Filmmaker Francis Ford Coppola has owned the film rights to the seminal novel, On The Road, since 1979, and that film, that opened this week in Cannes, will sit on ice until the fall when the prolonged buzz is hoped to peak selling this cultural time capsule to America. Completely oblivious of summer being when everyone young looking for excitement is just trying to get off as one of the film’s messages, or themes, will no doubt remind us when its release is broadcast this fall season. When marketers are certain as an art film to captivate the cultured crowd and awards, rather than fall short of interesting to the broader public this summer when everyone goes on the road to see blockbusters.
Wikipedia generalizes festival critic scrutiny as the film not fulfilling its promise, while the polished trailer conveys adventure that the book was for that coming of age generation.
How taste is mass-marketed, in that commercial success indicates quality, contradicts how On The Road was conceived, and perceived less appealing to the masses. The book became a model for The Freedom of Contradiction The Beats copied from the country’s Bill of Rights. Of course a film accounting for so much history would fall short of a book’s reputation. Now try thinking how sadder Kerouac’s personal story would sound if the book ends up in any film’s shadow as one critic suggests a better film could come along. And does it matter if this On The Road were completely rotten? For those who read the book and especially more than once, experiencing another rendition has to be worth it. …
But conversations about On The Road rarely end there with just a compliment. Discussions usually include ambivalence over whether the book was exciting enough, or general disgust toward the dropping out of commercial society myth laid at poor Jack’s feet when all the author probably wanted was one more for the road with his friends.
5/25/2012
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George W. Bush Apology Clock
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Franchise Owner's Commercial Play For Film Posterity
5/25/2012 concluded: Discussions usually include ambivalence over whether the book was exciting enough, or general disgust toward the dropping out of commercial society myth laid at poor Jack’s feet when all the author probably wanted was one more for the road with his friends.
March 15th - 23rd, 2016
Jack Kerouac was too pickled by alcohol to fully appreciate all his life was compelled to accomplish. Though the odds weren't that great against his compatriots inciting social change. Just his discomfort being bohemia's star. The Dharma Bum himself fell through the cultural war's bad karma crack. Kerouac killed himself with alcohol as surely as perspective perforates. The rhetoric delineates.
Today's reasonings seem to have absorbed the lessons of Kerouac in something like say, this fashion. Where if only a Tony Robbins got to Jack somewhere between 1958 to 62? Instead of despair. "Come on Jack," Tony'd taunt. "Pull deep from within and get Jack back. You can be content. And upbeat. No more beat, Jack. Forget morose. Nothing there but demise. Come on, Jack. You can do it. Next TV slot, Jack, you'll score. You're sensitive Jack."
Hedonism did Jack in is the excuse for the drug scourge's resulting from the self-righteous perpetuation of the Criminal Enterprise System. The inaccurately bad moral compromise. The tragedy of enforcing separate Americas. America battling its divided self over behavioral regulations devised by hypocrites who were against any advancement from society's bottom up. A cultural war for the hearts and minds of Americans all under the guise of defending morality. Which self-righteous superiority is not.
Sure. People do lose themselves in drugs. But more accurately, bad drugs. There's no real reason for such rampant irresponsible use. Real application of the law to protect society already judged this cultural war nonsense decades ago. Decriminalization. Solving things in a civilized manor is a long overdue method for protecting our police. Morality's code did not foster the Criminal Enterprise System. Hypocrisy did.
The problem with the heights is the fall's as great. Unless people truly step inside outside their own minds and prefer contentment wasn't led in sycophantic symphony. There'll always be endless gazing at the bizarre.
Seen Any Metaphors For Power Corrupts Absolutely Lately?
Politician walks into a bar. Bartender strokes counter. Drunk asks politician, "Why vote what's already agreed?" Politician says, "The impertinence." Members of the Bar smirk.
Politician scans the assembled. Gauging how cracked he can afford in present company. Goes home, drinks alone. Watches satellite.
Knows speech ain't free.
Make no mistake. The baby born on the above second floor came to symbolize a scare across America. What's the meaning of this not liberated enough? The country's still rocking from the convulsions. And bandwagon of hysteria still riding us out.
Then again, who knows? That sure was a great tradition, the pulp paperback. And Kerouac does, of course, keep popping up on the shelves. Such as Robert O'Brian's Jack Kerouac's Confession.
Feel Inundated?
Overwhelmingly deluged by sophisticated abundance. The guess was known. But that's different than seeing everyone living inside their phones since the communicator arrived, thriving on forming engagements with everything. Why everyone's so excited. Staying ahead's back to keeping up.
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