Meaningful States

I have been musing recently on the meaning of life (pretty light topic, I know) and most of the time find myself trumped by my own subjective limitations. Limitations of knowledge, understanding, experience or even motivations, that hold me back from getting my teeth into the question. Of course, many would argue uncovering the meaning of life is an impossible endeavour. Perhaps they are right, but personally I believe that we can at least move towards leading lives that are more meaningful, more satiating and more fulfilling. You might say, 'meaningful' is a subjective standard. Maybe, but I do know that throughout human history, our species has developed ways, some simple and some complex, to interpret the world around them and derive from it a sense of meaning. I would say that the meaning of meaning, so to speak, is when an individual is able to transcend his own 'monkey mind' and enter a space where his actions have a demonstrable impact on the world around him, appearing universally good to him and others. It is in part a feeling we get. Or rather a set of feelings that present themselves in rare moments where we break our routines and see things through clearer eyes. The funny thing about meaning is that we cannot know for sure that our lives are meaningful on a meta level. In other words, no mortal human being can know the purpose of the universe. All we can do is take a leap of faith (religion) or trust our instincts and recognise when we feel especially engaged in the world. As the author and neuroscientist Sam Harris recently remarked, all we can know for sure is that consciousness itself exists on some level. We know that something appears to be happening. Anything beyond that is a mystery that our limited brains can not hope to figure out (at least at present).

This being so, surely it follows that the best markers for meaning, at least in human terms, is when our consciousness feels emboldened in some way. This is not proof, but simply evidence that we are doing something meaningful. On the contrary, when our consciousness is dulled and we feel like our actions are having no impact on the world, this is evidence of a lack of meaning. The difficult thing to reconcile is how this antenna for meaning deep within us relates to morals and overall purpose. Exploring this question in more depth is for another post. But the way I see it, although meaning and morals are related, they can also be diametrically opposed. Take the Nazi regime. It is clear that Hitler believed deeply in what he was doing, but beyond that, he most probably felt an intense meaning attach itself to his actions, and acted forthrightly on this instinct for what he saw as good for himself and the German people. Here we see that the conflation of meaning and morals leads us down a dark path that we would be wise not to traverse again. Often though, this perversion of meaning on the part of the individual gets us into trouble when it gets extrapolated out to a group or societal level. Was Hitler's initial sense of meaning an evil one? Were his initial intentions evil? Perhaps, we may never truly know, but it is always an easy out to cast evil people into the bin of 'never to be spoken about again', even if there are crucial lessons to be learnt from their lives and actions. Back to the point - I see meaning as a set of states that can be induced in the human being through expansive, yet not infinite, ways of being in the world. The not infinite part is important. Although there are many correct ways of obtaining meaning, I believe there are far more ways of missing the target, evidenced by the fact that very few people live entirely meaningful lives. There are certain human universals when it comes to meaning that seem to correspond to how we are made up biologically and I would argue, religiously. I think we are all fundamentally religious beings, meaning that we are built to seek out a purpose provided our basic survival needs are met.

But how do we go about describing these states of meaning? Is there any way of categorising them in some way into distinct, yet interconnected entities that somehow sum up the states in which we can feel most engaged in the world? Well, its a complicated question. Language itself is not the best medium for communicating truth because language can only be a tool for approximating and articulating things much deeper down in our psychology. However for now it is the best we have. After ruminating on how best to break down the question of meaning, below is my amateur attempt at describing four states that people might be wise to aim for in their lives. At least in my life, it when my being has been synonymous with one of these that I have achieved a rare sense of clarity.


Oneness

What is oneness? It is a rather overused term and often a manipulated one. Oneness to me means being at one with the world and people around us. We might find ourselves in this state only once in a while, but fundamentally I see it as an 'anti-intellectual' state. Some might call it a flow state, and I think this is certainly a component of it. When in a flow state, the brain is perfectly stimulated as we become engaged more and more deeply in our work, a social situation or a sporting event. The funny thing about flow is how it impacts our sense of time, either speeding it up or slowing it down. In my case it more often speeds it up, where hours can pass seemingly in an instant. What is peculiar about oneness and flow is how different they are to the feeling of pleasure. Pleasure seems to take us completely outside ourselves like oneness, but is nearly always desperately fleeting and much more emotionally captivating. It also usually comes with consequences. When in a flow state, at least in my case, there is no emotion. In fact it is the absence of emotion that gives it meaning and allows me to work far more productively and objectively than my distracted and paranoid mind otherwise would. But is oneness distinct from flow? I see it is as a kind of graduated form of flow, where the state is more sustainable and meaningful. Canadian psychologist Jordan Peterson summed up exactly what I am trying to say in one of his biblical lectures recently, using the anecdote of a successful individual at ballroom dance, where the band is playing wonderfully, you're dressed impeccably, the temperature is perfect, you’re dancing with your true love and not a thing in the world feels like it can go wrong. The person is at one with everything and feels intense meaning as a result. He goes further in describing it, saying that the hypothetical person is winning across multiple hierarchies, which is an evolutionary theory as to why they feel such enlightenment. Peterson contests that this is what we should be aiming for because it is best for us and the society we belong to. Oneness might be just this, the coalescing of all one's greatest qualities distilled into the appreciation of the moment. I wager at least once in your lifetime you have felt at one with the world in a similar way.


Stillness

Another state of meaning in my life has been stillness. This one is particularly apt to the times we live in. Currently our species is changing and adapting at such a rapid rate that trying to quantify the complexity of the world is next to impossible. Individually and collectively we have been thrust into a 'brave new world', where our thirst is never truly quenched. Our lives are developing in complexity much faster than we would like to admit. Along with this change comes noise. Literal noise yes, but more so what I would call digital noise. Our attention is being competed for by corporations that use algorithms that even they do not fully understand. When we go to the supermarket, use the internet or broadcast our lives on social media, we are targeted for advertising and our attention is inevitably divided in near infinite ways. This is both mesmerising and terrifying simultaneously, but undeniably overwhelming. Just how our system and institutions will be able to control these new technologies is not yet clear. Therefore, stillness is a state that our developed western society has no use for, and thus does not truly value. Stillness can not be marketed or sold, but is something our ancestors knew the importance of. Like oneness though, the term stillness can be misleading and superficial. Stillness to me is the unstimulated mind, the naked mind, the meditative state. But why would stillness imbue meaning in an individual? The answer to this is not entirely clear. But what is clear is that many of the greatest philosophical, religious and spiritual works in history have been written through spending countless hours trying to attain stillness. Stillness leads to clarity, the ability to see things on a more basic level and also gives us the much needed space for reflection. A cluttered mind has too many offshoots to be aiming linearly at something. Thus when we add in all the tempting distractions of the internet age, we take interest in lots of things, but master nothing. Stillness also allows the peace of mind for revelation, again going back to the monotheistic religions. Secret knowledge and wisdom can come to us in these moments of stillness, perhaps from deep within or from another source, that is down to what you believe. We should all aim to carve out at least a portion of our day to be still. Without it we risk being further trampled by the endless fluff of the internet age. Always distracted, but never content. Just look around, this problem is already upon us.


Greatness

Greatness is a state that very few can attain in any field. But thankfully there can be near unlimited fields in which to aim for it. The definition of greatness is going beyond a good or even excellent level in a given discipline. When one achieves greatness, whether in sport, art, music, politics or whatever else, they have not simply attained a high level of skill, they have transcended the normal or perhaps even what was thought possible, getting as close to mastery as humanly possible. The idea of greatness is necessary for society and the individual to flourish because it cuts to the heart of human virtue - discovery, ambition, single-mindedness, courage, willpower. When we think of history, we think of feats of greatness, whether for good or for evil. In order to achieve greatness in anything one must sacrifice a great deal, often things that a well rounded person would consider sacred. But without the people who have aimed at greatness, where would our species be? We would not have made any of the necessary leaps forward in science, technology, economics, sport or anything else that went towards the civilisation we currently enjoy. But I thought we were talking about states? Is greatness a state? Not exactly, it is more a destination. I guess it would be more accurate to call it a hero or warrior state. The hero myths depicted in the religious texts, fairy tales and all other archetypal stories have come to define the story of the West since the pre-Christian civilisations. But on a more personal level, the state of someone who wants to achieve greatness can be a rough business - there will be no shortcuts or places to hide. Often the type of world where this greatness is pushed for is merciless and certainly not for the faint-hearted. It means constant devotion to the betterment of your craft, and even then are no guarantees of achievement. The further you travel down the tunnel of history, the fewer and fewer people have had the opportunity to aim at greatness. It is a virtue that requires the prerequisite of survival to be taken care of first, unlike the previous two states. Throughout 99% of human history, the struggle for survival as well as restrictions on human freedom made any aspirations for greatness a less than futile afterthought, reserved for nobles, kings and aristocrats. The economic success of our capitalist system in the West, as well as continued improvements in technological efficiency have all but eradicated the problem of survival. Of course I am not suggesting it is a perfect system - some still have far greater opportunities than others. But in the 21st century, most of us have the opportunity to do something special with our lives if we really wanted to. Beyond this, as Jordan Peterson again has pointed out, we have managed to diversify the set of hierarchies from just a few to encompass an unimaginable number of fields for people to master. This has created incomprehensible potential for human greatness. The hero state is something to be respected, and will only be embraced by a daring few who refuse to settle for mediocrity. But make no mistake, it can also be a selfish life, full of extreme effort and sacrificing time with the people we love and therefore should be approached with great caution. We need greatness, it is the linchpin of any forward-looking society and will always be an option for escaping the numbing passivity of our consumer culture.


Kindness

Finally, the state of empathy, or kindness. A tricky one to pin down, as it strongly relates back to a point in my introduction. Namely that empathy is not always a good guide for sound moral decisions. It is a key part of what makes us human, being able to relate to other people's problems and offer guidance based on that. But the problem with empathy that it often needs an enemy. This gets most ugly when applied to a group. "This group deserves more rights than that group", or more commonly nowadays "This group is oppressed and therefore that other group is evil so we should punish them". Both classic forms of discrimination. We see this playing out in unprecedented ways in our public discourse today, where no evidence seems to be required for the most radical of claims to be accepted as fact. Natural empathy towards historically oppressed groups has led to great resentment directed at whole swaths of people who had nothing to do with said oppression. The resulting backlash generates great hostility in the accused group who adopt their own tribal movements. Clearly the trend for empathy or identity based politics has been a failure, encouraging people's natural biases and naivety rather than a quest for the truth. However, this is group based empathy. Individual or private empathy has allowed our species to coexist relatively peacefully for thousands of years, and is the foundation for family and community life. Kindness is more of an intentioned empathy, or at least often comes to us as more of a choice. We can choose to be kind or we can choose not to be, whereas empathy is a virtually unconscious reflex. This is why kindness is a better state to aim for, as it is more considered and less reactionary. Being kind is more than being compassionate, it is carefully weighing up the situation and doing what is best for another person’s well-being, which sometimes means making difficult or seemingly harsh judgements for the long term health of that individual. It applies as much, if not more, to ourselves. Being kind to ourselves does not mean giving in to desires or letting ourselves off when we mess things up, but taking the big picture view and deciding to be responsible for ourselves. Kindness is one of the greatest capacities that we have because of this tight link to responsibility. It is harder than it seems to be kind, because it means cultivating our empathy in a way that makes it most useful for the world and our specific problems. A state of kindness is a state of presence and reflection, which is what relates it back to the other three states I’ve described. I see it as getting back in touch with the best parts of ourselves, the part that loves, that protects, that listens, but most of all, the part that is perfectly honest. I believe we all have this within us, but I know in my own case it can often be unknowingly suppressed by other insidious forces. Greed, desire, judgement, the list goes on. A state of kindness is living a life as unaffected by these forces as possible, but recognising that they will always be a threat.

Perhaps this essay has been a futile exercise in expanding on an idea without thinking these things through. But what I have learnt recently is that writing things down is one of the best ways to learn or work through what you already have jumbled up somewhere in your head. Even if what comes out is not the objective truth, or even the best way of expressing something, it serves the important task of clarification. In many ways writing can put you in any one of the four states described above if you take it seriously enough. It is certainly a grounding influence and something I would like to do more of. If anyone reads this, I value your input into what states make the world feel most meaningful to you. Maybe they relate to one of my examples, or something different entirely. Reading the experience of others is how we expand our outlook. I increasingly feel like our culture is at the apex of a revolution that could go one of two ways, one that makes things better and one that pulls us deeper into apathy and away from meaning. We must make sure it goes in the direction of the good.

MOVIE REVIEW: First Man (2018)

First Man is an epic character portrait of the late Neil Armstrong, told maturely and patiently through Chazelle's now patented style of mixing rough and tumble cinema, meticulously choreographed set pieces and sombre moments of silence, coming together seamlessly to produce another great piece of work. To say I enjoyed Damien's last two films would be a huge understatement - Whiplash remains one of my favourite films of all time and perhaps my favourite of the decade, while La La Land offered something entirely different but just as engaging in its own way. First Man strikes a different tone once again, opting to tell the story of an American and world icon through a personal, yet oddly detached lens. Going into the film my expectations were understandably extremely high, and although I think this might be the weakest film of the three, it is still one of the best I have seen this year.

Chazelle anchors the story of First Man to the formative years of Armstrong's career as an astronaut and married man in the very early 1960's. Personal tragedy strikes very early on, leaving a scar on the man that will be impossible to erase for the entirety of the movie. This event is the bedrock for the film and very much sets the melancholic tone of Armstrong's character. The rest of what happens, although larger than Armstrong himself, can be seen as a desperate quest for some kind of closure or release from the heavy burden of the past. From the very first scenes of First Man we can see that Neil is a difficult and often awkward character. He finds it difficult to express himself through words, not just with people in his profession but even those in his own family. He instead finds refuge in his talents for flying and commanding space missions, which he is undeniably great at.

The theme of social and emotional detachment surrounding Armstrong's character was a very intriguing one for me, although I do feel like the film could have explored it more deeply at times. Perhaps the fact we don't get to know Neil as well as many would like was the whole point. There certainly feels like there was some intentional distance put between him and the audience that never really gets closed as time progresses. Moments where Neil breaks character and launches into monologues are very scarce, rather he always seems to take a back seat and let others show the emotion. This is epitomised late on in the film where his wife Janet in a fit of rage all but forces him to sit his kids down and tell them he might not be coming home from the Apollo 11 mission. Ironically she speaks to him kind of like a child, which makes you realise how shut off and out of touch he has made himself. The resultant scene is one of the most telling of the whole film, as Neil struggles to get through the ordeal and answers the queries of his children with an almost business like persona.

 The film is by no means limited to these more personal themes however. In fact, it mostly focuses on the sheer magnitude and difficulty of early space travel and just how dangerous it really was. Humanity really was making huge technological strides in a matter of just months and years, and inevitably there were going to be some disasters along the way. Chazelle puts us in the cockpit of many of these life-threatening early missions, from the very first scene where Neil nearly kills himself exploring the outer atmosphere, to testing a Lunar landing vehicle where he is forced to eject, to the terrifying missions of the Gemini projects, where at one point he is confronted with the task of controlling a spin out of the module where he is moments away from passing out. Chazelle frames these missions in a context that I am sure is very close to how they actually played out - both in their significance for the eventual moon landing and the inherent danger of moving at such a relentless pace in order to win the space race against the Soviets.

The film does a good job at showcasing the monumental efforts of everybody involved at NASA, and I suspect will satisfy any geeks who like the technical jargon, but I never felt like it was too much for layman's like me to follow along. It really feels like Chazelle wanted to get some level of accuracy in realistically portraying the professional lives of the astronauts and engineers involved, and the team atmosphere at Mission Control.

The real meat of First Man is in the reconciling of Neil's flaws in his personal life with the perception of him as an American hero and pioneer of space exploration. Essentially I see the film in the same way I see Whiplash - the sacrifices and type of person that one is forced to become in order to achieve greatness. In Whiplash that theme was more upfront and concentrated in the characters of Andrew and Fletcher, who occupied almost archetypal representations of this dichotomy. In First Man, the trade offs are more subtle, despite the sacrifice and goals being more profound and some might say, honourable. There is also more going on in the character and chronology of Neil. The early pain that I mentioned is something very difficult to explore in the kind of overt manner that Whiplash tackles it's subject. The longer timeline of this film also likely dictated the decision to pace it in a slower, more calculated way. All in all I liked the pacing and tone of the movie, but people going in expecting something as rhythmically entertaining as either Whiplash or La La Land may come away sorely disappointed.

The screenplay of First Man fits well with the approach to Neil's character in that it puts as much emphasis on the quiet moments as the spoken moments. Indeed the silent parts were probably my favourite in terms of emotional impact. At times I felt like the personal sections could have been better written, as I didn't feel myself fully engaged through every scene. There were times when I was actively rooting for some chemistry between Neil and whoever he was interacting with, be it his wife, kids, friends or colleagues, yet the script never quite scratched that itch for me. There are touching moments for sure, but nothing that really drew me closer to the inner mind of the character. Again, I think part of this was intentional, but I would be lying if I said the dialogue was all it could have been. The moments where it shines through the most are when Neil is fully engaged in what he loves doing, or the moments of solemn reflection that are powerful enough without the need for speech or music. On the subject of music, Chazelle went with Justin Hurwitz once again to produce the soundtrack, but in general he is very sparing in his use of it, which personally I liked. The final climactic scenes on the moon itself were by far the most affecting to me personally, and aside from the obligatory lines that everybody knows, the scene is almost entirely silent, with just the desolation and peace of the moon occupying the frame. This is the moment equivalent to the final drumming performance in Whiplash, where you feel Armstrong is where he is meant to be and has finally realised his destiny.

The performances in First Man are top notch. Ryan Gosling does what Ryan Gosling has done so well before in an ever growing list of great films. There is something in that man's eyes that was designed for playing roles like this, always enigmatic and mysterious, adding a layer of vulnerability to every scene. I've seen him give better performances, but I still think he did a fantastic job with what he was given in what was a very challenging role. Claire Foy as Janet does an amiable job also, although I would have liked to have seen a bit more from her relationship with Neil and the struggles she was going through when he was away. I also enjoyed Jason Clarke as first American to walk in space Ed White. There were no mind-blowing performances, but none that disappointed either. If the screenplay was a little more polished then I believe there was potential here for Gosling and Foy to do some of their very best work, but as it turned out there were times where I felt the writing kept them in their comfort zones.

The film is as much a visual delight as any I have seen about space travel, but not for the typical reasons. Of course there are the expected shots of the Earth from space, the blackness of the unknown and the luminating glow of the Lunar surface, but of more interest to me was the tangible feel of the spaceships and pods, where every switch, nut, bolt and screw felt vitally important to the success of any given mission. Chazelle puts you literally in the faces of the astronauts as they operate these vessels, some of which are no bigger than the inside of a car. It is enough to induce any lingering claustrophobia the viewer may have, especially when you consider the lunacy of strapping yourself into one of these things with thousands of tonnes of explosives sitting directly under you. If the risk and danger of these situations is what Chazelle wanted to capture, he did a damn good job. So much so that when Armstrong steps onto the moon and into uncharted territory, it feels positively safe and serine compared to where he had been before. This is enhanced by the only real use of wide angled or long shots in the entire film, releasing the audience from the stifling grip of close ups and shaky handheld scenes that Chazelle indulges in for most of First Man, and I think also symbolises a quiet moment of clarity for Neil as he finally completes the mission of a lifetime. Overall First Man is a very immersive experience, throwing and tossing the audience around as if we were in Neil's shoes. This immersion contrasts well with the emotionally severed approach the film takes to Neil's personal relationships, only letting us get up close to the man when he is hurling through space at a thousand miles an hour.

As far as any political controversy this film has caused, I quite frankly get bored even thinking about it. It is a sad truth of our age that such a timeless and unifying event in humanity's history can not escape the web of lies, deception and political correctness of people who would rather focus on trivialities and playing the blame game than honestly engaging with a piece of art through apolitical eyes. All I will say is I applaud Chazelle for handling the telling of this great story with class and integrity. Anybody who would rather focus on what the film doesn't say than what it does I honestly feel sorry for. After all, what we need more than ever right now are stories of people who broke the mould, thought differently and chased impossible dreams against the odds.

First Man is a film I recommend for a variety of reasons. It is an important story for people to know about and understand. Damien Chazelle has said that his goal was to show aspects of the moon landing that have gone unseen and unrecognised for too long. I think he achieves this in that I came out knowing much more than when I went in, and beyond that, I empathised with the motivations and sacrifices made by all those involved. The script leaves a little to be desired, but does do an adequate job in documenting the prime years of a special and unique man, for all his faults. How much of First Man is accurate in relation to the real Neil Armstrong I do not know, but part of cinema is taking grains of truth and making them dramatically engaging, something Chazelle seems to be very good at doing. It is exciting to have a director working in Hollywood who is unafraid to tell stories of uncompromising characters who will stop at nothing in the service of something bigger than themselves. These are the tales that sustain us and inspire future generations to go beyond what is expected. Tied in with these themes in First Man is a look, admittedly from a distance, at the human condition and how people come to terms with loss. An eternal and well explored theme, but one the film gives some welcome clarity to.

Acting: 80
Narrative: 80
Cinematography: 90
Music: 80

Overall: 83/100

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