Saturday, January 10, 2009
Monday, April 28, 2008
Kansas City here I come!
This week's jazz film gave us yet another view of that crazy, wild, zany thing called jazz. Yes, the jazz world is a world full of scary people. Gangsters, even! A world where loose women abound, women who will do anything for their man. And, of course, jazz is a world of questionable morals. But we already knew that. And when we get to class we'll have a great chat about how it's really not that simplistic and all that jazz (oh, such a bad pun, and yet I had to do it).
What I think is particularly interesting about the film this week is the cultural context during the making of the film. By 1996 jazz is cannonized. Wynton Marsalis is a household name (okay, maybe not household, but he's pretty up there). And no one will complain about hearing "sin" music over the speakers at the local Star Bucks. Yet, Kansas City still falls into giving a stereotypical portrayal of jazz music.
Of course, it should be noted that Kansas City has its own particular share in the development of jazz. As it does its own peculiar history with political machines, corrupted government officials, etc. This is, after all, the city of Bonnie and Clyde and the Kansas City Massacre (both during the 1930s). It's particularly interesting to note that Kansas City's virtual lack of enforcement of prohibition has been linked to not only the rise in Kansas City Jazz, but also in the Kansas City Mob and organized crime. hmmm... Coincidence? Not according to this semester's jazz films.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say with this brief history lesson is that perhaps the portrayal of jazz and the crazy world that jazz surrounds in Kansas City is more telling of the city's own history with violence. Maybe jazz, in this case, is the victim--not the perpetrator.
What I think is particularly interesting about the film this week is the cultural context during the making of the film. By 1996 jazz is cannonized. Wynton Marsalis is a household name (okay, maybe not household, but he's pretty up there). And no one will complain about hearing "sin" music over the speakers at the local Star Bucks. Yet, Kansas City still falls into giving a stereotypical portrayal of jazz music.
Of course, it should be noted that Kansas City has its own particular share in the development of jazz. As it does its own peculiar history with political machines, corrupted government officials, etc. This is, after all, the city of Bonnie and Clyde and the Kansas City Massacre (both during the 1930s). It's particularly interesting to note that Kansas City's virtual lack of enforcement of prohibition has been linked to not only the rise in Kansas City Jazz, but also in the Kansas City Mob and organized crime. hmmm... Coincidence? Not according to this semester's jazz films.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say with this brief history lesson is that perhaps the portrayal of jazz and the crazy world that jazz surrounds in Kansas City is more telling of the city's own history with violence. Maybe jazz, in this case, is the victim--not the perpetrator.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Trumpet: The Musical Phallus
There is no question to what the trumpet represents in Spike Lee's "Mo' Better Blues." The opening credits' "sexy" portrayal of the trumpet set up the basis for the instrument's symbolism for the rest of the narrative. If the viewer didn't realize that the trumpet was indeed suppossed to be sexy in those opening scenes, then the first sex scene of the film tells it all. When Clarke comes to see Bleek during his practice hours, and they decide to have sex, the trumpet is the visible phallus of the scene--just look where it is being held.
Clarke is an interesting character in this film. She is a foil for Indigo, the "other" woman, the one you definitely don't want Bleek to end up with. I'm not sure how I feel about her encoutners with Bleek. Does she love him? Or is she merely there to get her foot in the jazz door? There is the fact that she is constantly coming to see Bleek during his practice hours. I can't help but think that this is Clarke's way of wanting Bleek to choose her over his music. I hope that is the case. If so, her character is much more complex. She is then no longer the girl that's only after the musician to get what she can from him.
Indigo is, of course, the woman who we are supossed to want Bleek to end up with. And, to our satisfaction, he does. Of course, the way Spike Lee resolves the film's events, Bleek's marriage to Indigo falls short of satisfaction. Does Bleek love Indigo? Or is he merely looking for a way to salvage some part of his failed life? The final scene in the movie, where Bleek's son, little Miles, is practicing his horn (an identical scene to the film's opening) certainly seems to support the idea that Miles is Bleek's real salvation. Is Indigo, then, only a means to an end?
It should be noted that there are some distinct differences in the opening and ending scenes. In the beginning, Bleek is not allowed to go out and play until he is done with his lesson. In the end, however, Bleek decides to let Miles go out and play. Of course, we're supossed to understand that Bleek is changing the cycle for Miles. Miles will, undoubtedly, grow up to live up to his namesake. So, maybe I'm just stating the obvious. Then again, I think Spike Lee was careful not to leave any loopholes. He knows exactly what he wants you to think about the film. And, for the most part, does a pretty good job of that.
I want to make a case for the use of color in this film. It seems to me that the use of color carries more significance than to merely appeal to visual aesthetics. Just think, for example, of Night Shyamalan's use of red in his movies. I bring this up because it seems to me that the times when the use of brivant colors really comes into play is when the action is focused at the night club, where all the real jazz happens. Think, for a moment, about the last scene we see in the night club, right before Bleek looses his lip. The action that takes place outside the nightclub, while Giant is getting beat up are completely blue. Meanwhile, the action inside, where Bleek's ultimate vituosity is being displayed is almost entirely in red. And those two colors are the most prevalent in the film. Either something is blue or something is red. I'm not sure what that means, but, as I sated before, I really don't think that it should be simply dismissed as pretty visuals.
Clarke is an interesting character in this film. She is a foil for Indigo, the "other" woman, the one you definitely don't want Bleek to end up with. I'm not sure how I feel about her encoutners with Bleek. Does she love him? Or is she merely there to get her foot in the jazz door? There is the fact that she is constantly coming to see Bleek during his practice hours. I can't help but think that this is Clarke's way of wanting Bleek to choose her over his music. I hope that is the case. If so, her character is much more complex. She is then no longer the girl that's only after the musician to get what she can from him.
Indigo is, of course, the woman who we are supossed to want Bleek to end up with. And, to our satisfaction, he does. Of course, the way Spike Lee resolves the film's events, Bleek's marriage to Indigo falls short of satisfaction. Does Bleek love Indigo? Or is he merely looking for a way to salvage some part of his failed life? The final scene in the movie, where Bleek's son, little Miles, is practicing his horn (an identical scene to the film's opening) certainly seems to support the idea that Miles is Bleek's real salvation. Is Indigo, then, only a means to an end?
It should be noted that there are some distinct differences in the opening and ending scenes. In the beginning, Bleek is not allowed to go out and play until he is done with his lesson. In the end, however, Bleek decides to let Miles go out and play. Of course, we're supossed to understand that Bleek is changing the cycle for Miles. Miles will, undoubtedly, grow up to live up to his namesake. So, maybe I'm just stating the obvious. Then again, I think Spike Lee was careful not to leave any loopholes. He knows exactly what he wants you to think about the film. And, for the most part, does a pretty good job of that.
I want to make a case for the use of color in this film. It seems to me that the use of color carries more significance than to merely appeal to visual aesthetics. Just think, for example, of Night Shyamalan's use of red in his movies. I bring this up because it seems to me that the times when the use of brivant colors really comes into play is when the action is focused at the night club, where all the real jazz happens. Think, for a moment, about the last scene we see in the night club, right before Bleek looses his lip. The action that takes place outside the nightclub, while Giant is getting beat up are completely blue. Meanwhile, the action inside, where Bleek's ultimate vituosity is being displayed is almost entirely in red. And those two colors are the most prevalent in the film. Either something is blue or something is red. I'm not sure what that means, but, as I sated before, I really don't think that it should be simply dismissed as pretty visuals.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Oops! They did it again...
Round Midnight presents some of the same issues we've had to face with other films we've watched in class. I'll start with the narrative. Although there were times when the movie was quiet entertaining, the over all narrative seemed very disjointed. It was often difficult to follow the action--especially as oftentimes it seemed that there really was no "action," but more a stringing-together of performances and "happenings" (?). The overall pace of the narrative only made it more difficult to follow. It was very slow, something that Dexter Gordon's perfomance heightened. Maybe it did not make it difficult to follow as much as it made it difficult to stay interested.
What I did find interesting was the use of the black and white "home movie" motif used intermittently throughout the film. Clearly, its goal was to provide the movie with a "documentary" feel, to lend the story more authenticity and ground it reality. I thought it managed that quite well.
The presence of the white male protagonist was also something that this week's film had in common with previous films we've watched. In Round Midnight, it is a white man that comes to the rescue. I thought it was interesting that our Frenchman, Francis, is able to acchieve what the black community cannot. It is only after Francis takes Dale to live with him that Dale is able to take control of his drinking, become financially responsible, and press on artistically. I also feel that Francis' interests in Dale are somewhat selfish. It seems like the reason it is so important that Dale succeed, is because without Dale's inspiring music, Francis cannot be successful--something clearly depicted in the movie.
The depiction of Dale Turner is altogether discomforting. This incredibly talented musician, who is able to create music that inspires art in others, is treated like a child--and depicted as such. Even in the previous films we've seen before where jazz artists are portrayed as needing "supervision," I feel that it is not as extreme as this film shows. Take Billie Holiday, for example. Even though "Lady Sings the Blues" clearly showed her as being dependent on her relationship with her husband, people didn't feel like they couldn't keep her out their sight. That is not the case with Dale Turner. In the film, Buttercup states it frankly, "you're like a child," she says, "can't let you out of my sight for a second." (or something to that effect).
On the up side, Herbie Hancock's score was beautiful. :)
All in all, I felt the point that the film was trying to get across was that bebop is an artform that should be appreciated and respected. Dale Turner's final monologue expresses the entire premise of the film.
What I did find interesting was the use of the black and white "home movie" motif used intermittently throughout the film. Clearly, its goal was to provide the movie with a "documentary" feel, to lend the story more authenticity and ground it reality. I thought it managed that quite well.
The presence of the white male protagonist was also something that this week's film had in common with previous films we've watched. In Round Midnight, it is a white man that comes to the rescue. I thought it was interesting that our Frenchman, Francis, is able to acchieve what the black community cannot. It is only after Francis takes Dale to live with him that Dale is able to take control of his drinking, become financially responsible, and press on artistically. I also feel that Francis' interests in Dale are somewhat selfish. It seems like the reason it is so important that Dale succeed, is because without Dale's inspiring music, Francis cannot be successful--something clearly depicted in the movie.
The depiction of Dale Turner is altogether discomforting. This incredibly talented musician, who is able to create music that inspires art in others, is treated like a child--and depicted as such. Even in the previous films we've seen before where jazz artists are portrayed as needing "supervision," I feel that it is not as extreme as this film shows. Take Billie Holiday, for example. Even though "Lady Sings the Blues" clearly showed her as being dependent on her relationship with her husband, people didn't feel like they couldn't keep her out their sight. That is not the case with Dale Turner. In the film, Buttercup states it frankly, "you're like a child," she says, "can't let you out of my sight for a second." (or something to that effect).
On the up side, Herbie Hancock's score was beautiful. :)
All in all, I felt the point that the film was trying to get across was that bebop is an artform that should be appreciated and respected. Dale Turner's final monologue expresses the entire premise of the film.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sun Ra & the Plan for Salvation of the Black Race
There is so much that can be said about this film. That said, please excuse the "stream of consciousness" nature of this blog.
I think the action and the music in this film reflect each other perfectly. There were no surprises in the score as there have been in previous films we've watched this semester. Free jazz, in this case, made the perfect soundtrack; it made sense. I mean, what else could depict sci-fi of the 50s and 60s meets the apocaliptic films of the 70s? The music's dissonance and lack of traditional metrical structure added intensity to the dramatic action. It kept the viewer very aware of the events of the film.
That said, the plotline of this particular film was often difficult to follow. For starters, it was difficult to make out exactly who the Black figure in the white suit was supposed to be. Was he a Satan figure? It certainly appears that way in the scenes when Sun Ra and this figure are in the desert (wilderness?). These particular scenes seem to allude to Christ's temptation in the wilderness. Sun Ra's portrayal as a Christ figure is a constant throughout the film.
There were many disturbing images in the film. The objectification of women is terrible. There doesn't seem to be any redemption in it. And boy is there a lot of nudity. Furthermore, there are many aspects of the film that are just plain laughable. The fact that Sun Ra is going to be "tortured" into giving out his secret on how to "convert harmonic progressions into energy" by forcing him to listen to Dixie is ridiculous. I'm assuming I wasn't supposed to take that seriously in any way.
However, there are some interesting points made in the film. For example, when Sun Ra appears at the youth center (?) and makes his speech about being a myth he makes very bold and valid statements. If he would have only followed that direction more.
Now, lets talk about the ending. Some very interesting things happen in the end. First, Sun Ra's "powers" come full circle. He "raptures" those who have "fallen" during the struggle up to his starship and also beckons them by way of "harmonic vibrations?". Just before that, there is a "resurrection" scene with a mummy (still not quite sure what exactly that's about). There is the scene where the dope user feels called to Sun Ra's starship. He tells Sun Ra that the reason he was using dope was because he "never felt like part of something." That certainly simplifies the situation, now doesn't it? Perhaps the most interesting part of the movie is how the African American news man is treated in the ending.
At the end of the film, the man approaches Sun Ra. He has decided to stay on earth, to take his chances despite Sun Ra's warning. As he begins to walk away Sun Ra stops him. Sun Ra tells him that he can't take his blackness with him, he'll take that with him on his starship. The next time the man is seen in the film he is no longer wearing his white gloves and white shoes, his way of speaking changes, and the way he interacts with others is completely different. When he comes to the "gentlemen's house" the other Black man calls him a boy in a derrogatory fashion. What is the man's reaction? "You colored people never learn, do you." Does this mean he is no longer a person of color? Not if Sun Ra took his blackness right? And if he is no longer Black, what is the film saying about what it means to be black or, as Sun Ra might put it, be "of the black spirit"?
So, who can be saved? This film seems to say that only Black people can be saved. And what exactly does it mean to be "saved" as far as Sun Ra is concerned? That I'm not sure about.
I think the action and the music in this film reflect each other perfectly. There were no surprises in the score as there have been in previous films we've watched this semester. Free jazz, in this case, made the perfect soundtrack; it made sense. I mean, what else could depict sci-fi of the 50s and 60s meets the apocaliptic films of the 70s? The music's dissonance and lack of traditional metrical structure added intensity to the dramatic action. It kept the viewer very aware of the events of the film.
That said, the plotline of this particular film was often difficult to follow. For starters, it was difficult to make out exactly who the Black figure in the white suit was supposed to be. Was he a Satan figure? It certainly appears that way in the scenes when Sun Ra and this figure are in the desert (wilderness?). These particular scenes seem to allude to Christ's temptation in the wilderness. Sun Ra's portrayal as a Christ figure is a constant throughout the film.
There were many disturbing images in the film. The objectification of women is terrible. There doesn't seem to be any redemption in it. And boy is there a lot of nudity. Furthermore, there are many aspects of the film that are just plain laughable. The fact that Sun Ra is going to be "tortured" into giving out his secret on how to "convert harmonic progressions into energy" by forcing him to listen to Dixie is ridiculous. I'm assuming I wasn't supposed to take that seriously in any way.
However, there are some interesting points made in the film. For example, when Sun Ra appears at the youth center (?) and makes his speech about being a myth he makes very bold and valid statements. If he would have only followed that direction more.
Now, lets talk about the ending. Some very interesting things happen in the end. First, Sun Ra's "powers" come full circle. He "raptures" those who have "fallen" during the struggle up to his starship and also beckons them by way of "harmonic vibrations?". Just before that, there is a "resurrection" scene with a mummy (still not quite sure what exactly that's about). There is the scene where the dope user feels called to Sun Ra's starship. He tells Sun Ra that the reason he was using dope was because he "never felt like part of something." That certainly simplifies the situation, now doesn't it? Perhaps the most interesting part of the movie is how the African American news man is treated in the ending.
At the end of the film, the man approaches Sun Ra. He has decided to stay on earth, to take his chances despite Sun Ra's warning. As he begins to walk away Sun Ra stops him. Sun Ra tells him that he can't take his blackness with him, he'll take that with him on his starship. The next time the man is seen in the film he is no longer wearing his white gloves and white shoes, his way of speaking changes, and the way he interacts with others is completely different. When he comes to the "gentlemen's house" the other Black man calls him a boy in a derrogatory fashion. What is the man's reaction? "You colored people never learn, do you." Does this mean he is no longer a person of color? Not if Sun Ra took his blackness right? And if he is no longer Black, what is the film saying about what it means to be black or, as Sun Ra might put it, be "of the black spirit"?
So, who can be saved? This film seems to say that only Black people can be saved. And what exactly does it mean to be "saved" as far as Sun Ra is concerned? That I'm not sure about.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Lady Sings the Blues and Non-Playing So-Called Critics
I won't lie, it would be nice to see/read about a jazz musician's life that was happy (I know that's not the point, Mike, but just thought I'd share).
It is clear that "The Story" is still at play in this week's jazz biopic. The film was another representation of how the life of a highly talented, black, jazz musician was torn apart by poverty, sexual abuse, and drug addiction. Although the autobiography portrays a Holiday that is a functional addict (I'm sure Hollywood didn't think that kind of story would sell as well), one can't help but notice that the same themes (poverty, sexual abuse, drug addiction) are major factors in the book. This case is also supported by this week's article, "Jazz Autobiography." The article made it perfectly clear that the life of a black jazz musician is a hard one--any discrepancies to pure fact aside.
The article's opening section, which quoted Mile's experience with jazz history at Juilliard from his autobiography resonated most with me. Clearly, the professor's explanation of why black people played the blues was horrifically erroneous and demonstrated the generation's ignorance on the subject. Yet when I think of the "history" that jazz autobiographies tell me I should believe, I can't help but think, "there's more to it than that!" Right? Maybe? Of course, I'm not entirely comfortable making such a statement (after all, I certainly wouldn't want to be considered a non-playing so-called critic).
I would appreciate, however, some clarification on the following concerns: Are we now equating the jazz musician's life with jazz music? Are we saying that one is the direct effect of the other (which I might understad), are we saying that one influences the other (which I feel is obvious), or are we saying that the two--life of a jazz musician/jazz music--are interchangeable (which I'm not so comfortable with). Maybe my confusion is due in part to my absence from class last week when we discussed the other biographical films.
I'm quite excited to hear what everyone has to say on the subject.
It is clear that "The Story" is still at play in this week's jazz biopic. The film was another representation of how the life of a highly talented, black, jazz musician was torn apart by poverty, sexual abuse, and drug addiction. Although the autobiography portrays a Holiday that is a functional addict (I'm sure Hollywood didn't think that kind of story would sell as well), one can't help but notice that the same themes (poverty, sexual abuse, drug addiction) are major factors in the book. This case is also supported by this week's article, "Jazz Autobiography." The article made it perfectly clear that the life of a black jazz musician is a hard one--any discrepancies to pure fact aside.
The article's opening section, which quoted Mile's experience with jazz history at Juilliard from his autobiography resonated most with me. Clearly, the professor's explanation of why black people played the blues was horrifically erroneous and demonstrated the generation's ignorance on the subject. Yet when I think of the "history" that jazz autobiographies tell me I should believe, I can't help but think, "there's more to it than that!" Right? Maybe? Of course, I'm not entirely comfortable making such a statement (after all, I certainly wouldn't want to be considered a non-playing so-called critic).
I would appreciate, however, some clarification on the following concerns: Are we now equating the jazz musician's life with jazz music? Are we saying that one is the direct effect of the other (which I might understad), are we saying that one influences the other (which I feel is obvious), or are we saying that the two--life of a jazz musician/jazz music--are interchangeable (which I'm not so comfortable with). Maybe my confusion is due in part to my absence from class last week when we discussed the other biographical films.
I'm quite excited to hear what everyone has to say on the subject.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Story: A Fine Romance
Reading Gabbard's chapter, "Black and Tan Fantasies," really helped stabalize my previous reaction to this week's films within a greater context. I especially appreciated his section on "The Story." When I first watched the films, particularly Sweet Love Bitter, which I watched long before I did the reading, the plot seemed so generic, so predetermined--like going to watch some chick-flick and knowing exactly what you're going to get before the film begins. But I expected more from this film, especially given that it was based on the life of a real jazz musician. I wanted the film to show the complications that make up real life. Maybe I came into the film with too high an expectation because, when those expectations weren't met, I walked away feeling like an opportunity had been missed, like something could have been done or said--about jazz--that wasn't.
Gabbard's chapter, however, really brought it all into perspective. It makes sense now that the plot would seem generic. When all is said and done, it is.
...a musician of genius, [insert any black musician here], frustrated by the discrepancy between what he can achieve and the crummy life musicians lead (because of racial discrimination ,or the demand that the music be made commerical, or because he has a potential he can't reach), goes mad, or destroys himself with alcohol and drugs...
This is exactly what I thought when I finished watching the film. I remember talking to a fellow classmate and saying something to the effect of, "Sweet Smell of Success? Yeah, basically poverty + drugs + prostitution = JAZZ."
Although it still seems incredible to me that this kind of film, the jazz biopic, can be so formulaic, I can at least appreciate--(okay, maybe appreciate is too gracious a word)--understand Sweet Love Bitter for what it is: an insight into popular, American culture.
Gabbard's chapter, however, really brought it all into perspective. It makes sense now that the plot would seem generic. When all is said and done, it is.
...a musician of genius, [insert any black musician here], frustrated by the discrepancy between what he can achieve and the crummy life musicians lead (because of racial discrimination ,or the demand that the music be made commerical, or because he has a potential he can't reach), goes mad, or destroys himself with alcohol and drugs...
This is exactly what I thought when I finished watching the film. I remember talking to a fellow classmate and saying something to the effect of, "Sweet Smell of Success? Yeah, basically poverty + drugs + prostitution = JAZZ."
Although it still seems incredible to me that this kind of film, the jazz biopic, can be so formulaic, I can at least appreciate--(okay, maybe appreciate is too gracious a word)--understand Sweet Love Bitter for what it is: an insight into popular, American culture.
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