How to Behave in a British Pub: A World War II Training Film from 1943, Featuring Burgess Meredith

Fore­warned is fore­armed, so in 1943, the Unit­ed States Office of War Infor­ma­tion cre­at­ed a train­ing film to pre­vent sol­diers bound for Great Britain from earn­ing their Ugly Amer­i­can stripes.

The excerpt above con­cen­trates on pub eti­quette, cast­ing actor and Army Air Corps cap­tain Burgess Mered­ith in the role of a dis­creet mil­i­tary Vir­gil, explain­ing in hushed tones the British pen­chant for non-chilled beer and smok­ing or read­ing the paper unmo­lest­ed.

He also cau­tions incom­ing GIs against throw­ing their mon­ey around or mak­ing fun of kilt-wear­ing Scotsmen—commonsense advice that still applies.

To ensure the mes­sage sticks, he con­jures a cringe­wor­thy, semi-sloshed bad apple, who struts around in uni­form, bray­ing insults at the locals, until he dis­ap­pears in a puff of smoke.

No won­der the reception’s a bit frosty, when Mered­ith, ven­tures forth, also in uni­form. But unlike the brash bad­die who went before, Mered­ith has vet­ted his hosts, approach­ing as one might a skit­tish ani­mal. He offers cig­a­rettes, enjoys a game of darts as a spec­ta­tor, and buys his new friends drinks, being care­ful to choose some­thing in their price range, know­ing that they will insist on rec­i­p­ro­cat­ing in kind.

The film is pri­mar­i­ly con­cerned with teach­ing restraint.

In anoth­er sec­tion of the not-quite-38-minute film offi­cial­ly called A Wel­come to Britain (see below), Mered­ith cau­tions young recruits to take small por­tions of food, know­ing how restrict­ed their hosts’ rations are.

The most uncom­fort­able teach­able moment comes when an elder­ly Eng­lish­woman spon­ta­neous­ly invites a black GI to tea, after thank­ing him for his ser­vice:

Now look men, you heard that con­ver­sa­tion, that’s not unusu­al here. It’s the sort of thing that hap­pens quite a lot. Now let’s be frank about it, there are col­ored sol­diers as well as white here, and there are less social restric­tions in this coun­try. An Eng­lish woman ask­ing a col­ored boy to tea, he was polite about it, and she was polite about it. Now, that might not hap­pen at home, but the point is, we’re not at home, and the point is too, if we bring a lot of prej­u­dices here, what are we going to do about them?

(No advice to young black sol­diers on whether they’re hon­or bound to accept, should an elder­ly Eng­lish­woman invite them to tea, when they were per­haps en route to the pub.)

Watch the entire­ty of A Wel­come to Britain, includ­ing a cameo by Bob Hope at the 30 minute mark, here.

For an updat­ed guide to British pub eti­quette, check out the Amer­i­can expats of Post­mod­ern Fam­i­ly reac­tion video here.

via Daniel Hol­land

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free: British Pathé Puts Over 85,000 His­tor­i­cal Films on YouTube

1,000,000 Min­utes of News­reel Footage by AP & British Movi­etone Released on YouTube

How the Fences & Rail­ings Adorn­ing London’s Build­ings Dou­bled (by Design) as Civil­ian Stretch­ers in World War II

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Decem­ber 9 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates Dennison’s Christ­mas Book (1921). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

A Collection of Vintage Fruit Crate Labels Offers a Voluptuous Vision of the Sunshine State

Ah, Flori­da… The Sun­shine State.

Tourists began flock­ing to it in earnest once the rail­roads expand­ed in the late 19th cen­tu­ry, drawn by visions of sun­set beach­es, grace­ful palms, and plump cit­rus fruit in a warm weath­er set­ting.

The fan­ta­sy gath­ered steam in the 1920s when cit­rus grow­ers began affix­ing col­or­ful labels to the fruit crates that shipped out over those same rail­road lines, seek­ing to dis­tin­guish them­selves from the com­pe­ti­tion with mem­o­rable visu­als.

These labels offered lovers of grape­fruit and oranges who were stuck in cold­er climes tan­ta­liz­ing glimpses of a dreamy land filled with Span­ish Moss and grace­ful long-legged birds. Words like “gold­en” and “sun­shine” sealed the deal.

(The real­i­ty of cit­rus pick­ing, then and now, is one of hard labor, usu­al­ly per­formed by under­paid, unskilled migrants.)

The State Library of Florida’s Flori­da Crate Label Col­lec­tion has amassed more than 600 exam­ples from the 1920s through the 1950s, many of which have been dig­i­tized and added to a search­able data­base.

While the major­i­ty of the labels ped­dle the sun­shine state mythos, oth­ers pay homage to grow­ers’ fam­i­ly mem­bers and pets.

Oth­ers like Kil­lar­ney Luck, UmpireSherlock’s Delight, and Watson’s Dream built brand iden­ti­ty by play­ing on the grove’s name or loca­tion, though one does won­der about the mod­els for the deli­cious­ly dour Kiss-Me label. Sib­lings, per­haps? Maybe the Kissim­mee Cit­rus Grow­ers Asso­ci­a­tion dis­ap­proved of the PDA their name seems so ripe for.

Native Amer­i­cans’ promi­nent rep­re­sen­ta­tion like­ly owed as much to the public’s fas­ci­na­tion with West­erns as to the state’s trib­al her­itage, evi­dent in the names of so many loca­tions, like Umatil­la and Immokalee, where cit­rus crops took root.

Mean­while, Mam­myAun­ty, and Dix­ieland brands relied on a stereo­typ­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tion of African-Amer­i­cans that had a proven track record with con­sumers of pan­cakes and Cream of Wheat.

The vibrant­ly illus­trat­ed crate labels were put on hold dur­ing World War II, when the bulk of the cit­rus crop was ear­marked for the mil­i­tary.

By the mid-50s, card­board box­es on which com­pa­ny names and logos could be print­ed direct­ly had become the indus­try stan­dard, rel­e­gat­ing crate labels to antique stores, swap meets, and flea mar­kets.

Begin your explo­ration of the Flori­da Crate Label Col­lec­tion here, brows­ing by imageplacecom­pa­ny, or brand name.

Via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

In 1886, the US Gov­ern­ment Com­mis­sioned 7,500 Water­col­or Paint­ings of Every Known Fruit in the World: Down­load Them in High Res­o­lu­tion

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

Browse a Col­lec­tion of Over 83,500 Vin­tage Sewing Pat­terns

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Novem­ber 4 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates Louise Jor­dan Miln’s “Woo­ings and Wed­dings in Many Climes (1900). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

 

A Brief History of the Great American Road Trip

I live in Asia, where no few peo­ple express an inter­est in trav­el­ing to my home­land, the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca. When I meet such peo­ple, I always give them the same advice: if you go, make sure to take a cross-coun­try road trip. But then I would say that, at least accord­ing to the premise of the PBS Idea Chan­nel video above, “Why Do Amer­i­cans Love Road Trips?” While dri­ving from New York to Louisville, Nashville, and then Philadel­phia, host Mike Rugnetta the­o­rizes about the con­nec­tion between the road trip and the very con­cept of Amer­i­ca. It begins with phys­i­cal suit­abil­i­ty, what with the U.S.’ rel­a­tive­ly low gas prices, amenable ter­rain, and sheer size: “Amer­i­ca is big,” Rugnetta points out. “Some might say too big.”

As Rugnetta dri­ves far­ther, he goes deep­er: for quite a long stretch of U.S. his­to­ry, “progress and mobil­i­ty were peas in a pod, and mobil­i­ty has always been a sub­text of Amer­i­ca’s favorite soci­etal bul­wark, free­dom.” In oth­er words, “Amer­i­ca’s idea of its own awe­some­ness” — and does any word more clear­ly mark mod­ern Amer­i­can speech? — “is very much built on metaphors hav­ing to do with move­ment.”

In the 20th cen­tu­ry, move­ment came to mean cars, espe­cial­ly as the end of the Sec­ond World War and the begin­ning of the 1950s came around, at which time Pres­i­dent Eisen­how­er, “inspired by the awe­some sys­tem of roads he saw in Ger­many,” autho­rized the con­struc­tion of a nation­al high­way sys­tem, the replace­ment for sto­ried but non-com­pre­hen­sive inter­state roads like Route 66.

From then on, the Unit­ed States saw an enor­mous surge in both car own­er­ship, auto-indus­try employ­ment, “the mid­dle class, sub­ur­bia, fast food,” and a host of oth­er phe­nom­e­na still seen as char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly Amer­i­can. “To say that mod­ern Amer­i­ca was built both by and for the car,” as Rugnetta puts it, “would not be an insane over­state­ment.” But he also notes that the idea of the road trip itself goes back to 1880s Ger­many, when Bertha Benz, wife of Benz Moter­wa­gen founder Karl Benz, took her hus­band’s then-exper­i­men­tal car on a then-ille­gal 66-mile dri­ve through the coun­try­side. The first Amer­i­can road trip was tak­en in 1903 by a doc­tor named Hor­a­tio Jack­son and, as the Rough Guides video above tells it, involved a bet, a dog, and — the whole way from San Fran­cis­co to New York — no sig­nage at all.

Rugnetta also presents a philo­soph­i­cal ques­tion, derived from the Sorites Para­dox: at what point does a “dri­ve” turn into a “road trip?” Does it take a cer­tain num­ber of miles, of gas-tank refills, of road­side attrac­tions? A coast-to-coast dri­ve of the kind pio­neered by Jack­son unques­tion­ably qual­i­fies as a road trip. So does the auto­mo­bile jour­ney tak­en by Dutch­man Hen­ny Hogen­bi­jl in the sum­mer of 1955, his col­or film of which you can see above. Begin­ning with footage of Ams­ter­dam’s Schiphol Air­port, New World Sym­pho­ny shows off the sights Hogen­bi­jl saw while dri­ving from New York to Los Ange­les, with places like Nia­gara Falls, Chica­go, Mount Rush­more, Yel­low­stone Nation­al Park, and Salt Lake City as the stops in between — or the places, to use the phrase Rugnetta cred­its with great impor­tance in Amer­i­can myth, Hogen­bi­jl was just “passin’ through.”

Not long ago, a mod­ern-day Hogen­bi­jl made that great Amer­i­can road trip with the des­ti­na­tions reversed. Like Hogen­bi­jl, he filmed it; unlike Hogen­bi­jl, he filmed not the stops but the dri­ving itself, and every sin­gle minute it took him to get across the Unit­ed States at that. Lucky for the busy view­er, the video com­press­es this eight days of footage into a mere sev­en hours, adding an indi­ca­tor of the state being passed through in the low­er-left cor­ner of the frame. Even sped up, the view­ing expe­ri­ence under­scores a point I try to make to all the hope­ful road-trip­pers I meet on this side of the world: you must dri­ve across Amer­i­ca not just to expe­ri­ence how inter­est­ing the coun­try is, but at the same time how bor­ing it is. Allow me one use that most char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly Amer­i­can locu­tion when I say that both Amer­i­ca’s inter­est­ing­ness and its bor­ing­ness, as well as its many oth­er qual­i­ties best seen on the road, inspire awe — that is, they’re awe­some.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why Route 66 Became America’s Most Famous Road

If You Dri­ve Down a Stretch of Route 66, the Road Will Play “Amer­i­ca the Beau­ti­ful”

12 Clas­sic Lit­er­ary Road Trips in One Handy Inter­ac­tive Map

Four Inter­ac­tive Maps Immor­tal­ize the Road Trips That Inspired Jack Kerouac’s On the Road

Down­load Dig­i­tized Copies of The Negro Trav­el­ers’ Green Book, the Pre-Civ­il Rights Guide to Trav­el­ing Safe­ly in the U.S. (1936–66)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Art Trips: Visit the Art of Cities Around the World, from Los Angeles & London, to Venice and New York

When first we vis­it a city, even a small one, we can’t hope to see all of it. Hence the need for strate­gies of approach and explo­ration: do we walk its main streets? Eat its food and drink its drinks? Vis­it its most beloved book­stores? Sarah Urist Green gets into cities through their art, hard­ly a sur­pris­ing habit for the cre­ator of the PBS Dig­i­tal Stu­dios series The Art Assign­ment. We first fea­tured The Art Assign­ment five years ago here on Open Cul­ture, and Green and her col­lab­o­ra­tors have kept up the good work ever since. In that time their mis­sion of “trav­el­ing around the coun­try, vis­it­ing artists and ask­ing them to give you an art assign­ment” has expand­ed, tak­ing them out­side Amer­i­ca as well. On the road they’ve col­lect­ed not just mate­r­i­al for reg­u­lar episodes, but for spe­cial Art Trips as well.

Their first Art Trip to Los Ange­les, for instance, takes Green and com­pa­ny to the Ham­mer Muse­um, the gal­leries of Cul­ver City (one of which has a show up of Andy Warhol’s shad­ow paint­ings), the Los Ange­les Coun­ty Muse­um of Art (where they walk under Michael Heiz­er’s Lev­i­tat­ed Mass and through Chris Bur­den’s much-Insta­grammed Urban Light), and the then-new­ly-opened Broad Art Muse­um. In between they take side trips for refresh­ment at the not­ed ice cream sand­wich shop Cool­haus (named in hon­or of the Dutch archi­tect) and deep into the Inland Empire city of Bak­ers­field. This com­bi­na­tion of places expect­ed and unex­pect­ed comes not with­out the occa­sion­al tourist cliche, such as Green’s descrip­tion of “the most quin­tes­sen­tial of Los Ange­les expe­ri­ences: dri­ving.”

The Art Assig­ment’s return vis­it to the south­ern Cal­i­forn­ian metrop­o­lis focus­es on “the Los Ange­les hid­ing in plain sight” with Pacif­ic Stan­dard Time: LA/LA, a series of exhi­bi­tions all over the city on Lati­no and Lati­na artists at insti­tu­tions like the Craft and Folk Art Muse­um, the Los Ange­les Cen­tral Library, and the Gef­fen Con­tem­po­rary. All the while Green and her team eat plen­ty of tacos, as any Ange­leno would advise, and the final night of their stay finds them in Grand Park among the shrine-like hand­made offer­ings set up for Día de los Muer­tos, all of them craft­ed with an eeri­ness matched only by their good humor.

Los Ange­les has become an acknowl­edged art cap­i­tal over the past half-cen­tu­ry, but Lon­don, fair to say, has a bit more his­to­ry behind it. The Art Assign­ment’s time in the Eng­lish cap­i­tal coin­cides with Frieze Week, when gal­leries from all over the world descend on Regen­t’s Park to show off their most strik­ing artis­tic wares. Not coin­ci­den­tal­ly, the muse­ums and gal­leries based in the city use the same part of the year to sched­ule some of their most antic­i­pat­ed shows, turn­ing the few days of this Art Trip in Lon­don into a mad rush from Trafal­gar Square to the Nation­al Por­trait Gallery to the Roy­al Acad­e­my of Arts to the Cour­tauld Insti­tute of Art, by which point Green admits the onset of “mas­ter­piece over­load ” — but also has sev­er­al gal­leries, not to men­tion the main event of Frieze itself, to go.

Frieze Week does­n’t come to Detroit, the one­time cap­i­tal of Amer­i­can auto man­u­fac­tur­ing whose pop­u­la­tion peaked in the mid­dle of the 20th cen­tu­ry and whose sub­se­quent hard times, cul­mi­nat­ing in the city’s 2013 bank­rupt­cy, have been chron­i­cled with both fas­ci­na­tion and despair. But The Art Assign­ment finds a Detroit apart from the ruined fac­to­ries, the­aters, and train sta­tions, the stuff of so many inter­net slideshows, at the Motown Muse­um and the Detroit Insti­tute of Arts (home to Diego River­a’s Detroit Indus­try Murals), as well as in folk-art envi­ron­ments like the famous Hei­del­berg Project and pub­lic-art envi­ron­ments like down­town Detroit, whose recent revival has proven as com­pelling as its long decline. But many ruins remain, and artists like Scott Hock­ing have found in them not just their sub­jects but their mate­ri­als as well.

More strik­ing than Detroit’s urban des­o­la­tion is that of anoth­er unlike­ly The Art Assign­ment des­ti­na­tion, Mar­fa, Texas. In his essay “The Repub­lic of Mar­fa,” Sean Wilsey describes it as “a hard­scrab­ble ranch­ing com­mu­ni­ty in the upper Chi­huahuan desert, six­ty miles north of the Mex­i­can bor­der, that inhab­its some of the most beau­ti­ful and intran­si­gent coun­try­side imag­in­able.” In the mid-1970s “the min­i­mal­ist artist Don­ald Judd moved to Mar­fa, exil­ing him­self from what he termed the ‘glib and harsh’ New York art scene, in order to live in a sort of high plains lab­o­ra­to­ry devot­ed to build­ing, sculp­ture, fur­ni­ture design, muse­ol­o­gy, con­ser­va­tion, and a dash of ranch­ing,” and his influ­ence — as well as the pres­ence of his large-scale instal­la­tions — helped to make Mar­fa “a sort of city-state of cat­tle­men, artists, writ­ers, fugi­tives, smug­glers, free-thinkers, envi­ron­men­tal­ists, sol­diers and seces­sion­ists.”

In Mar­fa Green explores the mon­u­men­tal work Judd left behind as well as the mon­u­men­tal work oth­er artists have since con­tributed, includ­ing a project in a con­vert­ed mil­i­tary bar­racks by neon artist Dan Flavin and a fake Pra­da store. Oth­er Art Trip des­ti­na­tions include the likes of Chica­go and Colum­bus, Indi­ana (mod­ern-archi­tec­ture mec­ca and set­ting of the recent fea­ture film by video essay­ist Kog­o­na­da) as well as Tijua­na and the Venice Bien­nale, all of which you can find on one playlist. Green has even done an Art Trip right where she lives, the “bland-lean­ing, chain restau­rant-lov­ing” Mid­west­ern city of Indi­anapo­lis — which boasts the Muse­um of Psy­ch­phon­ics, an under-free­way art instal­la­tion by Vito Acconci, and a fair few bike-share book-share sta­tions as well. We can nev­er ful­ly know the cities we don’t live in, but nor can we ever ful­ly know the cities we do live in either — which, if we nev­er­the­less enjoy the attempt as much as Green does, is no bad thing at all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art Assign­ment: Learn About Art & the Cre­ative Process in a New Web Series by John & Sarah Green

Amer­i­can Cities Then & Now: See How New York, Los Ange­les & Detroit Look Today, Com­pared to the 1930s and 1940s

Tour the World’s Street Art with Google Street Art

Elec­tric Gui­tars Made from the Detri­tus of Detroit

Video Essay­ist Kog­o­na­da Makes His Own Acclaimed Fea­ture Film: Watch His Trib­utes to Its Inspi­ra­tions Like Ozu, Lin­klater & Mal­ick

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Why Route 66 Became America’s Most Famous Road

Most Amer­i­cans know Route 66, but some­times it seems like non-Amer­i­cans know it bet­ter. I hap­pen to be an Amer­i­can liv­ing out­side Amer­i­ca myself, and when­ev­er con­ver­sa­tions turn to the sub­ject of road trips in my home­land, it’s only a mat­ter of time before I hear the usu­al ques­tion: “Have you dri­ven Route 66?” Orig­i­nal­ly com­mis­sioned in 1926, the 2,448-mile road from Chica­go to San­ta Mon­i­ca enjoyed about three decades of pri­ma­cy before its eclipse by the Inter­state High­way Sys­tem. Quaint though Route 66 may now seem com­pared to that vast post­war infra­struc­tur­al project, it some­how has­n’t quite let go of its hold on the Amer­i­can imag­i­na­tion, and even less so the world’s imag­i­na­tion about Amer­i­ca.

“Route 66 has been in the shad­ows twice as long as it was in the spot­light,” says Vox’s Phil Edwards, “but there’s still this ener­gy around it.” In the video “Why Route 66 Became Amer­i­ca’s Most Famous Road,” Edwards does the icon­ic road trip him­self, and along the way tells the sto­ry behind what John Stein­beck called “the moth­er road, the road of flight.”

This nat­u­ral­ly involves an abun­dance of both cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly emp­ty land­scapes, flam­boy­ant­ly unhealthy cui­sine, and rich­ly kitschy Amer­i­cana, the kind of thing fea­tured in Atlas Obscu­ra’s robust Route 66 cat­e­go­ry. Edwards vis­its colos­sal cow­boy stat­ues, the Amer­i­can Quar­ter Horse Hall of Fame and Muse­um (“hors­es must be dead to be con­sid­ered”), and a road­house where, if you “eat 72 ounces of steak and sides in under an hour, you get it for free” — and those are just in Texas.

Route 66 can’t but appeal to Amer­i­can his­to­ry buffs, but in recent decades it has also attract­ed con­nois­seurs of des­o­la­tion. Orig­i­nal­ly shaped by a vari­ety of lob­by­ing inter­ests, includ­ing an espe­cial­ly vig­or­ous pro­mot­er of Tul­sa, Okla­homa named Cyrus Avery, the “Main Street of Amer­i­ca” turned many of the ham­lets along its path into, if not des­ti­na­tions, then places worth spend­ing the night. Fas­ci­nat­ing arti­facts remain of Route 66’s vibrant mid­cen­tu­ry “motel cul­ture,” but not even the most Amer­i­ca-besot­ted vis­i­tors from for­eign lands could over­look how thor­ough­ly his­to­ry seems to have passed most of these places by. I saw this first-hand myself when I drove across the Unit­ed States on Inter­state 40, the con­ti­nent-span­ning free­way that fol­lows Route 66 in places and cer­tain­ly has­tened its demise. You can see it and much else on Route 66 besides in the “aer­i­al doc­u­men­tary” above.

Edwards’ inter­vie­wees include denizens of Route 66 mak­ing a go of revers­ing the decline of this 34-years-decom­mis­sioned road, such as the pro­pri­etor of the Motel Safari, a ver­i­ta­ble 1950s time-cap­sule in Tucum­cari, New Mex­i­co. He also talks to the edi­tor of Route 66 News, an elder­ly Tex­an lady with a thing for dinosaurs, a mod­ern-day Cyrus Avery look­ing to pro­mote the glo­ries of Route 66’s Okla­homa stretch, and Route 66 road-trip­pers of var­i­ous ages and nation­al­i­ties, includ­ing a guy who actu­al­ly ate that 72-ounce steak with­in an hour. “There was dessert as far as the eye can see,” says one still-mar­veling young Euro­pean. He almost sure­ly meant desert, but as far as the charms of Amer­i­ca’s open roads go, both inter­pre­ta­tions are equal­ly true.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

If You Dri­ve Down a Stretch of Route 66, the Road Will Play “Amer­i­ca the Beau­ti­ful”

12 Clas­sic Lit­er­ary Road Trips in One Handy Inter­ac­tive Map

Four Inter­ac­tive Maps Immor­tal­ize the Road Trips That Inspired Jack Kerouac’s On the Road

Jack Kerouac’s On The Road Turned Into Google Dri­ving Direc­tions & Pub­lished as a Free eBook

Down­load Dig­i­tized Copies of The Negro Trav­el­ers’ Green Book, the Pre-Civ­il Rights Guide to Trav­el­ing Safe­ly in the U.S. (1936–66)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Cy Kuckenbaker’s Time Collapse Videos Let You See Daily Life As You’ve Never Seen It Before

There are apps to track the num­ber of dai­ly min­utes you habit­u­al­ly frit­ter away on social media, but can your smart­phone help you get a han­dle on the auto­mo­tive col­or pref­er­ences of mid­day San Diego dri­vers?

Or the num­ber of planes land­ing at San Diego Inter­na­tion­al Air­port on the day after Thanks­giv­ing?

Or, for that mat­ter, the traf­fic pat­terns of non-pro­fes­sion­al surfers hop­ing to catch a wave at at Point Loma?

No, but film­mak­er Cy Kuck­en­bak­er can.

His “time col­lapse” videos stemmed from a desire to get to know the city in which he lives with the same vig­or he brought to bear as a Peace Corps vol­un­teer in his 20s, explor­ing Iraq, Africa, and East­ern Europe.

This impulse might lead oth­ers to join a club, take a class, or check out restau­rants in an unfa­mil­iar neigh­bor­hood.

For Kuck­en­bak­er, it means set­ting up his cam­era for a fixed shot, uncer­tain if his exper­i­ment will even work, then spend­ing hours and hours in the edit­ing room, remov­ing the time between events with­out alter­ing the speed of his sub­jects.

It’s a form that requires a lot of patience on the part of its cre­ator.

He esti­mates that he spent 2 hours edit­ing for every sec­ond of Mid­day Traf­fic Time Col­lapsed and Reor­ga­nized by Col­or: San Diego Study #3, above, pro­vid­ing him ample time to lis­ten to the fol­low­ing audio­books (get your free Audi­ble tri­al here):

Rev­o­lu­tion 1989 by Vic­tor Sebestyen

How Music Works by David Byrne

Two Years Before the Mast by Richard Hen­ry Dana

Super Sad True Love Sto­ry by Gary Shteyn­gart

1493 by Charles Mann

1491 by Charles Mann

With the Old Breed by E. Sledge

The Emper­or of Mal­adies by Sid­dhartha Mukher­jee

The Unbear­able Light­ness of Being by Milan Kun­dera

Each car was keyed out of the orig­i­nal shot, then ranked and rein­sert­ed based on col­or. 28 of the raw footage’s 462 didn’t make the cut due to errat­ic shape or move­ment. See if you can spot them in the extreme­ly ordi­nary-look­ing orig­i­nal footage, below. Extra cred­it for spot­ting the emp­ty Gatorade bot­tle that made it into every frame of the com­pres­sion:

His stud­ies may not reveal much about his home city to the aver­age tourist, but Kuck­en­bak­er him­self is able to inter­pret the num­bers in ways that go beyond mere quan­ti­ty and aver­ages, such as San Die­gans’ appar­ent vehic­u­lar col­or pref­er­ence:

Nation­al­ly, red is a more pop­u­lar col­or than blue. But not San Diego. San Diego, there’s more blue than red, so it’s like, you know, an out­lier. And I thought about that for a while and it’s like, per­son­al­ly, the way I under­stand the city, that makes sense to me. The sort of tone of the city, the atti­tude of the city—it’s an ocean city. I can see why peo­ple would think, “Well, I live in San Diego. Why would I have a red… I want a blue car!”

His Point Loma com­pres­sion boiled an hour’s surf­ing down to 2 min­utes and 15 sec­onds that KPBS’ David Wag­n­er her­ald­ed as “a surfer­’s wildest dream come true, a fan­ta­sy break where per­fect waves roll in one after anoth­er like clock­work, no lulls in between.”

The raw footage and Kuckenbaker’s doc­u­men­ta­tion of the After Effects tech­nique used to com­pos­ite the waves speaks to a slight­ly more tedious real­i­ty. No word on what audio books got him through this one, though he goes into the tech­ni­cal specs and quotes Joseph Con­rad on his blog.

The com­pres­sion of the near­ly 70 arriv­ing Black Fri­day flights that kicked off Kuckenbaker’s San Diego-based time col­laps­es in 2012 feels a bit mar­tial, espe­cial­ly if Ride of the Valkyries just hap­pens to be play­ing in the back­ground. It makes me wor­ry for San Diego, and also wish for a Kuck­en­bak­er to come col­lapse time in my town.

See more of Cy Kuckenbaker’s Time Col­lapse videos here.

via Twist­ed Sifter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

53 Years of Nuclear Test­ing in 14 Min­utes: A Time Lapse Film by Japan­ese Artist Isao Hashimo­to

Becom­ing: A Short Time­lapse Film Shows a Sin­gle Cell Mor­ph­ing Into a Com­plete, Com­plex Liv­ing Organ­ism

The Milky Way in Time-Lapse Video

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Sep­tem­ber 9 for anoth­er sea­son of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Enjoy Dazzling & Dizzying 360° Virtual Tours of Los Angeles Landmarks

Remem­ber when arm­chair trav­el meant a book, a mag­a­zine, a hand­ful of post­cards, or the occa­sion­al after-din­ner slideshow of the neigh­bors’ vaca­tion pho­tos?

Those were the days.

The throngs of trav­el “influ­encers”—both pro­fes­sion­al and aspirant—have tak­en much of the fun out of liv­ing through oth­ers’ vis­its to far-flung locales. The focus seems to have shift­ed from imag­in­ing our­selves in their shoes to feel­ing oppressed by their high­ly-staged, heav­i­ly-fil­tered Insta­gram-per­fect exis­tence.

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Jim New­ber­ry’s daz­zling, dizzy­ing 360° pho­tos of Los Ange­les, like the views of Echo Park, Chi­na­town, East L.A., and Down­town, above, offer arm­chair trav­el­ers trans­porta­tion back to those gid­dy pre-influ­encer days.

(Angeli­nos and oth­er LA-versed vis­i­tors will enjoy swoop­ing through City of Angels land­marks as if rotat­ing on the no-par­al­lax point, too.)

The Chica­go trans­plant admits that it took a while for him to find his Los Ange­les groove:

After being dis­abused of my Mid­west­ern, anti‑L.A. views, I’ve found that the city has much more to offer than I had imag­ined, but the gems of Los Ange­les often don’t reveal them­selves read­i­ly; it takes a bit of leg­work to seek out the best spots, and well worth it. Moun­tains, beach­es, vibrant urban life, tons of muse­ums, gor­geous nature.

While easy-to-use “one-shot” 360 cam­eras exist, New­ber­ry prefers the qual­i­ty afford­ed by using a high-res­o­lu­tion non-360 cam­era with a wide angle lens, mount­ed on a panoram­ic tri­pod head that rotates it in such a way as to pre­vent per­spec­tive errors.

With the equip­ment set up in the cen­ter of the room, he shoots four pho­tos, spaced 90° apart. Anoth­er shot is aimed direct­ly down­ward toward the floor.

Panoram­ic soft­ware helps to stitch the images togeth­er for a “spher­i­cal panora­ma,” giv­ing view­ers an expe­ri­ence that’s the dig­i­tal equiv­a­lent of swivel­ing their heads in awe.

Newberry’s rov­ing lens turns Lee Lawrie’s Zodi­ac Chan­de­lierDean Cornwell’s Cal­i­for­nia his­to­ry murals, and the dec­o­ra­tive ceil­ing sten­cils of the Cen­tral Pub­lic Library’s Grand Rotun­da into a gor­geous kalei­do­scope.

The Taoist Thien Hau Tem­ple in Chi­na­town is a more recent attrac­tion, found­ed in the 1980s in a for­mer Chris­t­ian church. Com­mu­ni­ty mem­bers raised funds to build the larg­er tem­ple, above, ded­i­cat­ing it in 2006 as a shrine to Mazu, the god­dess of the sea, pro­tec­tor of fish­er­man and sailors.

The Muse­um of Juras­sic Tech­nol­o­gy, a self-described “edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tion ded­i­cat­ed to the advance­ment of knowl­edge and the pub­lic appre­ci­a­tion of the Low­er Juras­sic,” served as Newberry’s point of entry, when man­age­ment okayed his request to shoot 360° pho­tos there:

It’s a very spe­cial place—my panoram­ic pho­tos are no match for an in-per­son vis­it. Unlike many oth­er muse­ums these days, the Muse­um of Juras­sic Tech­nol­o­gy does­n’t nor­mal­ly allow pho­tog­ra­phy, and there’s not many pho­tos of the place to be found. 

(In return for per­mis­sion to shoot the museum’s Fau­na of Mir­rors murals, rooftop court­yard, and Tula Tea Room, New­ber­ry agreed to main­tain its mys­te­ri­ous aura by lim­it­ing the pub­li­ca­tion of those pho­tos to his Panoram­ic Eye site. Feast your eyes here.)

The pho­tog­ra­ph­er is look­ing for­ward to work­ing with more muse­ums, cre­at­ing 3‑dimensional doc­u­men­ta­tion of exhibits.

His inter­est in the ephemer­al has also spurred him to cre­ate vir­tu­al tours of local land­marks on the verge of being torn down. Entries in the ongo­ing Lost Land­marks series include Los Feliz’s Good Luck Bar (RIP), Tom Bergin’s Pub (above, spared at the last minute when the Los Ange­les Con­ser­van­cy declared it an His­toric-Cul­tur­al Mon­u­ment), and the Alpine Vil­lage, cur­rent­ly for sale in neigh­bor­ing Tor­rance.

Begin your explo­rations of Jim Newberry’s Panoram­ic Eye 360° vir­tu­al tours of Los Ange­les, includ­ing the Grif­fith Park Obser­va­to­rythe St. Sophia Cathe­dral, and the Every­thing Is Ter­ri­ble! store here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a 360° Vir­tu­al Tour of Tal­iesin, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Per­son­al Home & Stu­dio

Take a 360 Degree Tour of Minia­ture Mod­els of Famous Land­marks: From the Taj Mahal to The Great Wall of Chi­na

Five Cul­tur­al Tours of Los Ange­les

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the author of sev­en books, includ­ing No Touch Mon­key! And Oth­er Trav­el Lessons Learned Too Lateand the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Sep­tem­ber 9 for anoth­er sea­son of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Mont Saint-Michel Beautifully Viewed from a Drone

This short film was an award win­ner at the 2015 Drone Film fes­ti­val held in Cabourg, France. Enjoy the ride.

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