What Is Freedom? Watch Four Philosophy Animations on Freedom & Free Will Narrated by Harry Shearer

Grow­ing up in Amer­i­ca, I heard near­ly every behav­ior, no mat­ter how unpleas­ant, jus­ti­fied with the same phrase: “It’s a free coun­try.” In her recent book Notes on a For­eign Coun­try, the Istan­bul-based Amer­i­can reporter Suzy Hansen remem­bers singing “God Bless the USA” on the school bus dur­ing the first Iraq war: “And I’m proud to be an Amer­i­canWhere at least I know I’m free.” That “at least,” she adds, is fun­ny: “We were free – at the very least we were that. Every­one else was a chump, because they didn’t even have that obvi­ous thing. What­ev­er it meant, it was the thing that we had, and no one else did. It was our God-giv­en gift, our super­pow­er.”

But how many of us can explain what free­dom is? These videos from BBC Radio 4 and the Open Uni­ver­si­ty’s ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Ideas series approach that ques­tion from four dif­fer­ent angles. “Free­dom is good, but secu­ri­ty is bet­ter,” says nar­ra­tor Har­ry Shear­er, sum­ming up the view of sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry philoso­pher Thomas Hobbes, who imag­ined life with­out gov­ern­ment, laws, or soci­ety as “soli­tary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” The solu­tion, he pro­posed, came in the form of a social con­tract “to put a strong leader, a sov­er­eign or per­haps a gov­ern­ment, over them to keep the peace” — an escape from “the war of all against all.”

But that escape comes hand in hand with the unpalat­able prospect of liv­ing under “a fright­en­ing­ly pow­er­ful state.” The nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry philoso­pher John Stu­art Mill, who wrote a great deal about the state’s prop­er lim­i­ta­tions, based his con­cept of free­dom in some­thing called the “harm prin­ci­ple,” which holds that “the state, my neigh­bors, and every­one else should let me get on with my life, as long as I don’t harm any­one in the process.” As “the seedbed of genius” and “the basis of endur­ing hap­pi­ness for ordi­nary peo­ple,” this indi­vid­ual free­dom needs pro­tec­tion, espe­cial­ly when it comes to speech: “Mere­ly caus­ing offense, he thinks, is no grounds for inter­ven­tion, because, in his view, that is not a harm.”

That propo­si­tion remains debat­ed more heat­ed­ly now, in the 21st cen­tu­ry, than Mill prob­a­bly could have imag­ined. But then as now, and as in any time of human his­to­ry, we live in more or less the same world, “a world fes­ter­ing with moral evil, a world of wars, tor­ture, rape, mur­der, and oth­er acts of mean­ing­less vio­lence,” not to men­tion “nat­ur­al evil” like dis­ease, famine, floods, and earth­quakes. This gives rise to per­haps the old­est prob­lem in the philo­soph­i­cal book, the prob­lem of evil: “How could a good god allow any­one to do such hor­rif­ic things?” Some have tak­en the fact that the wars, mur­ders, floods, and earth­quakes con­tin­ue as evi­dence that no such god exists.

But had that god cre­at­ed “human beings that always did the right thing, nev­er harmed any­one else, nev­er went astray,” we’d all have end­ed up “automa­ta, pre­pro­grammed robots.” Bet­ter, in this view, “to have free will with the gen­uine risk that some peo­ple will end up evil than to live in a world with­out choice.” Even so, the mere men­tion of free will, a con­cept no more eas­i­ly defined than that of free­dom itself, opens up a whole oth­er can of worms, espe­cial­ly in light of research like neu­ro­sci­en­tist Ben­jamin Libet’s.

Libet, who “wired up sub­jects to an EEG machine, mea­sur­ing brain activ­i­ty via elec­trodes on our scalps,” found that brain activ­i­ty ini­ti­at­ing a move­ment actu­al­ly hap­pened before the sub­jects thought they’d decid­ed to make that move­ment. Does that dis­prove free will? Does evil dis­prove the exis­tence of a good god? Does offense cause the same kind of harm as phys­i­cal vio­lence? Should we give up more secu­ri­ty for free­dom, or more free­dom for secu­ri­ty? These ques­tions remain unan­swered, and quite pos­si­bly unan­swer­able, but that does­n’t make con­sid­er­ing the very nature of free­dom any less nec­es­sary as human soci­eties — those in “free coun­tries” and oth­er­wise — find their way for­ward.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Can I Know Right From Wrong? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions on Ethics Nar­rat­ed by Har­ry Shear­er

47 Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain the His­to­ry of Ideas: From Aris­to­tle to Sartre

An Ani­mat­ed Aldous Hux­ley Iden­ti­fies the Dystopi­an Threats to Our Free­dom (1958)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Gustav Klimt’s Haunting Paintings Get Re-Created in Photographs, Featuring Live Models, Ornate Props & Real Gold

Image by Inge Prad­er

Gus­tav Klimt paint­ed a glit­ter­ing, erot­ic, haunt­ing real­i­ty of his own, dis­tinc­tive even by the stan­dards of his artis­ti­cal­ly abun­dant envi­ron­ment of late 19th- and ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Vien­na. “Who­ev­er wants to know some­thing about me,” he once wrote in a com­men­tary on the self-por­trait he nev­er paint­ed, “ought to look care­ful­ly at my pic­tures.” Giv­en the lev­el of scruti­ny with which she’s no doubt had to look at his pic­tures, Klimt’s coun­try­woman Inge Prad­er must there­fore know every­thing about the painter there is to know.

Image by Inge Prad­er

A pho­tog­ra­ph­er with a wide vari­ety of cor­po­rate clients, Prad­er has drawn a good deal of atten­tion by shoot­ing recre­ations of Klimt’s can­vass­es made for Vien­na’s Life Ball, an AIDS char­i­ty event, using real mod­els, real cos­tumes, and real gold. That last has a par­tic­u­lar impor­tance, giv­en Prader’s focus on paint­ings from the “Gold­en Phase” that Klimt entered after becom­ing a suc­cess. “In 1903 Klimt vis­it­ed Venice, Ravenne and Flo­rence,” writes Kon­bini’s Don­nia Ghe­zlane-Lala. “It was his vis­it to the San Vitale basil­i­ca in Ravenne that struck him the most. Fas­ci­nat­ed by Byzan­tine mosaics, he decid­ed to inte­grate the colour gold into his work using gold paper and gold leaf. Also, fun fact, Klimt was the son of a gold­smith.”

Image by Inge Prad­er

Prader’s “care­ful­ly posed mod­els and intri­cate­ly craft­ed props dupli­cate some of Klimt’s most icon­ic mas­ter­works like Death and Life and Beethoven Frieze, mir­ror­ing the gold hued, high­ly dec­o­ra­tive and erot­ic aes­thet­ic the Aus­tri­an artist became best known for,” writes Design­boom’s Nina Azzarel­lo. “Rich­ly orna­ment­ed cos­tumes cloth­ing war­riors and women alike are sit­u­at­ed along­side semi-nude fig­ures and set against detailed mosa­ic back­drops.” These “par­adise-like con­di­tions” on the can­vas trans­fer sur­pris­ing­ly well to pho­tog­ra­phy, espe­cial­ly with the eye Prad­er has devel­oped in fash­ion and adver­tis­ing, two realms guar­an­teed to instill any­body with a pos­i­tive­ly Klimt-like appre­ci­a­tion for strik­ing com­po­si­tions, lux­u­ri­ous mate­ri­als, and beau­ti­ful women.

You can see more of Prader’s Klimt recre­ations at Kon­bi­ni and Design­boom.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Cre­ates Stun­ning Real­is­tic Por­traits That Recre­ate Sur­re­al Scenes from Hierony­mus Bosch Paint­ings

Flash­mob Recre­ates Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch” in a Dutch Shop­ping Mall

How Famous Paint­ings Inspired Cin­e­mat­ic Shots in the Films of Taran­ti­no, Gilliam, Hitch­cock & More: A Big Super­cut

Name That Paint­ing!

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The 38 States of America: Geography Professor Creates a Bold Modern Map of America (1973)

Unless you belong to an old­er gen­er­a­tion, you prob­a­bly can’t remem­ber the last time the map of the Unit­ed States under­went any major change. For decades, the bound­aries have remained pret­ty fixed. And yet the map, as we know it, should­n’t nec­es­sar­i­ly be con­sid­ered set in stone.

If bil­lion­aire Tim Drap­er has his way, Cal­i­for­nia vot­ers will decide in 2018 whether Cal­i­for­nia, the home to near­ly 40 mil­lion peo­ple, should be divid­ed into three states called “North­ern Cal­i­for­nia,” “South­ern Cal­i­for­nia,” and plain “Cal­i­for­nia.” His argu­ment being that Cal­i­for­nia has become too large to gov­ern, and that pow­er should be moved toward small­er, more local­ly gov­erned enti­ties. Mean­while, on a par­al­lel track, anoth­er group is push­ing for Cal­i­for­nia to leave the union alto­geth­er. Right there, we have two ini­tia­tives that could change the map as we know it.

And then there was the time when, back in 1973, George Etzel Pearcy, a Cal­i­for­nia State Uni­ver­si­ty geog­ra­phy pro­fes­sor, pro­posed re-draw­ing the map of the nation, reduc­ing the num­ber of states to 38, and giv­ing each state a dif­fer­ent name. In his cre­ative rework­ing of things, Cal­i­for­nia would be split into two states–“El Dora­do” and “San Gabriel”. Texas would divide into “Alamo” and also “Shawnee” (along with rem­nants of Okla­homa). And the Dako­tas would fuse into one big “Dako­ta.” In case you’re won­der­ing, Pearcy chose the names by polling geog­ra­phy stu­dents.

The log­ic behind the new map was explained in a 1975 edi­tion of The Peo­ple’s Almanac.

Why the need for a new map? Pearcy states that many of the ear­ly sur­veys that drew up our bound­aries were done while the areas were scarce­ly pop­u­lat­ed. Thus, it was con­ve­nient to deter­mine bound­aries by using the land’s phys­i­cal fea­tures, such as rivers and moun­tain ranges, or by using a sim­ple sys­tem of lat­i­tude and lon­gi­tude.… The prac­ti­cal­i­ty of old estab­lished State lines is ques­tion­able in light of Amer­i­ca’s ever-grow­ing cities and the increas­ing mobil­i­ty of its cit­i­zens. Met­ro­pol­i­tan New York, for exam­ple, stretch­es into 2 adja­cent States. Oth­er city pop­u­la­tions which cross State lines are Wash­ing­ton, D.C., St. Louis, Chica­go, and Kansas City. The “strad­dling” of State lines caus­es eco­nom­ic and polit­i­cal prob­lems. Who should pay for a rapid tran­sit sys­tem in St. Louis? Only those cit­i­zens with­in the bound­aries of Mis­souri, or all res­i­dents of St. Louis’s met­ro­pol­i­tan area, includ­ing those who reach over into the State of Illi­nois?…

When Pearcy realigned the U.S., he gave high pri­or­i­ty to pop­u­la­tion den­si­ty, loca­tion of cities, lines of trans­porta­tion, land relief, and size and shape of indi­vid­ual States.  When­ev­er pos­si­ble lines are locat­ed in less pop­u­lat­ed areas. In the West, the desert, semi­desert, or moun­tain­ous areas pro­vid­ed an easy method for divi­sion. In the East, how­ev­er, where areas of scarce pop­u­la­tion are hard­er to deter­mine, Pearcy drew lines “try­ing to avoid the thick­er clus­ters of set­tle­ment.”  Each major city which fell into the “strad­dling” cat­e­go­ry is neat­ly tucked with­in the bound­aries of a new State. Pearcy tried to place a major met­ro­pol­i­tan area in the cen­ter of each State. St. Louis is in the cen­ter of the State of Osage, Chica­go is cen­tered in the State of Dear­born. When this method proved impos­si­ble, as with coastal Los Ange­les, the city is still locat­ed so as to be eas­i­ly acces­si­ble from all parts of the State…

Accord­ing to Rob Lamm­le, writ­ing in Men­tal Floss, Pearcy ini­tial­ly got sup­port from “econ­o­mists, geo­g­ra­phers, and even a few politi­cians.” But the proposal–mainly out­lined in a book called A 38 State U.S.A.even­tu­al­ly with­ered in Wash­ing­ton, the place where ideas, both good and bad, go to die.

Below you can watch an ani­ma­tion show­ing how US map has changed in 200 years.

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.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free: Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Lets You Down­load Thou­sands of Maps from the Unit­ed States Geo­log­i­cal Sur­vey

Down­load 67,000 His­toric Maps (in High Res­o­lu­tion) from the Won­der­ful David Rum­sey Map Col­lec­tion

The His­to­ry of Car­tog­ra­phy, the “Most Ambi­tious Overview of Map Mak­ing Ever,” Now Free Online

New York Pub­lic Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Down­load and Use

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The Earliest Known Appearance of the F‑Word, in a Bizarre Court Record Entry from 1310

Pho­to by Paul Booth

You val­ue deco­rum, pro­pri­ety, elo­quence, you trea­sure le mot juste and ago­nize over dic­tion as you com­pose polite but strong­ly-word­ed let­ters to the edi­tor. But alas, my lit­er­ate friend, you have the mis­for­tune of liv­ing in the age of Twit­ter, Tum­blr, et al., where the favored means of com­mu­ni­ca­tion con­sists of ready­made mimet­ic words and phras­es, pho­tos, videos, and ani­mat­ed gifs. World lead­ers trade insults like 5th graders—some of them do not know how to spell. Respect­ed sci­en­tists and jour­nal­ists debate anony­mous strangers with car­toon avatars and work-unsafe pseu­do­nyms. Some of them are robots.

What to do?

Embrace it. Insert well-placed pro­fan­i­ties into your com­mu­niqués. Indulge in bawdi­ness and rib­aldry. You may notice that you are doing no more than writ­ers have done for cen­turies, from Rabelais to Shake­speare to Voltaire. Pro­fan­i­ty has evolved right along­side, not apart from, lit­er­ary his­to­ry. T.S. Eliot, for exam­ple, knew how to go low­brow with the best of them, and gets cred­it for the first record­ed use of the word “bull­shit.” As for anoth­er, even more fre­quent­ly used epi­thet in 24-hour online commentary?—well, the word “F*ck” has a far longer his­to­ry, grant­i­ng its apt pub­lic use recent­ly by seis­mol­o­gist Steven Gib­bons an added author­i­ty.

Not long ago we alert­ed you to the first known use of the ver­sa­tile obscen­i­ty in a 1528 mar­gin­al note scrib­bled in Cicero’s De Offici­is by a monk curs­ing his abbot. Not long after this dis­cov­ery, notes Medievalists.net, anoth­er schol­ar found the word in a 1475 poem called Flen fly­ys. This was thought to be the ear­li­est appear­ance of “f*ck” as a pure­ly sex­u­al ref­er­ence until medieval his­to­ri­an Paul Booth of Keele Uni­ver­si­ty dis­cov­ered an instance dat­ing over a hun­dred years ear­li­er. Rather than with­in, or next to, a work of lit­er­a­ture, how­ev­er, the word appears in a set of 1310 Eng­lish court records. And no, it is decid­ed­ly not a legal term.

The doc­u­ments con­cern the case of “a man named Roger Fucke­bythenavele.” Used three times in the record, the name, says Booth, is prob­a­bly not a joke made by the scribe but some kind of bizarre nick­name, though one hopes not a descrip­tion of the crime. “Either it refers to an inex­pe­ri­enced cop­u­la­tor, refer­ring to some­one try­ing to have sex with a navel,” says Booth, stat­ing the obvi­ous, “or it’s a rather extrav­a­gant expla­na­tion for a dimwit, some­one so stu­pid they think that this is the way to have sex.” Our medieval gent had oth­er prob­lems as well. He was called to court three times with­in a year before being pro­nounced “out­lawed,” which The Inde­pen­dent’s Loul­la-Mae Eleft­he­ri­ou-Smith sug­gests exe­cu­tion but prob­a­bly refers to ban­ish­ment.

For the word to have such casu­al­ly hilar­i­ous or insult­ing cur­ren­cy in the ear­ly 14th cen­tu­ry, it must have come from an even ear­li­er time. Indeed, “f*ck is a word of Ger­man ori­gin,” notes Jesse Shei­d­low­er, author of an ety­mo­log­i­cal his­to­ry called The F Word, “relat­ed to words in sev­er­al oth­er Ger­man­ic lan­guages, such as Dutch, Ger­man, and Swedish, that have sex­u­al mean­ings as well as mean­ing such as ‘to strike’ or ‘to move back and forth’” (nat­u­ral­ly). So, in oth­er words, it’s just a word. But in this case it might have also been a weapon, Booth spec­u­lates, wield­ed “by a revenge­ful for­mer girl­friend. Four­teenth-cen­tu­ry revenge porn per­haps…” If that’s not evi­dence for you that the present may not be unlike the past, then maybe take note of the appear­ance of the word “twerk” in 1820.

h/t Rick Davis

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Young T.S. Eliot Writes “The Tri­umph of Bullsh*t” and Gives the Eng­lish Lan­guage a New Exple­tive (1910)

Steven Pinker Explains the Neu­ro­science of Swear­ing (NSFW)

Stephen Fry, Lan­guage Enthu­si­ast, Defends The “Unnec­es­sary” Art Of Swear­ing

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

Learn the Untold History of the Chinese Community in the Mississippi Delta

The word “nativist” always sounds odd to me giv­en that most of those to whom it applies descend from peo­ple who arrived in North Amer­i­ca one or two hun­dred years ago to find peo­ple who had been on the con­ti­nent for many thou­sands of years. But if we were, in defi­ance of his­to­ry, to con­fer native sta­tus upon the many waves of Euro­pean immi­grants who pop­u­lat­ed the coun­try before and after the Civ­il War, then we must also grant such sta­tus to the many Chi­nese immi­grants who did so, build­ing rail­roads and busi­ness­es all over the U.S., includ­ing on the west­ern fron­tier in Mis­sis­sip­pi.

Chi­nese immi­grants first arrived in the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta after the end of slav­ery, respond­ing to cot­ton planters’ need for a new­ly exploitable work­force. Chi­nese labor­ers, says the nar­ra­tor in the Al Jazeera video above, “were cheap, dis­pos­able, and polit­i­cal­ly voice­less.” But they were, at least, paid for their work, and free to leave it, as most of them did when they could, to build their own eco­nom­ic means—largely busi­ness­es “serv­ing the black com­mu­ni­ty when the white com­mu­ni­ty wouldn’t.” In an NPR pro­file of the Delta Chi­nese com­mu­ni­ty, Melis­sa Block inter­viewed Ray­mond Wong, whose fam­i­ly arrived some­what lat­er, in the 1930s. “We were in-between,” he tells her, “We’re not black, we’re not white. So that by itself gives you some iso­la­tion.”

Pho­to by Mar­i­on Post Wolcott/Library of Con­gress

That in-between-ness also grants a good deal of invis­i­bil­i­ty to com­mu­ni­ties that don’t fit into the bina­ry pat­terns of think­ing in South­ern cul­ture and his­to­ry or the over­sim­pli­fi­ca­tions of U.S. demo­graph­ic his­to­ry in gen­er­al. As his­to­ri­an David Reimers demon­strates in his book Oth­er Immi­grants, in addi­tion to native Amerindi­ans, Euro­peans, and enslaved African peo­ple, the coun­try has been inhab­it­ed by free Black, Caribbean, Asian, and Latin Amer­i­can com­mu­ni­ties since the 16th cen­tu­ry and up to, and after, the harsh exclu­sion acts of the 19th cen­tu­ry. The U.S. would not be rec­og­niz­able with­out such com­mu­ni­ties. As far back as the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry, he writes, “Penn­syl­va­nia and New York City, with their eth­ni­cal­ly diverse pop­u­la­tions, became mod­els for the Amer­i­can future, a plu­ral­ist soci­ety.”

In the South, non-Euro­pean immi­grant com­mu­ni­ties have been small­er minori­ties, like the Delta Chi­nese. Nonethe­less, as Mis­sis­sip­pi res­i­dent Frie­da Quon recalls of grow­ing up in seg­re­gat­ed Mis­sis­sip­pi, the Chi­nese immi­grants who set­tled from Mem­phis to Vicks­burg “real­ly filled a par­tic­u­lar need”—first for labor then for services—“because nobody else want­ed to do it.” Even after the com­mu­ni­ty endured many years of big­otry and legal dis­crim­i­na­tion dur­ing the exclu­sion acts, sev­er­al men dis­tin­guished them­selves among the 13,000 Chi­nese Amer­i­cans who served in the U.S. armed forces dur­ing World War II.

The 10-minute trail­er above for Hon­or and Duty, a three part doc­u­men­tary series about the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta Chi­nese com­mu­ni­ty, begins with a brief pro­file of the almost two hun­dred Chi­nese Amer­i­can sol­diers, marines, sailors, and air­men from the region. Direc­tor E. Saman­tha Cheng made the film as part of her larg­er mis­sion to tell Asian-Amer­i­can his­to­ry, which few Amer­i­cans of any descent know very much about. In fact, she took on her mis­sion after recov­er­ing from the shock of learn­ing as an adult about the U.S.‘s Japan­ese intern­ment camps dur­ing the war, some­thing she had nev­er been taught in New York City pub­lic schools.

Cheng was sur­prised dur­ing her film­ing to meet so many Chi­nese-Amer­i­cans with molasses-thick South­ern accents. “Even their Chi­nese accent has a South­ern twang to it,” she tells NBC. That’s because, though accent alone does not a “native” make, the Chi­nese com­mu­ni­ties in the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta are, as much as any­one else in the region, South­ern­ers.

The AJ video is part of a series on 150 years of Chi­nese cul­ture and cui­sine in the U.S. See Part One, on San Fran­cis­co, here, and the Part Two, cov­ers Los Ange­les, here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michio Kaku on Why Immi­grants Are America’s Secret Weapon: They Com­pen­sate for Our Mediocre STEM Edu­ca­tion & Keep Pros­per­i­ty Going

Albert Ein­stein Gives a Speech Prais­ing Diver­si­ty & Immi­grants’ Con­tri­bu­tions to Amer­i­ca (1939)

Ian McK­ellen Reads a Pas­sion­ate Speech by William Shake­speare, Writ­ten in Defense of Immi­grants

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

The 100 Funniest Films of All Time, According to 253 Film Critics from 52 Countries

Does com­e­dy come with an expi­ra­tion date? Schol­ars of the field both ama­teur and pro­fes­sion­al have long debat­ed the ques­tion, but only one aspect of the answer has become clear: the best com­e­dy films cer­tain­ly don’t. That notion man­i­fests in the vari­ety of cin­e­mat­ic eras rep­re­sent­ed in BBC Cul­ture’s recent poll of 177 film crit­ics to deter­mine the 100 great­est com­e­dy films of all time. Most of us have seen Harold Ramis’ Ground­hog Day at some point (and prob­a­bly at more than one point) over the past 24 years; few­er of us have seen the Marx Broth­ers’ pic­ture Duck Soup, but even those of us who con­sid­er our­selves far too cool and mod­ern to watch the Marx Broth­ers have to acknowl­edge its genius.

That top ten runs as fol­lows:

  1. Some Like It Hot (Bil­ly Wilder, 1959)
  2. Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Wor­ry­ing and Love the Bomb (Stan­ley Kubrick, 1964)
  3. Annie Hall (Woody Allen, 1977)
  4. Ground­hog Day (Harold Ramis, 1993)
  5. Duck Soup (Leo McCarey, 1933)
  6. Life of Bri­an (Ter­ry Jones, 1979)
  7. Air­plane! (Jim Abra­hams, David Zuck­er and Jer­ry Zuck­er, 1980)
  8. Play­time (Jacques Tati, 1967)
  9. This Is Spinal Tap (Rob Rein­er, 1984)
  10. The Gen­er­al (Clyde Bruck­man and Buster Keaton, 1926)

The BBC have pub­lished the top 100 results (the last spot being a tie between the late Jer­ry Lewis’ The Ladies Man and Mar­tin Scors­ese’s The King of Com­e­dy) on their site, accom­pa­nied by a full list of par­tic­i­pat­ing crit­ics and their votescrit­ics’ com­ments on the top 25, an essay on whether men and women find dif­fer­ent films fun­ny (most­ly not, but with cer­tain notable splits on movies like Clue­less and Ani­mal House), anoth­er on whether com­e­dy dif­fers from region to region, and anoth­er on why Some Like It Hot is num­ber one.

Though no enthu­si­ast of clas­sic Hol­ly­wood would ever deny Bil­ly Wilder’s gen­der-bend­ing 1959 farce any hon­or, it would­n’t have come out on top in a poll of Amer­i­can and Cana­di­an crit­ics alone: Stan­ley Kubrick­’s Dr. Strangelove wins that sce­nario hand­i­ly. “Intrigu­ing­ly, East­ern Euro­pean crit­ics were much more like­ly to vote for Dr Strangelove than West­ern Euro­pean crit­ics,” adds Chris­t­ian Blau­velt. “Per­haps the US and coun­tries that used to be behind the Iron Cur­tain appre­ci­ate Dr. Strangelove so much because it ruth­less­ly satiris­es the delu­sions of grandeur held by both sides. And per­haps Some Like It Hot is embraced more by Euro­peans than US crit­ics because, although it’s a Hol­ly­wood film, it has a con­ti­nen­tal flair and dis­tinct­ly Euro­pean atti­tude toward sex.”

Oth­er entries, such as Jacques Tati’s elab­o­rate moder­ni­ty-cri­tiquing 70-mil­lime­ter spec­ta­cle Play­time, have also been received dif­fer­ent­ly, to put it mild­ly, at dif­fer­ent times and in dif­fer­ent places. But if all com­e­dy ulti­mate­ly comes down to mak­ing us laugh, the only way to know your own posi­tion on the cul­tur­al comedic spec­trum is to sim­ply sit down and see what has that sin­gu­lar­ly enjoy­able effect on you. Why not start with Keaton’s The Gen­er­al, which hap­pens to be free to view online — and on some lev­el the pre­de­ces­sor of (and, in the eyes of may crit­ics, the supe­ri­or of) even the phys­i­cal come­dies that come out today?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Mak­ing Intel­li­gent Com­e­dy Movies: 8 Take-Aways from the Films of Edgar Wright

The Gen­er­al, “Per­haps the Great­est Film Ever Made,” and 20 Oth­er Buster Keaton Clas­sics Free Online

The 10 Great­est Films of All Time Accord­ing to 358 Film­mak­ers

The 10 Great­est Films of All Time Accord­ing to 846 Film Crit­ics

1,150 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc.

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A New Animation Explains How Caffeine Keeps Us Awake

Let’s pref­ace this by recall­ing that Hon­oré de Balzac drank up to 50 cups of cof­fee a day and lived to the ripe old age of … 51.

Of course, he pro­duced dozens of nov­els, plays, and short sto­ries before tak­ing his leave. Per­haps his caf­feine habit had a lit­tle some­thing to do with that?

Phar­ma­cist Hanan Qasim’s TED-Ed primer on how caf­feine keeps us awake top loads the pos­i­tive effects of the most world’s com­mon­ly used psy­choac­tive sub­stance. Glob­al con­sump­tion is equiv­a­lent to the weight of 14 Eif­fel Tow­ers, mea­sured in drops of cof­fee, soda, choco­late, ener­gy drinks, decaf…and that’s just humans. Insects get theirs from nec­tar, though with them, a lit­tle goes a very long, poten­tial­ly dead­ly way.

Caffeine’s struc­tur­al resem­blance to the neu­ro­trans­mit­ter adeno­sine is what gives it that spe­cial oomph. Adeno­sine caus­es sleepi­ness by plug­ging into neur­al recep­tors in the brain, caus­ing them to fire more slug­gish­ly. Caf­feine takes advan­tage of their sim­i­lar mol­e­c­u­lar struc­tures to slip into these recep­tors, effec­tive­ly steal­ing adenosine’s park­ing space.

With a bioavail­abil­i­ty of 99%, this inter­lop­er arrives ready to par­ty.

On the plus side, caf­feine is both a men­tal and phys­i­cal pick me up.

In appro­pri­ate dos­es, it can keep your mind from wan­der­ing dur­ing a late night study ses­sion.

It lifts the body’s meta­bol­ic rate and boosts per­for­mance dur­ing exercise—an effect that’s eas­i­ly coun­ter­act­ed by get­ting the bulk of your caf­feine from choco­late or sweet­ened soda, or by dump­ing anoth­er Eif­fel Tower’s worth of sug­ar into your cof­fee.

There’s even some evi­dence that mod­er­ate con­sump­tion may reduce the like­li­hood of such dis­eases as Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, and can­cer.

What to do when that caf­feine effect starts wear­ing off?

Gulp down more!

As with many drugs, pro­longed usage dimin­ish­es the sought-after effects, caus­ing its devo­tees (or addicts, if you like) to seek out high­er dos­es, neg­a­tive side effects be damned. Ner­vous jit­ters, incon­ti­nence, birth defects, raised heart rate and blood pres­sure… it’s a com­pelling case for stick­ing with water.

Ani­ma­tor Draško Ivez­ić (a 3‑lat­te-a-day man, accord­ing to his studio’s web­site) does a hilar­i­ous job of per­son­i­fy­ing both caf­feine and the humans in its thrall, par­tic­u­lar­ly an egg-shaped new father.

Go to TED-Ed to learn more, or test your grasp of caf­feine with a quiz.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wake Up & Smell the Cof­fee: The New All-in-One Cof­fee-Mak­er/Alarm Clock is Final­ly Here!

Physics & Caf­feine: Stop Motion Film Uses a Cup of Cof­fee to Explain Key Con­cepts in Physics

This is Cof­fee!: A 1961 Trib­ute to Our Favorite Stim­u­lant

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The “Lost” Pink Floyd Soundtrack for Michelangelo Antonioni’s Only American Film, Zabriskie Point (1970)

There’s a good argu­ment to be made that some of the most insight­ful writ­ing about the Unit­ed States comes from artists observ­ing the coun­try from afar or through the eyes of a bemused new­com­er. For Euro­pean artists and thinkers, writ­ing about the behe­moth across the sea seems to have proven an irre­sistible chal­lenge from the start, even if, like Franz Kaf­ka, some nev­er set foot on the con­ti­nent. Alex­is de Toc­queville, Wern­er Her­zog, Mar­tin Amis, Wim Wen­ders, the list could go on and on, and would include many very enlight­en­ing per­spec­tives.

But not every such effort has been a suc­cess, in either crit­i­cal or com­mer­cial terms. Michelan­ge­lo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (1970), for exam­ple, the Ital­ian director’s “only Amer­i­can movie,” writes Richard Met­zger at Dan­ger­ous Minds, “com­plete­ly missed its mark and failed to cap­ture the zeit­geist of the hip­pie New Left coun­ter­cul­ture of the era.”

When the film was released in 1970, “audi­ences and crit­ics alike hat­ed it, just hat­ed it.” The film’s young, unknown male lead Mark Frechette “dis­tanced him­self from the direc­tor,” writes Den­nis Lim at Slate, say­ing, “he wasn’t mak­ing a film about any Amer­i­ca I knew.” Gui­tarist John Fahey, in Rome to record a song for the film, almost came to blows with Anto­nioni “when the mae­stro launched into an anti-Amer­i­can rant.”

If Anto­nioni came off to his crit­ics as a “clue­less tourist” cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly, he also passed up an excel­lent oppor­tu­ni­ty musi­cal­ly. In the stu­dio when the Doors record­ed “L’America” for L.A. Woman, he “inex­plic­a­bly turned down the track, which could have worked spec­tac­u­lar­ly well in his film.” Instead, thanks in large part to his co-writer and cur­rent girl­friend Clare Peploe, Anto­nioni chose Pink Floyd to score the film, after hear­ing Peploe’s copy of Ummagum­ma. He loved the album, and lis­tened to it obses­sive­ly, espe­cial­ly the dra­mat­ic, psy­che­del­ic “Care­ful with that Axe, Eugene.”

In the end, how­ev­er, only three songs from the band made the final cut. Anto­nioni instead filled out the sound­track with music by Fahey, The Young­bloods, Roy Orbi­son, The Grate­ful Dead, and oth­ers. The com­plete record­ing of the orig­i­nal Floyd sound­track was nev­er com­mer­cial­ly released and has only offi­cial­ly exist­ed in frag­ments. One fan in a music forum notes that the 2 CD Zabriskie Point sound­track includes the three songs from the film and four unused bonus tracks. The huge, and huge­ly expen­sive, Floyd box set The Ear­ly Years con­tains 16 out­takes, none of them on the sound­track CD.

The only way fans have been able to hear the com­plete, orig­i­nal sound­track has been through a series of bootlegs, some fea­tur­ing only the eight intend­ed final songs, oth­ers includ­ing some or all of the known out­takes. One such com­pi­la­tion, above, col­lects sev­er­al songs and out­takes, but does­n’t include the full com­plet­ed sound­track. Despite this disco­graph­ic dis­ar­ray, the dis­card­ed orig­i­nal sound­track, in its many forms, has proven “an extreme­ly sat­is­fy­ing lis­ten,” Met­zger writes. If it sounds “like a ‘lost’ Pink Floyd album record­ed at the end of 1969,” it’s “because that’s exact­ly what it is.”  Remind­ing us at times of Atom Heart Moth­er, or Med­dle, or Ummagum­ma, it both looks back at pre­vi­ous work and ahead toward what’s to come.

The band turned out some unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly straight-ahead elec­tric bar­room blues (above). “Heart Beat, Pig Meant,” which appears over the film’s open­ing cred­its (top) “was Pink Floyd’s first time using a human heart­beat as a musi­cal instru­ment (but it would not be the last).” Richard Wright’s “The Vio­lent Sequence,” fur­ther up, may have been scrapped by Anto­nioni, but it would lat­er “be retooled as ‘Us and Them’ on Dark Side of the Moon.” Aside from that album’s unin­tend­ed life as uncan­ny son­ic accom­pa­ni­ment to The Wiz­ard of Oz, the band did some of its most exper­i­men­tal, and tran­si­tion­al, work through film sound­tracks, such as those for Bar­bet Schroeder’s 1969 More and 1972 film The Val­ley. Their work with Anto­nioni is no excep­tion, but Zabriskie Point, like­ly because of its many con­fus­ing states of exis­tence, has not received as much atten­tion.

Per­haps it’s time to revis­it Zabriskie Point, the film, as well as its orig­i­nal sound­track. As fans of Pink Floyd, we can see what inspired the band to cre­ate music that would help deter­mine the direc­tion of their epic albums to come. As fans of Anto­nioni, per­haps, we may come to a greater appre­ci­a­tion of his much-maligned flop, which Lim con­tends “is of a piece with Antonioni’s best work: a lux­u­ri­ant por­trait of spir­i­tu­al alien­ation with a sense of place far more expres­sive than its blankly beau­ti­ful char­ac­ters.” Giv­en that descrip­tion, it’s no won­der Anto­nioni found Pink Floyd such an intrigu­ing choice, even if nei­ther the Ital­ian direc­tor nor Eng­lish band had said much of any­thing in their work about the caul­dron of polit­i­cal unrest, sex­u­al exper­i­men­ta­tion, and cul­tur­al dis­af­fec­tion of the U.S. in the late 60s.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pink Floyd’s “Echoes” Pro­vides a Sound­track for the Final Scene of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

Hear Lost Record­ing of Pink Floyd Play­ing with Jazz Vio­lin­ist Stéphane Grap­pel­li on “Wish You Were Here”

Syd Barrett’s “Effer­vesc­ing Ele­phant” Comes to Life in a New Retro-Style Ani­ma­tion

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

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