Three French Suicides: In Memory of Olga Georges-Picot, Christine Pascal, and Gilles Deleuze

Christine Pascal, Gilles Deleuze & Olga Georges-Picot

 

 

I.

 

Last night, on TV, they were showing one of my favourite films: the British psychological thriller written and directed by Basil Dearden and starring Roger Moore; The Man Who Haunted Himself (1970) [1]. 

 

There are many reasons to love this film, not least of all because it allows one to get a glimpse of the French actress Olga-Georges Picot in a very fetching black bra. She's luscious. She's ravishing. And there are some men who would happily give up red meat to be afforded an opportunity to perv [2] on this Franco-Russian beauty [3] - including Woody Allen, who cast her as Countess Alexandrovna in his 1975 film Love and Death.  

   

Whilst biographical information on her life and career seems to be limited and incomplete, we do know that she commited suicide in June 1997 by jumping from her 5th floor apartment overlooking the river Seine.

 

 

II. 

 

Olga Georges-Picot's death came less than a year after the death - also by suicide and also by jumping out of a window - of the brilliant French actress, writer and director Christine Pascal ... 

 

Interestingly, this multi-talented woman had often reflected philosophically on the question of suicide, and the first film she directed - Félicité (1979) [4] - opens with a suicide scene. Several years later, when asked by an interviewer how she would like to die, she replied: En me suicidant, le moment venu.

 

Well, that time came in August 1996, whilst receiving treatment at a psychiatric hospital in the Paris suburb of Garches [5]. Whether her suicide is best interpreted as a mad act by a mentally ill woman or a voluntary death by an unconventional woman with a penchant for transgressive behaviour is something I'll allow readers to decide [6].    

 

III.

Finally, let us remember Gilles Deleuze ... 

 

Deleuze was a philosopher very much admired by Pascal and one who, like her - and like Georges-Picot - also topped himself by jumping out of a window, when the respiratory conditions that he had long suffered from became increasingly severe [7].     

I remember the excitement news of this event generated in the Philosophy Dept. at Warwick, where I was doing my Ph.D at the time and had just started to read Deleuze's work seriously. Everyone wanted to know if his death came from within or without and pondered the question of whether it marked a loss of desire on his part, or whether the decision to terminate one's own individual existence as a way of affirming life indicates a final resurgence of vitality.  

 

In other words, was his suicide a logical way for Deleuze to show fidelity to his own philosophy, rather than merely a wish to end his suffering?

 

It remains an interesting question, I think ...       

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I have written about this in relation to Daphne du Maurier's 1957 novel The Scapegoat in a post entitled 'Never Give a Doppelgänger the Keys to Your Car ...' (17 June 2020): click here. 

[2] I'm paraphrasing George Costanza interviewing for a secretary in the season six episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The Secretary', (dir. D. Owen Trainor, 1998): click here.  

[3] Olga was was the daughter of Guillaume Georges-Picot, the French Ambassador to China, and a Russian mother, Anastasia Mironovich. She was born in Shanghai, in Japanese-occupied China, in January 1940. 

 

[4] Christine Pascal was born in Lyon in November 1953. She was given a starring role, aged twenty-one, in Michel Mitrani's Les Guichets du Louvre (1974). 

      The film portrays the infamous Vel' d'Hiv' Roundup in 1942, when French police assisted Nazi soldiers in the arrest of over 13,000 Jewish inhabitants of Paris and held them under inhumane conditions prior to their deportation to Auschwitz, where virtually all were murdered. Pascal played a young Jewish woman named Jeanne.

 

[5] Félicité was not only written and directed by Pascal, but she played the lead role too. It was a film that shocked many (even in France) with its explicit sexual content and provocative indecency and cemented her reputation as the mauvaise fille of French cinema.   

 

[6] Somewhat unfairly, I think, the psychiatrist who was caring for Pascal was sentenced in 2003 to twelve months in prison for failing to take appropriate action to prevent her suicide. 

 

[7] Deleuze, who had problems with his breathing even as a youngster, developed tuberculosis in 1968 and underwent surgery to remove a lung. In the final years of his life even writing became increasingly difficult and so, on 4 November 1995, aged seventy, he jumped to his death from the window of his Paris apartment.

 

I Love You in Velvet (and Silk Underwear): Notes on the Wagner Case

Richard Wagner in a velvet jacket and hat (1871)

 

There's a man I simply dote on / unlike others of his ilk 

A velvet cloak and hat on / And underwear of silk

 

I.

 

Velvet is a type of woven tufted fabric in which the cut threads are evenly distributed, its short dense pile giving it a distinctive softness. 

 

Whilst today velvet can be made from all kinds of materials - including synthetic fibres - in the past it was typically made from the finest silk, meaning it was expensive and, before the invention of industrial power looms, difficult to produce. 

 

This fact - added to its lush appearance and feel - meant that velvet was often associated with the nobility and high offices of Church and State. King Richard II of England, for example, decreed in his will that his body should be clothed in velvet.

 

During the medieval period, velvet produced in the great Italian cities was thought to be the most magnificent in terms of texture and depth of colour. However, by the 16th-century Flemish weavers had a reputation for making velvets that rivalled those of Venice, Florence, or Genoa.  

 

 

II.

 

Other than Richard II - and George Costanza [1] - the figure who most springs to mind when thinking of those with a penchant for velvet is 19th-century German composer Richard Wagner ...

 

For Wagner, besides being perhaps the greatest genius that ever lived - and a notorious antisemite - was also a bit of a dandy, with an almost fetishistic love for the feel of velvet and silk against his skin. 

 

Indeed, there is some evidence to suggest that his love of finery and frilly silk underwear eventually pushed him in the direction of cross-dressing (not that there's anything wrong with that) [2].

 

Wagner certainly had an eye for fashion and not only paid close attention to his own wardrobe, but that of his wife, Cosima, for whom he would order dresses from Milanese couturiers, providing precise instructions down to the smallest detail concerning the cut, the fabric, the trimmings, etc. 

 

Wagner also loved his velvet curtains and other home furnishings, including rose-scented cushions. 

 

Amusingly, it seems that when his number 1 fan, the young philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, came to stay with him and Cosima at their house in Tribschen, on the shores of Lake Lucerne, Wagner would send him on errands, including picking up his tailor-made silk underwear and velvet outfits - much to Nietzsche's embarrassment.  

 

Fortunately, Nietzsche was able to persuade himself that his actions were justified on the ground that a god need not only be adored, but adorned [3].

Notes

 

[1] In an episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The Doodle [S6/E20], George finally gets to realise his dream - socially acceptable or not - of being able to dress from head-to-toe in velvet. The episode, dir. Andy Ackerman and written by Alec Berg and Jeff Schaffer, originally aired on 6 April 1995. Click here to watch a clip on YouTube.

[2] See Charlotte Higgins; 'Wagner - public genius with a private passion for bustles, bows and bodices', The Guardian (1 March 2007): click here.  

      It should be pointed out that Wagner informed those who were interested in the matter that he had to wear silk next to his skin, because he suffered from erypsipelas (an infection whose symptoms include painful skin-rashes).

 

[3] Nietzsche eventually wised-up and came to perceive Wagner as a decadent sorcerer, who, like some dreadful disease, contaminates culture and makes music sick. See Nietzsche contra Wagner (1899), in which he expresses his disappointment and frustration with his former idol (whilst still praising him on several occasions).

 

 

Musical bonus: Malcolm McLaren, 'I Like You in Velvet', from the album Waltz Darling (Epic, 1989): click here. The little verse at the top of this post is a paraphrase of the opening verse to this track.  

When Jerry Seinfeld and Quentin Tarantino Met Lawrence Tierney ...

Lawrence Tierney as Elaine's father Alton Benes 

Seinfeld (S2/E3, 1991)

 

 

I. 

 

Twice recently, I have encountered a Lawrence Tierney look-alike on the 174 bus to Romford and have been tempted to start humming 'Master of the House' [1].

Of course, that would be silly, as he isn't the real Lawrence Tierney - i.e., the American actor best known for his portrayal of mobsters and tough guys in a career that spanned over fifty years and who died in 2002.

 

And even if it were the real Lawrence Tierney, miraculously resurrected and living in Essex, I doubt he'd appreciate me reminding him of his one-off appearance on Seinfeld which didn't end well ...

 

 

II. 

 

'The Jacket' is a very early episode of Seinfeld [2], but contains one of my favourite scenes, in which Jerry and George meet Elaine's father, played by Lawrence Tierney, in the lobby of his hotel and are made to squirm by the latter's gruff, no-nonsense manner while waiting for Elaine - who's late - to arrive.   

 

Tierney's magnificent performance as Alton Benes was praised by cast and crew alike. However, they were ill-prepared for his rather eccentric and intimidating on-set behavior, particularly when, during filming, it was discovered that Tierney had attempted to steal a butcher knife from the knife block in Jerry's apartment set.

 

Seinfeld decided to confront Tierney and, in a lighthearted manner, asked him what he had in his jacket pocket. Rather than try to lie or bluff his way out of the situation, Tierney pulled out the knife and jokingly re-enacted a scene from Psycho, holding the knife above his head and advancing towards Seinfeld with mock murderous intent.

 

Understandably, everyone was a little freaked out by this and so there were no further appearances on the show for Tierney, even though Alton Benes was intended to be a recurring character. Later, Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine) would express her regret about this, but conceded that whilst Tierney was a wonderful actor, he was also a total nutjob [3].   

 

I don't know if the latter description was fair, but it's certainly true that Tierney had a long history of violent and often drunken behaviour [4] and even managed to get himself fired from the set of Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992) the following year, after he and the director came to blows [5].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] My reason for this is not because Tierney appeared in the musical Les Misérables, but because he appeared in an episode of Seinfeld in which George (Jason Alexander) repeatedly sings this song. It certainly is catchy: click here. 

 

[2] 'The Jacket' is the third episode of the second season and only the show's eighth episode overall. Directed by Tom Cherones, written by Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld, it aired on 6 Feb 1991. To watch a clip from the episode featuring the meeting between Jerry, George, and Lawrence Tierney as Alton Benes, click here. 

 

[3] See Inside Look: 'The Jacket' (Seinfeld season two DVD extra): click here.

 

[4] Tierney's numerous arrests for being drunk and disorderly and jail terms for assaults on civilians and police officers cast a dark shadow over his career as an actor. Between 1944 and 1951, for example, he was arrested over twelve times in Los Angeles and served several months behind bars.

 

[5] Tierney played crime boss Joe Cabbot in Tarantino's debut movie. During filming of Reservoir Dogs in July 1991, Tierney was arrested and jailed for firing a gun at his nephew in a drunken rage and had to be given special day release so that he could complete his scene. 

      After firing him, Tarantino described Tierney as a complete lunatic, thereby lending support to Julia Louis-Dreyfus's character assessment. Click here for a clip from the movie featuring Tierney in his role as Joe Cabbot assigning aliases to the members of his gang. Click here for a short video in which Tarantino reminisces about his experience of working with Tierney. Thanks to Thomas Bonneville for sending me the latter link.   

 

You Know We're Living in a Society

George Costanza: defender of society and civilisation -

'The Chinese Restaurant', Seinfeld, S02/E11, (1991): click here.

 

 

In this era of identity politics, nobody wants to talk positively about society and its benefits. 

 

Instead, people prefer to speak of whatever community they imagine themselves belonging to on the basis of gender, race, religion, or a host of other identifying factors that they determine as crucial to who they are [1]. 

 

Often this sense of self is rooted in an experience of injustice or feelings of social exclusion and oppression. Communities thus often spend a good deal of time asserting their rights and (somewhat ironically) demanding recognition by the wider (mainstream) society that they either reject or wish to radically reform. 

 

People coming together on the basis of shared experiences and values sounds reasonable and can be empowering. But when communities become self-enclosed groups with special interests and are suspicious or resentful - even hostile - to those on the outside, then things can quickly develop in way that is problematic.           

 

Even Heidegger - whom one might have supposed to be very much for traditional (quasi-mythical) forms of Gemeinschaft and against modern, inauthentic forms of Gesellschaft - warned:

 

"The much-invoked 'community' still does not guarantee 'truth'; the 'community' can very well go astray and abide in errancy even more and even more obstinately than the individual." [2] 

 

Notes

 

[1] In a very amusing scene from one of my favourite episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm - 'Trick or Treat' (S02/E03) - Larry David identifies himself as a member of the bald community: click here.   

 

[2] Martin Heidegger, 'Ponderings and Intimations III', 153, in Ponderings II-VI: Black Notebooks 1931-1938, trans. Richard Rojcewicz, (Indiana University Press, 2016), p. 127. 

On the Sex Life of the Incredible Shrinking Man 2: Paedophilia

 The Incredible Shrinking Man 10: The Babysitter (2012)

By DrCreep on deviantart.com 

I. Size Matters

 

Predators come in all shapes and sizes: from deadly spiders lurking in the basement, to opportunistic paedophiles searching for young flesh ... And so to the case of Scott Carey once more, protagonist of Richard Matheson's disturbing 1956 novel The Shrinking Man [1] ...

The critical consensus seems to be that the novel is primarily concerned with issues surrounding masculinity in white middle-class suburban America in the early Atomic Age. I'm quite happy to accept that reading as, clearly, Scott is anxious about his status as a man in society - as a husband and father, for example - once he begins to radically shrink in size:

 

"He thought of them [...] the woman and the little girl. His wife and daughter. Were they still that to him? Or had the element of size removed him from their sphere? Could he still be considered a part of their world when he was the size of a bug to them, when even Beth could crush him underfoot and never know it?" [Ch. 2]  

 

Even when he's only slightly smaller, he feels belittled, emasculated, and infantalised. Scott realised that whilst poets and philosophers "could talk all they wanted about a man's being more than fleshly form, about his essential worth, about the immeasurable stature of his soul" this was nonsense - as they'd soon discover if they ever tried to "hold a woman with arms that couldn't reach around her" or stand up to another man and find themselves staring at his belt buckle. [Ch. 5]

 

One day, having showered and shaved, his wife comments on how clean and smooth he looks: "Was it just ego-flattened imagination, or was she actually talking to him as if he were a boy?" [Ch. 5]  

 

It's precisely this boyishness that lands Scott in a potentially sticky situation later in the book, in a controversial scene (not included in the film adaptation) involving a paedophile with whom he accepts a ride, unconcered about stranger danger when, in his mind, he's still an adult male. 

 

 

II. Chapter Seven

 

Driving home one day, Scott has a blowout and is forced to trudge along the roadside in his little-boy clothes. After a while, a car cruises passes and pulls up. Then a queer figure sticks his head out of the open door and asks: "'You alone, my boy?'" Somewhat reluctanty, Scott naively decides to ask for a lift from the cigar-smoking stranger: "Maybe it was all right; the man thought he was a boy."

The stranger eagerly agrees - "'Certainly, my boy, certainly'" - and Scott decides to keep up the pretence of being a child. Jumping in to the passenger seat, he finds himself sitting on the stranger's hand which has been accidently on purpose left there. "The man drew it away, held it before his eyes. 'You have injured the member, my boy,' he said, and chuckled."

 

Obviously, Scott should have realised there and then that the man with bushy eyebrows over darkly glittering eyes and a thick-lipped mouth was a nonce, and quickly got out of the car whilst he still had the chance. But he didn't. Instead, he just smiled nervously as the stale smelling vehicle pulled away. He noticed the man was drunk and rather wished he was as well (I suppose if you're about to be touched up or sodomised, then alcohol always helps). 

 

The stranger tells him of a lost love, Vincent; lost to matrimony and the accursed female sex. Scott is bored. And tired. He longs for his bed and to forget who he is and what's happening to him. The stranger peers at Scott, ironically sizing him up, and trying to guess his age. He plumps for twelve: "An age of pristine possibility [... and] untrammelled hope", and clamps a fat hand on Scott's leg, giving it a little squeeze. 

 

Then, looking directy at him, he asks Scott if likes girls: 

 

"The question caught Scott off guard. He hadn't really been paying attention to the drift of the man's monologue. He looked over at the man. Suddenly the man seemed bigger; as if, with the questions, he had gained measurable bulk." 

 

For the first time, Scott starts to feel a little nervous. His heartbeat quickened as he felt the heat of the man's heavy hand on his leg once more. The stranger offers an invitation back to his place for ice cream, cake, and "a bit of bawdy badinage". The hand now gripped with a certain menace and Scott orders him to remove it: "The man looked startled at the adult anger in Scott's voice, the lowering of pitch, the authority." 

 

Scott repeatedly asks the stranger to stop the car and let him out. Frustrated, the man suddenly drops his lame attempts to be witty and charming and resorts to violence to get his way, smashing his hand hard aganist the side of Scott's head, forcing the latter to realise with a burst of panic, just how vulnerable he was.   

  

Matheson concludes this disturbing scene thusly:

 

"'Dear boy, I apologize [...] Did I hurt you?' 

      'I live down the next road,' Scott said tensely. 'Stop here, please.' The man plucked out his cigar and threw it on the floor. 

      'I offend you, boy,' he said, sounding as if he were about to cry. 'I offend you with distasteful words. Please. Please. Look behind the words, behind the peeling mask of jollity. For there is utter sadness, there is utter loneliness. Can you understand that, dear boy? Can you, in your tender years, know my - ' 

      'Mister, I want to get out,' Scott said. His voice was that of a boy, half angry, half frightened. And the horror of it was that he wasn't sure if there was more of acting or of actuality in his voice. Abruptly the man pulled over to the side of the highway. 

      'Leave me, leave me, then,' he said bitterly. 'You're no different from the rest, no, not at all.' Scott shoved open the door with trembling hands. 

      'Good night, sweet prince,' said the heavy man, fumbling for Scott's hand. 'Good night and dreams of plenteous goodness bless thy repose.' A wheezy hiccup jarred his curtain speech. 'I go on, empty, empty ... empty. Will you kiss me once? For good-bye, for - ' 

      But Scott was already out of the car and running, headlong toward the service station they had just passed. The man turned his heavy head and watched youth racing away from him."

 

 

III. Chapter Eleven (Part 1)

 

Despite this experience, it doesn't stop Scott from later perving on Catherine, the teenager hired by his wife, Louise, to look after their daughter, Beth, whilst she's out at work at the local grocery store; he being incapable of so-doing - "barely reaching the height of Beth's chest" - and, moreover, unwilling to try.

 

At first, he hears only the babysitter's voice, but that's enough to trigger a detailed fantasy of what she might look like as he sits in his cellar hideaway:

 

"He listened to the rise and fall of Catherine's voice, wondering what she was saying and what she looked like. Bemused, he put the indistinct voice to distinct form. She was five feet six, slim waisted and long-legged, with young, up tilted breasts nudging out her blouse. Fresh young face, reddish-blonde hair, white teeth. [...] He sighed and stirred uncomfortably on the chair. The girl stretched to the urging of his fancy, and her breasts, like firm-skinned oranges, forced out their silken sheathing." 

 

He tries to dismiss the image from his mind, but the girl "had half taken off her blouse before he shut the curtain on her forcibly imposed indelicacy" and the bubbling of desire continued no matter what he did to contain or deny it. And so, when the opportunity arises to sneak-a-peek at Catherine in the yard he takes it, peering through a cobwebbed window. Her actual appearance is rather different from his fantasy of her:

 

"Five feet six had become five feet three. The slim waist and legs had become chunky muscle and fat; the young, up-tilted breasts had vanished in the loose folds of a long-sleeved sweat shirt. The fresh young face lurked behind grossness and blemishes, the reddish-blonde hair had been dyed to a lackluster chestnut. [...] The colour of her eyes he couldn't see. 

      He watched Catherine move around the yard, her broad buttocks cased in faded dungarees, her bare feet stuck in loafers."

 

Still, that doesn't stop him wondering how old she is - just as the paedo in chapter seven had wondered how old he was; one wonders if the concern is whether the object of one's desire is under or over the age of consent? Later, he gazes at her as she plays catch with his daughter wearing a pale blue two-piece swimsuit, admiring the round swell of her breasts. 

 

Matheson writes:

 

"Scott crouched on top of the boxes, watching Catherine as she caught the red ball and threw it back to Beth. It wasn't until he'd been there five minutes that he realized he was rigidly tensed, waiting for Catherine to drop the ball and bend over to pick it up. When he realized that, he slid off the boxes with a disturbed clumsiness and went back to the chair. 

      He sat there breathing harshly, trying not to think about it. What in God's name was happening to him? The girl was fourteen, maybe fifteen, short and chubby, and yet he'd been staring at her almost hungrily." 

 

As George Costanza might ask: Is that wrong? Should he not have done that? But what is a man supposed to do when shrinking inch-by-inch and spending most of the day in a cellar worried about a spider? And besides, even if she was only fifteen, "she was an awfully advanced fifteen" ... 

 

Returning to the window so that he may further admire her body in fetishistic detail, Scott is tempted to shout out: "'Come down, down here, pretty girl!'" Resisting the urge to do so, he continues lusting after her in secret, sick vicariousness:

 

"She'd loosened her halter while she'd been lying in the sun, and it hung down almost off her breasts as she leaned over. Even in the dim light, he could see the distinct line of demarcation where tanned flesh became milk-white. No, he heard someone begging in his mind. No, get back. She'll see you. Catherine leaned over a little more, reaching for a ball, and the halter slipped. 'Oops,' said Catherine, putting things to order. Scott's head fell back against the wall. It was damply cool in there, but wings of heat were buffeting his cheeks [...] He stood there feeling as if every joint and muscle were swollen and hot. 'I can't,' he muttered, shaking his head slowly. 'I can't. I can't.' He didn't know what he meant exactly, but he knew it was something important. 

      'How old's that girl?' he asked [his wife] that evening, not even glancing up from his book, as though the question had just, idly and unimportantly, occurred to him. 

      'Sixteen, I think,' Lou answered. 

      'Oh,' he said, as if he had already forgotten why he asked. Sixteen. Age of pristine possibility. Where had he heard that phrase?" 

 

Does this mean that victims of sexual assault or abuse are themselves likely to commit such? Or does it show that no one is innocent and that, given the chance, we are all capable of perverse acts, or, at the very least, thinking obscene thoughts? I don't know. What it does demonstrate for certain is that the novel is a far more troubling proposition than the film. 

  

IV. Chapter Eleven (Part 2)

 

For those who might be worried, Scott never does attempt to actually assault Catherine, even if he obsessively continues his open-mouthed voyeurism - one day peeping on her, for example, as she comes out of the shower holding a yellow bath towel in front of her naked body:

 

"His gaze moved slowly down the smooth concavity of her back, the indentation of her spine a thin shadow that ran down and was lost between the muscular half-moons of her white buttocks. He couldn't take his eyes from her. His hands shook at his sides." 

 

Conviently for him, Catherine drops the towel: 

 

"She put her hands behind her head and drank in a heavy breath. Scott saw her left breast swing up and stand out tautly, the nipple like a dark spear point. Her arms moved out. She stretched and writhed. When she turned he was still in the same tense, muscle quivering pose. [...] He saw her bend over and pick up the towel, her breasts hanging down, white and heavy. She stood up and walked out of the room. He sank down on his heels and had to clutch at the railing to keep his legs from going limp beneath him."

 

Soon, it is almost impossible for him to think of anything else but the girl; he might be able to read a book for an hour or two, "but ultimately the vision of Catherine would flit across his mind" and he would have to go spy on her, jerk off, or down a bottle of whisky: "Life had become one unending morbid adventure." Even sleep brought him no respite, turgid as it was with dreams of Catherine "in which she grew progressively more alluring". 

 

Still, all things - good, bad, or indecent - come to an end sooner or later ... And in this case the end came with shocking suddenness, when Catherine became aware of him spying on her as she did the ironing in a state of semi-undress. Scared stiff at having given himself away, Scott runs back to hide in the cellar. He felt sick at the thought of what his wife would say when she found out. 

 

It seems, then, that not only intelligence but also guilt exists on an infinite scale or continuum; that just because a man shrinks in size - even if it be to a molecular level where he becomes-imperceptible - he can still feel ashamed ... 

   

 

Notes

 

[1] Again, as in the first post in this series [click here], it's important to note that I'm discussing the book and not the film based on the book, The Incredible Shrinking Man (dir. Jack Arnold, 1957), which, brilliant as it was, mostly ignored the sexually troubling aspects of the novel, including the paedophilia, or, technically speaking, one instance of (pseudo or mistaken) hebephilia in which Scott Carey is the victim, and one case of voyeuristic ephebophilia in which he is the offender (see chapters seven and eleven respectively, as discussed in the post). I'm aware that some people refuse to make such distinctions and think them clinically irrelevant. It seems to me, however, that there is a significant difference between desiring adolescents and having an erotic fixation with pre-pubescent children. The latter may very well be pathological, but experiencing attraction to a teen who has passed puberty is, from a biological perspective, a perfectly valid form of reproductive behaviour. Of course, that doesn't excuse abuse and readers are reminded that sexual activity with a minor is illegal in all instances.  

 

To read part three of this series - on the Incredible Shrinking Man and agalmatophilia, click here.

 

 

Notes on Mr. Peanut and Bertie Bassett

 

I.

As George once remarked to Jerry, when it comes to selecting a romantic partner you could do a lot worse than Mr. Peanut [1], the sophisticated and elegant figure - some might even call him a swell - who made a career with the American snack-food company Planters (a division of Kraft Heinz).

Although probably better known in the US than the UK, he is reportedly of British heritage and goes by the real name of Bartholomew Richard Fitzgerald-Smythe (Mr. Peanut merely being a nickname based on his striking resemblance to a peanut in its shell).    

With his top hat, monacle, and cane - not to mention white gloves and spats - Mr. Peanut has an iconic image, little changed since he first unveiled the look back in 1916 [2]. By the mid-1930s, Mr. Peanut was recognised wherever he went and his fame only increased when he later appeared in numerous TV commercials as an animated cartoon character.

More recently, he appeared as a stop motion figure in a real world setting. It wasn't until 2010, however, that Mr. Peanut was given his first lines to speak (though it's rumoured that the actor Robert Downey Jr. actually voiced the role and, in 2018, it was decided he should revert to being a strong silent type once more).   

Then, at the begining of this year, Planters took the extraordinary decision of killing the character off and replacing him with an infantile - supposedly cooler - incarnation called Baby Nut, who will reach out to the next generation.

The decision brought a (surprisingly) mixed reaction from fans, media commentators, and industry experts.  

II.

I suppose the nearest we have to Mr. Peanut in the UK is Bertie Bassett ... A cheeky little chap who has been part of British popular culture since 1929 and whose body appears to be composed entirely of liquorice; but then it takes all sorts I suppose.

Like Mr. Peanut, Bertie carries a cane, but he lacks the former's dapper appearance and slightly rakish charm.

Nevertheless, Bertie does have an eye for the ladies and he marked his 80th birthday in 2009 by marrying Betty Bassett - the face of Red Liquorice Allsorts (but presumably no relation) - at the Mondelēz International factory in Sheffield, home to many iconic brands and the largest confectionary site in Europe, producing around 40,000 tonnes of sweets and crisps each year.  
  

Notes

[1] I'm referring to the episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The English Patient' [S8/E17], dir. Andy Ackerman, written by Steve Koren, which originally aired on March 13, 1997. Click here to watch the relevant scenes on YouTube.  

[2] When, in 2006, Planters mooted the idea of refreshing Mr. Peanut's look by giving him a bow tie or pocketwatch, the public made it clear online that they didn't want to see any changes.

Ghost Variations: Notes on the Madness of Robert Schumann

Robert Schumann (1810-1856) 

German Romantic composer, critic, and madman

In the season two episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The Jacket' [1], George has a catchy tune from Les Misérables stuck in his head which he can't stop singing: Master of the house, doling out the charm / Ready with a handshake and an open palm ...

Jerry warns him that the ninteenth century composer Robert Schumann went mad after just a single note earwormed its way into his mind and he involuntarily heard it playing over and over again. Obviously, George doesn't find this story very reassuring - Oh that I really needed to hear! - but is it true?

The short answer is yes: Schumann did go insane and have to be institutionalised; and he did hear a persistent A-note at the end of his life as well as other increasingly disturbing auditory hallucinations.

Thus it was, for example, that on one cold winter's night in February 1854, the composer leapt from his bed and began feverishly attempting to set down a melody that he believed at first was being dictated by the very angels of heaven. By morning, however, he was convinced that what he actually heard were the hideous cries of demonic beasts.

Whatever the true source of his inspiration [2], the melody became the basis of the six piano variations - known today as the Geistervariationen - that were the last thing he wrote before his final crack-up. They thus occupy a unique (and somewhat disturbing) place in his body of work - as, indeed, in the history of classical music. 

On 27 February, Schumann attempted suicide by throwing himself from a bridge into the Rhine. Rescued by a passing boat and taken home, he requested that he be admitted to an asylum for the insane. Here he remained until his death, aged 46, in the summer of 1856. During his confinement, although his friend Brahms had permission to visit, Schumann wasn't allowed to see his wife, Clara, until two days before his death.

The cause of his death - just like the cause of his madness [3] - is something that has been endlessly discussed ever since; was he schizophrenic or syphilitic? Did he have a bipolar disorder or were his neurological problems the result of a brain tumour of some kind? Was it pneumonia or mercury poisoning - mercury being a common treatment for syphilis at the time - which finally did him in?   

I suppose we'll never really know. But what we might do - and should do - is resist the urge of some commentators to regurgitate the romantic vomit and tired narratives regarding the genius and madness of artists ...

The view that creativity is rooted in or fatefully tied to madness is such bullshit. Artists may well think differently from most other people - that is to say, they may be neurologically divergent and able to experience the world from a wide array of queer perspectives (to delight in paradox, inconsistency, and even chaos), - but it's banal (and mistaken) to reduce this (or their heightened sensitivity) to mental illness.       

Ultimately, I return to Michel Foucault's conclusion in Madness and Civilization: the onset of madness marks the point at which creative work ends; a moment of abolition that dissolves the truth of the work of art [4].  

Notes

[1] Seinfeld, 'The Jacket' [S2/E3], dir. Tom Cherones, written by Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld, (first broadcast 6 February 1991). Click here to watch a clip from the episode on YouTube.

[2] Sadly, Schumann's mind had deteriorated to such a degree by this point, that he was unable to recognise that - far from being the work of angels, ghosts, or demons - the melody was in fact one of his own, written several months earlier.

[3] I'm taking Schumann's mental health issues - evident from a young age - as a given here, but, interestingly, there are critics such as John Worthen who vigorously challenge this idea. For Worthen the composer's tragic deterioration was rooted in a physical condition (syphilis) and was not a form of madness per se. See: Schumann: Life and Death of a Musician (Yale University Press, 2007).

[4] Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization trans. Richard Howard, (Vintage Books, 1988), p. 287.

Three Great Liars 1: Nietzsche

Portrait photo of Nietzsche 
by Friedrich Hartmann (c.1872)

Nietzsche's essay of 1873 - Über Wahrheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne [1] - is not quite as sexy as it sounds, even when you say it in the original German. It is, in fact, quite a sober work dealing with epistemological questions to do with the nature of truth, language and the formation of concepts, rather than simply an affirmation of the right to lie. 

For Nietzsche, inasmuch as concepts are metaphors, then they do not correspond directly with reality and so can never be strictly true; they are, in fact, a form of convenient fiction, or a type of vital lie that makes human life possible by facilitating communication and enabling us to make sense of the world.    

In a famous passage - much loved by postmodern theorists - Nietzsche writes that truth should thus be considered as:

"A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms - in short, a sum of human relations which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellished poetically and rhetorically, and which after long use seem firm, canonical, and obligatory to a people: truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuous power; coins which have lost their pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins."

Man is the clever animal who invented knowing; which is to say, he discovered a convincing method of falsification and self-deception. And it's this - mistakenly named the truth - upon which we pride ourselves. And, mistakenly named or not, this art of lying is something we should be proud of; for it helps preserve us as a species.

For whilst the great beasts have sharp teeth and horns with which to defend themselves, we possess the power of dissimulation. It's not the will to truth that has so far saved our skin, but the fact that we know how to deceive, flatter, lie, delude, talk behind backs, put up false fronts, wear masks, play roles, live in borrowed splendour and hide behind ideas, etc. Man employs his intelligence mainly in devising these strategies of survival.

Indeed, we are so deeply immersed in illusions and dream-images, says Nietzsche, that we hardly even stop to consider the real world that exists independently of us. Our senses glide over the surface of things as things and the mind remains aloof even from the body in its materiality.

Ultimately, however, man wants more than to merely survive in his own individual dreamworld; "from boredom and necessity, man wishes to exist socially". He needs, therefore, to find common ground with others and come to some agreement as to how the world is; needs, in other words, a shared conception of the truth; i.e., a "uniformly valid and binding designation" for things.

Thus, whilst lies sustain the individual; truth allows for the development of society. And a society founded upon this will to truth will have little time for the liar who misuses these designations in order to confuse a newly agreed upon reality: "If he does this in a selfish and moreover harmful manner, society will cease to trust him and will thereby exclude him."

For social man now wants the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth - so long as it brings him pleasant advantages; that is to say, so long as the truth is also tied to the Good and the Beautiful. He doesn't want ugly, evil truths and if faced with these he'll happily fall back on orthodox illusions, such as the lies of priests, for example.      
   

So, to reiterate: to be truthful means to employ socially agreed metaphors. Or, to express this in moral terms, there is a duty to lie "according to a fixed convention [...] and in a manner binding upon everyone". Over time, however, man forgets that the game he is playing is a game and lying in a socially approved manner becomes for him a second nature.

Thus, it is from out of forgetfulness that man's sense of truth is born. To paraphrase George Costanza, it's not a lie ... if you believe it - and cease to recall its origin in falsehood.  

Man, concludes Nietzsche, is a genius of construction who builds up an entire world from conceptual material manufactured from within himself. Lying is a brilliant means of anthropomorphising reality; of making the world correspond with his own fantasies and ideals. He should be admired for this. But we shouldn't praise him as an honest animal. For it's the "drive toward the formation of metaphors" which is the fundamental human trait, not the will to truth.

And perhaps that's for the best: for the latter, if pushed to its extreme, becomes a fatal form of nihilism that makes human life dispensable, if not impossible [2].

Notes

[1] Nietzsche, 'On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense'. This essay can be found in Philosophy and Truth, ed. and trans. Daniel Breazeale, (Humanities Press International, 1993), as well as in various versions online. 

[2] It could be, of course, that Ray Brassier is right in maintaining that philosophy should do more than simply further human conceit and deceitfulness. That its duty - and, indeed, its destiny - is to become the organon of extinction and acknowledge that thinking ultimately has interests that do not coincide with those of mankind or, indeed, life. See Nihil Unbound: Enlightenment and Extinction, (Palgrave Macmillan, 2007).  

To read the second post in this series - on Mark Twain - click here.  

To read the third, on Oscar Wilde, click here.

Bad Boys (With Reference to the Cases of Johnny Strabler and George Costanza)

Two Bad Boys: Marlon Brando as Johnny Strabler 

and Jason Alexander as George Costanza

I.

Last night, on TV, they showed The Wild One (1953) - László Benedek's classic biker movie starring the impossibly beautiful Marlon Brando in an iconic role as Johnny Strabler, leader of the Black Rebels Motorcycle Club.

When Johnny meets good-girl Kathie Bleeker (played by Mary Murphy) working at the local café-bar, he asks her out to a dance. Although she politely (somewhat coyly) turns him down, she's clearly intrigued (and excited) by Johnny's brooding personality.

In other words, Kathie digs the bad boy ...

II.

I don't know if we should classify the bad boy as a cultural archetype, stereotype or trope, but I do know that there's something in the idea that at least some women - who probably should know better - find the rebellious rogue male or romantic outlaw figure irresistibly attractive.

These women might claim to want caring, sharing boyfriends who are in touch with their feminine side and happy to help with the housework, but the evidence suggests otherwise; namely, that self-obsessed psychopaths with a cool persona and striking good looks always triumph over  the former when it comes to getting the girl.

There are many types of bad boy - including the punk, the pirate, the gangster, and the mad, bad and dangerous poet in all his Byronic splendour - but they all share a dark triad of personality traits: narcissism, thrill-seeking, and deceitfulness. I don't know if these traits have a genetic component - or if the women who find them attractive are genetically predisposed to do so - but it wouldn't suprise me if that were the case.

III.

The female susceptibility to bastards was very amusingly spoofed in a season eight episode of Seinfeld, when George suddenly finds himself playing the role of bad boy (which mostly consists of chewing gum). 

Elaine warns her colleague Anna (Rebecca McFarland) to keep her distance from her friend George, even though he seems harmless: "He's a bad seed. He's a horrible seed. He's one of the worst seeds I've ever seen." Of course, this immediately makes Anna interested in him.

Jerry, of course, is familiar with the syndrome and so when George expresses his surprise at being contacted out of the blue by Anna - after she has previously rebuffed his advances with extreme prejudice - he knows exactly what's going on: "Anna digs the bad boy" - much to George's bemusement ...

For George has never been the bad boy before. He likes the role, however, and intends to exploit his new (unfounded) reputation for badness, setting up a rendezvous with Anna in the park. Elaine's attempt to put an immediate stop to their relationship only makes Anna more attracted to George and soon she's wearing his Yankees jacket. 

Things only cool off when Elaine persuades Anna that, actually, George is a good and decent soul - a fine seed. Desperate to prove his bad boy credentials, George attempts to bootleg a movie. Of course, George being George, he bungles the operation and is arrested.

Worse, when the police officer shouts at him, George begins to cry and has to be comforted by Anna. Now, of course, it's really over; for girls hate cry babies as much as they love bad boys.

Watch: Seinfeld, 'The Little Kicks' (S8/E4), written by Spike Feresten, directed by Andy Ackerman (NBC, 10 October, 1996): the bad boy scenes between George and Anna can be viewed by clicking here. 

He Took It Out: Thoughts on the Case of Louis CK

Elaine's date with Phil Totola takes an unexpected turn

I. He Took It Out 

 

When asked by a friend to comment on recent cases of sexual misconduct involving male celebrities, including that of the comedian Louis CK who admitted to masturbating (or asking to masturbate) in front of various women on several occasions, I have to admit that my first thought was of a famous scene in an episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The Stand-In' (S5/E16).

In the episode, written by Larry David, Jerry sets Elaine up on a date with one of his friends, Phil Totola, who, at the end of the evening, instead of simply accepting a goodnight kiss, indecently exposes himself. The next day, Elaine - played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus with perfect comic timing and delivery - tells Jerry what happened: "He took it out." 

Jerry is perplexed and somewhat disbelieving: "How can this be?" Kramer, however, after his initial shock reaction, offers a possible explanation (and justification): "Maybe it needed some air." Whilst for George, told by Jerry of the incident later at the coffee shop, it's a moment of revelation: "Wow! I spend so much time trying to get their clothes off, I never thought of taking mine off." 

No one - including Elaine - thinks of the incident as a form of sexual assault or harassment; it's inappropriate and unexpected behaviour, but it's not criminal, or worth getting particularly upset over. She isn't thinking of reporting the incident to the police and she's not going to require counselling. Ms Benes has no idea of herself as being a victim and she's not going to start an internet campaign, because such a thing would have been #inconceivable in 1994, a very different time and a very different world, to the one we live in today ...          

II. The Case of Louis CK

In November 2017, five women told The New York Times that Louis CK was guilty of gross acts of sexual misconduct. In a statement released 24-hours after the story broke, the comedian admitted that the allegations were true and he apologised at length to all parties concerned. 

Despite this public confession and heartfelt expression of regret, a predictable storm of moral outrage and feminist fury followed, seriously damaging his reputation and threatening to permanently derail his career (which was largely built upon his willingness to joke about taboo subjects, including masturbation, for which he clearly has a particular penchant).

Asked to comment on the case of his friend Louis CK, Jerry Seinfeld amusingly seemed just as perplexed as when his fictional self heard about Phil Totola: How can this be? For him, such aberrant sexual behaviour doesn't even make sense; he can't understand why a man would want to strip naked and masturbate in front of a woman - even though, within the pornographic imagination, CFNM is a well-established (if somewhat niche) genre. 

Naturally, the media has also called upon various psychologists and therapists to help explain Louis CK's behaviour ...

III. Reflections on Male Sexuality

According to the experts, such behaviour is not simply exhibitionism; masturbating in front of another person without their consent is far more complex than erotic display. Ultimately, they say, it's not even about gaining sexual pleasure so much as it's about exercising power and control and should be seen, therefore, as a form of aggression; specifically, a form of violence against women.

Well, maybe ... but maybe not.

One might alternatively suggest that rather than see this as a sort of high-end form of gunning intended to embarrass, humiliate, or terrify women, maybe we can view it as a joyful and innocent expression of male libido once the latter has been freed from all the usual constraints placed upon it due to the privileged position enjoyed by these very successful and talented men.

Push comes to shove, I tend to agree with the poet and cultural critic Simon Solomon, who calls for a new narrative "if only to break this dangerous and disturbing cycle of women publicly recounting tales of fleeting sexual encounters months - or even years - after the alleged incidents took place, and of men accused of conduct deemed to be improper being obliged to enter therapy where they're taught to feel ashamed of their actions, desires, and fantasies."

The attempt to demonise and pathologise male sexuality is, Solomon continues, "not only detrimental to the psychic health and physical well-being of men, but it has negative consequences also for those women who love them." For as Marcuse points out, the continual repression of man's instinctual life and the frustration of his most active forces - what Nietzsche terms the taming of man - ultimately has the effect of weakening the latter and thus ensuring their becoming-reactive.

As William Blake wrote: He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence ...

Notes

Click here to watch a clip from the Seinfeld episode discussed above.

Click here to watch Jerry Seinfeld asked by Dana Weiss for his view of the Louis CK case. 

The lines attributed to Simon Solomon are paraphrased (with the author's permission) from an email sent on 2 March, 2018. 

See: William Blake, 'Proverbs from Hell', The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-93). 

For a follow-up post to this one, with further thoughts on male sexual display etc., click here.

Notes on Nyotaimori and Associated Paraphilias

Nyotaimori by C. J. Manroe 

(aka fuzzyzombielove)

deviantart.com

Nyotaimori is the Japanese art of serving food from the cool, naked body of a young woman, said to have originated in Ishikawa during the period when the samurai formed a ruling warrior elite and the most graceful of women worked in geisha houses as professional entertainers and, it seems, part-time sushi platters.

This practice has not only continued within modern Japan, but spread to other parts of the world; i.e. it's become a debased commercial export, rather than part of a noble celebration. It's not something I've witnessed or participated in. Nor is it something I would wish to experience, as there are aspects of nyotaimori that makes me distinctly uncomfortable: for one thing, I'm not a great lover of soured rice and raw fish.

Nor do I have any desire to engage in eroticised food play, which is, in essence, what nyotaimori is; a fetishistic combination of pleasures designed to arouse more than just an appetite for a good meal. I'm aware of the long association between eating and sex, but, unlike George Costanza, sitophilia holds no great interest for me I'm afraid.

Nor, for that matter, does sexual cannibalism - and I'm assured by a friend who knows about this kind of thing, that the secret desire of those engaged in nibbling sashimi off of a nude girl's torso is to consume her flesh also. In fact, the food is merely a symbolic substitute and an alibi for those who have a bad conscience concerning their anthropophagic urges and dark vore fantasies.

I suppose the only element of (traditional) nyotaimori that does excite my curiosity is the forniphilic one; that is to say, the material objectification of the woman acting as a decorative centrepiece.

Although there is no bondage or gagging involved, the human salver is trained to remain perfectly still and completely silent at all times. The fact that her flesh is often chilled with ice-water before being placed on the table (in order to comply with food safety regulations), only adds to the impression that she's a lifeless object, like a corpse or statue.*

Obviously, there are many objections that might be raised from a feminist and humanist perspective to the objectification of women in this manner. But, if we accept the notion of free and informed consent, then I suppose a woman must be allowed to make herself useful as a piece of furniture or kitchen utensil, if she so chooses.

To claim, however, that it's empowering to do so, is disingenuous at best and often betrays the same false consciousness as the Muslim woman who insists she is liberated by taking up the veil.

*Although it would be stretching things to read either necrophilia or agalmatophilia into nyotaimori, it's interesting to note how paraphilia (like polytheism) always ends in slippage, as one distinct form of love gives way to a succession of others in a promiscuous process of association, until they slowly become indistinguishable and confused. It's very rare - and very difficult - to stay devoted to a single fetish; you begin by loving the foot, for example, but end by worshipping the shoe or stocking as you slide along a continuum of perverse pleasure.           

           

Downblouse and Upskirt (Get a Good Look Costanza?)

 Seinfeld S4/17: The Shoes. Click here to view scene.

 

Downblousing and upskirting are both examples of pornified voyeurism that illustrate perfectly the objectifying nature of the male gaze. Both have blossomed in an age of smart phones, the internet, and rape culture, yet they continue to rank very differently on a scale of perviness.  

For when a man looks down a young woman's blouse it is in the hope of glimpsing breasts; a healthy, heterosexual desire for female flesh. If not quite the done thing within polite society, downblousing is nevertheless regarded as natural and relatively harmless behaviour; something we might even characterize as a bit of good clean fun and place within a comic context.      

But when a man looks up a girl's skirt it's in the hope of seeing her underwear; what excites is not the flesh per se and it's for this reason that upskirting is regarded as truly deviant behaviour - fetishistic, unwholesome, indecent, etc.    

Thus it is that most viewers laugh when George Costanza stares down the blouse of a fifteen year-old in an episode of Seinfeld and don't see it as an assault by a middle-aged man upon the dignity of a minor, nor a sordid invasion of her privacy. 

Would they feel quite as amused, however, had George been caught staring at her crotch rather than her cleavage?      

The Trial of the New York Four

Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer with their lawyer, Jackie Chiles,
in 'The Finale' (S9 E23/24). Originally broadcast May 14, 1998.

Everyone loves a good trial and one might almost be tempted to bookend Western civilization between the trial of Socrates in 399 BC and the Seinfeld trial almost two and a half thousand years later in 1998.

In the former case, an Athenian gadfly is accused of impiety and instilling the younger generation with a morally nihilistic and disrespectful attitude via his uniquely provocative mixture of irony, sophistry and dialectics. Found guilty, he is sentenced to death, which he willingly accepts by drinking the hemlock provided. 

In the latter case, which is my main concern here, an American smart alec and professional comedian is - along with his three friends - accused of contravening article 223-7 of the Latham Massachusetts Penal Code; i.e. the so-called Good Samaritan Law, which requires citizens to actively help or assist anyone in danger as long as it is reasonable for them to do so. 

Also found guilty, Jerry Seinfeld, Elaine Benes, George Costanza, and Kosmo Kramer are given a year in jail in order that they might reflect upon the manner in which they have conducted themselves in relation to society. In passing sentence, Judge Vandelay speaks of the "callous indifference and utter disregard for everything that is good and decent" that the four have repeatedly demonstrated. In this he echoes the sentiments of the prosecuting district attorney, who, in his opening statement, told the jury that the defendants not only ignored but mocked the victim of a violent crime and that they each had a long history of vain, greedy, selfish, and immature behaviour which often resulted in the abuse and deception of others.

To many fans of the show, this caused an uncomfortable moment; their own guilt and complicity ruthlessly exposed by the writer Larry David. They doubtless didn't want or anticipate a happy ending - but this was brutal. And many have not forgiven him to this day. However, the fact is Socrates was not falsely accused and convicted and neither were the New York Four. And, with a magnificently cynical form of stoicism and noble indifference, they accepted their prison sentence just as the ancient philosopher accepted death: no tears, no complaints, no appeals. 

And still - above all else - no hugging, no learning. 

Thus it is that the greatest TV show ends with its protagonists behind bars and still trapped in the magic circle of their own solipsism as Jerry lectures George once more and for all eternity on how the position of the second button literally makes or breaks a shirt.