A lot of this is true; the more time I've spent in media, the more I've realized the "conspiracy" model makes less sense. Much of it is groupthink, as well as forces at play that tend to overwhelm discourse. The Substack literary scene is one such force; it's now too large to ignore. In that way, the Modernist analogy is good, because it was literally a handful of human beings who were not famous in any real way deciding that what they did was important and convincing the world to take them seriously, which the world, in time, rightfully did. I like the "New Realism" and I think that does it. At heart, all of us seem determined to take hold of reality, represent it on the page in a vital way, and get away from the "wan little husks" of the last decade. I know I wanted to.
While I think I was a bit more struck by "The Shrouds" than you were, I agree with your disappointed assessment of its laboriously rowdy plot. I gather it began as an aborted TV series, much like "Mulholland Drive," but this time for Netflix, and the difference is telling. Lynch’s obsession with "The Wizard of Oz," his rise and fall with broadcast television, and ABC’s status as a wayward grandchild of the Golden Age studio system mean that whatever themes exist in "Mulholland Drive" about human frailty against mechanistic forces of artistic production still resonate within that older framework. Netflix, by contrast, feels so wholly divorced from any lingering tension between art and commerce that it’s harder to find the same emotional echoes. (Although maybe those ideas exist after all; Cronenberg’s work, at least for me, tends to grow larger in the rear-view mirror rather than shrink—so maybe there’s something there with death as a streaming platform: an endless scroll of grief spooling into a hypnotic current of addictive distraction, etc.)
I also think—if you’ll allow the pun—that while Cronenberg is gravely funny (I was cackling like a hyena during that opening blind-date scene), I never really find him playful, at least not in the way Lynch’s subconscious feels playful. Lynch’s breadcrumb symbolism feels open and regenerative, whereas Cronenberg’s brainiac intensity tends to compress rather than unfold. (Of course, that also means Lynch sometimes invites the acne-ridden tendency to "solve" jagged puzzles where there exist only polished dreams, while Cronenberg lends himself more naturally to honest intellectualism.) Maybe it’s an ingrained Jewish moral seriousness versus whatever transcendental meditation cultivates... (I know Lynch’s sometimes-on-set anger was legendary, but there’s a certain sanguine wickedness in his subconscious that Cronenberg’s embalming-table neuroses never quite permit.)
That’s also why, even though Cronenberg made "A Dangerous Method," it’s Lynch who's the true Freudian; and why people will read occult secrets into "The Return," whereas I doubt anything like that will happen with "The Shrouds," even though it’s a text about conspiracy itself. Your comment about how early artistic ambitions shape what a filmmaker brings to the malleable, collaborative medium of film was so sharp. Much to chew on, as always!
P.S. I think you probably know by now how much I admire "MA," but again, congratulations on its hardcover publication this week! I genuinely hope it’s such an overwhelming success that you cannot, in good conscience, keep up with reading and replying to messages, lest your beleaguered handlers get involved!
Thank you, David! Yes, if anything I undersold how funny The Shrouds is, maybe his funniest since the '80s. Despite all those articles about "inappropriate laughter" in arthouse cinemas, the audience where I saw the film sat in reverential silence. I agree that he's not playful, though; his humor is a really good match for DeLillo's, an icy absurdist deadpan, which is why I thought Cosmopolis was such a good adaptation. On the question of "solutions," I gather the film implies none of the conspiracies are real, that they are various attempts to cope with grief on the part of Maury and Karsh and Terry, but then—I feel myself breaking out already—how did the doctor get into the grave? And are we sure Karsh was lying to Terry when he said he did it, as the Wikipedia plot summary insists? I will probably have to watch it again. Now that I've reflected on the ending, beyond being surprised that it *was* the ending, I do really appreciate it, with its implication that the cycle of love and death will continue. Televisual-serial open-endedness becoming proper aesthetic anti-closure, like an unfinished text of Kafka's somehow breaking off in just the right place. Thanks again!
Re: Sam Sacks vs. Simon Magnus and the constant repetition of his name.
This just illustrates the banality that what some readers like, others don't. I thought all the "Simon Magnus-ing" was effective because it's 1) funny; 2) shows how ideological demands affect everyday language; 3) shows what an egomaniac Simon Magnus is. A very simple device achieves a trifecta of meaning, which is pretty neat. Also, it's *supposed* to be pompous and in-yer-face, right?
A lot of this is true; the more time I've spent in media, the more I've realized the "conspiracy" model makes less sense. Much of it is groupthink, as well as forces at play that tend to overwhelm discourse. The Substack literary scene is one such force; it's now too large to ignore. In that way, the Modernist analogy is good, because it was literally a handful of human beings who were not famous in any real way deciding that what they did was important and convincing the world to take them seriously, which the world, in time, rightfully did. I like the "New Realism" and I think that does it. At heart, all of us seem determined to take hold of reality, represent it on the page in a vital way, and get away from the "wan little husks" of the last decade. I know I wanted to.
This is exactly right, but you know someone's thinking this is what we *would* say if we *were* conspiring...
While I think I was a bit more struck by "The Shrouds" than you were, I agree with your disappointed assessment of its laboriously rowdy plot. I gather it began as an aborted TV series, much like "Mulholland Drive," but this time for Netflix, and the difference is telling. Lynch’s obsession with "The Wizard of Oz," his rise and fall with broadcast television, and ABC’s status as a wayward grandchild of the Golden Age studio system mean that whatever themes exist in "Mulholland Drive" about human frailty against mechanistic forces of artistic production still resonate within that older framework. Netflix, by contrast, feels so wholly divorced from any lingering tension between art and commerce that it’s harder to find the same emotional echoes. (Although maybe those ideas exist after all; Cronenberg’s work, at least for me, tends to grow larger in the rear-view mirror rather than shrink—so maybe there’s something there with death as a streaming platform: an endless scroll of grief spooling into a hypnotic current of addictive distraction, etc.)
I also think—if you’ll allow the pun—that while Cronenberg is gravely funny (I was cackling like a hyena during that opening blind-date scene), I never really find him playful, at least not in the way Lynch’s subconscious feels playful. Lynch’s breadcrumb symbolism feels open and regenerative, whereas Cronenberg’s brainiac intensity tends to compress rather than unfold. (Of course, that also means Lynch sometimes invites the acne-ridden tendency to "solve" jagged puzzles where there exist only polished dreams, while Cronenberg lends himself more naturally to honest intellectualism.) Maybe it’s an ingrained Jewish moral seriousness versus whatever transcendental meditation cultivates... (I know Lynch’s sometimes-on-set anger was legendary, but there’s a certain sanguine wickedness in his subconscious that Cronenberg’s embalming-table neuroses never quite permit.)
That’s also why, even though Cronenberg made "A Dangerous Method," it’s Lynch who's the true Freudian; and why people will read occult secrets into "The Return," whereas I doubt anything like that will happen with "The Shrouds," even though it’s a text about conspiracy itself. Your comment about how early artistic ambitions shape what a filmmaker brings to the malleable, collaborative medium of film was so sharp. Much to chew on, as always!
P.S. I think you probably know by now how much I admire "MA," but again, congratulations on its hardcover publication this week! I genuinely hope it’s such an overwhelming success that you cannot, in good conscience, keep up with reading and replying to messages, lest your beleaguered handlers get involved!
Thank you, David! Yes, if anything I undersold how funny The Shrouds is, maybe his funniest since the '80s. Despite all those articles about "inappropriate laughter" in arthouse cinemas, the audience where I saw the film sat in reverential silence. I agree that he's not playful, though; his humor is a really good match for DeLillo's, an icy absurdist deadpan, which is why I thought Cosmopolis was such a good adaptation. On the question of "solutions," I gather the film implies none of the conspiracies are real, that they are various attempts to cope with grief on the part of Maury and Karsh and Terry, but then—I feel myself breaking out already—how did the doctor get into the grave? And are we sure Karsh was lying to Terry when he said he did it, as the Wikipedia plot summary insists? I will probably have to watch it again. Now that I've reflected on the ending, beyond being surprised that it *was* the ending, I do really appreciate it, with its implication that the cycle of love and death will continue. Televisual-serial open-endedness becoming proper aesthetic anti-closure, like an unfinished text of Kafka's somehow breaking off in just the right place. Thanks again!
Re: Sam Sacks vs. Simon Magnus and the constant repetition of his name.
This just illustrates the banality that what some readers like, others don't. I thought all the "Simon Magnus-ing" was effective because it's 1) funny; 2) shows how ideological demands affect everyday language; 3) shows what an egomaniac Simon Magnus is. A very simple device achieves a trifecta of meaning, which is pretty neat. Also, it's *supposed* to be pompous and in-yer-face, right?
Thank you! These were my intentions, but de gustibus, of course.