Wasteland Wrap-up #64

Did Thomas Crowne go to Epstein Island? Plus some magical science fiction, nuclear narratives, and questions of non-use of nuclear weapons...

Someone recently suggested to me that they felt that one of the cultural differences between the United States and France is that in the United States, the ideal age is “twenty-something,” and so everybody, no matter their age, tries to look and dress and act like they are twenty-something. Whereas in France, it was suggested, the ideal age is “forty-something,” and so even children are dressed and expected to act like people in the middle part of their lives.

It is actually not this snowy here — it was rainy much of last week, and I didn’t take any good photos of Lyndon, so this is one from a few weeks ago at the Jardin du Luxembourg.

I don’t know France well-enough to generalize quite that far, but I thought it was an amusing idea, and one that felt like it had some merit. Obviously it will depend on who one considers to be “French” — Paris contains multitudes of different peoples and cultures, even some Americans! — but I appreciated that it seemed to bring something different to the table than the normal observation that the French “dress up” more than Americans do.

My cold from last week turned out to be very mild, which I was appreciative of. Just a bit of fatigue and decongestion, with no coughing or lung issues. So that is something positive. My least favorite thing about colds since COVID is that they almost all seem to go right into my lungs and attempt to become bronchitis, and that just adds weeks to the recovery. Whereas today, a week after my initial symptoms, I feel basically myself.

I tested into an A2-level French class run by the city of Paris last week, and that felt good. The teacher was impressed that I got as much garbled French as I have from basically Duolingo alone. I’m very keen on seeing how the class goes (it doesn’t start for real until this upcoming week), and I even more keen for the moment in 6 months or so when I can reflect back on how improved I will be. But one doesn’t get there in a day…

This odd statue at the Jardin du Luxembourg is of “the mouth of truth,” and if you put your hand into the mouth, you cannot remove it if you have told a lie, apparently. This poor woman has been here for a century or so, I believe.

I recently re-watched The Thomas Crowne Affair (1999) on Netflix, because I’m a sucker for re-watching things that I remembered enjoying decades ago while I do the dishes — it’s less risky than trying out a new film or show, perhaps, and it’s time that I’m only paying half-attention anyway. And, yikes, the film did not age all that well.

It’s not so much that the acting or production is bad — it still has its charm as a heist film — but the entire idea of a billionaire Wall Street financier who is just bored with his life of private jets and corporate acquisitions, and so he becomes a lovable criminal scamp stealing priceless paintings from the Metropolitan Museum of Art just to prove he can… that feels a bit different in our current moment than it probably did in 1999. There are all of these gross overtones stuck between the twin notions of “only the rich appreciate art” and “art is just another plaything for the rich (or effete intellectuals).”

In the end, the titular financier is basically let off the hook because a) he’s charming, b) he’s rich, c) he returns the art that he stole, and d) did I mention he’s charming and rich? Blech.

I do love the little faces above windows in Paris — they are such a delight to notice, and often quite distinct. This one had a particularly whimsical expression — I wonder who she was.

The film acts like an art heist is an essentially victimless crime. There is no sense that he has stolen a work from the broader culture, nor the fact that the investigation diverted public and police resources that could have been better spent on other tasks. And he has a bunch of recruited, immigrant accomplices in the beginning who end up in jail — what happened to them? Does the fact that he’s willing to let a bunch of desperate men go to prison so he can have his fun make him a sociopath or just another rich asshole?

I’m overthinking this film, I am quite aware. But I couldn’t help but think about the Jeffrey Epstein Affair while watching The Thomas Crowne Affair. Would Thomas Crowne have begged Epstein for an invitation to the island, too?

I had been wanting to write about William Gibson’s Jackpot trilogy, and the notion of “the jackpot,” since starting Doomsday Machines, and I got around to it last week, ICYMI:

Gibson is one of the few authors that I believe I can say I’ve read every book of his. If you liked his Neuromancer then you should read The Peripheral — it’s his best stuff in a long time. I’m not saying that everything between Neuromancer and it are skippable (I enjoyed the entire Sprawl trilogy and the Bridge trilogy quite a lot… although I felt like the Blue Ant triology Was Not For Me), but The Peripheral is the first book of his I read for a while that scratched that particular itch. And as I note in the post, please, for the love of all that is good, skip the Amazon adaptation of it — it is bad and gets worse the longer it goes. Just a frustrating adaptation!