New Interactive Map Visualizes the Chilling History of Lynching in the U.S. (1835–1964)

Whether we like to admit it or not, the his­to­ry of the U.S. is in great degree a his­to­ry of geno­cide and racist ter­ror. As Rox­anne Dun­bar-Ortiz has demon­strat­ed in An Indige­nous Peo­ples’ His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States, the phrase “Man­i­fest Des­tiny”—which we gen­er­al­ly asso­ciate with the sec­ond half of the 19th century—accurately describes the nation’s ethos since well before its found­ing. The idea that the entire con­ti­nent belonged by right of “Prov­i­dence” to a high­ly spe­cif­ic group of Euro­pean set­tlers is what we often hear spo­ken of now of as “white nation­al­ism,” an ide­ol­o­gy that has been as vio­lent and bloody as cer­tain oth­er nation­alisms, and in many ways much more so.

“Some­how,” writes Dun­bar-Ortiz, “even ‘geno­cide’ seems an inad­e­quate descrip­tion for what hap­pened” to the Native Amer­i­can nations. Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. rec­og­nized this his­to­ry as insep­a­ra­ble from the strug­gles of African-Amer­i­cans and oth­er groups, writ­ing in 1963’s Why We Can’t Wait, “our nation was born in geno­cide when it embraced the doc­trine that the orig­i­nal Amer­i­can, the Indi­an, was an infe­ri­or race. Even before there were large num­bers of Negroes on our shores, the scar of racial hatred had already dis­fig­ured colo­nial soci­ety. From the six­teenth cen­tu­ry for­ward, blood flowed in bat­tles of racial suprema­cy.”

One strik­ing commonality—or rather continuity—in the his­to­ries Dun­bar-Ortiz and King tell is that a huge num­ber of vio­lent attacks on Native and Black peo­ple, slave and free, were car­ried out by ordi­nary set­tlers and cit­i­zens, unof­fi­cial­ly dep­u­tized by the state as irreg­u­lar enforcers of white suprema­cy. Espe­cial­ly in the cen­tu­ry after the Civ­il War, white nation­al­ism took the form of lynch­ings: bru­tal vig­i­lante hang­ings, burn­ings, and muti­la­tions meant to ter­ror­ize com­mu­ni­ties of col­or and enact the kind of fron­tier “jus­tice” pio­neered on the actu­al fron­tier. Most of the record­ed vic­tims were African-Amer­i­can, but “Native Amer­i­cans, as well as Mex­i­can, Chi­nese, and Ital­ian work­ers were bru­tal­ized and mur­dered” as well, writes Lau­ra Bliss at City­lab, and “although the rur­al South was by far the blood­i­est region nation­al­ly, no area was real­ly safe.”

Now, a new inter­ac­tive map—named Mon­roe Work Today after the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry his­to­ri­an (Mon­roe Nathan Work) who gath­ered much of the data—“aims to be the most com­pre­hen­sive cat­a­logue of proven lynch­ings that took place in the Unit­ed States from 1835 to 1964.” The site calls its impres­sive map “a rebirth of one piece” of Mon­roe Work’s lega­cy, expand­ed to include many more sources and the post WWII peri­od. “In the cen­tu­ry after the Civ­il War,” write the map’s cre­ators, “as many as 5000 peo­ple of col­or were executed—not by courts, but by mobs on the street who believed the cause of white suprema­cy.”

Lynch­ings became wide­spread in the ear­ly 1800s, “as a form of self-appoint­ed jus­tice in local com­mu­ni­ties… when towns­peo­ple made grave accu­sa­tions first, but nev­er both­ered to gath­er proof.” In the post­bel­lum U.S., such killings became more exclu­sive­ly racial­ized in “very real cru­sades to change the Unit­ed States to a place only for whites.” Local lead­ers “encour­aged peo­ple to car­ry that idea onto the streets.” As you can see in the screen­shots here from par­tic­u­lar­ly vio­lent peri­ods in his­to­ry, most, but by no means all of these extra­ju­di­cial killings took place in the South against African Amer­i­cans.

In oth­er areas of den­si­ty in the South­west, “Far West,” and “Left Coast” (as the project refers to these areas) the vic­tims tend­ed to be Latino/a, Chi­nese, or Native Amer­i­can. In New Orleans, a deep pool of blue marks the many Sicil­ian vic­tims of lynch­ing in the late 19th cen­tu­ry.

For a num­ber of rea­sons dis­cussed on the site, the map’s cre­ators cau­tion against using their tool “to decide that some places suf­fered ‘more racism’ than oth­ers.” Many oth­er forms of racist vio­lence, from intim­i­da­tion to rape, redlin­ing, crim­i­nal­iza­tion, and job dis­crim­i­na­tion have been wide­spread around the coun­try and are not shown on the map. In antic­i­pa­tion of accu­sa­tions of bias, Mon­roe Work Today encour­ages users to eval­u­ate the source for them­selves. (“You should always do this with any­thing you read online.”) A good place to start would be their exten­sive bib­li­og­ra­phy. As you scroll through the site, you’ll find oth­er ques­tions answered as well.

Writ­ing at The Smith­son­ian, Dan­ny Lewis calls the map “an impor­tant endeav­or to help mark these dark parts of Amer­i­can his­to­ry and make it more vis­i­ble and acces­si­ble for all.” But Mon­roe Work Today is more than a research tool. The site bears wit­ness to a con­tin­u­ing sto­ry. “The threat of vio­lence for Amer­i­cans of col­or is alive and real,” writes Bliss, “This is a good time to revis­it its his­to­ry.”

via The Smith­son­ian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Atlantic Slave Trade Visu­al­ized in Two Min­utes: 10 Mil­lion Lives, 20,000 Voy­ages, Over 315 Years

Visu­al­iz­ing Slav­ery: The Map Abra­ham Lin­coln Spent Hours Study­ing Dur­ing the Civ­il War

75 Years of CIA Maps Now Declas­si­fied & Made Avail­able Online

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

How Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner Illuminates the Central Problem of Modernity

Of all the soci­etal debates now going on in the West, many have to do with iden­ti­ty: who belongs in which group? Which groups belong in which places? And what if who we are changes accord­ing to con­text? In its own deep con­cern with iden­ti­ty, Rid­ley Scot­t’s Blade Run­ner, one of the most endur­ing cin­e­mat­ic visions of the 20th cen­tu­ry, has come to look even more pre­scient than it already did. The video essay­ist Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as Nerd­writer, finds out what the film under­stands about the prob­lems of social life in its future — our present — in a chap­ter of his “Under­stand­ing Art” series called “Blade Run­ner: The Oth­er Side of Moder­ni­ty.”

Blade Run­ner tells the sto­ry of Rick Deckard, a retired police detec­tive called back to work to hunt down a group of slave androids, known as “repli­cants,” who have escaped their con­fine­ment in an off-world min­ing camp and arrived on Earth. “In that process,” says Puschak, “we are con­front­ed with an avalanche of big ideas: what it means to be human, how our mem­o­ries cre­ate who we are, themes of love, exploita­tion, post-colo­nial­ism, social hier­ar­chy, and social decay.”

It all takes place in an imag­ined Los Ange­les of 2019, a rainy, dark­ly sub­lime urban realm whose “upper world is crisp, clean, and pre­dom­i­nant­ly Cau­casian,” and whose “street-lev­el world is dirty, chaot­ic, and mul­ti­cul­tur­al, par­al­lel­ing the ‘white flight’ of the mid-20th cen­tu­ry.”

The vision of moder­ni­ty at work in Blade Run­ner “finds its expres­sion, nec­es­sar­i­ly, in moments between devel­op­ments of the plot,” in its glimpses, delib­er­ate­ly offered by Scott and his col­lab­o­ra­tors, into the built and social envi­ron­ment at the mar­gins of the action. The over­all effect is “to pro­duce a world the keynote of which is malaise.” And though enthu­si­asts have writ­ten a great deal about the film’s explo­ration of human­i­ty itself — argu­ments still erupt, after all, over the issue of whether Deckard is a repli­cant him­self, even after Scott him­self has tried to set­tle it — “the cen­tral prob­lem of moder­ni­ty isn’t human­i­ty; it’s iden­ti­ty.”

In Puschak’s view, Blade Run­ner diag­noses the con­di­tion that “all the free­dom of mod­ern soci­ety, all its sec­u­lar­ism and egal­i­tar­i­an­ism and choice, con­ceals a dark­er side to the coin: the side on which human iden­ti­ty isn’t deter­mined by soci­ety, but by the indi­vid­ual, mak­ing its for­ma­tion, by def­i­n­i­tion, prob­lem­at­ic.” Indeed, we could see the shift from soci­etal­ly deter­mined iden­ti­ty to indi­vid­u­al­ly deter­mined iden­ti­ty — framed pos­i­tive­ly, the long march toward free­dom — as one of the main threads of the past few cen­turies of human his­to­ry, here rep­re­sent­ed by Deckard’s strug­gle with “the grad­ual break­down of the only iden­ti­ty he’s ever had.”

The essay high­lights one espe­cial­ly poignant but lit­tle-acknowl­edged scene where Deckard, hav­ing just slain one of his assigned tar­gets, instinc­tive­ly goes to buy a drink, but “what he real­ly needs is some kind of con­nec­tion, some place where the rules of inter­ac­tion are still sol­id and know­able.” Ulti­mate­ly, even after Deckard has dis­patched all of the rogue repli­cants, no “sat­is­fac­to­ry answer to the puz­zle of moder­ni­ty” emerges, but “Blade Run­ner does­n’t seek to give answers.” Instead, it seems to have known what ques­tions we would soon ask our­selves about “the con­se­quences of a soci­ety that, for all its mem­bers, is as lim­it­less as the vast archi­tec­ture of a city, yet as indif­fer­ent as the rain.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Tears In the Rain: A Blade Run­ner Short Film–A New, Unof­fi­cial Pre­quel to the Rid­ley Scott Film

What Hap­pens When Blade Run­ner & A Scan­ner Dark­ly Get Remade with an Arti­fi­cial Neur­al Net­work

Watch an Ani­mat­ed Ver­sion of Rid­ley Scott’s Blade Run­ner Made of 12,597 Water­col­or Paint­ings

Blade Run­ner Gets Re-Cre­at­ed, Shot for Shot, Using Only Microsoft Paint

Blade Run­ner is a Waste of Time: Siskel & Ebert in 1982

Philip K. Dick Pre­views Blade Run­ner: “The Impact of the Film is Going to be Over­whelm­ing” (1981)

The City in Cin­e­ma Mini-Doc­u­men­taries Reveal the Los Ange­les of Blade Run­ner, Her, Dri­ve, Repo Man, and More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, 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.

What Did the Voice of Neanderthals, Our Distant Cousins, Sound Like?: Scientists Demonstrate Their “High Pitch” Theory

Schol­ars have made informed, edu­cat­ed guess­es at what Shake­speare sound­ed like in the orig­i­nal pro­nun­ci­a­tion. The same applies to what Old Norse sound­ed like from the 9th through the 13th cen­turies. And even to Beowulf read in Old Eng­lishHome­r’s Odyssey read in the orig­i­nal Ancient Greek, and The Epic of Gil­gamesh read in Akka­di­an.

But could we push back much fur­ther in time? How about 40,000 years into deep his­to­ry when our close cousins, the Nean­derthals, pop­u­lat­ed the plan­et?

Above, you can watch a seg­ment of a BBC doc­u­men­tary, Nean­derthal: The Rebirth, where a team of sci­en­tists “exam­ine the first full skele­ton of a nean­derthal ever to be dis­cov­ered and uncov­er insights into the most like­ly sound our prim­i­tive cousins would have made.” Anatomists, bio­met­ric spe­cial­ists, pale­oan­thro­pol­o­gists, and vocal experts–they all worked togeth­er to ana­lyze the Nean­derthal’s vocal appa­ra­tus and came to this con­clu­sion: Homo nean­derthalen­sis like­ly had a sur­pris­ing­ly high-pitched voice (the orig­i­nal High Pitch). It’s on dis­play above.

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!

via Atlas Obscu­ra

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Hear What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like in the Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Learn What Old Norse Sound­ed Like, with UC Berkeley’s “Cow­boy Pro­fes­sor, Dr. Jack­son Craw­ford

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sound­ed Like When Sung in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

Hear Beowulf Read In the Orig­i­nal Old Eng­lish: How Many Words Do You Rec­og­nize?

Hear The Epic of Gil­gamesh Read in the Orig­i­nal Akka­di­an and Enjoy the Sounds of Mesopotamia

An Animated Introduction to Arthur Schopenhauer and How We Can Achieve Happiness Through Art & Philosophy

For many years, as we wrote in a recent post, Friedrich Niet­zsche has been mis­un­der­stood as a philo­soph­i­cal nihilist and even a pro­to-Nazi. This is unfor­tu­nate, giv­en all Niet­zsche has to say about liv­ing coura­geous­ly in the face of nihilism and pro­to-Nazism, both of which he feared and hat­ed. But if we’re look­ing for a philoso­pher who espoused few, if any, pos­i­tive val­ues, who saw the entire world as emp­ty and malev­o­lent, and who had lit­tle sym­pa­thy for his fel­low man, we could instead turn to the Ger­man thinker whom Niet­zsche called his “teacher,” Arthur Schopen­hauer.

Schopen­hauer adopt­ed Bud­dhism ear­ly, years before D.T. Suzu­ki arrived in Europe and the U.S. and pop­u­lar­ized East­ern reli­gion and phi­los­o­phy. Per­haps Schopenhauer’s ver­sion of Bud­dhism didn’t quite catch on the same way because in his inter­pre­ta­tion, it resem­bles a dark, pes­simistic inver­sion of Rene Descartes’ propo­si­tions two cen­turies ear­li­er. “In my 17th year,” wrote Schopen­hauer (1788–1860), “I was gripped by the mis­ery of life, as the Bud­dha had been in his youth when he saw sick­ness, old age, pain and death.” So far, text­book intro to Bud­dhism.

But Bud­dhism has lit­tle to say about how the world came into exis­tence. Schopen­hauer goes on to write, “The truth was that this world could not have been the work of an all lov­ing being, but rather that of a dev­il, who had brought crea­tures into exis­tence in order to delight in their suf­fer­ings.” Schopen­hauer fits into the rare com­pa­ny of philo­soph­i­cal Anti­na­tal­ists, those who believe it would be bet­ter for us not to have been born at all. How is it then that Alain de Bot­ton can claim, as he does in his School of Life intro to Schopen­hauer above, that “like the Bud­dha… he deserves dis­ci­ples, schools, art­works, and monas­ter­ies to put his ideas into prac­tice.” What would that even look like?

Schopenhauer’s pes­simism was thor­ough­go­ing, and arrived ful­ly devel­oped in his 1818 mas­ter­piece, The World as Will and Rep­re­sen­ta­tion, pub­lished when he was thir­ty. The Schopen­hauer we tend to know, if we know him at all, is a scowl­ing old man with an incon­gru­ous­ly com­ic ring of white hair sur­round­ing his bald head like a fluffy winged  halo. But until his death at age 72, he stuck to the sys­tem­at­ic think­ing of his youth; “he pub­lished a great deal,” says Bryan Magee above in a dis­cus­sion with philoso­pher Fred­er­ick Cople­ston,” but all of it was to extend, or elab­o­rate, or enrich the philo­soph­i­cal sys­tem he had devel­oped in his twen­ties and from which he nev­er depart­ed.”

In those many lat­er pub­li­ca­tions, includ­ing two works on ethics and a revised edi­tion of Will and Rep­re­sen­ta­tion over twice the orig­i­nal length, Schopen­hauer the­o­rized the world as essen­tial­ly irra­tional and the crea­tures in it as gov­erned by the “will-to-life,” which, says de Bot­ton, “makes us thrust our­selves for­ward, cling to exis­tence, and look always to our own advan­tage.” Expressed main­ly through sex, the will-to-life dri­ves us to fall in love again and again, a phe­nom­e­non Schopen­hauer respect­ed, “as one would a tiger or a hur­ri­cane.” But Schopen­hauer resent­ed love, and saw it only as a neces­si­ty for the preser­va­tion of the species.

Aside from serv­ing this essen­tial func­tion, the will-to-life expressed through love only drove us to unhap­pi­ness. Schopen­hauer tends to be much less quotable than his most famous admir­er, Niet­zsche, but in one quote that sums up his idea of love, he wrote, “direct­ly after cop­u­la­tion the devil’s laugh­ter is heard.” It is per­haps need­less to point out that he had a very low view of the busi­ness of pro­cre­ation, not only because he opposed birth, but also because he opposed the con­di­tions that give rise to it. Rather than ele­vat­ing us above the run of oth­er sex­u­al­ly pro­cre­at­ing ani­mals, our con­scious­ness only serves to make us aware of our mis­ery.

“At every stop, in great things and small,” Schopen­hauer wrote, “we are bound to expe­ri­ence that the world and life are cer­tain­ly not arranged for the pur­pose of being hap­py. That’s why the faces of almost all elder­ly peo­ple are deeply etched with such dis­ap­point­ment.” Nonethe­less, we can “rise above the demands of the will-to-life,” he believed, in the man­ner of celi­bate monks and nuns. As Bud­dhist monas­tics have for 2,600 years, and more recent­ly a few scowl­ing Ger­man philoso­phers, we can renounce the plea­sures and the suf­fer­ings of every­day human life.

The oth­er way in which Schopen­hauer rec­om­mend­ed that we face the grim­ness of human life is through a form of art ther­a­py, spend­ing “as long as we can with art and phi­los­o­phy, whose task is to hold up a mir­ror to the fren­zied efforts and unhap­py tur­moil cre­at­ed in us by the will-to-life.” Where Schopenhauer’s first pro­pos­al for deal­ing with life’s suf­fer­ing close­ly resem­bles that of Ther­ava­da Bud­dhism, his sec­ond is a Mahayana for a Ger­man Roman­tic, who finds com­pas­sion for oth­er suf­fer­ing indi­vid­u­als only through the medi­um of art, lit­er­a­ture, and phi­los­o­phy.

In the full embrace of pes­simism, Schopen­hauer may sound to us a lit­tle like anoth­er Ger­man artist, Wern­er Her­zog, who also stares into the abyss of human mis­ery and finds val­ue only in its rela­tion to art: “To mar­ry means to do every­thing pos­si­ble to become an object of dis­gust to each oth­er,” Schopen­hauer writes, “Every life his­to­ry is the his­to­ry of suf­fer­ing,” “Life has no intrin­sic worth, but is kept in motion mere­ly by desire and illu­sion.” Should you find such state­ments com­fort­ing because they sound true to your expe­ri­ence, then per­haps Schopen­hauer holds for you a key to under­stand­ing and accept­ing the tragedy of exis­tence. But maybe he was wrong in assum­ing every­one was as mis­er­able as him­self.

See de Bot­ton expand on Schopenhauer’s view of love in the video above from his A Guide to Hap­pi­ness series.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

How Did Niet­zsche Become the Most Mis­un­der­stood & Bas­tardized Philoso­pher?: A Video from Slate Explains

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Botton’s Doc­u­men­tary Shows How Niet­zsche, Socrates & 4 Oth­er Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

See the Homes and Stud­ies of Wittgen­stein, Schopen­hauer, Niet­zsche & Oth­er Philoso­phers

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

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( Comments Off on An Animated Introduction to Arthur Schopenhauer and How We Can Achieve Happiness Through Art & Philosophy ) |

Steve Reich is Calling: A Minimalist Ringtone for the iPhone

What if min­i­mal­ist com­pos­er Steve Reich got his hands on the iPhone’s famil­iar Marim­ba ring­tone? That’s what the web­site Steve Reich is Call­ing imag­ines. Here’s how Jason Kot­tke describes the basic con­cept:

[Reich’s] 1967 piece Piano Phase fea­tured a pair of pianists repet­i­tive­ly per­form­ing the same piece at two slight­ly dif­fer­ent tem­pos, form­ing a con­tin­u­al­ly evolv­ing musi­cal round. Seth Kran­zler took this idea and made a Reich-like piece with two iPhones ring­ing at slight­ly dif­fer­ent tem­pos.

From what I can tell, there’s not actu­al­ly an offi­cial way to down­load the ring­tone and make it your own–though it does appear that there are, indeed, ways to con­vert Youtube videos into ring­tones. (Note: we haven’t test­ed these meth­ods, so pro­ceed cau­tious­ly.)

For any­one inter­est­ed in tak­ing a deep­er dive–a much deep­er dive–into Reich’s musi­cal world, please see this post in our archive: Hear Steve Reich’s Min­i­mal­ist Com­po­si­tions in a 28-Hour Playlist: A Jour­ney Through His Influ­en­tial Record­ings.

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!

Look­ing for free, pro­fes­­sion­al­­ly-read audio books from Audible.com? Here’s a great, no-strings-attached deal. If you start a 30 day free tri­al with Audible.com, you can down­load two free audio books of your choice. Get more details on the offer here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Music of Avant-Garde Com­pos­er John Cage Now Avail­able in a Free Online Archive

Björk Presents Ground­break­ing Exper­i­men­tal Musi­cians on the BBC’s Mod­ern Min­i­mal­ists (1997)

The Avant-Garde Project: An Archive of Music by 200 Cut­ting-Edge Com­posers, Includ­ing Stravin­sky, Schoen­berg, Cage & More

 

Rock Band: Hear The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun” Played with Electromechanical Instruments That Make Music with Rocks

From Neil Men­doza comes “Rock Band,” an amal­ga­ma­tion of “electro­mechan­i­cal instru­ments that make music with rocks by throw­ing them through the air, slap­ping them and mak­ing them vibrate.” Above, hear the band play one of my favorite Bea­t­les songs, “Here Comes the Sun.” There’s no Paul, John, George and Ringo here. Instead, you’ve got the fol­low­ing band mem­bers:

Pinger — fires small rocks at alu­mini­um keys using sole­noids.
Spin­ner — launch­es mag­net­ic rocks, Hematite, at pieces of mar­ble. Rocks are launched by spin­ning mag­nets using Applied Motion applied-motion.com step­per motors.
Slap­per — slaps rocks with fake leather.
Buzzer — vibrates the plunger of a sole­noid against a piece of mar­ble.

Accord­ing to Neil, “the whole project is con­trolled by a com­put­er run­ning a MIDI play­er writ­ten in open­Frame­works talk­ing to a Teen­sy. The machines were designed using Autodesk Fusion 360 and Autodesk Inven­tor.” You can find instruc­tions on how to build your own Pinger here.

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!

via The Kids Should See This

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

How Filmmakers Like Kubrick, Jodorowsky, Tarantino, Coppola & Miyazaki Use Color to Tell Their Stories

Once upon a time, a film could impress sim­ply by using col­or at all. Now, with a wider field of visu­al pos­si­bil­i­ties open to cin­e­ma than ever, film­mak­ers must not sim­ply use col­or but mas­ter it, active­ly, as a way of con­vey­ing emo­tions, ideas, and even more besides. Chan­nel Criswell’s Lewis Bond, who describes col­or as his “favorite aspect of visu­al sto­ry­telling,” breaks down some of the main ways film­mak­ers have used it so far in his video essay on col­or in cin­e­ma.

“Since before we were even able to actu­al­ize sound in film, we’ve been obsessed with col­or,” Bond says, hav­ing shown us clips drawn from the work of Stan­ley Kubrick, Ale­jan­dro Jodor­owsky, Hayao Miyaza­ki, Ang Lee, and oth­er direc­tors known for their visu­al­ly lush pic­tures.

“Film has always been about the visu­al, and the pri­mor­dial age of cin­e­ma dis­plays the lengths we were will­ing to go to just to cap­ture its essence.” Then came Tech­ni­col­or: when Dorothy passed into the land of Oz, “we became com­plete­ly free to use col­or how­ev­er we want­ed, and artists began to under­stand the dis­ci­plines of aes­thet­ics and sym­bol­ism.”

Yet “the meth­ods of the silent era,” a time when film­mak­ers had to hand-tint each black-and-white frame they shot with the prop­er­ly evoca­tive col­or, “have held through to the 21st cen­tu­ry.” Red, per­haps the strongest col­or, sig­nals “hate and cru­el­ty” just as force­ful­ly as it does “pas­sion and love.” And while “a lus­cious green field gives us hope and shows us fer­til­i­ty,” oth­er green loca­tions “show the mun­dane and life­less, and the green on a per­son” — again, The Wiz­ard of Oz pro­vides the go-to exam­ple — “tells us who the mon­ster is.”

Bond finds tra­di­tions in the use of col­or that con­nect the films of the clas­sic era to those of mod­ern mas­ters like the appar­ent­ly col­or-obsessed Wes Ander­son, whose use of non-con­trast­ing greens, browns, and yel­lows in Moon­rise King­dom “suits the film’s nos­tal­gic tone,” and who fills The Roy­al Tenen­baums and The Grand Budapest Hotel of pinks and beiges in order not to pile on emo­tion­al weight, but to reduce it, to tell us not to take the events of the sto­ry too seri­ous­ly.

Quentin Taran­ti­no, a fan of both the sub­tle and the unsub­tle, uses col­or in a vari­ety of ways, from the code­names of the thieves in Reser­voir Dogs to the bright yel­low track suit (itself a trib­ute to the films of Bruce Lee) worn by the pro­tag­o­nist of Kill Bill. In Apoc­a­lypse Now, sub­ject of anoth­er Chan­nel Criswell essay recent­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture, Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la and cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Vit­to­rio Storaro “used a bal­anced col­or scheme in kurtz’s com­pound, but the orange mist gave a feel­ing of tox­i­c­i­ty in the air.”

In Bernar­do Bertoluc­ci’s The Last Emper­or, “as the char­ac­ter dis­cov­ers more about the world around him, the col­or palette shifts. The world of tra­di­tion and the char­ac­ter’s naiveté is dis­played by the world of red. How­ev­er, as the char­ac­ter begins to learn more, the col­or goes from red to orange, yel­low, and final­ly, once he becomes ful­ly com­pre­hen­sive of his sur­round­ings, he’s bound­ed to green.” And so, by the end of the movie, “both the char­ac­ter and the wheel have turned 180 degrees.” Bond means the col­or wheel, a cir­cu­lar dia­gram of the col­ors first devel­oped by Isaac New­ton and still cen­tral to col­or the­o­ry.

If cinephiles give that sub­ject a lit­tle study, they’ll see how their favorite films tell sto­ries in a more, well, vivid way. No mat­ter how many times you’ve seen Ver­ti­go, for exam­ple, a work­ing knowl­edge of col­or will help you appre­ci­ate exact­ly why it has such an impact when Scot­tie first sees Madeleine in a green dress sur­round­ed by a field of red. Alfred Hitch­cock­’s mas­ter­piece stands, of course, as one of the most effec­tive cin­e­mat­ic exam­ples of col­or as a sto­ry­telling device. Should any film­mak­er work­ing today both­er try­ing to top it? Bond quotes cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Roger Deakins as say­ing “that it’s easy to make col­or look good, but hard­er to make it ser­vice a sto­ry. He’s prob­a­bly right, but let’s try and prove him wrong.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free MIT Course Teach­es You to Watch Movies Like a Crit­ic: Watch Lec­tures from The Film Expe­ri­ence

“Bleu, Blanc, Rouge”: a Strik­ing Super­cut of the Vivid Col­ors in Jean-Luc Godard’s 1960s Films

Wes Ander­son Likes the Col­or Red (and Yel­low)

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Obses­sion with the Col­or Red: A Super­cut

Ear­ly Exper­i­ments in Col­or Film (1895–1935)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, 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.

Matt Damon Reads Howard Zinn’s “The Problem is Civil Obedience,” a Call for Americans to Take Action

Say, for exam­ple, that a gang of obscene­ly rich mer­ce­nar­ies with ques­tion­able ties and his­to­ries had tak­en pow­er with the intent to destroy insti­tu­tions so they could loot the coun­try, fur­ther impov­er­ish and dis­em­pow­er the cit­i­zen­ry, and pros­e­cute, imprison, and demo­nize dis­si­dents and eth­nic and reli­gious minori­ties. Such a sce­nario would cry out, one might think, for civ­il action on a nev­er-before-seen scale. Mil­lions, one might imag­ine, would either storm the cas­tle or refuse to obey the com­mands of their new rulers. We might describe this sit­u­a­tion as a top­sy-turvy turn of events, should, say, such an awful thing come to pass.

Top­sy-turvy is exact­ly the phrase Howard Zinn used in his char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of the U.S. dur­ing the Viet­nam War, when he saw a sit­u­a­tion like the one above, one that had also obtained, he said, in Hitler’s Ger­many and Stalin’s Rus­sia.

“I start,” he said, open­ing a debate, in 1970, at Johns Hop­kins Uni­ver­si­ty with philoso­pher Charles Frankel on the ques­tion of civ­il dis­obe­di­ence,

from the sup­po­si­tion that the world is top­sy-turvy, that things are all wrong, that the wrong peo­ple are in jail and the wrong peo­ple are out of jail, that the wrong peo­ple are in pow­er and the wrong peo­ple are out of pow­er, that the wealth is dis­trib­uted in this coun­try and the world in such a way as not sim­ply to require small reform but to require a dras­tic real­lo­ca­tion of wealth.

And with this pre­am­ble, which you can hear read by Matt Damon in the video above, the his­to­ri­an and activist began to make his case that civ­il dis­obe­di­ence “is not our prob­lem…. Our prob­lem is civ­il obe­di­ence.”

We rec­og­nize this for Nazi Ger­many. We know that the prob­lem there was obe­di­ence, that the peo­ple obeyed Hitler. Peo­ple obeyed; that was wrong. They should have chal­lenged, and they should have resist­ed; and if we were only there, we would have showed them. Even in Stal­in’s Rus­sia we can under­stand that; peo­ple are obe­di­ent, all these herd­like peo­ple.

But “Amer­i­ca is dif­fer­ent” than oth­er world empires, says Zinn, antic­i­pat­ing the usu­al claims of excep­tion­al­ism. No, he says, it isn’t. “It is not that spe­cial. It real­ly isn’t.” Lat­er in his speech, Zinn calls the “vot­ing process” a “sham.”

Total­i­tar­i­an states love vot­ing. You get peo­ple to the polls and they reg­is­ter their approval. I know there is a difference—they have one par­ty and we have two par­ties. We have one more par­ty than they have, you see.

What is called for, he argued, is not a return to the past nor a rejig­ger­ing of the polit­i­cal machin­ery, but a polit­i­cal con­scious­ness that rec­og­nizes com­mon strug­gles across bor­ders:

Peo­ple in all coun­tries need the spir­it of dis­obe­di­ence to the state, which is not a meta­phys­i­cal thing but a thing of force and wealth. And we need a kind of dec­la­ra­tion of inter­de­pen­dence among peo­ple in all coun­tries of the world who are striv­ing for the same thing.

Damon’s read­ing took place dur­ing the 2012 per­for­mance in Voic­es of a People’s His­to­ry, a now-year­ly event that since 2003 has dra­ma­tized “the extra­or­di­nary his­to­ry of ordi­nary peo­ple who built the move­ments that made the Unit­ed States what it is today, end­ing slav­ery and Jim Crow, protest­ing war and the geno­cide of Native Amer­i­cans, cre­at­ing unions and the eight hour work day, advanc­ing women’s rights and gay lib­er­a­tion, and strug­gling to right wrongs of the day.”

The words of Howard Zinn fea­ture promi­nent­ly in all these events, and “The Prob­lem is Civ­il Obe­di­ence”—which was pub­lished as an essay two years after the 1970 debate—has proven a pop­u­lar choice. In 2004 at the sec­ond Voic­es of a People’s His­to­ry, Wal­lace Shawn (above) read the text, and Zinn him­self was in atten­dance. Shawn is best known for his com­ic turns in Woody Allen’s Man­hat­tan, Louis Malle’s My Din­ner With Andre, and Rob Rein­er’s The Princess Bride, and he can’t help but bring his wry humor to the read­ing sim­ply by sound­ing like him­self.

In anoth­er read­ing of Zinn’s speech, Grey’s Anato­my actor and out­spo­ken activist Jesse Williams takes on the text, intro­duced by a record­ing of the 2004 intro­duc­tion to Shawn’s read­ing. These three dif­fer­ent read­ings from three very dif­fer­ent actors and per­son­al­i­ties all have one thing in com­mon: their audi­ences all seem to rec­og­nize the sit­u­a­tion Zinn described in 1970 as entire­ly rel­e­vant to their own in 2004, 2012, 2014, and… per­haps, also in 2017.

Read Zin­n’s full remarks here and see new per­for­mances from this year’s Voic­es of a Peo­ple’s His­to­ry at their web­site.

You can find Zin­n’s essay pub­lished in the col­lec­tion: The Zinn Read­er: Writ­ings on Dis­obe­di­ence and Democ­ra­cy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 21 Hours of Lec­tures & Talks by Howard Zinn, Author of the Best­selling A People’s His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States

Howard Zinn’s “What the Class­room Didn’t Teach Me About the Amer­i­can Empire”: An Illus­trat­ed Video Nar­rat­ed by Vig­go Mortensen

Hen­ry David Thore­au on When Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence and Resis­tance Are Jus­ti­fied (1849)

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

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast
Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.