Fractured Compass

June 17, 2006

A Tale of Two Libraries

Filed under: Computers and the Net,Straight and Weird Thoughts — roundapple @ 8:32 am

The software Delicious Library has been around on my Mac for sometime. I wanted to catalog my books, movies and music in a visually appealing way. It works well and is able to retrieve information and cover art on almost anything I search. I’m always in the habit of scattering books so I can’t find them after I’ve finished reading, and organizing things was the better option or so I felt.
But what good is a shelf of books or movies on your computer? To remind you of things you have forgotten is probably nobler to say than it serves a fetish. However, I do get reminded of thoughts long forgotten on certain topics or subjects just by looking at the organized collection – the modern, prosaic equivalent of Proust’s madeleine in Remembrance of Things Past. However, my train of thoughts doesn’t run into hundreds of pages. That’s a conceit I can’t sustain. You do get re-discoveries. I even came to see I had a good book entitled The Vanished Library by Luciano Canfora (about the ancient Library of Alexandria), which I read again deliciously.
One interesting use for this software is probably unintended. You can actually input titles of books, music and movies you would wish to have and put them in your shelf. Sometimes to disabuse you of the notion of buying them. Wishful thinking has its ends, or rather, end.
But, Delicious Library missed the opportunity to expand online.
That opportunity has been grabbed by It is what Delicious Library could have been had it been revved up to life by the genie of generosity. is a highly successful social bookmarking site. Librarything will be a huge hit with readers who want to share their list of books online.
It will be very successful because:
1. Cataloguing online doesn’t cost you forty dollars (at least up to 200 books, though you have to pay if you want to list more).
2. You get to see whether anyone else likes to read what you read.
3. You don’t install anything that ocupies your precious hard drive.
4. No software will crash on you.
5. You get to add widgets to your blog or site showing off your books. (see mine)
6. You can see what books others rate highly and get ideas on what to read next
7. The site owners (and hopefully, you) get to earn from referrals to Amazon (they’ll get rich quick, as they facetiously acknowledge)
8. It’s accessible whether your favorite place is Cupertino or Redmond.
9. It’s got great word-of-mouth potential.
10. It’s a novel take on the successful social bookmarking model.


Why Should We Like Woody’s Movies?

Filed under: Straight and Weird Thoughts,What I Saw and Read — roundapple @ 8:32 am

In an interview, Woody Allen was quoted as saying that he thinks he has produced only mediocre works that only had a meager audience and made little money. While the latter may be true, I cannot agree that his work is mediocre. On the contrary, he is one of a handful of living American filmmakers who are true originals.
He certainly is no great actor. His performances in his movies call attention to himself in a way that at times distract you. He is not the character in his films. Rather, he always plays himself, no matter how different the characters he is portraying in his films are supposed to be.
His work has ranged from the trivial to the memorable. I cannot think of any film of his which will make it to anyone’s 10 Best Films of All Time list, but any work of his is singular – infused with a watermark that you cannot confuse with any director’s.
In the third edition of A Biographical Dictionary of Film, the perceptive film critic, David Thomson seems skeptical that Allen can develop as an artist. Thomson is a critic whose judgments I generally trust. After all, I tend to bring his book a lot of times to the toilet as reading material (a compliment, as I only bring the best material which I can read piecemeal there). I don’t have the fourth edition of the book so I can’t say if he has changed his opinion. So I disagree and think Allen is already a fully developed artist. If Vincent Van Gogh, whose work has touches of childishness and angst, can be forgiven for his neuroses (or psychosis?, or is it why he’s a greater artist?), why can’t we forgive Allen his?
Is it because British and American audiences have no use for angst? Angst is a feeling of unfocused anxiety or dread, typical of adolescents or adults who cannot get past adolescence. A European invention, I believe, which has flowered in Nordic climates. Allen is the supreme purveyor of American angst and is the most successful at it. He’s ambivalent about it, jokes about it, skirts it, and finally, makes it the stuff of his movies. Any movie which smacks of being personal nowadays is bound to have fewer audiences. Unfortunately, Allen will not shake it off and I’m not sure if he’d be better off without angst. It’s the lifeblood of his humor, just as the lifeblood of Luis Bunuel’s tirades was his love-hate relationship with religion and society.
Yet who can forget Allen’s attempts at looking like Ingmar Bergman in Interiors or even, Hannah and Her Sisters? He has an edge over Bergman in that he has a supreme abundance of what the Swedish master lacks – humor, no matter if adolescent. Or the exhibitionism of Annie Hall with its somewhat cruel exploitation of its lead star’s emotions? Hollywood loved it for its fashion statement. Can another American go Greek, complete with a chorus, as in Mighty Aphrodite? Or experiment with as philosophically contrived a film as Zelig – the one film where Allen, the actor, seems to fit so well? And what about the The Purple Rose of Cairo, a film that floats before your eyes, a metaphor for all ladies’ fascination with movies and actors, infinitely better than Fellini’s The White Sheik? Or the love affair with a city, as in Manhattan? Or Radio Days, a memory that is as good as it gets.? Half of his work is at least as original as anything you’ll ever get to see on screen, and I’m grateful for them. He falters every now and then, as in the recent Matchpoint, a film that seems to have Hitchcockian inclinations but lacking Hitchcock’s nonchalance and vivid characters.
In the same article, Thomson concedes that Allen is the “most inquiring dramatist at work in American film,” and “could yet be the kind of writer desperately needed by Coppola, Scorsese and so many others.” I disagree and say he is his own man and will probably be of no use to others. Especially to Coppola, whose supreme works, The Conversation and The Godfather part 2, would have been transmogrified into another shape were they written by Allen, or Scorsese whose Gangs of New York is fortunately beyond Allen’s imagination. I do wonder how Allen would fare rewriting or redirecting Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ.

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