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Nothing is stronger than the Law in the universe, but on Earth, nothing is stronger than love
Mahler on the Couch did not happen. The tickets still available online when I left the house had all sold by the time I got to Brookline; I arrived to find a lot of confused people milling around the box office saying much the same thing to one another while an employee patiently shouted, "If you're here for Mahler on the Couch, it's sold out! Mahler on the Couch is sold out! The Goethe-Institut is sold out!" so I am guessing something happened, but I have no idea what. A deluge of early-rising, German-speaking classical music mavens, possibly. I got my now-usual sujek roll-up and side of fatoush from Garlic 'n Lemons and had a not very exciting day until the evening, when I agreed to see The Adjustment Bureau (2011) with my parents.
I don't know why all the trailers marketed this film as a sci-fi action thriller, because while its central conceit may belong to Philip K. Dick, as a story it descends directly from existential fantasies like Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941) or A Matter of Life and Death (1946), where every now and then there are hiccups in the heavenly bureaucracy and chance slips through, usually in the form of death or romance. In this case it's almost strictly the latter, with the former held in reserve as a warning; not so much that our protagonist will be physically destroyed as mentally erased, tabula rasa'd to fit back in with the shadowy, all-commanding "plan" that dictates his life remain unentangled with that of the woman he met once, life-changingly, and was never supposed to see again. Cue free will vs. predestination, chase scenes at eleven. Actually, The Adjustment Bureau is surprisingly less stupid than it had to be—it's not as thoughtful or as screwball as either of its predecessors named above, but its director was clearly familiar with Cocteau's Orphée (1949) and its romantic chemistry is both endearing and believable, which I didn't think happened anymore. There's no urbanely reassuring Claude Rains or judicial Abraham Sofaer, but we do get Terence Stamp as a casually icy, blunt-force specialist in the breaking of illusions; the Edward Everett Horton/Marius Goring role is filled quite effectively by the sharp-faced, sardonic John Slattery as a mid-level adjuster, initially menacing, increasingly out of his depth as the case of David Norris develops unexpected quirks and ripples. (He's no more human than any of the adjusters, who are careful never to identify themselves as angels, but he exits the film with the resignation of a man on whom a brick-ton of paperwork is about to descend: "You spend your whole career hoping someday you'll get a red-letter case, something you can really make a name for yourself with. Finally, you get one? It's booby-trapped.") And we've all seen the man who goes up against impossible odds to be with the object of his desire, but here it turns out to be critical that she understand and risk just as much for him, which I appreciated—and really appreciated that she's not required to do so as a sacrifice.
It's not a movie I'd have gone to see on my own, I think. I have no idea how much of it I'll remember in a year. It has one unnecessary chase scene and a couple of very nice ones; its fantastic elements are very simple and its special effects almost nonexistent; it has the right ending, but doesn't quite know how to get there, and in ways that made me wonder if last-minute rewrites had been involved. Another draft and it might have been a really excellent film, not just a decent hour and a half; so much of it was in the counterintuitively right places already. But it didn't give me brain damage, and it may have gotten me to notice a couple of actors, and sometimes that's all you can ask of a movie.
Today I am just exhausted and evidently not over this cold yet, so. I made an almond cake with apricot glaze. Re-read the Tractatus, to see if two nights ago had been some kind of sleep-deprived anomaly, but no. I just like Wittgenstein.
I don't know why all the trailers marketed this film as a sci-fi action thriller, because while its central conceit may belong to Philip K. Dick, as a story it descends directly from existential fantasies like Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941) or A Matter of Life and Death (1946), where every now and then there are hiccups in the heavenly bureaucracy and chance slips through, usually in the form of death or romance. In this case it's almost strictly the latter, with the former held in reserve as a warning; not so much that our protagonist will be physically destroyed as mentally erased, tabula rasa'd to fit back in with the shadowy, all-commanding "plan" that dictates his life remain unentangled with that of the woman he met once, life-changingly, and was never supposed to see again. Cue free will vs. predestination, chase scenes at eleven. Actually, The Adjustment Bureau is surprisingly less stupid than it had to be—it's not as thoughtful or as screwball as either of its predecessors named above, but its director was clearly familiar with Cocteau's Orphée (1949) and its romantic chemistry is both endearing and believable, which I didn't think happened anymore. There's no urbanely reassuring Claude Rains or judicial Abraham Sofaer, but we do get Terence Stamp as a casually icy, blunt-force specialist in the breaking of illusions; the Edward Everett Horton/Marius Goring role is filled quite effectively by the sharp-faced, sardonic John Slattery as a mid-level adjuster, initially menacing, increasingly out of his depth as the case of David Norris develops unexpected quirks and ripples. (He's no more human than any of the adjusters, who are careful never to identify themselves as angels, but he exits the film with the resignation of a man on whom a brick-ton of paperwork is about to descend: "You spend your whole career hoping someday you'll get a red-letter case, something you can really make a name for yourself with. Finally, you get one? It's booby-trapped.") And we've all seen the man who goes up against impossible odds to be with the object of his desire, but here it turns out to be critical that she understand and risk just as much for him, which I appreciated—and really appreciated that she's not required to do so as a sacrifice.
It's not a movie I'd have gone to see on my own, I think. I have no idea how much of it I'll remember in a year. It has one unnecessary chase scene and a couple of very nice ones; its fantastic elements are very simple and its special effects almost nonexistent; it has the right ending, but doesn't quite know how to get there, and in ways that made me wonder if last-minute rewrites had been involved. Another draft and it might have been a really excellent film, not just a decent hour and a half; so much of it was in the counterintuitively right places already. But it didn't give me brain damage, and it may have gotten me to notice a couple of actors, and sometimes that's all you can ask of a movie.
Today I am just exhausted and evidently not over this cold yet, so. I made an almond cake with apricot glaze. Re-read the Tractatus, to see if two nights ago had been some kind of sleep-deprived anomaly, but no. I just like Wittgenstein.
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I don't know how strongly I feel you need to see it in theaters, but he's quite good. I've never seen him bad, and I haven't even seen him in some of his most famous roles.
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But also ... Wittengenstein. I've never even heard of Wittegenstein but a search showed Tractatus as a study of the relationship between language and reality (and the limits of science). Very interested!
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See above; I wouldn't call it essential theater-viewing, but worth checking out when it doesn't cost $10-plus.
I've never even heard of Wittegenstein but a search showed Tractatus as a study of the relationship between language and reality (and the limits of science). Very interested!
I recommend him! He deserves his reputation!
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What a treat! And yeah, I didn't think it happened much in film anymore either.
Tell me about liking Wittgenstein--what appeals? (I do not remember anything about Wittgenstein. I never read any, but one of my close friends in college did, and I think I vaguely remember getting her to tell me about him... but now it's all slipped away.)
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The film wouldn't work at all without it. You need to believe the characters have the kind of instant click they would contravene space and time to reconnect, and they really, startlingly do.
Tell me about liking Wittgenstein--what appeals?
Blazingly intelligent, wrote like a poet, much concerned with language, subject of a beautiful film—what's not to like? I mean, legendarily difficult in person and would no doubt have been horrified by my affection for him, but that's the risk you run when you write stuff like this. I'd had a casual biographical interest in him for years and in the last couple of months, it just exploded. I'm now operating on the principle that if I see a bilingual edition of his work, I buy it.
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Okay, now I do see why you like him!
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. . . ?
and were up to seeing The Adjustment Bureau, which I have to catch myself in a matinee ASAP.
I don't know if it demands theatrical viewing, but it's worth your time.
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I don't think I've ever missed a theatrical viewing of a PKD adaptation that got good reviews ... seeing as I saw the first matinee showing of Blade Runner on the day it opened, I'm already late!
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Bummer. It sounded as though it would be.
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It could certainly have been worse.
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Oh, yeah? Which one?
(Has something happened to your internet, or have you merely been unplugged?)
Liked your blaze of glory anent Wittgenstein, maybe someday I'll get round to him -- Chip Delany's urging Spinoza on me, which may be a necessary prerequisite.
You can start straight with Wittgenstein, I think, but that doesn't mean Spinoza's not also awesome. You should ask
a Tokyo String Quartet recital held days before the earthquake, presciently on the theme of disjunction.
That is very beautiful; thank you. Since I can't hear the concert, I'll take this as a rendering.
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I was sharing internet with a neighbor, who moved, and I decided to go without for a few weeks which turned into two months; frequented libraries and cafes for my not always daily fix. I now have a connection at home again, since yesterday, but it's buggy. The break from internet enslavement was frustrating but also good; now if I can only steer clear of renewing some of my more time-wasteful habits...
You can start straight with Wittgenstein, I think, but that doesn't mean Spinoza's not also awesome. You should ask
I will; thank you (I think :-). What translation of Wittgenstein would you recommend? Where should I start?
That is very beautiful; thank you. Since I can't hear the concert, I'll take this as a rendering.
Oh, thank you! That means a great deal to me -- bringing it to a level worthy of being called a rendering is more than I had hoped for.
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I started with Remarks on Colour, of which there is a very nice thirtieth-anniversary bilingual edition by G.E.M. Anscombe;
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