The World Beyond BetterMost > The Culture Tent
In the New Yorker...
Front-Ranger:
--- Quote from: Jeff Wrangler on February 16, 2011, 02:15:08 pm ---So, is that XVI an error for XIV, or is this productionn set a hundred years after Moliere, maybe because someone likes the clothes better? ???
I also got a kick out of David Denby's descriptions of Ashton Kutcher (in Denby's review of No Strings Attached) as resembling "a pensive mushroom," and as "pointlessly tall." ;D
--- End quote ---
As much as I respect the NY fact checkers, I vote for it being an error.
Yes, I loved that review too. It seems the negative reviews are always so much more entertaining than the positive ones.
Jeff Wrangler:
--- Quote from: Front-Ranger on February 16, 2011, 03:11:21 pm ---As much as I respect the NY fact checkers, I vote for it being an error.
--- End quote ---
Clearly the fact checking ain't what it used to be. Mr. Shawn would never accept a boo-boo like this one. :(
--- Quote ---Yes, I loved that review too. It seems the negative reviews are always so much more entertaining than the positive ones.
--- End quote ---
I've always wanted to know what a pointlessly tall, pensive mushroom looked like. Now I know! ;D
chowhound:
I finished the New Yorker article last night on Paul Haggis and his 35 years in Scientology. At the private and personal level, it is intriguing but what I couldn't figure out was the structure of this mysterious cult and who manages the considerable sums of money that are generated by all these courses and the child labour available on Sea Org. A young man, apparently, called Miscavige took over as head of the cult when Hubbard died but that's all we really find out about him except that he is prone to violence. There are suggestions that he himself has become enormously wealthy but this, of course, the organization denies. But who are all the others beneath him who must be busy counseling members, forcing them into courses, demanding that they cut themselves off from their families, and handing out discipline in one way or another. There must be a large group of these "officials" who, presumably, are getting well paid for what they do. Anybody here have any insights into how this cult is structured or know of a book where this is described? The Paul Haggis article has certainly left me curious about this strange and possibly sinister cult.
Jeff Wrangler:
From Anthony Lane's review of The Eagle in the Feb. 14--21 issue:
--- Quote ---There is a rare but distinctive strain of actors whose necks are wider than their heads, and who seek to compensate for this, when the time is right--and sometimes when it is not--with a look of pensive nobility. Vin Diesel is the elder statesman of the breed, but coming up fast behind him are Taylor Lautner, of the "Twilight" saga, and [Channing] Tatum, an affable Southern boy who went into acting from modelling, scored a hit with "Step Up," and now bears the deeply puzzled expression of someone who never expected to be standing in the rain wearing a leather skirt. His eulogy to fallen comrades--"May your souls take flight and soar with the Eagle of the Ninth"--is declaimed as if he were advising passengers to stow their tray tables and restore their seats to the upright position.
--- End quote ---
:laugh:
How's that for a skewering of beefcake "actors"? ;D
Jeff Wrangler:
Here's a wonderful line from Adam Gopnik's article, "The Information: How the Internet Gets Inside Us," in the Feb. 14--21 issue:
"Our trouble is not the over-all absence of smartness but the intractable power of pure stupidity, and no machine, or mind, seems extended enough to cure that."
"The intractable power of pure stupidity"--now, there's a phrase for the ages. :D
On the other hand, I also found a sentence fragment in the article, and a reference to "the postage stamps that let eighteenth-century scientists collaborate by mail." I'm not exactly sure what Gopnik means by that, but I think most people associate the term postage stamp with the little pieces of paper with glue on the back that you buy at the post office, or out of a machine, or even at a special counter at the super market, and put on a letter before you mail it, and they were a nineteenth-century invention. Is this another failure of The New Yorker's once-vaunted fact checking? :(
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