I must admit. When I learned that Demetri Martin is a fellow Greek American, I became anxious about catching Important Things with Demetri Martin, which premiered on Comedy Central on February 11. Would he be funny or stupid? Would he enter my personal Walhalla of Greek American demigods (populated by David Sedaris and Jeffrey Eugenides)? Or would he be, like most things these days, annoying? I finally caught the first episode and was truly amazed. Demetri Martin has a truly original comic voice, which I can best describe as minimalist; his comedy is smart and youthful (and what I mean by that is simply what I project into some of my juniors: cynical, dead-pan, retroactive, undramatic, almost humorless). One of the most innovative elements of Important Things is a simple and intelligent use of graphics, literally sketch comedy. I was also relieved to hear no ethnic jokes (like the Greek-American darling Angelo Tsarouchas). Martin's "Greekness" was invisible, although it clearly informed his skits on mouse "Creedcide" and on the ancient farmer tan.
Demetri's father was a Greek Orthodox priest. He grew up on the Jersey shore (Toms River), skateboarding on the boardwalk, skewering meat into souvlakis at his family's diner and being an altar boy on Sundays. He went to Yale (specifically to Calhoun College, which Celina pointed out was named after John C. Calhoun, the famous Confederate politician, whose estate became ... Clemson University). Martin's father died of leukemia while he was in college. After two years at NYU law school, Martin quit out of boredom. His comedy career flourished in a pedigree of shows from Jon Stewart's Daily Show Conan O'Brien's Late Night. His talents were first recognized in 2003 at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I enjoyed listening to Martin talk about his life and particularly about his Greek upbringing, see interview with Terry Gross on Fresh Air (Sep. 24, 2007, repeated Feb. 9, 2008).
For sure, you'll know where to find me on Wednesday nights, 10:30-11:00 PM: glued on the TV, enjoying the smart jokes and drawings of Demetri Martin's minimalist humor.
I have been glued on the TV all day watching the inauguration of Barak Obama. Tomorrow, I start my history of architecture class at Connecticut and I am simply overwhelmed with the richness of America's architectural tradition unfolding in front of the television. From Saint John's Episcopal Church (Benjamin Latrobe, 1815), and the Capitol Building (William Thornton, Benjamin Latrobe, Charles Bulfinch, William Strickland, 1791-1863), its Statuary Hall and its featured painting View of the Yosemite Valley by Thomas Hill (on loan from the New York Historical Society), to the Beaux Arts buildings on Pennsylvania Avenue swarming with people, The Old Post Office Pavilion (Willoughby Edbrook, 1880), the National Gallery East Building (I.M. Pei, 1968), the Canadian Embassy (Arthur Erickson, 1989), the White House (Benjamin Latrobe, 1801), its Miesian viewing stand, the Washington Monument (Robert Mills, 1848) and, of course, the Lincoln Memorial (Henry Bacon, 1922), the most central building in Barack Obama's architectural iconography, see Democratic Classicism post.
Emotionally overwhelmed by the momentous event, I turn now inward and confront my own civic responsibilities. How can I contribute to the Change heralded by Obama's presidency? Re-reading Howard Zinn, People's History of the United States: 1492-Present, was the first thing that came to mind for guidance. But ultimately, I feel my commitment is to teach through architectural history. I set my first goal as follows. To give my students the necessary vocabulary so that they could truly understand how radically different the White House is from the Lincoln Memorial, even though superficially they seem similarly traditional. I am afraid that the nuances of Washington's architecture was lost to most viewers because it has been generically labeled "all American." Perhaps here I can make a modest contribution. Two weekends ago, I gave a walking tour "Archaeology into Architecture" for the Annual Meetings of the Archaeological Institute of America in Philadelphia. The attendants were all non-specialists. For 2 1/2 hours we traveled across American history, from the colonial Independence Hall to the modern PFSF Building, showing the consecutive but radically different archaeological inspirations for each of the various American styles. We also visited the 2003 excavations of the slave quarters behind the President's House, published in Rebecca Yamin's Digging in the City of Brotherly Love: Stories from Philadelphia Archaeology (2008). Perhaps change can come through architectural knowledge and archaeological discipline.
My favorite images from the Inauguration festivities came from two days ago, with Bruce Springsteen performing "We Are One" at the Lincoln Memorial, flanked by its Doric colonnade and a red gospel choir. The image (above) was published in the New York Times (January 19, 2009, p. C1). I have some hope in these white columns, at least in as much as they can be understood. Let's look beyond the iconic and understand the substance.
Watching low forms of popular entertainment gives one the tingle of shame shared by the female readers of novels in the 19th century. Or in the spirit of postmodernism, kitsch is so good because it is so bad. I am a little ashamed to say that for about a year I have been following the CBS soap opera The Young and the Restless at least once or twice a week. This bad habit began at Clemson, where I would come back home to cook lunch and eat by myself. Now that I am spending more and more time at home with a newborn, Y&R has provided some mindless narrative to highlight adult feeding time.
Spectacularly, Y&R has gone to Paris this weeks. For a variety of reasons, a bunch of the show's characters have ended up in Paris. Although many of the scenes are clearly montaged into a French background, some are filmed on location. Paris still holds a special spot in the popular imagination. Having the characters visit the famous streets, neighborhoods, cemeteries and medieval monuments in person reassures the aura of the original work of art. I'm watching the episode closely because, in my survey of art, I am dealing with popular culture's Parisian expectations. I know my students are taking the class to prepare themselves for those magical wonders like Notre Dame Cathedral. Art historical knowledge is never free of expectations; the American love affair with Paris is inescapable. Albeit at a more popular level, Y&R illustrates this fantasy. And frankly, if popular culture did not continue to relish the Parisian fantasy, nobody would major in Art History. At the bottom of the cultural spectrum we have Y&R in Paris, while at the top, we have the Metropolitan Museum's Americans in Paris, 1860-1900, a blockbuster exhibition.
In my art history survey, I've been continuously connecting the art of the past with the expectations of the present and I will certainly share clips when we visit Notre Dame Cathedral, where Ashley Abbott experiences a revelation. She stands in the West portal while the camera pans across the monument, and later she walks around the back and prays to a statue of Saint Raymond Nonnatus, "patron saint of infants who were never born." The camera zooms back and forth between her radiant blond face (soft focus) and a detail of the medieval statue. It's reassuring to know that medieval scultpure still retains its popular appeal. Her prayers come to life when Victor (whom everyone is searching for) appears in front of the same statue.
For the full episode of this most up-to-date version of Americans in Paris, you can see a short promo here. For a closer reading of this cultural text, the entire episode (38:29 mins) can be watched here. I have put together a little minute-by-minute guide to the relevant parts of the show
(00:50-03:01) Nick and Sharon have a telephone conversation; they realize that they both happen to be in the Left Bank
(03:01-03:22) Ashley visits Notre Dame Cathedral; camera details portal
(21:32-21:34) General shots of Notre Dame
(21:34-23:10) Noah (Nick's and Sharon's son) and Eden, who are in Paris on a school trip, have a conversation. Eden tells Noah that she wants "to feel the city," wants to visit Père Lachaise Cemetery to visit the graves of "Edith Piaf, Marcel Proust, Jim Morrison)
(23:11-23:42) Ashley talks to a nun on the side of Notre Dame and is directed to the statue of Saint Raymond
(26:30-26:50) More on Saint Raymond, "patron saint of infants who never were born"
(31:59-32:30) Phyllis (Nick's wife) arrives at the Park Hyatt Hotel. View of exterior (exuding with status). Walks into Nick's room (studio set) but does not find him there
(32:30-33:42) Nick and Sharon meet up at Bistro La Maison to have a coffee; there's lots of flirtation and Sharon holds Nick's hand.
(33:42-35:25) Climax of episode. Ashley stands in the gardens behind Notre Dame and prays to the statue of Saint Raymond. Soft focus close-ups of Ashley's face are broken by zooms on the medieval statue (33:53, 34:19, 34:35, 34:47, 35:11). Victor appears magically behind Ashley.
I must admit. When I learned that Demetri Martin is a fellow Greek American, I became anxious about catching Important Things with Demetri Martin, which premiered on Comedy Central on February 11. Would he be funny or stupid? Would he enter my personal Walhalla of Greek American demigods (populated by David Sedaris and Jeffrey Eugenides)? Or would he be, like most things these days, annoying? I finally caught the first episode and was truly amazed. Demetri Martin has a truly original comic voice, which I can best describe as minimalist; his comedy is smart and youthful (and what I mean by that is simply what I project into some of my juniors: cynical, dead-pan, retroactive, undramatic, almost humorless). One of the most innovative elements of Important Things is a simple and intelligent use of graphics, literally sketch comedy. I was also relieved to hear no ethnic jokes (like the Greek-American darling Angelo Tsarouchas). Martin's "Greekness" was invisible, although it clearly informed his skits on mouse "Creedcide" and on the ancient farmer tan.
