Three Years of Hell to Become the Devil: Outgeeking Bainbridge

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Outgeeking Bainbridge

Now, I'd never take on Professor Bainbridge when it comes to wine: I haven't the taste buds. And on corporate law? More fool me to challenge the guy who authors textbooks. But outgeeking? There we're on more equal ground. And I'm afraid that his accusation that George Lucas has sold the soul of Star Wars to the Democrats just rings hollow.

Basically, the good Professor is upset because:

...Lucas betrayed the basic story arc of the Star Wars mythology in order to score these cheap political points. In the original trilogy, Luke struggled against the absolutism of Obi-Wan and Yoda. It was Luke who insisted that there was still good in Vader, which Yoda and Obi-Wan rejected.

The betrayal in question is in having Obi-Wan say to Anakin, after the latter has muttered some you're-for-me-or-against-me line, "Only a Sith thinks in absolutes."

Now, I've not seen the movie yet, and to the best of my knowledge, neither has Prof. Bainbridge, but to my mind his internal critique doesn't hold up. Bainbridge spends a great deal of time talking about how an older (presumably wiser) Obi-Wan was still doctrinaire and absolutist in his consideration of the Force. But if we consider this Obi-Wan to be less mature than Alec Guinness (and who wouldn't), then the plot still hangs together. Obi-wan may just be full of it. And there's no "betrayal" for "cheap political points" so long as the elder Jedi isn't doing anything more than the lightsaber equivalent of Godwin's Law: you know the conversation's over (and someone's limbs are about to go) when somebody mentions the Sith.

So why are so many assuming that Old Kenobi needs to be taken seriously? It seems that the New York Times found political meaning in the film:

"This is how liberty dies - to thunderous applause," Padm observes as senators, their fears and dreams of glory deftly manipulated by Palpatine, vote to give him sweeping new powers. "Revenge of the Sith" is about how a republic dismantles its own democratic principles, about how politics becomes militarized, about how a Manichaean ideology undermines the rational exercise of power. Mr. Lucas is clearly jabbing his light saber in the direction of some real-world political leaders. At one point, Darth Vader, already deep in the thrall of the dark side and echoing the words of George W. Bush, hisses at Obi-Wan, "If you're not with me, you're my enemy." Obi-Wan's response is likely to surface as a bumper sticker during the next election campaign: "Only a Sith thinks in absolutes." You may applaud this editorializing, or you may find it overwrought, but give Mr. Lucas his due. For decades he has been blamed (unjustly) for helping to lead American movies away from their early-70's engagement with political matters, and he deserves credit for trying to bring them back.

Dear goodness, we can only hope. I mean, if Democrats can't do better than Lucas's tin-ear for dialogue for their political bumper stickers, then I suspect the Republicans will get the geek vote. But now the New York Times has done the impossible: it's made me curious about the final Star Wars film.

Let's face it: Lucas is about as subtle as a chainsaw running through a screen door, at least when it comes to dialogue. I'd expect that even if Chewbacca were mouthing Bush-lite rhetoric, you wouldn't need to be Han Solo to figure out the reference. On the other hand, the New York Times could probably scan Beowulf and find hidden anti-Bush meanings.

So who is it? Is George L. taking on George B.? Or is this all a figment of the Times' fevered fantasies? Sadly, I'll have to see the film to find out, because when it comes to a conflict between the Lucas lack of subtext and the Greying Lady's determination to find same, we reach a level of difficulty almost equal to that of the Great Sci Fi Paradox: What happens when a bunch of clueless red-shirts, guaranteed to survive less than three minutes after a beamdown, meets a platoon of Imperial Stormtroopers, who can't hit a barn from inside it?


This article on a Cannes press conference might save you the trouble of going to the movie.
A wise man once pointed out that "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar", and I think someone needs to remind Prof. Bainbridge that sometimes a trashy sci-fi B flick is just a trashy sci-fi B flick.....
The "wise man" was Freud, on the sometimes-noninterpretation-of-dreams. Less well known is his debt to Kipling. The original line went something like "Wine is only wine, but a cigar is a smoke."
I've noticed that people who are absolutist often think that they are nuanced. (Often because they know other people on their own side who are even more extreme, or have unexpressed feelings which are much nastier.)
TTP: I know it was Freud; I was under the impression that the quote was familiar enough that nobody (at least nobody well educated enough to be follwoing a first person narrative of American legal education) needed to be told who said it. :-)
Oh, perhaps I've underestimated folks. I was under the impression that a lot of people didn't know the source. Eh. Also I was trolling for the exact phrasing of the Kipling quote.
"Now, I've not seen the movie yet, and to the best of my knowledge, neither has Prof. Bainbridge..." And thus continues the conservative tradition of critiquing movies without having seen them. :)
If you notice, Dave, the above isn't a critique of a movie, but a series of questions about it. And having now seen the movie, if you want to carry water for Lucas's dialogue, I hope your back's pretty strong.

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Dear India, I Surrender

IMG 7614 e1269336577444 Dear India, I Surrender

Crowded buses of India

I’m reading a fascinating book documenting a Westerner’s journey through India and one message resounds: “You have to surrender if you’re ever going to win.” I’m quickly learning how true this is. Surrender is the heart of the Indian experience.

On a recent journey south, I was again reminded of the importance of letting go in order to experience the experience.

It was a travel day: the day I load up my pack and mentally rev myself up for a long day. I had on my usual “I don’t care if you get filthy dirty” outfit and laced up my “I can conquer anything” Hummer shoes. I figured I was ready for whatever came my way. Then, I was reminded it was India.

Our journey was a mere five hour bus ride. We purchased our tickets at the bus station (at a surely inflated price) and were soon directed to our seats. Here we found out we didn’t actually have seats. Nope, we had a…uh…well, I guess you could call a bed.

IMG 7473 e1269336036697 Dear India, I Surrender

A look at the sleeper beds aboard the ramshackle buses

Above the crowded, dusty bus seats there was a second level near the roof of the bus suspended in the air. It was like the top bunk of a bunk bed only on a bus and only so tattered it would never pass for a bed. With seemingly no other choice, we were told to ascend the metal ladder and crawled into the six foot by nothing space for the journey. Deep breaths and time to surrender, I reminded myself.

Just then an observant 11-year old girl shouts up to us in English that these guys were pulling a fast one on us. The prison cell-like bunk they had stuffed us into, she told us, was actually made for one person, not two. When we realized traveling like two caged birds wasn’t the norm, we argued vehemently for a refund. After a few Hindi curse words were thrown our way, we settled. Ryan and I would sit in the front cabin with the bus driver.

Among the orchestra of honking horns, clanking motors, rattling doors and hypnotizing Hindi music, the ride began. Our new pal and bus driver Sahil greeted us. With his dark curly hair that seemed to start at his forehead and wrap strategically down his neck and out the front of his shirt, Sahil introduced himself with the typical lineup of Indian questions:

“What country you from?, First time to India?, You happy?, You married?, Why you not have kids?, You have job?, What is your salary?” I tried to answer as best I could while avoiding the awkward encounter.

Sahil affectionately shot back, “Ahhh, I love you. I love America!,” before shouting “Alaska!!!!” at the top of his lungs. We were in for a joy ride.

In his musically-accented, broken English Sahil went on to share stories of his Iranian ancestry and details of his love life. He explained the traditions and rituals of his Muslim Indian culture and was sure to point out notable landmarks along the way. And when words failed we communicated with exaggerated hand gestures in a comical game of charades.

Indian School Bus e1269336938289 Dear India, I Surrender

School bus on the Indian roads

Soon I realized it would get worse before it got better. After our jovial introduction, Sahil stopped the bus every fifteen minutes for the next three hours to let new passengers on. Every inch of the bus, aisle included, was soon crawling with people. Our threesome in the front cabin quickly turned into a foursome, into a five-some and soon a twelve-some. By the third hour we were 13. Nearly all the men removed their shoes upon entering the bus and sweaty feet were everywhere. In between studious stares at us foreigners, they took turns coughing up unidentified liquids to shoot out the window.

I was miserable. By this point my rear-end was nearly hoisted in the air, while the desert sun beat down on my sweat-beaded face. So cramped, in fact, my head was wedged into the windshield until good, ol’ Sahil let out a blood curdling scream: “Lava [Laura], Lava [Laura], noooo!” I found myself inches away from disturbing the peace of the Hindu statue sitting on the dashboard and draped in a wreath of marigolds.

Mumbai 117 e1269337382311 Dear India, I Surrender

The reality of life on the streets

Along the way my miserable situation was put in check. Slums lined the highway for as far as the eye could see and barefoot children ran after our bus in their appalling ragged clothing. They looked up at us with their empty eyes and hungry bellies. This was misery.

I also realized I wasn’t the only one on the bus with bodies pressed up against them. Just the only one so bothered. The Indian people were as cramped as I but had no ill-feelings or bad temper. Rather they were relaxed, tolerant and patient. Surely this must come from a deeper understanding of what real world problems are. They taught me I still have a way to go.

India is the marathon of travel. It’s an exhausting, mental challenge, a test of your physical limits and often has you questioning why you are there. Luckily, along the way you realize just how rewarding it can be.

By the time we arrived at our destination, Ryan had to literally drag me off the bus. I had become buddies with several of my cabin mates and after a few photos, lots of handshakes and invites for chai, I was ready to put this travel day to an end.

On the grueling bus journey, I rubbed shoulders with the people of the interior towns and villages and saw scenes of true desperation. I learned more during these hours than I could have learned on any first-class ticket. Back at my hotel, with my own cup of chai in hand, I realized I had surrendered and I had won.

pixel Dear India, I Surrender

Comments (6)

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  1. roundwego says:

    Lesie – Thanks for the kind words on our blog and travel experiences! We are certainly enjoying the daily adventures. Honestly a day doesn’t go by that we don’t pinch ourselves, feeling so lucky we are having these experiences. Thanks for following our journey!

  2. Elise Moloney says:

    Laura, YOU are amazing and what an amazing experience you must be having!! Your writing style lures me in like a flame in a fire. I get lost in Around We Go, dreaming of traveling, but you make it easy to travel (by your writing).

  3. Carly says:

    Laura, so envious of these experiences you will NEVER ever forget. Thrilled to have the opportunity to read about your experiences. Thanks for sharing!

  4. Brigid Pritchard says:

    amazing! laughing out loud, lava!

  5. Mom Keller says:

    Wow, Good job Laura. That’s all I can say is wow!!!!

  6. Kelly says:

    Awesome post Laura. Keep them coming.