Elizabeth Wurtzel (yes, that Elizabeth Wurtzel) recently published a Wall Street Journal editorial entitled The Internet is Killing American Movies and Music, the point of which seems to be –– an emphasis on the seems –– wrapped up in its final couple of sentences.
After boldly making the case that Pete Yorn should be more famous than he is, Wurtzel bitches for a bit about how downloading has decreased not just the profitability but the intrinsic value of music and movies as compared to the fine, object-oriented arts like painting and sculpture. Implying the falsehood that movies and pop music are more inherently American than these mediums because “We’ll never overwhelm the planet with brushes and clay and pencils the way we did with celluloid and vinyl and acetate,” Wurtzel ultimately directly connects the health of America’s cultural exports to our national identity and international standing:
Our movies and music are America. And the day the music dies, the party’s over.
Scary stuff, huh? I won’t reiterate the arguments made by Idolator in regards to the dated nature of Wurtzel’s references and statistics, but from my perspective, the piece reads like it was written by someone who hasn’t even seen a movie since long before Pete Yorn had his career peak of just barely cracking the Billboard Top 20 (for the record: that happened in 2003).
The only recent film reference in the story is a jab at “crazy Harry Potter fans” for showing the kind of enthusiasm that Wurtzel laments is found in short supply since “the days when lines formed around the block at New York’s Ziegfeld Theater because the latest installment of Star Wars had opened.” Though Wurtzel laments a de-emphasis on “talent” in pop music, she has not a single qualitative statement to make about a single contemporary film––she’s simply concerned that studios are making more money off their back catalogs than new releases, and that foreign territories “have found they favor the locally produced fare over yet another sequel to Rush Hour.” Which is maybe not the best example, considering that Rush Hour 3 made $114 million internationally––just $6 million less than its predecessor-–while the third film’s domestic gross was a full $86 million short (!) of Rush Hour 2’s $226 million. In terms of sustaining “favor” through serialization, this is one franchise with exponentially greater staying power overseas.
Also: neither of those points about the film industry, even if backed up with examples that were true, would have much to do with downloading. Also: there’s no mention of how legal downloading and streaming of media––although she does bash iPhone owners for their love of the gadget, without noting that one of its big plusses is its ability to carry legally acquired movies and music. Also: Has she heard of The Dark Knight?
There are valid arguments that could be made regarding the relationship between the export of American popular culture and our political status as a superpower. It’s just that Wurtzel makes none of them.
My version of The Godfather would open with a voice in the darkness saying, “I don’t believe in America. The American Dream is a once-beguiling fairy tale; show’s over, y’all.” But The Dream is still real to many people, and the violence that powerful private interests have done to it in the last century pains them like a kidney punch.
Gonzo journalism pioneer Hunter S. Thompson was one of the wounded, and so is Alex Gibney (Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, Taxi to the Darkside), the far more straight-laced director of the entertaining documentary Gonzo: The Life and Work of Hunter S. Thompson. They share a proprietary sense of outrage over abuses of power they’ve witnessed in their times. For them, America’s Nixons, Enrons and Bush-Cheneys have desecrated the church, the front lawn. For all their passionate trouble-making, there’s no denying that Gibney and the late Thompson, two white males who came up through America’s hallowed institutions (Thompson through the U.S. Air Force; Gibney through Yale), are insiders.
When I went to interview Gibney about Gonzo, I remembered the film’s procession of leathery right-wingers and elites, former Thompson nemeses, who have warm, friendly things to say about “Dr. Gonzo” now that he’s dead, now that his caricature as a gun-toting drughead has endured beyond his politics. I wondered if, in the end, being inside got the hole dug any better than chucking rocks from outside.
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The comment Summer left in the last Manifesto statement got me all worked up to start preachin’ on community. Before I start humming soulful-like, I need to check myself. Now first, Summer you said “the ‘old-fashion’ communities and neighborhoods I tend to think of are
very narrow, excluding everyone and everything that doesn’t fit the
white-picket fenced-in notions of what belongs.”
Whew, girl, it sounds like you’ve gotten burned by a community somewhere before. No good. Hopefully we can rectify that when Spout’s up and running. Now when I’m talking about community-particularly a film community-I’m talking about a place that makes room for folks like you and me, not a place that only makes room for just a few esoteric indie militants. Who am I-or anybody else for that matter-to say what’s good and bad? You mentioned Wendigo. I’ve got a buddy in New York who met the director and watched the film at his apartment. He thought it was great. I checked some reviews and they said it’s terrible. But I’ve got it in my queue because my buddy said it’s good and the director is a cool guy. As mentioned in Manifesto 4, WHY the film appeals to me is purely subjective. Spout is a place to find others with your subjective tastes and, if you’ve got a little spunk in you, find people who might push those tastes a bit.
Now I’ll make this personal and put my own neck on the chopping block. Some of you who read my personal blog (godinruins) know that I’ve got a bit of a problem with Mr. Lars Von Trier. I think he’s brilliant and Breaking the Waves changed the way I think about film. But recently I think he’s become consumed with hatred for the old US of A. I think that hatred has led him to try and make films that are statements about this country (which he’s never been to) and in the process brutalize with extreme prejudice the characters in his films, like Grace in Dogville. Whatever he may think of George W or Americans, I refuse to finish a film that is underhandedly saying that this country is basically a culture built on an undercurrent of sadism. Also, to repeatedly brutalize his characters again and again I think that Von Trier has personally shut off some much needed compassion within himself.
My take on Von Trier is a very unpopular one. Maybe it’s because many of us feel guilty for being American, and it’s become a knee jerk reaction to let foreigners take pot shots at us. Maybe I’m unpopular because I’m wrong, but what I’ve said above is what I think and I’m sticking to it. So I won’t be in the Lars Von Trier fan club (which I’m sure will be huge) when it shows up on Spout. But there will be one and who am I to bash anybody who loves him?
Also, Summer, you mentioned you have some indie friends that want to take down Hollywood. I hear you. But I should clarify that Spout is not about taking down Hollywood. We like a lot of films that have come out of Hollywood. We do want to take a shot at the Hollywood distribution system that heavily favors “big” films that are supposed to appeal to big audiences. We think it’s just plain unfair that “little” films have to appeal to the big guys if they’re going to get a chance to find their audience. It’s unfair to the filmmaker and unfair to the audience (i.e. you and me). Spout is about leveling the playing field for little films and big films to find an audience. You and I are constantly hearing the booming voice that markets big movies Hollywood thinks we want. For a lot of people that voice is drowning out the voice of little (and often better) films. Spout does not differentiate between big and little films, we’re about hearing the voices telling us of the “best” films. “The best” means whatever you or I determine we love.
This concludes my sermon. Thanks for the comment Summer. It made my day.
