In between heaping handfuls of artificial-butter flavored popcorn film critics will argue the merits of cinema until their faces turn blue and their arteries clog with smegma. Despite the insulting utterances of these arrogant fiends who’ve no business orating anywhere other than from the depths of the dumpsters where they belong there comes from the horde rare observations which blind by virtue of their sheer brilliance. The particulars escape me, possibly severed from my retrievable memory by my own mind, but I once witnessed one such studio crony escape the tired opinions of his rank and question: do films from bygone eras appeal to modern audiences because of their inherent achievements or because of a collective nostalgia?

When I was growing up my summers were often spent falling asleep on the couch watching TV20 before the rape and pillage perpetrated by the WB. Original Star Trek episodes aired at midnight and, if you could stand the excitement, The Untouchables (starring Robert Stack as Elliot Ness, narrated by Walter Winchell) followed. More than anything (certainly not syndicated episodes of Perry Mason which my sister loved to watch) I think that this constant exposure to hard-nosed G-men tommy-gunning rum-runners for God and country eventually relinquished my dependence on color when watching movies. The show, which originally aired from 1959-1963, was shot on film, expertly lit and well crafted. The dialogue and acting was, admittedly, less refined but that’s hardly important when you’re eleven and get really excited when people are riding running boards through the streets of Chicago shooting up speakeasies.

As I’ve never really gotten over the cheap entertainment of pulp I still find a fair share of detective stories and back-lot productions to kill my life an hour at a time. The deeper you dig the worse you find but my tolerance for crap of this kind is far greater than that which is churned out these days. Bad acting, insulting plots, dialogue a deaf-mute could’ve written and cheap sets are just part and parcel of the experience. You forgive the movies because they come from another time and another place and your irritations are washed away by stylish old cars and trench-coats, smokey diners, cheezy swing-bands, wise-cracking cabbies and roustabouts working the pier. And the dames? Ah, the dames!

It could have just been an honest geek-fixation but I started to get pretentious and watching movies with subtitles. At first I just assumed this interest came as a result of my obvious superiority in matters of taste and intelligence but after hearing some snobby poppycock on the television about nostalgia as a spice I started scrutinizing these nickel and rupee three reel deals a little more, trying to look through the exotic for the inexcusable faults which anchor our major productions to the bottom of the bowel. There’s been some success: recently a Russian movie which made the rounds and earned rounds of applause on the indie/arthouse circuit earned nothing but my displeasure because of obvious pandering, shallowness and exploitation. I don’t want a Russian movie made for an American audience, I want Russian movies about fucking Russia for Russian audiences. I want quality, taste, intelligence, emotional resonance! Maybe if I read the back of the boxes before I borrowed these things I could spare myself some wasted evenings but that’s a no-no unless it’s a documentary…

The Turkish film “Journey to the Sun” isn’t great by any measure. The acting comes courtesy of, reportedly, amateurs culled from the streets and there’s little doubt in my mind that this is true. Overall the story is serviceable but elements can cause involuntary cringing (particularly the cheap, pre-fab romantic sub-plot) and not the empathetic embarrassment you get from “Rushmore” but the revulsion of seeing old 1940’s melodramas still seeping into film. Loose ends are tied together a little too cleanly with convenient twists cropping up at just the right time, reaching across the table for the salt and maybe that gravy’s gonna slop and stain the linens. There’s little room for directorial detatchment but even allowing political content there’s ways to make a movie without having your thumb in the frame. It’s not a great movie at all but I would sit and watch it again this very evening.

There’s a little window in my living room, a window into the world. It’s the streets of Istanbul and not the streets they have in tourist pamphlets or posters in travel agencies. It’s peeking in on people struggling to survive, struggling for identity and struggling to be. Through it you see the news, you see history, you see things that make you feel richer for having witnessed and you feel ashamed for not throwing open the sash and screaming. Not to reveal too much but this is a movie about two people who’ve moved from their impoverished provincial towns to the big city, one from the east and one from the west. One knows the score and one’s about to learn the hard-way that life isn’t just unfair but it calculatingly fucked. One’s a Kurd and one’s a Turk but the difference suddenly becomes negligible.

The film’s writer/director, Yesim Ustaoglu become a filmmaker while working as an architect. With some short-films for which she won some awards under her belt she eventually dedicated herself to a feature film, 1994’s The Trace. Turkey became more volatile as Kurdish separatists and government troops became increasingly engaged in what would amount to war and Ustaoglu, being from eastern-Anatolia, decided to focus her lens closer to home. In interviews after the film’s screening in various festivals Ustaoglu talks about how she became increasingly depressed and despondent about the second-class status of Kurds and wanted to understand more about how things had come to be the way they are today. From her research and reading came the script and eventually the movie. Her reasoning is my favorite thing about this movie, but also a reminder that I don’t know shit about shit… (more…)

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Here in the west coast, the youngest outpost of civilization the world knows, there is no collision of the past and the future. It is undeniably a modern place where the culture, the technology and the culture operate in a particular harmony of now. You would have to travel east to find any example of the gulf of time, to Boston where Paul Revere lies at the Granary Burial Ground down the street from a Radio Shack improbably manhandled into the basement of a three hundred year old brick building. Philadelphia is home to Elfreth’s Alley, the longest continuously inhabited street in America. You can walk down the cobbled street lined with narrow homes before turning the corner onto a busy street lined by boutique galleries. Travel farther east and you find the most severe dissonance of all, Japan, where the most advanced vending machine ever developed will sell hot coffee and cold soda to people living in houses that have stood since the middle ages.

But that’s just part of why Japan is a curiosity for the world. Somehow the ancient and the modern blend into a mysterious whole of wafer-thin cell phones and shinto shrines. Just as in San Francisco where internet use in coffee shops in as ubiquitous now as seeing two old men silently wage war across a chess-board once was ten years ago. Cafes have long been a place for the cutting edge, from the social rejects who became Bohemians to the folkies and art-fags who exhibited their talents and personalities in the corners and on the walls. Somehow it’s less an surprise to see two people sharing a table yet completely absorbed in the separate world of their laptops then seeing a cluster of people debate the merits of cubism or a person quietly reading a book of poems over a cappuccino. If advertisements are hip to the trend laptops are flooding the world, leveling the playing field for people everywhere, but it’s still hard to imagine the saffron-robed Dali Lama checking e-mail.

Odd as it may seem recent efforts by a disparate cluster of people have made the internet a reality for an ancient people normally considered to shun the modern era and the trappings that come along with it. Since the Chinese absorbed Tibet in 1950 a large immigrant population has found homes in the northern mountains of India. Many found placement in Dharamsala where a population of over 100,000 Tibetan exiles now live and who have been working to rebuild their shattered community since the Dali Lama arrived at the end of the 50’s. It’s a small city in the harsh frontier where running water and electricity can’t be relied on so much as hoped for on any given day. Yet somehow it is here that a major technological coup has taken place.

Israeli ex-patriot Yahel Ben-David came to visit a friend who was on a spiritual quest and found himself leaving behind his high-paying position with a Silicon Valley linux firm to begin life anew among the refugee population. Finding the plight of the Tibetan people unconscionable Ben-David began to formulate a method of providing some service to help them advance beyond subsistence. He knew networking so he scoured the city for old computers, fax machines, modems, phones– anything linux oriented that he could take apart to rebuild. Over time he began to have prototypes which he would have to take back to Israel in order to test; India originally forbid open wireless networks. He introduced his ideas to others, he accepted donations of old parts from abroad, he waited.

And when India finally opened a limited amount of bandwidth for WiFi he was ready, manually placing his first antennae that same day. They sprung up in trees, off balconies, from the spires of buildings and the roofs of temples. Adjustments, repairs, re-placement, checks, tests– day by day searching for the signal and trying to keep the monkeys from fucking everything up. Then there was the wireless mesh. From his efforts there is now a grid of over thirty satellite relays spreading a blanket of connection over Dharamsala, reserved exclusively for the Tibetan people. Temples and schools host the server computers and the antennae and a small fee for maintenance, everything operated from the Tibetan Technology Center, housed by the venerable and long-standing charity the Tibetan Children’s Village. Now the kids, some of whom are third generation exiles, can learn network administration and web design along with their culture, traditions and history.

It’s not perfect– they had to block porn sites almost immediately because the network couldn’t support the interest and Tibetan script isn’t something that keyboards recognize just yet– but the Wireless Mesh Project has effectively provided internet access to over two thousand computers in Dharamsala alone by recycling technology and sharing knowledge. The relays operate on solar panels making them more reliable then any of the utilities provided by the local government. When one tower drops there are others all around keeping the signal strong. Something has been created in a rural Indian mountain town that hasn’t been effectively achieved in the heart of Silicon Valley by industry leaders. There’s been efforts to improve upon the technology- a telephony expert has travelled from Australia to work on incorporating VoIP connecting settlements spread out along the Indian/Tibetan border- and it has spread to other refugee communities. The Dharamsala mesh has been joined by three others all built and maintained by a team of Tibetan and foreign geeks. The exiles hope this window to the outside world can help them grow economically (there’s unfortunately talk of developing call-centers like in other Indian cities as well as online cultural curiosities for sale ala’ arrowhead necklaces and turquoise statues off the res) while strengthening their connection to their history and displaced communities. As the Chinese have repeatedly made attempts to destroy anything historically Tibetan in the occupied land ancient texts have been smuggled out where they’re being preserved digitally and passed from computer to computer. There’s hope that becoming a presence online can help bring the plight of the Tibetans back into the public-eye and exert pressure politically without having to deal with any Beastie Boys. The hard work seemed to pay off with Boingboing writer and globe-trotting internet personality Xeni Jardin introducing the world of NPR to the world of Tibet online.

Not everyone is pleased. Soon after an article was published about the wireless mesh project a DDoS attack temporarily disabled the network; although the evidence wouldn’t stand up in court (or courts without executions taking place on the roof) it does suggest the attack originated in China. So after struggling with bitter cold, savage mountain winds, poverty, out-dated technology and primates Ben-David and his band squared off with monkeys of another breed. Fortunately friends have been made around the world, the global computing community seems pretty on board.

If we were still living in a world where Tibet was like the opening of “The Golden Child” you would have trouble believing someone named Oxblood Ruffin installed encryption software for the Dali Lama but we’ve left that and debates about Cubism behind. Hackers and phreaks have found common cause and it seems the roots of Hacktivism can be traced to the implementation of The Great Firewall of China. In addition to helping set-up and secure the Tibetan grid there have been concerted efforts to tackle the Chinese directly. Applications such as Torpark, which randomizes the IP address visible to a network administrator while encrypting the user end of the signal, and methods of encryption such as steganography which hides sensitive data within, eh, insensitive data are now out there helping people achieve something very basic– an unrestricted access to information. In the states this is some big-money shit, this is an entire industry that works with budgets that use the world billions. In Tibet it took a sense of what was right, some left-of-center thinking and a way of keeping the damn monkeys from fucking shit up.

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Many of you will have seen one or both of these two clips. Still, the quality of design here demands another golf clap.

The first makes a graphic reality of middle-school teachers’ dreams. It is the cartographer’s logic summarizing Middle Eastern geopolitics.

This second is a similar paired down mother-google-earth, time lapse map of US conflict. Or rather, an atlas. The US interests are astonishingly global.

It is worth more as an education on forgotten violence, than as a tacky face-off between political parties for fewest war fatalities.

Other inclusions about Secret CIA Prisons, the Retaking of Fallujah and Intelligence footage are jolt to the preferred mood. The viewer, me, was accustomed to the tone of the aforementioned, mildly apolitical forays into mappage.

Check out the rest of the site. I can’t work out whether it is the creation of socially motivated researchers or entrapment by a government agency, but I like it…

Another impeccably designed map. Satisfyingly simple, like a venn diagram.

There’s also a belter about religions’ roles in all the comedy we call humanness.

Good Night and God Design.

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If there’s one thing our readers come to Hesitating for, it’s our razor sharp insight into global events and global fashion. Here’s Hesitating’s vision of 2007, or as we like to call it, DoubleBond (Casino Royale anyone?):

Keith on Iraq:

Ideally, we’d see a large, temporary troop surge all over Iraq, and a change in strategy to rebuilding infrastructure without the inflated bidding wars. I’m not sure of the pitfalls in giving local workers the money to rebuild their own cities, but this seems like a good idea. If the US military can change their position there from a dubious security force to providers of necessities, then this could ease diplomacy and provide a foundation for a complete withdrawal. What will actually happen? More foot dragging, a half-hearted and ineffectual troop surge without a significant shift in strategy, a precipitous withdrawal, or a strange cocktail of all three. There is no such thing as a good idea about Iraq, so let me have it for this one.

Keith on Somalia:

I only became aware of the continent of Africa a few days ago, but it would be disingenuous of me to refrain from commenting on something I know nothing about since this is, in fact, a blog. 2007 could be a turn around year for Somalia. The past week has seen a push of Ethiopian forces into Mogadishu, overthrowing a nascent Islamic force there. Ethiopia claims that this force posed a regional threat, but from what I can tell it had barely even taken control of Mogadishu before the surge. The US seems to be behind the curtain, supporting Ethiopia to crush an Islamic uprising. Meanwhile floods are killing and starving people in the rural parts of the country. A former veterinarian turned transitional Prime Minister, Ali Mohammed Gedi, has demanded that the locals turn in their guns. The methods by which power was taken were shady - and bloody, but it seems like there’s a shred of hope for the first time in years.

Mark on fashion:

2007 will see the rise and fall of the cummerbund. An immediate surge in sales of the antiquated waist-wear will follow 2007’s release of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which will feature them on such actors as Gary Oldman, Allan Rickman, Ralph Feinnes, and newcomer, playing yet another incarnation of Professor Dumbledor following Michael Gambon’s death in early february 2007, John Goodman. The trend will be incorporated into cummerbunds for day, night, work, and golf. Sadly, by November 2007, cummerbunds will again loose their practicality and the headline in Elle will be: ‘Come-On’erbunds: Why Catch Crumbs This Winter When You Could Catch the Whole Loaf! Aprons will be offered as an alternative. They still hide the bottom of the tummy as it is allowed to sag over one’s pants, but with the added bonus of pockets. Then is pockets, pockets, pockets till 2008.

Happy New Year everybody!

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Not to ear-hustle but the sudden introduction of a phone conversation proved too intrusive to allow my attention’s dedication to breakfast and the news… My future former roommate is sharing the latest gossip with her mother concerning one of the girls she will be living with and her current roommates… Got that?

As I understood events, these two unnamed people decided to spend an afternoon in a suitable roommate bonding excursion: shooting guns at the range… The girl excuses herself to get a soda, returns, then wordlessly pumps a round into her skull…

A couple of days later my selection for the stereo is “No New York” which elicits the interest of a co-worker who begins thumbing through the booklet… He asks me about Adele Bertai which isn’t much of a surprise– a picture of her in an old “Search and Destroy” is what got me to check out The Contortions, and subsequently the no-wave scene, in the first place… Unfortunately pictures are almost the extant of my knowledge, tho she did has something of a solo career singing in the 80’s which seems to have culminated in a regretable album smeared with Prince’s fingerprints… Oh yeah…

She lived with Peter Laughner back in Cleveland– but this requires explanation… The original guitarist of Rocket From the Tombs and Pere Ubu… She’s the one that found him… How’d he die? Pills…

My co-worker wants to know what’s up with all these quiet little suicides, all these people killing themselves alone… Immediately I think of the overheard conversation, of monks setting themselves on fire, but I let him continue unabated… I’m not talking about fuckin’ Hale-Bopp shit– why doesn’t anyone ride the nuclear bomb into congress?

Now that’s a pretty good question… Obviously most suicides occur when people are alone because miserable solitude is a contributing factor to their demise… People in the bathtub digging the razor in don’t often find a friend sitting on the toilet saying, ‘fer Chrissake, let’s not get all dramatic here… Put that thing down and we’ll talk about it.” The acts tends to be the result of opportunity and circumstances holding hands and catching impulse between them in a game of red rover… Everyone has their low points of existence and everyone has had the means to remove themselves from themselves but not everyone who walks along the edge of a roof or picks up a gun or who drives along the low rails along a cliff feels that spark, that invisible push, that whatever it takes to propel them towards oblivion… Just standing there thinking about how easy it would be doesn’t mean you actually do it…

So, in fact, the act of public suicide would require a combination of misery and disgust most people have never experienced or, as has lately become all the rage, an unbelieveable dedication to some diety or self-annointed voice of said diety… Bribery, however, is a little pathetic to me– taking the fast track to eternal paradise as a martyr sounds like a different barrel of monkeys than a Buddist monk dousing themselves with gasoline to protest a war… People have a history of self-sacrifice when drawing attention to an unjust matter but traditionally this entails imprisonment or, in less wishy-washy countries, having your teeth extracted with pliers and having your testicles electrocuted… Regardless of the severity of punishment most people choose to take it from some representative of power, not from their own hand… Actually most people just shake their heads when they read the newspaper and, when they can stand the excitement, they’ll let out a quiet, “oh that’s terrible”…

Then there are my people who turned self-sacrifice into a weapon by flying their jets into battleships not because it was the only way to secure victory and save the day but because it was the only way that an attack could even take place… Here is the core of the tactical suicide, found in the fervor of a culture which has a ritualistic suicide wherein you slit your stomach open to spill your entrails and quickly flip the sword around to thrust up into your skull to save face, right your wrongs, and die with respect and pride… These people kill themselves for honor…

Mostly the Japanese have calmed down a bit and are more known on the international death circuit for working themselves to death in office buildings… Shame can be dismissed by cutting a finger off to present to your yakyza boss if you fucked up and it’s done… Caves full of people who’d committ mass suicide rather that surrender are now a rare occurance…

Then you have the internationally esteemed author Yukio Mishima who, after a lengthy and respected career, led an invasion into the Defense Minister’s office, took it over and held it as the police and military surrounded the building, then walked out onto a balcony to address the crowd… He issued a statement decrying Japan’s loss of purity, its attraction to modernized and western ways and it’s loss of self, then committed seppuku… Some less forgiving critics make references to Mishima’s supressed homosexuality but still, here’s someone who’s absolutely disgusted with life and society and tried to do something about it…

Interestingly Mishima touches on the topic in one of the books which make up his final testament, “The Sea of Fertility”… A promising young man, well educated and proficient in social, athletic, military and academic life, leads a pack of students and a group of sympathetic soldiers on a small-scale coup de’tat… They wish to remove the taint of western values and capitalism and return Japan to it’s roots of Emperor worship and fuedalism… Sabotage and assassination is a pretty risky endeavour and all participants acknowledge they will die by doing this…

When you’ve given up on livfe you really have nothing to lose… May as well use your death well, accomplish in it what you could never hope to achieve without it…

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