Monthly Archives: May 2010

Dollhouse Riffs: Special Edition: Victor’s Chin and Sierra’s Cheekbones: Dollhouse and the Reinvention of Beauty on TV

Author’s Note: I wrote this for the Smart Pop Books essay contest featuring Joss Whedon’s beloved-but-canceled TV series Dollhouse.  Since they did not choose my essay, I am posting it here on my blog.

Introduction


“A mask is but a sum of lines; a face, on the contrary, is above all their thematic harmony.” – “Garbo’s Face,” Mythologies by Roland Barthes


Dollhouse is revolutionary television in its depiction of beauty.  The beauty presented on the program encompasses the social, economic, and visual.  We get the exotic beauty of Sierra and Victor, Bennett Halverson’s nerdy beauty, the damaged Dr. Saunders, Alpha’s nice guy good looks, and Mellie as the archetypal Girl Next Door.  In the end, Beauty is a subjective, exclusivist concept.  Like money, one possesses beauty or not.  There’s a reason Donald Trump can date models.  He represents the moneyed clientele serviced by the Dollhouses.

This essay will explore how Dollhouse pushed and played with the concepts of beauty.  Society’s interpretation of a specific personality type and capital will also come into play, since beauty is a challenging concept to quantify, let alone define.  The thrust of the essay will be aesthetic, since aesthetics is primarily concerned with beauty, but ethical, political, and economic considerations will provide additional nuances to an idea one can misinterpret as a purely visual judgment call.

Why do we consider these people beautiful?  In the end, it will be a variety of factors beyond the nebulous cluster of personal opinions we call “good taste.”

Victor, Sierra and “the exotic”


“He will have to surrender before the orgy of tolerance, the total syncretism and the absolute and unstoppable polytheism of Beauty.” – On Beauty, Umberto Eco


Picture two things: Victor’s chin and Sierra’s cheekbones.  Victor has a chin that juts out from his face, the line from his nose to his chin forming a hook.  The Albanian-American Enver Gjokaj plays Victor, slipping in and out of personalities as divergent as a serial killer, a college girl, and Topher with chameleonic ease.  Sierra has high cheekbones and a large mouth.  Dichen Lachman plays Sierra.  Lachman’s father is Australian and her mother is of Nepalese descent.[1]

Sierra and Victor represent opposite poles of the Eurasian, especially if one considers Europe a glorified peninsula of Asia.  In interviews, Enver takes pride in his Albanian heritage.  Until recently, those of Central European descent have dominated the visual landscape.[2]

In the 1950s, television programs included ethnic fare that fit into nice little niches, like The Goldbergs, Marty, and in the Seventies The Jeffersons.  Everyone fit into their little box, whether on the TV screen or on the US Census form.  Dollhouse is not necessarily post-racial, but multiracial.  With a biracial President and the stigma of interracial relationships joining the growing trash heap of outdated evil ideas, the faces of Victor and Sierra point towards a beautiful horizon that will make a mess of preconceived categories like race and ethnicity.  The South Park episode “Goo Backs” satirized the concept of a society comprised of a people who combined all races.

Before going any further, it would be prudent to unpack the term “exotic.”  It is a loaded term, like “civilization” and “culture.”  Exotic has the prefix exo- that means outside, different, and “not us.” What standard should we use to measure exoticism?  The Dollhouse viewership, TV viewership at large, Corporate America’s conception of the (stereo)typical consumer?  For the purposes of this essay, the presumption will be that Dollhouse is written for a predominantly white middle-class, albeit geeky, demographic.[3]

The casting of Victor and Sierra represents Whedon’s evolution in worldbuilding.  In Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy appeared as the stereotypical blonde-haired suburban white girl.  It was a very white show.[4] In Angel, the addition of Gunn was a welcome improvement, albeit as a racial token figure.[5] Firefly (and Serenity) saw a watershed in its depiction of ethnicities.  The program had white characters of all classes speaking fluent Chinese.  The mash-up of Chinese and Western (read United States and British) cultures provided opportunities to challenge the expectations of the viewers.  Dollhouse takes things a step further by casting Victor and Sierra not as racial tokens, but as members of an organic whole.  (The viewer does see other white people as dolls, but they have not received the same level of emotional investment or a long-term story arcs.)  This is in opposition to the “Five Token Band” trope[6] where “The general impression left by this practice is that what the characters are is noticeably more important than what they do.”

Another connotation of the exotic is that which one sees on the skin or in the face.  This superficial reading relates to the concept’s exteriority.  Victor and Sierra are more than their skin tones and faces.  On further investigation, all the main characters have a multiethnic heritage.  Eliza Dushku (Echo) is half-Albanian; Harry Lennix (Boyd) is Creole; Tahmoh Penikett (Paul Ballard) is half Native American, specifically half English Canadian and was from the Yukon.

Besides their beautiful appearance, Victor and Sierra’s romantic relationship is also a thing of beauty.  The relationship transcended their imprints and continued to bloom with their “real” personalities.  If the relationship crystallizes into something multigenerational, their offspring will represent the future face of the United States – multinational and multiracial.

Bennett Halverson and Nerd Beauty

“It’s time for the odd to get even!” – Tagline for Revenge of the Nerds (1984)

Beauty is a social construct.  Like Art, it only exists when society deems it so.  Bennett Halverson is unaware of her beauty until she meets fellow wunderkind Topher Brink.  Granted, Whedon alum Summer Glau plays Bennett.  Regardless of how thick her glasses are or her social awkwardness, it remains a challenge to make Summer Glau unattractive.

Bennett and her male counterpart, Topher, embody Nerd Beauty.[7] An amalgamation of intelligence, appearance, and social mores, Nerd Beauty contrasts the supermodel looks of Sierra and Mellie’s Girl Next Door.  The Nerd remains one of the stock roles in the high school caste system.  The object of ridicule and previously embodied by TV icons like Urkel and Screech, the Nerd represented everything antithetical with the American Experience.  Guys want to be like the football players, not the nerds.  Girls want to be cheerleaders, not bookish and mousy.

Saved by the Bell and Family Matters drove the matter home.  Their depictions of the Nerd approached blackface in its comedic exaggeration.  While that parallel is broad and a bit crass (it seems shameless to equate 400 years of African-American oppression to people with pocket protectors getting swirlies and wedgies), one should remember the proud American tradition of ridiculing, tormenting, and oppressing the Other.

The rise of Geek Culture, Bill Gates, and the Internet provided a tectonic shift in Nerd Representation.  The nerds were now driving Ferraris in Silicon Valley while the jocks that tormented them remained trapped in their small towns selling insurance.  Subcultural solidarity and sci fi conventions also helped.  Like minds created a unified demand.  When network executives realized a section of the viewing population found geeky girls and geeky guys hot, it was only a matter of time before network representation shifted the standards of appearance.

Dr. Saunders: Scarification and disgust


“Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.” – “The Favorite Game,” Leonard Cohen

Played by Amy Acker, Dr. Claire Saunders exhibits the dangerous consequences of beauty.  According to Adelle, Dr. Saunders, aka Whiskey, used to be the Number One Doll of the Los Angeles Dollhouse.  Left scarred following Alpha’s attack on the Dollhouse, Dewitt relegated her to the house doctor, uploading her with the imprint of the murdered Dr. Saunders.

On the surface, the retasking of Whiskey as Dr. Saunders seems like a downgraded or at least removing the damaged goods from the high-paying clientele.  Dollhouse has been consistent in showing the deceptions of reality as appearance and essence become unhinged.  The scarred Whiskey would probably not attract the same clientele since she represents damaged goods. Considered as attractive commodities, the dolls offer Beauty and Reality in one nice expensive package.  It is not some prostitute feigning love but an actual person in actual love with you, the client.

The superficial reading sees Adelle imprinting Whiskey with another imprint, thus preserving her use-value even as her facial scarring diminishes her exchange-value.  The Los Angeles Dollhouse and the Rossum Corporation function as businesses, thus a doll’s exchange-value is important to keep the capital rolling in.  Hence, no one would want a doll with the physique of Paul Giamatti or Camryn Manheim.  Aesthetic decisions reinforced with vast swaths of capital end in personally merciless decisions.  In the end, we’re simply not attractive enough to work in the Los Angeles Dollhouse.

Peel back another layer and we reveal Adelle’s matriarchal pride in her dolls, like a lioness with her cubs.  She has no tolerance for the freaks and sickos who request or demand their needs satiated.  Whether it is an arms dealer like Martin Klar, would-be serial killer Terry Karrens, and manipulative psychopath Nolan, Adelle has to keep her dolls safe and undamaged.

Los Angeles is where the pretty people come to work in the Dream Factory, entertaining millions on television or the movies.  At least that is what is promised.  It attracted Cordelia Chase.  The Los Angeles Dollhouse provides a metacommentary on this Dream Factory, giving those who want the dream a temporary and expensive taste.  With the high demand comes the high cost.  The costs include attractiveness and the discipline involved in keeping the Dollhouse’s commodities in optimal condition for exchange.  However, the demand for Beauty is a random thing.  Who knows what pop star will become the next Flavor of the Month?  Entertainment companies spend millions attempting to gauge the thought processes of the public.  In the end, the public’s decisions remain arbitrary.  A key area of arbitrary standards is the face.  One commonality in the public’s decisions is to desire an undamaged face.

Beauty and the Beast Next Door: Alpha and Mellie

“No more Mr. Nice Guy.” – Alice Cooper

Beyond the exotic and the damaged Beauties on Dollhouse, the program also cast a couple of individuals who do not fit the normal television standard for glamour.  Miracle Laurie plays Mellie, Paul Ballard’s one-time love interest.  Alan Tudyk plays Alpha, the bête noir of the series.

Casting Tudyk as Alpha was a brilliant coup.  Prior to work on Dollhouse, Tudyk worked as Wash on Firefly.  Seeing someone viewers recognized as a nice guy playing a psychopath with multiple personalities threw people for a loop.  Wash and Alpha represent diametrically opposed poles in terms of morality.  Alpha also does not look like a serial killer.  (Neither does Michael C. Hall as the eponymous Dexter.)

Alpha’s actions constantly play havoc with our preconceptions.  Alan Tudyk’s face reads, “Hey, this is a nice guy.”  Then he says something quasi-Nietzschean and slashes a face with a knife.  The scenario becomes more chilling when the psychopath looks like your next-door neighbor.

When Alpha led Paul down into the bowels of the Dollhouse, he acted like a nebbish, talkative and weak-kneed.  It plays like a mash-up of Vergil leading Dante into the Inferno and Abbot and Costello, with Paul Ballard as the humorless straight man.  The situation is complicated when Alpha reveals he houses dozens of personalities within his head.  His nice guy good looks mask a mind on the constant verge of collapse.

To FBI agent Paul Ballard, Mellie is literally the Girl Next Door.  She appears sensual rather than glamorous, exuding warmth rather than a beauty built upon exclusion and coldness.  In the absurd world of TV standards, Mellie can be considered “TV fat.”[8] However, one should take this appellation with a massive grain of salt.  Remember, we live in a world where the media describes Jennifer Love Hewitt as “voluptuous.”[9] Saffron (Christina Hendricks) from Firefly represents a truer example of the voluptuous female, with the character combining deception with a fleshly sensuality.

Just because Mellie has some body fat on her upper arms, therefore she exists outside the microcosm of the Supermodel.  The Supermodel, like the Supercar, is a commodity both exclusive and ridiculous.[10]

When Paul finds she was a doll, the Girl Next Door image shatters.  The destruction of the illusion has many aspects.  In the first place, the trigger initiated by Adelle robs Mellie of her free will.  She can be switched on and off at the discretion of someone else.[11] Her Dollhouse programming usurps her social programming.  The second aspect destroys Mellie’s benevolent image as a caring mother.  The programming turns from Madonna to Whore, since Paul is well aware of what the Dollhouse provides to its clients.  When Mellie warns Paul, she does so as a remotely controlled body, not as a self-controlled individual.  Mellie’s tragedy reaches its climax when Senator Perrin, himself augmented by Dollhouse technology, exposes Mellie as someone mentally instable and denies the existence of the Dollhouse.

Mellie’s Girl Next Door voluptuousness sharply contrasts Adelle Dewitt’s austere ice queen persona.  Adelle’s beauty originates in her power.  The icy woman in power is a very old trope, since beauty relates to its availability.  Dewitt is unapproachable and inaccessible.  Her seduction of Stewart Lipman, head of the DC Dollhouse, began as a stereotypical powerful-woman-using-her-sex-appeal shtick.  Like a chess master, Dewitt turns on a dime, switching from seduction to threats, clenching Lipman’s family jewels.  The Dewitt squeeze differs from Mellie’s “switch”, when Dewitt’s “three flowers in a vase” phrase turns her into a finely tuned killing machine.

The genius of Dollhouse is in its deft manipulation of age-old tropes, turning the Girl Next Door into an expert fighter.  It creates a story arc where an ice queen like Adelle Dewitt becomes an empathetic lioness fighting for her charges against the fascist excesses of Rossum.

Conclusion: Beauty, capital, and television


“Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and destroy the male sex.” – SCUM Manifesto, Valerie Solanas


In its deft casting choices and finely crafted storylines, Dollhouse comments on the promiscuous intermingling of beauty, capital, and television.  We all enjoy seeing prettier versions of ourselves on TV programs.  The moral muddiness of Dollhouse makes these desires uncomfortable.  It forces the viewers to question these desires.  The Dollhouse facility offers its high-paying clients services ranging from prostitution to assassination, making it as dangerous as any CIA station embedded in a United States embassy.  (The fact that numerous other nations embed intelligence personnel in their embassies for the same purpose of committing illegal acts does not really salve the conscience.)

For Dewitt and Harding, the Rossum CEO, beauty is a freely traded commodity.  People will pay large sums for the dolls.  By extension, the TV executives and audience did the same thing, since we demand to see these pretty faces week after week.

Victor and Sierra represent a positive trend in casting.  Instead of the casts’ whiteness in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, the non-white and non-European faces exist not as tokens, but as fully formed characters in plots where it makes sense.  The majority of the show takes place in Los Angeles, itself part of the Spanish and Mexican nations for several hundred years.  Slowly TV is revealing itself as a non-white medium beyond the racial and ethnic broadcasting ghettos of the WB and Telemundo.

Dollhouse works its best when it takes a common character trope – the Nerd, the Girl Next Door, the Psycho Killer, etc. – and takes it to a new strange place.  While Beauty is a challenging concept to quantify, let alone define, Dollhouse engages the viewer by both meeting and confronting expectations.  On a narrative level, it explored the issues of self, ethics, and corporate intrusion into the government.  On a purely aesthetic level, the show populated the TV screen with beautiful faces and beautiful bodies.  The show became more than the usual “pretty faces with problems” (Joss Whedon is not Aaron Spelling) in its magisterial handling of both narrative and aesthetics.  TV is a visual medium and Dollhouse revolutionizes the small screen in its casting, creating a future-present filled with gorgeous nerdy girls, exotic men and women with coherent, long-term story arcs, and showing us a future where “race, taste, and history are overcome.”[12]


[1] Liza Lapira plays Ivy, Topher’s assistant, is of Filipino descent and was born in Queens, New York.  Fran Kranz (Topher) was born in Los Angeles.

[2] It is worth noting that studio executives pushed for someone like Robert Redford to play the part of Michael Corleone in the Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972).  In the 1970s, people did not look like Al Pacino or Robert DeNiro in popular cinema.  Casting Enver Gjokaj as Victor represents another small shift in the public’s perceptions of what the European male looks like.  Ironically, Victor’s “real” personality is named Anthony Ceccoli, an Italian American from New York City.  One should also stop to ask why the term “ethnic” gets attached to those members of population groups not Central European?  The answer may have to do with the combination of history and habit.  Our short attention span and cultural naiveté do not help things either.

[3] Dollhouse is more than its target demographic.  TV demographics should not be confused with a show’s artistic merit, since popularity is handcuffed to market demand.  Ratings mean increased market revenue, hence the gradual whittling away of show time for advertising time.  Half hour sitcoms now become twenty minutes, hour-long shows now last forty minutes.  Technology and alternate distributors (DVR, Hulu, etc.) force viewers and advertisers into an adversarial relationship, since twenty minutes is a serious chunk of time to waste, regardless of a show’s inherent worth.  It would try the patience of a saint.

[4] The term “white” is another loaded term.  For the sake of simplicity, the term “white” means European.  However, one should remember that various ethnic groups abandoned their ethnic tags and opted for the general “white” during the Fifties and Sixties.  The struggles of African Americans to regain their rights, following the devastation of the Post-Reconstruction South, led many Americans of various European backgrounds to seek solidarity in the term “white.”  Outlier groups like the Italians, Eastern Europeans, and Jews still had a difficult time getting accepted into the exclusive club we call “white people.”
For those interested in the genesis of “whiteness” as a community identifier, a good place to start is the book Working Toward Whiteness: How America’s Immigrants Become White: The Strange Journey from Ellis Island to the Suburbs (Basic Books, 2005) by David R. Roediger.  An alternative perspective of “whiteness” is explored in Blood in the Face: The Ku Klux Klan, Aryan Nations, Nazi Skinheads, and the Rise of a New White Culture (Thunder’s Mouth Press, 1995) by James Ridgeway.  The history of the United States becomes a contentious, schizophrenic, and nativist amalgamation of mythology, cultural amnesia, and hollow catch-phrases due to each cohort of immigrants claiming to be “the original” or “the real” Americans.  As the late Robert Anton Wilson asserted “‘Reality’ is what you get away with.”

[5] South Park exposes the condescending paternalism of the concept by naming the African American classmate Token.

[6] http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FiveTokenBand

[7] Willow Rosenberg from Buffy the Vampire Slayer was an early example of the Nerd Beauty.  One can contrast Willow’s intelligence (and computer-savvy) with Buffy’s superpowers.  Along with Bennett, Nerdiness comes from the combination of smarts and looks.  Intelligent girls intimidate some guys while some find it a turn-on.  The popularity of Whedon’s shows proves a lot of guys find the latter favorable.  Victor: “Librarian glasses on the chain.”  Topher: “For the win!”

[8] “TV Fat” (see the website TV Tropes — http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HollywoodPudgy — for a comprehensive list and definition of the term.)  On the definition page, the author states, “If you took the Hollywood Pudgy character out of her movie and plunked her down among a representative sample of real women, she’d be positively svelte.  … [M]any men find women more attractive, not less attractive, at this weight. Not so the tabloids and fashion magazines, in which one can readily find complaints that these women have put on too much weight.”

[9] “Love Hewitt’s voluptuous hour-glass figure provides the perfect vehicle for Joseph Porro’s creative genius as the costume designer on Ghost Whisperer.” From Wikifashion entry on Jennifer Love Hewitt(http://www.wikifashion.com/wiki/Jennifer_Love_Hewitt).

[10] Stephen Bayley, a design consultant, gives this description of the 1971 Lamborghini Countach as supercar: “‘Countach’ is Piedmontese voce de gergo, the gasp of astonishment made, for example, on sight of an exceptionally attractive woman.  …  Just as this period [the late Sixties and early Seventies] saw the invention and separation of powerful and charismatic supergroups from the swill of ordinary pop, so the supercar became a type when the mass market had been satisfied by waves of ingenious small front-wheel-drives.  …  Supercars might be ridiculous … but they are never boring” Cars: Freedom, Style, Sex, Power, Motion, Colour, Everything (New York: Octopus Books, p. 326).

[11] In Serenity, Simon Tam uses a trigger word to stop River from her asskicketry.

[12] Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes, Part Two: Perestroika, Tony Kushner (New York: Theatre Communications Group, Inc., 1994).  From the description of Heaven by Belize to Roy Cohn.  Belize, in his description of Heaven, also says “And everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages, and big dance palaces full of music and lights and racial impurity and gender confusion.  …  And all the deities are creole, mulatto, brown as the mouths of rivers.”

Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust, by Nathanael West

The short tragic life of Nathanael West produced four novels.  Dying penniless and alone, West bequeathed a literary legacy that has reverberated in the works of Alexander Theroux and Thomas Pynchon.  The two works collected here, “Miss Lonelyhearts,” a long short story, and The Day of the Locust, a novella; offer the reader a sampling of West’s scathing apocalyptic satire.  In little over 180 pages, the reader encounters ferocious black humor, hard-boiled surrealism, and apocalyptic visions.  Nathanael West belongs to the family of innovative literary Modernists like T.S. Eliot, Samuel Beckett, and William Faulkner.

“Miss Lonelyhearts” is a story about an advice columnist tap-dancing on the edge of existential despair.  The short story, for all its bleakness, ferocious satire, and visionary set pieces, runs only 58 pages in my New Directions paperback.  Written in 1933, the short story recreates the psychological depression crushing the nation.  The desolate psychology mirrors the economic situation, the lack of money, options, and hope coloring the letters sent to Miss Lonelyhearts.

Miss Lonelyhearts, a hard-drinking male writer with lapsed religious convictions, writes the so-called “agony column” for the New York Post-Dispatch.  He tries to deal with the problems of the writers in a genuine sincere way, but harassment by his boss, the crass editor named Shrike, undercuts his ability to his job.  The passive-aggressive workplace relationship also occurs in Alexander Theroux’s sprawling, capacious, encyclopedic satire of modern American life, Laura Warholic, or the Sexual Intellectual.  Shrike throws out different solutions: art, religion, and sex.

West writes with verve and power, pushing the reader closer and closer to the brink of despair.  While the humor is black and vicious, it gives respite from the letters, each a tiny ingot of suffering and misspelling.  “And on most days he received more than thirty letters, all of them alike, stamped from the dough of suffering with a heart-shaped cookie knife.”  He describes a sad little park where “It had taken all the brutality of July to torture a few green spikes through the exhausted dirt.”  After a night of drinking, Miss Lonelyhearts takes a bath, “but his heart remained a congealed lump of icy fat.”  “Miss Lonelyhearts” reads like His Girl Friday if Samuel Beckett wrote the script.

The dark speakeasies and disreputable rags of New York City give way to sunny days and visions of apocalypse in The Day of the Locust.  Written in 1939, the title refers to the plague from the Book of Exodus.  The short novel traces the misadventures of Tod Hackett, a background painter, and the losers, extras, and has-beens who populate Hollywood, America’s pop cultural capital.  He pines for Faye Greener, a glamorous extra.  He deals with her father, a former vaudevillian, and Homer Simpson, a former accountant convalescing in California’s balmy climate.  There’s also cowboys, Mexicans, and a cantankerous midget named Abe Kusich.

Even though the novel is over seventy years old, the Hollywood of the Great Depression bears a striking resemblance to the Hollywood of the Great Recession.  Tod journeys around Hollywood collecting material for a painting called “The Burning of Los Angeles.”  It is a vision of fire and apocalypse.  West, along with Thomas Pynchon in The Crying of Lot 49 and Vineland, sees California as a place where paradise and the apocalypse mingle.  Tod meets child stars and their crazy showbiz mothers.  The mother Tod meets is a raw food advocate.  There are hostesses of discrete prostitution rings and movie moguls living in mansions of kitschy architectural splendor.  He visits the “Tabernacle of the Third Coming” which teaches “a crazy jumble of dietary rules, economics, and Biblical threats.”  The combination sounds disturbingly modern, especially given the self-parody of political discourse in the United States.  Reading Nathanael West makes one aware that apocalypse may be just around the corner, but it may also be darkly funny.

On Love (1822) by Stendahl

Poised between artifice and authentic emotionalism, Stendahl’s On Love explores the topic of love, combining the rational and the romantic.  The stylistic balance fits the personality of Stendahl, the nom de plume of Henri-Marie Beyle.  The short work combines analytical passages and excerpts from the dairy of Salviati, another guise Stendahl uses to investigate the concept of love.

The accretion of different personae, pseudonyms of pseudonyms, creates a fascinating literary product.  The book’s genesis can be traced back to a rebuff Stendahl received from Matilde Dembowski, “the aristocratic young wife of a Polish officer” Sophie Lewis says in the Introduction of the Hesperus Edition.

Emotionally devastated, Stendahl wrote an essay emblematic of the Post-Napoleonic landscape.  An influential concept Stendahl postulated was that of “crystallization.”  In Salzburg, Austria, young couples would place a branch in the local salt mine.  After several days, crystals would cover the branch.  Stendahl relates this to love, the crystallization symbolizing how the lover will attribute characteristics of perfection to his beloved.  The crystallization turns the beloved into an object of perfection, despite evidence to the contrary.

Building upon this revolutionary concept, Stendahl continues to study the forms of love, including vain love, passionate love, and mannered love.  Sometimes he analyzes the concept with numerical points, analytic and concise.  Other times he will give an excerpt from Salviati’s diary or quote an excerpt from Dante, Sir Walter Scott, or Shakespeare.  The effect is an essay that has a modern feeling.  The concept of crystallization would go on to influence modern psychology.

Jesus of Nazareth by Paul Verhoeven

At first glance, the idea that Paul Verhoeven, director of Basic Instinct, Robocop, and Starship Troopers, wrote a book on Jesus strikes one as the set-up to a particularly tasteless joke.  Fortunately, Verhoeven offers the reader his perspective on the Historical Jesus in his book, Jesus of Nazareth. Trained in mathematics and a prolific filmmaker, Verhoeven has been a member of the Jesus Seminar since he moved to Los Angeles in 1985.  He occupies a unique intellectual position within the Jesus Seminar due to his status as non-academic, non-theologian, and non-believer.  (But belief is not a prerequisite to historical investigation as evidenced by the plethora of books about Greco-Roman mythology and Hinduism, to take two examples, written by non-believers.)

Verhoeven the Filmmaker provides opportunities for deconstruction and reconstruction of events.  Having made his career directing movies for a popular audience, he has expertise in creating stories.  The Gospels are similar stories, written to captivate a general audience.  Because the Gospels have four separate authors and offer biases from each other, the stories present a specific set of challenges.  Verhoeven explores these many challenges, putting forward his assertions.  Another challenge facing historians dealing with the Classical Era includes the scant historical and archaeological evidence.  In order to reconstruct the period, one must use a blend of historical data, imagination, intuition, and imagination.

Verhoeven asserts the authors of the Gospels “overpainted” certain politically explosive scenes with miraculous events.  One must not forget the dangerous political scene of first century Roman Palestine.  Numerous messianic figures roamed the province, speaking out against Roman tyranny and collaboration from the Herodian dynasty.  Speaking out against Roman rule was not only a political crime but also a religious crime.  One worshiped the same gods as one’s monarch.  Those in open dissent this truism met with torture and execution.  Verhoeven also asserts that Jesus used his ministry to further the plan that God’s Kingdom was imminent.  This platform aroused the ire of the Pharisees, the Herodians, and the Romans.  According to Jesus, all these corrupt institutions would be swept away and the Kingdom of God would re-establish itself.

The short book (only 200 pages of text in the hardcover edition) brings together Verhoeven’s reconstruction of events in the life of Jesus.  On occasion, he writes how he would film certain events.  These lively visual scenes supplied an otherwise dry and academic book with cinematic flourish.  His understanding of a century of theological thought meshes with his take on movies made about Jesus.  His takedown of Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ is refreshing and commonsensical in its assessment.

For anyone genuinely interested in the Historical Jesus, Verhoeven’s Jesus of Nazareth brings an outsider’s perspective and an enthusiast’s passion to this endlessly fascinating topic.

Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

Marilynne Robinson is not a prolific author, but like fellow slow writers Thomas Pynchon and Alexander Theroux, each of her novels is a finely hewn literary masterpiece.  Gilead reveals literature at its finest.  Taking the form of letters written to his young son, Reverend John Ames, an old man approaching the twilight of his years, writes about God, history, fathers and sons, and life.  According to the summary on the dust jacket, the year is 1956.  Past and present commingle as Ames remembers his early life, including his father the pacifist and his grandfather, the fiery visionary abolitionist.  Father and grandfather bore the name John Ames and both were preachers.

The idyllic life in the small Iowa town Reverend John Ames calls home ends when John Ames Boughton returns home.  Calling himself Jack, he is the son of his friend, Old Boughton, a Presbyterian minister.  The specific denomination of Reverend John Ames is not explicitly mentioned, although he makes repeated references to John Calvin’s Institutes and preaching in a shabby little church.  (Old Boughton preached at a much more lavish Presbyterian church in town.)  The denominational specificity remains a non-issue, since John Ames contemplates both sacred and secular events.  Robinson succeeds in humanizing the elderly preacher.  John Ames struggles with the tenets of the faith and his own fallibility.  His writing gives depth to his humanity and the burden of his call to service.  The pendulum swings of his father and grandfather, one a pacifist, the other a warrior and a visionary, give his writing additional tension.

Setting plays a prominent role in the novel.  One normally considers Iowa a caricature of “Real America” (whatever that is), usually asserted by anti-visionaries fearful of big cities, minorities, and progress.  In a conversation, Jack Boughton jokingly mentions Iowa as “a bastion of radicalism.”  Prior to the Civil War, Iowa existed as a geographic hub of a nation roiling with inner tensions.  The state welcomed fugitive slaves from Missouri.  John Ames mentions the small town’s many hidden cupboard and tunnels, oddly reminiscent of Palestine’s Occupied Territories and the tunnels engineered by the Viet Cong.  At that time, militant abolitionists used the state as a jumping off point in their participation in the violent clashes taking place in Kansas.  John Ames grandfather raced off to Kansas to “preach abolition” and to fight at the side of another messianic militant riding the engine of Divine Providence: John Brown.  (During the 2008 Presidential campaign, Iowa went to the Democratic candidate of biracial ancestry Barack Hussein Obama II.  Iowa also displayed its radical tradition by legalizing gay marriage on April 3, 2009.)

The novel interweaves digressive passages replete with intellectual and abstract notion with reminisces that mix memories with events and sensations.  Robinson succeeds in non-writerly writing.  While Ames writes for a living, having penned thousands upon thousands of sermons for his flock, his writing does not come across as literary or effected.  She avoids larding up the text with literary preciousness or showing off verbal cleverness.  The plainness reflects the sparse Iowa landscape, although not to the point of oppressing the reader’s sensibilities.  The prose is sparse but not minimal.  The novel is Whitmanesque in that it “contains multitudes,” despite its short length.

The novel contains revelations about Jack Boughton and his mysterious past.  History, culture, and the changing times threaten to overturn Reverend John Ames’s carefully manicured existence in the small Iowa town.  On the surface, the novel resembles what one might designate as “religious fiction,” yet it is deeper and more transcendent than catering to a specific religion’s tastes.  Regardless of the reader’s personal or religious background (or non-religious, for that matter), Gilead is a moving experience.  It is a rare work, infused with the desires and torments implicit in any religious experience, but it is not preachy.  John Ames writes to his son, not at his son.  This is an important distinction.

The beautifully wrought prose and the deceptively simple plot slowly reveal greater tensions confronting how we interpret United States history, family relations, the divine, and our own fallibility.

The Art of Reviewing: Anthony Bourdain

Every blog needs a large-scale project. The Art of Reviewing will explore reviewing as an art form and as a valuable element to understanding society.  During this project, I will profile specific reviewers of merit.  Several specific cases also explore other facets of reviewing.

“I write, I eat, and I’m hungry for more.” – Tag line of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations (2005 – Present)

The Foodie Revolution will be televised … again.  Anthony Bourdain represents another wave of popularizers.  With Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, he has made it cool to think about food in all its various guises.  But Tony is not the first to give the American TV audience a swift metaphysical kick to the forehead.  He continues the tradition begun by former-OSS op Julia Child to familiarize and popularize French cuisine and to make us think differently about our foodways and folkways.  Both Bourdain and Child entered the mass media in a roundabout manner.  Both authored books before becoming TV personalities.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Badass

Anthony Bourdain entered the pop culture consciousness with Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly. It read like a cross between Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle.  Insane adventures combining drugs, sex, and food blitzed across the pages, the cod-Hunter S. Thompson prose reflecting the barely controlled chaos of a modern restaurant kitchen.  Portrait of the Artist as a Young Badass.  The book traces his ascent from grunt work as a line chef to running his own Manhattan restaurant, Les Halles.  One realizes that the lives of chefs are hard.  Really hard.  Long, long hours and not the best pay.  In order to score the really fresh, really good ingredients, one has to wake up early and snatch the best stuff.  The haute cuisine restaurant world is as ferocious and insular as high finance and politics.  Old rivals join together; partnerships shatter; and restaurants rise and fall with the vicious regularity of faddish tech stocks and whatever Goldman Sachs can dream up to bilk investors.  If you read the book, either it inspired you to pursue a cooking career or it scared the crap out of you.  The bombastic style combined with the insider knowledge of the restaurant world created a winning recipe for success.

Besides detailing the inner workings of a modern restaurant, Kitchen Confidential allowed Bourdain to vent his spleen on various topics.  One of these is vegetarianism and veganism:

Vegetarians, and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans, are a persistent irritant to any chef worth a damn. To me, life without veal stock, pork fat, sausage, organ meat, demi-glace, or even stinky cheese is a life not worth living. Vegetarians are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit, and an affront to all I stand for, the pure enjoyment of food. The body, these waterheads imagine, is a temple that should not be polluted by animal protein. It’s healthier, they insist, though every vegetarian waiter I’ve worked with is brought down by any rumor of a cold. Oh, I’ll accommodate them, I’ll rummage around for something to feed them, for a ‘vegetarian plate’, if called on to do so. Fourteen dollars for a few slices of grilled eggplant and zucchini suits my food cost fine.

It should be noted that Kitchen Confidential was not his first published work.  Bourdain wrote the Bobby Gold series, hard-boiled foodie noir novels.

More books followed and Bourdain eventually entered the world of TV.  His first show, A Cook’s Tour, aired on the Food Network in 2001 and 2002.  Published in 2001, A Cook’s Tour included extended background about the TV show’s segments and his dealing with the TV production process.  Bourdain had a falling out with the Food Network.  While A Cook’s Tour introduced America to Anthony Bourdain, the short running time made watching the program a masochistic exercise.  When he explored something as vast as the tapas scene in Spain or the syncretic cuisine of Singapore, by the time he scratched the surface the show ended.  It was not the best fit.

No Reservations and the Second Foodie Revolution

Bourdain’s second TV series, Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations has aired on the Travel Channel since 2005.  Throughout the series, Bourdain has transformed from culinary badass to world traveler.  Hunter S. Thompson gave way to Sir Richard Francis Burton.  Like Burton, Bourdain has traveled the world, exploring little known folkways and sending his dispatches to a hungry TV audience.  The verbal bombast remains, but tempered by time, maturity, and comfort with the medium.

The series has explored his favorite locales including Vietnam and delved into areas one normally does not associate with foodie culture.  He has explored the Rust Belt, the elephant graveyard of late capitalism, Montana, Namibia, and Scotland.  In each episode, an hour rather than a half hour, Bourdain gives an overview of the region, styles ranging from the journalistic to the psychedelic.  He also gives equal due to street food and haute cuisine.

Bourdain has debunked the common mythology that food need to be expensive or rare to be good.  The cheap street food or little bodega has food as good as anything concocted by Thomas Keller or Mario Batali.  Haute cuisine just puts a nice frame around the same ingredients.  But both venues receive accolades when the owners bring creativity, fresh ingredients, and presentation to their food.  He has also advocated the best eating experiences occur when one is barefoot.  This reviewer concurs.

Bourdain, like Homer Simpson, also worships at the altar of all things pig.  No Reservations has become a treatise on how the global population uses that “magical animal.”  The pig, a generally humble animal that has provided income for farmers have, through the magic of the cook, turned the various cuts into more divine meals that one could comprehend.  His legendary gut-busting meal at the Restaurant au Pied de Cochon involved a decadent exploration of pork products and foie gras.  He out-Trimalchio’ed Trimalchio.

In The Nasty Bits: Collected Varietal Cuts, Usable Trim, Scraps, and Bones, an essay collection fitting that description, a bawdy Rabelaisian mélange of fiction, non-fiction, reportage, and screed, Bourdain turns political.  He discusses the touchy subject of Latin American immigration and the very obvious contribution they have to our dining experience.

The idea of America is a mutt-culture, isn’t it?  Who the hell is American if not everybody else?  We are – and should be – a big, messy, anarchic polyglot of dialects and accents and different skin tones.  Like our kitchens.  We need more Latinos to come here.  And they should, whenever possible, impregnate our women.

The recent temper tantrums of the Right yowl for an anachronistic vision of America that is racist, unconstitutional, and hateful.  Above all and this is the most important factor, that Ideal America, this Nativist wet dream, is unbelievably boring.  Everyone white straight and Protestant?  Ugh, change the channel.  What’s on Telemundo?  There’s a reason no one reads Henry James any more.  (Although they should because beneath the vapid WASPy exterior, the characters, heiresses and nouveau riche robber barons from the Reconstruction Era, play like Paris Hilton celebutantes chasing men.  There’s usually less cocaine use in Henry James novels.)

The horror!  The horror!

The books, shows, and magazine articles have enlightened Americans to rethink about what they eat.  The naked lunch at the end of their fork, to use William S. Burroughs’s phrase.  Food is sensual, elemental, reflects where we are and the ingredients were proud.  Food encapsulates history, capital, politics, and biology into tasty little packages for our consuming pleasure.  If Julia Child was the First Wave, Anthony Bourdain is the Second Wave.

Capital: Volume 1: A Critique of Political Economy (1867), by Karl Marx

Two years after the American Civil War ended and nearly two decades after revolutions ravaged the European continent, Karl Marx, a secular Jew living in exile in Great Britain, published the first volume of Capital: A Critique of Political Economy.  Two more volumes would follow.  The plan involved an outline for six volumes, a monumental undertaking even to someone as prolific as Marx was.  Friedrich Engels would go on to edit and compile the second and third volumes in addition to editing future editions of Volume 1.

Volume 1 of Capital can be seen bookending Marx’s fecund writing career.  He began his career writing about German philosophers, became involved in politics and worker emancipation, and eventually penned The Communist Manifesto in 1848 with Friedrich Engels.  The revolutionary fires were quashed and Marx ended up in Great Britain.

Capital analyses the economic system known as capitalism beginning with the commodity, the cellular unit of the structure.  One can see the analysis in both biological and architectural terms.  From the commodity – the thing one sells to a buyer – to labor to the working day to the factory and finally to mass production, Marx builds an analytical critique of the entire system.  The critique is emblematic of Marx’s overall philosophy and the Victorian zeitgeist.  Marx’s revolutionary communism represented part of an overall historical continuity in the progress of human relations.  He defends capitalism in its removing the shackles of feudalism.  It was his hypothesis that the communism would emerge as the next stage of mankind’s economic development.  (I use the word “hypothesis,” since Marx’s critique is heavily indebted to economics as a science, in addition to the discipline functioning as a philosophy.)

Volume 1 builds a foundation for this critique.  Marx weaves a tapestry of economic theory, historical evidence, and polemical rhetoric.  The early sections are dry and slow going, although he leavens the abstract concepts with real-life examples.  The sections on the working day, the factory, and the rise of mass production use historical evidence to forward his assertions.  Finally, the last chapters focus on “primitive accumulation” (i.e. the economic relationships prior to capitalism proper) and the genesis of specific social classes.  Through this long, methodical analysis, Marx asserts that capitalism extracts surplus labor from the worker.

Marx propitious choice of the United Kingdom helped in the creation of his work.  Unlike the United States, the UK has a de jure class system and it gave birth to the Industrial Revolution.  (The situation was very similar in Germany.)  Marx always believed the revolution would come to industrialized nations, not feudal regimes like the Russian Empire, China, or Cambodia.  Alas, history lacks the systematic, progressive, forward-moving drive that would lead to the New Jerusalem of the classless society.  In the nineteenth century, with industrialization, mass production, and innovation giving consumers new products it seemed only natural to believe that once the proletariat seized the means of production everything would be fine.

For anyone who seeks to understand the underlying factors of the Great Recession, Capital explains the history and operations of the capitalist society.  Before tackling Capital, especially if one has never read Karl Marx, the shorter works would be a good starting place.  The Communist Manifesto is short and explains the communist political program.  The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon and the Civil War in France showcase Marx’s polemical writing style, dissecting France’s descent into authoritarian dictatorship and the corrupt monarchy of Emperor Napoleon III.  With American political discourse descending into self-parody, it is highly recommended readers concerned about the global economic situation read both Capital and Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations.  An understanding of current events involves going back to these classic economic texts and drawing personal conclusions not influenced by the apologetics and empty rhetoric parroted by the Left and Right.

Marx asserted capitalism planted the seeds of its own destruction.  The situation in Greece and the economic terrorism of Goldman Sachs may prove Marx’s hypothesis correct.  The systemic failure created by the idolatry of financial deregulation as the highest good and the seduction of easy credit have pushed the capitalist system over the edge of viable flexibility and into the abyss.

Exchange and the market are pre-existing social creations.  (One should not confuse the two with “capitalism” which is a very specific social formation.)  They have existed throughout feudalism, mercantilism, and into capitalism.  Nevertheless, to repeat a phrase we hear a lot these days, has capitalism become too big to fail?  Alternatively, do we simply lack the creativity and innovation to replace it?  These are challenging questions we must now ask ourselves because the twin creeds of communism and capitalism have provided no viable solutions.

(Reviewer’s Notes: This review is based on the 1976 version of Capital translated by Ben Fowkes.  Ernest Mandel provides wrote a lucid, albeit gushing introduction.  Mandel’s introduction offers a great analysis of Marx’s work.  Unfortunately, history has proven communism’s viability untenable.  The Penguin Classics edition I read also includes an appendix entitled “Results of the Immediate Process of Production”, also known as the Resultate.  The Resultate functions as an early draft of Capital: Volume 1 and as a bridge between Volumes 1 and 2.)