Saturday, September 09, 2017

the delicious other of disclosure

I was dreading to update the home page with a disappointing apology for having nothing much to say. But I came up with a note that I’m happy with—especially the ending, in implicit honor of my streaming last night of “That Obscure Object of Desire” (1977, but remastered in 2001), which is now a dated (rather outdated) experiment in scripting sexist stereotypes and playing with elderly auteurial despair about life in 1977, not only as times which were shockingly insane, but also as absurd, perhaps, as sending a satellite-bound gold plaque of nude humans waving into interstellar space?—and having learned to parody aging without a partner in misogynist society.

The film is about much, of course, warranting detailed attention, but I’m not going to do much now. It was made during the reign of psycho-analytical literary theory (and Deconstruction). When I first saw Buñuel’s very “political” film in 1977 (and had seen others during earlier years),
I was doing a dissertation that applied Derridean interests to political philosophy.

For the artist, the obscure Object is the work of art itself. Working oneself into the Work (the long-lived authoriality), then transposing that into singular, presentational works gives a phenomenality of experiencing a presentation possible surreality.

Anyway, surrealism isn’t merely dramatized absurdity. Life is not only painfully real (truly tragic), but delightfully comic (yes, absurd, too), yet lusciously romantic; and finally ironic (altogether here: the Shakespear-ean fourfold), while echoing—to my mind—Our evolving.

So, too, for so called “love.”