After a short respite, I'm back - and hope to post with a little more frequency than in the last month. I just finished watching Charlie Rose's show on PBS, and tonight he had on Adam Moss, the editor of New York Magazine. I'm neither a reader of the magazine, nor a big fan of Charlie Rose, generally speaking, but today I was pleasantly surprised. When asked what Moss would like to cover if he were free from commercial constraints, his response, after an anxious ten seconds, was 'the underclass'. Alone, that doesn't sound like alot, but coupled with references to an interest in 'sociology' and a disdain for 'shopping', along with many other euphemisms for left politics, it was clear to me that a kind of critical, though disquieted conversation attacking 'mainstream' culture and politics was occuring on my (!) television screen.
I suppose that I shouldn't be particularly surprised. After all, I was watching PBS, and they DO broadcast good programming now and then. Even their technology shows (excepting NOVA, which I deem pretty decent) can be tolerated for their informational content. Still, after a whole month of CNN, BNN, and ridiculous middle class justification of privilege, what I saw on TV was refreshing, calming (necessary for all the stomach-rumbling that cable news causes), and, dare I say, inspiring? It's nice to know now and then, when it feels like you are trapped like a beaver by an entire culture of furriers, that you have allies, despite the specific allegiance they may proclaim.
So to all allies in cyberspace - the best hope for the redemocratization of media that those in Canada and the U.S currently have - please post and share your thoughts. And to all critics (and outright enemies), a good debate is always worth having. Cheers.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Two Books on Politics in Brazil
I've just finished two books whose topics dovetail considerably, and I thought I would offer some comments on them to any considering reading them. The first is Brazilian Politics by Alfred P. Montero; the second, Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil by Sue Branford and Bernardo Kucinski.
Montero writes and organizes Brazilian Politics like an introductory textbook, and while the text does employ a few advanced concepts of comparative politics, for the most part, it is one. Overarching the text is Montero's theme of "democracy without....", which he develops in chapters about the political structure, electoral system, economic inequality, civil society and foreign policy. Chapter two is a shoddy historical overview from the colonial period to the present, which doesn't amount to much more than 20 pages, while an introductory and concluding chapter about Lula and the future of Brazilian democracy sandwich the text together.
To be quite blunt, Montero adopts the liberal-lite position which supports and reinforces the capitalist system while calling for some dampening of its gravest inequalities (after all, Brazil is one of, if not the most inegalitarian country in the world). As a result he measures the state of Brazilian democracy (and even uses the imperialist term 'democratic consolidation' a number of times) against the extent to which it has institutionalized the liberal democratic political form. This approach is all too common in comparative politics, which, even if not imposing a specifically U.S.-style teleology, almost always insists that stability [for capital accumulation] is a necessary condition for admittance in the "advanced" club of nations. To be fair, Montero does do a good job of synthesizing some of the main currents in the realm of Brazilian politics in a single (and fairly compact at ~150pgs) document, but his over-reliance on a few particular sources for the bulk of the book (namely Scott Mainwaring) brings this synthesis into question. If there is any real strength in Brazilian Politics, it is Montero's ability to take a variety of diverse streams (economic indicators, foreign policy issues, and concepts in comparative politics) and integrate them into a consistent, and fairly accessible, narrative that appears to be distinctly his. Even this, however, might not hold up under closer scrutiny.
Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil, on the other hand, is quite a different book. It too employs thematic chapters - an assessment of the first two years of the Lula administration, an overview of the rise of the Workers Party, a critique of the legacy of Fernando Henrique Cardoso, and an examination of the Participatory Budgeting experiment in Porto Alegre - but it does so in a way that brings out depth and substance. I've been pleasantly surprised with books by journalists on Latin America recently, mostly by their ability to get great interviews and primary sources and compile them in a single text, and this book adds to that surprise. Branford, a former BBC and Economist reporter, and Kucinsky, an advisor to Lula, gather fairly extensive interviews with party notables (including an exclusive with Lula himself) and synthesize them utilizing a 'critical postmodern' framework that both supports and critiques the Workers Party (see Boaventura dos Santos 1998 "Oppositional Postmodernism and Globalizations" Law and Social Inquiry 23:1). Unlike Montero, the two authors are able to expand on simple one-liners like "the workers party is the most disciplined party in Latin America" by combining evidence into an easy-to-read narrative. At times, the overall flow of the book appears disrupted and disjointed, especially since each chapter is credited as written by one of the two authors (with the final chapter on Porto Alegre written by Hilary Wainwright), but each chapter is more than capable of standing alone.
In terms of content, Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil spends a little too much time discussing peripheral topics to the Workers Party, choosing not to cover some important issues such as the future of party leadership, or expanding on topics only superficially addressed such as the party structure and regulatory framework or the experience of the party in more concrete examples (i.e.: particular municipalities, states). However, many of these issues are deftly side-stepped by pointing to other books. Perhaps the biggest fault of the text is the title, which I think claims too much. A little editing and creative thought might produce a more appropriately labelled package. Neverthless, the text deserves attention for those interested in an accessible and enjoyable treatment of the PT and issues relevant to its formation, existence and future navigation.
I would recommend both books, mostly because I believe in the importance of looking at a wide range of sources, left or right, good or bad. In a way, it was appropriate to read Montero's book first, since Branford and Kucinski's book worked to fill in alot of gaps and supplement unsupported statements with interesting quotes. Indeed, some of the research in Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil even presents some challenges to Montero's book by providing alternative evidence and explanation. Take a look at either, or both, and tell me what you think!
Montero writes and organizes Brazilian Politics like an introductory textbook, and while the text does employ a few advanced concepts of comparative politics, for the most part, it is one. Overarching the text is Montero's theme of "democracy without....", which he develops in chapters about the political structure, electoral system, economic inequality, civil society and foreign policy. Chapter two is a shoddy historical overview from the colonial period to the present, which doesn't amount to much more than 20 pages, while an introductory and concluding chapter about Lula and the future of Brazilian democracy sandwich the text together.
To be quite blunt, Montero adopts the liberal-lite position which supports and reinforces the capitalist system while calling for some dampening of its gravest inequalities (after all, Brazil is one of, if not the most inegalitarian country in the world). As a result he measures the state of Brazilian democracy (and even uses the imperialist term 'democratic consolidation' a number of times) against the extent to which it has institutionalized the liberal democratic political form. This approach is all too common in comparative politics, which, even if not imposing a specifically U.S.-style teleology, almost always insists that stability [for capital accumulation] is a necessary condition for admittance in the "advanced" club of nations. To be fair, Montero does do a good job of synthesizing some of the main currents in the realm of Brazilian politics in a single (and fairly compact at ~150pgs) document, but his over-reliance on a few particular sources for the bulk of the book (namely Scott Mainwaring) brings this synthesis into question. If there is any real strength in Brazilian Politics, it is Montero's ability to take a variety of diverse streams (economic indicators, foreign policy issues, and concepts in comparative politics) and integrate them into a consistent, and fairly accessible, narrative that appears to be distinctly his. Even this, however, might not hold up under closer scrutiny.
Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil, on the other hand, is quite a different book. It too employs thematic chapters - an assessment of the first two years of the Lula administration, an overview of the rise of the Workers Party, a critique of the legacy of Fernando Henrique Cardoso, and an examination of the Participatory Budgeting experiment in Porto Alegre - but it does so in a way that brings out depth and substance. I've been pleasantly surprised with books by journalists on Latin America recently, mostly by their ability to get great interviews and primary sources and compile them in a single text, and this book adds to that surprise. Branford, a former BBC and Economist reporter, and Kucinsky, an advisor to Lula, gather fairly extensive interviews with party notables (including an exclusive with Lula himself) and synthesize them utilizing a 'critical postmodern' framework that both supports and critiques the Workers Party (see Boaventura dos Santos 1998 "Oppositional Postmodernism and Globalizations" Law and Social Inquiry 23:1). Unlike Montero, the two authors are able to expand on simple one-liners like "the workers party is the most disciplined party in Latin America" by combining evidence into an easy-to-read narrative. At times, the overall flow of the book appears disrupted and disjointed, especially since each chapter is credited as written by one of the two authors (with the final chapter on Porto Alegre written by Hilary Wainwright), but each chapter is more than capable of standing alone.
In terms of content, Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil spends a little too much time discussing peripheral topics to the Workers Party, choosing not to cover some important issues such as the future of party leadership, or expanding on topics only superficially addressed such as the party structure and regulatory framework or the experience of the party in more concrete examples (i.e.: particular municipalities, states). However, many of these issues are deftly side-stepped by pointing to other books. Perhaps the biggest fault of the text is the title, which I think claims too much. A little editing and creative thought might produce a more appropriately labelled package. Neverthless, the text deserves attention for those interested in an accessible and enjoyable treatment of the PT and issues relevant to its formation, existence and future navigation.
I would recommend both books, mostly because I believe in the importance of looking at a wide range of sources, left or right, good or bad. In a way, it was appropriate to read Montero's book first, since Branford and Kucinski's book worked to fill in alot of gaps and supplement unsupported statements with interesting quotes. Indeed, some of the research in Lula and the Workers Party in Brazil even presents some challenges to Montero's book by providing alternative evidence and explanation. Take a look at either, or both, and tell me what you think!
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Burmese Days...
George Orwell's novels are, to me, a nice complement to academic study. They are usually sufficiently engaging, while framing dense issues such as colonialism, political power, socialism and consumption in Orwell's characteristic accessible writing style. Burmese Days, a novel that examines the tense intersections of political ideology, gender, and racism within the colonial context of Burma circa 193? is not really an exception, however it is not really an exemplary either. The text starts out quite strong with a focused plot, drags outward parallelly and then abruptly reintegrates in the concluding few chapters, to form what I think of as a literary diamond. I suppose one could ask for little more from a text, some mystery and suspense, solid character development for the most part, fairly descriptive setting and a surprise ending to top it off. It is perhaps my straining for argumentative coherency that left me wanting a little more at the end.
Orwell treats the issue of the colonial experience from both colonizer and colonized points of view, if more heavily that of the former, and uses the medium of the novel to critique the colonial project. Throughout his text, he virulently condemns the binary segregation of 'native' and 'european', exemplified in the code of the pukka sahib. Orwell attacks the blatant racism of his historical context, (indeed at times expounding a cultural relativist position), but of course does so in a way that still appears racist to any contemporary reader. He argues, I think, above all, for a more direct and meaningful, if partially exoticized, interaction between residents within the Kyauktada district that the novel is set. Notably, he rejects nationalism and outright self-determination of the British colonies, presumably in favor of this more "humane" colonialism.
Like all Orientalists, Orwell attempts to create a narrative that is clearly more reflective of his own personal experiences - and tensions - than a sincere and thoughtful portrayal of Burma, without making it clear which point of view he is speaking from. Indeed, I think it is pretty evident that the main character, Flory, is meant to be a representation of Orwell himself [there is even a reference to 'shooting an elephant' in the text], and this ambivalent tension in Flory runs throughout the entire text.
Thus, because this text is so frought with contradictions, its reader is too. Is Burmese Days an outright rejection, a reformist tract, or a cautious apology for colonialism? Is it a rejection of racism, a half-hearted or incomplete rejection, or really just a qualitatively different way of perpetuating racism? Is it a critique of dominant European gender roles, or a patriarchal assertion of women's subordinate position? Most certainly, it is all of these, and textual references can be found to support all of these (and many more) positions which seem so contradictory. Orwell himself, as a cultural product of British Imperialism, reflects these tensions in the writing of Burmese Days. Indeed, while this book is still well-written, these tensions extend themselves out even to the writing style, making Burmese Days an interesting, if uneven, novel to read.
Orwell treats the issue of the colonial experience from both colonizer and colonized points of view, if more heavily that of the former, and uses the medium of the novel to critique the colonial project. Throughout his text, he virulently condemns the binary segregation of 'native' and 'european', exemplified in the code of the pukka sahib. Orwell attacks the blatant racism of his historical context, (indeed at times expounding a cultural relativist position), but of course does so in a way that still appears racist to any contemporary reader. He argues, I think, above all, for a more direct and meaningful, if partially exoticized, interaction between residents within the Kyauktada district that the novel is set. Notably, he rejects nationalism and outright self-determination of the British colonies, presumably in favor of this more "humane" colonialism.
Like all Orientalists, Orwell attempts to create a narrative that is clearly more reflective of his own personal experiences - and tensions - than a sincere and thoughtful portrayal of Burma, without making it clear which point of view he is speaking from. Indeed, I think it is pretty evident that the main character, Flory, is meant to be a representation of Orwell himself [there is even a reference to 'shooting an elephant' in the text], and this ambivalent tension in Flory runs throughout the entire text.
Thus, because this text is so frought with contradictions, its reader is too. Is Burmese Days an outright rejection, a reformist tract, or a cautious apology for colonialism? Is it a rejection of racism, a half-hearted or incomplete rejection, or really just a qualitatively different way of perpetuating racism? Is it a critique of dominant European gender roles, or a patriarchal assertion of women's subordinate position? Most certainly, it is all of these, and textual references can be found to support all of these (and many more) positions which seem so contradictory. Orwell himself, as a cultural product of British Imperialism, reflects these tensions in the writing of Burmese Days. Indeed, while this book is still well-written, these tensions extend themselves out even to the writing style, making Burmese Days an interesting, if uneven, novel to read.
Friday, May 4, 2007
On Anarcho-Syndicalism: Theory and Practice
I've recently had the pleasure of reading Rudolf Rocker's "masterpiece", outlining the theory and contextually specific practical application of Anarcho-Syndicalism. Having an avid interest in anarchist theory, this text has long-awaited my attention. And while I generally enjoyed it, reading Rocker's dated text, I noticed some sharp division between his thought and my own.
First, Rocker employs functionalist language and thought quite consciously and overtly, even going so far as to expound a sustained version of the classic human body analogy. My own perspective would prevent my assuming essentialized functions for social institutions in favor of the dynamic and endless possibilities of political 'negotiation'. Thus, while Rocker asserts that the state can never have a role in alleviating non-state induced forms of domination and oppression - owing to the fact that this would overstep its naturalized function - I would contend that the state can challenge forms of societal domination and act in the interests of broader cross-section of citizens, even if its history has shown fairly clearly that it is rare that it does. Thus, the Keynesian welfare state, even while it primarily favored white male workers, could conceivably have worked to smooth the sharply unequal power relations structuring people's material living conditions and ideal identities, just as the "dictatorship of the proletariat" might have made the transition from 'actually existing socialism' to a more idealized, and hitherto unrealized, form.
Still, one must concede that the impetus for Rocker's rhetorical strategy is undoubtedly the pervasion of Darwinism in public discourse in the 20s and 30s, when he was forming his arguments. Thus, that Anarcho-Syndicalism as Rocker portrays it is in direct opposition to Social Darwinism, even while it relies on Darwinistic ideas, must be qualified with the recognition that this is actually a clever rhetorical strategy aimed at appealing to a broad public readership.
Where I disagree with Rocker secondly is on his contradictory rejection of 'society' as a relevant, important - and power-laden - unifying force in the human experience. I say contradictory, for Rocker explicitly rejects social power alongside the political and economic, even while he champions the cooperative social relations of syndicalist organization. Rocker's use of 'libertarian', at times with an ambiguous meaning, but especially prevalent in the epilogue available in the second edition, appears to stress the individual in contrast to the social setting, rather than in relation to it. Just as an idea does not exist out of context, individuals do not exist outside their social setting, and it would be futile and dangerous to hope for the ultimate "individualization" of humanity (our generation has the advantage of hindsight and the experience of neoliberalism to elucidate this!). Still, this reader does sense in the general feeling of the text a different understanding of the social, and perhaps the confusion rests in careless writing, rather than consciously determined implied meaning. What I take from Rocker's overall message is that the social relations of our current statist/capitalist order, influenced by and interacting with the associated political and economic relations must be altered, and not social relations and social power inherently. As an example, Rocker devotes ample time to portraying the experience of the Spanish Anarcho-Syndicalists in Catalonia who he claims had developed genuinely distinct (if not necessarily new) forms of social organization, and cultural practices that he deeply approves of.
Lastly, Rocker problematically declares that all power is inherently and only repressive. This more than anything leaves him open to the criticism of being Utopian that he so sorely rejects. Still, one can forgive this slippage as being heavily influenced by Nietzsche and Weber, and not having the privilege of the insights of Foucault who would come some 40 years later. Again, this statement must be closely considered alongside his treatment of the Spanish case to see that there are minor contradictions within his theorizing.
Overall, Anarcho-Syndicalism is a good read for those interested in the basics of the theory, even though the practical aspects could be (and probably have been) updated by contemporary authors to reflect the current political economic conditions of our context (say, e.g.: late capitalism). This is something that is aptly noted in the introduction to the most recent edition by AK Press. So long as capitalism persists along with its symbiote the nation-state, Rocker's analysis will remain relevant for those interested in critically engaging with their surroundings.
First, Rocker employs functionalist language and thought quite consciously and overtly, even going so far as to expound a sustained version of the classic human body analogy. My own perspective would prevent my assuming essentialized functions for social institutions in favor of the dynamic and endless possibilities of political 'negotiation'. Thus, while Rocker asserts that the state can never have a role in alleviating non-state induced forms of domination and oppression - owing to the fact that this would overstep its naturalized function - I would contend that the state can challenge forms of societal domination and act in the interests of broader cross-section of citizens, even if its history has shown fairly clearly that it is rare that it does. Thus, the Keynesian welfare state, even while it primarily favored white male workers, could conceivably have worked to smooth the sharply unequal power relations structuring people's material living conditions and ideal identities, just as the "dictatorship of the proletariat" might have made the transition from 'actually existing socialism' to a more idealized, and hitherto unrealized, form.
Still, one must concede that the impetus for Rocker's rhetorical strategy is undoubtedly the pervasion of Darwinism in public discourse in the 20s and 30s, when he was forming his arguments. Thus, that Anarcho-Syndicalism as Rocker portrays it is in direct opposition to Social Darwinism, even while it relies on Darwinistic ideas, must be qualified with the recognition that this is actually a clever rhetorical strategy aimed at appealing to a broad public readership.
Where I disagree with Rocker secondly is on his contradictory rejection of 'society' as a relevant, important - and power-laden - unifying force in the human experience. I say contradictory, for Rocker explicitly rejects social power alongside the political and economic, even while he champions the cooperative social relations of syndicalist organization. Rocker's use of 'libertarian', at times with an ambiguous meaning, but especially prevalent in the epilogue available in the second edition, appears to stress the individual in contrast to the social setting, rather than in relation to it. Just as an idea does not exist out of context, individuals do not exist outside their social setting, and it would be futile and dangerous to hope for the ultimate "individualization" of humanity (our generation has the advantage of hindsight and the experience of neoliberalism to elucidate this!). Still, this reader does sense in the general feeling of the text a different understanding of the social, and perhaps the confusion rests in careless writing, rather than consciously determined implied meaning. What I take from Rocker's overall message is that the social relations of our current statist/capitalist order, influenced by and interacting with the associated political and economic relations must be altered, and not social relations and social power inherently. As an example, Rocker devotes ample time to portraying the experience of the Spanish Anarcho-Syndicalists in Catalonia who he claims had developed genuinely distinct (if not necessarily new) forms of social organization, and cultural practices that he deeply approves of.
Lastly, Rocker problematically declares that all power is inherently and only repressive. This more than anything leaves him open to the criticism of being Utopian that he so sorely rejects. Still, one can forgive this slippage as being heavily influenced by Nietzsche and Weber, and not having the privilege of the insights of Foucault who would come some 40 years later. Again, this statement must be closely considered alongside his treatment of the Spanish case to see that there are minor contradictions within his theorizing.
Overall, Anarcho-Syndicalism is a good read for those interested in the basics of the theory, even though the practical aspects could be (and probably have been) updated by contemporary authors to reflect the current political economic conditions of our context (say, e.g.: late capitalism). This is something that is aptly noted in the introduction to the most recent edition by AK Press. So long as capitalism persists along with its symbiote the nation-state, Rocker's analysis will remain relevant for those interested in critically engaging with their surroundings.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The Absence of the French Election in the North American Anglo Media
I find it very interesting that so little attention has been devoted to the French election on major english-speaking television stations in North America. Not knowing much about French politics, I've recently been interested in learning about the candidates, the context and the stakes of France's recent Presidential election (the first round results are just in now, and there will be a runoff between right-wing Sarkozy [~30%] and left-center Royal [~25%]). Elections are usually a fairly hot topic, but aside from french-language TV5, I found that few stations gave any coverage to the election in the lead-up to it, and now that the results are in, even less time to reporting the preliminaries. The print media, over time, has noted the importance of this election as "usher[ing] in a new generation of politicl leaders" (Reuters), and indeed initial estimates place the voter turnout at around 84%, one of the highest in half a century. Thus, it is not for lack of significance that coverage is so limited.
One might shrug off this TV snub as just bad timing: the VT massacre still dominates the American press, the Nigerian election has more "shock" value that falls in line with the television format, Earth Day has global appeal, etc. Somehow, I'm tempted to think otherwise.
It's well-known that France is treated with contempt by the Anglo press - beyond the obvious language difference, viewed as hostile to the obssession with linguistic supremacy of many English-speaking countries, their distinct brand of corporatism is dangerous to the liberal traditions of most English-speaking countries. Even in Canada, which supposedly bucks both of these trends, almost no english coverage on the election has been available. It is symbolic, though certainly (hopefully) coincidental, that CBC: Our World did an hour-long look at the cult of James Bond, exploring the linkages between British and North America reactions to Flemming's books and movies (CBC Newsworld, 6-7pm EST) even while analysts in France worked to untangle what these historic results mean for the future of a major force in the European Union, the world economy, and global governance. Doubtless the French election, whatever the final outcome, will have important consequences for Canada and the United States.
Although the prospects of left nationalism (Royal) is an improvement to right-nationalism (Sarkozy), to me it is only a marginal improvement. It is unclear to what extent Royal, if elected, will live up to her socialist credentials. As an admirer of Tony Blair earlier in her career, I have no clue on which "road" or "way" she ultimately will attempt to take France. Yet "Parti Socialiste", despite the uncertaintly of how that title will translate into policy, undoubtedly raises too many eyebrows for the media-capital-state fusion working hard at the ol' "smash and grab".
Not to say, of course, that the same is not happening in France. Still, a country in which nearly 10% of the 2002 vote went to self-described Trotskyists, and where nearly 5% of the vote this time around went to the "Revolutionary Communist League", is one that is perhaps a little too controversial for North America, where the active elite political project of making an alternative to capitalism unthinkable operates in perpetual and full force. After all, so the saying goes, any publicity is good publicity.
-Matt
One might shrug off this TV snub as just bad timing: the VT massacre still dominates the American press, the Nigerian election has more "shock" value that falls in line with the television format, Earth Day has global appeal, etc. Somehow, I'm tempted to think otherwise.
It's well-known that France is treated with contempt by the Anglo press - beyond the obvious language difference, viewed as hostile to the obssession with linguistic supremacy of many English-speaking countries, their distinct brand of corporatism is dangerous to the liberal traditions of most English-speaking countries. Even in Canada, which supposedly bucks both of these trends, almost no english coverage on the election has been available. It is symbolic, though certainly (hopefully) coincidental, that CBC: Our World did an hour-long look at the cult of James Bond, exploring the linkages between British and North America reactions to Flemming's books and movies (CBC Newsworld, 6-7pm EST) even while analysts in France worked to untangle what these historic results mean for the future of a major force in the European Union, the world economy, and global governance. Doubtless the French election, whatever the final outcome, will have important consequences for Canada and the United States.
Although the prospects of left nationalism (Royal) is an improvement to right-nationalism (Sarkozy), to me it is only a marginal improvement. It is unclear to what extent Royal, if elected, will live up to her socialist credentials. As an admirer of Tony Blair earlier in her career, I have no clue on which "road" or "way" she ultimately will attempt to take France. Yet "Parti Socialiste", despite the uncertaintly of how that title will translate into policy, undoubtedly raises too many eyebrows for the media-capital-state fusion working hard at the ol' "smash and grab".
Not to say, of course, that the same is not happening in France. Still, a country in which nearly 10% of the 2002 vote went to self-described Trotskyists, and where nearly 5% of the vote this time around went to the "Revolutionary Communist League", is one that is perhaps a little too controversial for North America, where the active elite political project of making an alternative to capitalism unthinkable operates in perpetual and full force. After all, so the saying goes, any publicity is good publicity.
-Matt
Friday, April 20, 2007
"Deja Vu" - The Ultimate Sacrifice
As a prelude to what I hope are many posts to come, I thought I would start with a comment on what is cinematographically a less than stellar film, and conceptually, a detestable one - "Deja Vu". While I'll do my best to avoid spoiling the plot without being too vague, I can't make any promises. Consider yourself warned!
My immediate reaction to this film was, as should be expected, skepticism. Clearly, the film is smugly contrived, albeit with a great intro sequence and a healthy dose of music throughout to hold the viewer, and this is evident within the first 15 minutes. But to what end is the movie directed?
On one hand, the movie ambitiously aims at a revision of the technological capabilities of the American intelligence community, and attempts to "shock and awe" viewers with an irrelevant showing of air, land and sea machinery. In the process, it earns a thought or two regarding the logic behind its science (of which I certainly am not capable of commenting on, though I'm sure is naively incoherent). Yet, much more darkly, Deja Vu seeks to pry public opinion away from criticism and towards subjugation to the aims of that power-laden collective of nationhood, commonly recognized via those elusive first-person prounouns "We, Us, and Our".
The film opens with obvious references to Hurricane Katrina, easily discernible to an American audience as an emblem of failed commitment and incomplete sacrifice on the part of government officials on a variety of geographic scales. For some thirty minutes, it builds up the character of Doug Carlin, a sharp and capable ATF agent with no familial, and no clear organizational (read: bureaucratic) ties. Indeed, the Hero must break protocol in order to maximize his effectiveness as a 'saviour of life'. However, despite the apparent contradictions at first glance, the deeper narrative unfolds quickly thereafter, priming the audience for the grand enterprise of nationalism.
Throughout the film, insignias of the state are deliberately placed in clear view - a yellow ribbon on the back of a car here (1:10:43), a "Support Our Troops" sticker during a raid there (1:15:18). Yet the government, or the bureaucratic process, is criticized as inflexible, uncaring and ineffective (1:20:00-1:20:30). Deja Vu has all the hallmarks of a classic Hollywood film - libertarian in spirit, brutually conformist in articulation, which is carefully plotted within the dialogue of the film. At one point, the antagonist - an enigmatic figure of freedom/terrorism declares that "sometimes a little human collateral is the cost of freedom". This sentiment is echoed in the well-known proverb "one man's terrorist is another man's patriot" that appears in the film shortly after (1:17:30). These two statements, in the context that the film frames them in, work to justify and support American intervention in Iraq and encourage (if not manipulate) viewers to do the same.
A recurrent theme in the latter half of the movie, and emphasized a second time in a question at the end of the movie certainly resonated with me - that is, after all I had seen: "What if you had to tell someone the most important thing in the world, but you know they'd never believe you" (1:57:30). The state, even if the government is off-base, is never wrong - it just appears that way to a demanding and ungrateful populace. Trust your institutions (and really, implicitly, your leaders). It is fitting that at one point, while the media reports a story noting a demand for increased expenditures for the war (at least that's what it appears to be), one character mutes the TV and instead prays to god for "a great day" (41:55).
Of course, the core message of the film, enunciated throughout the thread of the plot rings clear - 'We [the state] watch you - in the shower even - but its ok, we'll save you in the end'. Support the troops, avoid criticizing the government if possible, certainly refrain from criticizing the state. Above all, submit yourself to Safety, which only the state can provide.
Deja Vu tries hard to mask itself in a whirlwind of confusion, meant to raise questions but shroud straight answers in subtle (and not so subtle) displays of nationalism, militarism and social control. It suceeds by walking that fine line between borderline overtness and half-clever craftiness. Conceivably, watching this movie without a critical eye could lead to a semi-pleasant encounter in mind-numbing sensationalism - although the seed of submission to the nation-state will undoubtedly be laid.
There is alot to get out of this movie, and I encourage feedback, discussion and criticism, as well as an awakening to the many points that I've missed. Though, of course, not too much of all of these - but not on the account of my ego. Put simply, the movie doesn't deserve it.
http://video.movies.go.com/dejavu/
-Matt
My immediate reaction to this film was, as should be expected, skepticism. Clearly, the film is smugly contrived, albeit with a great intro sequence and a healthy dose of music throughout to hold the viewer, and this is evident within the first 15 minutes. But to what end is the movie directed?
On one hand, the movie ambitiously aims at a revision of the technological capabilities of the American intelligence community, and attempts to "shock and awe" viewers with an irrelevant showing of air, land and sea machinery. In the process, it earns a thought or two regarding the logic behind its science (of which I certainly am not capable of commenting on, though I'm sure is naively incoherent). Yet, much more darkly, Deja Vu seeks to pry public opinion away from criticism and towards subjugation to the aims of that power-laden collective of nationhood, commonly recognized via those elusive first-person prounouns "We, Us, and Our".
The film opens with obvious references to Hurricane Katrina, easily discernible to an American audience as an emblem of failed commitment and incomplete sacrifice on the part of government officials on a variety of geographic scales. For some thirty minutes, it builds up the character of Doug Carlin, a sharp and capable ATF agent with no familial, and no clear organizational (read: bureaucratic) ties. Indeed, the Hero must break protocol in order to maximize his effectiveness as a 'saviour of life'. However, despite the apparent contradictions at first glance, the deeper narrative unfolds quickly thereafter, priming the audience for the grand enterprise of nationalism.
Throughout the film, insignias of the state are deliberately placed in clear view - a yellow ribbon on the back of a car here (1:10:43), a "Support Our Troops" sticker during a raid there (1:15:18). Yet the government, or the bureaucratic process, is criticized as inflexible, uncaring and ineffective (1:20:00-1:20:30). Deja Vu has all the hallmarks of a classic Hollywood film - libertarian in spirit, brutually conformist in articulation, which is carefully plotted within the dialogue of the film. At one point, the antagonist - an enigmatic figure of freedom/terrorism declares that "sometimes a little human collateral is the cost of freedom". This sentiment is echoed in the well-known proverb "one man's terrorist is another man's patriot" that appears in the film shortly after (1:17:30). These two statements, in the context that the film frames them in, work to justify and support American intervention in Iraq and encourage (if not manipulate) viewers to do the same.
A recurrent theme in the latter half of the movie, and emphasized a second time in a question at the end of the movie certainly resonated with me - that is, after all I had seen: "What if you had to tell someone the most important thing in the world, but you know they'd never believe you" (1:57:30). The state, even if the government is off-base, is never wrong - it just appears that way to a demanding and ungrateful populace. Trust your institutions (and really, implicitly, your leaders). It is fitting that at one point, while the media reports a story noting a demand for increased expenditures for the war (at least that's what it appears to be), one character mutes the TV and instead prays to god for "a great day" (41:55).
Of course, the core message of the film, enunciated throughout the thread of the plot rings clear - 'We [the state] watch you - in the shower even - but its ok, we'll save you in the end'. Support the troops, avoid criticizing the government if possible, certainly refrain from criticizing the state. Above all, submit yourself to Safety, which only the state can provide.
Deja Vu tries hard to mask itself in a whirlwind of confusion, meant to raise questions but shroud straight answers in subtle (and not so subtle) displays of nationalism, militarism and social control. It suceeds by walking that fine line between borderline overtness and half-clever craftiness. Conceivably, watching this movie without a critical eye could lead to a semi-pleasant encounter in mind-numbing sensationalism - although the seed of submission to the nation-state will undoubtedly be laid.
There is alot to get out of this movie, and I encourage feedback, discussion and criticism, as well as an awakening to the many points that I've missed. Though, of course, not too much of all of these - but not on the account of my ego. Put simply, the movie doesn't deserve it.
http://video.movies.go.com/dejavu/
-Matt
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