Bored Robots in a Mundane World

It is a common perception that we live in a world driven, shaped, and molded by technology. It looks like technology has made us more automatic, that it is interfering with and influencing not only the way we live, but also the way we think, feel, and behave; in short, technology is changing our perception of and interaction with ourselves and the world.

All you need is to watch people in the modern industrialized world. They are constantly and consistently connected to the Internet with their various shapes of devices ranging from phones to tablets to pads. 

Books are becoming obsolete as new hordes and generations of e-readers are replacing them. Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 needs to be re-written and updated with the temperature at which chips burn (in a microwave perhaps?).

But I am going to claim that it is – as almost always in life – a two-way street. It is not only that technology is affecting us but that we ourselves have brought technology into the foreground. 

We can look at this development of modern technology historically by tracing it back to the first machines: steam engines, mechanical ways of farming and defiant chess-playing computers.

The brilliant mathematician Alan Turing saw the many possibilities of the computer and foresaw its next step / model (which we are currently in the process of refining), namely Artificial Intelligence. 

Whether a machine can think is the question he poses; in the meantime, we are trying to create rudimentary forms and versions of thought-machines bound and circumvented by our current standards of knowledge and know-how.

But interestingly, before we look at electronic and automatic versions of human beings in the near or distant future, let us consider how mechanical we ourselves have become over time. In fact, I claim that it is us who have become robots even before the advent and modern advances of technology.

Our lives have become more and more mechanical. Evidently, I do not have the experience and first-hand knowledge of how life used to be in the past nor I am not here to glamorize the “good old days” (I am not old enough for that). But within my limited experience, I can see a growing trend in the direction of more mechanical ways of thinking and living, and I find this both disheartening and frightening.

I am living through interesting time periods of transitions and changes. I have experienced life without computers where television used to rule our daily life. Even until less than a decade ago, I was still able to walk and commute without any access to the Internet via smartphones, but I finally succumbed to the pressure and alluring enchantments of technology.

I lived in a time period where we still used record players (although I never owned one) and cassette and video tapes, which I owned massively and in bulks. Then CDs appeared, and I vividly remember the excitement of putting in the first CD in a newly purchased CD player. Nobody had cellphones back then but some lucky and distinguished few would proudly brandish a beeper, a completely useless device by modern standards.

But I do not regret any of those previous experiences. I still think that technology has given us a lot of conveniences, don’t get me wrong, but I am glad that I also happened to live in a time where we were deprived of technology or where it at least did not rule over all the aspects of our lives.

As a teenager I used to have a typewriter, which embodied a very cumbersome - not to say pain in the ass – writing process, and it made it much more challenging to produce, store, and distribute my own writing in the era before word processors and blogs.

Moreover, I remember once my bus broke down, and I was not able to contact my date (it was a first date too!) and that the relationship never recovered from this unfortunate and unexpected mishap. Today I would have merely sent a text message with an emoji and would have been able to smooth the whole situation (or so I think).

But we had technology coming and it was merely a matter of time and circumstance. Our life was already becoming mechanical and automatic. 

We started limiting our patterns of thought as well as our imagination and goals and achievements, as a result. As we have reached more comfortable living standards, we have also become lax and lazier in our lives as well as our outlook on the future.

Instead of looking for new and fresh ways of doing things, we often fall back into the tried and tested, the safe and well-trodden path. Instead of coming up with our own answers and philosophies, we are being spoon-fed cookie-cutter answers. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the growing self-help industry that gives us half-baked, half-chewed and undigested answers taking away our own capacity to come to the same and even better truths.

Our behavior is also mechanical and regulated. It seems that we have stifled that which makes us different in the fear of not fitting in with society and our peers; consequently, we lose our own individuality. We look the same. We eat and dress the same. We are machines that feed and talk; we do not seem to be in control of our own minds.

Our cities and living environments follow that same pattern. We have malls that are filled with identical stores. When in the past, we had a certain amount of choice, now we all go to the same coffee shop. We even talk and think alike in many cases and become easily replaceable in jobs and relationships. Put differently, we are robots or robotic versions of ourselves.

Since our relationships with ourselves are fragmented and lack direction and imagination, it is only natural that our interactions and relationships with others are not going to be genuine or fulfilling or even worth its salt. We have come to identify ourselves with the mechanical faces we have put on and are confused about our true selves.

It pretty much comes down to the fact that we are afraid of feelings. Many of us see them as a hindrance, a limitation, and even label it as a weakness. We control our emotions with the iron fists of logic. We try to look for the best out there in terms of jobs, living space, and mates.

Yet our standards of quality are often driven by convenience and materialistic considerations. The “best” job turns out to be the one with the greatest economic benefits. The “best” mate is the one with the strongest appeal in terms of looks and appearance or even again in terms of economic prosperity.

We prefer a physically attractive person so that we can supposedly enhance our own looks and overcome the shortcomings we see in ourselves. We might look for the educated partner not because of stimulating and deep and profound conversations but because we may believe that they represent entry to higher-level and better-paying jobs or to more prestige and acknowledgment in society.

And all of this leads to boredom. We become bored with our lives. We become bored with our jobs, which we did not want or desire in the first place; bored with our partners because we did not listen to our feelings and were led astray by practical considerations. We reach the glass-ceiling goals we have set ourselves and see no room for improvement or further success.

In other words, we are the bored robots. And the life we have created is one of fantasy. It is make-believe but in its negative delusional form; the world loses its vivacious colors and turns into a dull mundane black-and-white world. 

Nothing satisfies or makes us happy in any lasting and fundamental way. We look to fill the void and turn to sex, drugs, money, possessions, fame, and might even expect and hope religion to fill those gaps within ourselves.

But more often than not this is not the solution. In those cases, we are trying very hard to escape from ourselves without actually knowing who we are. So we see it as temporary relief from the accustomed world of boredom until we wake up to the same monotonous music of our dreaded every-day life or at least our thinking makes it seem so.

So what can we do then to reach a more fulfilled and fulfilling life? The first step would be to get in touch with oneself. The best manner to do so is to establish contact again with our feelings and to really listen to ourselves. 

It is important to lose the fear of others and of failure, this impending gloom and doom that we carry around with us non-stop and that constantly pushes us down.

It is time we regain our humanity, and we engage in those activities that define us, while we manage to put aside the technological devices, at least, once in a while. We need to be free, of technology, of the opinion of others, and of our limiting and often self-defeating views, and we need to truly look at ourselves and at the world we live in and realize that we are neither bored nor robots nor do we live in a dull and mundane world.

    

Are We Safe? Review of Todd Haynes’ Safe

After watching the much acclaimed Carol (2015) by Todd Haynes, I decided to watch one of his earlier movies Safe (1995) with the great - and at the time of the movie aspiring - Julianne Moore. Although I thought Carol was pretty good, it did not thrill me as much as I had hoped and expected, at least not like the brilliant mini-series Mildred Pierce (2011), which I had seen previous to it.

The movie Safe is about a young married woman incidentally also named Carol (!) who seems to have a safe albeit dull well-to-do life in the San Fernando Valley. The movie opens with a drive home at night and then a scene of love-making with a close-up focus on her face. She, unlike her groaning husband Greg White (face unseen) does not enjoy the sex very much as her facial expressions do not change and definitely do not show any kind of pleasure gained. At the end of their intercourse, she merely taps her husband lightly on the back.

Her life is filled with boredom. They have a Mexican servant who fulfills all the everyday necessities, including the care of her stepson, while she is in charge of some of the interior decorating of the spacious house. She is upset that the new furniture is not the color she had ordered and complains about this to the factory.

Apart from that, she meets up with some of her female friends at the gym. Those women seem superficial and are interested (one might say even obsessed) with their looks and appearance. One of them urges Carol to try out a new diet fad that includes the sole consumption of fruits, and she accepts.

Yet gradually, her health begins to deteriorate. She has a very persistent coughing fit one day when driving home from work; she was forced to tailgate a truck emitting substantial amounts of exhaust fumes, and she blames her cough on that. Then she has a serious asthma attack at a baby shower of her friend, not to mention an ominous nosebleed at the hairdresser’s. Her doctor, however, insists that she is physically fine and suggests that she see a psychiatrist.

None of these remedies work for her. She is sent to an allergy specialist who determines that she is highly allergic to milk. Yet cutting out dairy products and returning to a regular non-fruit diet does not alleviate her symptoms; in fact, over time her symptoms worsen, and she even faints at the dry-cleaner.

One day she hears of a group that claims that many people are allergic to their environment and that they are suffering from what they term multiple chemical sensitivity or the Twentieth-Century Disease. Curious about this group, she attends one of their meetings and finds people who seem to have similar symptoms. Slowly, she becomes convinced that the reason for her malaise lies in her environment, a dangerous cocktail of chemicals and pollutants that can even potentially kill a receptive and sensitive person like her.

Soon enough she joins some of the more extreme group members in a retreat that is located in a deserted and secluded area and where they sing songs, hold hands and are given motivational speeches by Peter Dunning, the author and so-called inventor / discoverer of this disease as well as its so-called cure. The cure, he insists, lies in positive thinking and to shelter oneself from all the evil that happens in the world, including violence and pollution. The retreat Wrenwood becomes their “happy” and “safe” place.

As we witness this group, we are reminded of both New Age philosophies as well as religious cults. Although the members are not openly religious or Christian, there is a lot of overlap there. We can sense that at first Carol is not comfortable in this place, but soon she comes to accept it as a possible alternative to her ills.

Curiously enough, she keeps getting worse until she decides to find shelter in a highly secluded place that has its own ventilation system. She basically lives in a bubble, far from any contact with other individuals, be they members of the retreat or even her husband.

This is a very sad movie that offers various layers of meaning and interpretation. First off, it shows the disillusionment and dissatisfaction of upper-class women who consign themselves to the home. The founding member of the group Peter Dunning (who himself incidentally suffers from AIDS) claims that each of their members is to be blamed for their ills. The reason they got sick was because they did not accept themselves as who they are and, more importantly, they did not love themselves sufficiently.

Partly, this may apply to Carol, but also it can be expanded to many other people in the modern industrialized world. We live in a place that has become too convenient for our own good and although the movie was made before the era of iPhones and iPads, it seems even more relevant and urgent now.

Our technological progress has left an indelible mark on us making it more difficult to communicate with each other and of having a satisfying and fulfilling relationship with ourselves and others. This malaise that she feels might also apply to us living in a world in which we find it hard to encounter personal meaning and relevance; while technology in its heydays used to spellbind us only in our homes with television sets, it has now become ubiquitous in the form of our handy and mobile smartphones.

Another layer of the film includes the fact that we are exposed to chemical hazards and pollutants in our daily life. The food that we eat is for the most part artificial and filled with chemicals and genetic manipulation; the air is mostly unfit for us to breathe filled with constant exhaust from cars and factories; our climate is becoming erratic and uncontrollable due to our own greed and negligence.

The more health-conscious groups these days may think they are evading some of these aspects by eating organic non-GM food, but they are also deluding themselves. There is no real safety from these growing pollutants and one needs to be as radical as she is in the end, to live in a self-contained bubble with self-grown food and sterilized water etc. to be “safe” for that matter.

As defeatist as that may sound, we are trapped in the consumer world and there seems to be no safety net and no exit from it all. The idea of completely blocking or isolating ourselves from others or even from these dangers and hazards is equally, if not more, harmful than accepting and living with them.

Add to this, the fear of lethal and contagious diseases, like the AIDS syndrome or more recently, the unpredictable Ebola virus or the antibiotic-resistant super-bug. These are just a few of the dangerous and even mortal infections that plague us and make us paranoid. The dark irony is that despite our advances in medicine, we are not safe yet. There is still danger lurking around the corner. (I am omitting other kinds of dangers here, in terms of incipient wars including those on drugs and terror, natural disasters like earthquakes and tsunamis, and also tragic accidents like that of Chernobyl dipping surroundings with all its sentient beings and food and plantations in harmful radiation.)

Considering the fact that the film is set in the 80s makes it plausible that Carol’s mysterious, never clearly identified disease could be indeed AIDS. Not only does the founder of this group openly state that he is infected, but the movie also shows us a sex scene at its inception. She might have been infected by her husband, which is merely a theory as we are not given any concrete proof of his philandering. Nonetheless, the movie also captures some of the paranoia, helplessness and, in the case of AIDS, even prejudice and ignorance that are often associated with new unknown and infectious diseases.

Finally, the movie has another layer that includes a possible criticism of New Age philosophies and of religion and religious cults. In our despair, we are ready to swallow and believe anything that could get us out of this mess, that could give our life a little more sense, meaning and security. Although Haynes does not openly criticize the group (they are for the most part seen as rather honest if slightly deluded and naïve people), there is a sense that none of this will actually help but merely exacerbate the problem. At the same time, the raison d’être of this group seems to most likely be the financial rewards achieved by its founding author who himself does not live in the sheds like the members but in his luxurious home above the hill.

I very much enjoyed this film as much as it frightened me. This is the world that surrounds us, and so many of us walk around in a daze or in pain. The illness may be invented but it does hit the nail on identifying our own malaise in this modern consumer world of ours. There is a spiritual vacuum that each has to fill on their own; unfortunately, there are many charlatans out there that claim to guide and help us find our ways, while in many cases, they confound us even more.

At the same time, doctors and psychologists do not seem adept to help and heal us in a profound manner. Science addresses and redresses many ills and diseases, but some parts of us remain untouched, while the malaise still persists. The film itself urges us to look into the direction of our dis-ease, of our lack of ease in the modern world; to first recognize it and then to find something worthwhile to hold onto in the faint hope of being able to remedy it one of these days.

Entering the World of Rainer Werner Fassbinder: A Berlin Alexanderplatz Review

When it comes to Rainer Werner Fassbinder, his reputation exceeds him. He is known as the enfant terrible of the New German movement. He was openly gay. He was openly self-destructive. He was a workaholic and a drug and sex addict. He made about forty films before he died at the young age of 37. He left an undisputed legacy, while critics, regardless whether they like him or his work, acknowledge his important contributions to the art and world of cinema.

My first encounter with Rainer Werner Fassbinder happened more than a decade ago with the bizarre Beware of the Holy Whore (1971). Having heard so much about the director and not having been exposed to any of his films before (strange considering my German upbringing combined with my steady and steadfast love for cinema) I watched this particular movie with great enthusiasm and expectations.  

And I was let down. I would definitely not recommend this film as an entry to the world of Rainer Werner Fassbinder. It felt for the most part pointless and there were only two scenes that made an impact on me. One, if I remember correctly, had the director of a movie, Fassbinder casting himself as the director, fall in great despair to the ground and ask for five (or more) Cuba libres. 

The other scene was a strange and quite inventive fighting scene towards the end and it was acted in slow motion and on replay. Everything else did little to impress me, and I discarded Fassbinder for the time being and did not approach him again until a number of years thereafter.

Then within the past year or two, I decided to give him another shot. This time I was more strategic and hunted down the movies that were among his most celebrated and known. So I watched The Marriage of Maria Braun (1979) and Ali or Angst essen Seele auf (1974). The first one I thought well-made, but still did not understand why there was so much fuss about this film-maker. The second one I thought very well done and again, with the exception of a few idiosyncratic directorial touches and flourishes here and there did not see anything truly outstanding or unique.

And that is exactly what draws me to a specific director or artist in general. It is not just craft, but something that makes the director truly different from others. It is not unlike falling in love with someone; they may look and be similar to everyone else on the surface level, but there is something extraordinary or special about them, and we feel ourselves inexplicably drawn towards them. Yet until we notice that particular quality which the French (of course!) render best with je-ne-sais-quoi (and not everyone has it in fact), there is little to attract us.

So I decided to give Fassbinder another try and this was an experiment and a significant investment of time and probably effort: I tackled his magnum opus Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980) based on Alfred Döblin's Ulysses-like novel. It is purportedly one of the longest movies in movie history clocking in about 15 and a half hours. I was apprehensive, nervous and thrilled to embark on this cinematic adventure.

The very first minutes were great. The main character, an unassuming rather sympathetic Franz Biberkopf was released from prison for the manslaughter of his wife. Yet he hesitates to leave the prison grounds, scared about leaving behind his accustomed confines and worried about the world he might find outside. 

Then followed about half an hour of bizarre events and I was getting worried that I would not be able to continue, but it got better; I vowed come what may I will finish this as I had heard praise and bewilderment regarding the final episode (and I was more than fourteen hours away from it).

Berlin Alexanderplatz is not a mini-series by any standards. It is more a very long and drawn-out movie. In fact, it is a movie that would have surely benefited from tighter editing; it could have been much better had it been cut by say about thirteen hours or so. As it stands it is self-indulgent, meandering, and repetitive.

The movie has cases of poor plotting, scenes and dialogues that go far beyond the necessary running time, while the murder scene that haunts poor Biberkopf is repeated a dozen times (I lost count after a while) as a flashback, each time with different commentaries.

By now, you might think that I disparage of this movie, but against my own statements above, I must confess that I think Berlin Alexanderplatz to be brilliant. Yes, it has its various flaws, but they are, like the beloved person mentioned earlier in this post, part of its attractive features. In fact, only someone like Fassbinder could make such a movie and get away with it.

Berlin Alexanderplatz also has flashes of brilliance that blow any cinephile's mind. Strangely enough, it is a take-it or leave-it affair. The poor plotting is, in fact, one of its trademarks. We come to expect and cherish it. It is as detailed as a good old-fashioned literary book. The movie is, at the same time, inventive and is more than a movie. It is a documentary, a novel, a music video, a treatise and much more. It is ingenious and wildly imaginative.

Fassbinder has made another literary adaptation, namely the also very good Effi Briest (1974) based on Theodor Fontane's classic novel. Fassbinder played around with some of the stylistic devices, such as intertitles and dialogues that are taken directly and verbatim from the book.

Yet all of that is taken a step higher in Berlin Alexanderplatz, while Fassbinder shows more mastery than before. In Effi Briest we are treated with beautifully composed shots and ingenious mise en scène and constant play with mirror images, yet despite or rather because of these effects we distance ourselves from the characters and their plights.

In Berlin Alexanderplatz, it is quite the opposite. We are literally thrown into the world and particularly mind of its protagonist. We hear his thoughts, we see his deliriums and flashbacks, we know of his fears and obsessions. The image quality is purposely imperfect and occasionally blurry; yet it all works in its own ways and on its own terms. There are tracking shots that left me in a state of wonder. And we had not even reached the madness of its final episode!

I will not give away any particular or relevant plot details (although in movies like these, plot does not matter much anyhow), but I have two observations to make. First, the movie showed me something that had not occurred to me before. The protagonist had spent years in a prison and was weary about the world outside. In fact, the world turns out to be bad, if not worse than what he had imagined. At one point of despair, he catches a cab to the prison grounds and begs to be let in again.

It is strange how the prison confines can over time become someone’s home and I am reminded of the old man in Shawshank Redemption who had difficulties adapting to the real world out there. For a long-term prisoner, the prison can be their structured and secure home.

The second observation is about a scene in which Franz Biberkopf orders various pints of beer and talks to each of them. This scene is completely redundant and even pointless by any standards; yet it has Fassbinder written all over it. It is funny and quirky though, and we see the protagonist Biberkopf drink them one after the other and still able to deliver (most of) his lines. The surreal meets cinema verité!  

As can be seen, I finally seem to have gotten Fassbinder. Something clicked within me and I understood. From now on, I will see his movies with different eyes. I would not mind re-watching some of the previous films with this renewed knowledge and, moreover, appreciation for this great film-maker.

I also understand now why he is considered so good. Because, put simply, he is. He is an acquired taste for sure, just like sushi or Hitchcock. You may not like his films at first or see nothing special in them (as I had done), but delve deeper and you will find a treasure trove.

Am I going to watch all of his movies? I doubt it. Just like Alfred Hitchcock whom I admire now (but about whom I did not always feel that way), Fassbinder also has some misses. There are also movies that are fraught with violence (or so I have heard). But I will add many of this director's movies to my (alas endless) watch list and give them a fair hearing and seeing.

And I am confident that there is something I will see in his movies that I do not find in many other films, something bold, something unique, that je-ne-sais-quoi, the secret, mysterious and often missing alchemical ingredient that transposes craft into genius.