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Archivist Fever
Mar. 2nd, 2005 11:25 am3jane's recent comment presupposing that A) most of us could once do quadratic equations and B) it probably bothers us that we can't now amuses me hugely, mainly 'cause A) not me and B) HELL not me. I took three years to get through Grade Ten math, thank you very much, and I don't even remember if quadratic equations were involved, but I'm so, so happy that nothing I've done since seems to have required them. Words, not numbers! That's my credo, limited as it may seem; always was, always will be. And that's why I pay somebody else to do my taxes.;)
Similarly, reading musesfool's entry on polyfannishness has, at least, cheered me up a bit on the whole I HAVE no fandom thang. It reminds me that I have fallen out of (passionate) love with fandoms before, often all on my ownsome--I can almost chart the moment that simply thinking about L.A. Confidential ceased to give me chills, for example, and that had much more to do with my having just spent two fruitless years (the magic number for any obsession's natural lifespan? Could be, I guess) trying to carve something of my own out of it rather than with the state of the fandom, or lack of it. Or canon material inconsistencies/people and trends involved, which certainly--as everybody who knows me well knows, much to their boredom--eventually put paid to my interest in OZ.
So, so, so: On that note, it's back to the rotating roster of genuine work, both critical and fictional. I've been struggling for some time to figure out a guiding organizational principle for my vaunted/promised collection of reviews, and I think I may have finally found it: Take the reviews which come down passionately on either side of the fence, pro or con, then revisit the film in question and ask myself A) what was it I took away from the experience which got my dander up in the first place and B) has my opinion changed since? This turns on the general idea(s) that you forget what you don't learn anything from, and what you remember, you remember because you learn something from it; the lesson could be personal or professional, could boil down to a "moral", could be experiencial, whatever--though you can agree with a film's "moral" and simultaneously be bored by it, so the enjoyment factor can't ever be completely discounted. But there you go. It's a start, at any rate.
Also, it makes me think about exactly why we keep what we keep, especially when we so seldom revisit some things (even if we hold them to be startling, enlightening, well worth the trip). it's what I used to call "Archivist fever"--the concept that some films have to be bought and preserved simply so that when I cite them to people and people say "Bwah?!", I can at least haul them out and say: Here it is, check it out yourself. It EXISTS, bitch. And it's GOOD.
Maybe I've been watching too much Clean Sweep, but I truly do begin to believe that our possessions need to be re-evaluated on a regular basis--forced to account or argue for themselves, and be passed on if they don't stand the test of time. Saves money, if nothing else. Seems HEALTHY, too.
Hmmm, I think I hear a new note in Cal's breathing. Which means the discussion/recording portion of the day is, probably, firmly over.
Similarly, reading musesfool's entry on polyfannishness has, at least, cheered me up a bit on the whole I HAVE no fandom thang. It reminds me that I have fallen out of (passionate) love with fandoms before, often all on my ownsome--I can almost chart the moment that simply thinking about L.A. Confidential ceased to give me chills, for example, and that had much more to do with my having just spent two fruitless years (the magic number for any obsession's natural lifespan? Could be, I guess) trying to carve something of my own out of it rather than with the state of the fandom, or lack of it. Or canon material inconsistencies/people and trends involved, which certainly--as everybody who knows me well knows, much to their boredom--eventually put paid to my interest in OZ.
So, so, so: On that note, it's back to the rotating roster of genuine work, both critical and fictional. I've been struggling for some time to figure out a guiding organizational principle for my vaunted/promised collection of reviews, and I think I may have finally found it: Take the reviews which come down passionately on either side of the fence, pro or con, then revisit the film in question and ask myself A) what was it I took away from the experience which got my dander up in the first place and B) has my opinion changed since? This turns on the general idea(s) that you forget what you don't learn anything from, and what you remember, you remember because you learn something from it; the lesson could be personal or professional, could boil down to a "moral", could be experiencial, whatever--though you can agree with a film's "moral" and simultaneously be bored by it, so the enjoyment factor can't ever be completely discounted. But there you go. It's a start, at any rate.
Also, it makes me think about exactly why we keep what we keep, especially when we so seldom revisit some things (even if we hold them to be startling, enlightening, well worth the trip). it's what I used to call "Archivist fever"--the concept that some films have to be bought and preserved simply so that when I cite them to people and people say "Bwah?!", I can at least haul them out and say: Here it is, check it out yourself. It EXISTS, bitch. And it's GOOD.
Maybe I've been watching too much Clean Sweep, but I truly do begin to believe that our possessions need to be re-evaluated on a regular basis--forced to account or argue for themselves, and be passed on if they don't stand the test of time. Saves money, if nothing else. Seems HEALTHY, too.
Hmmm, I think I hear a new note in Cal's breathing. Which means the discussion/recording portion of the day is, probably, firmly over.
