Tom and Mina: An Excerpt

"Yeah, I'm curious as to what exactly is a valid part of one's identity if not the things they like and enjoy doing on their free time? Is it supposed to be your job and whether you have a family? I think 'what kind of art/culture/entertainment interests you' will lead to a more substantial conversation as an icebreaker than 'do you have kids and how old are they and is parenting hard' or whatever else."

                                 --someone born in 1993

"Tom and Mina"

—So, what do you want to listen to?

—I don’t know. Anything but St. Vincent?

—What? Wait, why?

—I was kidding. I didn’t know if maybe you were sick of her.

—Not by a long shot.

—That’s the right answer.

—In fact, if we can carve out the time, I’d like to fit in another listen of the entire album before the concert. I want to try to give it a fresh listen, to take into account some of the reviews I’ve been reading. That one I sent you a link to, for example. It kind of re-frames my entire perspective on it.

—Oh yeah?

—Yeah, it illustrates that the album has confluences with St. Vincent de Paul, from the 17th century. The way the charitable causes for which he was renowned resonate with the extrovertism of the album?

—Mm.

—Did you read it?

—Not yet.

—It’s really good.

—Yeah?

—Yeah. It’s something I wish I would’ve written.

—Well maybe you should’ve.

—Well, maybe I will, next time.

—This other St. Vincent . . . he was a Catholic?

—I believe so. . . .

—I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s tons of religious connections with the album. Like the first song, how it constructs the image of a lone naked woman being pursued by snakes? I mean, there’s no Adam to be found, but the parallels to Genesis stand. She’s using the language of religion to explore the concept of digital worship and modern celebrity.

—It’s a much more expansive album than her previous ones. She’s opened up the canvas of her music since Strange Mercy. In that one she gave us a glimpse of her life with such honesty, stripping down every aspect of American life, you know: family, sexuality, independence, and the American Dream, of course. But this one takes those themes—and more—and tackles them with less egoism.

— And it’s also more accessible when it comes to the bonkers soundscapes she has worked with previously. It’s almost the kind of record you’d recommend to a less adventurous friend who you want to bully into going to a St. Vincent concert with you.

—No need here.

—Yeah, certainly didn’t have to twist your arm for this one.

—Though that accessibility doesn’t hurt it, I don’t think.

—You mean you weren’t fully on board with the previous . . . ?

—No , I mean aesthetically. Sometimes accessibility is synonymous with an attenuated or compromised quality. But in this case, it doesn’t affect the album adversely, is what I’m saying.

—Oh, no. If this is what the bigger, more popular, mainstream Annie Clark is going to sound like, then great. It’s a spectacular thing, a borderline-brilliant album.

—Agreed. And now I kind of really want to listen to it again.

—You can put it on, I was just kidding before.

—Maybe later. There’s something else I want to listen to now and I bet you don’t know what it is.

—Bet you I do, and I’m vetoing it.

—What? How do you . . .

—I follow your Twitter. Your tweets show up on my phone.

—I’m honored that you read them.

—Yeah yours and about six hundred other people’s.

—Do you really read all the tweets of all the people you follow?

—A few of them are muted, I have to admit. Easier than unfollowing.

—Ok. So why are you vetoing my musical selection here? We don’t have to listen to her pop stuff.

—Oh, can we listen to the weird experimental stuff please?

—I don’t think her experimental stuff gets too out there. It’s still pretty listenable.

—I know, and yet strangely I feel compelled not to, ever.

—Just out of curiosity what’s your favorite album of hers?

—We’re not listening to any of it!

—Ok ok, I’m just asking for your favorite, jeez.

—It’d be like asking to choose my favorite dictator. They’re all awful.

—That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

—It’s the truth.

—I have to say, your penchant for hyperbole doesn’t portend good things for your future career as our generation’s most sensitive and subtle observer of the modern condition.

—How’s this for subtle?

—You’re so classy sometimes.

—Thank you.

—Well, since you’re so reticent to answer the question, I’ll tell you my favorite album of hers.

—My breath is like so bated over here.

—My favorite is probably between Like a Prayer and True Blue. Now, Like a Prayer is more musically ambitious than True Blue, though it does have some low points, which you can’t say about True Blue.

—Mmhm.

—So it really comes down to whether you prefer a perfect masterpiece or a flawed but ambitious attempt.

—And what side do you fall on?

—The biggest crime is to be dull, or vapid, or forgettable. Give me the flawed but still interesting art any day of the week.

—There’s something to be said for things that strive—and mostly achieve—the platonic ideal, but I’m with you for the most part.

—You are? So should I pop in Like a Prayer?

—Not a chance.

—I wish we could see her live. A decent seat at MSG or Barclays is four hundred dollars. If it was reasonable, I’d be there faster than a ray of light.

— . . .

—Music may mix the bourgeoisie and the rebel but her shows don’t.

— . . .

—You really don’t want to listen to her.

—Nope.

—Don’t you trust my taste in music by now? Didn’t I introduce you to a lot of great bands you would’ve never listened to otherwise?

—Well, sure, you and the two hundred music blogs I follow.

—C’mon, who made you bookmark those blogs?

—If something’s good enough, I hear enough buzz about it without you. What’s the last band you 100% introduced me to cold?

—The Swans.

—Ok, I grant you that.

—You liked them.

—Well, I liked The Seer anyway. Who knows if I’d like their other albums.

—Oh I’m sure you’d like To Be Kind. It’s like their previous stuff taken up a notch. It’s a much more unrelenting experience than The Seer. The dynamic range on it is, quite literally, startling.

—Literally, huh?

—Yes. The opening song alone, “Screen Shot”? Just wow. It starts with this bass vamp, then nearly halfway through a spooky piano riff jumps in and repeats for the rest of the song, and then, at the six-and-a-half-minute mark, the song diverges from this crescendo-based structure for a brief moment as electric guitars add another layer of collage.

—It’s not longer than The Seer, this new one, is it?

—It’s two hours and one minute, which is almost two minutes longer than The Seer.

—Ugh. No wonder you’re still listening to them. You haven’t actually finished the album yet.

—Ha ha. It doesn’t always work as an album though, I admit. The centerpiece is not as good as “The Seer,” the song that is. This time it’s a two part, 34-minute affair called “Bring the Sun/Toussant L’Ouverture” and it’s not as dynamic and mesmerizing as “The Seer.” Although, the transition between the two parts features the band at its most psychedelic. You can distinguish saws, hammers, and horses in the mix. All to be expected, of course, considering the title.

—How do you mean?

—“Toussant L’Ouverture.”

—Ok . . . ?

—Well, Toussant Louverture was the leader of the Haitian Revolution.

—Yeah, I know. And?

—Well, the song assuages any doubt that Gira might make a compromise or two with any given album. So. . . .

— . . . ok . . .

—Anyways, it’s an album of astonishing musical density. I notice something different every time I listen to it. It’s the only thing I’ve heard lately that is utterly alien. Well, maybe Scott Walker’s stuff too. I’ve had it on constantly, To Be Kind. It’s funny, this last semester I always had that album on when I was doing homework. So now I associate it with productivity.

—I can’t listen to music when I write. I either listen to music, or I write. Both deserve too much concentration to split the job.

—Well, anyways, I introduce you to a ton of new music, so I’m surprised you don’t just sit back and put yourself in my very capable hands. My taste is impeccable.

—Oh is it?

—Yes, and multifarious as well. And not just with music. Think of all the films I’ve introduced you to.

—Yes, but again, I would’ve gotten into most of that stuff eventually.

—Oh really? Do you really think you’d have gotten into Iranian cinema if not for me? Shirdel, Bayzai, Kiarostami?

—Kiarostami for sure. Certified Copy got a lot of press. It was even a Criterion, for cryin’ out loud.

—Hm. Maybe. My favorite language to listen to is Farsi.

—It is pretty.

—I wish it wasn’t so uncommon. It seems most countries in that area use Arabic. Farsi is far less common, mostly just Iran, Afghanistan, and Tajikistan. What’s your favorite Kiarostami again?

—I actually really liked Certified Copy.

—You should hear Thomas Elsaesser talk about it for a couple hours, like I did. Your appreciation of it would be that much greater.

—I already like it, so.

—You should see Shirin.

—Yeah?

—It’s a masterpiece, an experimental triumph. It’s captivating to watch, and an enormous statement on the policies that have governed Iranian cinema since the revolution. To me, it’s his best film, easily.           

—Is it on Netflix?

—I think the most validated I’ve ever felt was when I tried to express my love for it to Kiarostami himself and he told me it’s his best work.

—Oh wait, it doesn’t matter. My parents are between credit cards so I don’t have Netflix right now.

—Are you even listening to me?

—Yes yes, Shirin. So it’s better than Certified Copy, huh?

—I think so. And more importantly, Kiarostami thinks so.

—Oh yeah? I’d like to introduce you both to a certain essay by Winsatt and Beardsley sometime.

—Huh?

—It’s just that artists oftentimes aren’t the best judges of their own work.

—Well, I happen to agree with Mr. Kiarostami on this one. Shirin is one of the best movies of the century so far.

—I’ll keep it in mind.

—And if we’re recommending essays, I’d like to suggest Rick Altman’s “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre.” It’s a good read, and was the primary reference for my Film Theory midterm.

—What are your other movies of the century so far, just out of curiosity?

—Let’s see . . . since 2000? In the Mood for Love.

—Ugh. I might break up with you just for that alone.

—You’ll come around. Also, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days.

—Much better. Mungiu is brilliant.

—My Winnipeg.

—Haven’t seen it. Want to.

—Far From Heaven.

—Wouldn’t be on my list.

—Spirited Away.

—Love Miyazaki.

—Hmm. Los Angeles Plays Itself.

— . . . ok . . .

—Werckmeister Harmonies.

—Ah, and who introduced you to that?

—Béla Tarr is a director of international renown. I would’ve watched him eventually.

—Yeah but why did you watch it now, and why are you able to put it on your top films of the century list right now? Because of this person right here, sitting in the driver’s seat.

—Yeah yeah yeah. And all because of your Krasznahorkai obsession.

—It’s pronounced “Krazsnahorkai.”

—Ok.

—Anything else on your list?

—Hmm. Tree of Life.

—Are you sure you’re not just idealizing that movie?

—Well, I can’t help but have fond memories of that first viewing, can I? I do think the movie holds up really well, though, despite any cathected feelings I might have for it.

—Eh, it’s alright. I was fairly impressed with it at the time, but it seems to get less good with age.

—I respectfully disagree. I think it gets better with age. There’s a reason it was put on more than a few Sight and Sound lists. And you know what else is really good? The New World. But you have to watch the 172-minute cut. I once saw that movie as Malick’s worst, and it’s closer to his best. It’s miles ahead of Thin Red Line.

—You don’t like that one?

—Even after reading umpteen articles about it, it still troubles me. The voiceovers are muddled and kind of silly, and it’s a war film for so long that when it becomes a Malick film it’s jarring, as if it’s always ready to end. The New World, for me, clarifies and expands on Thin Red Line’s goals. Granted, Fursternau and MacAvoy’s essay has a Heideggerian interpretation that lets me into the film and parts of Bersani and Dutoit’s book show how the ideas in the voiceovers are negated, but still. I’m way more in New World’s corner.

—Ok. Anything else on your best of the century list?

—Hmmm. No, not really.

—It’s an ok list. It’s not bad.

—Maybe next year I’ll be cool enough for the Village Voice poll. Though I know I would get flack in certain circles for not putting There Will Be Blood on the list. I just didn’t love it like everyone else.

—No Master then, either?

—God no. It’s funny, I re-watched it for the first time since seeing it theatrically, The Master, and I remember it being frustratingly opaque, but now I find it clear-as-day, even heavy-handed. It’s alright, just not as smart as it wants us to believe. Maybe I’m just sick of PTA. Although, he is devilishly handsome.

—Is that where we’re at right now?

—I tell ya, at school, it’s all about him, Tarantino, and Wes Anderson. Those are the gods everyone worships at the altar of. Not Welles, not Resnais, not Ozu. It’s sad and pretty depressing. I especially don’t get Tarantino. Great films have subtext and themes. With Tarantino’s work, I see none of that. Anyone who’s seen a few French New Wave films knows that he’s a fraud.

—Resnais leaves me kind of cold. Hiroshima mon Amour is too methodical.

—You should see his last two films, You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet and Life of Riley. Their exuberance belied his advanced age. It was like a much younger filmmaker made them. But Marienbad is his best work. It might be the best movie of all time.

—What? You mean it’s not Citizen Kane?

—I know, shocker right? In all seriousness, Kane is great but it’s not among my personal favorites, even within Welles’ corpus. I am glad you liked it though, Kane. It would’ve been a deal-breaker I think if you hated it.

—Same for me with you and Harold and Maude.

—In fairness to us both, they aren’t hard movies to like. I mean, it’s Citizen freakin’ Kane and Harold and freakin’ Maude. Oh Heathers, too. That would’ve made the domestic situation uncomfortable if you had had a different reaction.

—I liked Heathers.

—I know, that’s why you’re still my girlfriend. It’s the best high school movie ever made, although acceptable alternatives are Fast Times at Ridgemont High and The Last Picture Show.

—I played the Wikipedia game the other day, getting from the Monroe Doctrine to Citizen Kane.

—Oh that’s easy.

—Is it?

—Uh, yeah. Monroe Doctrine, Cuban War of Independence, William Randolph Hearst, Citizen Kane.

—Pretty good.

—You want a hard one, try getting from the Volstead Act to The Last Metro.

—Uh . . .

—I’ll let you think about that one. You should really read my 1,000-word piece on Citizen Kane. It was so rewarding writing about that film.

—Send it, I’ll put it on the pile.

—I talk about how Welles’ characters, and oftentimes his films themselves, are marked by a compulsive search for the truth. I don’t say anything new about the film, nothing that hasn’t been said better in Bazin’s “Evolution of the Language of Cinema” or Bordwell and Thompson’s Film Art, but still, if you’re inclined, give it a look.

—I will.

—So this trip has gone on way too long without music, we have to put something on.  Hey how about some White Stripes? I don’t think the fact that Jack White wrote an entire song from Citizen Kane quotes is appreciated enough.

—No, I’m all White Stripes’d out. Some oh-so-clever guy played De Stijl in an endless loop at the Art History post-finals party.

—“The Union Forever” is on White Blood Cells.

—So? What part of “I’ve had enough of The White Stripes for now” don’t you comprehend?

—Well, I’m having a hard time picking something out that you agree with here. I have to say, I wish you were as amenable to my suggestions in music as you are for film. You’re pretty much down for anything, film-wise. You have to be open to new bands, Miss M.

—Actually, I don’t. You’re the one who’s a music critic, so you are the one who has to be open to new stuff.

—It actually really helps me in my other endeavors though. I often know every song that plays in a movie so I don’t have to look it up later. Although I just saw an Assayas film, Cold Water, and was ashamed that not only did I not know one of the songs, it was a Roxy Music song at that.

—How negligent!

—I know, right? It’s like when I saw Losing Ground and spent 15 distracted minutes trying to recall what song the horn figure in the score resembles. But also just last month I wrote my first film paper that uses music theory to comment on how a film is structured and understood and it’s like a new way of seeing.

—Well, I don’t have any interest in ever writing criticism. And besides, I would say I’m fairly open-minded when it comes to listening to music. Plus, when I do listen to something, I probably pay closer attention than anyone. You should see my listening journal for my Schoenberg and Stravinsky course. It’s turning into a longform prose poem-slash-personal essay, with passages like “In the end, celebration? Triumph? It is something that feels like springtime. Zola writes, ‘Tout n’est qu’un rêve.’ Yes.”

—Um hm. It was Darkest Light, by the way.

—What?

—The song I was reminded of in Losing Ground. Darkest Light by the Lafayette Afro Rock Band.

—That’s nice.

—But anyways you’re not on board with some good stuff though. Like Haim.

—Ugh. I’m so sick of that band. I hear it all the time at school, everyone plays it. I don’t understand how a school like mine can attract so many people with horrible tastes in music. They listen to the worst stuff. Well, except for . . .

—I think what you’re really missing with Haim is how the pop guise and choruses occasionally pass “catchy” to approach “memorable.” Take My Song 5. Have you really sat down and listened to that song?

—I haven’t sat down and listened to any of it, to be honest.

—You should. The chorus has this spare drum beat and is full of abstract descriptions leading to a terrifying series of questions ending with the declaration of, “Honey I’m not your honey pie.” It’s first spoken normally, and then done with sudden pitch-alterations that outdo anything Vampire Weekend pulled off with “Diane Young,” for instance. Then it turns abruptly into a darker Destiny’s Child-type song for a quick verse before diving further into some abyss with nearly incomprehensible words that function as desperate cries, as if it were trying to escape the song’s own tormenting soundscape. It was definitely one of the songs of the year.

—Well, all I got from them is a mild headache and minor case of annoyance.

—Maybe you just need to listen to it at a later date. Sometimes you need to give something time to let it insinuate itself into your life. Everyone should have an internal incubator where they can preserve great art until they’re ready for it. For example, I couldn’t really connect with, say, Sleater-Kinney until I was already on my way to bettering myself.

— . . . what’s that supposed to mean?

—What?

—So like I’m not enlightened or good enough to appreciate the great bands?

—No, I . . .

—What you said was way condescending.

—It was?

—You don’t even realize?

—Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.

—The fact that you didn’t even realize it did sort of heightens the condescension if you ask me. Like you just assumed I’d go along with it and agree with you that I’m an underdeveloped person or something.

—Trust me, I think you’re way smarter than I am.

—Flatterer. It’s especially ridiculous because the fact that I’m not the fourth member of Sleater-Kinney is my daily struggle.

—Sorry I made you feel bad.

—I don’t feel bad.

—You don’t?

—Nope. I’m actually quite happy, joyous even.

—How can you be when we’ve just left the city limits?

—Good point.

—You know what true happiness is? It’s when you wander through Madison Square Park and there's no line at Shake Shack.

—Ha.

—Well, do you want to feel bad?

—What?

—Do you want to feel bad?

—Is that a trick question?

—I was just going to suggest, if you want to feel bad, how about Joni?

—You think Joni makes one feel bad?

—Well . . . yeah. Some of it.

—Are you talking about Blue?

—Yeah, kind of.

—Eh, I guess it’s kind of sad. If you want real sadness from your art, try reading The Overcoat. Or Turgenev’s Mumu. It’s like infinitely sadder than Blue.

—It’s hard to think of an album as simple and beautiful as Joni Mitchell’s Blue, though. I probably listen to it about ten times a week. Seriously, if we have that album, do we really need other music?

—Is that a Slate pitch?

—Haha! Actually, now that I think about it, I think I prefer her post-Blue, jazzier stuff. Hejira is much better than Blue, Hissing of Summer Lawns is close, and both are more musically ambitious.

—Is that your thing today, musical ambition?

—I’m a big admirer of it. I might eventually write an essay on Joni. I definitely have enough to say about her.

—I only want to read an essay on Joni Mitchell if it’s written by Zadie Smith.

—Ouch. Now I’m sad.

—I love your writing Tofurkey, but you’re no Zadie Smith. Not yet, anyway.

—You know I have it out for Ms. Smith ever since she said, what was it? “Criticism is easy and novels are very hard.”

—Well . . . it’s true.

—I’m like sinking into depression over here.

—Oh no.

—I all but insist that we listen to some Daughter, to match my mood.

—Um, I don’t. . . .

—You listened to it already, right?

—Not really. Honestly, I know you’ve sent it to me but I haven’t even put it on anything that can play it yet.

—Oh you have to listen to it. Also, did you see that album cover?

—Not really.

—Here, let me . . . ok, look. It’s right after the Cure albums. Doesn’t it seriously fit right in with them?

—Sure.

—It’s apt, cuz If You Leave is the gloomiest album since Robert Smith’s heyday. And look at the song titles!

—Ok how about just reading them to me so we don’t get into an accident.

—It starts with “Winter” and “Smother,” and with titles like that you know that “Humans,” “Lifeforms,” and “Tomorrow” aren’t going to lean toward cheery associations.

—So you want to be depressed all the way there or something, I’m gathering?

—You’ll like it, I swear. They’re similar to Sigur Ros, to tell the truth, although they’re a bit smaller. Tonra’s voice has the same natural beauty of Jónsi’s, but hers is most haunting at a lower vocal range. The drums give every song a much heavier, fuller scope, and the guitar lines create immediately captivating intros and fill up any kind of negative space. The result is quite beautiful, every song pouring out into space and leading up to climactic and revelatory bridges. Although, thinking about The Cure now, I think In Between Days is my favorite bummer song. Maybe we should just put in The Head on the Door.

—If you really want to feel sad, why don’t we just go to the queen of tears herself: PJ.

—As long as it’s Dry. So much better than Rid of Me.

—But Stories From The City!

—People who think Rid of Me is better than Dry are not to be trusted.

—“You Said Something” alone. Unbelievable.

—I don’t even think they’re human beings, really.

—And that beaut of a Thom Yorke appearance.

—It’s a furious and empowering album, sure, Stories From The City. But Let England Shake was a clear example of growth and maturity both musically and lyrically.

—I like Stories better.

—You only like that album because of New York, Miss M.

—New York is the reason for everything.

—You have New York on the brain. You’re a New Yorkaphile.

—Uh huh.

—It’s kind of . . . I don’t know.

—What?

—Kind of . . . passé or whatever.

—What?!

—What I mean is that it’s totally cute how you get excited by the city still.

—Oh, and you’re not?

—Well . . . it’s just kind of my home now, so . . .

—Oh oh, you’re the old jaded hipster Brooklynite now? After a year and a half?

—I am what I am.

—Can’t argue that, I suppose. But oh wait, who was so excited to see first-hand all those indie Brooklyn bands and write reviews of their albums and concerts? My Best Fiend, Hundred in the Hands, Grooms? Did more than five people read those reviews?

—You liked Grooms!

—I did, but that doesn’t take away from my point here.

—Those reviews will take off when the internet realizes I coined the term “Brooklyncore.”

—Yes. . . .

—Ok, so I like the music scene, but you’ve certainly taken to the whole city like a duck to water.

—What can I say, it was love at first sight. Hit me like a train, out of the blue. A coup de foudre. Plus one.

—Rrr. Well, it’s like you’ve adopted the city, in a way, and in record time, too. Wasn’t it just last year when you were so proud that you took the subway all by yourself?

—It was a big moment.

—And when you were so excited to take the J train for the first time? Or when the F train stopped in the tunnel and you thought we were going to die?

—It was scary! In retrospect it is pretty hilarious, my reaction.

—Then the time someone asked you for directions and afterwards you said you felt like a true New Yorker? But can you truly call yourself a New Yorker if you’ve never learned how to properly hail a cab?

—You’re so mean. I know everything about the subway at least. Did I tell you I saw someone spend like ten dollars trying to swipe into the slot the wrong way and I helped them out?

—Great. Hey, that ARC on your nightstand . . . 10:05? You’re only reading that because of the cover, aren’t you?

—The title is 10:04. You should know that, it’s a movie reference.

—It is?

—And I’m reading it because I loved Leaving Atocha Station. But even if I were just reading it just for the cover, so what? It’s one of the best covers I’ve ever seen.

—I thought you preferred illustrations to photos on book covers.

—There are exceptions. And my favorite book cover ever is a photo cover, or at least a composite of a few photos.

—And that is?

—Oh you know. Hedging His Bets.

—Oh god, that’s not your real favorite.

—It is! You don’t even know how close I’ve come to buying that book solely for the cover. And if that’s not the standard for a successful book cover, I don’t know what is.

—Anyways, getting back to your New York obsession. The thing that’s kind of annoying about it, I have to say, is that it bleeds into other considerations where it shouldn’t. Like your favorite Christmas song. There’s no reason it should be “Fairytale of New York.”

—That’s more a Pogues obsession than anything.

—Is it?

—Yes.

—Well, c’mon. Pick something from Sufjan Stevens’ Christmas albums or 50 Words for Snow.

—Nahhh. Though I might let you have it if you’ll agree to play it the first day I say it can be played.

—You have warped views on when you’re allowed to start playing Christmas music. We hadn’t even gotten to the pumpkin pie yet.

—Everyone knows that Thanksgiving is the first day of the year you’re allowed to listen to Christmas music. I’m telling you now, there’s going to be a fight this year if you make me wait until the day after again.

—Ok, well, whatever. Now, getting back to what we should put on, how about some Dylan? Fits right in with your New York fixation.

—He’s from Minnesota.

—But he adopted New York as his home, especially early in his career. Not unlike you, I daresay.

—You are about to lose your thumbs.

—Ok, ok. But seriously, how about some Blood on the Tracks? That’s appropriately sad since we’re on the subject. The greatest breakup album of all time. We can even listen to the New York sessions, if you want.

—Har har.

—What’s your favorite Dylan album?

—Which one has “Times They Are a-Changin’”?

—Strangely enough, it’s on an album called Times They Are a-Changin’.

—Then that one. And the one “Hurricane”’s on.

—Desire. Good one. I guess I’ll skip asking you your favorite Dylan songs. . . .

—He’s alright, but I can’t say he’s really taken off for me yet.

—You need to sit down and listen to Blood on the Tracks. Or my other two faves of his: Highway 61 Revisited and Bringing It All Back Home. But his entire catalog is populated with great stuff. The first half of Freewheelin’ is like number 3.5 on my list. Time Out of Mind is brilliant. “Tryin’ To Get To Heaven” through to the end is perfect. Love and Theft and Modern Times are nearly its equal. Another Side is worth noting, as well. “My Back Pages” is perhaps his finest work of pure poetry.

—I’ll listen to it all someday.

—I mean, the last four songs on Bringing It All Back Home are probably the best consecutive four songs on any album ever made. Though not quite the best side of any record ever because Abbey Road side B. But he’s so essential. Half the time, I’m listening to Dylan wondering why we need other music. Of course, the other half of the time I’m listening to Joni and wondering the same thing.

—My supposed obsession with New York has nothing on your obsessions. And why again are you insisting that we listen to something sad?

—Ok then, not sad. How about the Stones?

—I still have the biggest crush on Mick, I don’t care if he’s like one hundred and two.

—So gross.

—So hot.

—No matter how many times I see Mick Jagger, his lips and mouth are always surprisingly, abnormally large.

—They get me every time. Every. Single. Time.

—If you’re going to go for a fogey, I’d strangely be more ok with you lusting after Bowie. And hey, speaking of, how about putting on some Bowie?

—Diamond Dogs?

—I was thinking more the later, post-Let’s Dance era.

—I like the old stuff.

—I do too. Ziggy Stardust is an album I can listen to any day, any time, any mood, and still be floored by it and find new things. No album has a better first four and final three songs.

—Sound and Vision is the worst Bowie song though.

—Wait, what? I mean, what? First of all, Sound and Vision isn’t on Ziggy Stardust.

—I didn’t say it was, I just said it was the worst Bowie song.

—And second, what the fuck? I will not cry at your funeral.

—That’s up to you.

—Anyway. God. Anyway. I was going to say his recent stuff is criminally underrated. Like his latest. It’s his best album in 33 years, since at least Lodger. The f-ed up thing is that it’s probably not even in his top ten. That’s how good he is. For anyone else, The Next Day would be an unsurpassable high water mark, for Bowie it’s just business as usual.

— . . .

—And you might think it’s just full of pop magic but he’s really innovating, too. There are horns on one track not normally found in a Bowie song. Another song has this spare drumbeat mixed with paranoid lyrics and an organ chorus that makes things feel fresh again. He and Visconti really took steps forward with the production. Many of the songs are layered with backing vocals, drum tracks, and percussion that blend in too seamlessly if you don’t listen carefully. You know what Phillip Glass said about Bowie, right?

—What?

—He said Bowie makes quote “fairly complex pieces of music, masquerading as simple pieces,” unquote. That compliment definitely applies to The Next Day. Bowie’s so good though. I used to think Beggars Banquet through Exile was the best four-album stretch in music history. Then I thought Another Side through Blonde on Blonde was. But if you consider that between Man Who Sold the World in 1970 and Scary Monsters in ‘80, Bowie made 10 classics, it just becomes the obvious answer. That run is unprecedented.

—Ten classics, really?

—Arguably. Almost certainly seven or eight.

—Hate to be the album that’s making you say seven instead of eight. Poor near-miss classic!

—I can guide you through late-period Bowie. It’d be fun! I’m inclined to start you on Earthling.

—What’s that?

—Album from 1997. Really needlessly bashed. It’s ridiculous. It’s his greatest album post-Berlin. If there was a music equivalent of a film maudit, I’d nominate Earthling for it. Plus one.

—You can’t go making up words to inflate your score.

—I didn’t. I deliberately used “film maudit,” which is a real term.

—Is it though? It’s just a corruption of the actual term “poète maudit.”

—I’ve never even heard of that. Are you sure it pre-dates “film maudit?”

—Considering that Verlaine published a work called “Les poètes maudits” in 1884, 11 years before the motion picture camera was invented, I’d say yeah, it pre-dates it.

— . . .

—Plus two.

—Ok ok. Getting back to what we’re putting on . . . how about Pearl Jam?

—Nah.

—Can we at least talk about how Breathe is one of their best songs?

—No.

—I was thinking the other day that they could do a really a really good “Powderfinger.” It’s one of my favorite Neil Young songs and I think it would work. How about Dinosaur Jr.?

—Uhh. . . .

—They’re eye-opening. My life can be divided into two stages: before I first listened to Dinosaur Jr. and after I first listened to Dinosaur Jr. But I guess we’ll shelve them for now.

—Hey how about the new Daft Punk?

—Is that a joke?

—Of course. I’m just trying to wind you up.

—Have critics giving Daft Punk's Random Access Memories perfect scores and calling it absolutely unique and unprecedented listened to St. Etienne's Words and Music? It is so much more rewarding than RAM. Then again, almost anything would be more rewarding. You can do anything in the time it takes to listen to that album, and it'll probably be better than said album.

—Haha.

—But on to more serious suggestions . . . hmm . . . Lisa Germano?

—She’s great.

—She’s more than great. She’s probably the most criminally underrated act of the ‘90s. If I had listened to her before doing my list for Cut Brakeline, she definitely would’ve been on it. Geek the Girl is one of the best of that decade. Happiness, too.

—I love a lot of her last album.

—It’s a gem.

—There were a lot of good female-fronted acts last year.

—Agreed. Chvrches, Savages.

—Julia Holter, Torres, Laura Marling.

—Ooo, good one. I couldn’t stay friends with someone who doesn’t listen to the new Laura Marling album. There’s also Lorde, Jenny Hval, Janelle Monae.

—Rhye.

—What?

—Rhye.

— . . . That’s a dude.

—What??

—Rhye is comprised of two guys. Males.

—No!

—Yep.

—You’re lying!

—Here . . . look.

—Ohmigod, I’m so embarrassed.

—Don’t be, it’s an honest mistake.

—I’m trying to remember who was around every time I’ve referred to him as a girl.

—It’s ok, seriously, I bet they get that a lot. I mean, listen to him.

—I’m absolutely mortified. Stop laughing!

—I’m sorry, it’s fine, really.

—So . . . have we settled on Lisa Germano? Stop!

—I’m stopping!

—Don’t make me pull over and hit you.

—Ok ok, I’m done. Hey, speaking of great ‘90s albums, it recently came to my attention the fiddler in John Mellancamp’s band released a couple of the best and most innovative albums of the ‘90s? How ridiculous is that?

—I’m vetoing that one.

—I wasn’t suggesting we put it on, I was just saying. How about Nirvana Unplugged? I’m somehow stuck in the best of ‘90s all of a sudden. . . .

—I like the studio albums better.

—I vehemently disagree. There’s the fine covers of Bowie and Meat Puppets, and it’s hard to tell if it’s more impressive that they are all arguably better than the originals or that they fit in so seamlessly with Cobain’s originals. This is the album that made it clear that Kurt was more than just a punk who understood pop, or vice versa; he was one of the ‘90s truly great songwriters.

—I still like the proper albums better though. It hit me a certain way.

—They’re great, don’t get me wrong. Listening to Nirvana after not listening to Nirvana for a long time makes you realize what great pop really sounds like.

—If they were still around, we would see all the concerts.

—Some people in my Twitter feed were talking about seeing Nirvana live and I’m not sure if that meant I’m really young or everyone else is really old. Did I tell you I got invited to something hosted by Steve Buscemi next week, and I thought the invitation said Steve Albini?

—Ouch.

—Yeah, I was sad for most of the day.

—Imagine if you had shown up?

—I know.

—What a let-down that would’ve been.

—It’s a let-down even now. I haven’t been this disappointed since you told me there was a new Kanye coming and I thought you meant an album but you meant the shoe.

—Ha, I knew exactly what I was doing, though.

—Hey how about My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy? Isn’t it about time you gave it another shot?

—No no no.

—Sometimes I think the first track of that album through Monster is the epitome of 21st century musical achievement.

—Are you kidding me?

—I love putting it on. When I’m working from home I can turn it up to maximum volume and then work is awesome. It’s damn near a perfect album.

—Perfect? Meaning every single song is flawless?

—Well, when discussing albums as a medium, it’s probably more useful talking about the gestalt over getting into the granularity of individual tracks. But basically, yes, every song is great. Well, actually Blame Game isn’t that great. It amuses me that Aphex Twin accuses Ye of plagiarizing him on that track, especially since the parts aren’t that similar. To be honest, I don’t get why you don’t like him.

—Aphex Twin?

—No, Kanye.

—Well, I’m amused by him and I certainly admire his ambition.

—Through all the bluster, he is our most important artist working in music today.

—If that’s true, it just makes me that much sadder that Cobain is gone.

—Someone on Facebook who I haven’t talked to since middle school asked everyone to rank Kanye’s albums and I only wrote 2000 words of justification.

—Don’t send me that.

—Ha ha. Oh, Cobain reminds me, free associatively: wasn’t In Bloom good?

—So good.

—Reminded me of the Romanian New Wave in lot of ways, like The Paper Will Be Blue.  It was Georgia’s Oscar entry but didn’t get nominated, so you know it’s good.

—The only question is: is it better than the song?

—Of course not. It’s funny how that works . . . I can think of a few like that right off the top of my head, where the song trumps its namesake movie. Kanye’s Robocop is better than the film. Both of them, it goes without saying. As Tears Go By, better as a song.

—Pretty Woman.

—Blue Velvet, though most would consider that blasphemy. Springsteen’s Badlands, but that’s really close.

—Loser. My Girl.

—New York, New York. Bowie’s Starman.

—Are there ones where the movie’s better?

—Hmm. Boogie Nights. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, though both kind of suck.

—Not the novella! Best novella ever.

—I’ll give you that one. Oh, I’d also take Godard’s Breathless over Jerry Lee Lewis’s.

—E.T.

—Mulholland Drive. Vertigo.

—U2’s or The Libertines’?

—Both. Where would you put Roxanne?

—Ooo, good one. Those are like dead even.

—I feel the same. Both good, not great. And Stand By Me the song edges out the movie.

—I’d even say by a wide margin.

—And don’t even make me chose between Kate Bush’s Red Shoes and the Powell film. I can’t do it, I refuse to even consider it.

—I won’t make you. And there’s also Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights,” which, like “Tiffany’s,” begs the question: Book, song, or movie-slash-movies?

—I don’t know about the book but as for greatest adaptation, it’s a no duh scenario: Kate Bush’s song is obviously the best. Though Bunuel’s adaptation is a really good one, particularly the first act and the end.

—How do you know what the best adaptation is if you haven’t read the book yet?

—I’m just basing it on which is the better art, not how faithful it is. I do know that most adaptations only bother with the first half of the book.

—Nice little factoid you got there. Let’s plant it and see if it will grow.

—Ha. How about another? Boris Groys recently said in class that David Lynch is good but Bunuel is better.

—Hm.

—Anyways, isn’t Kate Bush the best though, really? And did you hear what she announced for her upcoming tour?

—What?

—As if she wasn’t already awesome enough, she’s requesting fans not to use their phones or iPads or cameras at her shows.

—I love her.

—I still feel a twinge of regret that I just didn’t book that trip to the UK. I know that I wouldn’t have regretted it, ultimately. I can’t imagine being on my deathbed and going “Gee, I really wish I didn’t fly all the way across the Atlantic just to go to a Kate Bush concert.”

—We should’ve just gone for it.

—Hey, you want the rest of this trail mix?

—Sure.

—I have to warn you, I ate all the M&Ms, cashews, and raisins. All that’s left are the Pretzels, almonds, and the banana chips.

—Why thank you, I didn’t know you were capable of such a beau geste. Plus one.

—What do you mean?

—Beau geste? It means . . .

—No, I mean why are you thanking me?

—For leaving me the best parts of the trail mix?

—Are you kidding? Is that a joke?

—No.

—Ugh. Those things are at the bottom of my Trail Mix rankings.

—That’s so wrong. Grounds for a break-up right there. Raisins? That’s one of your favorites? Really?

—Yep!

—And the candy? Why don’t you just buy a bag of peanut M&Ms? It sounds like that’s what you really want.

—I like the variety. If I wanted to eat just M&Ms, I would. And they certainly wouldn’t be peanut ones. Plain is better than peanut, and peanut butter is better than both.

—You mean Reese’s Pieces?

—No. Peanut Butter M&Ms. You clearly don’t know the distinction.

—Clearly.

—I would’ve expected that you’d have a better handle on the mass market treats. Kit Kats, Twix, Butterfingers . . . that’s your domain.

—Mmm, so delicious.

—I find most of that stuff tasteless, to be honest. Not like See’s Candy, Ghirardelli, and Charbonnel et Walker.

—I like those too, but sometimes they are too rich.

—I simply don’t believe in “too rich.” They’re genuinely great. Plus it’s what I grew up with. Reese’s and Cadbury are admittedly very good, though I never had them growing up.

—Hey, did you just see that sign for a “Deer Hunting Camp?” Man, upstate New York, I don’t even know. I can’t wait until we cross the border.

—I seem to think about crossing that border on a daily basis. It used to be that whenever there was a school or mass shooting I would say I’m going to move to Canada. Now I genuinely think it every day. What a country we live in that our response to a school shooting is “Oh, another one? That sucks” and go about our business as usual. I’m 100% convinced that Canada is a better country than the USA even on my happiest, most carefree days. That latest shooter was treated for mental health issues for years, and still owned a shotgun.

—I don’t even want to discuss this. It’s too upsetting.

—Ok. Canada does sound awesome, though. I heard that Montreal has a Six Flags and their art museum is free.

—If waiting to get into that free museum is anything like the Pay What You Want Night line for the Guggenheim, count me out.

—It’s probably not even close to that since it’s free every day.

—Anything like that in Toronto?

—Not sure.

—We should go to Montréal sometime.

—I want to.

—I thoroughly enjoy accenting the “e” in Montréal. Français, amiright? Does it count?

—Hell no.

—You are a stickler for the rules.

—In this case, I am unyielding on them. I will win this.

—I need to get a boyfriend who lets me win little contests because he loves me and wants me to feel good.

—Well right now you got a cutthroat, competitive one to deal with.

—Well a few humbling losses should tamp down that obnoxious spirit of yours.

—We shall see.

—I did learn a helpful French statement, courtesy of Google translate. “Si il vous plaît excuser mon éducation américaine”

—Ha.

—You understood that?

—I got the gist. You know, we might not want to flaunt our American-ness too much. Americans might be personae non grata up there, or if they aren’t they probably should be. Plus one.

—That’s Latin, not French.

—Oh yeah. Whoops.

—I know what you mean though. I really hope we don’t find ourselves de trop by the locals. Plus one.

—Rrr. What’s the score?

—A billion to two? Something like that?

—Yeah yeah yeah. Really though, let’s start hashing out the plan. We still haven’t talked about the itinerary when we get there.

—I know it’s silly and touristy, but I still want to hit all the major landmarks.

—Only appropriate since we are hitting Niagara Falls on the way there.

—You have to. To just pass it over because it’s too well known or something is dumb. Just because something is emblematic doesn’t mean it has any less appeal, necessarily.

—Icons are revered for a reason.

—In the same spirit, we have to check out the space needle.

—Of course. Probably won’t hold a candle to ours back home.

—Well I should hope not. We are the best, after all.

—USA! USA!

—Well, I wouldn’t go so far as out and out nationalism, but I wouldn’t mind being a jingo for Seattle.

—I’d be right there with you.

—I actually asked on Twitter if anyone knew of any good places to eat. Someone suggested Queen Street West and the Little Italy area. And someone else suggested I eat the poutine, though I doubt we’ll find a place with vegetarian gravy.

—I definitely want to try that.

—I knew you would.

—Their meat dishes seem decadent in comparison to what we have in the states. The tourtières, pâté chinois, Ragoût de boulettes. I believe that’s plus three?

—Those don’t count! Exclusively Canadian terms. I’ll leave the slaughtered animal product to you I suppose, but I, for one, want to try all the desserts. The whippet cookies, the St. Catherine’s taffy, the petits fours. Which, by the way, does count. Plus one.

—I want to dine on your petit fourchette.

—You’re so vulgar.

—I’m not even going to take the point on that one, that’s what a gentleman I am.

—Uh huh. Anyway, there is this burger place that Kim recommended that she says serves amazing tofu burgers, though I’ll eat my cutest hat if it’s better than Katsu.

—Oh wow, you’re going to make me miss Seattle so much.

—How do you think I feel? I have dreams about Katsu.

—Do they have gyros, this place you got the recommendation to?

—No idea.

—I’m really high on good gyros these days. Did you know Howard pronounces it “jye-row”?

—Really?

—Yeah. I’ve been thinking if there was some non-asshole way of correcting him. It seems that any correction would give off an air of superiority or worldliness. I’ve determined there just isn’t a way to bring it up to him.

—You could put it to him gently. You could buy him dinner first.

—Yeah . . . and order a gyro!

—Well, there’s your solution.

—Perfect!

—Anywhere else we should go while we’re up there? I do want to have time to just wander around, to just be flaneurs. Plus one.

—John wants us to go to the Silver Snail and take some pics.

—What’s that?

—A comic book store.

—Is it like famous or something?

—Is there such thing as a famous comic book store? He wants me to pick up a Spider-man comic for him, something like that.

—Well, do we have to?

—God no. I’ll just tell him I forgot. I can’t believe he still reads comic books at 21. More than a little pathetic, if you ask me.

—Don’t bash the entire medium based on a few instantiations of male-driven fantasy. It’d be like impugning the entire film medium based on Debbie Does Dallas.

—I actually read a really interesting piece the other week that attempts to recontextualize that movie.

—Somehow I knew you were going to say that.

—Still, comics. At the end of the day, John reads stuff involving mutants and whatnot.

—I read a good graphic novel the other day.

—Oh?

—Yeah, Encyclopedia of Early Earth by Isobel Greenberg. It’s really good. I read it as slowly as possible because I didn’t want it to end.

—Yeah? I’ll put it on the list.

—Oh, and how about Kate Beaton’s work? We should’ve totally read her before the trip. It would’ve totally brought us up to speed on Canadian history.

—What, you aren’t an expert on our neighbors to the north?

—My knowledge of Canadian history extends to like, one time the Americans and British almost had a war over a pig? Or something?

—Yeah, something like that. If our experience up there is anything like Philadelphia, I’ll be pleased. I didn't expect to like Philadelphia but I had to admit that most of that city is pretty cool and the history genuinely moved me.

—Oh you know what? Someone commented on my Awl article last week, the one about porn and art? He recommended Alan Moore’s Lost Girls. I looked it up. It takes on the goal of redefining pornography. Looks interesting.

—Redefine porn? Isn’t that what we did last night?

—I don’t think having Brakhage on in the background qualifies.

—It certainly was the most interesting session we’ve had this year so far.

—If you say so.

—I’m thinking of writing a piece on it.

—If you do, don’t you dare include my name in it.

—Well, wouldn’t it be kind of obvious? Who else would I be talking about?

—One of your many mistresses maybe?

—So so many. Hey, maybe next time we can borrow that copy of Songs About Fucking I got Gerald for Christmas and have that on in the background? Meta enough for you?

—I hate everything about that album. I hate the music, I hate that you bought it for your roommate, everything.

—You just need someone to explain to you what a Colombian necktie is. Then you’ll be able to fully appreciate it.

—I seriously doubt it.  Um, what are you doing?

—What does it look like?

—Do you want to get in an accident?

—I have to say, I like the easy access of this dress.

—It’s a skirt!

—Whatever.

—Why is this so hard for you??

—All I know is that it wouldn’t pass some school systems’ dress codes.

—I actually had someone say to me the other day, “Hey, I didn’t know you even owned pants.”

—Do you?

—One pair.

—That makes two of us.

—Mm Hm.

— . . .

— . . .

—Do you see what I did there?

—Well, I didn’t actually see it, but I felt it. . . .

—No no. “A pair”, “two of us”?

— . . .

—Get it?

—Just concentrate on what you’re doing, Tofurkey.

— . . .

—Mmm. So . . . anywhere else . . . you want to . . . go . . . ? Mmm.

—Blue Jays tickets still available on StubHub.

—We’re not going to a baseball game.

—The SkyDome counts as a tourist attraction. Well, technically it’s the Rogers Centre.

—No.

—Scherzer vs. Dickey on Saturday. That’s my guy, ole Matty. On fire to start the season. Mad fantasy points.

—You always get terse and staccato when you talk about sports. And I can’t help but notice you’ve stopped paying attention to your fingers.

—Get this: my three starting pitchers last night had twenty-three IP, thirty-two Ks, two base on balls, and zero wins.

—Annnd I’m done. Also, I understood exactly none of that sentence.

—I got to get into a league that doesn’t factor wins. Such an out-moded stat.

—Uh huh.

—We really have to watch a game together.

—We have.

—No, that doesn’t count. I meant on TV, with no distractions. I know you would appreciate it more if we could focus exclusively on the game.

—I had fun, it was fun. What more is there?

—Admit it, your attention was more on the concessions than the game. There’s a real beauty to baseball I don’t think you’re getting.

—I do wish more was happening.

—What a terrible thing to wish. The game is all about the pauses, the gravid moments of stasis that harbor the most thrilling tension you can find in any sport.

—So like golf must be the most thrilling sport of all if you value quiescence in your sporting events then, huh?

—Baseball reveals its pleasures slowly to you, and you are better for them. Learning to appreciate baseball takes patience, effort, and usually help. But it’s incredibly rewarding. The only thing that comes close is hockey, which is closest to baseball in terms of depth.

—What about basketball?

—Basketball is the very definition of a shallow, low-calorie sport.

—But my favorite team is a basketball team!

—Huh? What team?

—Cleveland.

—Why is that your favorite team?

—Because they’re named after baby cows.

—What? What are you talking about?

—They’re the Calves, right?

—    . . .

—Right?

—I can’t even. You have to learn more about baseball, Miss M. Baseball is the Persona or Last Year at Marienbad to the other sports’ summer blockbusters. 

—I guess it’s a sport that will just have to remain as mysterious to me as those films are.

—Not to mention that the sport says a lot about our history. A-Rod is basically the story of America.

—Oh god, you’re not going to start mansplaining are you?

—No!

—Although if the opportunity ever came up I would totally date Justin Verlander, just saying.

—Could you date an athlete?

—Sure. Mom says I shouldn’t, especially a baseball player cuz of all the away games. She also told me if things didn’t work out with you, I should think about Russell Wilson. She says I need to be more in tune to Russell Wilson. But really, Verlander’s got this girl’s heart.

—I wouldn’t mind you dating him. You could snag us box seats.

—Sorry, when I date someone, it’s exclusive.

—Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?

—I don’t think Justey V would like that.

—Ugh, please don’t call him that again.

—It’s his pet name.

—Pet name? That’s disgusting.

—Pet names are a guard against loss, like primitive music. You don’t even want to know what he would call me.

—I could hazard a guess or two.

—So I’m assuming you wouldn’t have a problem with me dating Bruce Springsteen either?

—Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be able to begrudge someone dating the Boss.

—I think I have a minor crush on him after reading his By the Book in the Times. He like covered all the bases: Flannery O’Connor, Chekhov, Philip Roth, Tolstoy. And Moby-Dick, of course. He also singled out Blood Meridian.

—That book is so good. The last paragraph still gives me nightmares.

—He has impeccable taste, Springsteen..

—Reminds me of something I just realized: you know that keyboard part at the end of The National’s “Don’t Swallow the Cap?” It’s beautiful but it’s taken directly from Springsteen’s live versions of “The River.”

—Ok.

—Did Bruce mention any films in that article?

—Well, since it was “By the Book,” no. But you could tell he was just itching to talk about Persona but didn’t know how to work it in.

—Ha ha. Oh wait, I meant that the National piano line is very similar to the one in “Racing In The Street,” not “The River.” And speaking of Persona, there was so much talking at the start when I saw it at the MoMA last week. And then afterward I overheard complaints about its “nonlinear narrative.” At the MoMA!

—There are fewer and fewer places to appreciate art these days. That’s why great theaters are worth fighting for, like the Egyptian back home.

—Bergman’s so good. Along with Rohmer, Kieslowski, the Dardennes, and Ozu, I’d say he is one of cinema’s greatest humanist directors. And Persona is especially good. I don’t get the criticism leveled against that film sometimes. Well, actually I do understand it, a little. Calling Bergman “old-fashioned” or overly serious are attacks founded on false premises, but I do understand them. But to apply those same critiques to Persona utterly perplexes me. If anything, this is the film where Bergman sides with his critics.

— . . .

—On a related note, Sven Nykvist was clearly one of the masters, and the way he captures light in the eyes of his subjects is astonishing. Bergman is, I think, one of the best directors of actors, and Nykvist’s lighting makes every tic and gesture in a close-up hyper-semiotic.

— . . .

—I think my favorite decade for movies is the ‘60s. Both Marienbad and Persona came out in the ‘60s and those are my numbers one and two of all time.

—French new wave stuff, too, a lot of which makes me swoon.

—Yep. Plus 2001, La Jetée, The Birds, Andrei Rublev, The Exterminating Angel . . .

—I love Exterminating Angel. Love love love it.

—And there’s also some personal faves of mine like Dog Star Man and The House is Black that came out in the ‘60s. All those Godards though. What’s your favorite Godard?

—I’m not sure. . . .

—Hm, I think mine’s Contempt.

—I love that one. What else has he done? You keep better track of what I’ve seen than me.

—You’ve seen Breathless, Vivre Sa Vie . . .

—Eric really wants me to see Weekend. He says it’s the best movie of the ‘60s. Have I seen that one yet?

—No, but Contempt is better. He’s a great director but I don’t like this automatic worship he inspires. Not everything he does is infallible. He’s directed some bad movies.

—Yeah, like the one where the guy and girl go to live together at the beach. I hate that one.

—Pierrot Le Fou? You love that one.

—No no the one I love is Le Petit Soldat.

—No. . . .

—Wait is that the one where someone gets tortured in the bathroom or something?

—Yes, that’s Le Petit Soldat.

—Okay right that’s the one I like, not the beach one.

—But after we watched Pierrot Le Fou I remember you saying how much you liked it.

—I say that after every Godard. Except Alphaville. I hate that one too.

—Well, Contempt is better than them all, so whatever. Oh yeah, there’s something we should check out at the MoMA in a couple weeks.

—As long as it’s not an exhibit. My idea of a good time isn’t having my view of The Starry Night being obscured by about 50 people pointing their phones at it.

—No, it’s a movie. Blue.

—Kieslowski’s?

—No, Derek Jarman’s.

—What is it about?

—You did not just say that.

—Ok then, what are the constituent elements of this film, both diegetic and otherwise?

—Ha ha. Jarman is an experimental British film director . . .

—Does he have that really dry wit that most British artists seem to have?

—Do you want to hear this or not?

—Sorry, go ahead.

—He’s British and he made all these really interesting-sounding films, a lot of it in 8-millimeter. Blue is his most well-known work. It’s nothing but 79 minutes of a blue screen with a voiceover of his thoughts and dreams and stuff.

—Groan.

—He was also a gay activist. A really interesting guy.

—Well, I guess we’ll see how interesting he is.

—You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.

—No, I’ll go. Of course I will.

— . . .

— . . .

—Since when do you say “groan”?

— . . .

— . . .

—One thing I actually really want to go to at the MoMA is the Hungarian film festival.

—Oh yeah, definitely. So much stuff I’m not overly familiar with.

—We have to watch every Tarr, though.            

—Of course. I can’t believe he retired at the age of 56. That’s, what, thirty years of Bela Tarr films and Mihály Víg scores we don’t get?

—I know right?

—But Pete was also filling me in on all the others we have to see. There’s some sort of New Wave happening over there right now. Szabó, Janscó, Karolay Makk, Marta Meszaros, Zoltán Huszárik . . . they’re all doing amazing stuff.

—I need to see The Turin Horse.

—Sure sure. We’ll fit in your populist stuff, don’t worry.

— . . .

—Don’t hit me.

— . . .

—I actually think you’ve come a long way. Remember when your favorite “cult movie” was Time Bandits?

— . . .

—Oh, c’mon, I’m just kidding around.

—I’m just sitting here, trying to think of a way not to talk about movies for the rest of the trip.

—Might be hard in present company.

—I know, but I’m up to the challenge. Oh that reminds me though, if you want a good essay, try Jacques Rancière’s essay on Tarr. Amazing stuff.

—Remind me about it later.

—I also liked  Rancière’s Intervals of Cinema. He talks about the relation between film, theater, and literature.

—That sounds like something I need to read. Immediately.

—You might have to ILL it. I tried to get Shoreline to order it but they deemed it “too specialized.” Plebes.

—The NYU library is pretty extensive. I bet they’d have it already. You’d be surprised with how many books just on melodrama they have.

—What’s your definition of melodrama again? Because my lit teacher used it pejoratively again last week.

—Well, the way I use it is in opposition to psychological realism. Melodramas are often about finding and asserting moral right and virtue. The characters are types, defined by social forces. Conversely, a character study is about an individual. Your professor was using an outdated definition.

—Ok. . . .

—I can give you some Linda Williams’ essays that would make the distinction more clear.

—No, that’s ok. I think I get it.

—The problem is that a lot of people don’t understand what it means, even people who should know better. Like someone on film Twitter referred to The Immigrant as “melodrama for bros.” He meant it as a negative, but I had to wonder: is that necessarily bad? There are many things to admire in The Immigrant. The way Gray uses the close-up, how he sets up and then breaks down the Manichean types that mark melodrama. Also the confounding and unexpected performance he gets from Phoenix, the subtle-but-important reflexive flourishes. It’s the best film of the year, I think, after Closed Curtain, obviously. So beautiful, confident, and realized. Filmmakers who can get an honest, earned tear from the audience and find tragedy and significance in everyday life—especially in our postmodern age—are valuable. Gray is a sincere melodramist who creates extremely lived-in worlds who knows how to use expressionist light and music. He’s one of the best recent-ish English language directors, in my opinion.

—I thought it was all right.

—Part of the paper I’m writing now for class tackles some of the misconceptions about melodrama. The problem that some people have is that they impose a psychoanalytic take on its dynamics. Never mind that the reasoning is usually flawed, but I also have a problem with psychoanalysis in general, as you know.

—Who doesn’t, really?

—It’s inherently patriarchal. Everything is decided by who has a penis and who doesn’t, which is incredibly reductive.

— . . .

—I might be able to fit in a critique but it’s such a massive undertaking already and I must confess I’m having a fair amount of trouble with it. Next time I decide it’s a good idea to write a final paper on Mulvey and castration anxiety, please stop me.

—Will do.

—I’m so masochistic with my assignments sometimes. I just submitted a paper proposal that would require repeatedly watching Window Water Baby Moving and Act of Seeing With One’s Own Eyes.

—You’re such a faker. You’ll love it and you know it.

—I know. But seriously, we have to figure out this music thing right now.

—Is it really driving you crazy that much? The sound of my voice alone not doing it for you?

—How about a little Jagwar Ma?

—Um, I think that’s a little too much for a long drive.

—I wasn’t saying we should listen to like seven straight hours of them.

—Did I tell you ever since we watched Satantango I can’t stop measuring everything by its length? Like I’ll think, “This class is 4/7ths of Satantango.”

—So this drive is basically a Satantango.

—Exactly. Which is longer than it takes to read the book, by the way.

—Is that a hint?

—Not at all, I was just mentioning it as a curiosity.

—It’s definitely on the list.

—It’s good but you did just watch a pretty faithful translation of it. I’d rather you read Submergence or Bobcat or something. Something that got basically no notice.

—How about some music from your favorite Beatle?

—I love Paul. Hey Jude might be the best song ever, if Eleanor Rigby isn’t.

—Great stuff, though you know that Here Comes the Sun is the best Beatles song, yes?

—If you say so.

—Paul is the best though. Driving Rain is so underrated.

—How good is he that he is recognized as the best, and he’s still underrated?

—You know what’s gotten near universal acclaim and is still underrated? Reflecktor.

—I know.

—I’m still high on that album.

—Me too.

—There’s so much to say about it.

—I still haven’t gotten through that email you sent me.

—What? Why not?

—It’s like 10 pages long.

—It’s only 2,500 words.

—It was a lot to take in at the time.

—Granted, that is a ton of words.

—I promised myself I’d get back to it and just kind of forgot about it.

—It lays out all I wanted to say, at the time. There’s probably twice or thrice more to say about it now.

—I still intend to read it.

—I might take a look at it, refashion it into something a lot bigger, something I might be able to place somewhere. Someday I will write an enormous manifesto on the merits of that album.

—It’s already pretty long.

—It took me forever to write. But it was so satisfying, getting all my thoughts down about it, you know. Here Comes the Night and Oh Eurydice/Oh Orpheus blow me away every time.

—Orpheus is amazing.

—The whole album is amazing. I don’t get the few people who don’t like it. The rare criticism you hear of it is pretty dumb, too. Most were people making Eno references who don’t know Eno.

—That’s why I tend to stay away from critical writing.

—Even mine?

—Most of the time.

—I know you’re joking, but did you ever read that essay I did on Blue is the Warmest Color?

—I admit it’s still on the pile.

—Really though, read it. It was such a fascinating film to write about. And actually putting my thoughts down on paper really clarified for me how life imitates art in the film, and how that imitation is informed by style, form, and structure.

—I thought it was great. The movie. Really honest, really heart-breaking.

—And the food! It’s all about the food!

—I’ve already heard you go off on this.

—Yeah, but I develop it so much more in the essay.

—The only issue I have with it is the egregious male gaze. It’s as if the director had never even met a lesbian before.

—It would’ve been better if it was directed by a woman. But then it probably wouldn’t have gotten all the critical attention it received.

—How sad and pathetic is that?

—Critics are overwhelmingly male so certain films don’t get their deserved credit. It’s an obstacle for female directors. You see this in great films like Stories We Tell and Ginger and Rosa, both of which were ignored and went over much better for females. It’s a bias that male critics have that male-directed films are better and it persists because they can’t relate to female-centered films.

—I hated Stories We Tell.

—I know you didn’t think it was the greatest, but hated?

—I can singlehandedly counterbalance all your Stories We Tell love with my all-encompassing, passionate dislike for each and every second of it.

—It’s interesting how I like female-directed movies more than you do, it seems like.

—What?

—You hated Stories We Tell, you had problems with Wadja, you disliked Selma.

—I like good movies. Is that so hard to understand? Stories was dishonest, Wadja was bland, Selma was boringly by-the-numbers. If you adapted a Wikipedia entry into a film, it would be Selma.

—Heh, that’s actually a pretty good description. Or is it a diss-cription?

—I like when films are directed by women. I was so psyched when I found out there are thirty female directors at Tribeca this year, including Crystal Moselle! There are no more excuses for the underrepresentation of women at events like this. So I do believe I care more about women directors than you, but I will give you that you’re definitely more into actresses. I think a big part of why you like Shirin so much is that it stays on a close up of Binoche’s face for a big chunk of it. And the way you were practically drooling over the actress in L’Avventura.

—I must admit I had some serious male gaze moments when Vitti was on screen. She’s so beautiful. Also Rita Hayworth. She was so good in Gilda. Gilda is what happens when an amazing performance is in a routine and overly didactic film. One of the best arguments for actor as auteur.

—You’re just more up on all of them for some reason. Well, I know what reason.

—Come on.

—I mean for some reason besides the obvious. I just am not versed in actresses. Like I literally do not know who any of that new Ghostbusters cast is.

—Yes you do. You know who Kristen Wiig is.

—You could put a gun to my head and ask me to name a film she’s in and I’d be like, “Melancholia?”

—No.

—Yup.

—Well, anyway, I really want you to read that Blue is the Warmest Color essay I wrote. You can judge it on a line by line basis too. I’m really working on improving my writing. I’m trying to look closer at it, taking particular notice of any repetitions. I really need to learn more transitional phrases. I’m trying also to write more. I’m hoping that “more” will lead to “better,” which will hopefully lead to “paid.”

—If you want my advice, work on your plainness, and your restraint. I find that maturity in writing comes from learning what doesn’t need to be said. It’s the unspoken subtleties of language that floor us, not grandiloquent proclamations and romantic descriptions.

—So no sweep-you-off-your-feet prose then?

—You can do that with plain writing. By holding back, you can unleash a world.

—Good advice. It’d help if Cut Brakeline commissioned more extensive pieces, so I’d have more room to play around in and get better. These days it seems like all we do are lists and quizzes. We’re being asked to make our best films of the ‘50s list. I was talking to Pete and told him that my list was probably going to be exclusively films by Hitchcock, Ray, and Bergman. He told me that everyone has seen Hitchcocks, so why don't I cite some Wellman or Dwan or underground films, or stuff from Mexico. I asked him what titles I should watch and consider before making my list. He told me a bunch, I had to write them down, hold on a second . . .

—It doesn’t matter, I probably haven't heard of any of them.

—Ok, he told me to watch Cairo Station, Mother India, Pyaasa, School for Tramps, Come Back Africa, and Girl with Hyacinths.

—Yep, never heard of them. Guess I’m not a true cineaste.

—It’s ok, I’ve only considered myself one for about two years now. You’ll know you’re there when your phone starts autocorrecting “handle” to “Heneke,” like it is for me these days. Oh yeah, did you actually take that Buzzfeed quiz?

—Yeah. Yeah.

—Awful.

—I thought it was pretty . . . superficial.

—“How many Hitchcocks have you seen? How many Kubricks? How many Eastwoods?” Just so bad. Though, I am beginning to think I'm the only one who still likes both Mystic River and Million Dollar Baby.

—On the plus side, I scored pretty high.

—I could’ve written a better quiz four years ago, which is pathetic.

—If you would’ve written it, nobody would pass.

—Why, just because I’d have questions about the Sensory Ethnography Lab films and Bellocchio’s oeuvre?

—Among other obscure things, yes. Though I absolutely adore Manakamana.

—And Leviathan. One of the best of last year’s films.

—Absolutely.

—Hey, speaking of woefully superficial film-related things on the internet, did you see Time Out’s Top 100 animated films list?

—Yep.

—Notice any glaring omissions?

—Maybe. I’m sure you did.

—Well, I can’t help but notice the lack of recognition for a little film we saw a couple months ago called Tale of Tales. Its absence is inexcusable.

—I agree, basically. But an even bigger omission is It’s Such a Beautiful Day. I watched it two days in a row. It’s like the cinematic equivalent to In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buries, both in genius and devastation.

—Tale of Tales is better. I’m actually afraid that the new Garrone film will make Norshteyn’s less searchable. But the whole list was a bit narratively biased, if you ask me.

—They got the Miyazakis in, so I’m happy.

—Not to mention a little xenophobic.

—Two of the top three. Enough to almost swoon.

—It’s like we ignore all the films not made in our native language.

—Miyazakis are in Japanese, so that blows up your theory.

—You think those films would make any list if they weren’t dubbed with Hollywood stars’ voices?

—I don’t think the dubs are that bad.

—The quality of the dubs are beside the point.

—What is your point exactly? Isn’t it good that these great films reach a wider audience?

—I’m not arguing that. But do they have to be lauded at the expense of more deserving films that get shunted off to the side just because they aren’t as lovingly dubbed with the voice of the pixie Hollywood star du jour? Plus one.

—Should that even count? It’s soooo basic.

—Of course it counts. I had an interesting conversation about animation recently. We were reading Bazin in class, specifically his essay “The Evolution of the Film of Exploration.” It deals with realism in film, actual and depicted. It’s actually interesting because I think his positions weren’t far at all from the surrealists. Anyways, I always operated with the assumption that the impression of photographic reality is integral to cinema, even if it doesn’t necessarily reflect reality. But animation throws a monkey wrench into that whole formulation. Animated films are obviously films, but I wonder how different they are from live-action on an ontological level.

—Is it even worth discussing, or thinking about, really?

—Try this thought experiment: you know that film I was talking about, Derek Jarman’s Blue? What do you think makes that cinema but not a spoken-word album?

—Probably the blue on the screen.

—That’s fair.

— . . .

—It’s fun thinking about this stuff. Also with the paratextual. Linklater’s whole filmography seems to lean pretty heavily on it, for instance. Closed Curtain has a fair amount of it about it. You have to see it again.

—I think once is enough.

—It’s a true work of art! It’s about so many things, too. Digital filmmaking, the borders and possibilities of documentary, new-media surrealism. Truly, it makes the whole medium of film, if used for personal expression, feel so important.

—Yeah yeah yeah.

— . . .

— . . .

—So what’s with your Wind Rises obsession anyways? It’s not that great, and he’s done far, far better.

—You know what it is? I like the movie.

—It’s almost as bad as your fixation on New York. You must’ve been about to burst at the seams when we saw The Wind Rises at NYFF.

—It was the highlight for me, yes.

—It’s ok, but I wasn’t blown away.

—I loved it.

—Did you catch what I did there? “Blown away”?

—Yes. Clever.

—The controversy I think obfuscated the true quality of the film, too. It engendered sympathy, in a way. It was the Zero Dark Thirty of 2013.

—It was the best film we saw at the festival, for sure.

—That’s blasphemy. It didn’t hold a candle to The Missing Picture.

—Well, you’re the film critic, so you’re probably right. You’re probably right about the other thing too. I think we, meaning us Americans and the British, apparently, are dreadfully xenophobic.

— . . .

—And the quality of the dubs is beside the point.

—What?

—“Is,” not “are.”

—Yeah yeah yeah.

—You know what? We’re going to stop talking about this right now.

— . . .

—If you want to see a real BS list, you should check out the Guardian’s list of best female nudes in art. No Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2, or Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe, or even Conova’s Psyche and Cupid, for heaven’s sake.

—Mmhm.

—The Guardian went with the utterly sanitized. It was embarrassing to click on. I mean, Goltzius’ The Fall of Man? Wow, adventurous.

—Is that the one that’s in the National Gallery?

—Yes.

—My takeaway from that painting is how luscious the apple looked. Have you really looked at it? You can’t blame Eve when you look at that apple. I’d eat that apple.

—Thank you for weighing in on 17th Century apple art.

—Anyways, that list can’t be worse than New York Magazine’s list of 50 Most New York Albums Ever. It didn’t even include Rain Dogs. I mean, it’s goddamn Rain Dogs, come on. Or did you see Pitchfork’s latest? I stopped reading them altogether, to be honest, but then they make these lists and I’m exacerbated all over again because apparently the new War on Drugs is better than Janelle Monae.

—Uh, I think you mean “exasperated.”

—Yeah, ok. Yeah. I mean this on top of Pitchfork not having the best track-record when it comes to equality of the sexes.

—Lists are stupid.

—Can we get legislation passed banning them?

—Or at least issue permits so not everyone can make them?

—Oh, no universal ban? You still want your year-end lists, don’t you?

—A couple, sure.

—Those are the most crass and base of them all. You’ve got to stop being excited about them.

—It’s a guilty pleasure.

—Award shows, too. We have to stop watching them.

—Again, guilty pleasures. Well, not the NBAs. Those genuinely rock. The Maya Angelou speech last year was the highlight of any award show I’ve ever seen.

—That’s all well and good, but when you insist we have the Oscars on I question your judgment in this area.

—I didn’t want to miss what everyone was tweeting about.

—I was literally not paying attention to any of it. I missed everything. I was busy having a stimulating conversation with Paul about vulgar auteurism.

—Good for you. Sounds like something I didn’t exactly need to experience live to appreciate. Watching Hollywood stars in their glittery dresses on the other hand. . . .

—The problem is I think you really take those awards seriously, which is going to lead down a dark path in the future.

—What are you talking about?

—I heard you talking to Celeste. How she said either you or her would win a Pulitzer one day.

—Oh my, it was a joke!

—It just sounded as if she was regarding the Pulitzer as some sort of ultimate fulfillment. When it’s not.

—Oh wow, thanks for the newsflash. Headline: Pulitzer isn’t the be-all, end-all. Exclusive by Tom Cardaman.

—Yeah, dismiss it if you want. Try to pass it off as a joke. I could tell she was serious.

—Oh, she was. One of us, if not both, is going to get that sucker.

—I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.

—Then here’s a hint: deadly.

—Anyways, anyone who takes these awards too seriously comes off as just plain out-of-touch with reality and they invariably start to espouse these ludicrous ideas. Like I got in a mini argument with someone on Twitter about the Palme D’Or. His contention was that the Dardenne brothers shouldn’t even be in contention for the prize anymore since they’ve already won it twice. And if they do have a movie in contention, it shouldn’t win for the same reason. Then a bunch of people chimed in and they all gave their opinion on what the “right” Dardenne films to win the Palme should’ve been. Most were saying it was a shame L’Enfant won and not Le Fils, which would’ve had to trump The Pianist. Personally I wouldn’t have minded L’Enfant losing to Caché, but then people started arguing that that would’ve given three to Heneke. Personally I thought The Death of Mr. Lazarescu was the best film of all that year. But anyways, at this point, I got pretty exasperated at this “no one deserves three Palmes” objection people were raising. If someone has the best film in competition three times, they deserve three Palmes. To award it to someone else simply to avoid giving someone three is even worse and cheapens the award. Besides, the Palme D’Or isn’t some end-all award. As sports fans know, getting the MVP award doesn’t automatically mean that that player is the best. Same for getting the Palme D’Or. We all understand that it doesn’t necessarily go to the best director. Plus it was all decided by different juries. The fact that two other juries thought the Dardennes had the best films that year has no effect on what this jury thinks. If this jury thinks the Dardennes made the best film, to not honor them threatens the integrity of the award. That makes sense, yes?

—Sure.

—I think I got through to them. Like is usually the case, we were a lot closer to being in agreement than it initially appeared.

—Mmhm.

—What worries me more is that I made three separate “Festival de Canines” jokes to three different people and I’m afraid none were appreciated.

—How could they not?

—I know, right?

—Do you like dogs or cats better?

—I like whatever one I’m thinking about at the time.

—I love you.

—I love you.

—I’m ecstatic about that, too.

—As am I. I do have a big confession to make though.

—What?

—I don’t really get Can.

—Like, the whole festival, or . . .?

—No no, the band.

—Wow. You really do think in homophones, don’t you?

—Heh, maybe. Anyways, the band Can, ha ha, is just alright. I’ll take Faust and Klaus Schulze over them any day.

—The only Klaus anyone needs is Nomi.

—Klaus Schulze’s Moondawn is great night-listening and work album though. Also, there’s Klaus Kinski to consider.

—Waitasec . . . Siri, google “Best Klauses.”

—There’s also Santa Klaus.

—I was going to make that joke but thought it was below me. You know, you might not have a probably with Cannes the film festival, or film festivals in general, but the part when they bring the filmmakers up on stage to talk about their film? So bad. And I’m not sure what’s worse, that or the audience insisting on snapping photos with their phones. I’m pretty sure the peak of dumb celebrity culture are those pics of film crews just sitting in chairs on a stage.

—Ha. I do like hearing the filmmakers talk about their work. Did I tell you what Ceylan said about Anatolia before the screening? He said, “I like this movie. It’s a bit slow but I think it’s my most sophisticated picture. I hope you agree.”

—He’s so cool.

—You know, the first time I saw Anatolia I thought the bureaucratic critique at the end was too heavy, but during the re-watch I saw that it’s present from the very beginning. What a rich, rich film.

—No duh. I told you you were wrong about the second half three years ago.

—I did give it a positive review though. Not that I’ll ever go back and read that review. It must be so horribly written.

—I bet the most embarrassing parts of it are where you didn’t get a big chunk of the movie.

—Well, I’m totally on board now. I had an illuminating discussion about it on twitter. Turns out a lot of the people I follow are fans too. Kind of a hard film to discuss on twitter, though. Such a long title. At one point we were abbreviating it “O-U-A-T-I-Anatolia.”

—Long titles are the best. I love By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept and Among Other Things, I’ve Taken Up Smoking. Those are books, by the way.

—Oh yeah? Tell me more about these . . . books, they’re called?

—Ha-ha.

—Hey, did I tell you I brought up Wanda in class?

—How’d that go?

—Good, for the most part. Someone inevitably brought up the claim that Kazan secretly directed it.

—Did he have a completely developed skull?

—Kazan?

—No dummy, the guy who made that asinine accusation.

—How do you know it was a guy?

—Well, was it?

— . . . Yes. But how did you know?

—Oh I don’t know, I just knew.

—I’m really stunned by how commonly people claim that a credited director of a film was not actually the director of it. That these claims are almost always targeted at female directors with famous male director husbands or friends or parents is even worse.

—It’s ridiculously sexist.

—I know. And it’s that sexism that has written Wanda out of a place in the film canon.

— . . .

—Speaking of Kazan, I was thinking about East of Eden the other day. The way he plays on Cain and Abel by naming his characters Cal and Aron. What is that device? The play on words, I mean. It’s not quite a spoonerism, right? Nor an ononym. What is it?

—I think it’s what’s technically referred to as an “allusion.”

— . . .

—You know, calling something to mind “without mentioning it explicitly”?

— . . .

— . . .

—Excited for the concert?

—Oh yeah. Hopefully it won’t be like the Chateau Ste. Michelle.

—Oh God, I hope not.

—It wouldn’t have been such a bad concert if it weren’t for the loud obnoxious drunk people behind us.

—I liked the part where you told them off.

—If only it had worked.

—The people around us thanked you afterward.

—Yeah, that was appreciated. It’s too bad because it was a nice venue and all. But the wrong people in the audience can ruin anything, I suppose.

—Very true.

—And you did make some anatine friends, so it wasn’t a total loss.

—Are you talking about the ducks?

—Yes.

—They were cool.

— . . .

—It really was a beautiful place, I’d like to go again. Wish they didn’t serve alcohol, though that might be a lot to ask of a winery.

—You know . . . why didn’t you say anything?

—Huh?

—To those obnoxious people behind us. I mean, I don’t mean you should have, I would never imply that it’s one duty to or whatever, but I’m just curious why you didn’t?

—I think . . . I didn’t want to create a scene.

—Ok.

—Is that ok?

—It’s fine, it’s fine. Truly. I was just wondering is all.

—I bet this concert will go flawlessly, just to make up for that one.

—I just want a beautiful, transcendent concert experience. I want to be moved to tears by the beauty of it all. Is that too much to ask?

—I cried on the subway last week.

—What? Why?

—Benji.

—Oh.

—Yeah. It’s so good.

—It is. . . .

—Song for Newtown. God.

—I know.

—I cried.

—Yeah.

—Did you?

—What?

—Did you cry during any of your listens?

— . . . No.

—I haven’t cried this much to an album since Geek the Girl.

—Hm.

—The first verse of Micheline might be the saddest thing of all time.

—Uh huh.

—And oh get this: the same day Benji was released, we watched Imitation of Life in class. So that was two times in one day I cried in public. I think the last time I did that was at the James Blake concert, when he covered “A Case of You,” remember?

—I do.

—You’ve got to stop me somehow from making these scenes.

—At least when we saw Vera Drake, it was in the privacy of our own home.

—The second half of that movie decimated me.

—The way you were practically keening at that one . . .  it might’ve been embarrassing out in public.

—Oh did I tell you when I was waiting for the plane back home I watched Fargo? I chuckled maniacally for ninety minutes, and got a fair share of weird looks. Then I got a bit watery-eyed for the last ten.

— . . .

— Needless to say: not a good airport movie.

—I cried twice yesterday.

—Oh no, why?

—Once while eating a chili pepper. Then later while laughing at the word “alleyway.”

— . . .

—It’s a really funny word, if you think about it. Alleyway. Alleyway. It’s cracking me up even now.

— . . .

—Alleyway.

—Ok ok, I get it. It’s not even that silly a word, especially when compared to “subwoofer.”

—Anyway, I really liked Benji, too.

—It is amazing.

—I thought it was like a good novel. The words and structures aren’t really lyrical. The lines rarely end in rhyme, there are almost no choruses, and there seems to be little consideration for the sounds and rhythms of the lyrics. It sounds as if Kozelek opened up his diary and is reading it aloud. Occasionally the words are jarringly prosaic, like when he namedrops Red Lobster and Panera Bread, but that’s part of why I’m so deeply interested in it, because it strikes me as a collection of short stories more than a collection of songs. My favorites are Dogs and Pray for Newtown.

—Should I put it on?

—I thought we weren’t going to do sadness.

—You’re right. Plus something like that really needs to hit you in sonically optimal conditions to work its magic on you. You need to be listening through headphones or with a really good sound system, which this car is obviously lacking.

—Hey don’t bash my car.

—It’s perfectly adequate in every other respect. Oh, did I tell you I saw Berberian Sound Studio yesterday? Pretty upset I never had a chance to see it in a theater.

—That good?

—Well, not everything about it works, especially as a narrative film. But as a case study for the role and use of sound in horror films, it’s incredibly thought-provoking. It also critiques the abuse of women with in the horror genre, rendering them as consumable and raising all sorts of questions about off-screen space and sound. And the sound really is amazing. It got me thinking that the best thing about going to the cinema is not a bigger, better picture, but experiencing the sound design.

—I can’t imagine some movies without a great sound system.

—Upstream Color was one.

—Definitely.

—And for all its flaws, Gravity would be even that much more diminished without a great sound system.

—I can’t really see past Gravity’s flaws to any good qualities it might have, but I guess I can see what you mean.

—There’s no reason to go to the movies just for the screen. Most movies are being projected in 2K resolution, which is basically the 1080p we get at home. And the top-of-the-line quality you can get in very select theaters these days is 4K, which will be standard in home setups in a couple years. I should add that this is all as long as you have the TV set properly. It should be displaying in 24p for movies, with the motion smoothing stuff off. I had to fix that on my parents’ TV over Christmas.

—They actually let you mess with their settings?

—Sure, but they drew the line at my wanting to watch Fanny & Alexander or Eyes Wide Shut for our Christmas movie.

—I can’t imagine why. Anyway, it’s not as if you even have to watch things on a TV anymore. True cinephiles use projectors.

—True cinephiles who have the room and proper lighting environment to set it up in their place, maybe.

—Don’t be jealous.

—Watching movies on a TV is a small price to pay for being at the center of everything.

—Touché.

—And really true cinephiles see things on 35 millimeter. Which I get to do on a regular basis.

—You won’t be the only one, relatively soon.

—The only movie I’ve seen somewhat recently that was worth going to the cinema for just the visuals was Hugo. I still think it’s Scorsese’s second best movie since Goodfellas, that and Wolf of Wall Street.

—That’s not convincing for someone who doesn’t care for Goodfellas, like me.

—You’ll come around on it. It’s one of the top five movies of the 1990s, along with Short Cuts, Thin Red Line, Dead Man, and Safe. Haynes rules, by the way. I don’t think any American director has had a better output over the last twenty years.

—I found it boring.

—You’re crazy. Anyways, you’ve got to go somewhat older for Scorsese. His last decade or so has been really off the mark, in my opinion, aside from a couple exceptions. Wolf is the first Leo collaboration I found more than “decent enough.” Aviator was awful. Gangs is meh. Actually Shutter Island was good. But on the other hand, his older stuff is still incredible. I watched Raging Bull recently for the first time since I dug up a VHS copy out of the garage back home when I was 15. I thought it was pretty good at the time, and I think I got even more out of it this time.

—I don’t think I like Scorsese much.

—What happened to the person who was all psyched to see Departed because it won best picture?

—Oh, when I was just an embryo?

—Is that what I started dating? An embryo?

—I wasn’t yet born. My eyes and ears weren’t fully developed.

—You got better quickly, with my help.

—And quickly surpassed you, to the point where I can recognize masterpieces you can’t even see yet. Like Inside Llewyn Davis.

—I’ll give it another chance, I’m sure, but I was underwhelmed.

—You went in biased because of the Timberlake/Mumford connections.

—No, I think that was you. I went in with an open mind. But that’s real progress, because when I met you, you wouldn’t have given that film the time of day since it wasn’t nominated for a major Oscar.

—Give me a break huh? Like you were born fully formed. I seem to remember you thinking Good Will Hunting was the pinnacle of cinema.

—Ok, point taken. But I do think I had advanced taste at a young age. I never liked Kevin Smith movies at any age, for example.

—Congratulations?

—I did have some blind spots though. Like Altman. I still haven’t seen McCabe and Mrs. Miller. Also, I recently caught Annie Hall on TV and I remember my 13-year-old self wasn’t amused but I really cracked up this time around. Along with Manhattan, I’m not sure there are two more sheerly pleasurable movies from the ‘70s.

—Does your dad still refuse to watch Woody Allen films?

—Yes. He cannot be swayed.

—Well, maybe he’s right to. I certainly respect the position.

—I do too. Everyone in entitled to their beliefs, in my book.

— . . .

—That was my 150th film of the year so far, by the way, Sound Studio. I’m on track to beat last year’s viewing of 305 films.

—I’m not even going to try to top my 100 books last year. Besides, there are a lot of huge books to catch up on, books easily the length of three regular-sized ones.

—It should be easy enough to see four hundred or more films this year. There are plenty of revivals happening year-round. Though I have to say, I’m getting really stressed out about the upcoming repertory film season. I noticed the other day that Ashes and Diamonds is playing at the Lincoln Center the same day and time as Jeanne Dielman at the BAM Cinematek. We’ll have to choose between the two. And don’t even get me started on the Buñuel retrospective this fall. It conflicts with Patrick Lung Kong at the MoMI, World War I films at the MoMA, and blacklisted screenwriters at Anthology.

—The only thing we absolutely have to see is Hyenas.

—Also I’ll have to skip class if we want to see Mad Love.

—Doesn’t that play in the morning?

—It’s 252 minutes.

—Oh.

—I don’t want to miss class, but it might be a while until I get to see Rivette on the big screen again.

—Well, it’s up to you.

—Pete says it might be worth it to ditch class, but I’m worried about skipping a class that only meets once a week for four hours. Also, he suggests Jeanne Dielman over Ashes and Diamonds.

—Oh, yeah, no question.

—You’re not daunted by the running time on that one?

—Nah.

—Good good. Supposed cinephiles who reflexively dislike slow cinema are the worst kind of people. Ashes is supposed to be really good though. It’s one of Scorsese’s favorite movies ever.

—That’s not convincing me.

—Well, I guess it’s ok that we miss it this time around. It’s so popular that it’ll be back, I’m sure. I want to see the other, more obscure movies in the Polish cinema program, the ones that might not play again. The Last Day of Summer, Eroica, Innocent Sorcerers—though you might not like that one. Apparently it’s like a precursor to the Before movies.

—I want to see everything in the Vengeance is Hers schedule. Hyenas and Jeanne Dielman, but also Ms. 45 and Medea.

—A lot of these films are long, I hope you’re prepared.

—I’ve built up my stamina over the past year.

—I hope they’re good. It’s kind of deflating when a long one doesn’t hit. Like now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’ll say that I did not love Norte.

—Oh man.

—I already know your opinion on it.

—It was borderline intolerable, especially the last hour.

—I’m proud of you for getting through it, though.

—It should’ve been called Norte: The End of Mina.

—Something tells me you wouldn’t write the biggest fan letter to durational cinema.

—I’m all for endurance tests, but that one? No.

—I can’t say you’re wrong here. That last hour really does not work. Take Fabian, right? He’s an overeducated, nihilistic Raskolnikov who is unable to be redeemed for that very reason, but the externalization of his torments does little to suggest he’s the revolutionary leader he so often spoke of. It diminishes his character and fails to convince.

—Lots of the movie is unconvincing. But at least I didn’t fall asleep during it, like I did during La Bonheur and El Valley Centro. And the Clash of the Titans remake.

—The grand gestures of the final hour, of the tortured male succumbing to the innate immortality of man, works as little more than precisely that. It’s a trite message. We’re all evil or drawn to violence or whatever. He functions as a tired archetype and nothing more by the end. It reminded me, weirdly enough, a little of Seven, which I watched for the first time since junior high a couple weeks ago.

—Such a creepy movie.

—I wasn’t thrilled with it then, and now, to my eyes, it appears to be one of Fincher’s weaker films.

—Worse than Alien 3??

—See, I’m not convinced the ending of the film works. If John Doe is killing his victims because of their indulgence in a particular sin and doing so in a way that causes that very sin to be the cause of their death, his master plan falls apart at the end. When Doe kills Gwyneth Paltrow’s character out of “envy” for the life of Brad Pitt’s character, she becomes an additional victim who doesn't represent any sins. By having Brad Pitt kill Envy and thus becoming Wrath, the death of Envy is a result of Wrath, which goes against his entire mission that he spouts out so painfully in the car-scene leading up to finale. When Brad becomes Wrath, he doesn't die, and Doe wasn't trying to prove that everybody is capable of sins, he was trying to symbolically expunge them by killing people who most inhabit them. With this ending, he does the opposite.

—Doesn’t the guy Doe kept in the apartment for a year survive?

—It’s made clear that he will die almost immediately.

—Well I wouldn’t be surprised if Brad Pitt’s character doesn’t kill himself at the earliest opportunity. That look he had as they drove away. . . .

—Hm. Maybe. But a bigger problem it has is with its critiques of masculinity. This is something Fincher always does, but here they are completely undermined by the film’s treatment of women. Look at all the female characters in the movie: one is a woman “so ugly on the inside” she has to make herself pretty on the outside; one is a “whore” who spreads disease; the last is Gwyneth Paltrow, who is a painfully stereotypical wife. Although the film does not condone the negative treatments it nevertheless fails to condemn or distance itself from them, and it’s lazy screenwriting. Fincher would do better for his women in all subsequent films and form better critiques of masculinity. I can’t wait to see all the 20-year anniversary pieces written about it next year.

—Are they really going to celebrate it like that?

—Oh of course! It’s a rampant problem in film writing. They celebrate every little milestone. I don’t understand why we insist on commemorating the 10-year anniversaries of mediocre art. Like all these recent pieces reminiscing about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Mean Girls. And of course all these little write-ups aren’t addressing the misogynism in both, especially Eternal Sunshine. And albums are perhaps even worse than films! It seems like every week we’re celebrating another anniversary of a classic, or “classic,” album. Oh, get this: I pitched Paste on it, and like a week later The Voice published their own article on it. Although my piece would’ve been more about the albums we choose more than it would’ve been about the current state of journalism.

—If it’s truly different, you should try to place it somewhere else.

—I think I will. I’ll try, at least. Anyways, all these celebrations of pseudo-anniversaries create a culture of nostalgia that reinforces firmly established canons and thus devalues re-evaluations and prescribes taste to readers. Billing something as an “anniversary” necessarily creates this nostalgia and fetishizes a culture that only exists in the mind, and declines to truly interact with the film itself. I just don’t get people who perpetuate this mindset.

—You know who I don’t get? People who actually like going to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

—What about people who think “Pro” wrestling is an engaging spectator sport?

—And people who get on elevators and subways before everyone gets off.

—People who recline their seats on planes without the permission of those behind them.

—People who think unpaid internships are fair.

—People who throw the word “Masterpiece” around all willy-nilly. Especially when they apply it to Michael Mann’s Miami Vice.

—People who eat ice cream every once in a while and still call themselves a vegan.

—People who think Blue Velvet is better than Mulholland Drive or Lost Highway.

—People really into football culture.

—People on the subway who try to cram onto the bench as the fourth person.

—People who don’t like grilled chocolate sandwiches.

—Classmates who text, talk, and laugh through my melodrama class.

—The people who sold out Lollapalooza in 15 minutes this year.

—People who wait in line for hours for a new iPhone.

—Companies that don’t offer maternity leave.

—People who think all the money generated by NCAA sports should go back into NCAA sports.

—People who get really excited by the current state of American television.

—People who dismiss certain movies as “surface entertainments.” It ignores the socio-political message imbued in the film. Even the shallowest of them still say something, both in what they show and how they show it.

—People who don’t get their driver’s license.

—Hey, is that a dig?

—Well, it’s just sort of hitting me how I’ll be doing all the driving here, and it’s pretty substantial. We’re still hours away. And it’s just now hitting me that we’re going to be arriving much later than we had planned.

—Well, whose fault is that? We should know by now to factor in to any trip all the time you take to get ready.

—Do not even go there. Somehow I imagine all this being a lot smoother if you learned how to drive.

—Why should I learn now? Self-driving cars are right around the corner, that is if people would stop being so skittish about them. Automation has cost millions of jobs over the decades and now that it can save thousands of lives, people are opposed? Sidebar: The solution to twinned productivity and decrease in job growth is to tax businesses and implement basic income. It’d have to be scaled according to other forms of income, but history shows it encourages entrepreneurship. But anyways. Also if we just wait a couple more years, I can legally drive with you in the car, at least in some states.

—That doesn’t help me now though.

—You know, you should really record your thoughts getting dressed every morning and turn it into a book called My Struggle.

—You’re such a comedian. You should go on tour, doing stand-up across the country.

—Maybe I will! I’ll write a whole routine, starting with that pearl of a joke.

—Yeah, only 59 minutes and 30 seconds of additional material and you’ve got an HBO special.

— . . .

— . . .

—Maybe I can do a bit on how, despite all the complaining, you actually like driving. You’re the one who woke up at 6 AM and drove 2 hours just to see American Hustle.

—It doesn’t mean I enjoyed the commute, I just really wanted to see the movie.

—I bet you regret that just a little now.           

—I got to see it three weeks early, so no, not really.

—Yeah, but all that just to see a “meh” movie.

—It wasn’t bad. I liked it. It was fun.

—Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

—I liked it.

—I’m going to have to disagree.

—You disagree with what? that I liked it? That doesn’t make any sense.

—It’s not good. It’s Russell trying to make a not-Russell movie while insisting on his own auteurism. It’s laughable, really.

—Some parts were genuinely hilarious.

—I also love how Russell has convinced the Academy that the “most acting” equals the “best acting.”

—Didn’t we already talk about how little we care what the Academy thinks?

—And I’d like to start a petition to make any story about both David O. Russell and Jennifer Lawrence no longer qualify as “news.”

—You are the whiniest.

—All I can do is shake my head.

—That is such a useful word, “whiniest.” It means: of all the whiners, you are the most whiny.

—Har har. Next time though, if you make an effort to see a film, make sure it at least has the potential to be good. Like this screening of Boyhood I’m going to cut class for next week.

—What’s that?

—The Linklater.

—Oh yeah. Well, if it’s anything like that insufferable last movie of his, you aren’t missing much.

—This is a real artistic blind spot for you, Miss M. The Before trilogy are some of the best movies of the past 20 years or so.

—Is.

—What?

—Actually, the syntax is too tortured to correct with one word.

—What?

—Anyway, the “Before trilogy” as I guess we’re calling it is just a couple of upper middle class white people just blathering on. When they’re not whining about white people problems, they’re going on interminably about their not very interesting lives and opinions.

—Hate to get all meta on you, but sort of like we’re doing now you mean?

—Yeah, but no one is following us around with a camera and projecting us onto 30 foot screens.

—We should pretend we’re in a movie by Claire Denis. She would know what music we should listen to. The music in her films is the best.

—Yeah, and it’d be a much better movie than Before Midnight.

—Well, sure Midnight doesn’t compare with Trouble Every Day or maybe even 35 Shots of Rum. But there’s some really interesting stuff happening in that film vis-à-vis Linklater’s notorious gender essentialism. It feels like he’s interrogating his own gender politics. Also it has a great build-up to the climax. I have to say, that trilogy is a valuable contribution to cinema. They are like a two-way mirror with life on the other side, both a reflection and an astute exegesis of the everyday concerns we have as people living on this blue rock called Earth.

—What does everything you just said even mean?

—It means pretty much exactly what I said.

—Those movies are boring and vapid.

—Maybe an easier point of entry is thinking of it as a tragedy, specifically the French Anouilh's adaptation of Antigone.

—But why those people, what makes them special enough to revolve three movies around?

—I think the fact that you’re referring to these fictional constructs as “people” is telling. They are two of the most fully realized characters in cinema, possibly in all storytelling mediums.

—Oh please, read a book sometime, why don’t you?

— . . .

—Oh stop pouting. Those movies are really not good enough to get into a tiff about.

—I happen to think they are.

—Well, I respectfully disagree.

—I’m happy to agree to disagree.

—I’m glad that you’re happy to do so.

—Good good.

—Good good good.

—Good.

—Stop fake smiling, it’s annoying.

—This is my real smile.

—That is a horrific prospect I refuse to even consider.

—You know, I’ve broken up fights at Savages concerts and on Twitter, but it feels better to break up fights between us. There’s no need to approach anything so aggressively. But if I ever fail to make it as a level-headed human being, it's good to know that the trades will hire me in an instant.

— . . .

—Plus, I read books.

—I know you do. Sorry.

—I finished that Morrissey biography.

—How was it?

—It’s so good. The quality of the prose, especially. He has this style that conveys his ideas optimally . . . it really brings across his ideas while being enormously entertaining.

—I’ll borrow it when we get back.

—Great. It’s really good. You’ll be sucked in immediately. The opening paragraph is astonishing.

—Can’t wait to dive in.

—Plus I was in a really productive conversation about Pynchon the other day. Yes, I was that stereotypical college student everyone talks about.

— . . .

—Plus I’m pretty conversant in Shakespeare’s tragedies. Not his comedies so much, but still. And you know my thoughts on Pale Fire. I’ve read that book three times.

—How many of those times were for a class?

—Two, but still. Isn’t Crime and Punishment your most-read book? Haven’t you read it like six times for class?

—Yes, but it’s not my most-read book. That would be The Little Prince, which I’ve read once a year since 2nd grade.

—So Crime and Punishment and The Little Prince? Hm.

—What?

—It’s just that one of them is way more pretentious and show-offy.

—What book have you read the most, besides Pale Fire?

—I’ve also read Brothers Karamazov, Gatsby, and To Kill a Mockingbird three times each.

—Psh, yours are way worse than mine!

—Yeah, but two of me readings of the Brothers K were voluntary, outside of class. And don’t forget that I’m so into that book, I made you return your Constance Garnett translation for the superior Pevear and Volokhonsky.

— . . .

—Karamazov blows War and Peace out of the water, by the way. Dostoevsky is so much better than Tolstoy that I don’t even understand how it is a question. Every time Tolstoy took me away from Pierre and Natasha to talk about what historians got wrong I wanted to punch him in the face. Like I understand his theory of history applies to his fictional characters and subverts the qualities of the novel, but come on. Does a non-reader talk like this, have opinions like these?

—Ok ok, god, you’re not on trial here. You don’t have to like mount a ground-breaking defense or something. You read, I get it.

—Plus I can give you my top five favorite stories from Dubliners. Eveline, A Little Cloud, Counterparts, Grace, and of course The Dead. Can someone who doesn’t read rattle off his favorite Dubliners stories.

—I got it. Now stop. Now.

—Ok, I’m sorry. On a related note: I started that Deep Focus book on Heathers last week.

—Good?

—Great. Plus carrying it around is acting sort of like a litmus test. I can really distinguish who’s on board with the movie and who isn’t.

—Was carrying around Gravity’s Rainbow for a month a litmus test as well?

—What?

— . . .

—It took a while to read. It’s a big book.

—It was kind of annoying how you brought it up at every opportunity though. Just to make sure that people knew you were reading it.

—Did not!

—Did so. I have the tweets to prove it. “Oh, is that a quote from Gravity’s Rainbow? I’m reading it now.” “The Mothers Conspiracy in Gravity’s Rainbow is the funniest thing I’ve read all year.” “At an airport, reading Gravity’s Rainbow.” “Off to work now, which is frustrating because I only have 17 more pages of Gravity’s Rainbow to read.”

— . . .

—You didn’t even really like it.

—Sure I did.

—What’s your favorite Pynchon?

—Well, Inherent Vice. It is a much easier, shorter read than Gravity’s Rainbow, but also better, I think. The fact that it is seen as “Pynchon-lite” and mainstream proves its effectiveness. Inherent Vice stuck with me not just because it’s “fun” but because I think it’s smart. And the film adaptation totally misses the mark. It lacks the depth of the book. The movie is for people who wrongly dismiss top-tier Pynchon as “Pynchon-lite” because some critic said so.

—I see.

—What?

—Nothing.

—And it’s insanely funny. The “tuna on the farm” exchange is the best thing in the history of literature.

—Uh huh. And what was your take on DeLillo again?

—I’m not as familiar, but neither Mao II nor Cosmopolis thrilled me. I realize those aren’t his major works though.

—MmHm.

—What?

—Nothing. You know, I heard Rosamund Bartlett’s translation of Anna Karenina is supposed to be better and more accurate than P & V’s.

—Well I guess we’ll never know, because we don’t know Russian. Oh wait, you took Russian in High School, so that should mean you know a little. Can you read it in Russian, even a little and get back to me on that?

— . . .

—That’s probably a bit unfair. . . .

—How about putting down the books by men for once and reading a book by a woman? Or are you the only conscientious reader totally unaffected by this “Year of Reading Women” movement?

—I read Just Kids! And Flamethrowers! And I thought they were both amazing.

—I know you did, I gave them to you. How about Muriel Spark? She published her first novel sixty years ago and she remains as essential as ever. She cannot be reduced. And you think your fancy album covers are cool? New Directions is re-releasing her novels and when you line up all the spines together, they make a picture. It’d take, what, thirty albums to be able to do that?

—Ok, you’ve convinced me, where should I start?

—Start with The Informed Air. It’s an essay collection. It offers an illuminating ensemble of her inspirations, passions, and influences.

—What kind of writer is she, stylistically?

—Her style is hard to pin down. It’s girlish, but girlish in the sense that it is youthful, playful, and curious, even in its wisest observations. Of course she would’ve denied this categorization, as she denied all labels. There’s the additional danger that by calling Spark “girlish,” it might suggest that she is a so-called women’s interest writer, which could not be further from the truth. I wouldn’t paint her into a corner like that. Nor is there anything elementary or juvenile about her writing. Her storytelling is tidy and contains the constant promise of darkness.

—Sounds interesting.

—Plus she loved cats. Finding reverent cat quotes in Sparks books is little bit like a really great Easter egg hunt.

—You’ve totally sold me. I will make a point to read more women authors. Hey, how about George Eliot?

—Really? You’re really going to go there?

—C’mon, Middlemarch can’t be that bad.

—Look, I’m not going to tell you to avoid it. Don’t get me wrong, there are about a gazillion great reasons to read Middlemarch, not the least of which is that, yes, it was written by a woman and yes, its musings on marriage, personal freedom, and that vague category of “life” are mostly still relevant today. It’s just that for all the acclaim it gets, it is, simply put, not the best novel ever written. It’s not even the best novel written in the 1870s! A Doll’s House and Anna Karenina were published in that decade, and both shared themes with Middlemarch but did it a lot better. Through the Looking-Glass was 1871, and both Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and Around the World in Eighty Days were in the ‘70s, both of which all but fathered science fiction. Even your Brothers Karamazov was most-of-the-way finished before the 1870s ended. If someone wants to read 800 pages of a single, brilliant, all-encompassing novel, let it be that one!

—My Brothers Karamazov? Well, I don’t want to take full credit on that one. Have to give at least a few of the plaudits to Dostoevsky.

—My point is that Middlemarch is not the be-all, end-all of literature. It is not even the be-all, end-all of feminist literature, social criticism, or 1870s European literature. There are better-written books, wiser books, more thrilling books, better romances, and better tragedies.

—Better than Tampa though, right?

—Pfff, don’t get me started.

—I have to admit, your vitriol toward that book intrigued me, so . . . I started reading it.

—Really?? What do you think of it?

—It’s ok. Not the greatest, obviously.

—It’s so clumsy and amateur. The writing, ugh. She doesn’t know how to write.

—It could be stronger, technically.

—Plus its supposed transgressiveness is weak. She is really trying to shock and utterly failing. It’s poorly executed épatage, if you ask me.

—Yeah . . .

—It’s trying to be arousing for the sake of it, and it lost.

— . . .

—Nabokov, on the other hand, writes beautifully about perversities.

—Well, she’s definitely no Nabokov, that’s for sure.

—Lolita has motivation beyond “I had sex when I was young.” The writing is masterful, in both language and storytelling.

—There’s no comparison to Lolita, I agree.                         

—Tampa is absurd. The positive reviews were baffling. Do they really think we’ll be talking about it in 50 years? I couldn’t get through twenty pages of it. And the fact that the cover was fuzzy? Gross.

— . . . Are you kind of worried that it’s too close to Nutting’s real thoughts or that the book is kind of sexist in its depiction of women or. . . . ?

—I’m basing these criticisms solely on the text. You should always talk about the text. Ad hominem attacks have nothing to do with the novel. Frankly, it’s irrelevant whether the author actually thinks those things or is sexist toward women or whatever. If the author is using his or her novel solely for a mouthpiece to promulgate their immoral or despicable thoughts and opinions, that will inevitably show up in the text, at which point you can say that the novel has sexist attitudes or whatever.

—Hm. What’s irrelevant to you, though, might be relevant to other readers.

—Do we really want to live in a world where readers are wrapped up in writers’ private lives?

—Don’t we live in that world already? Just in the last six months, I’ve watched a few feature films on writers. Salinger, Roth. . . .

—I mean, we do already live in that world, yes. But shouldn’t we be able to appreciate the art on its own?

—I’m just playing devil’s advocate here, but I can see a situation where someone wouldn’t want to financially support an author whose beliefs they find reprehensible.

—I would say to those people that that quickly restricts their world. As I’m sure you know, many of the modernists were anti-Semitic fascists, but I still buy—and enjoy—Pound’s poetry.

—The distinction I would make is that those guys are dead, and a lot of current criticism is against those who are still alive. Why, for example, should a woman have to give her money to a sexist scumbag who hates her?

—So if Pound were alive today, he shouldn’t be read?

—I can just understand that no one is under an obligation to support someone just because that person is considered an “artist” by the masses.

—I think we would miss a whole lot of fantastic literature if we were choosing to read it based on the author’s character.

—Well . . .

—Dr. Seuss and Disney were racists but I don’t choose to shun their works. I love their art, as separate from their ideologies.

—And Borges was quite fond of Pinochet. Which, while sad, doesn’t change the fact that he was a great artist. But it’s a slippery slope, though, defining relevancy for the audience of art.

—I agree. But I also think as soon as you start making rules for what you will or won’t read, rules based on the author’s personal life that have nothing to do with the text, then you’re making a mistake.

—Plus I can’t help pointing out that you keep using deceased people for your examples.

—Ok, what about David Foster Wallace?

—Also dead.

—Ok, but he womanized, so would one refuse to read him while he was alive?

—I get your point of view, but do you really want to be that person that judges what someone decides to read or not read?

—All I’m judging is close-mindedness and censorship.

—Censorship? How does that play into it exactly?

—Well, if their opinion influences others not to buy someone, it’s sort of like censorship.

—So no one can have simple opinions anymore without being accused of censorship?

—It’s just a ponder, not an accusation. Ok, maybe “censorship” is too sensitive a word. But what if everyone acted like that? Don’t read X because the author is Y. We’d miss so much!

—So you really can’t understand someone saying “That person is an asshole and I refuse to support his work” and respect that as a totally valid reason to not read the guy’s books? What about my dad and Woody Allen? I thought you just said you understood where he was coming from.

—There’s a gigantic difference between having an opinion or ideology and indulging in criminal activity. What I’m talking about is people limiting the way they think, based on the way other people think. I’m advocating open-mindedness, even if that means open-mindedness to close-mindedness.

—Even the close-mindedness of these hypothetical book boycotters we’re talking about?

—Why are you defending them?

—I just feel that without a representative or someone who shares their views in this car—and I’m including myself here, because I would probably agree more than not with everything you’re saying—that they need a voice in this discussion. Ultimately,  I don’t really have a dog in this fight.

—So can you stop speaking for this hypothetical voice of dissention, then?

—All I’ll say is that what I think they would say is that the thing that differentiates the older work from new work written by living breathing jerks, is that those older books, even if they were written by bigots, provide some sort of historical context that is valuable. So that is the rationale for reading stuff by dead asshole authors.

—You don’t have to sell me on the contextual stuff. I’m a lit major with the Bennington equivalent of a minor in history, so I’m a huge appreciator of context.

—It’s less of an issue with living authors, therefore there is less pressure to read them and presumably give financial support to them by buying their books.

—Maybe the problem lies in the financial support thing. I’d ask these people if they would hypothetically read these asshole authors by other means, whether by borrowing the books, stealing them, whatever.

—My imagination’s starting to fail me because I’m not aligned with that way of thinking. I mean, I agree with you here.

—The bottom line is that I don’t advocate reading jerks by any means! But sometimes I like works by sexist authors. And yes, they’re usually dead.

—Yep.

—Glad you see what I’m trying to say.

—I knew from the start. I was just trying to get an interesting conversation going. Man, it’s getting a little hot, I’m taking this off.

—You know, I have to grudgingly admit that that hoodie is growing on me.

—I know, right? It’s so cool.

—I don’t know if I think it’s cool so much as I’m just getting used to seeing it on you.

—It’s the coolest accoutrement I’ve bought in a while. Plus one!

—Ugh.

—You really think you can beat someone at this game who compared the English and French subtitles on the print of Wolfsberg I saw the other day?

—We’ll see.

—You gave me a point for “du jour” right?

—No.

—This thing is so kickass. It’s the best $75 I’ve ever spent.

—The only problem is that people who have never heard of The Knife are going to think it’s a riff on TLC.

—I think you mean Salt-n-Pepa.

—Whichever one it is! They’ll think you’re really into ‘90s all girl R&B groups.

—Well, I don’t care. Let them. Only the cool people will get it.

—Are there many cool people in Toronto?

—We shall see.

—Well . . . maybe we don’t have to find out.

—What do you mean?

—Is there any way you can find a way not to wear it?

—What the hell?

—I just . . . don’t think it’d be worth it.

—You don’t want me to wear it, is what you’re saying.

—Yes, that’s what I’m saying.

— . . .

—It’s supposed to be pretty warm anyway.

— . . .

—Tofurkey?

— . . . ok.

—Why don’t you turn on some music?

—We never decided what to listen to.

—How about just firing up a radio app and listening to some kexp already? They are so the best. You know they had nature-themed music for earth day this year? I suggested they play Nikodemus “Sun Children.”

—I don’t want to listen to the radio. I wanted to have more control of the playlist on this drive.

—Fine, but if we’re on the road tonight, we’re listening to Larry’s Lounge and that’s final.

— . . .

—Are you finding anything?

—I’m looking. How about the Wild Beasts’ Present Tense?

—Sure.

—Oh wait, they’re not on Spotify.

—Too bad.

—How about Paris 1919?

—Again?

—What can I say, I kind of get obsessed with certain albums.

—Nah.

—Summerteeth?

—Why, when Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is unarguably their strongest album?

—You won’t get any disagreement from me there. Has there ever been a better album about looking back, aging, and finding love? Plus I think it’s one of the great masterpieces of 9/11 art, despite it being made before 9/11.

—I’m just not in a Wilco mood though.

—How about we play some stuff that is a tribute to what Coachella used to be. My Bloody Valentine. Sonic Youth and Leonard Cohen. Throbbing Gristle.

—How about Radiohead?

—How about any group other than Lana Del Rey and Foster the People? Though I do admit I like Lorde a little.

—I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that.

—Ok, so if we do Radiohead, which album?

—Their best of course.

—Which is?

—Waitasec . . . this.

—Really? That is just . . .wrong.

—It’s the best. Punch-up at a Wedding is one of if not their best song.

—The whole album fluctuates wildly in tone.

—Who cares?

—Look, there are no fewer than four better Radiohead albums than Hail to the Thief. I’d put OK Computer and Kid A above it, definitely.

—Oh wow what a different opinion, tell me more.

—I know everyone won’t shut up about Kid A, but seriously that album. Much of the praise is tied up into the shock and importance, but it’s hard to think of an album with a more consistent tone. And that tone is a mix of beauty and fear, which nothing else really pulls off. Maybe some John Cale, but it’s a very different sound. And not to get into music theory, but it’s a lot weirder in terms of chord progressions and time signature than Hail to the Thief, for example.

—MmHm.

—As for OK Computer, it’s imperfect in that its most musically ambitious songs are on the first half. But it and Kid A are the only two where I can correlate musical structure with meaning and theme to a reasonable extent.

—What about Amnesiac?

—Oh you mean Kid B? Never especially cared for it.

—Amnesiac is the second best Radiohead album.

—What??

—Amnesiac is really really good. I would’ve ranked it really low if I hadn’t re-listened to it last week and I was like This Album Is Amazing.

—Well.

—Didn’t you used to love Bends?

—The Bends has great songs. Fake Plastic Trees is a top four Radiohead song. The phrase of Jonny’s solo on the title track when he comes in on two is orgasmic. And I love that Just is a result of a contest to see who could write a song with the most chords. In Rainbows is their best, of course.

—I think In Rainbows is . . . overrated?

—Garbage opinion.

—Well you got a lot of people on your side, I’ll give you that. All the smart people like In Rainbows and I’m like “Later nerds.” So your favorite isn’t Pablo Honey?

—Ha. First half of Pablo Honey is okay, the second half is atrocious.

—Pablo Honey is hilariously ‘90s-sounding. I kind of love it.

—What do you think of King of Limbs? It’s pretty solid, and it has Separator.

—Hail to the Thief is better than all of the above.

—Man.

—Look, I listened to all the albums recently and so this was very scientifically proven.

—Human error.

—Nope.

—You’re crazy.

—Will you stop saying I’m wrong or crazy, just for having a different opinion than you?

—Why? You are.

—In Rainbows over OK Computer? Now who’s crazy?

—No individual song on OK Computer blows me away. Though I’m a big fan of Let Down. It may be my favorite Radiohead song overall.

—Why?

—It’s so good. Having the guitar in 5/4 over the 4/4 creates a repeating 4-bar cycle unlike anything I’ve heard.

—My favorite Radiohead songs are Punchup at a Wedding, Optimistic, Electioneering, and like the first half of Amnesiac.

—Hm.

—This has been pretty telling though. I firmly believe someone’s personal rankings of Radiohead albums is as telling as a Myers-Briggs type.

—What’s your total ranking then?

—My list, and keep in mind that these are the results of my scientific, stunningly correct study, is: Hail to the Thief, Amnesiac, OK Computer, King of Limbs, The Bends, In Rainbows, Kid A, Pablo Honey.

—Wow.

—Right? I’m not even trying to be cool, I spent literally an entire day trying to make sure my opinion was exactly right.

—Opinion is bad.

—You wish.

—I’d say there’s a special place in hell for people who rate In Rainbows low, but that’s just what hell is probably.

—You sound like someone who just escaped from a nut house.

—I’d rather be crazy than wrong, like you are about Hail to the Thief.

—As wrong as you were when you got into that argument over Lincoln with a freakin Lincoln scholar?

—I still posit that the Battle of Appomattox officially started when . . .

—I don’t mean wrong with your facts, just wrong that you got into the argument. And I’m still not convinced you’re totally accurate with your dates. It was a Lincoln scholar, after all.

—You place undue confidence in authority figures.

—Or maybe you’re just contrarian and argumentative.

—I’ve been accused of this before.

—Remember the time in a fit of passion you shouted “The Black Dahlia is hardly even a film” when we were sitting like three rows behind De Palma at that Coen brothers movie?

—Oh please, he was not within earshot and I was just responding to someone asking me which De Palma films I had seen.

—Sooooomeone’s defensive.

— . . .

—Let’s just put something on already. How about Bat for Lashes? You want to talk about mind-blowing covers, how about the one for The Haunted Man?

—I admit it’s pretty eye-catching.

—Ryan McGinley’s portraits are brilliant.

—I thought you didn’t like that album, really.

—It isn’t bad, but I do like both Fur and Gold and Two Sons better. Those created fantasy worlds with an enchanting innocence. Haunted Man is too bare-bones, and it strips the magic from her previous efforts.

—I don’t know, I think she sounds just as beautiful as she does on Two Sons or Fur and Gold, and the songs are even more urgent and even more emotional stripped down.

—It may be more urgent or whatever, but she doesn’t bring you into the world as well as the previous two.

—I find the world she creates to be more fully realized than ever, actually. Some of those songs are lusciously textured, blending Khan’s natural imagery with a bleak narrative in a comfortable but honest form.

—Well I disagree . . . I think. I’m not really sure what you’re saying.

—I just think it reaches emotional climaxes that she’s been reaching for her entire career. That’ s what I’m responding to, mostly. Still, it’s held back a little by an overreliance on the same vocal patterns. She unleashes those operatic pipes of hers in a formulaic, albeit gorgeous, way. If she were a little messier, and let her inner Bjork out a little more, she could have something really special.

—I liked her previous efforts for not being derivative of anyone, let alone Bjork.

—I don’t want her to copy Bjork, just kind of take cues from her. But hopefully be treated better by the world than Bjork is.

—What?

—I think the narrative around Bjork and her star persona is inaccurate, troubling, and kind of sexist.

— . . .

—I think I might be the only person in the world who prefers Post to Homogenic. But Vespertine is my favorite, though it took me a while to arrive at that conclusion.

—Vespertine?

—Yep. Its charms are at once particular and general. Every song is a lovely work of its own and inseparable from the whole. It’s more album oriented than Post or Homogenic and not as obviously top-heavy as either of them, and it’s much airier and textural whereas the earlier albums are jittery and electronic. Plus along with Court & Spark it’s the best album ever made about sex.

—Debut is the best Bjork and I don’t want to get into a big debate about it.

—What?

—Why don’t we just pretend the world is about to end. What would be the last song you want to hear?

—I’m not sure. I know you’d probably pick something trite that everyone would pick, like “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.”

—The fact that everyone does it does not make it any less perfect.

—Way to modify an incomparable.

—What?

—Nothing. Anyways, if I were to make an apocalypse mix, I’d at least choose something a little original, like “Goodbye Cruel World.”

—Oh yeah, Pink Floyd, marvelously original. R.E.M.’s song is better.

—No it isn’t, that’s like REM’s worst song.

—Anyways . . .

—And stop saying “Anyways.” It isn’t a word, despite what cinematic wunderkind Xavier Dolan thinks.

—I was thinking about Mommy the other day. It was so stupid but I kind of like it anyways. Anyway. The main problem is that it never really seems to say much of interest, just like his other films. Plus I wonder if anyone noticed the enormous incongruity between the characters’ poverty and how well off they obviously are. Come to think of it, did anything in Mommy make sense? That movie set off my BS detector so many times. What the hell was up with Kyla’s family? That “fictional Canada” stuff is utterly unnecessary, too. And the car that mush have been magically fixed, and she buys a new one!

—Stop trying to make sense of it, you’ll go crazy.

—You remember the giant key ring with the pen on it at the beginning of the film? I don’t think we ever see that again.

—Breathe.

—Okay but what about the fact that a kid who we never see do anything but scream and jump is going to apply to Julliard?

—I think the whole point of that is that he had no chance and we feel sorry for him.

—But we don’t even know what he would be applying to Julliard for. Dancing? Nothing about that movie makes sense.

—But he establishes that nothing is going to make sense from like 3 seconds into the movie, so at least it’s consistent.

—Maybe he’s a Dolan stand-in so it’s to be assumed that he’s obviously a genius artist or something.

—Can we drop this already?

—The film completely lacks structure or narrative drive.

—Oh, so now you want narrative?

—You know what I mean. All the characters are pretty much exactly the same. None are more or less important than others. All start, play out, and end the same.

—Ok, I think I know where you stand already. It’s not like I even like that film.

—And from whose point of view is Mommy told? Steve’s? Diane’s? Dolan’s? I don’t think the movie makes sense with any of these answers.

—Look, why don’t we just put in some Madonna.

—Why? Because I can’t stand her.

—What? Why? Her music. . . .

—Shut up and listen to me. She’s toxic. She’s set women back decades. She has totally hurt our cause with the whole persona she developed when she was at the height of her popularity. And what’s worse is that it’s all been done under the ruse of helping women. Helping women? What is this, some sick joke? How can you point out the sexism with Bjork and totally miss the inherent sexism with Madonna? The whole image she cultivated, this little whore/virgin persona she had going on for so many years. Oh so clever. And it’s supposedly about women being who they want to be, right? Well why are the two or three options she presented, why do they conform to male fantasies? The virgin fantasy, we all know. The prim proper girl to be ravaged. But also the dominatrix side, the commandeering type, the kind of modern, liberated woman that supposedly owns her own sexuality, right? Well why does that identity also happen to be a male fantasy? There’s no liberation there, she was just offering up another cage that a whole generation of impressionable girls ate up and internalized and it totally corrupted our view of gender relations and how we feel inside in a totally fucked up way. We’ve been catering and kowtowing to men for decades under the guise of liberation and it’s partly this woman’s fault. It’s one thing to be literally attacked by the opposing gender, but to have it inflicted on us by one of our own? In such an insidious, pernicious way? It’s despicable. Why aren’t we listening to her? Because she’s the antichrist, that’s why.

— . . .

—What do you have to say about that? What do you have to say for yourself?

"Tom and Mina" is an excerpt from Don Hough's upcoming novel The Youthless Young.