Todd Womble

The readings for this week seem to bring our discussion of copyright law and the digital age back full circle. This has been a recurring thread in our weekly discussions and also in the videos we have watched, and these readings continue on the subject. Romos-Velasquez’s piece was a bit difficult for me to grasp at first simply because it’s hard to read something when I am unsure of what exactly that thing is. When I started, I couldn’t tell if the piece was a syllabus for a course, a prospectus for a dissertation, or just an academic essay. Now that I’ve finished it, I still don’t really know how to categorize it. It’s funny how much these types of classifications help (hurt?) our readings of texts. Regardless, there were some interesting things in this piece, specifically in relation to the other articles by Deborah Root. Romos-Velasquez’s text introduces a new look at artistic cannibalism–what she calls her “Re-Manifesto for the Digital Age.” Along with being a bit confusing, her Re-Manifesto has interesting perspectives on file-sharing and copying in the networked world. She writes, “I expose that the allure, the attraction of ‘the other’ is mutual and that it serves to form a symbiotic relationship that feeds both peoples.” I found this to be especially interesting in the way it contrasts with the manner in which Root describes cannibalism in her piece. She does not assert the same “symbiotic relationship” between the cannibal and cannibalized. Root links cannibalism to consumption, and she says, “Consumption is power, and the ability to consume excessively and willfully becomes the most desirable aspect of power” (9). Given that she describes power as “never benign” and that it “swallows life” (6), I don’t get the sense that feeding off of others is a harmonious event. Romos-Velasquez has more: “Cannibals cannibalize other cannibals in an endless cycle.” Again, this differs from Root’s assertions of cannibalization necessarily involving a hierarchical society in which certain individuals receive the short end of the stick, to use academic terms. But the differences between these two depictions are not as important as the fact that their similar focuses reveal a certifiable truth in our society: whether you want to call it good or bad, cannibalism is what we do. It’s how we gain knowledge, share knowledge, and live our lives. “Eating the fat” of other people’s work and thoughts is crucial in our lives; I don’t know what I would be doing in school if cannibalism in this sense was not acceptable. While I’m not sure how much I like their choice of words, both of these pieces highlight an integral aspect of the human experience and how it will only increase in the digital world.

Ramos-Velasquez, Vannessa: “Digital Anthropophagy & The Anthropophagic Re-Manifesto for the Digital Age”

Root, Deborah. Cannibal Culture: Art, Appropriation and the Commodification of Difference. Boulder, CO: Westview, 1996.

These readings fit in perfectly with the discussions we have been having throughout the semester. They resume the discussion of sampling, mixing, and the implications of copyright laws in the digital age. In her article “The Musican as Thief: Digital Culture and Copyright Law,” Daphne Keller refers to the new era as a “pervasive culture of reuse” (135). Her article discusses the genealogy of copyright law and its relation to the creation of culture, specifically of music. At one point she writes, “Copyright has expanded hugely, particularly in the twentieth century, giving creators ever-greater powers to stop other people from making derivative or secondary uses of their work” (139). Her use of “creators” is interesting in relation to our class discussions, because it seems as if the digital age has blurred the definition of what it means to create. Are Aerosmith and Dr. Dre creators? Whenever Girl Talk mixes sounds “made” by Aerosmith and Dr. Dre, is he also a creator? Or is he simply a mixer, a VJ? What’s the difference? To me what’s most interesting is the idea that we have to answer these questions. Why is it so important for us to determine whether or not Girl Talk is a creator? Can it not be enough to listen to his “music” and either enjoy it and turn it up, or skip the track and find something else? The answer is no, it’s not enough, and it is extremely important in the “culture of reuse” to draw these lines and distinguish these criteria. The reason it’s important is because of copyright law, and this is the very thing that so many artists and critics are trying to do away with.

In “Freeze Frame: Audio, Aesthetics, Sampling, and Contemporary Multimedia,” Ken Jordan gives his take on the progression of music-making into the digital age, culminating with the prevalence of “online collaboration.” He describes a culture in which artists from around the world are collaborating on a daily basis–sometimes unknowingly–to produce new and fresh artistic productions. Jordan then compares this current shift to an antiquated aspect of human interaction: “But at the same time, it brings back the idea of a shared folk culture, where creative expression is the property of the community at large, and can be shared for everyone’s benefit. Digital technology may be a route that reconnects us to aspects of our tribal roots.” Tying digital technology to notions of tribal relations is an intriguing connection, and I was reminded of interviews I have seen with Girl Talk and DJ Spooky in which they talk about a utopia where everyone shares everything and music is a language that creates bonds between all humanity. While I’m not sure how I feel about this idea of “shared folk culture” and its realities in our culture, I think that Jordan’s words are important and that they shed much-needed light on the status of copyright laws and the huge implications they have in our society. I look forward to talking about these articles in class tonight, as they provide theoretical platforms on which we can continue our discussions.

Jordan, Ken and Paul D. Miller. “Freeze Frame: Audio, Aesthetics, Sampling, and Contemporary Multimedia.” Sound Unbound: Sampling Digital Music and Culture. Ed. Paul D. Miller. Cambridge, MA: MIT, 2008. 97-108. Print.

Keller, Daphne. “The Musician as Thief: Digital Culture and Copyright Law.” Sound Unbound: Sampling Digital Music and Culture. Ed. Paul D. Miller. Cambridge, MA: MIT, 2008. 135-50. Print.

I can’t think of a movie that fits better with Baudrillard’s theory of Simulacra and Simulation. Is there a better representation of hyperreality than the world of The Truman Show? I also think the film serves as a nice source for analysis using other theoretical schools, including Marx’s theory of false consciousness. And, best of all, it’s an enjoyable, easy-to-watch and understand film. Movies like this are some of the best in relation to their ability to have layers of meaning and watchability: the viewer can be as shallow as deep as they want to be, and the movie provides platforms for all viewings in between.

This is one of those movies that seems to get streamed on the TBS/TNT/USA networks on a regular basis–I feel like I see it quite often on the guide alongside The Shawshank Redemption and the Back to the Future movies. But I doubt that many viewers watch the film through a Baudrillardian lens. As he uses Disneyland as his point-in-case, the constructed (literally) world of Truman in the film serves as an example of the problematic manner in which we think about “reality” in our lives. The film raises a lot of questions, but the one that interests me the most is the thought of what exactly the “real world” is in my life. Whenever I watch the film, I always ask myself what it would be like if all of a sudden the curtains were pulled back and camera guys left their camouflaged perches in the surrounding trees and windows to tell me that I was the star of a reality show, that all of my friends, family, jobs, activities, and corpuses of meaning were derived, fake, manufactured in a studio. What would this feel like? More importantly, if everything I based my perceptions and knowledge on was shown to be “fake,” how would I then have an identity? What exactly is “fake”? The people surrounding Truman are real people; the house he lives in his made of real wood and brick; and the feelings he has, the emotions he displays, are real. But, at the same time, they aren’t. They are fake. They are simulations. The movie reminds me of these questions, the same questions that I have whenever I encounter Baudrillard.

McCutcheon’s article really helped my viewing of the episode. Without any previous viewing experiences, or really any knowledge at all about the series, I was rather clueless about what to expect. And as I began to watch “Downloaded,” I was able to pick up the most basic structure of the plot, but I was still lost. So I paused it early on and decided to read through the article, in search of some guidance in my viewing. I found this, but more importantly I found a very interesting lens through which to watch the episode. The analysis McCutcheon presents of the way that Battlestar represents post-9/11 America is fascinating; specifically, the way it depicts the opposing sides in the “War on Terror.” McCutcheon writes, “Battlestar’s ‘war on terror’ allegory is deeply ambiguous in blurring the lines between good and evil, friend and enemy, human and inhuman” (7).

“Downloaded” provides examples of this ambiguousness between good and evil. The characterizations contrast between the Cylons and the Humans. The humans, as far as I could tell, seem to be selfish, close-minded, and rather callous, while the Cylons act on sincere motivations and form meaningful relationships. Of course, it’s hard to say this for sure after only watching one episode, but McCutcheon’s article introduces this and it’s safe to say these characterizations continue throughout the series. On a side note, I thought it was peculiar towards the end of the episode, after the explosion, when the Cylons mention “God” and “sin,” while the humans decide to “box” a baby without really thinking twice. McCutcheon explains this in his article: “These replicant Cylons are also proselytising, monotheistic fundamentalists who ridicule the humans’ explicitly classical pantheism” (7). Having the robot clones be the religious group is an odd, yet metaphorically accurate, choice.

In relation to our class discussions, this episode offers an interesting addition to our investigation of copies and mirrorings because it actually provides thoughts and dialogue from the perspective of the replica. The Cylons are given voices (literally and metaphorically speaking) throughout the episode, while they are also shown in flashbacks in their previous bodies. So it’s clear to the viewer that these characters are clones, copies of previous beings. But they most certainly display human emotions such as courage and loyalty, something we don’t usually expect from a clone. And the Cylons seem to be “real” people, characters that the viewer can connect with and even cheer for. What does this add to our discussions of copies? What does this detract from our thoughts of being “original”? Is there an inherent hierarchy between original or copy, or do we perpetuate this hierarchy due to traditions and personal desires?

McCutheon, Mark A. “Downloading doppelgangers: New media anxieties and transnational ironies in Battlestar Galactica.” Science Fiction Film and Television 2.1 (2009): 1-24.

Like the rest of the films we have watched this semester, minus the ones that I had seen before, I really had no idea what to expect with “Sita Sings the Blues.” Other than the brief intro we got the first day of class, I knew absolutely nothing about this movie. And after the opening credits, I was even more unsure. The credits were trippy and some of the animations really left me a bit unsure of what I was watching. And then, all of a sudden, the animation style shifts and we are thrown into the life of a seemingly normal couple in San Francisco. Then, just as quickly, we shift again to another animation style and focus.

Early on during the quick historical background of Sita, the story of Rama’s banishment based on the king’s caretaker’s one request immediately made me think of the biblical story of John the Baptist. The circumstances leading to John the Baptist’s execution are the same as those leading to Rama’s banishment. I wonder what the connection here is; in other words, I wonder which one is copying the other? I know there are a lot of repetitions and echoes between the Bible and other texts, and this is just another example of the pervasiveness of some of these parable-like stories.

Like with Sukiyaki Western Django, here’s a list of the other texts (movies, books, stories, etc.) that I was reminded of when watching Sita Sings the Blues:

Hansel and Gretel (the trail of jewelry, like the trail of bread crumbs)

John the Baptist (the Bible) (the banishment by the ruler at the request of a woman)

The Lion King (the wise, helpful monkey)

Lord of the Rings (also the trail of jewelry)

The Ricky Gervais Show (animation cued by recorded audio)

The Princess Bride (the resistant kidnapped woman)

South Park (comedic cartoon violence)

Personally, while the plotline(s) of the film did not necessarily appeal or excite me all that much, I appreciated the playful mix of animation styles and also the interesting use of music. The contrast between the technical and cultural aspects of the film with the music is interesting. The filmmakers clearly have a playful and comedic sense to them, and although it deals with rather serious and sometimes harsh subject matter, the music and visuals create a fun, almost playful tone. There were a number of times that my eyebrows raised in curiosity over certain choices, and I am still not quite sure about all of the motivations that influenced the various scenes and styles. But this ambiguousness is profitable to a certain extent, and at the very least it creates a unique impression for the viewer.

What the hell is going on? This question crossed my mind a number of times as I watched this film. Before I get into that, here’s a list of the movies (and books) that I thought of/was reminded of in some way as I watched:

Gangs of New York

Kill Bill (1 and 2)

Road Warrior; Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

Star Wars

The Last Samurai

Romeo and Juliet

Huckleberry Finn

High Plains Drifter

A lot of the actors really seem like they are having to push themselves a lot for their roles. In other words, aside from a couple of the characters–the sheriff being one of them–the actors really don’t seem to ever fit into their roles. Of course, this could be because of the use of English rather than Japanese–the dialogue does not come out cleanly and smoothly. But I found myself feeling like the acting is a bit forced, almost strained. Perhaps this is something the director was going for, some sort of technique that worked with the motivations of the film.

As soon as I saw Tarantino in the opening scene, I expected the film to be violent and extremely explicit–I was not let down. But the way the violence is portrayed on the screen, specifically the function of bold, in-your-face blood, reminded me a lot of Tarantino’s Kill Bill.

I’m not sure if the director is paying homage to the Western genre, or if he is making fun of it. Perhaps both. At one point, the line “If you want him to live, drop your guns” is said–a line that has been said in these exact words or those close to it in countless Western films. But as the character says it, he trails off in hysterical laughter. This laughter could be a plot device to accentuate the dire situation the protagonist has found himself in–or it could be a snide attempt to mock the predictability of the Western genre.

SXSW 2010: Why Hasn\’t the Record Industry Sue Girl Talk?

Found this interesting video when doing research for my short film. About halfway through DJ Spooky talks about his views on music and copyright law and the digital age. He has an interesting take, and it fits nicely into our class discussions.

Watched Polanski’s newest film a few days ago. Enjoyed it, and I think that a movie about a ghost writer fits nicely into our discussions about mirroring and representation. Not a bad watch if you get a chance.

This film has so much depth and is layered in so many ways. I had seen it before when I was an undergrad, and I realized this time how much I was not getting the last time I saw it. There are still tons of elements of the film that I know I am not getting. But our class discussions and readings influenced my viewing this time, and I inevitably found myself focusing and thinking about how the film implemented themes of doubling, mirroring, copying, and all of the other terms we keep talking about class after class.

The aspect of the film that most stuck out to me is the strikingly original take on the love triangle. Perhaps there has never been a more confusing or weird love triangle in the history of film, or humanity for that matter. First, you have Craig, the down-and-out street puppeteer who is forced to take a filing job where he falls in love with Maxine, his sexy and mysterious office neighbor. But Maxine does not share Craig’s feelings; instead, she is in love with Lottie, Craig’s animal-loving, frizzy-haired wife. But here’s the catch: Maxine is only in love with Lottie whenever she is John Malkovich. Confusing enough? To be John Malkovich, Lottie enters a tiny portal into his brain, conveniently located behind a filing cabinet in Craig’s office. Lottie slides in and experiences “sexual” awakening with Maxine through Malkovich’s body, and Craig is left heartbroken and desperate. This love triangle (or square? not really sure where Malkovich’s body fits into the dynamic) is the catalyst for the film, and I found myself amazed at how Kaufman’s script somehow harnessed and controlled such a unique and baffling story into a somewhat sensible plot.

Along with the love triangle, the film has tons to say about voyeurism and vicariousness. Through this portal into John Malkovich’s head, people are able to “be somebody else.” This idea resonates throughout the film, and its explicit take on living through someone else highlights the major implications involved. A lot of this is clarified through the film’s use of puppeteering. At one point Craig says, “It’s just a matter of practice before Malkovich is another puppet hanging next to my work table.” Seeing the world through someone else’s eyes is exactly what happens in this film, and the innate desire to escape-from-self and its catastrophic consequences are made explicitly clear. What happens to our own self if we see the world through someone else? How does one person gain control over another? And where does the controlled person go? The movie raises all sorts of existential and epistemological questions, yet it is viewable and entertaining. It serves as a testament to Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze. I look forward to our discussion in class.

“You were the copy. You were the counterfeit.” John/Scotty frustratingly sprays these words at Judy while he shakes her violently by the shoulders towards the end of Hitchcock’s Vertigo. A very interesting choice of words, especially in relation to the discussions we have been having throughout the semester. Judy was the replica of the real Madeleine Elster, nothing more than a pawn in the plot of Gavin Elster. Yet, we never see the real Madeleine other than the briefest of seconds before she falls to her death. And John has also never seen the real Madeleine. He has never met her, never shook her hand, never fished her out of the San Francisco Bay, and definitely never fallen in love with her. For all intensive purposes, Judy is the real, not the replica. The woman that John fell in love with was Judy. He did not fall in love with a name–he fell in love with the face, body, and person of Judy Barton. But at the end of the movie, when two hours reaches it culmination, John uses the words “copy” and “counterfeit.” Is Judy a copy? If so, what is she a copy of? Referring to something as a copy implies that one has previously encountered the original. Can we really call Judy a copy? Is the persona that she represents even real? How can one be a counterfeit of someone they have know real knowledge of?

The aspect of the movie that interested me the most was the depiction of women. As the movie approached its climax, I kept asking the same question over and over: “Where’s Midge?” Perhaps the most likable character in the entire film, Midge is tossed around and used whenever necessary, and is completely gone from the last third or so of the film. What purpose did she serve? Why did she not have a voice or any agency in the film? Along the same lines, the scenes in which John begins to turn Judy into Madeleine disturbed me. Three or four different times the phrase “Know what you want” was used in reference to John–as in he sure knows what he wants in his woman. While I was creeped out by this thought, the women in the movie seemed to be fine with it, almost impressed. They seemed to respect him, or at least admire him, for “knowing what he wants.” But he wants a woman that he just met to be dressed up and changed to look like a dead woman from his past. And she just goes along with it. She seems to have no say in the matter, and whatever fight she does put up is quickly pacified. The depiction of women’s agency in the film was very intriguing for me, and a bit disturbing.