The Fatherless
Two great essays in the New York Times Book Review this week, one that nearly brought me to tears and another that did. Both essays concern amazingly insightful creators whose absentee fathers and rampant substance abuse led them to what's become known in the entertainment biz as "tragically early deaths." Not surprisingly, perhaps, I identify with these kinds of people, more so than is probably healthy (but, hey, I at least was able to make it past 35).
Garrison Keillor's essay on Hank Williams (the subject of a new book by Paul Hemphill) affected me more because of Keillor's understated sympathy for his subject than for the writing itself. I like Keillor's work, but he's not always the most subtle of writers. In this essay, however, he assumes a certain familiarity in his audience with Williams and his legend, and Keillor uses that familiarity to inform us not only of Williams' truly ground-breaking work in popular music, but the ugly details of his addiction as well. There is a mountain of unspoken heartbreak in the final paragraph of this essay.
John Leonard's essay on the life of James Agee (whose work has been collected in two new volumes by the Library of America) is much less forgiving and nowhere near as sentimental. Leonard emphasizes the more lurid details of Agee's biography that the LOA volumes pass over, but the essay carries all the more weight by doing so. I'd been familiar with Agee's film criticism and his famous Depression-era collaboration with Walker Evans, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, for some time before I realized they were the work of the same man. Agee's writings on film are notable for the way he manages to express disappointment in films he appreciates, and the high expectations he holds for filmmakers and actors. I can't think of any contemporary critics who hold the movies to such a high standard anymore without falling into blanket praise for anything that doesn't come out of Hollywood. Agee, writing in the 1940s and 50s, had no such convenient escape route and held filmmakers to his unwavering standards.
None of these standards seemed to help guide him through the train wreck of his personal life, and Leonard's straightforward discussion of Agee's personal failings serves as a cold reminder of how completely, sadly, human he was, despite the colossal strength of his writing. Leonard's two-page essay is one of the most disturbing I've ever read in the Book Review.
While I'm busy praising the Times this week, I should also mention that the NYT Magazine has started running a weekly comic strip by Chris Ware. Ware seems to be the new Caesar of the comix world, the latest go-to guy for people who are still surprised at the existence of comix written for (and by) adults, but I don't say this as a criticism of Ware's work. His innovative page designs and miniscule renderings of his characters' small (and frequently fatherless) lives have a sad beauty not unlike the ultimately empty lives of people like Hank Williams and James Agee.
Ware's strip for the Magazine is not what I would expect from him. The strip (composed as a single page) depicts the inner voice of a run-down New York apartment building and its reactions to the people who live inside it. While Ware's artistic design remains impressive, I'm not sure where he's going with this scenario or if it will end up being as effective as some of his other work. But I'm pleased that such a starkly traditional publication like the Times would even consider inviting someone like Ware to contribute to their pages, so I'm willing to take the strip as a plus.
Finally, as far as iconic heroes with troubled lives and missing fathers go, there is perhaps none so miserably familiar to the world as Anakin ("Darth Vader") Skywalker, and what better way to let his life serve as an example to us all than by placing a representation of his charred and limbless body on your desk? Hasbro, which recently released its 500th Star Wars action figure (none other than Vader in his meditation chamber, complete with a lever that allows you to lift off his helmet and practice your best General Veers expression of respectful disgust), has come out with this fantastically funny Anakin figure (with "Battle Action," no less). George Lucas deserves some finger-wagging for enticing children to come see a protagonist who kills other children and ends up being nearly murdered by his best friend, but I hope this latest incarnation of Anakin in action figure form will end up at a lot of birthday parties for the next few months. And if Daddy has to deliver it to Junior through the mail because he's off on a business trip, well, that's show biz, kid.
Garrison Keillor's essay on Hank Williams (the subject of a new book by Paul Hemphill) affected me more because of Keillor's understated sympathy for his subject than for the writing itself. I like Keillor's work, but he's not always the most subtle of writers. In this essay, however, he assumes a certain familiarity in his audience with Williams and his legend, and Keillor uses that familiarity to inform us not only of Williams' truly ground-breaking work in popular music, but the ugly details of his addiction as well. There is a mountain of unspoken heartbreak in the final paragraph of this essay.
John Leonard's essay on the life of James Agee (whose work has been collected in two new volumes by the Library of America) is much less forgiving and nowhere near as sentimental. Leonard emphasizes the more lurid details of Agee's biography that the LOA volumes pass over, but the essay carries all the more weight by doing so. I'd been familiar with Agee's film criticism and his famous Depression-era collaboration with Walker Evans, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, for some time before I realized they were the work of the same man. Agee's writings on film are notable for the way he manages to express disappointment in films he appreciates, and the high expectations he holds for filmmakers and actors. I can't think of any contemporary critics who hold the movies to such a high standard anymore without falling into blanket praise for anything that doesn't come out of Hollywood. Agee, writing in the 1940s and 50s, had no such convenient escape route and held filmmakers to his unwavering standards.
None of these standards seemed to help guide him through the train wreck of his personal life, and Leonard's straightforward discussion of Agee's personal failings serves as a cold reminder of how completely, sadly, human he was, despite the colossal strength of his writing. Leonard's two-page essay is one of the most disturbing I've ever read in the Book Review.
While I'm busy praising the Times this week, I should also mention that the NYT Magazine has started running a weekly comic strip by Chris Ware. Ware seems to be the new Caesar of the comix world, the latest go-to guy for people who are still surprised at the existence of comix written for (and by) adults, but I don't say this as a criticism of Ware's work. His innovative page designs and miniscule renderings of his characters' small (and frequently fatherless) lives have a sad beauty not unlike the ultimately empty lives of people like Hank Williams and James Agee.
Ware's strip for the Magazine is not what I would expect from him. The strip (composed as a single page) depicts the inner voice of a run-down New York apartment building and its reactions to the people who live inside it. While Ware's artistic design remains impressive, I'm not sure where he's going with this scenario or if it will end up being as effective as some of his other work. But I'm pleased that such a starkly traditional publication like the Times would even consider inviting someone like Ware to contribute to their pages, so I'm willing to take the strip as a plus.
Finally, as far as iconic heroes with troubled lives and missing fathers go, there is perhaps none so miserably familiar to the world as Anakin ("Darth Vader") Skywalker, and what better way to let his life serve as an example to us all than by placing a representation of his charred and limbless body on your desk? Hasbro, which recently released its 500th Star Wars action figure (none other than Vader in his meditation chamber, complete with a lever that allows you to lift off his helmet and practice your best General Veers expression of respectful disgust), has come out with this fantastically funny Anakin figure (with "Battle Action," no less). George Lucas deserves some finger-wagging for enticing children to come see a protagonist who kills other children and ends up being nearly murdered by his best friend, but I hope this latest incarnation of Anakin in action figure form will end up at a lot of birthday parties for the next few months. And if Daddy has to deliver it to Junior through the mail because he's off on a business trip, well, that's show biz, kid.
posted by Chazzbot at 1:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home