Very Short Review: The Martian (2015)

02 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by percivalhenry in Very Short Review

The Martian is the rare movie that’s better than the book. In this case, it’s mostly because the book is so mediocre and the film makers (it was directed by Ridley Scott) manage to solve the problems its writer, Andy Weir, could not. The story is a simple one: Astronaut Mark Watney (played by Matt Damon) is left for dead on Mars, and he needs to stay alive for more than a year until he can be rescued. The book does a great job of explaining how this could happen, and patiently walks us through Watney’s forays into Martian agriculture and transportation. Told mostly through his journal updates, Watney narrates his ordeal with humor and a breezy, can-do attitude. But the book lacks any attempt to convey the inner life of a man stuck millions of miles from home. He never despairs, he never pines for missing friends or lovers (and apparently doesn’t have any), he’s never angry at the hand fate dealt him, and so never becomes more than a glib sketch of a person. And this is where the movie succeeds. In only a few brief scenes, perhaps less than a minute of total screen time, Damon flashes the emotions of a man who has every reason to rage against his predicament, and becomes someone we can understand. The movie also smartly introduces the rest of the cast – Watney’s fellow astronauts and the NASA ground crew – much earlier than the book, which abruptly lurched from a Robinson Crusoe-like narrative to a rescue mission with lots of characters. As a result, some scenes of Watney’s travails are cut and new ones, featuring Jessica Chastain as the spaceship’s commander, are added. Those alterations are mostly positive (save for an unnecessary coda set back on earth) and help the movie build momentum on Earth, in space and on Mars towards a satisfying and moving climax. Much like Apollo 13, the movie celebrates the resourcefulness of NASA’s engineers and feels overly promotional (I’m sure the real-life NASA administrators loved it). Given the billions of dollars spent to save one astronaut, I would have liked to hear from an ethicist arguing whether the money could be better spent on a malaria vaccine, say, that could save millions of lives. But The Martian isn’t that kind of film. It’s a rousing adventure that reminds us how, in capable hands, effective a story-telling medium movies can be.

Very Short Reviews: Noah (2014) and The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013)

09 Friday Oct 2015

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We rented these movies this week, and they have a lot in common. Both are based on old stories (one somewhat older than the other) that didn’t particularly need to be made into movies. And while neither film is very good, at least one is interesting.

Noah, from Darren Aronofsky (Black Swan), is wild, feverish mess. It imagines the story of the flood not as a gauzy allegory, but as a vivid, painful ordeal. Noah is the descendent of Seth, the third son of Adam and Eve, just 10 generations removed from Eden, and the world as filmed by Aronofsky looks about 300 years old: raw and strange. Angels still walk the earth, but they are encased in rock, a punishment from the vengeful Creator (You Know Who). The Creator also visits the dreams of Noah (Russell Crowe), who foresees the drowning of humanity, most of whom are the wicked descendents of the original Bad Man, Cain. Noah and his sons get to building the ark, and on the eve of the deluge, animals start showing up. Aronofsky skips the two-by-two procession of beasts that is the staple of children’s books, and in a few arresting sequences, shows thousands of critters slithering and shoving their way aboard. It’s when the men – led by their very evil king, Tubal Cain (Ray Winstone) – try to get on the boat does the action movie break out, and lots of smashing and explosions ensue. Crowe doesn’t exactly look like a semitic hero, but he broods furiously, particularly when he’s torn between his understanding of the Creator’s intent – that all men must die, his family included – and an unwillingness to sacrifice what he loves. Unfortunately, Aronofsky, or the studio heads, doesn’t think theological questioning is dramatic enough, so we get a distracting subplot about Tubal Cain tempting Noah’s son, and a predictable fight in the bowels of the ark. Along the way there’s lots of stilted dialogue, some impassioned urging from Noah’s wife (the strangely cast Jennifer Connelly) and a bland, passive performance from Emma Watson, the wife of Noah’s son upon whose pregnancy the fate of humanity rests. Hermione Granger never had days like these.

Noah is inconsistent and often clumsy, but at least Aronofsky has a vision. It’s hard to tell what Peter Jackson’s vision was for The Hobbit, aside from the most cynical. The movie picks up where the last one left off, with Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf aiding a troop of dwarves in their quest to reclaim their lost kingdom (and not coincidentally, the mountain of treasure left behind). While the second installment is somewhat brisker than the sluggish first, it suffers the same fatal flaws of bloat and lack of character development. We simply don’t have a reason to care about these people (if hobbit and dwarves are people) or their mission. Few of the dwarves ever develop a personality beyond caricature, Bilbo (Martin Freeman) has no discernible motivation and as other characters – elves, humans, orcs, were-bears – parachute in, the plot is stretched thinner and thinner. J.R.R. Tolkien’s 1937 book is a slight, diverting adventure, with none of the weight of his later Lord of the Rings. Jackson’s attempts to invest this story with significance fall flat and worse, undermine the power of his magnificent Rings trilogy. Anyone who watches all the movies in chronological order would be baffled by Gandalf’s slow realization that Sauron had returned in The Fellowship of the Ring, since he’d already confronted him two movies earlier in The Desolation of Smaug. The movie also suffers from the same action-movie affliction as Noah, with an extended sequence of dwarves in barrels rushing down a river seemingly designed with a theme-park ride in mind. It’s not all tedious – there are some well crafted sequences in the lair of Smaug the dragon – and Jackson again uses the New Zealand scenery to maximum effect. But when your mountains are more captivating than your characters, you have a problem.

Nobody Asked Me But … Here’s How to Fix Penalties in Football

01 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by percivalhenry in Nobody Asked Me But ..., Sports

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football, soccer

(Since I’m blogging in London I’m calling it football, not soccer. Sorry, ‘merica).

(photo courtesy Clark Parker/TheTokyoFiles.com)

I was a (very) casual football fan for years but since moving to the U.K. three years ago, I’ve paid much closer attention to the sport. And while most of it is just fine, I’m troubled by the role played by penalties.

Penalties are highly entertaining and, because they’re awarded by the referee, incredibly arbitrary. Many penalties that should be called are not, and many are called that shouldn’t be. Players flop and dive with abandon, hoping to win one. It is not one of the game’s more attractive aspects.

The problem is the disproportionate role penalties can play, given their capricious nature. While an NBA referee will blow some calls, costing a team one or two points, they tend to get evened out in a game where both teams are likely to score in the hundreds. In the English Premier League last year, teams averaged a 2.7 goals a game (that’s a combined 2.7 goals) and more than 60 percent of the matches were decided by one goal (or were draws). In that context, penalties can, and often will, decide the outcome.

Penalties aren’t automatic (just ask Jason Puncheon) but they’re close: players convert on 85 percent of them, on average. That’s better than the NBA’s average free-throw rate.

Here’s how to fix it:

1, Let the punishment fit the crime

Penalty takers are so successful in part because of who takes them: very often the team’s best scorer. There’s no rule specifying who takes the penalty, so naturally the most gifted shooter lines up. This both pads the scoring statistics for strikers (bizarrely, the records don’t distinguish between earned goals and penalties) and undermines the whole logic of the punishment. If the penalty is an attempt to compensate teams for lost scoring opportunity, then shouldn’t the player who lost the chance take the shot? In other words, shouldn’t the punishment fit the crime?

A minimum fix to the problem of penalties would be to require the fouled player to take the shot. If he’s too injured to take it – unlikely, given that he may not have been touched in the first place – then he should come off the field for a substitute. It wouldn’t make a big dent in the success rate, but at least justice will be served. (The same logic applies to free kicks, as well.)

2, Move the penalty mark back two yards

Sports need to adapt to changing conditions, and can’t be too rooted to traditions. If baseball can raise and lower the pitchers mound, football can tinker with the penalty mark. Another two yards will give the keeper a fraction of a second longer to block the shot, and help even the odds. If that doesn’t work, move it back four yards.

3, Stop counting penalties in the scoring statistics

This is more of a philosophical point than remedy, but it would help remind fans (and the wildly celebrating players) that scoring a penalty kick isn’t the same as scoring a goal. A few weeks ago Wayne Rooney scored his 50th goal for England to become the nation’s all-time leader … on a penalty. It shouldn’t count. While the outcome of a walk is the same as a single (going back to baseball), they’re not the same and aren’t treated as such in the stats. Last year, Sergio Aguero of Manchester City won the Golden Boot with 26 goals. Only in the fine print does it say he scored five of them on penalties.

4, Institute retroactive red cards

This isn’t a new idea, but it’s a good one. To crack down on diving, football should institute a tribunal that examines video after the game. If a player is found faking a foul, he should be given a red card for his next match. (Some noble fans argue the game should be paused to assess the foul as they occur. You can sign their petition here). The NBA has a very mild version of this in place to clamp down on flopping. Stiff penalties for diving means there will be less of it, and referees, having more confidence that they’re making the right decisions, will be more likely to call the legitimate fouls. It may not reduce the number of penalties, but it will make them less arbitrary.

Looking: Agnes Martin

24 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by percivalhenry in Looking

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art, art history

Agnes Martin, the subject of a retrospective now at the Tate Modern, was born in Saskatchewan in 1912, and spent much of her adult life in rural New Mexico. It’s easy to draw connections between her bare, minimalist paintings to those stark landscapes, although she may have been more influenced by the zen philosophy she studied at Teachers College than by the Canadian prairie.

Her early works – paintings of biomorphic shapes, and found objects – show the influence of O’Keeffe, Miro and Johns, but she quickly found her own language of the rigid grids and bands she tinkered with for the rest of her career.

One of her most successful works is A Grey Stone (1963), a vast canvas that immediately strikes the viewer as a wall of, yes, grey. Get closer, and you see it’s a grid of tiny rectangles, hundreds or thousands of them, etched faintly into the dark paint. (Get even closer and you set off an alarm. Sorry).

A Grey Stone, 1963

A Gray Stone (detail)

Martin’s precision creates the illusion of machined perfection, but it’s made by hand, and it has the imperfections of the hand made. The slightly varying lines make the work organic and natural, and the pattern here suggests animal hide, snake skin, human cells. It’s bulk and texture suggests an immense beast, like a rhinoceros or Brontosaurus, while the fine lines reveal the creature’s intricate engineering. Stepping back, we can see the painting’s surface is not uniform, but one that varies slightly across its expanse, like a faint clouding. A Grey Stone is both a work of brute force and exquisite delicacy.

Martin’s paintings can be appreciated for their creativity and subtle beauty in their own right, but it’s in comparison to her abstract expressionist peers that her work really become remarkable. Led by Jackson Pollock – a Wyoming native who like Martin descended from the high plains – a generation of painters freed paint from the restrictions of line and shape, and reveled in riotous colors and exuberant energy. Martin went in another direction, and her paintings are a study in restraint, calm and discipline. When she experimented with color later in her career, her work goes astray and veers into the merely decorative. (One group of broadly striped painting in pale blue and salmon unfortunately suggests a line of beach towels).

Some of Martin’s most powerful works come when she pared her palette down to minute variations of white. In a collection called The Islands, 12 white-on-white paintings hang together. The grouping invokes comparisons to Mark Rothko’s collection of black-on-black paintings done for the Menil chapel in Houston, and it’s possible that Martin was inspired by them. But despite the obvious similarities, the works have a much different feel: while Rothko’s breathe and pulse with life, Martin’s are cool and distant.

Island VII, 1979

One typical, but outstanding, work in the group is Island VII. A field of white with faint horizontal lines etched in pencil, the painting is sectioned into seven bands of alternating width, and almost imperceptible changes in tone. In some cases, the bands are separated by a single line, in others, two lines in parallel. The closer you look, the more nuanced the work becomes. The white paint clumps, and is thicker in some parts than others. The painting is both uniform, and irregular. And as Martin creates a tension between the detail within the painting and the whole of the painting, she does the same with the single work and the collection of The Islands as a whole. Viewed from afar, they are identical squares of while. Up close, each is distinct.

Not all artists benefit from an exhaustive retrospective, and Martin falls in this group. Unlike some artists, whose work evolves dramatically over time, Martin’s consistency and discipline over the decades means the variations over time are gradual. Seeing them all is overwhelming, and the affect is numbing. Martin, I think, is best hung in isolation, or in a collection of her contemporaries, where her bold and distinct choices are most obvious.

Very Short Review: Everest (2015)

20 Sunday Sep 2015

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climbing

The history of recent mountaineering movies is pretty dismal, and most involve overlaying the plot of a lame thriller over a climbing backdrop. (See: Vertical Limit, Cliffhanger). Those movies didn’t have faith that the inherent drama in climbing big mountains could sustain a plot. Not so Everest, a new film based on the 1996 disaster that saw eight climbers die in a tangle of greed, poor planning, miscommunication and horrible weather. The catastrophe was well documented, in part because one climber, writer Jon Krakauer, turned it into a best selling book, Into Thin Air. Other books and accounts followed. The events are compelling enough they don’t need embellishment, and as far as I can tell (based on my reading of Krakauer’s book 18 years ago), there isn’t any. The movie, directed by Iceland’s Baltasar Kormakur, does streamline the action, focusing on New Zealand guide Rob Hall and his clients, and leaved out some of the other climbing teams that played a role in the disaster. Kormakur revels in the mountain setting, and his camera swoops in and out of the Himalaya, showing the massive size of Everest, and the scale of the challenge. One sequence involving a helicopter rescue at 20,000 feet is heart stopping. He’s also faithful to the sport. As a (very) amateur climber who has tackled some big peaks, I was ready (eager almost) to pick apart the inaccuracies, but there weren’t many (the self-arrest technique of one guide needed work). He also captures the pain and difficulty of operating in a high-altitude environment, and how it debilitates even the most accomplished mountaineer. Kormakur’s bigger challenge is crafting the individual narratives of the characters, most of which are vague sketches. He delves into the back story of one climber, Beck Weathers (played by Josh Brolin) a brash Texan, but he rarely rises above a stereotype. The heart of the movie, and its one fully realized personality, is Hall (Jason Clarke), whose compassion proves to be his greatest flaw. Hall’s narrative – including his poignant conversation from the top of Everest with his pregnant wife (Keira Knightly) at home – is so well known that for many viewers, there’s little suspense. It’s nonetheless a powerful story, more so because it’s true, and even if you know what’s coming, the film’s climax is surprisingly affecting.

Nobody Asked Me But … Here are Three Ways to Improve the NFL

18 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by percivalhenry in Nobody Asked Me But ..., Sports

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football, London, NFL

The National Football League is a sports and entertainment juggernaut, but it’s far from perfect. Here are three things it could do to improve the product.

1, Let quarterbacks deflate the ball.

Let me be clear here: if Tom Brady and the Patriots knowingly broke the rules, they should be punished. But no one has explained to my satisfaction the purpose of the rule. What harm is there in letting a quarterback adjust the ball so it’s easier to throw? Why not let teams inflate it to their preferred level? If both teams can do it, is any team gaining an advantage? While basketball and soccer teams share possession of the ball and might differ on what the proper pressure should be, a football is overwhelmingly possessed by one team (and a deflated football is probably easier to catch, and therefore intercept, anyway). And unlike other forms of tinkering with sports equipment, like corking bats and using stickum, deflating balls is self regulating: if you lower the pressure by too much, it’s harder to throw. So the amount of variance between balls will always be modest. In sports, the fewer rules, the better, and this one’s unnecessary. Here’s my proposal: let teams try it next preseason. I bet no one would notice a difference.

2, Expand the season to 18 games.

Here’s the catch: Make the season 18 games, but mandate that no player can play more than 16 games a season. To make this work, I’d eliminate the bye week, and expand the roster from 53 to 60. An 18-game season has all sorts of benefits. The NFL gets the two extra games it wants, giving it more product to sell to networks, and each team gets one more home game (which will pay for the additional players). Fans get more games, and they get a new wrinkle in strategy, as coaches must weigh which teams to sit their best players against. Coaches get to see backups play in meaningful situations. Players get more rest (and forced rest, so there can be no accusations of being soft for sitting out a game) and with expanded rosters, there are more jobs. The integrity of the 16-game season is preserved, so individual records are still meaningful. It’s a win-win-win-win. The only hitch: I can’t see teams carrying two kickers and punters, so I might waive the 16-game rule for those positions.

3, Move the Jaguars to London.

This is more of a prediction than recommendation, as it looks like it may happen, but it makes sense and the league should do it. (Disclosure: I live in London). The Jaguars have signed up to play one game in London every year from 2013 through 2017, and while the games are purportedly to build an international fan base (and somehow entice Londoners to games in northeast Florida) it’s clear that the league is laying the groundwork for moving the franchise. Jacksonville’s owner, Shad Khan, already has a foothold in the U.K., owning the Fulham soccer team. The NFL has eyed Europe hungrily for decades, even sponsoring the ill-fated World League of American Football (Amsterdam Admirals, anyone?). They want this to happen. Jacksonville isn’t the smallest NFL market (that would be Green Bay), nor are they worst at drawing fans. But the team is the third NFL franchise in its state, and arguably the sixth most popular football team (trailing the Dolphins, Bucs and three college programs). Weighed against being the sole team in a city of 8.6 million (10 times Jacksonville’s population) and on a continent of 400 million, it seems a no brainer.

There are obstacles. One is the Jaguars stadium lease with the city Jacksonville, which locks them in until 2027 (this article has the details). But if the team and the NFL wanted them to move, I suspect it would happen. Then there’s scheduling. While the flights from the East Coast of the U.S. to London are long (six to eight hours, depending on the direction), it’s similar to a flight Miami to Seattle. The bigger problem is the time zone difference, which is five hours between the East Coast of the U.S. and London, and eight from the West Coast. Making that adjustment eight times a season (or nine, if you adopt my first suggestion) would be brutal for the Jaguars and competitive disadvantage. But here’s how to make it palatable: schedule two road trips of four and five games long. The team would spend the duration in the US, then come back for a four or five game home stand, minimizing the number of transatlantic flights. Visiting teams would only have to make the trip once a year, and it could be done to so it’s the week after a bye or before a Monday game.

Would fans in London turn out? I think so. The NFL is now selling out 90,000 seat Wembley three games a year. They would need to fill it five (or six) more times, which wouldn’t be hard once fans had a home town to support (and the team could eventually move into a smaller stadium of their own). A winning product would help, but the initial novelty would sustain it for a few years. Look at the support for NYC FC, a fledgling soccer team, in New York. It had a fan club before it played a game. I suspect the reaction would be similar for an American sports product going th other way.

But they may not need to sell out to be a success for the league. The NFL last year experimented with a 2:30 p.m. London kickoff, meaning fans on the East Coast could watch the games at 9:30. a.m. Ratings were good, and this year all three games will have the early kick off. Having a full slate of morning games would give the NFL more inventory, which could be sold as a separate TV package (as suggested by ProFootballTalk here).

Ultimately, I think this will happen, even if the Jaguars have to wait until 2027, and a London franchise may be the first of four teams in Europe, enough to create another division and ease some of the travel burden. And the Super Bowl winners can finally claim to be world champions.

Anthems and Patriotism

16 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by percivalhenry in politics

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What’s the purpose of a national anthem?

In the U.K. this week, it seems to be a litmus test for patriotism.

If you haven’t been paying attention to this mini-scandal, newly elected Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn didn’t sing “God Save the Queen” at a World War II memorial service yesterday. Corbyn, a rumpled socialist from the old school, was blasted by conservative MPs and newspapers for not showing proper respect to veterans and the war dead, the Queen and the British people in general.

National anthems are tricky things. They can inspire and help forge a unity of spirit during times of national crisis, but they’re also exclusionary and made trivial by their ubiquity. In the U.S., the “Star Spangled Banner” is played constantly, most notably before sporting events, and standing in solemn silence is considered mandatory. Slouching in your seat impatiently is met with dirty looks, or hurled objects. No matter how many singers have mangled it, or how lowly the contest it proceeds, the anthem remains sacred. Abstaining is not tolerated. Just ask Mamoud Abdul-Rauf.

Thankfully, in the U.S., anthem playing is mostly confined to sports, not other forms of entertainment. Not so in Thailand, where they play it before movies, accompanied by a slide show of the king. In a nation where insulting the monarchy is a criminal offense, you better make sure you stand.

The U.S.’s Pledge of Allegiance is even more problematic, with its insistence that the country is “one nation under God” and implications of disloyalty for those who don’t recite it (as I did as a reporter covering city hall meetings). A Cold War relic, courts have repeatedly found that requiring its utterance to be unconstitutional but that’s of little use to children ostracized by classmates and teachers for bowing out.

Confident nations don’t need pledges and anthems to prod their citizens into loyalty, and a free nation means citizens should be free not to join the herd. Allegiance to a nation isn’t something that comes from rote recitation, and patriotism doesn’t come from singing a song.

The U.K.’s national anthem is particularly thorny. It requires anyone singing it with conviction to believe in God and in the monarchy, positions many Britons don’t agree with. Corbyn is an avowed republican (that’s U.K.-speak for an anti-monarchist) and not singing the anthem was consistent with his principles, if not political realities.

As Obama found during the kerfuffe over the flag pin on his lapel in the 2008 campaign, sometimes political expediency trumps principle. In the future, Corbyn will sing the anthem, the BBC reports.

Britain, the refugee crisis and 1914

08 Tuesday Sep 2015

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news, politics, refugee crisis, U.K.

I’m in the process of reading The Guns of August, Barbara Tuchman’s masterful account of the first month of World War I in (naturally) August of 1914. The book explains in excruciating detail the wrong-headed thinking, preconceived ideas and dithering that led to the deaths of 17 million. While the focus is on the politics and strategies of the French and Germans, Tuchman spends some time on the British and their tepid and inept approach to the war in its opening weeks.

Britain was drawn into the conflict through its loose alliance with France. Not directly threatened, it initially sent about 80,000 men with a vague plan to help shore up the French left side against the massive German army of half a million men sweeping down through Belgium. Though they fought well at Mons, the British were overwhelmed by the superior numbers and their commander, John French, doing everything he could to mimimize losses, retreated rapidly and infuriated France’s generals. Probably correctly, he understood there would be no tolerance among U.K. politicians or the public for large-scale casualties in a conflict they were not yet invested in.

I thought about Britain’s half-hearted commitment to fighting in the early days of World War I when I heard Prime Minister David Cameron announce the U.K.’s response to the refugee crisis boiling over in central Europe. The country will take in 20,000 Syrian refugees over the next five years (until the next general election. At 4,000 a year, it’s a tiny number compared to the need. (There are more than 4 million registered Syrian refugees in camps in Turkey, Jordan and Lebanon). About 18,000 arrived in Germany last weekend alone.

— Za’tari refugee camp, Jordan (U.S. State Dept. photo)

Further, Cameron said the U.K. wouldn’t participate in a Europe-wide quota system or help settle refugees already on the continent. Money to resettle the refugees will come from the U.K. international aid budget. Not surprisingly, the pledge is being described as totally inadequate. The Archbishop of Canterbury, that noted radical, called it “a very slim response.”

(The U.S., too, should do more, in recognition of its wealth and its role in destablizing the Middle East. But as the refugee crisis is primarily a European problem, it first needs a European solution.)

The U.K.’s historical ambivalence about its place in Europe is well documented. In the 12th century, it embraced the continent so tightly that it possessed half of France. Today, it seems Britain regards itself somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, as close to Newfoundland as Normandy, rather than 21 miles off the shores of France. If Cameron could drop oars and row the island closer to the U.S., I suspect he would.

As Prime Minister Asquith did in 1914, Cameron is making a political calculation, balancing his European obligations and domestic cries for action against the anti-immigration, anti-Europe forces that have dominated domestic politics over the last few years (and forced a referendum on the U.K.’s place in the E.U.). The U.K.’s national interest aren’t yet threatened by the crisis. That could change, however, if the European Union begins to fracture over disputes on how to settle the refugees.

In 1914, it took the news of German atrocities in Belgium to rally public support for the war, and in the end, the British response was sustained and massive and its sacrifice enormous. The U.K. is not facing war, and the threat is not the same, but the refugee challenge is far greater than it acknowledges. Already, images of drowned children are prompting cries for a greater U.K. commitment and as the crisis grows, Cameron will likely bow to the pressure to do more. If he wants to show leadership at home and abroad, he should do it sooner than later.

Beijing and the End of the Olympics

11 Tuesday Aug 2015

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Olympics

AFP PHOTO / WANG ZHAO

Beijing being awarded the 2022 winter games marks, if not the end of the Olympics, the beginning of the end.

While the handing of the 2022 World Cup to Qatar was a gesture of enormous cynicism, giving China the Winter Olympics was one of deep resignation. No one else wanted them.

Sure, Almaty bid for them, but there was no chance that the International Olympic Committee, the fattest of the fat cats, was going to hand their jewel to a nation with more yurts than 5-star hotel rooms.

(I would have loved to have seen the games in Almaty, and though we’d have to hold our noses and look past Kazakstan’s deplorable human rights record, let’s face it, we’ve gotten pretty used to it.)

The IOC’s problem is the cities most suited for the Olympics – the big, rich metropolis in the U.S and Europe with all the best stadia and restaurants – want little to do with them. Boston – as sports-besotted a city as exists – turned its back on the chance to bid for the 2024 games, after polls showed the citizenry had no interest. When people have a say, the Olympics are unwanted. So they’re going to places where the people have no say.

Meanwhile, the spectacle of the games has lost its luster. Once upon a time, the Olympics gave us a glimpse of the remote and exotic. Sapporo! Sarajevo! Lillehammer! But now travel is cheap, and people are bored. Every inch of the globe has been scrutinized by Trip Advisor and documented by Instagram. The picturesque has lost its appeal.

If Beijing, a city 100 miles from the mountains, a city with no snow, a city that just held the summer games, can host the Winter Olympics, why can’t it host every Olympics? It has the money, it has the facilities and it has the hunger for whatever legitimacy the games still bestow. Why shouldn’t the Olympics stay where they’re wanted? Maybe they’ll become like Wimbledon and The Masters – a sports fixture rooted in one spot. More likely, they’ll just fade in relevance as the world loses interest. Even China will realize it’s not worth the money.

I hope not. I’m still a sucker for the Olympics. I love the pageantry, the silly rituals of torch lighting and the nations all marching into the stadium in their quasi-native garb. I still think there’s some value to having the world united and paying attention to something that’s not war or famine. But I think I’m an outlier.

In 1904, the Olympics were held in St. Louis, trading on the popularity of the World’s Fair held in that city. World’s Fairs used to be a big deal, a showcase of people and goods from around the globe. Now they barely register (hands up if you know where this year’s Expo is being held). Sadly, it’s not too hard to see the Olympics following them into oblivion.

Trumped

24 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by percivalhenry in politics

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entertainment, politics

Back when I was paid to write about casinos, I had reason to talk to Donald Trump a few times. The first was for a story about the sudden death of another casino executive, and Trump was perfectly reasonable and said all the appropriate things. The second time was for an article about why his casino empire was crumbling. He didn’t want to meet in person, but was willing to talk by phone.

It was an open secret back then that Trump owned a tiny fraction of the casino company he founded. But since it carried his name, I figured I should ask why the company was struggling.

In the course of our brief conversation, he made it clear that he had left Atlantic City behind. The casinos were basically a licensing deal; he was getting paid to lend them his name and aura of success. “The Trump name is the hottest name going,” he told me, and if the casinos failed, it wasn’t because of him.

Besides, he had other things to occupy him: television. He just finished the first season of The Apprentice. “You wouldn’t believe how big this show is. It’s huge.”

Forward almost a decade and The Donald’s presidential run has taken over my Twitter feed. He’s making buffoonish statements about immigrants, he’s insulting John McCain, he’s flying to Laredo to inspect the border. And he’s rising to the top of the polls. The national media, once unsure of how to deal with him, can now justify its breathless coverage. He’s a legitimate candidate, they nod; he has to be taken seriously.

Except he’s not. And they don’t.

Trump has made millions, even if they’re not his claimed billions, from leveraging his name and image. And that business model only works if people know your name and image. The more attention you get, the more people know your name, and the more outrageous your antics, the more attention you get.

Like his spiritual cousin, George Steinbrenner, Trump thrived in the New York City outrage-entertainment industrial complex. The tabloids feasted on his divorce from Ivana and he feasted on the attention. The Apprentice took his act national. Running for president breathes new life into the flagging performance.

(One could argue this blog only feeds his hunger for attention. But since virtually no one reads it, he’ll gain little sustenance from me.)

Trump is a lot of things but dumb is not one of them. He knows he isn’t going to be president. But his run is generating him the sort of publicity – sustained, serious, ego-inflating publicity – money just doesn’t buy. Whenever his romp through the GOP field ends, he’ll be in that much better position to negotiate his next TV deal and command higher prices to license his name.

It’s easy to treat Trump’s presidential run like a joke. But the joke’s on us.