78 Great Directors Who Shaped the History of Cinema: An Introduction

When first we take an inter­est in movies, we must fig­ure out our own method of decid­ing what to watch next. The cen­tral fac­tor may be box office per­for­mance, the pres­ence of a favorite per­former, adher­ence to a favorite genre, or the use of a famil­iar sto­ry from oth­er media. Such paths through cin­e­ma can lead to enter­tain­ing view­ing expe­ri­ences, no doubt, but it’s safe to say that very few movie-lovers become bona fide cinephiles with­out even­tu­al­ly switch­ing their alle­giance to direc­tors. In eras past, a prop­er­ly orga­nized video store — that is, one whose tapes, Laserdiscs, or DVDs were ordered alpha­bet­i­cal­ly, by the direc­tor’s name — could pro­vide a gate­way. (Mine was Scare­crow Video.) Today’s bud­ding cinephiles have YouTube chan­nels like The House of Tab­u­la.

For­mer­ly known as The Cin­e­ma Car­tog­ra­phy (and before that as Chan­nel Criswell), The House of Tab­u­la has pro­duced many video essays on film pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured on Open Cul­ture. More than a few close­ly exam­ine par­tic­u­lar direc­tors: Andrei Tarkovsky, Stan­ley Kubrick, David Lynch, and Quentin Taran­ti­no, to name just four that appear in The House of Tab­u­la’s new three-and-a-half-hour video “The Mas­ters of Cin­e­ma.”

A jour­ney through the evo­lu­tion of film as reflect­ed in the work of 78 dif­fer­ent direc­tors, it cov­ers Tarkovsky, Kubrick, Lynch, and Taran­ti­no in its lat­er chap­ters on “the Mod­ern Mas­ters” and “the New School.” The ear­li­er chap­ters exam­ine pic­tures by every­one from Georges Méliès, Sergei Eisen­stein, D.W. Grif­fith, and Char­lie Chap­lin to Alfred Hitch­cock, Aki­ra Kuro­sawa, Fed­eri­co Felli­ni, and Orson Welles.

This view of cin­e­ma sub­scribes to “auteur the­o­ry,” which holds the direc­tor to be the guid­ing artis­tic intel­li­gence, or “author,” of a film. Most of us accept at least a ver­sion of this idea rel­a­tive­ly ear­ly in our jour­ney into cinephil­ia, and soon there­after encounter the vari­eties of objec­tion to it that have been lodged for decades and decades. Some direc­tors may oper­ate their own cam­eras, but most don’t; a few direc­tors act in their own movies, but the vast major­i­ty would­n’t even con­sid­er it (which is prob­a­bly all to the good). With some notable excep­tions, cin­e­ma is an intense­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive art, but as House of Tab­u­la co-cre­ator Lewis Bond puts it, the direc­tor is still the “voice” of a film. Togeth­er, the voic­es of the auteur film­mak­ers like the ones fea­tured in this video define the lan­guage of cin­e­ma, or per­haps the lan­guage that is cin­e­ma — one that every cinephile spends a life­time learn­ing to under­stand.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 30 Great­est Films Ever Made: A Video Essay

480 Film­mak­ers Reveal the 100 Great­est Movies in the World

How Film­mak­ers Tell Their Sto­ries: Three Insight­ful Video Essays Demys­ti­fy the Craft of Edit­ing, Com­po­si­tion & Col­or

Paul Schrad­er Cre­ates a Dia­gram Map­ping the Pro­gres­sion of Art­house Cin­e­ma: Ozu, Bres­son, Tarkovsky & Oth­er Auteurs

Mar­tin Scors­ese Makes a List of 85 Films Every Aspir­ing Film­mak­er Needs to See

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Why Real Biblical Angels Are Creepy, Beastly, and Hardly Angelic

Near­ly 70 per­cent of Amer­i­cans believe in angels, at least accord­ing to a sta­tis­tic often cit­ed in recent years. But what, exact­ly, comes to their minds — or those of any oth­er believ­ers around the world — when they imag­ine one? Per­son­al con­cep­tions may vary, of course, but we can be fair­ly cer­tain of one thing: most of them will bear no resem­blance to the angels actu­al­ly described in the Bible. Here to give us a sense of their appear­ance is Tom­mie Trelawny, cre­ator of the YouTube chan­nel Hochela­ga, whose video above explains “Why Bible Accu­rate Angels Are So Creepy.”

Far from the winged, white-robed embod­i­ments of gen­tle­ness we might know from greet­ing cards, says Trelawny, the angels of the Bible, and specif­i­cal­ly the Old Tes­ta­ment, are “hor­ri­fy­ing abom­i­na­tions” who would be more at home in an H. P. Love­craft nov­el. Angel, from the Greek ange­los, which itself comes from the Hebrew mal’akh, means “mes­sen­ger.” That implies an innocu­ous-enough set of duties, but then, you may recall the sto­ry of Passover, with its angel who slaugh­tered the Egyp­tians’ first-born sons; or the angel who “struck 70,000 Israelites to death”; or the angel who “sin­gle­hand­ed­ly killed 185,000 Assyr­i­an sol­diers in one night.”

The Bible does­n’t say any­thing about those angels hav­ing wings. “In fact, they look like any ordi­nary per­son,” as do even the most famous exam­ples like Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael. In the grand heav­en­ly scheme of things, such humanoid angels, or Malakh, don’t rank par­tic­u­lar­ly high. Still, they’re one rung above the Cheru­bim, who turn out to be less like Cupid and more like “the myth­i­cal beasts of ancient Mesopotamia, espe­cial­ly the Baby­lon­ian Lamas­su, which has the wings of an eagle, the body of a lion, and the head of a king” — with a more-than-pass­ing resem­blance to the Egypt­ian sphinx or the Hit­tite grif­fin. Even the pop­u­lar image of the pudgy, fly­ing cherub, which emerged much lat­er, seems to have been import­ed from Greek and Roman myths.

Ranked above the Malakh are the six-winged Seraphim, or “burn­ing ones.” The ori­gins of these “care­tak­ers of God’s throne” are sug­gest­ed by the Hebrew word Saraph, mean­ing “a ven­omous ser­pent in the desert,” much like the cobra whose image adorned the head of the Egypt­ian pharaoh. As for the Ophan­im, it’s any­one’s guess where they come from. Tak­ing the form of a wheel with­in a wheel float­ing in the sky, its rims lined with eyes, an Ophan would make for an intim­i­dat­ing sight indeed: per­haps a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the wheels of God’s char­i­ot, per­haps the result of “the prophet ingest­ing a psy­che­del­ic plant,” and per­haps — accord­ing to a fringe the­o­ry — vis­i­ta­tion by a space­craft. What­ev­er the evi­dence for those expla­na­tions, it’s safe to say they’re not quite as com­fort­ing as all those placid celes­tial harpists.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Our Depic­tion of Jesus Changed Over 2,000 Years and What He May Have Actu­al­ly Looked Like

The Ori­gins of Satan: The Evo­lu­tion of the Dev­il in Reli­gion

Behold the Codex Gigas (aka “Devil’s Bible”), the Largest Medieval Man­u­script in the World

Chris­tian­i­ty Through Its Scrip­tures: A Free Course from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty

Angels & Demons: The Sci­ence Revealed

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hear What the Language Spoken by Our Ancestors 6,000 Years Ago Might Have Sounded Like

As schol­ars of ancient texts well know, the recon­struc­tion of lost sources can be a mat­ter of some con­tro­ver­sy. In the ancient Hebrew and less ancient Chris­t­ian Bib­li­cal texts, for exam­ple, crit­ics find the rem­nants of many pre­vi­ous texts, seem­ing­ly stitched togeth­er by occa­sion­al­ly care­less edi­tors. Those source texts exist nowhere in any phys­i­cal form, com­plete or oth­er­wise. They must be inferred from the traces they have left behind—signatures of dic­tion and syn­tax, styl­is­tic and the­mat­ic pre­oc­cu­pa­tions….

So it is with the study of ancient lan­guages, but since oral cul­tures far pre­date writ­ten ones, the search for lin­guis­tic ances­tors can take us back to the very ori­gins of human cul­ture, to times unre­mem­bered and unrecord­ed by any­one, and only dim­ly glimpsed through scant archae­o­log­i­cal evi­dence and observ­able aur­al sim­i­lar­i­ties between vast­ly dif­fer­ent lan­guages. So it was with the the­o­ret­i­cal devel­op­ment of Indo-Euro­pean as a lan­guage fam­i­ly, a slow process that took sev­er­al cen­turies to coa­lesce into the mod­ern lin­guis­tic tree we now know.

The obser­va­tion that San­skrit and ancient Euro­pean lan­guages like Greek and Latin have sig­nif­i­cant sim­i­lar­i­ties was first record­ed by a Jesuit mis­sion­ary to Goa, Thomas Stephens, in the six­teenth cen­tu­ry, but lit­tle was made of it until around 100 years lat­er. A great leap for­ward came in the mid-nine­teenth cen­tu­ry when Ger­man lin­guist August Schle­ich­er, under the influ­ence of Hegel, pub­lished his Com­pendi­um of the Com­par­a­tive Gram­mar of the Indo-Euro­pean Lan­guages. There, Schle­ich­er made an exten­sive attempt at recon­struct­ing the com­mon ances­tor of all Indo-Euro­pean lan­guages, “Pro­to-Indo-Euro­pean,” or PIE, for short, thought to have orig­i­nat­ed some­where in East­ern Europe, though this sup­po­si­tion is spec­u­la­tive.

To pro­vide an exam­ple of what the lan­guage might have been like, Schle­ich­er made up a fable called “The Sheep and the Hors­es” as a “son­ic exper­i­ment.” The sto­ry has been used ever since, “peri­od­i­cal­ly updat­ed,” writes Eric Pow­ell at Archae­ol­o­gy, “to reflect the most cur­rent under­stand­ing of how this extinct lan­guage would have sound­ed when it was spo­ken some 6,000 years ago.” Hav­ing no access to any texts writ­ten in Pro­to-Indo-Euro­pean (which may or may not have exist­ed) nor, of course, to any speak­ers of the lan­guage, lin­guists dis­agree a good deal on what it should sound like; “no sin­gle ver­sion can be con­sid­ered defin­i­tive.”

And yet, since Schleicher’s time, the the­o­ry has been con­sid­er­ably refined. At the top of the post, you can hear one such refine­ment based on work by UCLA pro­fes­sor H. Craig Melchert and read by lin­guist Andrew Byrd. See a trans­la­tion of Schle­icher’s sto­ry, “The Sheep and the Hors­es” below:

A sheep that had no wool saw hors­es, one of them pulling a heavy wag­on, one car­ry­ing a big load, and one car­ry­ing a man quick­ly. The sheep said to the hors­es: “My heart pains me, see­ing a man dri­ving hors­es.” The hors­es said: “Lis­ten, sheep, our hearts pain us when we see this: a man, the mas­ter, makes the wool of the sheep into a warm gar­ment for him­self. And the sheep has no wool.” Hav­ing heard this, the sheep fled into the plain.

Byrd also reads anoth­er sto­ry in hypo­thet­i­cal Pro­to-Indo-Euro­pean, “The King and the God,” using “pro­nun­ci­a­tion informed by the lat­est insights into PIE.”

See Powell’s arti­cle at Archae­ol­o­gy for the writ­ten tran­scrip­tions of both Schleicher’s and Melchert/Byrd’s ver­sions of PIE, and see his arti­cle here to learn about the arche­o­log­i­cal evi­dence for the Bronze Age speak­ers of this the­o­ret­i­cal lin­guis­tic com­mon ances­tor.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to The Epic of Gil­gamesh Being Read in its Orig­i­nal Ancient Lan­guage, Akka­di­an

Hear Homer’s Ili­ad Read in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sound­ed Like When Sung in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

Was There a First Human Lan­guage?: The­o­ries from the Enlight­en­ment Through Noam Chom­sky

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Lis­ten to a Recon­struc­tion That’s “100% Accu­rate”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Marc Maron Wraps Up the WTF Podcast: Watch His Final Interview with Barack Obama

Back in 2015, Pres­i­dent Oba­ma joined Marc Maron on the WTF pod­cast, mark­ing the first time a sit­ting pres­i­dent took part in this new kind of broad­cast­ing for­mat. It was a water­shed moment—a moment when pod­cast­ing went main­stream and became, soon enough, a big busi­ness. A decade lat­er, and after near­ly 1,700 episodes, Marc Maron has decid­ed to bring WTF to an end, say­ing: “It real­ly comes down to the fact that we’ve put up a new show every Mon­day and Thurs­day for almost six­teen years and we’re tired. We’re burnt out. And we are utter­ly sat­is­fied with the work we’ve done. We’ve done great work.” On Mon­day, Maron dropped his final episode, bring­ing things full cir­cle and talk­ing once again with Barack Oba­ma. If you’re going to leave your audi­ence, espe­cial­ly dur­ing these dystopi­an times, it’s nice to leave them with some per­spec­tive and hope, and that’s what Oba­ma does best. Watch the final episode above.

Boomer lives. Mon­key and Lafon­da. Cat angels every­where.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

An Ani­mat­ed Marc Maron Recalls Inter­view­ing a Shirt­less Iggy Pop in LA Garage

Stream Marc Maron’s Excel­lent, Long Inter­view with The Band’s Rob­bie Robert­son

The 1976 Synth Album That Promised to Help Your Plants Grow: Discover Mother Earth’s Plantasia

In 1973, Peter Tomp­kins and Christo­pher Bird’s The Secret Life of Plants became a best­seller. Draw­ing from the results of sci­en­tif­ic stud­ies about whose replic­a­bil­i­ty we may now feel cer­tain doubts, the book sug­gest­ed that emo­tion, and indeed sen­tience, belong not just to humans and ani­mals, but also to, say, the pot­ted fern in your liv­ing room. Many of Tomp­kins and Bird’s read­ers must have owned such a plant, and prob­a­bly a vari­ety of oth­ers besides, giv­en the nine­teen-sev­en­ties’ fad for domes­tic veg­e­ta­tion. Though ridiculed in the major media, The Secret Life of Plants proved suf­fi­cient­ly in tune with its time to inspire a fea­ture-length doc­u­men­tary film with a high-tech sound­track by none oth­er than Ste­vie Won­der.

Did Won­der ever hear the album Moth­er Earth­’s Plan­ta­sia? Sub­ti­tled Warm Earth Music for Plants… and the Peo­ple Who Love Them, the album also fea­tures elec­tron­ic com­po­si­tions — exclu­sive­ly elec­tron­ic com­po­si­tions, in fact, per­formed entire­ly with a Moog syn­the­siz­er. Its com­pos­er Mort Gar­son had been a ver­sa­tile pro­fes­sion­al in the world of what was then called “easy lis­ten­ing,” and worked on the writ­ing, arrange­ment, or pro­duc­tion of pop­u­lar songs like Bren­da Lee’s “Dyna­mite,” Ruby & The Roman­tics’ “Our Day Will Come,” The Sand­pipers’ “Guan­tanam­era,” and Bill With­ers’ “Three Nights and a Morn­ing.” Upon meet­ing Robert Moog him­self at a con­ven­tion in 1967, Gar­son seems to have under­gone a con­ver­sion, becom­ing one of the first com­posers to ded­i­cate him­self to explor­ing the musi­cal poten­tial of the then-nov­el syn­the­siz­er tech­nol­o­gy.

The music Gar­son went on to make with his Moog reflects the zeit­geist: there was Elec­tron­ic Hair Pieces, with ver­sions of num­bers from the musi­cal Hair, a series of twelve discs based on the signs of the zodi­ac, and even the score that accom­pa­nied the Apol­lo 11 moon land­ing broad­cast. Of par­tic­u­lar inter­est to ear­ly elec­tron­ic music buffs is Black Mass, for which Gar­son took the pseu­do­nym Lucifer, and which ought to be worth adding to one’s library with Hal­loween com­ing up.

Moth­er Earth­’s Plan­ta­sia was released in 1976, three years before the Secret Life of Plants movie, though released may not be the right word: it could only be obtained free with pur­chase of either a house­plant from a shop called Moth­er Earth on Mel­rose Avenue in Los Ange­les or a Sim­mons mat­tress from Sears. As music YouTu­ber David Hart­ley explains in his lat­est video, Gar­son was asked to cre­ate an album of music con­ducive to plant growth by Moth­er Earth­’s own­ers, Lynn and Joel Rapp.

For decades there­after, Moth­er Earth­’s Plan­ta­sia could pre­sum­ably be encoun­tered by seri­ous crate-dig­gers: the Phar­cyde, for exam­ple, sam­pled one of its tracks on “Guestlist” in 2000. But it was only in the twen­ty-tens, after the estab­lish­ment of YouTube and its obscure-music-upload­ing cul­ture, that the album found an audi­ence appre­cia­tive enough to inspire a prop­er release. (Its redis­cov­ery played out sim­i­lar­ly to that of Mariya Takeuchi’s “Plas­tic Love,” the gold­en tip of the Japan­ese city pop revival.) Its tracks even­tu­al­ly even appeared in ad cam­paigns for Tur­b­o­Tax and the French super­mar­ket chain Inter­marché. To lis­ten­ers today, they may sound uncan­ni­ly like video game music as it would take shape in the eight­ies, albeit with a soft-edged ana­log tex­ture. As far as whether it actu­al­ly helps plants grow, even Joel Rap­p’s lin­er notes can only man­age the promise that “it could­n’t pos­si­bly hurt.” But I can report that it does a decent job putting my infant twins to sleep.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Moog Syn­the­siz­er Changed the Sound of Music

Graph­ic Shows the House Plants That Nat­u­ral­ly Clean the Air in Your Home, Accord­ing to a NASA Study

Moog This!: Hear a Playlist Fea­tur­ing 36 Hours of Music Made with the Leg­endary Ana­log Syn­the­siz­er

Plants Emit High-Pitched Sounds When They Get Cut, or Stressed by Drought, a New Study Shows

Wendy Car­los’ Switched on Bach Turns 50 This Month: Learn How the Clas­si­cal Synth Record Intro­duced the World to the Moog

A Shaz­am for Nature: A New Free App Helps You Iden­ti­fy Plants, Ani­mals & Oth­er Denizens of the Nat­ur­al World

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Mark Twain Wrote the First Book Ever Written With a Typewriter

My Pen­guin Clas­sics copy of Mark Twain’s Life on the Mis­sis­sip­pi sits alone atop an over­full shelf. There is a book­mark on page 204, exact­ly halfway through, torn from an in-flight duty-free catalog—whiskey and fan­cy pens. It tells me “hey, you for­got to fin­ish this, you [var­i­ous obscen­i­ties].” And I shrug. What can I say? I went to grad school, where I learned to read ten books at once and nev­er fin­ish one. Good thing Mark Twain didn’t write that way, or we might not have Life on the Mis­sis­sip­pi.

Twain was a dili­gent and con­sci­en­tious writer with a mem­o­ry like a bear trap, or at least that’s what he want­ed us to think. But some­where in his rem­i­nis­cence he may have been con­fused. Twain wrote in his 1904 auto­bi­og­ra­phy that his first nov­el writ­ten on a type­writer—the first type­writ­ten nov­el at all—was Tom Sawyer.

Was this so? Twain pur­chased his first type­writer (which prob­a­bly looked like the Sholes and Glid­den seen here) in 1874 for $125. In 1875, he writes in a let­ter to the Rem­ing­ton com­pa­ny that he is no longer using his type­writer; it cor­rupts his morals because it makes him want to swear. He gives the infer­nal machine away, twice. It returns to him each time.

The year after Twain’s moral trou­ble with his Rem­ing­ton, Tom Sawyer is pub­lished from hand­writ­ten man­u­script, not typed. Then, sev­en years lat­er, Life on the Mis­sis­sip­pi (1883) comes to the pub­lish­er in type­script. Twain did not type it himself—he had pre­sum­ably renounced the act—but he dic­tat­ed the mem­oir to a typ­ist from a hand­writ­ten draft. Now, I can hear you quib­bling…  Life on the Mis­sis­sip­pi isn’t a nov­el at all! Well, okay, fair enough. Let’s just say it’s the first type­writ­ten book and call it a day, eh? Go read this excel­lent New York­er piece on the ear­ly life of the type­writer and leave me alone. I’ve got a book to fin­ish.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2013.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mark Twain Makes a List of 60 Amer­i­can Com­fort Foods He Missed While Trav­el­ing Abroad (1880)

Dis­cov­er Friedrich Nietzsche’s Type­writer, the Curi­ous “Malling-Hansen Writ­ing Ball” (Cir­ca 1881)

Mark Twain & Helen Keller’s Spe­cial Friend­ship: He Treat­ed Me Not as a Freak, But as a Per­son Deal­ing with Great Dif­fi­cul­ties

The Only Footage of Mark Twain: The Orig­i­nal & Dig­i­tal­ly Restored Films Shot by Thomas Edi­son

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

Every Filmed and Televised Performance by Joy Division (1978–79)

Bri­an Eno once said of the Vel­vet Under­ground that their first album sold only 30,000 copies, but every­one who bought one start­ed a band. Joy Divi­sion’s debut Unknown Plea­sures sold only 20,000 copies in its ini­tial peri­od of release, but the T‑shirt embla­zoned with its cov­er art — an image of radio waves ema­nat­ing from a pul­sar tak­en from an astron­o­my ency­clo­pe­dia — has long since con­sti­tut­ed a com­mer­cial-semi­otic empire unto itself. That speaks to the vast sub­cul­tur­al influ­ence of the band, despite their only hav­ing been active from 1976 to 1980. When we speak of the genre of post-punk, we speak, in large part, of Joy Divi­sion and the artists they influ­enced.

Less than a year after the 1979 release of Unknown Plea­sures, Joy Divi­sion’s lead singer Ian Cur­tis com­mit­ted sui­cide. The band had already record­ed Clos­er, their sec­ond and last album (at least before the sub­se­quent, more suc­cess­ful ref­or­ma­tion as New Order). Scant though it may be, their stu­dio discog­ra­phy has only drawn more and more crit­i­cal acclaim over the decades.

Still, fans who weren’t around to wit­ness the rise of Joy Divi­sion first-hand will sus­pect they’ve missed out on some­thing essen­tial. “Live, Joy Divi­sion were heavy,” remem­bers band his­to­ri­an Jon Sav­age. “Per­form­ers — and David Bowie is a good exam­ple – know exact­ly what to give and what to with­hold, but Ian Cur­tis didn’t have that stage­craft. He just came on and gave every­thing.”

That sort of inten­si­ty, Sav­age adds, is “not infi­nite­ly repro­ducible”; even at the time, it seems that those who wit­nessed Joy Divi­sion in con­cert under­stood that their pecu­liar­ly com­pelling ener­gy was dri­ving toward some kind of final com­bus­tion. You can get a taste of it in the col­lec­tion of the group’s every tele­vised per­for­mance, orig­i­nal­ly aired on BBC2 and Grana­da TV in 1978 and 1979, at the top of the post; just above, we have a 70-minute com­pi­la­tion of all their filmed live shows. Much of it con­sists of footage shot over two nights at the Apol­lo The­atre in 1979, which the uploader describes as of poor qual­i­ty — but “accord­ing to peo­ple who were there, the gig’s qual­i­ty was poor in per­son too.” As much as gen­er­a­tions of fans have done to mythol­o­gize the band’s brief exis­tence over the past 45 years, here is evi­dence that even Joy Divi­sion had an off night once in a while.

Relat­ed con­tent:

75 Post-Punk and Hard­core Con­certs from the 1980s Have Been Dig­i­tized & Put Online: Fugazi, GWAR, Lemon­heads, Dain Bra­m­age (with Dave Grohl) & More

The His­to­ry of Rock n Roll in 10 Songs: A List Cre­at­ed by Leg­endary Rock Crit­ic Greil Mar­cus

Radio­head Cov­ers The Smiths & New Order (2007)

Hear the 50 Best Post-Punk Albums of All Time: A Nos­tal­gia-Induc­ing Playlist Curat­ed by Paste Mag­a­zine

Hear a 9‑Hour Trib­ute to John Peel: A Col­lec­tion of His Best “Peel Ses­sions”

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Goth

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Aberdeen Bestiary, One of the Great Medieval Illuminated Manuscripts, Now Digitized in High Resolution & Made Available Online

For thou­sands of years, ordi­nary peo­ple all over the world not only worked side-by-side with domes­tic ani­mals on a dai­ly basis, they also observed the wild fau­na around them to learn how to nav­i­gate and sur­vive nature. The close­ness pro­duced a keen appre­ci­a­tion for ani­mal behav­ior that informs the folk tales of every con­ti­nent and the pop­u­lar texts of every reli­gion. Our delight in ani­mal sto­ries sur­vives in children’s books, but in grown-up lan­guage, ani­mal com­par­isons tend to be nasty and dehu­man­iz­ing. The demean­ing adjec­tive “bes­tial” con­veys a typ­i­cal atti­tude not only toward peo­ple we don’t like, but toward the ani­mal world as well. Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm and Kafka’s Meta­mor­pho­sis have become the stan­dard ref­er­ences for mod­ern ani­mal alle­go­ry.

Ear­ly lit­er­a­ture shows us a range of dif­fer­ent atti­tudes, where ani­mals are treat­ed as equals, with char­ac­ter traits both good and bad, or as noble mes­sen­gers of a god or gods rather than live­stock, mov­ing scenery, or exploitable resources.

We might refer in an east­ern con­text to the Jata­ka Tales, fables of the Buddha’s many rebirths in the human and ani­mal worlds that pro­vide their read­ers with moral lessons. In the Chris­t­ian west, we have the medieval bestiary—compendiums of ani­mals, both real and mythological—that intro­duced read­ers to a moral typol­o­gy through “read­ing” what ear­ly Chris­tians thought of as the “book of nature.”

The most lav­ish of them all, the Aberdeen Bes­tiary, which dates from around 1200, was once owned by Hen­ry VIII. Now, the Uni­ver­si­ty of Aberdeen has dig­i­tized the text and made it freely avail­able to read­ers online. Begin­ning with the key cre­ation sto­ries from the book of Gen­e­sis, the book then dives into its descrip­tions of ani­mals, begin­ning with the lion, the pard (pan­ther), and the ele­phant.

You’ll notice that these are not ani­mals that your typ­i­cal medieval Euro­pean read­er would have encoun­tered. One impor­tant dif­fer­ence between the bes­tiary and the fable is that the for­mer draws many of its beasts from hearsay, con­jec­ture, or pure fic­tion. But the intent is part­ly the same. These “were teach­ing tools,” notes Claire Voon at Hyper­al­ler­gic, and the Aberdeen Bes­tiary con­tains illus­trat­ed “lengthy tales of moral behav­ior.”

Like the sto­ries of Aesop, the bes­tiary presents impor­tant lessons, mix­ing in the fab­u­lous with the nat­u­ral­ist. As Voon describes the Aberdeen Bes­tiary:

The illus­tra­tions are impres­sive­ly var­ied, depict­ing com­mon ani­mals from tiny ants to ele­phants, as well as fan­tas­tic beasts, from the leocro­ta to the phoenix. Even the moral qual­i­ties of the hum­ble sea urchin are hon­ored with para­graphs of dis­cus­sion. Beyond this array of crea­tures, the bes­tiary details the appear­ances and qual­i­ties of var­i­ous trees, gems, and humans. Some of these may seem com­i­cal to 21st-cen­tu­ry eyes: a swarm of bees, for instance, resem­bles an order­ly line of shut­tle­cocks stream­ing into their hives. Yet oth­er paint­ings are impres­sive for their near-accu­ra­cy, such as one image of a bat that shows how its mem­bra­nous wings con­nect its fin­gers, legs, and tail. All of these rich details would have helped read­ers bet­ter under­stand the nat­ur­al world as it was defined at the time of the book’s cre­ation. 

Incred­i­bly ornate and bear­ing the marks of dozens of scrib­al hands, the book, his­to­ri­ans believe, was orig­i­nal­ly pro­duced for a wide audi­ence, then tak­en by Henry’s librar­i­ans from a dis­solved monastery. Nev­er ful­ly com­plet­ed, it remained in the Roy­al Library for 100 years after Hen­ry. “I doubt if the Tudor mon­archs took it out for a reg­u­lar read,” says Aberdeen Uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sor Jane Ged­des. Now an open pub­lic doc­u­ment, it returns to its “orig­i­nal pur­pose of edu­ca­tion,” writes Voon, “although for us, of course, it illu­mi­nates more about the past than the present.” See the high res scans here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Medieval Mas­ter­piece, the Book of Kells, Is Now Dig­i­tized and Avail­able Online

The Medieval Man­u­script That Fea­tures “Yoda”, Killer Snails, Sav­age Rab­bits & More: Dis­cov­er The Smith­field Dec­re­tals

How to Make a Medieval Man­u­script: An Intro­duc­tion in 7 Videos

When Medieval Man­u­scripts Were Recy­cled & Used to Make the First Print­ed Books

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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Mark Twain Makes a List of 60 American Comfort Foods He Missed While Traveling Abroad (1880)

Think­ing of tak­ing a trip abroad? Or maybe relo­cat­ing for good? Amer­i­cans would do well, even 150 years hence, to attend to Mark Twain’s satir­i­cal account of U.S. trav­el­ers jour­ney­ing through Europe and Pales­tine, The Inno­cents Abroad. The “Amer­i­cans who are paint­ed to pecu­liar advan­tage by Mr. Clements” (sic), as fel­low Amer­i­can satirist William Dean How­ells wrote at the time, still roam the Earth—including trav­el­ers like one who “told the Eng­lish offi­cers that a cou­ple of our gun­boats could come and knock Gibral­tar into the Mediter­ranean Sea.” The tact­less­ness and bel­liger­ence Twain skew­ered do not feel his­tor­i­cal­ly so far from home.

Twain’s portraits—“somewhat car­i­ca­tured… or care­ful­ly and exact­ly done”—proved so pop­u­lar with read­ers that he fol­lowed up with an unof­fi­cial sequel, 1880s A Tramp Abroad, a some­what more seri­ous fic­tion­al­ized trav­el­ogue of Amer­i­cans jour­ney­ing through Europe; this time but two, Twain and his friend “Har­ris.” In the pre­vi­ous book, com­plained How­ells, the read­er learns “next to noth­ing about the pop­u­la­tion of the cities and the char­ac­ter of the rocks in the dif­fer­ent local­i­ties.” Here, with­out his com­e­dy troupe of trav­el­ing com­pan­ions, Twain directs his focus out­ward with minute descrip­tions of his sur­round­ings. He is, as usu­al, supreme­ly curi­ous, often per­plexed, but most­ly delight­ed by his expe­ri­ences. Except when it comes to the food.

Grow­ing “increas­ing­ly tired of an abun­dance of what he described as ‘fair-to-mid­dling’ food,” writes Lists of Note, Twain com­ments: “The num­ber of dish­es is suf­fi­cient; but then it is such a monot­o­nous vari­ety of UNSTRIKING dish­es […] Three or four months of this weary same­ness will kill the robustest appetite.” Hav­ing nev­er spent so long a time away, I can­not speak to Twain’s gus­ta­to­ry ennui, but I can relate, as no doubt can you, read­er, to miss­ing one or two famil­iar com­fort foods (as well as “sin­cere and capa­ble” ice water). Twain, per­haps not as adven­tur­ous an eater as he was a traveler—and in that sense also very much a mod­ern American—made “an enor­mous list of the foods he’d missed the most, of which were to be con­sumed when he arrived home.”

The list, below, is itself a kind of trav­el­ogue, through the vari­eties of 19th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can cui­sine, East, West, North, and South, includ­ing such del­i­ca­cies as “’Pos­sum” “Can­vas-back-duck from Bal­ti­more,” “Vir­ginia bacon, broiled,” “Prairie hens, from Illi­nois,” and “Brook trout, from Sier­ra Nevadas.” While we might pine for a region­al del­i­ca­cy or favorite processed food, Twain con­jured up in his mind’s gut a whole con­ti­nent of food to come home to. What kinds of food do you find your­self miss­ing when you trav­el? And how long a list might you find your­self mak­ing after sev­er­al months tramp­ing around in for­eign lands? Tell us in the com­ments sec­tion below. For now, here’s Twain’s list:

Radish­es. Baked apples, with cream
Fried oys­ters; stewed oys­ters. Frogs.
Amer­i­can cof­fee, with real cream.
Amer­i­can but­ter.
Fried chick­en, South­ern style.
Porter-house steak.
Sarato­ga pota­toes.
Broiled chick­en, Amer­i­can style.
Hot bis­cuits, South­ern style.
Hot wheat-bread, South­ern style.
Hot buck­wheat cakes.
Amer­i­can toast. Clear maple syrup.
Vir­ginia bacon, broiled.
Blue points, on the half shell.
Cher­ry-stone clams.
San Fran­cis­co mus­sels, steamed.
Oys­ter soup. Clam Soup.
Philadel­phia Ter­apin soup.
Oys­ters roast­ed in shell-North­ern style.
Soft-shell crabs. Con­necti­cut shad.
Bal­ti­more perch.
Brook trout, from Sier­ra Nevadas.
Lake trout, from Tahoe.
Sheep-head and croak­ers, from New Orleans.
Black bass from the Mis­sis­sip­pi.
Amer­i­can roast beef.
Roast turkey, Thanks­giv­ing style.
Cran­ber­ry sauce. Cel­ery.
Roast wild turkey. Wood­cock.
Can­vas-back-duck, from Bal­ti­more.
Prairie hens, from Illi­nois.
Mis­souri par­tridges, broiled.
‘Pos­sum. Coon.
Boston bacon and beans.
Bacon and greens, South­ern style.
Hominy. Boiled onions. Turnips.
Pump­kin. Squash. Aspara­gus.
But­ter beans. Sweet pota­toes.
Let­tuce. Suc­co­tash. String beans.
Mashed pota­toes. Cat­sup.
Boiled pota­toes, in their skins.
New pota­toes, minus the skins.
Ear­ly rose pota­toes, roast­ed in the ash­es, South­ern style, served hot.
Sliced toma­toes, with sug­ar or vine­gar. Stewed toma­toes.
Green corn, cut from the ear and served with but­ter and pep­per.
Green corn, on the ear.
Hot corn-pone, with chitlings, South­ern style.
Hot hoe-cake, South­ern style.
Hot egg-bread, South­ern style.
Hot light-bread, South­ern style.
But­ter­milk. Iced sweet milk.
Apple dumplings, with real cream.
Apple pie. Apple frit­ters.
Apple puffs, South­ern style.
Peach cob­bler, South­ern style
Peach pie. Amer­i­can mince pie.
Pump­kin pie. Squash pie.
All sorts of Amer­i­can pas­try.
Fresh Amer­i­can fruits of all sorts, includ­ing straw­ber­ries which are not to be doled out as if they were jew­el­ry, but in a more lib­er­al way. 
Ice-water—not pre­pared in the inef­fec­tu­al gob­let, but in the sin­cere and capa­ble refrig­er­a­tor.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore an Online Archive of 12,700 Vin­tage Cook­books

The Only Footage of Mark Twain: The Orig­i­nal & Dig­i­tal­ly Restored Films Shot by Thomas Edi­son

Mark Twain Drafts the Ulti­mate Let­ter of Com­plaint (1905)

Mark Twain Cre­ates a List of His Favorite Books For Adults & Kids (1887)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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When David Bowie Starred in—and Created Music for—a Dystopian Cyberpunk Video Game: Discover Omikron: The Nomad Soul (1999)

When it was announced that SARS-CoV­‑2, the virus at the cen­ter of the COVID-19 pan­dem­ic, had evolved into an even more con­ta­gious vari­ant called Omi­cron, pub­lic reac­tions var­ied. For those of us with long mem­o­ries of com­put­er and video gam­ing, it brought to mind a title we had­n’t thought about in quite some time: Omikron: The Nomad Soul, released for Win­dows in 1999 and the Sega Dream­cast in 2000. More than a few gamers know it as the debut of con­tro­ver­sial design­er David Cage, whose stu­dio Quan­tic Dream has gone on to pro­duce var­i­ous games of con­sid­er­able cin­e­mat­ic and emo­tion­al ambit (if also an often frus­trat­ing eccen­tric­i­ty). But it made a wider cul­tur­al impact at the time by incor­po­rat­ing the per­for­mance of none oth­er than David Bowie.

Or rather, it incor­po­rat­ed per­for­mances, plur­al, by David Bowie: in the game, he used motion cap­ture tech­nol­o­gy to play both Boz, the whol­ly dig­i­tal leader of an ancient reli­gious order, and the lead singer of the band The Dream­ers, whose con­certs (shown in the video above) the play­er can view here and there around the dystopi­an cyber­punk city of Omikron.

Orig­i­nal­ly, the devel­op­ers had only gone to Bowie in order to license his songs for the game’s sound­track, but, as explained in the mrixrt video below, the project so appealed to his technophil­ia that he pro­posed a much deep­er involve­ment. That includ­ed record­ing a set of orig­i­nal songs, lat­er includ­ed on his album Hours… (which is itself notable in the his­to­ry of tech­nol­o­gy and cul­ture for being one of the first down­load­able releas­es by a major artist).

Among its many nov­el qual­i­ties, includ­ing pio­neer­ing the “open world” envi­ron­ment now stan­dard in big-bud­get games, Omikron grants the play­er — as the tit­u­lar “nomad soul” — the abil­i­ty to inhab­it the bod­ies of a host of oth­er char­ac­ters (includ­ing one played by Bowie’s wife Iman). It isn’t hard to imag­ine the con­cep­t’s appeal for a per­former who made his name with fre­quent changes of iden­ti­ty — and who even sug­gest­ed, at one point, that he leave that name behind in the real­i­ty of the game, re-emerg­ing into pub­lic life as David Jones. By the time he died, the bet­ter part of two decades lat­er, his role in gam­ing was most­ly for­got­ten, but one of the many trib­utes paid to him includ­ed a free re-release of Omikron. Those who took the chance to revis­it the game would have remem­bered the feel­ing it first gave them that its dig­i­tal world con­tin­ued even when they weren’t play­ing — accom­pa­nied by a sense that, some­how, Bowie con­tin­ues to live with­in it.

Relat­ed con­tent:

When David Bowie Launched His Own Inter­net Ser­vice Provider: The Rise and Fall of BowieNet (1998)

A Tour of the New David Bowie Archive Fea­tur­ing 90,000 Arti­facts from His Life & Career

How David Bowie Used William S. Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Method to Write His Unfor­get­table Lyrics

David Bowie Pre­dicts the Good & Bad of the Inter­net in 1999: “We’re on the Cusp of Some­thing Exhil­a­rat­ing and Ter­ri­fy­ing”

The David Bowie Monop­oly Game Is Here: Advance to GO and Col­lect 200 Hunky Dorys!

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Dr. Weil’s 60-Second Technique for Falling Asleep

Give Dr. Andrew Weil three min­utes, and he can teach you a 60-sec­ond tech­nique for falling asleep. Above, the alter­na­tive med­i­cine guru walks you through the 4–7‑8 breath­ing method. As he demon­strates, it “takes almost no time, requires no equip­ment and can be done any­where.” And once you mas­ter it, you can use the 4–7‑8 breath­ing tech­nique (explained and demon­strat­ed in greater detail here ) to low­er your anx­i­ety lev­els (use­ful these days!), nav­i­gate ten­sion-filled moments, and deal with food crav­ings.

Else­where, Weil has said, “If I had to lim­it my advice on health­i­er liv­ing to just one tip, it would be sim­ply to learn how to breathe cor­rect­ly.” Hence why he cre­at­ed an audio record­ing, Breath­ing: The Mas­ter Key to Self Heal­ing, which you can still pur­chase online.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Peo­ple in the Mid­dle Ages Slept Not Once But Twice Each Night: How This Lost Prac­tice Was Redis­cov­ered

How a Good Night’s Sleep — and a Bad Night’s Sleep — Can Enhance Your Cre­ativ­i­ty

Sleep or Die: Neu­ro­sci­en­tist Matthew Walk­er Explains How Sleep Can Restore or Imper­il Our Health

10 Hours of Ambi­ent Arc­tic Sounds Will Help You Relax, Med­i­tate, Study & Sleep

240 Hours of Relax­ing, Sleep-Induc­ing Sounds from Sci-Fi Video Games: From Blade Run­ner to Star Wars


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