Hear Samuel Beckett’s Avant-Garde Radio Plays: All That Fall, Embers, and More

Think of radio plays, and you most like­ly think (or I most like­ly think) of the for­m’s Amer­i­can “gold­en age” in the first half of the 20th cen­tu­ry. That time and place in radio dra­ma con­jures up a cer­tain more or less defined set of sen­si­bil­i­ties: rock­et­ships hurtling toward unknown worlds, hard-bit­ten detec­tives stick­ing to their cas­es, sub­ur­ban cou­ples bick­er­ing about the behav­ior of their jalopy-dri­ving chil­dren. By the 1950s, the con­ven­tions of radio plays had ossi­fied too much even for old-time radio audi­ences. Who best to call to tear up the form and start it over again? Why, Samuel Beck­ett, of course.

“In 1955 the BBC, intrigued by the inter­na­tion­al atten­tion being giv­en to the Paris pro­duc­tion of Samuel Beckett’s Wait­ing for Godot (see a ver­sion here), invit­ed the author to write a radio play,” says the short his­to­ry pro­vid­ed in the pro­gram of the Beck­ett fes­ti­val of Radio Plays. Though hes­i­tant, Beck­ett nev­er­the­less wrote the fol­low­ing to a friend: “Nev­er thought about radio play tech­nique but in the dead of t’other night got a nice grue­some idea full of cart­wheels and drag­ging of feet and puff­ing and pant­i­ng which may or may not lead to some­thing.’ â€ť That “grue­some idea” led, accord­ing to the pro­gram, not just to Beck­et­t’s 1956 radio-play debut All That Fall, but four more to fol­low over the next twen­ty years.

At the top of the post, you can lis­ten to that first 70-minute son­ic tale of an old, obese Irish house­wife, the blind hus­band she meets at the train sta­tion as a birth­day sur­prise, and all the chil­dren, eccentrics, weath­er, and thor­ough­ly Beck­et­t­ian dia­logue that give tex­ture to the death-obsessed jour­neys from home and back to it. All That Fall received crit­i­cal acclaim, but the lat­er radio play just above, the next year’s 45-minute Embers, found a more mixed recep­tion — to the delight, one imag­ines, of most Beck­ett fans, who tend to pre­fer the divi­sive stuff to an agreed-upon canon any­way.

Built out of two mono­logues, a dia­logue, and the sounds of the sea, Embers’ â€śrather ragged” script (in the words of Beck­ett him­self, who lat­er took the blame for the“too dif­fi­cult” text) presents us with an inar­tic­u­late pro­tag­o­nist who leaves us with many more ques­tions than answers. But just as in the work acknowl­edged as Beck­et­t’s best, the ques­tions we come away with send us in more inter­est­ing direc­tions than do the answers pro­vid­ed in main­stream radio dra­ma — or in main­stream any­thing else, for that mat­ter. And amid all this writ­ing for tape rather than stage, what not­ed work did he come with in 1958 for the stage? Why, Krap­p’s Last Tape, of course.

Samuel Beck­et­t’s radio plays avail­able online:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Rare Audio: Samuel Beck­ett Reads Two Poems From His Nov­el Watt

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Shakespearean Actor Brian Cox Teaches Hamlet’s Soliloquy to a 2‑Year-Old Child

Per­haps you’ve seen Scot­tish actor Bri­an Cox in block­buster films like Brave­heart, The Bourne Iden­ti­ty, or Troy. Or, if you’re lucky enough, you’ve seen him per­form with the Roy­al Shake­speare Com­pa­ny in crit­i­cal­ly-acclaimed per­for­mances of The Tam­ing of The Shrew and Titus Andron­i­cus. But there’s per­haps anoth­er role you haven’t seen him in: tutor of tod­dlers. Sev­er­al years back, Cox taught Theo, then only 30 months old, the famous solil­o­quy from Ham­let, hop­ing to show there’s a Shake­speare­an actor in all of us. Lat­er, Cox talked to the BBC about his “mas­ter­class” with Theo and what he took away from the expe­ri­ence. Watch him muse right below:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like to Shake­speare: Recon­struct­ing the Bard’s Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Orson Welles’ Radio Per­for­mances of 10 Shake­speare Plays

Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour Sings Shakespeare’s Son­net 18

Free Online Shake­speare Cours­es: Primers on the Bard from Oxford, Har­vard, Berke­ley & More

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Take a “Breath” and Watch Samuel Beckett’s One-Minute Play

As Samuel Beckett’s writ­ing pro­gressed through the ’60s, it became even more min­i­mal, despair­ing, and bleak. It was as if he was par­ing away as much as he could to see if the­ater was left stand­ing. If a paint­ing could be one col­or like Ad Rein­hardt, what would be the Rein­hardt of the­ater? Jonathan Crow men­tioned yes­ter­day how Beck­et­t’s 1969 play Breath, for instance, “runs just a minute long and fea­tures just the sound of breath­ing.” There is a bit more to it than that. Not a lot more, but yes, more. Here’s the play’s script in full:

Cur­tain.

1. Faint light on stage lit­tered with mis­cel­la­neous rub­bish.  Hold for about five sec­onds.

2.  Faint brief cry and imme­di­ate­ly inspi­ra­tion and slow increase of light togeth­er reach­ing max­i­mum togeth­er in about ten sec­onds.  Silence and hold about five sec­onds.

3.  Expi­ra­tion and slow decrease of light togeth­er reach­ing min­i­mum togeth­er (light as in I) in about ten sec­onds and imme­di­ate­ly cry as before.  Silence and hold for about five sec­onds.

Beck­ett adds some notes:

Rub­bish.  No ver­ti­cals, all scat­tered and lying.

Cry.  Instant of record­ed vagi­tus.  Impor­tant that two cries be iden­ti­cal, switch­ing on and off strict­ly syn­chro­nized light and breath.

Breath.  Ampli­fied record­ing.

Max­i­mum light.  Not bright.  If 0 = dark and 10 = bright, light should move from about 3 to 6 and back.

The play came about when one of the most impor­tant Eng­lish the­ater crit­ics of his time Ken­neth Tynan asked for short skits for an erot­ic revue he was putting on in 1969, called Oh! Cal­cut­ta. Oth­ers invi­tees includ­ed Jules Feif­fer, John Lennon, Edna O’Brien, Jacques Levy, Sam Shep­ard, and Leonard Melfi. The plan was to per­form each skit but keep each writer’s name a secret. Beck­ett report­ed­ly wrote the play on a post­card and sent it to Tynan, then became enraged when he heard that instead of rub­bish on stage, Tynan had used naked bod­ies *and* in fact had explic­it­ly cred­it­ed Beck­ett in the pro­gram. Breath wouldn’t get a prop­er stag­ing until 1999 in London’s West End, as part of an evening with Beckett’s more sub­stan­tial Krapp’s Last Tape. You can read reports of how the audi­ence react­ed.

Sev­er­al direc­tors have brought Breath to life. Artist Damien Hirst had a go for the 2002 Beck­ett on Film project. As seen above, his ver­sion has very spec­tac­u­lar rub­bish gath­ered from a hos­pi­tal and, glimpsed in the final sec­onds, a cig­a­rette butt swasti­ka.

Below, check out a more “tra­di­tion­al” inter­pre­ta­tion of the play from the Nation­al The­atre School of Canada’s Tech Pro­duc­tion class. After that comes a repeat of Hirst’s ver­sion, and then one more alter­na­tive, Dar­ren Smyth’s 2009 TV sta­t­ic-filled attempt. (The rest of the video is a mixed bag of the Alan Par­sons Project and a Tim Bur­ton short, don’t ask why.)

Despite Beckett’s morose rep­u­ta­tion, there’s always a black humor under­neath it all. And if you’re going to ask the man to write an “erot­ic skit,” this is what you get, the futil­i­ty of life from womb to tomb in a minute.

Final­ly, you can watch an infor­ma­tive mini lec­ture on the play, pre­sent­ed by Dr. Cather­ine Brown for the New Col­lege of the Human­i­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Open­ing Cred­its of an Imag­i­nary 70s Cop Show Star­ring Samuel Beck­ett

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

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.

Watch Meryl Streep Have Fun with Accents: Bronx, Polish, Irish, Australian, Yiddish & More

Meryl Streep, fre­quent­ly hailed as one of our Great­est Liv­ing Actress­es — she claims there’s no such thing — com­mands a near-ency­clo­pe­dic mas­tery of accents.

Oth­ers may pre­pare for their roles by work­ing with a dialect coach or lis­ten­ing to tapes of native speak­ers, but Streep push­es to the lim­it, as indi­cat­ed in the con­ver­sa­tion with author Andre Dubus III, below.

She not only learned Pol­ish in order to play a trou­bled Holo­caust sur­vivor in Sophie’s Choice, she thought deeply about the way gen­der roles and peri­od inform vocal pre­sen­ta­tion.

Clear­ly a lot of effort goes into the per­for­mances that leave British crit­ics cheer­ing Streep as she sails above play­ing fields lit­tered with Amer­i­can actors who dared attempt Eng­lish accents.

Her com­mit­ment to her craft is inad­ver­tent­ly to blame for pop­u­lar­iz­ing the phrase “dingo’s got my baby.”

How refresh­ing that this ver­sa­tile and accom­plished actor is not pre­cious about her skills. She game­ly trot­ted them out for the come­di­an Ellen DeGeneres’ par­lor game, above. Looks like fun, pro­vid­ed one’s not an intro­vert. Each play­er draws a card labelled with an accent, sticks it to the brim of a sil­ly hat, then tried to guess the accent, based on her partner’s impromp­tu per­for­mance.

“Brook­lyn?” Streep gig­gles when the Louisiana-born DeGeneres has a go at Boston.

Her stab at the Bronx shows off her improv chops far bet­ter than the most recent stunt DeGeneres roped her into.

(For what it’s worth, Ben Affleck also excelled at this game. The late Robin Williams was less con­vinc­ing, but char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly irre­press­ible, even when called upon to imper­son­ate speak­ers of oth­er races.)

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and low bud­get the­ater impre­sario. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

In Animated Cartoon, Alison Bechdel Sees Her Life Go From Pulitizer Prize Winning Comic to Broadway Musical

No one is sur­prised when authors mine their per­son­al expe­ri­ences. If they’re lucky enough to strike gold, oth­er min­ers may be brought on to bring the sto­ries to the sil­ver screen. Here’s where things get tricky (if lucra­tive). No one wants to see his or her impor­tant life details get­ting roy­al­ly botched, espe­cial­ly when the results are blown up 70 feet across.

Car­toon­ist Ali­son Bechdel’s path to let­ting oth­ers take the reins as her sto­ry is immor­tal­ized in front of a live audi­ence is not the usu­al mod­el. The fam­i­ly his­to­ry she shared in the Pulitzer Prize-win­ning Fun Home: A Fam­i­ly Tragi­com­ic has been turned into a Broad­way musi­cal.

Now that would be a nail biter, espe­cial­ly if the non-fic­tion­al source mate­r­i­al includes a graph­i­cal­ly awk­ward first sex­u­al encounter and your clos­et­ed father’s sui­cide.

In the ani­mat­ed com­ic above, Bechdel recounts the sur­re­al expe­ri­ence of see­ing her most per­son­al expe­ri­ences musi­cal­ized dur­ing Fun Home’s recent Off-Broad­way run at the Pub­lic The­ater.

In the wrong hands, it could have been an excru­ci­at­ing evening, but Fun Home, the musi­cal, has had excel­lent pedi­gree from the get go.

It’s also worth not­ing that this show pass­es the infa­mous Bechdel Test (below) both onstage and off, with a book and lyrics by Lisa Kron and music by Jea­nine Tesori.

Pre­views begin next month in New York City.

bechdel-rule

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Car­toon­ist Kate Beat­on Plays on Lit­er­ary Clas­sics — The Great Gats­by, Julius Cae­sar & More

Lyn­da Bar­ry, Car­toon­ist Turned Pro­fes­sor, Gives Her Old Fash­ioned Take on the Future of Edu­ca­tion

Under­ground Car­toon­ist R. Crumb Intro­duces Us to His Rol­lick­ing Album Cov­er Designs

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

Drunk Shakespeare: The Trendy Way to Stage the Bard’s Plays in the US & the UK

You might be famil­iar with Drunk His­to­ry, the web series turned Com­e­dy Cen­tral show that reen­acts the ram­blings of ine­bri­at­ed hip­sters try­ing to recount events like the Water­gate scan­dal or the Burr-Hamil­ton duel. Well, appar­ent­ly, a grow­ing num­ber of the­ater troupes have decid­ed that the best way to stage Shake­speare in this age of social media and short­en­ing atten­tion spans is to get every­one involved drunk. The audi­ence and the actors. One such group is called, apt­ly, Drunk Shake­speare, which describes itself as “a com­pa­ny of pro­fes­sion­al drinkers with a seri­ous Shake­speare prob­lem.” Each audi­ence mem­ber is giv­en a shot of whiskey at the begin­ning of each per­for­mance. The actors report­ed­ly drink much more and actu­al­ly have to get breath­a­lyzed before the show. You wouldn’t want Hen­ry V to pass out before the Bat­tle of Agin­court, would you? The Wall Street Jour­nal did a short video piece about the group. You can watch it above.

Anoth­er group, the New York Shake­speare Exchange, dis­pens­es with the stage alto­geth­er. Instead, they host a reg­u­lar pub crawl/ the­atri­cal per­for­mance called Shakes­BEER. In one of the many drink­ing estab­lish­ments in New York, actors in con­tem­po­rary dress do scenes from Ham­let and Oth­el­lo amid patrons clutch­ing pints of lager. You can watch some of their shows above.

Anoth­er exam­ple is The Inis Nua Com­pa­ny, which took the basic idea of Drunk His­to­ry and swapped out the his­to­ry with Romeo and Juli­et. Check out below. Or, maybe if you’re across the pond, you will want to check out Sh*t- Faced Shake­speare at the Edin­burgh Fes­ti­val Fringe. It fea­tures “An entire­ly seri­ous Shake­speare play… with an entire­ly shit-faced actor.”

But the real ques­tion is where will all this crazed mix­ing of high cul­ture and mind alter­ing sub­stances end? Will some­one do Ine­bri­at­ed Ibsen? Stoned Chekhov? Moliere on Mol­ly? Trip­ping balls Beck­ett? It’s a slip­pery slope.

via The Wall Street Jour­nal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Shake­speare Cours­es: Primers on the Bard from Oxford, Har­vard, Berke­ley & More

Read All of Shakespeare’s Plays Free Online, Cour­tesy of the Fol­ger Shake­speare Library

What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like to Shake­speare: Recon­struct­ing the Bard’s Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Shakespeare’s Globe The­atre

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrowAnd check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Hear Antonin Artaud’s Censored, Never-Aired Radio Play: To Have Done With The Judgment of God (1947)

artaud

Antonin Artaud had his first men­tal break­down at the age of 16 and, from there on out, spent much of his life in and out of asy­lums. Diag­nosed with “incur­able para­noid delir­i­um,” Artaud suf­fered from hal­lu­ci­na­tions, glos­so­lalia, and bouts of vio­lent rage. And his treat­ment prob­a­bly did about as much harm as it did good. He was pre­scribed lau­danum, which gave him a life­long addic­tion to opi­ates. He endured some tru­ly hor­rif­ic pro­ce­dures like elec­tric shock treat­ment along with the high­ly dubi­ous insulin ther­a­py, which put him in a coma for a while.

In spite of this, Artaud proved to be a huge­ly influ­en­tial the­o­rist and play­wright, famous for coin­ing the term, “The­ater of Cru­el­ty.” His per­for­mances were designed to assault the sens­es and sen­si­bil­i­ties of the audi­ence and awak­en them to the base real­i­ties of life — sex, tor­ture, mur­der and bod­i­ly flu­ids. Artaud want­ed to break down the bound­ary between actor and audi­ence and cre­ate an event that was ecsta­t­ic, uncon­tained and even dan­ger­ous. His ideas rev­o­lu­tion­ized the stage. As the late great Susan Son­tag once wrote, “no one who works in the the­ater now is untouched by the impact of Artaud’s spe­cif­ic ideas.”

But gen­er­al­ly speak­ing, his ideas about the­ater were more pop­u­lar than his actu­al pro­duc­tions. One of his most famous plays, first staged in 1935, was Les Cen­ci, about a father who rapes his daugh­ter and then gets bru­tal­ly killed by his daughter’s hired thugs. The play was a flop when it debuted, run­ning for a mere 17 per­for­mances. Even Son­tag con­ced­ed that Les Cen­ci was “not a very good play.”

Artaud’s last work was an audio piece called To Have Done With The Judg­ment Of God (Pour en Finir avec le Juge­ment de dieu), and it proved to be equal­ly unpop­u­lar, at least with some very impor­tant peo­ple. Com­mis­sioned by Fer­di­nand Pouey, head of the dra­mat­ic and lit­er­ary broad­casts for French Radio in 1947, the work was writ­ten by Artaud after he spent the bet­ter part of WWII interned in an asy­lum where he endured the worst of his treat­ment. The piece is as raw and emo­tion­al­ly naked as you might expect –an anguished rant against soci­ety. A rav­ing screed filled with scat­o­log­i­cal imagery, screams, non­sense words, anti-Amer­i­can invec­tives and anti-Catholic pro­nounce­ments.

The piece (above) was slat­ed to air on Jan­u­ary 2, 1948 but sta­tion direc­tor Vladimir PorchĂ© yanked it at the last moment. Appar­ent­ly, he wasn’t ter­ri­bly fond of the copi­ous ref­er­ences to poop and semen nor the anti-Amer­i­can vit­ri­ol. Porché’s rejec­tion caused a cause cĂ©lèbre among Parisian intel­lec­tu­als. RenĂ© Clair, Jean Cocteau and Paul Élu­ard among oth­ers loud­ly protest­ed the deci­sion, and Pouey even resigned from his job in protest, but to no avail. It nev­er aired. Artaud, who report­ed­ly took the rejec­tion very per­son­al­ly, died a month lat­er. You can lis­ten to the broad­cast above. And, in case your French isn’t up to snuff, you can still appre­ci­ate its the­atri­cal ele­ments, maybe while read­ing an Eng­lish trans­la­tion of the radio play script here.

If you can’t get enough of Artaud’s final work, you can watch this staged ver­sion of To Have Done With the Judg­ment of God below star­ring Bil­ly Bar­num and John Voigt (no, not Angeli­na Jolie’s father, the avant-garde musi­cian).

Via WFMU

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Watch Dreams That Mon­ey Can Buy, a Sur­re­al­ist Film by Man Ray, Mar­cel Duchamp, Alexan­der Calder, Fer­nand LĂ©ger & Hans Richter

Un Chien Andalou: Revis­it­ing Buñuel and Dalí’s Sur­re­al­ist Film

The Hearts of Age: Orson Welles’ Sur­re­al­ist First Film (1934)

The Seashell and the Cler­gy­man: The World’s First Sur­re­al­ist Film

Man Ray and the Ciné­ma Pur: Four Sur­re­al­ist Films From the 1920s

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrowAnd check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly. 

Philosopher Alain Badiou Performs a Scene From His Play, Ahmed The Philosopher (2011)

Alain Badiou occu­pies an odd place in con­tem­po­rary phi­los­o­phy. Show­ered with superla­tives like “France’s great­est liv­ing philoso­pher” and “one of the great­est thinkers of our time,” he some­how doesn’t mer­it even a cur­so­ry entry in that defin­i­tive aca­d­e­m­ic ref­er­ence site, the Stan­ford Ency­clo­pe­dia of Phi­los­o­phy. Whether this is sim­ply an edi­to­r­i­al over­sight or an inten­tion­al slight, I am not qual­i­fied to say.

Per­haps one of the dif­fi­cul­ties of writ­ing con­cise­ly on Badiou is that Badiou him­self roams far and wide—from Hegel to Lacan, Kant, Marx, Descartes, and even St. Paul. Not eas­i­ly iden­ti­fi­able as belong­ing to one school or anoth­er, Badiou’s work, though staunch­ly polit­i­cal­ly left, resists anti-human­ist post­mod­ernism and seeks to ground truth in uni­ver­sals. It’s an unsur­pris­ing tack giv­en that he first trained in math­e­mat­ics.

As if his philo­soph­i­cal work weren’t enough, Badiou also writes nov­els and plays. Of the lat­ter, his Ahmed the Philoso­pher: 34 Short Plays for Chil­dren & Every­one Else has recent­ly appeared in an Eng­lish trans­la­tion by Joseph Lit­vak. Just above, you can see Lit­vak as Ahmed and Badiou him­self as “a cur­mud­geon­ly French demon,” writes Crit­i­cal The­o­ry, “who takes joy in inform­ing for the police.” Filmed in Ger­many in 2011,

This scene, enti­tled “Ter­ror,” serves as a com­men­tary on French xeno­pho­bia towards Arab immi­grants. Badiou at one point also draws ref­er­ence to Nazi-occu­pied France, a sort of “good old days” for Badiou’s cal­lous char­ac­ter.

Badiou as the “demon of the cities” spot­lights the brute lim­i­ta­tions imposed by vio­lent, unjust police, who sum­mar­i­ly exe­cute inno­cent peo­ple in the streets. Tak­ing per­verse plea­sure in describ­ing such an occur­rence, the demon leers, “I like to imag­ine that I’m hid­den behind a cur­tain. I sali­vate!” before going on to describe with rel­ish the even ugli­er sce­nario of a “bun­gled” shoot­ing. The audi­ence gig­gles uneasi­ly, unsure quite how to respond to the exag­ger­at­ed evil Badiou per­forms. It seems unthink­able, absurd, their ner­vous laugh­ter sug­gests, that any­one but a car­toon dev­il could take such sadis­tic delight in this kind of cru­el­ty, much less, as the demon does, ini­ti­ate it with anony­mous libel. It’s an unnerv­ing per­for­mance of an even more unnerv­ing piece of writ­ing. Below, you can see more scenes from Ahmed the Philoso­pher, per­formed in Eng­lish sans Badiou at UC Irvine in 2010.

If you like Badiou as an actor, this may be your only chance to see him per­form. How­ev­er, the extro­vert­ed philoso­pher hopes to break into Hol­ly­wood in anoth­er capacity—bringing his trans­la­tion of Plato’s Repub­lic to the screen, with, in his grand design, Brad Pitt in the lead­ing role, Sean Con­nery as Socrates, and Meryl Streep as “Mrs. Pla­to.” I wish him all the luck in the world. With the block­buster suc­cess of religous epics like Noah, per­haps we’re primed for a Hol­ly­wood ver­sion of ancient Greek thought, though like the for­mer film, purists would no doubt find ample rea­son to fly up in arms over a guar­an­teed mul­ti­tude of philo­soph­i­cal blas­phemies.

via Crit­i­cal The­o­ry

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michel Fou­cault and Alain Badiou Dis­cuss “Phi­los­o­phy and Psy­chol­o­gy” on French TV (1965)

Rad­i­cal Thinkers: Five Videos Pro­file Max Horkheimer, Alain Badiou & Oth­er Rad­i­cal The­o­rists

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

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

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