My siblings are brilliant- Part 2, "My brother, the bracketologist"

My siblings are so brilliant it scares me.

In the last post I featured my sister who should form a "We make really excellent period chick flicks" club with Emma Thompson and Ang Lee. Now I'm featuring my brother, Teddy, who should form a "21st Century Comedic Gangsters" club with Stephen Colbert and George Saunders. My brother has brought his special brand of hilarity to the arenas of improvisation, playwriting, acting,  sketch comedy, and public access television. Now he takes on games, specifically bracketology. Using the same fundamental structure as NCAA Basketball Tournaments, Teddy takes a topic, any topic, and finds 16 competitors within said topic, matches them up with each other,whittle them down to a final 8, then 4, then 2, then a CHAMPION! Teddy also lists his personal picks and justifies them, paying special attention to upsets and Cinderella stories. This might be the best part of the entire idea.

I'll let Teddy take it from here... We'll put his commentary in italics so as to differentiate who is speaking (writing.. whatever).

"On February 24th, 2008, America will learn what a bunch of stodgy old people who hate movies think the year’s best films were. The winners will almost certainly be undeserving, and you will almost certainly be disappointed. But should it be this way? I answer with a resounding “nay.” The Oscars are all about pulling for your favorite movies of the year. Thus, this week’s Bracketology offers you 15 Oscar Nominees (and one delightful fraud) and gives you the chance to Barack the vote in selecting your own personal Best Picture."

1. No Country For Old Men versus 16. Norbit
Two frightening films. Javier Bardem was chilling as a cattle gun-toting assassin, and I still have nightmares about Eddie Murphy’s bikini-clad behemoth. Wait—what’s that you say? Norbit was complete trash and make-up shouldn’t even be an Oscars category? Oh, right. EDGE: No Country.

8. Sicko vs. 9. The Savages
Yes, we’re all a little sick(o) of the Michael Moore routine of interviewing poor people in Flint and trying to get interviews with mean celebrities. That said, the opening scene of The Savages involves an old man writing on a wall with his own fecal matter. I simply can’t reward that. EDGE: Sicko.

5. Michael Clayton vs. 12. Ratatouille
Fact: George Clooney is more popular than Stalin in a Russian election, and Michael Clayton was legitimately good. But Ratatouille made me hungry in the best kind of way. I can’t quite put the feeling into words, but you’re probably feeling it too. Just makes you want some soup or something. EDGE: Ratatouille.

4. Juno vs. 13. Enchanted
I’m going to preserve my masculinity in revealing that all I’ve seen of Enchanted is three Youtube clips. And while Juno may have been a little too quirky for me, that’s obviously preferable to the most annoying musical since Wicked. (Yes, 12-year old girls who could be reading this-- I went there.) EDGE: Juno.

3. Atonement vs. 14. The Golden Compass
The battle of the adaptations of British novels starring insufferable little girls! These movies also feature what were probably the two best scenes of the year: James McAvoy typing his naughty letter and the armored polar bear brawl. With all due respect to Iorek Byrnison and his awesome jaw-swiping abilities, this is no contest. EDGE: Atonement.

6. Charlie Wilson’s War vs. The Kite Runner
The Battle of Afghanistan! (That came out wrong.) Anyway, I’m sort of a sucker for star power and Charlie Wilson’s War had it in great supply. A ludicrous-yet-entertaining movie. EDGE: Charlie Wilson.

7. American Gangster vs. 10. Sweeney Todd
It’s true that the stars of Sweeney Todd couldn’t really sing. But they all embodied their characters so convincingly; I truly felt like I was in grimy mid-19th century London. On the other hand, for me American Gangster didn’t have the same Denzel magic as The Great Debaters or Remember the Titans. I’m going upset. EDGE: Sweeney.

2. There Will Be Blood vs. 15. National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets
Fine. National Treasure wasn’t actually nominated. I guess it gets DQ’d for that little technicality. But it would have absolutely won the Oscar for the Best Stupidly Ridiculous Plot. Or Best Nicolas Cage Facial Expression. Or Worst Use of Helen Mirren. EDGE: Blood.

Elite Eight

1. Old Country vs. 8. Sicko
Drug dealers beat drug lobbyists. EDGE: No Country.

12. Ratatouille vs. 4. Juno
Juno the Home Skillet defeats…skillets. EDGE: Juno.

[Editor's note. This is funny, I would have gone the other way around. I found a rat wanting to be a chef a fraction more believable then a teenage girl that doesn't get upset when she finds out she's pregnant. I mean, I liked Juno and all, but-- you know.]

3. Atonement vs. 6. Charlie Wilson
Charlie Wilson got just a little too crazy. I refuse to believe that Soviet fighter pilots would discuss relationship issues while on missions. I refuse. EDGE: Atonement.

10. Sweeney Todd vs. There Will Be Blood
In a shocking upset, I’m saying bloody beats Blood. EDGE: Sweeney.

FINAL FOUR

1. No Country vs. 4. Juno
I’ll take the drama with funny parts over the comedy that I couldn’t take seriously. EDGE: No Country.

3. Atonement vs. 10. Sweeney Todd
I’m still mad at that little girl from Atonement. Still. And I don’t really care (SPOILER alert!) that everyone in Sweeney Todd died or went insane. Sweeney’s Cinderella run ends here. EDGE: Atonement.

CHAMPIONSHIP

1. No Country For Old Men vs. 3. Atonement
I ended up picking the same two movies that all of the stodgy old voters will pick. So maybe this bracket has no point. But regardless, these were two great films with slightly flawed endings. They are both winners. Except Atonement.
CHAMP: No Country For Old Men MVP: The haunting lack of music.
[ Editor's Note. My MVP goes to Javier Bardem's trademark weaponry. Yikes on bikes!]

Back to Kit.

So there he is my brother being (as usual) crazy ingenious and super hilarious! I'm completely touting Teddy's "bracketology" as the new Sudoku. Only you don't have to do stupid, annoying adding. Just having fun! Hooray for Teddy!

I have some really awesome book/radio recommends coming up. And a special surprise interview with a special surprise guest about a special surprise subject! Rock! Until then, you know I never fail to be...

Affectionately Yours,

Kit Steinkellner

My siblings are brilliant- Part 1, "My sister, the metamorphagus"

My 13-year old sister Emma is one of the most brilliant people I know.

When she got this past Monday off from school, what did she do? Go to the mall like most 13-year old girls? Lock herself in her room all day and read like I did when I was 13?

Guys, she makes a movie. And not just any movie. In "Merriweather Mallone- The Brilliant Riddler", Emma does this really fun  Jane Austeny/Bronte-sisters-esque/Litte Women-ish styled short about a young women who beats all odds to become a published riddle-writer.

This is exactly as wonderful and hilarious as it sounds.

Okay, but this is the really amazing part-- Emma plays ALL the parts herself, Peter Sellers-style. The young heroine, the blustery publisher, the tuberculosis-ridden mother,the silly best friend, the dashing love interest, everything--- and she plays them all reallysuperfreaking well.

This is how this video is going to make you a smarter, better person. You're going to watch this seven minute video and be like "Holycowohmyword, this girl is 13 and she is rocking it. I better get my act together so I can have a prayer of being nearly as cool as her." And then you will worker triple-times as hard to rock it and then you will be a smarter better person.

Back soon with Part 2 of "My siblings are brilliant," "My brother and the "new Sudoku."

Even though I can't play a million-bajillion different characters, the one character I can play is...

Affectionately Yours,

Kit

Be Kind--- Don't Electrocute People.

I came across this interesting scientific study the other day (I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but it's not), and I thought I would share it with the six and a half people reading the blog.

So in 1961, Stanley Milgram (pictured below, who is kind of cute in a beard-y sort of way)

was this psychologist at Yale University that was contemplating all the recent Nazi war criminal trials. He wondered if, as the condemned men said, they were "just following orders" or if these war criminals were just as cruel as their superiors. So being a psychologist, Milgram's like "I'm going to put off shaving and do a social experiment."

Here's how the experiment worked- Milgram took an assortment of ordinary people from all walks of life and told them he was doing an experiment on how learning is affected by punishment. In the experiment, these participants were told by the experiment administrator that they would act as "teachers" by reading a list of associations to a "learner" out of sight in the other room. If the "learner" got a question wrong, the "teachers" were instructed to give the "learner" an electric shock. The "teacher" was to increase voltage after every wrong answer. To give you some perspective, the lowest level of voltage was labeled "15 volts (slight shock)" while the highest level of voltage was labeled "450 volts (danger-extreme shock)." A handy diagram for you follows.


What the "teacher" didn't know was that the "learner" was an actor who wasn't getting shocked at all. So the experiment was really about seeing how far ordinary people could be pushed to inflict pain.

It turned out they could be pushed pretty far.

65% of the participants pushed the voltage up to 450 volts, even after being told that the "learner" had a heart condition. These participants did not inflict pain with joy-- most participant "teachers" were reported to have been seriously disturbed while amping up the voltage. Yet, with the prodding of "authority figures" (doctors in lab coats), they amped it up anyway.

This experiment has been performed in several other countries, all with similar results. This experiment has been used as evidence that most people bend under the societal pressure to do evil. This experiment has been used to help explain some of the most horrific events of our time. I agree, this experiment goes a long way in exploring the psychology of evil.

But I think it does something else as well, something that everyone can recognize in their day to day lives. I think this experiment helps explore every-day, garden variety nastiness. Think of all the kind-of-jerkoffish things you've done over the last-- let's say week. Nasty things you said, people in need you ignored, whatever. Now think about how much of that was due to peer pressure, your own social conditioning, whatever. And lastly, think about all the sort-of-douchey things you said and did and think about how much of it was truly necessary.

Right, that's what I thought.

It's easy to be like "Oh, because I'm not a co-conspirator in a fascist regime-- this experiment doesn't apply to me." But I think it kind of does, to greater and lesser degrees. As our society industrializes further and further, we become more and more isolated. And when you don't have a personal connection with someone, it's is too easy to be cruel to said person. Being nasty is just too easy in this day and age.

Milgram's experiment kind of proved this too.He found that the more psychological distance the "teacher" had from the "learner", the more the "teacher" was likely to bend under the doctor's pressure to administer higher and higher levels of voltage. If the teacher only read the questions and did not administer the shocks personally, 90% of the teachers finished the experiment. If the teacher had to physically touch the learner in order to administer the shocks, only 30% finished the experiment. That is still a disturbing number, but I'll take 30% a-holes over 90% a-holes any day of the week.

I think this may explain why people are such bitches to each other on the internet and in traffic. There is such unnecessary meanness online and on the freeway, and I think it has to do with that lack of personal connection.

All this is to say, just be kind people. Be kind when it's easy, be kind when it's hard. When you get pissed off or annoyed or whatever just really, really think if the action you are about to take is necessary. If it's not, then back the f*** off, son.

Here's a good rule of thumb. Imagine yourself as the hero of a movie/book/fictional thing. Now imagine you are reading/viewing your own actions. Are you thinking to yourself "This person is so ace!" or "This person is a completely pathetic douchebag."

Don't be the completely pathetic douchebag, people. Be the heroes and heroines of your own lives.

Back soon with more smart, better stuff. And know that even if you were administering me slight electrical shocks, I would still be....

Affectionately Yours,
Kit Steinkellner

PS. If you were administering shocks over 150 volts, I would not be your anything. Every girl has her limits.

Persepolis--- but this time the book

So my dad (who is a rockstar in the parenting department, as is my mom, but right now we're focusing on my dad) did something really nice for me the other day. He read my blog where I wrote about how much I loved "Persepolis" the film. So he went and bought me the book as a sort of "Happy Thursday" present. I was so excited. 

Then I started reading it.

Then I got even more excited.

You guys, remember how I said all those great things about "Persepolis" the movie? "The Complete Persepolis" (Part I and II of the graphic novel) is ALL that and MORE! MORE  wonderfully told vignettey-stories, MORE fascinating looks into world politics, MORE human insights, MORE stunning, stunning artwork. There are pictures in this book that bring the biggest lump in my throat, a lump that for your information absolutely does turn to tears. Marjane Satrapi is just the most masterful master of balance. The spectacular way Satrapi employs give and take between text and visuals makes me kind of wish all novels were graphic. Or at least more. And oh my God, the way she seamlessly wove in the comedy and tragedy as well as the political and the personal into this masterpiece of a book -she's just so brilliant. It is ridiculous how brilliant Marjane Satrapi is.

So if you liked the movie and you want MORE--get "Persepolis" the book. If you don't live in one of the two and a half cities in this country currently screening the film, get the book. If you want to read a great book, get the book. If you are a human being, get the book.

I realized this post needed visuals , so these are pictures of me loving the book.

This is me cuddling with "Persepolis".

This is me using "Persepolis" as a pillow.
This is me kissing the book very lovingly on its' spine.
And this is me almost eating the book it's so good, but the I remember that if I eat it I won't have it to read anymore.
So I go back to just loving it again.

So I'm finishing up a few books now, checking off some movies on my "to see" list, getting literate on a few new radio shows, all of which is to say I have many, many more wonderful things to recommend in the near future. So busy as I will be between grad school, odds and ends jobs, all my billion creative projects outside of school, I will keep this blog in top shape, because, as you know, I am....

Affectionately Yours,

Kit Steinkellner

PS. Thanks again, Dad. As you can probably tell from the post, I really liked the book a lot!

Woody Allen says something profound

So the secret of comedy is this big huge mystery to everyone.  My wonderful comedy writing professor at UCLA's graduate film department (I go to school here--shout!), the incomparable Fred Rubin once spent a three hour lecture period  thoroughly breaking down the various types of humor there are, specifically in relation to television comedy. Sex humor I was already familiar with, but food humor was something new. And I learned that as a rule of thumb, character and situational humor are to be embraced, whereas puns are to be avoided like territorial gang members in dark alleyways. 

For someone that studies humor and aspires to be a humorist, all the various ins and outs of comedy can disturbingly daunting. "Wait does this mean I have to watch all those episodes of 'Flying Circus' AND read that 5-foot stack of Restoration comedy plays and commit all those Abbott and Costello sketches to memory? Goddamn me, I'm not going to sleep for the rest of my life!" 

It can all be so very, very complicated.

And it can all be so very, very simple.

As Woody Allen says--

"It's funny if it makes you laugh."

And that pretty much settles that.

This is a picture of Woody Allen being like " I'm such a baller and I totally know it."

And Woody Allen-- you are. Jade Scorpion and your "Scarlett Johansson is my new muse" movies aside, you totally are.

You may or may not laugh at this blog ( which according to Woody Allen, determines said blog's funniness- gulp!), but either way, you know I continue to be--

Affectionately yours,

Kit Steinkellner

Pain is relative, people

I learned something really fascinating about pain the other day.

I mean, I learn things about pain every day, because my life is pain. But I learned something fascinating the other day. That's the distinction.

So first of all the technical term for the perception of pain is "nociception." Handy diagram, follows.
Nociception, by the by, is a great word. Stick it in your back pocket and save it for when you're being really boring at a party. Or if you're writing sad poetry and need something to rhyme with "deception", "perception", "exception" and/or "inception". "I hurt every day without exception, I hurt so bad I've lost my depth perception, Where did this hurt begin its inception? I don't know, all I know is it's because of NOCICEPTION!" See, I always got your backs, gangstas and gangstettes.

(Note. If I'm going to grade myself on that poem, I would give myself an A for effort and an F for scansion. Lord Almighty, that scansion sucked)

So  here it is, this is the fascinating thing about pain. In our brain, there are a bunch of different parts that work together to form a sort of "pain matrix." And this pain matrix is made up of various parts that determine that specific pain's intensity, location, duration, and type. So pain is, as the addage goes, essentially in our heads.

Here comes the fascinating part. Wait for it, wait for it.

The part of our brain that responds to pain and sends out distress signals is called the anterior cingulate cortex. That wasn't it. Here it is.

Our brain does not distinguish between  physical and emotional pain. 

Wait--- WHAT!?!?!

So me getting dumped in junior high/high school/college hurt just as badly as that guy who fell 47 stories and lived?

I KNEW it! I totally, totally knew it. They had all that news coverage on that guy-- he was like the headliner on Yahoo News for a day and a half. And me-- nothing. The media is so biased. 

But back to being (sort of) serious. This proves that you don't have to feel like a whiny 

douchebag when you hurt over a breakup, or a pink slip, or a fight with a loved one, or a B plus in a class you totally deserved an A in. (Note. That last one might be just me) (Another Note. On further thought, I think it is just me) (Last Note. Jury's in. It's me). But you are allowed to feel just as bad about hurt feelings as would  being buried alive or freezing to death or being slowly suffocated by a giant, scary snake. This technically hurts as much as a broken heart.

 So you're totally justified and vindicated in your whiny douchbaggery. Science says it's okay.

Back soon with so much more fun for you. Until then, even if I wanted to, I could never, ever stop being...

Affectionately yours,

Kit Steinkellner

"The Bus Driver Who Wanted To Be God" and this theory I have about Israelis being magic

Guys, I know the score.

I know what's what.

I know I recommend all these huge books that a lot of you guys aren't going to read. Maybe a few of you are going to pick up one of my recommends over the summer, but for the most part, I know all of you aren't running to the library in a mad dash to get the last copy of "Middlemarch." I checked UCLA's library records. There are still copies left. I'm so disappointed in all of you.

This is my disappointed face. This is another disappointed face. This is my last disappointed face.

This last one is my favorite . I'm like "Et tu, Brute? Et tu?"

But seriously, I know you all lead busy, busy, busy lives with little time to spare. I know it's hard to sink your teeth into a huge work of literature only to have to put it down for a few weeks when things get crazy in your life, try to pick it back up again after things stop being crazy, not remembering who any of the characters in the book are and having to start from the beginning of the book, only to have to put it down a week later when things get crazy again.

Which is why I have found for you a truly extraordinary book of short stories for you, in which brevity is the name of the game.

"Mindblowing" could also be the name of this book's game. As could be "Dazzling", "Genius" and "Divine."

It's a pretty killer game.

"The Bus Driver Who Wanted To Be God", you guys.

Can we just talk about how good this book is? (Note. That was a rhetorical question, we're totally talking about how good this book is)

Keret can get a story done in three pages. Five tops. And what incredible stories they are. These shorts are like looking at present-day Israel through a magical kaleidoscope. A girl works at a convenience store outside the mouth of Hell and falls in love with a doomed man who stops in for groceries. A child doesn't come to school one day, and every citizen of the town that visits his house thereafter mysteriously disappears. A woman has a hysterectomy and her uterus is so beautiful it is put in a museum. A hitman is hired to kill the best man he ever knew. An Arab rabble-rouser and an Israeli soldier face off in the most bizarre fight you're likely to read about for a while. A boy in shop class creates a large twisted pipe, crawls inside, and halfway through finds himself in Heaven.

As the cover says, these stories are warped AND wonderful. More wonderful than warped. But for sure a little warped.

And this book is so teeny and svelte. Look, this is me weighing it. This book barely tipped the scale. I think it's like 1/8th of a pound. Guys, I was like 72 times the weight of this book when I was born! Do the math on that, mofos.

So this book was amazing and because it's so teeny and cute you guys have no excuses for not reading it. You can read like 5 stories on the bus to school. You can read like the entire thing on the elliptical! This book is magic you guys, for reals.

On that note I thought Etgar Keret and his magicalness would be a nice segue into this theory I have. Okay, you guys, every Israeli person I meet is magical. I'm serious about this. Like when I was younger I used to be a counselor at this Jewish summer camp, and some of the kids were kind of possessed-- I mean they seriously needed the power of Christ to compel them. And the head of the camp, Itzik, all he would have to do is put his hand on a seemingly-in-need-of-an-exorcism kid's head and this child would just like all of a sudden turn into this docile, cheerful, fantastic camper. Itzik is such magic. You want more magic? A year and change ago, my computer died. And I took it to the computer store and they're like "Yeah, you're computer is dead, want to cough up a grand and a half for a new one?" And I'm like "No, but do I really have a choice?" And my Mom is like "Yes, you do! Ayal from Shul is a genius with computers!" So I bring my computer to Ayal and he RESURRECTS my COMPUTER from the DEAD! He totally LAZARUSED my computer! "Lazarus" is now a verb because of Ayal! Guys, even the computer store people whose JOB it is to do this couldn't bring my computer back. But Ayal could. Because of ISRAELI MAGIC! Last anecdote- my fried Lilach from UCLA is like seriously one of the most beautiful, wonderful girls I know, everyone's in love with her, how does she do it guys? ISRAELI GIRL BEAUTY MAGIC!

Now, I mean, I haven't met every Israeli ever, so this isn't, you know, a sound science. But so far every Israeli I've ever met has been magic, so my theory is of course, that all Israelis are magical. I have yet to be proven wrong on this point. I wish this extended to all Jewish people so I could be magic too. Well, half-magic, but whose counting? But alas, this is a privilege that is extended only to real Israelites. This is God's way of saying "See Kit, this is what happens when you keep Kosher and go to Shabbat every week and live in my Holy Land and do real Jew things."

I know, God, I know. I'm trying my best. I'll be awesome for you one day, but in the meantime I have to finish my Masters degree and write this blog so people can be smarter and better.

And God's like-- "Hmm-- well that's noble and honorable, tell you what, I'll make you just a little, teensy, tiny bit magical for right now and then when you become a good Jew you can get the rest of your magic then."

And I'm like "Yes!" and then God bounces, because he has to go have the rest of his Master of the Universe day.

I'm going to bounce now too, you guys. Back soon with something wonderful soon. In the meantime, ETGAR KERET, ETGAR KERET, ETGAR KERET!

Look how handsome and soulful he is! ISRAELI MAGIC, hooray, hooray!

I'm like half a percent magical now, apparently, according to God, but I am totally, completely, and always--

Affectionately yours,

Kit

God, Karl Marx, and Marjane Satrapi

Let me set this scene up for you.

I had just come back to Los Angeles from Santa Barbara (my home, where I spent winter break) a week ago Saturday night. My boyfriend was in Venice with friends and I could come meet him if I wanted, that would be cool, but otherwise he wasn't going to be back til midnight-ish. All my friends wouldn't be coming back to the following day. My apartment was feeling particularly empty.

 Oh, and it was raining. 

So what's a girl to do?

Go to her favorite movie theater, the Landmark on Westwood and Pico, and see "Persepolis" the black and white animated feature that looks at Iran's Islamic Revolution through the eyes of boisterous young girl Marjane Satrapi! Done and done!

[Note. As I have a boyfriend and lots of wonderful friends, I rarely go on movie dates by myself anymore. But I always kind of like when I end up having to. It makes me feel poetic.]

Can we just talk about how good  "Persepolis" is, you guys? This movie is freaking wonderful! I know, you hear "Iranian Islamic Revolution" and you probably think-- well, yes of course it's smart, socially relevant, what have you, but I know there are more than a few of you that are like "Well, but it's probably going to be really dour and depressing too. That's right, right?"

No. That's wrong, wrong.

Persepolis is bursting with humor. It is a vivid, life affirming piece that never feels preachy or pedantic. I continue to be amazed at how this film dealt with its turbulent subject matter, from the Shah's exile to the Islamic extremist takeover to the Iran/Iraq war, the story never failed to find the light and humor in the darkest and most troubling of settings. And this is life-- we as humans take pain and find humor in it. 

We watch Marjane grow from a little girl whose dream it is to be the last, great prophet to a rebellious teenager who loves Michael Jackson and wears apparel that proclaims "Punk is Not Ded." Her parents send her to school in Vienna when she is 14, where she grows into an adolescent, finds love, experiences heartbreak and homelessness which lead to a nervous breakdown.This is her getting her life back together while "Eye of the Tiger" plays in the background.

This is exactly as awesome as it sounds.

Marjane is desperate for human contact and connection and returns to her family in Iran only to discover that there is no home for her there either. She feels disconnected wherever she goes-- she is a stranger both at home and abroad.

And this is precisely what makes this movie work. It doesn't try to cover every single aspect of Iranian history. Though we do get a handy little animated puppet show that briefly sums up the last century of the country's political history.  Marjane Satrapi (the author/artist of the two graphic novels Persepolis is based on) is too smart to try to take on everything that happened in Iran at the time and all its implications. It's too complicated. It would be too much of a mess. Instead, Satrapi focuses on her own (admittedly biased and limited) experiences as a child and adolescent in these dark and turbulent times. And by doing so, she touches on something truly universal-- the feeling of being lost wherever you are. She handles the politics of the times she lived in with deft grace but it is her personal experiences, suffering through her teacher's force-fed lies at her Iranian girls school, trying to forget her loneliness through head-banging at Viennese punk rock clubs, being able to suffer through a cultural revolution and a war but not heartbreak, returning to your home and slowly realizing that you will never fit the way you used to again--- these extremely detailed and painfully honest scenes are what makes this movie truly extraordinary.

That brings up another important point I want to make. Satrapi doesn't try to make herself look untouchably fabulous and heroic in retrospect. She portrays herself as sometimes  stubborn, sometimes selfish, sometimes hateful, very often wrong.

This is awesome, you guys. Because I couldn't like this movie as much if it was just Satrapi having this stiff upper lip all the time and being like "God will see us through," and "Right will eventually overcome." This would be beautiful and poetic and whatever, but not necessarily great. What is great is being honest, people are selfish in terrifying times and mundane times alike, people are imperfect the world round.

Marjane Satrapi is by no means perfect, she knows she's not and portrays herself accordingly. But she tries really, really, really freaking hard. And that's what makes her a real heroine.This is what makes this movie just the most special. It's the detail, the courageous honesty, and the heart. Such a good heart. Satrapi's heart is the kind that recognizes the frightening times she lives in, but refuses to bow and give in to the oppression. She fights and she fights hard. She goes to parties, she falls in and out of love again and again, she becomes an artist, she makes mistakes and she learns from them. And then makes the same mistakes again. And learns again.

You know how people are sometimes like "Oh this [fill in the blank thing] made me laugh and cry."

I'm always like--"No it didn't. It either made you laugh OR cry. Maybe most of one and the tiniest bit of the other. Not really both. You're lying."

Guys, "Persepolis" made me laugh AND cry in EQUAL parts. I swear it's true, this is how good this movie is. I'm never going to doubt this phenomenon ever again.

I know it's in limited release, but if it's in your area please go see it. So many movies come out every year, and many are worthy, stories that deserve to be told.

"Persepolis" is a story that DEMANDS to be told.  I implore you to see if if you can.

Last few things-- it's in French and there are subtitles (get over it). And the animation is out of this world. For reals.

Also, the title of this post refers to a scene in the movie where God and Karl Marx have to settle their differences to beg Marjane to snap out of her breakdown in Vienna. This scene alone was worth the price of admission.

The title of the movie refers to the ancient Persian capital founded in the 6th century by Darius I, later destroyed by Alexander the Great (or not-so-great, from the Persian perspective). The title basically implies that while the Persian/Iranian people have had to deal with invaders/oppressors for the duration of their existence, there is something strong that unites these people, something that helps them transcend their oppressors, be they Alexander's army or latter-day Islamic extremists.

This isn't me being brilliantly academic. I basically stole that last paragraph from the press release. I mean--- appropriated it. I totally appropriated it. (Read a few posts down Cindy and Sherri- Best Postmodern Art Friends Ever! to get inside on the inside joke.) 

Listen to me on this one guys-- go see the film. You'll be insanely happy you did.

Back with something smart and better-ing soon. In the meantime, remember that I am completely and utterly--

Affectionately Yours,

Kit Steinkellner

Marcel Proust says something profound

 I was reading Marcel Proust's "Swann's Way" this past summer, ( I know, I know, I'm the most pretentious person there ever was, get over it) and I came across a quote I like a lot.

"We are very slow to recognize in the particular physiognomy [ appearance] of a new artist the model which is labeled "great talent" in our museum of general ideas. Simply, because that physiognomy is new and strange, we can find in it no resemblance to what we are accustomed to call talent. We say rather originality, charm, delicacy, strength; and then one day we realize that it is precisely all this that adds up to talent."

Most of my friends are artists, and as such encounter a fair amount of rejection. Most of my friends that aren't artists encounter some rejection as well. Rejection in any form hurts like a bitch. I know people get down on themselves a lot and wonder if they're ever going to make it. I know I wonder about this constantly.

Just hold on to what your friend Marcel Proust told you--- one day they will see all your originality, charm, delicacy, and strength-- and that is when they will recognize your talent.

And then you will get to quit your day job.

Hooray!

Just keep slugging, kids.

And always remember-- Proust knows the score.

A picture of Marcel Proust thinking very important and meaningful thoughts.

Back soon (probably tomorrow) with something else that will make you a smarter, better person. Until then, I am, of course...

Affectionately yours,

Kit Steinkellner

Sherri and Cindy--- best postmodern art friends ever!

I love post-modern art like nobody's business. Granted, I love all the Art History I've studied so far, because I'm just mind-bogglingly nerdy like that. But post-modern art is a truly special friend of mind. If one could make academic subjects one's bridesmaids, then I would totally stuff post-modern art into an saffron taffeta dress, shove a bouquet in its hands and drag it up to the altar with me.

I love this period of art (from approximately the late 1980's to the present) for a lot of reasons. I love it because post-modern art literally leapt off the canvas/pedestal, giving way to installations, performance pieces, crazy, crazy, architecture, and such. It redefined art and made the  boundaries practically limitless. I love post-modern art because it heralded in a new age where females and ethnic minorities became fully accepted and embraced members of the art community. I love it because with the onset of the AIDS crisis in the '80's, visual art in this country finally took a fairly unified social and political stand.

But most of all I love post-modern art because it just doesn't quite grasp how silly it is.

Today I'm covering two post-modern photographers Cindy Sherman and Sherri Levine.

Cindy and Sherri are fantastically edgy and provoking visual artists.

They are also very silly girls.

And I don't mean silly in a bad way. You can love something for all its greatness and still think it's totally nuts. Like I love crazy, hyperbolic Russian Literature, but I recognize it's inherent ridiculousness. Same with those "young-love dance" movies where the prim, pretty ballerina is somehow matched up with the bad boy and has to combine her moves with his sexy hip-hop/ethnic grooving in order to win the BIG COMPETITION. Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights-- holla, holla!

[Note. If I ever figure out the what intellectual merits and cultural value of Dirty Dancing:Havana Nights are , I'm totally doing a post on it. Mark my words]

But I digress. You are allowed to love something and think it's brilliant, fabulous, amazing, stupendous, superb--- and a little bit silly. If this isn't a rule already I'm making it one.

All right, first up, Cindy Sherman, let's roll. Born in 1954, Sherman started painting during her college years. But after a while she was like "Um, I'm bored with painting, it's an art-form with too much history and too many limitations." And poor, dorky, picked last for kickball medium photography's waving its hand furiously in the corner like "Over here! Me! Photography! I'm an art-form that's barely a century old, there's a million things that haven't been done with me yet! I'm right here! Pick me, choose me, love me!"

[Note. For anyone that just got the Grey's Anatomy reference, hooray, points for you! Another thing I kind of love that is so silly. Much sillier than dance movies. Almost as silly as Russian Lit.]

So Cindy Sherman goes with photography. And she starts doing these wacky, wonderful series of photos of-- get this-- herself. Not only of herself, but of herself being fully crazy-movie star glamorous. "Untitled Film Stills" series- check it out. I love this girl. She's even more narcissistic than I am, no easy feat, I assure you ladies and gentleman. 

I mean, right, in this series, Sherman is exploring modern French social theorist Jean Baudrillard's interpretation of the "simulacrum",  or "the copy for which there is no original." Sherman taps into the idea that these cliche, classic movie stills are not fiction based on reality, but rather fiction based on nothing.

[Note. Simulacrum is a really good vocabulary word. You can also use it as a sort of high brow insult-- "You're a phony! A fake! A simulacrum-- a copy for which there is no original!" Send that sorry bastard out in tears with the right inflection, for reals.]

Sherman also explores how we as a society view women. She explores the idea of the female as object. In the stills she never gazes directly at us. She is not the gazer. We are. She as the attractive female subject does not have the control. We the Patriarchal Viewers have that privilege. 

These are all fascinating postmodern ideas Sherman is exploring, and the acclaim she has received is well deserved. I mean she won a MacArthur Grant for her work, she's an official "genius" with 500 grand to prove it. She's been featured in every American art museum and gallery of note. Girl is completely legit.

And yet-- and there is a yet. Behind all that simulacrum talk and women-as-object fancy-shmancy theory--- you know Cindy Sherman also just TOTALLY liked getting dressed up cute and taking pictures of herself.

You know I'm right about this.

So MacArthur Foundation's all "Wait-- we gave Cindy Sherman a genius grant for having awesome legs?"

I mean, you gave it to her groundbreaking artistic interpretation of 20th century theories and her daring, innovative post-modern techniques.

But yeah, you also gave her a genius grant for her legs.

And Cindy Sherman, I think that's awesome.

Okay, okay, you think this is silly? Sherri Levine practically redefines silly.

Born in 1947, Levine first gained the attention of the the art world in the 1980's when she started being chummy with all these new emerging artists like Jenny Holzer, Richard Prince, Cindy Sherman (looking fine in her little slip and shades), Louise Lawler and Barbara Kruger. The Neo-Conceptual Pack if you will.

But Levine's like "F***, Sherman's shooting herself sexy and calling it art, that was going to be MY bit! What am I going to do now?"

Okay, I almost laughed when I first heard this, but this actually happened.

Levine started taking other people's photographs, copying them, and displaying them as her own work.

No, I'm really serious.

Like her most famous piece, "After Walker Evans" in 1981.

And the Art World is like, "Wait, what the f***?"

And Sherri Levine is like "Ha, Cindy Sherman, I totally out-crazied you! What you going to do now? Huh? Huh?"

To be fair, there is some really interesting philosophy behind Levine's "appropriation art." She raises the question who exactly is the artist and what exactly is art? After all, what makes Walker Evans the"owner" of the photo he took? Why does he get all the fame and credit? What about the subject of the photo? What about the camera? Isn't Levine doing pretty much what Walker Evans did-- taking an image, claiming ownership of it, and reaping the rewards? 

Levine's theories lead us to examine the troubling patriarchal enforced notion of "ownership" in art,  drawing attention to relations between power, gender, creativity, consumerism, and commodity value. This is all true, to be fair.

But also, to be fair, "appropriation" really just means "stealing." Like I just stole a lot of that last sentence from Wikipedia. I mean-- "appropriated" it.... (smiles sinisterly). So right,  when Western Society is down with taking something it's "appropriation", but if not, all of a sudden "appropriation" becomes "theft."I love Levine's balls, but this sort of the Emperor's New Clothes here. Levine's work is challenging and disturbing.

And also stealing.

Here she is, stealing some more!

From Marcel DuChamp (DuChamp of course, "appropriating" from DaVinci)
[Note. If you say "L.H.O.O.Q" super-fast, it sounds like French for "She's got hot pants." Marcel DuChamp completely meant this intentionally. I love this man]

And now Van Gogh!
Watch out Man Ray, Sherri Levine is coming for you!

Aagh-- Matisse-- you're being APPROPRIATED!!!
So what did we learn today, kids?

That something can be  groundbreaking and  brilliant.

And also-- also-- just a little bit silly.

Cindy Sherman and Sherri Levine-- nice work ladies. You are totally awesome and kind of nuts and I applaud you for it.

Thanks for reading, all. I think I might do a playwright next. Or maybe a little movie that's out right now and isn't getting enough booties in the seaties. Whatever it is, you know I am---

Affectionately,

Kit Steinkellner