How the “Marvelization” of Cinema Accelerates the Decline of Filmmaking

As hard as it may be to believe, some of us have nev­er seen a movie belong­ing to the Mar­vel Cin­e­mat­ic Uni­verse. If you’re one of those unini­ti­at­ed, none of the count­less clips incor­po­rat­ed into the Like Sto­ries of Old video essay above will tempt you to get ini­ti­at­ed. Nor will the laments aired by host Tom van der Lin­den, who, despite once enjoy­ing the MCU him­self, even­tu­al­ly came to won­der why keep­ing up with its releas­es had begun to feel less like a thrill than a chore. As if their CGI-laden sound and fury weren’t try­ing enough, there’s also “the con­stant quip­ping, the annoy­ing self-aware­ness, the fact that every­thing has to be a fran­chise now.”

Van der Lin­den labels a cen­tral fac­tor in the decline of the MCU “sto­ry­telling entropy.” Clas­sic films, you may have noticed, con­cen­trate prac­ti­cal­ly all the ener­gy in every facet of their pro­duc­tion toward the expres­sion of spe­cif­ic themes, sto­ries, and char­ac­ters; at their best, their every line, ges­ture, cut, and inven­tion rep­re­sents the tip of an artis­tic ice­berg. Take, to use a pop­u­lar exam­ple, the lightsaber intro­duced in Star Wars, which Van der Lin­den calls “not just a weapon, but a metaphor” that “sym­bol­i­cal­ly com­mu­ni­cates a lot about the phi­los­o­phy of its wield­er, and about the larg­er world that it exists in,” con­dens­ing “a mul­ti­tude of mean­ings and ideas into a sim­ple, sin­gu­lar object.”

It does so in the first two or three movies, at any rate. In the decades since, as the Star Wars uni­verse has grown ever vaster, more com­plex, and con­cep­tu­al­ly unwieldy, so the pro­lif­er­a­tion and mod­i­fi­ca­tion of the once-mar­velous lightsaber has turned it into some­thing mun­dane, even banal. So it goes with sto­ry­telling entropy, a phe­nom­e­non that afflicts every nar­ra­tive fran­chise com­mer­cial­ly com­pelled to grow with­out end. That process of expan­sion even­tu­al­ly turns even the most cap­ti­vat­ing orig­i­nal mate­ri­als dif­fuse and unin­volv­ing to all but the hard­est-core fans — by which point it has usu­al­ly become obvi­ous that cre­ators them­selves have long since lost their own pas­sion for the sto­ries.

Most MCU view­ers will admit that it has pro­duced miss­es as well as hits. But Mar­veliza­tion, as Van der Lin­den calls it, has also inspired oth­er, imi­ta­tive cor­po­rate fran­chis­es to pump out glob­al­ly mar­ketable con­tent fierce­ly pro­tect­ed by intel­lec­tu­al prop­er­ty lawyers — and has even drained the inter­est out of realms of film and tele­vi­sion that have noth­ing to do with super­heroes, swords, or sci-fi. Hol­ly­wood has always been about the bot­tom line, of course, but only in recent decades have mar­ket sat­u­ra­tion, cross-plat­form strat­e­gy, and max­i­mum crossover poten­tial come to dom­i­nate its pri­or­i­ties so com­plete­ly. From the MCU or oth­er­wise, a Mar­velized movie is one that, at bot­tom, has no press­ing need to be made — and that we, ulti­mate­ly, feel no press­ing need to see.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Why Movies Don’t Feel Real Any­more: A Close Look at Chang­ing Film­mak­ing Tech­niques

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Illustrated Version of “Alice’s Restaurant”: Watch Arlo Guthrie’s Thanksgiving Counterculture Classic

Alice’s Restau­rant. It’s now a Thanks­giv­ing clas­sic, and some­thing of a tra­di­tion around here. Record­ed in 1967, the 18+ minute coun­ter­cul­ture song recounts Arlo Guthrie’s real encounter with the law, start­ing on Thanks­giv­ing Day 1965. As the long song unfolds, we hear all about how a hip­pie-bat­ing police offi­cer, by the name of William “Obie” Oban­hein, arrest­ed Arlo for lit­ter­ing. (Cul­tur­al foot­note: Obie pre­vi­ous­ly posed for sev­er­al Nor­man Rock­well paint­ings, includ­ing the well-known paint­ing, “The Run­away,” that graced a 1958 cov­er of The Sat­ur­day Evening Post.) In fair­ly short order, Arlo pleads guilty to a mis­de­meanor charge, pays a $25 fine, and cleans up the thrash. But the sto­ry isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Lat­er, when Arlo (son of Woody Guthrie) gets called up for the draft, the pet­ty crime iron­i­cal­ly becomes a basis for dis­qual­i­fy­ing him from mil­i­tary ser­vice in the Viet­nam War. Guthrie recounts this with some bit­ter­ness as the song builds into a satir­i­cal protest against the war: “I’m sit­tin’ here on the Group W bench ’cause you want to know if I’m moral enough to join the Army, burn women, kids, hous­es and vil­lages after bein’ a lit­ter­bug.” And then we’re back to the cheery cho­rus again: “You can get any­thing you want, at Alice’s Restau­rant.”

We have fea­tured Guthrie’s clas­sic dur­ing past years. But, for this Thanks­giv­ing, we give you the illus­trat­ed ver­sion.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry Behind “Alice’s Restau­rant,” Arlo Guthrie’s Song That’s Now a Thanks­giv­ing Tra­di­tion

What Amer­i­cans Ate for Thanks­giv­ing 200 Years Ago: Watch Re-Cre­ations of Recipes from the 1820s

Read 1,000+ Thanks­giv­ing Books Free at the Inter­net Archive

William S. Bur­roughs’ Scathing “Thanks­giv­ing Prayer,” Shot by Gus Van Sant

Mar­i­lyn Monroe’s Hand­writ­ten Turkey-and-Stuff­ing Recipe

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 13 Tips for What to Do with Your Left­over Thanks­giv­ing Turkey

What Was the Most Revolutionary Painting of the 20th Century?: The Case for Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon

Prac­ti­cal­ly any­one could take one glance at Les Demoi­selles d’Av­i­gnon and iden­ti­fy it as a Picas­so, even if they’ve nev­er seen it before and could­n’t say any­thing else about it. That alone goes some way to explain­ing why the paint­ing would end up ranked as the most impor­tant art­work of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, at least accord­ing to a study by Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go econ­o­mist David W. Galen­son. For that title it beat out the likes of Robert Smith­son’s Spi­ral Jet­ty, Richard Hamil­ton’s Just what is it that makes today’s homes so dif­fer­ent, so appeal­ing?, Mar­cel Ducham­p’s Foun­tain and Nude Descend­ing a Stair­case, No. 2, and Picas­so’s own Guer­ni­ca.

With Les Demoi­selles d’Av­i­gnon, Galen­son writes, “the great­est artist of the cen­tu­ry ini­ti­at­ed the century’s most impor­tant artis­tic move­ment. Art schol­ars debate whether the Demoi­selles should be con­sid­ered a Cubist paint­ing, but there is no ques­tion that it dif­fered pro­found­ly from all of the art that pre­ced­ed it, and that it began the devel­op­ment of Cubism.”

Paint­ed in ambi­tious response to Hen­ri Matis­se’s Le Bon­heur de vivre, its rejec­tion of tra­di­tion­al for­mal­i­ty and beau­ty shocked even Picas­so’s for­ward-think­ing col­leagues: “Not only did Matisse denounce the paint­ing as an attempt to dis­cred­it mod­ern art, but even Georges Braque, who would lat­er join forces with Picas­so in devel­op­ing Cubism, was ini­tial­ly so shocked by the paint­ing that he com­pared Picas­so to the fair­ground fire-eaters who drank kerosene to spit flames.”

Of course, there was also the mat­ter of the paint­ing’s sub­ject, five nude pros­ti­tutes in a Barcelona broth­el. But as explained by Beth Har­ris and Steven Zuck­er in the Smarthis­to­ry video above, the Demoi­selles was­n’t always about the demoi­selles alone. “In the orig­i­nal sketch­es, the women were focus­ing on a male that was includ­ed, a sailor,” says Zuck­er. “There was also a med­ical stu­dent.” At some stages, Har­ris empha­sizes, the lat­ter car­ried a human skull, a piece of pro­fes­sion­al equip­ment but also “a reminder of death, a memen­to mori. And so there seems to be some ten­sion here between the sen­su­al­i­ty that the sailor is indulging in and a mor­al­iz­ing reminder that the plea­sures of life are short”: an unusu­al per­spec­tive to be expressed by a 26-year-old, but then, Picas­so was­n’t the usu­al artist.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pablo Picasso’s Child­hood Paint­ings: Pre­co­cious Works Paint­ed Between the Ages of 8 and 15

14 Self-Por­traits by Pablo Picas­so Show the Evo­lu­tion of His Style: See Self-Por­traits Mov­ing from Ages 15 to 90

Watch Pablo Picasso’s Cre­ative Process Unfold in Real-Time: Rare Footage Shows Him Cre­at­ing Draw­ings of Faces, Bulls & Chick­ens

Thou­sands of Pablo Picasso’s Works Now Avail­able in a New Dig­i­tal Archive

What Makes Picasso’s Guer­ni­ca a Great Paint­ing?: Explore the Anti-Fas­cist Mur­al That Became a World­wide Anti-War Sym­bol

How to Under­stand a Picas­so Paint­ing: A Video Primer

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Thanksgiving Menu at the Plaza Hotel in New York City (1899)

Above, we have the menu for an 1899 Thanks­giv­ing din­ner at the Plaza Hotel in New York. If you were a turkey, you had it rel­a­tive­ly easy. But the ducks? Not so much. On the menu, you’ll find Mal­lard duck and Rud­dy duck. But also Red-head duck, Long Island duck­ling, Teal duck and Can­vas-back duck, too. A duck in NYC was not a good place to be.

And, oh, those prices!  Not one item above a few dol­lars. But let’s account for infla­tion, shall we? In 2021, one Red­di­tor not­ed: “I found a cal­cu­la­tor and it turns out that $.30 in 1899 equals $10.00 now. The Fried oys­ter crabs would be $24.99 now and a Philadel­phia chick­en would be $66.65. So, the cheap­est thing on the menu is Sweet but­ter­milk for $.10, but today would be $3.33.”

For our U.S. read­ers, enjoy your hol­i­day tomor­row…

Relat­ed Con­tent 

A Relax­ing, ASMR Re-Cre­ation of Peo­ple Cook­ing Thanks­giv­ing Din­ner in the 1820s

Mar­i­lyn Monroe’s Hand­writ­ten Turkey-and-Stuff­ing Recipe

Read 900+ Thanks­giv­ing Books Free at the Inter­net Archive

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 13 Tips for What to Do with Your Left­over Thanks­giv­ing Turkey

Bob Dylan’s Thanks­giv­ing Radio Show: A Playlist of 18 Delec­table Songs

 

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How to Improve Your Attention Span: Daniel Pink’s Strategies for the Digital Age

In his new video above, the writer Daniel Pink pro­pos­es the fol­low­ing exer­cise: “Grab a book and time your­self. How long can you read with­out get­ting up or check­ing your phone? Real­ly try to push your­self, but don’t judge your­self if it’s only a few min­utes. Write down your time; that’s your base­line.” From there, you “train your atten­tion like a mus­cle: build it by start­ing small and grad­u­al­ly stretch­ing it.” This is just one of five strate­gies he rec­om­mends to “fix your atten­tion span,” a repair of which more and more of us feel in need the deep­er we get into the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry. If even open­ing up a book sounds like a bit much, first take up Pink’s chal­lenge of watch­ing this four-and-a-half minute video “on full screen, 1x speed, with no dis­trac­tions.”

As with any endeav­or, it’s impor­tant to start small. Once you have your base­line, how­ev­er you’ve mea­sured it, you can set about improv­ing it. In order to place your­self well to do so, Pink rec­om­mends elim­i­nat­ing dis­trac­tions from your imme­di­ate envi­ron­ment, which has already been “rigged against you,” not least by social media com­pa­nies: hence the impor­tance of cre­at­ing a “no phone zone,” or at least per­ma­nent­ly turn­ing off noti­fi­ca­tions.

Draw­ing on the work of Cal New­port (pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture), he also sug­gests cre­at­ing cues — using cer­tain phys­i­cal move­ments, cer­tain music, cer­tain scents — that sig­nal your brain to go into work mode. But even in work mode, you should make sure to take breaks, delib­er­ate­ly, every 90 min­utes, or at what­ev­er inter­val your brain starts per­form­ing like a tod­dler in a melt­down.

On the high­est lev­el of all, we must “recon­nect atten­tion to mean­ing.” In oth­er words, we have to under­stand the rea­sons we’re doing a task, if any, before we can hope to con­cen­trate on it. “I learned this myself on my last book,” Pink says. “I was strug­gling. I was dis­tract­ed. I was on my phone and watch­ing sports high­lights rather than my work, and I real­ized the prob­lem was that I did­n’t know why I was writ­ing this book. I did­n’t have a pur­pose.” Only when he final­ly artic­u­lat­ed the ben­e­fit of doing that work, and then post­ed that artic­u­la­tion above his desk, did it start to flow. When next you find your­self unable to stick to a task on the job, a per­son­al project, or a book — whether you’re read­ing or writ­ing one — ask your­self: Why am I doing this? Maybe the answer will empow­er you to attend to it. Or maybe you’ll be bet­ter off doing some­thing else entire­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Focus: Five Talks Reveal the Secrets of Con­cen­tra­tion

The Case for Delet­ing Your Social Media Accounts & Doing Valu­able “Deep Work” Instead, Accord­ing to Com­put­er Sci­en­tist Cal New­port

The Sur­pris­ing Pow­er of Bore­dom: It Lets You Con­front Big Ques­tions & Give Life Mean­ing

Why You Should Only Work 3–4 Hours a Day, Like Charles Dar­win, Vir­ginia Woolf & Adam Smith

How to Read Five Books Per Month & Become a Seri­ous Read­er: Tips from Deep Work Author Cal New­port

Medieval Monks Com­plained About Con­stant Dis­trac­tions: Learn How They Worked to Over­come Them

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Watch Winsor McCay’s The Sinking of the Lusitania, the First Major Animated Propaganda Film (1918)

You might know Win­sor McCay (1867? ‑1934) for the gor­geous­ly sur­re­al Lit­tle Nemo com­ic strip or for his ear­ly ani­mat­ed short Ger­tie the Dinosaur (1914). But did you know that he also cre­at­ed some of the ear­li­est exam­ples of ani­mat­ed pro­pa­gan­da ever?

On May 7, 1915, the RMS Lusi­ta­nia was just off the coast of Ire­land, head­ing towards its des­ti­na­tion of Liv­er­pool, when a Ger­man U‑boat attacked the ship with­out warn­ing. Eigh­teen min­utes after two tor­pe­does slammed into the ship, it was under water. 1,198 died. The furor over the inci­dent even­tu­al­ly led to the Unit­ed States enter­ing WWI.

At the time of the sink­ing, McCay was employed by William Ran­dolph Hearst as an edi­to­r­i­al car­toon­ist. Though McCay was incensed by the attack, Hearst was an iso­la­tion­ist and demand­ed that he draw anti-war car­toons. This grat­ed on the artist more and more until final­ly he decid­ed to fol­low up on his huge­ly suc­cess­ful Ger­tie the Dinosaur by mak­ing The Sink­ing of the Lusi­ta­nia (1918), which you can see above.

The movie took two years of painstak­ing effort to make and con­sist­ed of over 25,000 drawings—all done by hand and most done by McCay him­self dur­ing his free time after work.

Com­pared to oth­er ani­ma­tion done around this time, the film is both stark and seri­ous, lend­ing it the air of a doc­u­men­tary. The piece, which isn’t much short­er than the actu­al time it took for the Lusi­ta­nia to sink, gives a blow-by-blow account of the attack. Though the inci­dent is depict­ed large­ly from afar, as if from a cam­era on anoth­er ship, McCay doesn’t shy away from show­ing some real­ly gut-wrench­ing moments of the tragedy up close. At one point, there is a shot of a des­per­ate moth­er try­ing to keep her baby above the waves. At anoth­er point, dozens of peo­ple are seen bob­bing in the chop­py seas like drift­wood.

And, just in case you haven’t quite grasped the thrust of the film, McCay includes some inter­ti­tles, which are, even by the stan­dards of war pro­pa­gan­da, pret­ty heavy-hand­ed.

The babe that clung to his mother’s breast cried out to the world – TO AVENGE the most vio­lent cru­el­ty that was ever per­pe­trat­ed upon an unsus­pect­ing and inno­cent peo­ple.

And

The man who fired the shot was dec­o­rat­ed for it by the Kaiser! – AND YET THEY TELL US NOT TO HATE THE HUN.

The curi­ous thing about the movie, con­sid­er­ing its sub­ject mat­ter, is how beau­ti­ful it is. Just look at the styl­ized lines of the ocean, the baroque arabesques of the smoke com­ing off the ship’s smoke­stacks, the ele­gant use of neg­a­tive space. Each and every cel of the movie is wor­thy of get­ting framed. How many war pro­pa­gan­da movies can you say that about?

You can find The Sink­ing of the Lusi­ta­nia in the Ani­ma­tion sec­tion of our col­lec­tion of Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Sink­ing of the Lusi­ta­nia Ani­mat­ed in Real Time (1915)

Watch Win­sor McCay’s Lit­tle Nemo and Ger­tie the Dinosaur, and Wit­ness the Birth of Mod­ern Ani­ma­tion (1911–1914)

How Dis­ney Fought Fas­cism with Pro­pa­gan­da Car­toons Dur­ing World War II & Avert­ed Finan­cial Col­lapse

Watch Dzi­ga Vertov’s Sovi­et Toys: The First Sovi­et Ani­mat­ed Movie Ever (1924)

Jonathan Crow is a writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. 

200 Ansel Adams Photographs Expose the Rigors of Life in Japanese Internment Camps During WW II

Intern5

Images cour­tesy of the Library of Con­gress.

Actor George Takei was once best known as Star Trek’s Mr. Sulu. He still is, of course, but over the last cou­ple decades his friend­ly, intel­li­gent, and wicked­ly fun­ny pres­ence on social media has land­ed him a new pop­u­lar role as a civ­il lib­er­ties advo­cate. Takei’s activist pas­sion is informed not only by his sta­tus as a gay man, but also by his child­hood expe­ri­ences. At the age of 5, Takei was round­ed up with his Amer­i­can-born par­ents and tak­en to a Japan­ese intern­ment camp in Arkansas, where he would live for the next three years. In an inter­view with Democ­ra­cy Now, Takei spoke frankly about this his­to­ry:

We’re Amer­i­cans…. We had noth­ing to do with the war. We sim­ply hap­pened to look like the peo­ple that bombed Pearl Har­bor. But with­out charges, with­out tri­al, with­out due process—the fun­da­men­tal pil­lar of our jus­tice system—we were sum­mar­i­ly round­ed up, all Japan­ese Amer­i­cans on the West Coast, where we were pri­mar­i­ly res­i­dent, and sent off to 10 barb wire intern­ment camps—prison camps, real­ly, with sen­try tow­ers, machine guns point­ed at us—in some of the most des­o­late places in this coun­try.

Takei and his fam­i­ly were among over 100,000 Japanese-Americans—over half of whom were U.S. cit­i­zens—interned in such camps.

Intern3

Into one of these camps, Man­za­nar, locat­ed in the foothills of the Sier­ra Nevadas, cel­e­brat­ed pho­tog­ra­ph­er Ansel Adams man­aged to gain entrance through his friend­ship with the war­den. Adams took over 200 pho­tographs of life inside the camp.

In 1965, he donat­ed his col­lec­tion to the Library of Con­gress, writ­ing in a let­ter, “The pur­pose of my work was to show how these peo­ple, suf­fer­ing under a great injus­tice, and loss of prop­er­ty, busi­ness and pro­fes­sions, had over­come the sense of defeat and dis­pair [sic] by build­ing for them­selves a vital com­mu­ni­ty in an arid (but mag­nif­i­cent) envi­ron­ment.”

adams 2

Adams had anoth­er pur­pose as well—as schol­ar of the peri­od Frank H. Wu describes it—“to doc­u­ment some aspects of the intern­ment camp that the gov­ern­ment didn’t want to have shown.” These include “the barbed wire, and the guard tow­ers, and the armed sol­diers.” Pro­hib­it­ed from doc­u­ment­ing these con­trol mech­a­nisms direct­ly, the pho­tog­ra­ph­er “cap­tured them in the back­ground, in shad­ows,” says Wu: “In some of the pho­tos when you look you can see just faint­ly that he’s tak­ing a pho­to of some­thing, but in front of the pho­to you can see barbed wire, or on the ground you can see the shad­ow of barbed wire. Some of the pho­tos even show the blur­ry out­line of a soldier’s shad­ow.”

Intern4

The pho­tographs doc­u­ment the dai­ly activ­i­ties of the internees—their work and leisure rou­tines, and their strug­gles to main­tain some sem­blance of nor­mal­cy while liv­ing in hasti­ly con­struct­ed bar­racks in the harsh­est of con­di­tions.

adams camp

Though the land­scape, and its cli­mate, could be des­o­late and unfor­giv­ing, it was also, as Adams couldn’t help but notice, “mag­nif­i­cent.” The col­lec­tion includes sev­er­al wide shots of stretch­es of moun­tain range and sky, often with pris­on­ers star­ing off long­ing­ly into the dis­tance. But the major­i­ty of the pho­tos are of the internees—men, women, and chil­dren, often in close-up por­traits that show them look­ing var­i­ous­ly hope­ful, hap­py, sad­dened, and resigned.

Intern1

You can view the entire col­lec­tion at the Library of Con­gress’ online cat­a­log. Adams also pub­lished about 65 of the pho­tographs in a book titled Born Free and Equal: The Sto­ry of Loy­al Japan­ese Amer­i­cans in 1944. The col­lec­tion rep­re­sents an impor­tant part of Adams’ work dur­ing the peri­od. But more impor­tant­ly, it rep­re­sents events in U.S. his­to­ry that should nev­er be for­got­ten or denied.

Intern2

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Dis­ney Fought Fas­cism with Pro­pa­gan­da Car­toons Dur­ing World War II & Avert­ed Finan­cial Col­lapse

Dr. Seuss’ World War II Pro­pa­gan­da Films: Your Job in Ger­many (1945) and Our Job in Japan (1946)

Ansel Adams Reveals His Cre­ative Process in 1958 Doc­u­men­tary

Dis­cov­er Ansel Adams’ 226 Pho­tos of U.S. Nation­al Parks (and Anoth­er Side of the Leg­endary Pho­tog­ra­ph­er)

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

Take a 2‑Hour Walking Tour Through New York City: Architects Reveal the Secrets Behind Its Most Iconic Buildings

New York isn’t the old­est city in the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca, and it cer­tain­ly isn’t the newest. But it is, quite pos­si­bly, the Amer­i­can city where more lay­ers of his­to­ry coex­ist than any oth­er, a qual­i­ty that man­i­fests most vivid­ly in its built envi­ron­ment. Even the most casu­al tourist can sense the sheer vari­ety of time peri­ods embod­ied in the build­ings around them on, say, a stroll down Broad­way — one of the streets fea­tured in the ten-part walk­ing tour com­piled in the new Archi­tec­tur­al Digest video above. As a whole, it offers a two-hour jour­ney through the city begin­ning in Cen­tral Park and end­ing on Wall Street.

In between come on-foot exam­i­na­tions of every­thing from the fin-de-siè­cle “apart­ment hotels” of the Upper West Side to the recent­ly built “super-tall” res­i­den­tial tow­ers of West 57th Street to the devel­op­ments atop the buried Grand Cen­tral Sta­tion to the dis­used indus­tri­al rail­way now known — and imi­tat­ed around the world — as a lin­ear park called the High Line.

Tend though long­time New York­ers may to regard each part of the city as more or less a nation unto itself, a per­spec­tive with a bit more dis­tance reveals signs of the nev­er-end­ing social, eco­nom­ic, and aes­thet­ic exchange between them: an impor­tant fac­tor in how the use of and role played by even the city’s most august struc­tures has been sub­ject to change after unan­tic­i­pat­ed change.

Help­ing us to under­stand all this are archi­tects Michael Wyet­zn­er and Nick Potts, both pro­fes­sion­al­ly well placed to explain both the big pic­ture of New York’s evo­lu­tion and the sig­nif­i­cance of the var­i­ous odd­i­ties and eccen­tric­i­ties on its streets. Even an archi­tec­tur­al lay­man would take impressed notice while pass­ing, say, the man­sions once inhab­it­ed by Alexan­der Hamil­ton and Aaron Burr; the jagged bunker that has housed the Whit­ney Muse­um of Amer­i­can Art, the Met Breuer, and Frick Madi­son; the impos­si­bly skin­ny-look­ing sky­scrap­ers of the so-called “Bil­lion­aire’s Row”; or the Dako­ta, John Lennon’s final res­i­dence. But to learn what such build­ings have to tell us about the his­to­ry and nature of New York, we must look at them, as anoth­er famous rock star once sang, thru’ these archi­tects’ eyes.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Lost Neigh­bor­hood Buried Under New York City’s Cen­tral Park

A Whirl­wind Archi­tec­tur­al Tour of the New York Pub­lic Library — “Hid­den Details” and All

Archi­tect Breaks Down the Design Of Four Icon­ic New York City Muse­ums: the Met, MoMA, Guggen­heim & Frick

Every Hid­den Detail of New York’s Clas­sic Sky­scrap­ers: The Chrysler, Empire State & Wool­worth Build­ings

A Walk­ing Tour of Los Ange­les Archi­tec­ture: From Art Deco to Cal­i­for­nia Bun­ga­low

A 5‑Hour Walk­ing Tour of Paris and Its Famous Streets, Mon­u­ments & Parks

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How IKEA Revolutionized Furniture-Making

The humorist San­dra Tsing Loh once described her gen­er­a­tional cohort as “today’s young, high­ly trained, down­ward­ly mobile pro­fes­sion­als: ‘dump­ies.’ We’re just emerg­ing from years of col­lege only to learn that there are no jobs avail­able for peo­ple with our advanced qual­i­fi­ca­tions,” and thus no route to own­er­ship of all their hoped-for lifestyle accou­trements. No, she’s not a mil­len­ni­al, but rather what she calls a “late boomer” in an essay that dates from the mid-nineties — a few years after IKEA founder Ing­var Kam­prad “came into South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, utter­ing those five immor­tal words: ‘Halo­gen! Impos­si­ble Price: $29!’ The rest was his­to­ry. In that instant, we dump­ies found our niche. We rose up and became the IKEA Gen­er­a­tion!”

IKEA could expand so far out of its native Swe­den thanks to the suc­cess of prod­ucts like the LACK cof­fee table, the sub­ject of the new Pri­mal Space video above. Though small in scale and high­ly unpre­pos­sess­ing in appear­ance (and, let’s face it, a visu­al byword for cheap fur­nish­ings sec­ond only to the num­ber-one-sell­ing BILLY book­shelf) it’s long been a steady sell­er the world over, not least because its price, just under the equiv­a­lent of ten euros when intro­duced in 1981, has nev­er been raised. To man­age that, IKEA has had to use every trick in its book: not just the do-it-your­self “flat-packed” design it pio­neered, but also non-warp­ing par­ti­cle board, hon­ey­comb paper struc­tures for max­i­mum strength using a min­i­mum of mate­r­i­al, and even new­ly engi­neered leg-fold­ing machines.

How­ev­er briskly it sells, this par­tic­u­lar prod­uct may be unfor­tu­nate­ly named in an Eng­lish-speak­ing mar­ket; “What they ‘lack’ is sta­bil­i­ty,” one inter­vie­wee says to Loh. Still, it remains emblem­at­ic enough of the cor­po­rate mis­sion once artic­u­lat­ed by Kam­prad him­self: “To cre­ate a bet­ter every­day life for the major­i­ty of peo­ple.” (“How many Repub­li­can politi­cians can say they’ve done that?” Loh adds. “How many Democ­rats?”) That extends to the design of IKEA’s stores, which offer only one path to fol­low all the way through, like an extra-large fun­house. As not­ed in the video, while this forces cus­tomers to pass every prod­uct — and thus every temp­ta­tion to impulse buy — it also turns a vis­it into an expe­ri­ence unto itself, before the cus­tomer even reach­es the cafe­te­ria. Fun­ny; I could go for a plate of meat­balls right about now.

If you want to take a deep dive into the ori­gin and growth of IKEA, lis­ten to this three hour episode from the Acquired pod­cast.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

IKEA Dig­i­tizes & Puts Online 70 Years of Its Cat­a­logs: Explore the Designs of the Swedish Fur­ni­ture Giant

Hans Rosling Uses Ikea Props to Explain World of 7 Bil­lion Peo­ple

What Hap­pens When a Cheap Ikea Print Gets Pre­sent­ed as Fine Art in a Muse­um

Meet the Mem­phis Group, the Bob Dylan-Inspired Design­ers of David Bowie’s Favorite Fur­ni­ture

Spike Jonze’s Imag­i­na­tive TV Ads

Charles & Ray Eames’ Icon­ic Lounge Chair Debuts on Amer­i­can TV (1956)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Why Movies Don’t Feel Real Anymore: A Close Look at Changing Filmmaking Techniques

Any­one who keeps an eye on Hol­ly­wood knows — indeed, has been ever more fre­quent­ly and anx­ious­ly informed — that the the­ater busi­ness is in trou­ble. If few­er of us than ever have been going out to the movies, one rea­son must have to do with the easy avail­abil­i­ty of home stream­ing, to say noth­ing of all the pro­lif­er­at­ing dig­i­tal dis­trac­tions pre­ci­sion-engi­neered to cap­ture our atten­tion. But could it also have to do with a change in the pic­tures them­selves? With more than two mil­lion views racked up in just four days, the new Like Sto­ries of Old video essay above ven­tures an expla­na­tion as to “Why Movies Just Don’t Feel ‘Real’ Any­more.”

In recent years, even long, colos­sal­ly bud­get­ed, and cease­less­ly mar­ket­ed spec­ta­cles feel strange­ly insub­stan­tial on any screen, big or small. The video’s cre­ator Tom van der Lin­den points to a vari­ety of fac­tors, begin­ning with a wors­en­ing lack of cor­re­spon­dence between the cin­e­mat­ic image and our per­cep­tion of real­i­ty.

One clear­ly — or rather, read­i­ly — notice­able con­tribut­ing trend is the preva­lence of shal­low focus, which keeps the char­ac­ters in the fore­ground sharp but lets all the details of the back­ground go blur­ry: not the way we see the real world, unless we mis­place our glass­es. Because we live in deep focus, deep focus cin­e­matog­ra­phy feels more real to us.

Of course, not every movie can be Lawrence of Ara­bia. But there was a time when prac­ti­cal­ly all of them did deliv­er what’s called “hap­tic visu­al­i­ty,” the word hap­tic relat­ing to the con­cept of our sense of touch. Old­er films have a tan­gi­bil­i­ty about them in large part because the film­mak­ers had no choice: work­ing only or pri­mar­i­ly with ana­log tools, they could only do so much to detach images from our phys­i­cal expe­ri­ence. Dig­i­tal pho­tog­ra­phy, post-pro­duc­tion CGI, and now the open abyss of AI have made any­thing tech­ni­cal­ly pos­si­ble, though as van der Lin­den under­scores, those tech­nolo­gies by them­selves don’t guar­an­tee that the result­ing movie won’t feel real. Ulti­mate­ly, unre­al­i­ty is a choice, and one we movie­go­ers should hope the indus­try will stop mak­ing — if not for our sat­is­fac­tion, then for its own sur­vival.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dark Knight: Anato­my of a Flawed Action Scene

The Impor­tance of Film Edit­ing Demon­strat­ed by the Bad Edit­ing of Major Films: Bohemi­an Rhap­sody, Sui­cide Squad & More

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

Why We All Need Sub­ti­tles Now

Why Do Wes Ander­son Movies Look Like That?

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

J.R.R. Tolkien Expressed a “Heartfelt Loathing” for Walt Disney and Refused to Let Disney Studios Adapt His Work

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

I’ve just start­ed read­ing J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hob­bit to my daugh­ter. While much of the nuance and the ref­er­ences to Tolkien­ian deep time are lost on her, she eas­i­ly grasps the dis­tinc­tive charms of the char­ac­ters, the nature of their jour­ney, and the per­ils, won­ders, and Elven friends they have met along the way so far. She is famil­iar with fairy tale dwarfs and myth­ic wiz­ards, though not with the typol­o­gy of insu­lar, mid­dle-class, adven­ture-averse coun­try gen­try, thus Hob­bits them­selves took a bit of explain­ing.

While read­ing and dis­cussing the book with her, I’ve won­dered to myself about a pos­si­ble his­tor­i­cal rela­tion­ship between Tolkien’s fairy tale fig­ures and those of the Walt Dis­ney com­pa­ny which appeared around the same time. The troupe of dwarves in The Hob­bit might pos­si­bly share a com­mon ances­tor with Snow White’s dwarfs—in the Ger­man fairy tale the Broth­ers Grimm first pub­lished in 1812. But here is where any sim­i­lar­i­ty between Tolkien and Dis­ney begins and ends.

In fact, Tolkien most­ly hat­ed Disney’s cre­ations, and he made these feel­ings very clear. Snow White debuted only months after The Hob­bit’s pub­li­ca­tion in 1937. As it hap­pened, Tolkien went to see the film with lit­er­ary friend and some­time rival C.S. Lewis. Nei­ther liked it very much. In a 1939 let­ter, Lewis grant­ed that “the ter­ri­fy­ing bits were good, and the ani­mals real­ly most mov­ing.” But he also called Dis­ney a “poor boob” and lament­ed “What might not have come of it if this man had been educated—or even brought up in a decent soci­ety?”

Tolkien, notes Atlas Obscu­ra, “found Snow White love­ly, but oth­er­wise wasn’t pleased with the dwarves. To both Tolkien and Lewis, it seemed, Disney’s dwarves were a gross over­sim­pli­fi­ca­tion of a con­cept they held as precious”—the con­cept, that is, of fairy sto­ries. Some might brush away their opin­ions as two Oxford dons gaz­ing down their noses at Amer­i­can mass enter­tain­ment. As Tolkien schol­ar Trish Lam­bert puts it, “I think it grat­ed on them that he [Dis­ney] was com­mer­cial­iz­ing some­thing that they con­sid­ered almost sacro­sanct.”

“Indeed,” writes Steven D. Grey­danus at the Nation­al Catholic Reg­is­ter, “it would be impos­si­ble to imag­ine” these two authors “being any­thing but appalled by Disney’s sil­ly dwarfs, with their slap­stick humor, nurs­ery-moniker names, and singsong musi­cal num­bers.” One might counter that Tolkien’s dwarves (as he insists on plu­ral­iz­ing the word), also have fun­ny names (derived, how­ev­er, from Old Norse) and also break into song. But he takes pains to sep­a­rate his dwarves from the com­mon run of children’s sto­ry dwarfs.

Tolkien would lat­er express his rev­er­ence for fairy tales in a schol­ar­ly 1947 essay titled “On Fairy Sto­ries,” in which he attempts to define the genre, pars­ing its dif­fer­ences from oth­er types of mar­velous fic­tion, and writ­ing with awe, “the realm of fairy sto­ry is wide and deep and high.” These are sto­ries to be tak­en seri­ous­ly, not dumb­ed-down and infan­tilized as he believed they had been. “The asso­ci­a­tion of chil­dren and fairy-sto­ries,” he writes, “is an acci­dent of our domes­tic his­to­ry.”

Tolkien wrote The Hob­bit for young peo­ple, but he did not write it as a “children’s book.” Noth­ing in the book pan­ders, not the lan­guage, nor the com­plex char­ac­ter­i­za­tion, nor the grown-up themes. Disney’s works, on the oth­er hand, rep­re­sent­ed to Tolkien a cheap­en­ing of ancient cul­tur­al arti­facts, and he seemed to think that Disney’s approach to films for chil­dren was espe­cial­ly con­de­scend­ing and cyn­i­cal.

He described Disney’s work on the whole as “vul­gar” and the man him­self, in a 1964 let­ter, as “sim­ply a cheat,” who is “hope­less­ly cor­rupt­ed” by prof­it-seek­ing (though he admits he is “not inno­cent of the prof­it-motive” him­self).

…I rec­og­nize his tal­ent, but it has always seemed to me hope­less­ly cor­rupt­ed. Though in most of the ‘pic­tures’ pro­ceed­ing from his stu­dios there are admirable or charm­ing pas­sages, the effect of all of them is to me dis­gust­ing. Some have giv­en me nau­sea…

This expli­ca­tion of Tolkien’s dis­like for Dis­ney goes beyond mere gos­sip to an impor­tant prac­ti­cal upshot: Tolkien would not allow any of his works to be giv­en the Walt Dis­ney treat­ment. While his pub­lish­er approached the stu­dios about a Lord of the Rings adap­ta­tion (they were turned down at the time), most schol­ars think this hap­pened with­out the author’s knowl­edge, which seems a safe assump­tion to say the least.

Tolkien’s long his­to­ry of express­ing neg­a­tive opin­ions about Dis­ney led to his lat­er for­bid­ding, “as long as it was pos­si­ble,” any of his works to be pro­duced “by the Dis­ney stu­dios (for all whose works I have a heart­felt loathing).” Astute read­ers of Tolkien know his seri­ous intent in even the most com­ic of his char­ac­ters and sit­u­a­tions. Or as Vin­tage News’ Mar­tin Cha­lakos­ki writes, “there is not a speck of Dis­ney in any of those pages.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2018.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

J.R.R. Tolkien Snubs a Ger­man Pub­lish­er Ask­ing for Proof of His “Aryan Descent” (1938)

110 Draw­ings and Paint­ings by J.R.R. Tolkien: Of Mid­dle-Earth and Beyond

J. R. R. Tolkien Writes & Speaks in Elvish, a Lan­guage He Invent­ed for The Lord of the Rings

When J.R.R. Tolkien Worked for the Oxford Eng­lish Dic­tio­nary and “Learned More … Than Any Oth­er Equal Peri­od of My Life” (1919–1920)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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