The Moon is a mysÂtery. For all its familiarity–the regÂuÂlarÂiÂty of its phasÂes, the fact that everyÂwhere on Earth it looks the same–the Moon has always been an enigÂma, a lumiÂnous quesÂtion mark rolling across the night sky.
In this new video from CosÂmic JourÂneys, we learn about some of the latÂest sciÂenÂtifÂic research into the strucÂture and hisÂtoÂry of the Moon. In parÂticÂuÂlar, we learn the latÂest ideas on what is perÂhaps the greatÂest of lunar mysÂterÂies: the quesÂtion of how the Moon got there in the first place.
The leadÂing canÂdiÂdate for an answer is the Giant Impact HypothÂeÂsis, which posits that someÂtime in the earÂly stage of the Solar System–about four and a half bilÂlion years ago–a large proÂto-Earth colÂlidÂed with a Mars-sized body named “Theia,” causÂing a huge cloud of mateÂrÂiÂal from both bodÂies to fly out into space. Some of the mateÂrÂiÂal remained in the EarthÂ’s orbit and coaÂlesced into the Moon. It’s a fasÂciÂnatÂing hypothÂeÂsis. To see more videos from the same series, visÂit the CosÂmic JourÂneys chanÂnel on YouTube, or the SpacÂeRip blog.
As a carÂless cinephile, I’ve spent hours upon hours lisÂtenÂing to film podÂcasts while ridÂing my bike or the train.BatÂtleÂship PreÂtenÂsion, hostÂed by knowlÂedgeÂable but still knowlÂedge-hunÂgry young critÂics Tyler Smith and David Bax, has long held top priÂorÂiÂty on these rides — and even if the title’s refÂerÂent doesn’t flood your mind with memÂoÂries of artisÂtic awe, you probÂaÂbly get the pun. But if you want to go deepÂer and talk about how film editÂing went from grunt work to art form, you have litÂtle choice but to talk about BatÂtleÂship Potemkin(1925) and its direcÂtor, Sergei EisenÂstein. A RussÂian douÂble-threat of filmÂmakÂer and film theÂoÂrist in the 1920s through the late 1940s, EisenÂstein pioÂneered many now-essenÂtial editÂing techÂniques, figÂurÂing out how images could be arranged to serve not just a film’s stoÂry but its rhythm, its tone, and even its themes.
Like cinÂeÂma itself, EisenÂstein came from the theÂater. Unlike most of his conÂtemÂpoÂraries, he made great strides in dragÂging cinÂeÂma out of the theÂater behind him, castÂing off staid stoÂryÂtelling habits in favor of the vast posÂsiÂbilÂiÂties of the then-new mediÂum, most of which remain unchartÂed even today. Tasked by his govÂernÂment with proÂducÂing what came down to revÂoÂluÂtionÂary proÂpaÂganÂda, EisenÂstein couldn’t push the theÂmatÂic enveÂlope very far. Even so, today’s filmÂmakÂers lookÂing for ways to advance their form, or today’s filmÂgoÂers eager to learn more about how movies work, would do well to look at what EisenÂstein manÂaged to do 85 years ago, and how aesÂthetÂiÂcalÂly exhilÂaÂratÂing it all remains.
The clip above is apparÂentÂly the oldÂest colÂleÂgiate footÂball footage surÂvivÂing today. And, in case you’re keepÂing score, PrinceÂton won the game 11–6.
But if you’re countÂing the numÂber of Free CoursÂes proÂvidÂed by the two uniÂverÂsiÂties, we have the score at 38–1, with Yale comÂing out way on top.
In April of 1964, the British BroadÂcastÂing CorÂpoÂraÂtion launched BBC Two as a highÂbrow alterÂnaÂtive to its mainÂstream TV chanÂnel. One of the new chanÂnel’s first proÂgrams was Jazz 625, which spotÂlightÂed many of the greatÂest Jazz musiÂcians of the day. Dizzy GilleÂspie, TheloÂnious Monk, Dave Brubeck, Bill Evans and othÂers perÂformed on the show, which feaÂtured straight-forÂward camÂera work and a minÂiÂmalÂist set. The focus was on the music.
The title of the show referred to the chanÂnel’s 625-line UHF bandÂwidth, which offered highÂer resÂoÂluÂtion than the 405-line VHF transÂmisÂsion on BBC One. Among the surÂvivÂing episodes is TheloÂnious Monk’s March 14, 1965 perÂforÂmance at the MarÂquee Club in LonÂdon. You can watch a 35-minute excerpt above. The quarÂtet feaÂtures Monk on piano, CharÂlie Rouse on tenor saxÂoÂphone, LarÂry Gales on bass and Ben Riley on drums. They perÂform four numÂbers:
Straight No ChasÂer
HackÂenÂsack
Rhythm-A-Ning
EpistroÂphy
You can learn the stoÂry behind Jazz 625 by readÂing an artiÂcle by Louis Barfe at TransÂdÂifÂfuÂsion. And to see more from the shows, scroll down.
The Oscar PeterÂson Trio:
Above is a 25-minute excerpt from the Oscar PeterÂson TriÂo’s OctoÂber 1, 1964 perÂforÂmance. The origÂiÂnal show, like othÂer episodes of Jazz 625, was over an hour long. The trio feaÂtures PeterÂson on piano, Ray Brown on bass and Ed ThigÂpen on drums.
The Bill Evans Trio:
Above are two 35-minute episodes, shown back-to-back, feaÂturÂing the Bill Evans Trio. The two sets were recordÂed on March 19, 1965 and feaÂture Evans on piano, Chuck Israels on bass and LarÂry Bunker on drums.
The ModÂern Jazz QuarÂtet:
The ModÂern Jazz QuarÂtet perÂformed for Jazz 625 on April 28, 1964. Above is a 27-minute except, feaÂturÂing the QuarÂtet’s musiÂcal direcÂtor John Lewis on piano, Milt JackÂson on vibraÂphone, PerÂcy Heath on bass and ConÂnie Kay on drums. BrazilÂian guiÂtarist LauÂrindo AlmeiÂda makes a speÂcial appearÂance.
We startÂed the week expectÂing to pubÂlish one David FosÂter WalÂlace post. Then, because of the 50th birthÂday celÂeÂbraÂtion, it turned into two. And now three. We spent some time trackÂing down free DFW stoÂries and essays availÂable on the web, and they’re all now listÂed in our colÂlecÂtion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, KinÂdle & OthÂer Devices. But we didÂn’t want them to escape your attenÂtion. So here they are — 23 pieces pubÂlished by David FosÂter WalÂlace between 1989 and 2011, mostÂly in major U.S. pubÂliÂcaÂtions like The New YorkÂer, Harper’s, The Atlantic, and The Paris Review. Enjoy, and don’t miss our othÂer colÂlecÂtions of free writÂings by Philip K. Dick and Neil Gaiman.
An IngÂmar Bergman retÂroÂspecÂtive begins next month here in Los AngeÂles, and as I mark my calÂenÂdar, I reflect on what turned me on to his films in the first place. Who can approach Bergman now withÂout first runÂning a culÂturÂal gauntÂlet of knowÂing refÂerÂences, gushÂing appreÂciÂaÂtions, and conÂtrarÂiÂan broadÂsides? What young cinephile could resist the tempÂtaÂtion to inflate an opinÂion about The SevÂenth Seal, or Wild StrawÂberÂries, or PerÂsona after seeÂing them for the first time — or indeed, before? We could all benÂeÂfit from someÂone to show us the way into the “Swedish masÂter’s” loaded, time-conÂsumÂing filÂmogÂraÂphy, and as this BBC interÂview by film critÂic Mark KerÂmode reveals (watch Part 1 above, and Part 2 here), Woody Allen could well be it.
Allen holds a surÂprisÂingÂly plauÂsiÂble claim to the title of Bergman’s numÂber-one fan, or at least his most promiÂnent one. How to square his dedÂiÂcaÂtion to these solemn Swedish medÂiÂtaÂtions on morÂtalÂiÂty, emoÂtionÂal isoÂlaÂtion, and the imposÂsiÂbilÂiÂty of faith with his creÂation of beloved light comeÂdies like Bananas, SleepÂer, and Annie Hall? But watch Allen’s filÂmogÂraÂphy in full, espeÂcialÂly picÂtures like Love and Death, Crimes and MisÂdeÂmeanors, and ShadÂows and Fog, and the answer comes into view. MorÂtalÂiÂty, emoÂtionÂal isoÂlaÂtion, the imposÂsiÂbilÂiÂty of faith — Bergman’s preÂocÂcuÂpaÂtions are Allen’s, but Allen grapÂples with the unanÂswerÂable quesÂtions by makÂing jokes about them. What Allen describes as a “theÂmatÂic conÂnecÂtion” to Bergman ultiÂmateÂly becomes a much more comÂpliÂcatÂed entanÂgleÂment: his hirÂing of Bergman’s cinÂeÂmatogÂraÂphÂer Sven Nykvist to shoot AnothÂer Woman, Crimes and MisÂdeÂmeanors, and CelebriÂty, for instance, sugÂgests someÂthing beyond simÂple influÂence.
In conÂverÂsaÂtion with KerÂmode, Allen rememÂbers joinÂing the vanÂguard of New York Bergman enthuÂsiÂasm after seeÂing SumÂmer with MoniÂka and The Naked Night, films that, to his mind, disÂplayed an obviÂousÂly highÂer levÂel of craft than anyÂthing else playÂing in town. The days when disÂcovÂerÂing Bergman realÂly meant disÂcovÂerÂing Bergman have long passed, but it will nevÂer be too late to feel the same exciteÂment Allen did about Bergman’s abilÂiÂty to express interÂnal conÂflicts — “inner states of anxÂiÂety,” Allen calls them — so richÂly and draÂmatÂiÂcalÂly on film. The Woody Allen-approved points of entry for the Bergman novice: The SevÂenth Seal, Wild StrawÂberÂries, and Cries and WhisÂpers “for sure.” And maybe The MagiÂcian. H/T @opedr
In earÂly 1964, Bob Dylan was at the apex of his jourÂney as a socialÂly conÂscious folk singer. The fleetÂing moment is preÂserved in this rare half-hour TV proÂgram, recordÂed on FebÂruÂary 1 of that year. WithÂin a week the BeaÂtÂles would land in AmerÂiÂca. In a litÂtle over a month, Dylan would rent an elecÂtric guiÂtar.
The teleÂviÂsion perÂforÂmance is from Quest, a CanaÂdiÂan BroadÂcastÂing CorÂpoÂraÂtion series that ran between 1961 and 1964 and showÂcased a wide range of litÂerÂary and perÂformÂing arts. It was proÂduced in ToronÂto by Daryl Duke, who went on to direct AmerÂiÂcan teleÂviÂsion proÂgrams and feaÂture films.
Dylan appears in his clasÂsic Woody Guthrie mode on a set made to look like a westÂern bunkhouse. He plays six songs–half from The Times They Are a‑Changin’, his third album released just a few weeks before, and half from his preÂviÂous album, The FreeÂwheelÂin’ Bob Dylan. In order of appearÂance:
The Times They Are A Changin’
Talkin’ World War III Blues
LoneÂsome Death of HatÂtie CarÂroll
Girl From the North CounÂtry
A Hard Rain’s A‑Gonna Fall
RestÂless Farewell
“The Times They Are a‑Changin’,” as the proÂgram is titled, offers a unique glimpse of the earÂly Bob Dylan, just before his music turned from social issues to perÂsonÂal ones, just before he put away the blue jeans and work shirts and began wearÂing BeaÂtÂle boots and sunÂglassÂes. “Dylan’s appearÂance on Quest,” says writer and filmÂmakÂer Erek BarsczewsÂki, “proÂvides the closÂest approxÂiÂmaÂtion availÂable of what his earÂly perÂforÂmances in GreenÂwich VilÂlage would have looked and soundÂed like.”
CinÂeÂma went into its death throes on SepÂtemÂber 31, 1983. The instruÂment of its demise? The video remote conÂtrol. When the “zapÂper” endowed the viewÂer with the abilÂiÂty to play, pause, stop, fast-forÂward, and rewind at will, the mediÂum’s artists lost their absolute conÂtrol over the rhythm, duraÂtion, and othÂer chronoÂlogÂiÂcal subÂtleties of the cinÂeÂmatÂic expeÂriÂence. Or so filmÂmakÂer Peter GreenÂaway claims in this lecÂture at UC BerkeÂley. AnyÂone fan enough to read all the interÂviews the direcÂtor has grantÂed — and I count myself in the group — will by now be familÂiar with, even weary of, GreenÂaway’s ideas about cinÂeÂma’s techÂniÂcal and ecoÂnomÂic straitÂjackÂetÂing, its arbiÂtrary aesÂthetÂic boundÂaries, and its squanÂdered potenÂtial as a freeÂstandÂing art form. Nowhere else, though, does he explain and elabÂoÂrate upon these ideas in such detail, or in such an enterÂtainÂingÂly oraÂtorÂiÂcal manÂner.
“The death of cinÂeÂma,” though? RealÂly? KnowÂing how draÂmatÂic that sounds, GreenÂaway frames what’s hapÂpened in anothÂer way: perÂhaps cinÂeÂma has yet to be born. What if the last cenÂtuÂry or so has offered only the proÂlogue to cinÂeÂma, and modÂern filmÂmakÂers must take it upon themÂselves to bring the real thing into the world? These may strike you as the thoughts of a crackÂpot, and maybe they are, but watch and lisÂten as GreenÂaway recounts the stuntÂed develÂopÂment of the art form in which he works. We’ve grown so accusÂtomed to the limÂiÂtaÂtions of cinÂeÂma, so his arguÂment goes, that we don’t even feel the presÂsure of the “four tyranÂnies” that have lordÂed over it since the beginÂning: the frame, the text, the actor, and the camÂera. Even if you loathe GreenÂaway’s films, can you help askÂing yourÂself whether the rarely quesÂtioned domÂiÂnance of an elite class of essenÂtialÂly theÂatriÂcal perÂformÂers, folÂlowÂing texÂtuÂalÂly conÂceived instrucÂtions, viewed from one perÂspecÂtive at a time through a simÂple recÂtanÂgle, holds the movies back?
Since his feaÂture-length debut The Falls in 1980, GreenÂaway has strugÂgled against what he sees as the barÂriÂers put up by cinÂeÂma’s unhealthy entanÂgleÂment with the narÂraÂtive-driÂven forms of theÂater and litÂerÂaÂture. Trained origÂiÂnalÂly as a painter, he wonÂders explicÂitÂly in pubÂlic and implicÂitÂly through his work why films can’t enjoy the same freeÂdom to explore the creÂative space at their disÂposÂal that paintÂings do. All his picÂtures, even the best-known like The DraughtsÂmanÂ’s ConÂtract; The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover; and 8½ Women, use setÂtings, actors, images, words, and sounds like colÂors on a palette, applyÂing them with infiniÂtude of strokes, creÂatÂing a whole from which no one eleÂment can be easÂiÂly sepÂaÂratÂed. In this lecÂture, GreenÂaway marÂshals footage from his projects conÂductÂed even farÂther out at the mediÂum’s edge: his transÂforÂmaÂtion of an actuÂal ItalÂian palace into one big non-narÂraÂtive film, his colÂlabÂoÂraÂtions with avant-garde comÂposÂer David Lang, and, of course, his VJ-ing sesÂsions.
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