I’ve just finished recording the audiobook of the title, “Become the Expert the Wealthy Want” by Russ Alan Prince and John J. Bowen, Jr., for CEG Worldwide and Deyan Audio. I’ll share the link once it’s in distribution.
This book could very well become the standard, if it isn’t already, for wealth managers who want to develop new business through thought leadership.
The salient difference between comedy and what calls itself comedy nowadays (but is usually just irony) is this: comedy is loving. Today’s “comedy,” to the contrary, denigrates its object, ridicules it, encourages us to call it inferior.
The greatest practitioners of the former in the 20th c. are Laurel and Hardy; of the latter, George Carlin. We laugh at Laurel and Hardy — yes, they are dumb — but we love them nonetheless. Carlin hates the subjects of his monologues and encourages us to as well: the obese gluttons walking through the mall, etc. They are beneath him.
The temptation is that his masterful delivery persuades us to go along with him, as once I did. Then I realized what he was doing. No, thanks, not going to go there anymore. I’m sticking with Laurel & Hardy.
Micheál Mac Liammóir, one of the great stage actors of the 20th century, entirely unknown in this country (the U.S.). Here in his stage play, The Importance of Being Oscar, filmed in 1964.
From lights up to final curtain, as close as one can ever get to meeting Wilde himself, that is my impression. Even were that not so, I am convinced that it might be, such is this actor’s persuasive ability.
So skilled, so subtle in every facet of his enactment of character, with a pure, resonant voice of great beauty, expressing the intelligence and wit that few even in the Victorian age could match, and details of the character created in the movement of the body, down to the graceful moments of the actor’s fingers.
No special effects, no music, no action, sparse props, because none is needed. There is so much worthwhile in this film that any performer might learn a good deal from even 5 minutes with it.
One has to remember that you can and should reject a work of intentional ugliness, misery and profanity offered by someone claiming to be an artist. That is the furthest thing from Art there is, like the North Pole from the South.
Rather, look for revelation of discovered Beauty and Truth. They await your discovery just, in fact, beyond the shadows and dirt of the everyday. But you have to posit that they are there to be discovered and then search diligently despite appearances. When discovered, WOW!
I’m reading about what appears to be a minor trend in the UK, called “verbatim theatre.”
By giving actors only the actual words of real people, verbatim theatre is the closest that theatre can get to objective truth – no dramatic licence required.”
This utter flatulence comes from the same mindset that employs the term” narrative” — the nihilist. “Authenticity guaranteed” is like saying Taco Bell is real Mexican food. Rather than having to craft a plot, create character, write engaging imaginative scripts that demonstrate the development of ideas from premise to conclusion, the “playwright” here becomes a curator of found phrases. How easy! Anyone can do it! These people are so far off the mark, it’s not funny. It is more deconstruction — which is the destruction of that which makes writing worthwhile and turns it into the mere shaping of that which is not worthwhile.
“Theatre will never entirely rid itself of ‘opinion’ or ‘agenda’. And why would it want to?”
“Relevance” — a concept which has no place in the arts, least of all to Theater — makes a political soapbox of the stage. Just like Clifford Odets. the Communist for whom the stage was a platform for his invidious ideals. Read some of his scripts and see just how perverse his writing was.
“…in the majority of cases it’s the playwright’s truth that is being reflected: truth filtered through their imagination, metaphor and craft.”
The fundamental misunderstanding of the post-modernists is precisely this: that there is no Truth. “Co-equal narratives” and “authenticity” are the lies that these misguided pseudologists employ to replace the Truth and Beauty they, unlike the great artists of the Western tradition, have never been able to discover. Their starting point, to the contrary, is: emptiness and meaninglessness of everything outside of themselves. But man is small — if we rest on man, we rest on virtually nothing. This is their catastrophe: the postulate that leads them nowhere.
There are far higher ideals in the Theater than the mere regurgitation of one’s mundane personal experience. Verbatim indeed.
A clip from Marius (1931, dir. Alexander Korda), which, even if you don’t understand French, demonstrates the inestimable portrayal of character that radiates from the core ideas of the character’s (fictional) consciousness, not from external, laid-upon quirks. The language is almost like window dressing — one knows immediately the context and the meaning from the ideas expressed through the body.
In this clip, we see Marius (Pierre DeFresnay) tending bar, jealous. Fanny (Orane DeMazis), devoted since childhood, to the love of Marius. but seeing he is obsessed with the romance of going to sea, toys innocently with Panisse (Charpin), a widower, who wishes to marry her.
Whoever definitively averred that one can’t act ideas had no idea what he was talking about. What is acting, but the portrayal of ideas in human form?
For the post-modernist, there is no Truth. This, in fact, constitutes their One Great Truth, from which all their ideals, such as they are, derive.
Without the Objective in mind, anything goes. And we see proof of the failure of post-modernism in its products: music that isn’t musical, literature that isn’t literate, art that isn’t aesthetic, theater that isn’t theatrical.
Wherever it worms its way into the consciousness, it wreaks its havoc by means of its myriad resentments and destructive intent.
But look instead to the aesthetic products of the Enlightenment and we are witness to the extraordinary aesthetic soul-nourishing discoveries that remain with us centuries later.
Rid of the post-modern, everything in the arts improves. We’ve all got a lot to look forward to!
“It is not merely that artists, directors, musicians and others connected with the arts are in flight from beauty. There is a desire to spoil beauty, in acts of aesthetic iconoclasm. Wherever beauty lies in wait for us, the desire to pre-empt its appeal can intervene, ensuring that its still small voice will not be heard behind the scenes of desecration. For beauty makes a claim on us: it is a call to renounce our narcissism and look with reverence on the world.” — from Roger Scruton’s, “Beauty: A Very Short Introduction”
Watching Raimu and Charvin in Korda’s, Marius (1931), the first film in the “Marseille Trilogy.” Especially the ultimate love scene, where Fanny encourages Marius to leave her for the sea, his passionate fancy, despite her decades-long love and impending marriage, she likely with child, facing abandonment. An act of feminine selflessness. (In this awful politically correct age, I am sure many women who read this will still know exactly what I mean!)
And I began to think, somewhat despairingly, that human beings of that age were more fully human than we are of this one. We taste only the surface of life; they knew something more. For surely it takes an experienced personality — that of a varied, profound life in the face of death, or, at any rate, an aesthetic genius — to act in the fullest sense of the archetypal. Here is one scene of the film, from which you might glimpse what I mean.