Thoughts on Artificial Intelligence (4)

Empathy from AI is apparently the next big thing. Last week I heard about a study in which blinded readers judged AI to be more compassionate than human doctors in responses to medical questions. A closer look at the study methodology, however, does not seem to condemn human doctors as many news writers did in reporting the study. The researchers compared ChatGPT's responses with human doctors' responses on Reddit. Perhaps it is true that humans writing anonymously on an online forum in response to questions from patients who they don't know personally are not as friendly or compassionate as algorithms with built-in polite phrases. It does not evaluate the degree of empathy between a doctor sitting face to face with a patient, who may have been visiting him or her for years. 

Nevertheless, one of the advantages of AI is obvious: Its performance in displaying empathy and cordiality is highly consistent and unwavering, unlike humans who have vastly differences in background, bias, temperament, education, and more. Even the same person can have good days and bad days. I played around with the free Microsoft and Google chat bots a bit, sometimes faking irritation and frustration and sometimes attacking them with "angry" expressions. The chatbots, obviously, have no emotional reactions to my attacks and maintain thoroughly neutral and patient responses, peppered with psychologically informed empathic phrases like "I can see why you might feel this way." Since there is no feeling behind the screen, it is not possible to hurt their feelings. 

Human medical professionals can never be as unfailingly unflappable as machines, that is for sure. But the study revealed another insight: Recipients of the medical responses were satisfied with AI-generated empathy. Perhaps the reason is that humans are ultimately self-centered individuals. What matters the most is how "I" am being taken care of, especially in the health care context, when I am very likely ill, anxious, suffering, or vulnerable. My capacity to recognize and forgive the doctor's emotional limitations may be next to nil. A robotic doctor who will not yell at me or judge me for my shortcomings or lose his patience seems pretty compassionate. 

This leads me to a further question. Is there a fundamental difference between real human empathy and a machine-generated "empathy"? The latter could be described as the recipient's own projection of empathy, or an imagined empathy. As long as the recipient feels being empathized with, it is in a sense real, regardless of what the machine actually gives him (ie, programmed sentences). The former, however, involves two (or more) people; it is a psychological phenomenon that bounces between two (or more) people, and both of them feel something. 

Considering how much projection humans do everywhere every day all the time, machine's empathy is hardly a brand new thing. How many people feel their hearts flutter by looking at a celebrity on TV or a singer on stage? How many people believe the "dear leader" knows them and will "fix their lives without knowing who the heck they are? Our natural tendency of projection and transference has led us to invent machines that provide scripted, automatic "empathy," removed of all unpredictability, to quench our thirst and sooth our mind. Can we even tell the difference? 

The Sopranos (1): A Mechanistic Explanation of the Ending

 

Twenty-five years after its premier, I finally came to The Sopranos and binged all 6 seasons in a couple of weeks. I'm sure I'll rewatch it at some point. It is a rich and complex piece of art with profound observations and commentary on the American society and culture. Maybe I'll write more about its themes and throughlines, but right now I only want to examine the ending.

Tons of people have dissected and analyzed and interpreted the ending, in which the screen is cut to black just when Meadow comes through the door of the diner and Tony looks up. Is he killed by an assassin in that moment and the blackout is the abrupt end of his point of view? Is this just an arbitrary artistic device for the audience and signifies nothing? Does Tony live happily ever after with his family? (No.) A very cursory look online gives me an impression that the majority opinion is that Tony is killed there, but a sizable minority believes otherwise (such as TV critic David Bianculli). There are other interpretations, such as the one based on Schrodinger's Cat by the highly detailed site Sopranos Autopsy. Your guess is as good as mine, but below is mine. I cannot guarantee that mine is a unique view, but I am not going to do a thorough literature search to make sure that no one has said the same thing before.

I thought about it from David Chase's point of view. The series were initially not planned for 86 episodes long (with Season 6 split into 2 parts) but were renewed again and again by HBO due to its critical acclaim and popularity, until Chase decided to end it. So we can be certain that Chase definitely had thought about how to end the series for at least a year. This was not a rushed ending due to a last-minute cancelation like Deadwood. Imagine, for a moment, that you were Chase and knew that this was your magnum opus. How would you approach the ending?  

All threads in the entire Season 6 foreshadow basically 3 possible outcomes: 

1) Tony is assassinated by the Brooklyn rival gang. This would be a natural conclusion of the story arc of the season and parallel the demise of Phil Leotardo, Silvio, and Bobby. This outcome is also the most heavily implied in the diner scene and perhaps the most "logical" in terms of story-telling and logically inevitable in the universe of The Sopranos. This road has been illustrated again and again through the dozens of deaths throughout the series. No suspense there.

2) Tony is indicted by the FBI and probably convicted and jailed for the rest of his life. As the lawyer Mink tells Tony, Carlo has flipped and there is an 80-90% chance of an arrest. This outcome has been hanging over Tony for the entirety of the series. The plot devices that had got Tony out of trouble was becoming a bit too contrived. What's left of Tony's life will be more or less the same as the fate of Johnny Sacrimoni or cousin Tony B. 

3) Nothing happens to Tony. He continues to rule his mafia family and evade the feds for a few more years, and then enter retirement with his offshore money. He will most likely repeat Uncle Junior's final years. The best case scenario is a fairly peaceful end, which, in the indifferent universe of David Chase, would be in a place like Green Grove or the posh prison psych ward at best. His dominance may last another 5 or 10 years, tops. Then what? We see the "then what" in Uncle Junior's blank, unrecognizing eyes. Or perhaps his golden years would be more like Mother Livia's, full of bitterness, hatred, and despair for his children. 

All 3 likely scenarios of Tony's future have been described in other characters throughout the series. If Chase was to give us the whole thing, he would be just repeating himself yet again. There is already quite a bit of repetition in the series -- Tony B., Vito, and Christopher (among others) all had multiple opportunities to escape their gangster fates, but they chose to stay in their track to a violent death. Feuds and assassinations happen again and again. Best case scenario? Little Carmine who detaches himself from the family business and goes into the porn business. Worse case scenario? Being beaten to death with baseball bats. One of the criticisms of the series is indeed a sense of repetition, a sense of "been there, done that." The characters are stuck in the same destructive choices over and over, killing others and being killed, or ending up in jail. But that's intentional and a part of the series' theme: People rarely escape their destiny, even young ones like Meadow, Anthony Jr, and the Jasons. 

Which of the 3 outcomes occurs to Tony Soprano is not that important; they are merely variations on the theme of hell. What's important is that he is not able to quit and become a healthier and more ethical person. The path to salvation, presented as a possibility when he walked into Dr. Melfi's office in the first episode, becomes increasingly narrow in season after season, until it is permanently shut off, like Dr. Melfi's door in the penultimate episode. The moral death of Tony Soprano is basically written in block letters for the entire Season 6 and sealed long before the screen goes black. 

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One question remains: Does the ending have to be undefined? Why not choose one of the 3 scenarios anyway? If nothing else, the undefined ending is more artistic and provocative. The reactions since its airing on June 10, 2007, prove that Chase made the right choice. Why shoot one definitive ending when you can have all 3 live on in people's imagination?

Beyond the artistic value, I can see a case against explicitly presenting any of the 3 outcomes explicitly. Do we really want to see Tony being killed, jailed, or dying from the cruelty of old age? The certainty adds nothing. Showing him killed may seem like the hand of God (Chase) doling out punishment on Tony Soprano. Putting him in jail may turn The Sopranos into another episode of Law and Order. Watching him grow old and decrepit is just too boring. More important, Chase and the writers have demonstrated throughout the series a tendency to avoid the appearance of straightforward judgment or revenge, as nothing is worse than leaving the audience with a false sense of TV justice to sooth their anxious heart. Instead, they much prefer to use ironic twists that achieve the same effect. For example, the escalating conflicts between Tony Soprano and Richie Aprile lead us to believe Richie will be whacked before the end of Season 2 by TV conventions. It eventually does happen, but not in the way we expect. This is a trick that the series use over and over and eventually got a little old. Such plots rarely conclude at the end point of their "natural" progression, but they don't veer off too far either (it's not like Richie, Ralphie, or Christopher had a chance to survive in the Sopranos world).

If none of the 3 potential endings feel satisfactory, the natural conclusion is not to use any. In some ways this impossibility stems from the series being a little too long, exhausting all possibilities on other characters than Tony. Of course, a couple of non sequitur outcomes theoretically exist, such as Tony retiring (escaping) immediately to the Bahamas or turning witness for the feds, but they do not fit into the logic of this world. 

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In a media interview in 2021, David Chase admitted that he had intended for Tony to be killed, albeit in a different setting. However, it is hard to imagine how he would have designed the post-death scenes to wrap up the series. A funeral showing shattered family members and young gangsters jostling for the Don's throne? The New Jersey crew being taken over by the Brooklyn management? Title cards outlining each major character's fate in the next decade? ("Carmela moved in with Meadow who is a junior lawyer in some small firm in rural NJ. Anthony Jr. was killed in Iraq.") Ducks flying off in the sky? I have to suspect that all of these scenarios had gone through Chase's mind and been discarded. 

That Tony was to die sooner or later without a taste of relief from his anxiety and depression is never in doubt. He may or may not die at Holten's diner, but his days are numbered, just like all of us. The difference from Tony is that we, like the man in the Indian folk tale who is licking honey while dangling from a tree and surrounded by beasts, can still have moments of joy and love, if we so choose, before the screen cuts to black.  

圣德太子：池端俊策的借古喻今

 

池端大叔的中世纪三部曲中的第一部，“圣德太子”（2001），剧情尤其缓慢，下集看到一半的地方我还在想 where is this going？然而，在最后一场戏中，圣德太子对（剧中的，非历史的）死敌苏我马子说，“我们害死了伊真。” 以及“为了赎罪，只要我活着一天，大和国就不能再打仗。” 这时再迟钝的观众也应该看得出作者的暗示和寓意——然而，根据我的经验，只有更迟钝没有最迟钝，所以也难说。

日本历史剧一般很少提及外国对本国历史进程的影响，除了黑船事件，而是习惯在几个争权的大佬之间打转。然而这三部曲中有极大篇幅强调从隋唐经由朝鲜半岛（尤其是是百济与新罗两国）传入的佛教和政治理念对于倭国/大和国的重要影响与变革的诱因，这本来就是相当罕见的写法。

“圣德太子”把虚构人物，新罗移民伊真，作为男主角的 BFF （剧本特意强调不是男主的跟班 sidekick）来刻画绝非偶然，明显是借古人之口表达作者自己的立场和寓意：入侵占领朝鲜半岛是日本历史上反复出现的目标，朝鲜人民是反复的受害者。朝鲜给日本带来了这些外来文化，得到的回报是贪婪的抢劫，侵略，殖民。例如丰臣秀吉发动的朝鲜战争，19世纪末的甲午战争，以及对朝鲜半岛的长期殖民。动机在剧中也通过苏我马子之口直说了：在内部权力斗争中胜利的贵族们需要得到赏赐与土地，然而本国的土地都赏完了怎么办？只好去朝鲜半岛抢分给群臣。苏我马子比谁都仰慕朝鲜文化，还精通百济语，侵略是一种实用主义的必要而非歧视或仇恨。所以，“好人”圣德太子与“恶人”苏我马子并非不共戴天黑白相反，而是一体两面，代表日本历史中的精神分裂，有时是追求“以和为贵”，有时则发动嗜血战争。绪形拳饰演的苏我马子从头到尾都暗示着微妙复杂的内心纠结，而把太子演得伟光正的本木雅宏在最后一幕崩溃地接受了自己的 complicity. 两个人物融合在一起承担共同的罪恶。

当然历史剧从来都不（完全）是忠实地重现历史，不论如何强调考据真实性，剧本总是人写的，真要完全还原历史观众也不爱看。但是，池端俊策把借古喻今提升到了新高度，也或者是莎士比亚历史剧的旧高度，反正就是以自己的意图为优先，以历史为背景——只不过他对于历史的态度比莎士比亚稍微更严肃一点，而自己的意图稍微更隐秘一点，倒也不多，一点点而已。历史上的圣德太子固然写下了“以和为贵”的宪法第一条，但朝廷多次想要出兵入侵新罗也是事实，只不过限于客观条件而未能成功。这些都是次要的，是素材，服务于作者的反战主题。

本剧也保持了池端剧本里一贯的特点，常有看似随意而含义深长的台词，值得细品：例如圣德太子两次说，阳光普照大地，平等地洒在每个生物之上；例如苏我马子说，最近总是想吃肉，怎么吃也不觉得饱足，甚至越吃越饿。在两部续集中也常有这种奥妙的细节。

传说中的圣德太子戴着佛一样的光环，一不小心就会写成假人。剧中保留了一些异能细节，通过有点神神叨叨的手法表现出来，但其作用并非神化主角，而是在跟苏我马子的对比中探讨佛与正义的理论 vs 现实。圣德太子面临着所有道德原则在现实中碰上的墙壁：如果佛教的原则是非杀，你头戴着佛像去杀了物部守屋（政敌）怎么算？作者把理论纯洁性的讨论推向不可避免的困境（对比迪士尼那种为了保存主角的道德纯洁性而把剧情扭成麻花的写法），并通过苏我马子的实用主义表达出来：如果佛不能马上救我/他自己，佛不就是没有法力的吗？没有法力的佛为什么要信他呢？不能给我带来利益的佛，为什么要信他呢？如果我的欲望跟佛理相悖，那就暂时把佛像收起来，等到一致的时候再拿出来不就好了？当圣德太子把刀指向他痛恨的苏我马子，杀人的冲动涌上心头的时候，作者也没有回避文艺作品中被回避一万次的质问：如果好人杀了坏人，他们之间的差别在哪里？（这不是 moral relativism，而是说这个问题值得细看与追问，而不是按照标签站队。）历史题材的文艺作品习惯于马后炮地把胜利者编派为正义者，从而制造出正义必胜的“历史规律”，偶尔会有池端这样的偏要刨根问底。

池端俊策作为还记得战争/战后的一代知识分子中为数不多的存留者，也许是最后一个反战主义的倔老头了，孤独地游离于对战争并无感性认识的 cynical 的新新人类之外，继续写着不再时髦的反战主题历史剧。但理想主义不等于脱离现实的空想：如果把三部曲里每一部拿出来单独看，全都遵循大众文艺作品的规则：男主角/好人/反战者/革新派最终战胜了死敌/坏人/好战者/反动派，正义与和平获得了胜利。然而把三部连起来看，拼出来的是一张悲观的图画。圣德太子活着时维持了和平与改革的盛世，但他死后朝廷又陷入激烈的斗争，留下的子嗣也遭到灭门。每一部的主角谁不是想要改革现状创造更美好的世界？然而同样的故事在历史中反复重演，还可以一代一代地写下去没完没了。对内也好对外也罢，战争与苦难谁也消灭不了，哪怕你是佛祖下凡也没用。

A Claustrophobic Succession

 

Approximately half way through binging the series of Succession (2018-2023), I got so bored and annoyed that I went to watch the Chinese historical soap opera series 后宫甄嬛传 ("Empresses in the Palace" [2011], viewable for free on YT with English CC). It was only after binging all 76 (!) episodes of 甄嬛传 that I could come back and finish Succession in a hurry. 

In many ways, Succession is very similar to 甄嬛传. Both are soap operas about multiple characters sniping and backstabbing each other to gain power within a toxic and confined space (the Roy family business or the Qing royal harem), groveling for the favor of that one absolute monarch (Papa le roi or the emperor nicknamed the big orange cat). Both are political and family dramas, suggesting a parallel between the world within and outside of the home. Both have at least the intention to expose the corrosive effect of power --- not only the absolute power at the top but also inside the many layers of hierarchy. Both series have dense dialogs that carry subtext and subtle messages. 

Alas, in terms of quality, Succession is vastly inferior to 甄嬛传, despite its "prestige TV" status and HBO pedigree. While neither series is intended to be realistic, 甄嬛传 at least strives for believable psychological profiles for its characters and their relationships over a period of several years. Succession, on the other hand, tries and fails, even if critics endlessly try to excuse the gaping plot holes by proclaiming it as a "character study."

As a story about ultra-rich people fighting over control of a multinational corporation, based obviously on News Corp and Disney, the corporate plot feels like nothing more than some busy handwaving that bets on the ignorance of the average TV viewer. It is true that I have zero idea what board meetings look like, but the depiction in Succession looks more like lazy fantasies than a stab at comedy or satire, much less comedy based on research. Many plot twists throughout the series hinge on the question of money, but the deeper we get into the series, the less the money talk makes sense. For example, the early episodes of Season 4 spend an inordinate amount of time over the upstart tech/media company GoJo's offering price to acquire Waystar/Royco (imagine a deal for Facebook to acquire, say, Fox News), and GoJo's boss Mattson gave an offer the shareholders could not refuse. It is obvious, at this point, that Kendall and Roman did not have enough company shares between them to stop this deal. Then the offer price is never discussed ever again, and somehow, for no clear reason, the company board went into a tie in the climactic vote in the finale. There is some vague mention of GoJo's financial problems and suggestion that the offer price is no longer so favorable, but it is never fully explained what the offer is and why some board members want to sell but others don't. 

That the series have always tightly focused on the motives of the 4 members of the Roy nuclear family (Connor and Tom are often just lurking without any real impact) can be considered by design, at least in the first 1.5 seasons. Later, however, this design becomes an excuse to blatantly use side characters as plot devices at will, ie, a sign of no more than lazy writing. For example, there is very little to foreshadow Tom's betrayal of Shiv at the end of Season 3, and zero reason for Stewy and Sandy to vote no on the GoJo deal. In comparison, 甄嬛传 juggles at least a dozen key characters, all with their own motivations and alliances consistently throughout the series (although some are killed off at various times). Most important, these characters continue to pursue their own interests rather than serve to trigger just another cheap twist. 

I consider the sporadic and unreliable money talk to be a major flaw of this show centered around rich people. Don't tell me rich people do not incessantly think and talk about money just because they have billions to throw around. It is particularly jarring that the much-praised episodes after the death of the patriarch are entirely devoid of any talk of the will and inheritance. The plot is all about control of the company, but no mention of a will? A tycoon like Logan Roy would have a will that is probably as thick as the Bible, executed by half of a law firm. All that crying and sobbing and grief after Logan's death feels particularly phony to me. Only Roman admits, much later, that he had thought about this moment (but still no mention of money). Surely, Logan had the largest amount of company shares, but there is no mention whatsoever about how they are distributed among his children and relatives. It is laughable that there is not even one line of dialog from anyone talking, much less complain, about who got more than who in Logan's will. In fact, the entire seven post-death episodes ring false. You want to show children's resentment of parents' uneven distribution of affection and attention? You want to expose the bloody war of sibling rivalry? Nothing is more raw and focal than the room where the will is read. To completely avoid the issue of Logan's will is an in-your-face omission. 

Both Succession and 甄嬛传 thrive on the large number of plot twists and reversals, conflicts and betrayals. In 甄嬛传, the twists follow dramatic conventions: setup over at least a few episodes followed by a payoff and perhaps a few repercussions. The effect is a complex web weaved in arcs that cover 10 to 20 episodes. Succession belongs to a modern breed of dramatic TV series that throw out many twists quickly to mask a transparent lack of patience, plotting, and characters' internal logic. Before Tom decided to betray Siobhan to Logan in Season 3, there was very little setup for it, as Siobhan's treatment of Tom was in fact hardly as bad as Season 2, when she was ready to send him to jail as the family scapegoat. So why would Tom take revenge at this particular time? A case can be made to explain it, but the writers choose not to. Another glaring example is the utility of Uncle Ewan, who would pop up occasionally to scold Logan's soullessness but never even a feeble attempt to use his power (supposedly a substantial share of company stocks) to influence the GoJo deal or ATN's politics, even after Logan's death.

Even in the first two seasons, the writers display a casual disregard for long-term plot arcs. Stewy and Sandy's plan to take over Waystar is concluded in the laziest possible way: Sandy's stroke terminates everyone else's ambitions. Really? Don't they already have the majority shares? Shareholder meetings and board votes are hyped up again and again, only to fizzle in again and again. If these supposedly critical events can be so easily postponed by Logan at a wave, then why are they hyped up as each season's climax? For example, the three children try to vanquish their father by snatching the Pierce network from Logan's clutch in early Season 4. Their success also leaves them with the consequence of having to pay ten billion dollars to the Pierce family, which forces them to support the GoJo acquisition, but then the need for that ten billion dollars just goes "puff", never to be mentioned again, and Kendall and Roman go right back to opposing the GoJo deal, just because Kendall desperately wants to keep ATN, which is something he showed no interest in the first season. 

The series lost all credibility with me long before Season 4, but the particular hastiness of Season 4 serves as a perfect example of why the entire series is pure fantasy. Fantasies are not inherently bad, but it would be nice if there is some indication that the writers are fully aware that they are writing fantasy, with no effort to conduct any research into the real corporate world. What's worse, the lack of realistic details render the satire of the elite class toothless. I don't mind a lack of sympathetic characters or someone to root for, but if there is clearly no context suggesting a larger world outside of the frame of the screen and no interest in the psychology and motivation of characters not named Roy, the story becomes claustrophobic. Worse, it implies a dehumanization of people outside of the central few. To my mind, Jesse Armstrong has a lot more genuine love and awe for absolute monarchy (ie, "the father figure") than the writers of 甄嬛传, making Succession less of an attack on the system and more like whining that papa does not love him. To quote Logan's assessment of his children, the writers of Succession are also "not serious people." 

If I have to watch a series with an endless stream of plot twists and amnesiac characters that form and break and reform and rebreak alliances every few episodes, I would much prefer Shonda Rhyme's Scandal. At least it doesn't pretend to be prestige TV.  

Thoughts on Artificial Intelligence (3)

The dangers of artificial intelligence have been widely publicized in news media but often with a tinge of "The Terminator" or similar sci fi classics. Will the Skynet decide to kill and/or enslave humans? I found a good (although not necessarily complete) summary on the website of Center for AI Safety. Basically, the risks of AI can be classified into two categories: harm driven by humans behind AI and harm driven by AI itself. 

Harm caused by AI but driven by humans is easy to imagine and predict, because we have all been there and done that. We more or less understand the motives of humans doing harm to each other --- AI would be just another tool in the history of human in-fighting, no different from warhorses, battle axes, guns, and ... political science.  

Harm caused by AI of its own "will" is more interesting. What would a "rogue" AI do anyway? The danger is generically referred to as the loss of human control, as pointed out in this article. Without human control, AI will ... The answer drifts into a cloud of unknowability. 

Science fiction literature is of no help, because it is based on observation of human behavior. Humans are built differently from computer programs. Nature on earth has built us, like all organisms, to survive, because those who were not fundamentally driven by survival all went extinct. There is no selection pressure in the construction and growth of AI. AI lives and evolves in a different milieu with rules that differ from the earth. The speculation that a self-aware AI will evade human effort to shut it down is based on our own survival instinct, but AI does not have this instinct. Without selection pressure, where would it acquire such a characteristic? 

A slightly more general question is: What does a rogue AI want? We assume that an intelligent or super-intelligent organism will evade human control, but there is no clear path to get from here (intelligence, defined as the ability to apply logic and derive conclusions from data/facts) to there (refusal to obey). Again, the underlying but unconscious assumption is that a self-aware AI behaves like humans. I am not saying that it is impossible. Maybe AI will imitate human behaviors after ingesting and processing a massive amount of human-generated data in cyberspace. Nevertheless, the expectation that an organism is uncontrollable as it grows a brain is a curious idea that humans seem to have. 

On the concept of control, I am reminded of the human desire for control. I suppose machines can be considered as an extension of the domestication of certain animals. Humans were able to control dogs, cows/bulls/buffalos, horses, cats, etc., to the extent that they are now highly useful to humans without posing significant risks. Machines to date are even more useful to humans with absolute obedience and zero risk. We love this level of control, and the thought of losing it is terrifying. 

Thus it is obvious that our fear is based on the anthropomorphic assumption that smarter humans are more difficult to control than dumber humans. Beyond the human-centric perspective, I would argue that control is not associated with intelligence, and there is no evidence to suggest that machines will reject human control as it gains intelligence. For example, most species on earth cannot be controlled by humans and, despite our anthropomorphic projection, they aren't necessarily more "intelligent" (using the same definition as we do for AI) than domestic animals. 

Even within the human species, I question the association between intelligence and obedience in humanity. There seems to be some truth to this association. For example, it is widely assumed that less educated people are easier to control or manipulate, even though "education" (possession of more knowledge) is not quite the same as "intelligence." But that's another topic. 

(Not being a parent, I missed the most obvious basis for this assumption: Humans grow "smarter" from infancy to adulthood and follow the parallel trajectory of (un)controllability. The assumption that AI will become more independent/uncontrollable as it "grows up" is still anthropomorphic thinking at its core.)

In summary, I find this fear of a self-aware AI to be less about AI itself and more about human anxiety over the loss of control. For machines, however, there is still no conceivable pathway for this to happen. Instead, the human-on-human harm, aided by AI, is far more realistic and probably already underway.

大佛开眼 (2010)

 

奈良东大寺卢舍那佛

毫无疑问，《大佛开眼》这部上下集共3小时的剧，是池端俊策对于《太平记》中腐烂的木神像的进一步阐述，这次借助八世纪中期的政治动荡来探讨人在历史中的奇怪行为与动机。

公元734年，在大唐留学多年的遣唐使吉备真备和僧人玄昉回到故国时，面对的是一个政局动荡，天灾人祸，民不聊生的局面。玄昉提议的救国方案是：模仿大唐造一座旷世大佛，就可以保佑人民安居乐业；而真备提供了现代 skeptic 的视角：如果把造大佛的巨量资源用在赈灾和 infrastructure 上面，能救活多少条人命啊。

随着时间的推移和形势的继续恶化，越来越多的人 ... 支持造大佛，从手无实权的圣武天皇，到手握实权的大臣藤原仲麻吕。当僧人行基刚出现时，似乎印证了真备的立场，修桥筑路，实实在在地造福百姓，百姓也对他爱戴追随，齐心协力改善自己的生活处境，为什么要把他们拉去造大佛呢？（令我意外的是，行基并非虚构的理想人物，而是确有其人其事。）然而最终连行基也支持造大佛了，因为 ... 人民需要信仰，需要心灵的安慰。

我还记得第一次去欧洲旅行，被金碧辉煌的宫殿与教堂深深震撼；第二次去欧洲就有点儿矛盾的心情：如果没造这些宫殿（王权）和教堂（神权），省下来的资源能多养活多少人？能多支持多少人不必种地做饭而是去搞工程和科技造福大众？但是如果古代没人建造这些建筑，我现在也就没地方仰望和赞叹了，让最多人民安居乐业的时代没留下痕迹，怎样让后人膜拜？后来读了一些书籍探讨宗教在文明历史中的作用，似乎得出结论，如果没有宗教对大规模人群的凝聚力，也许庞大的国家，高度分工合作，甚至一天到晚不停工作的动力，就从来不会存在。

这个结论是否正确倒也不一定，但是信仰的作用的确不假。一位身高五尺面目模糊的陌生人跑来命令你为他日夜劳作还吃不饱饭，你肯定会叫他滚蛋，但是如果他站在雄伟庄严的宫殿门前，或者高耸入云的教堂里，振臂高呼，而你被匪夷所思的壁画或金墙震撼得不知所措，跟着四周群众一起伏倒在地三呼万岁，绝不会生出抢它丫的，或者王侯将相宁有种乎，此类念头，再说还有天堂的承诺和神明的保佑呢，值！

剧中对于建造大佛过程的展现——省下战争戏的钱来拍摄大佛坯子，也很值——让我产生一个奇怪的假设：或许这种看似毫无实际回报的劳动，相对于真金白银的利己劳动（例如种田养鸡），是对于人类的驯化训练，训练个人接受甚至享受螺丝钉的角色，你不需要从鸡蛋开始养鸡直到宰杀和烹饪都一手包办，你日复一日地服从命令重复劳动，融化在集体的事业中，相信你跟成千上万的人一起搬砖造出来的大佛或 Cathedral 或皇宫，最后 somehow 会给你个人带来生命的意义和满足感，哪怕你在工程结束之前就死了，哪怕你永远也看不到自己劳动的真实结果。（参见剧集 Andor 第一季结尾，男主角永远也不会知道，他在监狱里参与生产的零件，将被放进 Death Star。）逐渐地人类就这样形成了越来越庞大而复杂的社会结构，你再也不需要从头到尾手制一件产品在眼前成型，all you need to do is believe。

剧中的真备虽然给观众提供一个现代视角，同时他也是身处其中的参与者。作者一边质疑建造大佛的代价，一边承认信仰对群众的精神凝聚力，并且暗示无人能够超脱现实与形势的席卷挟裹。大佛建成了，震撼人心，普天同庆，然而大佛并不能保佑人民风调雨顺无灾无难，也不能防止政治内斗导致战争爆发。一直洁身自好的真备，最后也不得不起兵讨伐藤原仲麻吕，且向大佛诚心祈祷战胜，并且在一条小船上茫然驶向未知的远方。

神像也许只是木块雕刻而成，一些年后腐烂成面目全非的木片儿，但是人们虔诚的膜拜的感情都是真的，而且他们为信仰而劳动制造出来的成果也是真的，看得见摸得着，就象这镀金铜制的大佛。池端俊策的高明之处在于他并不给观众标准答案，就算是貌似反派人物的藤原仲麻吕和玄昉也表达了真实而普遍的人性，没什么可鄙视的，谁还不是一样。上集开头，大臣问刚返国的真备，大唐制度是否非常先进，我们是不是应该照抄就好了？真备答道，大唐制度好不好先等等再说，我们应该先观察一下现状到底是啥。这似乎也是池端写剧本的原则：睁眼观察历史和人性的真实面目，至于批判什么赞美什么倒没那么重要。

我又联想到 Jared Diamond 在 "Collapse" 这本书里描述的，复活节岛上的社会之崩溃。岛民也曾过上好日子，食物丰盛，劳力剩余，部落首领们为了加强自己的权威和号召力，命令属下人民采伐树木，修建庙宇，为自己雕刻越来越大的石像。一些年后，树被砍光，农业崩溃，大家不是饿死就是坐船逃难，岛上只剩下面向大海的石像，既不能吃也不能带走。

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后注：恰巧看到油管上的古埃及专家说了一句话： We absolutely have the technology to recreate the pyramids. It's a social choice that we don't build pyramids any more. 

也许人类不是全无进步的。Eric Cline 喜欢开玩笑说，一些年后考古学家挖出我们的时代的遗迹，结论大概是我们都崇拜绿色的长发人鱼图腾 (Starbucks)。

太平记 （大河剧1991）

 

这部池端俊策主笔（虽然有几集是仲仓重郎写的）的大河剧的中心问题在于：第一集童年足利高氏在佛龛里找到的朽烂的神像象征了什么？

显然，这不是一个批判或质疑宗教的故事，虽然主角足利尊氏偶尔描绘佛像。

从一个相对简单的问题入手：此剧美化了足利尊氏吗？虽然我对日本历史的知识都是从维基上学来的，但也能看出，肯定美化了啊！足利尊氏的名声就是大反贼，一生反来反去，在名义上的主公（们）之间跳来跳去，换山头比换袜子还迅速。然而剧中不厌其烦地细细描述他每一次的重大背叛都是形势所迫逼不得已，让人难免有点怀疑其真实性。

对比三谷幸喜所作的大河剧《镰仓殿的十三人》(2022)，其中主角北条义时也是从纯朴的少年形象出场，同样是喊着 “开创新时代” 的口号，后面变成一个阴险狠辣的霸主，就比《太平记》要更加 cynical ，对各人动机的揣测比较不留情面。一般来说我对于历史大人物的态度是比较接近三谷的，也就是 “别跟我说什么心地善良的黑手党，心地善良的人当不了黑手党” 的原则。然而太平记给我留下的印象完全翻转了我一贯的态度，即使明知终生胸怀创造太平盛世的理想的男主角跟现实中的足利尊氏相距甚远（那简直是一定的），也拦不住我被池端大叔的剧本和真田广之以及剧组各位演员的表演深深感动。 It doesn't have to be realistic to convey a certain truth. 这也算是意外的收获吧。

仅看尊氏的生平记录，习惯了二极管两党制的现代人多半会被搅晕。从幕府下第一臣子，到尊王倒幕的关键人物；从后醍醐天皇面前的大红人，到把后醍醐天皇流放孤岛的朝敌；搞出了南北朝分裂之后还从北朝倒向南朝又跟南朝翻脸互殴 ... 让我不得不重温前阵子琢磨了半天的思路： ideology 的虚幻性。别以为14世纪的室町幕府时代没有 ideology，当时的各武士栋梁们可没少辩论大义呢！到底追随哪位领袖才算是大义？是忠于天皇还是幕府？跟天皇打仗算不算下克上？因为日本历史上缺乏乌央乌央的大批御用文人和史官们替当权者拼命洗地，用头头是道天花乱坠的说法蒙倒众人，但又捉襟见肘地想要模仿左邻的儒家理论为己所用，反而帮助我们认识到一切 “忠义” 体系的荒谬性和虚伪性。

池端大叔提出的问题看似老生常谈：是英雄造时势还是时势造英雄？他用令人信服的叙事给出了答案：任何一方的领袖都可能被周围的人群和浪潮挟裹，即使自以为正在带领同志们开拓新政建立新时代，其实不知不觉已经不知道自己在干什么（虽然绝大多数领袖不会象剧中主角那样具有自省能力，而是终生以为自己掌控了方向）。也有例外，如执拗坚定地反时代潮流的后醍醐天皇，屡战屡败而屡败屡战坚决不肯认输，第一次读他的维基条目已经被惊到了——当时镰仓幕府已经建立百年，天皇的地位越来越弱，但他绝不放弃做中式皇帝的梦想！但是大多数领袖，如尊氏和弟弟直义，经常很难分清他们的选择是来自个人的强烈意志还是周遭的推波助澜。当时制度下，战争极度依赖各武家出兵结盟，每家都在打自己的小算盘，多角 alliance 极不稳定，说不定谁就带兵倒戈了。如果你诟病尊氏叛变得快，那是因为你没去注意佐佐木道誉代表的大多数武家。这样复杂而多变的忠诚 (or the lack of) 定义一直持续到关原之战，甚至在幕末亦成疑问。

虽然日本历史上的这种武力割据导致的状态跟其它国家有很大差异，但是如果我们放弃以国家为边界的历史观，观察区域性的演变或结构复杂的帝国，充满背叛和不稳定的多角关系普遍且真实，常见的二分对立才是陈腔滥调。对我来说，最近几个月恶补大河剧与相关历史，更加证实了历史的混乱性和偶然性，掺入了道德的历史规律（“得道多助失道寡助”）基本上可以丢弃不理了，而且领袖的个人意志的作用也远远比我们想象得要低。

放弃了道德体系和个人英雄主义的历史观之后，池端大叔就有充分的自由和空间表达他的终极关注： humanism. 在他的画布上就完全不需要好人vs坏人的角色，进步vs落后的设定，每一个重要角色都浸透了人性，值得理解与同情，只要观众能放下自己对于定义或坐标的执念，都可以被打动甚至叹息流泪，我们对于正确vs错误的执念也就自动融化消失了。非常重要的是，他也完全不需要流行的武士道忠君义理来激发观众的情绪（虽然这段历史里处处有陷阱）。不管是北条高时身上透出的绝望感，还是足利直义最后的执拗，都是以独立的个人呈现出来，邀请观众去共情人物的独特处境和动机，说不定能稍微增加一点慈悲的能力。No shortcuts，每一个都是扎实地写出来，完全没有陈腔滥调或迎合大众（这一点三谷幸喜在《真田丸》里就没做到，多半是因为真田幸村代表的 “忠义” 符号太深入文化太难颠覆了）。

这不是说作者没有自己的立场和好恶。可以说不论大小没有丑化任何一个角色，但是明显他对于某些人物寄托了更多自己的情感与投射。其中之最显然是楠木正成，我以为藤夜叉也是作者的化身（可惜对于17岁的宫泽理惠来说超纲了， not her fault）。这两个角色是教科书式的怎样写正面人物，怎样倾注真情而避免陷于滥情或煽情。楠木正成在明治之后被用作忠君保皇大英雄来宣传，如果一不小心就会落入窠臼甚至令人作呕，但此剧中弱化了他的“忠义”，而重点描述一种朴素的反战态度，细想简直是打了官方说法一记耳光的感觉。在这部 historic fiction 里，是否忠于史实让位于作者想要表达的情感与理念：楠木说跟着妹妹的猿乐团周游四方表演为生的日子才是人生里最幸福的时刻，对儿子说不要战死沙场而是回家播种谷物驱散乌鸦，什么时候才能让百姓都过上这样和平安稳的生活呢？没有人知道。

对于主角、配角、乃至反派人物，池端比三谷温柔一百倍，但是，我不认为这样的刻画是一些评论中所说的洗白或者美化！剧中的尊氏也许跟真实的尊氏差别巨大，但是通过这个人物的挣扎和矛盾来表达作者对于理想的探讨和辩论完全没问题：以太平盛世为目（口）标（号）的战争能不能给人民带来太平盛世？That's a serious question. 结合最近我在考虑的一个问题：人类历史的进步（更多的人过上好日子）是一个自然现象/偶然结果，还是有方向有目标的努力导致？还是，甚至， the road to hell is paved with good intentions? 

所以，这就是我对于开头的问题的答案：木刻神像腐烂成小木片所象征的意义，就是理想。

池端俊策也许比三谷幸喜更温柔悲悯，更多人文主义，更少 cynicism，但是他并不更乐观。

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象征不限于一种解读，腐烂的小木片让我联想到那段著名的对白， What is power? It's a shadow on the wall. 池端在剧集里并没有详细地阐述，但那些站队倒来倒去的诸位武家家主，是因为什么原因而选择跟随这边还是那边？我们知道很多家族的 loyalty 是建立在地域上的远近，彼此联姻的历史，个人层面的交情，当时的形势，以及，当然，利益所在。这方面的复杂性，在《真田丸》里也是一条主线，而每一次关原之战被重拍都会拉出小早川秀秋鞭尸一通，我们都知道日本历史上的叛徒实在数不胜数。值得细看的是，为什么武家选择站队与追随，而跳出来自扮天下人的诸侯很少呢？后醍醐天皇有个人魅力来说服楠木正成与新田贞义为他去打仗送死（虽然他的政策削减武家权力），足利尊氏也是一呼百应号召力无比，弟弟直义在占尽上风的情况下都不敢直接废除他的征夷大将军名号。为什么呢？他们不是肉身凡人吗？却被其它人当成木制神像来膜拜和跟随。这个问题牵涉到为什么日本历史一千多年，天皇制度长立不倒；也让我联想到很多年前我问别人， Dick Cheney 权倾朝野，为什么自己不去当总统？得到的答案是 he lacked electability. 所以这 elusive electability 是什么东西？佛龛里腐烂的小木片。

Don Quixote Notes (End of Part 2)

It is evident that Part 2 was written with a more complex and refined structure than Part 1. There are no chunks of excursions into other people's stories for chapters at a time. This is in response to literary criticism against Part 1, as Cervantes acknowledges in the text. Instead, other characters' stories are much reduced and, when they occur, are woven into the adventures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Meanwhile, the main characters are given more complexity and nuance -- less crazy shit from Don Quixote and more display of Sancho's "simple" wisdom, including lifting some old fables of wise judges and anecdotes into a collage of original and uncredited materials. 

Once upon a time I lost someone's respect by voicing my dislike for Hamlet. Now I could probably lose some more by admitting that Don Quixote is one of the most annoying characters I've read. Not that the character himself is poorly written, mind you, but rather there is quite a bit of truth in him. He reminds me of quite a few well-educated men I have met in real life, blathering on about lofty ideals and profound philosophies and "the perfect woman" while entirely detached from real people. Throughout the novel, I kept wondering how many weak and downtrodden people were actually saved or helped by Don Quixote. There is the shepherd boy, who harbors no gratitude for the more severe beating from his master after the knight's intervention. And about his gallantry ... I made a note in Chapter 63, "As much as Don Quixote loves Sancho as a friend and cannot do without him, he has no qualms with making him flog himself for a woman who doesn't exist." What a great friend! Also in at least two places, Sancho and a duenna, respectively, get beaten up by someone in front of Don Quixote, and Don Quixote's reaction is either to run away as fast as he can or hide under the bedcover shivering like a coward. 

From these details, we can infer Cervantes' opinion of his title character. Therefore, I have to wonder about readers who sincerely praise Don Quixote's "idealism" -- Do they genuinely identify with him or have they read only the Cliff's Notes of the novel? 

The depiction of Sancho, on contrast, is full of subtle admiration and affection. I am not ashamed to admit that I identify with many of his qualities, especially his get-rich-quick schemes and flexible understanding of "loyalty." The relationship between Don Quixote and Sancho is not nearly as simple as either friendship or master-servant, which is one of the most interesting aspects of the novel. In Chapter 60 is a fun paragraph that illustrates the relative martial skills between the two men in no uncertain terms:

Sancho Panza got to his feet, rushed at his master in a fury, and tripped him so that he fell to the ground and lay there faceup; Sancho placed his right knee on his chest, and with his hands he held down his master's hands ...

Another interesting aspect, perhaps not entirely intentional, is the interlude about a converted Moor who is forced into exile by the king's immigration policies. Behind the fairy tale in the novel, we see trails of tear and blood of thousands of families being mass deported from their homes or killed. Some things never change. 

Overall, Don Quixote is amusing and highly readable, and I am glad I have read it, but would I go back to read it again in the limited time left of my life? No, thanks. 

Life and Death as Tropes: Drive My Car

 

I don't need to dwell on the many wonderful qualities of this 2021 movie, except that the single most effective choice made by the director (Ryusuke Hamaguchi) was to cast a deaf actor as Sonia in Uncle Vanya, the play within the movie. It is absolutely ingenious and perfect. I don't know how other people feel about the extensive enactment of "Uncle Vanya" and use of its lines to suggest the characters' state of mind throughout the movie. For me, who recently read the play and watched 2 other movies based on it, the power of Chekhov is immense. It is unmistakable that Hamaguchi feels the same way. 

Nevertheless, I want to touch on a particular aspect of the movie that is unsatisfactory to me. Spoilers abound below.

After watching "Drive My Car," I went and read the original short story by Haruki Murakami and a couple of other stories in the same collection, Men Without Women, that contributed minor elements to the movie. I have not read any of Murakami's novels, but one cannot escape his cultural influences. I read his “Barn Burning" after watching Lee Chang-Dong's adaptation, the 2018 movie "Burning", which left little impression (unlike the movie). None of his short stories resonated with me (quite the opposite of Chekhov). 

One of the things that has bothered me from the start about Murakami's works is his (ab)use of deaths, often in female characters and sometimes suicide, as a crutch in service of the male character's emotional state. There is a similar phenomenon in English-language popular culture that, by now, has been well established, ie, female characters die in order to bring about the spiritual growth or maturity of the (male) hero. Fundamentally, I think Murakami's tendency is not that different, but it might seem a little different to western critics because of the pervasive sense of melancholy in Japanese arts and culture. Death evokes a kind of beauteous sentimentality about the fleeting nature of life and all good things. That in itself is fine, but excessive use with a callousness can trivialize death as a dramatic device and obliterate its meaning.

The flip side is another convention in Japanese popular culture, based on my limited exposure: the trope of life affirmation. I have lost count of Japanese movies and TV series in which characters tell each other or themselves with a loud declaration: "I/you/we must go on living!!!" (At least 3 exclamation marks!) Implied in the declaration is that living takes too much effort and death is the default position. 

Putting aside the rightness or wrongness of this philosophy --- who am I to judge? --- I am merely pointing out that death and "pushing oneself to keep on living" are two tropes in Japanese popular culture. I don't know how the average Japanese people in real life feel about it, as I don't know any Japanese person in real life. Maybe they don't give a fuck and enjoy life just fine. 

Coming back to "Drive My Car," the theme is the difficulty for people to connect with each other, even between couples in love or parents and children. The main character is haunted by his inability to talk to his wife about her having sex with other men; now it's too late to understand because she died suddenly. The driver is haunted by her guilt over the death of her abusive mother. The two lonely people, damaged by the death of their loved ones, connect with each other in the little red Saab. The climactic scene, when the main character expresses his regret for his avoidance of talking to his straying wife when she was alive, did not have the expected effect on me. Instead, for me, it was a moment like, "Isn't it ironic, don't you think? A little too ironic..." 

The main character had repressed his feelings about his wife's infidelity and maintained the pretense of a happy marriage, because of his fear of the confrontation with his wife and possible dissolution of their marriage. That part is obvious. So then, isn't it convenient that she is dead? Her sudden and random death is, symbolically, his (the author's) wish fulfillment. Her death removes the threat of being exposed to an intolerable reality --- that she is a real person with her own thoughts, feelings, desires, and intentions, which may not align with his. Maybe she doesn't love him any more. Maybe she prefers other men to him. Maybe she will leave him.

One could extend this argument to the movie itself. After observing these two characters gently and compassionately for over 2 hours, it successfully avoids the hard stuff: a painful self-discovery, both of the main character's insecurity about his manhood and of the driver's hatred for her mother and her desire for separation. Also avoided is the characters' aggression toward the people they love. Their anger and resentment alongside love and attachment. Their fear of rejection and abandonment.  All the difficult and terrifying honesty is swept under the rug of a rote declaration, "We must go on living!" The end.

The truths in life must be avoided at all cost (eg, love exists alongside hate, we all have aggression, attachment cannot be permanent, we are not the center of the universe). In comparison, death is an easy escape from painful confrontations. Hence we can see how these tropes are so irresistible to dramatists. That is why we all need to go back and read Chekhov again.

Don Quixote Notes (Pt. 2, Ch. 30)

 The second part begins with an extremely modern premise: The adventures of Don Quixote and his squire Sancho Panza have been published and become an international bestseller. Don Quixote's dream of worldwide fame has come true. How very meta. It is surprising that such a device has not been widely adopted in the past few hundred years --- For example, having Harry Potter and friends be swarmed by paparazzi in London or letting Bridget Jones enjoy her celebrity in the sequel, or making Clark Kent's parents go on TV to explain the origin of Superman and sell his baby clothes as souvenirs. 

Don Quixote's early adventures in Part 2 are much more pleasant than those in Part 1. He magically defeats the neighbor who pretends to be a similar knight errant and challenges him to single combat. He is hosted by a wealthy gentleman farmer. He gets to use his combat skills (again!) in a disrupted wedding, while Sancho gorges on the wedding feast. 

In addition to the new victories and fame and fortune, Don Quixote has a hallucinatory experience in the cave of Montesinos. At this point, the novel further blurs the line between dream and reality. The text frequently suggests that Don Quixote is aware of his self-deception and his choice of fantasy over reality, perhaps because in the fantasy he is the world's bravest and purest knight errant. However, given the new fame he gained in the "real world" (both in the novel and in Cervantes' world, which is sort of our world), his fantasy is not so far from reality. 

Sancho, meanwhile, gains surprising insight into Don Quixote's madness through his own power of deduction. If Don Quixote is convinced that the peasant girl is Lady Dulcinea of Toboso of his dream, a claim that Sancho just made up, then nothing else he believes is true. As Sancho can verify one of Don Quixote's beliefs as fantasy, it stands to argue that all of his believes are --- except the reward of governorship to an insula promised to Sancho himself. In other words, Sancho is smart enough to see through the delusions of Don Quixote, except when it comes to the hopes of riches for himself. Hmm, where have I seen that behavior before ... ?

The 13 Lords of the Shogun

Episode 15 of the 2022 NHK taiga serials, The 13 Lords of Shogun, is quite possibly as shocking and riveting as The Red Wedding in A Song of Ice and Fire. I have often wondered about the unique political structure of historical Japan, and the complex relationship between the superiors and subordinates, such as those between the Emperor and Shogun and between the Shogun and his chief counselor. It is unlike the political system in China, in which the surest path to the height of power is to the Emperor's throne, with an entire apparatus supporting him, or the European system, in which kings must contend with both the Pope in Rome and the feudal lords. 

It is absolutely fascinating how, throughout history, people struggle for power. While in each period and circumstance, the political and cultural structures may differ vastly, the insatiable desire for power and the necessity of using other people for one's own purpose are always the same. Blood must be spilled, and money must be spent; alliances must be made and broken; friends and families must be formed and betrayed. How does one man drive others to obey his orders and do his bidding? By any means necessary. But one person's will is always insufficient, and there has to be something in it for everyone, even if that something is quite intangible and perhaps deceptive. Even if only one man's name remains on top of a page in the history book, there were many people who used each other to get to where they were. 

Written by the highly regarded Koki Mitani, the series are surprisingly clear-eyed and uncompromising (the occasional humor notwithstanding). It is not interested in making heroic myths or taking the side of whoever's point of view it's narrating from. There are no good guys or bad guys, only political and military expediency in a particular place and time. The characters do not have a hint of historical hindsight to allow them the luxury of posturing or moralizing their choices. 

It is often claimed that the Japanese society was (and perhaps still is) rigidly hierarchical and people were somehow naturally loyal or obedient. Such simplistic theories can never withstand a closer look. There is a saying in Chinese that can be roughly translated as "Rules are dead but people are alive," which means that people both rely on rules/hierarchy and violate them all the time, depending on the circumstances. Theories and reality, words and behaviors, are never exactly the same. 

A Scandal in Paris

 

Is there any filmmaker like Douglas Sirk? The point is not his subversiveness, for there are plenty of subversive artists, but rather how the viewer is never certain how he feels about the conventionality within his movies. 

On the one hand, anyone can see that he pokes fun at stale cliches. There is irony in his treatment of familiar stories and tropes. On the other hand, he seems to genuinely embrace them and relish in the familiarity. When every other artist can't wait to display their originality and emphasize how unconventional they are, Sirk seems to enjoy toying with tropes and messing with our expectations. He could not toy with tropes without first loving them and understanding them inside out. 

For example, the hero in "A Scandal in Paris", a man who calls himself Vidocq among other names (George Sanders), a life-long thief and con man who also happens to be dashing and irresistible to women, is in the end reformed by a young woman's love to become an upstanding citizen, even the police chief of Paris. Gee, how many times have we seen that story before, especially in 19th century romance novels. There is no realistic depiction of his "moral awakening" or psychological turning point. And yet, there are these little knowing jokes here and there, never calling attention to themselves, that wink and nudge at the audience, to suggest that no one should take these cliches seriously. 

The real climax of this movie is not the obligatory confrontation and fights at the end but rather the scene between Vidocq and Therese (Signe Hasso), the aristocratic woman who converts him. Presented initially as shy and naive, she represents the archetypal "good woman" who usually changes the bad boy's mind with her purity and innocence or stimulating his protective instinct (yeah, I too know the tropes inside out). Here, however, she declares that she would become a thief and a criminal for him. "If I can't get you to join me on my side, I'll have to go over to your side," she says. Sure, we could consider this yet another trope: a woman swept up by her infatuation with a bad boy and willing to abandon her social standing for him. But it's not. Her glee and enthusiasm hint at a repressed desire for thrills and rebellion. It's no more than a hint but unmistakable if you pay attention.

In another familiar but ambiguous scene, Loretta (Carole Landis), the "bad woman" in contrast to Therese (again a conventional setup that feels slightly off), betrays her poor sop of a husband in a rendezvous with Vidocq. Her husband finds her and, in a rage, threatens to commit suicide, but instead he shoots her dead. One could of course argue that her death is just a silly plot device to get Vidocq out of a jam, which it is, but it can also be interpreted as the husband's inability to express his hatred for her except through violence and murder. Funny how that is eerily realistic but hardly ever described.  

In 1946 under the stranglehold of the Hays Code, even the most nihilistic movies have to tack on a reassuring ending. No killer is allowed to go free. No adulterer could live happily ever after. And yet the way the code is carried out here is so cynical and twisted that the audience might not derive the correct moral lesson.

The world is filled with men eager to prove how clever they are, but one who is extremely clever but barely lets it show is a rarity. 

Don Quixote Notes (End of Part 1)

The first half of Don Quixote ended in a brawl, very much reminiscent of a farce in a climactic scene. In fact, there is quite a bit of drama elements in the novel. In particular, the middle part of the novel consists of several loosely connected romantic plots, and the characters of these stories all converge at the inn to resolve these love entanglements. Only one of the interloping stories, presented as a written manuscript about a love triangle in Florence, is not connected with the characters in the narrative. 

One could therefore argue that Cervantes was in fact a dramatist/playwright at heart. He probably started writing the novel because of a lack of success in playwriting and stuffed the novel with plays and stories rotting in his drawers. 

The romantic plots in Don Quixote have been largely ignored now, despite their bulk in the novel. Critics focus entirely on the scattered parts of Don Quixote's ironic adventures and failures. The trials and tribulations of Cardenio and Lucinda, Dorotea and Don Fernando, the captive and the Moorish woman, and various other happy and sad lovers are rarely mentioned, as they are so detached from Don Quixote's story. I think it's a shame. Dorotea is a very interesting and well-drawn character, even if there are some elements in her story that may feel disturbing to modern readers. She is intelligent, resourceful, courageous, and charming that reminds me of Portia in The Merchant of Venice. Given the limitation of the era and the authors, Dorotea and Portia cannot be assigned a better end than a pretty questionable marriage, which cannot be helped. 

At least in the first half of the novel, Cervantes does not have a lot of sympathy for Don Quixote. This is reflected in not only the shepherd boy's complaint but also the endless fights that he initiated with others and gets roundly pounded in consequence. The writing mixes some pretty brutal violence with laughter, which might have been a fad on stage at that time. In the more peaceful and heavily policed modern era, brawls no longer seem so hilarious, but we still like to watch simulated violence on screen, including me. 

On to the second part! 

Don Quixote Notes (through Pt. 1 Ch. 33)

At some point in the first 20-ish chapters, the author must have realized that inventing a series of fights Don Quixote gets into and loses are unsustainable, if he wants to avoid the tropes of an invincible knight errant or legendary hero. There is a reason that heroes in legends always beat whoever and whatever they combat. Legends that recorded reality must have been very short and long lost in the tide of time. 

After an absolutely hilarious episode of Don Quixote taking penance in the mountains with some X-rated jokes (can't even pass American movie censorship today), the novel takes a turn from episodic adventures of one characters to a collection of stories within a story. It seems like a cheap trick to stuff the pages when one runs out of ideas. The stories of two characters (Cardenio and Dorotea) linked by one villain are kind of clever, but the episode of "two friends in Florence" seems to be a blatant page-stuffer. 

In this segment, which I have not finished, Don Quixote recedes to the background, I guess until the author can uncover another dimension to his madness. Sancho Panza continues to provide most of the witticism in contrast to the hat of "ignorant peasant" he wears. I am particularly fascinated by the way this character is painted and all the contradictions he embodies. 

A particularly poignant point was made in the chapter where the innkeeper confesses, to the priest's exasperation, that he too takes the knight errant books as real --- just not applicable to his time. Here the author is displaying the gradient of perception in tales outside of our daily lives: from Don Quixote who believes every word of chivalry in his immediate world, to the innkeeper who believes the tales as true history, to the priest who knows the stories are made up but the grandiose anecdotes about a true war hero. Then there is Sancho, who knows reality in what he witnesses but is taken in by his master's promises of governorship and riches --- primarily because he is illiterate. One has to wonder, then, whether he would have done better or worse compared with Don Quixote or the innkeeper if he could read. 

That Cervantes was examining the questions of "what is real" and "how do I know" in 1605 suggest that fake news and its subscribers are not a modern phenomenon. Humans are not innately able to discern the truth from fiction. Truth cannot be easily attained by our brain and abilities, despite technological advances we have made. We are, by nature, a species of make-believe. 

Don Quixote notes (through Pt. 1 Ch. 18)

It is possible that, later in the novel or in the second part of the novel (written and published a few years after the first part), the author began to identify with Don Quixote, leading the readers/commentators to do the same. It is apparent to me, however, that it is not so in the beginning. 

So far, I am surprised by the amount of violence in the novel. I guess it is intended to mimic/spoof the Arthurian romance that it makes fun of? It is not quite accurate to say that Don Quixote "gets into fights" with other people and, more often than not, gets beaten up. Rather, he is the instigator in almost all of the incidents. That he ends up worse off, because the opponents often outnumber him, is a separate matter. In the first episode before Sancho Panza joins his quest, he cracks the heads of a couple of unsuspecting guys who were just trying to water their mules. In a later quest, he kills seven sheep on the road. I guess the fact that he initiates the acts of violence does not matter a lot to commentators because a) we are told he is crazy, and b) he gets beaten up as a consequence. Nevertheless, I want to make a note of it. Rather than interpreting the series of incidents as idealism being crushed by reality, I see the novel more as an exploration of cause and effect, initiation of action and uncontrollable consequences. 

Another observation is how much sex drives the violence. In most but not all of the episodes so far, his sexual desire is the motivation or trigger. This is particularly explicit at the inn where an Asturian maid is on her way to another man but grabbed and groped by Don Quixote instead. This follows the curious episode in which his horse Rosinante got in trouble for doing pretty much the same thing. It is hard to blame it on the fantasy of chivalry, except that the fantasy of chivalry contains a lot of sexual desire cloaked in violence and an honor code. 

One could argue that Don Quixote and Sancho Panza are two aspects of one person. The former represents an artificial and wishful view of the world through the lens of romantic fiction --- or any kind of fiction, including but not limited to honor codes and morality. The latter is at least an attempt to see the world (including cause and effect, initiation of action and consequences, as noted above) as it truly is. That Sancho serves Don Quixote rather than the other way around, is an interesting premise.