What Kanye West’s tweets reveal about the culture war

Of all the bizarre things I thought would spring out of 2018, Kanye embracing President Trump and a resulting tailspin of the culture war was not high on my list. However, neither is a it a huge shock. Many will remember his visit to Trump Tower in 2016 shortly after the victory to “discuss life”, a stunt that whether it was pure provocation or not, did little good for Kanye’s already dubious reputation in leftist circles. He was actively called an Uncle Tom and a token black person for daring to even entertain the ‘deeply bigoted’ president. Curiously though people seemed to forget about the incident, or at least sweep it under the rug, and went back to loving Ye and his music once again. Little did they know that the monster in the cupboard was only resting, and Kanye had far from abandoned his admiration for the Republican president.

Fast forward 18 months and Kanye is back at it, but this time doing more than just standing for a photo-op with the president. Reactivating his Twitter account, he unleashed a tweet storm to end all tweet storms where he included such gems as “Some people have to work within the consciousness while other people can shift the consciousness”, “Just stop lying about shit. Just stop lying” and perhaps my personal favourite “Truth is my goal. Controversy is my gym. I’ll do a hundred reps of controversy for a six pack of truth.” I mean, truly this was golden stuff. Then came an announcement phase, disclosing the release date for his album, a collaboration project with Kid Cudi and Pusha T’s album, all dropping in early June (to my huge excitement).

Then things got serious when he dropped the 7 word bombshell that broke the delusions of so many, “I like the way Candice Owens thinks.” A google search later, and much of Kanye’s fanbase was outraged. A CONSERVATIVE? How could he? Does he not understand the plight of black people? Is Kanye West… you guessed it… A RACIST? So on and so forth. But he went on.. “Self victimisation is a disease”, “There was a time when slavery was the trend but apparently that time is still upon us. But it’s now a mentality.” He then, hilariously, posted himself watching notorious Trump fan Scott Adams’ video, talking about how Ye had flipped the culture on it’s head with his comment about Candice, which knowing Kanye’s history would have been a huge boost to his ego and pushed him further down the rabbit hole. The real kicker though came just a couple of days ago, Kanye saying plainly that he loves President Trump and that they share, wait for it.. DRAGON ENERGY! I mean, I’m trying to be semi-serious here, but really, the best Hollywood screenwriter couldn’t make this shit up. He then posted his MAGA hat, the cherry on top of this beautiful symphony of trollery. Chance, The Rapper later chimed in saying “Black people don’t have to be democrats.”, as well as Kim Kardashian who staunchly defended her husband’s right to like whoever he wants. Who would have thought the day would come where Kim Kardashian is making more sense than The New York Times?

Now, why did I bother laying out this timeline of Kanye’s tweets? Why does all this matter? Well, by Kanye doing what Kanye has always done, stir up the hornet’s nest, he unintentionally exposed many ugly truths about the liberal-conservative culture war that has been brewing furiously on social media for years now, and for once, forced people at least temporarily out of their ideological echo-chambers. The internet has always been a double edged sword when it comes to free-speech and the open exchange of ideas. Initially it promised to be the bastion of such principals, many social networks had humble beginnings as tools primarily designed for connecting people who might not otherwise associate with one another. What they have slowly morphed into however, are moral arbiters tasked with the promulgation of “acceptable discourse”. We can see this playing out legally at the moment with Mark Zuckerberg’s testimony on Capitol Hill a few weeks ago, rightly being asked by Ted Cruz just what the principal role of Facebook actually is. Are they a biased publisher or a neutral platform? Clearly, he doesn’t quite know the answer, but legally it has to be the latter. He can’t have it both ways. What we know for certain is happening though is that social networks are cracking down on whatever they consider to be “hate speech”, a vague, subjective term that really means “speech we don’t like”. Now, this cleanse of mainly conservative voices is yet to fully play itself out, but the wheels are most definitely in motion. Conservative content, especially independent content, is routinely being demonetised on YouTube, censored on Twitter or actively removed from people’s Facebook timelines by biased algorithms. One of the fundamental questions of the internet age is waiting to be answered, do Mark Zuckerberg and Jack Dorsey want to promote diversity of thought, or do they want to be moral adjudicators?

But how does this tie in to Kanye’s tweet storm? Whether he meant to or not, Kanye opened up a schism in the normal order of social media. The recipe; huge celebrity, perceived to be of the left and for social justice, a free thinker who loves controversy. The truth is, the left knew that Kanye was always a danger in the culture war simply because he can not be pigeon holed. He has routinely shocked me with his very unique blend of provocation and a disregard for social niceties and norms. Love him or hate him, he will never give you anything but his honest take on things. Many of those takes might be ignorant and crass, but they are always from the heart. However like many great artists throughout history, he has been routinely mischaracterised by people who think he stands up for them and their beliefs. A comparison can be made to my favourite artist ever, Bob Dylan, who also resolutely refused to be labelled as standing for an ideological position, and predictably got torn to shreds when he then chose to go against the ideas of the group. The mistake people make is associating individual statements on distinct situations with a firm political affiliation. It is possible for instance, for Kanye to see George Bush’s response to hurricane Katrina as insufficient or even racist, without him then having to swear an oath of allegiance to the Democratic Party. The unfortunate truth of social media is that it promotes tribalism and radicalism on both sides, encouraging group think and closed debates where thinking is not required. There is a human desire to seek out the collective in all of us. It is secure, safe and doesn’t require the confrontation of chaos that comes with considering radically different viewpoints. Nobody is exempt, and even without dodgy algorithms these social and cultural divides are simply inevitable on a platform that requires little courage or accountability.

But what Kanye has done over the last few days is shatter this divide to some degree, as trivial and non-consequential as it all sounds. Liberals have been forced to look at one of their cultural hero’s in a whole new light, and likewise conservatives have had to look more seriously at someone they chose to dismiss as crazy for a long time. Sadly, the echo-chambers are too powerful to be taken down so easily. In fact ironically, the response to these tweets has shown me that the reverse might be true – they might be strengthened. I am sure that Kanye will prompt some liberals to look up the likes of Candice Owens and Scott Adams, who I think are reasonably rational political commentators, and perhaps they will re-evaluate some of their long-held prejudices. Likewise I hope that some conservatives will take the likes of Kanye and others like Kendrick Lamar more seriously and push for greater cultural unification. But I suspect and see a much more sinister side to all of this. Many liberals have simply doubled down on their beliefs, promising to boycott Kanye’s future albums, sell their collections of his shoes and commit themselves to attacking him vehemently. Equally there are right-wingers who are trying to use Kanye as a weapon for their own rigid ideology, one that I am personally more inclined to but by no means fully attached. The truth is that Kanye is the same person he always has been since bursting onto the hip hop scene in 2004, and we have to take his utterances one by one and sometimes with a grain of salt.

Scott Adams’ argument is that a Kanye, like Trump before him, has broken long-held cultural taboos and opened up an a new frontier for free-thought that will act as a gateway for all of us to escape our ideological mental prisons. This all sounds great, but isn’t this space also a power vacuum that will be filled by a new set of demagogues? There is no obvious reason to think otherwise. I like a lot of what Trump has done as president, but you’re a fool if you think he hasn’t also done a great deal of harm to the idea of decency and honesty with his rhetoric. Populism is incapable of fostering a truly healthy public debate on important issues, as we are seeing with this degradation of common values on social media. It is a dangerous game to play. What we really need is a space that can act as buttress against ideological possession, much like the territory people like Jordan Peterson have opened up with his hours of lectures on personal responsibility and individualism, or Sam Harris’ ideas about mediation, the need for rationality and the scientific method. These are people who I see as really leading the charge against the Hell on the extremes of politics, with their willingness to debate their ideas with people to which they disagree in the public arena, as it’s clear to any thinking person that there is a reason for both sides to exist. If Kanye or anyone else can add to that discussion then I applaud him for that. In truth I already applaud him for not being afraid to speak his ideas loudly, just as he always has. But let’s keep it in perspective, worshiping or hating the man will get us nowhere. Let’s start seeing each other as fellow brothers and sisters instead of despicable enemies, and judge each idea (or tweet) on it’s own merits. Adams is right that we have a chance to forge a new world, but we must do it responsibly and with our highest virtues in mind, free-speech, compassion, understanding and critical thinking. Or as Kanye says, “Be fearless. Express what you feel not what you’ve been programmed to feel.”

Where this surreal story will lead is anyone’s guess and I can’t pretend to know anymore than anyone else. As always there have been takeaways that I like and others that are straight up crazy. Predictably The Washington Post labelled Kanye alt-right, another term that has been twisted to the point of utter deformity by it’s overuse. Ben Shapiro credited West but warned people that he might still be a crazy lunatic and to not jump to conclusions. The late night hosts gave spiels denouncing him. But overall, the comments on these tweets give the most accurate picture of the response, and sadly it seems that a lot of his fans have put him permanently in the loony bin and thrown away the key. Personally I wish Kanye all the best for his upcoming album releases, which I await with baited breath. This might all turn out to be the greatest marketing scheme in music history, as you can be damn sure that our outrage obsessed culture will want to see what Ye is going to say when he raps even if they are currently ‘boycotting’ him. I still predominantly care about Kanye because I see him as one of the greatest artists of his generation, controversial as that may be, but to pretend that this past week has not been a significant cultural moment would be very naive even if I wish it wasn’t. As Andrew Breitbart said “politics is downstream from culture”, and it’s about time we got our act together on both fronts.

Send me your thoughts with a comment or on Twitter @Balzo93

MOVIE REVIEW: The Florida Project (2017)

I don’t think it would be too far fetched to say that many of us have a rather rose-tinted memory of our childhoods. Grass seemed greener, the sky more endless, adults somehow more angelic, the sun always shining. Looking at the world through innocent eyes was somehow different, yet we also struggle to pinpoint exactly whereabouts that innocence was lost. I have long had a fascination with this surreal dimension to the experience of childhood nostalgia, and I tend to admire artists that are willing to embrace the subject. One is struck with overwhelming deja-vu when reminded of such a memory in a random song, old film or revisiting the site of some childhood revelries. Perhaps this is unique to me, yet I somehow doubt it. With this in mind, films like The Florida Project, which Sean Baker tells predominantly through the eyes of a few children, was an experience that completely floored me with its encapsulation of these ideas, with a story that unfolds organically against the looming backdrop of a brutally truthful depiction of life on the socio-economic margins.

I came into The Florida Project having avoided watching the trailer or reading anything about it, specifically because I suspected that this may be a very special film and that it was worth saving every surprise. I was not disappointed. The film is principally focused on Halley and her daughter Moonee, who are living in a motel called The Magic Kingdom in Florida, located just outside Walt Disney World. Most of the film plays out from a child’s eye perspective, in most cases Moonee’s, as she explores the surrounding areas with her friends Scooty and Jancey. This is inter-spliced with Halley’s story, as she struggles to pay rent to the motel manager Bobby, played brilliantly by Willem Defoe.

To say the film has a clear narrative or three act structure would be to do it an injustice. Sure, Halley has a ‘story’ if that’s how you want to put it, but to me it felt far more like a fly on the wall examination of the lives of people that are too often shunned by society. I felt like I was getting to know the idiosyncrasies of all of the characters, how Halley was trapped in negative cycles and often acted much like the children in the film, throwing tantrums when she doesn’t get her way or losing her temper at the wrong moments. Yet underlying it all an inexpressible sadness and desperation about her situation and a deep longing for her daughter to be happy. Moonee has more of a traditional character arc, as we see how the behaviour of her mother and the freedom she has been allowed has endowed her with a peculiar maturity and knowledge about the ways of the world. This is seen in the way she talks to adults like Bobby, who she knows how to manipulate. But once again there is a another side to her that is naïve to the darker side of human nature and simply wants to be a kid, which comes out in beautiful moments throughout the film, none more so than the tear-jerking final scene. Bobby might well be the third great character of the film. Again we see him in a number of guises, the responsible motel manager, the fierce protector or father figure, and in the final act, someone deeply moved by the desperation of Halley and Moonee’s situation. I loved these characters because I believed in them and their interactions. This is how humans often talk to each other in the real world, especially when under stress. Relationships are messy and sometimes even violent, and the fleeting moments that really matter often manifest spontaneously in the most unlikely of places.

Baker chose to intertwine the narratives of Halley and Moonee by filming scenes from different perspectives, shooting a scene involving Halley from the child’s height, or a scene where Moonee is clearly wanting attention from the adult’s height. This technique, although far from original, achieves several things. When we are watching Halley argue with Bobby for instance, we see it as if we are in Moonee’s shoes, half-knowing what is going on yet helpless to intervene. Or in the reverse case, from the adult viewpoint we see clearly see how the presence of children changes the impact and tone of what is happening, and thus we empathise with the characters and the tragedy of their predicament.

The scenes involving the children on their own also contain a duality. Baker gives us either wide angled shots of the children adventuring through truly bizarre surroundings, abandoned buildings painted in the most garish colours imaginable, or huge ornate souvenir stores, exaggerating their smallness in a very large world in which all they want to do is play and discover. On the flip side we get more intimate shots and close-ups, where simple facial expressions, body language or quirky remarks are all that’s needed to charm the audience. In adopting such a variety of ways of shooting events, Baker kept me 100% captivated from the first to the last frame in a way that only a handful of other films have. He has mentioned how he was heavily influenced by 1994’s Little Rascals and Hal Roach’s Our Gang, a series of shorts from the 20’s and 30’s. I haven’t seen either of these, but it is clear that Sean has become very proficient in this style of filmmaking by the accuracy in which he captures the emotional rollercoaster of being a kid.

The childhood innocence in the way the film was shot and written takes nothing away from the hardships facing Halley or others around her. Baker made sure that his characters, especially Halley, were by no means entirely sympathetic, and in many cases clearly objectionable. It was this ambiguity in her character that really drew me in to her struggle and allowed me to ponder the reasons why people end up in such dire circumstances. The world of The Florida Project is messy, unpredictable and indicative of deeper problems in society, many personal and many systemic, that are very real, even if many of us don’t want to think about it. Many have argued that the film is a critique of late stage capitalism in which people like Halley are left forgotten in a world of abundance, in this case the abundance being Disney World just around the corner. Although I agree with much of this interpretation, I feel like limiting it to that would detract from the more fundamental human themes that Baker wanted to highlight. Spontaneous moments of joy between mother and daughter, the playfulness of children, the immaturity of adult relationships, protective instincts in desperate moments, the inherent tragedy and beauty of the world. These are the real themes of the movie in my eyes, the social and political critiques being merely secondary and implied. With that being said, it is difficult to detach The Florida Project from the real world simply because it is so true to life. Reading about economic hardships and marginalised communities is one thing, but sometimes it takes a medium like cinema to give a tangibility to such things. I applaud Baker for not shying away from this and giving a nuanced take on it as opposed to a lifeless political commentary.

Despite the urgings of many I am yet to watch Tangerine or any of Baker’s other projects, but I understand him to have a distinct gritty style when it comes to aesthetics. The Florida Project is truly a gorgeous film, but in a far from conventional way. I have never been to Florida, yet by the end of this I felt like I had actually lived there. Baker’s camera inhabits the world so thoroughly that at points it almost felt like a documentary in terms of visual style. I think certain films can go too far in this direction to the point of monotony, but Baker manages to fill every shot with something transfixing or interesting to look at. It reminded me somewhat of American Honey, another small budget film that I think at times DOES feel a little bit crude cinematically. In that film though I saw the germ of something that I knew had great potential to evoke the majesty and freedom of America, and thankfully The Florida Project was the movie I was waiting for. Again the child-eye perspective of a lot of the scenes allows the audience to also see the world almost like a child. Everything seems bigger and more mysterious. The colours pop from the screen in magnificent clarity, the bizarre buildings are a constant source of intrigue. There is a palpable feeling that everything is alive and fighting for survival. You feel the heat of the Floridian summer in the gorgeous orange glow of twilight and the kids adventures into the dream-like greenery surrounding the motel. There is an unpolished feel to everything that Baker chose to include, nothing looks like it has been added or subtracted from a frame in service of cinema, hence the genius of the style is the effortless impact each scene possesses.

The casting decisions behind The Florida Project also bare similarities to American Honey. Halley is played by Bria Vinaite, who Baker remarkably found whilst scrolling through instagram. He has stated that something didn’t sit right with him about casting a well-known actor to play her. In the case of Moonee however he auditioned hundreds of children, finally settling on Brooklyn Prince, a truly genius stroke of casting in my eyes. Both of these performances blew me away, especially 7 year old Brooklyn who I suspect has a very bright future ahead of her. Willem Defoe is the only big star in the film, giving a rather straight but perfectly suited portrayal of Bobby, who in some ways is the anchor that holds certain parts of the story together. This trio, along with an informal supporting cast, all do a stunning job. It is really one of those rare cases where I struggle to find anything or anyone to criticise whatsoever.

The juxtaposition at the core of The Florida Project is one of the most heartbreaking I’ve seen to date. It is a film that cuts against the grain of many trends in modern cinema, substituting hyperbole for honesty, cheap thrills for stark realism and worn-out stereotypes for nuanced characters. Sean Baker resists the urge to preach to the choir and instead allows viewers to come to their own conclusions about the issues facing subsections of the population in America and beyond. Above even this though he has created an experience that is affecting on a multitude of different levels, reminding us that the playful way children see life might contain more wisdom than we first thought, but ultimately that things are often marred in tragedy and confusion. There is a humanism to the film that moved me to tears a number of times for reasons I struggle to put into words. In the end it adds up to one of the best movies I’ve seen in some time. It delivers in nearly every criteria I can think of, and proves just what cinema is capable of when it is at its best. I am looking forward to seeing what the impact of The Florida Project will be on the industry at large and also what Baker decides to do next. One thing is for sure, he’s going to struggle to top this!

Acting: 95
Narrative: 95
Visuals: 100
Music: 90

Overall: 95/100

MOVIE REVIEW: About Time (2013)

To say Richard Curtis films divide opinion is a vast understatement, and just looking through the reviews I can see that About Time is no exception. This film has an undeniable cookiness about it, I’ll admit, with a central conceit that feels a little shoehorned in at times to be totally enthralling. Yet, I couldn’t help but come away from the film with a big smile on my face and even a tear or two in my eye. In much the same way as both Love Actually and The Boat That Rocked, there wasn’t much in About Time that impressed me cinematically, but what all 3 films do to a greater or lesser degree is reaffirm some of my faith in human compassion and love, and for that this film deserves some credit.

Curtis does a great job establishing his characters at an early juncture, introducing us to Domhnall Gleeson’s character Tim and his very middle class family, including his eccentric father played brilliantly by Bill Nighy. A bit later we meet Rachel McAdams character Mary. Well, actually.. we meet her several times due to Tim’s complicated process for wooing her (I won’t spoil it). This first act is where the main plot twist really worked for me both comically and narratively, feeling more organic and necessary than later on when it appeared more forced for cheap laughs. Watching Tim learning to get to grips with his newfound superpower was really enjoyable for the most part though - especially the scene where he comes to the aid his friend on the opening night of his West End play by reminding the lead actor of his forgotten lines.

As the film unfolds it takes on a more sentimental mood in which Tim must essentially grow up and embrace his feelings for Mary, even having to resist his chance to hook up with Margot Robbie sporting a British accent!! (I feel your pain, Tim). In all seriousness though this was one of the sweeter parts of the movie for me, where Tim truly realises his love for Mary, who might be the most kind-hearted on-screen character I’ve ever come across. This seems to be one of Curtis’ talents as a filmmaker, to highlight the best in people and to film scenes that extend or symbolise fleeting moments all of us experience when around loved ones, rare times when the trust and love you feel for someone appears infinite. Directors who can do this correctly are few and far between, but I think Curtis just about manages it without seeming crass or saccharine.

The third act is where a more somber tone takes hold, as Tim is confronted by two challenging family crises. The first involving his sister, Kit Kat, who he must use his powers to help get her life back together. The second and by far the most moving part of the film, being the death of his father. The scene with the two of them playing table tennis and the subsequent flashback had me in tears, as it seemed to perfectly capture the unbounded love they shared for one another. The simplicity of such a moment is what gives it such power, and for me it perfectly summed up the spirit of the film.

The narrative of About Time is so strong that other technicalities were not as relevant to me as in other films. I was never in awe of what I was seeing on screen, but having said that, Curtis and his crew do an amicable job in making it pleasing to the eyes. The film has a very down to earth feel about it, much as Love Actually did, and being a Brit myself I have a particular soft spot for the Cornish countryside, which contrasted nicely with the urban settings of London. In terms of rom-com’s, About Time was a lot more pleasant to look at than some of the more glossy, idealised visuals of many others I’ve seen.

If I was to pick a favourite performance in this film it would have to go to Bill Nighy as Tim’s father, as I immediately cheered up whenever he was in shot. More so than in Curtis’ other films, I felt like he really fit this role almost perfectly, the only problem was the lack of screen time he was given. McAdams and Gleeson didn’t disappoint either, nor did any of the surrounding cast. One of my few gripes however would be the rather rushed plot line of Kit Kat, who plays the role of supportive sister for most of the film before all of a sudden having her life turned upside down and put back together again in the last act. I would have liked to have seen more attention given to her story, although this might have dragged things out for a bit too long.

About Time is essentially Richard Curtis in his comfort zone, doing what everybody knows he can do as well as pretty much anybody. By adopting a tone that is strikingly similar to his previous films and centring on themes of love, companionship, friendship and family he was bound to create something that made some people cringe and others delight. Thankfully, I was on the delighted side. Perhaps I am simply a big softie who can’t resist such a love story, but I can’t be ashamed of that. I understand the critisisms of the movie, but in a world in which there is so much anger and despair, sometimes we need films like About Time to remind us what really matters.

Narrative: 90
Acting: 80
Visuals: 70
Music: 85

Overall: 81/100