A Phenomenology of the Clipboard

Force-Feeding for Foie Gras

Alisa Miller on the U.S. Media

On the Value of Modernism: A Repost/Riposte for Jeanne-Claude
The piece below first appeared in April 2005 on One Blog Two Blog, a concept blog that featured Jay Fanelli and me each responding to a prompt in 600 words or less. The prompt for this piece was “Best 86ed Idea in 86 Years,” a response to the Red Sox first World Series win in—you guessed it—86 years. At the end of the piece, I discuss “The Gates,” by Jeanne-Claude and Christo; I repost the piece today in honor of Jeanne-Claude, recently deceased. You don’t see a lot of

Up as Pixar’s Statement on Animation
Metaphilm saw fit to publish my piece on Pixar’s Up (2009), more or less on the occasion of the film’s release on DVD and Blu-Ray. In the piece, I argue that Up presents a kind of statement, by Pixar, on the role of animation in our contemporary entertainment culture. I feel very lucky to have written recently for Metaphilm and Bright Lights Film Journal (the latter with my piece on Knowing [2009]), two well-trafficked sites packed with great writing on film.

Knowing and Critical Distance
My write-up of Knowing (2009) made it into Issue 66 of Bright Lights Film Journal. In the piece, I describe Knowing as challenging viewers to think about the September 11th attacks with critical distance, rather than with the usual emotional charge. I’m thrilled to have it in the company of the other Bright Lights writers.

A Note on the LHC and the Grandfather Paradox
A New York Times piece that’s made the rounds in the last week or so takes up the idea that the Large Hadron Collider might not work for reasons involving to the grandfather paradox. (If you’ve never heard of the grandfather paradox, head over to the Times piece now. I avoid describing it here so as not to taint what follows.) One thing that irks

Why You Can’t Turn Off “All the Single Ladies”
The verses sound like a nursery rhyme or military hymn, with a melody like primary colors. But the chorus goes all apey and provides zero resolution. It’s like somebody giving you a gentle massage punctuated with stabs from a meat tenderizer. The result: You spend every verse waiting for the next chorus—something violently intriguing, made to shock you out of your workaday stupor—and every chorus waiting for the next verse, safe and cozy like a good pot pie.