Sometimes you really can't go home again. In 2006, Streetlight Manifesto recorded a new version of the 1998 album "Keasbey Nights." I own that re-recording, so last night I was thinking, "I've never heard the original. I should have the original version, you always want to have the original, right?" It turns out that you don't. Sometimes there really is a reason that things are re-made. Sometimes being the original doesn't make it better.
It really did sound terrible. Oh my god. So, so terrible.
But now let's talk about a work of art that needs so remake, which is Robert Graves's 1938 novel Count Belisarius. Graves was a British author with a reputation as an expert in Greco-Roman literature, history, and mythology. He was a poet, a novelist, and a translator (I've read two of his translations, Suetonius's The Twelve Caesars and Apuleius's The Golden Ass, both excellent). He's primarily known as the author of the Claudius novels (I, Claudius and Claudius the God), which can generally be found on every "best books of the century" list. Those two novels absolutely floored me when I read them, the absolute best historical fiction I have ever read in my life. Shortly afterward, I saw a copy of Count Belisarius in a library, and though it took me some time to hunt down my own copy, I'm now very happy to have it. It would be hard to be as great as Claudius, but this comes incredibly close.
Belisarius was a Roman general, born in 499 CE (I should point out that this is all rigorously based off of actual events; like any work, its accuracy is debated by historians). By this point, the Roman empire had relocated to the East, the capital now lying at Constantinople, Rome and Italy all but abandoned to the Goths. Christianity had taken root as the official religion of the empire, though pockets of pagan belief still remained. And in fact, a good amount of the early portion of the novel is concerned with Christianity as it existed then. Graves had an odd relationship with Christianity (Time magazine called his novel King Jesus "heresy"), and he gleefully digs into the sniping and sectarian infighting of the religion, the seemingly senseless divisions that resulted in executions and wars.
But for the most part, this is a military history. The first major description of a battle didn't really grab me, it was confusing and I didn't understand the terminology... I expected that I would very quickly lose interest in this aspect of the book, but I should have known that Graves would pull me back. As the novel progressed, his descriptions of the wars became perfected, his language and detail very clear. It's very emotional at the same time, very suspenseful. The siege of Rome, especially, is a highlight of the novel, with the desperation of the Roman soldiers and the suspense of the battle making this very detailed account of warfare even better (this is the crucial element that separates historical fiction from non-fiction: fiction is equally concerned with the intellectual and emotional states of the people involved, and it must portray its characters as well as it portrays its action).
For all its warfare and religious discussion, the novel remains grounded around Belisarius, a military mastermind who is remarkable not only for his fighting skill but for his compassion toward his own men and toward the enemy. Also remarkable is his service to the emperor Justinian, an incompetent leader who hates Belisarius for the glory of his victories, who trusts in God more than his military and pays dearly for it. Justinian's persecution of his general brings a roller-coaster element to the story, filling it with emotional highs and lows, and making our hero's victories feel even more triumphant. The last three chapters of the book are beautifully written, as Belisarius is continually stripped down to almost nothing by the vengeful emperor, and comes back each time to save his people. I wouldn't call it "inspiring" (generally when an author aims for "inspiration" they just come off as naive and idiotic), but there's something like it here. When the people of Constantinople rally around Belisarius as their hero, you can definitely relate to their feeling.
It's always hard to talk about good novels, and even harder to talk about great novels. How do you convey greatness, how do you really convey to another person the incredible quality of something you've just read without resorting to hyperbole? I really loved this book. It pairs very well with Claudius, one depicting the origins of the Roman Empire and the other depicting its struggle to survive in a changing world. Some will find its narrative style off-putting; it's written like a Roman novel, a bit rambling, a bit non-linear. If the novel were discovered hundreds of years from now in a clay pot with its cover and copyright information missing, it could very easily be mistaken for an English translation of an actual Roman book. It might be an adjustment for some readers, but it's an immensely rewarding experience in the end.
A few years ago, screenwriter Zak Penn directed a mockumentary film called Incident at Loch Ness. Zak Penn is of course known for writing several Hollywood hits, among them X2. In the mockumentary (in which all the characters are actual people though the events are made up), he claims to be tired of churning out Hollywood trash and desires to make a real, intelligent independent film. Naturally, it doesn't work out that way.
Penn enlists the aid of a famous German director, Werner Herzog, to direct his film, which Penn himself will produce. Coincidentally, at the time that Penn begins to make his film, filmmaker John Bailey decides to make his own film about the life and work of Werner Herzog. We see the action through Bailey's lens. Penn wants to make a film about Loch Ness, and Herzog is intrigued by the project, seeing it as an opportunity to understand what it is that makes people so willfully believe in the impossible. Penn's motives, despite his own statements, are far less intellectual.
The initial scenes feel like fairly straightforward documentary, but once the location changes to Scotland things start to get absurd, and ridiculously funny. There's a lot to laugh at here, and a lot of commentary on the battle between art and commercialism. Penn's bikini-clad sonar operators, matching expeditionary jumpsuits, and remote-controlled Nessie "reenactments" provide some nice moments, much to the irritation of Herzog. As the shoot drags on, cynicism sets in, and Herzog's film begins to fly completely toward the absurd, with Penn firmly taking control. But then things start to go really wrong, and a sense of genuine terror sets in. The reality of the documentary film style is, to me, infinitely more frightening than slick Hollywood filming (which is why I could NEVER watch Paranormal Activity). Penn pulls it off well. The film as a whole vacillates between situational comedy, suspense, and intellectual analysis with expert ease.
If there's one complaint I have, though, it's that the film has some serious pacing issues. Penn takes the expedition from bad to worse so quickly that when the characters vocalize their complaints about the disaster their production has turned in to, it feels like rickety storytelling; Penn does a little too much of telling us the situation instead of showing us. At a little less than 90 minutes (minus a few additional scenes hidden in the credits), the film probably could have used another 20 minutes, and a generous bit of trimming from the first 15 minutes. I enjoy a good "sense of impending doom," and I need to be given time to actually feel it. Penn plows the plot along before the emotions really have time to register.
But the film's shortcomings fortunately don't outweigh its positive aspects. Penn himself makes a wonderful villain for the piece, playing the role of the Hollywood sleazebag without resorting to over-the-top satire. Herzog is a great point-of-view character, endearing and intelligent and adventurous, but too trusting for his own good. The elements of terror are left just a little vague, leaving the viewers to draw their own conclusions about what really happened out there on the water (though if you pay close attention, I think most of the answers are there). It's well worth seeing, and most of the pacing issues I described are really evident only in the beginning and the middle. By the end, the real Zak Penn has a good handle on his film, even as the fictional Zak Penn becomes lost in a maelstrom of his own design.
Read another August Wilson play over the weekend, called Joe Turner's Come and Gone. To review, Wilson was an African-American playwright who wrote ten plays, one taking place in each decade of the 20th Century, describing the black American experience of the past hundred years. Joe Turner's Come and Gone takes place in the 1910s.
To briefly describe the plot: Seth Holly and his wife Bertha run a boarding house in Pittsburgh. A mysterious stranger named Herald Loomis shows up and takes a room. He has a tortured past, having been held in a state of slavery for seven years by a man named Joe Turner. The real inspiration for Turner, Joe Turney, was described by blues musician W.C. Handy in his autobiography: "It goes back to Joe Turney (also called Turner), brother of Pete Turney, one-time governor of Tennessee. Joe had the responsibility of taking Negro prisoners from Memphis to the penitentiary at Nashville. Sometimes he took them to the "farms" along the Mississippi. Their crimes when indeed there were any crimes, were usually very minor, the object of the arrests being to provide needed labor for spots along the river. As usual, the method was to set a stool-pigeon where he could start a game of craps. The bones would roll blissfully till the required number of laborers had been drawn into the circle. At that point the law would fall upon the poor devils, arrest as many as were needed for work, try them for gambling in a kangaroo court and then turn the culprets over to Joe Turney. That night, perhaps, there would be weeping and wailing among the dusky belles. If one of them chanced to ask a neighbor what had become of the sweet good man, she was likely to receive the pat reply, 'They tell me Joe Turner's come and gone.'"
Against this horrific background comes Herald Loomis. The play is actually focused very little on Loomis himself and mostly portrays the other characters' reaction to him. He only really gets two major scenes, and they're scenes consumed with the mystical/spiritual forces that Wilson would occasionally slip into his otherwise realist dramas. This hearkens back to African tribal culture, where life and mysticism were not so divided. As a metaphor it all makes perfect sense, but it plays strangely on the stage. To me it came off as unsettling and a little melodramatic (it works much better in The Piano Lesson) though one could argue that maybe it's supposed to be unsettling, as this is ostensibly a clash between blacks trying to fit in with white culture and blacks trying to fight it. I'm used to magical realism, but the proportion of magic to realism here is just too small, so when the magic does appear it feels out of place.
Wilson generally works with a lot of characters and a lot of elements, and his plots can be pretty free and loose because of that. It works for his style, and it's very effective, but here it gets away from him a little. There are a lot of very interesting themes here on sex, slavery, and submission, but they don't quite come together, and when they do the binding feels a little forced.
Much opera fun was had last week as I saw two productions of Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro (or "The Marriage of Figaro," as the Ohio Theatre advertised it because people have actually HEARD of that). This is the first time I've actually seen an opera twice (once on DVD, once live), and it's an interesting experience. Opera reviewers review productions, not the opera itself, and you really can't get a perfect idea of a production's merits or defects until you've seen it before. Also, you really enjoy it more the second time: operas contain stories and music, and though the music is primary, it's hard to enjoy it if you don't have a good grasp on the story. Seeing it the second time, you can focus a little more on the music.
And also, hooray for supertitles. Whoever came up with the idea of giving live opera its own set of subtitles, that person is a wonderful genius and the best person on earth.
Of the two productions I saw, the live one was really the best. The DVD was good, but I felt the acting and singing were generally better in the other production. Not to mention, Kultur has a really obnoxious habit of not properly subtitling their DVDs, especially when more than one person is singing. But it's the only DVD that Netflix had of this opera, so you take what you get. The actual opera is very funny, with very quick and exuberant music... but I do recommend reading a synopsis first, because it gets a bit complex. Worth seeing if you ever have the chance.
Another opera I enjoyed this week was Giuseppe Verdi's Don Carlos. A very dark story, set in Spain during the Inquisition and Spain's rule over the Netherlands. Themes of religious persecution dovetail nicely with the plot of a man in love with his own mother-in-law, though they could have dovetailed a bit better. The format of opera can at times necessitate some ropey plotting and more surface-oriented storytelling... but at the same time, there's Wagner. So, really, you can do both.
The music is gorgeous, very dark and somber and rich. It strongly imparts a feeling of dread from the very beginning. Well, almost from the beginning. There are actually two versions of this opera, one written in French, and a later, revised version written in Italian. The French version has some extraneous scenes, one of which is at the very beginning, and unfortunately that's the one I saw. I believe the Met uses the Italian revision (actually, I think they use a revision of the Italian revision), so I hope to see this year's production when it hits DVD. I've heard good things.
American Film Badger: Right, where are we... #14! 14 on the 1998 list goes to Some Like it Hot. Here's director Billy Wilder again (his Sunset Boulevard was #12), and this is really one of the best American comedies ever. Two talentless jazz musicians witness a crime, and to evade the mobsters they have to dress up as women and join a group of touring musicians. It's one of those plots that could either be very good or very bad... and this one's very, very good. Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis are great in it, and Marilyn Monroe is well above her average level here. Just a classic, hilarious comedy, with one of the best endings in the history of film.
And on the 2007 list, #14 goes to Psycho. Really, you're telling me Psycho isn't as good as Vertigo (#9)? Okay... I guess. There are some alternate dimensions where that may be true. Anyway, what can I say about Psycho that hasn't been said? It really is that great. The suspense is that perfect, the cinematography is that gorgeous, the shock of the main character meeting her grisly end halfway through the film still holds up... just a perfect and perfectly made film. It's Hitchcock, there's a reason he's the best.
This week's reading: A few years back, I read James Clavell's Tai-Pan and I loved it. I immediately got my hands on the other five books of his Asian Saga. Well, this week I was reminded while reading Count Belisarius of how much I really enjoy not only classics but also good historical fiction, and since I had never gotten around to reading the Asian Saga... well, there we are. Six books, a total of over 6,200 pages. The first book in the series... Shogun!
So I probably won't have any new books to review for a while... I'll be sure to pop in reviews of some old favorites and recent reads while I'm consuming this massive tome of East-West relations. It's huge, but god is it worth it.
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