Reading, Watching, Listening / 01.04.2024
The inaugural edition of some humble recommendations I hope to offer.
Warm greetings to you, dear reader.
If you do not already know, my name is Revan, and I am based in Naarm/Melbourne. I am many frivolous things, like a lawyer who didn’t bother entering practice. More importantly, I am increasingly a writer, so you’ll receive more emails from me. This is, I hope, pleasant news.
Since you’re receiving this, you’re at least somewhat familiar with what I like to write about and how I do it. Still, this is my Substack, Baklava Bolshevik, a space where I hope to blend ruthless criticism of everything as it is with optimism that we can build internal opposition to and go beyond it.
I am passionate about dissecting the complexities of politics, cinema, and culture. Here, I will delve into these subjects and more (I’m looking forward to writing more about food and sport shortly), often drawing out the lesser-discussed connections between them. I do so because I wish to start conversations about the things I care about, and I am sincerely grateful that about 60ish of you have already joined me here.
I am writing this short letter to you, dear reader, so that you have a picture of what you can reasonably expect from me on this platform. My commitment to taking the time to devote myself to writing what I hope are compelling and diverse pieces is growing—I’m excited by that. As part of this, I thought I could put together a short list of the best things I have been reading, watching and listening to each month. This will also be a handy place to update you on any non-Substack pieces from me you can read in other publications. So, without further ado, here is the first edition of Reading, Watching, Listening.
Reading: ‘If We Burn: The Mass Protest Decade and the Missing Revolution’, Vincent Bevins
I recently had the tremendous fortune of being asked to read If We Burn and produce a book review for Meanjin’s May issue. Authored by former Washington Post and Financial Times journalist Vincent Bevins, the book weaves together the history and analysis of ten significant mass protest movements worldwide between 2010 and 2020. Some crucial movements include the Egyptian Revolution and Bevins’ own experience as a correspondent based in Brazil during a politically tumultuous decade. Guiding the survey is Bevins’ pressing inquiry into why—given the most mass protest movements in human history transpired—things usually got worse.
I completed the book yesterday, and I must say that Bevins is among the handful of journalists in the world (Anand Gopal and Jack Shenker also come to mind) today who you could trust to tell these stories in a scrupulous and equally sympathetic fashion. You’ll have to read my review when it is published for a fuller analysis. Still, structural issues aside, If We Burn is an essential artefact of a decade that, far from being consigned to history, is set to define its rhythms for the foreseeable future. By the fifth chapter, I had already laughed, been moved to tears—and sat with searing rage at the organised conspiracy to repress the vast majority of humanity, which characterises every waking moment. Pick it up at any good bookshop.
Watching: ‘Personal Shopper’ (2016), dir. Olivier Assayas
In the past week, I watched French director Olivier Assayas’ 2016 film, Personal Shopper, starring Kristen Stewart (sticking with a publication theme, here). It had been on my radar since its initial critical reception, but I could never get around to watching it until I noticed it sitting on streaming. This was a brilliant decision. I won’t say much because this film benefits from being shrouded in mystery that gradually unfolds as you watch. But here’s what I wrote on Letterboxd to give you a taste:
In ‘Personal Shopper,’ smartphones are matter-of-factly portrayed as the epitome of ghostly companions, ceaselessly caressing our skin while firmly embedding themselves in our consciousness. Kristen Stewart consummately conjures Maureen, who traverses the real and metaphysical with her phone—and apparent psychic abilities—as her vessel.
Director Olivier Assayas ingeniously transforms these devices into black mirrors, offering glimpses into both past and present worlds—conduits to a vast expanse of connections, emotions and identities. Interestingly, phones and grief operate similarly: The film suggests that grief is not a linear process but a complex journey, where the boundaries between past and present, life and death, are blurred.
Assayas’ insight is that despite their robust control over us, phones, like memories and emotions, ultimately find their expression within ourselves. Maureen grapples with memories of her brother and struggles to separate them from her sense of self. That is, until she finally confronts herself, the only time ‘Personal Shopper’ fades out a scene to white instead of black.
A movie so devastatingly humane and fraught with peril necessarily becomes beautiful.
Curiously, it was only earlier in the week that I had wondered when the first great film to play with smartphones in this way would find its way to the silver screen. It turns out I had just missed it because Personal Shopper is that film—making it essential modern cinema.
Listening: ‘The Great Bailout’, Moor Mother
Moor Mother is one of those genuinely inimitable musicians: nobody else does anything remotely similar to her oeuvre. I’ve followed her work since I first heard her album with billy woods. Her latest project, The Great Bailout, focuses on Britain and its colonial role in the slave trade. The album, produced in collaboration with the London Contemporary Orchestra, carefully unpacks the 1835 act. This legislation “compensated” 46,000 British slave owners with a sum that today would amount to 17,000,000,000 GBP. This enormous ransom was paid out to reimburse enslavers for their lost human “property”, which they were legally required to manumit due to the abolition of slavery.
You can read more about the album’s concept and Moor Mother’s perspective in this interview. But I strongly suggest that you sit down somewhere quiet before you do so and listen to the album from front to back. It isn’t long, but it is among the most affecting musical projects you will hear. The Great Bailout is a work of sonic experimentality and political incisiveness, the likes of which are now sadly rare, and its combativeness demands to be heard. If you’d like a preview, my favourite track is probably “ALL THE MONEY”. It is precise, haunting, undeniable art of the highest order:
Let me know if you decide to try any of these recommendations; I’d love to hear your thoughts. Until next time!