This helical book, struggles and always succeeds in contrasting the perceptions of 2001 with our later cautious distance. As many events as possible are demythified one by one. A psychic process of flipping the sacred and relabeling it profane. It reads far more like Kafka than any Kafka book, showcasing freely talking suspects who are then put into torture conditions who then tell their torturers everything they want to believe, and then some. Non-existent ties to Iraq are suddenly strong connections to Al Queda, a non Al-Queda security person (with little allegiance to Bin Laden) later pretends to personify a jihadist. A suspect thought to be the number three man in the group's hierarchy is discovered, after lengthy hospitalization and subsequent waterboarding, to be a mentally ill, delusional travel-agent for terrorists with little operational knowledge. A judge rules the Marine base at Guantanamo as beyond the legal reach of the US on a technicality, allowing the government to perpetually hold suspects. A man in Guantanamo so old the guards name him "Santa Claus Queda." The book exposes our chaotic and lackluster ability to see clearly in times of great stress. Of multiple pivots that hinged world diplomacy together, the US blew away many that connected east and west, isolating itself, largely from the reactions to Bin Laden's planned strikes. Like a drunken, paranoid thrown off by a bottle hurled at it from a crowd, the US is punching in the dark. Here's the manic proof. An FBI Agent almost jokes that he's trying to prevent "an airplane being flown into the World Trade Center." In his custody is Zacaraious Moussaoui who asked to simulate 747 flying without ever having flown a plane. A microbiologist, sent an FBI questionaire to help identify possible anthrax suspects, fingers USAMARID pathogen scientist Bruce Ivins. A former stalker of hers, whom she suspects defaced the sidewalk with her sorority letters, Ivins happened to call her weeks after the anthrax events after having not spoken in 13 years. The FBI dismiss her suspicion, because: "Ivins was the researcher they'd brought all their evidence to." The PENTTBOM and anthrax cases might have been the most preventable and solveable events in a system of merely normal detective work. Beyond the detective work are the judges, who skirt precedent after precedent. Spine chilling laxness is viewed in the corridors of power, where information is used purely in the service of warmongering, rather than pieces of evidence that required confirmation. A will to believe in 'evil' conjures our own mask of evil.
A must read in these very times; get a grip, and group us against only the atrocities, not the unilateral mistakes all superpowers make.
Almost nothing. Both are desperate yet well-planned attempts to lure the United States into a multi-regional war. A first and second attempt to set off WWIII, acts of provocation very similar to the assasination of Archduke Ferdinand one hundred years ago this year. The progression here is from dispersed terror group guest to an Islamic state, to claimed state-level government, however fleeting on these geographic terms, it has a source. The question becomes, why did we agree to be lead into the first? And was it a feint, was the invasion of Iraq a distraction from the true target? Wahhabism within Saudi Arabia. Strange, no? We attack a country that enforces sexual equality and religious secularism, a Sunni totalitarian state (Iraq) and ignore a Sunni kingdom with oppressive laws for women and a legal definition of witchcraft that sometimes ends in a death sentence. Will we be smart enough to engage the coming wars symmetrically, finally? If not perform them, admit them, admit the internal conflict. The east-west divide between Saudi Arabia and pre-invasion Iraq.
A recent incoherent op-ed by the architect of multiple military coups over democratically elected officials (including Pinochet over Allende), Kissinger now writes as if converted to the fantasy view of democracy of Bush 2, not the strern real politik he practiced when in office. The facts are: most world state borders of the 'developing world' are arbitrary, many designed by external colonial concerns, in the aftermath of war. To enforce most of them one needed enforcers, and that's what the West backed, not democratic or parlimentary systems. Each state, no matter its origins, needs a central bureaucratic authority. The fragmenting of power in Iraq, Egypt, Syria, and now Libya caused their collapse since they lacked properly defined transitions to power. It's time to teach global realities. A bureaucracy comes before all other realities. If one is shattered, then the country may shatter. Colin Powell's mythic words to his President have come true: "If you break it, you own it."
This 'review' from Little White Lies, a U.K. hosted film site, begins ominously with not one but two financials, hinting the core myth that surrounds the Marvel U. is composed of a set of values based in currency and product development (and he writes about the currency the 'universe' is sourced in, not translated into his own, or his local readers), not in any psychic flow of ideas. Devolution illustrated in real-time...a review no different than that of an industry hack commenting on an upcoming launch of a pharmaceutical.
About ten minutes into Guardians of the Galaxy, I began to get the queasy feeling I'd seen Chris Pratt before. Some anonymous feeling of deja vu (never watched an ounce of Parks and Recreation). And then it hit me, he's the generic SEAL #2 from ZD30... whoa. And then the whole melange made sense...Marvel is a memory remix studio, it makes a 'future' (really a present) ONLY from memories. It doesn't invent the new psyche, a way of mashing things to craft something 'new,' merely rehashes anything it can get its hands on to propel the audience 'forward.' Which is really a backwards for us. Wisecrack references, purple haze, one-hit wonders, colored skin on Zoe Saldana, this flick is just a greatest hits from our web surfing memories, framed out by a frat boy phantasy phasing out as poster art. A drunk party so lethargically plotted, it slid from set-piece to set-piece on some regulated beat structure from the deified producers in their abstract control towers.
Fortunately these two can finish the job of putting the body into the cooler>
Andrew O'Heir's Salon review http://www.salon.com/2014/07/30/guardians_of_the_galaxy_marvels_goofy_exhausting_and_faintly_fascist_new_franchise/
Damian Stryker's breathtaking takedown of the Marvel conditioning that's going on in theaters everywhere,
The tepid message-ism of Dawn of the Planet of the Apes starts with its title. Dawn comes after Rise? The context of both labels mislead in their order. In the tale's mythology, ape rule is inevitable, so why not impart something to the mysterious nature of great titles? It doesn't have to be cubist ("March of the Planet of the Apes"), just don't take a step backwards in the definition. Unlike it's dementedly off-kilter predecessor, Rupert Wyatt's zany and affecting Rise, Matt Reeve's Dawn is strictly rote. It's practically a checklist disguised as blockbuster. Undeveloped human characters are passed onto the audience as underdeveloped, muted while an absurd game of connect the dots is played through a series of linear, contrived grand gestures. As the ultimate film of the twitterverse, Dawn wants its thematic potential reduced to blank stare messages: guns are bad, hate is bad. This is the ultimate blockbuster of the PC-era, aimed directly at our 2nd amendment conflicts. And it overtakes our understanding of the apes, transitioning them from complex to noble. All is sacred yet no sacrifice occurs to validate it. That's the diffusion, when the political issues of our era's are grafted onto the holistic ones of the film's, projecting our simple conflicts onto their future 'complexity.' The worst part of the film's mythology is Ceasar hasn't learned his lesson, in fact he's regressed. Maybe the inetlligence drug stopped working (that'd be too subtle a jab at the new Bourne era). The most stifling realization is Ceasar doesn't seem to be the same chimp we last met walking into Muir Woods "ten" years ago, this isn't the brilliant adapter-adopter who chessmoved his way out of Brian Cox's grips. Ceasar's devolved to concilliator and his take on humans verges on 'plain dumb' or 'real-stupid.' He under-reacts to the shooting of a fellow chimp (mechanically so the script can evince rebellion within), then marches his whole gunless brigade to confront heavily armed humans in their hangout in a decrepit San Fran. The brilliant strategist who outlasted corporatocracy and animal welfare imprisonment in Rise walks into the crosshairs apparently hoping the absurdity of a chimp on horseback might stun the audience. His bargaining chip? A dropped back-pack. Jason Clarke, fumbling after his suave torture style in ZD30 can't seem to decide if he's suicidal or overconcerned father (he's both: a split-personality that doesn't register). Which character decides in nearby breaths that his teenage son has "seen too much" then capitulates when the teen wants to join his dad on what appears to be a suicide mission back to the ape's homeland? Sure, logic is never a foregone conclusion in blockbusters, but here, the story is served only with cherries and no true villains (leaden sarcasm: how modern). Of course nothing is purely realistic in film events, but the reality building has to have enough internal paradoxes so we can look easily past contrivance. Here, there's no main course. No appetizer. No one to root for, no one to revile. No pleasure, just messaging. Even reality TV can clumsily manufacture personalities, here we're in 70s realism redux, only Reeves has no tricks to let us emote. Moments feel like bravura museum dioramas of these same events. They flash by. It looks like the exhibit Anthropocene, late decline. And dioramas by their nature condense the most simplistic essence of the occurence. This is an anti-human, anthropocene warning nightmare, without an emotional overhadow. Just plot turns in search of emotions that can't keep any logical flow. Each decision only serves a purpose for a moment and then it's gone, each turn of the plot functions at what seems to be an entirely different emotional horizon. And because the characters are so minimal, so glacial, their interconnections are largely gear-like, stiff, written only into dialogue, not evoked visually. The dam's trigger-happy engineer, a laughably forgettable character, shoots off his gun in the first scenes and then, on the second trip north, he's handed a gun as if the first scene never occurred. In what movie-logic do you rearm the guy that almost started a war of annihilation? Answer, in this movie, where anything goes if it makes humans look foolish and yet there's no clear-cut villains or heroes to receive the overspill. That's the dunderheadedness of Blockbuster 3.0 (or is this 4.1?), a return to the film rhetoric of the late fifties/early sixties, the return of the Stanley Kramer 'message-picture.' How's it work? Reduce the emotions to words, pretend it's real.
Despite the dour pedagogy peddled, it's must see for the effects alone, as it's filmed in true 3-D.