29 April 2025

Why I Care So Much About Anti-Semitism



About twenty years ago, in a graduate English seminar at George Washington University, a presenter began her lecture on feminism with a series of questions: "Do you think women are equal to men?" "Do women deserve the same rights and opportunities as men?"

"Of course!" The class collectively responded.

"Congratulations," the presenter chimed, "you're all feminists!" We were disarmed by the simple illumination. Indeed we were all feminists.

For some, feminism can be a scary word. To some, it implies a violent rejection of traditional gender norms, even a hatred of men as a collective. These negative stereotypes applied to feminists have been nurtured over the decades by its opponents with defamatory, highly charged rhetoric. Zionism works the same way. For some it's a scary word, made scarier by the aggressive and deliberately misleading rhetoric of its many opponents. Although most people have at this point are familiar with the term, perhaps the average person doesn’t really know what it means.

"Do you believe that Jews are equal to other human beings?" "Are Jews deserving of self-determination on their ancestral Jewish homeland?"

If you answer yes, congratulations, you're a Zionist!

***

"Why do you care so much about Anti-Semitism?"

It's a question as good as any. A good friend asked recently. Why do you care so much?

I understand what he meant. After all, prejudice and racism are ever-present. Regrettably, there are too many forms of hate that can make ours an ugly world. If a person gets caught up with every racist, bigot, homophobe, transphobe, anti-Semite, etc. then that person is going to have a very unpleasant life. Why get so caught up in this one particular ancient form of bigotry?

I am a Jew. Being a Jew is the thing about myself of which I am most proud. But it expands beyond my personal identity. It extends to my parents, grandparents, and ancestors who have carried the weight of thousands of pogroms across thousands of miles over thousands of years. It extends to the entire nation of Israel–as in the entirety of the world's Jewry–who have borne the same.

Ask any Jew and no matter which part of the world they're from or their parents were from—Poland, Yemen, Argentina, Egypt, it doesn't matter—their stories are the same. They tried to destroy us and almost succeeded but somehow we survived. It's like the Jews have rendered our own variation on Tolstoy's line about families: all Jewish families have the same story arc—torqued sharply between unspeakable tragedy and the triumph of survival.

My story begins in another place also fighting for its very survival: Ukraine. Born in Kyiv in the early 80s, I grew up with my older brother and parents not far from Babi Yar, an urban ravine that had been converted into a park. It was not unusual to find me there on a summer afternoon, playing with my family and friends. My youthful bliss shielded my ignorance of what happened there just a little over forty years earlier—where einsatzgruppen death squads led the organized massacre of the Jews of Kyiv, over 33,000 in all, in one weekend. It was one of the largest single killing events the nazis carried out against the Jews of Europe during the Holocaust.

Years later, during one of those times I came to visit the now park with my family, my father happened to stumble upon a human jawbone that had emerged from its deranged and dusty resting place. The encounter made more awkward as we were accompanied by an American Jewish volunteer from the organization HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, who, at great risk to his personal safety, had embarked upon a trip of solidarity behind the iron curtain to visit us in the Soviet Union.

It doesn’t escape me that from my very birth, before I even understood what a Jew is or even who I am, I’ve been part of a struggle against antisemitism. We were one of the lucky ones, Jewish refuseniks escaping the USSR in the late 80s not long after Chernobyl. Upon arrival in the United States, we were political refugees, stateless, sans passports.

***

Every Jewish person in the world felt the impact of October 7th and has been irretrievably changed by it. The pain and horror of those days are part of us now, urgently visceral. An awful weight cements in your guts as the casualty rates tick higher and higher; the footage coming out of Israel becoming more gruesome and unthinkable.

It only gets worse. Entire families wiped out, incinerated in their own homes. Rape, beheadings, torture, every form of sadism in the awful arsenal of terror. Hundreds of hostages snatched—women, children, elderly, Holocaust survivors. Holocaust survivors... for God's sake, have they not suffered enough? The misery punctuated by the veritable orgy of celebration over Jewish blood being spilled, while we hadn't even put out the flames from our loved ones' corpses. The taunting, the abuse, the humiliations, the mental contortions involved in justifying, explaining, 'contextualizing,' and generally, cheering on human debasement. I will never forget it. I will never accept it. To paraphrase Marshall McLuhan, for Hamas and their supporters in Gaza and around the world: the sadism is the message.

***

The creation of the state of Israel, of a historically oppressed and marginalized people establishing a state while resurrecting an ancient language, is the greatest story of decolonization in history. Jewish presence within the boundaries of the modern state of Israel goes back thousands of years—confirmed by archeological, historical, genealogical, religious, and literary ties. During the Jewish-Roman Wars in the 1st and 2nd centuries CE, the very name Palestine was intentionally chosen by the Romans to scrub the land of its Jewish roots and break the historical connections the Jews had to the land. After the final deciding battle, the Bar Kochba Revolt of 135 CE, the Jewish population of Judea was scattered throughout Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East. Subsequently, for thousands of years the Jewish people toiled under the yoke of often violent oppression.

By the 19th century, after centuries of massacres and expulsion edicts, the majority of the world’s Jews found themselves concentrated in the Pale of Settlement, a large swath of eastern Europe then controlled by Imperial Russia where the Tsars had decreed Jews were allowed to live—with restrictions. Confined to small rural towns, or shtetls, they were forbidden from living or traveling outside these predetermined boundaries. Access to cities and urban life was restricted without special permission. But even here, in the shtetl, they were not safe from death and destruction: pogroms occurred in steady intervals, usually carried out by the Tsar’s Cossack agents but often complemented by the local population. My great-great grandfather, a rabbi, was a victim of one of these pogroms.

The 20th century saw the human catastrophe of the Holocaust befall the Jews. The unrestrained bestiality of what occurred was so unprecedented that a neologism became necessary: genocide. It was an emphatic culmination of persecution after centuries of death and destruction for the Jewish nation—serving as the most glaring example of why the Jewish people were determined to return to their ancestral homeland, and why that desire had never left them in the twenty centuries since their diaspora began. The aspiration of a people to live as their true selves in the land of their forefathers, this is Zionism.

Despite ardent claims to the contrary, Zionism is the antidote to genocide. Zionism represents the aspiration of every Jew to live in peace as a Jew without threat or danger. This is why anti-Zionism is a form of anti-Semitism: because the absence of Israel means the Jewish nation will once again be vulnerable to the inevitable violent outbursts of the world’s anti-Jewish forces without any guarantees of protection.

***

Sadly, the absolute horror of 7 October was only the beginning. The paradigm of contemporary Jewish life in liberal democracies had been undone with a shocking immediacy. The Jewish people once again were forced to reevaluate and recalibrate our own place within the broader societies we inhabit. Anti-Israel, anti-Jewish protestors focused on targeting Jews in public spaces, college campuses, and anywhere Jews could be found as individually and collectively complicit in genocide. Wherever Jews congregated, in synagogues, in Jewish community centers, in their homes, on college campuses, they were met with harassment, intimidation, and humiliation. Reckless rhetoric being thrown about became the norm.

“Jews should go back to Europe where they came from!”

“Go back to Poland!”

I took those especially to heart because in my case that would mean my going back to Ukraine. A country that has been under illegal invasion and terrorist assault for the last three years and is now being sold down the river by the current US administration.

The silence from friends was shattering, no sympathies or inquires as to the safety of my family, as they did overwhelmingly when Russia invaded Ukraine. Which is ok, I did not expect them. But I also did not expect the messages I ultimately did receive, demanding to know where my humanity had gone—simply for expressing my support for my family in Israel. My only conclusion from this line of questioning is that Jews, in the minds of those asking, are not part of humanity.

Beyond personal betrayal, the intellectual betrayal also took me aback. So many liberal and progressive institutions, and the people within them, purport to stand for progressive, democratic values. But to anti-Jewish advocates, none of their exalted progressive values apply to Jews. Jews are not deserving of even basic respect unless they debase themselves by repeating anti-Semitic and anti-Israel slander. Harassing, threatening, and outright discriminating against Jews and Jewish interests became normalized. Murder, rape, and looting on a mass scale were condoned, even celebrated, as legitimate forms of resistance. But what kind of oppression can possibly justify murder and rape as a legitimate form of resistance against it?

Apparently, for the likes of Judith Butler, Russell Rickford, and other alt-left activists on college campuses and elsewhere, the kind where Jews are the victims. When Jews are the targets suddenly it’s time for armed revolution. Not when Assad used chemical weapons on his own people. Not when China practically enslaves millions of Uyghur Muslims in an actual open-air prison. Not when during the Syrian Civil War not a single Arab or Muslim country offered to take a single Syrian refugee, let alone a Palestinian one. No, it’s when Israel responds to the most insanely brutal massacre of Jews since the Holocaust that the left-wing faculty and student body suddenly feel compelled for armed resistance, by any means necessary.

The betraying silence from Academia, Women's and Human Rights organizations, and the progressive left, of whom up until that very moment I had considered myself a member, as they instead chose to condone, contextualize, and even celebrate Jewish death and rape has been nauseating. The radical left-wing politics of academia have veered so far off course they've horseshoed into right-wing islamofascist anti-Semitism. Osama Bin Laden’s “Letter to America” went viral on Tik-Tok when the misguided alt-left youth stumbled upon the 9/11 mastermind’s manifesto and agreed with him. The mental gymnastics necessary for a feminist or a queer theorist to justify Islamist terrorists torturing and raping women…

In the fever to stand up for Palestine, rape denialism became a mainstream position of progressive figures. Living in the wake of #MeToo, we were implored to believe all women. But strangely that didn't extend to the Israeli women and girls brutalized on 7 October. Instead, those that managed to survive, and even the hostages after being rescued, were forced to submit to the same kind of shameful public interrogation—and disbelief—that had initiated the outrage that led to the #MeToo movement in the first place! Believe all women!...unless they're Israeli. #MeToo!...unless you’re a Jew.

It was bad enough to see throngs of students cosplaying hamas terrorists throughout college campuses, but I thought it was misguided youth who had been led astray by misapplication of liberal concepts. It wasn’t until the college presidents of Harvard, Penn, and MIT testified before congress that I fully grasped the rot was flowing from on high. For not a single Ivy League President to be able to bring herself to condemn a call to genocide, Jews or no Jews, seems to me an indicator of a complete breakdown in the academic model. If we’ve become so tolerant that we tolerate intolerance, if we claim to venerate free speech but impose conditions on that free speech and then in turn cynically violate our own standards, if we condemn hate speech with one breath and in the next are shouting anti-Semitic terrorist chants, then I fear all the legitimate work being done in the universities in good faith will be tainted by such hypocrisy. Trump’s attack on the universities, using these factors as a pretext to defund higher education is evidence of how quickly and effectively that delegitimization can be put into effect.

Chanting “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” sounds like a fun way to protest Israel’s alleged crimes, except for Jews it’s equivalent to a klansman shouting “white power!” while doing a seig heil. Maybe worse. In the original Arabic, instead of "Palestine will be free" the second part of the slogan is “Palestine will be Arabic.” If Palestine is Arabic and there’s no Israel, what has happened to the Jews in this scenario? Driven into the sea, naturally, through “Intifada revolution.” Like suicide bombings, the chant has been hamas’ calling card for decades. The absurdity belies its subhuman brutality. Then again, much like the the GoPros hamas terrorists wore during their raping and pillaging to preserve their ‘glorious triumphs’ for posterity, the brutality is the point. The sadism is the message.

When racist critics claim Jews aren’t indigenous to the Middle East because some of them are white, it’s a deliberate inversion of and allusion to the primary accusation leveled against Jews by Nazis—that they weren’t “pure”, had been “defiling” the Aryan race, and therefore deserving of a ‘final solution.’ The idiocy of this disgraceful line of anti-Semitic criticism is compounded by the willful blindness to the fact that many Palestinians are just as white as the whitest Israelis. Gal Gadot is ‘too white’ to be native to the Middle East, but Gigi Hadid isn’t? Twisted logic that would be humorous if it weren’t so pervasive and hateful.

Yes, it’s true Trump’s unholy attack on the universities and foreign students are immoral and illegal, and he’s using stamping out anti-Semitism as the pretext. But the blatant hypocrisy exposed in left wing circles when free speech was never as free or as sacred as when it was Jewish hate speech is precisely the ammunition Trump is now using in his assault. Through a progressive lens, chanting hamas slogans to destroy Israel and Jews (or Zionists, which they use interchangeably to shield themselves from accusations of anti-Semitism), literally calling for their genocide, is protected speech that mustn’t be silenced. When faced with consequences—like expulsion from school or job loss—they lament about the loss of free speech and intellectual freedom, principles they themselves do not support. If the cause is indeed righteous and true, shouldn’t it be able to stand up to even the softest of scrutiny? Isn’t censorship the very thing universities are supposed to rage against?

By embracing the most extreme radical positions, by engaging in the most inflammatory and confrontational tactics imaginable, the protestors precluded any chance of effecting change on the ground in Washington, Jerusalem, Gaza, or the West Bank. I couldn’t grasp why until it snapped into focus: the anti-Jewish bigotry was the whole point. Making Jews quake with fear, making them hide their Judaism, making them ashamed of who they are. Ashamed of supporting Israel. That’s the whole bloody point. It’s about putting Jews in their place, to return them to the twenty centuries when they were helpless to defend themselves and powerless to change their circumstances. The sadism is the message.

18 December 2018

The Sail / Парус by Mikhail Lermontov / Михаил Лермонтов (1832)



A solitary sail whitens
The blue fog of the sea!..
What does it seek in distant countries?
What is forsaken in native territory?..

The waves swell and the wind screeches
While the mast lurches with a wheeze
Alas! it does not seek out happiness
And from happiness it does not flee

Beneath it, gleams a ray of bright azure
Above, a sunbeam made of gold...
And the sailrestlessentreats a storm,
As if in tempests peace is sold!

© 2018, Translated from original Russian by Valentin Katz





Белеет парус одинокой
В тумане моря голубом!.. Что ищет он в стране далекой? Что кинул он в краю родном?.. Играют волны - ветер свищет, И мачта гнется и скрыпит... Увы! он счастия не ищет И не от счастия бежит! Под ним струя светлей лазури, Над ним луч солнца золотой... А он, мятежный, просит бури, Как будто в бурях есть покой!


(1832)

08 September 2018

Touchez Pas au Grisbi (Hands off the loot!); Top 10 French Gangster films


French cinema has contributed some of the most audacious and groundbreaking submissions to the gangster film genre. In France, any discussion about gangster flicks starts with Jean-Pierre Melville. Obsessed with gangster movies from the golden age of Hollywood, Melville fetishized the belted trenchcoat, the fedora hat, and most importantly, the ever-present cigarette being puffed away by a laconic loner. Any film fanatic will readily tell you (even without prompting): pay attention to the details.

It's always been fascinating to me how artistic cultures look to each other for inspiration. Melville was obsessed with American culture going so far as having a custom Ford imported to France and never being seen without a Stetson hat and aviator sunglasses. His vision of American gangster movies from the '30s and '40s led him to the movingly haunting and brutally violent films he made in the '50s, '60s, and '70s. These films in turn would inspire scores of American filmmakers like Scorsese, De Palma, and Tarantino.  
Jean-Pierre Melville

10. Le Doulos/The Finger Man (Jean-Pierre Melville), 1963
This labyrinthian thriller has more twists and turns than fusilli pasta. Jean-Paul Belmondo plays Silien, whose ability to navigate the den of thieves that is the Paris underworld is only exceeded by his ability to look really cool smoking and talking to women. If you can follow the plot, you're better than I, but the story isn't really the point. It's the shot composition, the grimy details, and the sordid performances.


9. Le deuxième souffle/Second Wind or Second Breath (Jean-Pierre Melville), 1966
Lino Ventura stars as Gu, a legend in the French underworld known for his cunning and loyalty. When Gu escapes from prison and heads back to Paris, it sends his rival Jo Ricci (Raymond Pellegrin) and police commissioner Blot (Paul Meurisse of Les Diaboliques fame) on a mission to hunt him down. The battle of wits is masterfully presented by Melville, who doesn't rush the story and lets the characters reveal themselves gradually.


8. Mesrine (Jean-François Richet), 2008
Vincent Cassel plays notorious gangster, Jacques Mesrine, who gained a modicum of celebrity in the 1970s despite being implicated in numerous violent crimes, including murder. Mesrine became a romantic figure due to his propensity to repeatedly elude capture, each time with a new glamorous woman by his side. Originally released in two parts, the film follows Mesrine's violent journey to being named France's Public Enemy No. 1. Cassel's self-possession and effortless sexuality makes him convincing as a man adored by beautiful women despite being a bank robber perpetually on the run from the law.


7. Le Samouraï/The Godson (Jean-Pierre Melville), 1967
Having this film this low on the list will raise eyebrows, as Le Samouraï is generally considered Melville's greatest film, and by extension, the definitive French gangster film. Alain Delon stars as the title character, Jef Costello, a taciturn hitman living by a strict ascetic code. The film opens with a long take of Delon lying on the bed of his minimalist single room Paris apartment with the following made-up quote overlaid on the screen: "There is no greater solitude than that of the samurai unless it is that of the tiger in the jungle... Perhaps..." 

A brilliant film that transcends the gangster genre and approaches something closer to Zen. The long takes for Delon's face, the howling wind, the bizarre twist ending—Melville is vibrating on another frequency here. However, on a pure enjoyment scale, it doesn't rate. Like Jef's extreme self-discipline, this is an exercise in self-neglecting. "Why Jef?" "I was paid to."


6. Dheepan (Jacques Audiard), 2015
This darkly exciting film tells the story of a Tamil Tiger, whose side just lost the Sri Lankan Civil War, escaping retribution by posing with two female refugees as his wife and daughter to secure asylum in France. Dheepan, the name of the dead man whose passport the Tamil Tiger assumed, becomes the caretaker of a rundown housing project beset by rival drug gangs. Dheepan gets drawn in to the conflict and bloody brilliance ensues. Winner of the 2015 Palme d'Or Prize at Cannes.


5. Tirez sur le pianiste /Shoot the Piano Player or Shoot the Pianist (François Truffaut), 1960
Charles Aznavour's sad eyes play perfectly for the melancholy title piano player punishing himself after his wife's suicide. As the film unfolds, it turns out the piano player isn't exactly who he says he is. Truffaut's follow-up to his seminal Les Quartes Cents Coup (The 400 Blows), this is his gift to hardcore cinephiles.


4. Pierrot le Fou/Pierrot the madman (Jean-Luc Godard), 1966
Jean-Luc Godard needs no introduction and this film is certainly one of the best from his golden period. Jean-Paul Belmondo and Anna Karina are a pair of lovers on the run from the law, from gangsters, from their boring lives. Pierrot is a nickname Anna gives Jean-Paul meaning "sad clown." Breaking the fourth wall, philosophical diversions, and absurdism reign supreme. Godard gives no quarter. Also, look for the Samuel Fuller(!) cameo in the first act.


3. Le Cercle Rouge/The Red Circle (Jean-Pierre Melville), 1970
Shit's getting serious now. Melville reaches new heights with this heist picture. A truly all-star cast includes Alain Delon, Yves Montand, Gian Maria Volontè, and André Bourvil. The aforementioned heist is presented in a half hour sequence devoid of any dialogue. This one will have you on the edge of your seat with sweaty palms.


2. Touchez Pas au Grisbi/Grisbi or Honour Among Thieves (Jacques Becker), 1954
I really love this movie. The title translates literally to "Hands off the loot!" This film introduced me to the French gangster genre when I first saw it at Charles Theater in Baltimore with my brother in 2005. Director Jacques Becker manages to successfully pull off a touching and sweet violent gangster action movie.

Jean Gabin and René Dary star as Max and Riton, two Parisian gangsters with an honorable reputation, who hijack a cache of gold bars. The problem is how to fence it without getting caught by the cops or, worse, being exposed by rival dishonorable gangsters. Jeanne Moreau co-stars as a Riton's cheating moll. Dora Doll plays Max's girl. Lino Ventura stars as Max's scheming rival.


1. Bob le flambeur/Bob the Gambler or Bob the High Roller (Jean-Pierre Melville), 1955
I have a confession to make to you, my loyal readers. This entire post was really just an excuse to talk about this movie, which is most assuredly one of my all-time favourites. This movie is so easy it practically floats. Roger Duchesne plays the titular Bob, a sauve former bank robber who now supports himself as a high-stakes gambler. His joie de vivre is only matched by his dignity and compassion. When Bob hits a bad luck streak, he must come out of retirement for one last big score. I really shouldn't say anymore. You're doing yourself a disservice if you don't watch this as soon as you can. This movie will lift you up above the milieu, guaranteed. Like the trailer correctly claims, a great film with atmosphere, and the Montmarte lifestyle. It was remade in 2002 by Neil Jordan as The Good Thief starring Nick Nolte and Emir Kusturica. 

Honorable Mention:

Alphaville: une étrange aventure de Lemmy Caution/ Alphaville: A Strange Adventure of Lemmy Caution (Jean-Luc Godard), 1965
Another Godard classic but more of a science fiction film-noir. Godard is playing heavily with expectations and conventions here.

Le Professionnel / The Professional (Georges Lautner), 1981
Not really a gangster flick but still sort of lives in that world as Jean-Paul Belmondo plays a French secret government assassin who is betrayed by nefarious forces in his country. He ends imprisoned in a fictional African country. Upon escape, he returns to France lusting for revenge. Some really strange sexual scenes remind you this is a completely French production, as if you could forget. Ennio Morricone on the score. 

23 May 2018

My Life with Philip Roth





My introduction to the incomparable world of Philip Roth came as a primal nineteen year old at the University of Maryland in the fall of 2002. A junior, I along with the entire region had endured a month-long siege due to the Beltway Sniper. To boot, we were hearing loud whispers out of Washington that Bush wanted to invade Iraq. Times were tense. I refer to this period as primal for a few reasons. The first in reference to my incipience in life, at the cusp of infinite learning and knowledge. The second being that I matched a long unkempt hairstyle with a permanent bowler hat, an explicit homage to my favourite director and my favourite film at the time A Clockwork Orange, and to cap it off, I did not own any clothes that fit me. 

My roommate and childhood friend Scott burst home one day in an electrified state, "Have you read Portnoy's Complaint?" Scott had signed up for a Jewish Literature course which I inexplicably hadn't known existed. With excited haste, I heard such phrases as "fucking awesome" and "by Philip Roth" that, as an English major taking almost exclusively literature courses, and, as a Jew who beyond foolishly had convinced myself that I knew all the great Jewish writers, I began to feel a great resentment and embarrassment over such a blatant blind spot.

Killington, 2003
My literary oversight was rectified later that week, or more accurately, within the next 48 hours, because I was reading it at every free moment I had, at work, at school, walking to class, in class. People often talk about the thunderbolt they feel when first listening to The Beatles, or first reading The Great Gatsby or Slaughterhouse-Five, which I have all experienced, but reading Roth for the first time was different. It superseded thunderbolts, it was a full body paroxysm. I simply could not believe my eyes the words I was reading on the page. The transfixation began from the opening sentence, "She was so deeply imbedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise." The outrageous frankness and hilarious vulgarity with which Roth explores Jewish and Jewish-American identity and giddy subversion of parental and cultural influence while unbridled sexuality oozes from every pore befuddled me. How can genius this monumental truly exist?

With life's progression came my gradual embracement of the master's oeuvre. At first I gravitated towards his shorter novels and novellas, telling myself that Roth packed a more powerful punch in concentrated doses. The Breast, The Dying Animal, and The Ghost Writer, were an intense glimpse into the life of a renowned and virile public intellectual. But the deeper truth is that his longer novels are such monumentally challenging and intellectually ambitious works that I didn't have the reserve of mental fortitude to tackle them head on. Only in recent years—with a certain world weariness and wisdom that I suspect only age can provide—have I unearthed the treasures of magnum opuses such as Sabbath's Theater and American Pastoral. 

What Philip Roth unleashed upon the world with shocking efficacy and humour is through passionate intellectualization of perversion between consenting adults, he showed us that it can be a glorious part of the human experience. My literary friends came up with a nickname for him: The Beast. His writing is that uncompromisingly urgent. For Roth, sexuality is not just a part of our lives, it is fundamental, both a generator and extension of our joys, fears, anxieties, and triumphs.



Years ago, a close friend unironically remarked, "You're like a walking Philip Roth novel." I took it as a great compliment even though I'm fairly certain Ilya didn't necessarily mean it as one. In a 1974 essay for the New York Review of Books, Roth wrote, "Going wild in public is the last thing a Jew is expected to do." Even today, after all these years, Philip Roth still striking me like a thunderbolt: I only now finally understand all my mother's admonishments.




14 May 2018

Death of Stalin



Years after the Good Doctor of Gonzo Journalism Hunter S. Thompson famously covered George McGovern's doomed 1972 Presidential campaign, Frank Mankiewicz, McGovern's campaign manager quipped that Thompson's exhaustive book, Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72, was the "least factual, most accurate account" of the election.
 
Armando Iannucci's Death Of Stalin is a devastating satire replete with the Good Doctor's defiant spirit. When reality is too brutal to grasp head on, we turn to comedy to tell the story with veracity. The film's banishment in Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan, attests to both Iannuci's success and to the film's unmistakable quality. Russians aren't known for their lack of sense of humour, unless it's about themselves. Despite Stalin's unprecedented death tally, the Russian authorities still consider him above outright reproach and certainly far above ridicule.

Luckily for us, Armando Iannucci has no such qualms. Iannucci masterfully pits Stalin's inner circle as a claque of incompetent vultures angling to inherit Stalin's infinite power. Imagine a Marx Brothers comedy set in Stalinist Russia, complete with an outrageous running gag involving firing squads.

Deputy Secretary Georgy Malenkov (Jeffrey Tambor) is Stalin's favourite to succeed him, although no one knows why considering he can't avoid mentioning former party members Stalin has long since executed ("How am I supposed to remember who's alive and who's dead?"). Moscow Party Head Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi) is full of uproariously vulgar war stories that keep the Boss jolly, but when a joke about farmers meets with a lukewarm reception, his wife admonishes him, "No more farmer jokes!" Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov's (Michael Palin) devotion to Stalin is unyielding, and only increases after Stalin sends his wife to the gulag. But the most vicious satire is reserved for none other than NKVD Head Lavrenty Beria (Simon Russell Beale), who undoubtedly distinguishes himself as one of the most repulsive psychopaths in history, and has an ignominious end to match.

The incendiary script burns so hot half the jokes fly by at sputnik speed, but its farcical mania captures the incomprehensible absurdity of the depths of Stalinism and its pernicious effect on the psychology of an entire country and its long suffering people. Condemned men and women shouting "Long Live Stalin!" just as they get a bullet in the skull. It would be a lot funnier if it weren't grounded in truth.


31 March 2018

Top 10 British Gangster Movies





From the cockney accents to the sleazily inventive insults, and of course using  cunt to describe just about everyone and every thing, British Gangster Movies stand in a class all of their own. As a passionate devotee I've put together my Top 10 plus a few bonus ones. To be considered for the list, a movie's plot had to deal with the British underworld and fulfill one of the following two requirements: it must have been at least a partly British production or be directed by a British director.  Let me know what you think.

10. Performance (Donald Cammell, Nicolas Roeg), 1970
An experimental and provocative film that really is more nonsensical than it would like to admit, this psychedelic foray is notable for starring Mick Jagger at his self-indulgent, libertine best. The Memo From Turner sequence is a memorable example of an early music video.



9. London Boulevard (William Monahan), 2010
Colin Farrell can play the hell out of a gangster role, so it's not surprising that films he's starred in appear twice on this list. With a rock soundtrack full of urgency and surprisingly edgy, by the end you'll find yourself more invested in the story than you probably ought to be. Credit that to great direction by American William Monahan.

8. Layer Cake (Matthew Vaughn), 2004
Daniel Craig's audition tape for Casino Royale. The movie that put him on the proverbial map and launched a renewed James Bond franchise. Dark supporting roles from Michael Gambon and Jamie Foreman (son of real-life London gangster, Freddie Foreman) give this movie a harshness that is crucial to a great British gangster flick.

7. Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels (Guy Ritchie), 1998 
This uproariously funny late '90s flick is probably the British gangster movie with the most mainstream success and exposure, particularly in the US. Clever wordplay, cheeky cinematography, and, again, a soundtrack grounded in heavy classic/punk rock, make this undoubtedly the most accessible of all the British gangster movies. 

6. Gangster No. 1 (Paul McGuigan), 2000
Although I have it at six, this could easily be number one for a very simple reason. This features by far the most psychotic and outrageously dark anti-hero, played throughout the decades by Paul Bettany and the legendary Malcolm McDowell. Director Paul McGuigan took the gangster ethos to the extreme and the result is a British gangster movie purist's nightmarish dream. This should probably be ranked higher.



5. In Bruges (Martin McDonagh), 2008
Full of twists and turns and the kind of macabre laughs that McDonagh has become known for, Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleason play two hitmen who flee to the quaint Belgian town after a bungled job. Ralph Fiennes as their unhinged boss is pure cinema magic.



4. Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg), 2007
EP slips in on this list as a case can be made that this is more a Russian gangster movie, but it takes place exclusively in London, which by default makes it part of the London/British underworld. It's a co-British production and if that weren't enough, Director David Cronenberg is Canadian, which is part of the British Commonwealth. Finally, the disturbing nature of the material clearly puts it squarely in the British gangster movie lineage. Viggo Mortensen probably should have won an Oscar for this part.

3. Long Good Friday (John Mackenzie), 1980
Bob Hoskins stars as the head of the London underworld who is about embark on the deal of his life with his American mafia counterparts, when his entire world starts going sideways. Viciousness ensues. Notable for making the IRA and Britain's potential joining of the EEC a major part of the plot. 


2. Get Carter (Mike Hodges), 1971
The Citizen Kane of British Gangster movies. The only reason this isn't number one is because the titleholder is a personal favourite of mine. The best opening credit sequence of any picture on this list. Michael Caine is a force to be reckoned with as Jack Carter, who sniffs out something's awry when his clean-cut brother turns up dead and there's something wrong with his niece. Seedy, sooty, tawdry, you'll need a delousing after. She was only fifteen years old!



1. Sexy Beast (Jonathan Glazer), 2000
Ben Kingsley plays the unhappiest and meanest gangster in the world as he collides with Ray Winstone, a blissfully retired ex-gangster sunbathing his days away in the Spanish desert. The verbal assault Kingsley unleashes has made this movie illegal to show publicly within a mile of schools and hospitals. Ian McShane plays Teddy Fucking Bass, Mr. Black Magic himself. Sexy Beast takes British gangster filmmaking to high art. The perfect British gangster movie. Gentlemen, you're all cunts.

 
* The Limey (Steven Soderbergh), 1999
Not eligible to be part of this list but notable due to Terence Stamp playing a fish out of water British gangster in '90s LA. Quite funny and touching.

** The Third Man (Carol Reed), 1949
One of the greatest films of all time but technically a film noir, not a gangster movie. Plus, the two main characters are American. Still, a true classic.

***A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick), 1971
The film speaks for itself but isn't really a gangster movie. Alex and his friends aren't gangsters, they're hooligans. It's more a satire.

28 February 2017

When Facts Don't Matter, Make Them Laugh




Debates by their very nature are contentious. Political debates probably more so than most. Just tune in to a UK House of Commons debate sometime. But the current political climate in the US has devolved to a particularly low point. Families gatherings have turned into lugubrious affairs. Facebook purging, defriending those on the opposite side of the political spectrum en masse, has become the new form of sociopolitical snubbery. Our entire culture has veered sharply adversarial.  You're either with us or against us.

Especially frustrating is the apparent inconsequence of facts. It's difficult enough to persuade someone to your point of view, it's practically impossible when you can't even agree on the foundation of the topic. Debating, for instance, which smartphone is superior with someone who repudiates their very existence would be pointless. No line of argument is stirring enough to sway one way or another. So how is it that we find ourselves in this current historical moment, the era of alternative facts. How did opinion become lord over fact? How did facts become so irrelevant?

New Yorker contributor Elizabeth Kolbert recently reviewed a book, The Enigma of Reason, by two cognitive scientists who try to explain the phenomenon.  Human minds, you see, are very tricky things. Once we make a decision, usually formed by an oftentimes erroneous initial impression, we selectively gravitate to those groups whose views align with ours, amplifying the rectitude of those views while increasingly marginalizing opposing ones. It's evolutionarily advantageous. But here lies the danger of silencing opposing views. The more you're exposed to that which only supports your way of seeing things, the more hostile you become to those who don't. You're either with us or against us.

Consider our current President, who like a feudal lord, demands absolute support of his every word, action, impulse. Anything less than fawning approval is perceived as a traitorous attack. Suddenly the debate isn't a debate anymore. It's two sides speaking completely different languages. When adversaries can't even agree on basic facts (ie. whether it's raining or not), there is nothing to debate. All that's left is the hurling insults and epithets.  

Logically speaking, how to combat the repudiation of basic facts? Restating the facts won't work, that has become glaringly obvious. Name-calling won't either. The only viable tool against willful ignorance is laughter. Laughter and empathy. Laughter is the ultimate truth serum. Empathy to understand. Consider the recent Saturday Night Live skit of Melissa McCarthy impersonating White House spokesman Sean Spicer conducting a White House briefing. The genius of it: only slightly exaggerating what a typical session looks like. No restating of facts or figures. No name-calling or accusations of channeling fascist dictators. Just pure laughter. Laughter doesn't lie.

Comedy, satire, mockery. Not in bad taste or demeaning, but shining a bright risible light onto hypocrisy, narrow-mindedness, and insanity. Laughter is involuntary.  We can't control what we find funny. Some things just make us laugh. And laughter cuts through bullshit like a sword through tallow.