Archives for category: Art

You are indescribable.

The most captivating painting, the most enchanting song; the great artists fumble to convey the beauty you live effortlessly every day, and capture only a fraction of it.

The English language has words like flawless, but saying you are flawless eliminates the best parts of your character that irresistibly draw me to you. We have perfect, but describing you as perfect does not communicate the joy it brings me to see you smile. Telling someone of your perfection doesn’t enlighten them of the inspiration your generous deeds produce, how the magic you bring to the world makes it a home. It’s just a word. You are the sun, giving me light and warmth. Giving me life.

I don’t know what else to say. The sun feels like a failed metaphor, because you are so much more. You are the stars in the heavens that guide my path. The moon that offers me sanctuary in darkness. You are the whole sky, showing me an infinity of possibility. An infinity of hope. You are my universe. I could not exist as I am if not for you.

For you, I would do anything. For you, I would suffer any anguish. Any pain. Any grief.

And for you, I do.

Because you are gone.

The clichés tell me that you would leave a void inside of me, but the reality is the opposite. I feel you every day inside me. Tearing at my organs. Eating me alive. I embrace it because it’s the only piece of you I have left. It is the world that sits empty. The universe that has been drained.

Life carries on, but as a broken animatronic. Jolting corpses play around me, pretending to laugh. Pretending nothing has changed. Trying to indoctrinate me into their grotesque theatre. But it is barren. A wasteland of existence. There is only you, and me, and the agony of a dead universe where neither of us is real.

We are alone.

We are alone.

We are alone.

We are alone.

I am alone.

No, not the long running comic strip featuring the flamboyantly purple-spandexed crimefighter immortalized by the dashing Billy Zane, but Andrew Lloyd Webber’s tragic hero from The Phantom of the Opera.

Ignoring the extortion, terrorism, and double homicide because these obvious trivialities do not require a second thought, let’s focus on the expression of the Phantom’s inexhaustible love for Christine. The Phantom’s love arc seems like he watched Beauty and the Beast and figured that was a solid strategy for meeting women. Unfortunately, it turns out Raoul’s Gaston is actually the healthier choice, and Christine has no problem choosing between the man who would die for her and the man who would kill for… any reason, really. To be clear, the Phantom threatens to murder Raoul via hanging unless Christine chooses to stay with him, citing that fear can turn to love in the most glaring satire of Hollywood’s romantic comedy trope where the stalker-ish dude is somehow considered romantic by the leading lady. I mean, I bet if they made The Phantom of the Opera into a movie, the Phantom would be played by a handsome, charming man from the UK to really belabour that point. Oh wait!

But Christine, a sane person, ditcheshttps://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/7f/PS_I_Love_You_%28film%29.jpg/220px-PS_I_Love_You_%28film%29.jpg the Phantom for the supportive and caring Raoul BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY. However, most, if not all, audiences support the Phantom in his sympathetic plight. He is the outcast, shunned by contemporary beauty standards due to his grody disfigured face. We forgive his murder(s); we forgive his terrorizing of the bumbling theatre managers; we forgive his extortion and deranged control issues; we forgive all his sins. Why do we do this? Being gross looking isn’t an excuse, and the body positivity movement certainly wasn’t around when this production was released to make him a really counter-intuitive poster boy.

Of course, any romantic already knows the answer. The Phantom’s love, talent, and dedication are all uniquely genuine, and are made even more arresting by being enveloped in this otherwise miserable and tortured soul. We celebrate his passion, however explosive, as he yearns in his own misguided way for happiness. Despite his admittedly horrifying flaws, the Phantom possesses hope that, overcoming his despair, he too might have a chance at life. His martyrdom in the finale of the play shows his all-encompassing dedication to love, even over his own needs to feel human. We see that there is no black and white in this tale as old as time, this song as old as rhyme… er… hold on, I’m getting confused again… anyway, there is no black and white, and we see the Phantom as a tragic hero because that’s exactly what he is.

Were The Phantom of the Opera a reality in this post-9/11 world, the Phantom would be described as a lone nut, encumbered by mental illness and a symbol for the noose-control debate raging across America. He would be pilloried and vilified, and no one would dare take a sympathetic stance toward his plight because abducting white women is about the worst crime you can commit. But in the magic of the theatre, we do. We are exposed to his totality, warts and all, and we accept him regardless.

Yet how do we know that the monsters in our world do not have their own passions, their own loves for which they would abandon their humanity? Who is to say that each individual condemned in the media doesn’t have their own tragic heroism, worthy of any audience’s heartfelt sympathy? When we forget the life and isolate the crime, it’s easy to make a devil out of anyone, but the Phantom is an operatic reminder that we shouldn’t be so quick to demonize the Beasts of our society… crap, I did it again. I mean they’re both musicals too, come on!

You know what’s a silly concept? Intellectual property rights. You create something, it goes out into the world, and if somebody wants to use it, they have to give you money. Seems harmless enough, but imagine if all the work a brilliant scientist did on cancer research was copyrighted. Not only would all pharmaceuticals and therapies derived from that research cost extra money for the royalties for that scientist, but any further research on cancer would have a similar financial barrier.

Say there’s another brilliant scientist further down the road, who, if they had access to this research, would be able to cure cancer. Everyone loves curing cancer; that’s why we all wear pink and grow ridiculous mustaches. Who wouldn’t want those irritating trends to be a thing of the past? And I guess a deadly illness would be gone too. However, with copyright, this brilliant scientist would have to cough up any and all royalties before they could even begin. What if this genius doesn’t have those funds? If there is an inherent initial obstacle that must be overcome for any additional research to be done on curing cancer, potentially preventing a groundbreaking boon to society, then we have a deficient system.

Any progress-minded individual would agree that any technology, be it medical or otherwise, should not be stymied by something as petty as money. Ethical reasons, maybe, but that ship has sailed long ago. If we want our society to improve, then removing barriers to those improvements should be a top priority. Tesla Motors, for example, recognized that the more people working on electric cars, the better off society will be, and put all their patents into the public domain.

Just as with technology, culture too is degraded by copyright. Arguably the greatest rock and roll band of all time, Led Zeppelin,  “stole” a solid percentage of their music. Johnny Cash may have stolen a song or two as well. As did The Beach Boys, Elvis Presley… Now, I’m not making a moral judgement about proper crediting, and I don’t want to get into white people stealing music from black people, but I will say this: the songs that Led Zeppelin, Johnny Cash, The Beach Boys, and Elvis produced were wildly successful because they were great songs. Taurus by Spirit is a good song, sure, but Stairway to Heaven is the best song. Ice Ice Baby is probably not a better song than Under Pressure, but they can’t all be winners. There will always be bad with the good. Do we eliminate Stairway to Heaven simply to prevent Ice Ice Baby?

Art can move us and inspire us. It can create a revolution or end one. Art motivates us politically, socially, and even artistically, and following the same logic as technological copyright, it is absurd to place a barrier on something that can drive us forward. What if Johnny Cash couldn’t afford the rights to Crescent City Blues? Walk Hard taught me that he was a poor country boy; it’s not an impossible idea. My childhood would be a lot different if I didn’t have my dad singing me old Johnny Cash tunes.

Of course, even beyond the pointless concept of copyright laws, within capitalism copyright get super capitalistic. In Canada, copyright extends for the entirety of your life, and then 50 years after that because we all know how much your grotesque, decomposing corpse needs pocket change. In the US, it’s 70 years after you die. If the purpose of copyright is to protect the creator’s rights, why does it extend past the very existence of those creators? John Oliver has his own critique of patents and their ridiculous cash-grab nature, wherein he discusses organizations that exist solely to purchase patents, and then sue the shit out of people. They don’t actually create anything, they just possess wealth and then use that wealth to fuck people over in an effort to accumulate more wealth.

So is the answer to abolish copyright and get rid of this detriment to human society? Unfortunately, no.

When creating something, it takes time and money. If the product of that creativity is given away for free, or pirated, or whatever, then that time and money is gone with nothing tangible to show for it. Which would be fine from a collective, short-term standpoint, sure, but that individual is now fucked. And if creative people are routinely fucked, we will eventually run out of creative people. If Gordon Jenkins didn’t get recompense from Johnny Cash, there might not be more Gordon Jenkinses in the future, and if there are no more Gordon Jenkinses, there would be no more Johnny Cashes.

So long as money is required to live a normal life, we need copyright laws to protect the labour of creative individuals even if the entire concept of copyright is insane. So long as capitalism exists, we need pointless laws to function. It’s almost like I’m driving at something here…