FoundÂed in 1577, Kobaien remains Japan’s oldÂest manÂuÂfacÂturÂer of sumi ink sticks. Made of soot and aniÂmal glue, the ink stick—when ground against an inkÂstone, with a litÂtle water added—produces a beauÂtiÂful black ink used by JapanÂese calÂligÂraÂphers. And, often, a 200-gram ink stick from Kobaien can cost over $1,000.
How can soot and aniÂmal glue comÂmand such a high price? As the BusiÂness InsidÂer video above shows, there’s a fine art to makÂing each ingredient—an art honed over the cenÂturies. WatchÂing the artiÂsans make the soot alone, you immeÂdiÂateÂly appreÂciÂate the comÂplexÂiÂty beneath the apparÂent simÂplicÂiÂty. When you’re done watchÂing how the ink gets made, you’ll undoubtÂedÂly want to watch the artiÂsans makÂing calÂligÂraÂphy brushÂes, an art form that has its own fasÂciÂnatÂing hisÂtoÂry. Enjoy!
More than a quarÂter of a milÂlenÂniÂum after he comÂposed his first pieces of music, difÂferÂent lisÂtenÂers will evalÂuÂate difÂferÂentÂly the speÂcifÂic nature of WolfÂgang Amadeus Mozart’s genius. But one can hardÂly fail to be impressed by the fact that he wrote those works when he was five years old (or, as some scholÂars have it, four years old). It’s not unknown, even today, for preÂcoÂcious, musiÂcalÂly inclined chilÂdren of that age to sit down and put togethÂer simÂple melodies, or even reaÂsonÂably comÂplete songs. But how many of them can write someÂthing like Mozart’s “MinÂuet in G Major”?
The video above, which traces the evoÂluÂtion of Mozart’s music, begins with that piece — natÂuÂralÂly enough, since it’s his earÂliÂest known work, and thus honÂored with the Köchel catÂaÂlogue numÂber of KV 1. ThereÂafter we hear music comÂposed by Mozart at varÂiÂous ages of childÂhood, youth, adoÂlesÂcence, and adultÂhood, accomÂpaÂnied by a piano roll graphÂic that illusÂtrates its increasÂing comÂplexÂiÂty.
And as with comÂplexÂiÂty, so with familÂiarÂiÂty: even lisÂtenÂers who know litÂtle of Mozart’s work will sense the emerÂgence of a disÂtincÂtive style, and even those who’ve bareÂly heard of Mozart will recÂogÂnize “Piano Sonata No. 16 in C major” when it comes on.
Mozart comÂposed that piece when he was 32 years old. It’s also known as the “Sonata facile” or “Sonata semÂplice,” despite its disÂtinct lack of easÂiÂness for novice (or even interÂmeÂdiÂate) piano playÂers. It’s now catÂaÂloged as KV 545, which puts it toward the end of Mozart’s oeuÂvre, and indeed his life. Three years latÂer, the evoÂluÂtionÂary lisÂtenÂing jourÂney of this video arrives at the “Requiem in D minor,” which we’ve preÂviÂousÂly feaÂtured here on Open CulÂture for its extenÂsive cinÂeÂmatÂic use to evoke evil, loneÂliÂness, desÂperÂaÂtion, and reckÂonÂing. The piece, KV 626, conÂtains Mozart’s last notes; the unanÂswerÂable but nevÂerÂtheÂless irreÂsistible quesÂtion remains of whether they’re someÂhow implied in his first ones.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
EveryÂbody can sing. Maybe not well. But why should that stop you? That’s the basic phiÂlosÂoÂphy of Pub Choir, an orgaÂniÂzaÂtion based in BrisÂbane, AusÂtralia. At each Pub Choir event, a conÂducÂtor “arranges a popÂuÂlar song and teachÂes it to the audiÂence in three-part harÂmoÂny.” Then, the evening culÂmiÂnates with a perÂforÂmance that gets filmed and shared on social media. AnyÂone (18+) is welÂcome to attend.
It was in the city of ShimÂla that Bourne estabÂlished a propÂer phoÂto stuÂdio, first with his felÂlow phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer William Howard, then with anothÂer named Charles ShepÂherd. (Bourne & ShepÂherd, as it was evenÂtuÂalÂly named, remained in busiÂness until 2016.) Bourne travÂeled extenÂsiveÂly in India, takÂing the picÂtures you can see colÂlectÂed in the video above, but it was his “three sucÂcesÂsive phoÂtoÂgraphÂic expeÂdiÂtions to the Himalayas” that secured his place in the hisÂtoÂry of phoÂtogÂraÂphy.
In the last of these, “Bourne enlistÂed a team of eighty porters who drove a live food supÂply of sheep and goats and carÂried boxÂes of chemÂiÂcals, glass plates, and a portable darkÂroom tent,” says the MetÂroÂpolÂiÂtan MuseÂum of Art. When he crossed the Manirung Pass “at an eleÂvaÂtion of 18,600 feet, Bourne sucÂceedÂed in takÂing three views before the sky cloudÂed over, setÂting a record for phoÂtogÂraÂphy at high altiÂtudes.”
Though he spent only six years in India, Bourne manÂaged to take 2,200 high-qualÂiÂty picÂtures in that time, some of the oldÂest — and indeed, some of the finest — phoÂtographs of India and its nearÂby region known today.
In addiÂtion to views of the Himalayas, he capÂtured no few archiÂtecÂturÂal wonÂders: the Taj Mahal and the RamÂnathi temÂple, of course, but also Raj-era creÂations like what was then known as the GovÂernÂment House in CalÂcutÂta (see below).
ColoÂnial rule has been over for nearÂly eighty years now, and in that time India has grown richÂer in every sense, not least visuÂalÂly. It hardÂly takes an eye as keen as Bourne’s to recÂogÂnize in it one of the world’s great civÂiÂlizaÂtions, but a Bourne of the twenÂty-first cenÂtuÂry probÂaÂbly needs someÂthing more than a camÂera phone to do it jusÂtice.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
“We can say of ShakeÂspeare,” wrote T.S. Eliot—in what may sound like the most backÂhandÂed of comÂpliÂments from one writer to another—“that nevÂer has a man turned so litÂtle knowlÂedge to such great account.” Eliot, it’s true, was not overÂawed by the ShakeÂspeareÂan canon; he proÂnouncedHamÂlet “most cerÂtainÂly an artisÂtic failÂure,” though he did love CoriÂolanus. WhatÂevÂer we make of his ambivaÂlent, conÂtrarÂiÂan opinÂions of the most famous author in the EngÂlish lanÂguage, we can credÂit Eliot for keen obserÂvaÂtion: Shakespeare’s uniÂverse, which can seem so sprawlÂingÂly vast, is actuÂalÂly surÂprisÂingÂly spare givÂen the kinds of things it mostÂly conÂtains.
This is due in large part to the visuÂal limÂiÂtaÂtions of the stage, but perÂhaps it also points toward an author who made great works of art from humÂble mateÂriÂals. Look, for examÂple, at a search cloud of the Bard’s plays.
You’ll find one the front page of the VicÂtoÂriÂan IllusÂtratÂed ShakeÂspeare Archive, creÂatÂed by Michael John GoodÂman, an indeÂpenÂdent researcher, writer, eduÂcaÂtor, curaÂtor and image-makÂer. The cloud on the left feaÂtures a galaxy comÂposed mainÂly of eleÂmenÂtal and archeÂtypÂal beings: “AniÂmals,” “CasÂtles and Palaces,” “Crowns,” “FloÂra and FauÂna,” “Swords,” “Spears,” “Trees,” “Water,” “Woods,” “Death.” One thinks of the ZodiÂac or Tarot.
This parÂticÂuÂlar search cloud, howÂevÂer, does not repÂreÂsent the most promiÂnent terms in the text, but rather the most promiÂnent images in four colÂlecÂtions of illusÂtratÂed ShakeÂspeare plays from the VicÂtoÂriÂan periÂod. Goodman’s site hosts over 3000 of these illusÂtraÂtions, takÂen from four major UK ediÂtions of ShakeÂspeare’s ComÂplete Works pubÂlished in the mid-19th cenÂtuÂry. The first, pubÂlished by ediÂtor Charles Knight, appeared in sevÂerÂal volÂumes between 1838 and 1841, illusÂtratÂed with conÂserÂvÂaÂtive engravÂings by varÂiÂous artists. Knight’s ediÂtion introÂduced the trend of spelling Shakespeare’s name as “Shakspere,” as you can see in the title page to the “ComeÂdies, VolÂume I,” at the top of the post. FurÂther down, see two repÂreÂsenÂtaÂtive illusÂtraÂtions from the plays, the first of HamÂlet’s OpheÂlia and secÂond CoriÂolanus’ Roman Forum, above.
Part of a wave of “earÂly VicÂtoÂriÂan popÂulism” in ShakeÂspeare pubÂlishÂing, Knight’s ediÂtion is joined by one from KenÂny MeadÂows, who conÂtributed some very difÂferÂent illusÂtraÂtions to an 1854 ediÂtion. Just above, see a Goya-like illusÂtraÂtion from The TemÂpest. LatÂer came an ediÂtion illusÂtratÂed by H.C. Selous in 1864, which returned to the forÂmal, faithÂful realÂism of the Knight ediÂtion (see a renÂderÂing of HenÂry V, below), and includes phoÂtograuÂvure plates of famed actors of the time in cosÂtume and an appenÂdix of “SpeÂcial Wood Engraved IllusÂtraÂtions by VarÂiÂous Artists.”
The final ediÂtion whose illusÂtraÂtions GoodÂman has digÂiÂtized and catÂaÂlogued on his site feaÂtures engravÂings by artist John Gilbert. Also pubÂlished in 1864, the Gilbert may be the most expresÂsive of the four, retainÂing realÂist proÂporÂtions and mise-en-scène, yet also renÂderÂing the charÂacÂters with a psyÂchoÂlogÂiÂcal realÂism that is at times unsettling—as in his fierce porÂtrait of Lear, below. Gilbert’s illusÂtraÂtion of The TamÂing of the Shrew’s KatheÂriÂna and PetruÂchio, furÂther down, shows his skill for creÂatÂing believÂable indiÂvidÂuÂals, rather than broad archeÂtypes. The same skill for which the playÂwright has so often been givÂen credÂit.
But ShakeÂspeare worked both with rich, indiÂvidÂual charÂacÂter studÂies and broadÂer, archeÂtypÂal, mateÂrÂiÂal: psyÂchoÂlogÂiÂcal realÂism and mythoÂlogÂiÂcal clasÂsiÂcism. What I think these illusÂtratÂed ediÂtions show us is that ShakeÂspeare, whoÂevÂer he (or she) may have been, did indeed have a keen sense of what Eliot called the “objecÂtive corÂrelÂaÂtive,” able to comÂmuÂniÂcate comÂplex emoÂtions through “a skillÂful accuÂmuÂlaÂtion of imagÂined senÂsoÂry impresÂsions” that have impressed us as much on the canÂvas, stage, and screen as they do on the page. The emoÂtionÂal expresÂsiveÂness of Shakespeare’s plays comes to us not only through eloÂquent verse speechÂes, but through images of both the starkÂly eleÂmenÂtal and the uniqueÂly perÂsonÂal.
Spend some time with the illusÂtratÂed ediÂtions on Goodman’s site, and you will develÂop an appreÂciÂaÂtion for how the plays comÂmuÂniÂcate difÂferÂentÂly to the difÂferÂent artists. In addiÂtion to the search clouds, the site has a headÂer at the top for each of the four ediÂtions. Click on the name and you will see front and back matÂter and title pages. In the pull-down menus, you can access each indiÂvidÂual play’s digÂiÂtized illusÂtraÂtions by type—“Histories,” “ComeÂdies,” and “Tragedies.” All of the conÂtent on the site, GoodÂman writes, “is free through a CC license: users can share on social media, remix, research, creÂate and just do whatÂevÂer they want realÂly!”
Update: This post origÂiÂnalÂly appeared on our site in 2016. Since then, GoodÂman has been regÂuÂlarÂly updatÂing the VicÂtoÂriÂan IllusÂtratÂed ShakeÂspeare Archive with more ediÂtions, givÂing it more richÂness and depth. These ediÂtions include “one pubÂlished by John Tallis, which feaÂtures famous actors of the time in charÂacÂter.” This also includes “the first ever comÂpreÂhenÂsive full-colour treatÂment of Shakespeare’s plays with the John MurÂdoch ediÂtion.” The archive, GoodÂman tells us, “now conÂtains ten ediÂtions of Shakespeare’s plays and is fairÂly comÂpreÂhenÂsive in how peoÂple were expeÂriÂencÂing ShakeÂspeare, visuÂalÂly, in book form in the 19th CenÂtuÂry.”
This year has givÂen us occaÂsion to revisÂit the 1928 DisÂney carÂtoon SteamÂboat Willie, what with its entry — and thus, that of an earÂly verÂsion of a cerÂtain MickÂey Mouse — into the pubÂlic domain. Though it may look comÂparÂaÂtiveÂly primÂiÂtive today, that eight-minute black-and-white film actuÂalÂly repÂreÂsents a great many advanceÂments in the art and techÂnolÂoÂgy of aniÂmaÂtion since its incepÂtion. You can get a sense of that entire process, just about, from the video above, “The EvoÂluÂtion of AniÂmaÂtion 1833–2017,” which ends up at The LEGO BatÂman Movie but begins with the humÂble phenakistisÂcope.
First introÂduced to the pubÂlic in 1833, the phenakistisÂcope is an illusÂtratÂed disc that, when spun, creÂates the illuÂsion of motion. EssenÂtialÂly a novÂelÂty designed to creÂate an optiÂcal illuÂsion (the Greek roots of its name being phenakizein, or “deceivÂing,” and Ăłps, or “eye”), it seems to have attained great popÂuÂlarÂiÂty as a chilÂdren’s toy in the nineÂteenth cenÂtuÂry, and it latÂer became capaÂble of proÂjecÂtion and gained utilÂiÂty in sciÂenÂtifÂic research. PioÂneerÂing motion phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer EadÂweard MuyÂbridge’s ZoopraxÂisÂcope, now immorÂtalÂized in cinÂeÂma hisÂtoÂry as a preÂdeÂcesÂsor of the movie proÂjecÂtor, was based on the phenakistisÂcope.
The first moments of “The EvoÂluÂtion of AniÂmaÂtion” include a couÂple of phenakistisÂcopes, but soon the comÂpiÂlaÂtion moves on to clips starÂring someÂwhat betÂter-known figÂures from the earÂly twenÂtiÂeth cenÂtuÂry like LitÂtle Nemo and GerÂtie the Dinosaur. But it’s only after SteamÂboat Willie that aniÂmaÂtion underÂgoes its real creÂative exploÂsion, bringÂing to whimÂsiÂcal and hyperÂkiÂnetÂic life not just human charÂacÂters but a host of aniÂmals, trees, and non-livÂing objects besides. After releasÂing the monÂuÂmenÂtal Snow White in 1937, DisÂney domÂiÂnatÂed the form both techÂnoÂlogÂiÂcalÂly and artisÂtiÂcalÂly for at least three decades. Though this video does conÂtain plenÂty of DisÂney, it also includes the work of othÂer stuÂdios that have explored quite difÂferÂent areas of the vast field of posÂsiÂbilÂiÂty in aniÂmaÂtion.
Take, for examÂple, the psyÂcheÂdelÂic BeaÂtÂles movie YelÂlow SubÂmaÂrine, the French-Czech surÂreÂalÂist sciÂence-ficÂtion fable FanÂtasÂtic PlanÂet, the stop-motion between-holÂiÂdays specÂtaÂcle of The NightÂmare Before ChristÂmas, and of course, the depth and refineÂment of Hayao MiyazaÂki’s StuÂdio GhiÂbÂli, beginÂning with NauÂsiÂcaä of the ValÂley of the Wind (which came before the forÂmaÂtion of the stuÂdio itself). From the mid-nineties — with cerÂtain notable excepÂtions, like WalÂlace & Gromit: The Movie and CharÂlie KaufÂman’s AnomÂaLÂisa — comÂputÂer-genÂerÂatÂed 3D aniÂmaÂtion more or less takes over from the traÂdiÂtionÂal variÂeties. This has proÂduced a numÂber of feaÂtures wideÂly conÂsidÂered masÂterÂpieces, most of them from the now-DisÂney-owned Pixar. But after expeÂriÂencÂing the hisÂtoÂry of the form in miniaÂture, it’s temptÂing to hope that the next stage of the aniÂmaÂtion’s evoÂluÂtion will involve the redisÂcovÂery of its past.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
There was a time, not so very long ago, when many AmerÂiÂcans watchÂing movies at home neiÂther knew nor cared who directÂed those movies. Nor did they feel parÂticÂuÂlarÂly comÂfortÂable with diaÂlogue that someÂtimes came subÂtiÂtled, or with the “black bars” that appeared below the frame. The conÂsidÂerÂable evoÂluÂtion of these audiÂences’ genÂerÂal relaÂtionÂship to film since then owes someÂthing to the adopÂtion of widescreen teleÂviÂsions, but also to the CriÂteÂriÂon ColÂlecÂtion: the home-video brand that has been tarÂgetÂing its presÂtige releasÂes of acclaimed films squareÂly at cinephiles — and even more so, at cinephiles with a colÂlectÂing impulse — for four decades now.
“The company’s first release was a LaserDisc ediÂtion of CitÂiÂzen Kane that includÂed supÂpleÂmenÂtary mateÂriÂals like a video essay and extenÂsive linÂer notes on the proveÂnance of the negÂaÂtive from which the restoraÂtion was made,” writes the New York Times’ MagÂaÂzine’s Joshua Hunt in a recent piece on how CriÂteÂriÂon became a (or perÂhaps the) cinÂeÂmatÂic tastemakÂer.
“Next came King Kong, which feaÂtured the first ever audio-comÂmenÂtary track, inspired, as an afterÂthought, by the stoÂries that the film scholÂar Ronald Haver told while superÂvisÂing the tedious process of transÂferÂring the film from celÂluÂloid.”
With the comÂing of the more sucÂcessÂful DVD forÂmat in the late nineÂteen-nineties, such audio-comÂmenÂtary tracks became a staÂple feaÂture of video releasÂes, CriÂteÂriÂon or othÂerÂwise. They were a godÂsend to the cinephiles of my genÂerÂaÂtion comÂing of age in that era, a kind of inforÂmal but intenÂsive film school taught by not just expert scholÂars but, often, the auteurs themÂselves. “Some of the earÂliÂest were recordÂed by MarÂtin ScorsÂese for the Taxi DriÂver and RagÂing Bull LaserDiscs, which helped cement his influÂence on an entire genÂerÂaÂtion of young direcÂtors” — includÂing a cerÂtain Wes AnderÂson, who would go on to record comÂmenÂtary tracks for the CriÂteÂriÂon releasÂes of his own picÂtures.
At this point, CriÂteÂriÂon has “become the arbiter of what makes a great movie, more so than any HolÂlyÂwood stuÂdio or awards cerÂeÂmoÂny.” It’s also amassed an unusuÂalÂly dedÂiÂcatÂed cusÂtomer base, as explained in the RoyÂal Ocean Film SociÂety video “The Cult of the CriÂteÂriÂon ColÂlecÂtion.” “We’re at a point in film culÂture where brands are increasÂingÂly more popÂuÂlar than prodÂucts,” says host Andrew SalÂadiÂno, a self-conÂfessed CriÂteÂriÂon devoÂtee. “More and more, it seems as though the films and the peoÂple who made them are secÂondary to the name and logo of the comÂpaÂny behind them,” a pheÂnomÂeÂnon that CriÂteÂriÂon — itself a kind of media uniÂverse — someÂhow both parÂticÂiÂpates in and risÂes above.
“While stuÂdios and streamÂing serÂvices chase audiÂences by proÂducÂing endÂless sequels and spinÂoffs,” writes Hunt, “CriÂteÂriÂon has built a brand that audiÂences trust to lead them.” I can tesÂtiÂfy to its havÂing led me to the work of auteurs from Chris MarkÂer to Jacques Tati, AkiÂra KuroÂsawa to YasuÂjiro Ozu, Robert AltÂman to NicoÂlas Roeg. Today, budÂding cinÂeÂma enthuÂsiÂasts can even benÂeÂfit from the advice of famous direcÂtors and actors for navÂiÂgatÂing its now‑1,650-title-strong catÂaÂlog through its “CriÂteÂriÂon closÂet” video series. RecentÂly, that closÂet has hostÂed the likes of Paul GiaÂmatÂti, Willem Dafoe, and Wim WenÂders, who pulls off the shelf a copy of his own Until the End of the World — which CriÂteÂriÂon released, of course, in its nearÂly five-hour-long direcÂtor’s cut. “I always think this is maybe the best thing I’ve done in my life,” he says, “but then again, who am I to judge?”
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
SupÂply chains—we nevÂer thought too much about them. That is, until the panÂdemÂic, when supÂply chains expeÂriÂenced severe disÂrupÂtions worldÂwide, leavÂing us waitÂing for prodÂucts for weeks, if not months. That’s when we startÂed appreÂciÂatÂing the imporÂtance of supÂply chains and their resilience.
ComÂpaÂnies like Unilever rely on supÂply chains to manÂuÂfacÂture their goods (e.g., Dove, LipÂton, and Ben & JerÂry’s) and then move them around the globe. For Unilever, it’s essenÂtial that their supÂply chains remain effiÂcient and strong. WorkÂing in partÂnerÂship with CoursÂera, the comÂpaÂny has creÂatÂed a new SupÂply Chain Data AnaÂlyst ProÂfesÂsionÂal CerÂtifiÂcate to help entry-levÂel proÂfesÂsionÂals learn more about using data to manÂage effecÂtive supÂply chains. Designed to be comÂpletÂed in roughÂly four months, the cerÂtifiÂcateconÂsists of four coursÂes: 1) SupÂply Chain ManÂageÂment and AnaÂlytÂics, 2) Using Data AnaÂlytÂics in SupÂply Chain, 3) ImpleÂmentÂing SupÂply Chain AnaÂlytÂics, and 4) SupÂply Chain SoftÂware Tools.
As stuÂdents move through the proÂgram, they will learn how to “achieve cost savÂings, reduce lead times, enhance cusÂtomer satÂisÂfacÂtion, and adapt to changÂing marÂket conÂdiÂtions through data-driÂven insights and anaÂlytÂiÂcal approachÂes.” They will also learn key skills like demand foreÂcastÂing and how to monÂiÂtor supÂply chains for secuÂriÂty risks.
EmphaÂsizÂing real-world expeÂriÂence, stuÂdents will “take on the role of an anaÂlyst for a ficÂtiÂtious conÂsumer goods comÂpaÂny speÂcialÂizÂing in organÂic farm to table conÂsumer prodÂucts. With over 20 unique assignÂments, [stuÂdents will] use spreadÂsheets and visuÂalÂizaÂtion tools to anaÂlyze data and make recÂomÂmenÂdaÂtions.”
You can audit the four coursÂes for free, or sign up to earn a shareÂable cerÂtifiÂcate for a fee. StuÂdents who select the latÂter option will be charged $49 per month. CoursÂera estiÂmates that the cerÂtifiÂcate will take four months to comÂplete, assumÂing you’re dedÂiÂcatÂing 10 hours per week. That amounts to about $200 in total. You can enroll here.
In addiÂtion, until March 31, 2024, CoursÂera is offerÂing $100 off of CoursÂera Plus, which will let you take 7,000 coursÂes (includÂing the ones above) and not pay for the cerÂtifiÂcates. If you plan to take a lot of coursÂes, and want to earn cerÂtifiÂcates, it can be a cost effecÂtive approach.
Note: Open CulÂture has a partÂnerÂship with CoursÂera. If readÂers enroll in cerÂtain CoursÂera coursÂes and proÂgrams, it helps supÂport Open CulÂture.
The YouTube chanÂnel Lost in Time has takÂen footage from the legÂendary Lumière brothÂers, origÂiÂnalÂly shot in 1896, then upscaled and colÂorized it, givÂing us a chance to see a disÂtant world through a modÂern lens. NearÂing the end of the 19th cenÂtuÂry, the film pioÂneers (and their employÂees) visÂitÂed difÂferÂent parts of the world and capÂtured footage of life in Barcelona, Jerusalem, Venice, Moscow, IstanÂbul, Kyoto and othÂer locaÂtions. For viewÂers, unacÂcusÂtomed to seeÂing movÂing films, let alone far-flung parts of the world, it must have been a sight to behold. Below, you can see the difÂferÂent places feaÂtured in the footage, along with timeÂstamps. To see what the origÂiÂnal black & whitefootage looked like, visÂit this post in our archive.
00:00 Intro
00:12 France
01:50 New York City, UnitÂed States
02:38 Jerusalem
04:25 GeneÂva, SwitzerÂland
04:53 VietÂnam
05:12 MarÂtinique
05:22 Paris, France
07:56 Madrid, Spain
08:07 Barcelona, Spain
08:43 Venice, Italy
09:00 LonÂdon, UnitÂed KingÂdom
09:49 GerÂmany
10:17 Dublin, IreÂland
11:00 Moscow, RusÂsia
11:24 Lyon, France
14:56 Giza, Egypt
15:36 IstanÂbul, Turkey
15:58 Kyoto, Tokyo
16:20 MarÂseille, France
16:35 La CioÂtat, France
Lawrence FishÂburne brings a degree of gravÂiÂty to his roles offered by few othÂer livÂing actors. That has secured his place in pop culÂture as MorÂpheus from The Matrix, for examÂple. But he could even marÂshal it earÂly in his career, as eviÂdenced by his role as ApocÂaÂlypse Now’s “Mr. Clean,” which he took on at just fourÂteen years old. But it was a much more recent perÂforÂmance he gave for LetÂters Live, which you can see in the video above, that clearÂly brings out the qualÂiÂties that have made him a beloved and endurÂing figÂure onscreen: not just his moral seriÂousÂness, but this sense of humor as well.
“To my old masÂter,” FishÂburne begins, getÂting a laugh right away. The letÂter in quesÂtion, preÂviÂousÂly feaÂtured here on Open CulÂture, was origÂiÂnalÂly writÂten in 1865 by a man named JourÂdon AnderÂson, who had escaped a life of slavÂery in TenÂnessee with his wife the preÂviÂous year. HavÂing since fallÂen on hard times, that forÂmer masÂter had writÂten to AnderÂson and asked him to come back to work on the planÂtaÂtion. “I have often felt uneasy about you,” AnderÂson writes. “I thought the YanÂkees would’ve hung you before this for harÂborÂing Rebs that they found at your house,” among othÂer crimes he recalls.
HavÂing set himÂself and his famÂiÂly up in Ohio, AnderÂson could hardÂly have felt temptÂed to go down South again. “I want to know parÂticÂuÂlarÂly what the good chance is you proÂpose to give me,” he writes. “I am doing tolÂerÂaÂbly well here. I get $25 a month, with victÂuals and clothÂing, have a comÂfortÂable home for Mandy — the folks call her Mrs. AnderÂson — and the chilÂdren, MilÂlie, Jane, and Grundy, go to school and are learnÂing well.” But “if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will betÂter be able to decide whether it will be to my advanÂtage to move back again.”
FishÂburne delivÂers these lines with a thick layÂer of irony, as AnderÂson no doubt intendÂed. “Mandy says she would be afraid to go back withÂout some proof that you were disÂposed to treat us kindÂly and justÂly, and we have conÂcludÂed to test your sinÂcerÂiÂty by askÂing you to send us our wages for the time that we served you.” When FishÂburne says that, he pracÂtiÂcalÂly gets a standÂing ovaÂtion, and indeed, the letÂter met with a favorÂable recepÂtion in its day as well — not from Colonel P. H. AnderÂson himÂself, but from the readÂers of the newsÂpaÂpers in which it was reprintÂed. In the end, JourÂdon AnderÂson kept his freeÂdom, and got fame lastÂing more than a cenÂtuÂry after his death to go with it.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall or on FaceÂbook.
DurÂing World War II, Tokyo susÂtained heavy damÂage, espeÂcialÂly with the bombÂings conÂductÂed by the U.S. milÂiÂtary in March 1945. Known as OperÂaÂtion MeetÂingÂhouse, US air raids destroyed 16 square miles in cenÂtral Tokyo, leavÂing 100,000 civilÂians dead and one milÂlion homeÂless. Tokyo didÂn’t recovÂer quickÂly. It took until the 1950s for reconÂstrucÂtion to realÂly gain momenÂtum. But gain momenÂtum it did. By 1964, Tokyo found itself largeÂly rebuilt, modÂernÂized, and ready to host the Olympics. That brings us to the 1968 film above, A Day in Tokyo, creÂatÂed by the Japan NationÂal Tourism OrgaÂniÂzaÂtion (JNTO) to proÂmote tourism in the rebuilt city.
The webÂsite JapanÂese NosÂtalÂgic Carsets the scene:
The year 1968 was a speÂcial time for Japan. It was emergÂing as a modÂern counÂtry. The Tokyo Olympics had just been held a few years priÂor. BulÂlet trains, high-speed expressÂways, and colÂor teleÂviÂsion broadÂcasts were spreadÂing throughÂout the land. The year before saw the ToyÂota 2000GT and MazÂda CosÂmo Sport, Japan’s conÂtemÂpoÂrary sports cars, debut. It must have been incredÂiÂbly excitÂing.
In the 23-minute film above, you can revisÂit this moment of transÂforÂmaÂtion and renewÂal, when Tokyo—as the film’s narÂraÂtor put it—combined the best of new and old. Here, in the “conÂstant metaÂbolÂic cycle of destrucÂtion and creÂation, Tokyo proÂgressÂes at a dizzyÂing pace.” And it’s a sight to behold. Enjoy.
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