It is essential for one who writes a review to mentally frame an outline of their opinion about the piece they're writing about. This should always include pros and cons, upsides and downsides to every opinion and never leaving out some justification. Always do the reader a favor in giving each artist the benefit of the doubt meanwhile explaining how and why the viewer came to the conclusions. In a novel, it doesn't matter whether the reader disagrees with the writer because it's a story. But in a review, there needs to be a reason for the reader to be okay with their disagreement, no matter how much it pisses them off.
Get yourself on a roll and fucking WRITE all that's in your head!
Reviewers should always remember to take a second to remove themselves from the experience. The written piece isn't about them, it's about the audience. All too often, writers talk about a subject with a heavy bias, and it isn't fair to the reader. Reviewers must remember to take every instance with a grain of salt, and place their viewpoint in the eye of someone who might have an opposite viewpoint. It's not very likely that a middle-aged mother of three will have a good time at a monster truck rally, but perhaps if she considers how much fun the group of metal-heads next to her are having on their night off, maybe she can sympathize with the event as a piece of entertainment.
Taking notes and pulling quotes is essential for the reviewer to back up their ideas, and it's also cool to add personality in order to sell their thoughts. Sometimes it may be intimidating to know that there is an a wide audience who might disagree with their opinion, and this is why reviewing is scary. But learning from past writers and stemming off of past can be the essential tool in knowing how to say what they feel. Writing a review is all about knowing your shit, backing it up, and sending it home.
There’s a certain energy on the streets of the South Loop of Chicago that’s found nowhere else in the world. Columbia College in Chicago had a hand in crafting that look, too. It makes up part of the large percentage of the neighborhood’s inhabitants that are students and it occupies a number of historic buildings where every class and event takes place on its campus. Even within the confines of its campus, there is an individual scene revolving and evolving, too. The artists that occupy the space spread their passion and send energy into the space that allows them to create, to help each other out and to ultimately be themselves. It’s a pretty cool atmosphere.
But how does one properly judge an entire art scene? Clearly this leaves out the argument that there is no art scene, so there is a bit of relief there. Columbia offers programs in a variety of fields, some of which aren’t often considered art. Though it is often labeled an “art school,” the institution actually represents itself as having “excellence in the visual and communicative arts.” This includes a wide range of studies, many of which can be consider art but also some, like Cultural Studies or Early Childhood Education, that are more traditional.
Columbia definitely questions the definition of art, too, by informally placing it in the hands of an individual’s personal view of the world. This gives way to a certain heir about the overall atmosphere, too. If the students are allowed to define art, then they’re also entitled to a governance over their attitude, which often includes a “fuck off” look or a “I’m only here for me” sort of mindset. Because people are always enrolled for a reason. This place isn’t a fallback place. Everyone is driven to study and compete because their chosen fields tend to be very specific. So essentially, to judge CCC’s scene as a motion of art, every element must be taken into consideration, regardless of whether it is even considered art to the outside world.
To learn how the writer forms their work, it’d be best to look through their notes. An eye into the mind of a chef would be best seen while they were at work in the kitchen. If someone were to find a taste the essential Columbia College space, they should be sent to the building at 623 S Wabash Street. This place is home to the Art & Design community and also most essential liberal arts classes. Aside from more specific majors, this place is where much of the heart of Columbia takes place. Not only does it have a few large lecture and gathering spaces, but it contains many galleries and workspaces unique to the school.
Some would argue that to find the life of the school, it’s in the students and their choice of gathering. For this building, it’s important to consider the people outside before stepping in. Columbia has a large population of smokers, and they congregate outside this building before and after class, and especially during the designated break times. They can be seen from the street any day of the week and any time of day. These people, with their Chrome bags and skinny jeans, often carrying portfolio cases and a coffee mug, represent the life of the school. Sometimes they chat about their upcoming critique or complain about their heavy workload. Others sit alone and tend to keep to themselves.
This alone says so much about the school. People attend to further their careers and are enrolled for themselves. It’s definitely a collaborative effort, but most make it solely on their own. But once they’ve entered the inside, they can get the full experience when they see people working hands-on in the woodshop. The visitor isn’t given the full effect unless they visit every floor, including the ninth floor computer lab and see the exciting things people are working with on their computers. This building encapsulates the life and heart of Columbia.
If not the other location, one could see the more freelanced side of the institution, and what people do in their free time at the 916 S Wabash building. The fourth floor loft is a large room that has a lounge space with many couches and many rows of chairs set up in front of a screen. This is where the outside life happens. Posting here for an hour, one can see people in their respective habitats. One student is passed out on the loungy couch, backpack still on with a black hoodie over his head. He’ll be there for a while. A meeting is about to start and people are starting to gather at the other end of the room, probably an extra-curricular. Someone in a distant cubicle is playing music of an acoustic variety.
This is where a bit more of the culture comes alive at Columbia. Seeing people in their downtime is one of the more raw pieces of the sentiment of the school, some meeting to snack between classes or to arrange a special conversation. There is great significance in the love of art bringing people together not for any academic sake, but for friendship’s sake, which this school has succeeded in doing. Somewhere, the founder of the school must be proud.
It’s pairings like this that show off how people set out to get something accomplished for their future, and they simply find a way to get it done. In mid-November, the Music department at Columbia put together a showcase of. Obviously, much of the lineup included people who were forced to perform because their major required performance hours, but the rest were looking out for themselves, by either releasing energy on stage or promoting themselves and their respective talents.
The show was titled “Student Concert Series’ Art of Music” and is a monthly show where artists can request to perform far in advance. It’s like a formal open mic night. Basically, performers don’t necessarily have to be talented but they certainly have to be prepared. Seven of eight listed acts took the stage over the course of half an hour. Instrumentalists like pianists and drummers showcased their talents along with vocal performance and musical theatre majors who had a few verses to belt out.
Freshman Ben Nichols had no idea he was performing until the morning of the show. “I was just helping out [fellow vocalist] Chad, who needed someone to duet with.” Nichols and Chad Marshall, also a freshman, met during the freshman showcase and became a collaborative team once they became friends. Nichols’ work ethic is the perfect example of Columbia’s collaborative spark that enables each student’s success. He agreed to help Chad earn his performance hours on November 22nd when he spent the day reviewing the lyrics of “All For The Best” from Godspell and studying the choruses it contained. It was audibly a difficult song to sing and learn, which further proves the dedication of Columbia’s attendees who reach out and go the distance for their friends and for themselves.
No matter who or what, they all have their own story and way of telling it. And though some argue that the story was made to be seen in a certain way and should be judged within the intentions of the creator, others believe that the beauty of a story lie in the viewer’s interpretation of its message. With the Bill T. Jones and Arnie Zane Dance Company’s Body Against Body this September, it’s unclear whether there was a story at all. The production’s title was the biggest hint of any real message that was to be portrayed. This obscurity is because the dance show at Columbia College’s Dance Center was all about the interaction between figures, as dancers, and sending a message through their actions and choices as performers.
The production, which premiered on Thursday, September 29th, ran two separate cycling productions which were each staged in three parts. The first part of the A program began with two men and a large wooden box, which they proceeded to wheel across the stage and set in different areas. The whole dance wasn’t about the box, though. The two men played off each other and used each other as characters, each sending their message separately and collaborating to send it together as a whole.
What came next in the second part following the show’s intermission was something completely unexpected. A woman entered the stage at the left beneath a spotlight. She was completely nude as she stood boldly on the stage and faced the audience, performing with integrity and passion. Soon, more dancers joined her, also nude, and performed the same type of sequence but each in their own way. Slowly and gradually, people exited and entered the stage in a pattern, returning with a costume, and the pieces sequenced from black to white over the course of the motions. It all ended with the dancers in unison, building momentum as the music shifted to a more chaotic compilation, to the point where the performers stopped and shouted in unison and the lights blacked out. This was the peak of the show, full of intensity and emotion that cannot be described. It certainly had the audience collectively short of breath by its finish.
This performance closed at it had began, with the same two male dancers performing together, but this time to more of a beat. Their dialogue here told more of a visible story, with one man seated and the other dancing in a circle around him. They talked of a meeting where they hadn’t seen each other in a bit of time and it was sort of a reunion. What faltered here was the half-finished part of the story. It caused for the audience to piece the rest of the tale on their own, which was a task in itself alongside the difficulty of making sense of the oddity in each dance. Body Against Body wasn’t necessarily about the music and the flashy costumes. This superficiality is what often gets shows lost in production value. Because of the refreshing simplicity in the staging of this show, all dialogue became awkward as it overcomplicated the production.
What’s fascinating is how each dancer had the same look on their faces of pure artistry and determination of performing from the heart. The piece soon became not about costumes (or a lack of costume) but about the relationship of self with the body. Seldom do we, as audience members, become lucky enough to witness the figure in its most natural form. It’s even more rare that we are able look past the distraction to find the greatest significance of all lying in the roots in its depth. This was the most profound statement. It answers the question it posed itself. The story was meant to be interpreted individually, graced with the lightness in costume and production, meant for the mind of the viewer to fill in the blanks. Nothing ever gets captured as brilliantly as did the work of Bill T. Jones and Arnie Zane’s company last weekend, and is to be imprinted in memory as a statement of self remembered positively.
Another example of a story impressed on the viewer this semester was “Dwelling,” a seasonal gallery on the first floor of the 33 East Congress Columbia building, the first thing they’ll notice is the red walls. This is clearly not about to be an upbeat or energetic experience. Soon they’ll see a hanging window frame with a line of bed sheets attached to it hanging to the floor. The subject matter is obviously difficult and dark but also notably engaging. This will cause the viewer to want to look further and continue into the exhibit as they begin a journey through the mind and the heart. “Dwelling” is truly something worth seeing.
Viewers saw televisions on the wall, both big and small, a large accordion-shaped piece hanging across the ceiling and a few chairs posted in certain areas. There were also some articles of clothing hanging from the ceiling and a series of boxes on the floor clearly leading to something. Without giving away the mystery or the secret at hand, just know what there was something to be figured out by the viewer. The answer is neither specific nor broad. The scenery alluded to something but also left much of the process up to the viewer to piece together and decide for himself or herself.
All these pieces put together what seems to go on in a place of dwelling or the feeling of dwelling in the tranquility and emptiness that comes with a small-town home and family. This exhibit was quite scary. The titles of each piece seemed to make everything make sense. Each shot was a still life or picture in motion of a life within a home. The scariest part is that there was rarely a face or a voice – everything is done without a formal identity of the character. On the first walls at right we could see looped footage of people in their homes, whether in the shower or living rooms. Without saying anything that gives it away, it is quickly inferred that the topics at hand are dark and scary. We can already point out unwanted physical touching and uncomfortable situations. Seeing this helped piece together the bed sheet in the beginning. Here is the first of many elements that are connected to each other that makes it exciting for the viewer to place together in their mind.
The artwork on the walls that was showcased as part of a story were all incredible. The pieces in progress of this person’s life, like the homemade clothes, are all very well made and well placed. The video footage on the walls was cleverly made. In back, we could see dozens of film grain photos on the walls as snapshots of this person’s life. Each photo was taken with care and talent. This best captured the emotion and intention of the gallery and accented the collection well. A talented group of students set out to prove something when they put together “Dwelling” and what came through was very neat. Whatever hard work made this event happen deserves the best recognition possible, because the chill it sent through every person in the room is worth experiencing.
Other events are more of a spectacle for the learning and expanding mind, reflective of an artist’s work and how it can influence the audience at large. Every semester at Columbia College, the film department uses a theme as a guide to their discussion of controversial films. The fall semester’s theme followed along the words “I came, I saw, I conquered.” To fit with the middle, “I saw,” the Film Row Cinema hosted a deconstruction of Exit Through The Gift Shop, last year’s Oscar-nominated documentary about street art. As tradition goes, after each showing of the film, two critics debate about the film in formal debate style. One loves it and one hates it. It’s supposed to be a very thrilling argument.
To preface, Exit Through The Gift Shop is a really likeable film. It was obviously made to be easily understood and harmlessly positive. It follows the lives of several street artists from the beginning of the movement to the relative present. The art they make is often a political statement gracing busy streets in large cities. In cognito street artist-turned-cult-icon Banksy produced the film and stars in a great portion of the interviewing. It’s much simpler than most documentaries that spit out facts and propaganda at their viewers. This one just tells a story graced with some light humor.
Two people came to the front of the room once the 90-minute piece was over to discuss the film. What may have been a flub in programming led to a nerdy battle at the front of the room over each and every flaw of the flick. This is not what the audience had signed up for.
The poster told potential attendees: “One loves it, one hates it, and then they open themselves up to the feelings of the audience.” What the audience was given on October 10th was a painful nit-picky ripping-to-shreds of Exit Through The Gift Shop by a couple of hanky-panky movie snobs with flattering resumés. Neither loved this movie. This event, henceforth, advertised falsely.
The only obvious gray area surrounding the film is either how people digest the idea of street art (not usually considered “graffiti”; the two are separate) or possibly the relation of us as viewers buying into the controversy. The film’s inner message had something to do with the new exposure of the art and how it had transformed from a small underground message to a largely capitalized item. Here we were, watching the movie in a crowded cinema, with our high opinions, brought together by a large organization, taking apart a piece of art that basically calls us hypocrites. It’s a difficult scenario to fathom.
After a few minutes of back and forth blabber, the audience was asked to raise their hands to gauge reactions from the movie. About thirty percent was in favor of the movie. Had this been asked before the bickering, the result would’ve been more favorable. Nobody wanted to piss off the judges at the front of the room. The Banksy fans in the audience were left outnumbered and defenseless.
And so, while the two were trying to make sense of an audience full of people buying into an underground obsession that was starting to make millions, here they were. It was a cycle of hypocrisy. Though every person was lucky enough to see a decent movie for free, most had left before the end of the deconstruction. This author was among them.
With every failure is something to be learned from, so there was never a wasted moment that night in the Film Row Cinema. Even parts of “Art of Music” were boring and some things in “Dwelling” were difficult to decipher. But still there was something to be learned from each event. There was a collaborative effort. The most infamously disorganized people had to come together and connect in order for these gatherings to happen. But with practice and effort and proper execution, they all happened somehow. The beauty of it all is that in order for everyone to succeed, they needed each other, and they all know it will help play a part in furthering each of their careers in some way, so it’s even more beautiful to know that they each decided to work together instead of doing it on their own, and along the way, they built their crazy and inspirational surroundings around them.
If someone were to wish for a taste the essential Columbia College space, they should be sent to the building at 623 S Wabash. This place is home to the Art & Design community and also most essential liberal arts classes. Aside from more specific majors, this place is where much of the heart of Columbia takes place. Not only does it have a few large lecture and gathering spaces, but it contains many galleries and workspaces unique to the school.
Some would argue that to find the life of the school, it’s in the students and their choice of gathering. For this building, it’s important to consider the people outside before stepping in. Columbia has a large population of smokers, and they congregate outside this building before and after class, and especially during the designated break times. They can be seen from the street any day of the week and any time of day. These people, with their Chrome bags and skinny jeans, often carrying portfolio cases and a coffee mug, represent the life of the school. Sometimes they chat about their upcoming critique or complain about their heavy workload. Others sit alone and tend to keep to themselves.
This alone says so much about the school. People attend to further their careers and are enrolled for themselves. It’s definitely a collaborative effort, but most make it solely on their own. But once they’ve entered the inside, they can get the full experience when they see people working hands-on in the woodshop. The visitor isn’t given the full effect unless they visit every floor, including the ninth floor computer lab and see the exciting things people are working with on their computers. This building encapsulates the life and heart of Columbia.
If not the other location, one could see the more freelanced side of the institution, and what people do in their free time at the 916 S Wabash building. The fourth floor loft is a large room that has a lounge space with many couches and many rows of chairs set up in front of a screen. This is where the outside life happens. Posting here for an hour, one can see people in their respective habitats. One student is passed out on the loungy couch, backpack still on with a black hoodie over his head. He’ll be there for a while. A meeting is about to start and people are starting to gather at the other end of the room, probably an extra-curricular. Someone in a distant cubicle is playing music of an acoustic variety.
This is where a bit more of the culture comes alive at Columbia. Seeing people in their down-time is one of the more raw pieces of the sentiment of the school, some meeting to snack between classes or to arrange a special conversation. There is great significance in the love of art bringing people together not for any academic sake, but for friendship’s sake, which this school has succeeded in doing. Somewhere, the founder of the school must be proud.
Understandably, the people in the crowd at Dave Chappelle’s 2005 Block Party were having a great time. Even the small-town people and classical music fans Chappelle introduced to the audience were shown having a great time from the crowd. But how well can a live performance be reproduced in syndication, as it is in the self-titled documentary published later that year? Ninety percent of the time, live music exceeds anything pre-recorded. Although it was beyond imagination to see such hip-hop and rap feats take the stage, sometimes unexpectedly in collaboration, it’s true that the people there in Brooklyn were having a much better time than any viewer on their sofa was. The act was intended for a live audience, but it seems that the documentary was intended for a specific type. Those unfamiliar to the works of Common, Erykah Badu and Talib Kwali aren’t guaranteed a great time in their home cinemas. In fact, they could very well find themselves overwhelmed and bored by all the concert footage. There was certainly a lot of it.
If not that “who”, the documentary might have others asking, “What was this made for?” Dave Chappelle, in the height of his career, brought a bunch of R&B artists together in a sad Brooklyn neighborhood to perform for a few thousand people on a last-minute notice. It’s true that it was a pretty groundbreaking list of musicians at the time. Chappelle scored Kanye just as he was making it big (and before he became a classified douchebag), Erykah Badu, Talib Kweli, common, Jill Scott, surprise John Legend, among others. We also can’t forget about the highly unanticipated reunion of the Fugees, which included the virtually unreachable lead singer Lauryn Hill.
Yes, it was an incredible lineup of huge msuical acts, which delivered unforgettable music, but what was their purpose? Bonnaroo is an annual festival. LiveAid offers a charity donation with every concert ticket. Block Party was a one-time free show under Chappelle’s name, which offered no reprise. The show happened once and will never happen again. Viewers never even see a real purpose to the documentary at any point. Perhaps Chappelle was capitalizing on his fame under the façade of artistic collaboration.
Further, such a big production didn’t even offer much of the man himself. Dave Chappelle is shown gathering people together to come see his show, stopping in at his hometown barber shop and driving through the streets of Brooklyn with a megaphone out of his window announcing his show, and other promotional activities. But comparing this to comedic works of Chappelle’s in the past, this is far from his best. Maybe the jokes were toned down in order to focus on the music, but let’s be serious: if Dave Chappelle’s name is slapped onto the title of any production, it’s expected to be funny.
Very rarely is Block Party actually funny, and it’s noted right fom the beginning. Some playful credits in the film’s opening dance across the screen as Chappelle watches next to a couple of men trying to jump-start a car. There is comedy here, but it falls quite short of funny. It’s mostly awkward. From start to finish, won’t find themselves laughing, aside from the snide commentary here and there. The film’s comedic peak hits as Chappelle takes the stage to introduce another act as he plays with the band’s cues at the flick of his wrist. Later, it’s revealed in behind-the-scenes footage that this skit was rehearsed. And suddenly the funniest few minutes aren’t as funny anymore.
Throughout Block Party, there are no skits, no gimmicks and very little funny business. It’s mostly about the music and the making of the music. Unless you count the crew’s trip to a nearby Salvation Army store to fill their green room with used furniture for their backstage viewing, complete with Chapelle’s impromptu performance of an old blues song on an old piano. Or the company’s trip inside the neighborhood home of an old hippie couple. Well then, maybe it wasn’t all about the music. There was distraction and entertainment, but still, there was no message or thesis. American viewers have grown to expect either funny, shocking or heartwarming. This movie falls short of all three, and it’s somewhat disappointing.
At certain moments, we see a soft Chappelle in awe of his experience, shown humbly in the crowd spitting every lyric as fast as the performer, or telling the camera it’s “the best moment of his career.” This is understandable, too. He single-handedly pulled together a brilliant team of musical acts for a once-in-a-lifetime concert. It just seems his downfall happened when he signed people to his documentary team, because the motivation fell flat somewhere in the production of it all.
This clip features a special moment with Dave at the piano in the background.
Aside from this sort of emptiness, there is one divine moment that people might miss if they find themselves tuning out for even a minute. Seated at an angle on this donated piano bench following a hushed performance of “Round Midnight” by Thelonius Monk, Chappelle explains how he knows the song. Of the two tunes he can play on the piano, he says that he admires Thelonius because of his comedic talent in conjunction with his muscianship. “Every comic wants to be a musician. Every musician thinks they're funny,” he explains as he joins his fingers together for a visual. “It's a very strange relationship that we have.”
This gives way to a bit of wisdom that frames the documentary as a whole. Chapelle’s words draw a connection between his passion for comedy and his desire for togetherness that ultimately join together in making this documentary worthwile. There’s no denying that he does achieve success by bringing together people for a cultural epiphany. It’s just a shame that it doesn’t go further in becoming woven into the work of the film.
Ultimately Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is, unfortunately, somewhat short of original. Nearly every concert documentary shows the musican putting together the show, performing and being interviewed in the meantime. Though directed by the exceptional conceptual director Michael Gondry, the documentary still falls in line with most other musical documentaries. It doesn’t stretch to an audience at large, but rather feeds to the larger fans that were already there. Neither Gondry nor Chappelle make an avid effort in connecting this piece, which had the potential of creating change, but instead follows every template already set for a picture about a musical event. It’s a true shame, because every element was available but its execution was disconnected.
When I saw this advertisement for Dead Space 2 last spring, I was appalled. Though the ad doesn’t show a whole lot of gore or violence, it accomplishes a number of horrible things in its 30-second run. Most obviously, it glorifies violence. After it claims to be the most violent game of its generation, it tells us that it’s “everything we want in a game.” Kids watching this are told that what they desire in their entertainment is the most revolting and cruel scenarios. On top of that, we are shown images of our mothers gasping and crying in front of this video game, only to be told that it should only increase our interest in the game. Our mothers’ intentions are no longer even considered. The people who birthed us and raised us are made into some sort of joke as an amplifier for our toxic desires.
Thus, it was a struggle to get myself to play this game. I don’t support violence, am a cuddly non-videogaming homosexual and I never go against my mother’s intentions. This was a challenge for me. I knew my friend Jackson would have a copy of the game and he was kind enough to invite me over to try it out.
The game is a high-intensity walkthrough-type shooting game that offers a multiplayer option. Much of it involves walking, picking up things, a sort of adventure toward an ultimate goal. Already, I was surprised by its calmness. From the advertisement, I was expecting blood and guts everywhere. This came later, but it wasn’t overwhelmingly present. Jackson skipped ahead to a fight scene where we were supposed to battle a few aliens on a spaceship. This was really scary. The figures are horrific and the gore is unnecessarily damaging.
Your mom hates this. So do I.
Reviews of the game were highly positive. This baffles me. Apparently, the graphics were beyond exceptional and the storywork was one of a kind. The only criticism I could find was about the timing. Supposedly the zombies could pop out at better times that were less expected. I mean, I was still scared, so this isn’t an argument I would support. There should be no reason for such graphic images to be displayed to people to see. It isn’t reality and it isn’t acceptable. I was entertained, but only because it was like watching a car crash. No viewer could look away.
If the game weren’t rated M, I’d be really worried for our younger generation. At least there is an eighteen-year-old requirement for purchasing the game. The censorship is decent, but at any rate, a child could certainly become exposed to this if it were in the next room. A parent could buy this for their kid. This isn’t okay for an adult to view. I really hope people are really careful about wheir the game ends up. Nothing should be this scarring. Though it promises an adventure, Dead Space 2 offers one that isn’t worth experiencing.
Perhaps it's called Dead Space because it eventually
leads to dead space in your brain.
Every semester at Columbia College, the film department uses a theme as a guide to their discussion of controversial films. The Fall semester’s theme followed along the words “I came, I saw, I conquered.” To fit with the middle, “I saw,” the Film Row Cinema hosted a deconstruction of Exit Through The Gift Shop, last year’s Oscar-nominated documentary about street art. As tradition goes, after each showing of the film, two critics debate about the film in formal debate style. One loves it and one hates it. It’s supposed to be a very thrilling argument.
To preface, Exit Through The Gift Shop is a really likeable film. It was obviously made to be easily understood and harmlessly positive. It follows the lives of several street artists from the beginning of the movement to the relative present. The art they make is often a political statement gracing busy streets in large cities. In cognito street artist-turned-cult-icon Banksy produced the film and stars in a great portion of the interviewing. It’s much simpler than most documentaries that spit out facts and propaganda at their viewers. This one just tells a story graced with some light humor.
Two people came to the front of the room once the 90-minute piece was over to discuss the film. What may have been a flub in programming led to a nerdy battle at the front of the room over each and every flaw of the flick. This is not what the audience had signed up for.
The poster tells potential attendees: “One loves it, one hates it, and then they open themselves up to the feelings of the audience.” What the audence was given on October 10th was a painful nit-picky ripping-to-shreds of Exit Through The Gift Shop by a couple of hanky-panky movie snobs with flattering resumés. Neither loved this movie. This event, henceforth, advertised falsely.
The only obvious gray area surrounding the film is either how people digest the idea of street art (not usually considered “graffiti”; the two are separate) or possibly the relation of us as viewers buying into the controversy. The film’s inner message had something to do with the new exposure of the art and how it had transformed from a small underground message to a largely capitalized item. Here we were, watching the movie in a crowded cinema, with our high opinions, brought together by a large organization, taking apart a piece of art that basically calls us hypocrites. It’s a difficult scenario to fathom.
After a few minutes of back and forth blabber, the audience was asked to raise their hands to gauge reactions from the movie. About thirty percent was in favor of the movie. Had this been asked before the bickering, the result would’ve been more favorable. Nobody wanted to piss off the judges at the front of the room. The Banksy fans in the audience were left outnumbered and defenseless.
And so, while the two were trying to make sense of an audience full of people buying into an underground obsession that was starting to make millions, here they were. It was a cycle of hypocrisy. Though every person was lucky enough to see a decent movie for free, most had left before the end of the deconstruction. This author was among them.
I can recall a discussion-based literature class in my junior year of high school, where, after studying Thoreau, each student took turns sharing his or her own “Thoreau moment” they’d recently experienced. This was a moment where the person organically enjoyed life’s simplicities just as Thoreau did, where they took a walk on a calm Spring afternoon or chose to help their parents make dinner instead of watching TV. Each time someone shared their story, the teacher asked if we were listening to our iPods during this moment, and if they had been, they’d be ashamed to admit it. The teacher had an opinion that the moment isn’t fully witnessed if we were under the influence of alternate sound, apart from reality and truthfulness in the world.
Whenever this came up in class, I found myself silently angry. Every time I find myself in a special moment gazing around and enjoying the wonders of life, I can thank the music in my ears for enhancing it. The tunes inspire my thoughts, which can make the experience even greater. Why should this be condemned?
The art of music has been a tool for healing and comfort since it was introduced to me as a young person. It’s been in my head and in my heart every day and I can’t imagine what my life would be without it.
The greatest beauty I can take from the art at hand is how musicians can draw parallels between their experiences and mine in ways people around me might not be able to relate to. Their metaphors write stories while their their melodies paint pictures that ignite a different fire in every listener of theirs. This is something pure and romantic that seems so innocent to me. If there is an art to enhance the moment and to enhance the thinking process as well as the coping process, then why fight it?
What’s also incredible is that this type of expression is available to many people, and people don’t have to be the creators of it to be a part of it. Everyone has access to music to expand their minds and connect to another person’s emotion and attachment. You don’t need an iPod to enjoy it, too. Making it on your own is as simple as tapping on the edge of a table and singing a few lines. Every region has their own style, too, which has roots in its birth and brings another element to its culture.
To admire music in the way I do is to be a poet of sound, an imaginarian and a dreamer. My place in society is no higher than the rest, but the sanctity of mind is as pure as can be. I am freed by the powers of the soul in the form of art, and to be without it I would have been done an injustice. This misfortune is best stated in Berger’s Ways of Seeing when he says “when we are deprived from seeing it, we are deprived from the history that belongs to us.” There is a story that we should have the privelege to connect with, and for us to be able to express this in any form is the greatest gift.
