Philosophers Drinking Coffee: The Excessive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

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I think I speak for many of us when I say that cof­fee fuels our great­est intel­lec­tu­al efforts. And even as we get the jit­ters and leave brown rings on our desks, we can take com­fort in the fact that so it also went with some of the most notable philoso­phers in the his­to­ry of the dis­ci­pline. As far back as the 18th cen­tu­ry, no less a writer, thinker, and agi­ta­tor than François-Marie Arou­et, bet­ter known as Voltaire, “report­ed­ly con­sumed some­where between 40 and 50 cups of joe a day, appar­ent­ly of a choco­late-cof­fee mix­ture. He lived into his eight­ies, though his doc­tor warned him that his beloved cof­fee would kill him.”

That comes from Aman­da Scherk­er at The Huff­in­g­ton Post writ­ing up “9 Famous Genius­es Who Were Also Huge Cof­fee Addicts.” Voltaire’s java habit also comes up on “10 Odd Obses­sions of Famous Philoso­phers” by Vir­ginia Muir at List­verse, who names his drink­ing venue of choice (the Café Pro­cope in Paris) and indi­cates the extent of his enthu­si­asm by not­ing that “he even reg­u­lar­ly paid exor­bi­tant fees to have lux­u­ry cof­fee import­ed for his per­son­al use” — which cer­tain­ly does­n’t seem so eccen­tric today.

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Lat­er that cen­tu­ry, Immanuel Kant took up cof­fee in his last days. Writ­ing first-hand on the sub­ject in the apt­ly titled The Last Days of Immanuel Kant, Thomas De Quincey (no stranger to life-chang­ing habits him­self) describes the philoso­pher’s “cus­tom of tak­ing, imme­di­ate­ly after din­ner, a cup of cof­fee,” a rit­u­al he so came to rel­ish that, when­ev­er he sensed he may not get his new favorite bev­er­age, there “com­menced a scene of some inter­est. Cof­fee must be brought ‘upon the spot’ (a word he had con­stant­ly on his mouth dur­ing his lat­ter days) ‘in a moment.’ ” Know­ing this would hap­pen, De Quincey made sure “the cof­fee was ground; the water was boil­ing; and the very moment the word was giv­en, [Kan­t’s] ser­vant shot in like an arrow and plunged the cof­fee into the water.… But this tri­fling delay seemed unen­durable to Kant.”

Kierkegaard Mug
(pic­tured: Søren Kierkegaard cof­fee mug)

In the 19th cen­tu­ry, Søren Kierkegaard would also get into a cof­fee rit­u­al. He “had his own quite pecu­liar way of hav­ing cof­fee,” writes biog­ra­ph­er Joakim Garff. “Delight­ed­ly he seized hold of the bag con­tain­ing the sug­ar and poured sug­ar into the cof­fee cup until it was piled up above the rim. Next came the incred­i­bly strong, black cof­fee, which slow­ly dis­solved the white pyra­mid.” I always drink it black myself, but who among us dares think our­selves too good for the teeth-aching pre­ferred by the author of Fear and Trem­bling?

We must always bear in mind, too, that while cof­fee may con­sti­tute a nec­es­sary con­di­tion for our intel­lec­tu­al achieve­ments, it nev­er con­sti­tutes a suf­fi­cient one. Before pour­ing your next cup, whether your first of the day or your fifti­eth, whether before or after din­ner, and whether into a pyra­mid of sug­ar or not, ask your­self how much progress you’ve made on your own Can­dide or Cri­tique of Pure Rea­son. A sober­ing ques­tion, to be sure — but after enough caf­feine, you feel pret­ty sober any­way.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

The Cof­fee Pot That Fueled Hon­oré de Balzac’s Cof­fee Addic­tion

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: London’s First Cafe Cre­ates Ad for Cof­fee in the 1650s

J.S. Bach’s Com­ic Opera, “The Cof­fee Can­ta­ta,” Sings the Prais­es of the Great Stim­u­lat­ing Drink (1735)

Black Cof­fee: Doc­u­men­tary Cov­ers the His­to­ry, Pol­i­tics & Eco­nom­ics of the “Most Wide­ly Tak­en Legal Drug”

135 Free Phi­los­o­phy eBooks

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Devo’s Mark Mothersbaugh & Other Arists Tell Their Musical Stories in the Animated Video Series, “California Inspires Me”

I’ve lived all of my life in var­i­ous cities on the East Coast, north and south. Var­i­ous cul­tur­al and geo­graph­ic fea­tures of the mid-Atlantic have shaped me in ways I’m prob­a­bly only par­tial­ly aware of. But this past sum­mer I spent more time on the West Coast—L.A. to be precise—than I ever have before, and I found it com­plete­ly refresh­ing. Of course, mass com­merce being what it is, no mat­ter where you go in the U.S., you run smack into a Tar­get, usu­al­ly flanked by strips of oth­er tedious­ly famil­iar chains. But instead of the tow­er­ing pines of my cur­rent locale, I gazed up at lan­guid palm fronds, and instead of the typ­i­cal East Coast swel­ter, I rel­ished the arid heat and the faint ocean tang in the air. A change in cli­mate changes one’s per­cep­tions of the world, and that’s not even to men­tion my—admittedly superficial—tourist’s appre­ci­a­tion of myr­i­ad archi­tec­tur­al, culi­nary, and oth­er SoCal eccen­tric­i­ties.

On return­ing and set­tling back into the grind, I still felt the pull west­ward, toward L.A.’s weird­ness. This is unsurprising—it’s a city, and a state, that have always sym­bol­ized escapism, as well as dis­ap­point­ment, whether that of the Joads, Nor­ma Desmond, or count­less real anony­mous hope­fuls. The sto­ry of mov­ing west in pur­suit of some Amer­i­can Dream is as old as Lewis and Clark and as new as Devo, one of whose found­ing mem­bers, native Cal­i­forn­ian Mark Moth­ers­baugh, nar­rates above his jour­ney to Hol­ly­wood with his band­mates after col­lege at Kent State (at the top of the post). He begins with some for­ma­tive child­hood experiences—getting his first pair of glass­es in 2nd grade (Moth­ers­baugh is legal­ly blind), see­ing the Bea­t­les on Ed Sul­li­van. He then tells, in brief, the sto­ry of Devo vs. the record com­pa­ny, or how a quirky art-rock band co-opt­ed Madi­son Avenue strate­gies to “tell the good news of de-evo­lu­tion,” only to them­selves become a com­mod­i­ty after scor­ing a hit with “Whip It.”

The video is part of a series called “Cal­i­for­nia Inspires Me,” a col­lab­o­ra­tion between Google Play and Cal­i­for­nia Sun­day mag­a­zine. Beneath Mothersbaugh’s ani­mat­ed sto­ry, see one from film­mak­er and artist Mike Mills, who talks about skate­board­ing and punk rock in his L.A. youth. In the video above, singer/songwriter Thao Nguyen shares her “real­ly deep appre­ci­a­tion for the his­to­ry of San Fran­cis­co in music.” And below, Jack Black relates his expe­ri­ences grow­ing up in the “deep, deep South” of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, specif­i­cal­ly Her­mosa Beach, with its surf cul­ture, and “free-wheel­ing hip­pie love.” If there’s one thing that ties all four videos together—besides the music by Shan­non Ferguson—it’s the mel­low per­son­al­i­ties of the four Cal­i­forn­ian artists. Watch­ing the series from my cur­rent­ly blus­tery win­ter cli­mate gave me the East Coast jit­ters, fir­ing up that urge again to hit the dusty trail and revis­it, or maybe relo­cate to the Sun­shine State.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Huell Howser’s Decades of Tele­vi­sion Trav­els Online. It’s Cal­i­for­nia Gold!

The Mas­ter­mind of Devo, Mark Moth­ers­baugh, Shows Off His Syn­the­siz­er Col­lec­tion

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Richard Dawkins’ Famous “What If You’re Wrong” Speech Animated in the Style of South Park

In 2006, Oxford biol­o­gist and new athe­ist Richard Dawkins made an appear­ance at the evan­gel­i­cal Lib­er­ty Uni­ver­si­ty and field­ed ques­tions from the audi­ence. One stu­dent, Amber Moore, asked Dawkins why he was more inclined to believe in extrater­res­tri­als with advanced intel­li­gence than God? When Dawkins gave his answer, explain­ing that he could only believe in bio­log­i­cal beings, Amber asked the fol­low up ques­tion, “What if you’re wrong?” Dawkins’ response went viral on Youtube, tal­ly­ing almost 4 mil­lions views. So did the South Park-style ani­ma­tion that appeared sev­er­al years lat­er. The ani­ma­tion (above) came not from the cre­ators of South Park, Trey Park­er and Matt Stone, but rather from some YouTu­ber called Tube­LooB.

Park­er and Stone did sep­a­rate­ly lam­poon Dawkins, how­ev­er, in a 2006 episode of the show. Dawkins did­n’t like it very much. If you watch this raunchy, very Not-Safe-for-Work clip, you’ll see why.

It’s also worth recall­ing that Park­er and Stone took a respect­ful whack at ani­mat­ing the philo­soph­i­cal teach­ings of Alan Watts. We always enjoy giv­ing it a watch.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Wis­dom of Alan Watts in Four Thought-Pro­vok­ing Ani­ma­tions

Grow­ing Up in the Uni­verse: Richard Dawkins Presents Cap­ti­vat­ing Sci­ence Lec­tures for Kids (1991)

Richard Dawkins’ Doc­u­men­tary The God Delu­sion Tack­les Faith & Reli­gious Vio­lence (2006)

Richard Dawkins Explains Why There Was Nev­er a First Human Being

Free Online Biol­o­gy Cours­es

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The Paintings of Akira Kurosawa

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Aki­ra Kuro­sawa, “the Emper­or” of Japan­ese film, made movies — and in some sense, he nev­er was­n’t mak­ing movies. Even when he lacked the resources to actu­al­ly shoot them, he pre­pared to make movies in the future, think­ing through their every detail. Crit­ic and his­to­ri­an of Japan­ese cin­e­ma Don­ald Richie’s remem­brance of the direc­tor who did more than any­one to define the Japan­ese film empha­sizes Kuro­sawa’s “con­cern for per­fect­ing the prod­uct” — to put it mild­ly. “Though many film com­pa­nies would have been delight­ed by such direc­to­r­i­al devo­tion,” Richie writes, “Japan­ese stu­dios are com­mon­ly more impressed by coop­er­a­tion than by inno­va­tion.”

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Kuro­sawa thus found it more and more dif­fi­cult, as his career went on, to raise mon­ey for his ambi­tious projects. Richie recalls a time in the 1970s when, “con­vinced that Kage­musha would nev­er get made, Kuro­sawa spent his time paint­ing pic­tures of every scene — this col­lec­tion would have to take the place of the unre­al­ized film. He had, like many oth­er direc­tors, long used sto­ry­boards. These now blos­somed into whole gal­leries — screen­ing rooms for unmade mas­ter­pieces.” When he could­n’t shoot movies, he wrote them. If he’d writ­ten all he could, he paint­ed them.

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At Fla­vor­wire, you can see a com­par­i­son between Kuro­sawa’s paint­ings and the frames of his movies. “He hand-craft­ed these images in order to con­vey his enthu­si­asm for the project,” writes Ali­son Nas­tasi, going on to quote the direc­tor’s own auto­bi­og­ra­phy: “My pur­pose was not to paint well. I made free use of var­i­ous mate­ri­als that hap­pened to be at hand.”

But as you can see, the Emper­or knew what he want­ed; the actu­al shots clear­ly rep­re­sent a real­iza­tion of what he’d devot­ed so much time and ener­gy to visu­al­iz­ing before­hand. Occa­sion­al­ly, Kuro­sawa’s own art­work even made it to his movies’ offi­cial posters, espe­cial­ly less­er-known (what­ev­er “less­er-known” means in the con­text of the Kuro­sawa canon) per­son­al works like 1970’s Dodes’­ka-den and 1993’s Mada­dayo.

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We might chalk up the film­mak­er’s inter­est in paint­ing — and per­haps in film­mak­ing — in large part to his old­er broth­er Hei­go, with whom he gazed upon the after­math of Toky­o’s 1923 Kan­tō earth­quake. A live silent film nar­ra­tor and aspir­ing painter in the Pro­le­tar­i­an Artists’ League, Hei­go com­mit­ted sui­cide in 1933 after his polit­i­cal dis­il­lu­sion­ment and the career-killing intro­duc­tion of sound film. Young Aki­ra would make his direc­to­r­i­al debut a decade lat­er and, in the 55 years that fol­lowed, pre­sum­ably do Hei­go proud on every pos­si­ble lev­el.

A cat­a­log includ­ing 40 vivid, large, full-col­or draw­ings by Kuro­sawa was pub­lished in 1994 to accom­pa­ny an exhi­bi­tion in New York.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aki­ra Kurosawa’s 80-Minute Mas­ter Class on Mak­ing “Beau­ti­ful Movies” (2000)

Aki­ra Kurosawa’s List of His 100 Favorite Movies

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa & Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez Talk About Film­mak­ing (and Nuclear Bombs) in Six Hour Inter­view

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Artist Takes Old Books and Gives Them New Life as Intricate Sculptures

New York-based artist Bri­an Dettmer cuts into old books with X‑ACTO knives and turns them into remixed works of art. Speak­ing at TED Youth last Novem­ber, he told the audi­ence, “I think of my work as sort of a remix .… because I’m work­ing with some­body else’s mate­r­i­al in the same way that a D.J. might be work­ing with some­body else’s music.” “I carve into the sur­face of the book, and I’m not mov­ing or adding any­thing. I’m just carv­ing around what­ev­er I find inter­est­ing. So every­thing you see with­in the fin­ished piece is exact­ly where it was in the book before I began.”

brian-dettmer-book-art

Dettmer puts on dis­play his pret­ty fan­tas­tic cre­ations, all while explain­ing how he sees the book — as a body, a tech­nol­o­gy, a tool, a machine, a land­scape, a case study in archae­ol­o­gy. The talk runs six min­utes and deliv­ers more than the aver­age TED Talk does in 17.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter and Google Plus and share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

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Read Chez Foucault, the 1978 Fanzine That Introduced Students to the Radical French Philosopher

chez foucault1

The recent “adjunct walk out day” has remind­ed peo­ple out­side academia—at least those who paid any attention—of the decay­ing state of Amer­i­can high­er edu­ca­tion, a con­di­tion dri­ven in part by a sear­ing under­cur­rent of anti-intel­lec­tu­al­ism in U.S. polit­i­cal cul­ture. It’s a trend his­to­ri­an Richard Hof­s­tadter iden­ti­fied last cen­tu­ry in his Pulitzer Prize-win­ning 1963 study Anti-Intel­lec­tu­al­ism in Amer­i­can Life. But not long after Hofstadter’s book appeared, anoth­er, more vital cur­rent took hold in the 60s and 70s, one brought on by the broad­en­ing pos­si­bil­i­ties for those pre­vi­ous­ly denied access to elite uni­ver­si­ties, and by rec­i­p­ro­cal rela­tion­ships between rad­i­cals and schol­ars. Aca­d­e­mics like Tim­o­thy Leary became fig­ure­heads of the coun­ter­cul­ture, rev­o­lu­tion­ar­ies like Huey New­ton earned Ph.D.s, and activist pro­fes­sors like Angela Davis held the line between the worlds of high­er ed and pop­u­lar dis­sent. The uni­ver­si­ties became not only sites of stu­dent protest, but also matri­ces of rev­o­lu­tion­ary the­o­ry.

Into this foment­ing intel­lec­tu­al cul­ture stepped French the­o­rist Michel Fou­cault, who first lec­tured in the U.S. in 1975 after the pub­li­ca­tion of his His­to­ry of Sex­u­al­i­ty. Fou­cault was a true prod­uct of the French uni­ver­si­ty sys­tem and an aca­d­e­m­ic super­star of sorts, as well as a gad­fly of rev­o­lu­tion­ary move­ments from Paris in ’68, to Iran in ’79, to Berke­ley in the 80s. His work as a philoso­pher and polit­i­cal dis­si­dent prompt­ed one biog­ra­ph­er to refer to him as a “mil­i­tant intel­lec­tu­al,” though his pol­i­tics could some­times be as obscure as his prose. By 1981, he had risen to such cul­tur­al promi­nence in the States that Time mag­a­zine pub­lished a pro­file of him and his “grow­ing cult.” One of Foucault’s Amer­i­can acolytes, Sime­on Wade, befriend­ed the philoso­pher in the mid-sev­en­ties and wrote an unpub­lished, 121-page account of Foucault’s alleged 1975 LSD trip in Death Val­ley (referred to in James Miller’s The Pas­sion of Michel Fou­cault). Wade, along with a num­ber of oth­er Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia stu­dents, also inter­viewed Fou­cault the fol­low­ing year.

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In 1978, Wade pub­lished the inter­view in what may be the most pop­ulist of mediums—the fanzine. Titled Chez Fou­cault, with a ded­i­ca­tion “for Michael Stone­man,” the mimeo­graphed doc­u­ment looks on its face like a typ­i­cal hand­made self-pub­li­ca­tion from the peri­od, with its murky let­ter­ing and gen­er­al­ly hap­haz­ard design. But inside, Chez Fou­cault is far denser than any chap­book or rock ‘zine. In his pref­ace, Wade describes Chez Fou­cault as “a work­book I tin­kered togeth­er for teach­ers and stu­dents in the human­i­ties, social sci­ences and nat­ur­al sci­ences.” Accord­ing­ly, in addi­tion to the inter­view, he includes a syn­op­sis of Foucault’s Dis­course on Lan­guage, a “tran­scrip­tion” of his Dis­ci­pline and Pun­ish, a sketch of “The Ear­ly Fou­cault,” and a bib­li­og­ra­phy, glos­sary, read­ing and film list, and ver­i­ta­ble course out­line. It’s a very rich text that pro­vides a thor­ough intro­duc­tion to many of Foucault’s major works. Of prin­ci­ple inter­est, how­ev­er, is the inter­view, seem­ing­ly unpub­lished any­where else. In it, Fou­cault elab­o­rates on sev­er­al of his key con­cepts, such as the rela­tion­ship between dis­course and pow­er:

I do not want to try to find behind the dis­course some­thing which would be the pow­er and which would be the source of the dis­course […]. We start from the dis­course as it is! […] The kind of analy­sis I make does not deal with the prob­lem of the speak­ing sub­ject, but looks at the ways in which the dis­course plays a role inside the strate­gi­cal sys­tem in which the pow­er is involved, for which pow­er is work­ing. So pow­er won’t be some­thing out­side the dis­course. Pow­er won’t be some­thing like a source or the ori­gin of dis­course. Pow­er will be some­thing which is work­ing through the dis­course.

This con­cise expla­na­tion offers a key to Foucault’s method. Dis­avow­ing the labels of both philoso­pher and his­to­ri­an (he calls him­self a “jour­nal­ist”), Fou­cault defines his pro­gram as “an analy­sis of dis­course, but not with the per­spec­tive of ‘point of view.’” (If the dis­tinc­tion is con­fus­ing, a read­ing of his essay “What is an Author?” may help clar­i­fy things.) Fou­cault dis­cuss­es the biopol­i­tics of pow­er, call­ing the human body “a pro­duc­tive force,” which “exists in and through a polit­i­cal sys­tem.” He also talks about the “polit­i­cal use” of a crit­i­cal the­o­ry such as his, and the pos­si­bil­i­ty of rev­o­lu­tion­ary phi­los­o­phy:

I do not think there is such a thing as a con­ser­v­a­tive phi­los­o­phy or a rev­o­lu­tion­ary phi­los­o­phy. Rev­o­lu­tion is a polit­i­cal process; it is an eco­nom­ic process. Rev­o­lu­tion is not a philo­soph­i­cal ide­ol­o­gy. And that’s impor­tant. That’s the rea­son why some­thing like Hegelian phi­los­o­phy has been both a rev­o­lu­tion­ary ide­ol­o­gy, a rev­o­lu­tion­ary method, a rev­o­lu­tion­ary tool, but also a con­ser­v­a­tive one. Look at Niet­zsche. Niet­zsche brought forth won­der­ful ideas, or tools if you like. He was used by the Nazi Par­ty. Now a lot of Left­ist thinkers use him. So we can­not be sure if what we are say­ing is rev­o­lu­tion­ary or not.

There is much more worth read­ing in Foucault’s inter­view with Wade and his fel­low stu­dents, and stu­dents and teach­ers of Fou­cault will find all of Chez Fou­cault worth­while. You can read and down­load the entire Fou­cault ‘zine here. And lest you think it’s the only one of its kind, don’t miss Judy!, the 1993 fanzine devot­ed to philoso­pher Judith But­ler.

via Pro­gres­sive Geo­gra­phies and Mono­skop

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Michel Fou­cault Deliv­er His Lec­ture on “Truth and Sub­jec­tiv­i­ty” at UC Berke­ley, In Eng­lish (1980)

Hear Michel Foucault’s Lec­ture “The Cul­ture of the Self,” Pre­sent­ed in Eng­lish at UC Berke­ley (1983)

Michel Fou­cault – Beyond Good and Evil: 1993 Doc­u­men­tary Explores the Theorist’s Con­tro­ver­sial Life and Phi­los­o­phy

Watch a “Lost Inter­view” With Michel Fou­cault: Miss­ing for 30 Years But Now Recov­ered

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Errol Morris Celebrates The Madness of Sports with Six New Mini-Docs: Watch Them Free Online

In hon­or of Errol Mor­ris’ 67th birth­day, which just passed on Feb­ru­ary 9, Grantland.com is cel­e­brat­ing with a full week of new doc­u­men­taries shot for ESPN by the film­mak­er. Fre­quent­ly named one of the most impor­tant doc­u­men­tary film­mak­ers of our times, he rose to fame with 1978’s pet ceme­tery doc Gates of Heav­en, then cement­ed it with The Thin Blue Line, which helped save a man from the elec­tric chair. (It also start­ed his long col­lab­o­ra­tion with com­pos­er Philip Glass.) Mor­ris has been a pri­vate inves­ti­ga­tor, a jour­nal­ist, and a mak­er of com­mer­cials, all of which pro­vide the men­tal fuel (and fund­ing) for his film­mak­ing. He invent­ed the “Inter­ro­tron” a vari­a­tion on the teleprompter, which allowed his sub­jects to talk straight into the cam­era while he inter­viewed them. It added an unset­tling jolt to his two con­ver­sa­tions with the men vot­ed most like­ly to be war crim­i­nals, Robert McNa­ma­ra and Don­ald Rums­feld. But as Mor­ris says in a Grant­land inter­view, he is not here to accuse or pros­e­cute.

When I was inter­view­ing killers years ago, I enjoyed talk­ing to them. I enjoyed being with them. I wasn’t there to mor­al­ize with them or tem­po­rize with them, I was there to talk to them. And I think that’s still true. Rums­feld pushed it, I have to say.

It’s been two years since his last film, the Rums­feld inter­view The Unknown Known, and, while we wait for his next fea­ture and pos­si­bly a third book, Mor­ris has giv­en us six short docs that range between 10 and 20 min­utes. The Sub­ter­ranean Sta­di­um (at the top of this post) delves into the sub-cul­ture of table­top elec­tron­ic foot­ball games that have been around since the 1940s, and the grown-ups who still play them.

The Heist exam­ines, with dia­grams and sus­pense­ful music, the four col­lege stu­dents who stole Michael Jordan’s jer­sey from the vault­ed heights of a sta­di­um.


The Streak­er
pro­files Mark Roberts, the affa­ble Liv­er­pudlian who has streaked at “every major sport­ing event in the world.”

There are three more videos wait­ing to be doled out. (Find them here.) One is on A.J. Mass, a writer for ESPN; anoth­er about sports col­lectibles; and the oth­er about horse rac­ing. The con­stant theme is the par­tic­u­lar mad­ness of sports fans, obses­sion being a major theme of Mor­ris’ work.

The oth­er link in all these films is the sound of Mor­ris, who choos­es not to edit out his off­screen voice. It’s the sound of a man clear­ly hav­ing a good time. How­ev­er:

“I’m sick of inter­view­ing,” he says. “I am real­ly sick of it. I’m not gonna say I do it bet­ter than any­body else, but I do it dif­fer­ent­ly than any­body else. I am good at it, for what­ev­er rea­son. There are a lot of dif­fer­ent rea­sons, but if that’s all I’m going to do for the rest of my life is stick a cam­era in front of peo­ple and say to them, “I don’t have a first ques­tion, what’s your first answer?” I think I would be very sad.”

So let’s cel­e­brate Mor­ris before he changes his mind.

This new series of short films will be added to our meta col­lec­tion, 285 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online. Find more films in our col­lec­tion of 700 Free Movies Online.

Relat­ed con­tent:

30 Errol Mor­ris Movies That Can Be Streamed Online

Wern­er Her­zog Los­es a Bet to Errol Mor­ris, and Eats His Shoe

“They Were There” — Errol Mor­ris Final­ly Directs a Film for IBM

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

A Final Wish: Terminally Ill Patients Visit Rembrandt’s Paintings in the Rijksmuseum One Last Time

ambulance 2 On Mon­day, the Dutch vol­un­teer orga­ni­za­tion called Sticht­ing Ambu­lance Wens Ned­er­land (rough­ly trans­lat­ed as Ambu­lance Wish Foun­da­tion Nether­lands) took three ter­mi­nal­ly ill patients to see The Late Rem­brandt Exhi­bi­tion cur­rent­ly being held at the Rijksmu­se­um in Ams­ter­dam. The exhib­it fea­tures over 100 paint­ings, draw­ings and prints that Rem­brandt pro­duced dur­ing the final phase of his life. And the patients, near­ing the end of their lives, want­ed to see the exhib­it and expe­ri­ence the artistry of the great Dutch painter one last time.

ambulance 1

Staffed by 200 med­ical­ly-trained vol­un­teers, the orga­ni­za­tion has ful­filled thou­sands of wish­es since its cre­ation in 2007, and they did­n’t dis­ap­point this time. As visu­al­ly doc­u­ment­ed on its Twit­ter account, the non­prof­it took the guests to the exhib­it, each in an ambu­lance. The muse­um-goers were then treat­ed to a one-hour pri­vate tour of the col­lec­tion. Some poignant pic­tures cap­ture the bit­ter­sweet moment.

ambulance 4

via Laugh­ing Squid

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

Rembrandt’s Face­book Time­line

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.