Matthew Barney's 5.5-hour zombie movie musical, River of Fundament, based on Norman Mailer’s “sexually twisted novel,” Ancient Evenings, premieres at Brooklyn Academy of Music on Feb. 12. The film took 7 years to complete and features Paul Giamatti, Maggie Gyllenhaal, and Ellen Burstyn, “in a cast of hundreds, with supporting roles filled by a step-dancing team, twin baritones, a porn star, a contortionist, a wailing chorus and Aimee Mullins, the double-amputee actress, athlete and former Alexander McQueen model who appeared with Barney in the third chapter of his epic, The Cremaster Cycle.”
Sexy Beast | NYT
Photo: Barney’s team floated a replica of Norman Mailer’s house from their Long Island City studio to Brooklyn.
The cost of holding up a mirror to those who could barely stand to look at themselves.
“I had two contradictory but complementary responses to the news that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died of a drug overdose at the suddenly tender age of 46 — two responses, that is, beyond how terrible and damn, he was great.
The first was that there was no way Hoffman had died with a syringe still in his arm — no way that an actor who brought such finicky dignity to his portrayal of the most desperate characters had permitted himself to die so ruthlessly unmasked.
The second was that of course he had died in such a sordid manner — how else was Philip Seymour Hoffman supposed to die? There was no actor, in our time, who more ably suggested that each of us is the sum of our secrets…no actor who better let us know what he knew, which is that when each of us returns alone to our room, all bets are off. He used his approachability to play people who are unacceptable, especially to themselves; indeed, his whole career might be construed as a pre-emptive plea for forgiveness to those with the unfortunate job of cleaning up what he — and we — might leave behind. The only way that Philip Seymour Hoffman could have died in a manner more consistent with the characters he created would have been if he had died by auto-erotic asphyxiation.
And in the extermity of these two responses was, I think, the essence of Hoffman’s art.
He often played creeps, but he rarely played them creepily. His metier was human loneliness — the terrible uncinematic kind that has very little to do with high-noon heroism and everything to do with everyday empathy — and the necessary curse of human self-knowledge. He held up a mirror to those who could barely stand to look at themselves and invited us not only to take a peek but to see someone we recognized. He played frauds who knew they were frauds, schemers who knew they were schemers, closeted men who could only groan with frustrated love, heavy breathers dignified by impeccable manners, and angels who could withstand the worst that life could hand out because they seemed to know the worst was just the beginning. And what united all his roles was the stoic calm he brought to them, the stately concentration that assured us that no matter whom Philip Seymour Hoffman played, Philip Seymour Hoffman himself was protected.”
Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Final Secret
“There is no depth to education without art.”
“In 1776, America didn’t have a single textile mill. There were no spinning mules, no water-powered looms. There were only rumors of what such things might look like and a few nonfunctioning models built from those rumors. Nearly every American woman, except the wealthiest, knew how to spin her own yarn and weave her own cloth, even as across the Atlantic women were moving out of the home and into millwork as England — bent on protecting its export market by safeguarding its trade secrets — industrialized the manufacturing of textiles.
Samuel Slater was 14 when he began working at a cotton-spinning mill in Derbyshire, England. Seven years later, in 1789, he disguised himself as a farmer to pass English customs and board a ship to the United States. When he arrived in America, he got a mechanized loom up and running, then a textile factory and later factory towns, eventually becoming known as both Slater the Traitor and the father of the American Industrial Revolution.”
“A century ago, there were more than 800 businesses related to textile manufacturing in Philadelphia alone; today there are around a hundred.
Christopher Payne has spent much of the past few years photographing more than 20 of the mills that make up what’s left of America’s textile industry.”
Read on: Fruits of the Loom