Repackaging

"Objectification is the 'object-like character of an image that connotes passivity, vulnerability, property, and, in its most extreme form, victimization.'"
~Judith Posner



[Relevant Link: http://bit.ly/el6uI]

Taking Woodstock and the Fall of Babylon

"If you don't leave right now, then I'm going to call the police," she said.

"How," I thought, "Did we make it here?" After emerging from Ang Lee's triumphant Taking Woodstock feeling like a wave of warm, beautiful energy, we decided to keep that glow alive. Fueled by wine and another intoxicant that shall remain unnamed, our night was meant to embrace the peace and oneness of comradeship.

Unfortunately, wine and the nameless earth-born substance turned into shots of cheap rum and never-ending beers. Restlessness took over. The acoustic guitar was sheathed. With Tool as our night's soundtrack, we ventured into the world like a couple of mad psychonauts and wound up at the appropriately named Club Babylon.

I sat atop the stage, looking down upon the writhing crowd of dancers. The little lights dazzled and ricocheted off everything. It was like an explosion of kaleidoscopic energy. The DJ broke protocol, abandoned the generic pop-club rotation, and jammed out the Dubstep, which transported me into that bass-driven, digital playground of consciousness that I so love.

My mind wandered back to Lee's touching and subtle tale of Elliot Teichberg, as he and his family wound up as the anchor for one of the world's wildest voyages—Woodstock. For those of you expecting a music-driven chronicle of the concert itself, then you're in for some disappointment.

Lee's movie is based on the book Taking Woodstock: A True Story of a Riot, a Concert and a Life, which was written by the real-life Elliot Tiber and focuses on the organization of the event. More so, the movie focuses on confluence—the coming together of family, friends, and strangers. After all, was that not the beauty of Woodstock, i.e. the unity of a time, a generation, and a movement?

With great skill and patience, this movie wove together a tapestry of plotlines based on individuals overcoming personal and interpersonal issues and learning to accept themselves and one another against the backdrop of Woodstock.

Emile Hirsch delivered a solid performance as a shell-shocked Vietnam Vet who finally finds his peace atop a mud-soaked hill. Liev Schreiber dazzled as the cross-dressing ex-marine Vilma, who played a central role in the sweet reconciliation of Elliot and his father Jake, played perfectly by Henry Goodman.

Throughout the entire film, I felt a sense of longing. "Why was I born so late," I pondered. This naked, mud-covered, peace-loving, mayhem was where I should have been. I wanted (and needed) to know what it must have felt like to have actually experienced this unique moment in time. Then Ang Lee gave me that chance.

As the dutiful Elliot lingers around the family motel, his father tells him to go check out the concert. Elliot hesitates, but Vilma orders him to go see what the center of the universe looks like. And, in a sequence of pure brilliance, Lee takes us to that miraculous epicenter.

On his way to the concert, Elliot encounters a mild-mannered Hippie couple that offers him his first dose of LSD. They assure him that the stuff is good—unlike the doses floating around down there, which was a nice, understated reference to the infamous brown acid of Woodstock.

Teichberg figures, "What the hell," and eats a dose of acid the size of a postal stamp, which made me squirm in my seat. I cannot ever imagine eating something like that, but thankfully Lee did imagine it. What follows has to be the most honest depiction of a hallucinogenic experience ever captured on film.

I refuse to go into detail explaining the majority of this visual experience. My words will not do it justice. If for no other reason than to see this trip, then go see this movie. However, I will state that Elliot winds up on a massive, rolling hill overlooking the concert while still under the influence of the acid. Gravity and solidity evaporate. Unhinged, the hills begin to undulate. Demarcation expires and all becomes one big, blurry wave of energy that culminates in a cyclone of sacred light. Tears streaked my eyes.

I wanted to feel that so bad, but instead I wound up on Babylon's stage, drunk and feeling lost. There was nothing sacred about it. This night was profane. I had forgotten the lessons of the film. Life's beauty comes by way of communion, not indulgence—and our night would only get worse.

Suddenly, I realized the brilliance of Lee's ending. Elliot, standing amidst the trash-filled wasteland that was once a beautiful dairy farm, meets up with the concert's organizer, Michael Lang. A lone, weary American flag dots the background while the young men discuss what's next. Lang tells him that he's headed to San Francisco to organize a truly free and great concert, which will be headlined by the Rolling Stones.

For those of us familiar with the reference, it was an ominous note to end the film on as the Altamont Free Concert of 1969 wound up the de facto end of the sixties and the brutal murder of one young fan came to symbolize the death of the Hippie movement itself. It was a dark end to an otherwise beautiful and vibrant period of American history.

Sooner or later, I realized that the dark side of humanity is going to break its chains and climb from its pit. And, if I'm not careful, then my hedonistic quest for love and beauty will also devolve, dement, and—ultimately—destroy.

And I guess that's how we wound up at a local Walgreens arguing with a clerk over a fucking bag of potato chips and facing the very real possibility of police intervention. We lost sight of the big picture and just went too far.

[Relevant Link: http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1236057/the_1969_altamont_free_concert_the.html]