What Cameron Crowe's Vanilla Sky Said To Me

"Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around." --Sofia

In 2001 Cameron Crowe created an incredible film. Why some movies resonate with us and others fail to connect, I'm not sure. In part, the masterpieces simply have no hollow notes. The director somehow brings out stellar performances from his cast and makes no compromises along the way. It helps, of course, to have a magical script, and the film Vanilla Sky explodes with layers of meaning that go deep to make it a very special film.

I can think of three reasons this film has been panned by a segment of the public. One is that Tom Cruise is the star, and for this reason alone it might be dismissed by some. This is an incredible performance, however, and can’t be so easily dismissed. A second reason is that the film is a remake in English of a Spanish version of the same story, starring the same Penelope Cruz. Who cares? I did not see the Spanish version. I saw this one. The third? Some people just didn't get it. Complicated, cerebral, perhaps a bit labyrinthine, but from the start I was on board, holding on to Ariadne's thread.

The film is complicated, and requires a measure of work on the part of the viewer. If you have to see it twice to see that the continuity is there, maybe that is OK. The film hangs together and is not a manipulation with a twist ending. Yes, the ending twists, but it's a logical extension of the story.

For me, the scene in the middle where Tom Cruise is dancing in a nightclub with the mask on the back of his head is so fabulously conceived for its symbolic value, as Cruise become Janus, the Roman mythological figure with two faces. Janus was the god of gates or doors, doorways, beginnings and endings. In this film, though we know it not, the scene telegraphs the pivotal transition for David Aames, who has been tragically disfigured as a result of his own choices. Sometimes, you can learn from the past but can’t change it.

I'm not certain what it is that so resonates with me about this film. In part, it may be the philosophical questions it raises about who we are, and the life we would live if we could truly live our dreams. At its root it asks this fundamental existential question: “What if everything you think is real… isn’t?"

It is interesting, too, that the Cruz character is named Sofia, the Greek word for wisdom. The symbols, the erudite references throughout, the layers of complexity may be simply too much for a typical audience immersed in pop entertainment values. Am I being too sentimental to be properly critical? At least one poll rated this as one of the worst films of all time.

On its most basic level, Vanilla Sky presents the philosophical conundrum of the “brain in the vat.” What is reality when it’s all in your head? And what’s wrong with a perfect fantasy, even if we are nothing more than a disembodied brain hooked up to wires, stimuli and altered perceptions? The story line ultimately brings Tom Cruise to a place where he must choose whether he wants to live in reality or his perfect fantasy, which for the time being has gone awry. Perhaps this, more than anything, is what speaks to me, because many people prefer their fantasies to the harder challenges of reality. How would you choose?

Here are some comments from a review at imdb.com. For me its kudos to Cameron Crowe for a true achievement, and a great follow-up shot to his wonderful surprise, Almost Famous.

Director Cameron Crowe has crafted and delivered much more than just another film with this one; far more than a movie, `Vanilla Sky' is a vision realized. Beginning with the first images that appear on screen, he presents a visually stunning experience that is both viscerally and cerebrally affecting. It's a mind-twisting mystery that will swallow you up and sweep you away; emotionally, it's a rush-- and it may leave you exhausted, because it requires some effort to stay with it. But it's worth it.

As to the performances here, those who can't get past the mind-set of Tom Cruise as Maverick in `Top Gun,' or his Ethan Hunt in `Mission Impossible,' or those who perceive him only as a `movie star' rather than an actor, are going to have to think again in light of his work here. Because as David Aames, Cruise gives the best performance of his career, one that should check any doubts as to his ability as an actor at the door. He's made some interesting career choices the past few years, with films like `Magnolia' and `Eyes Wide Shut' merely warm-ups for the very real and complex character he creates here. And give him credit, too, for taking on a role that dispels any sense of vanity; this is Cruise as you've never seen him before. `Jerry Maguire' earned him an Oscar nomination, and this one should, also-- as well as the admiration and acclaim of his peers. Cruise is not just good in this movie, he is remarkable.

Penelope Cruz (Sofia) turns in an outstanding, if not exceptional performance as well, as the woman of David's dreams. There's an alluring innocence she brings to this role that works well for her character and makes her forthcoming and accessible,... Crowe knows how to get the best out of his actors, and he certainly did with Cruz.

* * * * 

"I want to live a real life... I don't want to dream any longer."--David Aames

* * * * 

Life goes on all around you. Open your eyes.

8½ -- The First Seven Minutes

What is this film about? Chaos striving for resolution? Fellini translates his inner struggle into a story line that audiences can experience themselves.

Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni), a film director stuck for inspiration in the middle of writing a screenplay, is having a midlife existential crisis. His doctors suggest that he withdraw to a health resort. His wife Louisa, his mistress Carla, his friends, his actors and his producer come to pay a visit. They all want him to finish writing the film. Insead, he takes refuge in endless daydreaming. Wandering between memories, dreams and reality, Fellini the artist plays out his own anxiety toward the act of creation.

Copyright 1962.  Embassy Pictures

Angelo Rizzoli Presenta

8½  DI FEDERICO FELLINI

The first shot features cars jammed together, waiting, not moving, not unlike the crammed vehicular sardines on the Staten Island Ferry. The camera appears to be stationed on the ledge inside the rear window of a car stuck in the middle, capturing the back of the driver's head in silhouette. The driver is wearing a brimmed hat. The traffic is stationary. Through the front windshield we see a man in the back seat of the car in front of him turning to look a him.

The second shot is from outside the car, slightly elevated. From this angle we can see that it's not a ferry but an underpass, with cars backed up as far as the eye can see.

The camera, inside the car again, pans about and we see the faces of other drivers and occupants while our central character begins to notice steam, or some kind of fumes, coming in through the vents. The driver, whose face we have not yet seen, begins to panic, attempting first to stop the fumes from coming in and then attempting to open the door, which is jammed or immovable for whatever reason. Faces in the other vehicles are staring now, wondering what will happen next as our central character gasps and grunts, becoming increasingly agitated.

The camera pans to a man's face in the next car, who stares without emotion. In another car a lascivious old man is stroking the bare shoulder of an attractive young woman who slithers responsively to his touch.

At this point our central character has managed to get a window open and in a contorted manner he wriggles out and begins floating, ascending above the traffic jam while more faces stare. Arms spread he is moving sunward into the clouds. 

The camera catches a glimpse of a strange vertical structure and then cuts to a man on horseback wearing a cape, galloping along a beach.

"Counsellor, I've got him," a man says. The man on the beach in a long-sleeved white turtleneck, holds a rope somewhat the way a boy holds a kite string. "Down, come down," he says, and we see the rope is tied around the ankle of the man who floated up toward the clouds.

The camera cuts to a priest, reading something, who says, "Definitely down." And the floating man begins falling rapidly earthward.

Cut to a dark bedroom, a hand reaching up as an anguished man groans.

Another man wearing a lab coat over a white shirt and tie bursts in, saying, "Excuse me for disturbing you so early. How are you feeling? I'm a great admirer of yours. I'm delighted to meet you. May I?"

We can now see the visitor is a doctor as his nurse joins them from the other room. "May I use your typewriter, sir?" the nurse asks, which she proceeds to do.

"Roll up your sleeve, please. Keep it relaxed," says the doctor. 

The camera angle switches to show the front of a newspaper which the patient appears to be reading. When asked how old he is, a voice answers, "43." The newspaper drops away and we see it is the doctor who was reading it. He is smiling, leaning forward with interest. "Well, what are you working on now? Another film without hope?"

This is the first clue about the identity of our central character.

"First time you're taking the cure?" the nurse asks.

"Yes."

We still have not seen the face of this man who was stuck in traffic, escaped, flew toward the sun, crashed to earth and is now being attended to by a doctor and nurse. It's apparent the first sequence was a bad dream. It's also apparent that this is no ordinary film.

After a knock at the door, an older man wearing glasses and a receding hairline enters, hesitating at first because of the presence of medical staff. He says "Good morning," then asks if it is OK to smoke. He's wearing a bathrobe, pajamas and slippers. Are we in a house or a hotel? 

The doctor asks our central character to cough, and he coughs. And then to breathe, and he takes a deep breath. The patient's face is still hidden, his robe pulled over his head while he lies face down on the bed.

As the doctor finishes he looks at a bed where several dozen photos of women's faces are laid out. Only now do we see that this patient, a filmmaker, is Marcello Mastroianni. The doctors give him instructions to take mineral water in three fifteen minute intervals before breakfast, the mud baths and some other instructions for the first week, then suspending that for two days before continuing.

Mastroianni walks slowly, somewhat dejectedly, into the bathroom and for the first time we see his face, looking haggard, dark bags under his eyes, more like he's been punched in the face than simply exhausted from lack of sleep. Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries begins as he ponders all these things. Newspapers lay strewn about on the floor.

We are now five minutes into the film. Who is this man? And what is going on here? Clue 1: He is a screenwriter/filmmaker whom we shall soon learn is Guido Anselmi. Clue 2: His films are pessimistic downers, lacking in hope. 

For the next two minutes the Wagner theme accompanies what might pass as an elaborate scene involving Guido as a passive observer walking through the mud baths compound. The camera pans a parade of staring, indifferent or leering faces, elderly people and others with disabilities. People who know him are demanding something from him... producers and investors want to know what the film will be about. Actresses want to know if they will get a lead role based on the screen tests.

"It's sad for a man to realize how miserably he has failed," someone says about Guido.

* * * 

Numerous film makers give a nod to Fellini in later works. Terry Gilliam's Brazil emulates the flying dream in which Sam Lowry soars above the clouds only to be yanked back to grim reality by bureaucratic forces, a deliberate nod to Guido’s kite-string fall from the sky. Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries in Apocalypse Now was consciously selected by Scorscese in response to its use here by Fellini.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind likewise features a sequence that parallels the opening with a suffocating, surreal car interior from which the protaganist escapes into dream logic, then suddenly falls back-to-reality with a jolt tha is structurally very close to Guido’s traffic-jam nightmare.

This opening sequence planted seeds for scenes in All That Jazz, Bad Education, Babylon and other films as well. Woody Allen's Stardust Memories is a love-letter/parody of 8½, the opening itself almost a shot-for-shot homage: a depressed celebrity filmmaker (Allen) trapped in a stalled train car filled with grotesque, staring passengers. He escapes through a window, ending up on a sunny meadow with beautiful people before waking up. Allen has repeatedly called the 8½ traffic-jam dream the greatest opening in cinema.

* * * 

Are we watching a Fellini autobiography? At one point Guido says, "I thought I had everything clear in my mind. I wanted to make an honest film, no compromises."

TO BE CONTINUED

Mastroianni in the Mirror: Searching for a Soul in La Dolce Vita

If you know Spanish, "Dulce" means "Sweet." And "Vida"means "Life."  La Dolce Vita is an Italian film but you can easily see that both Spanish and Italian are siblings in the Romance language family, and the meaning is plain: The Sweet Life. 

The iconic Fellini film was cutting edge as a harbinger of the fading of Existentialism and the dawn of new philosophical age, the Age of Irony, later re-labeled Post-Modernism. Irony has become a central characteristic of the postmodern world. Where modernism (the existential response to Nietzsche's Nihilism) still believed (even in its despair) that meaning could be recovered or rebuilt, postmodernity surrendered to the wink, the shrug, the knowing smirk. Nothing is sacred, nothing is serious for long, and sincerity itself is treated as the ultimate naïveté.

In Fellini's La Dolce Vita (1960), Marcello Rubini (Marcello Mastroianni), a jaded tabloid journalist, drifts through the hedonistic high society of Rome in the late 1950s. Over seven nights and dawns, Marcello chases fleeting pleasures—orgies, celebrity scandals, intellectual debates, and miraculous hoaxes—while searching for meaning, love, and artistic fulfillment. The film is ultimately a portrait of the moral emptiness and spiritual malaise beneath the glamour of “the sweet life.”

While watching, I couldn't help but think of the opening scene from a book I'd read about Johnny Carson. It begins with a party. The crème de la crème of Hollywood are gathered at some luxurious home, awkward and slightly uncomfortable until Johnny and his wife finally show up. The author, Carson's personal attorney, paints a cynical picture of a houseful of superficial people living shallow lives.

You can see why that scene comes to mind as La Dolce Vita delves into the same themes of fame, decadence, and the superficiality of celebrity culture. It's a film about the contrasts and contradictions within high society as well as a nuanced commentary on the nature of fame and its impact on the individuals who covet it and the society that is infatuated with it. 

Some people have called La Dolce Vita one of the most influential and visually intoxicating films ever made. Like all major films, it is replete with memorable images, scenes and lines. I doubt that anyone watching today, however, can avoid thinking about Princess Di when celebrity star Sylvia (Anita Ekberg) is being pursued by a barrage of paparazzi.  

The famous set pieces—the opening shot of a helicopter carrying a statue of Christ over modern Rome, Anita Ekberg’s midnight frolic in the Trevi Fountain, the haunting beach sequence with the dead sea creature and the unreachable girl watching from afar—have been heralded as staples of cinematic history. 

"Marcello." Wine and pigment on 
illustration board

Mastroianni’s performance steals every scene: weary, charming, self-loathing, and at times unexpectedly cruel, a lost soul in a sea of decadence. The supporting cast (Ekberg, Anouk Aimée, Yvonne Furneaux, Alain Cuny) inject vivid life to Fellini’s gallery of beautiful, broken souls.

The film is both a celebration and a brutal autopsy of excess, and its critique of celebrity culture, paparazzi frenzy, and spiritual bankruptcy. 

This kind of moral bankruptcy is nothing new. We're more than familiar with the decadence of King Louis XIV, or the Emperors Nero and Caligula of Rome who spent fortunes on palaces, jewels and bizarre amusements including lavish public games to display dominance and curry political favor. The Gilded Age in America (1870s-1910s) featured palatial mansions and extravagant parties (with solid gold flatware and full orchestras while millions lived in overcrowded tenements.) The Belle Époque in Europe (1871–1914), the Roaring Twenties, and the Lolita Express are all reminders that there's nothing new under the sun. For evidence, check out Psalm 73 from 1,000 years B.C. 

La Dolce Vita is currently rated 8 stars out of 10 at imdb.com, and its stature continues to climb. If it has any flaws, perhaps some might give a demerit to the film’s 174-minute runtime. Yet even its sprawl can also be interpreted as deliberate, mirroring Marcello’s endlessly aimless wandering.

"Eddie Did It"

Me with 2 of my 3 brothers. L to R: Don, Ed, Ron

It's been said, and oft repeated, that the weakest ink is stronger than the strongest memory. For this reason, countless people keep journals, genealogical and legal records as well as baby books. Our diaries, and photos, preserve our memories. 

According to our family's baby book, where (among other things) my mother recorded my our first words, my brother Ron's very first sentence was “Eddie did it.” 

I was his older brother by two years. With this utterance of “Eddie did it,” he was simply proving that at a very early age he had entered the “Adam and Eve Blame Game," the age-old drama of finding creative ways to avoid responsibility and shift the blame to someone else.  

When we dislike the negative consequences of poor choices we make, we let others take he rap. How hilarous that this was my brother's first sentence! 

It's a profound insight when we finally learn that we are responsible for the things we say and do. This truth runs contrary to the Freud-based pop culture assumption that my parents or circumstances or society made me the way I am, that I have no choice but to be this way, to behave badly or whatever.

Politicians are especially good at this blame game. When an initiative fails, it was not their fault. "I inherited an impossible situation," they often say. Or maybe, "Don't blame me. My intentions were good." This is why the public lost respect for their elected officials.

In many work environments, the blame game can make it almost impossible to learn from previous mistakes because rather than get a proper diagnosis of what happened, all the players become more concerned about covering their tracks. In his book On Advertising, David Ogilvy stated that when we have autopsies without blame, only then will we discover what killed the patient.

Mistakes are inevitable in life, and in business. Some decisions in business are simply educated guesses. New product introductions do not always find welcoming arms to greet them. For example, the Polaroid Camera required a very long runway before it got off the ground. It took a lot of faith and persistence to stick with that one. Many other products, however, were doomed before they left the lab. Does this mean we should simply stop trying? No, each failure is an opportunity to learn.

The real tragedy is not that we fail; it’s that we waste the failure by refusing to own it and learn from it.

When a company launches a product that bombs, the first instinct is rarely “What did we miss?” Instead people say, “Who can we pin this on?” Marketing blames engineering for a buggy prototype. Engineering blames sales for overselling features. Sales blames the customer for being too stupid to “get it.” The corpse lies on the table, but instead of an honest autopsy, everyone reaches for the makeup kit. In the next launch, thecompany is doomed to repeat the same mistakes, only with better PowerPoint excuses.

Healthy cultures—whether families, teams, or communities—grow precisely because they replace the question “Whose fault is this?” with “What really happened, and how do we keep it from happening again?” NASA’s turnaround after the Challenger disaster is a classic example. The Rogers Commission didn’t hunt for a scapegoat; it hunted for the truth. O-rings, cold weather, and a broken safety culture were laid bare without finger-pointing. The result? Painful reforms, yes, but also the safest space program in history for the next 17 years.

Owning our part makes us uncomfortable because it strips away the anesthesia of blame. But it is also the only door to real understanding. The moment we stop saying “Eddie did it” and start saying “I did it, and here’s what I’m going to do differently,” we step out of childhood—personal, corporate, or political—and into maturity.  

* * *

Feel free to comment. Was there too much moralizing tacked on to what was essentially a personal anecdote? I was aiming for an Aesop-style insight. If I got carried away, I blame no one but myself.

Imaginary Interviews: Noam Chomsky on America and Propaganda

I first encountered Noam Chomsky's writing while preparing to go to work at an orphanage in Mexico in 1980. In the 1950s and early 60s, Chomsky, a linguistics professor, wrote books about syntax, sound patterns, etc. It was during the Vietnam War that he become more vocal politically. Chomsky’s academic insights about how humans generate meaning evolved into examining how languages are used to manipulate public opinion. Just as linguistic structures shape how we think, political language shapes how we interpret reality.

Because propaganda has been a life-long interest of mine, Chomsky's ideas have been a recurring periodic theme in my readings. 

Today is Noam Chomsky's 97th birthday. Born December 7, 1928, Chomsky grew up in a Jewish working-class community in Philadelphia steeped in debates about socialism, Zionism, fascism, and labor rights. I find it fascinating that he wrote his first political essay at age 10, criticizing the rise of fascism and the spread of propaganda in popular media. Long before he became a scientist of language, he was already a political observer.

What follows is an imaginary interview with the elderly Chomsky. This is a fictional encounter that attempts to convey his ideas and views pertaining to propaganda.

EN: Professor Chomsky, you've often argued that the most effective propaganda is not imposed by force but accepted as common sense. In your view, what core assumptions about America’s role in the world are so deeply internalized that most citizens don’t even recognize them as propaganda?
Chomsky: One of the most powerful ideas is that the United States is a uniquely benevolent actor—motivated by ideals, not interests. That assumption is so thoroughly woven into education, media, and political ritual that questioning it feels almost heretical. It’s a kind of background radiation of public life. When a superpower sees itself as inherently virtuous, its actions—no matter how destructive—are interpreted through a moral lens. Once that frame is in place, evidence becomes secondary. The ideology becomes invisible.

EN: In Manufacturing Consent, you describe the media as filtering reality rather than fabricating it outright. How have these filters evolved in the age of 24/7 news, digital platforms, and algorithmic feeds? Has propaganda become more subtle—or more pervasive?

Chomsky: More pervasive, certainly. Traditional media had structural constraints—ownership, advertising, elite sourcing. Those haven’t vanished; they’ve simply been supplemented by new mechanisms. Digital platforms tailor information to users’ preferences, reinforcing existing beliefs and shielding them from alternatives. That’s quite efficient from the standpoint of power: people become self-policing consumers of propaganda. Instead of one centralized narrative, we now have thousands of micro-propaganda streams. The fragmentation creates the illusion of diversity, but the underlying assumptions—about markets, U.S. exceptionalism, the legitimacy of state power—remain largely intact.

EN: American leaders often portray U.S. foreign policy as altruistic, driven by ideals of democracy and liberation. What mechanisms, political or psychological, allow this narrative to persist even when historical evidence frequently contradicts it?

Chomsky: States rarely describe their actions honestly; that’s not unique to the U.S. But the U.S. has an unusually sophisticated cultural apparatus that reinforces the national myth. Education plays a role, as do entertainment media that cast American power as heroic. There’s also a psychological element: citizens of a powerful state don’t want to believe they benefit from oppression. The “good intentions” story is emotionally reassuring. So contradictory evidence is minimized, compartmentalized, or reframed. It’s easier to believe that every intervention, every war, is an unfortunate mistake rather than a predictable outcome of geopolitical interests.

EN: Many Americans believe the country has a uniquely free and independent press. From your vantage point, what structural forces—corporate ownership, advertising, national security concerns—most limit genuine dissent in mainstream discourse?

Chomsky: Ownership and advertising remain central, but professional norms may be even more restrictive. Journalists internalize the boundaries of acceptable debate because stepping outside them carries professional risks. You don’t need overt censorship when self-censorship is built into the system. Add to that the symbiotic relationship with government and corporate sources—who provide information essential for news production—and you have a media environment that can appear free while operating within narrow ideological limits. The range of views is broad compared to authoritarian states, but extremely constrained compared to what a functioning democracy requires.

EN: For readers who want to resist propaganda, what habits of mind or practical steps do you consider most essential? Is skepticism enough, or must citizens actively seek alternative sources and frameworks to understand the world?

Chomsky: Skepticism is a starting point, but not sufficient on its own. Citizens need to cultivate what I’d call “structural awareness”—examining who benefits from a given narrative, whose voices are excluded, what assumptions are taken for granted. It’s also crucial to broaden one’s sources: independent journalism, foreign media, and historical texts provide context that mainstream outlets often omit. And perhaps most importantly, people should act collectively. Critical thinking is important, but it becomes transformative only when embedded in communities that exchange ideas and challenge dominant narratives.

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Related Links
Manufacturing Consent: Do We Really Live in a Democracy?
Eight Stories About Propaganda from the Century of Spin

“But Is It Art?” – Why We’re Still Asking the Same Question Warhol Forced on Us

"From Andy Warhol's Brillo boxes to provocative dung-splattered madonnas, in today's art world many strange, even shocking, things are put on display. This often leads exasperated viewers to exclaim--is this really art?"

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED JULY 8, 2012

So begins the description of Cynthia Freeland's 2002 book on art theory at Amazon.com. The title says it all: But Is It Art? An Introduction to Art Theory. Her book is a stimulating read as the author attempts, in layman's terms, to help readers come to grips with how challenging it is to define why this is art and that isn't.

It's a problem that art students wrestle with and the public ignores, until their home town spends a quarter-million dollars on a sculpture that to taxpayers looks like an unhewn 300-ton boulder. 

The author begins with the shock artists. Why there is so much of blood in art today. By today, I mean the contemporary art scene of past few decades. Why would an HIV-positive artist hang rags dripping with blood over an audience that came to his show? Why would an artist make a movie of himself cutting off his penis one inch at a time? How is that artists feel that shock value is a necessary requirement for becoming noticed as an artist? 

Freeland cites John Dewey's 1934 explanation here: “Industry has been mechanized and an artist cannot work mechanically for mass production… “ For artists their work is self-expression. “In order not to cater to the trend of economic forces, they often feel obliged to exaggerate their separateness to the point of eccentricity.” (Art as Experience)

Does this reference to Dewey hold up, though? The community we live in here in Northern Minnesota is primarily service industry jobs. Or medical. Even in the manufacturing realm the majority of employees probably work in accounting and customer service, not production. I really don't think artists are artists as a reaction to mechanization and mass production. In fact, what I see today when I walk through the galleries and art fairs is the incorporation of mass production into the arts like never before with giclee reproductions and other print technologies taking artist's singular expressions and making them available by the hundreds.

As far as the use of blood by artists goes, Freeland notes that historically there has been a lot of blood shed within the context of religious rituals throughout human history. Mayans cut out still-beating hearts, the Greeks and Romans had their bloody rituals, and the roots of Judeo-Christian faith involve the shedding of blood. In fact, if you really stopped to contemplate some of the scenes that took place in the Tabernacle, you might even get ill at the quantities of blood and burnt offerings and the smells. No wonder they burned so much incense.

Freeland points out that when artists use blood it is shocking to us because it has been divorced from its ritual uses and therefore simply become something disturbing. This still doesn't explain why artists would use urine, semen and elephant dung. And in the back of my mind I can't help wondering, "What does your mother think of that?"

But then again, how much of this is really going on in the arts? I have been to countless art fairs, galleries and museums. I have never seen dung or feces displayed or urine or real blood, though at the Steampunk show this spring someone was carrying a vial of what he claimed to be wolf's blood. It fit the context of a role he was playing and most of us knew it wasn't real. And in our red-themed Red Interactive show last year, I heard at least two people comment that they were pleasantly surprised by the absence of blood or violence.

The book does a good job of raising all the right questions though and shows how the "big question" has no easy answer. As she points out Matisse was once described by the critics as a "wild beast" and anyone who knows his work would find this laughable today. Warhol's Brillo boxes and the Pop Art movement received the same brickbats.

Ivan Gaskill's review of Freeland's book at aesthetics-online.org begins by stating just how difficult this kind of undertaking really is, attempting to reach readers who are uninformed about art history and philosophy without addressing them in a condescending way. Despite the book's short-comings I recommend the book to all who are even semi-interested in engaging the arts today, whether artist, collector or just one of the many friends of the arts who simply go to shows to see what's new. It will give you things to think about, and maybe even answer a few questions you've wondered about. And if it raises still more questions, all the better. It will give us something to talk about when I run into you at the next art opening.

* * * 

Anchors Aweigh—or Anchors Astray? America’s Maritime Crisis

China builds ships. The U.S. builds excuses.

Sometime within the past year I read an article about how China was actively building or upgrading ports on the Western coast of Africa. More recently I caught a story showing the significant superiority of China's shipbuilding over our American efforts. 

Both these stories came to mind as I read yesterday's story in The Bunker, an eNewsletter I receive from the Project On Government Oversight (POGO). Yesterday's article was titled Anchor's Astray, addressing the phenomenal waste that goes on at the Pentagon. The story outlined a scuttled project to build build up to 20 small warships after the first two came in at two billion dollars, far above budget. 

This led me to investigate how many ships China is building compared the U.S. Here's some eye-openng data peraining to military ad commercial ship production. Commercial ships include domestic/merchant vessels, such as cargo ships, tankers, and container ships.

 Ship Production Comparison: United States vs. China

WARSHIPS

U.S. Fleet Size (2024): 296 battle-force ships (e.g., destroyers, submarines, carriers).

--- Annual Production (2024): ~1.13 Virginia-class submarines (goal: 2.0); 6 new ships requested for FY2025 (below 10-11 needed annually for 381-ship goal by 2042). 

--- Recent Trends: 82% of programs delayed (e.g., Constellation frigate: 3+ years behind; Columbia submarine: 1+ year delay). Net fleet decline projected: -9 ships in FY2025. 

--- Capacity: Limited to a few yards; overall output lags due to backlogs and costs ($40B/year planned but underfunded).

CHINA Fleet Size (2024): 370+ battle-force ships (largest globally). 

--- Annual Production (2024): 11+ major combatants launched (~130,000 tons); 23 destroyers added in past 10 years (vs. U.S. 11). 

--- Recent Trends: 8 cruisers since 2017 (vs. U.S. 0); submarine force to grow to 80 by 2035. Projections: 395 ships by 2025, 435 by 2030. 

--- Capacity: 230x U.S. total shipbuilding capacity; dual-use yards enable rapid scaling.

DOMESTIC/COMMERCIAL SHIPS

U.S. Global Market Share (2024): 0.1% (ranks 19th-22nd globally). 

--- Annual Output (2024): 3 large vessels ordered (out of 5,448 global); ~8 delivered. --- Recent Trends: Tonnage output <0.04% globally; total U.S. post-WWII commercial tonnage exceeded by one Chinese firm in 2024 alone. Focus shifting to revitalization via incentives (e.g., SHIPS for America Act targeting 250 U.S.-flagged vessels). 

--- Capacity: ~80 oceangoing yards, but minimal for large vessels; vulnerable to foreign supply chains.

CHINA Global Market Share (2024): 53% (leads world; 57% of completions by deadweight tons). 

--- Annual Output (2024): >1,000 vessels; 48.18 million dwt completed (up 13.8% YoY); 113 million dwt ordered (up 58.8% YoY). 

--- Recent Trends: 75% of global new orders in H2 2024; dominates bulk carriers, tankers, containers. Backlog: 208.72 million dwt (up 49.7% YoY). Slight dip in early 2025 orders (to ~52%) due to U.S. trade policies, but rebounding. 

--- Capacity: ~150 yards; state-owned CSSC alone outproduces entire U.S. historical commercial output.

Accordiing to The Atlantic, the U.S. shipbuilding industry, once a global powerhouse capable of producing over 5,500 vessels during World War II, has deteriorated into a shadow of its former self, capturing just 0.13% of the global commercial market in 2024 and facing chronic delays in naval production.  This handicap stems from a century-long interplay of policy neglect, economic shifts, and structural vulnerabilities, leaving the industry unable to compete with subsidized powerhouses like China (59% market share) or keep pace with national security needs.  

According to Contrary Research, China is now the leading powerhouse of the high seas. As of late 2025, the U.S. Navy's fleet hovers around 290 ships—projected to decline despite ambitions for 381—while shipyards grapple with backlogs that could take years to clear.  

The roots trace back to the post-Civil War era, when the U.S. opted against sustained public investment in maritime infrastructure, unlike European rivals who subsidized their fleets aggressively. This laissez-faire approach accelerated after World War I, as wartime booms faded and commercial demand for U.S.-built ships waned amid rising trucking competition for inland and coastal routes.  

By the 1980s, post-Cold War "peace dividend" cuts slashed budgets and fleet sizes, shrinking the number of capable shipyards by 80% and output by 90% from 1950s peaks.  Today, this historical atrophy manifests in a fragmented industrial base, where public yards suffer from obsolescence and private ones from overreliance on sporadic naval contracts. 

A core handicap is the acute workforce shortage, exacerbated by demographics and cultural shifts. Shipyards are hemorrhaging experienced workers through retirement—a "generation gap" leaving teams less productive and reliant on inexperienced hires who require heavy supervision—while struggling to recruit replacements.  Turnover exceeds 20% among younger employees, driven by low starting wages (despite competitive averages of $62,000–$83,000), demanding physical conditions, and a societal push toward college over trades.  

Entry-level jobs often demand 1+ years of experience, creating a catch-22 that stifles growth, and limited vocational training pipelines mean shipbuilding competes poorly with less hazardous fields.  This crisis compounds design and production flaws: U.S. vessels are notoriously complex, with "concurrency" (building before designs are finalized) leading to rework, delays (e.g., Constellation-class frigates years behind), and costs ballooning 30–50% over estimates.  Foreign subsidies enable rivals to iterate faster and cheaper, while U.S. monopsonistic procurement caps profits at 6–8%, deterring private investment in skills or tech. 

Supply chain fragility and infrastructural decay further immobilize the sector. Post-pandemic disruptions, inflation, and overreliance on foreign suppliers—even from China for critical components—have spiked costs for raw materials and parts, delaying projects by months. With fewer domestic suppliers than decades ago, bottlenecks ripple through yards, where outdated facilities (e.g., limited dry docks) and modular construction lags hinder scalability. High labor costs—coupled with stringent U.S. regulations like the Jones Act, which mandates domestic builds but stifles volume—make American ships 2–3 times pricier than Asian counterparts, eroding commercial viability. Meanwhile, global competitors like South Korea and Japan leverage dual-use yards for steady commercial-military output, investing in automation and modular techniques that U.S. facilities lack. 

Revival efforts, including the 2025 "Restoring America’s Maritime Dominance" executive order and $32.4 billion in FY2025 funding, aim to address these via workforce training, allied partnerships (e.g., with Japan), and supply chain fortification—but progress is glacial. Without bolder subsidies, immigration reforms for skilled trades, and a pivot to simpler designs, the U.S. risks ceding maritime supremacy, with dire implications for trade, deterrence, and surge capacity in conflicts. The industry's plight isn't inevitable; it's a policy choice, one that demands urgent, comprehensive reversal to rebuild what was lost.

Related Link

The Warship That Shows Why the U.S. Navy Is Falling Behind China

The Dire State of Our Shipbuilding Infastructure

The High Cost of Doing (Shipbuilding) Business

Sources: realcleardefense.com, americarenewing.com, The Atlantic, usni.org, freightnews.com