Academy Awards 2014: A Weak Bunch

Against last year’s spectacular line-up, this year’s best picture hopefuls are hopelessly mediocre. This year’s films are largely “true stories” and “Americanized”. 12 Years a Slave, American Hustle, Dallas Buyers Club, The Wolf of Wall Street, Captain Phillips, and Philomena are all true stories. All of the above except Philomena are unapologetically American. 12 Years a Slave begins with a treacherous period of Americans history. It makes the point but no more effectively than any other film on slavery, and has less artistic quality than Tarantino’s Django (2012). American Hustle, set in the slimy late 1970s, tells of fallible con-men messing with gangsters. Dallas Buyers Club, set in the early days of the AIDS epidemic (1980s), smuggles drugs from Mexico to give himself a fighting chance. The Wolf of Wall Street, set in the high-flying 1990’s, shows the morally loose lifestyles of finance fraudsters. Most recent is Captain Phillips, a patriotic story of how SEALs rescued a cargo ship taken over by Somalian pirates. Gravity is thankfully not a true story. It is a triumph of special effects and cinematography, but is not much more than a crowd-pleasing blockbuster. Indeed, one of the nominations bears the name of a U.S. state. Nebraska tells of a man who believes he’s won the lottery. The Academy Awards have often been criticized of its geographic fixation. But these are also the awards that have, in the past, given top prize to Slumdog Millionaire and the Kings’ Speech. Indeed, last year, the nominees included a French film, a film set in France, and two films set nowhere at all.

The Academy has also favoured films about true stories. Argo, of course was a true story – and so were Lincoln and Zero Dark Thirty. But those films will able to outstep the confines of storytelling and create complicated messages and complicated feelings. Against those, the films this year seem to only have one unambiguous message: terrible or crazy things happened the in past. Aside from those two main themes, this year’s line up in general fails to be novel. They discuss or present overly-discussed issues like homosexuality (Dallas, Philomena), con-men (Hustle, Wolf), Catholic indecency (Philomena), self-sacrifice (Gravity, Slave). Some casting decisions are impressive (Jennifer Lawrence in Hustle), and some are too predictable (Clooney in Gravity, Pitt in Slave).

Finally, there seems to be an affixation this year with comedies. Many films present serious matters from a humour angle (as Django did). But only one film is the comedy used to expose truth. “Her” is un-American and not based on a true story, and is the only essential film of the nine. It explores the human emotion of love with no pre-conceived notions and is non-judgmental. In a futuristic world, where mustaches and high-waisted pants are in, humans date artificially intelligent beings without a body. In one case, surrogate partners are used to give the artificially intelligent beings a physical quality. Despite these progressive and potentially offensive arrangements, the quality of the film is to keep viewers from making fundamental judgements of acceptability, and instead keeps viewers focused on the point – that love is more mental than physical (the message is more complicated but that was my main take-away). Despite the inherent comedic quality of the film, it still manages to instill tremendous feeling of grief, anger, joy and so on. So my pick for best picture is without a doubt “Her”. It’s a such a shame it won’t win, for whatever reason.

Breaking Bad Series Finale Predictions

It is no twist of fate that Breaking Bad is told in five seasons, the fifth one elongated to span two years instead of one. For six seasons wouldn’t be very Shakespearean. In the climax of Act III, Jesse murders Gale, Walt’s fungible replacement and successor. Jesse pulls the trigger with such reluctance and with teary eyed decomposition that we feel sorry for him, not Gale. At this point, we celebrate Gale’s death so Walt may live. Walt is still the tragic hero whose cancerous outgrowth is a physical manifestation of his disheveled socioeconomic status and paraplegic son.

The audience’s sympathy for Walt flips in Act IV with the hero’s downfall. Walt succeeds to eliminate Gus from the equation but devolves and is dehumanized down to the last scene when he is revealed to have poisoned the child of Jesse’s love interest. The fourth season ends with a full cast of unlikeable characters, none of whom the viewer can feel the least bit sorry for (with the exception of Jesse). Walt’s dehumanization continues into the fifth and final season as Walt’s ego is further developed. In the third installment, Walt orchestrates Jesse’s breakup with his girlfriend, using the departed Gale remorselessly as leverage.

Jesse, who is best described as Walt’s antithesis was stupid when Walt was smart and now the two have their roles reversed. It was Jesse who thought of using magnets to erase Gus’s incriminating computer and it was Jesse who offered to pay for Mike’s “legacy payments” (to keep imprisoned past-associates’ mouths shut). Walt, who is uncomfortable letting Jesse take the higher moral ground, capitulates and offers to pay his share too.

Walt’s finishing speech about how pawns overreach might be construed to be directed at Mike, who he later kills. But the warning is actually directed at Jesse. The final episode will have a final encounter between the antitheses and probably some final show-down. Walt will die, as any tragic hero does, either at the hands of Jesse or himself (or Skylar, though since her guilt has already been sealed, is an unlikely hero).

Breaking Bad is certainly not a feel-good TV series. It is a dark comedy that reveals the worst in everyone. It is overwhelmingly defeatist. But the poor viewers who have watched the deadly spiral for six years will be happy to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I believe it is called Catharsis.

Adapted from the July 31, 2012 post

House of Cards and the Newsroom and the power of Media

The Newsroom is a glorified over-simplification of the news on television, but it is often entertaining as recent events are seen from a different lens. Its main message is an instructive one: that he who pays the piper also picks his tune applies to the newsroom. The news is at the mercy of advertising dollars and an increasingly detached electorate. It is a self-perpetuating circle of feeding useless information to stupefy the audience who then demand further useless information. 

The show is too black and white, with clear heroes and villains and commandments of biblical proportions. Even the intro-scene has a backing track fit for a flag-raising ceremony. 

The power of news is exposed in House of Cards. The polarizing schemer of Washington, played by Kevin Spacey, uses the news (and its conduit, Rachel) to achieve his political goals. Smear campaigns, sound bites (“disorganized labour”) and sob stories help misinform and mislead the public. Whether the news is used respectfully, as in the Newsroom, or villainously, by Washington, it is decidedly powerful. 

The poor pawns at the Herald spend the entire season at Underwood’s command; but their closeness to the lies is what gives them power. In the finale, Underwood celebrates a victory to be undone by the revelations of vultures-turned-heroes. 

Underwood is a tragic hero with periodic soliloquies who is unfairly schemed against and seeks retribution by playing god. He controls, manipulates and kills yet the audience feels not anger, just empathy. Further, he is a guilty pleasure. His actions require the audience to question their own fallibilities and their own value systems. Underwood is the alpha male that is respected in private and scrutinized in public. 

His wife turns out to be a complicated character herself (maybe more complicated). She twists and turns, with unclear motives, has power (she overturns her own bill in rebellion against her husband) and is powerless (she is sued by her ideological opposite). She marries her husband for excitement, not happiness. 

The two series are diametrically different in mood. The Newsroom is light when House of Cards is dark. Both series were renewed for a second season. The newsroom begins Sunday night.

Game of Thrones: The Rise of the East

The history of the world can be reasonably explained as East against West. Separated once by the Hellespont and later by the Iron Curtain, this ethereal divide is the basis of much divergence in wealth, culture, thought and values. But the tides are changing. The last publications of both TIME and The Economist have cover stories on the latest installment between China and US, i.e. the rise of the East at the expense of the West.

And so explains the story of Westeros vs. Essos. In Westeros, the champions of great castles, flamboyant games and tight dresses are in a mutually disastrous war. In Essos, between the nomads, slaves and pockets of rich, exotic dragons are born. The storytelling is clearly a western perspective. The West used to tell stories of Vampires to discredit the East. The movie 300 made the Persian wars seem like the East was another world. Essos is equally unfamiliar yet rising and is becoming the plotline of record.

Game of Thrones takes the HBO formula of slow-moving, multi-faceted plotlines to the world of fantasy. Like Lord of the Rings, the proper nouns will intrigue geeks who’ve read the book and baffle the casual viewer. Instead, focus on the beautiful world (Morocco, Iceland, Ireland, Croatia) and the message of honour, courage and love. The show is unapologetic and unformulaic. Like in real life, the protagonist often loses. For honour, Ned dies. For love, Rob. In the penultimate episode, the line of the series comes to light: “If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention”.

With the entire primary storyline cut, the shift to the East is clear. Daenerys, who has been the point of attention for viewers since the first episode (no explanation required) and since her jaw-dropping finale giving ‘birth’ to dragons, is now the primary plotline. With some dragoons, an army and a potential lover, she is fit to conquer the inbreeding, devil worshiping West. 

Les Misérables, the Movie, the Musical and the Book

I have finished reading Les Misérables with no more than 10 days to spare until I leave for Paris, the principal setting of Hugo’s book. At over 1500 pages the unabridged edition is a rambling epic of Napoleonic proportion. It goes on long-winded tangents and social rants that are decidedly indigestible. Included are “books” on convents, where Cosette grows up and the Battle of Waterloo, the deciding battle that ushers in Hugo’s story in 1815. However, thoroughness does not preclude Les Misérables from being an important literary work. It is an important historical document of revolutionary France and morally instructive. The book beings with “So long […] as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of the nature of Les Misérables cannot fail to be of use.” I agree. 

The story is of Jean Valjean, a dejected wretch of society who finds love through God, as represented by the second chance given by the Bishop of Digne; through benevolence and philanthropy, as represented by his caring for Fantine, the poor single mother who sings I Dream a Dream; and finally and most importantly through fatherly love in care for Cosette, Fantine’s daughter. This story of sorrow and rebirth is aptly set in post Napoleonic-France. As the movie points out, 23 after Louis XVI is executed, another King is back on the throne. Hugo unabashedly sympathizes with Republicans sees revolution as necessary for progress and for redemption of these Misérables.

His characters all find solace. Fantine’s sorrows are made whole with the happiness of Cosette. Javert, who sings “Men like you can never change / Men like me can never change,” sooths his inexplicable internal dilemma through suicide. Eponine dies in the hands of Marius (with a bullet through her exposed breast). Marius and Cosette live happily ever after.

Although the book was successful upon publication (1862) it was revived in the English-speaking world by the musical. It debuted in the West End in 1985 and is still playing in London, a production I hope to see when I visit at the end of this month. It distills the laborious book into a concise and heart-wrenching production. When an outpour of emotion is required, the recitative turns into song. With Les Misérables as sentimental as it is, the delivery mechanism of the comédie musicale is exceptional. No other musical is as successful in drawing tears (of despair and of joy) from the audience. In "Drink With Me", students destined to die reminisce of pleasures of the living. Jean Valjean makes peace with losing Cosette to Marius and wishes him life in "Bring Him Home", a song written specifically for Colm Wilkinson (the original Jean Valjean but the Bishop of Digne in the 2012 film). The musical one-ups the book in pausing on the most salient parts the 1500-page book skims over. Marius feels guilty for surviving his friends as he sings Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, perhaps the most memorable song of the musical. The book has but a paragraph to describe these ineffable devils.

Yet the book is worth reading. The musical makes easy simplifications that at best covers the depth of the story, and at worst, romanticizes these very human characters. Eponine is less of a hero in the book. She, in fact, caused Cosette to leave to England and concealed Cosette’s letter from Marius until the last moment before her death. This is a better version because it is more believable. I had always thought of her as unfathomably valiant in the musical. The musical also mischaracterizes the revolution as well-planned and as over-glorious. Instead, it was a opportunistic, spontaneous uprising comprised of loosely related revolutionaries. Marius was not well known to the friends of the ABC (“abasé”, or abased) and only chose to join them because he did not wish to live without Cosette. The barricade was also a small and rather insignificant annoyance to the larger engagements of the same time. But, understandably, the musical achieves concision in place of accuracy. Therefore, each the musical and the book have their place.

The movie is surprisingly faithful to the story. A few heartwarming tidbits are revealed: Valjean’s stay at the convent; Valjean’s happiness in finding Cosette in a new song named “Suddenly”; Marius’s bourgeois father; Eponine’s taking a bullet for Marius. Some scenes are spectacular. Anne Hathaway’s “I Dream a Dream” lives up and surpasses expectations; Samantha Bark’s “On My Own” is passionate. The women do better than the men. “Bring him Home” and “Stars” show the Hollywood actors belong there. “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” was anti-climactic. The movie cannot stand its own against because the musical is more immediate and therefore more emotional. But it is still a joy to watch.

A difficulty for the story is Cosette. She doesn't do very much more than look pretty. In fact, for the first six months Cosette and Marius stare at each other from afar and without knowing eachother’s names and decides they must marry. For all that Hugo defends: the poor, the powerless, the ignorant, he does not seem to care much for women. He even writes that women exist for two reasons: love and coquetry. Furthermore, I found it unsympathetic with the theme of the book that Marius ends up with rich Cosette instead of street-urchin Eponine. But I was relieved that the book made it clear that Marius marries Cosette without knowing Jean Valjean’s wealth.

A final note on the book. Hugo writes it as though he is telling a true story. Perhaps he is. But the setting and places in Paris are real. For example, Cosette and Marius fall in love at the Jardin du Luxembourg, a park I will no doubt visit next semester. The barricades are set up in “Les Halles,” where I am living. What better way to become excited for Paris than to read Les Mis.

Some Quotations

A description of Fantine and her friends: “All four were madly pretty. A good old classic poet, then famous, a good fellow who had an Eleonore, M. le Chevalier de Labouisse, as he strolled that day beneath the chestnut-trees of Saint-Cloud, saw them pass about ten o'clock in the morning, and exclaimed, "There is one too many of them," as he thought of the Graces.”

A description of the Thénardiers: “These beings belonged to that bastard class composed of coarse people who have been successful, and of intelligent people who have descended in the scale, which is between the class called "middle" and the class denominated as "inferior," and which combines some of the defects of the second with nearly all the vices of the first, without possessing the generous impulse of the workingman nor the honest order of the bourgeois.”

De-glorifying the Battle of Waterloo: “Bauduin, killed, Foy wounded, conflagration, massacre, carnage, a rivulet formed of English blood, French blood, German blood mingled in fury, a well crammed with corpses, the regiment of Nassau and the regiment of Brunswick destroyed, Duplat killed, Blackmann killed, the English Guards mutilated, twenty French battalions, besides the forty from Reille's corps, decimated, three thousand men in that hovel of Hougomont alone cut down, slashed to pieces, shot, burned, with their throats cut,—and all this so that a peasant can say to-day to the traveller: Monsieur, give me three francs, and if you like, I will explain to you the affair of Waterloo!”

On Napoleon: “Wellington was the Bareme of war; Napoleon was its Michael Angelo”

Regarding Mme. Thénardiers: “Cosette was her only servant; a mouse in the service of an elephant.”

Some things never change: “It was the accent of Castlereagh auditing France's bill at the Congress of Vienna.”

Why Do You Hear the People Sing: “Songs are like the guillotine; they chop away indifferently, to-day this head, to-morrow that. It is only a variation.”

Parisians and their locomotive prowess: “To stray is human. To saunter is Parisian.”

On youth: “The first young lad who comes to hand, however poor he may be, with his strength, his health, his rapid walk, his brilliant eyes, his warmly circulating blood, his black hair, his red lips, his white teeth, his pure breath, will always arouse the envy of an aged emperor.”

Cosette all grown up: “Cosette, in gaining the knowledge that she was beautiful, lost the grace of ignoring it. An exquisite grace, for beauty enhanced by ingenuousness is ineffable, and nothing is so adorable as a dazzling and innocent creature who walks along, holding in her hand the key to paradise without being conscious of it. But what she had lost in ingenuous grace, she gained in pensive and serious charm. Her whole person, permeated with the joy of youth, of innocence, and of beauty, breathed forth a splendid melancholy.”

Love: “COSETTE in her shadow, like Marius in his, was all ready to take fire. Destiny, with its mysterious and fatal patience, slowly drew together these two beings, all charged and all languishing with the stormy electricity of passion, these two souls which were laden with love as two clouds are laden with lightning, and which were bound to overflow and mingle in a look like the clouds in a flash of fire.”

“One of woman's magnanimities is to yield. Love, at the height where it is absolute, is complicated with some indescribably celestial blindness of modesty. But what dangers you run, O noble souls! Often you give the heart, and we take the body. Your heart remains with you, you gaze upon it in the gloom with a shudder. Love has no middle course; it either ruins or it saves. All human destiny lies in this dilemma. This dilemma, ruin, or safety, is set forth no more inexorably by any fatality than by love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; also coffin. The same sentiment says "yes" and "no" in the human heart. Of all the things that God has made, the human heart is the one which sheds the most light, alas! and the most darkness.”

“Angel is the only word in the language which never can be worn out. No other word would exist under the pitiless use made of it by lovers.”

On bankers: “And then, I met a pretty girl of my acquaintance, who is as beautiful as the spring, worthy to be called Floreal, and who is delighted, enraptured, as happy as the angels, because a wretch yesterday, a frightful banker all spotted with small-pox, deigned to take a fancy to her! Alas! woman keeps on the watch for a protector as much as for a lover; cats chase mice as well as birds. Two months ago that young woman was virtuous in an attic, she adjusted little brass rings in the eyelet-holes of corsets, what do you call it? She sewed, she had a camp bed, she dwelt beside a pot of flowers, she was contented. Now here she is a bankeress.”

“Citizens, the nineteenth century is great, but the twentieth century will be happy. “

The Messiah and the Christmas Spirit

It has finally snowed in Toronto. And though understated, my bedroom view of rolling hills of decrepit foliage is revived by an unadulterated blanket of white. The coffee beans are freshly roasted; green/red/white salads are served. Unfortunately, there are no Christmas trees or presents underneath. But that is a more a function of laziness and senility than a Grinch-like mentality.

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Caprese Salad: balsamic reduction, fior di latte, basil, arugula, tomatos

And nothing says Christmas more than Handel’s Messiah. It is an oratorio that pays tribute to Jesus’ birth (Part I) and death (Part II) and preaches in true Christian fashion (Part III). But a non-Christian can appreciate the message of hope and despair, the incredibly dumb yet uplifting libretto that repeats phrases (or words) like scripture and the long-held melismas by out-of-breath singers. It is a grandiose and mesmerizing experience. I have seen it every year since grade 7, except the last.

After missing it in 2011 (for sad and lonely reasons) I redoubled my efforts to see it in 2012. We went to a small-scale rendition dubbed “the Dublin Messiah,” an attempt to recreate the first showing in baroque Dublin. This was before the modern day 40-person orchestras and 100-person choirs were invented. In 1700 England, percussion was but a street show. The Dublin Messiah gave some parts back to their intended singers but the most noticeable alterations were “Rejoice Greatly” in 12/8 time and “How beautiful are the feet” as a duetto. I find that the 12/8 time gives this happy song a quicker pace and an almost playful quality. But the “B” in the tenary form is noticeably worse. There was also no standing during Hallelujah because the King wasn’t there in Dublin.

Another surprise was the uncanny appearance of a mezzo-soprano I had seen before (though I did not know where at the time). She was easily the best soloist of the four and carried herself with a majestic virtuosity that comes only with performing this part so many times. A search back home showed that she was the mezzo-soprano at Kingston Messiah in 2010, indeed the last time I saw this piece. To be remembered across a two-year gap says something of her talent. And she was almost as captivating when she silently sat with a knowing smile, clearly in love with the music and her co-performers.

The smaller chamber choir and chamber orchestra worked. It placed greater emphasis on each of the individual performers, like the three-to-four singers in the four choir parts. And where talent lacked, it was apparently. The lead trumpeter could not play the valve-less Baroque instrument and was able to singlehandedly ruin The Trumpet Shall Sound, one of the triumphs of the oratorio.

Christmas is coming. And one of our co-patrons at the theatre whispered of another Christmas day miracle: Les Misérables. Well this should be a fun and musical holidays indeed.

From John Adams to Obama

The Obama victory had struck a malaise in me (or perhaps it was the keg stand). The resultant bed-tied activity was to watch over eight hours of John Adams, an acclaimed HBO miniseries tracing the founding father from the revolutionary war to his death.

The series has left no doubt of American exceptionalism in modern history. The series does little sugar-coating as is often accomplished with American history. The follies of the participants and of both sides are clearly told. But America is a crystal ball for the future. The society is more recognizable to the modern audience than any other society of the time period. One telling scene has John Adam’s wife speaking Latin while the subservient British equivalent sat dumfounded. Another is Adam’s visit to the perfumed, beautified and indulgent Parisian aristocrats soon to be irradiated.

John Adams is a brash, stubborn, no-bullshit politician. He won the 1796 election from his porch in Quincy. He was a pragmatist vested in the interest of America above all else. As lawyer he defended the English of the Boston Massacre; as a congressman he promulgated and signed the Declaration of Independence against the King. As emissary he courted the French, Dutch and later the English, and as president, he turned his back on them. Indeed, Adams was a true centrist who neither succumbed to pressures of his own party (the Federalists) nor that of the Republicans (who now are called Democrats).

Parallel to revolutionary America is revolutionary France, which had its revolution not long after America’s. The response of monarchist England was war. The Hamiltonians were intent on supporting Britain while the Jeffersonian wanted to back revolutionary France as a similar endeavour as America’s own. But Adams prudently signed a treaty with Napoleon (a treaty with Britain was signed when Adams was vice-president), knowing that young America could not withstand another war. It was this self-sacrifice of sorts that had him lose the 1800 election to Jefferson. John did not pull a George W. Bush.

John Adam is shown to be steadfast in his principles if misguided at times. He leaves his wife and sons for too long and later disowns one. He is painfully unsympathetic to a son-in-law that he deems to have failed. He contrives royal titles for president (“his majesty, his highness”) and is laughed out of congress.

But John Adams risked losing an election for the good of Americans. Adam’s independent thinking, pragmatism and unyielding idealism are qualities unseen in modern-day presidents. How sad a country of America’s pedigree should bear no resemblance to its heyday.

Boardwalk Empire and Downton Abbey: 3rd Season Premiers; America and Britain in the 1920's

Boardwalk Empire and Downton Abbey both begin their third seasons in the early 1920’s. There is very little comparison to be made. Atlantic City is the place of dreams, where social mobility is vast and unhindered. Nucky Thompson could not afford breakfast as a child; now he is America’s most prominent mobster. The depiction of America is all rather unruly, fraught with scandalous politicians, kickbacks and unfettered violence. It was, indeed, the Wild West, a description much to the delight of the English. Compare to the aristocratic house of Crawley, where crackling guns are replaced with crackling tongues, and political maneuvering with the game of marriage.

The tie over is Cora, the American wife of the Crawley patriarch, and her mother endowed with an American exceptionalism to rival Maggie Smith’s British equivalent. “Whenever I’m with her, I’m reminded of the virtues of the English,” says the Dowager Countess. When pressed with “Isn’t she American?” she replies a pithy “Exactly.” The cocktails banned during the prohibition of the United States (from which arose the mobsters of Atlantic City) make their way into pre-dinner drinks at Downton. The Dowager Countess was horrified.

The British must deal with a dichotomy at the turn of the modern era. It is clear that the US is firmly the strongest power in the world. Indeed, the US saved the Allies in the First World War and the Cora’s American wealth will have to save Downton from going underwater (again). Britain fears becoming a vestige of the 19th century and relies on its superior sense of tradition to counteract American supremacy. Crawleys mis-dressed in black ties instead of the more formal white ties are compared to “Chicago Bootleggers” (e.g. Al Capone in Boardwalk Empire).

But the cultural cross pollinations is not just one-sided. Atlantic City entertains old world immigrants. The Irish, in particular, are prominent. Revolutionary sentiment had turned them very American. When the youngest Crawley daughter marries an Irish chauffeur, the house is swept up is controversy. In Atlantic City, Nucky marries an Irish immigrant and hires an ex-Irish revolutionary to do his dirty work. The two share pragmatism, idealism and disdain for the old.

Nucky Thompson’s metamorphosis into full-mobster moves the show into foreign territory. I am unsure if it can deliver. The first two seasons relied on some sympathy for Nucky. Albeit a criminal, he exhibited a soft-hearted humanism. However, in an unexpected turn of events, he orders the death of an insignificant thief. The old Nucky would have shuddered. His wife Margaret was a repentant fortune hunter (this respectable synonym for “gold-digger” as used in Downton Abbey) but is set to play a hackneyed independent-feminist. The opener was still highly entertaining, but I fear it’s losing the charm of the first two seasons. We certainly do not need more plain-vanilla gangster dramas.

In Downton, financial troubles are set to create rifts, for what is an aristocrat with no money? The heartwarming marriage between Mary and Matthew in its pomposity ironically diverts attention away from monetary troubles. There are more than enough post-wedding jokes thrown around. Cora remarks to her daughter, “because when two people love each other…everything is the most terrific fun.” But even the tightly-would Mary jokes, “You can leave us unchaperoned. After tomorrow, all things are permitted.” The series does a wonderful job letting the audience share in their hard-earned romance. The episode ends on a happy but foreboding note.

Downton Abbey - Season 2: Alas, poor Yorick, all is equal in death.

The major theme of the second season continues from the first: that happiness and strife are independent of socio-economic status. How right that is.

The ensemble cast returns to a world engulfed in war. Many themes of war are picked up properly. One servant suffers from shellshock, first witnessed in WWI trenches; the ‘political’ chauffer uses the execution of the Russian royal family (1918, a year after the revolution) as a parable for his new life with the third eldest Crawley daughter; women gain importance as nurses. The war spells tragedy for Downton. A servant dies protecting the heir, Mathew Crawley, who is initially crippled but later regains his health.

The tragedies continue in the post-war outbreak of Spanish flu, from which 3% of the population died. Alas, poor Yorick, death is the greatest equalizer of all. Despite the widespread infections both upstairs and downstairs, the only casualty was the heart-broken yet perennially loving and self-sacrificing fiancé of Mathew, Lavinia Swire. Her death was the happiness of Mary and Mathew, their love finally unhindered. It is an accomplishment for the series to have the audience to so thoroughly share in the joy of two beneficiaries of wealth, appearance, pedigree and frankly, someone else’s death. There is nothing that precludes the well-to-do from eliciting sympathy and relief thereafter. Just as the poor can attain insurmountable highs, the rich can plummet to lows.

A heartwarming scene near the end hosts the servants’ ball, where the nobles dance with their servants. Hierarchies are still respected. The patriarch Crawley is reserved by head housekeeper; the Butler twirls with Crawley’s American wife, Cora.

The second season is almost as successful as the first by virtue of characters and wit. Cora, played by Emmy nominated actress Elizabeth McGovern, has a magnificent accent similar to that of Atlantic City mobsters in Boardwalk Empire (a new season of which starts soon!). As her fellow Americans, she is ever so open-minded, industrious, crafty, calculating and decidedly less noble-minded than her British counterparts. Viewers no doubt were pleased that Lavinia was sacrificed in Cora’s stead.

Unfortunately, a few tangents led nowhere or were less than meaningful. Patriarch Crawley, a Major and an aging suitor all have illicit affairs out of wedlock. We get the point. People were just as salacious a hundred years ago, just that society was less accepting (and found fault with the woman more often). Aside from that, the affairs were at best, boring. At worst, they were unbelievable in an otherwise genuine series.

I am sad to finish the second series with the third not yet available. Despite some follies, the second season comes as vociferously as the first, filled to the brim with emotions both euphoric and lugubrious in a holistic and pertinent yet often comical depiction of the lives of the rich and poor. 

Downton Abbey: Season 1. Aristocracy 101: What is a weekend?

Two ecosystems exist in parallel at Downton. One is upstairs led by a bumbling patriarch Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, a benevolent aristocrat modern enough to use electricity and telephones and even sleep in the same bed with his respectably cunning American wife. He is prideful in his occupation, calling the management of the estate his “life’s work”. His dowager countess mother, played by Maggie Smith, is a nippy semblance of old money and British wit as to provide some remarkable one-liners. “What is a weekend?” she genuinely asks of an upper middle-class lawyer. His three daughters are worldly, eloquent and mostly beautiful. The dowry-bearing first-born, Mary, is most exquisite, at least until she gallivants (to put it cleanly) with a Turk who ends up dying in her bed. (Aside – I must squeeze in another stomach spluttering quotation by Maggie Smith: “No Englishman would *dream* of dying in someone else's house - especially somebody they didn't even know.”) The middle sister is a radical free spirit, interested in politics, fashion, feminism and anything modern and keeps out of the courting limelight, though she herself is quite sought after. The youngest is a green-eyed monster but takes what is coming to her, in both senses of the phrase.

Downstairs, the hierarchy is just as pronounced. Servants must stand when head Butler, a scrupulous and honour-driven Charlie Carson enters the room. They are mostly proud of their occupation but question whether their blind order-taking is fit for the ensuing era. One contemplates marrying a farmer; another applies to be a receptionist. There is quite a bit of politics and backstabbing not unlike the state upstairs. But I personally just don’t find the story downstairs as riveting.

This all happens on the dawn of World War I, not a hundred years from today. It is a turbulent time for aristocracy. Indeed, WWI was preluded with the death of King Edward and a funeral procession that included “five heirs apparent, forty or more imperial or royal highnesses, seven queens-four dowager and three regnant.” It began with the assassination of an archduke and ended with dissolution of no less than four empires. With the industrial revolution closing the inequity gap and Marxist leanings taking over, it is hard not to sympathize with nobility.

And while this is not a show to scoff at the rich; it also does not look down on the poor. If anything it might suggest that as different as upstairs and downstairs might seem, they are remarkably similar. A classist Mary first speaks unkindly to her suitor for the sole reason that he must work for a living but besottedly receives a most romantic kiss. Yet only after he turns ridiculously wealthy does she accept his marriage proposal, one that he reneges in what must be the saddest scene in the first season. You might judge the well-to-do here but to the credit of the series, it is very believable and innocent. A similar love story develops between war-wounded valet Bates and head housemaid Anna, two genuinely selfless and uncalculating (unlike above) individuals but run into problems with some luggage from Bates’s past. And kudos to Emmy nominated Brendan Coyle, who plays this downtrodden character with no desire for pity but only an unequivocal sense of nobility.

This is the most successful British television to have ever aired, picking up the most number of Emmy nominations for a show in its category. It surely deserves them. It has an incongruent ensemble cast but manages to give each character a heart, a meaning in life, and a role in society (however unfair it may be). And the truly refreshing piece is that it doesn't make it seem all that unfair after all.

Game Change: can Paul Ryan live up to Sarah Palin?

Paul Ryan was selected by Mitt Romney to appeal to the far right, as Mr. Romney himself is rather progressive (he was, at one point, a democrat). In 2008, after defeating Romney in the primaries, McCain found himself inheriting a rundown GOP owning to Iraq, the financial crisis and Bush. He chose Alaskan Governor Palin, an attractive ultra-conservative who would appeal to the female vote. It was meant to be a game changer, one to match Obama’s ground-breaking campaign. But in their haste, the strategists failed to recognize Palin’s lack of any general knowledge precluding that of the energy sector.

How she could be elected as such a prominent figurehead (albeit of Alaska) with no understanding of the world is confounding. Both Obama and Palin are celebrities in their own right, but as chief strategist Steve Schmidt presciently says, “Primary difference being Sarah Palin can't name a Supreme Court decision, whereas Barack Obama was a constitutional law professor.” I might have fallen into the same category as Palin on this distinction until the recent Supreme Court ruling for Obamacare. Though the landmark case Palin should have cited was Roe v. Wade, given her outright stance against abortion. Thus she might best be described as an ideologue – someone who is dogmatic yet cannot provide any intellectual justifications.

Neither Palin nor McCain agreed to watch Game Change, though the movie was not political (or condoned by the Democrats) at all. In fact, McCain is portrayed as an upstanding war hero. He campaigned and lost with great grace, at odds with his unabashed advisors. He was kind to Palin and at no time did he blame her for his loss. Palin, though, was portrayed as ungraceful, daft, childish and stupid. But an accurate portrayal cannot necessarily be called slander. The movie does sympathize with Palin and gives her the benefit of inexperience. It feels very much as though she had little idea what she was getting herself into.

The most interesting tidbit was that Ronald Reagan once said that trees cause pollution. This pleased Palin, seeing her idol commit a mistake almost as frivolous as hers (“I can see Russia”, “refudiate”). The whole affair is quite fun to scoff at. In 2012, there is much less laughing. A decidedly uncharismatic capitalist takes on an unaccomplished incumbent; in their hands rests a nation struggling to stay at the top. Obama still needs to select a running mate but it looks as though the vice-presidential race will be nowhere as colourful as four years ago.

Hemingway & Gellhorn: Writers are the best lovers

Perhaps the film should have been named Gellhorn & Hemingway instead of the other way around. Not just for convention but for that this television-movie is really about Martha Gellhorn, Hemingway’s lover from the Spanish War through to the Second World War. The film tries to free Gellhorn from the “footnote” that she is to Hemingway’s life. And if not a footnote, she is one measly dedication in the preamble of his most famous book, For Whom the Bell Tolls. The film’s success, then, was portraying Gellhorn as independent, vivacious, humanist and altogether more respectable than her lover. And while their lines never live up to what such versed writers might have actually said, and notwithstanding some confusing details and questionable art direction (changing from black & white to colour and back), the movie was wildly interesting and even thought-provoking.

The first theatre is the Spanish Civil War. Gellhorn is there as an up-and-coming war journalist with a genuine desire to enlighten the world. Hemingway’s motivations are less clear. Perhaps it was to chase Gellhorn, away from the scrutiny of his uptight wife; or perhaps for adventure and to indulge his masculinity.

The Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) was the prelude to the Second World War where the belligerents could be roughly divided into the Franco-led fascists and the revolutionary socialists, though the divisions were much clearer in the Russian Civil War. The left was a hodgepodge of anarchists, socialists, communists and Basque separatists. The right comprised of fascists (Falange – from “Phalanx”), royalists (Alfonsists, Carlists) and Catholics (JAP). And although the war itself had only a perfunctory ideological division, the politically charged times inspired much foreign support. Hitler, Mussolini and Russia each backed his appropriate side. And in an unprecedented reaction to Fascism, volunteers from the enlightened world came to support the left (cue Gellhorn & Hemingway).

The war is historically significant in two ways. First, it was the first time for Total War, where civilians were at risk. Previously, it was easy for pacifists to detach themselves; after 1936, this was impossible. And with civilian involvement comes atrocities like Hitler’s bombing of Guernica, a story famously told by Picasso’s painting (his collection is currently showing at the AGO, as I witnessed last weekend and had no meaningful understanding of). Second, it was the first time war was documented so vividly (again, cue Gellhorn & Hemingway). These two significances combine for some vivid storytelling.

​Guernica, Picasso 

Atrocities continue, through Finland (1940, “Winter War”), China (the Japanese vs. Chiang Kai Shek vs. Mao), Normandy (D-Day, 1944), Vietnam and so on. This is unfortunate for the world-at-large but it gave Gellhorn a purpose (and a lot of material). She is the quintessential social impact writer. Arguably, all writers should subscribe to this title. As writers lead the way the world thinks, they have a moral responsibility to morph readers into more caring, sympathetic, worldly, accepting individuals. And while Hemingway might do the same, it does not show in character. Thus this movie glorifies Gellhorn at the expense of Hemingway. It puts Gellhorn on a pedestal and worships her much to his discontent. He commits suicide; she continues to write. But it all falls apart when Gellhorn’s interviewer asks her how she feels about her “debt” to Hemingway. This is not to insult Gellhorn; it is simply to show the audience how notoriety is often unfair and unjustified.

A final thought: My favourite quotation in the film is "Happiness in intelligent people is one of the rarest things I know." But seeing these two eloquent writers share a love story prompted that clarity of expression must be such a desirable quality in relationships. If communication the sin qua non of relationships then writers (and orators, and so on) must be the most desirable. It’s a shame Gellhorn & Hemingway did not last. Why not? I can’t say I have the credibility to guess. 

Hatfields & McCoys (Miniseries): United States on the Verge of Greatness

The Hatfield-McCoy feud is an oft-forgotten vestige of American History, at least to a euro-centric student of history like me. The miniseries is an authentic Romeo and Juliet story: Hatfields and McCoys are feuding families intertwined by love, desertion (Civil War), wealth and death. The cause of the conflict is unimportant. Long-time friends, the patriarchs of their respective families, go separate ways as the Hatfield deserts the Confederate Army to begin a lucrative logging business while the McCoy becomes the sole survivor of his regiment and the suffers in a Union prison. McCoy sees Hatfield’s commercial success to his own suffering and takes it onto himself to do God’s work to rectify the supposed injustice. As the Civil War ends in 1865, the embarrassed and blood-thirsty southerners redirect their anger at each other.

Hatfields & McCoys is a story about escalation, where trivial matters compound into interstate “wars,” where human nature takes revenge too seriously and refuses to forgive and forget. The three-day series gets progressively darker and bloodier. Casualties of this frivolous scrimmage pile up quickly. There is plenty of gratuitous loud-banging, sure to please the thrill-seeking variety, especially those with an affinity for Westerns. It is also quite romantic; the archetypal story of forbidden love is well-told though perhaps the added romanticism was the producer’s attempt to inspire mass appeal. The actual story was probably much less idyllic.

The real reason to watch this miniseries is for its historical accuracy (it is, after all, produced by the History Channel). The setting shows a tumultuous time in the 50 years prior to the modern era. Technological inventions, electricity for example (the lady McCoy asks not to be cremated but to be treated with electricity, whatever that might mean), are set to supercharge America into the 20th century. Social systems (judicial, political, and others) as we know them today are nascent yet immature. (In a show of true American idealism, both sides of the dispute claim the higher moral ground, and often justify their own actions on a pseudo-lawful manner; they often play judge, jury and executioner.) The institution of a united states is forming but is inefficient. (Families lie on either sides of the “Tug Fork,” the division between Kentucky and West Virginia and thus require extradition, lest they take law into their own hands.) And finally, we see a beginning of an interconnectedness (globalization, in today’s business-speak) where the feud becomes a national sensation and executions draw out adrenaline junkies from far and wide.

If this miniseries is accurate, it suggests the late 1800s were a rather brutish time. Lives were so easily lost and wasted. It is surprisingly encouraging how much our social institutions have changed since then. As for the human nature, well that clearly hasn’t changed very much.

Suits: set close to home but far from great

Suits shows the extravagant side of courtroom dramas, showcasing type-A corporate lawyers save high-octane businesses bundles of money. Unfortunately, it doesn’t serve a much greater purpose than that.

A nice touch is its being filmed in Toronto. A friend of mine took a picture of the hotdog scene where spoils of the previous night’s labours were being divvied between drug-dealer Trevor and then then-fraudster Mike Ross when an envelope clasping Harvey Spector enters, only to be ridiculed for his success by the antiestablishmentarian youth. “If I ever look like that, shoot me,” says Mike Ross, ironically. The scene was filmed outside the Munich Re. Centre on 390 Bay Street with the iconic Seven Eleven on the southwest corner of Bay & Richmond duly noted. Elsewhere in the episode, Harvey interrupts Louis’s obsessive stares at a co-worker in Mercatto, the Bay & Adelaide location with the restaurant’s name still on the windows. 

(See video @0:21)

​Filming in Toronto

The series is fun and lighthearted but it falls apart way too often. For example, Mike has a connection with his date’s roommate, Jenny, when the two recite lines from A Few Good Men. The movie is a courtroom drama but the allegory ends there. Mike murmurs under his breath, “I love you,” wishing his date was instead with Jenny. Yet by the end of the night, Mike appears to have forgotten his earlier revelation and asks to go home with Nikki, with who after a full three course meal the dull conversation still relies on Mike’s eidetic memory. As expected, the relationship goes nowhere as Nikki asks Mike to write her LSAT’s. His actions are inconsistent and therefore not believable.​

(See video @ 0:49)

Then there is the pragmatic and uncaring Jessica Pearson who ruthlessly fires Monaca for her innocent relationship with Daniel Hardman. The reason was no more than that Monaca was on the “wrong side.” Why Harvey and Mike seem devoted to such a heartless creature relies solely on their own well-being. This transactional nature of the show creates loose character ties and underdeveloped personalities centered around careerism and self-adulation. It also halts the Corporate Law profession to a standstill. It would be nice for Mike’s apotheosis to serve a greater purpose but the cases are increasingly one-dimensional with little societal impact. So while the show is a great fun to watch, it won’t win any awards.​

God Save the Queen: A Report on the Brits

I watched the academy award winning film The Queen, tracing the life of the monarch Elizabeth II from the election of Tony Blair to the tumultuous death of Princess Diana. I watched it because Britain is at the forefront of current events. Earlier this year, the same Elizabeth celebrated her diamond Jubilee and London is currently hosting the Olympic Games.

I must begin by asserting that I am a monarchist. As I said in a previous post, as much as people like an underdog story, people simply are more envious of those who have always been successful. The film itself stands for the monarchy. A humble, idealistic but slightly naive Tony Blair is a modernist proposing the most radical shifts in the constitution in history and does not give full credit to the Queen until the death of Princess Diana, the youthful and cavalier divorcé of Prince Charles. The stoic, old-fashioned and graceful Queen underwent unfathomable pressures to reconcile her dislike for Diana with the general public’s love for what they called People’s Princess. The result was the Queen having to sacrifice her traditional values to pacify her people, for which Tony Blair finds respectable. You would think Tony Blair would side with the Princess. Instead he sides with the Queen. “I don't know why I'm surprised. At the end of the day, all Labour Prime Ministers go gaga for the Queen,” says his vocally anti-monarchist wife.

You cannot help but feel sorry for an anachronistic Queen (for whom Tony Blair was the tenth Prime Minister sworn in) who fears she does not understand her people. She was brought up to value modesty and dignity. The post-war era characterized by the rise of the United States and decolonization at the expense of Britain’s empire created such a somber atmosphere in a nation reminiscent of past glories. Even the Olympic ceremonies showed the Brits as simpletons, snarky in humour yet not easily humoured. They are known for boring Stonehenge and the metallic roar of the industrial revolution. Indeed the overcast nation is depressing. Yet as Canadians, we can relate to Britain’s quite leadership. To begin, the Brits have a smaller percentage of their total medals thus far as golds than anyone else in the top five. The Canadians have zero golds out of seven medals. As Conrad Black frequently comments, Canadians are boring, which means we have not experienced any wars (on Canadian soil), natural disasters, genocides, famines, revolutions or any of the like. And while the Brits have certainly seen more interesting days, their country has dulled to a hum.

Yet let us not forget the significance the Brits played in history and today. Firstly, Britain had the largest Empire ever known to humankind (to put it into perspective, a quarter of the worldwide population bowed to one monarch). As such, they are the originators of the Anglosphere, a group of the world’s most successful nations united by a common tongue, allowing for vast globalization to take place. The only two other “spheres” that exist are the Sinosphere and the Indosphere, which when added together, is not as significant. Secondly, Britain has been the shaper of history for the last millennium. The last two world wars were a battle between Britain and Germany for European supremacy. Britain rushed to France’s defense in 1914 to hold the line and outlasted the Germans in 1940. Between Britain and Canada, three of the five beaches of Normandy were landed on in 1944. And they fought for the right reasons: liberty, freedom and democracy. Britain can hold its head high with few ideological blemishes.  

What is not to love about a monarchy that has survived for the last thousand years and effectively shaped the modern era. It symbolizes an empire that has continued and thrived like no other. And for the Brits to celebrate this success without the pretentiousness of the French, the flamboyance of Spaniards or the gluttony of the Italians is truly admirable. As the Queen might say, it is quietly modest and dignified. The punch-line is that Diana in her anti-monarchist appeals was neither yet engendered so much respect. How could the Brits who seemed so mature act like children, weeping at the death of a stranger. How could a country with such a history wish to subvert tradition (e.g. put the Union Jack at Buckingham palace) for the death of someone no longer a part of the royal family?

Well let’s not lose hope yet. The approval rating of the Queen is still higher than that of most politicians. As Blair said, any plan to abolish the monarchy is “daft” (what a great British word!). The monarchy is in the blood of the Brits. The came off the righteous pass a bit to show they had a rebellious side to them, not unlike a teenage revolt. This does not change the fact that the Brits are the wittiest and funniest people in the world. They’ll laugh it off and sing God Save the Queen to all the few gold medalists there are.

There is something to be said about quiet leadership. We don’t have enough of that in the world. That’s why we need the Queen.

Breaking Bad is a Modern Day Shakespearean Tragedy (S05E03)

It is no twist of chance that Breaking Bad will have five seasons, the fifth one elongated to span two years instead of one. For six seasons wouldn’t be very Shakespearean. Act three had Jesse’s climax which was his murder of Gale, Walt’s fungible replacement in that only one can survive. Jesse pulls the trigger with such reluctance. He is so teary eyed and discomposed that it is he we feel sorry for, not Gale. At this point, we celebrate Gale’s death as it means Walt may live. Walt is still the tragic hero whose cancerous outgrowth is eclipsed only by a disheveled socioeconomic status and paraplegic son.

This all changes by act 4, the hero’s downfall. He succeeds to eliminate Gus from the equation but he devolves and is dehumanized until the last scene when he is revealed to have poisoned the child of Jesse’s love interest. The fourth season ends with a full cast of unlikeable characters, none of whom the viewer can feel the least bit sorry for (with perhaps the exception of Jesse). This is certainly not a feel-good TV series. It is a dark comedy that reveals the worst in everyone. It is overwhelmingly defeatist.

Walt’s dehumanization is continued into the first two episodes of the fifth and final season as Walt’s ego is further developed. In the third installment (Sunday, July the 29th), Walt orchestrates Jesse’s breakup with his girlfriend, using the departed Gale so remorselessly as leverage. But for the poor viewers who see the deadly spiral Breaking Bad characters have become, they will be happy to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Jesse, who is best described as Walt’s antithesis was stupid when Walt was smart and now the two have their roles reversed. It was Jesse who thought of using magnets to erase Gus’s incriminating computer and it was Jesse who offered to pay for Mike’s “legacy payments” (to keep imprisoned past-associates’ mouths shut). Walt, who is uncomfortable letting Jesse take the higher moral ground, capitulates and offers to pay his share too. The things he will do to console himself (another nice one was when he has a soliloquy to an unspeaking Skylar about how family is an end that justifies the means).

And while Walt’s finishing speech about how pawns overreach might be construed to be directed at Mike, I am convinced it is actually directed at Jesse. For while Mike and Walt are really quite similar – they just don’t see it yet – Jesse is really an angel born into poor circumstances.

Batman: The Dark Knight Rises

As inspiring as a rags-to-riches story may be, it does not sell in Hollywood. Instead, superheroes like Batman and Ironman are born into wealth and use it in noble ways. Nobility has always been and always will be respected. That is because as moving as a turnaround story is, it is simply much more enviable to have always been successful.

This is particularly relevant in a politically charged film as Batman. There perhaps is no other trilogy that is as current (http://www.economist.com/blogs/dailychart/2011/07/film-franchises). Bane stages a revolution more like a beer hall putsch than a barricaded Paris. The 1% are put on summary trial then executed. Bane’s allies are the victims of the disgraced Dent act. Why Bane, who must mask his injuries sustained from other thuggish inmates with a constant supply of pain killers, would free such criminals is mind boggling. He also has a pretentious accent and a rather intellectual syntax unbefitting of his burly character.

Gotham City is clearly New York City and any movie with such setting would not be complete without poking fun at financiers. “There's no money for you to steal [in the stock exchange]!” exclaims a trader, to which Bane replies, “Then why are you here?” The nice thing about Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings is they espouse love and courage in a world different than our own. It is then more universal. Minds are allowed to wonder and imagine. Unfortunately, Batman has no similar effect. It is inseparable from real world, and in particular, New York City.

The climax of the film is when Batman makes a leap of faith to escape the cylindrical water-hole he is imprisoned in. Christopher Nolan does well to overlay scenes from the Batman Begins, for young Bruce Wayne’s journey began much the same way, trapped in a well full of bats. The first time, young Wayne was presumably helped out. The second time, Alfred leaves out of love (though ‘atonement with the father’ is in the penultimate scene), forcing Batman to fend for himself. This closes a nice circle with the three films as Batman returns to the ‘real world’ in Hero’s Journey fashion.

Failure after failure, Batman trains harder to escape from his prison. He is only able to after giving up his safety rope. When failure is not an acceptable possibility, determination takes over and wins the day. And with both the mental and physical boot camp under his belt, he is able to best Bane in the final battle. Unfortunately, Bane only loses because of his disability so we aren’t so sure about giving Batman full credit.

The final twist is another archetype, the seductress, who is revealed to be more connected than anyone else. But this third film on its own does not establish her as particularly trust-worthy (though she was described twice to be “lovely”) so her backstabbing is really not much of a value-add.

And while the visual spectacle is as good as any, the IMAX experience was unfortunately unwound by the many scenes that were not filmed in IMAX. The incessantly change in aspect ratios was annoying.

This overly lengthy film hides Batman too much and Bane is no Joker. But it certainly is worth watching to finish off the triology.

War Horse @ Princess of Wales Theatre

War Horse was a letdown exactly because I went in expecting a musical (dubious sources?). For the entire sitting I was gnawed by how little singing there was. The real tragedy of the night was the horribly misplaced violinist-singer who seemed to transcend time and space to offer a couple of words of wisdom (which the play should supply without her having to say it). I wonder if the point of this was to create a play-musical hybrid, the producers knowing full well that musicals do much better than plays at the box office. 

Foregoing that blip, this play was a visual spectacle. The climax of the night came early, when the young foal, awkwardly dominated by its three puppeteers, turns into War Horse. The size and majesty of the transformation puts this play squarely ahead of the movie (rated 77% on rotten tomatoes).

Perhaps the best way to view War Horse is from a historical perspective. World War I marks the start of the 20th century as the old, imperial empires of history are dissolved amidst an unforeseen compendium of suffering. From the Guns of August, “In 1910, nine kings rode in the funeral of Edward VII of England, representing 70 nations in the greatest assemblage of royalty and rank ever gathered in one place and, of its kind, the last.” The battles of Verdun and the Somme, each with over a million casualties changed all that. The first battles of the war in Belgium did indeed involve a cavalry charge. They were replaced with trenches, mustard gas, machine guns and tanks. In the play, this was aptly shown with Joey (the horse) in direct confrontation with one of the Empire’s new tanks. Indeed, the era of horses ended. Their obsolescence began much earlier but the post WWI world had no place for them.

What a wonderful crucible then for a story about the bond between a boy and his horse. Unfortunately, some of it was unconvincing (“we’ll always be together!”). The foray into German territory was a good idea but the play loses the perspective of the horse as in the book. Joey is taken care of by a German officer (“Fredrick”) who pines to be with his wife and daughter (“Sophie”). Where Fredrick’s love for Sophie comes into the picture and how the war horse has anything to do with this is unclear to me. 

The story admirably avoids the war-guilt premise ascribed to Germany and instead blames high-power politics. This becomes apparent in the barb-wire scene where white flags from both sides of no man’s land are waved and respective wire cutters flip a coin to decide ownership of Joey.

Where the play lacks in believability it makes up in the reality of the puppet horses. It is indeed the visuals that keep the play going. Add in the WWI backdrop, it may be worth a watch.

Mad Men is about Happiness

Mad Men ended last night but it was a true denouement. The climax was the episode before. Glen, the creepy boy that asked for Betty’s hair in a previous season makes the most salient conclusion: "Everything you think is going to make you happy just turns to crap." This is, after all, the overriding theme of Mad Men. Perhaps it is the overriding theme of life.

Characters of Mad Men do things that they think will make them happy. This is why Pete sleeps with Beth, Beth gets electroshock treatment, Peggy quits the firm, Betty remarries and Don is chronically unfaithful. Unfortunately, all of these things “turn to crap”. Pete feels empty inside and takes two punches in self-punishment. Betty becomes jealous of her replacement (Megan).

One character that ends the season happy is Peggy. She enters Sterling Cooper as a downtrodden and unlucky character and leaves as a truly motivational force. She realises that happiness is about the process and not the result. She does not look for quick fixes and when she does find one she regrets it. Or, her downfall might be waiting in the next season.

Mad Men is great precisely because of its characters. Each is enviable, pitiable and flawed at the same time. They are entirely believable, but slightly more interesting than a random person off the street (or perhaps the 1960’s had more interesting people).

The setting is important. The 1960’s were socially significant. An advertising firm successfully reveals the demographic and attitudinal chances of the era. It also underscores the main theme of the show. As Don said in the pilot, “Advertising is based on one thing: Happiness.” 

And finally, the plot. The writers do a terrific job of weaving lengthy and tangential stories that lapse several episodes at times into a neat overriding turn of events. The plot in this show is much less crucial than that of others. But it is done well.

Perhaps my obsession with the show is its connection to the real world. If life is not about finding happiness, what could it possibly be for?