Meta-Architectonics

(Cross-posted from The Katipunan Collective)

In Midnight in Paris--Woody Allen's penultimate essay about nostalgia--it was the 'pedantic' and marginal character of Paul who voiced out the anxiety that undergirds the film: that every generation falls into the "erroneous notion that a different time period is better than the ones [they] are living in." This 'golden age thinking', as per Allen's writing, is a romantic denial of "people who find it difficult to cope with the present." A quick survey of today's popular culture would then be very revealing, as our sensibilities appear to be hegemonized by the those with wistful imaginations. Take, for instance, most of the films nominated for Best Picture in the last Academy Awards: The Artist and Hugo harked back to the pioneering years of cinema; War Horse and The Help were period pieces; and Midnight in Paris and Tree of Lifeused vignettes of the past to speak about the present.

Perhaps one of the most successful attempts to tap into this collective desire for the past is AMC's multi-Emmy Award winning series Mad Men, which returned for its fifth season last night. It might appear to be business as usual for the ad men of Madison Avenue as the marketing campaign for the show hinted: the debauchery, lust, swagger, confidence, and gallantry of the sixties are definitely back. Changes, however, will be noticeable and definitely in order. Peggy Olson is no longer the naive and conservative girl who came out from the idyllic fifties, and the serene ideal of the suburban upper-middle class household has been invaded by emerging norms related to divorce and unconventional family arrangements, as embodied by the predicament of the Drapers.

The show will take place in 1965, right smack in the middle of the West's transition to more politically charged times. By 1965, the Civil Rights movement had won its most important battle; Camelot had already fallen; and while the United States had successfully averted a close shave with nuclear conflict, another war in a distant land had to be fought for in the name of progress and freedom. In a few years, the energy of the youth will burst into the streets and demand for new ways of thinking about the world--that the dichotomy between the blaring red of Communism and the metallic sheen of the Free World is no longer sufficient to explain why things are the way they are.

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My progress with thesis this week is honestly more substantial and productive than the sum of the activity I had in the previous year. That would be my justification for this short LiveJournal break while thinking about how to revert my discussion on Indonesian urban planning with law and order in the Marcos regime. So enough with the academic stuff for the next few minutes. The reason why I feel like rambling at this hour and in the middle of productivity time is to talk about Bon Iver.

If I remember correctly, I have posted about Justin Vernon in this blog a couple of years ago when I was in JTA. Bon Iver seemed like the perfect soundtrack to my life back then: I was temporarily studying in a strange country, I was recovering from a very bad life event, and I was mustering up enough courage to do something new with my life. I am not exaggerating whenever I say that Vernon's first artistic output as Bon Iver, the album For Emma, saved my life. I personally think that the quiet success of For Emma was a combination of the unexpected brilliance of the material and story behind it. I honestly doubt that if not for the Thoreau-esque tale of Vernon holing up in the woods to recover from a break-up, For Emma would not be considered as one of the best and most poignant records of the last decade. My bias shows mostly when a comparison between For Emma and his sophomore work Bon Iver, Bon Iver is brought up. The latter, I think, offers stronger material and gives us an idea of how Vernon has matured with his craft. 

It took too long for Justin Vernon to be recognized by the mainstream (and this doesn't even include his other equally terrific work with DeYarmond Edison and his solo outputs), but I'm honestly glad they did. I know we operate in a world where these award-giving bodies have been reduced to notions of exchange value and passing affirmation for the trends of the day, but his acceptance speech gave us the insight on the real significance of things like the Grammys: that 'business as usual' in the contemporary artistic scene which has turned into an industry of profiteering discursively defines who are the 'haves' and 'have nots', and who are just in it for the money and those who are in it for something greater. His humility and seemingly unnerved reaction are, in fact, acts of braveness, in that he stood up and spoke for (quite literally) those who will always be the 'subalterns' of the music business.

So suck it, Nicki Minaj. While the award was indeed a question of quality, I think it is primarily a question of struggle and making it through despite what the system defines. At this point, I remain a fan, and I remain even more hopeful that Justin Vernon will continue what he has started and always see the music business as an industry that has to be reminded of how it really operates.

 Currently residing here.

This isn't an act of abandonment. 

 

coz ezra koenig said so.

 

 I'll write this post later.

This week’s EDSA euphoria has given me a lot of room for contemplation, not only because I’m currently in the process of finishing my Master’s thesis about People Power 3 and the EDSA narrative in general, but also in light of what’s happening right now in certain parts of the world where people are beginning to stand communaly against unjust socio-political structures.

Ever since the African-Arab revolts have erupted, I constantly hear smug remarks from some fellow Filipinos that “we did it better in ‘86” because the almost-miraculous rate by which people flooded the lanes of EDSA happened before the age of the internet and social networking sites. The EDSA People Power Revolution is indeed a source of pride for my people, but I would like to think that what Tunisia and Egypt have accomplished should remind us as well of the still-monumental task of deepening democracy and equality in our very own land. With what is transpiring now in another part of the world, I am humbled as a student of politics, a Filipino, and more so as a human being.

To our brothers and sisters in Tunisia and Egypt: the road to democracy and freedom is long and hard, and toppling a dictator is only the beginning. The real work starts the morning after the revolution, when the energies and hopes of a people must be channeled into the creation of new platforms for institutional change. Celebration can be a dangerous thing if left to stagnation and complacency once the demands of “daily life” sets in. It has been 25 years since our very own revolution and we have yet to return political power to the hands of ordinary people.

To the people of Libya: keep the faith—in your power to turn the tide of history, in the power of the truth, and in the inevitability of justice. The use of force is alien to and in direct opposition with a true democratic society. Gaddafi’s reign must come to an end, and when that day comes, do not harden your hearts. A meaningful future can only unfold if one comes into terms with the past. This means forgiveness for those who were caught unwillingly in the vicious trappings of power, and swift justice for those who obstructed genuine aspirations for freedom. After the First EDSA Revolution, we had our share of mistakes—in fact, we elected two of them; one was a selfish plunderer and the other a power-hungry, oppressive liar. At this point in our history, we are still healing from very deep wounds and divisions, but we have not given up and once again made a choice to wager on the side of hope and change.

Tomorrow will be any other day once more. The bus lanes from Ortigas to Santolan will again be open, the evening news will go back to regular programming, while the ordinary citizen struggles to make ends meet. People Power is not a cure-all for all the ills of a fractured nation and its compromised political institutions; rather, it is a revolutionary memory and force of hope that should constantly remind of aspirations that must be fought for extraordinarily in the geographies of ordinary life.

everything in my life right now is superfluous. 

This piece was borne out of three things: a heartbreak, a conversation, a memory.

***

“And such a nature is prone to love and ready to return love, always embracing that which is akin to him. And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.”
“But historical beginnings are lowly: not in the sense of modest or discreet like the steps of a dove, but derisive and ironic, capable of undoing every infatuation.” Approximately a year after its premiere, I attempted to revisit the 2009 hit film 500 Days of Summer in conjunction with the other piece of cinema it constantly referenced to (as in a metafictive sense), that is, the 1967 Dustin Hoffman starrer The Graduate. Being mostly out of the loop when it comes to film (my short attention span is to blame), I must make an admission at this point that I have had the opportunity to see the latter just now despite its already “classic” status. Before I delve into my detailed comparative exposition of the two texts, allow me to pose my (not so) general observations with 500 Days first.

A text that tackles the more “tragic” aspect of relationships in performative art is certainly not new. In fact, one of the most recognized works of literature in the romantic genre—Shakespeare’s centuries-old Romeo and Juliet—finishes off with what could be said as an irredeemable form of tragedy in love. More contemporarily, various mainstream films have already appropriated—to the point of potential exploitation—the theme of loss and grief within the context of romantic relationships. However, what makes 500 Days a force on its own is its unabashed declaration that it is not a love story; rather it is the telling of a “boy meets girl” narrative—nothing more, nothing less. The more optimistic moviegoer will, of course, wish against all odds that this disclaimer is only a ploy, and that in some twist of circumstances, a resolution that pleases everyone will arrive.

It doesn’t. At all. And 500 Days is exactly what it claims to be: a story of a boy and a girl and what happens in between.
( More of my geekiness after the cut )