Man, Emily Wilson sure took Chris Nolan and The Odyssey to task in her review and I am all for it. If you’ve seen the film, the entire piece is worth reading—but the conclusion really brings her point home:

Nolan’s Odyssey lacks many of the elements that make the poem great. It has nothing convincing to say about time, memory, history, war, or about the relationship between one warrior’s glorious return and the lives of his family, adversaries, comrades, friends and neighbours. It lacks psychological, emotional, political and ethical depth. Its narrative structure is gimmicky. The writing is abysmal. None of the characters has convincing motivation for their actions or words. There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.

The most troubling ethical problem with Nolan’s Odyssey concerns the decision to film part of the movie in the occupied territory of Western Sahara, thus normalising the ongoing violence against the indigenous Sahrawi people. It is particularly galling that Nolan used this land simply as a visually striking backdrop for a film that centres, aggrandises and redeems the hero of a territorial war on account of his belated and partial acknowledgment of his own guilt.

For far too long, Chris Nolan has been relatively immune to criticism for reasons unknown. Perhaps it’s the striking imagery he’s been able to create—the black hole in Interstellar, the folding cities of Inception, the bomb in Oppenheimer—or maybe it’s that a couple performances have been Oscar-worthy (I would say Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight is the only truly great performance in a film of his, though). Whatever the reasoning, he’s considered critically by many journalists and social media cinephiles alike as one of the premier directors of this generation and I am absolutely dumbfounded as to why (I find Interstellar and Oppenheimer both to be as overrated as The Odyssey).

Good writing is the foundation of any cinematic achievement and none of Nolan’s films have had an above-average script. Worse still is his direction of conversational dialogue, which is often choppy on top of being drowned out by sound design that favors background environments and nonstop scores. His female characters are often hollow and disposable (and even the men are largely one-dimensional). He excels in aesthetic scale but consistently fails to deliver on any emotional, human level. It raises the questions: What are modern audiences looking for in a film, anyway? Why are these movies considered among the best of our time?

I can’t help but think this is less about Nolan being a bad director than it is more a sign of what art means to a society so molded by the vacuous, profit-driven ambitions of capitalism. Humanity must be stripped from most endeavors or people might feel guilty about the collateral damage that ensues from endlessly prioritizing financial well-being over that of the communities this economic model ‘serves.’ Under this ideological weight, art is chipped away at until it becomes nothing more than shallow entertainment—unchallenging to the audience or the interests behind the scenes that fund it. Consequently, we get these grand films of empty rhetoric which, more than anything else, become statements on the decline of our appreciation for the potential of culture in America.

In many ways, protest art doesn’t really make sense now. While one would think the rise of fascism would make for ample space for artists to respond, the truth is the parody Donald Trump and his cohort have made of media in general makes it difficult for any kind of traditional creativity to resonate. The ether of media has become a battleground where lines are drawn around political affiliation and people disregard or appropriate art for their own personal interpretations and could give a shit about the rest. Look no further than Elon Musk promising a ‘historically accurate’ AI version of The Odyssey.

Another recent case in point is Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s No Title As Of 13 February 2024 28,340 Dead, which cited the ‘official’ death toll in Gaza—at which point people supportive of Israel would go around ‘correcting’ the album. (Other modern ironies are conservatives who listen to Rage Against The Machine to the point where Tom Morello had to explicitly tell them the music was not intended to support their perspective, or pro-police ilk adopting the Punisher skull without understanding its true history.)

I think Olivia Laing said it best in Funny Weather—

Can art do anything, especially during periods of crisis? In 1967, George Steiner wrote a famous essay in which he observed that a concentration-camp commander could read Goethe and Rilke in the evening and still carry out his duties at Auschwitz in the morning, regarding this as evidence that art had failed in its highest function, to humanise. But this makes art sound like a magic bullet, which should reorganise our critical and moral faculties without effort, while simultaneously obliterating free will. Empathy is not something that happens to us when we read Dickens. It’s work. What art does is provide material with which to think: new registers, new spaces. After that, friend, it’s up to you.

It is true that once a piece of art is finished, you can’t really control how it is interpreted by the audience—and while that has always been part of the beauty of creativity, in times when people use art in ways that are distinctly antithetical to its obvious intention in order to promote oppressive messages, it makes it increasingly difficult to portray an idea of dissent. Even as political affiliation has become entrenched in personal identity, people still don’t want to feel excluded from culture—however when your view of the world includes domination through violence, it’s tough to find art that supports that outlook.

Like everything else in the world currently in flux, it remains interesting to see how art responds to the progressively contentious political environment (and the world of art being increasingly intertwined with the capitalist systems that are obviously right-wing). Journalism has all but completely failed to hold the state accountable for its actions, and most art feels like it’s right there too. When all is said and done with this era, how art critics and historians write about what is happening now will surely be a good read.

Why even try to write about any of this now? There is so much happening on a daily basis that it’s difficult to keep track of, much less maintain a discourse on. The climate crisis? War? Artificial intelligence? Wealth disparity? Global fascism? Genocide? Wage stagnation? What’s the point?

I think right now that question—Why bother?—is more interesting to me than the sum total of all the issues being faced, because it points directly to the crux of the problem. There is a bottleneck between the outcry for necessary change and administrative action to set it in motion, and that stagnation leads to division, rage, and despair among the people. This does not feel unintentional.

In a 2017 town hall debate on CNN, Nancy Pelosi replied to a question regarding the popularity of a more socialist economic agenda with, “We’re capitalists.” When I watched that live, it felt like a real mask-off, with-us-or-against-us moment for the Democratic party. Regardless of who is in power, there will never be a political agenda that prioritizes the well-being of the people over that of economic growth (and, when it comes down to it, individual profits). Nearly ten years later and it feels like liberals still won’t acknowledge that when you play the tape of capitalism to the end of the line, you end up with a guy like Donald Trump in power every time.

But the fact is the Democrats have no interest in what their constituents want, regardless of what it costs them. Kamala Harris lost in 2024 due to her pro-Israel stance during a genocide. Instead of even acknowledging that, the DNC buried the campaign autopsy because it said just as much. The Democrats won’t admit why they lost, and by doing so, won’t have to change any policy that might prevent donations coming in from AIPAC. If they won’t change their tune on supporting a genocidal apartheid state, I can’t imagine they’ll turn against Wall Street.

And this is what we’re stuck with—a hyperactive social media machine, a lazy and dying fourth estate protecting corporate interests, and a government that could give a fuck about any of it. We’re just in a cycle of talking amongst ourselves ad nauseam while nothing changes—constantly gaslit into an echo of reacting to one crisis after another, being exhausted by the lack of response by anyone in power. This repetition can only go on so long before it breaks into fits of action, at which point I think we’ll see the iron fist of the state really begin to squeeze.

At the very best, it’s demoralizing and leaves a feeling of futility to any creative endeavor. If nothing else, all I can do is imagine that when the dust settles and whatever comes next finally arrives, there will be some kind of record on how it all went down. Sometimes bearing witness is all you can do.

I moved recently. Or, perhaps, I’m in the process of moving. I still have some floors to vacuum and trash to throw away and a microwave to drive from East Hollywood to MacArthur Park. Nevertheless, things are in motion and perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to begin writing online once again. Clean slates, fresh starts, et cetera.

I can’t exactly say why I stopped to begin with. It was a number of factors. My usual writing partner (a stiff drink) has been out of my life for coming up on five years now and, to be honest, it’s been proving incredibly challenging to get in the mood for anything creative while sober. Drinking can be a destructive habit, sure, but it also allowed for me to blur out the mess of the world and focus on just what I was feeling. Without that assistance, the overwhelming existential weight of everything makes the idea of writing, drawing, or even getting out of bed in the morning feel like a pointless endeavor. What good is it to do anything in America these days, anyway?

Then there’s the Dead Internet Theory, which contributes even more to the tsunami of What the fuck am I even bothering with any of this for? thought patterns that plague every spark of inspiration I may get these days. With most of the internet a devolving dialogue between bots and the rest of it a grotesque monetization scheme amidst the dying embers of capitalism, contributing to the static doesn’t feel like a valuable way to spend my time. (This is to say nothing of a declining literacy rate and the fact most people get content in short-form video now.)

Anyway, I’m moving, and I don’t know if it’s my new IP address or just the timing, but from my new place I can no longer watch YouTube videos. The site requires I sign in (I do not have an account) in order to view any of their content. For whatever reason, this pushed me over the edge and I guess re-starting this little blog is my way of putting one more site on the internet that doesn’t track its audience—no required log-in, no storing of cookies. Just whatever bullshit I come up with, free to any and all to read or leave.

So we’ll see where this goes, or if I can maintain it. I’ve taken down all the writing and work archives, as it’s been too long since I’ve painted anything and don’t really feel like hosting shit from ten years ago. I guess it was good while it lasted.