John Landis Deconstructs Trailers of Great 20th Century Films: Citizen Kane, Sunset Boulevard, 2001 & More

If you call your­self a film fan, you may have heard of Trail­ers from Hell, a video series where­in famous direc­tors intro­duce and pro­vide com­men­tary on trail­ers of the films they love, the films they’ve made, or both. You’ve def­i­nite­ly heard of it if you call your­self a fan of schlock film, since some of the Trail­ers from Hell include that of The Giant Claw with com­men­tary by Joe Dante, that of Teen Wolf with com­men­tary by Ti West, and that of One Mil­lion Years B.C. with com­men­tary by John Lan­dis.

Lan­dis, direc­tor of come­dies like Ani­mal HouseThe Blues Broth­ers, and (some­how, his favorite of the bunch) Com­ing to Amer­i­ca, has record­ed a great many episodes, and no sur­prise, since he enjoys schlock so much that he actu­al­ly made a film of that name at the age of 21 — and then did a Trail­er from Hell on it at the age of 63. But as one of those film­mak­ers pos­sessed of a cinephil­ia as strong as his mas­tery of the craft itself, his love for movies extends to the widest pos­si­ble spec­trum of theme and sen­si­bil­i­ty: hence his episodes here on the decid­ed­ly non-schlocky Cit­i­zen KaneSun­set Boule­vard2001: A Space Odyssey, and La Stra­da.

Much about Lan­dis makes him exact­ly the kind of guy you want to hear talk­ing about movies, be they movies like Felli­ni Satyri­con or movies like King Kong vs. Godzil­la. Not only does his sheer enthu­si­asm for film­go­ing come through in his every obser­va­tion, but he brings to bear plen­ty of expe­ri­ence with the nuts and bolts of film­mak­ing. He dis­cuss­es, in the brief time these trail­ers allow, not just the qual­i­ties of the fea­tures but of the trail­ers them­selves. He also throws in, when rel­e­vant, fas­ci­nat­ing anec­dotes from his life as a movie­go­er and moviemak­er. And above it all, he does it with a wonki­ly cinephilic sense of humor, as you’ll under­stand right when you hear him intro­duce him­self in each episode — and as you’d prob­a­bly expect from the guy who direct­ed Ken­tucky Fried Movie.

You can watch all the Trail­ers from Hell from Lan­dis, Dante, West, Karyn Kusama, Mick Gar­ris, John Bad­ham, and oth­ers on their Youtube chan­nel.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Moviedrome: Film­mak­er Alex Cox Pro­vides Video Intro­duc­tions to 100+ Clas­sic Cult Films

Watch Orson Welles’ Trail­er for Cit­i­zen Kane: As Inno­v­a­tive as the Film Itself

Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey Gets a Brand New Trail­er to Cel­e­brate Its Dig­i­tal Re-Release

Watch 25 Alfred Hitch­cock Trail­ers, Excit­ing Films in Their Own Right

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

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear Hemingway Read Hemingway, and Faulkner Read Faulkner (90 Minutes of Classic Audio)

Hemingway.Faulkner

Images via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er, Faulkn­er and Hem­ing­way…. The Amer­i­can lit­er­ary canon has expand­ed so much in the past thir­ty years or so that it almost spans the globe, like Amer­i­can busi­ness, draw­ing in writ­ers from every pos­si­ble cor­ner. With greater inclu­sion comes the pass­ing out of fash­ion of many a for­mer icon (does any­one read Dreis­er or Dos Pas­sos any­more?). And yet, no mat­ter how much crit­i­cal tastes and schol­ar­ly mea­sures change, it seems we’ll nev­er be able to do with­out our Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er.

Per­haps it’s their deep takes on history—Hemingway’s sen­ti­men­tal war cor­re­spon­dence and trag­ic sense of a chang­ing Europe; Faulkner’s sense of a South held in thrall to squalid delu­sions of grandeur and epic colo­nial vio­lence. Geopo­lit­i­cal­ly rel­e­vant they still may be, but there’s much more to both than geopol­i­tics. Per­haps it’s the time­less styl­is­tic dialec­tic, or the Nobels, or the trad­ed insults, or that the names them­selves, like Roo­sevelt and Kennedy, trig­ger instant recall of the “Amer­i­can cen­tu­ry.” Of course, devo­tees of Faulkn­er (I am one), of Hem­ing­way, or of Faulkn­er and Hem­ing­way need no ratio­nale, and it is to such peo­ple prin­ci­pal­ly that today’s post is addressed.

For today, we bring you Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er, read­ing Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er. In the Spo­ti­fy playlists above (down­load Spo­ti­fy here), we have both authors read­ing from their Nobel accep­tance speech­es, then excerpts from their lit­er­ary works. These record­ings were orig­i­nal­ly released as vinyl albums by Caed­mon Records, that pre-audio­book phe­nom­e­non found­ed by Bar­bara Holdridge and Mar­i­anne Roney in 1952. Caed­mon released albums of read­ings by dozens of major writ­ers, like Dylan Thomas and Eudo­ra Wel­ty, and we have fea­tured many of them here before—such as those from T.S. Eliot, Sylvia Plath, W.H. Auden, and Ten­nessee Williams (read­ing Hart Crane). But today, it’s Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er, who despite—or because of—their dif­fer­ences, belong togeth­er for­ev­er as great Amer­i­can lit­er­ary patri­archs, even if patri­archy is ter­mi­nal­ly passé.

If you need the Spo­ti­fy soft­ware, please down­load it here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 55 Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es: From Dante and Mil­ton to Ker­ouac and Tolkien

William Faulkner’s Review of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea (1952)

18 (Free) Books Ernest Hem­ing­way Wished He Could Read Again for the First Time

Rare Audio: William Faulkn­er Names His Best Nov­el, And the First Faulkn­er Nov­el You Should Read

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

Federico Fellini’s List of His 10 Favorite Films … Including One of His Own

Film fans have few stronger vices, I would sub­mit, than the mak­ing of lists. But we can take some small mea­sure of con­so­la­tion from the fact that cer­tain auteurs have occa­sion­al­ly done it too. Yes they make their own lists of favorite films. Quentin Taran­ti­no has done it. So have Stan­ley Kubrick and Woody Allen. Same with Andrei Tarkovsky, Susan Son­tag and Aki­ra Kuro­sawa. And then there’s one of the most inter­est­ing lists — that of Fed­eri­co Felli­ni, which orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Sight and Sound. It runs as fol­lows:

  1. The Cir­cus/City Lights/Monsieur Ver­doux (1928,31,47, Charles Chap­lin)
  2. Any Marx Broth­ers or Lau­rel and Hardy
  3. Stage­coach (1939, John Ford)
  4. Rashomon (1950, Aki­ra Kuro­sawa)
  5. The Dis­creet Charm of the Bour­geoisie (1972, Luis Bunuel)
  6. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968, Stan­ley Kubrick)
  7. Paisan (1946, Rober­to Rosselli­ni)
  8. The Birds (1963, Alfred Hitch­cock)
  9. Wild Straw­ber­ries (1957, Ing­mar Bergman)
  10. 8 1/2 (1963, Fed­eri­co Felli­ni)

Nev­er a slave to restraint, Felli­ni bends the tac­it rules of list-mak­ing in a few dif­fer­ent ways here. He includes not one but three films, all by Char­lie Chap­lin, in the top spot, ranks the com­plete comedic works of both the Marx Broth­ers (whose 1928 The Cir­cus you can watch above) and Lau­rel and Hardy in third place, and, in the most auda­cious act of all, adds a movie of his own to the list. Maybe the fact that he puts it at num­ber ten scores him a humil­i­ty point?

Then again, the direc­tor of La Dolce VitaSatyri­con, and Juli­et of the Spir­its could have found his dis­tinc­tive­ly grotesque and cel­e­bra­to­ry world­view real­ized nowhere but in his own work. And upon reflec­tion, putting 8 1/2 in last place looks over­mod­est. “I have seen 8 1/2 over and over again, and my appre­ci­a­tion only deep­ens,” wrote Roger Ebert in a piece on the film. “It does what is almost impos­si­ble: Felli­ni is a magi­cian who dis­cuss­es, reveals, explains and decon­structs his tricks, while still fool­ing us with them. He claims he does­n’t know what he wants or how to achieve it, and the film proves he knows exact­ly, and rejoic­es in his knowl­edge.” And he knew he was damn good.

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!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andrei Tarkovsky Cre­ates a List of His 10 Favorite Films (1972)

Ing­mar Bergman Eval­u­ates His Fel­low Film­mak­ers — The “Affect­ed” Godard, “Infan­tile” Hitch­cock & Sub­lime Tarkovsky

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films (The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed)

Roger Ebert’s Final List of His Top 10 Favorite Films (2012)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Neil Gaiman Reads “The Man Who Forgot Ray Bradbury”

man who forgot ray bradbury

Neil Gaiman sent Ray Brad­bury a gift for what turned out to be his last birth­day, his 91st. It was a sto­ry called “The Man Who For­got Ray Brad­bury.” And when Brad­bury’s edi­tor read it to the bed-rid­den author, he report­ed­ly took great plea­sure in it.

What could have been bet­ter? I guess only hear­ing Neil Gaiman read the sto­ry him­self. Which is pre­cise­ly what you can do with the audio below.

Gaiman’s read­ing was taped at the Aladdin The­ater in Port­land, Ore­gon. You can read the text of the sto­ry over at i09. We have many more instances of Gaiman read­ing Gaiman in our col­lec­tion of Free Neil Gaiman Sto­ries.

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!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Gaiman’s Free Short Sto­ries

Neil Gaiman Reads Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham

Watch Steven Soderbergh’s Re-Edited Version of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey Free Online

kubrick soderbergh 3

In 2013, Steven Soder­bergh told me dur­ing an inter­view that he was retir­ing. “Five years ago, as we were fin­ish­ing Che, I said, ‘OK, when I turn 50, I want to be done. I’m going to jam in as much as I can, but when I turn 50, I want to be done.’ ”

Yet Soderbergh’s con­cept of retire­ment must be dif­fer­ent from most mor­tals. In the past year, he not only exec­u­tive pro­duced the Show­time series The Knick but he also direct­ed all ten episodes. Using the han­dle @Bitchuation, he wrote an entire nov­el on Twit­ter called Glue. And he pro­duced and direct­ed a Broad­way show star­ring Chloë Grace Moretz called The Library. And in his copi­ous free time, he’s been pro­duc­ing var­i­ous cin­e­mat­ic exper­i­ments on his web­site Exten­sion 765, which includ­ed a piece that spliced togeth­er Alfred Hitchcock’s Psy­cho with Gus Van Sant’s bizarro shot-by-shot remake, a black and white ver­sion of Raiders of the Lost Ark and an edit of Michael Cimino’s famous­ly bloat­ed Heaven’s Gates.

In his lat­est work, Soder­bergh takes a crack at Stan­ley Kubrick’s mas­ter­piece 2001: A Space Odyssey. You can watch it here. As he writes on his site:

i’ve been watch­ing 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY reg­u­lar­ly for four decades, but it wasn’t until a few years ago i start­ed think­ing about touch­ing it, and then over the hol­i­days i decid­ed to make my move. why now? I don’t know. maybe i wasn’t old enough to touch it until now. maybe i was too scared to touch it until now, because not only does the film not need my—or any­one else’s—help, but if it’s not THE most impres­sive­ly imag­ined and sus­tained piece of visu­al art cre­at­ed in the 20th cen­tu­ry, then it’s tied for first. mean­ing IF i was final­ly going to touch it, i’d bet­ter have a big­ger idea than just trim­ming or re-scor­ing.

What that big­ger idea is, how­ev­er, isn’t imme­di­ate­ly clear. Soderbergh’s ver­sion is a good 50 min­utes short­er than the orig­i­nal. Unlike the orig­i­nal, which unfolds in a delib­er­ate pace, Soderbergh’s ver­sion moves briskly. Most of the cuts aren’t imme­di­ate­ly missed.

But there is one clear, and jar­ring dif­fer­ence between the two – he drops HAL’s unblink­ing elec­tron­ic red eye into unex­pect­ed scenes. It pops up right in the begin­ning, then again when the tribe of ear­ly humans first encounter the mono­lith, and then again dur­ing the film’s trip­py light show deep at the end. Where­as Kubrick used the HAL’s eye as a sin­is­ter exam­ple of the per­ils of tech­nol­o­gy and mankind’s hubris, Soder­bergh turns it into some­thing else, some­thing more spir­i­tu­al. Does it work? I don’t know. But it’s inter­est­ing.

Soder­bergh goes on to argue that Kubrick, were he alive, would be a big fan of dig­i­tal video and he makes a pret­ty com­pelling case.

i believe SK would have embraced the cur­rent crop of dig­i­tal cam­eras, because from a visu­al stand­point, he was obsessed with two things: absolute fideli­ty to real­i­ty-based light sources, and image sta­bi­liza­tion. regard­ing the for­mer, the increased sen­si­tiv­i­ty with­out res­o­lu­tion loss allows us to real­ly cap­ture the world as it is, and regard­ing the lat­ter, post-2001 SK gen­er­al­ly shot mat­te perf film (nor­mal­ly reserved for effects shots, because of its added steadi­ness) all day, every day, some­thing which dig­i­tal cap­ture makes moot. pile on things like nev­er being dis­tract­ed by weav­ing, splices, dirt, scratch­es, bad lab match­es dur­ing changeovers, changeovers them­selves, bad fram­ing and focus exac­er­bat­ed by pro­jec­tor vibra­tion, and you can see why i think he might dig dig­i­tal.

Again, you can watch Soder­bergh’s re-edit of 2001 here. More films can be found in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Steven Soderbergh’s Cre­ative Mashup of Hitch­cock and Gus Van Sant’s Psy­cho Films

Steven Soder­bergh Cre­ates Silent, Black & White Recut of Raiders of the Lost Ark to Explain the Art of “Stag­ing”

Steven Soder­bergh Cre­ates a Big List of What He Watched, Read & Lis­tened to in 2014

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 @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

365: One Animated Film, Shot One Second a Day, Over One Year

Back in Sep­tem­ber, we high­light­ed an ani­ma­tion that humor­ous­ly imag­ined David Bowie and Bri­an Eno’s col­lab­o­ra­tion on the song, “Warsza­wa,” which even­tu­al­ly appeared on the album, Low. The car­toon was cre­at­ed by The Broth­ers McLeod, and they’re now back with an ani­ma­tion called “365 — One Year, One Film, One Sec­ond a Day.” The title pret­ty much says it all. But if you want more back­ground infor­ma­tion, here’s how Vimeo frames the clip: “Greg [McLeod] ani­mat­ed one sec­ond of ani­ma­tion every day for the 365 days of the year 2013. There was no sto­ry­line, script or sto­ry­board. The ideas come from things read, seen or expe­ri­enced on the day, with a lit­tle artis­tic license for good mea­sure.” The result you can watch above. Also find dai­ly stills from the project on Face­book.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter and Google Plus and share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

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George Lucas Shoots a Cinema Verité-Style Documentary on Francis Ford Coppola (1969)

In 1968, years before Amer­i­can Graf­fi­ti, Raiders of the Lost Ark and, shud­der, the Star Wars pre­quels, George Lucas was a strug­gling film­mak­er with a cou­ple of exper­i­men­tal films movies under his belt. His short Elec­tron­ic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB took first prize at the Nation­al Stu­dent Film Fes­ti­val, but he had yet to make the plunge into fea­ture films. So he did what many oth­er artists and cre­ative types did in the past – he glommed onto a more suc­cess­ful friend.

The friend in this case was Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la, who by 1968 had already direct­ed three fea­tures and was start­ing pro­duc­tion of his lat­est movie, The Rain Peo­ple. Lucas talked his friend into let­ting him shoot a behind-the-scenes doc­u­men­tary about the pro­duc­tion. The result­ing doc, Film­mak­er –A Diary By George Lucas, is a fas­ci­nat­ing doc­u­ment of the ear­ly days of New Hol­ly­wood and the strug­gles of get­ting an inde­pen­dent movie made. You can watch it above.

Shot in a ciné­ma vérité mat­ter, Lucas cap­tures Cop­po­la at his most charm­ing, cre­ative and pas­sion­ate – deal­ing with the stu­dios over the phone, con­sult­ing with a baby-faced James Caan on set and strug­gling to shoot a scene while bat­tling the stom­ach flu. He was even forced to shave his trade­mark beard so as not to upset any of the local anti-hip­py con­stab­u­lar­ies. The film shows Cop­po­la mak­ing up the film as he went along. At one point, he re-writes a scene to incor­po­rate an actu­al local parade. Film­mak­er makes an inter­est­ing con­trast with that oth­er Cop­po­la doc­u­men­tary, Hearts of Dark­ness, made on the set of Apoc­a­lypse Now. Here he’s filled with a youth­ful vig­or that in Hearts, deep in the jun­gles of the Philip­pines, has trans­formed into half-mad ego­ma­nia. Of course, the shoot for Rain Peo­ple was­n’t any­where near as epic or dis­as­trous as Apoc­a­lypse.

On set, Lucas shot and record­ed sound for the doc all by him­self and gen­er­al­ly made him­self as unob­tru­sive as pos­si­ble. “George was around in a very qui­et way,” recalled Rain Peo­ple pro­duc­er Ron Col­by. “You’d look around and sud­den­ly there’d be George in a cor­ner with his cam­era. He’d just kind of drift around.”

The movie proved to be valu­able for Lucas’s con­fi­dence as a film­mak­er. He lat­er described mak­ing the movie as “more ther­a­py than any­thing else. “At night, after pro­duc­tion had wrapped for the day, Lucas would go off to write the script to his first fea­ture THX-1138.

Film­mak­er final­ly pre­miered in 1977, the year that Lucas released Star Wars and com­plete­ly stepped out from the shad­ow of his friend and men­tor Cop­po­la.

An alter­na­tive ver­sion can be found on Youtube here. Oth­er great films can be found in our rich col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Via Devour/Kit­bashed

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Star Wars Bor­rowed From Aki­ra Kurosawa’s Great Samu­rai Films

Frei­heit, George Lucas’ Short Stu­dent Film About a Fatal Run from Com­mu­nism (1966)

Watch the Very First Trail­ers for Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back & Return of the Jedi (1976–83)

Joseph Camp­bell and Bill Moy­ers Break Down Star Wars as an Epic, Uni­ver­sal Myth

Hun­dreds of Fans Col­lec­tive­ly Remade Star Wars; Now They Remake The Empire Strikes Back

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 @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Allen Ginsberg Sings the Poetry of William Blake (1970)

There was once a time, if you can believe it, when Allen Gins­berg could take the poet­ry of William Blake, sing it in a record­ing stu­dio, and then MGM Records would release it as a long-play­ing album. I refer to the time, of course, of “the six­ties,” that half-myth­i­cal era that seems to have run from around 1966 to 1972. Smack in the mid­dle of the six­ties, thus defined, came this dis­tinc­tive release, Songs of Inno­cence and Expe­ri­ence by William Blake, tuned by Allen Gins­berg, record­ed in Decem­ber 1969 and released in 1970.

Songs_of_Innocence_and_of_Experience_copy_L_object_36_The_Tyger_1795

Every read­er famil­iar with Blake, of course, knows Songs of Inno­cence and of Expe­ri­ence as a book, an illus­trat­ed col­lec­tion of poems first self-pub­lished in 1789 and in 1794 re-issued and expand­ed as Songs of Inno­cence and of Expe­ri­ence Show­ing the Two Con­trary States of the Human Soul. This work of an 18th-cen­tu­ry poet cap­tured the imag­i­na­tion of the 20th-cen­tu­ry poet Gins­berg, and not just as read­ing mate­r­i­al; he came to believe that not only did Blake intend his words to be sung, but that he him­self could ren­der them faith­ful­ly in song — as well as play the piano and har­mo­ni­um in accom­pa­ni­ment.

You can hear hear the fruit of Gins­berg’s musi­cal-poet­ic recon­struc­tive labors at the top of the post, at the Inter­net Archive, or at PennSound, which not only offers each track indi­vid­u­al­ly but also its lyrics and some­times even links to the cor­re­spond­ing page from the orig­i­nal book at the William Blake Archive. When we think of six­ties-defin­ing albums, we think of Blonde on Blonde, Are You Expe­ri­enced?Sgt, Pep­per’s Lone­ly Hearts Club Band, that sort of thing, and right­ly so, but a project like Songs of Inno­cence and Expe­ri­ence by William Blake, tuned by Allen Gins­berg speaks just as much to what became pos­si­ble in that artis­tic Cam­bri­an explo­sion of an era.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William Blake’s Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Illus­tra­tions of John Milton’s Par­adise Lost

Hear Allen Ginsberg’s Short Free Course on Shakespeare’s Play, The Tem­pest (1980)

Allen Ginsberg’s “Celes­tial Home­work”: A Read­ing List for His Class “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats”

Allen Ginsberg’s Last Three Days on Earth as a Spir­it: The Poet’s Final Days Cap­tured in a 1997 Film

Allen Gins­berg Record­ings Brought to the Dig­i­tal Age. Lis­ten to Eight Full Tracks for Free

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Vladimir Nabokov Names the Greatest (and Most Overrated) Novels of the 20th Century

Just above, hear émi­gré Russ­ian nov­el­ist Vladimir Nabokov, author of Loli­ta read the open­ing sen­tences of that nov­el in both Eng­lish and Russ­ian, after offer­ing some brief com­ments on his rela­tion­ship to his for­mer native coun­try. Then, after a few min­utes of dis­cus­sion of a work that became incor­po­rat­ed into his Ada or Ardor: A Fam­i­ly Chron­i­cle, we get Nabokov the can­tan­ker­ous crit­ic. Or rather, Nabokov, the crit­ic of crit­ics. The author had lit­tle regard for crit­ics them­selves. In a Paris Review inter­view, he opines that the only pur­pose of lit­er­ary crit­i­cism was that it “gives read­ers, includ­ing the author of the book, some infor­ma­tion about the critic’s intel­li­gence, or hon­esty, or both.” In the filmed inter­view above (at the 3:24 mark), Nabokov points his lance at the inflat­ed pop­u­lar notion of “great books”:

I’ve been per­plexed and amused by fab­ri­cat­ed notions about so-called “great books.” That, for instance, Mann’s asi­nine Death in Venice, or Pasternak’s melo­dra­mat­ic, vile­ly writ­ten Doc­tor Zhiva­go, or Faulkner’s corn­cob­by chron­i­cles can be con­sid­ered mas­ter­pieces, or at least what jour­nal­ists term “great books,” is to me the same sort of absurd delu­sion as when a hyp­no­tized per­son makes love to a chair.

That Loli­ta reg­u­lar­ly tops such “great books” lists, such as the Mod­ern Library’s “100 Best Nov­els,” would hard­ly have impressed its author.

Nonethe­less, after his take­down of such ven­er­at­ed names as Thomas Mann, Boris Paster­nak, and the “corn­cob­by” William Faulkn­er, Nabokov doesn’t hes­i­tate to name his “great­est mas­ter­pieces of 20th cen­tu­ry prose.” They are, in this order:

1) James Joyce’s Ulysses

2) Kafka’s The Meta­mor­pho­sis

3) Andrei Bely’s St. Peters­burg

4) The first half of Proust’s fairy tale, In Search of Lost Time

So there you have it, from the mouth of the mas­ter him­self. Should you hang in there for the next clip, you will hear Nabokov read from his note­book titled “Things I Detest.” How seri­ous­ly we are to take any of this is hard to say—one nev­er real­ly knows with Nabokov.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vladimir Nabokov (Chan­nelled by Christo­pher Plum­mer) Teach­es Kaf­ka at Cor­nell

Vladimir Nabokov Mar­vels Over Dif­fer­ent “Loli­ta” Book Cov­ers

The Note­cards on Which Vladimir Nabokov Wrote Loli­ta: A Look Inside the Author’s Cre­ative Process

Vladimir Nabokov Cre­ates a Hand-Drawn Map of James Joyce’s Ulysses

Vladimir Nabokov’s Delight­ful But­ter­fly Draw­ings

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

Buddhism 101: A Short Introductory Lecture by Jorge Luis Borges

In 1977, eru­dite Argen­tine writer Jorge Luis Borges deliv­ered a series of sev­en lec­tures in Buenos Aires on a vari­ety of top­ics, includ­ing Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy, night­mares, and the Kab­bal­ah. (The lec­ture series is col­lect­ed in an Eng­lish trans­la­tion enti­tled Sev­en Nights.) One of the lec­tures is sim­ply called “Bud­dhism,” and in it, Borges presents an overview of the ancient East­ern reli­gion. Borges had pre­vi­ous­ly made scat­tered ref­er­ence to Bud­dhist sub­jects in his writ­ing, though he cer­tain­ly nev­er devot­ed as much atten­tion to it as he did Catholi­cism or Judaism, a faith and her­itage he found end­less­ly fas­ci­nat­ing and admirable.

His por­trait of Bud­dhism, though much less in depth, is no less sym­pa­thet­ic. The lec­ture is adapt­ed, it seems, from a short book writ­ten the pre­vi­ous year, Qué es el Bud­is­mo?, a “clear and con­cise expla­na­tion of the reli­gion, its val­ue sys­tems, and how some of its prin­ci­pal teach­ings share some sim­i­lar­i­ties with oth­er faiths.” So writes the blog Vague­ly Bor­ge­sian, who also com­ment that Borges’ book—and by exten­sion the lecture—“rarely goes beyond what one might find on say a Wikipedia arti­cle on Bud­dhism.” That may be so, but—as we can see in this Eng­lish trans­la­tion of Borges’ lec­ture—the author does sev­er­al times dur­ing his sum­ma­ry offer some dis­tinct­ly Bor­ge­sian com­men­tary of his own. Below are just a few excerpts:

Buddism’s Tol­er­ance:

[Buddhism’s] longevi­ty can be explained for his­tor­i­cal rea­sons, but such rea­sons are for­tu­itous or, rather, they are debat­able, fal­li­ble. I think there are two fun­da­men­tal caus­es. The first is Buddhism’s tol­er­ance. That strange tol­er­ance does not cor­re­spond, as is the case with oth­er reli­gions, to dis­tinct epochs: Bud­dism was always tol­er­ant.

It has nev­er had recourse to steel or fire, has nev­er thought that steel or fire were per­sua­sive…. A good Bud­dhist can be Luther­an, or Methodist, or Calvin­ist, or Sin­toist, or Taoist, or Catholic; he can be a pros­e­lyte to Islam or Judaism, with com­plete free­dom. But it is not per­mis­si­ble for a Chris­t­ian, a Jew or a Mus­lim to be a Bud­dhist.

On the His­tor­i­cal Exis­tence of the Bud­dha:

We may dis­be­lieve this leg­end. I have a Japan­ese friend, a Zen Bud­dhist, with whom I have had long and friend­ly argu­ments. I told him that I believed in the his­toric truth of Bud­dha. I believed and I believe that two thou­sand five hun­dred years ago there was a Nepalese prince called Sid­dhar­ta or Gau­ta­ma who became the Bud­dha, that is, the Awok­en, the Lucid One – as opposed to us who are asleep or who are dream­ing this long dream which is life. I remem­ber one of Joyce’s phras­es: “His­to­ry is a night­mare from which I want to awake.” Well then, Sid­dhar­ta, at thir­ty years of age, awoke and became Bud­dha. 

On Bud­dhism and Belief:

The oth­er reli­gions demand much more creduli­ty on our part. If we are Chris­tians we must believe that one of the three per­sons of the Divin­i­ty con­de­scend­ed to become a man and was cru­ci­fied in Judea. If we are Mus­lims we must believe that there is no oth­er god than God and that Moham­mad is his apos­tle. We can be good Bud­dhists and deny that Bud­dha exist­ed. Or, rather, we may think, we must think that our belief in his­to­ry isn’t impor­tant: what is impor­tant is to believe in the Doc­trine. Nev­er­the­less, the leg­end of Bud­dha is so beau­ti­ful that we can­not help but refer to it.

Borges has much more to say in the full lec­ture on Bud­dhist cos­mol­o­gy and his­to­ry. He con­cludes with the very respect­ful state­ment below:

What I have said today is frag­men­tary. It would have been absurd for me to have expound­ed on a doc­trine to which I have ded­i­cat­ed many years – and of which I have under­stood lit­tle, real­ly – with a wish to show a muse­um piece. Bud­dhism is not a muse­um piece for me: it is a path to sal­va­tion. Not for me, but for mil­lions of peo­ple. It is the most wide­ly held reli­gion in the world and I believe that I have treat­ed it with respect when explain­ing it tonight.

To learn more about Borges and Bud­dhism, see this arti­cle, and the watch the video above, a short intro­duc­tion to a lec­ture course giv­en by Borges’ friend Amelia Bar­ili at UC Berke­ley.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jorge Luis Borges’ 1967–8 Nor­ton Lec­tures On Poet­ry (And Every­thing Else Lit­er­ary)

Jorge Luis Borges’ Favorite Short Sto­ries (Read 7 Free Online)

Borges Explains The Task of Art

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

The Daily Routines of Famous Creative People, Presented in an Interactive Infographic

creative people infographic
Click the image above to access the inter­ac­tive info­graph­ic.
The dai­ly life of great authors, artists and philoso­phers has long been the sub­ject of fas­ci­na­tion among those who look upon their work in awe. After all, life can often feel like, to quote Elbert Hub­bard, “one damned thing after anoth­er” — a con­stant mud­dle of oblig­a­tions and respon­si­bil­i­ties inter­spersed with moments of fleet­ing plea­sure, wrapped in gnaw­ing low-lev­el exis­ten­tial pan­ic. (Or, at least, it does to me.) Yet some peo­ple man­age to tran­scend this per­pet­u­al bar­rage of office meet­ings, com­muter traf­fic and the unholy allure of real­i­ty TV to cre­ate bril­liant work. It’s easy to think that the key to their suc­cess is how they struc­ture their day.

Mason Currey’s blog-turned-book Dai­ly Rit­u­als describes the worka­day life of great minds from W.H. Auden to Immanuel Kant, from Flan­nery O’Connor to Franz Kaf­ka. The one thing that Currey’s project under­lines is that there is no mag­ic bul­let. The dai­ly rou­tines are as var­ied as the peo­ple who fol­low them– though long walks, a ridicu­lous­ly ear­ly wake up time and a stiff drink are com­mon to many.

One school of thought for cre­at­ing is summed up by Gus­tave Flaubert’s max­im, “Be reg­u­lar and order­ly in your life, so that you may be vio­lent and orig­i­nal in your work.” Haru­ki Muraka­mi has a famous­ly rigid rou­tine that involves get­ting up at 4am and writ­ing for nine hours straight, fol­lowed by a dai­ly 10km run. “The rep­e­ti­tion itself becomes the impor­tant thing; it’s a form of mes­merism. I mes­mer­ize myself to reach a deep­er state of mind. But to hold to such rep­e­ti­tion for so long—six months to a year—requires a good amount of men­tal and phys­i­cal strength. In that sense, writ­ing a long nov­el is like sur­vival train­ing. Phys­i­cal strength is as nec­es­sary as artis­tic sen­si­tiv­i­ty.” He admits that his sched­ule allows lit­tle room for a social life.

Then there’s the fan­tas­ti­cal­ly pro­lif­ic Bel­gian author George Simenon, who some­how man­aged to crank out 425 books over the course of his career. He would go for weeks with­out writ­ing, fol­lowed by short bursts of fren­zied activ­i­ty. He would also wear the same out­fit every­day while work­ing on his nov­el, reg­u­lar­ly take tran­quil­iz­ers and some­how find the time to have sex with up to four dif­fer­ent women a day.

Most writ­ers fall some­where in between. Toni Mor­ri­son, for instance, has a rou­tine that that seems far more relat­able than the super­man sched­ules of Muraka­mi or Sime­on. Since she jug­gled rais­ing two chil­dren and a full time job as an edi­tor at Ran­dom House, Mor­ri­son sim­ply wrote when she could. “I am not able to write reg­u­lar­ly,” she once told The Paris Review. “I have nev­er been able to do that—mostly because I have always had a nine-to-five job. I had to write either in between those hours, hur­ried­ly, or spend a lot of week­end and predawn time.”

Above is a way cool info­graph­ic of the dai­ly rou­tines of 26 dif­fer­ent cre­ators, cre­at­ed by Podio.com. And if you want to see an inter­ac­tive ver­sion of the same graph­ic but with rollover bits of triv­ia, just click here. You’ll learn that Voltaire slept only 4 hours a day and worked con­stant­ly. Vic­tor Hugo pre­ferred to take a morn­ing ice bath on his roof. And Maya Angelou pre­ferred to work in an anony­mous hotel room.

via Thi­sis­Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dai­ly Habits of High­ly Pro­duc­tive Philoso­phers: Niet­zsche, Marx & Immanuel Kant

John Updike’s Advice to Young Writ­ers: ‘Reserve an Hour a Day’

John Cleese’s Phi­los­o­phy of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Cre­at­ing Oases for Child­like Play

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 @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.


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