Author Archives: admin

Two terrific Scandinavian films

Posted on by
Reply

I have been fascinated by the rise of contemporary Scandinavian filmmaking, mostly coming from Norway and Denmark.  Sweden, of course, has Ingmar Bergman to crow about–certainly one of the most important filmmakers of the twentieth century. And of course Lars von Trier and Susanne Bier are internationally famous. But in addition to those giants, Denmark and Norway have both provided funding for a whole string of terrific young directors, and in the last five years, we’ve seen some genuinely brilliant work.

This week, I want to talk about two such films, one Danish and one Norwegian, both about the world of big business, and the world of high crime, and similarities between them. Neither film is exactly ground-breaking stylistically, but they’re highly sophisticated films, reflecting larger movements in contemporary filmmaking.

The Norwegian film Headhunters (Hodejagerne) is the third feature film by director Morten Tyldum; his two previous films were a thriller and a rom-com.  It stars Aksel Hennie, who played the heroic Norwegian freedom fighter Max Manus in the film by that same title.  In this film, Hennie plays Roger Brown, a corporate headhunter.  That is, he’s a guy who consults with big multi-nationals looking for a CEO, and also the guy who grooms smaller company presidents looking to move up in the corporate world.  He’s happily married to Diana (Synnøve Macody Lund), their marriage only slightly marred by the fact that’s she’s half a foot taller than he is (which he insists only slightly bothers him), and also by his lifestyle, which outstrips his salary by a considerable sum.  To make up the financial difference, he’s a successful high-end art thief.  And the two jobs are related–when interviewing potential CEO’s, he’s casually casing their homes.

It starts to fall apart when he chooses the wrong target.  A particularly ruthless businessman, Clas Greve (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) is up for a highly desirable CEO position, and also owns, it appears, a Rembrandt.  It turns out Greve is just setting him up, and is also even more ruthless than Roger ever imagined.  Hence the plot, in which an increasingly desperate (but just-clever enough) Roger barely escapes from trap after trap.

The film is very Coen Brothers–reminds me a great deal of Fargo or others of the Coens’ caper films.  Greve’s trying to kill Roger, and has no qualms about taking out various policemen along the way–Roger, meanwhile, is forced to hide out in various unpleasant places.  An outhouse, for one.  And guess where?  In what part of the outhouse?  Yep.

I found the ending a trifle disappointing, but I may have misread it. I found it a bit sentimental, and thought it tonally off, at odds with the absurdist violence of the rest of the film.  And unearned–Roger’s the hero of the film, but he’s hardly a good guy–moralistically speaking, he doesn’t deserve a happy ending.  But maybe that’s intentional, maybe it’s some kind of meta-cinematic comment about compulsory narrative closure, obligatory poetic justice.  Meanwhile, the film’s amazing, even very funny in a ‘ewwwww’ sort of way.  Put it this way; do you like Fargo?  Barton Fink, The Big Lebowski, Blood Simple?  If so, check out Headhunters.

The second film I want to talk about is A Hijacking (Kapringen), the second feature from writer/director Tobias Lindholm.  His first film, R, is a sensational naturalist prison drama–in this film, the focus is the corporate boardroom, every big as feral and dangerous.

I haven’t seen Captain Phillips yet, and now, after seeing A Hijacking, I’m not sure I want to.  It’s hard to imagine a better film about a boat hijacked by Somali pirates.  The MV Rozen, a Danish cargo ship, is close to port when it’s boarded.  We don’t see the boarding, and for the first half of the film, we hardly know the pirates at all.  The focus is on the corporate headquarters of Rozen’s owners, and CEO Peter Ludwigsen (Søren Malling), who is negotiating its release.  And then cut back to the ship, and especially the ship’s cook, Mikkel (Pilou Asbæk), the one crew member who gets to move around a bit, because he has to provide food for crew and pirates alike.

As the film progresses, we also meet Omar (Abdihaken Asgar), who negotiates for the pirates, but claims not to be one. So as Peter claims to have to clear any cash payment with his board, Omar claims to answer to the pirates, and of course both sides see the other sides’ offers insultingly low.

Peter is one of those ‘rather be feared than loved’ sorts of bosses, buttoned-down, but plenty ruthless.  Omar, meanwhile, can go from genial to ferocious immediately, as needed, tactically.  And poor Mikkel just wants to get home to his wife and daughter.  The whole film manages to balance incredible dramatic tension with an almost off-handed super-realism.  And the negotiations drag on, and on.  We never sense that Peter is indifferent to the welfare of his threatened employees–he fully intends to do what he can to bring them home safely.  But he’s also not about to pay top dollar for their release, not least because his board really won’t let him.  And so the negotiations drag on. For months.  And Mikkel’s pantry empties, and the ship’s drinking water is nearly gone.  By the end of the film, the constant tension under which Mikkel labors has driven him nearly catatonic.

I won’t give away the ending, except to say that things do sort of work out, but not without terrible consequences.  But the film itself honors the ultra-naturalist tradition, found in this country by the films of Kelly Reichardt and Derek Cianfrance and the Duplass brothers and so many others.  It’s the starkest, most compelling film I’ve seen in months.

So anyway.  Two great films, by two young and gifted Scandinavian filmmakers.  Check ‘em out.

 

Reimagining 2012

Posted on by
Reply

Political junkie that I am, I just finished reading yet another book about the 2012 election, Dan Balz’ Collision 2012: Obama v. Romney and the future of elections in America.  I thought it was first-rate, outstanding; very even-handed and fair.  Jonathan Alter’s The Center Holds, which I reviewed a couple of weeks ago and which I also liked at lot, nonetheless was odd unbalanced: about 60% about the Obama campaign, and 40% about the Romney campaign.  Balz’ book focuses much more on Romney–at least 70% of the book is about the Republican candidates–but that seems fair to me.  After all, Romney had to win the Republican nomination first, and only then, after that grueling battle, turn to the general election.  Obama was unopposed among Democrats.

The book is also very fair to Mitt Romney personally, which I also appreciated.  It portrays him as a somewhat gaffe-prone campaigner, but as a decent and caring man, a man of family and faith, and a much more effective candidate than he’s often portrayed.  The book does dissect his electoral loss, but blames it more on demographics than any personal failings of Mitt Romney himself. I agree with that perspective.

One theme I found both fascinating and a bit depressing is how hard a long campaign is on the candidates’ families. Several prominent Republicans considered running for President, including men who may well have been formidable contenders–Chris Christie, Mitch Daniels, Haley Barbour.  Daniels was thought by some to have the strongest credentials of any in the field–a very successful governor, with federal experience.  But his wife wouldn’t hear of it–and one can hardly blame her.

Mitt Romney polled his family before running in 2008. At a family retreat, the governor, his wife, Ann, their five children and their children’s spouses each got a vote; the tally was 12-0 to run.  Having gone through it once, though, in 2011, the family voted very differently.  This time, it came out 10-2 against running, with Ann Romney and oldest son Tagg the only votes in favor of running. For most of the Romneys, it was just too grueling, too invasive, too unpleasant. Ann was willing to do it, though, and Tagg was able to talk the other kids and spouses around. And he ran, frankly, because Mitt Romney was a patriotic man afraid for the future of his country.  I respect that.

Eventually, of course, after further discussion, Governor Romney did run, won the nomination and lost the general election, but it’s intriguing to wonder what might have happened if the Governor had followed his initial instinct and withdrawn.  Who would the Republican candidate have been?  Rick Perry?  Rick Santorum?  Newt Gingrich?  I have to think that any of them would have been a much weaker candidate than Romney proved to be.  Perhaps the election would have been a bigger landslide than it turned out to be?  Perhaps Obama would have had bigger coattails, maybe even winning back the House of Representatives?  It’s intriguing to consider.

But, let’s consider another alternate universe mind game.  What if, instead of John McCain, Mitt Romney had been the Republican candidate in 2008?  Could he have won?  After all, his main appeal was as a businessman who could fix an ailing economy. The economy was a good deal sicker in 2008 than in 2012.  What if Romney had won the Presidency in 2008?

First of all, we wouldn’t be talking about Obamacare now, would we?  But I think it’s likely that we would be talking about health care.  Mitt Romney’s signal achievement as governor of Massachusetts was health care reform. And considering that Americans spend twice as much as most other nations on health care, with significantly poorer health outcomes, I think any President in 2008 would have to at least consider making health care reform a priority.  Differences between Romneycare and Obamacare are trivial, and the aspects of the ACA that conservatives hate the most, especially the individual mandate, are also part of the Massachusetts plan.  I think, therefore, that Romney would propose a national plan essentially similar to Obamacare, with the only real difference being that Republicans would generally support it.  And I think Democratic opposition would be fairly muted.  Anything that helps poor people get coverage would find fairly substantial Democratic support.  So I think, in 2012, we’d still be implementing Obamacare, only it’d be named after Romney, and popular with conservatives.

But I also think that the Democratic candidate in 2012, whether Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton, would very likely have held Romney to a single term as President.

The economy was in very serious trouble in 2008.  The initial steps to save it–bail out banks, save the auto industry–would probably also have been implemented by Romney.  But Mitt Romney is a Republican.  Nowadays, that generally implies disdain for Keynesian macro-economics, and a fondness for supply-side solutions.  And given that what we faced in 2007-8 was a liquidity trap, in which the zero lower bound on short-term interest rates rendered monetary policies alone ineffectual, I don’t think Romney would have embraced the obvious Keynesian solution.  I don’t think he would have, or even politically could have, asked Congress for a stimulus package.

Look at Romney’s 2012 campaign.  His entire appeal was technocratic–I’m a businessman, I know how to fix an ailing economy, I’m capable of getting under the hood of our economic engine and tinkering with it and getting it running again.  But his specific proposals were utter nonsense.  He embraced the Paul Ryan plan.  He talked about a tax cut.  He insisted that his tax cut would be revenue neutral, because he would off-set it by closing deductions, but the numbers never came close to adding up–there simply weren’t enough deductions that could be closed.

In other words, to the extent that Governor Romney offered a specific plan to fix the economy, it made no sense.  He wanted to cut spending (unspecified).  He wanted to cut taxes, which, he said, wouldn’t add to the deficit because his tax cuts would be balanced by closing loopholes (unspecified, and imaginary).  At a time when we needed to pump more money into the economy, he proposed pulling money out of the economy.  And what’s the point in a tax cut that’s revenue-neutral?  Do we want to increase the money supply, or decrease it?  And do investors, when considering investments, even worry much about tax rates?  Isn’t their main concern ‘is this a good investment?’

So let’s suppose that he won election in 2008, facing the same world-wide economic crisis that Obama faced.  Everything we know about the man tells us he would have embraced austerity, like Europe did.  And we know, for an absolute certainty, what austerity in the face of a demand-side recession does.  It deepens the recession.  We know that, with complete assurance, because that’s what’s what happened to the Europeans.

I will grant you that the economy hasn’t exactly been robust under Obama.  That’s because the amount of stimulus the economy needed was at least double the amount that it actually got. In addition to funding shovel-ready infrastructure improvements, we should have given states block grants so they wouldn’t have had to lay off so many public employees.  (Job losses in the public sector are the main driver of high unemployment right now).  Right now, unemployment rates in the US are around 7.3%. That’s too high.  That’s not great.  We still have a major unemployment problem.  But it’s higher in England, and well over 10% in France.

Now, I suppose it’s possible that Romney could have campaigned as a Hayekian and governed as a Keynesian. The man does seem to embrace a certain . . . flexibility of mind.  I don’t see him as a conservative idealogue.  But if there is one macro-economic doctrine with a proven track record of unequivocal failure, it’s supply-side, trickle-down, Laffer curve economics.  Or, in other words, the basic working assumptions of the Paul Ryan budget plan.

Anyway, it’s fun to speculate, and I could be entirely wrong about all of it.  But it’s interesting to think about a world in which Obamacare is a Republican idea, embraced by conservatives, and in which we really did try austerity, and watched it fail here too.  All things considered, I’ll take the reality we actually have.

 

 

Ylvis

Posted on by
2

So I’ve been sitting here with a cold, laughing my head off, having just discovered a new band.  When I say ‘new band,’ I mean, to me they’re new.  They have a YouTube video, after all, with over a hundred million hits.  It’s what they’re known for.  You’ve all probably all seen it many times over.  It’s the video “What does the fox say?”

I’ve heard they did the video mostly as a joke, and that’s quite possible.  But it has all the qualities I’ve noticed in song after song of theirs: an incredibly catchy tune, a fun video, a mock serious lead singer (with a terrific pop voice), and head scratching lyrics.  I mean, what?  What does the fox say?  It’s like a Sesame Street video, as written by Christopher Durang and produced by Weird Al.

But again, boy, is that tune catchy.

Ylvis is basically two Norwegian guys, brothers, Vegard and Bård Ylvisåker.  Vegard’s older by four years; are now in their mid-thirties.  They added a third guy, Calle Helvevang-Larsen for their TV show Ikveld med Ylvis (Tonight with Ylvis).  They’re basically a variety comedy act.  Terrific musicians, with their own off-beat sense of humor.

They’re very Norwegian, though, in their approach to comedy, and often in the subjects they’re attracted to.  I wonder if American or international fans really get a lot of what they’re about.  For example, there’s this. They’re on the set of their TV show, and then the other two leave Vegard alone, and he looks soulfully at the camera and sings “You raise me up.”  You know that song, a favorite of Josh Groban, covered many times by many other artists. Originally, though, it was written and recorded by Secret Garden, a Norwegian band.  Well, Norwegian/Irish.

Okay, so Vegard’s singing, and suddenly he turns, and starts singing to a middle-aged blonde woman (who can barely keep a straight face).  What? Who?  Well, it’s Erna Solberg.  Prime Minister of Norway.  Imagine Chris Rock or Will Farrell singing “You raise me up” to Barack Obama.  I just think that’s a very funny bit.

And the great thing about is that Vegard has a lovely voice.  (So does Bård).  And even when he’s singing this pretty uplifting song absolutely straight, you know there’s a catch; something funny is going on, even if we don’t get it yet.

I also love the satire of their song (and video) “Jan Egeland”.  The real Jan Egeland is one of the most respected politicians in Norway.  Heck, in the world. Here’s his Wikipedia page. An indefatigable worker for peace and human rights. An extraordinary diplomat. Hard to think of an American equivalent, except maybe Jimmy Carter.  But it’s essentially impossible to imagine an American comedy rock band doing a song with these lyrics:

“When he’s sad, he goes to funerals,

in unusually heavy rain.

Large amounts of water in his face, but that doesn’t hide his pain.

He breaks down just like a homo,

And starts crying just like a girl,

But I guess you can cry, and still be a man, when your day job is saving the world.”

 

And no, the song is not a slam on Egeland.  The tone is triumphant, the intent is sympathetic and reverential. With those lyrics. (And Jan Egeland is said to love the song–thinks it’s hilarious).

The Cabin (quick content warning before you link to the video) is similar, though again, I think it’s hilarious; it’s funnier if you know the cultural context.  Norwegians (like Utahns, come to think of it), love their “hyttas“–rustic cabins. They love getting away to the mountains, love the getaway thus provided.  At least Norwegian guys do–it’s no secret that some Norwegian women are less enthusiastic.  The song has a lovely R&B feel, and it’s basically a love song, a paean to rustic simplicity and authenticity.

“Sixty square meters of heaven on earth, a tiny wooden paradise.

My own private pinewood Taj Mahal,

except for the shape and the size.”

The song also, of course, makes abundantly clear why his wife hasn’t joined him there for ten years–it’s tiny, freezing, unsanitary. But it’s his Taj Mahal.  And it’s completely his.  Except for having to share it with, like, eight family members.

I also love their Christmas parody song, “Da vet du at det er jul“, which, sadly, you have to speak Norwegian to get. But it’s great, every Christmas cliche imaginable.  And then quite horrible realities intrude.

More accessible to non-Norwegian speakers is “Stonehenge“. in many respects, it’s like “What does the fox say?”, in that it asks an unanswerable question, and also has an insanely catchy tune. (Bit of a content advisory for that video too, sorry).  I mean, seriously, why did they build Stonehenge?  And wouldn’t you give your car to find out the answer?  Even a really reliable Honda Civic?

Finally, let me recommend “Someone like me.” It’s a really pretty, sort of Burt Bacharach-esque love song. With a really nasty dub-step beat. Really funny stuff.

Who can Ylvis be compared to?  Lonely Island comes to mind, a band Ylvis say they admire, but hadn’t heard of until very recently.  I think more of Flight of the Conchords, the New Zealand comedy rock duo.  Check out their Hiphopopotomus vs. Rhymenoceros. Much of the same goofy fun, combined with musicianship. Or maybe a bit of Stephen Lynch.

But Ylvis isn’t any kind of copycat band. They’re uniquely, goofily Norwegian; internationally minded, sophisticated, exceptionally bright, influenced by musical styles from everywhere, but also with their own take on what’s funny.  Check ‘em out.  Except you already have.

 

 

 

Yes!

Posted on by
4

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame just announced their nominees for 2014 induction.  You can vote here. We’re allowed to vote for five candidates, and as usual, I’m really really torn.  Honestly, it wouldn’t break my heart if they all made it.  But two bands in particular seem controversial.  KISS is finally nominated.  And the other band is Yes.

There is, and always has been, a close connection between the  Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Rolling Stone Magazine and Columbia records.  This makes sense, because the most important founders of the RRHOF were Ahmet Ertugen and Jann Wenner.  And HOF voters have always despised progressive rock. Jethro Tull is not in the HOF.  Nor is Emerson, Lake and Palmer, nor is Gentle Giant, nor King Crimson, nor the Moody Blues.  Pink Floyd made it, but they were only tangentially prog.

The reality is that the Rock and Roll of Fame voters are largely comprised of rock historians, many of them from Rolling Stone Magazine, who think prog rock sucks.  They think it’s pretentious, they think it’s not really rock and roll.  They think it’s the very definition of terrible music.  And as a lifelong prog rock fan, as a person for whom, in high school, Gentle Giant and Jethro Tull and Yes were the sound track to my life, that’s a highly offensive attitude.  So last year, when Rush made it on the ballot (and was voted into the Hall by fans), it felt very much like the prog rock camel’s nose slipping under the tent flap.  This year, let’s bring in the rest of the camel.

Which is another way of saying, yes!  to the fact that Yes made it on the ballot.  And so did Peter Gabriel.

But this year, I’m going to do something else.  I’m going to compare the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominees to Baseball Hall of Fame inductees.  I mean, the first is clearly modeled on the second, including the name ‘Hall of Fame.’  Plus I think this might be kind of fun.

Here are the candidates, with my comments on each:

The Paul Butterfield Blues Band:  NO.

They were up last year, and I think will be on the ballot every year until they get in.  Someone at the Rolling Stone really really likes this band.  Let me say, first, that blues-based mid-sixties rock bands are not exactly in short supply in the Hall.  They had two great albums, basically.  They played at Woodstock.  I just don’t see their accomplishments as sufficiently substantial to warrant inclusion. Baseball equivalent: Pistol Pete Reiser.  (Reiser was a great young player, very short career due to frequent injuries).

Chic: NO.

Important disco band. I love the guitar lick on “Le Freak.”  But disco is already well represented in the Hall.  I vote no.  Baseball equivalent: Omar Moreno.  (Slick fielder, very fast and fun-to-watch baserunner, couldn’t hit, didn’t stick.)

Deep Purple: NO.

I love Deep Purple.  The opening guitar lick for “Smoke on the Water” is iconic.  Great keyboard work from Jon Lord, great guitarist in Ritchie Blackmore.  Very tough call, but the band didn’t last quite long enough for me to vote for them this time around.  Baseball equivalent: Dave Parker. (Old Pirates outfielder; genuinely great player, not quite HOF material).

Peter Gabriel: YES

One of the great innovators in rock history, a restless explorer trangressing musical boundaries.  Also a guy who reinvented the rock video, turned the four minute mini-movie into an avant-garde art form.  Enthusiastic yes: he’s gotta be in.  Baseball equivalent: Dennis Eckersley (Brilliant starting pitcher, even better relief pitcher; versatile and superb).

Hall and Oates: Blarg.  NO.

Just too top 40 for my taste.  To make the HOF, you have to do more than craft hit after hit.  I get why they’re nominated, but they’re the bottom of the pile this year. Baseball equivalent: Steve Garvey.  (Dodger first baseman, big star, massively overrated).

KISS: NO.

But a tough call.  I’m voting no, frankly, because I just don’t like their music very much. And everything about their approach seems cynical to me. “You wanna like some music your parents will HATE? Right?”  But they were influential and popular.  (Speak of cynical, though: I don’t think it’s an accident that KISS got nominated the same year Yes was.  The HOF loathes both bands, but recognizes they have very large and vocal fan bases. And while we can all vote five times, only the top vote-getter automatically makes it in).  Baseball equivalent: Jose Canseco. (No one liked his antics, but grudgingly had to admit his gifts).

LL Cool J: NO

One of the great rappers, I think he’ll make it in eventually.  But I like the idea of promoting diversity–having inductees representing a variety of sub-genres.  And N.W.A. is more important, historically.  Baseball equivalent: Bernie Williams. (Great player on those great 90′s Yankees teams, not quite enough resume to be in).

The Meters: NO.

Fantastic New Orleans funk band, though. Really like ‘em.  But they had kind of a short career, then became a sessions band, recording with a huge variety of other artists.  A lot of great bands up for induction this year–sadly, for me, they don’t quite make the cut. Baseball equivalent: Luis Tiant. (Red Sox pitcher, fun to watch, contorted his body oddly before each pitch).

Nirvana: YES.

The easy choice this year.  Obvious yes.  Incredibly important band, historically and artistically and culturally.  Baseball equivalent: Pedro Martinez: (incredibly good, but sadly short career, not in the HOF yet, but will be soon).

N. W. A.: YES.

We’re just moving into the rap era.  Because of the Hall’s eligibility requirements–they can’t be nominated until 25 years has passed since they released their first record–Tupac, Biggie Smalls, that generation is just starting to be nominated.  N.W.A. is one of the most influential bands in history, a band that showed the radical political power of rap.  Easy call.  Baseball equivalent: Rickie Henderson (greatest lead-off hitter in history, but not really recognized as great until the Bill James revolution changed how we look at the game).

The Replacements: NO

But I hate myself for not voting for them. I know they influenced everyone from Nirvana to Green Day to Fall Out Boy. And every few days or so, I get in the mood for some DIY post-punk indie and go to my Replacements Pandora station. But I’m not sure they were ever quite . . .  substantial enough for this company. Baseball equivalent: Fernando Valenzuela: (Remember Fernandomania?  So immensely charismatic and fun, and then it all went away).

Linda Ronstadt: NO

A very reluctant no. I love her music, owned several albums, plus had a huge crush on her based solely on her Hasten Down the Wind album cover. I don’t like Hall and Oates and I do like Linda Ronstadt, but I won’t vote for either this year for much the same reason: they had a lot of hits, but weren’t important historically.  Baseball equivalent: Don Mattingly.  (Yankee first baseman; not quite as good as we thought at the time).

Cat Stevens: YES

I love Cat Stevens’ music. I listen to it all the time, and I think there was a time, about 1974 or so, when his music kind of saved me.  I found hope in his music when I was feeling kind of hopeless; he’s honestly one of the reasons I went on a mission.  And I admire his courage; converting to Islam because of the peace he found in it.  I love this guy–he has to make it in.  Baseball equivalent: Barry Bonds. (Controversial choices, but my gosh was he great).

Link Wray: NO

I get his historical importance.  But does the Hall really need another late-50′s guitar player?  Not given the strength of the other contenders.  Baseball equivalent: Bruce Sutter.  (Cubs pitcher, invented the split-fingered fastball.  But was he that great on his own merits?)

Yes: YES

A thousand times yes.  Of course Yes belongs in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. To say otherwise is just pure snobbery and prejudice.  One of the greatest bands in history, a band as important to the seventies as the Rolling Stones or Who were to earlier generations.  Baseball Equivalent: Tom Seaver: (yes, Tommy Terrific. That good).

The Zombies: NO

But not a bad choice. Again, though, it’s not like the RRHOF has a shortage of British Invasion sixties bands.  I’m not kidding–Herman’s Hermits will make it some day.  Baseball equivalent: Dave Kingman: (at the end of the day, just another slugging first baseman).

Anyway, I put the link above. Vote! The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame needs your input.  And remember: Yes is, in fact, on the ballot this year.  Just a reminder.. . .

It’s over . . . for now

Posted on by
Reply

So, okay, last Tuesday night, the US national men’s soccer team was playing Panama’s national team.  In Panama.  It was a World Cup qualifying game, but meant nothing to the US team–we’ve already qualified for the World Cup, first in our group.  But this game still needed to be played, and was important; if Panama won, and Mexico lost, Panama would qualify for the World Cup.  If the US won, however, Mexico would qualify. Mexico was playing at Costa Rica, and could also qualify just by winning.  But late in the evening, the US was behind Panama 2-1, and Mexico was losing, also 2-1.

Mexico is a soccer-mad nation, and for their national team to not qualify for the World Cup would be a national bummer of epic proportions.  Panama is a much smaller country, what with being split in half by a ditch and all; making the World Cup would be super cool for them too.

Soccer games last 90 minutes, with the clock running continuously.  But during the game, guys get hurt, penalties get assessed, and the referee keeps track of how long the game is delayed by those events, and that time then gets added to the 90 minutes at the end.  It’s called ‘stoppage time.’  Which means, when the clock shows that 90 minutes are up, there are usually 3 or 4 minutes left to play. And goals scored in stoppage time count, obviously.

So after 90 minutes, Mexico trailed Costa Rica, and the US trailed Panama.  And it looked like Panama was going to the World Cup.

The Mexican national team stands to lose 600 million dollars this year.  If they don’t make the World Cup, their finances are that amount in arrears.  They hope that by making it to Brazil, to the World Cup, they’ll recoup those losses.

Sunday night, the Red Sox, having earlier lost Game One of the American League Championship Series, trailed the Tigers in Game Two.  In the 8th inning, they were behind 5-1.  If they lost the first two games of that 7 game series, they were unlikely to win the series.  Especially since the Tigers have the two best pitchers in baseball, Justin Verlander and Max Scherzer, ready to go as needed.

Also, the New England Patriots were losing to the New Orleans Saints at home, 27-23, with a little over a minute left.  The Patriots’ quarterback, Tom Brady, is superb.  But his best receivers are all hurt.  They’ve dropped pass after pass.  He’s working with third stringers, plus former BYU star, Austin Collie, who has been with the team two days and doesn’t know the plays.

The Tigers play in Detroit. Detroit is bankrupt.  Detroit is also home to the auto industry, which nearly went bankrupt.  One of President Obama’s signal domestic accomplishments was his loan, which led to the restructuring of the auto industry, saving thousands of jobs.  It would be really really good for Detroit to win the World Series.  This year.

The Red Sox are from Boston.  Boston has an annual holiday, Patriot’s day, third Monday in April. Schools are closed, also municipal buildings.  The Red Sox play at home.  And later in the day, the Boston Marathon is run.  This year, the Marathon was interrupted by two bombs, which killed three people and badly injured dozens more.  The Patriots also play in Boston.

Meanwhile, Tuesday night, John Boehner presented a bill in the House of Representatives that would re-open the government and allow us to avoid default on our nation’s debts.  This bill was pretty close to the Republicans last chance to get something substantive in their negotiations.  Assuming it could pass the House, pass on a Senate vote, and be signed by the President, all of which looked pretty iffy.

The US soccer team has a guy, Graham Zusi, plays professionally for Kansas City, barely on the National team, but hardly ever plays.  For the US, this game against Panama doesn’t matter–none of our stars are in the game.  But in stoppage time, Zusi heads in a perfect cross.  Game tied, in the 92nd minute.

Tuesday night, as the House is preparing to vote on Boehner’s bill, the conservative advocacy group Heritage Action vets the bill, says House Republicans should vote against it.  The Heritage Foundation is run by former Senator Jim DeMint.  For a few minutes, it appears that DeMint is de facto House Speaker.  In any event, Heritage Action’s memo scuttles the bill–rather than suffer a humiliating defeat, Boehner withdraws it.

Tom Brady moves the Patriots down the field.  A key fourth down catch is made by Austin Collie.  With five seconds left, Brady throws a touchdown to an undrafted free agent rookie receiver, Kenbrell Thompkins.  The Patriots, who looked dead, win the game.

David Ortiz, of the Red Sox, comes up with the bases loaded in the 8th, facing the Tigers best relief pitcher, Joaquin Benoit.  Ortiz hits a low line drive to right.  The right field wall in Fenway Park is very low; it looks like the ball might barely clear it.  Tigers right fielder Torii Hunter leaps, actually jumps over the fence.  The ball eludes his glove.  Game tied.  In the 9th, the Red Sox, who looked dead, win the game.

David Ortiz, Big Papi, is the only Red Sox player still on the team who played in the 2004 World Series, in which the Sox shattered the curse of Babe Ruth.  A big Dominican, he has been embraced in the city of Boston as few other athletes have ever been embraced by their cities.  The day after the Boston bombing, Ortiz asked to take the take the mic.  When he said, proudly, “this is our f-ing city,” the place erupted.  That was in April.  Now, in October, the season on the line, he hits a grand slam home run to win a game they had to win.

In Panama, in the 94th minute, well into stoppage time by now, the game nearly over, another USA reserve, Aron Johannsson, strikes a ball sharply for the left corner of the goal.  It barely slides past the diving keeper.  Here’s a link.The USA, who looked dead, win the game 3-2.

In Costa Rica, the Mexican announcer hears the US score and goes berserk.  The Mexican national team, who looked completely dead, have qualified for . . . well, not the World Cup, but a playoff game with New Zealand, the winner to advance to the World Cup.  The announcer’s great: audibly weeping, he shouts ‘GOAAAAAALLLLLLLL’.  For a goal in a different game than the one he was announcing, played in a different country.  Then he says, in English, “We love you!  We love you forever! God bless America.”  And then, best I can make out, the same sentiments many many times in Spanish.

Mexico advances.  The Red Sox win.  The Patriots win.

On Wednesday, Senators Harry Reid and Mitch McConnell, the Majority and Minority leaders of the Senate, craft a bill that will re-open the government, and raise the debt ceiling.   Speaker Boehner calls for a House vote, which passes.  The President signs it into law. The United States of America, which looked as close to dead as it’s possible for the richest nation in the history of the world to look, just that close to default, our full faith and credit in jeopardy, probably the world economy at risk, has (barely) survived another crisis.

It’s been, to say the least, an exciting few days.  The Patriots survived.  Detroit and Boston, two cities who need some good news, remain locked in a titanic playoff battle.  Mexico, right now, loves America.  And a few other people whose patriotism seemed dubious did, finally, do the right thing for the country.  So dish up some ice cream, or whatever you celebrate with, and, very quietly, rejoice.  They play the Super Bowl every year, and the debt ceiling will have to be raised again in February.

Thoughts on torture

Posted on by
2

Saw the new movie Prisoners the other day.  It’s really very good, exceptionally well acted and quite well written, if, you know, also kind of preposterous.  Two married couples, the Dovers (Hugh Jackman and Maria Bello), and the Birchs (Terrence Howard and Viola Davis), best friends, are enjoying Thanksgiving together when they notice their seven-year-old daughters are missing. Their older kids remember the girls playing by a dilapidated van parked in the neighborhood; cops are called, the van is discovered, driven by a mentally handicapped guy named Alex Jones (Paul Dano).  But, so, the Paul Dano character doesn’t seem to know anything, or even have the mental capacity to understand the questions he’s being asked, so the cops have to let him go.

And Hugh Jackman goes crazy.  His character, Keller Dover, is pretty tightly wound anyway.  He’s a carpenter, a hunter, a gun owner–has a concealed carry permit, movie starts with him and his son shooting a deer.  And he’s a religious man; prays openly several times in the movie.  A good family man, you sense.

But his little girl’s been kidnapped. And he loses it.  Kidnaps the Paul Dano character, and begins torturing him.  Finally builds a tiny closet for him, with off-and-on scalding water.  And keeps him there for days.

And the other couple, the Birches, they know about it.  And they’re appalled, and they’re horrified, and they know it’s wrong and say so.  But they can’t quite bring themselves to make him stop, call the cops or something.  Terrence Howard’s brilliant in this movie, as a deeply conflicted guy who nonetheless, out of desperation, chooses not to act, thereby violating his own deeply rooted religious and moral convictions.  I mean, his daughter’s gone too.  And Viola Davis is equally superb, as her character goes along with these dreadful decisions made by these two men.  They’re moral cowards, really, all of them are, but we also get why.

And it works. Torture works. Eventually, this poor sad guy, Alex Jones, who barely even understands the questions they’re asking him, he says something that cracks the case open. And Hugh Jackman grabs his gun, and goes to where he now knows his daughter is being held.

Now, in the interest of spoiler-avoidance, I won’t say more.  Jake Gyllenhaal, as Detective Loki (seriously, the cop’s a Norse God?) continues to work the case, and eventually solves it, despite screwing up pretty badly a couple of times. As I said, I rather liked the movie; mostly because these are all terrific actors and they carry the film.  But torture works.  That’s my takeaway.  Torture works.

But then, it often works in Hollywood.  Zero Dark Thirty? I know Kathryn Bigelow and Mark Boal insist they’re opposed to torture–still, I saw their film.  Torture works.  Through torture, a key piece of intel, leading eventually to bin Laden’s capture, is discovered.  It’s not the only intel they have, and it’s not the key to anything, but it starts Jessica Chastain down the path that eventually leads to Osama bin Laden’s execution.  Torture works.

24? One of the most popular shows in the history of television, right?  Jack Bauer tortured someone nearly every week, and it pretty much always worked.  What about Homeland? Crazy Carrie Mathison (played by presumably not-crazy Claire Danes) is the show’s heroine, and she orders torture, and again, it kind of works. Provides key information, leading to . . . well, something.  Info, if not actionable intel.

Now, all these characters are conflicted by it.  Hugh Jackman’s character is wracked with guilt over what he has to do to poor Paul Dano.  He prays about it, repeatedly.  And I know, that could be read as another example of Hollywood mocking religion; another hypocritical Christian.  But as a Christian, I don’t see it that way.  I think all Christians are, to some degree, hypocrites.  We have to be, given the impossible precepts and example provided us in the Sermon on the Mount. Love our enemies, turn the other cheek? The point of that Sermon is aspirational–it’s what we should work towards, knowing we’ll never achieve it. Which is why we also believe in God’s grace.

But when characters torture other characters, in movies or on TV (or in theatre), they’re always deeply conflicted about it.  And that elevates them.  They’re not torturing monsters.  They feel bad about it.  They’re facing a moral dilemma.  They have to decide; does this end justify these means?  And the thing they’re working for (capturing terrorists, rescuing kidnapped daughters, killing Osama bin Laden, saving the world) is always something noble and grand.  So torture isn’t exactly a good thing.  And it hurts me as much (or more) as it hurts you.  But sometimes you just have to.

BS.  Nonsense.  Balderdash.  Here’s Ali Soufan, former FBI agent and the one man who came closest to figuring out and stopping 9/11:

Time and time again, people with actual experience with interrogating terror suspects and actual experience and knowledge about the effectiveness of torture techniques have come out to explain that they are ineffective and that their use threatens national security more than it helps.

This from the Army Field Manual:

“Torture is a poor technique that yields unreliable results, may damage subsequent collection efforts, and can induce the source to say what he thinks the interrogator wants to hear.”

I could multiply these quotations a hundred times over.  Torture simply doesn’t work. Nor is it ennobling. Ask Lynndie England: the torturers at Abu Graib were driven by, mostly, boredom.  They were inadequately supervised, had a job they hated, and took it out on the prisoners under their care.

I know that some members of the intelligence community dispute this.  I know that Dick Cheney insists that valuable intelligence was discovered through ‘enhanced interrogation techniques.’  He’s cited the example of captured Al Quada operative, Abu Zubaydah (who was diagnosed with schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder), and was (according to the International Red Cross) subjected to

Waterboarding, sleep deprivation, isolation, exposure to extreme temperatures, enclosure in tiny spaces, bombardment with agonizing sounds at extremely damaging decibel levels, and religious and sexual humiliation.

All this was entirely unnecessary.  The man broke 30 seconds into his first waterboarding session (though he continued to be subjected to it).  He did what everyone does when they’re tortured.  He told his torturers whatever he thought they wanted.  He’d worked as a travel agent, and so he told about plots to attack the Brooklyn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, the New York subway system.  As a result, the US spent millions of dollars chasing false alarms.  Ron Suskind’s great book, The One Percent Doctrine details his interrogation.  When he was simply questioned by sympathetic listeners, he gave up actual, actionable intelligence. When they started torturing him, his stories got wilder, and nonsensical.

Torture doesn’t work.  Not in real life.  In movies and on TV, they use it, because it’s dramatically tense and gives actors a chance to suffer photogenically.  But we could write better, truer stories.

So I’ve got a play in rehearsal right now.  Nothing Personal, it’s called, and it’s about the assault on civil liberties.  And it includes a torture scene.  And audiences and critics will decide if it’s a very good play.  (I’m proud of it, but then I’m proud of all my children).  But I can say this with some pride, I think: in my play about torture, torture doesn’t work.  Because it doesn’t.  And I wish Hollywood would figure that out.

Saving Democracy

Posted on by
14

In 1860, the Democratic Party held its nominating convention in what must have been seen even then by moderates as an insane choice: Charleston, South Carolina.  The brand-new Republican party had earlier held its convention in Chicago, and nominated Abraham Lincoln. The expectation is that the Democrats would nominate their best-known national figure, Illinois Senator Stephen A. Douglas.  It was thought that Douglas, if he won the Presidency might save the nation.  Southern states were talking secession, and although no one knew what that might mean, the possibility of civil war loomed over the convention.

Lincoln was widely reviled, inaccurately, as a closet abolitionist.  It was true that he was opposed to slavery, but thought it would, if left alone, die out on its own. Douglas was a more conciliatory figure.  His policy was ‘popular sovereignty,’ meaning that citizens in the territories should decide such divisive issues as slavery.

This reasonable, democratic position was anathema to the delegates in Charleston.  And the key speech–and the one that wrecked the convention, and led directly to the Civil War– was the one delivered by an Alabama delegate, William Lowndes Yancey.  His “speech of protest,” as it came to be known, argues that the South’s aim was to destroy democracy, in order to preserve it:

We have come here, with the twofold purpose of saving the country and of saving Democracy; and if the Democracy will not lend itself to that high, holy, and elevated purpose. . .  then we say to you, gentlemen, mournfully and regretfully, that in the opinion of . . .  the whole South, you have failed.

I thought about Yancey yesterday, watching Ted Cruz and Mike Lee and Sarah Palin speak at a rally in Washington D.C. They were protesting the closing of a National Monument.  Ted Cruz, protesting against the National Park Service, which, because of the government shut-down, had to be closed.  The government shut-down was his idea. His actions precipitated it.  He, and Utah Senator Mike Lee (who I generally refer to, snarkily, as ‘Constitutional Scholar Mike Lee’) were protesting the inevitable consequence of their own decision and choice.

But they had to do it, you see.  Because Obamacare, the Affordable Care Act, is going to destroy our nation, ruin our economy, take away our liberty. They had to act, they had to shut down the government, they had to risk the full faith and credit of the United States, push us to the brink of default on loans necessary to pay for spending Congress has already authorized, all because Obamacare is so noxious, so destructive, so anti-democratic.

Ted Cruz’s speech ended with this line, cribbed from Ronald Reagan:

Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.

A stirring peroration, to be sure.  But Reagan said that in 1961.  He was still an actor, then, producing 78 rpm records carrying his speeches.  That particular record was about Medicare.  Yes, that’s the program that was about to enslave America, the program that would leave us all in our dotage reminiscing about the good old days when men were free.  Medicare.

Which President Ronald Reagan later declared indispensable.  And worked with then-Speaker Tip O’Neill to strengthen.

At the same rally, protestors shouted abuse at Capitol police, who were simply doing their jobs. Without pay.  The crowd was unruly, and so these cops went to work without any assurance they would get a paycheck, to keep order in the nation’s capital.

Our country has gone insane before. The rhetoric in 1860 was all about ‘Constitutional values’ and ‘preserving Democracy,’ and of course, freedom.  And what specific freedoms were at stake?  The freedom to own other human beings, to profit from their labor, to whip them and shackle them and force them to work without compensation, to enjoy unfettered sexual access to them, to regulate when and what they ate and where and how they worshipped and every single solitary element of their lives. That right, the right to own slaves, is the ‘peculiar institution’ Yancey cited repeatedly in his speech.  And taking that right away was, to the likes of William Lowndes Yancey, tyranny.

So what’s at stake now?  Obamacare. And every single allegation made about the Affordable Care Act in that rally yesterday and in Ted Cruz’ marathon filibuster and on Fox News and in nearly every conservative media outlet, every allegation is just flat wrong.  Just plain dishonest.

So ‘a government takeover of health care.’  No.  It just expands health care access to people who can’t afford it right now.  My health care options don’t change, not to any degree whatsoever.  If you’re on Medicare, yours don’t either.  If health insurance is a benefit provided by your employer, nothing changes for you either.

‘Forcing people to buy a product they don’t want.’  That’s how insurance works.  You have to buy fire insurance for your home.  You have to buy auto insurance to drive a car.  People would rather not buy insurance until right up to the point that they need it.  But doing that makes insurance impossible.  Grow up–living in modern society has some costs attached.

“Going to destroy our economy.”  Essentially, Obamacare establishes health insurance exchanges.  It’s built on the Massachusetts model.  So has Massachusetts’ economy been destroyed?  Anyone?

Let me describe what Obamacare does do, however.  Let’s suppose you’re a young married couple, with small children at home, not yet established professionally, and without health insurance. It’s two o’clock in the morning.  Your daughter wakes up; she’s in terrible pain, headache, is running a fever. You check the internet.  Could just be a kid with fever. Could be meningitis.

At this point, you have two possible choices you could make, and both of them are utterly irresponsible.  One: you take your daughter to the hospital, to emergency.  You rack up a bill you can’t pay, you subject yourself to the collection agency hospitals have to employ nowadays, you maybe arrange for some kind of payment schedule which will further screw up your family budget.  Two: you don’t do anything, risking the very real possibility that your daughter has a life-threatening illness.  Two choices.  Both irresponsible, both wrong.

Obamacare provides another choice: insurance options, and money in a tax credit to pay for it.  That’s the evil, that’s the threat to democracy, that’s the tyranny that beckons.

In 1860, our country went insane, driven there by the likes of William Yancey.  Today, we’re going insane, driven there by Ted Cruz and Constitutional Scholar Mike Lee.  Please, heaven, let’s pray that John Boehner is a patriot. We’ll find out in two days.

Gravity: A Review

Posted on by
7

I’m not Alfonso Cuaron’s film Gravity should be called a truly great film.  What it does do is provide a great film experience. When I say it’s ‘breathtaking,’ I mean it literally–I kept forgetting to breathe.  It took me two days to recover from watching it.  It’s just extraordinary.

Sandra Bullock plays Dr. Ryan Stone, a NASA scientist in space for the first time. George Clooney plays Matt Kowalski, a space program veteran, and an expert on zero-G survival.  As the film begins, she’s trying to fix a malfunctioning piece of equipment essential to the experiment she’s up there to perform.  He’s goofing around, telling funny stories to Mission Control and generally having a ball.  Then everything goes wrong.

The first fifteen minutes or so of the film are this extended, seamless single take, the camera sort of floating around up there, showing us Bullock’s repair job, Clooney’s clowning, and a third astronaut, Shariff, off doing something else.  Then debris from a destroyed satellite slashes through everything, destroying the shuttle, killing Shariff, and the camera captures it, the spinning shuttle shedding equipment, the two astronauts fending off shrapnel.  It ends with Bullock alone, trapped in immensity of space, and we hear her terrified breathing, as Clooney, ever calmly, tries to find her, tries to rescue her.  Still all just one take.

I don’t know how much time the film is supposed to cover.  My guess is about four or five hours; certainly not much more than that.  The film itself clocks in at a brisk 90 minutes.

But I also have no idea how he did it.  I mean, basically every shot of the film, stuff had to float around.  And by ‘stuff floating,’ I mean actors.  Floating.  Either they got special permission from NASA to send a film crew up on the shuttle (unlikely), or Alfonso Cuaron and his incredible crew invented some entirely new ways to use computer graphics, animation and heaven-knows-what new kinds of camera gizmos to create, in studio, a zero-grav environment.

Cuaron’s last film, The Children of Men, ended with an extended ten-plus minute take that was the most compelling, powerful, emotionally affecting piece of filmmaking I’d seen in years.  He’s now matched it, with the first fifteen minutes of this film.

And yet, it’s so simple, the story this film tells.  In essence, the script follows the Aristotelian unities of time, space and action; the forced compression of dramatic action the Renaissance thought Aristotle demanded.  In fact, of course, Aristotle himself had no notion of any unities–they were the invention of the Italian Renaissance scholar Ludovico Castelvetro.  But driving home afterwards, I was reminded of Castelvetro, who didn’t think the unities, or drama generally, had any particular moral purpose.  He just thought a taut, compressed story was exciting dramatically.  Led to pity and fear.

And boy does it.  Oh my freaking heck.  My wife grabbed my hand early on, and I was glad she did; I couldn’t let go of hers either.  Pity and fear–you bet.  We’re terrified for Bullock’s character.  And we feel really really bad for her.

And that’s about it. The story couldn’t be simpler. With the shuttle destroyed, the astronauts have to see if they can reach the International Space Station.  They can use the Soyuz spacecraft there as lifeboats.  Of course, Clooney’s jetpacks are low on fuel, and Bullock’s space suit is nearly out of oxygen.  Then, when the Soyuz craft turn out to have been wrecked too, there’s a Chinese space station, with an escape pod they can use–so they might make it there.  And that’s the entire movie–space shuttle to space station to Soyuz to Chinese station to escape pod.  To Earth.  That’s the entire movie.

But it’s not, obviously.  Aristotle wasn’t interested in the unities, but he did write quite a bit about beauty, and that’s part of the wonder of this film–how lovely it is.  The Earth, for starters–this giant green globe just off the astronauts’ shoulders, or in the background as they struggle, or at times, gone, as a lone astronaut floats off the wrong the direction; gone, but also omnipresent in their (and our) thoughts.  At one particularly dangerous point, Clooney says ‘the sunset over the Ganges is so beautiful,’ and then we catch a glimpse ourselves.

But space has its own beauty.  A tear floats off Bullock’s cheek, and slowly towards the camera, and as it gets close, we can see her face reflected.  We can see the sunlight reflect off Bullock’s space mask, and then it lights up the earth.  When she floats through the space shuttle, she has to deal with human detritus–pens and notepads and dishes and bottles, and then, a moment of space whimsy, a Marvin the Martian doll. And Bullock seems so liberated by zero G; swimming through the shuttle like a dolphin. In one particularly lovely moment, she shrugs out of her bulky space suit, and, exhausted, curls up briefly to rest.  And, floating, her body curls into the fetal position.  And a stray cable of some kind floats into the frame, and gives her an umbilical cord.

Sandra Bullock is now 49 years old.  We first noticed her as the bus driving passenger in Speed, and she was the ‘girl next door’ ever after, using her charm and humor and off-handed beauty in rom-com after rom-com.  She won an unexpected Oscar for The Blind Side, playing a take-no-crap Southern matron.  Now, at an age where actresses start to see their opportunities diminish, she’s going to be nominated, and is likely to win, her second Oscar.  Her performance here, as a humorless scientist with a tragic past, would seem to be out of her comfort zone.  But it isn’t really.  She’s always been great at playing insecurity, playing women in inexplicable pain, even in more conventional movies–in Miss Congeniality, say, or While You Were Sleeping.  Not great films, either of them, but she held them together, and there was always more going on with her than the formulaic screenplays allowed.  Anyway, she’s brilliant in this, absolutely brilliant.  It’s actually a pretty conventional woman-in-peril film, despite the brilliance of the filmmaking.  She elevates it.

Gravity‘s Rotten Tomatoes score is 98, which suggests to me that two percent of our nation’s professional film critics need to find a different line of work.  It reminds me of when Willie Mays was nominated for the Hall of Fame, and was inducted with 95% of the vote.  Five percent of Baseball Hall of Fame voters didn’t think Willie Mays was good enough?  Are you kidding me?  But I have a friend who didn’t like Gravity, and when asked why, said ‘what’s it about?  Where’s the substance?’ I suppose that’s fair. It’s about a space rescue–there’s not a lot more to it.  The message, if you need one, would seem to be ‘don’t blow up old spy satellites, Russia, because of the possibility of cascading debris damage.’  Or maybe it’s just about the law of unintended consequences.

I don’t think so, though.  I think it’s Castelvetro–compressing dramatic action heightens our emotional response.  And who cares if it means anything?  My wife and I had an incredible film experience the other night.  Not much else matters.

Small victories

Posted on by
Reply

Two news stories this week caught my attention, both of which qualify as feminist victories, and are worth being celebrated as such.  The first is the selection of Condoleeza Rice to serve on the College Football Playoff Selection Committee.  The second is the nomination of Janet Yellen to serve as Chair of the Federal Reserve Board.  I do not mean to suggest that the appointment of two women to positions of prominence is noteworthy simply because they’re women. I say that these two outstandingly capable women should have been easy and obvious choices.  What strikes me as significant is not that they were selected for these jobs.  It’s that they were not not selected. Let me explain.

To begin with the less important job: former Secretary of State Rice’s appointment to the College Football job.  College football, unlike essentially all other major team sports, does not have a coherent, thoughtfully devised system for crowning a champion.  In college basketball, for example, the NCAA has a end-of-year tournament.  68 teams are chosen to participate in that tournament, and it’s very exciting, watching 68 whittled down to 64, then to 32, then to 16, and so on, until a championship game features the two surviving teams.  This year, Louisville beat Michigan.  Louisville is the champion.  No one disputes it.  They won.

Not so in college football, where for years, at the end of the season, ‘National Champions’ were chosen by opinion polls, basically, and not decided on the field of play.  In 1998, something called the ‘Bowl Championship Series‘ was created, which decided who would play who in the most lucrative bowl games, with one of those games chosen more-or-less arbitrarily as the ‘national championship game.’ The BCS is widely loathed by college football fans, and now, finally, it seems to be going away, replaced by a new committee, this College Football Playoff selection thing. That committee will choose four teams, which will have a little two game mini-playoff, the final of which will choose a national champion.  This new system is likely to be hated too, which is why the makeup of the committee is considered important.  The people who serve on it need to be prominent and respected, to confer upon the game itself some measure of legitimacy.

Condoleeza Rice’s name was floated a couple of weeks ago, and proved a controversial nomination.  Why?  Because she never played college football.  ESPN analyst David Pollock began by saying that the committee should be limited to people who had played college football. When pressed, he said essentially, ‘yeah, that means no women on the committee.’ Then Pat Dye, former Auburn coach weighed in:

All she knows about football is what somebody told her.  Or what she read in a book or what she saw on television. To understand football, you’ve got to play with your hand in the dirt.

Condoleeza Rice is known for being a particularly enthusiastic and informed college football fan.  But because she never played ‘with her hand in the dirt,’ she shouldn’t, in Pat Dye’s opinion, serve on this committee.

All right then, what credentials should a committee member have?  First of all, this committee’s work is going to be scrutinized by college football fans.  If you’re the fan of a good team, and your team isn’t chosen for this mini-tournament, you’re going to be seriously ticked off.  So whoever serves on it should be a person of prominence.  A former Secretary of State would seem to meet that criterion.

Does she know football?  Her father, with whom she was very very close, was a high school football coach.  She grew up watching tape with him, helped him develop game plans.  One of her best friends is Stanford coach David Shaw.  She was offered the job as Pac-12 commissioner.  She was one of the finalists for the job of NFL commissioner.  She knows the game.

This committee is going to have to sell their selections to the public, and to the business community (who will buy advertising and pay for sponsorships). Rice serves on seven corporate boards.  The committee also needs members who understand university politics.  She’s a director at Stanford.  Also, it’s a committee. A small group of people sitting in a room, making important decisions.  You think a professional diplomat wouldn’t be of value?

The rest of the committee has been announced.  As expected, it includes some prominent former players–Archie Manning, Oliver Luck, Pat Haden–as well as former coaches.  And college administrators (who never played college ball), and sportswriters (ditto). But guys who weren’t controversial, because they were guys.  People who learned about the game by listening, talking, watching.  You know, the way human beings learn things.

Condoleeza Rice is not just a good choice for the college football job, she’s almost ridiculously over-qualified for it.  The feminist victory is not that a woman was selected for a job in a traditional male preserve.  It’s that a preposterously capable person was not rejected for a job she obviously would be great at.

Likewise Janet Yellen.  No woman has ever been nominated to serve as Fed Chair.  But she’s been vice-Chair since 2010. She’s got a tremendous academic background at Cal Berkeley.  She’s married to a Nobel laureate in economics.  She served on President Clinton’s Council of Economic Advisors.  She’s got a raft full of awards and positions and honors.  Honorary doctorate from Brown.  Adam Smith award winner.

Most importantly, she’s been right.  Here’s The Wall Street Journal on her:

Predicting the direction of the U.S. economy with precision is impossible. But the Fed must forecast growth, inflation and unemployment to guide its decisions on interest rates.  The Journal examined more than 700 predictions made between 2009 and 2012 in speeches and congressional testimony by 14 Fed policy makers—and scored the predictions on growth, jobs and inflation. The most accurate forecasts overall came from Ms. Yellen, now the Fed’s vice chair.

For a long time, it looked like President Obama would choose Larry Summers would be the Fed nominee.  Summers is a sexy-rock-star type economist, former President of Harvard, generally referred to as ‘the brightest guy’ in whatever room he finds himself in.  But Summers was an enthusiastic supporter of Gramm-Leach-Bliley, the bill that essentially repealed Glass-Steagal, thus deregulating the financial markets, which led directly to the 2008 financial crisis.

And Summers is also a sexist pig.  Well, maybe not. Here’s a longish excerpt of the 2005 speech that got him labeled porcine.  He’s clearly just speculating, spinning out a theory he hasn’t thought through.  But any discussion of ‘innate differences’ accounting for the disparity of men and women in the sciences pretty much has to be controversial, and may well have been a factor in his decision to withdraw his name from consideration for the Fed post.

I’m more worried about his economic views. We don’t need a deregulation cheerleader at the Fed.  Nor do we need another Goldman Sachs-ist Robert Rubin disciple.  How about instead we stay away from the ideas from the guys who nearly destroyed the economy?

Opposition to Yellen is more obviously sexist.  The Wall Street Journal editorial page (which resides on a different planet than the rest of the Journal), worried that the ‘liberal diversity police’ were happy with the choice, calling her nomination ‘gender pandering.’  The New York Sun pointed out that the Fed’s role is to preserve the value of the US currency, not ‘create a female dollar.’  See, monetary policy requires a big tough man, don’t you see?  Someone, you know, male.

It’s obviously nonsense. Janet Yellen is clearly the most qualified person in the country for Fed Chair.  Her selection is a major victory for the cause of gender equality. Not because a woman got a job only men had previously held.  Because the fact that the best person for the job was not denied it because of gender.  Nicely done, Mr. President.

Save us from the madness

Posted on by
1

As the government shut-down continues, as the partisan accusations and attacks and counter-attacks have proliferated, as the various news outlets try their darndest to stay bi-partisan and balanced–with a singular lack of success–I think we’d all love to stand up in Congress and give politicians holy heck.  Wouldn’t that be satisfying?  Just to stand up there and give the United States Congress a scolding.  Or at least one house of it.  And there is one guy who has that job. Day after day, he stands up in the Senate and tells everyone just what he thinks of them, and even better, what he thinks God thinks of them.  And Republicans and Democrats alike have had no choice except just to take it.

That one guy, and my new hero, is Barry C. Black, the 62nd man to serve as Chaplain to the Senate.  I’d never heard of him until Friday, when Rachel Maddow did a story about him.  He’s a tall, imposing figure, a former Rear Admiral with 27 years experience in the US Navy, and the first African-American, and the first Seventh-day Adventist to serve as Senate Chaplain.  The Wikipedia article about him I linked to above reveals an altogether admirable man, a civil rights pioneer, a scholar and a family man. A man of conscience and conviction.

And a man who is deeply, righteously angry over this government shut-down.  Here’s the Rachel Maddow clip that introduced me to the guy.  I love this guy:to

“Keep us from shackling ourselves from the chains of dysfunction.”

“Deliver us, Lord, from governing by crisis.”

“As our nation stumbles towards a seemingly unavoidable government shut-down, Lord, lead them away from the unfortunate dialectic of Us vs. Them.”

“Be merciful to us, oh God, during this legislative stalemate, help our lawmakers to test all things by their conscience, in these days that try our souls.  Strengthen our weakness, replacing cynicism with faith, and cowardice with courage, we pray, in Your Holy name.”

“Have mercy upon us, Oh God, and save us from the madness.  We acknowledge our transgressions, our shortcomings, our smugness, our selfishness, and our pride.  Deliver us from the hypocrisy of attempting to sound reasonable, while being unreasonable.  Remove the burdens from those who are the collateral damage of this government shutdown.”

Wow.

Pastor Black’s comments have attracted some attention from folks other than Rachel Maddow. Most important of them is Harry Reid, who met with Pastor Black after one of his prayers, and apparently prayed with him afterwards.

I don’t know if we really actually need a Senate Chaplain, or how having a daily prayer in the Senate can be reconciled with the separation of Church and State.  Maybe, in a pluralistic society, Senate Chaplain is a position that could be dispensed with.  But public prayers are not just directed to God, but also to the congregation.  We pray to God, certainly, but we also hope others and listening.  It can be an occasion for moral and spiritual unity, and it can also provide an opportunity for moral chastisement.  Chaplain Black has done this nation that he loves a great service.  A body like the Senate needs a conscience, especially in times of political crisis.  Barry Black does his country a great service now, today, when a voice of taut moral reasoning dares speak out.  Pastor Black honors us all with his courage.