Antonioni and Bergman

A&L has collected the obituaries. In one of those B-movie coincidences, on Monday two of the great directors of mid-century angst died – Michelangelo Antonioni, 94, in Italy and Ingmar Bergman, 89, in Sweden. Iowahawk reposts his tribute to Bergman. Podhoretz complains of Bergman’s pretentiousness – arguing that 1982 was the end of that era. Well, maybe. Rewatching several of both these directors’ works in the last year or so has reminded me of what we were when we watched them in our separate youths, and how much my husband and I have developed different pleasures, perspectives, and values in the time since. But these movies are often beautiful in the slow and quiet ways they develop character, in the perspectives of their images, of the gestures that are telling. The piled up photographs as we see Marianne’s self emerge in Scenes from a Marriage or the panic as well as listlessness of L’Aventurra still move me, still seem human. If the people make silly choices, well, don’t we all. Why and how we make them is the subject of the films. We hadn’t seen Autumn Sonata before this year and if it, too, remains as bleak as ever about our failings in our relations as parents and as children, the tangles were bleakly understandable. As implied by this, what I liked best was character in these works and the allegorical seldom holds its own against human complexity. But Podhoretz complains of how they told their tales of angst and fear of the void; I think it is the void that we turned from as the century went on.

I’m not so sure that Podhoretz isn’t reflecting the fact that some time in the eighties we said to ourselves, snap out of it, suck it up, do something. Of course, it might have taken some of us a few more years. And it seems to me an obituary is a time for gratitude: I (and I suspect many others) owe many pleasant moments in the theater to these two directors. So, most of us have found a way out of that hole as the century continued, though how strong the ladders we found may prove is not something we know – will know. In the mid-nineteenth century Matthew Arnold described a darkling plain, but love, domesticity, faith, nation, work, duty helped; the ways out were similar a century later. These two directors have taken similar themes, but the difference in their expressions also help us appreciate two quite different sensibilities, cultures.

More importantly, perhaps, we’ll always have (and love) “Dover Beach” and I suspect we will always have some understanding of these two at their best.

Gerald Ford

Alav hashalom (RIP).

Ford’s presidency looks better with time and Jimmy Carter’s looks worse. Yet I remember the sense of disappointment with Ford, and enthusiasm for Carter, before the 1976 election among my parents’ contemporaries. (I’m sure that I would have voted for Carter if I had been old enough.)

At the time it seemed natural to frame any evaluation of Ford or Carter mainly in comparison to Nixon rather than in terms of urgent national issues. Ford came across, unfairly, as dull and clumsy and was prone to malapropisms. Carter, with his pious demeanor and then-novel southern political background, seemed to many people to be a sort of anti-Nixon. But Carter turned out to be seriously inept, while Ford’s judgment looks pretty good in hindsight, particularly if you consider his many vetoes, and the bad decisions he avoided by being essentially a practical politician rather than a zealous man.

Times change. Time clarifies.

Jeanne Kirkpatrick

That strong voice, Jeanne Kirkpatrick, has died. Here. And here, where WSJ notes how a sense of place can reverberate in an international vocabulary & international context.

Milton Friedman, 1912-2006

Requiescat in pace.
Lengthy FT obit here; U of C News Office release here.

Beyond the Far Horizon

Science fiction has always been one of my favorite literary genres. If memory serves I went from the “Dick and Jane” books to juvenile sci-fi without much transition. It helped that this was the 1960’s, and everyone thought science fiction was something that was pretty necessary in order to get people ready for the Space Age future that was coming at warp speed.

It was obvious by the 1970’s that the future wasn’t about to arrive, or at least the one envisioned seemed to fall by the wayside. There were some big names in the business back then, like Asimov and Bradbury, but science fiction had mostly lost its way. In 1968 the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey showed everyone a false but brilliant glimpse into a universe where people lived on the Moon and traveled around in bright, clean commercial spaceships. Less than ten years later and the best anyone could do was a story about some hick farm boy who gains magic powers. Don’t get me wrong, I love Star Wars and think it is one of the best movies ever. But I don’t think anyone can reasonably claim that it is a thoughtful and mature film. Science Fiction as literature had slipped back into sci-fi as juvenile entertainment.

But then James Baen came along.

He didn’t write the stuff himself, working instead as an editor. He would buy and publish the work of some of my favorite authors, almost single handedly pulling the business out of a boring swamp of dreadful hack writing by giving some extremely talented people the chance to get paid for doing what they did best. After Jim Baen got started you could take a science fiction novel up to the checkout counter in the bookstore and not be afraid that the pretty co-ed behind the cash register would laugh at you.

Those of us who enjoy science fiction owe Jim Baen a debt that is so big it’s tough to even acknowledge the whole of it. We’re never going to get the chance because he died yesterday.

Click on that last link and you’ll find a eulogy written by Jim’s buddy David Drake. It’s a fitting tribute to the man who saved our sense of wonder.

(Cross posted at Hell in a Handbasket.)