Watching again both Kill Bill films, which I believe were actually one long film that had to be cut in half because of the self-indulgent length, I started forming some opinions not entirely related to Tarantino.
These opinions are raw and generalised, but appear to me to explain a whole lot of other cultural and social phenomena. As best as I can summarise them, the idea is that the baby boomer generation gave us guilt and political correctness, which stultified the world and imposed on Generation X a crippling moral deficit that saw it flounder and fail at all its projects. This in turn led to a Generation Y which has no moral compass at all, no education or desire for it, no ability to articulate its ideas and concerns (and, again, no desire to do so).
In my house, we have representatives of all three generations. Lloyd, the baby boomer, stuck in the moral retreat of guilt, shame and political correctness, but also increasingly wedded to romanticised ideas of the past rather than looking ahead. Myself, barely Generation X, feeling guilt about everything and resenting it, leading me to wage my own private war on all things politically correct. And Seth, who thinks vigorous debate is a sign of immaturity rather than a legacy of two thousand years of Western culture. Seth who knows nothing about his civilisation or its ideas, and who doesn’t care that he knows nothing. Seth, the epitome of the ‘whatever’ generation (the word being said with an American accent, with a shrug of the shoulders, arms crossed in indifference, and noisily chewing bubble gum).
This review originally written after attending the preview screening in Brisbane, Queensland, on 15 November 1998. Edited on 29 July 2010.
The opening sequences of the film, showing American soldiers landing on Omaha Beach in the first wave of the D Day invasion is nothing short of mesmerising. Spielberg said he tried to get the audience to be on the beach with the soldiers, and he certainly succeeded in transporting me into the nightmarishly realistic, terrifying spectacle, made impossible to witness any other way than front and centre by the onslaught of visual horrors and booming surround-sound. I was frozen by the re-enactment, unable to turn away or close my eyes.
No matter what has come since, including the superb Band of Brothers, this opening sequence re-defined the way WWII war stories can be told. The way any war film can unwind.
There was little romance to the quickly intercut scenes showing soldiers watching the landing barge ramps lower before their eyes and immediately being killed in murderous machine gun fire, heavy calibre bullets smashing through their flesh and steel helmets to brutally end the lives of men who did not even get the chance to make it onto the beach. Then there were those who died in the water, and many more on the beach itself, each death shown as coldly undignified, and anything but heroic.
Amid the limpid hubris of a despicably lame election campaign some remarkable observations about the relevance of classical liberalism and Adam Smith passed virtually unnoticed.
These observations were a signal condemnation of centre-left political totemism about indigenous policy, and a call to recognise the primacy of the individual, individual action and individual property ownership as a necessary first step in overcoming Aboriginal immiseration in Australia.
I continue to stand in awe of Pearson, whose unassuming manner, softly spoken earnestness and power of insightful reasoning more closely resembles the ideal of statesmanship than any other Australian public figure of this century that I can think of.
Speaking at the CIS Consilium (a forum of the conservative Centre for Independent Studies think tank) earlier this month, Pearson’s argument was sharp in its condemnation of bleeding hearted pseudo-socialists:
Longhand draft 30 March 2003, edited 25 July 2010.
Over my traditional Easter break in 2003 I fed my somewhat prodigious appetite for war movies with an armful of DVD rentals, offering some pretty spectacular ventures into mayhem served up by the Hollywood machine.
Blackhawk Down was one of those films. Unlike the others, though, it gave me pause.
The film fictionalises the real events surrounding a US attempt to kidnap senior advisors to local warlord and self-proclaimed Somali leader Mohamed Farah Aidid during the UN peacekeeping presence in Somalia in 1993.
On 13 October that year, 140 US soldiers abseiled from combat helicopters into the infamous Bakara Market district in Mogadishu, Somalia’s capital, to carry out the kidnap, which succeeded but resulted in two Black Hawk helicopters being shot down by rocket propelled grenades, and an escalating series of manoeuvres to rescue pilots and troops pinned down by murderous gunfire from thousands of Somali militia.
I remember being mesmerised back in 1993 by the TV news actuality of dead, bare-footed, shirtless American soldiers being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu by their heels at the conclusion of the action, which lasted 18 hours and resulted in 18 US fatalities, more than 70 wounded, and an unknown number of Somali casualties, said, at the end of the film, to have included more than 1000 dead.
The decision to call for an election on a Saturday would be otherwise unremarkable had it not meant that new voter registrations close at 20:00 on the following Monday, almost certainly disenfranchising a swathe of first-time voters.
One must assume that the ALP party machine was aware of the consequences of its timing for calling the election, and therefore doesn’t care about these votes, or has reason to fear them. In either case, that can’t be a good sign for Gillard because that constituency is likely to share a mind-set with a larger group of already registered voters.
One might be tempted to draw the conclusion that Gillard’s centerpiece education reforms aren’t really that popular with its intended consumers – students. One might also infer that ALP strategists have decided that the election will not be fought and won education policies; a reasonable assumption, I would think.
These matters notwithstanding, the timing of an election so soon after a leadership change was probably smart. Gillard hasn’t yet had time to make mistakes in her own right as leader of the party, enjoys a substantial honeymoon boost in the ratings, and is likely to slip in popularity the longer she waits if there aren’t any major new initiatives she can deliver prior to and separate from election pork barreling.
One of my all-time personal and professional pet hates is the ubiquitous disclaimer.
Personally it affronts me by saying: ‘I’m gonna tell you this, but don’t hold me to it; it’s likely that I’m lying to you.’
Professionally it says: ‘You’re gonna pay me to tell you this, but don’t hold me accountable for it in any way; caveat emptor, buddy.’
The following is a collection of disclaimers I have come across that either particularly irked me or that had me giggling insanely to myself. Enjoy.
Read before use
This article does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of either myself, my company, my friends, or my cat. Don’t quote me on that. Don’t quote me on anything. All rights reserved. You may distribute this article freely but you may not make a profit from it. Terms are subject to change without notice. Do not remove this disclaimer under penalty of law.
Article is provided “as is” without any warranties. Reader assumes full responsibility. An equal opportunity article. No shoes, no shirt, no articles. Quantities are limited while supplies last. If any defects are discovered, do not attempt to read them yourself, but return to an authorized service center. Read at your own risk. Parental advisory – explicit lyrics. Text may contain explicit materials some readers may find objectionable, parental guidance is advised. Keep away from sunlight. Keep away from pets and small children.
This is a not-for-profit site, but that doesn’t mean my work is considered worthless either by me or the law.
Most of the writing on this site is intended to stimulate thought. It would be churlish to insist on refraining from using the material the way any fair-minded adult might choose to.
Plagiarism is, for the most part, an ugly word for flattery. I don’t see any problem with anyone adapting my ideas in their own work, or in an attributed quote.
A request to reproduce my work is likely to be granted where it’s for a non-profit purpose.
Conversely, however, using any part of my work to make money has to involve me or it’s theft. This includes charities, academic or educational institutions, and clubs or associations. I often write professionally, so it’s my bread and butter. Please don’t steal from me.
In its time the film boasted an unlikely leading man, Dick Powell, better known as a crooner in musical romances than as the hard-boiled tough guy Phillip Marlowe, so much so that the title of the film had to be changed from Farewell, My Lovely, that also being the name of a musical Powell had fronted prior to his contract with RKO.
Nevertheless, Powell gave a convincing performance as the smart-talking, slightly edgy Marlowe in this impressively atmospheric, low-budget screen adaptation of the Chandler story.
The plot is labyrinthine, leading audiences on a wild goose chase after clues that aren’t there right up to the final minutes of the narrative.
Marlowe is hired by the heavyweight-sized Moose Malloy, a recently released convict who’s more brawn than brains, to find his old flame, Velma, whom he’d lost track of while serving a stretch for an ill defined crime. Tracking her down annoys the wrong people and sees Marlowe set up for the murder of a new client, the effete Lindsay Marriott, while babysitting him on a pay-off rendezvous to retrieve a stolen opal necklace worth $100,000.
Officially titled Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers, the film is nevertheless more the invention of its script writers than that of the author, whose original short story, first published in 1927, does no more than suggest a killing, sketching a single scene with a couple of thugs coming to a small-town diner looking for Ole ‘Swede’ Anderson to kill ‘him for a friend. Just to oblige a friend.’
Hemingway was not yet a celebrated Nobel laureate when the film was released, but he was already known for his reportage of the Spanish Civil War and his rumoured exploits during the liberation of France. Invoking his name in the film’s title brought with it a certain cachet.
Hemingway’s story leaves the suggestion of murder hanging, offering no motives or conclusions, and not even confirming whether the killers executed the Swede as intended. He did, however, offer a compelling clue on interpreting his story when one of his thugs tells one of the story’s characters that he ‘ought to go to the movies more. The movies are fine for a bright boy like you.” To see a newsreel, perhaps, or a silver screen gangster story about events just like the one about to take place in the sleepy little town?
Following on from the success of the ‘sword and sandal’ epic Gladiator, Ridley Scott has delivered another impressive foray into historical spectacle with Kingdom of Heaven. Offering authentic scenery and sets, highly atmospheric, evocative photography by John Mathieson, and the large-scale spectacle of Jerusalem and warfare in the age of the crusades, it lives up to expectations of a visually powerful foray into the holy land of the Middle Ages.
Scriptwriter William Monahan has taken elements of authentic characters and events to present a story of an individual’s pilgrimage to seek redemption in a world scarred by the hypocrisies of religious fanatics and mercenaries gouging out their fortunes through rapine and pillage. Our protagonist might not have gained quite the redemption he sought, but he acquired instead wisdom, integrity and honour as part of his epic quest.
This review is a bifurcated foray, looking first directly at the film, in what might appear to be an overly laboured review, and then expanding on the topic of the ‘rich meaning’ that is suggested here to be the cause and justification for deeper examination than might be expected for a film of its kind. The aim is to explain a little bit about how a multi-layered, or richer than superficial meaning might be both constructed and decoded.