On the Way With Django
Part 1 of 3
E. J. Rosenthaler
Ficto-critical piece written by J. Y. Gao
As part of my posting as a senior editor positioned at Ennui-town Blacks, a local writer’s magazine whose columns often line themselves with talks of politics and war, is a subtle obligation to fulfill a particular expectation (though it is rather subdued within the reader population, it is nevertheless present); that is, quite simply put, to keep up with the hot tea of the youth (who seem nearer to anarchy at every approaching day); but a duty is a duty, and here I hope I have ventured far enough in search of the hottest tea, for I am anxious that I might have ventured too far out of my own comfort. Yet at a not-so-young age of 47, the threads of the world are coming loose on me, and that is precisely why I decided, quite abruptly mind you, to depart on a strenuous mission. Not twenty-four hours after the thought was made, I found myself stepping out of The Crysaller, a vehicle too complex to begin describing now, in timecode 1976 somewhere in Postmodern France, accompanied by none other than the Thousands filmmaker, Quentin Tarantino (who may perhaps, at first thought, seem the hassle-bug for a period-V-ride, but is, surprisingly, an engaging interlocutor I assure you), to record his conversation with the great philosopher and writer, Michel Foucault of Postmodern France (who – I realise as I write this – is quite unaware of the existence of period-V technology, let alone our approach).
11/02/1976 ~ track 1,1 ~ LED Introduction. ***…*** Recording ***…***
[footsteps on gravel The time-travelling pair reach Foucault’s residency in summer-side France; daffodils line a pond with Lillies not two feet away]
[knock, knock]
Foucault: Who’s there?
I must quickly intrude to add that all Postmodern French spoken by Monsieur Foucault is transcripted directly from the translator.101 – a new addition to the office which furthered my journey outside my antique way of life by a significant margin, may I add.
Journalist: Monsieur Foucault, I am Edwin Rosenthaler, senior editorial board member of a local magazine called Ennui-town Blacks. I am accompanied by Mr Quentin Tarantino. He has made his way across the Atlantic to come visit you today.
Foucault: Is this about my book?
Foucault is, of course, referring to his newly published book, Discipline and Punishment, an axiomatic piece of literature that, in this day, occupies a central placement along the middle row of the Green Bookshelf in the Parliamentary Senate Room located in Top-Cascade, Ennui-town. Mr Foucault was kind enough to invite us into his home after a lengthy conversation held through his front door featuring Mr Tarantino and myself attempting to elucidate our intentions – that is, to record what his response might be, considering his social constructionist, ‘death of the author’ views, to Tarantino as a loud artist and the voice behind folkloric heroes that have influenced, if not changed, the very cultural context he found himself in. Eloquently, Mr Tarantino put it, “We want to show you my film and then talk about it, alright?” We then started to hear obvious confusion and scepticism in his reception of my attempts to explain period-V and contemporary technology. We are sitting in front of my portable don-screen which Tarantino himself has yet to experience.
Foucault: This is, eh, quite an immersive sound system, Monsieur Rosenthaler, significantly more than the cinema downtown.
[Foucault waves a hand motioning towards the speakers located above him. He returns his hand to a comfortable support position for his side-cheek and leans back further into his couch.]
[Tarantino inhales loudly, and nests his chin deeply into his palm; a Spaghetti Western-style theme starts. Djangooooo, Djangoooo.]
11/02/1976 ~ track 1,2 ~ LED Section1TheBrittles. ***…*** Recording ***…***
FLASH ON
A memory from The Carrucan Plantation; The Brittle Brothers giving his wife Broomhilda, a peelin’.
PEELIN’ : A punishment by bullwhip, across the back.
LITTLE RAJ makes a line in the dirt with the heel of his boot.
…
Django gets on his knees, and on behalf of Broomhilda, begs Big John Brittle with everything he has.
[Foucault grows increasingly restless. He shifts side to side, scratching his bald head and adjusting his glasses.]
Journalist: Monsieur Foucault, you seem desperate to speak your mind and so I thought I might pause right there. I’m going to record you talking, please, if you can, speak in regards to the topic your book was written about – discuss, briefly, your stance on the whip and its common usage throughout slave-trade America, perhaps?
Foucault: Well yes of course, Mr Rosenthaler. I’ll begin by mentioning that it is customary, at least in our European society, to consider power as being located in the hands of the government and as being exerted through a number of particular institutions like the administration, the police and the army. We know that all these institutions are made to transmit and apply orders and to punish those who don’t obey. But I think that political power also exercises itself through the medium of a number of institutions which seem to have nothing in common with political power and seem independent, but are not. As we know of the US slave-trade period, actions and structures that exist to maintain power in the hands of a social class are ubiquitous in any environment of that time period. It is a suffocating environment. The slavers at the time would not have thought themselves as innately evil, as Mr Tarantino has depicted here, nor would have the rest of society. To a large extent, the slaves of that period would have simultaneously fallen into this narrative of oppression, and would have accepted their unequal treatment as a natural injustice.
Tarantino: Alrigh’ alrigh’ alrigh’. Mr Foucault, lemme tell ya something. Getting whipped hurts, you know that, Mr Foucault, it damn hurts, alright. What they did was inhuman and morally wrong. Look, sir, I dare you to go find an African American right now and tell them that their ancestors, their great grandfathers, and grandmothers, were enslaved and whipped and tortured because they accepted it.
[With a furrowed brow, Foucault stares through his glasses. He rests an elbow on an armrest and points a finger.]
Foucault: Mr Tarantino, you are unconsciously part of a system that perpetuates the ideals of our modern day, an artist function – with no offence of course, Mr Tarantino, in full respect for your freewill and craftsmanship – you need to condemn the slavers in an socially digestible way so that you are able to set up the heroic arc of the Django character, and also so that you might not get attacked by the media. You see, Mr Tarantino, you are always in the grips of the power that controls society.
**In text box: Part 2 continues in Week 8 edition**
