DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

I’ve become a fan of the Matrix movies. Today, the third and final episode of the trilogy opens in theaters.

From Google News I clicked through to two reviews of the new movie. I find it fascinating that these reviews, the first and second I read, mark the extreme ends of the spectrum. It seems appropriate that a series so grand in scope, so rich in metaphor, so outrageously expensive, inspires equally huge praise and condemnation. I suspect we’ll see no milquetoast reviews… just worship and loathing.

In the UMD Diamondback, reviewer Andrew Italia remarks, “Revolutions is one of the best films I’ve seen in my life.” He writes the new episode is “thematically and philosophically the strongest of the entire trilogy,” and concludes, “the third chapter is a true revolution in filmmaking and closes what will go down in history as one of the most deep, unprecedented and innovative stories in human history.”

Over the top? Let’s contrast this with a review from the Santa Cruz paper: “maddening”, “tiresome”, “humorless”, yadda yadda yadda. It concludes blandly, “Considering this is a film that prattles on about choice, you are entitled to exercise your own choice and see something else.” But what do you expect from a guy named — get this — Baine, writing for a paper called the Sentinel? Ooh, the irony is thick. Best step out for some popcorn.

Me: [pointing] What’s that?

Brother: A concrete ship. Used to be a tourist attraction — had an arcade, snack bar, that sort of thing.

Me: And it’s made of concrete?

Brother: [wry smile] Yes.

Me: Err, were they surprised when it sank?

Read more about the S. S. Palo Alto, which really was a concrete ship… one of twelve built during WWI when steel was scarce.

See also the various aerial photos of the ship at the multiply-wondrous californiacoastline.org website.

To welcome its employees back to the company’s NYC headquarters after 9/11, American Express created in the building lobby an exhibition of 80 portraits by Annie Leibovitz. “The vision of Rewarding Lives is to embody the celebration of human accomplishment and the desire to reach one’s highest potential,” according to an AmEx press release.

Nearly all the accomplished humans in the exhibit are AmEx cardholders. In most cases, their cards are on display as well, with the account numbers tastefully obscured. (Sorry, but nobody is going out for a post-exhibit dinner on Kevin Bacon’s tab.) In one case this has the odd effect of demeaning the subjects: the caption on a portrait of four of the titans of American filmmaking names only Spielberg, Lucas, and Scorsese, apparently because, as Jean Schiffman notes in the NYT Arts Monthly, Francis Ford Coppola “leaves home without it.”

The environment of the exhibit is as much a part of the experience as the portraits. Learn about it at the design firm’s interactive tour.

Some of Leibovitz’ portraits have become as well-known as the celebrities they portray. Seeing so many together in one place induced cultural overload, sort of like playing a Beatles greatest hits album. How can one artist be this good?

My favorite image in the show is Leibovitz’ portrait of Steve Martin. I feel like I should explain why, but, really, the image speaks for itself.

Read more about the exhibit in The Lens of Annie Leibovitz.

See the exhibit through December 1 at Fort Mason in San Francisco.

Santorini is home to a number of significant archeological sites. We visited one on the southern end of the island called Ancient Thira, site of a city that outlived three eras in Greek history (Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine, if you’re keeping score). The names didn’t mean much to me, but the fact that the city was originally settled in 915 BC (2900 years ago!) is a wonder.

We rode a public bus to Fira, the island’s main city, and another bus south to Perissa, a beach town at the southern tip of the crescent. After a few minutes’ uncertainty in locating the trailhead, we struck off for what would turn out to be the top of the nearest mountain, the peak of which is 396m (1300 feet) above sea level.

During the ascent, we had a great view of Perissa. As we zig-zagged up the face of the mountain we could hear loud Greek music coming from somewhere below. This went on for most of the climb. We attributed the volume to some freaky natural resonance or amplification caused by the terrain — there was no way anybody could be playing music so loudly. (Insert ominous cackle here.)

The climb was hard, in full Greek sun and over dusty ground. It only took an hour, but we were feeling prickly and overheated. At least we’ll get to see things nobody else sees, we thought, feeling self-congratulatory about our industrious natures not to mention cardiovascular fitness and name-brand hiking boots. Then I stepped over that last rise to see a parking lot full of rental cars and tourists. And a snack bar.

Truly, it was a portable snack bar, with the hitch attachment on one end, wheels underneath, and (I assume) a hearty population of roaches inside.

Also we saw some enterprising donkey guides bearing a family of heavyset tourists back down the mountain. They didn’t look like they were enjoying the trip. The donkeys, I mean.

The ruins were powerful. I always get a sense of historical vertigo when I see the remains of an ancient civilization. (Ever been to Newgrange?) The idea that people lived here thousands of years ago, for about a thousand years, makes me feel small and temporary. The idea that they lived for 1000 years in, essentially, root cellars, makes me feel vastly superior, not to mention fortunate… at least until I receive my next telephone bill.

My favorite image from the Ancient Thira site is this one of the amphitheater. The view is spectacular. This may have been the most successful community theater in the history of history, because the whole town would have turned up for every performance — just to see the view.

The hike down from the ruins was quick. We followed the music all the way down to the strip in Perissa, where we learned that a cafe called Aquarius hosted a traditional Greek band and professional dancers. The PA system was severe. Actually a better word is “deafening.” We sat across the street, two tables back, and the music was so loud we had to raise our voices to converse. My ears weren’t ringing — my brain was. I don’t know how the people inside the restaurant could stand it.

Then the restaurant next door fired up its PA. They had a band, too! It was a battle of watts. But there was no clear winner, and the losers included everybody within earshot, because now nobody could enjoy either band. The sonic wash of dueling bouzoukis sounded like the first six tracks from The Mask and The Mirror played simultaneously through Deep Purple’s stage rig.

Here’s a picture of the band at the Aquarius. It’s a terrible photo because I was trying to cover both ears while handling the camera. I’m not exaggerating. I went inside the restaurant to pay the bill and had to fight my way through the wall of sound to get to the cashier. I could feel my clothes moving.

I wish they’d not been so loud. The players were incredible, from what I could tell, but the music was too loud to be enjoyed, except maybe from halfway up the mountain.