Rosebud

It wasn’t bad.

The movie itself was well acted, well directed and shot, and the writing surely wasn’t bad when you look at the themes conveyed by it.

But despite all the good ingredients, you were left with a less than enthralling two hours of screen time that Peter Griffin confirmed.

Oh sure, it had revolutionary filming techniques one wouldn’t expect in the 1940s, but hearing this filmed called again and again the best of all time, you somehow expect more. It gets built up to expectations that not only was it a good film for technical reasons, but that you also would be entertained by it, and more so than less grossing films. This did not come to pass.

The lesson is clear. No amount of exquisite junk can fill a void you have in your life that needs stable relationships and a strain of normalcy in coming of age.

Had Charles been less headstrong about his media endeavors he might have been able to maintain a solid marriage with his first wife. But growing up under hard rule he was eager to break free and make some noise in the world that once shut him out. You could go as far as to call him a victim of circumstance, but his reckless free will was made obvious even as a young man. You could just say there was no stopping him.

One thing I would like to point out is how Susan was a much happier, more fulfilled seeming character before she got involved in the ills of Charles and his unwieldy fortune. No amount of money could fix the problems that came up between her and Charles.

Charles himself seemed quite insatiable as well. As a young lad he wasn’t happy with his coldly acquired living arrangements. The same arrangements rocketed him to fame and fortune. Late in life he wasn’t happy with a traditional portfolio and wanted to run a paper, maybe just to have the illusion of a grip on the world. This lost him money temporarily, but surely returned it to him time and time over. This was not relevant. Every newly acquired thing in his life let him down at a rate that set his sights on the latest distraction to occupy his time, until there was another. This did not cease until his death.

 

If you wanted to get ultimate here, you could say the lack of a normal childhood was the complete source of this deficiency and materialism in his mind. We cannot know as he did not live for real, but we can apply the themes of this story to people we see in reality, as a study of the human state.

A decent example in our lifetime I would say is Michael Jackson. Not only could no amount of affluence and matter restore the abyss torn in him by a fragmented upbringing, but he never even accepted himself physically. He hadn’t lost his mind – he told us about equality. He had just been damaged. Damaged beyond repair.

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The moral is raise yo keeyds right so they don’t end up like me doing homework at 2AM before school.

The Trifecta of Pandemic Forecasting.

When I first witnessed the The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, I immediately thought of social anxiety. We see a character who doesn’t think he’ll be good enough, or capable to talk to women, or generally feel accepted instead of examined by a heartless organization of strangers, who are equally as unprepared as him. He mentions measuring his life in coffee spoons, possibly meaning it’s all that keeps him going. Quite depressing I might say. Towards the end he says it would have been worth communicating with the others, expressing possibly regret at the notion that he did not. All three of these poems are truly social commentary, something I mention again and again in this class because it seems to arise at every corner. Props to you for giving us these to review because they do hold truth somewhat timelessly.

The next work of poetry, Disillusionment at 10 o’clock, is but one iteration in the never ending call to be unique we hear so hypocritically out of society. The very practice of calling folks to be different has sadly become a cliche for mass appeal. This one, however, given the time of publishing, I can safely assume was written with genuine intentions, and out of real observations – not regurgitated taglines just for recognition. People of the time, and of our own, get very comfortable with being unremarkable. This is not good for the world. If we had more people striving for excellence we might be a more efficient and compassionate society. Here we see a drunken sailor regarded as this higher level of humanity. What Stephens is suggesting is that maybe, it is those who are broadly considered to be less than cosmopolitan that dare to exceed the lesser seen limitations of contemporary culture. I’m not sure I agree entirely, but I can see the importance of a creative mind. Perhaps instead he is making a point that the tidy yet unremarkable are creatively put to shame by the lowest society has to offer. On either we see a bold statement.

 

Our final, and least comprehensible piece is anyone lived in a pretty how town. I am still not confident that I have a solid understanding of it. It seems to be a story of a few commoners and the futility of life. There is not much more I have to say about it. It would however appear to have a larger message about men and women, about how anyone could be a man, and no one loves just anyone.

 

Anyway, I find the first to be most applicable and easiest to grasp and relate to. They seem to all have decreasingly dreary outlooks in the order I listed them, but all dark nonetheless.There is no time like the present to see evidence of a depressed peoples, and the outright fakery that perpetrates communications. With things like mass and social media, it should be plain to most people. What separates the wheat from the chaff if you will though, is the people who only realize this, and those who act on it to be better.

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Peace out.

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