Ageless London

I am starting to get excited about our upcoming trip. I generally start to get excited about one month prior to a departure.

We shall leave on August 3 and return on August 14. Our initial plan was to travel between August 5 and August 14, but we extended our travel period by two days once we ascertained that there were seven performances we wanted to catch in London.

The first five days will be spent in London. The second five days will be spent in Southern England.

I find London the most fascinating city in the world. London is not the most beautiful city in the world, nor the most charming, but I find it endlessly fascinating.

My sister-in-law tells me that she does not miss London. She tells me that visiting London is one thing, and living there quite another. She says that she could never live in London again. I think, above all, she appreciates the spaciousness of the U.S. as well as the lack of red tape Americans enjoy.

My sister-in-law finds it amusing that we are interested in historic London churches. My middle brother and I have visited far more London churches than she has—and we have a long list of London churches we visited in 2002, 2003, 2004 and 2005 that we want Josh and my parents to see for the first time next month.

Reviewing the list of churches, my sister-in-law asks me, “Isn’t this going to be frightfully boring?” Then she identifies the handful of churches on our list in which she has attended funerals—the only reason she has ever visited those particular churches—and says, one by one, “Are you SURE you want to visit this church? I wouldn’t go out of my way to see this one.”

In fact, only one of our five days in London will be devoted to historic churches. Two days will be devoted to The Imperial War Museum and two days will be devoted to theater (matinee and evening performances both days). We shall try to visit a couple of other interesting things on the mornings of our theater days.

This year, our visit to London is governed, as a practical matter, by performance schedules. We have managed to squeeze five plays and two ballet performances into five days and six nights in London—with everything else tailored to the performance schedules.

As soon as we get back from Britain, Josh and I will head for Oklahoma to spend ten days with Josh’s family.

We must do these things while we may.

After Labor Day, Josh and I will be working.

Vile Bodies, Or A Strenuous Attempt To Be Chic

Last week, my parents and Joshua and I attended a performance of French playwright Yasmina Reza’s “God Of Carnage” at The Guthrie Theater. The translation was by Christopher Hampton.

Of one-and-a-quarter-hour duration, “God Of Carnage”, a comedy, depicts two sets of parents meeting to address an altercation between their respective eleven-year-old sons, one of whom has broken the other’s tooth. The intent of the meeting is for the parents to find a civilized resolution to the squabbling of the sons.

During the meeting, things begin in promising fashion, but quickly descend into chaos; the parents are shown to be as childish as their sons. One couple takes on the other. One sex takes on the other. One social class takes on the other. No one emerges from the meeting unscathed—or with any credit.

Reza’s theme, I believe, is the thin veneer of civility that characterizes much of Western life (Reza’s play is set in Paris, but British productions have set the play in London and American productions have set the play in Brooklyn). If Reza possessed a deeper theme, I missed it.

The play is funny, and has many good lines. How much of this must be credited to Reza and how much of this must be credited to Hampton I do not know: Hampton, a fine playwright in his own right, is a brilliant translator.

The play is also unpleasant, even nasty. The men are depicted as near-barbarous (one is a self-important lawyer welded to his cell phone, the other a self-made merchant with class issues) and the women are depicted as pretentious nitwits and airheads (one has aspirations as an author addressing genocide in Africa, the other is in “wealth management”). Both sexes are portrayed as vile. I do not believe that Reza likes people.

“God Of Carnage” has been deplored in some quarters, lauded in others. The play acquired numerous prizes in Paris, London and New York.

I found it difficult to take the play seriously. It poked fun at the dogmas of our age, easy enough to do, but it also suggested that human beings are very close to animals, not my experience for the last thirty years. More than anything, I think that Reza’s plays (she is also author of the controversial “Art”) may be seen as strenuous attempts to be “chic”, the characteristic most beloved by the French. Alas, chic has very little to do with art, and art has very little to do with chic, lessons Reza has yet to learn.

American productions have made a grave mistake in moving the action from Paris to Brooklyn. The characters remain very French, with no distinctly American characteristics on display. This allows American audiences easily to distance themselves from the play, which I do not believe was the playwright’s intent. However, Reza may have encouraged, even insisted, that the play’s locale be switched to the country in which the play is performed in order that the play not be seen as criticism of “the craven and contemptible French”.

The Guthrie production was nothing special, but the actors underplayed rather than overplayed the material, for which I was grateful. (I have been told that the Broadway production, a hit with audiences, was horribly overplayed).

More German Artillery Action

Another rare color photograph of the German artillery in World War II, shown here celebrating successful artillery strikes.

Once again, the year of the photograph is unknown, as is the front.

German Artillery In World War II

This rare and dramatic color photograph depicts the German artillery in action in World War II.

The year of the photograph is unknown, as is the fighting front.

A Czerny Etude Or “The Longest Day”?

Last week, my parents and Joshua and I went downtown to see “City Of Life And Death”, a Chinese film about The Rape Of Nanking.

The film, released in China in 2009, was written and directed by Lu Chuan. “City Of Life And Death” is Chuan’s third feature film.

In two-and-a-quarter hours, Chuan presents the story of the 1937 Japanese invasion of Nanking and the countless horrors that occurred during the fighting itself as well as during the occupation that followed.

The Rape Of Nanking was one of the most frightful events of the 1930s. No one will ever know precisely how many persons died in Nanking—the most conservative estimates are well over 100,000 deaths—but the merciless slaughter of civilians was on a scale not seen in civilized times. The inhumanity of the Japanese Army was unimaginable—and caused a worldwide uproar. Even Fascist Italy and Fascist Germany were appalled at the atrocities committed in Nanking, many documented in photographs smuggled to the West and instantly published in American and European newspapers and magazines. The Rape Of Nanking served as precursor for the brutality the Japanese Army was to display during World War II, only four years in the future on The Pacific Front.

Shot in black-and-white, “City Of Life And Death” has the look and feel of a documentary film. Hand-held cameras were used for many of the fighting sequences and for many of the scenes of atrocities, and the use of such devices further lends a documentary aura to the film.

The film is beautifully photographed. Sweeping panoramas, meticulously-crafted mid-range compositions, agonizing close-ups: all are used to near-breathtaking effect. The cinematographer of “City Of Life And Death” is genuinely a master—the composition of many scenes suggests an in-depth study of Old Master paintings—and I should like to see the cinematographer’s work again. His name is Cao Yu.


Editing, alas, lets the film down. The editing is no more sophisticated than the editing of the average television movie. Because the editing is so perfunctory, “City Of Life And Death” lacks coherency and inevitability—and, fatally, never acquires a rhythm. This is the chief deficiency of the film, and probably the reason “City Of Life And Death” was not granted a general release outside China.

The script, such as it is, does not help matters. The first half hour of the film portrays the fighting between the Japanese and Chinese armies. The next hour focuses on the rape and slaughter of Chinese women, as well as forced prostitution. The final three-quarter-hour attempts to wrap up the story by focusing on the fates of two characters: a Japanese soldier with moral qualms about the actions of his fellow soldiers; and a Chinese civilian working in an international safety zone, where American and German diplomats and civilians attempted to shield tens of thousands of Chinese from the Japanese Army. Needless to say, both characters die, which I believe is meant to constitute catharsis.

The plot scheme does not provide a satisfactory structure for the film. The first section is quasi-military documentary, the second section weepy tearjerker (totally unconvincing because the women look like actors—and modern actors, no less), and the third section ineffective character study. The result is that “City Of Life And Death” comes across as three separate films, with the finest of the three films presented first.

And yet the movie is fascinating from first frame to last. One can hardly take one’s eyes from the screen. The reason is simple enough: a nonstop flow of unspeakable atrocities is generally bound to seize and hold the viewer’s attention.

“City Of Life And Death” is serious, and earnest, and—because of its subject matter—gripping. The film is not, however, a fine specimen of the filmmaker’s art. It is the cinematic equivalent of a Czerny etude: there is lots of movement, but no destination; much energy must be expended, but there are no intellectual or emotional rewards.

Like the music of Czerny, everything in “City Of Life And Death” is very much on the surface. Everything very much lacks resonance. Everything is very impersonal. Nothing has been filtered through the mind of a great artist. The material calls out for a master director such as a David Lean or a Bernardo Bertolucci, directors capable of creating sweep and mood and momentum and drama.

“City Of Life And Death” has an exact parallel from the moviemaking past: “The Longest Day”, Warner Brothers’ clumsy 1962 big-budget retelling of the story of D-Day (also filmed in black-and-white so as to lend a documentary presence).

“The Longest Day” was also serious, and earnest, and—because of its subject matter—gripping. “The Longest Day” was not, however, a good film. It was artless, and shapeless, and profoundly frustrating, and often incompetent.

“City Of Life And Death” strikes me as China’s “The Longest Day”.

In both cases, a better director was needed. In both cases, better writers were needed to shape the material. In both cases, a sequence of glorious scenes recreating historic events, carefully planned and beautifully executed and filmed, fundamentally amounted to very little.

Wilhelm Furtwangler In A Train Compartment

Wilhelm Furtwangler reading a newspaper while riding in a train compartment during the 1920s.

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I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.

Oscar Wilde

Two Of The Most Idiotic Statements Of All Time

Two of the most idiotic statements of all time, offered by two of the biggest idiots of all time:

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Smetena’s Moldau speaks of the joy of life lived fully.

The New Yorker Music Writer Alex Ross

My jaw drops. I have never encountered a more idiotic statement. Is this moron channeling Walter Damrosch?

Yet even Damrosch never would have written anything half so foolish.

And even Damrosch knew how to spell “Smetana”.

The famous tone poem—by Smetana, not “Smetena”—positively seethes with Czech melancholy and longing.

“Speaks of the joy of life lived fully”? I cannot believe anyone would have the face to write such nonsense.

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The band at the celebrations we went to (in Titusville, where friends live) was playing it—and I realized that a Yiddish song performed by three Greek sisters is what America is all about!

The New York Times Political Writer Paul Krugman, writing about music heard on The Fourth Of July

My jaw drops. A Yiddish song performed by three Greek sisters is what America is all about? This is what our ancestors fought for?

Let freedom ring.

No wonder other professors at Princeton openly and pointedly and repeatedly called Krugman a fool (and far worse).

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I grieve for this nation.

And it must be stated, once again: we live in a nation of morons.

However, I must also note—with some small measure of optimism—that justice is being accomplished.

Twenty years ago, one could go into any residence in Edina and see The New Yorker and The New York Times on coffee tables in every home. Today, one never encounters either publication. Today, one sees The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times instead.

Over a two-decade period, educated persons abandoned The New Yorker and The New York Times. The two publications lost their credibility—and lost their readerships. The New Yorker and The New York Times became hardcore screed sheets, with the consequence that they are now read only by the Hard Left.

In the process, The New Yorker and The New York Times became huge money-losing enterprises, two of the biggest money-losers in the entire world of publishing. The New Yorker and The New York Times are drowning in red ink, continually cutting costs and yet continually losing ever-larger sums; advertisers have switched allegiances; and the parent companies are overwhelmed with mountains of debt, most of which will never be repaid. Neither The New Yorker nor The New York Times will be around twenty years from now.

Twenty years ago, The New York Times enjoyed America’s largest newspaper circulation, far, far outselling every other newspaper. Today The Wall Street Journal outsells The New York Times by a factor of more than three-to-one. The rise of The Wall Street Journal and the decline of The New York Times has been the most extraordinary story in the field of journalism of the last twenty years—and the end result has been the most extraordinary change in newspaper readership in American publishing history. Remarkably, this dramatic change occurred in less than one generation.

Twenty years ago, The New York Times was consistently voted the globe’s finest newspaper by the worldwide newspaper association that annually ranks newspapers from all advanced countries. For the last ten years, The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times have occupied spots numbers one and two, vying with each other year-by-year for top bragging rights. The New York Times no longer even appears on the list of top ten worldwide newspapers (newspapers in France, Germany, Italy, Japan and Switzerland are now more highly-regarded than the once-mighty Times).

Twenty years ago, The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times were not money-making enterprises; their owners strove merely to break even and somehow stay afloat.

Today The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times are highly profitable, as are their parent companies. In fact, The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times are two of only a handful of profitable newspapers anywhere in the world.

Twenty years ago, The Financial Times was not available for sale throughout most of the United States. Today one may pick up The Financial Times at any news outlet nationwide—or at any food store or drug store or convenience store.

These things are as they should be—and they also give cause for reassurance: while we may live in a nation of morons, not everyone in our nation is a moron.

And yet one question remains: what are idiots like Alex Ross and Paul Krugman going to do once their publications fold and they no longer enjoy forums from which to espouse and promulgate conspicuous idiocy?

I suspect both are too obtuse to realize their fates are cast.

“I Intend To Go In Harm’s Way”

Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741-1828)
John Paul Jones
1781
United States Naval Academy, Annapolis

White Marble With Gray Veining On A Separate White Marble Base
22 1/2 Inches By 21 Inches By 12 Inches

Fundamental Liberties

John Singleton Copley (1737-1815)
The Collapse Of The Earl Of Chatham
In The House Of Lords 7 April 1778
1780
Tate Britain, London
Since 1968 On Loan To The National Portrait Gallery, London

Oil On Canvas
120 7/8 Inches By 89 13/16 Inches

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This grand history painting portrays the heart attack and collapse of The Earl Of Chatham (twice Prime Minister and better known as William Pitt or Pitt The Elder) during The House Of Lords’ single most important debate on the subject of The American Revolution, a debate held on April 7, 1778.

Pitt died on May 11.

The painting is an accurate depiction of the events of April 7, 1778, and is based upon numerous first-hand accounts of that fateful day. All sixty-five persons portrayed in the painting sat for Copley during the two years he worked on the canvas.

“The Collapse Of The Earl Of Chatham” was Copley’s second grand history painting, coming closely on the heels of “Watson And The Shark”. It was soon to be followed by “The Death Of Major Peirson”.

Even before The American Revolution, Chatham had urged a change in Britain’s policies toward the Colonies. An advocate of no taxation without consent, independent judges and trial by jury, Chatham had for years warned that America must be awarded fundamental liberties if it was to remain tied to Britain. Chatham had predicted a permanent rupture between Britain and America unless Britain radically changed its policies—and, further, he had foretold that America could never be conquered.

During the April 7, 1778, debate in The House Of Lords, Chatham had argued passionately on behalf of unlimited concessions to the Colonies—anything and everything short of actual independence must be granted immediately. Anything less, he warned, would be a resounding disaster for the nation: Britain would be destined to lose America entirely.

The House Of Lords rejected Chatham’s pleas for reconciliation.

Wrapping Up Our First Month Back Home

For the last couple of weeks, while Joshua has been preparing for his bar exams, I have been busy doing things around the house and yard for my mother and father.

Among other projects, I conducted a deconstruction of my mother’s kitchen, taking apart every item that might be disassembled and subjecting it to a thorough and detailed cleaning. Somehow I managed to reassemble everything without, as far as I know, breaking or damaging anything.

Every floor in the house has been waxed and polished to a standard that would satisfy Admiral Halsey. Every light fixture has been cleaned and polished to a high gleam—even the outdoor light fixtures have been cleaned and polished—and every window in the house washed inside and out.

I performed spot reseeding of the lawn, and I trimmed trees and bushes.

I painted exterior windows and shutters and doors, including the garage doors.

I washed and cleaned the cars.

In fact, I did everything but sweep the chimneys.

I announced that I intended to power-wash the back deck and the back fence, but my mother told me that she would not hear of it.

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On Saturday, everyone in my family will head North for our annual July 4 week at the lake. We shall devote Thursday and Friday to getting our things ready.

Everyone except Josh and me spent Memorial Day Weekend at the lake—Josh and I were still in Boston—but no one has traveled up to the lake since. Josh and I have not been to the lake since July 2009, so we very much look forward to it.

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The dog has been getting lots of trips to the park. In addition to his early-morning romp, Josh and I have been taking him to the park most afternoons. As soon as we return from our afternoon trip to the park, the dog likes to nap.

At home, the dog has a new favorite rest spot in the kitchen, a spot on which he can keep an eye on Josh in the dining room (Josh’s study center) and an eye on my mother in the kitchen. The dog always likes to observe as many persons as possible without moving.

Whenever I have been at work in the house and yard, the dog has joined me, fearful that he might miss something interesting or fun.

He will have a good time at the lake next week. He will sit in the shade and watch what everyone is doing, and join us in our activity whenever something attracts his interest, and bark at passing kayaks on the lake.

Next month will mark ten years since we brought the dog home from the pound. It seems as if it were yesterday that we first brought him home.

He is aging. He can still be very energetic, but for shorter periods than in years past. Rest is important to him now. If we take him out, when we return home he immediately goes to his rug on the kitchen floor and lies down.

He has aged noticeably since Christmas. He is slower to get up after resting on his rug. It appears that he now finds stairs somewhat of a trial. I generally carry him upstairs now, and he does not mind at all—indeed, I think he welcomes it.

He takes two vitamin supplements and two medications, all designed to ease discomfort in his hind legs—he is developing hip problems common in German shepherds bred in America—and his dosages have been increased twice in the last year. We notice his stiffness when he climbs stairs, or when he attempts to jump up on the daybed in the kitchen, the only piece of furniture in my mother’s house on which he is permitted to sit. I generally lift him now when he wants to sit on the daybed—and he is generally content to rest there for an hour at a time, unthinkable three years ago.

His appetite is still good. He never misses meals.

And he remains very, very good-natured, especially with my nephew and niece.

His hearing is deteriorating. He knows the sound of the vehicles of everyone in the family, but he no longer hears the vehicles until they have reached the garage at the back of the house. In the past, he would announce arrivals when vehicles were within half a block of the front of the house.

His eyesight, too, is deteriorating. En route to the park, he is trained to stop at the end of each block and wait for whomever is accompanying him before crossing the street. He now has trouble distinguishing where the sidewalk ends and where the street begins, and this visibly disorients if not upsets him. As a result, he has stopped running ahead on his own to the end of each block; he now prefers to walk alongside his companion or companions the entire way to the park.

We hope to be able to care for him for another one to two years—and longer if his health holds up. Nonetheless, we can see that he is beginning to fail. We know that our remaining time with him will be measured in months, not years.

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Tomorrow we plan to do something unusual for a weekday: we plan to go downtown to see a film and a play.

The genesis of our plan: the fact that Yasmina Reza’s play, “God Of Carnage”, only lasts one hour and fifteen minutes.

“God Of Carnage” is in the current Guthrie repertory, and Josh and I are curious to see the play, and my parents are curious to see the play.

However, because the play is so short, we all decided that we would not make a trip downtown to see the play unless we could pair a performance of “God Of Carnage” with some other worthwhile activity downtown—and, until Sunday, we were unable to identify any other worthwhile activity downtown.

We had been prepared to forego “God Of Carnage” until, on Sunday night, we examined Twin Cities movie listings. We noticed that “City Of Life And Death”, a Chinese film about The Rape Of Nanking, was enjoying a one-week run at an art house cinema in downtown Minneapolis. (The Twin Cities have three art house cinemas: two in downtown Minneapolis; and one in Edina not far from my parents’ house.)

We decided that we would not mind seeing “City Of Life And Death”—and, further, we decided that “City Of Life And Death” together with “God Of Carnage” might make a trip downtown worthwhile.

Consequently, in the middle of tomorrow afternoon, my mother and Josh and I will drive downtown, pick up my father at his office, and catch the 4:10 p.m. screening of “City Of Life And Death” followed by the 7:30 p.m. Guthrie performance of “God Of Carnage”.

It should make for an interesting late afternoon/early evening.

We shall eat out on the way home.