Erstes Futter

Although there is currently an open slot for a saint named Christopher, (see post, Hang on, Saint Christopher) I don't anticipate being elevated to the Canon when I die. I simply have too many faults. But although I recognize my own imperfect existence, I have a generally positive self image. I'm more or less pleased to be me and think most of the time, I'm a pretty good guy. So it comes as a shock when I'm accused of wanton cruelty or blatantly immoral behavior.


As it turns out, my actions have come under attack most aggressively at this time of year, in April, the cruelest month, when lilacs are bred out of the dead land and it's time to prune the willows. When I was a kid, cutting pussy willows was a time-honored tradition. I remember encountering pussy willow catkins even before I entered kindergarten and thinking that they must indeed have been a kind of transspecies creature, formed by crossing kitties with what we always called a "pricker bush" in my neighborhood. It struck me as a fine idea. When I was a little older, I encountered pussy willows in the classroom too and I retain fond memories of these delightful harbingers of spring.

Here in the US, I have a willow growing in my backyard and can cut pussy willows with abandon. Not a spring goes by when I don't cut a few of the earliest shoots to put in a vase in the dining room. But during the years I've spent in Germany, finding a pussy willow wasn't always easy. Sure, there's plenty of rural territory in Germany, but I've always been stuck in the city and avoided taking cuttings from my neighbors, most of whom, I in any case didn't know. You can imagine my pleasure then, when on my most recent stay in Germany, I found a willow growing along a public path. It was a former railroad cut, not maintained as a park, and I reasoned that no one would object if I cut a few shoots to bring home. We wanted to decorate the apartment festively for a party on the weekend.

I was in high spirits until our first guests arrived. It seems that in Germany, children aren't taught to see catkins as the first symbol of spring, but rather as the "first food for the bees." With those pussy willow shoots on my table, all anyone could think of were the the poor starving bees, lying cold and hungry among the crocus in some lonely German pasture. Conversation was difficult and got harder as each of us imagined we could hear the plaintive buzzing of a dying hive, the victim of my thoughtlessness. I didn't like this image of myself as bee-killer, so when the guests went home, I researched this cultural attitude toward the pussy willow thoroughly. It turns out, bees do depend to some extent on willows in the early spring. And this "first food for the bees" thing does run pretty deep in the German psyche. Again and again I uncovered evidence on-line of indignant German speakers, reacting to crimes against the bees. I made a decision to be more sensitive to cultural values and lay off the pussy willows while in Germany.


Willows in America don't respect this new attitude on my part though. They grow like Topsy and this spring the cute little pussy willow I planted behind my house was getting up around five meters high. I hope no one in Germany finds out, but this weekend, I cut it off at the ground and the bees be damned. New shoots will come up and I intend to maintain it as a bush from here on in. Maybe I'll put out a saucer of sugar water for the bees, but come on: rural Utah is lousy with willows. Surely the bees can find some other sucker to provide their first food. And when he dies, I'll nominate him for canonization myself.

Sinn Féin

For several years following my acquisition of an advanced degree in Fine Art, I followed a career path common to painters and artists of all kinds. I tended bar. I worked at an Irish bar in Westport, Connecticut and sometimes on St. Patrick's Day a group of customers would bring a small bottle of food coloring in with them in order to dye their beer green. Doubtless, they thought this would endear them to the Irish regulars. On the contrary, this marked them as helpless amateurs. If they continued with that kind of silly behavior, we sometimes had to take our shillelagh from under the bar and rain blows on them, driving them out into the parking lot.


No, we, ourselves, those of Irish ancestry, are not known for our delicacy or formal manners. It was one of the things that drew the American painter, Robert Henri, to the island. Henri, author of The Art Spirit, was an important figure in American Realism and a leader of the so-called Ashcan School of American painting. Critic Robert Hughes referred to Henri as "vulgar" and he meant it as a compliment. To the best of my knowledge, Henri had no Irish heritage himself, but traveled often to Ireland. One of Henri's more famous paintings is a portrait of Johnny Commins, an older resident of Achill, Ireland, who sat for Henri during one of his many visits. The painting is titled Himself and is a good example of a distinct use of reflexive pronouns by the Irish. You could also hear the construction coming from Barry Fitzgerald in a film such as, Going My Way. I don't speak any Irish myself, but I believe this use of the reflexive is intended for emphasis. We use reflexive pronouns the same way in American English today and you sometimes even hear them referred to as "intensive" pronouns.

Himself, by Robert Henri

Not so with the reflexive pronoun in German. The language is simply chock full of verbs that require reflexive pronouns and it's a minefield for English speakers learning the language. In English, reflexive pronouns are usually optional. You can say "I'm shaving myself'" but why bother? Is it really likely that you're shaving someone else? In German however, the verb to shave is sich razieren, with the sich part being the reflexive pronoun. Forgetting to include the reflexive pronoun often changes the meaning of the verb dramatically and in the case of the verb for shaving, it simply doesn't exist without the reflexive part. Americans learning to speak German can have some cheap laughs by translating German reflexive constructions literally into English. When leaving a German I class for example, a student of German could bring down the house with a translation of a common German parting salutation: "We'll be seeing us!" Or how about a direct translation of the German expression ich freue mich! (=I happy myself?)

Yes, we Americans can laugh, but if we thought about it, we might realize that there is an important truth revealed here: a reflexive construction is one in which the subject and object of the verb are the same thing. It follows, therefore, that one only uses reflexive pronouns (myself, ourselves, etc.) when there is a matching subject for them. Right now in American English, we're experiencing a flood of reflexive usage that I can only imagine some people must feel sounds more refined. I hear it on the radio, around town and on campus, from faculty as well as students. A typical example would be something like, "The nachos were brought by, like, Bobby and myself." Ugh! Combined (as it often is) with the passive voice, it's like scratching your fingernails across a particularly nasty grammar chalkboard.

How did this usage become so popular? Did Seinfeld start it? Was it politicians, that group which popularized such classic expressions as "At this point in time...?" Or maybe this construction was encouraged by those adults who were always correcting grammar by saying, "Bobby and I!" when their children proudly announced "Bobby and me went swimming!" I don't know. And ultimately, I don't care, but my feelings about this stilted use of the reflexive pronoun are about the same as my feelings about yahoos who drink green beer on St. Patrick's Day. One should always keep a shillelagh close at hand.

Balkan Pop

A normal day for me, on campus at Utah State University, involves wearing many hats. I might begin my day in my office, responding to e-mails. Some will deal with a search going on in a neighboring department where my expertise as a generic run-of-the-mill "artist" justifies my participation. In a meeting later that day I might be sitting around a table with a group of important administrator types, interviewing a candidate for a high level position such as Dean. At noon I might be on the phone with a gallery director in the Bay Area negotiating the dates of an upcoming show. At surprisingly rare intervals, I might even be standing before a class of undergraduates, trying to explain the importance of abstract systems in the construction of a painting. Yesterday, in fact, I did all those things and more besides. The variety of my day can be a challenge under the best of circumstances, but I am handicapped by a brain that plays a sound track for me during virtually all of these activities. Sometimes the rhythm builds in a way I can't control and I feel an almost irresistible urge to get up and dance. I live in near constant fear, that in the most inappropriate of situations, I may find myself standing on the boardroom table, belting out a line like "Disko, disko, Partizani!" from the internal soundtrack. Would I ever live down the embarrassment?

I think a lot of us suffer from at least a mild case of the Idee Fixe. In the pre-iPod era, you'd be on your way out of the house in the morning, and before you could react and turn it off, the radio would inject a song like Ballad of the Green Berets, or These Boots are Made for Walking' into your head. It would play all day and there was no way to shake it. Today the problem is different. I can easily control what goes into my head most of the time, so the danger isn't that I'll spend a day running through the theme song to F Troop. Now my concern is that really, really good music will get in and take over my body. And lately, the music I'm most afraid of is the fabulous Balkan Pop from German recording artist, Shantel.

Shantel is the stage name of Stefan Hantel, born in Mannheim on January 1, 1968. Hantel grew up in Frankfurt and got his start in music as a DJ. I read an interview with him recently in Die Zeit and find his music outrageously compelling. In the interview he describes how he grew up playing a variety of musical instruments and was influenced by his grandparents who came out of Bukowina, an old Duchy of the Habsburg Empire. Hantel got involved in the Techno scene of European dance clubs but was sidetracked by gypsy brass bands from Eastern Europe that appeared on the scene after the fall of the Berlin Wall. The sound of these Balkan brass choirs reminded him of his early childhood and he began incorporating eastern rhythms and harmonies into the DJ mixes he did in German dance clubs. Many years later, he has numerous recordings and a film sound track to his credit and he has become a kind of cottage industrial giant of Balkan Pop.

Shantel has a great website and I'll post a link to it in the Forschungsjahr sidebar. I could try to describe his music, but it's better to just listen for yourself. As a start, I'll include a music video from his 2007 album below. He has a new CD out as well, Planet Paprika, that I haven't heard much of yet, but I'll be getting around to it soon. Delayed gratification builds character. And given the addictive nature of Shantel's music, a strong character is highly recommended.

Wuppersprung

I watched another film from Tom Tykwer last night: Der Krieger und die Kaiserin or The Princess and the Warrior, as it was released in the US. Tykwer is probably best known as the director of Run, Lola, Run, one of the few European films that has played to a financial success in the US market, and I'm sure the distribution companies were hoping to score again with The Princess and the Warrior. If you read the description at Netflix, they bill it as a "heist" film. It's a heist film in the way that the Old Man and the Sea is a book about deep sea sport fishing. Promoting the film in this way is just one of the reasons that so many European films flop at the US box office.

I enjoyed the film and especially the sets. A lot of the action takes place in a psychiatric hospital where the main character, Sissi, played by Franka Potente, works as a nurse. The exterior shots of the hospital are fabulous and the interior made me want to develop a minor psychosis so I could spend some time there. Initially, I was very impressed with the level of psychiatric care in Germany, but then discovered that the set was built for the film. I guess that doesn't mean that German psychiatric care is lousy, but it took the edge off my desire to experience it first hand.

But the best set was the city of Wuppertal itself. Tom Tykwer grew up in Wuppertal, and I've visited it a number of times. It had its heyday at the opening of the nineteenth century as an industrial center, primarily producing textiles. The geography of the region, a long, narrow and steep river valley, hampered continued development and eventually the industry moved north to the Ruhrgebiet. But it left in its wake some beautiful old houses and a linear city, built along the banks of the Wupper and the Schwebebahn line that was constructed over the river. Tykwer uses the Schwebebahn and the steep hills the city grew up on to create some beautiful imagery and distinctive locations throughout the film.

Schwebebahn means something like "suspended pathway" and it's the name for the monorail train that Wuppertal built during its golden age, presumably to give up as little valuable land as possible for public transit. Many Americans are familiar with it because of its most famous image: Tuffi the elephant falling out of a car into the Wupper River in 1950. The Wuppertal zoo director at the time thought it would be a good publicity stunt to take the elephant, a three year old female, for a ride on the famous Schwebebahn. As you (or anyone who gave it more than five seconds thought) would imagine, Tuffi didn't take well to riding in a car that travels suspended from a monorail over a river valley. She ran through the car, smashing windows and injuring passengers. Eventually, she fell out of the car and was captured on film in an image that I can only describe as skuril. I think a good translation for that might be "bizarre" or "fantastic," but neither really seems to do the photo justice.



The Princess and the Warrior has a more or less "happy" ending for the two misfits the title refers to and I'm happy to report that Tuffi's story also comes out OK in the end. The zoo director was sacked as well as the blockhead transit official who approved the ride. Tuffi landed in the water and swan to shore, uninjured but for some minor cuts and scrapes. The accident location is still remembered with a painted image of Tuffi on a neighboring building and city ordinances forbid the transit of elephants on the Schwebebahn today.

Metropolis


On February 12, 2010, a restored copy of the legendary silent film classic, Metropolis, by Fritz Lang was shown as a part of the Berlin Film Festival. Metropolis is a remarkable film, and has influenced several generations of film makers since its 1926 premiere. Star Wars, Blade Runner and Batman were all shaped by Lang's distinct vision of a futuristic cityscape. Originally over two hours long, Metropolis was cut substantially after its premiere in an effort to make it more profitable. Over the decades, much of the original footage was lost and until recently, no one dreamed that the film could ever be restored to its former glory. Then, in July 2008, a negative of the original premiere cut of the film, including all the lost scenes, was discovered in the archives of the Museo del Cine in Buenos Aires. The negative was a mess and required considerable restoration before it could be shown again, but I assume that it will be available to all of us again soon.

The restored film was shown at the Friedrichstadtpalast in Berlin, but was also shown simultaneously on a screen at the Brandenburg Gate in what is known in Germany as a "Public Viewing." The phenomenon of a free public viewing is a tradition I enjoy in Germany but have never experienced in the US. I live in a relatively small city, one where a gathering of more than fifty people who are neither watching a football game nor singing hymns would be eyed with suspicion. So I don't wonder that public viewings are rare here. But do they take place in larger American cities? In Essen in 2006, I had the pleasure of watching many of the Soccer World Cup games in open air settings, but I doubt if anyone can publicly televise similar events in the US. I confess to almost total ignorance of the Super Bowl, but I doubt if the people in New Orleans or elsewhere were able to watch the recent game in a public setting. There is just too much money at stake to show games for free in a public place.

But in Germany the concept of Public Viewing has a long tradition, dating back even to the Summer Olympics of 1936 when public Fernsehstuben (=TV lounges) were made available for people to watch the games. The events weren't called Public Viewings then, that's another Denglisch word, but they enabled the average German citizen to feel a participant in the events and take pride in them. It's what we in America call Socialism. And it's not just a casual socialism, where the German equivalent of Andy Hardy says, "Hey, we can put on a Public Viewing in the old barn!" Public Viewing is a trademark protected name, owned by a company in Magdeburg with a logo and everything. How does a company make money by showing films and sporting events to the public for free? That's a question a guy raised in a free market economy just can't answer. Maybe they get a cut of all the Würstchen sold.


The plot of Metropolis is just another example of the pink tinge that colors many things European. In the film, society is divided into two classes: the wealthy, who live high above the Earth in luxurious skyscrapers, and the workers, who live and toil underground. Naturally, the workers are salt of the earth types and the son of wealthy Johann Fredersen, founder and ruler of Metropolis, falls for Maria, daughter of the worker class and a sort of ultra Polly Purebred character. OK, it's not the most original story, but not many people praise Metropolis for its plot. Excepting maybe Berlin Gauleiter Joseph Goebbels. According to Siegfried Kracauer in his book, Von Calagari bis Hitler, ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des deutschen Films, Lang related the following about his connection to the famous National Socialist propaganda minister, "(Goebbels) told me that years before, he and Hitler had seen my film Metropolis in some small town and that at that time Hitler declared that he would like me to make Nazi films." The legend is, Lang took the next train out of Berlin, not stopping to pack a suitcase. He lived in Paris for a short time, but ultimately wound up in Hollywood where he continued a long and illustrious directing career.

I'm currently planning my own return to Berlin and the timing couldn't be better. I'll be there during the 2010 World Cup and I'm looking forward to watching the action on a big screen at one of what I'm sure will be several Public Viewing opportunities. I'll be sure to watch the restored Metropolis beforehand to get in a properly Socialist mood. Capitalists will have to wait a while to purchase the DVD version, but until then, we can all enjoy the restored trailer below.