My friend and colleague John Fischer by Anna K. Nardo, Alumni Professor Emerita, Louisiana State University

When I came to Louisiana State University, I had been trained in teaching and scholarship, but I learned how to become a citizen of a university from John Fischer. He was my senior colleague, an associate professor with tenure‹when I arrived in 1975. It did not take me long to learn that, amidst the rancorous and petty squabbles that all too often swirl around academic departments, John¹s was the voice of reason and fairness. I always used to joke that John was the only person I knew who spoke, not only in complete sentences, but even in complete paragraphs with topic sentences. Actually, this striking manner of speaking was the outward sign of John¹s fierce intelligence that penetrated through the fog of self-interest and special pleading to the central issue at stake in any departmental debate. It is not for nothing that John dedicated his scholarly career to the work of the great Anglo-Irish satirist, Jonathan Swift.

After years of wrangling, our department finally convinced the Dean that, instead of appointing a “head” to impose order, such a large and diverse department as English should elect its own Chair. Thus in 1992 John Fischer became the first elected Chair of the LSU Department of English. Since that election, English has become a model for successful procedural self-governance throughout the university. In an all-too-brief three-year term, John created a calendar of recurring tasks and deadlines that subsequent Chairs have up-dated and still use today computerized the departmental administration regularized the management of the departmental budget worked toward eliminating salary inequities convoked elections for a Planning Committee that evolved, during the chairmanship of his successor Jerry Kennedy, into an Executive Committee to advise the Chair on policy matters founded, together with his wife Panthea Reid, the successful public reading series, Readers and Writers, through which professors and community members share their love of literature.

I always knew that John was a superb Chair, but only when I became Chair in 2004 did I fully realize the extent to which the success of our department in the last 20 plus years is based on following John¹s steady, fair, and intelligent leadership.

To me, John was not just my mentor in chairing an English department. He was also a dear friend. We shared many a festive Christmas Day together, and my children still lament that our Christmases no longer include Panthea¹s Oysters Rockefeller. One year when Santa left two gerbils under the Christmas tree, my son named one after John. But the picture of John that I want to keep in my mind doesn¹t include small rodents. It includes a motorcycle. Although I did not know it at the time, I first saw John when my husband, Neal, and I were driving through a tropical depression from Atlanta to our new home, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. While we were sloshing down I-10 in pouring rain, suddenly a black motorcycle with a sidecar came out of nowhere and sped by. It looked for all the world like the kind you see in old World War II movies. Some months later we learned that John was the brave motorcycle driver who had zipped by us in the rain on his way back from a research trip to Florida. That¹s the image of John that I will treasure as I remember his brave life lived well.

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“Who Cares About the Oscars?” Phil Maciak

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So, the Oscars are over! Everybody won a little, everybody lost a little. The gritty and magical Birdman took home a commanding number of awards—Director, Original Screenplay, Cinematography, Picture—but Michael Keaton, Birdman himself, lost out to a princely young Briton playing Stephen Hawking. Patricia Arquette got a richly deserved Supporting Actress award, but Boyhood, the epic work of realist cinema for which she was nominated, went home basically empty-handed. And Selma—director Ava DuVernay’s moving and magisterial process-story about Martin Luther King and the Selma march—was honored with a tearful standing ovation after winning Best Song, but this felt like a slim consolation prize after the film barely even made a showing in this year’s nominations.

Birdman-Movie-Poster-Michael-Keaton

But who cares? Do the Oscars really matter to anyone aside from the people in that theater? Especially now, with a protracted awards season that eliminates virtually any sense of surprise from these proceedings, what is the relevance of the Oscars for us and for the people who hand them out and accept them?

 

To some extent, the thing that’s relevant to us as viewers of the Oscars is the portrait they paint of the industry that produces our films. Earlier last year, Sony was hacked, and curious readers of the internet like myself were treated to thousands of emails and notes that showed precisely how the sausage that is Hollywood film gets made. There was back-biting, sexism, a good bit of Angelina Jolie-bashing, and a steaming dollop of old-time racism.

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The Oscars are a more symbolic, if less salacious, window into the industry, as well. One way to see this is to imagine the Oscars as a competition between publicity machines. My friend and colleague Josh Overbay of the Theatre Department recently pointed out—at the Film and Media Arts Oscar Night—that Birdman did not so thoroughly dominate Whiplash on the awards circuit solely on merit. Rather, the big difference was that Fox Searchlight (which distributed Birdman) was ultimately a much better distributor of independent films than Sony Pictures Classics (which distributed Whiplash). The results last night, then, were less a clear referendum on the quality of one film over another than they were a demonstration of one distributor’s marketing brilliance. So many of the battles we see onscreen at the Oscars are fought off-screen, by proxy.

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But the Oscars also give us a telling, and worrisome, picture of the demographics of this industry. As of the last tally (earlier in 2014), the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ voting body is overwhelmingly white and male. 94% of the voters for the Oscars are white, 76% are men, and their average age is 63. If the Oscars were about rewarding merit objectively this oughtn’t to matter. But when we look at the nominees this year—aside from Selma’s almost across-the-board snubbing, not a single person of color was nominated in any of the four acting categories—it’s hard not to speculate about a correlation. The Oscars are the film industry’s often-unflattering self-portrait.

 

So, yes, there is contemporary social relevance to the Oscars. This organization has the power to be progressive, to see the doling out of awards as a kind of prestige-based activism, but it can also pass up chances to do so. It can choose to honor young talent or filmmakers outside the mainstream, or it can honor Oscar-bait and self-congratulatory film-making. It can celebrate difference or reward sameness.

ordinary_people raging-bull

These are questions about the Oscars and society today. But, in the long-view, the Oscars start to look much more irrelevant. In 1980, to cite a famous example, the Oscar for Best Picture went to Robert Redford’s Ordinary People. Losing out to Ordinary People that year was Martin Scorsese’s masterpiece Raging Bull. I haven’t done a full survey of this, but, if you’re a film student at LSU, my guess is that, at some point, a professor is going to make you watch Raging Bull, and, when you do, you’re going to see its balletic camera-work, its wrenching method performance from Robert DeNiro, and its stunningly choreographed fight scenes. You’re going to love it, and, more than that, you’re going to see the million ways that this film has influenced the generation of filmmakers after it. You’ll see it in Boogie Nights, in The Fighter, in Whiplash. On the other hand, if you’re a film student at LSU, I’d bet that you will never hear a professor so much as mention Ordinary People unless they’re telling you this story.

 

All of this is to say that sometimes the Oscars get it right, and sometimes they get it wrong. (My guess is that, snubs aside, the Academy will not ultimately regret giving this award to Birdman.) This makes us feel victorious or disappointed in the moment, but the Oscars can’t make or break a film. They can bring visibility to a filmmaker or actor, but, at the end of the day, if a film is great, we’re going to keep watching it and continue to be influenced by it. Ordinary viewers and aspiring filmmakers will watch Boyhood for generations to come as a totally unique and original filmic experiment, and nobody will care that it didn’t win an Oscar. Selma’s snubbing will become a part of that film’s history, and, if she’s lucky, Ava DuVernay will be able to look back at the generation of women filmmakers and filmmakers of color she inspired and say, “Oscar who?” And viewers would have continued to marvel at Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography in Birdman even if it had never been nominated at all. In the view of history, the only thing affected by this choice is our understanding of the credibility of the Oscars. Raging Bull will always be Raging Bull, and Ordinary People will always be Ordinary People. Only time, not the Academy, will tell us which is which.

 

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Phillip Maciak is Assistant Professor of English at LSU. His research focuses on early cinema and religion, and he teaches courses on film history and theory in English and the Program in Film and Media Arts. He’s also a regular contributor of TV and film criticism at The Los Angeles Review of Books and Slate. In the fall, he’ll be teaching a course on realism in film and literature (ENGL 3222) and a course on film aesthetics from the silent era to the digital age (FMA 4001). Visit his website at www.phillipmaciak.com

 

It’s Carnival Time: Louisiana’s Afro-Caribbean Connection

It’s carnival time in Louisiana.  That means king cake, beads, parades, balls, Mardi Gras Indians, gumbo, and all kinds of other fun.  Our state shares carnival traditions with Europe, Africa, Latin America, and the Caribbean.  For us the big day of celebrating falls on Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday that marks the beginning of Lent.  This illustrates our historical connection to Catholic celebrations that come from France and Spain.  Folklorists Frank de Caro and Carolyn Ware both trace important new manifestations of these Mardi Gras roots in their work.  For example, Professor De Caro explores the emerging traditions in the Joan of Arc street parade in New Orleans (See De Caro). And, Dr. Ware delves into the ways that Cajun women are changing the face of country Mardi Gras traditions, (see Ware). Both of these investigations show how Mardi Gras traditions are innovative and constantly changing, creating new ways to express the spirit of the day.

 

Mardi Gras celebrations in Louisiana are also a unique part of the carnival traditions found in the Caribbean.  For example, music is one important component that ties the carnivals in Haiti, Jamaica, Cuba, Trinidad, and even Brazil to Louisiana’s carnival music. As Royce Osborne’s film All On A Mardi Gras Day reveals, the participatory element of street parades, second lines, and musical processions are elements that bring the Afro-Caribbean expression of carnival to our own celebrations here in Louisiana (2003, see All on a Mardi Gras Day). Research by Joyce Jackson, Richard Brent Turner, and Rosita Sands shows that both the music and pageantry created by Mardi Gras Indians in New Orleans has similar expressions in carnivals in Haiti, Trinidad, and Jamaica, (see Mardi Gras Indian History). This includes the gorgeous and spectacular outfits that express beading traditions that combine African and Native American artwork and spirituality (see Tootie Montana).

Santiago Carlos-Chacho-PachecoCarnival in Santiago

Ritual imagery also connects Mardi Gras in New Orleans to Cuba and Haiti in a more specific way.  Gede, the deity of the cemetery often represented by skulls and bones, is an important force in the carnivals of these three places.  Stemming from the ritual culture of Vodoun, Gede reminds us of the cycle of life and death, and the importance of remembering the ancestors during moments of celebration, like carnival.  In many cultures, it is believed that days that mark a dramatic change in the calendar, like Fat Tuesday before Lent, are special in their ability to link seen and unseen worlds.  The incorporation of Gede and the Skull and Bone Gang in New Orleans’ Mardi Gras is an important visual reminder of these shared values.

 GedeGede in Cuba

skull and bones gangNew  Orleans

Recently, artwork celebrating Latin American traditions of The Day of the Dead are being incorporated into Mardi Gras processions in New Orleans – creating new cultural connections (see Mardi Claw).  In some cases, these new additions have created debates about authenticity and cultural ownership. Former LSU professor Leslie Wade talked about these issues concerning cultural borrowing in his talk, “Folklore in an Urban Renaissance: Mardi Gras at a Crossroads,” at the 2014 American Folklore Society annual meeting.

 

In many ways, Mardi Gras in Louisiana shows us that traditions are always growing and incorporating new elements. Expressions of both creativity and continuity are found in how carnival traditions are celebrated all over the world.  In terms of Louisiana’s connection to Afro-Caribbean carnival, art and performance emphasize connections to ancestors and to revelry using satire and ritual as their central components.  In this way, the many cultural strands that make up Louisiana’s folklore and folk life deepen our ability to enjoy this amazing time of year.

 

 

Solimar Otero is Associate Professor of English and a Folklorist at Louisiana State University. Her research centers on gender, sexuality, Afro-Caribbean spirituality, and Yoruba traditional religion in folklore, literature, and ethnography.  She is the author of Afro-Cuban Diasporas in the Atlantic World, (University of Rochester Press, 2013, 2010).  She is also the co-editor of Yemoja: Gender, Sexuality, and Creativity in Latina/o and Afro-Atlantic Diasporas (SUNY Press 2013), which was selected as a finalist for the 2014 Albert J. Raboteau book prize.  Dr. Otero is the recipient of a Ruth Landes Memorial Research Fund grant (2013); a fellowship at the Harvard Divinity School’s Women’s Studies in Religion Program, (2009 to 2010); and a Fulbright award (2001). Dr. Otero teaches classes in folklore, literature, and culture.

Otero, Solimar b&w