Art and commerce, after all, are only the results of the efforts produced by those who populate the collections of people so labeled. People who gravitate toward and accumulate in groups of similar-mindedness. Reducing it down further, people. And if all are members of the same body, why can't those who are so inclined, work together?
If not for faith in this principle, what makes you begin yet again, all the hours, the enormous effort, the attention to detail, and the "getting it right". The pouring out of the spirit, and risk that they won't let you finish telling this story either?
John from Cincinnati, I believe, was born from faith and the need to deliver an urgent message that transcends all risk.
At some point, before the production of John From Cincinnati, David Milch pledges to forsake the modern drama. So what changed between the time he said that, and John From Cincinnati?
It's already a matter of record what John From Cincinnati was about. A spiritual "reaching out" to stop a genocide the next time a terrorist's act prompts a response.
It's also a matter of record that Milch has shown interest in the Apostle Paul as well as the spiritual side of things in general, and it's relation to art.
But some people would rather not be bothered to consider the consequences of the extermination of a race. Who has the time to ponder the possibility of a genocide? And it may be considered rather ambitious to impose on those any subject requiring the effort of deliberate thought. Some spend impressive amounts of energy, busying-up their lives in an effort to obfuscate anything inconvenient enough to trouble their minds.
whether or not the compelling need to communicate this threat was generated from within, or his burden was the result of some spiritual experience. The importance of such a message, and the need to communicate it, could certainly account for his change of heart.
HBO canceled Deadwood. The idea that he abandoned it in favor of John From Cincinnati is absurd. Milch wasn't finished with Deadwood and had at least one more season in mind before HBO pulled the plug. Many jumped to the conclusion that it was Milch's fault based on the fact that John From Cincinnati followed so close on the heels of Deadwood's premature cancellation.
On the surface, it seems that HBO knew their decision to cancel such a critically acclaimed, award winning, and popular series, wouldn't be received with much enthusiasm, especially in the light that their decision was based primarily on production costs. If this were true, you could reasonably conclude, that it was HBO's effort to placate their subscribers, critics, and anyone else looking for consolation, when they offered Milch carte blanche on his next series. If they could make their pecuniary point with Milch, who then creates another series at a significant reduction in costs, and then, yields to their suggestion to make it about surfers "because it's young and hot", it would be like having your cake and eating it too.
The question now becomes, can John from Cincinnati be considered a successful example of art and commerce subordinating their own priorities in the service of a greater good?
With Milch to represent art, yes. Considering that he amended his attitude to abandon the contemporary drama, went back with HBO, and went with their suggestion to incorporate surfers, was all done in the service to deliver the message he was compelled to.
As far as HBO goes, in it's role to represent commerce, well, I guess you would have to know more to develop an informed opinion, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot there to suggest that they subordinated many, if any priorities, in the service of any purpose greater than their bottom line. They did, however, broadcast the series, which may be enough to qualify them as having done their part, even if their participation were judged more accurately as accidental, in the service of the greater good.
Perhaps Milch was offering us some insight into his perspective on this matter during a scene in the last episode of John From Cincinnati. Barry, the Snug Harbor's new owner, was speaking with Ramon, the Snug Harbor's manager, about his stuffed bears, who, much to his surprise, recently demonstrated, if only in his own mind, that they were capable of peacefully coexisting despite their obvious dissimilarities.
Algebraically speaking, is it too much of a stretch to interpret the bears as representations of art and commerce in the equation of subordination to the greater good? Choosing to believe that they can play nicely. To live and learn. Was this scene an expression of Milch's faith in this principle? Perhaps, even to the magnanimous extent to include HBO, favoring his immediate experience with them, thus far, rather than focus on their decision to cancel Deadwood?
Further indications that there may be more to this scene than meets the eye were presented when Freddy dispatches Palaka to Barry, " Tell the queer I don't like those bears sitting together ". That prompted me to recall a scene in NYPD Blue in which Sipowicz exhibits an exaggerated reluctance to accept the new guy. Milch successfully employed the persuasive tactic of vitalizing his audience's fears in a way that they could face them in their appropriate light, and in a voice that was unflattering, as they must associate themselves with Sipowicz, if they insist on adapting his line of thinking. Now consider Milch using Freddy, like Sipowicz, in the service of anticipating and expressing the views of the purist, who believe that they should be separate, and in a voice every bit as unflattering as Sipowicz.
So much, though, for Milch's faith, right? HBO canceled this series too. Ironically, right after it aired the episode that included this scene. I suppose, if you base your opinion solely on that fact. But not if you take into account that a key element in measuring it's success is based on the idea that art and commerce, worked together, toward the purpose of serving the greater good. The message was delivered. The purpose was served. Milch's faith proved out.
Art and entertainment. Not always synonymous. If we do, in fact, live in a time when facts are used as articles for commerce, and commerce, with it's avaricious appetite, abandons art and the qualities that it's respected for, and chooses instead to churn out articles of entertainment whose value is based primarily on it's ability to generate revenue, then it shouldn't comes as a surprise that the airwaves are filled with the egregious examples of the offspring that is produced when the lion "gets over" on the lamb, rather than to merely lay down with it.
The circle and line on the wall. Art, in all it's forms of expression, produced by the movement of the Spirit, establishes the flow of communication with God. Art benefits from it's association with commerce as it tends to the more mundane and earthly tasks of administration, organization and structure, all necessary to serve as a vehicle to carry it to the public. Commerce, for all it's trouble, should not only be compensated, but profit, ideally, to the degree that it's further participation in future endeavors are encouraged.
John From Cincinnati would probably fare better, judged as a work of art, and based on it's content, rather than an article of entertainment, with an upside marketing potential, to include ancillary items. Not that it wouldn't have achieved, or even surpassed the popularity familiar to Milch's other works, had it been given the chance. Although none of his series, despite their success, would suffer the insult of being classified in the category of mainstream. Such honors, while good for business, doesn't always benefit the respected artist, or his work. Imagine an Andy Sipowicz action figure, or a fast food restaurant chain, acquiring the rights to release a scale version of the Snug Harbor Motel as a piece-a-week promotion to be included in their kid's meal. I would, however, find it difficult to resist the temptation to collect a series of talking John Monad bobblehead dolls, each repeating a different Monadism, should they ever become available.
Art's universal availability is secondary only to the opinions offered by it's critics. And exposure to it doesn't always mean that you'll understand. Who was it that asked, " Do you have to know you'll understand before you listen?" As facts need not be believed to be true, neither great art requires understanding, profit, or praise to either artist, or sponsor, to qualify it as great art. Sometimes, that comes with patience and the passage of time.
So, John From Cincinnati is a work of art, and therefore, not entertaining? Even if you chose to ignore, or couldn't comprehend the message it carried, judged solely on it's merits as fiction, it's pure Milch genius. It's all there. The writing. The story. Trademark Milchian characters, speaking in trademark Milchian dialog. It easily meets the criteria set forth by his teacher, Robert Penn Warren, being a story told in this century, and moment, of mania. It was certainly a story of great distances and starlight. And absolutely a story of deep delight.
Art typically draws more from it's patrons than casual engagement. Milch, too, works purposely to engage the full participation of his audience's imagination. Those who place their trust in Milch's process are rarely disappointed, and are much more likely to experience the satisfaction that justifies their faith, that is, in the work he's permitted to finish. That's the real tragedy. Milch wasn't permitted to finish telling this story either.
You can't help but hear it in his voice, if not in his words, as he began the commentary of the last episode produced of John From Cincinnati. You can't help but be affected by it, either.
As John and Shaun were coming in from the water, he remarked on his emotions. As I heard him, I was reminded of the words I read in "Hawthorne And His Mosses" found in "Herman Melville, The Complete Shorter Fiction", which, I'll admit, was reading only because of my interest to study Milch. The words are a reference that Melville makes, that can be found in Hawthorne's, "The Artist Of The Beautiful", which are, " When the Artist rises high enough to achieve the Beautiful, the symbol by which he makes it perceptible to mortal senses becomes of little value in his eyes, while his spirit possesses itself in the enjoyment of the reality".
Even before I read Hawthorne's "The Artist Of The Beautiful", as I heard Milch's comment, I instantly recalled those words as remarkably appropriate. If they don't apply in this instance, then I'm not capable to place them in one that does. After I heard the commentary, I was compelled to find out more. I went to the library and read "The Artist of the Beautiful ". Perhaps it's me, persuaded by my predilections, but I began to draw numerous parallels, one of which, the body of art, manifested as John From Cincinnati, that Milch offered, appears to have been received much in the same way as Owen Warland's work, when he presented his. Even more significant, strikingly significant, is how closely the principle, "...while his spirit possesses itself in the enjoyment of the reality", compares to what Milch teaches of Kierkegaard, which is, " To rest transparently in the Spirit that gives us rise". And this Spirit that gives us rise, can it be identified as the same "Spirit of Beauty" which Melville describes that , "...ubiquitously possesses men of genius?" So then, I am not mistaken when I recognize that Spirit as, not only familiar, but the very same that moved the pen of Dickens, and moves in Milch, as well as other artists, in all forms of expression.
If we are not separate, but all connected, and part of the same body, and the pain that registered in the body when Milch expressed his, during that commentary, if we accept that we have a place in the body, we are, therefore, both eligible and capable, as any member, to feel that tremor of pain. We can, therefore, testify to the evidence of the Spirit as we recall those words.
Milch is repeatedly recognized for his gift of weaving the didactical, with his storytelling. Milch is as good with a pen, that is, if he actually used one, as the guy he refers to that's so good with a knife, "You'll go a block before you know you're stabbed". Similarly, Milch is already winding up the story before you even realize you got the message, or at least the seeds of it. Which, again, brings us back to John From Cincinnati. There may elapse a considerable amount of time before we see the full impact of that work of art.
David Milch formed a company named Red Board Productions. At the end of every episode they produce, there is an illustration of a boy running down a path with his dog. As the result of some deliberate thought, I'd be curious if that illustration could possibly, or partly resemble the image in Hawthorne's mind when he described the scene Owen Warland carved on the top of the box.
As those that heard Paul, and were persuaded by his message, so count me among those who are affected by the art of David Milch. It's his art, that prepares us for the message. It's his art, that makes the didactic palatable. It's through his art, that the Spirit is revealed. That's the beauty of his art.
s.i., l.i.g., & g.i.t.G
