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Blown Into Proportion - De File
Does Collecting Make You Feel Dirty?
cbertsch
cbertsch
Blown Into Proportion
Here's a piece guaranteed to please conspiracy buffs -- especially those with a soft spot for the JFK assassination -- baseball fans and Antonioni aficionados. I laughed so hard when I saw the first enlargement that I choked on air. Oh, and it's by the incomparable Paul Lukas, whose zine Beer Frame made for some of the best bathroom reading of the 1990s. When I think of the children he and Ana Marie Cox might have had. . .

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masoo From: masoo Date: October 20th, 2006 11:35 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
No mention of this can go by without a mention of this:

http://www.sandiegoserenade.com/2006/04/1986_world_series_game_6_reena.html
hollsterhambone From: hollsterhambone Date: October 20th, 2006 03:30 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I don't know much about baseball. Well, I don't know anything about baseball. But I laughed when I read that article! That was fantastic! I love the idea that something telling can be lurking in a photograph. I'd like to give Buckner the benefit of the doubt, however, and disagree with Lukas and say, perhaps it was his "lucky" glove. I can't tell how these two blown-up sections differ with my naked eye. I need CSI Mega-Enhancement!
From: bobo_amargo Date: October 20th, 2006 08:11 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

What about the Body, Judy?

Thanks for that.

But. The link to Antonioni is -- in both an everyday and an etymological sense -- devious. In what is to my mind his greatest movie -- and undeniable evidence, to those who may still doubt it, that a work of film can be a work of art -- of course I mean Blow-Up, Antonioni leaves us rather with the surmise that the camera's capacity to circumvent what otherwise remain our epistemic limitations turns out to be equally defeasible, humanizing (re-aura-izing?) the much-touted, much-despised mechanicity of the medium.

Think of the tennis players at the end playing not, as Frost feared, without a net, but without a . . . ball. Now replay the William Joseph Buckner-Mookie Wilson moment ball-less. It gives me an ethico-aesthetic frisson even to think of it. The event would mean something almost completely different.

Bertsch, you're a genius!
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: October 21st, 2006 11:50 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: What about the Body, Judy?

I'm so blessed to have you as a reader. That's exactly the effect that I wanted to achieve. I was even thinking about the tennis match!
masoo From: masoo Date: October 22nd, 2006 12:45 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: What about the Body, Judy?

It's always nice to see like-minded people connect. But Antonioni's best movie is L'Avventura.
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: October 22nd, 2006 11:16 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: What about the Body, Judy?

I actually like Red Desert best. And sorry I didn't reply to your comment yet. I missed it in my five minutes of internet yesterday. I still have to check out the link.
From: bobo_amargo Date: October 23rd, 2006 01:41 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

What about the Body, Judy? Pt. II

Arguing over which of Antonioni's movies is best smacks of the rumored clerics' arguing over how many angels might fit on the head of a pin (I tend to go with the conventionally established 127,563). It also might attest to a lingering incapacity to be grateful; on the other hand, I can imagine an after-dinner conversation, red wine still amply in attendance, in which "defending" one's preference here -- i.e., disputing gustations -- is not so much an argument as an elation, an opportunity to find words of praise one has never quite come to before (e.g., putting the ending of a film by a master in relief against an endlessly memorable sports mistake). Short of that after-dinner conversation and not wanting to betray that possible incapacity for gratitude further in public, I'll say just two things: (1) that we probably all agree that between, say, 1955 and 1970, Antonioni was on one hell of an inventive jag; and (2) that the scene in Blow-Up in which the photographer first walks up the narrow grassy passage in the park, breeze ominously blowing (I always imagine that large propeller he buys in the bric-a-brac shop somewhere off the boards creating it), following his "subject," is for me a modern touchstone of the sublime. I always find it shockingly erotic, pervaded by the presence of a terrific-though-soon-to-be-disappeared father figure.

But, then, that's just me. ;-)
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