Brain Drain Blog

Archive for November, 2007

Shaun of the Dead, earning just one star on Netflix, was a long, tedious end-of-the-semester letdown. (I can hear those of you cheering, “Finally, Kim suffers!”)

I?m sure we?ll discuss in class just how cleverly postmodern?the film?is, yet I?m painfully aware that without an affinity for zombie flicks I?m missing the lifeblood and guts of the joke. I couldn?t wait for the nightmare of boredom to end. At the same time, I look forward to reading Ryan’s reaction as zombies are far more his thing.

Since I have no emotional investment in this film, meet Nick from?”The Theory of Chaos Blog”?who wrote a?far more insightful and?enjoyable Shaun of the Dead review. His comments helped me understand what I was watching moreso than watching alone. In the mix,?Nick provides this gem of a summation:

This almost appallingly-amusing movie?s central joke is that there?s no thing too weird, say, for example, an apocalypse of the walking dead, that we as people couldn?t eventually filter into a background irritant. The inertia of the average low-watt slacker, we see, will always bring him back to his couch, television and beer.

Yeah, I get – and even admire -?the message. The thing is,?this format is?designed for a very specific audience. I’m not it.

I will say that when Shaun was zombified long before the Zombies arrived it made me think of Stuart Hall and the ways in which we define ourselves by adapting in relation to?”otherness.” Once the zombies hit the scene en mass, Shaun is no longer the zombie he had once been and it isn’t until they are killed or contained that?he returns to that state of being. The problem is, I don’t much care.

I’ve mentioned that already, haven’t I?
Sorry.

The town gets renamed Struggle?

It?s honest. Too honest. It gets the hairs up on the back of my neck. I suddenly realize I?m not comfortable with all that honesty, perhaps because it?s such a rare occurrence.

This novel brings to mind how many times I?ve cringed at names while searching for a place to live. Having moved 13 times in my life, I?ve had visceral reactions to places like Newark (too often pronounced Nork), landing instead on the nearby Lincoln Street in Cranford. Perhaps choosing a house on that street name was my throwback to growing up with Harding, Kennedy, and Madison Avenues in the small town of Angola, NY.?(There, presidential power was?a delusion of granduer.) On the other hand, what 28th Street lacked in character was compensated for by the neighborhood of Murray Hill in a city with a choice of names, Manhattan, New York (never mistaken for Nork), The Big Apple, THE city.

According to our narrating nomenclature consultant:

What he had given to all those things had been the right name, but never the true name. For things had true natures, and they hid behind false names, beneath the skin we gave them. (182)

I wonder what, in honesty, I would name the places I?ve been? Angola. Social Cesspool, Backward Bend. I say this with mildly playful and wildly arrogant confidence because, well, the demographic there is hardly diverse. Point Breeze on Lake Erie was often referred to as Point Sleeze on Lake Dreary. The town is listed on epodunk.com. New York City, on the other hand, is too big. Too many things must be encompassed by just one name. I could never come close. (In fact, I just thought of another I hadn?t listed above, The City that Never Sleeps.)

Oddly, Struggle could be the name of any village, town, city, or country. Its the one word that represents every person?s internal workings and every relationship between people within its boundaries. It is the past, present and future. In essence, the name couldn?t be more perfect.

The problem is that people don?t want perfection or honesty. As our narrator reminds us:

Everything is bright and mysterious until you know what it is called and then the light goes out of it? Once we knew the name of it, how could we ever come to love it? (182)

Honesty doesn?t provide hope for moving beyond struggle. It isn?t pretty or imaginative and yet it is the quagmire we all must face. The anti-apex.

(My apologies for the late arrival of this misfired synapse. I hit ?save? rather than ?publish? on Friday. ?Tis the season for abnormally high levels of brain drain.)

Whitehead draws some interesting connections between renaming a town, an adhesive bandage and a toy village. When asked about the town, our narrator says:

Winthrop is a traditional place-name, insisting on the specific history of the area and locating it in one man. The man embodies an idea, and the name becomes the idea. Standard stuff. The name New Prospera is what you might call the contemporary approach. Break it down into parts, and each part is referring to a quality they want to attach to the town. They bring the external in, import it you might say, to the region. (105)

Can Winthrop, one man who has long since passed on?as has his?defunct barbed wire company, represent an entire history of a town?s existence? Can the name New Prospera change what type of town the place becomes, erasing history and potentially creating something new?

Ehko International?s toy village, retooled, recrafted, revisiting the past in all that it had been and all that had been lost, according to the narrator, cannot be renamed. With the red, white and blue bricks of possibility, to create a new theater would also create new cinema, to dismantle the police station could perhaps dismantle crime, as if making a thing at once further?s it?s existence as well as calls into play it?s dichotomy. ?In the end, nothing was so pleasing as the image on the cover of the box and this was a lesson to be learned? (122).

This is symbolic of the struggle between the town?s third faction vying for power over the first two (with overlap between all three), rallying for the original name of Freedom. As Regina says, ?If I ask you your name and you tell me something other than what it is, that?s a lie? It should go back to Freedom. That?s it?s true name? (127). Perhaps it is a lie. Perhaps it is merely a new stage of history. One thing is for sure, everybody is talking about the full history of the place and that history, including the part about Freedom?is not lost… yet.

Enter the second to last toe on the narrator?s foot. Having stubbed it, our nameless nomenclature consultant places Apex, a multicultural adhesive bandage, over the injury. As he describes it:

The brown adhesive bandage was such a tone that it looked as if he?d never had a toenail at all. That he had never stumbled. Did it hide the hurt? Most assuredly so. (131)

Like the town, can the new name brand hide the hurt of those disappointed citizens who will lose the identity battle? Doesn?t the the name New Prospera fall short of assimilation as does the clear adhesive Band-Aid? Does?it matter?

My guess is that it matters a great deal. Apex may have hid the hurt, but I suspect that the toe continued to fester considering the fact that we know it was amputated. As with the town, a name may hide the hurt feelings of those who lose the battle for each name, and yet those citizens with attachments to what lands in the discard pile will fester with resentment. If the town?s name does return to Freedom, I suspect New Freedom will be in order. If New Luna, the soft drink, was a bit of foreshadowing, this is one way?of encompassing the history and possibility all in one. As the narrator says, ?The good ones always come back? (51). We shall see.

What?s in a name? In Apex Hides the Hurt, Whitehead?s narrator becomes a nomenclature consultant, stumbling upon the power of naming things while between jobs. He learns that a powerful and persuasive identity emerges once a product is named and the one who creates the name is also empowered. Prior to the naming, both the thing and the parties involved with its production are non-entities. Success depends upon what the name conjures in the public sphere and whether or not it is widely accepted. While Whitehead uses the conceit of corporate colonization throughout the novel, I also see a religious theme.

Marketing?seems rather god-like to me, particularly in correlation with Catholicism. The parental-client produces an unrecognized blob-child whose identity is nil until baptized with a chosen name. Only then is the possibility of eternal life breathed into the child-product, the seed of hope for the perpetuation of the system.

The original names of Adam and Eve, according to the book of Genesis, were handed down by God, the father himself. God then told Adam to name the animals and he would rein over their kingdom. In both cases, he who names holds?the power. Eve surely got the short end of the stick… but so did Jesus, so to speak. Then again, if the one with the most names wins, Jesus takes the prize. I digress.

In Apex Hides the Hurt, the job of naming goes to the all powerful and knowing marketing firm with a finger on the pulse of parishioner demographics. Our narrator ?came up with the names and like any good parent he knocked them around to teach them life lessons? (3). This is God the father?s test, offering?up free will only to see if his children will sin against him or remain true when faced with life’s obstacles.?

The relationship between god, parent and child (a holy trinity of the non-traditional sort) is not over once the name is assigned. The identity of all three hinges on the?loyalty of each individual part. For this reason, the parental-client makes a covenant with the marketing firm, accepting certain commandments. ?They had to stick to the rules if they were going to use the name? (38). After all, god is only as strong as the faith of his obedient disciples. Without a faithful and devoted flock, god?s power is bankrupt.

Naming is just the first part of the life cycle. The ability to create identity offers an “insurance policy to reassure people or make them feel less depressed so they can accept the world”(44). Faith in the marketing god heals what ails the good people of this earth, offering?a promise?for their general betterment and salvation.?

Spreading the word is the other side of the coin. The flock must increase to better serve god and also to offer fellowship and support to those in need (of bandages, pills and such). This is where branding comes into play. Name recognition and ?sacred logos? (37) offer comforting reminders to the populace. ?It was not the first time he had been saved by the recognizable logo of an international food franchise, its emanations and intimacies? (37). In moments of faltering faith and despair, whenever two customers or more are gathered in ?The Admiral?s? name, all is again right with the world.

Yes, we can rest assured that the corporate God is always here, reminding us of his presence with the ever-reliable change of season at Outfit Outlet. Our narrator ?had heard of people who had made regular pilgrimages to the windows? (41). Devoted sheep in awe of this great mystery offer generous tithes into the great collection plate?with?the high hope that they will have sacrificed enough of themselves to reach nirvana one day.

The?following is a rambling research proposal of sorts.

In my paper, I?ll be examining the film “The Last King of Scotland.” The?movie is about a?1970′s real?Ugandan dictator, Idi Amin,?whose life is exposed through his relationship with?the main character, a?fictional Scottish doctor, Nicholas Garrigan. Garrigan, although based on the collective real men in Amin?s council, varies in cultural origin and significantly influences several less-than-real events within the film.?Through this main character, the?film moves away from historical representation at the same time it attempts to provide access to it.?Reacting to the film’s powerful story, a?Ugandan extra on location interviewed in the DVD special features says he is glad that Ugandan children can watch this film and finally learn about their national history. But is this history? What are the implications of historeographic metafiction?in a culture?beyond the borders of?America, and what are it’s limitations? (Real thesis to come.)

To answer, I’d first like to brush Jameson’s??Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism? up against Ugandan reactions to the film?s release, examining the postmodern as a means of political and capitalist consumption of culture in Third World countries. When Hollywood, in the name of profit, represents ?history? through a predominantly white, fictional lens, what are the implications? Are there limits to what historiographic metafiction can or should responsibly do? To pick out the problems within the actual production, it will be interesting to watch the movie twice more, once strictly for content and once with the director?s commentary switched on. More on this later…

The other side of the coin is Hutcheon?s point that history has always been representation, and true access to reality has only been an assumption. In this regard, historiographic metafiction has the?ability to reveal more than the victor?s historical narrative. According to an interview with the film?s director, he suggests that the fictional Scottish Doctor allows a more personal window into dictator Idi Amin, a man who has traditionally been known more-so through mythical stories than fact all along. (I?ll have to watch again to get the exact quote.)

Amin is an interesting problem unto himsef. It is known that, during the time of Amin?s rule, journalist access was limited to panel interviews with this man alone. His?account was the sole authority of the state of his country. Witnesses to Amin?s slaughter within the country were unreachable and outsiders were unsure whether the mass killing was real. Amin also presented his own personal limitation, offering one side of himself to the press and exhibiting quite another behind closed doors. Fiction certainly provides more perspective into Amin as a character, but this not to be mistaken?for reality.

Considering these varied ideas, has historiographic metafiction offered distorted interpretation or greater understanding? Preliminary research has already produced a quote pertinent to Jameson?s point. According to “In Uganda, ‘Last King of Scotland’ Generates Blend of Pride and Pain Crowds Flock to Oscar-Honored Film About Idi Amin” By Craig Timberg
of the Washington Post:

For Ugandans too young to have clear memories of Amin’s reign, “The Last King of Scotland” gave them a welcome dose of insight into their own national history.

“After seeing the movie,” said Alice Mwesigwa, 32, “it was, ‘Wow, this is real.’ “

More appropriately phrased, this movie is merely a believable representation of the real.?Mwesigwa’s reaction is problematic in that?the?story is not “real.” According to Jameson, this form has?foregone the signposts that had traditionally signaled?fiction from reality.

According to ?Absolute Power, A chameleonic Forest Whitaker dominates an awkward Idi Amin biopic? by Ella Taylor of the Village Voice:

The Last King of Scotland deals with real events filtered through Giles Foden’s 1998 novel, in which Garrigan serves as a composite of numerous white advisers with whom Amin surrounded himself, then mercilessly cut off when they no longer served his purposes.

To unpack this description is to reveal the multiple layers of removal from the real:

• Actual events as they happened
• Distillation of Amin?s?advisors down to the fictional Dr. Garrigan
• Foden?s narrative process
• Conversion from novel to screen play
• Collective influence of director, producer and actors
• Further editing
• Viewer interpretation

Contamination of the real is inherent in any narrative, yet this particular?process is influenced by a great many people who had never personally experienced Amin?s regime.

An interview in Boldtype ?Giles Foden, The Last King of Scotland? reveals the tricky process of narration prior to the further imposition of film placed upon the real. Although the English author spent much time in Africa as a child, witnessing bodies in the rivers and other horrific sights, he had no personal access to Amin.

BT: Is your portrait of Amin based on research, memory, imagination, or a combination of all three?
GF: All three, but trying to keep the research at bay was a problem. I kept discovering these amazing things about Amin which I wanted to put in the book. This was disturbing, as I felt like I was being “dictated” to, or suffering the kind of demonic possession that Amin believed existed. Still, I guess I must have pulled through: mainly I tried to hang onto to the idea that this was a story. I wanted to make people turn the page.

While Foden?s research lends authenticity to the narrative, his selection of facts shapes what is told and, in the end, he reminds us that this is?ultimately a story designed to sell and entertain.

At the end of “The Last King of Scotland” there is a scene where the fictional Dr. Garrigan, viewed as a traitor, is being tortured by Amin. He gets hung on what look like meat hooks through the chest and, as he hangs, the imagery is similar to Christ hanging on the cross. In fact, he refuses to scream – as if he is taking on the sorrow of the thousands Amin had slaughtered and refusing to give Amin the satisfaction of watching him suffer. Garrigan is eventually rescued as Amin’s attention is distracted and when he asks the man who takes him down why he did it, the Ugandan says that if Garrigan escapes, perhaps the story of the Ugandan people with finally be heard, particularly because?Garrigan is white and has the power to draw the attention of nations who can help. In the end, the implication is that Uganda is rescued by the white savior.

Is this a tool used to sell the film to American audiences or is it a commentary on how the world refuses to recognize the plight of Africans unless told by whites? I can see how both are plausible. Perhaps this is where the power of historeographic metafiction offers a view into the untold and unheard story of those people slaughtered. At the same time, it reinforces the power of the dominant culture.

According to the New York Times: World Africa video, “The Last King of Scotland Opens in Uganda? by Jeffrey Gettleman, much care has been taken by the film crew to portray events as authentically as possible. Filming within the country and using Ugandan extras allowed Forrest Whitaker to speak with the people about their memories.?In his portrayal of Idi Amin, Whitaker’s?accent and actions?also provide?a certain amount of authenticity, according to Jingo,?a native?actor and American movie translator in Uganda. Many have remarked that Whitaker had become Amin. (Quotes to follow.)

Gettleman’s article, “A Film Star in Kampala, Conjuring Amin?s Ghost,”?also reveals that the representation may not be far off the mark:

?This is not a bad attempt at history,? said Henry Kyemba, the author of ?A State of Blood,? a book he published in exile in 1977 about his years as a minister in Amin?s government.

Kyemba, having been a minister to Amin, is probably the best barameter of the films success in?capturing any similarity to the real. His experience lends an authority that most viewers can only imagine. Still, he is but one man with one perspective in an organization of many who had a deadly impact upon an entire?nation.

The film’s significant social impact is obvious as Gettleman’s?video references the prevalence and popularity of the illegal pre-release thanks to the DVD underground. Nationwide accessibility is available for 20 cents as opposed to the inaccessible $5 admission to Uganda?s only theater. Although it is difficult to?gauge?the widespread social impact, the only thing known for sure is that postmodern globalization is merging cultures and overwriting that which it erases. Perhaps, while this is inevitable, it can be handled respectfully and responsibly as “The Last King of Scotland” attempts to do.

Side note:
While?the above?reports put a positive spin on the film’s?reception and acceptance in Uganda, it will be interesting to see?whether I can find a different angle or if I?ll be?forced to read?between the capitalist glorification of American publications.

So much for the seedling? as I wrote, the darn thing continued to grow. I can picture Dr. Middleton rubbing her hands together with a satisfied and somewhat sinister smile saying, “This was my plan all along.”

SPOILER WARNING!

The grand finale of Galatea 2.2 has gummed up my works. Too much input. My neural net is still churning and I mean this in the most profound and complimentary way.

In the end, the joke is on everyone. The true bet between Lentz, Powers and the scientific team is never whether a machine can learn to think, but whether a human can make meaning where none exists. Powers, the Center?s token humanist, is taken for a ride in believing that Helen, his beloved neural net, is cognizant? or is he? Helen?s abilities surprise even Lentz, the largest skeptic of all. While the joke on Helen is that the human condition is vile, corrupt and undesirable, most interesting is the joke played on the reader, having believed the fallacy alongside Powers the entire time.

For?my?own ignorance,?I blame adulthood. Had I been a child, I would have seen the prank. Pardon my jest, repeating a philosophy conjured by Powers, but having finished his novel, I now understand. The innocence of childhood protects us from the?horrors of?humanity. Once innocence is lost, we shield ourselves from?the harsh?reality of our existence using fiction to process that which we cannot understand. We only hope to stumble upon answers. That hope?is our only redemption.

I find fascinating a work of fiction that moves beyond the scope of entertainment, using its own structure to examine its worth. It becomes particularly potent for this English Lit. major as I am forced to ask myself:

• What value does the study of literature hold?
• Is meaning inherent within a text or do we make meaning as we back-propagate new data through the filters of lived and learned experience?
• Does the difference of inherent or made meaning ultimately matter as we struggle to understand the point of our existence?

Since called upon to decide, I say this. I believe that ideology makes meaning on a cultural level. Within that ideology, literature holds a great deal of power, particularly in its ability to persuade. From fables, myths and war propaganda to presidential elections and the civil rights and environmental?movement, people will always chose the side most representative of their individual reality. Without literature, we would never have the ability to share such complex ideas or decide what our personal reality requires to exist.

For these reasons, having a deep understanding of literature, both the ways in which it operates and its limitations, grants us the power to move toward the goals we deem fit. While this in no way ensures collective agreement, or the chance to single handedly change the world, we have, at the very least,?the power to organize?around a small seed of understanding and find companionship or, as Powers hopes, love in that one simple connection. To read, to be read, to exchange ideas and make meaning as it applies to the here and now of our existence? This is only the beginning of my thoughts on?what literature is to me.

And?with that ponderance I leave you, offering my sincere gratitude for taking the time to make meaning of what I?ve had to say.

This public service announcement has been brought to you by the makers of Viagra?and Geritol.

Which reminds me… This is one of those books, like Don Quixote, that should be read three times in life, somewhere around the ages of?22, 35, and 60. I find that my young classmates identify with A. at 22,?interpreting?Powers as rather lecherous. Still feeling 22 at heart, I (at 37) suffer from the same disbelief as Powers – that so many years have passed and so little has been learned. I only hope that, by my next reading, I will have staved off the bitterness suffered by Lentz, disheartened by literature and the world at large.