Lou Reed Reads Delmore Schwartz’s Famous Story “In Dreams Begin Responsibilities”

Schwartz_Reed

 

In a gal­lop­ing vignette in Tablet, writer Lee Smith man­ages to evoke the essences of both sen­ti­men­tal tough guy Lou Reed and his lit­er­ary men­tor and hero, “Brook­lyn Jew­ish Trou­ba­dour” Del­more Schwartz. Although Schwartz’s “poet­ry is his real lega­cy,” Smith writes, that rich body of work is often obscured by the fact that “his most famous work is a short sto­ry,” the much-anthol­o­gized “In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties” (1935) It’s a sto­ry writ­ten in prose as lyri­cal as can be—with sen­tences one wants to pause and linger over, read­ing again and again, out loud if pos­si­ble. It’s also a sto­ry in which we see “a direct line… between Schwartz and Reed,” whose song “Per­fect Day” per­forms sim­i­lar kind of mag­i­cal cat­a­logu­ing of urban imper­ma­nence. For Reed, one­time stu­dent of Schwartz at Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty, “Del­more Schwartz is every­thing.”

Reed ded­i­cat­ed the last song, “Euro­pean Son,” on the first Vel­vet Under­ground album to Schwartz, and wrote an elo­quent for­ward to a reis­sue of Schwartz’s first col­lec­tion of sto­ries and poems, also titled In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties. And just above, you can hear Reed him­self read the sto­ry aloud, savor­ing those lyri­cal sen­tences in his Brook­lyn dead­pan. It’s easy to imag­ine Reed writ­ing many of these sen­tences, such was Schwartz’s influ­ence on him. They shared not only com­mon ori­gins, but also a com­mon sen­si­bil­i­ty; in Reed’s songs we hear the echo of Schwartz’s voice, the satir­i­cal world-weari­ness and the lyri­cism and long­ing. In the bio­graph­i­cal doc­u­men­tary Rock and Roll Heart, Reed says that Schwartz showed him how, “with the sim­plest lan­guage imag­in­able, and very short, you can accom­plish the most aston­ish­ing heights.” Read­ing, and lis­ten­ing to Schwartz’s aston­ish­ing “In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties” may help you under­stand just what he meant.

This read­ing has been added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

Rock and Roll Heart, 1998 Doc­u­men­tary Retraces the Remark­able Career of Lou Reed

Teenage Lou Reed Sings Doo-Wop Music (1958–1962)

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

Eastern Philosophy Explained with Three Animated Videos by Alain de Botton’s School of Life

“Among the founders of reli­gions,” writes Walpo­la Rahu­la in his book What the Bud­dha Taught, “the Buddha…was the only teacher who did not claim to be oth­er than a human being, pure and sim­ple. […] He attrib­uted all his real­iza­tion, attain­ment and achieve­ments to human endeav­or and human intel­li­gence.” Rahula’s inter­pre­ta­tion of Bud­dhism is only one of a great many, of course. In some tra­di­tions, the Bud­dha is mirac­u­lous and more or less divine. But this quote sums up why the gen­er­al­ly non-the­is­tic sys­tem of East­ern thought is often called a psy­chol­o­gy or phi­los­o­phy rather than a reli­gion. With the video above, Alain de Botton—whose School of Life has recent­ly brought us a sur­vey of West­ern philoso­phers—begins his intro­duc­tion to East­ern thought with Bud­dhism. The Buddha’s sto­ry, de Bot­ton says, “is a sto­ry about con­fronting suf­fer­ing.”

Born the son of a wealthy Indi­an king and des­tined for great­ness by a prophecy—or so the sto­ry goes—Siddhartha Gau­ta­ma, the future Bud­dha, dis­cov­ered human suf­fer­ing dur­ing brief excur­sions from his palace. Appalled and dis­turbed by sick­ness, aging, and death, the Bud­dha left his lux­u­ri­ous life (and his wife and son) and prac­ticed many rit­u­als and aus­ter­i­ties before find­ing his own path to enlight­en­ment and Nirvana—the extin­guish­ing of desire.

One fruit of his real­iza­tion is the doc­trine of “the Mid­dle Way,” a medi­a­tion between extremes that one source com­pares to Aristotle’s gold­en mean, “where­by ‘every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice.’” The Buddha’s enlight­ened under­stand­ing of the essen­tial con­ti­nu­ity of life gave him com­pas­sion for all liv­ing beings; of the thou­sands of sutras, or say­ings, attrib­uted to him, his teach­ing can be con­cise­ly summed up in what he called “the Four Noble Truths,” the acknowl­edge­ment, cause, and rem­e­dy of inevitable pain and dis­con­tent.

Most of what de Bot­ton does in his intro­duc­tion to the Bud­dha will be famil­iar to any­one who has tak­en a com­par­a­tive reli­gions class. But true to his task of approach­ing Bud­dhism philo­soph­i­cal­ly, he avoids Bud­dhist meta­physics, cos­mol­o­gy, and ques­tions of rebirth, instead inter­pret­ing the Buddha’s teach­ings as a kind of East­ern Aris­totelian ethics: “We must change our out­look (not our cir­cum­stances). We are unhap­py not because we don’t have enough mon­ey, love, or sta­tus, but because we’re greedy, vain, and inse­cure. By reori­ent­ing our minds we can become con­tent. By reori­ent­ing our behav­ior, and adopt­ing what we now term a ‘mind­ful’ atti­tude, we can also become bet­ter peo­ple.”

While Bud­dhist schol­ars and sages would argue that enlight­en­ment entails a great deal more than self-improve­ment, the sum­ma­tion suits the pur­pos­es of de Botton’s School of Life—to help peo­ple “live wise­ly and well.” These videos—like his oth­ers, ani­mat­ed by Mad Adam films with Mon­ty Pythonesque whimsy—distill East­ern thought into fun, bite-sized nuggets. Just above, we have a short intro­duc­tion to the Chi­nese sage Lao Tzu, pur­port­ed author of the Tao Te Ching, the found­ing text of Dao­ism. Where­as de Bot­ton seems to take the Buddha’s sto­ry more or less for grant­ed, he admits above that Lao Tzu may well be a myth­i­cal char­ac­ter, “like Homer,” and that the Tao is like­ly the work “of many authors over time.”

Dao­ism is often inter­twined with Bud­dhism and Con­fu­cian­ism, but its own par­tic­u­lar phi­los­o­phy is dis­tinct from either tra­di­tion. At the heart of Dao­ism is wu wei, which trans­lates to “non-action” or “non-doing,” a mode of being that seeks har­mo­ny with the rhythms of nature and a ceas­ing of pre­oc­cu­pa­tion and ambi­tion. Anoth­er “key point” of Lao Tzu’s instruc­tions for real­iz­ing the “Tao,” or “the way,” is get­ting “in touch with our real selves,” some­thing we can only accom­plish through recep­tiv­i­ty to nature—our own and that out­side us—and through free­dom from dis­trac­tion, a most dif­fi­cult demand for tech­nol­o­gy-obsessed 21st cen­tu­ry peo­ple.

The third video in de Botton’s series sur­veys a Japan­ese Zen Bud­dhist sage and con­trasts him with West­ern philoso­phers, who gen­er­al­ly write long, obscure books and clois­ter them­selves in lec­ture halls and offices. In the Zen tra­di­tion, de Bot­ton says, “philoso­phers write poems, rake grav­el, go on pil­grim­ages, prac­tice archery, write apho­risms on scrolls, chant, and in the case of one of the very great­est Zen thinkers, Sen no Rikyu, teach peo­ple how to drink tea in con­sol­ing and ther­a­peu­tic ways.” Born in 1522 near Osa­ka, Rikyu reformed and refined the chanoyu, the Japan­ese tea cer­e­mo­ny, into a rig­or­ous but ele­gant med­i­ta­tive prac­tice. Rikyu coined the term wabi-sabi, a com­pound of words for “sat­is­fac­tion with sim­plic­i­ty and aus­ter­i­ty” and “appre­ci­a­tion for the imper­fect.” Wabi-sabi offers not only the foun­da­tion for a way of life, but also for a way of design and archi­tec­ture, and its prac­tice informs a great deal of tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese aes­thet­ics.

Like Lao Tzu, Rikyu intend­ed his prac­tices to help peo­ple recon­nect with the sim­plic­i­ty and har­mo­ny of nature, as well as with each oth­er, inspir­ing mutu­al respect free of sta­tus-con­scious­ness and com­pe­ti­tion. Rikyu’s wabi-sabi phi­los­o­phy is premised on Zen’s under­stand­ing of the imper­ma­nence, imper­fec­tion, and incom­plete­ness of every­thing. There­fore he eschewed the trap­pings of lux­u­ry and pre­ferred worn and hum­ble objects in his cer­e­mo­ni­al instruc­tions. Whether we call Rikyu’s prac­tices reli­gious or philo­soph­i­cal seems to make lit­tle dif­fer­ence. In the case of the three thinkers pro­filed here, the dis­tinc­tion may be mean­ing­less and intro­duce West­ern con­cep­tu­al divi­sions that only obscure the mean­ing of Bud­dhism, Dao­ism, and Japan­ese Zen. When it comes to the lat­ter, anoth­er West­ern inter­preter, Alan Watts, once deliv­ered an excel­lent talk called “The Reli­gion of No Reli­gion” that helps to explain prac­tices like Rikyu’s chanoyu.

All of the videos here are part of the School of Life’s “Cur­ricu­lum.” Vis­it de Botton’s Youtube chan­nel for more, and for short videos offer­ing advice on every­thing from anx­i­ety to rela­tion­ships to “the dan­gers of the inter­net.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alain de Botton’s School of Life Presents Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tions to Hei­deg­ger, The Sto­ics & Epi­cu­rus

What Are Lit­er­a­ture, Phi­los­o­phy & His­to­ry For? Alain de Bot­ton Explains with Mon­ty Python-Style Videos

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Six Great Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Art Can Answer Life’s Big Ques­tions in Art as Ther­a­py

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

Blade Runner Spoofed in Three Japanese Commercials (and Generally Loved in Japan)

Blade Run­ner’s vision of a thor­ough­ly Japan­i­fied Los Ange­les in the year 2019 reflects the west­ern eco­nom­ic anx­i­eties of the ear­ly 1980s. And while that once far-flung year may not have come quite yet, Japan — giv­en the burst­ing of its post­war finan­cial bub­ble and the “lost decade” of the 1990s that fol­lowed — looks unlike­ly to own a frac­tion as much of the Unit­ed States as Rid­ley Scot­t’s Philip K. Dick adap­ta­tion (and many oth­er futur­is­tic sto­ries besides) assumed it even­tu­al­ly would. Still, the film’s cul­tur­al proph­esy came true: even dur­ing its eco­nom­ic stag­na­tion, Japan exer­cised more “soft pow­er” than ever before, turn­ing the world to the unique claims of its cul­ture, from the refine­ment of its cui­sine to the hyper­ac­tive exu­ber­ance of its music and ani­ma­tion to the match­less ele­gance of its tra­di­tion­al aes­thet­ics.

Even as Blade Run­ner showed us how much Japan­ese style would one day influ­ence, the style of the film had, for its part, an imme­di­ate influ­ence on Japan. Though famous­ly unap­pre­ci­at­ed by west­ern­ers on its ini­tial release (“a waste of time,” said Siskel and Ebert), its pro­to-cyber­punk sen­si­bil­i­ty won the hearts of Japan­ese view­ers, and Japan­ese cre­ators, right away. The video at the top of the post col­lects three Japan­ese tele­vi­sion com­mer­cials that both spoof and pay homage to Blade Run­ner: the first for the Hon­da Beat, a Japan-only road­ster; the sec­ond (an astute par­o­dy of a par­tic­u­lar­ly mem­o­rable scene) for Meni­con con­tact lens­es; and the third for mobile ser­vice provider J‑Phone.

But the movie’s effect on Japan did­n’t stop at the adver­tis­ing indus­try. The 1987 ani­mat­ed series Bub­blegum Cri­sis, which fol­lows the adven­tures of a cyborg-bat­tling team in the “Mega Tokyo” of 2032, plays so much like a home­grown Blade Run­ner that a fan could cre­ate the sec­ond video above: an ani­mat­ed recre­ation of Blade Run­ner’s trail­er, using all its orig­i­nal sound, with Bub­blegum Cri­sis’ footage. The 1988 video game Snatch­er stars the decid­ed­ly Har­ri­son-For­dian Gillian Seed, a detec­tive in pur­suit of the tit­u­lar killer androids in the “Neo Kobe” of 2044. You can still semuch of what the film inspired, and what inspired in the film, in major Japan­ese cities today. Even Los Ange­les has made strides here and there toward the Blade Run­ner future, though I regret to admit that we still await our tow­er-side geisha.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Mak­ing Blade Run­ner: See the Orig­i­nal Sketch­book, Sto­ry­boards, On-Set Polaroids & More

The Blade Run­ner Pro­mo­tion­al Film

Blade Run­ner: The Pil­lar of Sci-Fi Cin­e­ma that Siskel, Ebert, and Stu­dio Execs Orig­i­nal­ly Hat­ed

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

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

The Swing Wing: From the Annals of Bad Toys for Kids (1965)

Dur­ing the 1950s, when a hula hoop craze swept across Amer­i­ca, the Car­lon Prod­ucts Corp. (a com­pa­ny that spe­cial­ized in mak­ing light­weight plas­tic pipes), man­aged to pro­duce some 50,000 hula hoops per day. That got oth­er com­pa­nies think­ing. How could they cap­i­tal­ize on this mania, if not direct­ly, then indi­rect­ly? When a sec­ond hula hoop­ing craze gripped the coun­try dur­ing the mid-1960s, Tran­so­gram Games intro­duced the “Swing Wing,” pos­si­bly the worst idea for a kids’ toy until Bag O’ Glass (who here remem­bers that clas­sic SNL skit?). It’s a dizzy­ing toy, backed by a dizzy­ing — but you have to admit catchy — com­mer­cial. Buy­er beware, there’s a Swing Wing on ebay. Nev­er opened and ready to go for 53 clams.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

On Christ­mas, Browse A His­tor­i­cal Archive of More Than 50,000 Toys

Ele­men­tary School Kids Sing David Bowie’s “Space Odd­i­ty” & Oth­er Rock Hits: A Cult Clas­sic Record­ed in 1976

Friedrich Niet­zsche & Exis­ten­tial­ism Explained to Five-Year-Olds

Famous Philoso­phers Imag­ined as Action Fig­ures: Plun­der­ous Pla­to, Dan­ger­ous Descartes & More

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10 Classic German Expressionist Films: From Nosferatu to The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

In 1913, Ger­many, flush with a new nation’s patri­ot­ic zeal, looked like it might become the dom­i­nant nation of Europe and a real rival to that glob­al super­pow­er Great Britain. Then it hit the buz­z­saw of World War I. After the Ger­man gov­ern­ment col­lapsed in 1918 from the eco­nom­ic and emo­tion­al toll of a half-decade of sense­less car­nage, the Allies forced it to accept dra­con­ian terms for sur­ren­der. The entire Ger­man cul­ture was sent reel­ing, search­ing for answers to what hap­pened and why.

Ger­man Expres­sion­ism came about to artic­u­late these lac­er­at­ing ques­tions roil­ing in the nation’s col­lec­tive uncon­scious. The first such film was The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari (1920), about a malev­o­lent trav­el­ing magi­cian who has his ser­vant do his mur­der­ous bid­ding in the dark of the night. The sto­ry­line is all about the Freudi­an ter­ror of hid­den sub­con­scious dri­ves, but what real­ly makes the movie mem­o­rable is its com­plete­ly unhinged look. Marked by styl­ized act­ing, deep shad­ows paint­ed onto the walls, and sets filled with twist­ed archi­tec­tur­al impos­si­bil­i­ties — there might not be a sin­gle right angle in the film – Cali­gari’s look per­fect­ly mesh­es with the nar­ra­tor’s dement­ed state of mind.

Sub­se­quent Ger­man Expres­sion­ist movies retreat­ed from the extreme aes­thet­ics of Cali­gari but were still filled with a mood of vio­lence, frus­tra­tion and unease. F. W. Mur­nau’s bril­liant­ly depress­ing The Last Laugh (1924) is about a proud door­man at a high-end hotel who is uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly stripped of his posi­tion and demot­ed to a low­ly bath­room atten­dant. When he hands over his uni­form, his pos­ture col­laps­es as if the jack­et were his exoskele­ton. You don’t need to be a semi­ol­o­gist to fig­ure out that the doorman’s loss of sta­tus par­al­lels Germany’s. Fritz Lang’s M (1931), a land­mark of ear­ly sound film, is the first ser­i­al killer movie ever made. But what starts out as a police pro­ce­dur­al turns into some­thing even more unset­tling when a gang of dis­tinct­ly Nazi-like crim­i­nals decide to mete out some jus­tice of their own.

Ger­man Expres­sion­ism end­ed in 1933 when the Nazis came to pow­er. They weren’t inter­est­ed in ask­ing uncom­fort­able ques­tions and viewed such dark tales of cin­e­mat­ic angst as unpa­tri­ot­ic. Instead, they pre­ferred bright, cheer­ful tales of Aryan youths climb­ing moun­tains. By that time, the movement’s most tal­ent­ed direc­tors — Fritz Lang and F.W. Mur­nau — had fled to Amer­i­ca. And it was in Amer­i­ca where Ger­man Expres­sion­ism found its biggest impact. Its stark light­ing, grotesque shad­ows and bleak world­view would go on on to pro­found­ly influ­ence film noir in the late 1940s after anoth­er hor­rif­ic, dis­il­lu­sion­ing war. See our col­lec­tion of Free Noir Films here.

You watch can 10 Ger­man Expres­sion­ist movies – includ­ing Cali­gari, Last Laugh and M — for free below.

  • Nos­fer­atu — Free — Ger­man Expres­sion­ist hor­ror film direct­ed by F. W. Mur­nau. An unau­tho­rized adap­ta­tion of Bram Stok­er’s Drac­u­la. (1922)
  • The Stu­dent of Prague — Free — A clas­sic of Ger­man expres­sion­ist film. Ger­man writer Hanns Heinz Ewers and Dan­ish direc­tor Stel­lan Rye bring to life a 19th-cen­tu­ry hor­ror sto­ry. Some call it the first indie film. (1913)
  • Nerves — Free — Direct­ed by Robert Rein­ert, Nerves tells of “the polit­i­cal dis­putes of an ultra­con­ser­v­a­tive fac­to­ry own­er Herr Roloff and Teacher John, who feels a com­pul­sive but secret love for Rolof­f’s sis­ter, a left-wing rad­i­cal.” (1919)
  • The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari — Free — This silent film direct­ed by Robert Wiene is con­sid­ered one of the most influ­en­tial Ger­man Expres­sion­ist films and per­haps one of the great­est hor­ror movies of all time. (1920)
  • Metrop­o­lis — Free — Fritz Lang’s fable of good and evil fight­ing it out in a futur­is­tic urban dystopia. An impor­tant clas­sic. An alter­nate ver­sion can be found here. (1927)
  • The Golem: How He Came Into the World — Free — A fol­low-up to Paul Wegen­er’s ear­li­er film, “The Golem,” about a mon­strous crea­ture brought to life by a learned rab­bi to pro­tect the Jews from per­se­cu­tion in medieval Prague. Based on the clas­sic folk tale, and co-direct­ed by Carl Boese. (1920)
  • The Golem: How He Came Into the World — Free — The same film as the one list­ed imme­di­ate­ly above, but this one has a score cre­at­ed by Pix­ies front­man Black Fran­cis. (2008)
  • The Last Laugh Free — F.W. Mur­nau’s clas­sic cham­ber dra­ma about a hotel door­man who falls on hard times. A mas­ter­piece of the silent era, the sto­ry is told almost entire­ly in pic­tures. (1924)
  • Faust — Free - Ger­man expres­sion­ist film­mak­er F.W. Mur­nau directs a film ver­sion of Goethe’s clas­sic tale. This was Mur­nau’s last Ger­man movie. (1926)
  • Sun­rise: A Song of Two Humans — Free — Made by the Ger­man expres­sion­ist direc­tor F.W. Mur­nau. Vot­ed in 2012, the 5th great­est film of all time. (1927)
  • M — Free — Clas­sic film direct­ed by Fritz Lang, with Peter Lorre. About the search for a child mur­der­er in Berlin. (1931)

For more clas­sic films, peruse our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

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:

Metrop­o­lis Restored: Watch a New Ver­sion of Fritz Lang’s Mas­ter­piece

Fritz Lang’s “Licen­tious, Pro­fane, Obscure” Noir Film, Scar­let Street (1945)

Free: F. W. Murnau’s Sun­rise, the 1927 Mas­ter­piece Vot­ed the 5th Best Movie of All Time

Watch Nos­fer­atu, the Sem­i­nal Vam­pire Film, Free Online (1922)

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.

 

Salvador Dalí’s Avant-Garde Christmas Cards

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If ever you find your­self look­ing down on the Christ­mas card as a bland, main­stream art form, remem­ber that John Waters makes them. So did Andy Warhol. But we’ve told you about those two coun­ter­cul­tur­al cre­ators’ appre­ci­a­tion for the imagery of Christ­mas before. This hol­i­day sea­son, we sub­mit for your approval a series of Christ­mas cards from the hand of none oth­er than Sal­vador Dalí. They came our way via Span­ish lit­er­a­ture pro­fes­sor Rebec­ca M. Ben­der, who writes that the sur­re­al­ist painter “designed 19 unique Christ­mas cards between 1958–1976 for the Barcelona-based com­pa­ny Hoechst Ibéri­ca,” a chap­ter in a com­mer­cial career that also includ­ed “art­work for adver­tise­ments (Bryan’s Hosiery) and mag­a­zine cov­ers dur­ing the mid-20th cen­tu­ry.”

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Ben­der, a Dalí enthu­si­ast who teach­es at Grin­nell, has assem­bled an impres­sive col­lec­tion of images that give Christ­mas the sur­re­al touch that I think we can all agree the hol­i­day has always need­ed. The sketch for a 1948 Vogue mag­a­zine cov­er just above “exhibits tell-tale char­ac­ter­is­tics of Dalí’s sur­re­al­ist style, includ­ing the bar­ren, expan­sive land­scape and the incor­po­ra­tion of dou­ble-images (which also char­ac­ter­ize his depic­tion of the Span­ish Civ­il War).” While that image has today become a spe­cial­ty Christ­mas card, the art he cre­at­ed specif­i­cal­ly for cards “did not incor­po­rate tra­di­tion­al Mediter­ranean, Catholic Christ­mas imagery such as the Nativ­i­ty scene or the Reyes magos (Wise men), but rather they appro­pri­at­ed more Amer­i­can and Cen­tral Euro­pean ele­ments, such as the Christ­mas Tree,” which he some­times used as “an alle­gor­i­cal depic­tion of the year’s events” or infused “with dis­tinc­tive ele­ments of Span­ish cul­ture.”

navidad_1960_dali_felicitacion-de-navidad_arbol

When Dalí did try his hand at more tra­di­tion­al Christ­mas iconog­ra­phy, he did it for Amer­i­can greet­ing-card titan Hall­mark. You can see one fruit of this com­mis­sion in the 1959 nativ­i­ty scene at the top of the post. Ben­der cites Patrick Regan’s book Hall­mark: A Cen­tu­ry of Car­ing as describ­ing Dalí’s “take on Christ­mas [being] a bit too avant garde for the aver­age greet­ing card buy­er.” But tastes, even main­stream tastes, seem to have broad­ened quite a bit over the past 55 years. The time may have come where every man, woman, and child in Amer­i­ca could do with a lit­tle sur­re­al­ism stirred into their Christ­mas spir­it. If you agree, make sure to read and see every­thing else Ben­der has gath­ered from Dalí’s Christ­mas-card career, all of which will inspire you to make the Yule­tide more aes­thet­i­cal­ly dar­ing.

dali xmas card 4

via Rebec­ca Ben­der

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Waters Makes Hand­made Christ­mas Cards, Says the “Whole Pur­pose of Life is Christ­mas”

Watch Ter­ry Gilliam’s Ani­mat­ed Short, The Christ­mas Card (1968)

Andy Warhol’s Christ­mas Art

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Patti Smith’s Passionate Covers of Jimi Hendrix, Nirvana, Jefferson Airplane & Prince

In 1966, Jimi Hen­drix released his first sin­gle, “Hey Joe,” a cov­er song, and, in a cer­tain sense, reclaimed Amer­i­can rock ‘n’ roll from the British inva­sion. Eight years lat­er in ‘74, it may have seemed like rock ‘n’ roll was dead and gone. Nos­tal­gia set in; Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” hit the charts again thanks to Amer­i­can Graf­fi­ti and Hap­py Days. And then, a skin­ny poet from New Jer­sey and four kids from Queens more or less invent­ed punk and res­ur­rect­ed the molder­ing corpse of rock. The Ramones appeared at CBGB’s for the first time in August. (See one of their ear­li­est record­ed per­for­mances here.) That same month saw the release of Pat­ti Smith’s first single—“Hey Joe”—arguably the first punk release in his­to­ry, though she sings it like a torch song. (The B‑side, the spo­ken word “Piss Fac­to­ry,” set the tone for punk rock nam­ing prac­tices for decades to come).

At the top, hear Smith’s ver­sion of “Hey Joe,” which she intro­duces with an orig­i­nal piece of trans­gres­sive poet­ry about Pat­ty Hearst, then still a cap­tive mem­ber of the Sym­bionese Lib­er­a­tion Army. In the still image, Smith wears a t‑shirt that seems to answer the echo of Bill Haley’s ghost: “F*ck the Clock. “ Just above, see Smith and band play “Hey Joe” live on The Old Grey Whis­tle Test in 1976, just after an abridged ver­sion of “Hors­es.”

One of Smith’s biggest hits, “Glo­ria,” was also a cov­er, of a song by Van Morrison’s for­mer band Them. She mem­o­rably made that song her own as well with the open­ing line “Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine.” She went on to cov­er a host of artists—Dylan, The Bea­t­les, Ste­vie Won­der, U2. In fact her 10th stu­dio album, 2007’s Twelve, con­sists entire­ly of cov­ers. Just above from that record, hear her folky take on Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it,” record­ed with stand-up bass and ban­jo. And below, she deliv­ers a spooky ren­di­tion of Jef­fer­son Airplane’s “White Rab­bit.”

While her stage per­sona may have mel­lowed with age, Smith’s voice has remained as pow­er­ful and cap­ti­vat­ing as ever. Below she belts out the Stones’ “Gimme Shel­ter” live on the BBC’s Lat­er… with Jool Hol­land, a song she also cov­ers on Twelve.

Her tastes are eclec­tic, her range wide, and though she’ll always get the cred­it as the “God­moth­er of Punk,” she’s able to work in almost any style, even a kind of adult con­tem­po­rary that doesn’t seem very Pat­ti Smith at all. But she owns it in her cov­er of Prince’s “When Doves Cry” below, from her two-disc com­pi­la­tion album Land (1975–2002). It’s a long way from “Piss Fac­to­ry,” but it’s still Smith doing what she’s always done—paying homage to the artists who inspire her. Whether it’s Smokey Robin­son, Bruce Spring­steen, or Vir­ginia Woolf, she’s able to chan­nel the genius of her influ­ences while infus­ing their work with her own pas­sion­ate sex­u­al ener­gy and poet­ic inten­si­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Pat­ti Smith Read 12 Poems From Sev­enth Heav­en, Her First Col­lec­tion (1972)

Watch Pat­ti Smith Read from Vir­ginia Woolf, and Hear the Only Sur­viv­ing Record­ing of Woolf’s Voice

See Pat­ti Smith Give Two Dra­mat­ic Read­ings of Allen Ginsberg’s “Foot­note to Howl”

Pat­ti Smith’s Cov­er of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” Strips the Song Down to its Heart

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

John Waters Narrates Offbeat Documentary on an Environmental Catastrophe, the Salton Sea

In 2004, John Waters nar­rat­ed Plagues & Plea­sures on the Salton Sea, a humor­ous doc­u­men­tary on the acci­den­tal lake cre­at­ed in the desert of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia. You can now find the film host­ed on the YouTube chan­nel of KQED, the pub­lic tele­vi­sion out­fit in San Fran­cis­co (where we’re get­ting heavy, heavy rains today). They lay the foun­da­tion for watch­ing the film as fol­lows:

Once known as the “Cal­i­for­nia Riv­iera,” the Salton Sea is now con­sid­ered one of Amer­i­ca’s worst eco­log­i­cal dis­as­ters: a fetid, stag­nant, salty lake, cough­ing up dead fish and birds by the thou­sands. Nar­rat­ed by cult-movie leg­end John Waters, Plagues & Plea­sures is an epic west­ern tale of real estate ven­tures and failed boom­towns.

Find Plagues & Plea­sures on the Salton Sea list­ed in our col­lec­tion, 285 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via @Wfmu

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Waters Makes Hand­made Christ­mas Cards, Says the “Whole Pur­pose of Life is Christ­mas”

An Anti, Anti-Smok­ing Announce­ment from John Waters

John Waters: The Point of Con­tem­po­rary Art

Glob­al Warm­ing: A Free Course from UChica­go Explains Cli­mate Change

50 Film Noirs You Can Watch For Free: A Dame with a Past. A Desperate, Doomed Man. A Gun.

Film noir isn’t real­ly a genre. It’s a mood. Its ele­ments are so well known that they bor­der on self-par­o­dy. Neon lights. Inky black shad­ows. An emp­ty bot­tle of whiskey. A gun. A dame with a past. A des­per­ate, doomed man.

Like Ger­man Expres­sion­ism dur­ing the 1930s, it was a cul­tur­al pro­cess­ing of a his­toric trau­ma. Like French Poet­ic Real­ism dur­ing that same decade, film noir is fixed in a par­tic­u­lar cul­ture dur­ing a par­tic­u­lar time. In this case, the cul­ture was the inher­ent­ly opti­mistic one of the Unit­ed States. The time was just after World War II when the foun­da­tions of that opti­mism were severe­ly test­ed. A gen­er­a­tion of men returned from Europe and the Pacif­ic scarred and dazed by the mind-bog­gling car­nage of the war only to dis­cov­er that their women were doing just fine work­ing in fac­to­ries and offices. Is it any won­der then that per­haps the most fre­quent trope in noir is of a man, seem­ing­ly tough but riv­en with weak­ness, undone by a pow­er­ful, sex­u­al­ly-dom­i­nat­ing femme fatale?

Though those gen­der roles were quick­ly reshuf­fled and women were, for a time, ban­ished back to the realm of domes­tic­i­ty, cracks remained in the brit­tle veneer of Amer­i­can mas­culin­i­ty. Add to that exis­ten­tial anx­i­eties over the bomb and the Red Scare’s cor­ro­sive para­noia and you have a whole tox­ic stew of cul­tur­al fears bur­bling out of the Amer­i­can col­lec­tive uncon­scious. And film noir artic­u­lat­ed those fears bet­ter than just about any­thing else.

Of course, the rea­son film noir has proved to be so endur­ing is because of its look. The spare light­ing, the cant­ed angles, the grotesque shad­ows. It’s Ger­man Expres­sion­ism cast through the lens of Orson Welles. Its stark style meld­ed per­fect­ly with noir’s bleak cyn­i­cism. It should come as no sur­prise that some of the best noir direc­tors – Fritz LangRobert Siod­mak and espe­cial­ly Bil­ly Wilder – fled Ger­many for the warmer climes of Hol­ly­wood. The style was also cheap — lots of shad­ows means less mon­ey spent on lights. It was a boon for the scores of inde­pen­dent pro­duc­ers who made noirs on a shoe­string.

If you want get into that film noir mood, Open Cul­ture has 50, count ‘em, 50 film noir movies that you can watch right now for free. They include:

  • Detour Free – Edgar Ulmer’s cult clas­sic noir film shot in 6 days. (1945)
  • D.O.A.Free — Rudolph Maté’s clas­sic noir film. Called “one of the most accom­plished, inno­v­a­tive, and down­right twist­ed entrants to the film noir genre.”  (1950)
  • The Hitch-Hik­er —  Free –  The first noir film made by a woman noir direc­tor, Ida Lupino. It appears above. (1953)
  • The Naked Kiss — Free - Con­stance Tow­ers is a pros­ti­tute try­ing to start new life in a small town. Direct­ed by Sam Fuller. (1964)
  • The Stranger — Free – Direct­ed by Orson Welles with Edward G. Robin­son. One of Welles’s major com­mer­cial suc­cess­es. (1946)

Check out the full list of 50 free noir films here, or find them in our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Fritz Lang’s Cen­sored Noir Film, Scar­let Street, Star­ring the Great Edward G. Robin­son (1945)

Detour: The Cheap, Rushed Piece of 1940s Film Noir Nobody Ever For­gets

Watch D.O.A., Rudolph Maté’s “Inno­v­a­tive and Down­right Twist­ed” Noir Film (1950)

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.

Three Strikingly Different Views of North Korea, the Most Secretive Country in the World

I once asked a friend based in Seoul, South Korea who used to write for a pres­ti­gious news mag­a­zine what that mag­a­zine want­ed to hear from the Korea beat. “Let’s see… North Korea, North Korea, and more North Korea,” he replied. “Oh, and did I men­tion North Korea?” Since the cre­ation of two Kore­as after the Sec­ond World War, North Korea, the far less pop­u­lat­ed and infi­nite­ly more secre­tive sib­ling of the land of all-you-can-eat bar­be­cue and “Gang­nam Style,” has inspired deep and fear­ful fas­ci­na­tion in its observers. This has held truer and truer as time goes on; South and North Korea looked sur­pris­ing­ly sim­i­lar in the twen­ty years or so right after they put the Kore­an War on pause, but now they’ve diverged so far that one can scarce­ly believe that so lit­tle time, and even less dis­tance, sep­a­rates the two.

The world’s inter­est in North Korea has run espe­cial­ly strong in the 21st cen­tu­ry, dur­ing the reigns of the late (and cinephilic) Kim Jong-Il and now his son, the even high­er-pro­file (and seem­ing­ly unap­pre­cia­tive of the upcom­ing North Korea-themed James Fran­co-Seth Rogen com­e­dy The Inter­view) Kim Jong-Un. Vice catered straight to it when they pro­duced the doc­u­men­tary The Vice Guide to North Korea at the top, which pro­vides a wise­crack­ing first-per­son per­spec­tive on what you get when you sign up for a tour of the place. (Shoot­ing pool with a lone­ly tea-shop girl ranks not low­est among the attrac­tions.) If you sign up for one your­self, you’ll prob­a­bly go with Koryo Tours, the firm with whose aid city-­bran­der JT Singh and video­g­ra­ph­er Rob Whit­worth put togeth­er “Enter Pyongyang,” the time-bend­ing com­pos­ite flight through the North Kore­an cap­i­tal just above.

prison-sinuiju

Pyon­gang shows up on illu­mi­na­tion maps as the sole point of light in an oth­er­wise dark coun­try. So what goes on in the rest of it? Accord­ing to One Free Korea, “the Com­mit­tee for Human Rights in North Korea esti­mates that North Korea holds as many as 120,000 peo­ple in its sys­tem of con­cen­tra­tion and deten­tion camps, and that 400,000 peo­ple have died in these camps from tor­ture, star­va­tion, dis­ease, and exe­cu­tion.” On that page, they’ve assem­bled Google Earth satel­lite images doc­u­ment­ing the prob­a­ble loca­tions and ele­ments of these camps. For more on these least-known parts of this least-known nation, see also Vice’s 40-minute pro­gram on North Kore­an Labor Camps below:

If all this does­n’t sati­ate your curios­i­ty about North Korea — and what amount of infor­ma­tion ever could? — have a look at Nation­al Geo­graph­ic’s Inside North Koreaa slow-motion film of an intense­ly chore­o­graphed North Kore­an mil­i­tary parade, and of course, our guide to the five best North Kore­an movies, all free to watch online.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Dic­ta­tor Kim Jong-il’s Writ­ings on Cin­e­ma, Art & Opera: Cour­tesy of North Korea’s Free E‑Library

Orches­tral Manoeu­vres in North Korea Prove Yet Again That Music is Uni­ver­sal

A Slo-Mo Look Inside North Korea

The Five Best North Kore­an Movies: Watch Them Free Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

The Digital Dostoevsky: Download Free eBooks & Audio Books of the Russian Novelist’s Major Works

Fyodor_Mikhailovich_Dostoyevsky_1876

In the pan­theon of Great Russ­ian Writ­ers, two heads appear to tow­er above all others—at least for us Eng­lish-lan­guage read­ers. Leo Tol­stoy, aris­to­crat-turned-mys­tic, whose detailed real­ism feels like a fic­tion­al­ized doc­u­men­tary of 19th cen­tu­ry Russ­ian life; and Fyo­dor Mikhailovich Dos­to­evsky, the once-con­demned-to-death, epilep­tic for­mer gam­bler, whose fever-dream nov­els read like psy­cho­log­i­cal case stud­ies of peo­ple bare­ly cling­ing to the jagged edges of that same soci­ety. Both nov­el­ists are read with sim­i­lar rev­er­ence and devo­tion by their fans, and they are often pit­ted against each oth­er, writes Kevin Hart­nett at The Mil­lions, like “Williams vs. DiMag­gio and Bird vs. Mag­ic,” even as peo­ple who have these kinds argu­ments acknowl­edge them both as “irre­ducibly great.”

I’ve had the Tol­stoy vs. Dos­to­evsky back and forth a time or two, and I have to say I usu­al­ly give the edge to Dos­to­evsky. It’s the high-stakes des­per­a­tion of his char­ac­ters, the trag­ic irony of their un-self-aware­ness, or the gnaw­ing obses­sion of those who know a lit­tle bit too much, about them­selves and every­one else. Dos­toyevsky has long been described as a psy­cho­log­i­cal nov­el­ist. Niet­zsche famous­ly called him “the only psy­chol­o­gist from whom I have any­thing to learn.” Hen­ry Miller’s praise of the writer of par­tic­u­lar­ly Russ­ian forms of mis­ery and tres­pass is a lit­tle more col­or­ful: “Dos­to­evsky,” he wrote, “is chaos and fecun­di­ty. Human­i­ty, with him, is but a vor­tex in the bub­bling mael­strom.”

Per­haps the most suc­cinct state­ment on the Russ­ian novelist’s work comes from Scot­tish poet and nov­el­ist Edwin Muir, who said, “Dos­toyevsky wrote of the uncon­scious as if it were con­scious; that is in real­i­ty the rea­son why his char­ac­ters seem ‘patho­log­i­cal,’ while they are only visu­al­ized more clear­ly than any oth­er fig­ures in imag­i­na­tive lit­er­a­ture.” Joseph Con­rad may have found him “too Russ­ian,” but even with the cul­tur­al gulf that sep­a­rates him from us, and the well over one hun­dred years of social, polit­i­cal, and tech­no­log­i­cal change, we still read Dos­to­evsky and see our own inner dark­ness reflect­ed back at us—our hypocrisies, neu­roses, obses­sions, ter­rors, doubts, and even the para­noia and nar­cis­sism we think unique to our inter­net age.

This kind of thing can be unset­tling. Although, like Tol­stoy, Dos­to­evsky embraced a fierce­ly uncom­pro­mis­ing Christianity—one more wracked with painful doubt, per­haps, but no less sincere—his will­ing­ness to descend into the low­est depths of the human psy­che made him seem to Tur­genev like “the nas­ti­est Chris­t­ian I’ve ever met.” I’m not sure if that was meant as a com­pli­ment, but it’s per­haps a fit­ting descrip­tion of the cre­ator of such express­ly vicious char­ac­ters as Crime and Pun­ish­ment’s socio­path­ic Arkady Svidri­gailov, Demons’ cru­el rapist Niko­lai Stavro­gin, and The Broth­ers Kara­ma­zov’s psy­cho­path­ic creep Pavel Smerdyakov (a char­ac­ter so nasty he inspired a Mar­vel comics vil­lain).

Next to these dev­ils, Dos­to­evsky places saints: Crime and Pun­ish­ment’s Sonya, Kara­ma­zov broth­er Alyosha the monk, and holy fool Prince Myshkin in The Idiot. His char­ac­ters fre­quent­ly mur­der and redeem each oth­er, but they also work out exis­ten­tial crises, have lengthy the­o­log­i­cal argu­ments, and illus­trate the author’s philo­soph­i­cal ideas about faith and its lack. The genius of Dos­to­evsky lies in his abil­i­ty to explore such heady abstrac­tions while rarely becom­ing didac­tic or turn­ing his char­ac­ters into pup­pets. On the contrary—no fig­ures in mod­ern lit­er­a­ture seem so alive and three-dimen­sion­al as his anguished col­lec­tion of unfor­get­table anar­chists, aris­to­crats, poor folks, crim­i­nals, fla­neurs, and under­ground men.

Should you have missed out on the plea­sure, if it can so be called, of ful­ly immers­ing your­self in Dostoevsky’s world of fear, belief, and madness—or should you desire to refresh your knowl­edge of his dense and mul­ti­fac­eted work—you can find all of his major nov­els and novel­las online in a vari­ety of for­mats. We’ve done you the favor of com­pil­ing them below in ebook for­mat. Where pos­si­ble, we’ve also includ­ed audio books too. (Note: they all per­ma­nent­ly reside in our Free eBooks and Free Audio Books col­lec­tions.)

Find more of Dostoevsky’s work—including his sketch­es of prison life in Siberia and many of his short sto­ries—at Project Guten­berg. Like his con­tem­po­rary Charles Dick­ens, Dostoevsky’s nov­els were seri­al­ized in peri­od­i­cals, and their plots (and char­ac­ter names) can be wind­ing, con­vo­lut­ed, and dif­fi­cult to fol­low. For a com­pre­hen­sive guide through the life and work of the Russ­ian psy­cho­log­i­cal real­ist, see Chris­ti­aan Stange’s “Dos­to­evsky Research Sta­tion,” an online data­base with full text of the author’s work and links to art­work, crit­i­cal essays, bib­li­ogra­phies, quo­ta­tions, study guides and out­lines, and muse­ums and “his­tor­i­cal­ly impor­tant places.” And for even more resources, see FyodorDostoevsky.com, a huge archive of texts, essays, links, pic­tures and more. Enjoy!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dig­i­tal Niet­zsche: Down­load Nietzsche’s Major Works as Free eBooks

Watch a Hand-Paint­ed Ani­ma­tion of Dostoevsky’s “The Dream of a Ridicu­lous Man”

Watch Piotr Dumala’s Won­der­ful Ani­ma­tions of Lit­er­ary Works by Kaf­ka and Dos­to­evsky

The His­toric Meet­ing Between Dick­ens and Dos­to­evsky Revealed as a Great Lit­er­ary Hoax

Crime and Pun­ish­ment: Free Audio­Book and eBook

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


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