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    Arts

    Subtext: Conversations about Classic Books and Films

    Subtext is a book club podcast for readers interested in what the greatest works of the human imagination say about life’s big questions. Each episode, philosopher Wes Alwan and poet Erin O’Luanaigh conduct a close reading of a text or film and co-write an audio essay about it in real time. It’s literary analysis, but in the best sense: we try not overly stuffy and pedantic, but rather focus on unearthing what’s most compelling about great books and movies, and how it is they can touch our lives in such a significant way.

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    Latest Episodes:
    The Weight of Memory in Hitchcock’s “Rebecca” (1940) Mar 17, 2025
    Show notes

    Alfred Hitchcock’s first American film—part love story, part ghost story, part courtroom melodrama—centers on a poor, timid young woman who falls in love with wealthy aristocrat Maxim de Winter, a widower tortured over the death of his first wife. When the young woman becomes the second Mrs. De Winter and moves into Maxim’s estate, she finds her predecessor’s initials stamped all over the house, and its staff in thrall to her beautiful, vibrant memory. But at the heart of the first Mrs. De Winter’s legacy lies a rot, and just what that rot represents in the film—be it the oppressions of vitality and ambition, the wages of class mobility, the unruly desires of sexuality, or the latent evidence of civilizational decline—is our subject today. Wes & Erin discuss the 1940 Best Picture winner “Rebecca,” starring Joan Fontaine and Laurence Olivier. Upcoming Episodes: Emily Dickinson, Rosemary’s Baby. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:20 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. Alfred Hitchcock's first American film, part love story, part ghost story, part courtroom melodrama, centers on a poor, timid young woman who falls in love with wealthy aristocrat Maxim de Winter, a widower tortured over the death of his first wife. When the young woman becomes the second Mrs. De Winter and moves into Maxim's estate, she finds her predecessor's initials stamped all over the house and its staff still enthralled to her beautiful, vibrant memory. But at the heart of the first Mrs. De Winters legacy lies a rot. And just what that rot represents in the film, be it the oppressions of vitality and ambition, the wages of class mobility, the unruly desires of sexuality, or the latent evidence of civilizational decline, is our subject today. We're Talking about the 1940 Best Picture winner, Rebecca, starring Joan Fontaine and Laurence Olivier. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. This is Wes Alwan, and you're listening to Subtext. So, Wes, a couple weeks ago, the great Joan Plowright passed away. I don't know if you know who she was. I feel like no one in the news media knew who she was because it wasn't very widely cover. 1:40 Wes: I don't know about her. 1:41 Erin: Well, she was Laurence Olivier's widow. And it just caused me to reflect on the kind of strange coincidence that we had decided to do this film or that I had suggested it because in a way you might say that Joan Fontaine and Joan Plowright sharing that first name, it sort of indicates that there's something of the second Mrs. De Winter, maybe about Joan Plowright. She's not a second wife, she was a third wife, but she followed his 20 year marriage to Vivien Leigh, which was extremely fraught and extremely volatile and one of the great love stories probably of the 20th century, but a difficult marriage to follow. And Vivien Leigh didn't pass away before his marriage, so there was a divorce. But I was just thinking about that and about the casting stories behind this film, about the fact that Olivier, who was at that point having an affair with Vivien Leigh, wanted her to play the Joan Fontaine part. So there was a lot of tension on the set, which Resulted in Joan Fontaine, I think, feeling really as ostracized and as unwanted as she is in the film. It's funny because to me it seems obvious and I'm sure other people have said that Vivien Leigh would have been totally wrong for the part of the second Mrs. De Winter, because she was Rebecca. You know, she was the one that everybody thought was the most beautiful, most incredible woman in the world. Right. So that story and how that affected the environment of the movie really interests me. A lot of behind the scenes facts about this film really interest me, like Selznick's involvement. But just thinking about this real life phenomenon of Second Wives and how they may or may not line up with actual things going on in the filmmakers own lives just interested me. But had you seen this film before I suggested it? 3:28 Wes: No, no, I had never seen this. 3:30 Erin: Yeah, you know, it's Hitchcock's first film that he made in America, which is funny because it's set in England and you know, a lot of battles with Selznick and a lot of battles with the studio over some censorship issues, which will probably get. They'll probably come up as we go through the plot. But otherwise, I think, I mean, it's a bit. It's a strange film. You know, it has these three genres, really, that it's invoking at various points and maybe some dropped threads. I don't know, we can talk about that. But it's kind of fascinating. I think it's one of his most enjoyable films, even for all of its flaws and the atmosphere and the. Especially the performance by Judith Anderson as Mrs. Danvers. Classic. I forgot to send you the Carol Burnett. The Carol Burnett's gonna be good. Yeah, I think it's called Rebecky. Everyone's always going, Rebecky. Yeah. And I think, you know, Carol Burnett's the Other Woman. 4:24 Wes: Oh, yeah. 4:26 Erin: This is so bad. I can't believe it. I adore her. Anyway, she, you know, they're like having dinner. 4:31 Wes: I want to say there's an M M sound in there. Not Martha, but. 4:35 Erin: Oh, I'm good. This is so painful for me. But anyway, they're having dinner at the big table at one point and there's, you know, like a serving dish and somebody pulls the lid off the platter and it's Mrs. Danvers head, you know, in the middle, telling Carol Burnett that she should die or whatever. Anyway, really, really good spinoff. But yeah, this definitely isn't Hitchcock's best film. It is probably, though, in my top five. I want to say, like, what's your favorite Hitchcock? 5:06 Wes: I guess I'd have to say Vertigo. It's not a very interesting choice, but I don't know. I think you know Hitchcock way better than I do, so you have a lot more to choose from. 5:17 Erin: I've seen every Hitchcock film I made a point to do, so. 5:21 Wes: So this is in your top five films, or top five Hitchcock? 5:25 Erin: No, no, no. Top five Hitchcock. You know, and it's not. It's not like, probably in his best five in terms or top five in terms of best of his, but it's, you know, favorite implies a little bit of partisanship there on my part. You know, I just. I like it. It was one of the first, I think I had ever seen first Hitchcock's I'd ever seen. And I remember realizing at, like, 10 or 11 years old that, like, Joan Fontaine's character doesn't have a name, but the title is a name, you know? 5:54 Wes: Yeah. It took me while to figure out that she wasn't Rebecca. 6:00 Erin: Right. 6:01 Wes: Yeah. This is confusing. She's just Mrs. De Winter through the whole thing, which I had to abbreviate in my notes as MDW, so she just became MDW and Mrs. Danvers became MD yeah, the. 6:21 Erin: The Love Doctor is in. 6:23 Wes: Yeah. Seriously. 6:24 Erin: No, I looked up. I looked up the name Rebecca last night for the first time, and it means to tie or to bind, so I thought that was suggestive. 6:34 Wes: Is it of Hebrew origin? 6:36 Erin: Mm, yeah. 6:38 Wes: Yeah. 6:38 Erin: But it's definitely a. You know, it has a kind of romantic, sexy kind of, I think, valence to it. I don't know. I never thought about that with that name before. Too closely. But I was just thinking quite a bit about that name and what it might suggest. Just to the ear, Rebecca. Three syllable. 6:59 Wes: You know, a nice embroidered monogram. That's just an R is much more appealing than, say, an L. Yes, that's right. Or Larissa. 7:10 Erin: That's right. 7:11 Wes: It wouldn't work as well. 7:12 Erin: Well, and of course, the single R is, you know, I can't look at that, even though sometimes it's also with the. The D E and the capital W. I can't look at an R and not think Regina. Regina. You know, the monarchical cipher. 7:27 Wes: Oh, I see. 7:28 Erin: Yeah. 7:28 Wes: Okay. Right. 7:30 Erin: So she's, you know, she's the queen of the castle. She's the queen of Manderley. Manderley. Which is itself kind of a strange name. You know, it sounds like a hotel resort in, like, Cancun or something. You know, like, there's some. 7:43 Wes: I mean, Cancun that's interesting. 7:44 Erin: Yeah, there's some. Yeah, some tropical location. There's something slightly tropical, right? 7:51 Wes: That's right, yeah. I mean, there'd be a casino in there and Manderley, actually. Well, there is in Vegas. What's it called? Mandalay Bay, actually. 8:02 Erin: There you go. Maybe that's why I'm thinking that. Not that Vegas is tropical. 8:09 Wes: I once saw, like, imitation Pink Floyd concert there. 8:13 Erin: Oh, nice. 8:15 Wes: Anyway, so he lives in a jaw dropping mansion and she's a bit like Cinderella. And she's compared to Cinderella, I think by the Laceys at one point. But, you know, we start out with her in this very funny, vain and envious stepmother, Van Hopper. Although she kind of becomes a witch by the end of the first act when she kind of curses Rebecca, she suggests that Maxim is marrying her because they have already slept together. She can't be a great lady. He's marrying her out of desperation. So there's a very fairy tale quality to this. It's not just a Vegas casino or a resort in Cancun. 9:01 Erin: It's Monte Carlo. 9:04 Wes: Yeah, exactly. There you go. Well, where is Manderley? 9:08 Erin: It's in Cornwall, I think. 9:10 Wes: Yeah. Okay. 9:11 Erin: Yeah. 9:11 Wes: All right. Making sure I'm not. 9:13 Erin: Oh, I'm sorry. No, no, no. I thought you meant. Yeah, the opener. When they're. When they're in Monty. I adore Monty. 9:17 Wes: Right. She meets a knight in shining armor, except his armor is actually a little bit. Quite a bit blemished because, well, he's a knight in shining army armor who, you know, you save from suicide on your first meeting. That's what happens. Right. Am I interpreting that correctly? 9:40 Erin: Mm. 9:41 Wes: So he's a depressed knight in shining armor. 9:44 Erin: Yeah. 9:44 Wes: Which is an interesting twist. 9:47 Erin: And he's a knight in shining armor who also treats her like garbage, which is an interesting twist, too. 9:52 Wes: And he does, which seems to be. The more of these older movies I watch, it seems to be their idea of the bad boy. Like the guy who gets women. This is how you're the bad boy. You just like, you know. Shut up. Stop. Stop bawling. Stop blubbering. 10:11 Erin: Eat your food like a good girl. 10:13 Wes: Yeah, one always has to be careful with children. 10:18 Erin: That's a pretty. That's a pretty good impression. Well, I mean, I think we're meant to see him as not very nice, though in these moments. Sometimes it depends on how sympathetic you find Joan Fontaine's little, little girl lost routine. So maybe she needs to. Maybe she needs someone to take, you know, take a stern hand with her. 10:39 Wes: Modest. To A fault. 10:41 Erin: Right, right. Yeah. I find it interesting the way that she's sort of set upon by three major figures in the film and what each of those represent, all of them older women, so Mrs. Van Hopper at the beginning and then Mrs. Danvers and then Rebecca herself. But Mrs. Van Hopper, I take it's really difficult to tell, actually, because of everybody's transcontinental kind of accents. But Mrs. Van Hopper's American, right? 11:08 Wes: I thought the same thing. Yeah. 11:10 Erin: Yeah. She's. 11:10 Wes: Are they American or are they English? 11:12 Erin: Right, right. Because Mrs. Van Hopper, the actress who plays her, is actually American, but she's working really hard on some of those vowel sounds. She's kneading them into Englishness. I think from her name, Van Hopper, and from the fact that she goes to New York to see her daughter married is indicative of the. That she's American. And therefore the association that she wants to create with Maxim seems to be one of, you know, this sort of typical. Well, the sort of ugly American stereotype, right. Of the wealthy socialite class in New York. The aristocracy of America wanting to sort of, like, further legitimize itself by connections to the, quote, unquote, real aristocracy of England and of the Continent. And, of course, these marriages to shore up America's aristocratic claims were very commonly made. Right. We have the Vanderbilts marrying Polish counts and the Churchills and the, you know, this lord and that lord and. Yeah, the Vanderbilts, the Rockefellers. All of those sorts of families that at one time were considered new money, even in America, are sort of trying to get their footing with these aristocrats. And oftentimes, the aristocratic families that they married into, it was a marriage of convenience in which the English aristocrat with the huge estate didn't have the money to run the estate and needed to be sort of bankrolled by American money to keep his ancestral grounds and home alive and running properly. And so there was just something of that. I'm just thinking about this because I'm thinking about the ways in which the movie, to me, seems to be making larger claims about England as an idea in the sort of waning, you know, came out in 1940. They were making it at the time. England was in World War II. America was not yet in World War II. And what the sort of dwindling years of empire might have to do with the house itself. Rebecca, some interesting things to tweeze out there, which I'm sure we will. Yeah. But Van Hopper is awful. And Joan Fontaine, who I'm gonna just refer to as Joan Fontaine, throughout the. Or throughout the episode, she, like, says, oh, she's. She's really a nice lady, or something like that. Like, she says something kind of positive about Mrs. Van Hopper. Even though we've never seen her be anything but, she gets increasingly cruel. But we've never seen her be anything but dismissive, rude and overbearing to her. So maybe what counts as nice for Joan Fontaine makes Maxim look great if her standards are too low. I don't know. 13:54 Wes: Yeah. It's when they have that impromptu lunch that he inquires, is Mrs. Van Hopper a friend of yours or just a relation? Then it turns out she's a paid companion. And he said, I didn't know companionship could be bought. That's a little risque. A little risque. Bit of flirting. 14:13 Erin: And also, he definitely knew that, but okay. 14:15 Wes: Right. Of course. Then she makes that remark about looking it up in the dictionary and laughs because it means a friend of the bosom. 14:24 Erin: She's like 8 years old. 14:25 Wes: And then he says, you know, I don't envy the privilege. And that's when she calls Van Hopper kind. She's very kind, really. And I have to earn my living. So I guess it's a Cinderella who doesn't quite know that she's being abused. Right. I mean, she is an orphan. Both her parents have died. Just that there's an orphan. I don't know what age they've died as. She's a young adult, I assume. 14:51 Erin: Her mother died when she was young, and then her father died relatively recently, I think. 14:55 Wes: Yeah. 14:56 Erin: Because the father was painting trees up until. Or one tree up until recently. 15:01 Wes: Yeah. So it is interes…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Possibility and Loss in the Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (Part 2) Feb 17, 2025
    Show notes

    Wes & Erin continue their discussion of Rainer Maria Rilke’s “You Who Never Arrived” and “Be Ahead of All Parting” (II.13 from his “Sonnets to Orpheus”), and whether—as Rilke suggests—death can be put in service of life, and suffering sourced as the principal wellspring of a joyful existence. Upcoming Episodes: Rebecca (1940), Dickinson. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. 0:32 Wes: Welcome to part two of our discussion of some poems by Rilke. We discussed you who never arrived in part one. So go listen to that if you haven't listened to that already. In this part, we will be discussing be ahead of all parting. Right? Yes. Sonnets to Orpheus 2.13. All right. Yeah. Why did this make it into your shortlist for potential Rilke poems? 0:56 Erin: Because the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang is probably one of my single favorite lines in Rilke. So for that reason, this sonnet has some fascination for me and I think it's one of the best of the sonnets to Orpheus. But yeah, the whole poem is a bit of a. I don't know, a bit of an admonition to somebody like me, somebody who, like Lot's wife, is always looking behind me or something like that. And so it's important. It's an interesting and maybe important poem to me in that regard. Not to get too personal, but I mean, it's important for everybody, right? We all get stuck. So, yeah, it has some great lines. 1:38 Wes: Yeah, I like these self help poems that just Order me. 1:41 Erin: I know, I know. 1:44 Wes: This is. Yeah, it's kind of reminiscent of what he's doing and Letters to a Young Poet as well. But he's a good advice giver. 1:50 Erin: The imperative really just makes me fall into line immediately. Okay. 1:57 Wes: It's not like Jordan Peterson. It's not like, you know, make your bed. And it's be. So in a way, it's advice that's anti advice. Right. Because you don't have to do. It's less about doing and more about being. And that line, be and yet know the great void where all things begin is such a great line. Or be forever dead in Eurydice. That is, I just think, quite a startling line. And it's just one of those lines in a poem that'll wake me up a bit and think, whoa. Yeah. And that's what happened. When I heard someone recite this, I thought, that's amazing. I have to read more of those poems. 2:37 Erin: It's confident. It's so confident. It's not like if you feel like it's that maybe you should think about what does it mean to you. Maybe. I'm not saying that you should do this. I'm just saying it worked for me. 2:49 Wes: Well, look, it's easy to be confident when the person you're giving advice to is a dead toddler. I'm sorry. Right, so isn't that part of the backstory to this poem? 3:04 Erin: Okay, first of all, I think she was five. That's not a toddler. 3:09 Wes: Sorry. 3:12 Erin: Five for six, maybe. Yeah. Oh, wow, you're. That's dark. 3:18 Wes: Am I wrong? 3:19 Erin: No, you're not wrong. 3:20 Wes: This is addressed to her, right? 3:22 Erin: Yeah, it's really. Then for her parents. No, just get over it. Act like. Act like she was dead all along. Then it won't matter that much that she's not here. Jeez. 3:38 Wes: Wow. 3:38 Erin: This goes right to the top of our darkest episode. 3:41 Wes: So it was the playmate of one of his. Playmate of who? 3:45 Erin: Okay, I just want to point out that her name was Vera Ukama Knoop. What a name. 3:50 Wes: Knoop. 3:52 Erin: But Vera. Vera is the first name. Yes. 3:54 Wes: So, yeah, so it was a playmate of Rilke's daughter, Ruth. Ah. Oh. 3:59 Erin: It says vera died at 19. 4:00 Wes: Oh. So, okay, so I misunderstood this. 4:05 Erin: You're just a lot sicker. In your imagination, you made this much sicker. 4:10 Wes: That should have been obvious. 4:12 Erin: I thought she was like five or six. 4:13 Wes: The word playmate. Yeah, the word playmate caught me. Okay. 4:17 Erin: I don't know why I had that number in my head, but I was wrong. 4:21 Wes: Okay, so this is the death of a 19 year old. 4:24 Erin: Right. Which makes more sense, I suppose, but also it doesn't, because the central myth here is Orpheus and Eurydice, and that's about their marriage as two lovers of the same, you know, the same age. So how Vera fits into this is a little unclear to me. 4:41 Wes: Also, if I were writing to a dead 5 year old, I'd try to dumb down the language just a little 4:46 Erin: bit, you know, say night. Night. Okay, that's so bad. 4:52 Wes: That's the first. Everybody dies. 5:04 Erin: Good night, moon. And good night you. 5:08 Wes: That's great. Good night you. Okay, well, that makes a lot more sense. Yeah. So she's 19. 5:14 Erin: If it was a 19 year old boy, it would be called Die Hard and it would be okay. 5:20 Wes: Yeah. I think these poems go well together because we get a similar sort of paradoxical sentiment here to begin with. Although maybe. Yeah, I don't think you haven't read it yet. Yeah. Do you want to read it? 5:31 Erin: Oh, sure, sure. Be ahead of all parting as though it already were behind you, like the winter that has just gone by. For among these winters there is one so endlessly winter, that only by wintering through it will your heart survive. Be forever dead in Eurydice more gladly arise into the seamless life proclaimed in your song. Here in the realm of decline among momentary days be the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang be and yet know the great void where all things begin, the infinite source of your own most intense vibration, so that this once you may give it your perfect assent. To all that is used up, and to all the muffled and dumb creatures in the world's full reserve the unsayable sums, joyfully add yourself and cancel the count. 6:28 Wes: So, yeah, I was going to say, be ahead of all parting. Similarly paradoxical sentiment. And it sounds, you know, once again, like. Well, in this case it sounds like foreclosure. On loss. It almost sounds like something that the Stoics would say, right, which is that you anticipate that everything will be lost and so you get ahead of it. Right. So in Marcus Aurelius's Meditations, he thinks a little bit about, I'm going to get ahead of this today when I go out for a walk, I'm going to imagine that people are going to bump into me and get in my way. And he really does this, by the way, and he's emperor, he's still doing this. People are going to aggravate me today and I'm just going to meditate in the morning and anticipate that, and therefore I'm going to be able to deal with it. Or if you're maybe Seneca or Epictetus, you prepare yourself for the fact that any object of attachment, person, place or thing can and will be lost. So it changes your comportment to them from the beginning. You get ahead of it. Now, I don't know, maybe we'll find out that that's not quite the right way to look at this, but that was my initial reaction. 7:38 Erin: Yeah. The line I thought of which. I don't know if this is a saying or if this is just something that Erin Sorkin made up, because it's a line that Abigail Bartlett says in the West Wing. But the idea of hold the fish loosely or it'll slip out of your hands. Right. So I'm wondering now if there are two different ideas here, because there seems to be this idea of holding the fish loosely on the one hand and then of using oneself up, of almost like bearing down with a vice grip on the other. Do you see that? 8:10 Wes: Yeah. Where are you getting that? 8:11 Erin: The crystal cup that shattered as it rang, destroying yourself. In other words, living with the knowledge that in living your life fully, you will use yourself up, but only through living fully will you actually live and therefore die with some sort of sense of satisfaction or fulfillment. In other words, without full investment, you live a kind of a half life, which will then result in death. Anyway, so there's something, I think, about being used, using yourself up here, which is a good thing. 8:42 Wes: Yeah. I mean, I think this line you're thinking about here. Here in the realm of decline, which I take to be the realm of becoming and decay. It's the realm of the living, but it's the realm of the always dying. That's what we're doing, right? And momentary days, and we just have a few of them. Be the crystal cup that shattered even as. Even as it rang, which is an interesting way to put it, because you might say, be the cup that rang even as it shattered. So, you know, here you are among the mortal dying things and makes something of that. Turn that becoming and turn that dying into something ringing, into something brilliant. But he's reversed that. So it shatters even as it. As it rings. But it. I don't know what it is. In the original German there. Klang, klang, schon, zerschlug. Clanging, I assume, is the ringing. It seems like the translator may have reversed it. Maybe Rilke didn't reverse it. Okay. Anyway, in the original. So I don't know that we can read anything into that, then. 9:48 Erin: Well, we have to get song and rang as a slant rhyme, so perhaps. 9:53 Wes: I see that that's what's going on. Yeah. Okay. Yep. All right. So let's not make anything of that reversal. So I see where you. Yeah. You were getting at this idea of being used up, I guess, which comes up in the last stanza as well. You know, I was also thinking as you were talking, this only makes sense to me so far as something that's written to someone who's alive. Yes. He says be forever dead in Eurydice, but then he addresses her as someone here in the realm of decline. And there are other parts in the poem where. I don't know. Does it seem to you like it's addressed to someone living? 10:33 Erin: Yes, it seems that this is for the living, reckoning with the loss of the person. 10:38 Wes: Okay. 10:38 Erin: This is specifically written for someone who's. Yeah. Who's undergone a loss. And that means it's for Orpheus, you know. So he is directly referencing, I think, the configuration, shall we say, of Orpheus and Eurydice on their way out of the Underworld by saying. As though it already were behind you. Right. So Eurydice famously is behind Orpheus as they're escaping from the Underworld. Right. And he turns and looks at her, and therefore she's lost forever. So this is addressed to the survivor, to the one left behind after the loss. Right. 11:15 Wes: Yeah. I was trying to figure out, on one level, it's addressed to Orpheus, and then I was wondering if on the other, it's addressed to. 11:22 Erin: To your. Yes. 11:24 Wes: I think it's both to died or to. Yeah. All right, so let's just think about Orpheus for now. Right. 11:30 Erin: I just want to say that, you know, I wonder if I'm bringing too much of my own because I love this crystal cup that shattered even as it rang line so much, and because I'm so interested in famous singers who have lost their voices or who destroyed their voices through overuse, that I am putting too much of an emphasis on this idea of burning brightly. And if that's affecting my ability to read this relatively clearly, because I'm very, very interested in that. In these. 12:00 Wes: Better to burn out than to fade away. 12:02 Erin: Exactly. 12:03 Wes: Let me just back up a little bit to the first stanza. What is. Okay. So be ahead of parting like the winter that has just gone by. So treat. A parting which apparently is forthcoming as something that's already happened. But then we are told to think of it, or to think of an endless A winner that is so endlessly winner that only by wintering through it will your heart survive. And then the question is, what does wintering through it mean? Because wintering is. Well, maybe I'm. Again, this is a problem with translation. I mean, doesn't wintering suggest somewhere you go, somewhere that's warm during the winter? No, it's not here. I guess it's just sort of hunkering down. But the winter is, I suppose, endless. 12:47 Erin: You're pointing out, I think, the difficulty of the syntax here. So there's the winter that has just gone by. So this is the cyclical, the seasonal, the winter that everybody experiences. And then I think he's referring to. For among these winters, there is one so endlessly winter. So over and above this cycle, there are winters that we personally experience. And he means to, I think, juxtapose these two things by saying, treat that winter, the winter that has come to you and the winter we all face in death. So we all have the cyclical winter that we experience every year. We have the eternal winter that is ever ahead of us in death. And then we have these. I mean, this is my way of teasing this out. I could be wrong. And then we have these occasional winters, irrespective of place. Right. And time, which come to us because someone close to us specifically has died. Because we go through bad experiences. Right. So by winter, by wintering through that one, we can get to the other side of that. And that seems to be acceptance. And therefore the ability to kind of live in a spring knowing that this winter is sort of ever before you. But it's paradoxical, right? Because you have to. Because there's an endless winter that you always have to be confronting, that you, at the same time have to be ignoring. Hence this idea of, you know, as I suggested, of holding the fish loosely. It's there, but you're not so fixated on it that you can't live as though it isn't there. 14:16 Wes: Yeah, I mean, I think so. The endless winter is what happens after you lose someone. Which I think. Right. I'm echoing what you were saying. 14:25 Erin: I thought that was the winter we all go to. The endless winter is death. Our death. 14:30 Wes: Okay. Or it could be both. 14:32 Erin: Or both. 14:33 Wes: Right. So Orpheus in particular, I mean, I think could turn out to be a rumination on his particular approach to loss. Right? Which is to say, hey, I'm not gonna put up with that. I'm gonna go to Hades and get her back. And then at the final moment, told that he's not Allowed to look back. Looking back and losing her because of that. So the admonition to be ahead of all parting, I think, seems to be relevant to that moment. Or is it? I mean, he's supposed to be ahead of her and not like regaining her or holding onto her requires not looking back at her as he retrieves her. 15:11 Erin: Yes. 15:12 Wes: Yeah, maybe that's not connected. Maybe I can't really make this connection to being ahead of all parting. 15:18 Erin: She has this untimely death. She's bitten by the snake. So. Yeah, so she's ripped from him. And rather than accepting that he goes down to the underworld, and because his song is so beautiful, Hades allows him to retrieve her on the condition that he does not look back and he doesn't hear her footsteps. So he's worried the gods have played a trick on him. And so it seems to be you can get something back, but only once. You know, there's something about the fact that he has to make sure that she's there that causes him to lose her the second time. And the second time is the irreversible time. 15:52 Wes: Well,…

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    Possibility and Loss in the Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke Feb 11, 2025
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    In his poem “You Who Never Arrived,” Rainer Maria Rilke suggests that we can mourn love as an unrealized possibility, and see this loss signified everywhere in the ordinary objects of the external world. In “Be Ahead of All Parting” (II.13 from his “Sonnets to Orpheus”), he seems to claim that poetry has the capacity to redeem such losses—and retrieve them, so to speak, from their underworld. Wes & Erin discuss these two classics, and whether—as Rilke suggests—death can be put in service of life, and suffering sourced as the principal wellspring of a joyful existence. Upcoming Episodes: Rebecca (1940), Dickinson. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:20 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. 0:32 Wes: In his poem, you, who Never Arrived, Rainer Maria Rilke suggests that we can mourn love as an unrealized possibility and see this loss signified everywhere in the ordinary objects of the external world. In Be Ahead of all parting, section 2, number 13 from his sonnets to Orpheus, he seems to claim that poetry has the capacity to redeem such losses and retrieve them, so to speak, from their underworld. Today we discuss these two classics and whether, as Rilke suggests, death can be put in the service of life and suffering, sourced as the principal wellspring of a joyful existence. This is Wes Alwan, and this is Erin O'Luanaigh, and you're listening to Subtext. So, Erin, I can't say I'm awfully familiar with the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke. I did teach his letters to a young poet at some point to a freshman seminar at a small liberal arts school where I had been invited to teach and taught a class on. It was called why We Procrastinate, but it was really kind of a psychoanalysis in the arts class. It was about, but with a focus on creative blocks or really the psychology of creativity. It went over about as well as everything else I did in that class, which was not good because I hadn't taught in a long time. My teaching experience before that was mainly as a teaching assistant at the University of Texas. 1:56 Erin: I thought you were going to say you never actually got to the Rilke because you just kept putting it off and putting it off. 2:01 Wes: No, right. Exactly. What I did is I went through it very systematically. I was very impressed by that and hopefully we'll do that at some point on this show. I was so systematic I even created a PowerPoint to accompany my lecture, which is like a very. Seems very against the spirit of Rilke in general. So yeah, beyond teaching that class, I wasn't all that familiar with Rilke. In fact, I think for a long time as a youngster, I thought he was female, even though ironically, he changed his first name from René to Rainer at the behest of Lou Andreas-Salomé, who thought Rene was too feminine. So that's my level of expertise on this, and I Was hoping. Yeah, I was hoping. 2:44 Erin: Throw me under the bus. 2:45 Wes: You would. Yeah. So hoping you would be a guide. Whether you're a guide or not, I'm sure you know a lot more about Rilke than I do. And tell me about your experience with him. 2:55 Erin: I don't think I do. I read Letters to a Young Poet a long time ago. I don't even know when. Maybe high school, maybe college. I'm familiar with some of his greatest poems. I've read Sonnets to Orpheus. I've read some of the individual poems, but I don't think I've ever read or. And I have. I think I have a copy of his Book of Hours. I've not read his novel, though. I'm interested in reading the novels of poets. Yeah. Otherwise, in terms of, you know, I had a professor who really was a big fan of Rilke, and so that encouraged me to sort of read around in his Collected Works. Otherwise, as I told you before we recorded, I've been shredding. I've been shredding stuff to make more room, and I realized, oh, the file on Rilke, whatever I had in my brain is gone. I don't know if you know, SpongeBob. The. Yeah, the shredder imagery is something I keep returning to lately as I get ready to take my exams and something like 11 days. No, 10 days now. Oh, scary. Yeah. So, you know, he shreds everything but his name. 3:53 Wes: Or. 3:54 Erin: No, no, he threw out his name. He shreds fine dining. He shreds everything but fine dining and breathing in order to be the world's greatest waiter. So there's something. Something like that there. I. I just. I used to know a bit about Rilke, but it's either locked in somewhere deep or shredded. 4:10 Wes: All right, well, we'll have to rediscover it. 4:12 Erin: Yes. 4:13 Wes: We'll have to dredge it up and put the shreds back together, assemble them on the floor. You sent me a few different options for poems, and I thought to myself, I bet I'm going to pick the two ones that are her. That are Erin's favorites. 4:27 Erin: You just picked the one. You just picked one of the ones 4:30 Wes: that says the second one wasn't. The second one was one that. When I was in London recently, I was at someone's house at a party, and one of these people started reciting that poem. And I was very touched by it, and I was hoping it would be. I was just waiting to see. I didn't suggest it. I was waiting to see if you would Suggest it. And you did. So I thought that was very kismet. I was really happy that that was one of the ones. So, of course, I immediately picked that one. 4:55 Erin: It's a top five for me. But I thought you were gonna get one and two. But not that I have a detailed ranking system. 5:02 Wes: What was number two? 5:03 Erin: Archaic. Torso of Apollo. 5:05 Wes: Just the torso, not the rest. Just kidding. 5:07 Erin: Yeah. That's the whole point of the poem, Wes. 5:11 Wes: I did. I skimmed it. Everything else. Skimmed. 5:16 Erin: It is literally just the torso. 5:18 Wes: I do just the torso of reading each time. 5:22 Erin: Ah, that's right. 5:23 Wes: So, yeah. So you. You who never arrived, we'll do in part one and the sonnet to Orpheus, which I'll call Be Ahead of All Parting to. Is it part two? Yeah, part two. Number 13. Be Ahead of All Parting. That'll be what we'll do in part two of this episode. 5:39 Erin: Or as I like to call it, be a torso of all parting. Sorry. 5:44 Wes: Be a torso of some parts. Some parting. Of some parting. Yeah. You who Never arrived. So this is your favorite. 5:52 Erin: And. 5:52 Wes: Yeah. Tell me why that is. 5:54 Erin: The details in this, I don't know. They're very evocative to me. I hadn't reread it in a long time. And rereading it for this, I noticed that this has made its influence felt in a couple of my poems without me realizing it. I don't know if it's something that any reader would pick up on or if it's something that only I can see now. In hindsight. Yeah. But I love the idea. I think of elegy for an unrealized possibility. That kind of paradox is fascinating to me. But in the places in my own work where I see Rilke's influence are in the parts of my work which are elegy. And I would say, like, I write a lot of elegy. And so there's something very elegiac about this poem, even though it's for someone, of course, who he has not met yet, or at least that's my reading, that he's not met this person. I don't know if you can argue that he might have met them but lost them, but maybe. Maybe that's an argument that can be made. I don't know what. What you think about that. 6:54 Wes: Yeah. That's interesting. Yeah. Now that you say that, I can see that there's several different ways to interpret this, but. Yeah, why don't you go ahead and read it and then we can discuss. 7:02 Erin: Okay. You who never arrived in my arms, beloved, who Were lost from the start. I don't even know what songs would please you. I have given up trying to recognize you in the surging wave of the next moment. All the immense images in me, the far off, deeply felt landscape, cities, towers and bridges and unsuspected turns in the path, and those powerful lands that were once pulsing with the life of the gods, all rise within me to mean you, who forever elude me, you, beloved, who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing. An open window in a country house, and you almost stepped out, pensive to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon, you had just walked down them and vanished. And sometimes in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence, and startled, gave back my too sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate in the evening. 8:13 Wes: You know, it's funny, as you were reading that, I was reminded of Baudelaire's the Balcony, which I was incepted, I think, by the introduction to this edition we're using, where he mentions the influence of Baudelaire, I think. Who is the author? Do you remember? We're using the Penguin, or I might be getting that wrong. 8:34 Erin: No, we're using the Vintage. It's translated by Stephen Mitchell, which I think is the most beautiful translation. It's not the most accurate, but it's the most beautiful. So accurate, in a way. 8:45 Wes: And there's an essay called Looking for Rilke at the beginning, and that is by. 8:51 Erin: Oh, is that by Robert Hass? I did not read it. 8:55 Wes: Yes, that's by Robert Hass or Haas. 8:59 Erin: No one knows, possibly. 9:02 Wes: Yeah, so he mentions that. Yeah, that Baudelaire influence. But I think he's talking about the Duino elegies. And maybe I read it somewhere else. I'm not even sure I read it in that. That particular essay. But yeah, so you who never arrived in my arms, beloved, who were lost from the start. So I really like the way you put this as an elegy for an unrealized possibility. And then the question is, how unrealized? Is it Prufrock? Did he see her but never make a move? Or is he just imagining this person? Did he never even see her? Did he never even meet someone who he thought might fit the bill? Right. This could just be an idealization. It sounds like you were taking it like it might have been. The former would have been your initial interpretation. 9:46 Erin: Yeah. There's this really interesting dance, though, I think, between what constitutes unrealized possibility in the poem and whether or not he actually is Eulogizing it, because it seems that in the second stanza he is in fact keeping hope alive. And also that meeting this love that he trusts is out there and who represents something like certainty, right, that once you meet this perfect person, then things are going to look rather set, rather decided. The flip side of that is that that means the death of possibility, right? The death of the multiple possibilities of what's still out there waiting for you. So it's a strange thing because though he's lamenting possibility on the one hand, that is to say, the possibility of love with some particular person, he is at the same time opening himself up to possibilities sort of continually, it seems that's the theme, that possibilities are actually in fact, ever before him. Because he hasn't achieved this love that he desires or met this love that he desires. So it's sort of like possibility is foreclosed to him. And at the same time, possibility is the. It's the air he breathes, it's the realm he lives in. Everything is possibility. Everything is charged with this potential. 11:10 Wes: So lost from the start. 11:12 Erin: Yeah, lost is, I think, the fulcrum word there. Because that would imply, right, that something was taken away, that you had it in the first place and then it was taken away from you. 11:21 Wes: Right. Which I take to be ironic or. Yeah, so there's an internal contradiction between saying from the start and lost. So it's a question how she could be lost before she's found. Except, you know, insofar as it's in fantasy, I don't even know what songs would please you. So the movement there from the idea of losing or, you know, of having never had as a kind of loss to write, what songs would please you. It seems as if the idea there is courting or seducing, and so he's attributing it to failure of courtship. Although, again, it seems like courtship itself may never have even been a possibility. If this is just a fantasy. But it may also be the case that, you know, if we were to think about this realistically, if he doesn't have a fleshed out fantasy of what it is that he wants, of the kind of person that he wants, then he wouldn't be able to recognize her when he saw her, at least not in another person. We're going to get images of him recognizing her in a mirror, like in the distortion of his own image in the mirror or in an empty window or an empty street, things like that. But you can have a fantasy that's vague, that's projected onto absence, but not something, it seems to me, that he could project onto a particular person. But you know, here he doesn't say, I didn't know what I wanted, so I couldn't recognize the person if I happened to run into them. He's saying I didn't have the right, I didn't know how to court this person. So again, if we are in the realm of fantasy, it's almost like saying I didn't know how to negotiate with the fantasy. I don't know. I guess the two things go together. Being able to conceive of the one you want and being able to conceive of the procedure that you would use to win them over. I guess those two things are very closely related. 13:21 Erin: Going back for one second, this is recasting beloved who were lost from the start. You know, I wonder if that implies, is it the Platonic idea of the split souls, that we're two halves of one soul? 13:34 Wes: Well, this is from the Symposium. And in the Symposium it's Aristophanes idea, but it's a model of love that Socrates rejects in that dialogue in favor of a more dynamic idea. So the Aristophanes proposal in the Symposium, a bunch of people give their proposals before Socrates gives his and rejects each proposal in turn. Although one might argue that maybe he's picked up a piece of each account and used it in his own account. And this is actually very relevant. I'm glad you brought this up. Socrates doesn't like the merger, what I would call the merger theory of love. Oh, I found my soulmate. You complete me. Socrates is not a fan of that kind of love. And the myth for Aristophanes, right, is people were, in former times, they were joined at the back. So they were these four limbed creatures. And then the gods got angry at human beings and cut them down the back. Were they joined at the front? It makes more sense that they were joined at the front. Why have I never thought of this? This is copulation. You sort of restore the unity by copulation. Anyway, yeah, finding your other half, literally finding your other half or merging with someone, that's what Socrates doesn't like. Socrates thinks of love more as something that's essentially reproductive, including in the aesthetic sense. It's something about beauty. So beauty induces you into a kind of activity. That is what love is. But yeah. So why did you, why did you bring that up? 15:04 Erin: Just because this idea of someone being lost from the start, I think implies this soulmate model of relationship where that person is, if you haven't met Them, yet they're…

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    Irony as Anesthetic in Robert Altman’s “M.A.S.H” (1970) – Part 2 Feb 03, 2025
    Show notes

    Wes & Erin continue their discussion the 1970 classic “M.A.S.H,” and whether irony ought always to be our anesthetic, when confronted with traumas that are otherwise unspeakable. Upcoming Episodes: Rilke, Rebecca (1940), Dickinson. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or@patreon.com subtext podcast. 0:32 Wes: Okay. Welcome to part two of our discussion of mash. We just got done talking about the faux suicide scene, and I think you wanted to talk about Hot Lips now. 0:43 Erin: Yeah. Unless we have anything more to say about. I guess, you know, we were more interested in the suicide part and not in the sexual part of Painless is so called redemption or resurrection, as it were. 0:58 Wes: Right. Okay, there's. That's the point, all right, that he's resurrected through things. 1:03 Erin: Yeah, yeah. 1:04 Wes: Well, he's resurrected through just waking up, 1:06 Erin: but it's okay because she. She looks at the camera later and breaks the fourth wall. So we know. We know it's all okay because she enjoyed it. 1:15 Wes: Well, she is certainly redeemed. 1:17 Erin: Yeah. Right. 1:19 Wes: Yeah. 1:19 Erin: The power of Christ compels her. 1:22 Wes: Redeemed through sin. 1:23 Erin: Yeah. 1:24 Wes: But she looks very. Looks very happy, which is the suggestion is that it's because he has a large penis, which at an earlier point in the film, they've all been lining up to look at his large penis through a crack in the wall. Lots of hijinks. Lots of fun hijinks in this film. 1:40 Erin: Yeah. We don't get them taking down the shower wall to see him naked, do we? That's the. That's the disappointing part of all of this. Disappointing for me, I guess. No. What's good for the goose, I guess, isn't good for the gander here. But the loudspeaker and how that comes in as the thing that humiliates Burns and Hot Lips, I'm really interested in that. Like I said in the last part, in Altman films, of course, sound is so important, and I can think of Nashville as being. I can't think of any of his other films that might use a loudspeaker like that. Maybe I'm forgetting one, but I'm sure there's something super obvious that I'm not thinking of. But those two films using the loudspeaker as the Big Brother esque, but also kind of toothless demonstration of authority. And mash. It's used to advertise the sort of super dopey, rah rah patriotic films that they're apparently showing at the camp all the time to make announcements about behavior that are then almost instantly, they're either disobeyed immediately and constantly, or they're actually retracted in the course of the announcement so that whether or not they can or can't do something. Seems to be like a flip of the coin. 2:57 Wes: Good point. Interesting. 2:58 Erin: I think they're broadcasting. I think it's Radio Tokyo is the. I wrote it down somewhere. Yeah. And they almost seem to be parodies of American jukebox songs. 3:09 Wes: Well, I think they're real. Yeah. Just Japanese versions of American songs. 3:15 Erin: And that was one of the few things that actually gave me a period feel to the film because of those songs that. And maybe, I don't know, maybe there would be less drinking and more drug use if it were a Vietnam film. Instead, they're having martinis all the time, which to me is a little. I mean, that's what I prefer. But it's a little more old fashioned than just marijuana. 3:34 Wes: Well, and again, indicative of their class. 3:37 Erin: That's true. 3:37 Wes: That class dynamic. And they're being commissioned officers. 3:41 Erin: Yeah, yeah. So the speaker as a sort of ineffectual but persistent reminder of authority. Then you have these two symbols of authority and Burns and Houlihan. Sexual encounter being broadcast over the loudspeaker is an interesting choice because, as I think I've already suggested, there is something that's already undermining about the loudspeaker to begin with. It undermines itself all the time. It's, you know, it's this kind of jokey thing that nobody really seems to listen to, take seriously, care about at all. So it's as feeble and flimsy a symbol of authority as perhaps Burns and Houlihan are themselves. It has. It seems to have no place in the MASH unit or no significance other than as an audible counterpoint to what we're seeing visually on the screen at times. 4:28 Wes: Yeah. So it is the weak voice of authority. You could think of it as, you know, like there's something interesting about a speaker that's telling you to do things because it's. It's because it's disembodied and it's almost like conscience or something like that. But in this case, no one takes it seriously. I'm reminded of Community, actually, which I think is a TV show that you like as well. I think they use the school intercom for the same sort of purpose. So they're joining scenes and it's kind of ridiculous announcements and things like that. The loudspeaker becomes a mean of exposing hypocrisy. One of the things about Burns and Hot Lips is that they are supposedly paragons of moral rectitude, but they're doing what everyone else is doing, which is cheating on their spouses at Home. And they're doing it with each other. It's a really great scene when they're. So after Trapper John. Is it Trapper John? I always get this wrong. 5:24 Erin: That's Elliott Gould, right? 5:26 Wes: Yeah. 5:27 Erin: Yeah. 5:28 Wes: I always get the second one wrong. Anyway, after he. He kind of pisses off Hot Lips at. They have a party, and then Burns and Hot Lips run off to write a letter. And I think we only hear the conclusion of the letter. This letter has been written in the interest of army morale. As officers, we feel it is our duty to bring this unwholesome situation to your attention. We are writing this letter jointly to assure you that no one's personal feeling has in any way influenced this report. Which, of course, is BS Anyway, and then. And I think he asks her if she's hungry, and she says, ravenous, how about you? And then his response is one of my favorite scenes in the movie because he says it in such a wooden way for you, Margaret. And then they start making out, and then she quickly pushes him off like nothing's happened and gets to go. And you see him sitting there with his face smeared with lipstick and looking quite hot and bothered, but she's done so. Yeah. It's after that that we learn about Painless Problem. And that's basically the midpoint of the movie. It's in the next act, right, that they. First they cure Painless of his problem, and then they defeat Burns and Hot Lips. And they. The first way they do that is with the. With the loudspeaker. So they're. So the thing that they're doing, right? Their sexual interaction radar puts a microphone under it, slips the microphone into the room, and ultimately they can hear themselves and what they're doing. So then it really does become like the voice of conscience. And they can't escape their own hypocrisy, right? So you say one thing, but you do another. You're the voice of moral rectitude, and you're going to stamp out unwholesomeness at the camp. But then you're doing this thing. And so the. The way they're taken down is perfectly matches, of course, what it is that others dislike about them, which is the pretense to some sort of moral authority or some sort of rectitude. It's not the bad behavior itself, of course, which is what all of them endorse. And I think when they endorse it, when they endorse the hedonism and the womanizing and the cheating on spouses and things like that their endorsement meant to have. I think, as you pointed out near the beginning, there's a moralism to that. They don't escape moralism. Right. Their morals. That we're just going to be honest about our condition here. We're not going to fake it. We're hedonists. But we have a reason for doing that because it's the only way we can survive psychologically or whatever argument you want to give for that. The ultimate sin is not the sin, but the COVID up here or the hypocrisy. 8:06 Erin: Right. Yeah. To work off of that for a second and think about that feedback loop that happens. So I think we've already talked about the loudspeaker as being this expression of this bland authority. There's a blandness that we've already talked about, but also because of these Radio Tokyo versions of American songs are being played. There's this idea of an occupying force, that the loudspeaker is sort of expressing that mentality of occupation. And because no one listens to it. You could use a term for the loudspeaker. I mean, we're listening to it, but insofar as the characters inside the film seem to never pay it any mind. And it's sometimes played in the background and has a similar effect as the overlapping dialogue, which some of it is just kind of white noise. White noise might be the word that we could use for it. However, there's an interesting contrast then that happens when you recognize yourself. It's like they're suddenly recognizing the sound of some of their own voice inside the white. White noise. Right. Like it's as though they make the transition from not listening to it or believing that they're listening to something else, something different from them, to then realizing that it's having that recognition and realizing it is, in fact, their own voices, which I think is a great expression of the fact that they're, of course, representative of this authority, as we've already said. But one of the things that's so interesting about this moment is when the chaplain comes in and thinks that he's listening to an episode of the Bickersons. I'm trying to kind of like connect all of this up with this idea of white noise. Right. Yeah. Yeah. So this is a couple that was always having these fights, right. On the radio. And. 9:46 Wes: And it's the kind of, daddy, why are you fighting? 9:49 Erin: Right, exactly. And it's the kind of thing that would probably just be on the radio. Nobody would pay much attention to it or whatever. But they, you know, he Thinks they've all gathered around to listen to this, which is a little funny, you know. Oh, we. We just love the Bickersons. We're gonna all gather around and listen to this tonight. So that mistake, that misunderstanding, I'm trying to think through what that's indicative of. I mean, of course, the fact that the. The sort of. What sounds like some pretty aggressive sex that they're have. 10:17 Wes: My lips are hot. 10:19 Erin: Yes. Some pretty aggressive sex that they're having. Sounds kind of like an argument. 10:24 Wes: Well, they're having trouble with logistics, let's put it that way. 10:28 Erin: Right, right. 10:29 Wes: Aren't they having trouble getting undressed and, you know. 10:32 Erin: Yeah. And so they're kind of. It's a little bit slapsticky. Right. Which would sound like maybe some sort of pots and pans banging kind of humor in a marital argument on the Bickersons. So it sounds like sort of regular aggression. I'm not doing a great job of connecting all this up. I thought I would come up with a way to connect it all the way around, but I'm, like, trying to put the pieces together of this idea of, like, it's not just about recognizing their own voices as the voice of authority, but it's sort of almost like recognizing themself at the heart of some kind of, like, ugly American culture that also has a lot of hypocrisy in it. Do you know what I'm trying to say? Like, yeah. If the whole culture is a military industrial complex and they valorize this. 11:19 Wes: Yeah, I think that's a good point. And it kind of lends itself to your observation about the Japanese versions of those American songs. Because what's just happened with the defeat of Japan is that two very different cultures have come into contact, and Japanese culture has been significantly affected by American culture. And Japanese culture was something much more conservative and serious before that war. And it is now, you know, within a matter of years, completely absorbed the flippancy of burgeoning American youth culture. I mean, I think you could call what's happening at this point, you know, the beginnings of youth culture, it doesn't fully dominate until the 60s. Right. But certainly starting in the 50s, speaking of boomers. Right. The first youth culture warriors. But so there's something lost, which is not to minimize what the Japanese, the many, many millions of civilians the Japanese killed during World War II, and the, of course, the horrible aspect of that kind of nationalism that dominated Japan at that time, but also it. It was in some ways a more arguably, I think, more religious and serious and more communal. And could not be more different in many ways from American culture. And so you lose something. You lose something when youth culture starts to dominate. And you lose something when cynicism, an ironic take on everything, you know, an ironic approach to the world, begins to dominate. There are many things that are appealing about it, and again, there are many things that are appealing about the wit of the protagonists in this movie. But I don't ultimately think that it's what's endorsed. And we get just these hints at the drawbacks of that, and it's that lack of serious. So, for instance, when they're in Japan, Hawkeye and Trapper John, right, have this fake conversation in Japanese. Do you remember that? They're kind of mocking the Japanese language. And then the guy driving the jeep is like, goddamn army. Goddamn army. 13:18 Erin: Yeah. 13:18 Wes: So they bring that flippancy to Japan. And it's more obvious, in a way, the implications of that, of what's lost with that, than it is at the camp. There's a greater contrast. I think the upshot of that is that the innocence of the chaplain. It's quaint in a way. It's cute that he thinks it's the Bickersons, but there's something about his more wholesome attitude that arguably the film laments us losing. In any case, there are strong arguments in favor of irony in one's approach to life, but it can easily slide into nihilism, and we can actually get rid of moral authority altogether. Again, as you pointed out, they themselves can be accused of being hypocrites or at the very least, moralists. Right? They themselves are coming at things from a certain kind of value system, and they hide the authority, or they locate it in themselves personally, or they locate it in competence as opposed to some higher moral order. But we really can't evade it. We can't evade seriousness, and we can't evade a moral order. And we can't evade. If we want to be healthy. We can't evade the feeling of sadness, no matter how productive or helpful it is to use humor sometimes. So going back to your point about the intercom, correct me if I'm wrong. So that Burns and Hot Lips got to experience the darkness or the. Yeah, go ahead. 14:43 Erin: Yeah. They're waking up inside the white noise of the kind of Middle American culture that they themselves might valorize and rea…

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    Irony as Anesthetic in Robert Altman’s “M.A.S.H” (1970) Jan 27, 2025
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    It begins with the “stupidest song ever written,” as Robert Altman called it, and ends with a self-referential jab at the very idea of finding comic relief in the tragedy of war. But it is equally unserious, the film “M.A.S.H” seem to suggest, to take seriously the authority of war-making institutions, and their pretense to putting violence in service of an ideal. And so morality succumbs to mockery, love to hedonism, and military rank to the form of authority immanent in the power to save lives. Yet suicide is not in fact painless, if it means robbing others of our presence, or ridding ourselves of the capacities for grief and earnestness. Wes & Erin discuss the 1970 classic “M.A.S.H,” and whether irony ought always to be our anesthetic, when confronted with traumas that are otherwise unspeakable. Upcoming Episodes: Rilke, Rebecca (1940), Dickinson. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. 0:32 Wes: It begins with the stupidest song ever written, as Robert Altman called it, and ends with a self referential jab at the very idea of finding comic relief in the tragedy of war. But it is equally unserious. The film MASH seems to suggest to take seriously the authority of war, making institutions and their pretense to putting violence in service of an ideal. And so morality succumbs to mockery, love, to hedonism and military rank, to the form of authority immanent in the power to save lives. Yet suicide is not in fact painless if it means robbing others of our presence or ridding ourselves of the capacities for grief and earnestness. Today we discuss the 1970 classic MASH and whether irony ought always to be our anesthetic when confronted with traumas that are otherwise unspeakable. This is Wes Alwan and this is Erin O'Luanaigh and you're listening to Subtext. Okay Erin, when I recommended this movie, when I saw your reaction I thought, hmm, this may not be her favorite. You didn't seem that excited about it. Maybe I should have gotten more info from you before we went through with it. And then I started watching it. It is one of my favorite movies, but I haven't seen it in a very long time. And as I watched it I started to think, oh no, this is not good. One of the problems with the movie is that so it has a group of protagonists who are all chauvinists and womanizers and there are lots of complaints one can make about the way women are treated in the film. And I think Robert Altman was asked many times about this over the years and he said, look, it's just a reflection of the times. And I think he meant the 70s, but he might have also meant 1951 when the movie is set, or some combination thereof. But the arc of the film involves this group of surgeons, irreverent anti authority surgeons, defeating two representatives of authority. One of them is Major Burns and one of them is Hot Lips Houlihan. And part of the way the arc for her they get Burns kicked out for they provoke him into attacking Hawkeye, I think, and then he leaves in a straitjacket. But for Hot Lips, she is humiliated in several different ways, including, like, being publicly, you know, having the curtain on the women's shower taken down so she's exposed publicly, and then ultimately, she's integrated into the group. She starts dating Duke, and at the very end of the movie, when there's a football game, she's reduced to the level of a mindless cheerleader. Like. Yeah. So I thought we'd maybe just tackle that up front. What do you. What do you think of all that? 3:29 Erin: Start with the fact that I'm. I'm a feminist scold. Can't have any fun. 3:33 Wes: Well, okay. Well, I'm not meaning to imply that. 3:36 Erin: No, I'm just teasing. 3:38 Wes: I had. Let me just say a little bit more about that. I had. When I probably saw it for the first time in 1990, and it would never have occurred to me to be uncomfortable with any of that. For. I mean, part of it's cultural, and part of it is just my age. And part of it, I think, is still applicable, which is that I looked at it through the lens of protagonists who are not meant to be likable on the one first and second, through the lens of what they're doing to deal with the horrors of war, which is not meant to be pleasant, even though, you know, it's milked for comedy. But then it's. It's satirical, and the film makes much of the fact, which we'll get into that it. There's something more serious going on. But in any case. So I saw it as more local to the conditions of a MASH unit than as a cultural commentary. And I don't think Altman meant it as some. It's not an endorsement. It's also not even really a cultural commentary. It's not really the point. But now, yeah, I can't help but feel disturbed. And I think part of that is just the culture has. Has changed. Thank goodness it's not just about calling you a feminist scold. 4:44 Erin: Yeah. Those are your exact words. I wrote them. No, I'm just kidding. No. You think the protagonists aren't meant to be likable? Because, I mean, here's one of my big problems with the movie is I love Elliott Gould. I love everything he does. So, you know, you want to, I don't know, clarify what you mean by that, because I think that they're being presented as the heroes. 5:04 Wes: Well, they are the protagonists. Although I think thematically, the chaplain might be the kind of dark horse protagonist, like the Alyosha of the movie. And I'll say why later on, but. Right. I get a lot of pleasure out of their irreverence, which I think we are meant to get. But they are cruel and they have kind of a surgeon God complex, which is amplified by their position in the army, where they have no tolerance for what they call, quote, unquote, regular army for people who want to follow the rules or for people who are representatives of any sort of moral authority. And I think part of that is a kind of protest against a war that they've been drafted into. And the contradiction between being part of a war and their role as healers. Right. So we have all sorts of things going on. So I think one's reaction to them can be complicated and you get plenty of pleasure out of them. And, yeah, I love all these actors as well, but I don't think the protagonists themselves could be said to be. I think, likable would be. They're bad boys. And some of it's charming, but some of it is obviously cruel. And I. I don't. I don't think an audience. I don't think any audience, no matter how sympathetic, could escape that. But maybe I'm wrong about that. 6:27 Erin: Hmm. Yeah. Maybe likable is the wrong word. I think the film very much sides with them. I mean, you know, one of the uncomfortable things about not liking the film is that that casts anyone in opposition to the way that it portrays some of the things you're talking about as being sort of pro authority, pro army protocol, pro teetotaling. All of these things that one doesn't want to be aligned with. But it sort of like, you know, annihilates the opposition. My problem with the protagonists themselves, and maybe if I'm seeing the movie as fully aligned with their point of view and endorsing that point of view, then the movie, too, is just incredibly smug. I think that's the biggest problem that I have with it, more even than the chauvinistic material or the cruelty. All of that, I think, is the downstream effect of this extreme smugness. And I think the MASH setup, the fact that they're three miles from the front line, but they're not ever involved in combat. And, you know, it's almost like there are civilians just that just happen to be three miles from the front line. 7:33 Wes: Right. 7:33 Erin: Like, there are so many. There's so many conditions, of course, that make this a set apart kind of place, a kind of moral no man's land. But at the same time, you know, they're not actually. They're only dealing with the result of battle. They're never, it seems, seeing battle. And so in a way, they're just like a bunch of doctors that have just been transposed into a new area and just have to deal with whoever comes in. But they get to keep their. Well, now I kind of want to go back on that. This is very complicated because of course you can argue that a lot of what their attitudes are are response to the conditions that they're seeing. But at the same time, I think there's an element of this in which they're sort of untouched by the reality of like having bullets fly at you and stuff like that. So there's a sort of resistance element to what they're doing. And yet at the same time they're winning. They win at everything. They're always right. They always have the answer. They can usually save the patient. They're good at everything, and therefore they get away with everything. And that as existing both in and kind of separate from the system. That clash really fascinates me. 8:39 Wes: I think the word smug is right. Although I don't attributed to the movie. I attribute to attribute it to the characters. And I would. I think of it in terms of cynicism and I think certainly Robert Altman didn't think he was endorsing their attitude and part of the reason why he disliked the TV series. So it turns out he really didn't like the TV series mash, which is that all this. The harshness of it was toned down and all the characters are just likable and there's still humor, but it's much tamer and people aren't being cruel to each other. And I think he thought he was illustrating kind of extreme behavior under extreme conditions. Which is not to say that who knows how these characters are in civilian life. One would think that, yeah, that some of the arrogance and smugness and all that stuff is there and it's not. Not to paint all doctors with a broad brush, but it's kind of one of the temptations of being a. In a very prestigious position as a surgeon in society. Right. It can go to one's head. Again, I use the phrase God complex and then you transpose that into this situation. The result is people who are used to being the authorities and are going to rebel against the authority, which is the army, in part because it's a hypocritical authority. They're trying to create a pocket of order and sanity in the context of something that is arguably completely insane. Even if you think the war was necessary. There's something insane about war that seems like it should not be honored, even with the formalities of rank. And you treat me this way and call me this and all that. That seems to dishonor the cruel realities of war. That seems hypocritical. And so I think these sorts of characters see themselves as warriors against that kind of hypocrisy, but it's not all positive. Right. So you get. You get these kind of ridiculous characters in Burns and Houlihan, who are their representatives of the moral. Of some sort of moral order, of some sort of impulse towards a moral order. But they are. They go too far. They quote, unquote, regular army. And one of them is religious, but arguably superficially religious. He's also cruel, and that's part of what gets him in. In trouble. He makes one of the younger MASH unit kids cry by blaming a death on him. But on the other hand, the treatment of the chaplain, Dago Red, Is that what they're calling. 11:09 Erin: Yeah, my new. My new nickname. 11:11 Wes: Several. One of several inappropriate nicknames. But they don't have a lot of time for him in the movie. And in many instances, the uselessness of what he's doing spiritually is highlighted. Right. So he's in to give rites to someone, but someone says, come here and hold a clamp or something like that over and over again. His role is kind of minimized, but he doesn't get the same treatment in terms of ridicule as Hot Lips and Burns do. And arguably, in the end. So I think if you thought. If you think there might be a thematic protagonist to this, it would be sadness. And I think the chaplain is representative of that. So at the very end of the movie, they're all playing poker. And I don't know if you saw this. This is the first time I really paid attention to it. But in the background, the chaplain is hauling a body off. 11:58 Erin: I did not see that. 11:59 Wes: Yeah. Is taking a body away. And Hawkeye has this. Does this double take. He's looking behind him at the jeep, taking the body with the chaplain, and has this sad look on his face. And I thought, okay, well, that is really interesting in a way. That's kind of a emotional climax from the movie where you get to see some sort of remorse out of these characters who are covering up some so. Or sadness. I would say not. Not necessarily remorse, but some sort of sadness out of. Out of these characters who are kind of manically covering that up with their behavior. And it turns out in the original, this was Cut out of the movie, but the scenes were shot. That's actually the Korean kid, what's his name? Ho-Jon. 12:39 Erin: Oh, yeah. 12:39 Wes: Who they tried to save from going into the war by faking a physical and it didn't work. And then he's in the war and he ends up killed. And they just try to block that out. So that poker game, they're trying to ignore what's going on behind them, which is that Ho-Jon is being taken away and then Hawkeye can't. So it's subtle, but I think that if one were to defend the film, you would have to say that the manic behavior of these doctors is not actually being endorsed, even if we as an audience enjoy it. And many ways their intelligence, their rapier like wit, as someone makes fun of them in the film is. It's hard to resist. But at a deeper thematic level, it's the antagonist. That's my defense. I know it might sound far fetched, but. 13:30 Erin: No, it's very interesting. It's very interesting. It makes me appreciate the film a little bit more. I mean, there were things about this film I did appreciate it. Don't get me wrong. You know, Pauline Kael is so her long review of the film, I think it's in deeper into movies, which I read a couple months ago, you know, she has this real triumphalist like these. These are her protagonists that obviously reflect her attitudes about, you know, this was a film she really championed. And she was a close personal friend of Altman, too, and like, loved his films. So she sees these men as being fully endorsed by the film. And I think that the cruelty with which someone like Burns is portrayed is also pretty incriminating as far as the attitude of the film goes. Right. He kneels down in front of them and starts praying out loud. You know, it seems to me that one of the reasons why the chaplain is spared is because I think because he doesn't seem to be intrusive. You know, Burns is teaching Ho-Jon to read out of the Bible and this is a bad thing to do. He's praying out loud, and this is an obnoxious thing to do. And these. These characteristics paired with the fact that he seems to be in favor of a certain amount of protocol and also that he's not a good surgeon. That's a big one. He's not competent in his job. The movie has sort of Howard Hawks moral values that if you're good at your job, then you're good. And that's, you know…

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    Aesthetic Humility in Marianne Moore’s “The Jerboa” (Part 2) Jan 20, 2025
    Show notes

    Wes & Erin continue their discussion of Marianne Moore’s poem, “The Jerboa,” first published in 1932, and whether power and wealth might paradoxically prove less abundant than the strictures of form and necessity. Upcoming Episodes: M*A*S*H, Rilke, Dickinson. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. Okay, welcome to part two of our discussion of Marianne Moore's 1932 poem the Jerboa. Last time I think we talked about what toys little baby Egyptians used to like to play with. And it seems the consensus is that they liked to put badgers on camels and race them, dress them up as jockeys. And they also like to maybe feed wasps to snakes. The jury's out on what exactly they like to do with these things. But the point is. What is the point? The point is that they're toyifying nature or they are reordering for consumption and enjoyment and appropriation something that was maybe already ordered in nature. And this is therefore something quite morally fraught, I think, for Marianne Moore's idea of the proper way to treat nature, which includes treating people. People are part of nature. So. 1:30 Wes: And it's not just about survival, is what this shows. And later on we'll see that's important. You know, in the contra, when we get the contrast with the jerboa, it's 1:39 Erin: about survival for the badger, because if the badger loses, the losing jockey gets shot. 1:46 Wes: Career survival. Oh, okay. Well, that's an even. 1:50 Erin: I don't know, that's an even more 1:52 Wes: morally fraught game than I was imagining. 1:54 Erin: Got really real, really fast. I don't know why that's. That's what came to mind. 1:58 Wes: But yeah, I mean, I do remember as a kid with little groups of boys doing horrific things to frogs, for instance. Yeah, horrible. 2:07 Erin: How many people do you have in your freezer, Wes? 2:10 Wes: Yeah, exactly. But, you know, if you take them out and you put them on water, they float and you can use them like a raft. So it's the dual purpose. No, but that's actually part of my point, which is that this is right. The relationship to other animals in part is about survival. And of course other animals do this, the lions eating the gazelles or whatever. But for human beings, it goes above and beyond that to something, to a matter of dominion and a matter of a reinforcement of some sense of psychological superiority and the use of animals aesthetically, the use of animals to fuel important or as magical totems to ward off evil, all of that stuff. And then now in this next section I think you're about to read, we're going to get a transition to. Well, why don't you read it and then we can discuss it. 3:08 Erin: It was a picture with a fine distance of drought and of assistance in time from the Nile rising slowly while the pigtailed monkey on slab hands with arched-up slack-slung gait and the brown dandy looked at the jasmine, two leaf, twig and bud cactus pads and fig dwarfs here and there lent to an evident poetry of frog grays, duck egg greens and eggplant blues. A fantasy and a verisimilitude that were right to those with everywhere power over the poor. The bees, food is your food. Those who tended flower beds and stables were like the king's cane in the form of a hand, or the folding bedroom made for his mother of whom he was fond. Princes clad in queen's dresses, calla or petunia white that trembled at the edge, and queens in A king's undershirt of fine twilled thread like silkworm gut as beeman and milkmaid kept divine cows and bees, limestone brows and gold foil wings. In some places I. You know, she's famously hard to track her reference. And sometimes I'm like, what are the dwarves? What's going on? 4:20 Wes: Where do the dwarves come from? 4:21 Erin: Yeah, where do they come from? 4:22 Wes: Remember any dwarves? 4:25 Erin: It was a picture with a fine distance. What picture? And what is it? What is that referring to? But I love it. A picture with a fine distance. It's such a wonderfully oxymoronical phrase. 4:36 Wes: Well, I think she's talking about everything that's come before. So it was a picture. This is now her. The first explicit commentary. I think that's in this poem. It's all been description of details, but. Yeah, with indirect commentary. Right. Calling well these people like small things, I guess is commentary. But these people. These people. It was a picture with a fine distance of drought and of assistance in time from the Nile rising slowly. So I assume that that is the locust, oil and stone. Locusts. I thought I understood this. 5:12 Erin: The whole civilization. You're saying this is her picture of it? Is that what you mean? 5:16 Wes: Yeah, Everything that comes before is the picture. So she's drawing this causal connection between drought and assistance in time from the Nile. Right. So there'd be drought and then the Nile would flood and it would flood over its banks and the drought would end. So it's a boom and bust kind of cycle. If all of this is a picture of that, it reflects the. Again the anxiety of dependence on that natural cycle and times when there wasn't a lot of natural sustenance to be gotten from the land. So you had to find ways to store. So I think. Right. The Egyptians had huge granaries and that's part of how cats became domesticated. They would just let them hang out around the granaries and kill mice. So this picture of drought and then assistance from the Nile while the pigtailed monkey on slab hands looked at the jasmine, two leaf, twig and bud. What is that about? 6:18 Erin: Is she comparing us and her to the monkey here? You know, so we're getting a whole picture of the civilization with a fine distance. I love that because it's fine. Could be, you know, fair, nice, but it's also fine, like detailed. And distance would work against that. So we get this, the distance also 6:38 Wes: in terms of time and the perspective that we have. 6:40 Erin: Time and perspective. Right. So we have a, you know, the sort of tocquevillian relationship to civilizations. We can see finer details more clearly for our distance from them. Strangely enough, I take her to then sort of fancifully and funnily connect us then to the monkey who looks at the little leafy civilization happening underneath him. You know, and maybe by saying, oh, you know, we're so much more civilized than that. She's sort of joking about that, that we now have this perspective because we're sort of so much more advanced than the Egyptians and we can look at them in a gimlet eyed way. By comparing us to monkeys. She's both sort of like reinforcing that and joking about it, I think incriminating us in the way that we are looking at the civilization. That's the way I'm reading this. I'm not sure if it's right. 7:29 Wes: There could well be another wall painting or representation of just the thing that she's talking about. Where in the background there's the Nile and in the foreground there's a monkey staring at this whatever it is. Jasmine, two leaf, twig and bud, cactus pads and fig. Is it a fig tree? Yeah, there's a bunch of things. But in any case, you know, you can imagine some sort of wall painting of this sort of thing. But yeah, the metaphor stands and I think you're right. It's possible that she's putting us in the position of the monkey. 8:01 Erin: You know, I think you're right to talk about representation because then we're about to get the most explicit, I think wall painting section here. You know, I think she, that she then goes into those Egyptian murals inside the pyramids most explicitly here. So we get dwarfs. I don't know who these are. I don't. Dwarfs were the painters. 8:21 Wes: Okay, I was really hoping you would explain this to me. 8:24 Erin: No, I have no idea. I have no idea. But the things that are small versus things that are big, were they dwarfs in the society? Because I have no clue. I highly doubt these are literal dwarfs. But they can't be anything but literal dwarfs because otherwise what is she talking about? 8:43 Wes: Yeah, I mean, I did find ancient Egyptian representations of dwarves. 8:47 Erin: Oh, you did a lot more research than I should have done all that. 8:51 Wes: Yeah, but I don't know. I didn't do enough research to know the significance of that or whether she's saying that the dwarves were working were the ones who created these murals or that she's metaphorically saying their existence. You know, the representation of dwarves lends a nuance to all of this. So lent to an evident poetry of frog grays et cetera. A fantasy of verisimilitude. In other words, you wouldn't characterize ancient Egyptian representations as realistic, especially. 9:26 Erin: Right. 9:26 Wes: Sort of a sideways representation of bodies. Famously. It's quite stylized. There's lack of perspective. Right. You know, where you see representations of daily life that are less. Or that are ordinary or less stylized and grand. Right. So the inclusion of dwarfs is. It's no longer just a generic person standing sideways on the wall. Right. Doing the Egyptian stance. You get a little bit more realism. So that might be what's going on here. 9:59 Erin: I see. And we're sure it is dwarfs, not just smaller representations of the animals she's been talking about, because they would be smaller than they really are on the paintings. 10:09 Wes: I don't know. But I did find what are definitely dwarves. They're not, because they have dwarf proportions. So there's a whole page I found on disabilities in ancient Egypt. And they try to trace changing attitudes between different eras, between different kingdoms, based on the representations of disabilities and various. So apparently so. I don't know. Yeah, you might be right. It's really unclear. But there's something that. A fantasy and a verisimilitude. So one in juxtaposed to the other that were right to those with. That were right. That seemed right to those with everywhere 10:50 Erin: power over the poor, the people in power. 10:52 Wes: Yeah. It's an aesthetic. In other words, it's an aesthetic sensibility that appeals to people with power. And it's one that combines this unrealistic fantasy world with little touches of verisimilitude, I guess, is the idea. 11:09 Erin: And then we get the bees. Food is your food. So the poor are connected to the bees here by proximity. So everybody, rich and poor alike, we all eat the same food. You know, we all put our pants on one leg at a time. And yet I'm including myself among the poor because if you saw where I lived, you would agree. 11:27 Wes: Because you're a graduate student. 11:29 Erin: Yes, in my garret. So those who tended flower beds and stables were like the king's cane in the form of a hand. So I've thought a lot about this. The idea is that the people are part of the king's possessions, too. So just as the pharaoh is exploiting nature, and this upper class maybe is exploiting nature, so he exploits the human labor that he uses, which are expressions of his power. We're democratized here. So it's not just that that the animals are being exploited, it's that people are being exploited like animals as well, that these things which should be honored like the bees or the people who grow the crops, therefore, are like the bedrock of civilization. They allow for people to. To eat and to have this bounty that the pharaoh's power is built on. These things should be respected and given a voice. And instead, they're just used as a kind of cudgel against themselves. Because the pharaoh is just exploiting, not indeterminate. I suppose it's obvious in the fact that he uses slave labor to get the food and build the pyramids. 12:36 Wes: Yeah. Those who tended flower beds and stables were like. It sounds like they were an extension of the king. They are also tools. And the king's cane in the form of a hand. I don't know of any Egyptian canes that literally had a hand shape, but they have a crook in them like that. They're right. If you've seen that. They have a little circle on the top that I suppose fits to the hand. They are extensions of that hand, and they're made to fit the hand of power and to be used as a 13:05 Erin: tool that the hand that mocks them and the heart that. 13:08 Wes: Right, There you go. The bee's food is your food. You know, I suppose, again, it's like the worker bees with the, you know, what is produced by the worker bees, but it belongs to their masters. I don't know what princes clad in queen's dress is. I don't know what all that's about. Queens in a king's undershirt. 13:28 Erin: This was sort of easy for me to understand. I think this is Moore's fancy that she is seeing the look of what the pharaoh wears as being a kind of dress. You know, we could picture it, you know, the skirt, almost like a wrap skirt, you know, that they wear. And then the queens in there in the garments that look like undershirts, I could just picture it. The way that she's describing it makes sense to me. 13:49 Wes: But, you know, significantly, the undershirts are. Well, they're like silkworm gut as beeman and milkmaid kept divine cows and bees. 14:00 Erin: Oh, like they're cosplaying like people at Versailles dressing up like shepherdesses. You know, I think there's something performative in these outfits. And I take the limestone brows and gold foil wings to be, like, the makeup. Gold foil wings. Maybe I'm thinking of, like, winged eyeliner, and this is wrong. But there's, you know, there's something of, like, the face paint and the way that they're depicted as well in the paintings. 14:29 Wes: And then we move to naming. The king gave his name to them, and he was named for them, which is, you know, very much and puts him in the position of Adam. 14:39 Erin: They made basalt serpents and portraits of beetles. The king gave his name to them and he was named for them. He feared snakes and tamed Pharaoh's rat, the rust backed mongoose. No bust of it was made, but there was pleasure for the rat. Its restlessness was its excellence. It was praised for its wit and the jerboa like it. A small desert rat, and not famous, that lives without water, has happiness abroad seeking food or at home in its burrow. The Sahara field mouse has a shining silver house of sand. Oh, rest and joy. The boundless sand, the stupendous sand spout. No water, no palm trees, no ivory bed, tiny cactus. But one would not be he who has nothing but plenty. Oh, rest and joy, the boundless sand. It's so funny. She's hilarious. 15:31 Wes: He feared snakes. So the suggestion is, you know, snakes are part of their magic and feature prominently in their representations of the world. And then what did you call it? That goes on the forehead, on the head? 15:45 Erin: Uraeus. 15:46 Wes: And then so there's use of the mongoose, right, which can kill cobras to ward them off or protect the king from cobras. But she's comparing it. I don't know why it's called the pharaoh's rat, if that's mongoose, obviously is not a rat. But it allows her to associate to the jerboa. I don't know…

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    Aesthetic Humility in Marianne Moore’s “The Jerboa” Jan 12, 2025
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    Of all the great American Modernists, the poetry of Marianne Moore is perhaps the most idiosyncratic, even the most radical, of them all—no small feat in a group of friends and admirers that included Ezra Pound, T. S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, William Carlos Williams, e. e. cummings, and HD. Moore’s preferred form was a syllabic stanza bespoke to each poetic occasion, like the unique shell of each individual snail or paper nautilus, and often containing rhyme. In these stanzas, Moore hid behind her virtuosic performance of deflection and difficulty and, of course, revealed herself in it, much as one of her pet-subjects, the exotic animal-portrait, contained a self-portrait at its heart. In her poem on the jerboa, Moore contrasts the desert mouse’s decorousness with the decadence of empire, and in so doing, distinguishes her ideal of true artistry—a vigorous, humble, and ultimately liberated response to one’s natural and formal limitations—with a false art which oppresses the natural in service of the powerful. Wes & Erin discuss Marianne Moore’s poem, “The Jerboa,” first published in 1932, and whether power and wealth might paradoxically prove less abundant than the strictures of form and necessity. Upcoming Episodes: M*A*S*H, Rilke, Dickinson. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. Of all the great American modernists, Marianne Moore is perhaps the most idiosyncratic, even the most radical of them all. No small feat. In a group of friends and admirers that included Ezra Pound, T.S. eliot, Wallace Stevens, William Carlos Williams, E.E. cummings and H.D. moore's preferred form was a syllabic stanza bespoke to each poetic occasion, like the unique shell of each individual snail or paper nautilus, and often containing rhyme. In these stanzas, Moore hid behind her virtuosic performance of deflection and difficulty and, of course, revealed herself in it. Much as one of her pet subjects, the exotic animal portrait contained a self portrait at its heart. In her poem on the Jerboa, Moore contrasts the desert mouse's decorousness with the decadence of empire and in so doing, distinguishes her ideal of true artistry, a vigorous, humble, and ultimately liberated response to one's natural and formal limitations, with a false art which oppresses the natural in service of the powerful. Today we're discussing Marianne Moore's poem the Jerboa, first published in 1932, and whether power and wealth might paradoxically prove less abundant than the strictures of form and necessity. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. 1:49 Wes: And this is Wes Alwan. 1:51 Erin: And you're listening to Subtext. So, Wes, I'm curious. Before I suggested this poem, did you know what the Jerboa was? 2:03 Wes: I thought you were going to ask me if I knew who Marianne Moore was. 2:06 Erin: Marianne Moore was. Well, that's asking the same thing. 2:10 Wes: And I was preparing to say no, and no, I didn't know no. 2:15 Erin: Really? 2:15 Wes: Yeah. I didn't know her and I didn't know this animal. I mean, I knew of the animal. It's in Dune, right? Some version of it. Did you see that? 2:23 Erin: Okay. That's why someone made a Dune joke to me yesterday. 2:27 Wes: Muad'Dib or something. I can't remember what it's called, but anyway, I know what it's called. On the planet Arrakis, On the planet Earth. Not so much. Too much fantasy, Too little biology. When I was a kid, should I 2:48 Erin: have watched Dune in preparation for this episode? Because now I'm concerned that I'm going To be speaking out of ignorance. 2:54 Wes: You would have learned a lot. 2:55 Erin: Yeah. 2:56 Wes: But no. Yeah, I hadn't heard of her or this poem or the animal. Except I think I'd seen, you know, pictures and video of a desert mouse or desert rat. But, no, I didn't know. 3:08 Erin: Well, they're very cute. 3:09 Wes: I didn't know it under this name. Yeah. 3:11 Erin: Yeah. You know, probably. Oh, I'm gonna wanna take this back as soon as I say it. Probably. She's my favorite poet. She's certainly the poet that's had the greatest influence on my own work. 3:22 Wes: Yeah, I can see that, by the way. 3:24 Erin: Oh, really? 3:24 Wes: I noticed that. 3:25 Erin: Y. Yeah, it's my love of rats. No, her nickname was Rat from Wind in the Willows. 3:33 Wes: So. 3:33 Erin: I love Marianne Moore. Her book, which this poem is not from, but her book, Observations, is worth getting. It's one of the landmarks of modernism on par with Harmonium, Spring and all, you know, I guess. What was Eliot's book? Prufrock and Other Poems. Was that what it was called? It's in that league. I mean, I think it's just one of the landmark, foundational landmarks of modernist poetry. And since American modernism is also my favorite time period in poetry, she's tops for me. It's important for me to pitch her a little bit because I think most people don't know who she is, and then when they read the poems, they find her to be very difficult at first. And she also gets accused often of being impersonal, which I think is completely untrue. I think these are such fascinatingly personal poems because she reveals so much of the way that she thinks in them. They're so idiosyncratic and interesting and strange. You know, I think maybe Bishop, Elizabeth Bishop, who was kind of a protege of Moore's, said, you know, she's the kind of person that you would want to walk through a museum with. It's like you could. You could hear her, like, in the Natural History Museum, sort of commenting on things in your ear as you go through. And I think that that kind of reveals a lot more about a person than a poem in which someone is maybe being confessional and, you know, discussing their inner life, usually with, you know, a lot more fabulism than they want to admit. So how did you find the poem and her style? 4:57 Wes: There's a lot of allusions that I don't necessarily immediately get. Like, what the pine cone was, that I have to look up and find out, okay, that's at the Vatican and other things. I'm not sure I Get. Although at a certain point I'm like, okay, yeah, that's the Egyptians. I know that I've been to a museum. I feel like I'm familiar with some of these things. And then syntactically, some of the lines took me a few reads and puzzling over it to make sure I've got everything. Even syntactically, it's not easily comprehensible, I find that. But yeah, my general impression is positive. And just looking at some of the other poems I immediately struck. But yeah, this didn't immediately strike me in the same way as some of the other poems that I glanced at. So I can understand that the extreme amount of detail turns some people off. Is that what you were saying? 5:56 Erin: And the syntax and the allusion, the things you're talking about. 5:59 Wes: But overall I find it a very interesting poem. Once I felt like I understood it, I think it will have to marinate for longer before I. I can't say that it has a strong, immediate emotional impact on me, which is not to say that it wouldn't happen after longer time for marination, but. Or if I were more familiar with other parts of her work or something 6:20 Erin: like that, maybe this is projection on my part. But what I often detect in the emotion of the poem is not in the effect that it produces in me, but often in her poems, I feel this sort of underlying rage simmering beneath the surface. Not necessarily in this poem. There's a great deal of appreciation as well. And she really loves these animals that she writes about. I could feel that the images themselves are just so beautiful. I mean, I don't know of a better image in 20th century American poetry than the baboons on the necks of the giraffes picking fruit from the trees. You know, there's just so many, and sonically it's so, so incredibly beautiful. I think it's a bit of an odd choice, I think, for a Marianne Moore poem to talk about on the podcast. Maybe, you know, her two most anthologized poems are probably poetry, which begins famously with I too dislike it. You know, famous ill used opening line. And I don't really like that poem that much. I think just because of that line, it's gotten a lot. It has some great images in it, but it's not something I think we could discuss in a sustained way over two parts. And the other is the fish, which I have taught so much that I didn't think I would have anything fresh to say about it at this point, because it's like my go to poem to teach. So I was a little worried about that. And then, you know, her two great poems that are real landmarks of 20th century Poetry, the Octopus and Marriage, are both incredibly long and it would take many, many parts to get through just to read through them. And so I settled on this because she's known for these animal poems. Pangolin, the Frigate pelican, the paper Nautilus. And this is probably my favorite of them, maybe because I think the jerboa is so cute. But also I love the fact that it has these two uneven parts. There's sort of like theme and counter theme. It's very musical. I don't know. They're so winningly named, these two parts. You know, this is unusual for her to have two parts and have a subtitle for each. Too much. And Abundance is, you know, just like such a typical little witty joke. And I just. I love the descriptions of art in it and of these real. Which. Which we'll have to. Which we'll have to. To talk about these really loving, incredibly detailed, beautiful descriptions of things that she's condemning, you know, which are a little bit strange and maybe self defeating, but. Yeah. And it has the syllabics and the rhyme. So I should just point out that this is a poem of. I think the first section is 17 stanzas and the second section is nine stanzas. And the stanzas are six lines long. And they're written in syllabics. So very often the break in the line will be a bit jarring. And that's because she's just counting. She's not doing meter. So English, of course, is an accentual syllabic language. For those of our listeners who are familiar with a term like iambic, pentameter. Iambic refers to the accent and pentameter to the syllabics, the number of syllables basically in the line. So iambic is the dun, dun, you know, the. 9:11 Wes: The. 9:11 Erin: The two. Two beat foot. And pentameter means that there are five of those. So ten syllables total in a line. Other languages are not necessarily accentual syllabic. So French doesn't have really any strong accents. They can't count their accents very well. So they don't have meter as we would think of it. They just count the syllables. And one of Moore's greatest and most ingenious innovations in poetry is to apply that French way of counting just the syllables and transpose that into English. So that's why so much of the music in this sounds so fresh and strange and interesting. So she's just counting syllables. So the pattern is 5, 5, 6, 11, 10, 7. So she starts with a 5 and ends with a 7, which will come back in fifths and sevenths later in the poem. 10:01 Wes: Interesting. 10:01 Erin: And then the rhyme scheme is something like a, A and then xx for sort of no rhyme. BB Sometimes that shifts slightly, but for the most part she holds to that. Yeah. So it produces this bespoke little object because in each one of her poems she has a different little system. And one can imagine that maybe she wrote the first couple of stanzas and liked the shape of them and then counted the syllables and said, okay, I'm just gonna stick to this for the next. You know, like a cookie cutter kind of applied it to the rest of the poem or something. I'm just imagining that's the way that it went. I could be wrong there. Okay, so I'll start reading it and I think we'll just go a chunk at a time, if that sounds good to you. The too much. A Roman had an artist, a freedman, contrive a cone, pine cone or fir cone, with holes for a fountain placed on the prison of Sant Angelo. This cone of the Pompeys, which is known now as the Pope's passed for art, a huge cast bronze dwarfing the peacock statue in the garden of the Vatican. It looks like a work of art made to give to a Pompey or native of Thebes. Maybe we should stop there, just talk about the pine cone. 11:16 Wes: Yeah, that's true. That's the conceptual break. So, yeah, tell us about the pinecone. This is a fountain that you can still see. I've been to the Vatican, so I suppose I've seen it in person, but it was so long ago that I didn't. 11:30 Erin: Yeah, I vaguely remember seeing it. I don't know. I didn't have any pictures of it that I could find, but I found a picture online and it's quite strange and sort of ugly. It's very strange. 11:41 Wes: It's got the peacocks next to it now, which is just kind of odd looking. But. 11:45 Erin: Yeah, yeah, the little tiny peacocks. Yeah. So it's a pinecone fountain, which is a bit strange. So we begin with this Roman, who's unnamed, and he had an artist, a Freedman, contrive a cone. We're sort of getting, I think from the way in which this is cast that she thinks negatively about this pine cone. We're not really getting a negative description of the pinecone itself, though. I think the fact that it's A pinecone fountain implies that there's something wrong about this, in Moore's view, wrong in terms of it's not natural. It doesn't make any sense to have a pine cone that is a fountain. 12:23 Wes: The word contrive seems to suggest something negative. 12:26 Erin: Definitely. 12:27 Wes: It's a contrivance. And then pinecone or fir cone suggests a lack of precision. 12:33 Erin: Yeah, yeah, yeah. 12:34 Wes: Which I know. I know this has been oft repeated by critics because I looked a little bit on secondary literature, but. Yeah, for a poet like her, who's very precise, that by itself suggests a certain criticism of this object. 12:47 Erin: Yeah. And so, you know, this freedman is pressed into service, you know, so his level of freedom is up for debate here because Roman had him do it. It seems he didn't have a choice. And, of course, this pinecone's original location is on a prison, which I think contributes to the sense of the lack of freedom in this artist, you know, constructing this pine cone. And, like, why a pine cone? It doesn't. You know, I thought a lot about. About the pinecone and what that might suggest. The pinecone's purpose is for seed dispersal. Here it's dispersing water, and only for aesthetic reasons, not practical ones. I mean, not anymore, because it's no longer a fountain, but originally it was constructed as a fountain. So the pine cone's form is divorced from its function, which is always a negative thing, I think, in life and in Marianne Moore. And it's comically large. So I was thinking about, like, if a pine cone is that big, you know, based on what I was trying to figure out in terms of how big it was just from a picture and, like, how big would be the trees that it would produce? You know, they would be gargantuan. Right. So there's this subversion of the natural for what it seems for the sake of mere monumentality, like merely…

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    Word and Image in “Sunset Boulevard” (1950) – Part 2 Jan 06, 2025
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    What can the contrast between silent and talking pictures teach us about the nature of film itself? And how might it reflect the age-old rivalries between word and image, movement and stasis, the living and the dead? Wes & Erin continue their discussion of Billy Wilder’s 1950 masterpiece, “Sunset Boulevard.” Upcoming Episodes: Marianne Moore’s “Jerboa,” M*A*S*H. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: Or@patreon.com subtextpodcast. Welcome to part two of our discussion of Sunset Boulevard. Last time we talked about Plato and Aristotle and the image and the word, we talked about all kinds of deeply philosophical things. So now I think we're ready to jump into the actual movie, get away from our books and into an image. But a moving, speaking image. Very confusing. You know, last time I hinted at the fact that Joe, being a writer and Joe struggling with narrative is connected symbolically in the film, or seems to be connected symbolically in the film with his car. And the fact that he has car troubles or that his. His car is in danger of being repossessed is indicative both of his failing career, his inability to make it in Hollywood. And, of course, that's connected to the fact that he seems to be unable to come up with original, interesting scripts that will sell. So it's as though his ability to create narrative is in danger of being repossessed and his whole story as a screenwriter is in danger of being recalled as he's threatened with returning to Dayton, Ohio. Terrifying prospect. Going back to being a newspaper man. 1:42 Wes: It's always the Midwest, you know. 1:44 Erin: Yeah. That's when you go. 1:46 Wes: When you fail. Yeah. 1:48 Erin: Yeah. 1:48 Wes: All the nice people. Yeah. Anyway. 1:50 Erin: Right. 1:51 Wes: Living ordinary lives. 1:53 Erin: So he, you know, then he blows out a tire and has to hide his car, park his car so that he's no longer moving in the garage of Norma, which is symbolic to me of the fact that he enters her world for the rest of his life, really, and is taken in by her way of viewing things, which is not to progress, not to go out and drive, because, in fact, she doesn't really take her car out ever. But to sit around and live in the past in one time period, that does not move forward. So just about the image disconnected from narrative. 2:28 Wes: Yeah. So I was kind of reminded of, like, a fairy tale or something where, I don't know, Hansel and Gretel end up at the witch's house or something. It's almost like he's. He's a lost little boy being taken in by a witch who's gonna eat him or something. There's a fairy tale quality, obviously, in showing up and having her dead monkey there. And he's originally mistaken for the monkey undertaker. And then later on, he witnesses the chimpanzee's funeral. The fact that the mansion is so dilapidated in the beginning. So you get this interesting. Right. And that image by itself is a great image of narcissism because it's its grandiosity of, on the one hand, of what has been or what could be. But then the immediate reality is deprivation because the real self gets deprived or ignored or undeveloped in comparison to some grandiose ideal. But, yeah, it also gives it this feeling, I think, which you mentioned, of being a place where time has kind of just stopped. Like he's sort of been sucked into a bit of a wormhole or what is it? A time sink. I don't know what you call him, but, yeah, you get a very firm sense of him entering into this different world. 3:48 Erin: Yeah. And I think that Norma's stasis seems to be images of water, I think, kind of predominate for her, oddly enough, because her pool is empty at the beginning of the film. She does fill it for Jo later, and she does promise him things like, oh, I can open my house in Malibu for you, and then you'll have the whole ocean. But images of water seem to fit with her, and they seem connected to her dreams. I think the fulcrum for this is her bed, which is like that insane looking. Almost like a gondola. 4:21 Wes: Yeah. 4:22 Erin: Which Jo describes at some point as being like a crazy rowboat or something. 4:26 Wes: Yeah. And apparently it belonged to an actual dancer. 4:30 Erin: Oh, really? 4:31 Wes: Yeah. 4:32 Erin: Wow. It maybe makes sense that Jo's car, as a symbol of progression, is something that she doesn't like. She disparages this car as being newfangled and made of chrome and spit or something like that, you know, so it makes sense maybe that she's associated with like a ship or a rowboat or a gondola, something that's an outmoded form of transportation and that can. You can just float. You can just stay in one temporal space and not move. And in fact, you know, the bed is. Of course, it's not actually floating. It's just shaped like a ship. So it's actually just in stasis. And Jo compares her to a sleepwalker. So she's connected to this idea of dreams. Of course, Hollywood itself is, you know, a dream factory. I mean, I think even when they're watching Queen Kelly, when she's looking at her younger self, I think she's praying in a church or something on the screen. And an intertitle says, you know, presumably the interior monologue of her character on the screen cast out this wicked dream which has seized my heart. 5:35 Wes: I am so. 5:36 Erin: It's as if this young Norma is trying to give a message, you know, to older Norma to put her faith in something else other than the dream. But Norma is sleeping and can't wake up or something like that. And what I find interesting about this is that if we take, you know, the pool as being part of this symbolic structure, you know, the pool is something that Jo wants too, right? The pool, the swimming pool seems to be a symbol of Hollywood success. So it's something that they share. And I think it's part of Joe's attraction to Norma. I mean, it's difficult to say where precisely he is attracted to Norma. For the most part, he seems to just be completely disparaging of her and kind of making fun of her without her really knowing. But I think that it's in this dream space, which is the space of delusion and stasis and silent film, but also the place of Hollywood success and the American dream, maybe the Hollywood dream factory, making it big, achieving your dreams that Jo is attracted to. So maybe what he's attracted to, Enorma, is the fact that she has been big, is the fact that she has been successful. She's achieved something that Jo never will. 6:47 Wes: You know, after he's been reading her script for a while and he says he feels sick to his stomach because of all the tripe that he's been reading and the, quote, silly hodgepodge of melodramatic plots. However, by then I'd started concocting a little plot of my own. This is his voiceover. So he thinks that he's going to take advantage of her by getting her to pay him for his. This rewrite of her lousy script. Of course, he's the one who's going to end up getting manipulated, in a sense. But you see at this moment the concept of a plot versus a melodrama. These two things are put at odds with each other once again. And he thinks his plotting is gonna overcome her melodrama, but it's precisely the opposite. It's towards the middle of the movie where she tries to kill herself, right? And he ends up in her room and she's able to evoke pity from him. And then they kiss, right? And that's at the very middle of the movie. So that's the point where they become an item and where he's kind of been fully defeated by her up to that point. The bulk of the second act, the first part of the second act, is this buildup of him depending on her, like I mentioned before, his car being towed. So he has to use her car, which is this old, fancy car, which becomes a very important point, part of the plot because the studio wants to use that car for A film, but not her. They want to. There's the car, and then there's the getting clothing for him, moving in, him finding out there's no locks on the doors and that Max is the one sending the letters to her, and then culminating in the kind of weird, pathetic New Year's party with no guests except for him. So in any case, her melodrama fully defeats his plotting by the middle of the movie. 8:40 Erin: Yeah, I like that a lot. You know, I thought a lot about what it means to be jaded and, you know. Cause Joe is such a jaded character. So, you know, obviously, if we're gonna take this symbolism of the car. Joe is struggling with narrative. Joe is relying too heavily on cliches. Right. He pitches the script to Sheldrake, a name that comes up again and again in Billy Wilder movies. He pitches the script to Sheldrake, which is about a baseball player who had sold himself to the mob and then wants to go straight, but the mob won't let him and he needs to throw the World Series. Very, very common, familiar plot to anyone who's seen movies or watched baseball or watched baseball movies. So he's having trouble getting out of the realm of cliche. And I think, you know, what is being jaded but kind of viewing the world through these cliches. In a way, you think that you know all the angles, but at the same time, it kind of. It hobbles you. That very presupposition that you can predict what's going to happen because you're familiar with cliche can actually, I think, make you vulnerable to things that Norma represents. Melodrama, live emotion, you know, there are ways of that life can undercut the cliche and present something different. I think maybe the surprise of the monkey at the beginning is part of that, is part of the fact that he should be set back on his heels a little bit by this revelation. And instead he thinks that he can just manipulate her and that he can see what's coming around the bend. I mean, on the one hand, monkeys are a trope in Gothic stories. A minor trope, but a trope. The appearance of monkeys, on the other hand, this is a very strange thing and not what he was expecting, so he should be put on his guard instead. He's not. But I think it's interesting how the film is. Makes you pay attention to these cliches. The, you know, the repo man says to one of them, says to Joe, you know, this company's played ball with you long enough, or something like that. 10:35 Wes: Right. 10:35 Erin: Which is, of course, connected to the fact that Joe is pitching this baseball movie. And that's kind of a baseball cliche. And then, you know, he sees through Joe's story when Joe tells him, oh, the car isn't here. Oh, my friend took it down to Palm Springs. And he reads cliche into that. Like, Palm Springs, it's is a health resort town. So the repo man makes some comment like, oh, yeah, I bet he took it down there for his health. You know, he could see that Joe is lying to him. Joe thinks that he's one step ahead of everybody. He's one cliche ahead of the rest of the rest of the world. But he's not, right after that, when he goes to Paramount, right when he takes his car out from where he's been hiding it at Rudy's, he says something like, I had an original story kicking around Paramount, but my agent told me was dead as a doornail. So once you listen for them, which as soon as he, as the repo man said the thing about playing ball, suddenly my ears perked up for listening for cliches. They pop up again and again. And noir partially, I think, operates on cliche. It's a cliche of noir that cliches abound. The film noir descriptive formula in a voiceover, you know, narrative voiceover, is, you know, she was the kind of woman who. Blah, blah, blah, right? Insert cliche here. As Jo says about the house. This is a kind of house old movie people used to build. And he connects it to Miss Havisham, which is in itself a cliche of an older woman who's bemoaning her past. Right? So it's about kind of like having a narrative in our heads about people. But then what film noir does when it's good is that it undercuts that. It transgresses the expected narrative. It transgresses the cliche. And that's how it generates surprise, I think. And so it makes sense that Joe, who's struggling with coming up with an original story, is, as you're pointing out, repeatedly outsmarted by the story that he's in, even as he thinks he's one step ahead. Because in the part that you mentioned where he says that, oh, you know, I had a plot for them too, he doesn't realize that this whole time while he's formulating this plot, Max has gone and gotten his clothes from his. And all his stuff from his apartment. So, like, they're one step ahead of him. He thinks he's taking advantage of her. And this whole time she's laid this plot to have him move in with her. 12:52 Wes: So, yeah, it's interesting because his cynicism and Norma's psychosis, they both have similar roots. Right. Which is. Well, for him, it's failing as an artist or failing as a screenwriter. And his solution is to be cynical and to give up, essentially. Either giving up by just selling out or giving up by just giving up and going home. I guess he's had some success, too, so. Yeah, so he's already had some success. Minor success, yeah. She's had major success and will not give up. Or maybe you could say she has in a sense and hasn't in a sense. But she's holding on to this dream, no matter how crazy it is, and writing a new script and expecting to make another film with DeMille. But neither seems like the best solution to the struggles of being an artist, either self delusion or cynicism. I mean, the self delusion is kind of. It's a sort of idealism that she's engaged in. Right. So that's a direct contrast to his cynicism, but it's very different than, say, like, Betty's idealism. 14:00 Erin: Yeah, let's talk about Betty a bit, because she's a foil both to Jo and to Norma. I think what's interesting is that they take pains to point out that she comes from a picture family. So she has a pedigree, which maybe makes her something like Norma and less like Joe. Joe is more of a newcomer, more of an upstart. 14:20 Wes: Right. 14:20 Erin: He doesn't really belong in Hollywood. Something about this pedigree, I think, proves that Betty does have what it takes somehow. But of course, it's also her adaptability. She wanted to be a star. She even got a nose job. And then her acting wasn't any good, so she switched to being a reader and she wants to be a writer. And she has a great deal of ambition. And she's connected narratively, I think, with images of cars. Like what the script they're working on. Jo says that was running through his mind like a dozen locomotives. And then really curiously, when he smells her and tells her what she smells like, he basically says, she has a new car smell. 15:03 Wes: Didn't he say, you smell real special or something. What's the word? 15:06 Erin: Yeah, it's so, so dumb that she smells like freshly laundered linen or something. And then like a brand new automobile. 15:13 Wes: I got it exactly right, he says. Well, first he says, I will now kiss that nose of yours. Which is interesting. She Says if you please. They're doing. 15:21 Erin: They're a little jokey dialogue. 15:24 Wes: Ye…

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    Word and Image in “Sunset Boulevard” (1950) Dec 29, 2024
    Show notes

    When the film starts, its two leads are already dead, more or less. Silent Screen legend Norma Desmond’s career is dead, and because she’s nothing more than her career, the best she can do is linger in the tomb of her former glory, hoping for a resurrection. And failed screenwriter Joe Gillis quite literally enters the film as a corpse, so, as the film’s narrator, he has no choice but to tell his story in flashback. Thus, it’s safe to say that both Norma and Joe are, well, fatally disadvantaged in the realization of their respective dreams. And yet, both achieve a kind of post-mortem success—Norma as the star of one last film, and Joe as the writer of one last, great, highly-personal tale. (In an expression of what might be the screenwriter’s secret fantasy, he even gets to star in it, to boot.) How is such life after death possible? Arguably only through the magic of celluloid, a medium ghoulishly capable of preserving humans precisely as they are—which all too soon becomes as they were. What can the contrast between silent and talking pictures teach us about the nature of film itself? And how might it reflect the age-old rivalries between word and image, movement and stasis, the living and the dead? Wes & Erin discuss Billy Wilder’s 1950 masterpiece, “Sunset Boulevard.” Upcoming Episodes: Marianne Moore’s “Jerboa,” M*A*S*H. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. When the film starts, its two leads are already dead. More or less. Silent screen legend Norma Desmond's career is dead. And because she's nothing more than her career, the best she can do is linger in the tomb of her former glory, hoping for a resurrection. And failed screenwriter Joe Gillis quite literally enters the film as a corpse. So as the film's narrator, he has no choice but to tell his story in flashback. Thus, it's safe to say that both Norma and Jo are, well, fatally disadvantaged in the realization of their respective dreams. And yet both achievements achieve a kind of postmortem success. Norma as the star of one last film, and Jo as the writer of one last great, highly personal tale. In an expression of what might be the screenwriter's secret fantasy, he even gets to star in it. How is such life after death possible? Arguably, only through the magic of celluloid, a medium ghoulishly capable of preserving humans precisely as they are, which all too soon becomes as they were. What can the contrast between silent and talking pictures teach us about the nature of film itself? And how might it reflect the age old rivalries between word and image, movement and stasis, the living and the dead? Today we're talking about Billy Wilder's 1950 masterpiece, Sunset Boulevard. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. And this is Wes Alwan and you're listening to Subtext. So, Wes, I was just wondering, are you a big fan of Norma Desmond's movies? Have you seen any of them? Is she one of your favorite silent screen stars? 2:03 Wes: Constantly. Yeah, all I do is watch Norma Desmond movies. No, I'd never seen one. 2:11 Erin: Gloria Swanson. Of course. 2:12 Wes: I mean, Gloria Swanson. 2:14 Erin: Yeah. But I'm being a little cheeky there. 2:17 Wes: Yeah, I haven't seen Gloria Swanson's movies or really, yeah, any of those. I guess melodramatic female leading role silent movies. You know, looking at Wikipedia, I can see there's a ton of Norma Desmond kind of as a stand in for a lot of different possible actresses, including one which. Who's the actor? The German director actor. 2:38 Erin: Erich von Stroheim. 2:39 Wes: Yeah. So he really was a silent film director and really worked with. 2:44 Erin: Well, he worked With Gloria Swanson many times or a couple times. But yeah, in fact, he directed the movie that they watch in the film. Yeah, yeah. 2:51 Wes: There's another young actress, I can't forget her name. A very popular silent film actress that he worked with that he sort of discovered. And at the time, I think. I guess he really was of the caliber of DeMille and other directors at that point. 3:05 Erin: Yeah, I love some silent films. Actually. I used to. On tcm, they have Silent Sunday Nights or they used to. 3:11 Wes: Anyway. 3:11 Erin: I haven't been paying for TCM for a long time. In fairness, I was never paying for it. But back when I was living in a house that had cable, we got TCM and all of the Silence that I loved were all comedies. The melodramas are really. They're especially dated and they're easy to make fun of. Of course, early talkie melodramas are also kind of easy to make fun of. But what's interesting about Norma Desmond is I think that her name. I mean, of course she's based on a couple of different characters, real life actresses. But her name, I think is an amalgamation, from what I can tell of the name Mabel Normand and William Desmond Taylor. And Mabel Normand is my favorite silent screen actress. My favorite actor is Buster Keaton. I loved Buster Keaton movies. But Mabel Normand worked a lot with Charlie Chaplin. She was just this great comedienne, actress, director. I think she was the first person to direct Chaplin as the Tramp. Of course, it was much more common then for women to be directors during the silent era. And so, you know, I associate her with, on the one hand, sort of extremely hilarity and sweetness and all sorts of things, but also with tragedy. She died tragically young. She had a terribly tragic life. And William Desmond Taylor, who was her boyfriend, if you could call it that at the time he ended up dying from being shot. There are many theories as to who actually shot him. But I think that that is a little bit of what Norma's name is signaling. In addition to the fact that she's working on a script about Salome, you know, that might give William Holden a bit of a Wilde. But other than that, I think the fact that he will be shot by her is prefigured even in her name. Not that Mabel Normand killed William Desmond Taylor, but that her tragic association with him seems to have led to his death. So there's a lot of screwed up stuff in silent film history. There are a lot of scandals and some really, really creepy things happened. So she's a Great encapsulation of all of that darkness and melodrama. 5:11 Wes: Yeah. You know, looking at Wikipedia, I think the list of other candidates for inspirations for this character include. Right. I don't know how many, but several silent film stars who became reclusive and crazy. So Mary Pickford, Pola Negri, Mae Murray, Valeska Surratt, Audrey Munson, Clara Bow. Oh, so Norma Talmadge, according to Dave Kehr, is the quote, obvious of unacknowledged source of Norma Desmond, the grotesque predatory silent movie queen of the film. Although Norma Talmadge, I don't think she ever became reclusive or had mental problems. She's just was a young actress who was very successful and worked with. What's his name? Von something. 5:56 Erin: Stroheim. 5:57 Wes: Von Stroheim. And then tried to make this transition to the talkie era and couldn't do it, and then was kind of fine with that and like, retired, basically. You know, why this difficulty for these actors who wanted to make this transition and couldn't? I mean, is there anyone who successfully made the transition? 6:15 Erin: Yeah, there are a couple. Someone who famously didn't was Clara Bow. Her voice was not up to par. It's just a completely different skill set. And it's a completely different way of filming, too. I mean, they had to invent things like the boom mic. I believe a woman director invented the boom mic, trying to capture Clara Bow's very thin voice, following her around with a microphone, you know, putting it on. I think a fishing pole was the original boom mic, which is pretty clever. But, yeah, I mean, it was initially, it was this extremely expressionistic style in which everything had to be communicated with one's body and one's facial expressions. And I think. I mean, I'd be curious to know what your opinion is of Gloria Swanson's performance in the film. But, I mean, the woman can really do a lot with her eyes. It's pretty incredible. And also, if you listen to interviews with her, you know, real life, you can hear how different her voice is from the voice she uses for this film. So it's actually much lighter and much. Not too much of a higher pitch. It's not like she has a Minnie Mouse voice or a little girl voice, but she just has a higher pitched, sweeter voice than the one she uses in the film. So she was able to make the transition and she was able to train her voice to do various things for whatever reason. I mean, there was a great deal of resistance to sound at first. It seemed like a fad to a Lot of people I've just recently read. As part of my reading list, I. I read a collection of essays written by the poet H.D. called Close Up, in which she talks about the advent of sound and how startling and upsetting it is for her as, as an aesthete, as a lover of film, and as an avid film goer who, who loved silent movies. Writing this at the dawn of the talkie era, she gives a little bit of an insight, I think, into what the artistic class at least was thinking about how this transition was going to take its effect and what effect it was having on the viewers. And HD describes it as. She describes watching silent films as like playing with a doll where you can kind of animate with your own imagination what everybody sounds like, you know, so, like when you hold up a doll, when you're playing with a doll as a kid, you might do the voices and kind of, you know, play with them in that way. And so in other words, there's great scope for the imagination in silent films. Not all the work is done for you. You have to fill in the audible elements of what's taking place on film with your own imagination. And so talking pictures seemed, you know, the chatter about it seems very much like AI, where people are very concerned that certain mental processes are going to become more automated and taken over and people's brains are going to atrophy and stuff like that. Right. Which of course I'm sympathetic to, but. But for talking pictures, she says, it's as if your doll stands up and starts moving and talking on its own. It's as if it becomes an automaton. She argues people don't want to play with dolls that can stand up and talk on their own, that these things are uncanny and they don't leave any room for participation from the audience at the level that you were previously able to participate and that there's something about it that's creepy and strange. And so I think that this was to a certain extent the attitude of the people in the films themselves who were resistant to these changes, maybe didn't get in on the ground floor of accepting this new medium as being the new standard. And it was easy, therefore, for executives in the burgeoning film industry because it really didn't become a full fledged industry with banking and, you know, backing it and all of that until talking pictures came in. They could say, well, you know, the people more adept to say lines are stage actors. So we're just going to bring in this new talent from New York and have The Broadway people come in and become our stock of players. And if these silent film stars are going to be resistant to it, well, we'll just replace them, you know, like a cashier at McDonald's being replaced by one of those touch screens. So, you know, not quite, but I think all of these things were factors, more or less, the lack of training and adaptability to the new medium and maybe the mindset of the stars themselves and of the directors and producers who thought, well, we'll just bring in new talent for the new medium. 10:39 Wes: This is sort of Norma Desmond's argument. So someone says to her, you used to be big. She says, I am big. It's the pictures that got small. Oh, and I guess this is Jo. And he's like, uh huh. I knew there was something wrong with them. 10:54 Erin: Yeah. 10:55 Wes: And she says, they're dead, they're finished. There was a time when this business had the eyes of the whole world, but that wasn't good enough for them. Oh, no. They had to have the ears of the world too. So they opened their big mouths and out came talk, talk, talk. So I guess, yeah. The argument that you've just presented is that the lack of talking makes for a more active viewer. And a viewer is more actively using their imagination and doing something like play, rather than being passive. Which is interesting in light of the fact that Norma Desmond herself is such an intrusive and controlling figure. And what she's doing with her face, often with her teeth kind of bared, you know what I mean? Like she's gonna, she's gonna bite you and the kind of upturned, proud chin. And then I guess the thing that she does at the end where she's coming towards the camera with her hand outstretched, it's like you get a sense of how intrusive she is. And she, she can convey that intrusiveness just through body language. And of course, that's what she's doing with Joe because she's, you know, she's a sugar mama and he's a kept man and she's dictating what clothing he wears. And you know, gradually in the beginning, undoes all the boundaries, doesn't help him keep his car, and then moves him into the mansion because the room has a. That he's staying in about the garage has a. Has a leak in it. So this feeling of intrusion is very strong. And you might look at a silent film where a lot is going on with faces and there's all this expressiveness and feel like it's too much. Right. If a real person were interacting with you that way. I think intrusion might be, you know, it's more emotionally contagious. You might feel more helpless in the face of that. Where there is something deader about language, the use of language, it is more mundane. It does detract from the emotional intensity in a way. It brings you more into the world of facts and it brings you more into plot and things like that. And, you know, you get a sense of some of that criticism in relation to Joe himself, right? Where he's being in the beginning, he's being held to a kind of literary standard, which is weird, right? You know, there's Betty, who kind of puts the nail in the coffin of any hopes for getting a deal with the studio in the beginning. And then his agent, who says something like, you know, well, it's good to be a poor starving artist. This is actually going to be the best thing that's ever happened to you. Which is odd, right? In light of an industry which is. Is geared towards entertainment and not high literary standards necessarily. It's odd that he, as someone who's struggling, who does have apparently some literary talent, but is ready to sell out. They won't let him sell out. And then later, with Betty, that I was thinking of. 13:45 Erin: Are you maybe thinking of the message picture idea? 13:48 Wes: Yes, I found it flat and trite. And he's like, exactly what kind of material do you recommend? James Joyce, Dostoevsky? So again, here the literary standard comes and she says, I just think pictures should say a little something. He says, oh, one of the message kids. Just a story won…

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    The Sublime Mundane in Conrad Aiken’s “Morning Song of Senlin” (Part 2) Dec 23, 2024
    Show notes

    Wes & Erin continue their discussion of Aiken’s “Morning Song of Senlin,” and whether humanity’s religious impulses can be fully compensated with an aesthetic or ironic relation to nature and cosmic scale. Thanks to our sponsor GiveWell, an organization that would provide rigorous, transparent research about the best opportunities for charitable giving. If you’ve never used GiveWell to donate, you can have your donation matched up to $100 before the end of the year, or as long as matching funds last. To claim your match, go to GiveWell.org, pick “Podcast,” and enter “SUBTEXT Literature and Film Podcast” at checkout. Upcoming Episodes: Conrad Aiken’s “Morning Song of Senlin,” “Sunset Boulevard,” Marianne Moore’s “Jerboa.” Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:19 Erin: or patreon.com/subtextpodcast. 0:32 Wes: Welcome to part two of our discussion discussion of Conrad Aiken's Morning Song of Senlin. We just got done Talking about Stanza 2 and the role of the natural world and whether China Berry is actually pronounced Chinaberry, which it turns out it is. We solved that riddle pretty quickly. Whether the robin is repeating what the dew drops are saying. The dew drops always get plagiarized. All right, so, third stanza. Let me get some repetition here. 1:01 Erin: Ties don't stay tied. It's one of the sad facts of life. 1:05 Wes: Well, that's, you know. Yeah. You know, in my notes I said, is it the next day, question mark? Or has he failed as we all do and has to try again? Right. So for me, tying a tie. Yeah. Takes more than one time. On the other hand, he could just be, you know, it could just be the next day and then, you know, that really emphasizes the mundanity of this. Any sort of repetition, you know, emphasizes that mundane. Because that lack of novelty, that ordinariness, that connotation of, you know, isn't this boring? Is this all there is to life? Getting up, tying your tie, going to work as an accountant, which is what I imagine he does. He can't possibly be a poet or something really interesting. 1:44 Erin: He's Wallace Stevens, he works in insurance. 1:46 Wes: Right. You could do both, obviously. You can always do both. 1:49 Erin: You have to have the two sides of life. This is where I really got on board with this poem because I'm like, oh man. That's the thing that is the worst about life is that you wake up and you have to shower again and do everything all over again. It's very, it's very tiresome, especially for me. I'm like a non habit forming human being. So everything is like doing it for the first time for me. So every, every day, everything I have to do to keep myself up as a human being actually requires a tremendous exertion of will. It's very sad. 2:20 Wes: I agree. 2:20 Erin: I don't know if that's just like being clinically depressed over long periods of time or if that's just my personality at this point or both. But anyway, yeah, so here he stands by the mirror. That's the difference that I see. That is this is a different morning. Perhaps before he was standing in front of. No, a glass. Never mind. At other points I think it's my mirror. Maybe I'm getting that wrong. There's some slight changes of the versus my that occur a couple times. So he ties his tie once more while waves far off in a pale rose twilight. I looked this poem up online as well and in a version of it I saw online, the following line was crash on a white sand shore, which in your version, in mine I think we have crash on a coral shore. Later the coral will be picked up with coral sky in stanza 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. But I like the white sand shore, even if it's a bit familiar because it Links us back to the stars more. You know, the white sand on the shore is maybe obliterated temporarily in the surf. In the same way that in the first stanza, white stars pale and die. Obliterated in the mist, saffron mist. So I don't know, but I also just really like pale rose twilight. This poem is so tightly constructed. It's not quite, but it is almost an anagram of swiftly tilting planet. As soon as I saw those two phrases, I was like, they have to have like majority of their letters in common. And I sketched it out and I think they have like 12 letters in common and six different. Something like that. I got rid of the little scrap paper I did on. But yeah, I mean, they're really close to each other. 4:07 Wes: Yeah, really interesting. Yeah. So again, we get this, you know, whereas before we had the contrast between the tying of the tie and the swiftly, swiftly tilting planet, which I would put in the cosmic order, here it is another sublime image. So maybe is cosmic the wrong word? Is it sublime? Is that the better category? But that waves crashing far off are an image of sublimity and. Right, so something that's aesthetically beautiful but also fear inducing or awe inspiring. And the aesthetic character of it and the awe inspiring character of it are wrapped up in each other in some way. But yeah, we get that contrast between that and the being in front of the mirror again. And then he combs his hair, which really, he's got a small and white face. Whereas again, the green earth, I guess now it's the green Earth. Right. It was swiftly tilting planet. The green Earth tilts through a sphere of air. So again, maybe this reinforces my Don Quixote reading, where it's as if the Earth has a lance and is charging. 5:17 Erin: Yeah, I like that. I can picture the hole on the model Earth, you know that that is used in school, like, you know, to show you like the. The Earth on its axis, you know. Yeah, that's really. 5:29 Wes: Oh, right, yeah, yeah, exactly. Yeah. I hadn't thought of that. Perfect. And you'd have to be deluded, right, Like Don Quixote to want to go around the sun for billions of years. For what? For no good reason 5:41 Erin: to wake up and tie your tie over and over again. Yeah, no, the. 5:45 Wes: The Earth is in love with the sun in some sense, but yeah, that's nice. 5:49 Erin: The sun is out of its league, though, but it won't stop trying. 5:53 Wes: The sun is a complete narcissist, but 5:57 Erin: the Earth is too. 5:58 Wes: But that is a blast in the context of the Poem. That's a blasphemous thing to say. You know, better call it lonely. Maybe loneliness is a better image than. Yeah, that's the problem with being God and being perfect and complete unto yourself. You can always be accused of being a narcissist and not caring. 6:16 Erin: That's right. 6:17 Wes: Why? Why don't you care about me? You know, my bagel fell on the floor this morning. Why? 6:25 Erin: Yeah, but what if you score a touchdown? Then you're Dad's favorite. 6:29 Wes: Right. So it depends on us. He's moody. Yeah. So. No, that's great. With the line through the earth as a lance, it's really. 6:38 Erin: Well, then we get. I stand by a mirror and comb my hair. How small and white my face. This is what I was referring to earlier. So before he stood before a glass. Now he stands by the mirror. And then now he stands by a mirror. So there's slight changes throughout in the prepositions and the articles. And I think these are. I think these are really smart because this is actually what gives us the sense that this is a Groundhog Day thing because of the slight differences that clue us into the fact that this is a different day, but the same thing being repeated over and over again. So I think, you know, whether or not we even notice the smallness of these tweaks, I think we get the sense that even just in the stanza now, two days are represented here. 7:21 Wes: Yeah. And the use of a definite article like the suggests that we. I mean, it's not ironclad, but could suggest that we already know the context. Right. Oh, it's the mirror that we're already familiar with from the context of the narrative. And A is more like an introduction to the object. But here we get this alternation between an assumption of familiarity and a. Right. And then an assumption that we're not familiar. So now he's in front of a mirror again. Well, didn't you just say the mirror? Don't we already know this mirror? Haven't we already been introduced to this mirror? Is it another mirror? So I think there's this alternation also between an assumed familiarity and assumed distance. So like you said. Yeah, it gives it that Groundhog Day quality because it's almost like he's forgetting that he's told the story. He's one of those people. They're telling you a story and they're excited about it. And you're like, this is the fifth time you've told this to me. How can you not remember? I know you're standing in front of the mirror. You already told me then, all right, there are houses hanging above the stars. Or did you want to say anything more about that previous stanza? 8:28 Erin: Just that bathes in a flame of space. I don't think we pointed out that we have air, fire and water altogether in that. So there's, you know, you could just track, like, you could underline in various representational colors. Like if you did brown for earth and blue for. I don't know, you know, you could just track the elements and how they show up in the poem all mixed together. And this is one of the rare lines that we get three all in a single image, which I just really, really like. And I like the image of like 8:56 Wes: a blue, blue flame. 8:58 Erin: And maybe just to the double encasement that the implication of the speaker's position relative to the Earth now kind of gives us. So we have the sun in a shell of silence we already talked about, but the Earth too. Like, we're on the Earth, so we're on this green ball. And that green ball is itself encased in this flame. So we're sort of like doubly dwarfed, I think, in this image. And so the image of his face being small and white, which is sort of like one of the pale stars or the flecks of sand. If we go by the alternate version of the poem, he's at once like a star, so a heavenly body in and of himself. But he could also just be a grain of sand or something in between. But being dwarfed by the Earth and then being one's own little kind of dwarf star, if you will, in the mirror, I think is all kind of interestingly collapsed there. 9:51 Wes: Very good. 9:52 Erin: But yeah, the houses above the stars. I'm embarrassed to say that I wrote in the margins tree houses, question mark, because I was trying to think of things that could be like if you're looking up and you see like a tree house or. And then I wrote, God, question mark. Satellites, question mark. And I crossed that out. 1957. Aliens, question mark was another thing I wrote. 10:18 Wes: Wow, that would be cool if it were literal. Yeah. What if alien spaceships were shaped like houses? That would be confusing. So just descend A frames. They would have to be A frames. 10:30 Erin: No, no, no, no, no. They would be mid century modern. So like an A frame, but a little more squat, like a Flintstones house. That's how I picture it. Anyway. 10:40 Wes: It took me a minute to figure this out as well. 10:43 Erin: But you did. 10:44 Wes: I think he's reminding us that the Earth is a sphere. Right? Or maybe not this is my reading of it is just that the fact that the earth is right, our houses hang above Australia's stars. Maybe I'm being too literal minded about this now, but the stars hung under the sea. Australia stars are under our sea. What do you make of it? 11:07 Erin: Oh, I get it. Okay. It took me a second. First I had to picture the toilet flushing the opposite direction. Then I had. Yeah, is that. Yeah, that's good. 11:17 Wes: Is that a reasonable. 11:19 Erin: I still think Treehouses is the primary reading. No, that's great. 11:23 Wes: So, yeah, on one level, perhaps that's what he's doing is just pointing to the fact that we live on a sphere. And so our sense of up and down is relative, and therefore our sense of what is cosmic and mundane are relative. Or at the very least, it seems to. Right, Reverse. It's reversing the roles of the cosmic and the mundane. The houses hanging above the stars, the stars being under a sea, and maybe the sea will take as a representative of the natural. So we get all three domains here again, at a psychological level, we can understand how one, the mundane again eclipses or dissolves the cosmic and the divine. We forget about God, the stars disappear into the mist coming from above. The houses, the mundane and the domestic, they hang over us, right? We have obligations, we're busy, we don't look up as much, and we can't even see the stars as much because of light pollution. Right. If we're in an urban area. So our orientation to the divine is interfered with or distracted by the project of survival and just getting along, just trying to make our way in life, just trying to make a living. 12:40 Erin: Yeah, I like that. But at the same time, it cuts both ways too, right? Because also, like, the mundane is being pierced here by the cosmic, so things are brought suddenly near at the same time, right? So we have the topsy turvy element of the houses and the star also means that, yes, those things are being obliterated, but also we're reminded suddenly, like recalled to ourselves, that as he says in the next lines, that the sun, which is far away from us in this vacuum of space, is also dappling our walls. So there's nearness to. And I'm thinking about the fact that, like, you know, I like your distinction between cosmic and sublime, with the, you know, the sublime image of the wave on the shore in the previous stanza. But of course, also we have stars under the sea. There's like this inverted image or the stars being dipped into the cookie, into the milk or something like that. Where we have something kind of being turned inside out. Also, the sea is the origin of the natural, the origin of all. Like, we evolved out of the sea. So the fact that we can tie our ties today is thanks to the sea and the cosmic. Just as our daily rhythms, our mundane rhythms, are set by this ball of gas millions of miles away. I just want to emphasize, like, I think that there's. For me, it's like the closeness. The poem isn't doing as much for me in terms of reminding me of the ways in which the cosmos are kind of blotted out over the course of daily life as it is doing the opposite for me. Like reminding me of the strangeness of the cosmos repeatedly intruding on these mundane images in the poem. 14:16 Wes: Yeah, well, as you point out, these are formative influences, right? Whether it's God, our creator, or the sun, which, in a sense, is our creator, or the stars. We all come from stardust, ultimately. Right? 14:29 Erin: And we, at least I do. 14:33 Wes: We are at the end of a long chain of cause and effect. We are who we are because of all these forces that have preceded us, cosmic and biological and then, you know, cultural on top of that. So. And that, of course, is part of what produces the roteness and what I've been calling the mundane. So there's something quite grand about those forces. And yet they construct us as something very ordinary in the sense of. Right. Not having the power of a God, not having that kind of freedom, except in those rare moments when we do…

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