Seeing the brahouha at Cannes, may I remark in this way: when self-proclaimed “artists” fling their own brand of tortured misery, resentment and profanity into the world, only a hack will claim it to be “Art.”
Such has been the result of the teachings of the post-modernists this past century, in the universities, especially the Ivy League, where I learned this nonsense from them. We see the results of their nihilism all around us and its worthlessness is patent.
These are people who are unable to see. The vision of Truth and Beauty has always been the province of the Artist. (And there are precious few of them.) That is why their discoveries, like diamonds in an otherwise inaccessible coal seam, have been so valuable.
In this direction — backwards to the Grand tradition — is where we need to go as aesthetic craftsmen, to relearn and propagate the right ideas.
I never knew, until today, that the rubric that one must be “authentic” — repeated ad nauseam these days — derives from Heidegger.
I have always repudiated the concept of “authenticity,” especially in aesthetic matters, as solipsistic, unimaginative and even destructive, but now, knowing its origin, it is far darker and more poisonous than ever I imagined.
One must be wary of the ideas circulating in the zeitgeist (should I even use a Hegelian term?). Dust off your intellectual sh**kicker and kick out the worthless ideas, and do it today!
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.
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.
Read it for yourself here:
Reading Wilde again. LIke standing in the open country in spring next to a burbling brook and breathing fresh air.
Just now saw a casting notice for a play about “tolerance.” Gosh, we are back in medieval times with the Everyman morality plays. Yawn. How tiresome!
“There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. That is all.”