Oftentimes when I'm struggling to determine personal belief about something I use a simple heuristic. It goes as follows: imagine the question or decision in the context of the bet. What are you betting? The entirety of your savings, skill, and material possessions. Your 401k, savings, your house and method of transport. You also lose the ability to readily and easily regain them, so you lose your skill. If you're a woodworker or pianist, you lose your hands. If you're a singer, you lose your voice. If you're a writer, your creative drive. You lose any ability for a bailout. Then, when you've accurately put yourself in this headspace, consider the initial question again.
The use of this heuristic is it cuts through self-deception and self-denial. Many deny the moon landing, claim the earth is flat, or believe that Hillary Clinton eats children. I imagine most would change swiftly with this level of skin in the game, and perhaps even only with it as a perspective. Though it can be used for serious decision making, the absurd examples are more fun to talk about.
I used this when considering the alien/Area 51 story of Bob Lazar. "Is Bob telling the truth?" Much of his story, personality, and demeanor lean toward credibility. He is intelligent. His rationale and reasons are well-constructed. It also helps if its an idea interesting, compelling, or personally fulfilling enough that I desire it to be true. When looked at it through the lens of the bet heuristic, the fuzzy, positive points get subdued and a more objective point of view emerges from the contrast. He has equally big issues against credibility, between sketchy college references, convenient migraines and running a whore house.
As compelling as his story is, I'd put money on Bob being a pathological liar. It's still an educated guess, but the heuristic helps me to my actual belief.
There Will Be Blood is a largely tonal film, made great by its beautiful cinematography, soundtrack, performances, set design, direction, and creative use of lenses. It evokes the feel of a 1950s frontier film in look and
style but done expertly with modern technology. There's also a lot of
metaphorical elements and symbolism in the film (e.g. marking the baby's
forehead with oil) like is common with all the great writer-directors.
Somehow,
P. T. Anderson beautifully photographs near-impossible scenes. In a
way the whole movie is a metaphor for a man making it alone. It begins
with the protagonist alone in a black hole maybe 50 foot deep, in
struggle and in toil, with nothing but tools and a few explosives. He
gets the gold. Only in scenes a few years later does he have a few more
men, paid workers and believers in his vision, as he experiments and
invents in ways to secure oil.
He continues, with an orphaned
boy and a fake backstory to continue his career as an oil man. He has
finally made himself a success and is a man of considerable talent. His
con helps him succeed at the cost of isolating him. There's not too much
violence for a film titled There Will Be Blood, making you question its
title. Perhaps it's meant as ironic. There's no blood-ties. There's no
familiar familial comfort in Daniel's life. His son isn't his. When
Henry asks about his son's mother, he doesn't want to talk. He can't
bear to lie more, especially to his brother. He doesn't enjoy or desire to
explain himself in any capacity.
Of course, his brother isn't
blood, either. Daniel has no connection to family. From not wanting to share any of his
motivations, he finally opens up with Henry about wanting to own the nice
house in the neighborhood, to have it, live in it, clean it, even raise
children in it. This is the first time in seemingly his adult life
Daniel has been honest with someone about his desires and moments later,
he sees through Henry's deception. Henry says he knew a man who claimed
to be Daniel's brother who died of tuberculous and used his story, there's a potential
subtext where Henry may have killed him. When confronted Henry claims to
be his friend and he's correct. The bond of them both being cons,
similar in intent and manner, binds them more strongly than blood could.
Daniel kills what is essentially his shameful shadow.
Daniel
also has a lot in common with Eli, the false prophet. Daniel uses a
child to sell a vision, Eli uses a church. They both manipulate. Daniel
is better and can bully Eli. In turn, the rich, established oilmen try
to psyche Daniel out into selling his property. You can see Daniel's
insecurity as the self-made man from simpler means, as he grandstands
before them upon succeeding without them. The oilmen see Daniel as he
sees Eli, unworthy of their company, let alone as equal business
partners.
Unlike The Master this story is more or less straight
forward. Daniel Plainview might just be pathological pride, drive, greed
and insecurity taken to its natural conclusion. He's chosen a life of
success even over moral values, which blocks out the possibility of any
love he may desire. Throughout the film there are cracks in his
highly-driven, hellbent exterior where what's left of his humanity breaks
through, often in his affinity for children.
If I were to speculate
on why Plainview despises people, the first hint would be the irony of his
last name. We see him make his own way, alone. Nothing was given to him,
so why would he give any person a benefit of doubt. He sees simple people with
disdain because they lack his intelligence, they lack a capacity for
evil or to even see it as such. Daniel's dog-eat-dog mentality brings
him riches, but he's not intelligent enough to see it brings him misery
and a lack of closeness with those he loves. In the end all he has left
are material possessions and pride. Were Daniel to admit the truth of his
cons to himself the cost would be to see his life as empty, but also
endear himself to others and to an extent gain sympathy.
The
only time Daniel is forced to confront himself is during the baptism
scene with Eli. Though Daniel views the church as a fraud, the
humiliation he experiences here is the closest he ever is to human. So
deep is his aversion to shame, when he enacts revenge toward the end of
the film he can punctuate his life with pride by proclaiming, "I'm finished!"
The Master I've seen maybe six times since release in attempt to
understand it. My confused conclusion after the first few times was that
it's just not the masterpiece I wanted, instead a story of dogmatism not told well
enough. In an attempt to explain it now, I will almost certainly fail.
It's made by a world-class director, and while there are more
complicated films to dissect, that's mostly the result of them being bad
or purposely abstract. I'll try.
Freddy is fresh from the war.
He's been killing the Japanese. He seems to have PTSD. He's a man who
belongs in motion. Still, his life lacks structure which may have
ultimately led him to the Armed Forces, and explains his attraction to
the Master. In a way the two central characters want what the other has.
Freddy is a feral animal. At the start we see him masturbating at the
beach, fighting, unable to hold down jobs, and injuring people with his
alcoholic concoctions. The alchemy of his alcoholic creations does
though show his potential, as does his eye for photography.
He
forces himself to sea. It's essentially where be belongs. There he
finds the religious group of Lancaster Todd. Todd's attraction to Freddy is that they are polar opposites. Todd is
controlled, serious, well-mannered and weighs a lot, all unlike
Freddy. But as the Master asks Freddy personal questions, he takes a
liking to him right away, aided by a hint of recognition. I would
say Freddy represents his younger self, and that free, emotional,
reactionary spirit. He still yearns to be. Freddy wants guidance and not
to be in a bad place emotionally or in terms of addiction.
Freddy
impresses Todd with his alcohol experiments that he says contain "secrets." It
makes sense they would drink these secrets before the personality test where
Freddy reveals finally to someone the deepest recesses of his soul, that
he denied the psychiatrists of the Armed Forces earlier in the
film. He talks about murder, incest, his one true love. By the end of
the scene, they go from characters familiar to each other to best
friends. That's one way to bond.
From here you have the
framework of the religious belief of Lancaster Todd and his school of believers.
They provide the comfort of family but at a cost. You must remain
generally on the same page as Todd. Doesn't matter how far they go, how
extreme, with tales of time travel and past lives. You can never defect, your
service in the church is to grow it and exhibit it in lifelong commitment. Freddie is a loyal defender of the
cause, as referenced by his behavior toward the socialites in New York.
Then
comes the curious party scene where Todd dances with women. The scene
cuts and returns with all the women unclothed. This is the second major
break from the rest which can be considered literal, the first being the reminiscing scenes with Doris. It's purposely ambiguous, but this
seems more an act of Freddy's imagination. There's no clothing scattered
about. It's way out of line for values of the time. It seems built for
the subtext of the next scene, where Todd's wife is masturbating him in
front their bathroom mirror. She seems to suggest she's okay with
secretive infidelity but not polygamy. In the next screen a drunken
Freddy is confronted, controlled, made to repeat pledges and slapped
with probably the same psychosexual intent as used on her husband.
In
jail, Freddy, is told by Todd, "I'm the only one who likes you." And
it's true, Todd is the only person Freddy, a complex character, has
opened up to. The backbone of friendship is trust, and it's easier to
like someone when you know who they are. It's the same reason we like
dogs, they're not mysterious, their motivations and behaviors are readily
transparent. So far, Todd's psychoanalysis, however faulty, is the only
time Freddy has allowed himself to be him. Why wouldn't he trust Todd
who allowed him this release and who also holds many of the attributes
that he seeks. The prison scene may be the point in the movie where
their personalities are matched and equalized, as they're both reduced
to shouting animals.
Freddy may have started questioning but
remains protege at this point in the film. It's clear for reasons of ego
and affection for Freddie, Lancaster makes him the focus of his
bizarre psychoanalytical experiments. Also because Freddy is the most willing subject, maybe not the
biggest believer but the one with the biggest desire to believe. Freddy
is made to behave like a monkey, jumping between a wooden wall and a
window to the outside world he can feel but not physically see.
By
the time "Book Two" is released, you sense Freddy's influence on Todd's
work. Todd describes the secret now in less rigid terms, as "laughter."
He scolds a woman for questioning his choice to change his words from
"can you recall" to "can you imagine." Freddy seems to notice this
change in Dodd and it's not surprising during an exercise with the
group, his makeshift family, he drives off almost as if leaving the
nest. He's off to see Doris.
Of course, his former love Doris is
gone, moved, and married with children. She was left heartbroken and
upon marriage is left as 'Doris Day,' an actress and singer of the time known for her beauty. In a way
this points to the undoing of Freddy's picturesque fantasy of the
perfect woman. He gets over her. He has a vision, or dream, or a real
life phone call in an empty theater and is encouraged to visit Dodd at his school in
England.
Dodd and his wife attempt to gaslight Freddy in his
need for help and usefulness to the cause. He's not biting. Todd finally
submits and serenades Freddy in song in a final attempt to win his
favor and Freddy understands he's more powerful, even with less
structure, and no longer needs Master.
The movie ends with Freddy attempting Todd's psychoanalytical tricks during sex but he laughs and mentions his dick fell out.
Summary
This movie is difficult because it's experimental and its design instinctual. It flourishes for the same reason it fails, its in uncharted territories and swinging for the fences. It's a joy to watch it work and not work. The main focus is belief and not only religious belief, also desire, and what is there before us in reality. If there's a central message it may not even be entirely against religious institutions as it might suggest, but instead to say, you have final say, and if its outlived its usefulness you can ride off into the distance.
Like many I was a fan of Channel 5 (All Gas No Brakes) during its initial viral rise for its "man on the street" style interviews. It reminded me of previous, relatively minor e-celebs who have done similar work, or Dave Attell's Insomniac show in the early 2000s. It's a simple enough format. You point the camera at people who are a little fringe or absurd, listen objectively, and the content creates itself. If the interviewee is particularly nasty the camera provides enough rope for the person to hang themself, but generally these videos work because they're funny and humanize people despite their misguided beliefs or odd personality quirks. Part of the allure is the camp and cringe but with a balanced and empathic editing and editorializing this becomes forgivable.
Something seemed off around early June of last year with Channel 5's "NRA Conference" video, it started a pattern seldom-seen in the videos until around this time of excessive editorializing and ideological slant, with clips from both sides built to fit a narrative. It also includes Andrew Callaghan adding just himself to the screen and interjecting. The word "journalism" began being paraded around the community which was bizarre, then a Hot Ones interview on the Youtube recommend algorithm made me question if he is in large part a media-whore.
A lot of this contradicts the golden rule of journalism to not become the story. You could defend this under the phrase "gonzo journalism" but this doesn't sit well with me. If gonzo is meant to forgo objectivity and add fiction, most media organizations do that by accident, and op-eds on purpose. VICE, Louis Theroux etc. regularly embraced subjectivity and engaged in drug use or in rituals to tell a better story. Werner Herzog fabricated scenes in certain documentaries to get to a deeper truth. Andrew's "journalism" by comparison is simplistic, shallow, and often with an insistence of having himself front-and-center. As a witness to an adult film award ceremony he played a perfect host.
Around this time I noticed, and put in my notes:
"Channel 5 went one-sided and preachy and fame-chasing with a quickness. Instead of an ironic witness to absurdity, it seems cynical and
mean-spirited to its subjects, typically born of unfortunate
circumstance."
I also wrote having finally understood that, Andrew's the type of person who, were he not holding a microphone, would be one of his subjects. Before that he was a tall, lanky man with bushy hair and bad posture in an ill-fitted suit and acne, and not without a sense of comic timing. It was contrived to a degree but not cynical and that's what made it compelling and digestible. This re-calibrated that dynamic to "a show making fun of the mentally ill," and the show's profile from there began to grow exponentially. Even that in itself isn't the biggest problem, it's being that while posturing as part of the fight for social justice. Nothing arouses distaste in me like holding two completely disparate values and cynically forcing them together for profit.
Only days ago Robin Young, a perfectly respectable radio personality and interviewer, asked Andrew a basic boomer question about his willingness to speak with Alex Jones. The glib response and laughter made the rounds, as if lifting weights and drinking alcohol with Alex was an act of courage required to expose him as mentally unhinged. I began then writing this article with a quote as a placeholder. Then, before I could fail to ever launch it, his rising star exploded. Through unfortunate circumstance he killed his career in spectacular fashion coinciding with the release of an HBO documentary titled This Place Rules.
Andrew's documentary is already a non-starter because also on HBO is Q: Into the Storm, which provides a rigorous look at Qanon and the events of Jan. 6 from a much more objective standpoint. This Place Rules seems more like a forced hodgepodge of footage from events strung together into a narrative. Instead of tackling any real psychology of belief it focuses the visceral reaction you get from witnessing the mentally ill behave. It reminds me of Borat where some people considered it brilliant social commentary as opposed to just hilarious depictions of stereotypical behavior encouraged by its stereotypical protagonist. In Andrew's attempt to take a sober look at America all the humor is removed.
The trajectory of of This Place Rules and Channel 5 toward mean-spirited and more simplistic interpretations of political events seemed like they would eventually have to coincide with a backlash or a crash and burn. This happened with multiple sexual assault allegations against Andrew Callaghan days ago. If he took a step back from the limelight perhaps his work could've survived but he's facing a big problem summed perfectly by a Redditor:
"His audience are the cancelers."
By delving into the world of simplistic answers he's garnered a simple fan base who won't look into the nuance of his actions, and there's now a vacancy for the relatively basic content he provides for someone with a clean slate to fill. There's a market for people who believe Alex Jones alone instigated Jan. 6 despite that he spoke several times on the day to protest peacefully--a point ignored in the documentary--but not if you yourself are a controversial figure. I hope he makes right by his accusers, and he has enough talent that I hope for his redemption. Because of the audience his work cultivated it seems unlikely and the ending to his documentary ominously counterpoints his predicament: "There is no end. This is only the beginning," Andrew says in a darkened sound stage before exiting the building.
Aftersun
is the film of the year... that is critically praised, slow,
realism-focused to the point of boring, melancholic, depressing, and a tedious
mess, shot on lifeless, blue-hue digital cameras. It's a slice of life.
So is waiting in line at Dairy Queen. There needs to be some story and
interesting plot or visual elements interspersed. Other bad films of
this style include Blue Valentine or Chop Shop, though they had a few
moments. A decent example of this style done well would be The Florida
Project. This is the exact kind of movie more mainstream cinema-goers cite as they avoid great understated films. We're talking long boring shots
and Tarkovsky this person is not.
The astonishing aspect of this
film is you come to understand how little can happen in 15 minutes. The
tragedy this director tries to portray comes across with equal lack of distinction. What could've made it better was any hint of the purpose
the story was meant to take, and any hint of the form used to express
it. It's not hard in a nearly two-hour running time to include a minute
and 30 seconds about a character's motivation or future ambition. Seeing
someone cry alone in a room does nothing for me compared to
understanding why. Instead, you have a depressed, deadbeat dad type
who's trying to do the right thing. That's many dads, why care. Then you
have the 11-year-old daughter with the implausible emotional maturity
and quips of a 17-year-old. That can be overlooked, but there's no
background into the divorce, no discernible problem in her other than
annoyance, and near zero indication of what these events mean for her
future. I wasn't rooting for her either, she's a wooden chess piece
moved around a sterile screenplay. Toward the tail-end of the film
there's a moment the two are alone on a boat and there's finally a word of empathy and character development between them. Thanks, the first
proof this movie wasn't written and recorded by AI comes before the
climax. The conceit here seems to be that stillness and quiet is enough
to sell something emotionally evocative and incur a response. It's not,
not without interplay with a little movement, a little heightened
happiness to contrast the grief, a little unquiet to liven up to at
least baseline human emotion, so you actually feel down when that time
comes. Instead, it's a two-hour Lexapro commercial. If the entire film had a Paxil logo in the lower right hand corner this
melodrama may be a perfect satirical comedy. Instead, you may be able to
use this film's dull bleakness to break prisoners and secure
intelligence without breaking international law.
Aftersun is #1
of the year for BFI, so you know it's not a good film. BFI disgraced
themselves this year after previously curating excellent top 100 all-time
movie lists once a decade, separated lists comprising both the choices of critics and directors. Paul Schrader took them to task for a new-found
ideological slant to their ratings on social media. It's a bad sign
because Paul is essentially a film-maker indiscernible from a
feminist, starting with Taxi Driver--a film that dissected
self-defeating, pathological male ego and its related drives and
desires. He's also known for correctly stating Taylor Swift's music and
concerts affirm life itself. On BFI, he had the following to say:
BFI's re-tuned criteria suggests a change in the representation of woman-made films on the list, leading to a frankly confused and forced re-ordering of films. Yes, men are over-represented. There is a ratio of about 25-to-1 male directors versus female, they should be. It's more sexist to assume it's the failure of women or failure to recognize their artistic achievements, rather than recognize it could be they have different or better priorities. Yes, it's tragic when a film is critically overlooked as with Kelly Reichardt's brilliant First Cow. It's also unfortunate and unfair when this happens the other way. I suspect an over-correction could explain the attention given to this work by Charlotte Wells.
I
thought Nope was the year's worst film, which is the worst thing I saw
this year before Playtime by Tati. I would watch Playtime twice more
before rewatching Aftersun. I thought it would be the hidden gem of the
year with so many top spots. All those critics deserve to be hunted and
pelted with Kinder Surprises, but they would love it like the groveling
masochists they are. This film isn't #1, it's a 1. As an olive branch of
optimism, the acting and camera work are there. The main problem with this may be a matter of tuning tone
and pace, adjustments there could result in powerful future films. (I forgot to add this so I will shoehorn it in like my BFI-bashing: large plot points in 3-second splices under strobe-lights is not an effective narrative tool.) Until then when it comes to Aftersun, ask yourself if you want to spend two weeks at a resort with a depressed dad and his boring daughter in damn near real-time.
The Uncertainty Principle: It proves we can’t really ever know what’s going on
If you’re dumb by design you can never fully know it. I’ve
had the desire to write on the stupid approach to intelligence.
Often when writing I’ll have this unwelcome inclination to sound like a
good orator or otherwise clever. I fight this instinct because it goes
against the general purpose of what would be an objective and
scientific approach to inquiry. The purpose of language is
only to communicate and an essay expressing a philosophy doesn’t have
the same urgency for perfection a peer-reviewed paper might. Simplicity
is the ultimate tool, and an excess of syllables unnecessarily
complicate a message. I believe this impulse is indicative of how intelligence is perceived as a whole.
The easiest way to attack problems with our interpretation of
intelligence is to look at IQ. Previously, I always looked at IQ with
suspicion, as wasting time and rigorously preparing for an intelligence
test seems “low iq,” before we get into the vain impulse to
brag and socially peacock around your intelligence with a ranking or
numerical score. After looking at the criticisms these feelings were
confirmed. The test doesn’t work for several reasons. Namely, you can
tell this because there’s a huge degree of variance even between
people’s own test scores when taken multiple times. Also because it has a
great ability to identify dumbness, but is wildly varying in the higher
numbers on any quantitative scale (NN Taleb). One of those scales for example
would be survivability and how you measure this is anyone’s guess. In my
opinion an IQ test can’t work for the same reason we generally can’t
predict the future. But say you were going for survivability, you could
do some sort of base measure, a nuts and bolts estimate to do with a
person’s financial success. Already, this seems an incredibly weak
underpinning as we aim to predict a person’s ability to navigate an
unknown, virtually infinitely complex future world.
But it gets
worse. Tying a person’s success to their ability to survive, or their
ability to earn which is our flimsy but best chance of a correlation
(with all its variability and noise), is predicated on an assumption
that survival is intelligent. Interestingly, the great philosophers like
Alan Watts or Albert Camus often reduced the sum of philosophy to the
question of suicide. It makes sense. A philosophical interpretation of
existence will be examined best through the contrast of not existing. Whether to live, they determined, was the essential question. When judging intelligence, it’s clear
Isaac Newton and Einstein are near the top of the known
persons. But there’s an additional qualifier here if you’re looking at
it through that philosophical lens, they were the smartest people who
were also convinced for whatever reason to be driven and motivated in
their pursuits toward an end. This version of intelligence is dependent
on success predicated by ambition. Surely there’s been many equally
intelligent people indifferent to any pursuit that would have them seen
written into the pages of history, and others undoubtedly were
intelligent and yet met existence, understood it, but saw futility or
went without curiosity and committed suicide or otherwise resigned
themselves in life.
Undoubtedly, the great intelligent men of
history also had a bit of luck on their side not to fall to some
misfortune or plague. It makes me question, were Julius Caesar and
Genghis Khan really great men or were they just the best bold
visionaries who also didn’t happen to take an arrow to the chest. Maybe
T.E. Lawrence stood up to gunfire and survived, but if that’s true,
certainly many more people who thought their existence was divinely-ordained were shot dead and never written about. In light of this, a lot
of success is due to luck and explained by survivorship bias.
This echoes of
the “great man theory,” which basically suggests a few persons of
extraordinarily talent drove and explain history. I dismiss this because
it credits the crest of the wave while ignoring every other part of the
process. It seems more probable the conditions created by the
collective enabled these individuals and made those high water marks
inevitable. That doesn’t mean certain people’s discoveries didn't save
us decades. I only wish to dispel the gross reductionist view and
venerate to some degree the nameless everyperson for their part in the
process.
In short we give too much credit and not enough.
There’s an unquestioned belief that progress is possible and that it is
good. That life, progress and its pursuits are innately intelligent for
seemingly no other reason than we are alive and therefore compelled to
stay so. Call it the life-bias, but if we’re to exist it seems important
to remember this contrast to retain the right perspective and take life
unserious and in stride and revel in its novelty. To recognize
intelligence in any other way is likely stupid and to miss the point
entirely.
This could explain the stereotype that smart people
are miserable. It’s easy to infer more complex people will have greater
difficulty and less resources when it comes to solving their more
complex needs. Naval asks a great question, though, “If you’re so smart,
why aren’t you happy?” A great question for many not-so-smart smart
people. But there is also an alternative, the masochistic intelligent
who invite painful thoughts and situations into their lives as a form of
discovery, and help mediate or navigate future trauma and pain. In short, the reason some watch horror movies or TV shows about sociopaths.
Intelligence seems to come with undue focus. There’s
no correlation between it and morality. There’s a lack of appreciation
for the wide, diverse systems that enable the experiments, conversation,
and conditions for the inevitable leaps in science. There’s not enough
challenge to the unproven yet widely held assumption that progress is
the imperative collective goal. There’s a lack of study in the idea that
the intelligent individual might meet the complex problems of the world
with indifference.
Often people fall for the trap of cult of
personality and for them intelligence can be defined by self-proclaimed
genius, genius itself being a word of mythical quality. From what I can
understand true genius is essentially not quantifiable. Some
self-proclaim, some don’t want credit, some saw into the future enough
they created solutions and prevented wars before they began, some
understood the game of life and decided not to play it.
In
considering my desire to write this my motive may be simply the miscalibrated view of intelligence. I see no innately intelligent or
rational component in engaging in existence over not. I see no
intelligent correlation in ambition over indifference. I see a vast
disparity between con artists who claim to be geniuses to place
themselves in that light, versus others smart enough to see fame and
accreditation are often overrated or not worth pursuing. I see an excessive amount of credit
go to problem solvers and not enough credit go to people who prevent
problems from ever starting. I see the vast majority of the attention on
the “great men,” less so on the collective’s daily contributions and
inventions without which those great men would not exist in equal
capacity. I see an unscientific acceptance of science as an irreproachable and final
authority, and this elitism doesn’t seem a wise way to advocate wisdom.
There’s an entire world slowly, day by day inventing and perfecting
ideas that get engineered into the reality, and the same with creating
the complex systems to keep these emerging inventions running smoothly
and compatibly with the inventions of the past, while leaving room for
things to be expanded upon in the future. It seems an impossible task in
a world of billions but this also means you have that many more minds
working towards solutions. This world has another side defined by what it doesn’t do and doesn’t create, alongside with what measures are taken to exclude unfavorable outcomes. By the time you include ambition or desire to participate in life itself, it seems impossible to quantify and current measures are uninspiring and unwise.