The Long, Violent History of Israel and Palestine Musically Animated by Nina Paley

You may remem­ber Nina Paley, about whose movie Sita Sings the Blues we post­ed back in 2009. If you fol­low ani­ma­tion, you cer­tain­ly remem­ber her, since she put togeth­er that fea­ture-length, jazz vocal-scored, auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal adap­ta­tion of the Indi­an myth the Ramayana almost entire­ly with her own set of self-taught skills. For some time now, Paley’s fans have known that her next major project, Seder-Masochism, will retell the sto­ry of Exo­dus using nar­ra­tion assem­bled from gen­uine Passover Seder record­ings. This we learned when Paley chose to fund the first phase of the project on Kick­starter. We can now watch, embed­ded above, the very first scene she has com­plet­ed: “This Land is Mine,” a brief and bloody musi­cal his­to­ry of the ter­ri­to­ry called, depend­ing upon your per­spec­tive, Israel, Pales­tine, Canaan, or Lev­ant.

Help­ful­ly, Paley has writ­ten up a guide to this sequence’s many play­ers: you’ve got the Canaan­ites, who kill Ear­ly Man; the Egpy­tians, who kill the Canaan­ites; the Assyr­i­ans, who kill the Egyp­tians; and so on for­ward through the annals until we arrive at the mod­ern-day bat­tles between “PLO/Hamas/Hezbollah,” the State of Israel, and “guerrillas/freedom fighters/terrorists.” Any­one who even occa­sion­al­ly glances toward the news knows full well how large con­flict and death loom today over this par­tic­u­lar slice of the world, but through Paley’s high-body-count ani­mat­ed inter­pre­ta­tion of the place’s his­to­ry, we can see that it was ever thus. She flinch­es not from her sub­ject mat­ter’s over­whelm­ing vio­lence, nor from her own ten­den­cy to inject it with humor. This bodes well for what she’ll do with the rest of the sto­ry, col­lect it as she will from as many Seders as she can attend. The mak­ings, tru­ly, of an Exo­dus dif­fer­ent from all oth­er Exo­dus­es.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Mid­dle East­ern His­to­ry: Free Cours­es

Dra­ma­tiz­ing the Mid­dle East

Rev­o­lu­tions in the Mid­dle East: Head of Al Jazeera Speaks at TED

Sita Sings the Blues Now on YouTube

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Final Episode of Jerry Seinfeld’s Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee Features a Manic Michael Richards

Come­di­an Daniel Tosh, who isn’t known for his sen­si­tiv­i­ty, to say the least, has a seg­ment on his show Tosh.0 called “Web Redemp­tion” in which he allows peo­ple who became the butt of inter­net jokes to reclaim their dig­ni­ty. One might refer to the sea­son finale of Jer­ry Seinfeld’s free web series Come­di­ans in Cars Get­ting Cof­fee as some­thing of a “web redemp­tion” for his guest, Michael Richards, Sein­feld’s Kramer. Like Tosh, Richards had a high­ly-pub­li­cized and very ugly moment onstage at the Laugh Fac­to­ry in response to some heck­lers. I can’t say that I’ve felt a lot of sym­pa­thy for either of these guys, both raked over the inter­net’s coals. But does this final episode of Seinfeld’s breezy series redeem Michael Richards? Maybe a lit­tle? Well, it’s def­i­nite­ly fun to watch these two rem­i­nisce about their Sein­feld days, espe­cial­ly my per­son­al favorite episode, “Ken­ny Rogers’ Roast­ers.”

And it’s also very touch­ing. Seinfeld’s loy­al­ty and con­cern for his friend after that infa­mous melt­down always seemed gen­uine, and here Jer­ry’s gen­eros­i­ty of spir­it ele­vates him to some­thing of a per­son­al cheer­leader for the ram­shackle Richards—represented in this episode by the car Jer­ry choos­es: a rusty, beat-up 1962 VW van that dou­bles as a pick­up. My favorite exchange, hands-down, gives us a glimpse into the two come­di­ans’ souls: Jer­ry, sage of the every­day, and Richards, the man­ic absur­dist. Richards, a lit­tle shy or just clown­ing around, puts on a wig and dark glass­es:

Richards: “you should put on a hat and some sun­glass­es”
Sein­feld: “Oh, Michael, free your­self. We’re just rain­drops on a wind­shield.”
Richards: “I wan­na know who’s wip­ing me off!”

It’s got­ta be the kind of ban­ter you can’t script. Or maybe I choose to believe that. Once they sit down for cof­fee, Richards real­ly turns it on. He’s a bril­liant raconteur—tells the great­est chess sto­ry I’ve ever heard. No spoil­ers; you’ve got to see it.  Maybe it redeems him just a little–you decide.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Steven Spielberg Reveals He Is Dyslexic. Making Movies Offered Him a “Great Escape” as a Child

We recent­ly brought you an inter­view with Steven Spiel­berg and his father, dis­cussing the films the direc­tor made as a teenag­er. Of all Amer­i­can auteurs, Spiel­berg may be the most in touch with his inner child, so it comes as no sur­prise that the young Spiel­berg record­ed train crash­es and bat­tles using his own room or yard as the back­drop.

What no one, includ­ing the Dream­Works co-founder him­self, knew until recent­ly is that all those 8 mm shorts were more than just a pas­time. In a recent inter­view Spiel­berg revealed that he is dyslex­ic and that he was only diag­nosed five years ago. â€śIt explained a lot of things,” Spiel­berg told Quinn Bradlee. “It was like the last puz­zle part in a tremen­dous mys­tery that I’ve kept to myself all these years.”

Always two years behind the class in read­ing, Spiel­berg was teased by oth­er kids in school. He dread­ed hav­ing to read in front of the class. He nev­er lacked for friends, though look­ing back on it sev­er­al of his friends were prob­a­bly also dyslex­ic.

“Even my own friends who were just like me, we didn’t have the skills to talk about it,” he recalled in the inter­view for Friends of Quinn, a site for peo­ple with learn­ing dif­fer­ences. “I got bul­lied. I dealt with it by mak­ing movies. That was my cov­er up.”

Spiel­berg, whose films have spanned all gen­res over more than four decades, says that moviemak­ing was his “great escape” from feel­ing painful­ly dif­fer­ent.

“I nev­er felt like a vic­tim. Movies helped save me from shame, from guilt from putting it on myself when it wasn’t my bur­den,” he says. “In light of feel­ing like an out­sider, movies made me feel inside my own skill set.”

He says that it takes him about three hours to read what most peo­ple could read in a lit­tle more than an hour.

“I’m slow, but I’ve learned to adjust,” he says. “I am in a busi­ness where read­ing is very impor­tant. I read often and I have great com­pre­hen­sion. I retain almost every­thing I read. I real­ly take my time going through a book or a script.”

With all of that said, don’t miss our pre­vi­ous post: Steven Spielberg’s Debut: Two Films He Direct­ed as a Teenag­er

Kate Rix is an Oak­land-based free­lance writer. Find more of her work at .

The Real Alice in Wonderland Circa 1862, and Our Favorite Culture Links on the Web

Over at The Retro­naut they’re fea­tur­ing a gallery of images of Alice Lid­dell cir­ca 1862. Who is that you may ask? Well, it’s only the young girl who inspired Lewis Car­rol­l’s clas­sic sto­ry Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land (a text that you can down­load from our col­lec­tions of Free eBooks and Free Audio Books). If the men­tion of the great children’s tale warms your heart, we’d encour­age you to re-vis­it Maria Popo­va’s guest-authored post, Alice in Open­land, which has all kinds of great relat­ed mate­r­i­al — read­ings of Alice by Cory Doc­torow, film adap­ta­tions of the sto­ry from 1903 and 1915, and much more.

Bob Dylan’s Historic Newport Folk Festival Performances, 1963–1965

“You know him, he’s yours: Bob Dylan.” It’s hard to imag­ine a more iron­ic intro­duc­tion, but those were the words used by Ron­nie Gilbert of The Weavers to intro­duce Dylan at the 1964 New­port Folk Fes­ti­val. “What a crazy thing to say!” Dylan wrote in his mem­oir, Chron­i­cles. “Screw that. As far as I knew, I did­n’t belong to any­body then or now.” A year lat­er at New­port he made his point loud and clear. They did­n’t know him, and he was­n’t theirs.

On July 25, 1965 Dylan shocked the folk purists at New­port by plug­ging his Fend­er Stra­to­cast­er into an ampli­fi­er and join­ing gui­tarist Mike Bloom­field and oth­ers from the But­ter­field Blues Band in a blis­ter­ing ren­di­tion of “Mag­gie’s Farm,” a song often inter­pret­ed as Dylan’s protest song against the expec­ta­tion of singing protest songs. (The farm in the title is viewed as a pun on Silas McGee’s farm in Mis­sis­sip­pi, where Dylan made his famous appear­ance dur­ing a civ­il rights ral­ly.) Many in the audi­ence took it as a slap in the face. Boos rose up amid the cheer­ing, and the boo­ing con­tin­ued into Dylan’s next song, the now-clas­sic “Like a Rolling Stone.” Music writer Greil Mar­cus described the scene:

There was anger, there was fury, there was applause, there was stunned silence, but there was a great sense of betray­al. As if some­thing pre­cious and del­i­cate was being dashed to the ground and stomped. As if the del­i­cate flower of folk music, the price­less her­itage of impov­er­ished black farm­ers and des­ti­tute white min­ers, was being mocked by a dandy, with a gar­ish noisy elec­tric gui­tar, who was going to make huge amounts of mon­ey as a pop star by exploit­ing what he found from these poor peo­ple.

The con­tro­ver­sial “elec­tric” per­for­mance was the last of three Dylan appear­ances at the New­port fes­ti­val. His first time there was in 1963, when he was an obscure young singer, lit­tle known out­side of Green­wich Vil­lage. He appeared at the fes­ti­val as a guest of Joan Baez, who was far bet­ter known and had recent­ly appeared on the cov­er of Time mag­a­zine. Baez intro­duced Dylan to audi­ences around the coun­try and encour­aged him to write polit­i­cal­ly com­mit­ted folk songs. But by the 1964 fes­ti­val Dylan had already caught up to Baez, in terms of fame, and by 1965 he was break­ing free of Baez and her expec­ta­tions, and of folk music in gen­er­al.

Mur­ray Lern­er’s The Oth­er Side of the Mir­ror: Bob Dylan Live at the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val 1963–1965 (above) cap­tures Dylan’s evo­lu­tion over those three years. The footage was orig­i­nal­ly shot for Lern­er’s clas­sic 1967 doc­u­men­tary, Fes­ti­val!, and was even­tu­al­ly acquired by Dylan, whose man­ag­er agreed to let Lern­er assem­ble it into a film–but only after the release of Mar­tin Scors­ese’s No Direc­tion Home, which uses some of the mate­r­i­al. The Oth­er Side of the Mir­ror was released in 2007. The doc­u­men­tary was shot on Kodak Plus‑X and Tri‑X film with a three-per­son crew. As Lern­er lat­er explained in an inter­view, his inten­tion was to let Dylan’s evolv­ing music speak for itself:

We decid­ed on no nar­ra­tion, no pun­dit inter­views, no inter­views with Dylan. noth­ing except the expe­ri­ence of see­ing him. That to me is excit­ing. Just the clear expe­ri­ence gives you every­thing you need. I felt that when screened the music of The Oth­er Side of the Mir­ror, because he’s tout­ed metaphor­i­cal­ly as the mir­ror of his gen­er­a­tion, and I thought no, he’s beyond that. He always takes the gen­er­a­tion beyond that, and he’s like on the oth­er side of the mir­ror. But I also felt the won­drous qual­i­ty of his imag­i­na­tion took us like Alice to a new world on the oth­er side of the mir­ror.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Bob Dylan’s (In)Famous Elec­tric Gui­tar From the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val Dis­cov­ered?

The Times They Are a‑Changin’: 1964 Broad­cast Gives a Rare Glimpse of the Ear­ly Bob Dylan

 

Metamorphose: 1999 Documentary Reveals the Life & Work of Artist M.C. Escher

Made in 1999 by Dutch direc­tor Jan Bos­driesz, the doc­u­men­tary Meta­mor­phose: M.C. Esch­er, 1898–1972 takes its title from one of Escher’s more well-known prints in which the word “meta­mor­phose” trans­forms itself into pat­terns of abstract shapes and ani­mals. It’s one of those col­lege-dorm prints one thinks of when one thinks of M.C. Esch­er, and it’s won­der­ful in its own way. But the doc­u­men­tary reveals oth­er sides of the artist—his art-school days, his sojourn in Italy—that pro­duced a very dif­fer­ent kind of work. Esch­er began as a stu­dent of archi­tec­ture, enrolled in the School for Archi­tec­ture and Dec­o­ra­tive arts in Haar­lem by his par­ents, who strug­gled to help him find his way after he failed his high school exams.

Once in Haar­lem, the lone­ly and some­what morose Esch­er finds him­self drawn to graph­ic art instead. One of his teach­ers, accom­plished Dutch artist Samuel Jes­su­run de Mesqui­ta, whose influ­ence is evi­dent in Escher’s work and life, sees some of Escher’s linocuts and likes them. In archival footage of an inter­view with Esch­er, the artist says that Jes­su­run de Mesqui­ta asked him, “Wouldn’t you rather be a graph­ic artist instead of an archi­tect?”

Esch­er admits, “I wasn’t all that inter­est­ed in archi­tec­ture.” It’s a lit­tle bit of a sur­pris­ing admis­sion giv­en Escher’s wild archi­tec­tur­al imag­i­na­tion, but per­haps what he meant was that he wasn’t inter­est­ed in the con­ven­tion­al, but rather in the archi­tec­ture of the fan­tas­tic, the impos­si­ble spaces he imag­ined in much of his work.

We learn oth­er things about Esch­er: One of his wood­cuts from this peri­od is titled “Nev­er Think before You Begin,” show­ing a lone­ly fig­ure on a dark and treach­er­ous path with only a tiny light to guide him, a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of Escher’s deci­sion to pur­sue graph­ic art. The nar­ra­tor informs us that “it took more than thir­ty years for him to earn enough from his work to live on.” Luck­i­ly, as with many artists who strug­gle for years, Esch­er had rich par­ents. We can thank them for their patron­age.  To give you some idea of Escher’s mor­bid char­ac­ter, we learn that he chose the top­ic “Dance of Death” for a three-hour lec­ture to his fel­low art stu­dents in Haar­lem. Esch­er told them, “The dance of death and life are two expres­sions with the same mean­ing. What else do we do oth­er than dance death into our souls?”

Meta­mor­phose is an impres­sive doc­u­men­tary, beau­ti­ful­ly shot and edit­ed, with a bal­ance of stock footage of the peri­od, inter­views with the artist him­self, and long, lin­ger­ing shots of his work. The film cov­ers Escher’s entire artis­tic life, end­ing with footage of the artist at work. These “last images” of Esch­er, the nar­ra­tor says, “are not gloomy. We see an artist in his stu­dio, doing the things he enjoys,” a man “proud of his suc­cess.” At the end of his life, he still hon­ored his teacher, de Mesqui­ta, and the South Ital­ian coast that shel­tered him dur­ing his for­ma­tive years.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Math­e­mat­ics Made Vis­i­ble: The Extra­or­di­nary Art of M.C. Esch­er

Inspi­ra­tions: A Short Film Cel­e­brat­ing the Math­e­mat­i­cal Art of M.C. Esch­er

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Hundreds of Fans Collectively Remade Star Wars; Now They Remake The Empire Strikes Back

For­get grav­i­ty. For­get even irony. The uni­verse knows no greater force, as it were, than the col­lec­tive enthu­si­asm of Star Wars fans. 35 years after the first of them came out, the films’ pow­er to inspire remains unset­tling­ly imme­di­ate and wide­spread. Or at least that goes for the orig­i­nal tril­o­gy of Star Wars movies, the first of which, A New Hope, under­went a pop­u­lar fan-made remake in 2009. The result, Star Wars Uncut, did­n’t come as the project of a sin­gle enter­pris­ing afi­ciona­do plop­ping him­self into the George Lucas seat, but as a ful­ly “crowd-sourced” motion pic­ture assem­bled out of fif­teen-sec­ond clips shot by con­trib­u­tors called to action by one Casey Pugh. The hyp­not­ic result, whose final cut first screened ear­li­er this year and which you can watch above, offers Star Wars as patch­work quilt, the con­struc­tion of its squares rang­ing from delib­er­ate­ly lo-fi (not to men­tion non-delib­er­ate­ly lo-fi) to sur­pris­ing­ly cred­i­ble.

With one down, the next two of those beloved movies await. The Empire Strikes Back Uncut, whose trail­er appears just above, has now offi­cial­ly opened to con­trib­u­tors, who can claim a fif­teen-sec­ond seg­ment of their own to re-cre­ate. They get thir­ty days to sub­mit the fruit of their cin­e­mat­ic labors, and then the entire film re-opens to accept anoth­er round of sub­mis­sions. This might seem like the kind of irrev­er­ent homage that would irk the cre­ator of the orig­i­nal, but Lucas­film has actu­al­ly endorsed the project this time around. Will their involve­ment extin­guish the under­ground scrap­pi­ness of the ear­li­er effort? Will fans choke under the awe­some respon­si­bil­i­ty of rein­ter­pret­ing The Empire Strikes Back, that most respect­ed of all Star Wars prop­er­ties? They’re ques­tions of import to a true believ­er, though that believ­er might take solace in the top-vot­ed reac­tion in Star Wars Uncut’s YouTube com­ments: “Still bet­ter than The Phan­tom Men­ace.”

via MetaFil­ter

Relat­ed con­tent:

Star Wars as Silent Film

Star Wars is a Remix

Star Wars Retold with Paper Ani­ma­tion

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Art Lovers Rejoice! New Goya and Rembrandt Databases Now Online

Two of the the tow­er­ing fig­ures of West­ern art–Fran­cis­co de Goya and Rem­brandt van Rijn–have just become more acces­si­ble to peo­ple around the world with the intro­duc­tion of a pair of new online data­bas­es.

The Museo del Pra­do in Madrid has just launched a Web site, Goya en el Pra­do, which makes over 1,000 works by the late 18th- and ear­ly 19th-cen­tu­ry Span­ish mas­ter avail­able for online view­ing, along with his cor­re­spon­dence and oth­er doc­u­ments. Although the site is cur­rent­ly avail­able only in Span­ish (tip: view the site with Google Chrome and it will trans­late things for you!) the pic­to­r­i­al con­tents are easy to explore for peo­ple who are not flu­ent in the lan­guage. They fall under three cat­e­gories: paint­ings (pin­turas), draw­ings (dibu­jos) and prints (estam­pas). More than half of Goy­a’s sur­viv­ing works–from his mas­ter­pieces to obscure sketches–are housed at the Pra­da and are now avail­able for brows­ing by schol­ars and the gen­er­al pub­lic alike. Many of the works are rarely seen. “Notable fea­tures with­in this excep­tion­al­ly impor­tant and inter­est­ing project,” writes artdaily.org, “include the option to access online the unique col­lec­tion of works on paper by Goya in the Muse­um, which is not nor­mal­ly on dis­play for con­ser­va­tion rea­sons.” Here’s the link: Goya en el Pra­do.

Two ven­er­a­ble Dutch art institutions–the Nether­lands Insti­tute for Art His­to­ry (RKD) and the Roy­al Pic­ture Gallery Mau­rit­shuis have joined forces to cre­ate The Rem­brandt Data­base, a resource that brings togeth­er mate­ri­als from research insti­tu­tions around the world, includ­ing the Nation­al Gallery of Lon­don and the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art. Unlike the Prado’s Goya project, which is intend­ed for a wide audi­ence, the Rem­brandt site is designed specif­i­cal­ly for art schol­ars. “The Rem­brandt Data­base aims to become the first port of call for research on Rem­brandt’s paint­ings,” accord­ing to a state­ment on the site. “Our objec­tive is not to present a final set of data, but to devel­op and grow con­tin­u­al­ly, espe­cial­ly as more doc­u­men­ta­tion becomes avail­able through new research and col­lab­o­ra­tion with new part­ners.” By 2014 the orga­niz­ers hope to have mate­r­i­al from 20 muse­ums. At present there are only a dozen Rem­brandt paint­ings in the data­base, but some of the entries are sup­port­ed by exten­sive doc­u­men­ta­tion, includ­ing infrared and X‑ray imagery. Here’s the link: The Rem­brandt Data­base.

via Metafil­ter/The Art Tri­bune

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