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WASHINGTON, DC – APRIL 12:  U.S. President Donald Trump holds a news conference with NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg in the East Room of the White House April 12, 2017 in Washington, DC. Trump reaffirmed the United States’ commitment to the North Atlantic alliance and its “ironclad” pledge to defend NATO allies, even though he repeatedly questioned the relevance of the military organization during the campaign.  (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)
WASHINGTON, DC – APRIL 12: U.S. President Donald Trump holds a news conference with NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg in the East Room of the White House April 12, 2017 in Washington, DC. Trump reaffirmed the United States’ commitment to the North Atlantic alliance and its “ironclad” pledge to defend NATO allies, even though he repeatedly questioned the relevance of the military organization during the campaign. (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)

MediaSeptember 12, 2017

Reflections on calling Trump a ‘flaming asshole’ on public radio

WASHINGTON, DC – APRIL 12:  U.S. President Donald Trump holds a news conference with NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg in the East Room of the White House April 12, 2017 in Washington, DC. Trump reaffirmed the United States’ commitment to the North Atlantic alliance and its “ironclad” pledge to defend NATO allies, even though he repeatedly questioned the relevance of the military organization during the campaign.  (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)
WASHINGTON, DC – APRIL 12: U.S. President Donald Trump holds a news conference with NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg in the East Room of the White House April 12, 2017 in Washington, DC. Trump reaffirmed the United States’ commitment to the North Atlantic alliance and its “ironclad” pledge to defend NATO allies, even though he repeatedly questioned the relevance of the military organization during the campaign. (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)

In an interview on RNZ, foreign policy expert Van Jackson used a coarse term to describe US president. But it was neither a gaffe, nor emotionally motivated, he explains

If you do enough media interviews, you’re bound to gaffe. We sometimes say things when we’re on the spot that we later regret, or that we wished we had phrased better. My calling President Donald Trump a “flaming asshole” in a Sunday interview on Radio NZ is not one of those moments.

In the days since the interview — which was largely about North Korea policy — I’ve received three kinds of responses. The first, and most common reaction, has been “Good on ya!” backslapping. The second, “You’re an idiot … He’s a great man.” That needs no interpretation. And the third: “Manners, please!” Essentially a call for some invisible standard of propriety on a public platform. All three response types misconstrue the reasons for labelling Trump a “flaming asshole”.

One might assume I called Trump a “flaming asshole” for reasons of catharsis; the pundit version of screaming into a pillow. But my characterisation was neither a gaffe nor emotionally motivated. It was a purposeful analytical description. As a political scientist and policy wonk, I believe in observing and describing the world as accurately as possible, which demands clear definitions and standards of evidence.

President Donald Trump. Photo: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Far from being simply an expressive term, an “asshole” is a category of person: someone who “systematically allows himself special advantages in cooperative life out of an entrenched sense of entitlement that immunizes him against the complaints of other people.” The definition predates the president by several years, deriving from Aaron James’s 2012 book Assholes: A Theory. During the US presidential campaign, James seized the moment with a follow-up book aptly titled Assholes: A Theory of Donald Trump in which he adopts philosophical criteria ranging from Rousseau to Hobbes to make the case that Trump as a person is a categorical asshole. I’ve yet to see anyone publish a challenge to his central thesis.

I submit that presidents too can be assholes, even apart from their individual character. It just so happens that Trump is an asshole as an individual and as a president — hence my modifier “flaming”. What ideal-type evidence might we associate with an asshole president, and how does Trump measure up to those standards? I can think of several generic indicators of presidential assholery:

  • Vilifying, through “othering” rhetoric and decision-making, anyone who might serve as a check on presidential power—whether judges, legislators, or the media.
  • Extorting allies faced with desperate circumstances.
  • Making self-aggrandizing statements at moments that call for political unity or demonstrations of leadership.
  • Justifying national policy decisions with emotional criteria in lieu of causal justifications that related a decision to an anticipated outcome.

While not an exhaustive list, each of these indicators represent presidential enrichment—an expectation of individual privilege — at the expense of the nation. Consequently, they’re not so different from indicators of shifts toward illiberalism. Any cursory review of news headlines reveals that Trump’s presidency lights up all of these indicators, hence the label “flaming asshole.”

He’s declared the mainstream media an enemy of the people on many occasions. At the same time that America’s South Korean ally faces a grave military threat from a nuclear armed adversary on its northern border, he broached withdrawing from the Korea-US Free Trade Agreement in order to extract more favorable terms of trade for the United States. In a speech to the Boy Scouts of America, an organization that’s always aimed to be standard bearer of citizenship and leadership, Trump talked about his crowd size, vilified the media, and made veiled accusations of disloyalty toward members of his own cabinet. And he’s determined to withdraw from the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA), the precarious agreement that prevents Iran from becoming a nuclear power, without justification for how abandoning it will prevent nuclear proliferation or protect US interests.

But even if President Trump is a flaming asshole by any reasonable reading of the evidence, one might question the prudence of characterizing him as such in public commentary about policy issues. While this may come down to a question of judgment, I think in this case it was justified for at least three reasons.

First, in the specific context in which I used the phrase “flaming asshole”, it was the preface to me expressing partial agreement with Trump on a policy level. The radio host asked me if I agreed with Trump’s recent tweets about North Korea. Like any policy wonk, my answer was predictably nuanced, which could’ve turned off anyone listening who happened to be anti-Trump (which is most of the world, according to a recent Pew poll). So in this instance, acknowledging that Trump is a flaming asshole rhetorically offsets my partial agreement with him; it ensures that, to the listener, my occasional congruence of policy opinion with Trump does not constitute approval of anything else Trump says or does.

Second, it’s important not to normalise Trump’s destructive pattern of unrestrained rhetoric, threat-making, and erratic decisions. Failing to “police the boundaries of political discourse,” paraphrasing from late political sociologist Charles Tilly, has real-world consequences. A decision not to call Trump out for illiberal and self-aggrandizing behavior is a decision to excuse it, which risks inspiring copycat politicians. And even more important than calling Trump out on specific violations of normalcy is the need to identify that these instances are the cumulative attributes of a type of person—a flaming asshole, in this case. A failure to recognize that permits a cascade of similar bad behavior.

Third, I’m an American living in New Zealand at a time when the rest of the world is intensely curious about America’s political system and society. For many, I’m one of a very small pool of Americans with whom they interact and pose questions, and in some cases I’m the only Washington technocrat they’ll ever meet. Foreigners sometimes reduce the United States to the Trump administration, or to Trump himself. But America is bigger than the Nativist minority that voted for him. Even more than the average American, therefore, I feel the need to signal that the United States, and US opinion, is more eclectic than Trump and that most of us don’t share his views or values.

Virtually everything about Trump frustrates me. He beat a superiorly qualified candidate for the presidency; the technocrats’ choice. He lacks respect for experts of any kind, unless they wear a military uniform or have offshore accounts protecting their millions. And to put it in a hubristic but not inaccurate way, he takes for granted the “world America made.” He’s contemptuous of the internationalist traditions in US foreign policy that have helped prevent nuclear and great-power wars, among their other benefits.

Describing Trump as an asshole for these emotive reasons might make it a term of abuse. But that’s not why I did it, and the merits of labeling him a flaming asshole outweigh the risks that some might be turned off by my doing so. Lovers of liberalism and an idealised America need to define and reinforce the boundaries of acceptable behavior for its politics — indeed, for politics everywhere — even at the expense of political divisiveness. If that means calling an asshole an asshole, then so be it.

Van Jackson is a Senior Lecturer in International Relations at Victoria University of Wellington in New Zealand, and the Defence & Strategy Fellow at the Center for Strategic Studies. He hosts the podcast series Pacific Pundit. The views expressed here are his alone.

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MediaSeptember 11, 2017

TV on the big screen, movies on our phones – does size even matter anymore?

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After viewing the latest season of Top of the Lake in a cinema, Aaron Yap looks at the increasingly blurred lines between films, TV shows, and everything in between.

It’s so magical – I don’t know why – to go into a theatre and have the lights go down. It’s very quiet, and then the curtain starts to open. Maybe they’re red. And you go into a world.

It’s beautiful when it’s a shared experience. It’s still beautiful when you’re at home and your theatre is in front of you, though it’s not quite as good. It’s best on a big screen. That’s the way to go into the world”.

– David Lynch.

On July 30 this year, several hundred people hunkered down in Auckland’s ASB Waterfront Theatre to watch an entire season of a TV show. Programmed as part of the New Zealand International Film Festival, this one-off theatrical screening lasted approximately seven hours: six hour-long episodes, plus a 15-minute and 45-minute break.

It started around 1:30pm on a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon. By the time we got out and dispersed into Wynyard Quarter, it was night.

This was how some of us got to first experience Jane Campion’s crime drama Top of the Lake: China Girl – nearly a month before it screened on any televisions here. To quote festival director Bill Gosden, it was “enthralling”.

The occasion was nothing if not unusual. Of course, it’s not unusual that a homegrown-championing film festival would want to show Jane Campion’s latest work. And it’s not a duration thing. They’ve never shied away from films with extremely lengthy run times. Earlier this year, their Autumn Events programme screened the four-hour director’s cut of the classic concert doco Woodstock; last year, the Japanese film Happy Hour clocked in at five hours. It’s unusual because Top of the Lake: China Girl is the second season of a TV show which we were watching in full, in a festival setting, in a cinema.

It hasn’t been touted as a six hour movie in the same sense that David Lynch had been describing Twin Peaks: The Return as an 18 hour movie. China Girl has been clearly structured with episodic, cliffhanger-punctuated TV in mind. NZIFF weren’t the only ones to do this. China Girl had its world premiere at Cannes theatrically, as did the first two hours of Twin Peaks: The Return.

In an even more curious event, this month we get to see two episodes of Marvel’s newest TV show Inhumans at IMAX. That’s right, IMAX. One has to wonder if these screenings will hint at an ongoing blurring of the mediums.

I liked the first season of Top of the Lake fine. It was a skillfully crafted Nordic Noir-via-Down under gloom-fest. More so, it was heartening to see a New Zealand filmmaker making the most of the creative freedoms afforded by an international prestige TV production.

But the initial allure of this screening wasn’t so much, “Damn, I NEED to see Top of the Lake: China Girl right now on the big screen,” but more, “Wouldn’t it cool to see a complete season of this show in this environment?” It was a novel experience, but this was not a show I would immediately deem necessary to be seen in a large theatre.

For example, there have been recent TV episodes I’d rather watch on the big screen ahead of China Girl. The Expanse’s “CQB” with its stunning zero-gravity firefight. Game of Thrones’ “The Spoils of War” with its spectacular army-decimating dragon attack. Twin Peaks: The Return “Part 8” with its cosmic, brain-melting origin-story-of-sorts. You can imagine the sound and imagery of these set-pieces gaining a sensory boost on an outsized screen in a darkened room. A character-driven mystery show like China Girl won’t lose much seen on your laptop.

That said, China Girl made for a highly enjoyable and memorable theatrical experience, if not necessarily cinematic. If you’ve ever been to a movie marathon before, it’s not dissimilar. You’re just watching the same programming at a more consistent, quicker pace. There’s the delightfully cosy aspect of huddling together with like-minded strangers who’ve come armed with coffees and packed bags full of snacks, prepared for the long haul. The unmistakable feeling of “being in this together”, accompanied by audibly engrossed audience reactions, was a refreshing alternative to the increasingly isolating TV-by-convenience trend that’s more common today. This was a communal binge.

Whether such an experience will catch on in the mainstream, or become a norm at film festivals, is less certain. I’m all for the strategy of making specific, event-worthy episodes available in a theatre. Season debuts, finales. It’s a valid marketing ploy to drum up hype for your show. But given that the masses have now become accustomed to flat-fee, or free, content-on-tap-type consumption, it’s unlikely many will be enthused about paying $50 to watch a six-part mini-series at Event Cinemas. And yes, big HD TVs are everywhere now, and you don’t have to deal with loud morons in your living room.

For anyone like myself – who like to stubbornly believe in purist, romantic notions of cinema – wrestling with the aggressive, complicated cross-pollination of TV and film come be a confusing time. It’s exciting that TV has adopted cinema’s auteur theory, and allowed actors and filmmakers to toggle between mediums without stigma. At the same time, it’s also contracted cinema’s reboot/remake bug. Cinematic franchises from the likes of Marvel and DC lean exhaustingly on TV-style serialisation to tell their stories. Meanwhile, TV favours long-form film-style narrative arcs over old-fashioned self-contained episodes.  

Many shows  Masters of None, Glow, Fleabag, The Handmaid’s Tale to name a few  now attempt a faux-cinematic look, shooting in widescreen aspect ratios of 2.35:1 or 2:1 (which ironically, were introduced in the ‘50s to give cinemas an experiential edge over the boxy dimensions of television). But we’re also seeing web trailers for 2.35:1 movies that are butchered to a square 1:1 ratio in order to maximise prime real estate on mobile phone screens.

I get it  you want more eyeballs. But it’s the principle that irks. The belief that humans are simply too lazy or stupid to flip their phones horizontally to watch a trailer in the correct aspect ratio. Does no one remember the evils of pan and scan?

It’s not unimaginable that we’re heading to a future where the boundaries of film and TV will dissolve. Screen size and formats will cease to matter. The maxim that “content is king” will, well, be king. It’s just a bunch of stuff for people to watch on their devices at their own convenience. We’re already seeing hints of this with Netflix’s shady, ubiquitous branding, “A Netflix Original”. It’s a nearly meaningless term. It doesn’t tell us whether the content is something Netflix has produced from scratch, or if it’s licensed from another studio. It doesn’t credit the filmmaker, and hell, it doesn’t even tell us if it’s a film or TV show.

The scenario poses a catch 22. For all the attractive carte blanche luxuries that Netflix can offer that a normal Hollywood studio can’t, the factors above – along with the service’s disruptive distribution model – indicate it’s not in the business of preserving the romance of cinema.

Those paying $13 a month just to watch stuff probably won’t bloody care. Me, however, I’m already fretting over whether Twin Peaks: The Return would be more at home on an end-of-year TV or film list.


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