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Monday, June 07, 2010

A few things that got me goat this past week, two from the New York Times, one from the New Yorker

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/01/arts/dance/01merce.html


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i found this piece by Alistair Macauly as suffering from adjectivities! in an old hand, who has a repertoire of them,  also has its adjunct, adverbalities, and verbalitis where verbs function as adjectives creeps in It all depends on giving the reader an adjective bath he can live with! You could say that Auntie is bathed in adjectives! "Some bad, some good." Mostly superfluidities! And that world of as it were family values that doles out candy! The guy is paid by the inch and the word!

MONTREAL — To watch performances by a dance company that perfectly understands the behests of its living choreographer can seem a supreme and many-layered thrill. Very occasionally, however, the level actually rises when the choreographer dies. New York City Ballet often danced astoundingly in the five years afterGeorge Balanchine’s death; some of his works — “Divertimento No. 15” and “Symphony in Three Movements” for example — looked better than before, and individual dancers gave stratospheric performances of particular roles. After Merce Cunningham died in July, it likewise seemed in every sense that there could be nothing better to do than to watch his company, which danced some Events in New York the next weekend.

In January the Merce Cunningham Dance Company began a two-year farewell “Legacy Tour” leading up to its final performances, on New Year’s Eve 2011 in Manhattan. Last week the company performed “Nearly 902,” a restaged version of Cunningham’s last work, at the Théâtre Maisonneuve here. This was the most multidimensional dance experience I have witnessed this year, constantly opening fresh aspects of dance as thought.

I will let you mark it up in my sense...
The dancers are the final group trained by Cunningham; they include understudies to whom he gave special attention. Cunningham liked to concentrate on the newest dancers; after that he would often seem scarcely to notice them for several years, and they had to learn how to dance not for his approval but to fulfill themselves. His death has placed the entire company in that situation; some members have spoken of how they are still trying to work on directives he gave them. It will be fascinating to see them tackle other revivals, but “Nearly 902” shows them in closest communion with the master.
Then the following piece by Patricia Cohen reviewing a Dutch troupes performance of something called "kamp" 








elicted this letter:


Patricia, only now came on your piece on "kamp" which strikes me on the basis of your description



as a work that might elicit further comments on what I am probably not the only one to find artistically problematic. 


On the first of second thoughts: it seems possible to miniaturize 
any kind of atrocity in that manner - and you may be right in saying that by doing so it actually makes it in some sense more powerful. However, its manner of production would appear to be as industrialized as death was in those camps, thus the piece is a kind of naturalism in small that lives off the knowledge of the tragedy, the Shoah in this instance, it is an instance of the Holocaust Industry; the making routine of the wages of hatred...
As you are likely to know, Theodor Adorno felt that Auschwitz made poetry impossible ever after - and I entirely understand the stunnedness that produces such a judgment; nonetheless there have been attempts, Nelly Sachs's ELY which you will find in my Farrar, Straus edition of OH THE CHIMNEYS, Peter Weiss's Oratorio THE INVESTIGATION among many others, Paul Celan, its a huge list.

As to the Dutch company feeling that their lack of a reception in Germany is due to German inability or unwillingness to come to terms with what a much older generation perpetrated, my guess it that one might actually check with the German reviews, and not take the Company at its word.Germany has become the conscience of the world, it will even arrest foreign nationals for as little or as much as standing by and not intervening when a war crime is committed. Thus the reluctance of certain American statesmen to set foot
on its soil.
best ever,

  


what got my goat and nearly always get my goat is janet maslin as a book reviewer whereas i recall rather linking her when she did film. however, what elicited a letter to friends saying "this is shit"
is/ was a story by jeffrey eugenidis in the new yorker:









EXTREME SOLITUDE

by Jeffrey EugenidesJUNE 7, 2010 




It was debatable whether or not Madeleine had fallen in love with Leonard the first moment she’d seen him. She hadn’t even known him then, and so what she’d felt was only sexual attraction, not love. Even after they’d gone out for coffee, she couldn’t say that what she was feeling was anything more than infatuation. But ever since the night they went back to Leonard’s place after watching “Amarcord” and started fooling around, when Madeleine found that instead of being turned off by physical stuff, as she often was with boys, instead of putting up with that or trying to overlook it, she’d spent the entire night worrying that she was turning Leonard off, worrying that her body wasn’t good enough, or that her breath was bad from the Caesar salad she’d unwisely ordered at dinner; worrying, too, about having suggested they order Martinis because of the way Leonard had sarcastically said, “Sure. Martinis. Let’s pretend we’re Salinger characters”; after having had, as a consequence of all this anxiety, pretty much no sexual pleasure, despite the perfectly respectable session they’d put together, and after Leonard (like every guy) had immediately fallen asleep, leaving her to lie awake stroking his head and vaguely hoping that she wouldn’t get a yeast infection, Madeleine asked herself if the fact that she’d just spent the whole night worrying wasn’t, in fact, a surefire sign that she was falling in love. And certainly after they’d spent the next three days at Leonard’s place having sex and eating pizza, after she’d relaxed enough to be able to come once in a while and finally to stop worrying so much about having an orgasm because her hunger for Leonard was in some way satisfied by his satisfaction, after she’d allowed herself to sit naked on his gross couch and to walk to the bathroom knowing that he was staring at her (imperfect) ass, to root for food in his disgusting refrigerator, to read the brilliant half page of philosophy paper sticking up out of his typewriter, and to hear him pee with taurine force into the toilet bowl, certainly, by the end of those three days, Madeleine knew she was in love.
But that didn’t mean she had to tell anyone. Especially Leonard.

What I happen to find beyond debate is that this is a singularly shitty piece of writing, it too lives of adjectives, attitude and proceeds to do a lot of name dropping. I took real pleasure in my disgust with this piece, it means that my devotion to Handke as a prose writer is paying divididends in critical intelligence.
and here's the hub, the gateway to the handke project:


"Chicquita abracas a todos"
The Hub & its Handke Blogs!                             




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Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2010/06/07/100607fi_fiction_eugenides#ixzz0qE6K5b4g

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