Layne Staley: martyr of despair

In the early 90's the grunge phenomenon swept the nation, an almost unrivaled force in the history of authentic music. It bred many imitators. But the original bands were and are the titans of music in their day. Soundgarden. Nirvana. Pearl Jam. Alice in Chains. Stone Temple Pilots. Jane's Addiction. The darkest and heaviest of the era, Alice in Chains struggled to find their sound in the beginning. Being heavily influenced by the superficiality of L.A.-based hair metal, they began generic enough. 1990's Facelift had some gems, but didn't yet single them out. It wasn't until Dirt (1992) that you could begin to discern a unique talent. Song after song toured the dark side of life, the despair and anguish and self-loathing brought on by heroine addiction. As if to recover from the unrestrained debauchery they had experienced, a calmer and absolutely gut-wrenching EP called Jar of Flies (1994) was released, with some of the saddest songs I've ever heard.

There is a price to pay when you plumb the depths of the human condition. As if cursed to go there by an addiction he loathed, lead singer Layne Staley's tortured soul put into beautiful music a reality that Black Sabbath only flirted with. A funny thing happens when you personalize any band. Staley seemed like he would have been a great friend. Funny. Goodhearted. Real. Humble. Despite all his talent, his addictions would get the best of him, as he was found on April 20th, 2002, only weighing 86 pounds, dead from an overdose. His death, while barely making a blip on the media radar, sent waves of sorrow throughout the grunge community and the fanbase of Alice in Chains.

As a hidden track on their collection of B-sides called Lost Dogs front-man for Pearl Jam Eddie Vedder created the song 4/20/02 (the day Vedder heard the news), the day he heard the news of his good friend's death. The song is filled with such desolation and sadness that such a talent and great friend was taken away. The song makes me cry every time. I don't care, because I don't know, where Staley is at in the after-life right now. I pray that his soul is healed. Here is Vedder's song, along with some of the more beautiful, yet heartrending songs Staley sings called Nutshell and River of Deceit, songs the feel and tone and lyrics of which tell me more about the human condition than lots of art that I've experienced.

Adventureland: A Greatly Underrated Film

The 80s and early 90s are often recognized for the films they produced that, for the first time, really seemed to resonate with young adults and adolescent youth.
It is a timeless tradition as old as movies themselves to market and promote films geared towards teenagers and young adults because after all, who goes to the movies more then highschool kids? But the great thing about this time period was that for the first time the films being made actually caused kids to examine their lives, connect with the characters, be affirmed in knowing that, "I'm not the only one that feels this way!" instead of just selling tickets and packing seats to the latest slapstick comedy or Friday the 13th picture (not that there's anything wrong with that!) We all know what movies I'm talking about, "Sixteen Candles", "Ferris Buellers Day Off", "Say Anything", "Pretty in Pink" yada yada yada you get my point, all great pictures, all held in very high regard. Adventureland is every bit as good as these classics.

Now, I don't want to go off on a tangent of simply summing up, or trying to sum up the movie Adventureland, that's boring, no one wants that and I'll leave it up to anyone that reads this to take matters into their own hands of watching or not watching it. I will however state that Adventureland is an incredible coming of age story and it blows my mind that when it was released in 2009 no one seemed to recognize or care. When, had this movie been released in the 80s and been directed by John Hughes everyone would have thought it was brilliant.

I guess I'm kind of painting perhaps a slightly untrue picture since the movie actually did get better then average reviews but I feel like it was just critics saying "hey the dude that made 'Superbad' made another pretty cool movie. there isn't much else out, go see it" and not "hey go buy this movie immediately and keep it on your dvd shelf in between 'The Breakfast Club' and 'The Outsiders'"
I for one choose to blame those obnoxious twilight movies for being the cause of why Adventureland isn't resting high upon the pedestal it deserves to be on. I guess no one wanted to see Kristen Stewart in a movie that actually didn't suck. But she was amazing in Adventureland and I'm fairly convinced she could be our next Molly Ringwald.

Kristen if you're out there...
please stop making twilight. You're so much better then that, you deserve the world, I believe in you.

Love Always, Zach xoxo

Three Generations of Hell Raisers

On September 17th 1923 in a log cabin in Alabama the world was changed forever. This date marked the arrival of Hiram Williams aka Hank Williams. Hank Williams is not only considered to be the god father of country western music and the writer of several number one hits but is also known to be music's first bad ass. Excuse the language but that's really the only way of putting it. Hank began his music career in 1937, had his own radio show by 1938, dropped out of school by 1939 and was a full blown alcoholic by 1940.

The 40s were a wild and wonderful time for Hank, he got married, had a son (Hank Williams Jr., you may have heard of him), played the Grand Ole Opry and was the first performer to ever receive six encores and also became addicted to drugs all in the course of a few years. His drug of choice: morphine and pain killers, that he would melt down and inject into his arm. Later Hank was fired from the Grand ole Opry and told never to return because of his constant struggle to be sober. (To this day the Opry still refuses to add him to the country music hall of fame.) In the same year his band left him, stating that he was "drinking more then the shows were paying."

I mean come on guys this was in the 1940s! These are the types of antics guys like Axel Rose and Scott Weiland wish they could have been doing.

Hank Williams died on January 1st 1953 of heart failure due to drug overdose at the age of 29. He was scheduled to play a new years day show that night in Ohio.

Some of his hits include: "Your Cheatin' Heart", "Lovesick Blues", "I'm so lonesome I could cry" and "Hey goodlookin'" (even if you don't know it, you've probably heard all of these songs.)


Hank Williams Jr made his record debut in 1957 and has been writing and recording ever since. He is accredited to helping create the genre of music known as "outlaw country" and is widely known for his huge hits; "A country boy can survive", "Whiskey bent and hell bound", and "Stoned at the jukebox" to name a few.

I'm not gonna lie, I don't know half as much about Hank Jr as I do his dad and son, so rather then just bs my way through a few more lines I'm gonna skip right to Hank III.

Now before I go on ranting about how awesome I think Hank Williams the 3rd (better known as simply Hank III) is, I'd like to state I haven't been a die hard III fan for years, I have never seen him preform live and up until recently I had never listened to his music. Just want to be up front with you guys. That being said...I have a total man crush on Hank III.

For about a year now I've been under the impression that I might actually be the only person that loves hardcore dirty metal and punk as much as I love country. That was until I saw a picture of Hank III wearing a cowboy hat, holding an acoustic guitar and wearing a misfits shirt all at the same time. Immediate actions were taken and thanks to Al Gore and his brain child we like to call the internet I was able to hear some of III's music. It instantly struck a chord. What have I been doing all this time not listening to this?! I didn't think it was possible to take the voice and old timey feel of Hank Williams and then some how fiendishly cross breed it with filthy Rob Zombie/ Alice Cooper style party rock. But he did and it's awesome.

Taking after both Hanks before him and other larger then life musicians he no doubt looked up to, Hank III has mastered the whole "I don't give a good damn" attitude and mentality, which comes across very blatantly in his music. I'll admit his music isn't for everyone and with songs like; "whiskey, weed and women", "the pills I took", and "P.F.F." (which stands for punch, fight, fuck) he probably wouldn't win the upstanding morality award, but neither would his father or grandfather. Which is part of what makes these men true icons and American legends.

Athletics

I am not an athlete. Not by any stretch of the imagination. At some point in every boy's life they have to make a decision which direction they will go. Either they will go the direction of the running back, high school stud going by such nicknames as "The Mule" or "The Bear Trap". (I'm not confident anyone has ever been called these names) Or the less impressive(but eventual owner of Facbook), artsy beatnik kid who reads Yeats and talks about his "angst" and wears scarves when it is 95 degrees outside.

I am somewhere in the middle. I have been known to make it out on the "Court" or the "pitch" as they say across the pond. But, from early on I know I just was not set up to be the baseball stats guy.

However, in the last 2 or 3 years I have become obsessed with the NBA. Watching guys like Blake "The Rhythm" Griffin cram a dunk down a dudes throat, Kobe "The Black Mamba" Bryant make a game winning shot, or Kevin "The Durantula" Durant embarass a defense, this is good television as well as nice distraction from the Quinean web of Epistemology I am way to often concerned with. To feed this need, I have been reading this guys sports blog, Tony Gervino. I like this guy because he's not an annoying sports writer who presumes that Sports-center (Da na na) is the only thing out there and references Henry James. Man after my own heart.

Well, in this spirit I wanted to try my hand at a "Sports" blog. Or at least offer my (unique?) perspective as a Humanities major now working on a degree in theology.

Let me list off what it is I like about the NBA:

1.Nicknames: His Airness, The Logo, The Hick from French Lick (More where that came from)

Whether you want to believe it or not, sports journalists are some of the cleverest writers out right now. They take something that has a dedicated audience week in and week out and makes it even more engaging. A simple way is to let people in on the secret, welcome them in to the club, is to give an athlete a nickname that everyone can refer to.( i.e. King James)

2. Dunks. Oh my dear lawd, there is nothing sweeter than a sweet Crammer Jammer!

The sheer athleticism of getting to the basket, with ball in hand, rising up and slamming that ball through the iron. Every little boys dream! Just watch this.

3. The Arrogance and Razzle/Dazzle

-Lebron James begins every game by putting powder on his hands and throwing it into the air. With flashing lights and some techno song playing in the background, I'm sure I would be in tears because of the beauty of it all.

-Yesterday a 48 years old Michael Jordan suited up and practiced with his Charlotte Bobcats. I'm pretty confident it's because he just wants to shoot a jumper over someone half his age, proving he still the greatest. He could probably still run with some of the b-players in the League, I mean why couldn't he? He is only Michael Jordan, he is why basketball was created.

Finally, I think the reason I have begun to develop an appreciation for the NBA (and maybe all of sports) is because of the narrative of it all. You can't tell me it was not a beautiful thing watch Boston win the world Series after 50 years of choking. There is something special about it all. Often, sports is the one thing that a son can talk to his Dad about, who am I to demean that?

(This may be the opposite of a "Proper" sports blog, something akin to if Esquire or GQ wrote a sports blog. Or the cliche' of a woman watching sports because of the "cute butts", either way I am hooked to the NBA. )

Blade Runner: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.

Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave.

Rick Deckard is a retired police officer in Los Angeles in the year 2018. At one point, that time had some mystique surrounding it, but as 2011 is in full sway, it has waned a bit. But it doesn’t matter. We could watch the movie in the same spirit as one watched The Watchmen, in the sense that The Watchmen gave us a world that could have happened under different circumstances. Deckard in Blade Runner is in a Los Angeles that could have been, and if it hasn’t been yet, it doesn’t seem out of the question some time down the road. At a bar, Deckard is told by his old boss that some replicants are on the loose. We’re not given all the details, but we’re safe in concluding the replicants aren’t human. They were ‘created’ in some way, and they resemble humans in all the noticeable ways. The primary role for them, the reason they've been created, seems to be for fighting in wars or slaving away in a colony somewhere millions of miles from Earth. In this dystopia in the future, wars needn’t any longer be a threat to human life, or sweatshops needn’t any longer be a place for humans: the replicants are the replacement.



Before retirement, Deckard was a Blade Runner, someone who was sent to capture fugitive or lawless replicants and ‘retire’ them. A Voight-Kampf test is administered to determine whether the alleged replicant was human or not. If the suspect shows empathy to a series of questions, it’s spared and seen as human; if not, it is ‘retired’. When another blade runner, Holden, was giving the test to a replicant named Leon, Leon snaps and kills Holden. Deckard watches the footage on a video. Upon seeing the video, he agrees to capture the replicant responsible. But before he is on his way, his old boss tells him that Leon is under the leadership of Roy Batty and two others, Pris and Zhora. The strange thing about these replicants is that when they were made, they were designed to ‘shut-down’ after 4 years just in case they started to develop any emotion and desires for freedom. These replicants have escaped from a slave-colony on another planet, traveled to Earth, because they were intrepid enough to want to expand their lifespan in order to gain emotion and freedom.

Roy and Leon are on a quest to meet Tyrell, the creator of the replicants and CEO of Tyrell Corporation with the ominous slogan: more human than human. In the mean time, there is an interesting side-story involving Deckard and Rachael, an advanced replicant of the Nexus-6 model, who thinks she’s human, and who had to undergo a more advanced Voight-Kampf test to prove she’s a replicant. Tyrell ended up making her his master creation and implanted her with memories of his niece, so that in her consciousness, she’d think the memories were hers. Rachael has feelings for Deckard, but Deckard knows she’s a replicant, and after Deckard tells her that her memories are a fraud, she runs away in a despair, or the only kind of despair she’s capable of.

As Deckard retires one replicant after another, Roy presents a problem. Following certain clues, Roy locates Tyrell and asks for his life-extension.

Tyrell: [Tyrell explains to Roy why he can't extend his lifespan] The facts of life... to make an alteration in the evolvement of an organic life system is fatal. A coding sequence cannot be revised once it's been established.
Batty: Why not?
Tyrell: Because by the second day of incubation, any cells that have undergone reversion mutation give rise to revertant colonies, like rats leaving a sinking ship; then the ship... sinks.
Batty: What about EMS-3 recombination?
Tyrell: We've already tried it - ethyl, methane, sulfinate as an alkylating agent and potent mutagen; it created a virus so lethal the subject was dead before it even left the table.
Batty: Then a repressor protein, that would block the operating cells.
Tyrell: Wouldn't obstruct replication; but it does give rise to an error in replication, so that the newly formed DNA strand carries with it a mutation - and you've got a virus again... but this, all of this is academic. You were made as well as we could make you.
Batty: But not to last.
Tyrell: The light that burns twice as bright burns for half as long - and you have burned so very, very brightly, Roy. Look at you: you're the Prodigal Son; you're quite a prize!
Batty: I've done... questionable things.
Tyrell: Also extraordinary things; revel in your time.
Batty: Nothing the God of biomechanics wouldn't let you into heaven for.

Roy doesn't want to die! He's going over all the scientific ways to extend his life. But none work. He asking his creator why he has to die! He wants to live forever.

Tyrell: Would you... like to be upgraded?
Batty: I had in mind something a little more radical.
Tyrell: What... what seems to be the problem?
Batty: Death.
Tyrell: Death; ah, well that's a little out of my jurisdiction. You...
Batty: *I want more life, fucker

Roy kisses Tyrell, and then kills him. Deckard and Roy then meet in an abandoned building, but Deckard is no match for Roy's strength. For all that, however, Roy's 4-year lifespan is coming full circle, and he begins to die. Deckard knows he doesn't stand a chance, and as he is effortlessly saved from certain death as he was hanging off the side of skyscraper, and as life slowly slips away from Roy, Deckard is witness to one of the most heartbreaking scenes in all cinema:



Our lives are like tears in the rain. Beautiful. The movie about accepting our own death! The movie was adapted from a novel by Phillip K. Dick called Do Androids Dream of Electric Sleep? The look of the film is so out of this world awesome that to praise it would be to say nothing new. The special effects gave Los Angeles a look that'll never be forgotten. The theme of Frankenstein is evident throughout. As I'm watching, the movie touches something in me. I don't want to die! Not yet anyway. And in your heart of hearts, you're wondering who the heck made me to die! Why do we die!? The scene above encapsulates the futility of mortality perfectly. If you haven't seen it, see it; if you have, see it again!

Jaws: Here's to swimmin' with bow-legged women.

Mr. Vaughn, what we are dealing with here is a perfect engine, an eating machine. It's really a miracle of evolution. All this machine does is swim and eat and make little sharks, and that's all.

I’ll come right out and say that Jaws is, and will continue to be, one of my favorite movies. It’s flawless. The acting, the story, the script, the directing, the feel of the film, the suspense, the terror, the social impact, the box office, the cultural impact: everything! It’s amazing what you can accomplish without CGI. Can you imagine what this movie would have been like if its makers somehow made it into the future and stole CGI technology, and created the shark that way? First of all, there’d be more of the shark, which would spoil the ‘less is more’ dread that is the trademark of the original. Secondly, for some reason, it’s gotten into the heads of filmmakers that a CGI creation looks and comes across as more real and convincing than special-effects make-up or props. No, no, no, no, NO! Not true.

Do you remember The Thing? No CGI. Horrifying. The original Nightmare on Elmstreet? Disturbing. Alien? Aliens? Predator? Even E.T. E.T.! What a note to end on? The original movie was perfect! But then the CGI-nazis came in and ruined it. I think it was like a 25th anniversary rendition, and they went in and made E.T. CGI! Blasphemy! It didn’t make any kind of impact, and in terms of audience reception, no one remembers it other than to make fun of it. If they go back to Jaws and make the shark CGI, I’ll lose my marbles. But back to the shark.

The shark finally made its appearance (besides those we see underwater, which was just the filming of real sharks), and it looked ferocious. If the jaws of Jaws looked fake because of the way they had to make it to make the shark’s jaws open and shut, the first thing I thought of when I first saw it wasn’t that it looked fake, but that this shark is such a monster that it even looks different from your everyday shark. You might as well make a movie about Moby Dick and remove the whiteness! Just because the prop isn’t going to completely resemble a real shark doesn’t mean you have to make it look like a cartoon, and it doesn’t mean the audience won’t click with some appearance-abnormality that you thought made the shark look fake, but which the audience thought made the shark more uniquely horrifying. When that shark jumped onto the back of their boat, and its weight made the back of the boat sink underneath its enormous weight, and Quint and Brody are struggling to stay at the front to keep of from sliding into the jaws, that shark looked absolutely amazing! You get a brief glimpse of it when Brody is throwing the chum off the side of the boat, but your imagination is just reeling about what this shark might look like completely out of the water.

I mentioned Moby Dick before, and it’s amazing to see how much Jaws and Moby Dick are alike, how Captain Ahab and Quint are alike, how Ishmael and Brody are alike in certain ways, and of course Moby Dick and the shark. Quint is one of my favorites. He is a man’s man. He is a veteran at the sea and, as we find out a later, a veteran of World War 2. In one of the best scenes of the movie, he tells the true story of the sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis, which was struck by two Japanese torpedos. As it sunk, 300 of the 1,196 souls on board died; out of the 880 that were left, only a small portion had life boats, or even life preservers. There they sat for the longest time because the Navy didn’t have any idea that they were in distress. Out of the 880, only 321 came out alive, with most of them taken away by oceanic white tip sharks. I can’t imagine the terror. Quint’s monologue is one of the best in movie history. This might explain his Ahab-like obsession with killing/catching sharks, especially his obsession with this shark, which seems to symbolize all his hatred against all sharks.

Roy Scheider gives an unforgettable performance as Chief Brody. He plays the perfect everyman. He is a family man, and due to almost drowning as a child, he has a fear of the water. Irony of ironies, he is chief of police and is notified about the recent mauling of swimmers by what Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) thinks is a rogue shark. Now he has to survey the beaches and be a glorified lifeguard, because the town’s mayor cares more about the money the town gets from tourists than possibly risking their lives in the jaws of a 35 foot, hungry, remorseless shark.

To watch the 3 characters (Hooper, Quint, and Brody) interact is the highlight of the film for me. Hooper and Brody have a kinship, because Brody sought Hooper's expertise, and Hooper knows Brody respects his knowledge and advice. Hooper is a peppery delight, probably a yuppie when not at work, but has enough charm and grace to not let his social class render him a snob. To more discerning characters like Quint, he won't let Hooper have a break, which oftentimes leads to hilarious exchanges. Just to see the expression on Hooper's face when, after Brody accidentally pulled the knot wrong that was holding up the compressed air tanks, and Quint says:

Yeah, that's real fine expensive gear you brought out here, Mr. Hooper. 'Course I don't know what that bastard shark's gonna do with it, might eat it I suppose. Seen one eat a rockin' chair one time. Hey chieffy, next time you just ask me which line to pull, right?

Or, when Hooper is playing solitaire and Quint tells him to stop playing with himself. Or, when they're arguing about fishing line and Quint says:

Well it proves one thing, Mr. Hooper. It proves that you wealthy college boys don't have the education enough to admit when you're wrong.

And Hooper makes faces at him. Or:

Quint: You have city hands, Mr. Hooper. You been countin' money all your life.
Hooper: All right, all right. Hey, I don't need this... I don't need this working-class-hero crap.

Hilarious. There are so many scenes that makes this movie great. When they're all comparing scars. When, after Quint finishes his beer and squeezes the can, Hooper finishes his water and squeezes a plastic cup out of some misplaced sense of competition. The ominous foreboding when Brody is flipping through the shark book: William's soundtrack is brooding and we see the flipping pages in the reflection of Brody's glasses, and we get quick cuts to horrendously grotesque shark wounds on various victims. Or the lighthearted scenes of Quint teaching Brody how to tie a knot. Quint scratching his nails on the chalkboard to get everyone's attention. The sleazeball mayor. Or, as the boat is sinking, and the water is up to their waist's, Quint humorously hands Brody a mini-water pump and tells him, "Pump it out Chief." Or the scene when Hooper is reluctantly going into the cage, and he's trying to wash his goggles, but he has no spit. Or when they're all comparing their scars. Or when you see the full length of the shark swim around the boat with Williams' score enhancing the sublimity of everything. The yellow barrels! When they pop up, you hear Hooper:

Boys, oh boys... I think he's come back for his noon feeding.

Or, when the light in the boat goes out, Hooper exclaims: "It ate the light." Or, how Quint wants to be cut off from the outside world or outside help, giving a real sense of Romanticism. I could go on and on. By keeping the shark off camera, we got suspense. As Hitchcock said, if you have a bomb under a table and it explodes, that's surprise; but if you have a bomb under the table and it doesn't explode, that's suspense. For nearly the whole time, the bomb was under the table.

Allegory: what's the fuss?

It is difficult to describe the movie Magnolia, its effect on me, my intellectual gymnastics in trying to separate my love for it from the fanatical attempts by movie-apologists to yank some allegory from the film. Now to be clear, I'm not against people who throw out allegories based on story-arcs; this is bound to happen, and it's happened in other artistic mediums, and I don't think it should be discouraged. If the allegory is probably drawn based on certain discerned themes the movie puts out there, then by all means point out the allegory if for no other reason than to illuminate your own experience of the movie, or the meaning the movie had for you alone; and if you meet someone else who pulled out a similar allegory, you can join hands in sharing your mutual experience and talk into the wee hours about the similar effect the movie had on you both. That's the beauty of it. My problem with the allegory-syndrome is that some movie-apologists try to foist the allegory on the audience, and that a failure to discern the allegory means a failure on the part of the moviegoer to discern the objective meaning of the movie.

But I'm trying to mesh this view with one I've always had a tendency to shy away from. I don't like the platitude that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But if I shy away from this, why do I not like the allegory-syndrome? Maybe this is what happens. Perhaps there is an allegory that, by the very nature of the theme in the movie, is a necessary part of the art; and that, by accident, the audience can tap into this inherent part, and by some further accident, hone in on this inherent part in such a way that this part effects the audience with some aesthetic experience: the audience is effected, and so the subjective and objective are for a moment bridged. My problem is that if the allegory is 'out there'/'in the movie', then the critic, or the movie-appreciator, has to examine it like a scientist examines some protoplasm in a slide under a microscope, and the subject-matter of the art is divorced from me/the subject; and it is a necessary part of art that it links/connects with the subject/me in a subjective way; and if it does that, it's impossible to - at the same time - examine in some scientific way the nature of the art that happens to be affecting me. Perhaps this is the appreciation/contemplation distinction coming into play.

In other words, there's a distinction between contemplating an effect in me made by the art, and actually being in the moment of being affected by the art. If you're watching a part in a movie that moves you so much it makes you cry, you can do a couple things. You can stay engrossed in the movie, focused on the story, on the screen, and what's happening on the screen, entering into the imaginative experience of the moviegoer, receiving that world, so for a moment you see the whole world through that experience, and you have a genuine aesthetic experience; or you can stop right on the threshold of the experience and start looking inward at how your whole biological system is reacting to the experience: a felt change of the nervous system, a fluttering in the diaphragm, a feeling of sickness, but pleasurable somehow. In the first case, you have appreciation; in the second, you have contemplation. Perhaps the allegory-syndrome comes from a process of contemplation that seeks to make sense of a prior experience of appreciation while in the aesthetic experience. But while I'm in the appreciation-stage, anyone who tries to tell me the insights of the contemplation-stage, that this or that scene is a perfect artistic rendering of the metaphor of Christ liberating us from the bondage of sin (for example), I'm repulsed, annoyed, and annoyed in such a way that when I happen to emerge out of the appreciation-stage and into the contemplation-stage, I remember those insights I was annoyed with, and because they annoy me, I'm denied certain inherent allegory-insights about the movie, because of a psychological disposition to shy away from them, because of the uninvited way they were foisted on me while I was in the appreciation-state.

I think the power of allegories in movies or any medium of art comes from private contemplation, from our thinking about the impact of the movie, or the meaning the movie has for us, in the privacy of our own imagination. It is very rare when you can discuss an allegory with someone else and have the power of the allegory affect them in the way you intended it to affect them and at the same time preserve the subjectivity that is at the root of all movie-enjoyment. Or, I can think of some other way allegory-hunting can be enjoyable: when you WANT to find an allegory. In that case, the 'want' is connected to subjectivity; you're seeking for an allegorical meaning, and when you find one that affects you, you seize on it as a means of understanding something or other. But this is delicate ground we're treading on, because subjectivity is delicate ground. So, I guess I can be open to allegories being inherent in movies; there's just a delicate way to go about talking about them. This could clear up something: that who cares how delicate we talk about the fact that the Earth is the third planet removed from the sun - that's a scientific fact, and it's proven objectively by science. But it's interesting that when we talk about movies, there is a delicate way we have to talk about allegory in movies; I find that this is because movies are closely bound up with our own subjectivity, even though there is an objective fact of the matter of whether or not there is an allegory, or whether the allegory inferred is right or not.