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I hope everyone is having a wonderful Thanksgiving break.
Here is a link to an interesting Thanksgiving related series of photos so as to linger on a festive mentality for a bit longer before entering into the last days of classes.

Thanksgiving Special: How 10 Famous Artists Would Plate Thanksgiving Dinner

I am not a theater major, but I would like to think I know something about acting. Acting is the art of expression and convincing an audience of the reality of the scene. The expression, the voice, and the body language must all be perfectly aligned in order to be as truthful to the emotion as possible. Personally I believe that acting is truly impressive when one or two of the three components is removed from the scene. There are two instances from movies that I feel perfectly encapsulate these ideas. One being Scarlett Johansson in Her and Jennifer Lawrence’s last scene in Catching Fire.

I truly believe that Scarlett Johansson portrayal of Samantha in Her deserves an Academy Awards. In radio (or podcasts), one only has the voice to portray emotions, so one’s mind is forced to find the emotion within the voices. Her, on the other hand, is a film, so we become accustomed to using the face to convey these emotions. Johansson does not have this option, only her voice is ever heard. She must have truly mastered voice acting, because one can sense every emotion of Samantha’s with perfect clarity without any safety nets of body language or facial expression. Despair, anger, and joy are easy to convey, but she is able to be incredibly nuanced in her role. We know when she is nervous, slightly sad, disappointed, or off-put. I would suggest everyone go see this movie, if only for Johansson’s performance.

I think it is safe to assume that most of my readers are familiar with Catching Fire. I think it was a great movie, one of the best “popcorn films” to ever be made. Part of this movie’s success is Jennifer Lawrence’s acting. Ifyou want to see her amazing ability, then watch the final scene of the movie. Without speaking or moving, we can see the full range of emotions that experiences after (SPOILERS AHEAD) learning that her home district was destroyed by the Capitol. She moves from depressed to confused to angry and, finally, to determination. This was one of the best scenes of acting that I have ever experienced. I applaud both Lawrence for her ability, and the director for choosing to shoot it this way and trusting Lawrence enough to allow it.

If you are studying acting and need help in either of these departments, then I suggest you look towards these two actresses. Watch Her and study it. Any voice acting lessons you are taking are probably telling you how to act like she did in this movie. As for expression, definitely look towards Lawrence, not only in Catching Fire, but her other movies as well. Every time I watch these movie, I am still amazed by these two performances.

“Earlier much futile thought had been devoted to the question of whether photography is an art. The primary question – whether the very invention of photography had not transformed the entire nature of art – was not raised.”
~Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Mechanical Age of Reproduction”

“Everywhere one seeks to produce meaning, to make the world signify, to render it visible. We are not, however, in danger of lacking meaning; quite the contrary, we are gorged with meaning and it is killing us.”

~Jean Baudrillard, “Simulations”

Roger Ebert, famous film critic, contended video games are incapable of being works of art. Ebert notes video game defenders contend film shares a technological component similar to photography and film: the attempt to simulate reality. Ebert argues the problem with this logic lies in the video game’s intrinsically commercial purpose from the moment of its invention, a characteristic which separates it from every other art form.

I disagree with Ebert. I believe video games are art. I also believe Santiago, the video game supporter whom Ebert cites, uses a weak strand of logic and an unsatisfactory definition of art, allowing Ebert to dispute the artistic merits of videogames.

I’ll begin by extending my own definition of art. Going back to my first blog post, in which I note the fundamental tension between structure and uniqueness inherent to categorizing anything as art. In this post, I conclude that art’s goal is not merely to affect sensory perception, but rather, to breathe a fresh perspective on the structures that govern our lives. So sensory affect is a necessary attribute, but not a sufficient attribute to deem something art. Art must not only illicit sensory response, but also produce a psychological response that alters the audience’s way of thinking.

Ebert and Santiago both agree that videogames affect senses. Videogames are essentially a simulation of reality – a coded series of rules and a visual interface which seek to build a world to play with. Their point of contention is the inherently commercial intent of videogames, which seek to entertain and stimulate in order to reap profit rather than to sow inspiration. My definition problematizes this point of contention. The commercial intent of videogames certainly inflects a rigid structure and mode of exhibition, but could this affinity for structure also provide an opportunity to induce a greater psychological rupture from the structure?

Instead of looking at more avant-garde, so called artistic games, lets examine the most commercial game possible: Grand Theft Auto V. This game is part of a recurring series, simulates the real world from the perspective of a criminal, and gives players the freedom to mess around in this “sandbox” world in order to offer wish fulfillment in exchange for the almighty dollar. This isn’t art, it’s a glorified toy, as Ebert might say.

But Grand Theft Auto V is a highly self-reflexive simulation, quite vocally aware of its own commercial history and its audience’s expectations. GTA V actually subverts audience expectation by playing with the tropes of crime game genre – offering 3 classic mobster characters to choose from, each exaggerated to the point of satirizing the entire history of the mobster genre.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFhkHFSytVU

Two features of this game which simulate reality best – the extensive network of radio programming and the stock market through which players accumulate wealth – intentionally parody reality in order to offer commentary. The fictitious radio stations mock real radio stations and the commercial nature of the entertainment industry as a whole. The stock market demonstrates the predatory tactics of brokers and the setup of a volatile market of exchange which artificial accumulates capital independent of real labor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWNx2x73RjQ

This game embraces its commercial nature in order to exhibit itself to the widest audience possible. Moreover, it relies a commercial means of production to spread a satirical simulation of commercialism, over emphasizing the contradictory, flawed logic of consumerism in order to implode consumerist values. GTA V, therefore, demonstrates the unique artistic potential of videogames – to penetrate the conditions of reality in order to alter our most intimate presuppositions of what reality is in the first place. The intricate fictitious world-building feature of videogames offers an opportunity for an art form which altogether changes its external world.

A classic video for a classic holiday. Have a wonderful break everyone!

After a short hiatus from this here blog scene (for which I apologize, I’d retreated into the depths of my mind for the month due to anxieties and lack of sleep) I return to transpose the latest happening put forth by the Tenet Collective which has accumulated a momentum and reputation and a solid base of groovy dudes and gals and everything in between, who are down with what the group can do and has done so far this year.

It was the core group of aforementioned hooligans that kept things together this time around, as the temperature drop into degrees reminiscent of the dreaded polar vortex must have (understandably) anchored other attendees to the warmth of their homes and couches. The third progressive revolution began again at the Fuck Boys’ Lair, with vijjy screenings showing a variety of bohemian types: there was one perplexed custodian with an iPhone taped to his welder’s mask, recording himself sweeping up the remnants of a gingerbread house, his real-time vision impaired by the mask so that he ended up taking much longer than necessary to clean up those crumbs, a metaphor for vision if I ever saw one; there was a girl who painted convulsively, sporadically, rolling and throwing reds and blacks onto canvas repetitively, the video a layering of this process so that at certain points there were two or three of her painting and overlapping and swaying into one another – the composition and process having to do with psychological tendencies and actions that come up without us knowing, things bubbling to surface subconsciously, her acknowledging this loss of control over own body, coming to terms with control; lastly a lone naked spiky haired lanky fella with only his boots and gloves and a pair of glasses on, dropping a monologue about a trip home to his parents’ house in a dream while the vid cut between him speaking and boxing with a big red balloon, where after confessing his broken heart due to a love affair gone sour the dad, in perfect form, went into how there’s a lot of heartbreak in this world and a lotta sad people out there with cracks in their sad hearts, but also how there is also a lot of joy and love and sunshine around if you look for it right, and maybe that’s what life’s about – and the naked man in the boots and glasses having it out with the balloon that just might have been his own cracked heart, telling his tale and rubbing his face and growling out his syllables in such a way that the whole story was genuine and honest and not played out or cliche or washed up, and I shed more than one tear at this point here and a wave of emotion swept through the room.

There was a small procession over to a house on N. Division where the living room had been transformed into a cuddle fort with blankets draping from the ceiling in the fashion of a billowy circus tent, there were pillows and blankets all around layered on the walls and floor and in the entrance hung one particular old holy worn out blanket from someone’s childhood years, whose sentimental qualities emanated from its softly ragged folds and provided an entrance to this parallel dimension with glowy lights and sounds seeping in from the corners, and the room was full of good vibes and people sharing stories and touching each other in friendly affection, and there was no judgment there, only the kind words and feels remained. And downstairs the music played, Yada Yada stringin along smooth melodic jams, a comfortable kind of funk that made me think of nights on the beach or out in some greenfield at dusk, and the crowd swayed and dipped in agreement of the jive they laid down – and when the sounds of Yada faded into the voices of the crowd more bands took that corner stage which sat in front of a Thomas the Train tapestry, and into the night the music went and the ups and downs of the party people on the stairs mirrored the noises down there, all becoming the Night, all parts of the Time.

And I suppose the moral of the story here is that you don’t need two hundred people chanting and stomping down the street to have an effect, that sometimes a low-key interaction leads to more intimate relationships and connections with old friends and new friends alike, that despite what the commercials and television faces say maybe less can be more, and maybe building up our expectations about how big or how many something is only ends up ruining the outcome, that maybe we can be content just going with the flow, and quietly shake things up in our own kinda way.