Ode to my beautiful Samantha…

We met at a franchised coffee house,
During breaks in our working days.
Hiding behind a book and an academic long black,
She wanted peace and quiet,
Which I disrupted with a clumsy interjection.

“Post-colonial theory, eh?”
[PAUSE]
[BLUSH]

To which she replied with a look of who-is-this-boy?

Exchanges of over-the-counter coffees,
And over the counter accounts
That she thought of dubious accountability.
I had previously regailed her with stories,
Of drunken toga parties, illicit late-night trists,
And later-night drag racing in the back streets of Fremantle.

Proud and proper in my service industry,
service-station, ready-to-serve-you uniform,
She replied with a look that said out-of-service;
I must have smelt like cigarettes, petrol,
And seven hours of a ten hour shift completed.

[COUGH]
“I have a few readings about identity that I won’t need anymore.”

A mere curiousity or a monstrosity?
Delicate questions running through her delicate person.
We caught each other’s eye,
As if we were criminal to the other’s policing.
Love isn’t an interpellation,
But a feedback loop of depthless intensity,
A polarity between a tension tensing.

“Oh.”
[BLINK]

Word. She spoke. ‘Oh’ means nothing,
Besides as an order-word, ordering the event,
To modulate, like the soft flutter in a nervous voice,
From an embarrassing soliloquy,
To a becoming-dialogue of fragile futurity.

And without intending to,
Without helping it,
Without knowing how,
We still speak,
To each other’s heart.

Work: The Seminar Strikes Back, or Mad Max’s Look of Love

Last night we watched Mad Max. According to IMDb Mad Max was (or is?) banned in Sweden, so maybe we had an illicit screening. How exciting… What was very annoying it that we had to fuck around with DVD players and computers to get the bloody thing to play. Wrong region encoding, you see. Perhaps DVD region encoding is one of the best examples of how the powers that be use encryption (coding) and then allow the coding to distribute the encrypted text in an organised network (overcoding) so as to stratify a particular flow of intensities (or the event-potential of the Mad Max media) and territorialise the milieu of media transmission and circulation to produce the molar aggregate of some fucking annoying multinational media company.

Below is an extract of my work-in-progress seminar presentation of my research I am to give on the 27th of October.

I use Mad Max in my thesis as it has two scenes that dipict a common practice of modified-car enthusiasts when socilising in carparks or other similar spaces. The scenes are recognisably similar in some respects but are also very different. The first scene is where Max and the audience are first introduced to the last of the V8 Interceptors. The second scene is where Max and family are ‘trucking around’ and stop at a wrecking yard work shop to get a flat tire fixed. Both scenes represent in slightly different ways a ritualised practice of display that is organised around the static car. It is one of the ‘carpark’ activities that I have documented in my fieldwork. It can be described as the ritual unsheathing of the ‘object’ of technophilic desire. Although we call the car an ‘object’ in the sense of a self contained knot of material time-space, but it is also a dynamic topology of intensities. Our eyes are drawn to particular attributes of the car, our ears listen for particular mechanical sounds, and our bodies feel the raucaus throb of a lumpy cam. These attributes combined can be called a constellation of intensities. (Or, what do you remember when you remember a particular car?)

The unfolding of the display event is normally complimented by a running narrative that discourses the given attributes and places them in a subcultural hierarchy of importance. In both the scenes in Mad Max it are the mechanics that offer the narrative. The path that the narrative takes is not produced by them, they only enunciate it. Again it are the intensities that belong to the car that guide or organise the discursive space into a narrative. Particular phrases and words are exchanged and punctuate the negotiated process of discovery.

Particular attributes are more important than others. This is not because they can be placed in a subcultural hierarchy, the subcultural hierarchy of importance is performed retroactively to capture some sense of the intensities that belong to the car’s attributes. The importance of any given attribute is determined by what that attribute does or what it can do. Modification is the process of instensifying a car’s given mass-manufactured attributes. It is a minor science. Follow the traits of a car, tease them out, experiment, play with them, etc. The salt lake racers offer the best example of this. They experiment with speed. It is a qualitatively different speed to the paranoid movements of a displaced capitalist body. This is my biggest problem with Sarah Thornton’s conception of subcultural capital. What Thornton describe’s as subcultural capital is the skill and ability to retroactively narrate or indicate the constellation of intensites that belong to a given event. The importance of the skill to narrate or indicate the intensities is secondary to the intensities themselves. The ‘delusion’ that some people have about the intensities of their own enunciations is normally called arrogance (self love); people fall in love, or enter into a becoming, with their own intensities, normally of their own voice. People are ‘full of themselves’.

One of the important roles of the media within the subculture is to highlight certain attributes of the car with regularity. Importantly, it is a regularity and not a regulation (See Massumi’s Parables of the Virtual, 82). The precise attributes of that generate an interest are not known before hand; they have to be investigated and uncovered during the display event. Human actors of the event investigate the car following the gradients in its topology of intensities. The media of modified-car culture has a number of set positionings that place the car and the human actors in a relative space. The distribution of actors in space, including the car and the enthusiasts, is not determined by the media. The media, like the actors, organises its representations around the intensities that belong to the car.

The media of modified-car culture is a form of pornography. In pornography, as Gilles Deleuze explains, “everything is reduced to a few imperatives (do this, do that) followed by obscene descriptions” (1989: 17). Deleuze contrasts pornography with what he calls pornology, which is “aimed above all at confronting language with its own limits, with what is in a sense a ‘non-language’ (violence that does not speak, eroticism that remains unspoken)” (Deleuze 1989: 22). Of course Deleuze was talking about written texts. Car movies do not belong to a pornology, they are a genre of technophilic pornography. This is not because of the object of representation. My use of the term ‘pornography’ is determined more by the inductive mode of representation than what is actually represented. Subcultural media does not instruct on how to look at or engage with a car, it induces a flow (attention) on a number of levels. It is a way of training attention. In other words, before asking what does something mean, I am asking what and how is the something worthy of meaning?

The cross over from ‘normative’ human-centric porn and car enthusiast porn finds its purest expression in classic magazines like Street & Strip, where half naked women are sprawled across drag cars and heavily modified street cars. In this magazine and other texts like it, for example the legendary Pirelli Calendar, some questions that may be asked are: What exactly is being objectified? Is someone meant to be sexually stimulated? And, asking on of the traditional media and film studies questions, where are you meant to look? At the women organized into classic ‘welcoming’ pornographic stances (bent over, spread eagled, etc)? Or the cars with eruptions of shimmering chrome, brightly coloured paint work, and racing seats that ‘hug’ you?

Daniel Miller has talked about the need to address the ‘humanity of the car’ (Miller, Car Cultures, 2001), and most researchers have approached various aspects of modified-car culture looking for the humanity of the culture in various ways, at least implicitly. One of the problems I have with the current literature is exactly this approach. By looking for the humanity in a culture that has nonhuman actors, which, in some circumstances, dominate the culture is to be overly reductive. One of the serious problem is with regards to the one-sided humanist notions of gender. I certainly do not disagree with the work of, for example, Linley Walker, who examined the masculinity of what she called working class car culture in western Sydney. My problem is the reduction of the engagement between the human and the nonhuman to always rely on humanist terms and human frames of reference is highly problematic. I think it is an impossible situation to seriously begin with the assumption that because of the obvious homosocial groupings and overtly masculine cultural formations of modified-car culture that the engagement between the car and the enthusiast can be reduced to frame of reference that relies only on human genderings. There is a desperate need to address the nonhuman aspects of the culture.

One of the reasons for showing the scene from Mad Max where max firsts meets the Interceptor is that it resonates with Burt Bacharach’s lyrics about the breathtaking experience (or event) of the look of love.

The look of love
Is in your eyes
A look your smile can’t disguise
The look of love
It’s saying so much more
Than words could every say
And what my heart has heard,
Well, it takes my breath away.

Although Mel Gibson is acting, it is possible to get a grasp of the way his heart ‘hears’ something that takes his breath away. Well what does his heart ‘hear’? I shall quote from another song:

When I get high,
I get high on speed,
A top fuel funny car,
Is a drug for me,
My heart, my heart,
Kickstart my heart.

As well as great home videos, the cock-rock band Motley Crue manages to capture the drug like effect and sometimes violent excitement of the rhythmic mechanical agitation of the human body in their 1989 song “Kickstart my Heart”. The last of the V8 interceptors kickstarts Mad Max’s masculine heart. The engagement between the masculine body of Max and the nonhuman intensities of the Interceptor should not be reduced to simplistic humanist accounts of gender, for the technoeroticism implied in this scene is something else, something that is between the human body and the multiplicity of the nonhuman. So… what is a nonhuman pornography?

Jacques Derrida dies at the age of 74

I feel sad.

Here are some links:

http://www.news24.com/News24/Technology/News/0,,2-13-1443_1602574,00.html

http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/europe/10/09/obit.derrida.reut/index.html

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/3729844.stm

It reminds me of the joke in the movie Adaptation.

Donald Kaufman: Listen, I need a cool way to kill people. Don’t worry, for my script.
Charlie Kaufman: I don’t know that kind of stuff.
Donald Kaufman: Oh, come on, man, please? You’re the genius.
Charlie Kaufman: Here you go. The killer’s a literature professor. He cuts off little chunks from his victims’ bodies until they die. He calls himself “the deconstructionist”.

Work: Sequel Wars

I thought I had better put something up about the work I am doing at the moment. Here are the first two intro paras.
kapow!
What is a sequel? For some fans passionate about particular movies the moniker ‘sequel’ signals a monstrous malediction of genius. Works of art are reduced to vehicles of merchandising. Film texts that were once indexes of personal and collective identification become mere prompts for megaplex popcorn with extra syrup. What is the nature of the awesome and destructive power sequels have over the first incarnations? The horrific violence wrought upon a film to turn it into a franchise can not be solely located with the capitalist spirit of lecherous studio executives to exploit enthusiasms. What audience is the franchised film sequel made for? Are we really the stupid subjects of sociocultural programming that allow purveyors of these ‘perversions’ to peddle their wares? Can the notion of a ‘sequel’ be rethought and articulated in such a way to encourage an enrichment of a ‘franchise’?
I have been prompted to write a paper after an exchange on the Internet Movie Database (IMDb) message board for the Alien versus Predator (AvP) movie with an avid fan of the Alien series of films. I had posted some suggestions of what needs to be in the sequel to this movie. Innocent enough, I thought… My first respondent was A:3. I am calling this fan A:3, because his position was that after the three films in the Alien series, there was “no life in the series” and the fourth should not have been made. A:3 was particularly insulted by the AvP film. He believed the Predator series was a total shit, and joining it with the Alien series for a crossover film was an utter travesty. A:3 manned the message boards shooting down any post or response that discussed the possibility of a sequel to AvP. Incurring the wrath of this disgruntled fan, I discovered that the fan’s keyboard is mightier than the logical argument. He challenged me to find a sci-fi/action movie series where the final film in the series rated the same or better than the original (the ratings were provided by the user rating function on the IMDB site). After an hour of searching I gave up. The closest I could come were The Lord of the Rings series and the Evil Dead series. I later discovered the recent Spiderman series (another series of films directed by Sam Raimi) also has a higher rated sequel than the initial film. However, none of these are really sci-fi/action movies. I found the fact that almost no sequels at all managed to measure up to the initial film in the series absolutely amazing! Surely this must be one of the hard and fast ‘laws’ of cinema: a sequel will ‘always’ be worse.
boink!
Anyway, there is much to say about sequels. I start off by talking about the birth of the blockbuster and take a Deleuzian angle on the ‘culture industry’. What is commodified is not ‘culture’ per se but ‘enthusiasm’. Here I pull out some more Deleuziasms to do with desire. I am thinking about the ‘culture industry’ less in terms of the production of ‘culture’ in the form of cultural artifacts or ‘meaning’, but some forms of mass culture as ‘anti-production’ that ‘captures’ consumers in the desiring machines we call enthusiasm. Enthusiasm does not belong to the ‘cultural products’ (artifacts or meanings) but to the desiring machines that organise whichever assemblage the cultural products are part. What it results in is a ‘turnstyle capitalism’.
Perfect example of what I am talking about in its most docile form, and where I am getting inspiration for the term from, are sporting fans that are part of the assemblage of franchised sporting teams and the mass culture surrounding them. Quite literally a profit is extracted at the turnstyle as a direct manifestation of the fans enthusiasm for a sporting team (what I call a fan ‘object’ or, because it is not really an object but a constellation of intensities, the ‘fanject’).
Enthusiasm in the movie industry is different for instead of desire operating within the strict confines or thresholds of the way in which the fanject is (anti)produced, fans allow their enthusiasm (desire, but not so reactionary anymore) to break apart the confines of the organising principles which create the movie as fanject. This is evidenced by a particular mode of ‘script rewriting’ where instead of injecting the fanject assemblage with other fantasies, the concepts of which the intial movie is only but one example are allowed to morphogenetically become or ‘involve’. Sequels become ‘formulaic’ when sequels are produced with a mimetic relation to an ‘original’ that can be then reduced to the same. When this happens the concepts that organise the movie (fanject) remain potentialised. Yeah…
I am about 2 thirds the way into it at the moment.
Much work to do!
Ciao,
glen.