On Tourism

Giving voice to unrestrained scorn is one of the chief pleasures of life. No need to moderate or burnish one's arguments and no caveats, no exceptions are required. It's with no mild excitement then that I can express my extreme disdain for what is today called tourism.

What a waste of a good word, though. The Greek τορν- stem revolves around woodworking and lathing, like Latin's tornare. With their extended definitions of fashioning and finely finishing off, you couldn't seek a better metaphor for cura pursonalis. Yet this has nothing to do with tourism, which involves no philosophy of betterment or understanding but borrows a baser meaning from its linguistic roots, namely that of going in circles.

Now by tourism I don't mean mere travel, for clearly there are many reasons which necessitate a change of locale, so many and obvious we need not discuss them. Nor by tourism do I even mean mere sight-seeing. Foolish as I think sight-seeing may be, there is much in the world worth seeing firsthand. True, people don't prepare themselves by study to appreciate these sights, but it's not inconceivable that the sight of a great work of art or a natural wonder might prompt appreciation and insight which mere study did not. Ever the generous optimist, I pass over these practices.

By tourism I mean the crass acquisitiveness with which some people idiotically prance around foreign lands–any place not their home–and locust-like desiccate the environment of its natural splendor. Tourism uses the native land and people for entertainment, for mere amusement. It seeks to suck and siphon the experience of the denizen and citizen without contributing to the society of which it is visitor. Tourism merely tosses off those coveted, crisp dollars to the shopkeepers and guides so the tourist can play native for a while in a counterfeit experience calculated to sell a lifestyle as a commodity. This is to say nothing of the endless kitsch stamped to bottle and sell every virtue of the land.

As if this vulgar imbecility were not offensive enough, consider the degree to which the tourist is untutored and unprepared for his travel. He is ignorant of customs, geography, transportation, and far too often, of his host's language. Preparations not withstanding, the tourist invariably mocks its hosts, either by mimicry, presuming he's mastered his host's manners, or by the effrontery of refusing the customs of the land.

The heinous combination of ignorance, arrogance, and abuse we find in the tourist is the antithesis being a guest. This much preferable title descends  from Latin's hostis, meaning both foreigner and enemy, and the Indo European ghosti-, meaning strange. How kind is it of a guest to concede his status as stranger and walk with some humility among his hosts. How gentlemanly is he to regard his presence as a favor from his hosts. What a humane concern, his desire to contribute, thank, and reciprocate. If the contrasts sounds harsh or extreme consider this:

While a guest stays at your house he helps wash dishes, listens to grandpa tell stories, follows your manners without being obsequious, thanks you, and departs with gratitude. The tourist pays you a fee and demands tours and that you speak his language, and before he departs photographs all of your most valuable possessions. The guest walks as a gentleman, in gratitude, and the tourist with head held high as a conqueror. He peers over the visited lands and peoples, mere trophies bagged by peregrinate, pecunious huntsmen.

I'm Back, This Time With Metaphor

In a post from last month I dared to offer some advice to the youth and led that counsel with this same picture to the right, which I neglected to explain. The lack of explanation is ironic and perhaps telling insofar as I've failed at least once at following all of those choice tips I offered since I wrote them. True, I enjoyed modest success, but my failure was such that the post became a chastening reminder both to strive and forgive. Notwithstanding or perhaps because of my failures, it seems a good time to explain this picture, which is as good as any representation of life that I can name.

Keep your boxes of chocolates, uncoiling threads, chess games, and even your trees: life is balancing spinning plates on sticks. Putting aside the obvious analogy of balancing responsibilities, there are a number of features which delight me about this representation.

First is the fact that you can only spin one plate at a time. This is consonant with my experience that I can either make tests or grade tests, scan articles or wash my car, shop for dinner or take a rest. One can balance multiple projects, but at any given moment only one gets your attention.

Second, each plate will only spin for so long. Nothing in life is ever done. Plates will still need filling and washing, quizzes will need grading, and essays will need to be written. Most of all, you've never done enough for your loved ones.

Next, you can't stop when you're in mid-spin. When you commit to something, you're committed, and if you let it fall you ought to be prepared to pick up the pieces. Worse, one falling plate tends to take others with it. If you're done with something, end your commitment with as much grace as you can manage.

Fourth, you can't see all the plates at once. You just have to trust that once something has been set up it'll go on for at least a little while. If you start to give everything a second guess, you're doomed. Still, look out from the corners of your eyes now and then.

Fifth, it's not at all impossible, but it's a separate skill to accept and work with help. The two parties need to delegate, commit, support, and leave each other space. They also need to trust each other. Also, sometimes competition is healthy, sometimes not.

Sixth, you can only manage so many plates. Even if you are an extraordinary talent, when you're spinning a lot of plates, you're not spending a lot of time on each one. True, they're all spinning, but that's not necessarily satisfying for you or the plate.

Finally, success is possible, and rewarding. Look at his face as he spins that last plate. He's about to enjoy one moment where he can just sit and take in all the spinning grandeur of his handiwork, right before he hurries back to that first wobbling plate.

Speaking of which...

Heard at Holy Innocents

Since the Archdiocese of New York's parish consolidation initiative spurred speculation about the closing of Holy Innocents, much has been written in praise of the parish. Least numerous and most necessary among this esteem is the appreciation for the priests who come from throughout the boroughs to say mass there in the Extraordinary Form. These are not idle priests who pop in from next door to say mass, but busy clergy who make time for the Holy Innocents community. They come with good spirit, prepared and thoughtful sermons, and full voices to offer not just a beautiful, but a consistently beautiful liturgy from week-to-week. Such praise doesn't diminish the work of the resident priests at Holy Innocents, who beside the work of their visiting brothers offer the indispensable before every EF mass, confession.

I'll pass over the uncommon grace and decorum of the altar servers to mention what is for me the most extraordinary offering of the parish, its music. From the small, dedicated schola flows week-after-week of glorious polyphony and chant. It's such a mainstay that even I began to take it for granted until, perusing the mass journal which I began a few months ago, I saw just how many pieces I'd noted in the margins.

Classical settings, renaissance polyphony, plainchant, homophony, preludes, fugues, motets, the choices are both varied and complementary, consistent and prudent. This is no small feat, finding such a wide variety of excellent music, rehearsing, and then performing it at the most appropriate mass. To praise just that is even to overlook the sung propers each week, with which I'll occasionally follow with my gradual. And they are indeed sung every week, never skipped because they're particularly florid one Sunday.

Nothing is ever skimped on or supplemented with inferior efforts. There's nothing added and there's nothing taken away, there's just the mass. Its loving, lively, traditional celebration at Holy Innocents makes it feel as it should, the most important thing in the world.

I list just a small sampling of what has been sung at Holy Innocents in the past two months. Again, this is putting aside all of the chant both ordinary and proper.

–

1. Vorspiel in D minor. Anton Bruckner [YouTube]
2. Missa Quarti Toni. Tomas Luis de Victoria [YouTube]
3. Tantum Ergo. Tomas Luis de Victoria [YouTube]
4. Ave Verum Corpus. William Byrd [YouTube]
5. Fugue in A, BWV.536. J.S. Bach [YouTube]
6. Missa de Virgine. Christobal de Morales [YouTube]
7. Panis Angelicus. Claudio Casciolini [YouTube]
8. O Crux Benedicta. Francisco Guerrero [YouTube]
9. Messa da Capella a quattro voci. Claudio Monteverdi. [YouTube]
10. Plein Jeu. Louis Marchand. [YouTube]

A Man and His Honor

If it is true that the best citizen is he who shares most fully in the honors of society, then today Americans are in quite a pickle. If it is also true that he who has no share in the government, cannot be a loyal citizen (Politics, 1268a), then we have a bona fide problem. I would talk about each in turn.

First, in a liberal democracy it is not hard to find, as Plato said we would, a variety of constitutions. There as many ways of life as there are men and it's not difficult to find someone with whom you share your esoteric ways. Yet is it satisfying or satisfying enough for a man to share those values with only a small set of people? Does he perhaps wish for some broader consensus, an accord on universal principles, however few? One the one hand external validation seems superfluous to morality. Socrates and Jesus are the most famous examples, but it's not hard to think of people who didn't get along with the majority. Surely objective morality is indifferent to the vicissitudes of popular opinion. Likewise, adhering to morality does satisfy the conscience. The good man can sleep at night and look at himself in the mirror on the morning, but how does he look at others?

It seems naive to suggest that anyone truly, deeply enjoys a plurality of opinions. Perhaps you think you are correct or you can admit your opponent is correct or you can admit you both are wrong, but it seems a fancy to think that anyone happily wallows in a muddy plurality of contradictory ideas. The variety might even be fertile, but man requires more than excitement. Chiefly, he desires to live up to a vision, an ideal of man, fulfilling his his duties and obligations and consequently receiving honors. When there is a variety of values in society and everyone is equally praised, man is left to find his own inspiration for and satisfaction in pursuing the good.

Such is possible, but not preferable in extremity. Absent a consensus on virtue, many will still adhere to the path of the good, but without recognition many will not. Moreover, without the reward of honors the virtuous man will develop resentment for his society. The man who saves his money, pays his bills, and spends within his means will learn to resent the society which excuses and rescues profligate men. The bachelor who keeps his hands off women and the husband who remains faithful will find anger in his heart for the fellow men who use women and the women who excuse them. The man who cultivates restraint will feel the fool when boors go without chastise. Whoever devotes himself to serious and genuine study bill begrudge the fame bestowed on fools and false scholars by the unstudied. And so on and on, the good man will resent his fellow citizens.

The good man in a society which does not recognize his virtue will wonder whether he is Aeneas or Don Quixote. Is he passing on the torch of virtue and tradition or is he following bygone ideals? He will question himself and his sanity, wondering whether his courage is foolishness. Denied honor he will either seek to reform society or he will retreat from it. A man with agency will turn toward reform. If he has charisma he may turn to politics, if he has artistic skill he may attempt to persuade by art, if wealth, by influence. A man with little agency in society will retreat to the sanctity of the next social circle in which he shares both duty and honor. Some men will turn to violence, against themselves or others whom they blame.

What, then, will prevent this dissolution? What will unite the plurality? Aristotle wrote (Politics, 1263b) that education would do this, but the education of Greek παιδεία is not of text books and standardized tests. It is a reconciliation of the individual to society, a stepping into society and ideals. Education then, Highet wrote (Paideia, I.xxii) is no adornment, but, "deliberately moulding human character in accordance with an ideal." To have a culture which is not merely a collection of traits or a main idea requires the nexus of its ideals in a vision of man which is fervently sought and when found, praised.

Top Ten: Advice for Young People

So I'm twenty-nine now, and while that number doesn't mean much of anything, I feel more acutely that I can look back and forward with equal clarity. Too I can say with some certainty what has worked for me and what has not, so with humility and no philosophical pretensions I'd like to share the fruits of my reflections. Subject them to your own scrutiny and common sense and shun them sooner than do anything barbarous, but I hope you will consider them. These observations are not hierarchical, alas, so you'll need to be prudent about their application, that is, which is more important when.

Finally, I've not perfected doing or avoiding what I advocate here, and that seems like a good place to start.

1. You're a Work in Progress

Plato and Aristotle argued–so much for avoiding philosophical pretensions–that the gods must be unchangeable because they are perfect. You don't tinker with perfection, right? Well, unless you've joined the Olympian ranks, you should probably be changing. Not everything, mind you, but some things. Like a shrubbery, some parts need to be trimmed and some cultivated.

Unfortunately, I can't say much more. The art of curating your character is the art of knowing what you like about yourself and what you don't. It also requires–again shrubbery-like–patience. You can't change everything at once. You should probably look at some models to discover whom you admire. Speaking of which...

2. Get to Know People

It's hard to get your head around the fact that you need to know others to know yourself. Not only will you learn by knowing them whom to emulate and whom to avoid, but you'll develop relationships which will make demands of you. They'll want things from you and also for you, and you'll have to consider who you are when deciding how to react. What will what they want you to do make you? You'll also see yourself from their perspective and be able to ask whether you like the person that they see. Do you like how you act around them, or how you make them feel?

This doesn't mean that you use people to learn about yourself, but that your fulfillment is interwoven with the lives of others.

3. Reconcile Yourself to Tradition

This is a tough one, because no one is fully progressive, contemporary, or traditional. Everyone cherry picks what they like, and that's fine up to a point. There are good traditions and bad ones, but I would make two provisions.

First, decide what traditionalism is to you. Do you actually find beauty in doing things the way your ancestors did? Is there authority in precedent? If so, those imperatives have far-reaching implications, i.e. you can't choose which traditions to follow unless you think they're immoral. Maybe tradition is for you just a love of things which happen to be out of style at the moment. Perhaps you follow tradition to pay honor to the past or your parents. In any event, what you think traditionalism is has a lot to do with how you fulfill the name.

Second, understand the traditions. Study the history of everything and don't rely on caricatures or summaries. To put it another way: know your alternatives. It's alright to like rock and roll music–sort of–but not if you don't know what you're missing in Mozart and Bach. This study also applies to your family. Study its history–and that includes getting to know its living members–and decide what it means to you. Comprehend what your actions will do to the thing called your family.

4. Honor Your Parents

Yes, there is such a thing as a collective. Liberally-minded people–libertarians, liberals, progressives, and broadly independent people–have a hard time with this one. I'm not saying the culture, ethos, zeitgeist or whatever you call it has will or authority, but it exists. You contribute to it, and most immediately you contribute to your family, and most immediately that means your actions with your parents make a special little world among you. Honor them.

I don't mean that you should let them dominate you or that you should be obsequious to their whims, but you should consider their desires for you as legitimate ones. Those desires may be illogical or wrong-headed, but ponder them with care. If they're immoral, then you have a bona fide moral dilemma between piety and some other virtue: Good luck.

Short of that, try to please them. Let them help you in ways that they like. Keep them apprised of your whereabouts and comings-and-goings. If they're not traditionalists, you're off the hook. If they are, see #3. Do well for yourself, for them. They'll worry no matter what, but be successful enough at life that they don't predominately worry. Above all, don't make them ashamed. Don't make them want to hide you, themselves, or the family. Look into the eyes of an ashamed parent and the pity you'll know will set you straight.

Their hopes for you extend ad infinitum. Of what they ask of you, you'll have to decide what's reasonable, moral, necessary, and desirable to accommodate. Not all requests are all of the above, and some will be contradictory.

5. Play Devil's Advocate

You'll need to weigh those choices, then, won't you? This means you'll need to look at all sides equally. Such requires the use of logic which, alas, requires a great deal of effort.

Unfortunately, thinking logically isn't the hardest part. What's harder than thinking clearly?

First, arguing with yourself. You need to be able to argue both sides equally, that is, be able to argue against what you think is correct. It's desirable always to argue against the best objection to your case, but you'll often need to argue your opponent's case better then they are able

Second, dealing with people who aren't logical is a distinct challenge. Disagreement usually gets somewhat heated, and it's hard for people to accept logical propositions when you've made them feel vulnerable.

Third, be humble. Remember that you can be completely logical and also completely wrong if you're missing the tiniest variable. Never lose sight of what you're trying to prove or accomplish and make sure what you're arguing both supports your premise and doesn't support anything unexpected.

Fourth, avoiding the use of reason as a weapon. Don't let the fact that you're right about something go to your head and cloud your judgment. In an abstract, academic debate that might be fine, but in life your main goal or at least a goal which you cannot ignore is getting along with people. If there is a moral imperative at stake, proceed in argument, but with caution.

Also, people like to make up their own minds, so at least give them the illusion of choice. On that note...

Movie Review: Jaws (Part II)

Directed by Steven Spielberg. 1975.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV coming soon

8. Brody's Studies

We don't know a lot about sharks and neither does the main character, so the movie needs to educate us both. How? It's useful to stop a moment and reflect on how, if you were directing the movie and needed to educate your audience, you would do that. Maybe he's watching a television documentary or he goes to a museum, but then how do you make that scene not only educational, not only educational and interesting, but also a scene into which the character belongs. Spielberg decided to have Brody sitting in his office going through books on sharks.

The scene educates everyone, in particular seeding us a few pieces of information.

First, the shark can sense activity in the water, telling us that we can't hide or swim away. Second, the shark is very big. Third, you're not safe on a boat. Finally, the picture of the shark eating a scuba tank sets up the final scene of the movie.

The scene isn't just bland education, though, for in learning about sharks Brody starts to deplore the ignorance of the people who just want it killed. Except for Quint, the people don't respect the power of this creature and simply want the inconvenience of it removed from their lives. Brody's not advocating shark rights, but his attempt to educate himself reinforces his status as outsider to the townspeople. The scene also wisely continues its slow introduction of the shark. The first attack didn't show the shark at all. The second showed us only its fins. The third appearance was Quint's chalk drawing in the previous scene. Now we see the shark in full, but in the pictures of a book. We're slowly being fed information about the shark, letting our imaginations draw the picture.

Two things especially distinguish this scene, though. The first thing is its quiet. There is practically no dialogue about the sharks, rather we look on as Brody flips through the books. The second is the way it is edited into the second scene. Instead of cleanly cutting the scene and ending it, Fields intercut Brody's flipping through the book into the beginning of the next scene. The result is that the images of the shark more closely anticipate the attack of the next scene by being woven into it.

9. Holiday Roast

There's another anticipation from the previous scene to this one, though, and that's the presence of the jetty. In the previous scene the jetty is set up as a safe place, where the boys go when their father tells them to get off the boat. We know the shark can attack a boat, but not a whole pier, right?

Like many other scenes in Jaws, this one also begins on a note of comedy, with two islanders trying to cash in on the bounty with the hair-brained plan of tying the shark to the pier. When the beast takes the bait, though, and the boobs cheer on the fleeing shark, we have no way to expect what happens: the shark rips end of the pier clean off, taking one of the men along for the ride. The whole scene pivots off of one ingenious moment when we see the end of the jetty, ripped off by the shark, turn round in the water. Spielberg uses the tip of the pier, now tethered to the shark by the chained bait on which the shark has chomped, as a proxy for the shark itself. To amplify this shock, it turns around nice and slowly to the sound of a metallic screech, a slash harsh and alien enough to tell our subconscious that something unfriendly is approaching even though we can't see it.

In the heat of the moment, we seem to see the shark, so strong is the suggestion of its presence. Of course there is still a man in the water, and Spielberg shoots his frantic swim back to the pier from below the water line, so we can practically feel the water rushing down our own throats.

With the wide establishing shots, we feel like the man in the water with the shark on one side and our pal calling from the pier on the other. This is also the first moment in which we hear the Jaws theme in full swing.

Spielberg wisely tunes down the carnage, though, and as the man escapes the scene ends on a light note as the near-victim asks his pal, "Can we go home now?"

On Inclinations, Judgment, and Clemency

La Clemenza di Tito

It has been said that comedy is tragedy plus time. Ignoring fact that the statement is attributed to comedians and hails from the 20th century–which excelled beyond most in heartfelt mendacity–and putting aside the rarity of thigh-slapping hilarity during Antigone or the Oresteia, I think there is a grain of truth in the observation. I would, however, reformulate it as information plus time equals prudence. Or something like that. I distrust maxims and aphorisms, seeming as they do to dress up arguments as facts. In fact I frown on much by inclination, and wondering why is really my point. Ought we judge, how much, and how best manage judgment for those who cannot resist?

Some people are born with a favorable disposition, liberally bestowing their approbation to various things and parties and ideas. This is a socially useful trait and people so disposed are well-liked and called agreeable. They always enjoy the movie, are delectated by dinner, and think the affairs in the nation are generally going well. Now it goes without saying that my own inclination toward such people is a presumption of imbecility, and while I mean imbecile in the modern sense of foolish or simply stupid, Latin's sense of imbecillus as fragile or feeble is not off the mark, for is not there something fragile about the mind which cannot tell good from bad? There's not much of a bright side to the Latin adjective, but to me there is something beautiful about innocence–literally not knowing, in-nocens.

On one hand, yes, innocence means a lack of knowledge without which one cannot determine the truth of a thing. On the other hand, though, it implies an ignorance of the bad, a longing for the Edenic ignorance of evil and the eternal reconciliation with the good, God. Yet that reconciliation is outside time, and our temporal concerns require judgment so that we can be and do good.

Everyone grows apprehensive about judging others, though, for no one wants himself judged. By what better method, though, is one inspired to improve oneself than by the thought of being judged? It is perhaps not necessary–it is certainly not desirable–constantly to fear the judgment of others, but the concept of being judged from without seems a necessary, or useful, part of learning to judge oneself, that is, judge from within. Moreover it seems a fundamental part of discerning, of separating, one thing from another, one person from another, oneself from another.

The process of judgment, though, can prove as hazardous as ignorance or indifference, especially if we do not distinguish deliberation from other types of investigation, such as science, conjecture, and opinion. Even still, the process of judgment is far from simple. It requires a certain ignorance, not in the sense of lacking but in the sense of ignoring, ignoring what is wrong, ignoring what is true but irrelevant, ignoring what is true and relevant but insignificant, and finally what is possible but improbable. Listing only these difficulties is to put aside the difficulty of judging the reliability of the evidence on which one does base judgment.

This skill of deliberation, or as Aristotle says correctness of thinking (Ethics, 1142a) does not exist for us in a vacuum, either, but rather among our preconceptions and inclinations. One's subjective sense of life, subject to the vicissitudes of his experiences, limitations of his scientific knowledge, prior judgments, and reason, all influence a verdict. What do these variables tell us about how we should judge?

My own experience tells me that most things are junk and as such should be judged unsparingly. Junk proliferates with the increase of mechanical facility. Junk cannot be fixed or upgraded. Junk is wasteful. A world of junk–of styrofoam cups, tawdry clothing, ridiculous movies, and slight music–is inclement toward man. Being disposable, things should be judged harshly.

People, however, are not disposable. Neither are they wastes, nor are they impossible to emend. Only in an age of tremendous medical skill and a lack of political strife can we even be tempted to say, seeing the billions of the world, that it is easy to make bring about a life. If we take then as a principle that we wish to do no harm, the motto of the Gentleman, then how shall we judge? I should like to be stubbornly literal about the word judge, Latin's iudex literally meaning to say the law. By literal I mean that we should be liberal about proclaiming standards, but clement in judgment of failure.

Clement is of course the key word in this statement. First, we must distinguish it from agreeableness, a benign disposition, forgiveness, encouragement, support, sympathy, tolerance. Clemency is not identical to:

• following another's lead (agreeableness)
• being kindly (benign)
• granting pardon (forgiveness)
• approval (encouragement)
• providing succor (support)
• intellectual agreement (empathy)
• emotional agreement (sympathy)
• or permission (tolerance)

Clemency takes all variables into consideration and renders a prudent judgment and appropriate response. As such, clemency requires both practical wisdom, that is, the province of choosing action, and also right judgment, the "discrimination of the equitable." (Ethics, 1143a). Discrimination has been debased in our society, but it is a necessary tool, literally the discernment between things, the ability to observe where one thing ends and another begins. It is the opposite of equate, equivocate and, by no small irony, confuse.

Confusion constantly threatens clemency, whether it is confusion between virtues and vices, or among virtues and vices. How often do we use forgive, support, sympathy, tolerate, and help, all more or less interchangeably? Clemency most among the virtues is also threatened by the elimination of virtues and vices. For one cannot practice clemency if there are no vices to forgive, nor can one practice clemency if there are no virtues which make a man good and therefore worthy to judge. Clemency along with generosity, fortitude, and magnanimity are the most difficult and last virtues to cultivate. They require a lifetime of practice and they are those virtues which distinguish a good man from a Gentleman.

Article Man

With apologies to They Might be Giants.

Particle man, particle man
Doing the things a particle can.
What is that? Not a lot.
Particle man.

Is he an adverb, maybe a suffix?
When he's in a sentence, does he inflect?
Or does the sentence change him instead?
Nobody knows, Particle man.

Particle man, Particle man,
Particle man hates Article man.
They have a fight. Article wins.
Article man.

Article man, Article man
Declines all the forms that an article can,
Subject, object, even place where,
Article man.

accordion solo

Verbal man, Verbal man
Making things happen throughout the land
His name means word
Verbal man.

He can change the time at which he exists,
And even his number can do the splits.
When the noun agrees it's a happy land.
Powerful man, verbal man.

Inflection man, Inflection man,
Size of the entire language man.
Changing his form to suit his mood,
Inflection man.

Is he depressed or is he a mess?
Is he upset English uses him less?
Who came up with Inflection man?
Degraded man, Inflection man.

accordion solo

Article man, Article man
Article man hates Verbal man.
την and ein, the and an,
Article man.

Ten Frames From: Columbo: Murder by the Book

After our review of Columbo, Murder by the Book, let's look at a few shots from this uncommonly good episode of crime drama.

–

1. A number of things make this inconspicuous shot worthy of note. First, the whole shot works because the street is higher than the entrance to the house. It's clear the cinematographer and/or director examined the area to find the best shot and didn't simply revert to stock ideas. Second, it's a smooth, downward transition to this shot from the previous shot, which avoids cutting to a second shot, following the character inside, or shooting him from above. Third, since he shrinks in the frame, we need a way to suggest that he's dominant, since he's the murderer. Hence... Fourth, the blackly humorous sticker, "Have a nice day." Finally, the whole shot is livened up by contrasting lines:

1. the parallel diagonals of the roofline and draped sackcloth
2. the z-axis line of the car bumper
3. the parallel diagonals of the curb and background mountains
4. the x-axis upper balcony

The tension of the murder is visually recreated in the clashing lines. 

2. I like this shot simply because it shows that they bothered to shoot at dusk, and patiently wait for the right lighting. The lamplight is also a noir-ish nod.

3. One of many shots of Ken with his face half-shrouded in darkness.

4. As we mentioned, the length of this unbroken shot reflects the free-flowing information after Columbo has earned the widow's trust, but it's also dynamically blocked with movement within the frame. It's also a nice contrast to the shot/reverse shot of the previous scene.

click image to enlarge

5. This simple pair of close-ups contrasts Columbo's clumsy hands with Ken's dexterous, malevolent ones.

Once again, Columbo's ineptitude is a false front, whereas Ken's affectation is vanity.

Please note that the page after the jump includes large gifs. (about 7mb. total)

TV Review: Columbo: Murder by the Book

Directed by Steven Spielberg. 1971. 

I'm just another cop. My name's Columbo and I'm a lieutenant.

The first episode of Columbo is the best episode of crime television drama I've ever seen. Granted I'm no connoisseur of the genre, but this one episode easily out-classes its peers in cinematography, acting, music, and style. Whether it's the prodigious production value, the feature-length runtime, Steven Spielberg's cinematic eye at the precipice of his ingenuity, or the invisible weight of the late, great, Peter Falk which catapulted the show to excellence, this first of Columbo's 69 episodes blew me away by its craftsmanship and entertaining drama.

I would like to review this episode in detail, topic-by-topic, but we have to talk about its opening scene. Like any good murder mystery, Murder by the Book starts with–you guessed it–a murder. The death is no mere necessity for getting the protagonist to run around, though, rather Spielberg luxuriates in a fifteen minute prelude leading up to the murder. Again and again we're teased and toyed with by an ingenious array of delays, diversions, and details which tug and trick us into thinking that at last the tension will explode in the murder. Consider these details, half of which are introductory and half prevaricating:

1. The audio of the author's keystrokes at the typewriter replace the audio of the murderer working his way to him, isolating the soon-to-be victim from his assassin.
2. The camera cuts to a shot of a Newsweek cover depicting the two men as a "best-selling mystery team," telling us just enough for the moment.
3. The killer's car enters passing under the "Exit-Only" sign, suggesting that the driver is up to no good.
4. The close-up of the gun is obvious, but necessary.
5. We then have the contrast and false release of the killer only pretending to threaten the victim, who laughs at the prank and unloaded gun.
6. Then we have the further contrast of learning that there really is tension between the partners.
7. The cork of the celebratory champagne pops too easily: was it taken off and re-sealed?
8. The killer refers to the end of their partnership both as a divorce and also as the death of the literary character whom they together created: precursor to murder?
9. The killer plants his lighter on the desk.
10. The killer tells his partner, "I'm going to kidnap you." We think this is his real plan, but he's just joking again: he's inviting him to his cabin. Or is that a macabre joke?
11. When the incipient assassin hurries back to the office to get the lighter he planted while his partner waits in the car, we wonder if it's wired to explode.
12. The killer seems actually to forget his lighter for a moment.
13. A close-up to the killer wearing gloves hearkens back to the beginning, when his partner calls his pranking bluff because he wasn't wearing gloves the way a killer would. Will he kill now? Nope, a few seconds later the gloves come off.
14. On the ride to the cabin the uneasy author confesses to a feeling of deja-vu: is he living one of the murders about which he's written?
15. The killer's gloves are back on: now?
16. Uh oh, the couch is covered in plastic. Now.

This is a classic opening, brought to life with tremendous attention to technique.

It's also a fine way to introduce a villain, giving him center stage for a quarter of an hour. Here the villain is Ken Franklin, one half of a mystery-writing duo brought to life by the suave gravitas of Jack Cassidy. The performance is quite slick, really, with Cassidy switching imperceptibly from jovial smiles to deathly stares. Taking a page from Hitchcock's Shadow of a Doubt and the twisting, barely-restrained hands of Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotton), Cassidy's smooth, deliberate gestures conceal his murderous intent. Satisfied little flourishes, a pat on his lapel, a little pause all reveal a calculating vanity behind the smooth, amiable veneer. Franklin is the polished, urbane counterpart to his other writing half, Jim Ferris (Martin Milner.) As you can guess, Ferris isn't around for long, but Milner's docile face is perfect for the agreeable Ferris, manipulated by his deft partner.

The long introduction also puts a lot of weight on the entry of the hero, Lieutenant Columbo. The entrance is itself one of understatement, fitting for the self-deprecating detective. After fifteen minutes of watching our brilliant killer and several more minutes of print-dusting cops and inquisitive detectives, the beleaguered wife of the deceased writer walks out into the hall. It's another smart, Hitchcockian touch that the fountain is broken, but it also gives Columbo his entry. "I think that's out of order, madam," he says. Classic Columbo, disguising his inquiry within small-talk, banal observations, and favors. Who can say no to the gentle, avuncular Columbo, when he offers to drive you home and make you an omelet?

Columbo's first scene is a perfect example of the detective's approach and of his character. He starts off self-deprecating, asking where everything is in the kitchen. He drops an eggshell in the yolk. Then as he's gained the trust of the Joanna, Jim's wife, he's asking questions and expertly moving about the kitchen, whisking up and chopping the food. Columbo is content to keep his skill under wraps and his cleverness to himself as he goes about his work.

The scene is also a good example of simple and effective cinematography. We move from quick shots and reverse shots over a kitchen counter for Columbo's rapport-building questions, to long unbroken takes along the counter as Columbo imperceptibly begins his inquiry. These lengthwise shots are also nice and long, emphasizing the trust which Columbo has built up with the woman and the information which now flows because of that trust. In fact the longest shot is one minute and forty one seconds, a length unheard of in today's era of finely chopped scenes.

Another shock to us in this scene is the quality in the supporting cast. Today we make a big fuss over film actors transitioning to television work, but while some of these performances are fine, most are phoned-in work with actors playing themselves, replaying old roles, or merely spouting the lines. Rosemary Forsyth brings something unique to the role of Jim's widow. There's a heedless urgency to her opening scene where she learns of her husband's abduction. Her statements are confused and disordered, and she repeats herself. She lurches and shuffles around as if she doesn't know what to do with her body. Yet later we see her, calmed by Columbo's gentle demeanor, as an articulate woman. She's not stupid and not there just to make Columbo look good, rather she realizes that Colombo has disarmed her distrust and agrees to talk with him.

Likewise, Barbara Colby finely played with a nervous naiveté, Lilly, the unfortunate witness to Ken's crime. Even this character has some depth, and in one scene she confronts Ken coming out of a theater show with information that implicates him in his partner's disappearance. It is a tense confrontation because it's the first time anyone has crossed the villain, and it's not a detective, let alone Columbo, who crosses him, but this vulnerable woman. Vulnerable I say, because she not only has a crush on Ken, and is thus ripe for his manipulation, but because her simplicity is unlikely to out-maneuver his ruthlessness. When she tries to blackmail him we know how it'll end. All of her scenes are fraught with tension between her admiration and desperation, and Ken's veiled contempt and cruelty. There's also a little complexity here: we pity her because she is manipulated by Ken, but she's also blackmailing him and letting a murdered walk free.

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Since the plot gives away the identity of the murderer at the outset, the excitement comes from watching Columbo figure out the case and from the villain trying to dodge his inquiries and throw him off the track. The cat and mouse game is pretty entertaining at that, with Columbo showing up in the oddest places and times with just a few more questions by which he slowly pens in the murderer.

Amidst the acting and cinematic technique there are many enriching details, like the broken water fountain, the rhythm of the theme being tapped out on the keyboard throughout the soundtrack, Ken's date eyeing other men, and his bumper sticker which reads "Have a Nice Day." There's also a lot of innuendo to Ken's dialogue, for example when he responds to Lilly's welcome by saying that he's come, "bearing gifts," when of course his disguised motive is to kill her. Ken is so vain that with his words and hands he can't help revealing himself.

Even the score is beyond what we expect from television today, with variety in orchestration–piano, pizzicato strings, harpsichord, synthesizer–and a clever, interior theme which nonetheless manages to reveal itself. The prolific Billy Goldenberg would go on to compose more for Columbo, having collaborated with Spielberg here and on Duel.

Finally, the story is brought to life so authentically by the actors and vividly by the style and craft that the show is much more engaging than those with more complexity. Today's shows are often elaborate, but without any satisfaction for the viewer. We are satisfied here because we figure out as Columbo does, with the same information. We're not deliberately kept in the dark while the protagonist acts on secret clues. Likewise today's shows are very polished, but they're all so similar and similarly dull because the visuals are so uninteresting. They're flashy, loud, and fast-paced, but boring.

Just one more thing, though. Not only is there no equal to the hardboiled, soft-hearted charm of Lieutenant Columbo, but few shows have so finely crafted a realistic world in which the star can persuasively be the hero than Spielberg has in this pilot. Columbo is so satisfying because more than in the mere success of the clever author, of the good cop/bad cop duo, of the brilliant lawyer, or the high-tech nerd, there is something unique in the modest man's triumph over the arrogance of the criminal which is profoundly just. Columbo is the classic American detective.

You may also enjoy: Ten Frames from Columbo: Murder by the Book