A History of the World in Six Glasses: Review

A History of the World in Six Glasses by Tom Standage
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This wonderful book by Tom Standage (who also wrote "An Edible History of Humanity") traces human history via the importance of six types of beverage--beer, wine, distilled spirits, coffee, tea and Coca Cola (there is an addendum about water, never fear).  While one would expect these drinks to figure prominently in the grist of human life, this book reveals that a good part of history was actually driven by drink. Trade practice, farming techniques, wages, commercial value, foreign policy--all these were heavily affected by the demand for these beverages. Standage even claims a strong relationship between rum and the American Revolution! The [true] history of Coca Cola holds some surprises, not all of a fizzy, pleasant nature. As a bonus in the appendix, if you want to take a historical taste tour, Standage tells you how. In the meantime, stay away from bottled water. It's no better for you than tap water if you live in a developed country and it costs a lot more. Definitely a fascinating read.


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The Great Gatsby: Lost in Adaptation

A discussion of Baz Lurhmann as a film-maker would take far more space than a brief review, but in a nutshell he strikes me as the Thomas Kinkade of the Film Arts community. He uses kitsch, glamour, sound and broad, colorful strokes as misdirection to cover story-telling sins and tap into a kind of populist pathos. He is to Hollywood what Benny Hinn is to religion. The Vox Populi, like the applauding audience at the end of Lurhmann's Moulin Rouge, is pleased by the emotional, hard-pumping razzle, even if it is largely incoherent. Perhaps it's that very incoherence, tapping into non-rational parts of the psyche, that people like in a Luhrmann offering, the cinematic version of glossolalia. In the end, Baz' work is always more about Baz' work than it is about the subject of the film. 

The Great Gatsby has a perhaps inflated reputation as THE American story. Like The Godfather, and now "Mad Men," its claim to iconic space is built on an obsession with the genteel decay and corruption in the urban northeastern corner of the country. For many people, especially the people who live there, New York is America. For those of us who grew up on Flannery O'Connor and Walker Percy, it ain't. We've got our own class of genteel decay to obsess over, thank you very much. And it doesn't look like yours. Stories like Gatsby masquerade as morality tales, but the focus is not really on the morality, is it? 

Interestingly, H.L. Mencken's review of Gatsby, coming from Chicago, was less than flattering. (Take a moment to read the review. You won't be sorry.) Nevertheless, the forced reading of Gatsby in the nation's high schools, dating from somewhere around the '50s from what I hear, has given the work a privileged place in the minds of the general public that actually grants it a status few other cultural artifacts can claim in a world as digitally fragmented as ours. The consensus, after previous failed film attempts, has been that the literary flavor of Fitzgerald's work, featuring his elegant economical style and his nuanced flare for expression, cannot be translated to film. The challenge for a film-maker is to produce an adaptation that either captures in image what words express or to create a vision so definitive that it competes with and/or replaces the original (Ben Hur, Wizard of Oz, Peter Pan). Baz Luhrmann does not succeed in either category with this version. 

Tobey Maquire looks and feels the part of Nick Carraway, but misfires terribly in the narration, which is fatally over-used by Luhrmann in this film (a basic no-no against which film-makers are frequently warned but to which they are all-too susceptible). Lurhmann's visuals luxuriate in the revels at Gatsby's estate, an almost lovingly celebratory depiction that takes on the style of a rave with the anachronistic music (another Lurhmann trademark) and deliberately off-pace scene cuts. In doing so, he defies the tone of the original Fitzgerald muse, but again, this is nothing new for Lurhmann. Like Tim Burton, he seems convinced that his prevailing artistic sense is best. 

In this version, Elizabeth Debicki's portrayal of Jordan Baker--an already shallow character in the book--becomes almost transparently insubstantial. She stands out literally only because she is so much taller than Nick. The same can be said for Isla Fisher's Myrtle, who gets the most visual attention when suspended over the car in slow-motion. Lurhmann seems more informed than he should be by Francis Ford Coppola's 1974 film script--he wants to make the Gatsby story about star-crossed lovers. So he shoe-horns scenes and dialog and images to give us the flowering romance that Fitzgerald himself failed to give. While DiCaprio and Mulligan are well-cast, their performances, maybe aided by the fantasy-land ambience of the film's art direction, seem as though they are pretending to be pretending. Even so, they hit far many more true notes than Redford and Farrow managed in the 1974 vehicle. Joel Edgerton as Buchanan is a force to be reckoned with in the film, delivering a solid performance that only fails in that it's a poor adaptation from the book. The standout performance is that of Jason Clarke as George Wilson. No actor managed to pour more soul into such a tiny share of a role. 

A factor looming in this spectacle is the art design. Lurhmann's films seem to have moved toward tighter control of this aspect of his work, relying heavily on green screen cgi backgrounds. Used judiciously, these might have worked, but as the movie developed they began to assume the appearance of theatrical backdrops. These and the relentless parade of meticulously manicured set pieces--even the ash was carefully arranged--give the whole a stylized glare.

Nevertheless, the film may do for Gatsby what Lurhmann did for Romeo and Juliet--it will become the school-age movie version that everyone will now watch. It will doubtless make its way into the collective subconscious of the American public for the next decade or more, regardless of its merits and/or flaws. What better way to ensure immortality in the minds and hearts of the masses? But from a critical standpoint, like the afore-mentioned Romeo and Juliet, this film is more about Lurhmann's take than it is about the original. And that, for what it's worth, won't matter.

Iron Man 3: Plot a Course for Tennessee

Expanded from my Flixster post:

"Jarvis, plot a course for Tennessee." Thus says Tony Snark, I mean Stark, at a critical moment of the sleuthing portion of the third Iron Man installment. It points up the principal difficulty with this otherwise entertaining film--its "identity" issue. Action film? Mystery movie? Superhero vehicle? Bromance/Romance flick? MacGyver episode? Christmas Special? Certainly these categories do not have to be mutually exclusive. But cramming them all into one feature is bound to cause some hiccups.

When Aristotle argued in favor of creative unity a mere couple of millennia ago, he was actually on to something. But what did he know? He was stuck with blockbusters from Euripides and Sophocles and never got to see Gone with the Wind.

While I'm on the subject of plot holes (see what I did there?) Wouldn't the vaunted Stark tech have provided better warning of impending attack than the sad variation on "uh, guys, are these red dots moving toward these green dots important?" Wouldn't Jarvis have a counter-measure or two installed given all the hardware Stark Enterprises had thrown at it in The Avengers? Nah. Who needs counter-measures when you have The Suit?

Anyway, in spite of the unevenness of the storyline and the cliché of massive exploding metallic structures serving as a flying trapeze for heros and villains, the movie has enough moments to push it over the "B" and into the B+ to A- range. The villain arc manages to be creative and droll at the same time. It's played fairly well by the curious duo of Guy Pearce and Ben Kingsley with mildly surprising and sometimes comic twists and the expedient of a superfluous female character played by Brit actress Rebecca Hall, who doesn't get to use her British accent (bummer). But there is something unsatisfying about the villains, as if their relegation in the film to less-than-critical status early on sort of lets the air out a bit. The stakes seem to have been deliberately reduced. Too bad Hans Gruber, Roy Batty and Mr. Smith were busy being dead. And too bad much of the supporting cast like Favreau's Happy and Cheadle's Rhodes seem more like props and convenient plot devices than actual characters.

But the truly surprising golden heart of the movie involves the scenes between Stark and a random tech-savvy Tennessee kid (played by not-so-Tennesseean veteran Ty Simpkins). The improbable interplay actually works because the actors make it work. Forget that southeast Tennesseeans are unhappy about the depiction of their wifi access. And forget that snow doesn't generally stay on the ground in SE Tennessee. And forget that the Miss Chattanooga pageant is in May. This is a movie, people. Who cares about details? What they do get right is the chemistry between Stark and the kid.

After that, settle in for lots of playful screen-time with Stark out of his suit, some nice throw-away humor where the audience gets to spew some popcorn, and a finale worthy of a New York City Christmas fireworks display. That leads to my last gripe--the Christmas plot positioning was just kind of...lame. The film-maker meant well, but the effort was wasted. Be that as it may, Iron Man 3 is still a lot of fun. And the after-the-credits bonus is nice, too.

Les Miserables - The Book

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Having seen two film versions, the stage musical and the film based on the musical, I didn't exactly know what to expect from the book. But in this instance, perhaps more than many others, comparisons are pointless. The stage production took on a life of its own long ago and is an incomparable work of art that stands alone. It can be said to be based on another work of art--the book--but comparing the two is an exercise in futility.

The 1400+page book is unlike any other nineteenth century opus one is likely to encounter. It combines several normally disparate elements--the stemwinding plot of Dickens, the narrative scope of Tolstoy, the moral/ethical tone of Dostoevsky, the melodrama of Dumas and the politics of Carlyle, with bonus material in theology, rhetorical and cultural criticism. In other words, it's Victor Hugo, who completed the novel while in exile on Guernsey Island (yes, of the cows).

If you are looking for a rip-snorting adventure that teeters precariously along the protagonist-antagonist axis of Valjean and Javert, much like film and stage have done, then save yourself the time and don't crack this massive volume. Or find a cheap cheat of an abridged version with which to be entertained. If you are willing to brace yourself for a long, heavy trudge through--and under--the streets of Paris and 19th century France, rich with the aroma of layer upon layer of historical, political and social context, if you are willing to take on a social burden presented like the cross of Christ, if you can stomach sermons, lectures and illuminations about everything from the sublime to the mundane during lengthy pauses from the "story," then you are ready to absorb "Les Miserables." I say "absorb" because this is not a book you can read. It's a book that happens to you.

The one forgivable vice of the work is its penchant for romantic melodrama--that sickly sweet staple of so much 19th century prose--forgivable because it's a vice to which so many of Hugo's peers were also inclined. Work your way around it gingerly and you'll be fine.

I had heard of the famous account of the Battle of Waterloo by Hugo, but didn't realize it was in this book (right now you're thinking "what does the Battle of Waterloo have to do with anything?" Turns out, not much, but that's just one of the cereal box prizes contained in this novel). For Napoleonic era aficionados like me, it was a rare treat to encounter it finally. This remarkable addition, along with so many other fascinating asides in this novel, serves to break all the rules of good story telling. Tolstoy would give us Borodino in "War and Peace" but he had a couple of central characters present during the action. Not so, Hugo. The battle does connect to the story, but almost at the level of the so-called Butterfly Effect. One gets a lot of this sort of contingency development in this book, which makes it either a bad narrative or ahead of its time, pre-figuring post-modern tales influenced by the era of Quantum science.

Be that as it may, for the disciplined mind, the book will do two things: it will enrich one's life and it will shine a light on a segment of life and humanity that even today we would rather ignore.




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