Clasp your hands behind your head. I intend to search your offices.
Traditionally, the scope of Leviathan's work has been restricted to film with a certain content, viz. nautical narratives. Recent research suggests, however, that this narrow view obscures a larger treasure trove of truths; an hypothesis: every movie featuring Peter Lorre falls into the genus of Leviathan pictures (broadly construed) because, as a matter of fact, Peter Lorre is an aquatic organism. (Whether this proposal actually broadens the definition from 'nautical narratives' to 'nautical narratives plus ...' , or whether it simply points out that Peter Lorre movies are nautical narratives, is irrelevant.)
The evidence? In Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1961) , Lorre states (enacting Commodore Lucian Emery)
that he regards himself as a "personal friend" to all "sea creatures." He then proceeds to push a three foot styrofoam shark through the murky waters that he is standing in, clad in formal dress and a rubber apron, on account that the shark has been drugged and needs water to flow over its gills.
Our question, however, is whether love - when sincerely felt, and requited - suffices for sameness of kind. In this case, the bonds of friendship are greater than the divisions of species. Lorre becomes aquatic through a process similar to that which Danto described as "transfiguration," in which an ordinary real thing becomes an artwork, as if by magic. In our case, the unreal Emery's sea-creature-status is transferred to the real Lorre, by the same sort of seeming magic that has left all of us, at one point or another, reeling for an explanation of the transcendental sublimnity of art.
One objection that can be dispensed with post haste is the worry that Lorre, in persona as Conseil in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, makes an attack on a giant squid - how could one sea-creature (albeit one in creepy-bug-eyed-Austrio-Hungarian form) attack another? Is not the giant squid a "personal friend" as well?
But we must not forget that in friendship affection is not always constant - that our natural disposition to loathe the Other may inevitably surface, like some black mass from the depths - and its surfacing may even be justified. But have any of us friends (or family, or lovers) that we have not metaphorically hacked at the flailing tentacles of with an axe? Would we not leap into the sea, crying "Professor, Professor!," were the same friend to fall overboard? Such is love! Let us praise it, and speak plainly and honestly about it! And let us accept, then, that Lorre's love for the sea creatures is no less real than any of our terrestrial loves, and, therefore, that he, and his films, deserve our scrutiny - if not our love.
The evidence? In Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1961) , Lorre states (enacting Commodore Lucian Emery)
that he regards himself as a "personal friend" to all "sea creatures." He then proceeds to push a three foot styrofoam shark through the murky waters that he is standing in, clad in formal dress and a rubber apron, on account that the shark has been drugged and needs water to flow over its gills.
Our question, however, is whether love - when sincerely felt, and requited - suffices for sameness of kind. In this case, the bonds of friendship are greater than the divisions of species. Lorre becomes aquatic through a process similar to that which Danto described as "transfiguration," in which an ordinary real thing becomes an artwork, as if by magic. In our case, the unreal Emery's sea-creature-status is transferred to the real Lorre, by the same sort of seeming magic that has left all of us, at one point or another, reeling for an explanation of the transcendental sublimnity of art.
One objection that can be dispensed with post haste is the worry that Lorre, in persona as Conseil in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, makes an attack on a giant squid - how could one sea-creature (albeit one in creepy-bug-eyed-Austrio-Hungarian form) attack another? Is not the giant squid a "personal friend" as well?
But we must not forget that in friendship affection is not always constant - that our natural disposition to loathe the Other may inevitably surface, like some black mass from the depths - and its surfacing may even be justified. But have any of us friends (or family, or lovers) that we have not metaphorically hacked at the flailing tentacles of with an axe? Would we not leap into the sea, crying "Professor, Professor!," were the same friend to fall overboard? Such is love! Let us praise it, and speak plainly and honestly about it! And let us accept, then, that Lorre's love for the sea creatures is no less real than any of our terrestrial loves, and, therefore, that he, and his films, deserve our scrutiny - if not our love.
posted by Allan Hazlett | 10:56 AM
5 Comments:
Might I add to the Rear Admiral's Talmudic defense of all things Lorre, that in his later work (e.g. Leagues and Voyage), Peter Lorre's disappearing neck and waddle also mark him as distinctly penguinesque. Aquatic Organism, indeed.
The Lorre-as-sea-creature angle may help explain the conceit of one of Lorre's films whose title has always perplexed me: The Beast with Five Fingers. I have never seen this movie, but I cannot hear the title without thinking, "Isn't that just, like, a person?" But a five-fingered sea thing—now that's creepy.
I believe that the Lorre-as-sea creature issue can best be settled if we think of Lorre as a kind of mutant manatee--a gentlemanly, urbane mutant manatee, who likes to purchase high quality gloves from expensive boutiques to cover his mutanat manatee flipper-hands. Of course, I needn't mention that these gloves always smell faintly of...gardenia.
The Rear Admiral's illuminating post is especially illuminating in light of a singular fact of Mr. Lorre's career of which I have recently been apprised. Early in his career, Lorre portrayed that lesser-known Oriental sleuth, Mr. Moto, in a series of 1930s films (including "Thank You Mr. Moto"--perhaps the inspiration for Styx's Japanophilic anthem?). Now, Lady Z and I have whiled away many an eve pondering the convergence between the figures of the robot and the Asian in contemporary popular culture (another conversation entirely, but a fascinating one, I assure you). So now the question must be posed, Is the Ocean, in fact, Asian? Are aquatic creatures the new "model minority"?
And I must add that Ms. Cumber's conjecture seems to be borne out by Lorre's famous portrayal of a child-murderer in Fritz Lang's "M." Dial M for Manatee, no doubt?
I would like to weigh in on the "Is the Ocean Asian?" question. While I agree that the similarities between the Ocean and the Asian are quite striking, I have to question whether or not sealife can be seen as the new "model minority," given the fact that the ocean covers more than 75% of the world, and its residents vastly outnumber the populations of our earth-bound brethren. While again, the discrepancy between the large population/size of the ocean and its relative lack of cultural and power seems to indicate yet another link to Asia, I believe the real question we need to ask is this: Is the ocean the Oppressed? Or is it the Oppressor? After all, when you compare Asia to the Ocean in terms of pounds of pressure exerted per square inch, the ocean certainly packs a powerful punch--
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