. "Blood and Gore Wars," Film Comment. New York, Nov/Dec 2000, Vol. 36, Iss. 6.
Hoover, Stewart M. "Media and the Construction of the Religious Public Sphere," in Rethinking Media, Religion, and Culture, ed. S. Hoover and K. Lundby. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1996.
Hoover, Stewart M. "Religion, Media, and the Cultural Center of Gravity." Religion and Popular Culture: Studies on the Interaction of Worldviews. Ed. Daniel A. Stout and Judith M. Buddenbaum. Ames, Iowa: Iowa State University Press, 2001.
Hoover, Stewart M. and Shalini S. Venturelli. 'The Category of the Religious: The Blindspot of Contemporary Media Theory?', in Critical Studies in Mass Communication, 1996.
Jarvie, Ian Charles. Movies and Society. New York: Basic Books, 1970.
Jarvie, Ian Charles. Towards a Sociology of the Cinema: A Comparative Essay on the Structure and Functioning of a Major Entertainment Industry. London: Routledge & K. Paul, 1970.
Jowett, Garth. Film: The Democratic Art. Boston: Little, Brown, 1976.
Lévi-Strauss, Claude. Myth and Meaning. New York: Schoken Books, 1995.
Levinas, Emmanuel. Ed. Seán Hand. The Levinas Reader. "Reality and It's Shadow," and "The Transcendence of Words." Malden Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishers, Inc., 1989.
Marsh and Ortiz. Explorations in Theology and Film: Movies and Meaning. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1997.
Martin, Joel W. and Conrad E. Ostwalt, Jr. Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995.
Carolyn, Marvin, and David W. Ingle. "Blood Sacrifice and the Nation: Revisiting Civil Religion," in Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 1996.
Marx, Karl. The Marx-Engels Reader. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1978
McOran-Campbell, Adrian. Postmodern Science Fiction and Cyberpunk: The 'New Edge' as Cultural and Evolutionary Leap. "Recent Incarnations: Generation X-Y." Version of Dissertation submitted for degree-level English Literature, Chester, UK, May 2000.
Miles, Margaret R. Seeing and Believing: Religion and Values in the Movies. Boston: Beacon Press, 1996
Neumann, Erich. Translation by R. F. C. Hull. The Origins and History of Consciousness (Mythos Books). New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1995.
Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm. 1974. The Gay Science. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Random House.
Palahniuk, Chuck. Fight Club. London: Vintage Books, 1997.
Scott, Bernard Brandon. Hollywood Dreams and Biblical Stories. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1994.
Smith, Gavin. "Inside out," Film Comment. New York; Sep/Oct 1999; Vol. 35, Iss. 5, 58-66.
Smith, Warren and Debbie Leslie, "Fight Club" International Feminist Journal of Politics.
Steimatsky, Noa. 1998. "Pasolini on Terra Sancta: Towards a Theology of Film." The Yale Journal of Criticism.
Tarkovsky, Andrey. 1987. Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema. New York: Knopf.
Turner, Bryan S. Religion and Social Theory. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications, 1991.
Tremblay, Robert. Canada: DIS (Hons) IV, Carleton University, 1999-2000.
Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure.
White, David Manning. Sight, Sound, and Society; Motion Pictures and Television in America. Boston: Beacon Press, 1968.
Wilson, Charles Reagan. 1995. "The Religion of the Lost Clause: Ritual and Organization of the Southern Civil Religion, 1865-1920," in ed. D. Hackett. Religion and American Culture: A Reader. New York and London: Routledge.


© FILM JOURNAL 2002

Friday, April 11, 2008

For Whom The Bell Tolls






MEDITATION XVII.


PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him. And perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does, belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingraffed into that body, whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me; all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another; as therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come; so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.

There was a contention as far as a suit (in which, piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell, that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours, by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him, that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute, that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? But who takes off his eye from a comet, when that breaks out? who bends not his ear to any bell, which upon any occasion rings? But who can remove it from that bell, which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island. entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath afflicion enough, that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current moneys, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction, digs out, and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger, I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Samuel Beckett---The Man




Samuel Barclay Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989) was an Irish writer, dramatist and poet.

Beckett's work is stark and fundamentally minimalist. As a follower of James Joyce, Beckett is considered by many one of the last modernists; as an inspiration to many later writers, he is considered one of the first postmodernists. He is also considered one of the key writers in what Martin Esslin called "Theatre of the Absurd".

He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1969 "for his writing, which—in new forms for the novel and drama—in the destitution of modern man acquires its elevation".[2] Beckett was elected Saoi of Aosdána in 1984.



Biography

[edit] Early life and education

The Beckett family (originally Becquet) were rumoured to be of Huguenot stock and to have moved to Ireland from France after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, though this theory has been criticised as unlikely.[3] The Becketts were members of the Church of Ireland. The family home, Cooldrinagh in the Dublin suburb of Foxrock, was a large house and garden complete with tennis court that was built in 1903 by Samuel's father William. The house and garden, together with the surrounding countryside where he often went walking with his father, the nearby Leopardstown Racecourse, the Foxrock railway station and Harcourt Street station at the city terminus of the line, all feature in his prose and plays. Beckett's father was a quantity surveyor and his mother a nurse.[4] At the age of five, Beckett attended a local playschool, where he first started to learn music, and then moved to Earlsford House School in the city centre near Harcourt Street. In 1919, Beckett went to Portora Royal School in Enniskillen, County Fermanagh—the school Oscar Wilde attended. A natural athlete, Beckett excelled at cricket as a left-handed batsman and a right-arm medium-pace bowler. Later, he was to play for Dublin University and played two first-class games against Northamptonshire. As a result, he became the only Nobel laureate to have an entry in Wisden Cricketers' Almanack, the "bible" of cricket.[5]

[edit] Early writings

Beckett studied French, Italian, and English at Trinity College, Dublin from 1923 to 1927. While at Trinity, one of his tutors was the eminent Berkeley scholar and Berkelian Dr. A. A. Luce. Beckett graduated with a B.A., and—after teaching briefly at Campbell College in Belfast—took up the post of lecteur d'anglais in the Ecole Normale Supérieure in Paris. While there, he was introduced to renowned Irish author James Joyce by Thomas MacGreevy, a poet and close confidant of Beckett who also worked there. This meeting was soon to have a profound effect on the young man, and Beckett assisted Joyce in various ways, most particularly by helping him research the book that would eventually become Finnegans Wake.[6]

In 1929, Beckett published his first work, a critical essay entitled Dante...Bruno. Vico..Joyce. The essay defends Joyce's work and method, chiefly from allegations of wanton obscurity and dimness, and was Beckett's contribution to Our Exagmination Round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress, a book of essays on Joyce which also included contributions by Eugene Jolas, Robert McAlmon, and William Carlos Williams, among others. Beckett's close relationship with Joyce and his family, however, cooled when he rejected the advances of Joyce's daughter Lucia. It was also during this period that Beckett's first short story, "Assumption", was published in Jolas' periodical transition. The next year he won a small literary prize with his hastily composed poem "Whoroscope", which draws from a biography of René Descartes that Beckett happened to be reading when he was encouraged to submit.

In 1930, Beckett returned to Trinity College as a lecturer. He soon became disillusioned with his chosen academic vocation, however. He expressed his aversion by playing a trick on the Modern Language Society of Dublin, reading a learned paper in French on a Toulouse author named Jean du Chas, founder of a movement called Concentrism; Chas and Concentrism, however, were pure fiction, having been invented by Beckett to mock pedantry.

Beckett resigned from Trinity at the end of 1931, terminating his brief academic career. He commemorated this turning point in his life by composing the poem "Gnome", inspired by his reading of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship and eventually published in the Dublin Magazine in 1934:

Spend the years of learning squandering
Courage for the years of wandering
Through a world politely turning
From the loutishness of learning.[7]

After leaving Trinity, Beckett began to travel in Europe. He also spent some time in London, where in 1931 he published Proust, his critical study of French author Marcel Proust. Two years later, in the wake of his father's death, he began two years' treatment with Tavistock Clinic psychotherapist, Dr. Wilfred Bion, who took him to hear Carl Jung's third Tavistock lecture, an event which Beckett would still recall many years later. The lecture focused on the subject of the "never properly born," and aspects of it would become evident in Beckett's later works including Watt and Waiting for Godot.[8] In 1932, he wrote his first novel, Dream of Fair to Middling Women, but after many rejections from publishers decided to abandon it; the book would eventually be published in 1993. Despite his inability to get it published, however, the novel did serve as a source for many of Beckett's early poems, as well as for his first full-length book, the 1933 short-story collection More Pricks Than Kicks.

Beckett also published a number of essays and reviews around the time, including "Recent Irish Poetry" (in The Bookman, August 1934) and "Humanistic Quietism", a review of his friend Thomas MacGreevy's Poems (in The Dublin Magazine, July–September 1934). These two reviews focused on the work of MacGreevy, Brian Coffey, Denis Devlin and Blanaid Salkeld, despite their slender achievements at the time, comparing them favourably with their Celtic Revival contemporaries and invoking Ezra Pound, T. S. Eliot and the French symbolists as their precursors. In describing these poets as forming 'the nucleus of a living poetic in Ireland',[9] Beckett was tracing the outlines of an Irish poetic modernist canon.

In 1935—the year that Beckett successfully published a book of his poetry, Echo's Bones and Other Precipitates—he was also working on his novel Murphy. In May of that year, he wrote to MacGreevy that he had been reading about film and wished to go to Moscow to study with Sergei Eisenstein at the Gerasimov Institute of Cinematography in Moscow. In mid-1936, he wrote to Sergei Eisenstein and Vsevolod Pudovkin, offering to become their apprentices. Nothing came of this, however, as Beckett's letter was lost due to Eisenstein's quarantine during the smallpox outbreak, as well as his focus on a script re-write of his postponed film production. Beckett, meanwhile, finished Murphy, and then in 1936 departed for extensive travel around Germany, during which time he filled several notebooks with lists of noteworthy artwork that he had seen, also noting his distaste for the Nazi savagery which was then overtaking the country. Returning to Ireland briefly in 1937, he oversaw the publishing of Murphy (1938), which he himself translated into French the next year. He also had a falling-out with his mother, which contributed to his decision to settle permanently in Paris (where he would return for good following the outbreak of World War II in 1939, preferring—in his own words—'France at war to Ireland at peace').[10] Sometime around December 1937, Beckett had a brief affair with Peggy Guggenheim.

In Paris, in January 1938, while refusing the solicitations of a notorious pimp who ironically went by the name of Prudent, Beckett was stabbed in the chest and nearly killed. James Joyce arranged a private room for the injured Beckett at the hospital. The publicity surrounding the stabbing attracted the attention of Suzanne Deschevaux-Dumesnil, who knew Beckett slightly from his first stay in Paris; this time, however, the two would begin a lifelong companionship. At a preliminary hearing, Beckett asked his attacker for the motive behind the stabbing, and Prudent casually replied, "Je ne sais pas, Monsieur. Je m'excuse" ("I do not know, sir. I'm sorry").[11] Beckett occasionally recounted the incident in jest, and eventually dropped the charges against his attacker—partially to avoid further formalities, but also because he found Prudent to be personally likable and well-mannered.

[edit] World War II

Beckett joined the French Resistance after the 1940 occupation by Germany, working as a courier, and on several occasions over the next two years was nearly caught by the Gestapo.

In August 1942, his unit was betrayed and he and Suzanne fled south on foot to the safety of the small village of Roussillon, in the Vaucluse département in the Provence Alpes Cote d'Azur region. Here he continued to assist the Resistance by storing armaments in the back yard of his home. During the two years that Beckett stayed in Roussillon he indirectly helped the Maquis sabotage the German army in the Vaucluse mountains,[12] though he rarely spoke about his wartime work.

Beckett was awarded the Croix de guerre and the Médaille de la Résistance by the French government for his efforts in fighting the German occupation; to the end of his life, however, Beckett would refer to his work with the French Resistance as 'boy scout stuff'.[13] '[I]n order to keep in touch',[14] he continued work on the novel Watt (begun in 1941 and completed in 1945, but not published until 1953) while in hiding in Roussillon.



In 1945, Beckett returned to Dublin for a brief visit. During his stay, he had a revelation in his mother’s room in which his entire future literary direction appeared to him. This experience was later fictionalized in the 1958 play Krapp's Last Tape. In the play, Krapp’s revelation is set on the East Pier in Dún Laoghaire during a stormy night, and some critics have identified Beckett with Krapp to the point of presuming Beckett's own artistic epiphany was at the same location, in the same weather. Throughout the play, Krapp is listening to a tape he made earlier in his life; at one point he hears his younger self saying this: “...clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality my most...” However, Krapp fast-forwards the tape before the audience can discover the complete revelation.

Beckett later revealed to James Knowlson (which Knowlson relates the biography Damned to Fame) that the missing word on the tape is "ally". He told Knowlson this revelation was inspired in part by his relationship to James Joyce. Beckett claimed he was faced with the possibility of being eternally in the shadow of Joyce, certain to never best him at his own game. Then he had a revelation, as Knowlson says, which “has rightly been regarded as a pivotal moment in his entire career." Knowlson goes on to explain the revelation as told to him by Beckett himself: "In speaking of his own revelation, Beckett tended to focus on the recognition of his own stupidity ... and on his concern with impotence and ignorance. He reformulated this for me, while attempting to define his debt to James Joyce: 'I realized that Joyce had gone as far as one could in the direction of knowing more, [being] in control of one’s material. He was always adding to it; you only have to look at his proofs to see that. I realized that my own way was in impoverishment, in lack of knowledge and in taking away, in subtracting rather than in adding.'" Knowlson explains: "Beckett was rejecting the Joycean principle that knowing more was a way of creatively understanding the world and controlling it ... In future, his work would focus on poverty, failure, exile and loss -- as he put it, on man as a 'non-knower' and as a 'non-can-er.'"

In 1946, Jean-Paul Sartre’s magazine Les Temps Modernes published the first part of Beckett’s short story "Suite" (later to be called "La fin", or "The End"), not realizing that Beckett had only submitted the first half of the story; Simone de Beauvoir refused to publish the second part. Beckett also began to write his fourth novel, Mercier et Camier, which was not to be published until 1970. The novel, in many ways, presaged his most famous work, the play Waiting for Godot, written not long afterwards, but more importantly, it was Beckett’s first long work to be written directly in French, the language of most of his subsequent works, including the "trilogy" of novels he was soon to write: Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable. Despite being a native English speaker, Beckett chose to write in French because—as he himself claimed—in French it was easier for him to write 'without style'.[15]

Beckett is most renowned for the play Waiting for Godot. In a much-quoted article, the critic Vivian Mercier wrote that Beckett "has achieved a theoretical impossibility—a play in which nothing happens, that yet keeps audiences glued to their seats. What's more, since the second act is a subtly different reprise of the first, he has written a play in which nothing happens, twice." (Irish Times, 18 February 1956, p. 6.) Like most of his works after 1947, the play was first written in French with the title En attendant Godot. Beckett worked on the play between October 1948 and January 1949.[16] He published it in 1952, and premiered it in 1953. The English translation appeared two years later. The play was a critical, popular, and controversial success in Paris. It opened in London in 1955 to mainly negative reviews, but the tide turned with positive reactions by Harold Hobson in The Sunday Times and, later, Kenneth Tynan. In the United States, it flopped in Miami, and had a qualified success in New York City. After this, the play became extremely popular, with highly successful performances in the U.S. and Germany. It is still frequently performed today.

As noted, Beckett was now writing mainly in French. He translated all of his works into the English language himself, with the exception of Molloy, whose translation was collaborative with Patrick Bowles. The success of Waiting for Godot opened up a career in theatre for its author. Beckett went on to write a number of successful full-length plays, including 1957's Endgame, the aforementioned Krapp's Last Tape (written in English), 1960's Happy Days (also written in English), and 1963's Play.

In 1961, in recognition for his work, Beckett received the International Publishers' Formentor Prize, which he shared that year with Jorge Luis Borges.

[edit] Later life and work

The 1960s were a period of change, both on a personal level and as a writer. In 1961, in a secret civil ceremony in England, he married Suzanne, mainly for reasons relating to French inheritance law. The success of his plays led to invitations to attend rehearsals and productions around the world, leading eventually to a new career as a theatre director. In 1956, he had his first commission from the BBC Third Programme for a radio play, All That Fall. He was to continue writing sporadically for radio, and ultimately for film and television as well. He also started to write in English again, though he continued to do some work in French until the end of his life.



Actor Cary Elwes explains in his video diary of The Princess Bride that Beckett was a neighbour of the Roussimoff family, and used to give one of the Roussimoff sons, André René, a lift to school every day, since the boy was unable to take the school bus owing to his large size. André René Roussimoff would, in later years, go on to become professional wrestler André the Giant.[2]

In 1969, Beckett, on holiday in Tunis with Suzanne, learned he had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Suzanne, who saw that her intensely private husband would be, from that moment forth, saddled with fame, called the award a "catastrophe.".[17] While Beckett did not devote much time to interviews, he would still sometimes personally meet the artists, scholars, and admirers who sought him out in the anonymous lobby of Paris' Hotel PLM, which was near his Montparnasse home[18]

Suzanne died on 17 July 1989. Beckett, suffering from emphysema and possibly Parkinson's disease and confined to a nursing home, died on December 22 of the same year. The two were interred together in the Cimetière du Montparnasse in Paris, and share a simple marble gravestone which follows Beckett's directive that it be "any colour, so long as it's grey."

[edit] Works

Beckett's career as a writer can be roughly divided into three periods: his early works, up until the end of World War II in 1945; his middle period, stretching from 1945 until the early 1960s, during which period he wrote what are probably his most well-known works; and his late period, from the early 1960s until Beckett's death in 1989, during which his works tended to become shorter and shorter and his style more and more minimalist.

[edit] Early works

Beckett's earliest works are generally considered to have been strongly under the influence of the work of his friend James Joyce in that they are very erudite, sometimes seeming to display the author's learning merely for the sake of displaying it. As a result, they can, in places, be quite obscure. The opening phrases of the short-story collection More Pricks than Kicks (1934) can serve as an example of this style:

It was morning and Belacqua was stuck in the first of the canti in the moon. He was so bogged that he could move neither backward nor forward. Blissful Beatrice was there, Dante also, and she explained the spots on the moon to him. She shewed him in the first place where he was at fault, then she put up her own explanation. She had it from God, therefore he could rely on its being accurate in every particular.[19]

The passage is rife with references to Dante Alighieri's Commedia, which can serve to confuse readers not familiar with that work. At the same time, however, there are many portents of Beckett's later work: the physical inactivity of the character Belacqua; the character's immersion in his own head and thoughts; the somewhat irreverent comedy of the final sentence.

Similar elements are present in Beckett's first published novel, Murphy (1938), which also to some extent explores the themes of insanity and chess, both of which would be recurrent elements in Beckett's later works. The novel's opening sentence also hints at the somewhat pessimistic undertones and black humour that animate many of Beckett's works: 'The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new'.[20] Watt, written while Beckett was in hiding in Roussillon during World War II, is similar in terms of themes, but less exuberant in its style. This novel also, at certain points, explores human movement as if it were a mathematical permutation, presaging Beckett's later preoccupation—in both his novels and dramatic works—with precise movement.

It was also during this early period that Beckett first began to write creatively in the French language. In the late 1930s, he wrote a number of short poems in that language, and these poems' spareness—in contrast to the density of his English poems of roughly the same period, collected in Echo's Bones and Other Precipitates (1935)—seems to show that Beckett, albeit through the medium of another language, was in process of simplifying his style somewhat, a change also evidenced in Watt.

[edit] Middle period

After World War II, Beckett turned definitively to the French language as a vehicle. It was this, together with the aforementioned "revelation" experienced in his mother's room in Dublin—in which, basically, he realized that his art must be subjective and drawn wholly from his own inner world—that would result in the works for which Beckett is probably best remembered today.

During the 15 years subsequent to the war, Beckett produced four major full-length stage plays: En attendant Godot (written 1948–1949; Waiting for Godot), Fin de partie (1955–1957; Endgame), Krapp's Last Tape (1958), and Happy Days (1960). These plays—which are often considered, rightly or wrongly, to have been instrumental in the so-called "Theatre of the Absurd"—deal in a very blackly humorous way with themes similar to those of the roughly contemporary existentialist thinkers, though Beckett himself cannot be pigeonholed as an existentialist. The term "Theatre of the Absurd" was coined by Martin Esslin in a book of the same name; Beckett and Godot were centerpieces of the book. Esslin claimed these plays were the fulfillment of Albert Camus's concept of "the absurd";[21] this is one reason Beckett is often falsely labeled as an existentialist. Though many of the themes are similar, Beckett had little affinity for existentialism as a whole.[22]

Broadly speaking, the plays deal with the subject of despair and the will to survive in spite of that despair, in the face of an uncomprehending and, indeed, incomprehensible world. The words of Nell—one of the two characters in Endgame who are trapped in ashbins, from which they occasionally peek their heads to speak—can best summarize the themes of the plays of Beckett's middle period:

Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. ... Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more.[23]

Beckett's outstanding achievements in prose during the period were the three novels Molloy (1951), Malone meurt (1951; Malone Dies) and L'innommable (1953; The Unnamable). In these novels—sometimes referred to as a "trilogy", though this is against the author's own explicit wishes—the reader can trace the development of Beckett's mature style and themes, as the novels become more and more stripped down, barer and barer. Molloy, for instance, still retains many of the characteristics of a conventional novel—time, place, movement and plot—and is indeed, on one level, a detective novel. In Malone Dies, however, movement and plot are largely dispensed with, though there is still some indication of place and the passage of time; the "action" of the book takes the form of an interior monologue. Finally, in The Unnamable, all sense of place and time are done away with, and the essential theme seems to be the conflict between the voice's drive to continue speaking so as to continue existing and its almost equally strong urge to find silence and oblivion. It is tempting to see in this a reflection of Beckett's experience and understanding of what the war had done to the world. Despite the widely-held view that Beckett's work, as exemplified by the novels of this period, is essentially pessimistic, the will to live seems to win out in the end; witness, for instance, the famous final phrase of The Unnamable: 'I can't go on, I'll go on'.[24]

Subsequent to these three novels, Beckett struggled for many years to produce a sustained work of prose, a struggle evidenced by the brief "stories" later collected as Texts for Nothing. In the late 1950s, however, he managed to create one of his most radical prose works, Comment c'est (1961; How It Is). This work relates the adventures of an unnamed narrator crawling through the mud whilst dragging a sack of canned food, and was written as a sequence of unpunctuated paragraphs in a style approaching telegraphese:

you are there somewhere alive somewhere vast stretch of time then it's over you are there no more alive no more then again you are there again alive again it wasn't over an error you begin again all over more or less in the same place or in another as when another image above in the light you come to in hospital in the dark[25]

Following this work, it would be almost another decade before Beckett produced a work of non-dramatic prose, and indeed How It Is is generally considered to mark the end of his middle period as a writer.

[edit] Late works

Throughout the 1960s and into the 1970s, Beckett's works exhibited an increasing tendency—already evident in much of his work of the 1950s—towards compactness that has led to his work sometimes being described as minimalist. The extreme example of this, among his dramatic works, is the 1969 piece Breath, which lasts for only 35 seconds and has no characters (though it was likely intended to offer ironic comment on Oh! Calcutta!, the theatrical revue for which it served as an introductory piece[26]).

In the dramas of the late period, Beckett's characters—already few in number in the earlier plays—are whittled down to essential elements. The ironically titled 1962 Play, for instance, consists of three characters stuck to their necks in large funeral urns, while the 1963 television drama Eh Joe—written for the actor Jack MacGowran—is animated by a camera that steadily closes in to a tight focus upon the face of the title character, and the 1972 play Not I consists almost solely of, in Beckett's words, 'a moving mouth with the rest of the stage in darkness'.[27] Many of these late plays, taking a cue from Krapp's Last Tape, were concerned to a great extent with memory, or more particularly, with the often forced recollection of haunting past events in a moment of stillness in the present. Moreover, as often as not these late plays dealt with the theme of the self confined and observed insofar as a voice either comes from outside into the protagonist's head, as in Eh Joe, or else the protagonist is silently commented upon by another character, as in Not I. Such themes also led to Beckett's most politically charged play, 1982's Catastrophe, dedicated to Václav Havel, which dealt relatively explicitly with the idea of dictatorship. After a long period of inactivity, Beckett's poetry experienced a revival during this period in the ultra-terse French poems of mirlitonnades, some as short as six words long. These defied Beckett's usual scrupulous concern to translate his work from its original into the other of his two languages; several writers, including Derek Mahon, have attempted translations, but no complete version of the sequence has been published in English.

Though Beckett's writing of prose during the late period was not so prolific as his writing of drama—as hinted at by the title of the 1976 collection of short prose texts entitled Fizzles, which was illustrated by American artist Jasper Johns—he did experience something of a renaissance in this regard beginning with the 1979 novella Company, and continuing on through 1982's Ill Seen Ill Said and 1984's Worstward Ho, later collected in Nohow On. In the prose medium of these three so-called '"closed space" stories',[28] Beckett continued his preoccupation with memory and its effect on the confined and observed self, as well as with the positioning of bodies in space, as the opening phrases of Company make clear:

A voice comes to one in the dark. Imagine.

To one on his back in the dark. This he can tell by the pressure on his hind parts and by how the dark changes when he shuts his eyes and again when he opens them again. Only a small part of what is said can be verified. As for example when he hears, You are on your back in the dark. Then he must acknowledge the truth of what is said.[29]

Beckett's final work, the 1988 poem "What is the Word", was written in bed in the nursing home where he spent the last days of his life, and also exists in a French version, comment dire.

[edit] Legacy

Of all the English-language modernists, Beckett's work represents the most sustained attack on the realist tradition. He, more than anyone else, opened up the possibility of drama and fiction that dispense with conventional plot and the unities of place and time in order to focus on essential components of the human condition. Writers like Václav Havel, John Banville, Aidan Higgins and Harold Pinter have publicly stated their indebtedness to Beckett's example, but he has had a much wider influence on experimental writing since the 1950s, from the Beat generation to the happenings of the 1960s and beyond. In an Irish context, he has exerted great influence on poets such as John Banville, Derek Mahon, Thomas Kinsella, as well as writers like Trevor Joyce and Catherine Walsh who proclaim their adherence to the modernist tradition as an alternative to the dominant realist mainstream.

Many major 20th-century composers, including Luciano Berio, György Kurtág, Morton Feldman, Pascal Dusapin, Philip Glass and Heinz Holliger, have created musical works based on his texts. Beckett's work was also an influence on many visual artists, including Bruce Nauman, Alexander Arotin, and Avigdor Arikha; Arikha, in addition to being inspired by Beckett's literary world, also drew a number of portraits of Beckett and illustrated several of his works.

Beckett is one of the most widely discussed and highly prized of twentieth century authors, inspiring a critical industry to rival that which has sprung up around James Joyce. He has divided critical opinion. Some early philosophical critics, such as Sartre and Theodor Adorno, praised him, one for his revelation of absurdity, the other for his works' critical refusal of simplicities; others such as Georg Lukacs condemn for 'decadent' lack of realism.[30]

Since Beckett's death, all rights for performance of his plays are handled by the Beckett estate, currently managed by Edward Beckett, the author's nephew. The estate has a reputation for maintaining firm control over how Beckett's plays are performed and does not grant licences to productions that do not strictly adhere to the stage directions. Historians interested in tracing Beckett's blood line were, in 2004, granted access to confirmed trace samples of his DNA to conduct molecular genealogical studies to facilitate precise lineage determination.

Some of the best known pictures of Beckett were taken by photographer John Minihan, who photographed him between 1980 and 1985 and developed such a good relationship with the writer that he became, in effect, his official photographer. Some consider one of these to be among the top three photographs of the 20th century.[31] However, it was the theatre photographer John Haynes[32] who took possibly the most widely reproduced image of Beckett: it is used on the cover of the Knowlson biography, for instance. This portrait was taken during rehearsals at the Royal Court Theatre in London, where Haynes photographed many productions of Beckett's work.