The Kid with a Bike: Excellent Portrait, Weak Story

THE KID WITH A BIKE (Le gamin au vélo) 2011

Directed and written by Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne

Les Films du Fleuve, 87 mins. PG-13

* * *

There are long sequences in The Kid with the Bike in which we see the namesake character peddling furiously across Liėge, Belgium. We theorize that he’s searching for the back-story of the adults in this story.

That sounds more negative than is intended. This is an excellent character study of a distressed 12-year-old boy named Cyril (Thomas Doret). The problem is that we never learn much about anybody’s motives but his. We meet Cyril in a state-run boarding school where he’d ended up–we don’t know how–because his father has abandoned him. Cyril, not surprisingly, refuses to believe his father would do such a thing, and escapes from his minders to find his dad and his treasured black bicycle. He’s not hard to find and is easily tracked down at the empty, torn-wallpaper apartment where he once lived with his father and recently deceased grandmother.

Then the logic begins to weave toward the “say what?” end of the spectrum.  Cyril bolts from his guardians one final time and ducks into a clinic in an attempt to elude them. When he’s found, he clamps onto one of the patients, an attractive young hairdresser named Samantha (Cécile de France) and must be pried loose from her body. Such an event would shake most of us to the core, but when Cyril begs Samantha to let him live with her on the weekends, she agrees to consider his request. A few days later she shows up at his school having bought his bicycle from the man to whom his father sold it before leaving town. Thus is launched what will strike most viewers as a highly improbable foster family situation.

Doret is terrific as Cyril–the perfect blend of sullenness, impulsiveness, and deep seated hurt that one would expect from a traumatized preadolescent. His face is etched with his warring emotions–on one hand he’s on the verge of uncontrollable weeping; on the other he’s ready to strike out in fury from the incomprehensible rage that roils within. We understand perfectly why we wants Samantha to care for him, but is more attracted to the town’s local bad boy, Wes,  (Egon DiMateo) who recruits young boys to do his criminal dirty work. We also easily grasp the symbolism of Cyril’s bike–his ticket to freedom to be sure, but also a Zen-like escape into physical and mental oblivion on which he peddles away his anguish.

Like many stylish European films, this one allows the camera to linger on objects, faces, and scenes far longer than most American directors would dare. Those raised on f/x and non-stop action will find the pacing languid and will long for something “to happen.” Things do happen, but they take their time. That’s appropriate for the film’s subject: a probe of young Cyril’s psyche. What is far more problematic is the Dardenne brothers’ thin development of everybody else that populates this film. We meet Cyril’s father, for instance, but we never learn why he abandoned his son or why he thought that was socially acceptable. Nor is Cyril’s mother even mentioned. Much more perplexing is Samantha. De France does a great job with the character and she needs to, as she’s given nothing to explain her motives. Why would she take in such a damaged kid? Is she a liberal do-gooder? A repressed social worker? A sucker for a sob story? Does the kid strike some sublimated maternal instinct? Would that the other characters have half the depth of Cyril.

I’m sure that the Dardennes purposely left these issues vague so that we’d concentrate on Cyril. We do, but the experience feels oddly empty in the end. The Kid with a Bike garnered quite a few film festival prizes and won the coveted Grand Jury Prize at Cannes in 2011. We would suggest, though, that it was often nominated but seldom victorious because it is, in the end, a classic “small” film.  As a touching profile of a wounded young boy it’s first rate. Just don’t expect path breaking filmmaking, a gripping narrative, or a lesson in logic. 

Pina A Mixed Blessing on Film

 PINA (2011)

Directed by Wim Wenders

Nieue Road, 103 mins. PG

In English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, and Croatian (with subtitles)

* * *

The challenge of making a documentary of an iconic figure within a small specialty is always the same. Does one aim the film at aficionados, or toward a general audience? The Pina of Wim Wenders’ latest film is dancer/ choreographer Pina Bausch. She offered still another challenge; Bausch (1940-2009) was dying when Wenders, a fan of her work, took on the project. By necessity, the project became, in Wenders’ words, a film about and for Pina.

If you are a modern dance fan, you will not need to be convinced to see this film; you already know Pina Bausch as a challenging, experimental, and creative spirit. But how does this film play for those who know little about modern dance, or those such as yours truly, who has just passing familiarity? I had never heard of her at all until about four years ago, and had never seen any of her work until it appeared on the movie screen. (I would add that the cinema was sold out, so Bausch obviously had quite a few fans!) The answer is that Wenders did some very interesting things, but non-fans are likely to share my view that the film is a mix of fascination and repetitiveness.

Since Bausch couldn’t offer much, Wenders focused on her dance company, many of whom had been with her for decades. Wenders uses two devices, the first being an opening sequence that is where mime-meets-dance. A parade of gesturing dancers takes us through the seasons: spring, summer, fall, winter, and those gesticulations reoccur throughout the film. Get the metaphor? The second technique is modified from A Chorus Line. Remember the confessionals in which each member of the troupe explains why he or she became a dancer? Wenders does something similar, though all we see are expressive faces beneath which we hear their voiceovers. Needless to say, we also see quite a few dance sequences, some of which we are supposed to recognize as classic, but one must be intimately familiar with Bausch’s repertoire to make those connections.

The film is stylish and some of the dances are spectacular, sensual, and poignant; others are clever and/or humorous. Needless to say, each of the dancers is masterful. Particularly fascinating are the pieces in which Bausch explodes our expectations of what dance is and where it should appear, as in sequences in which the urban landscape (monorails, intersections, sidewalks, gravel pits, abandoned factories) become the stage. These works blur the bpundry between guerilla theater and dance. There are also amazing pieces using on-stage water, but because Wenders doesn’t give us a lot of background we don’t really know if Bausch pioneered this, or simply riffed off others. (Water on stage isn’t all that unusual any more.)

Bausch assembled an international troupe, but whether her work is universal is an open question. As a novice and outsider, I was equally thrilled and bored by the film. Bausch definitely repeated herself, and she also dabbled in the sort of introspective choreography that sounds better as an artist’s statement than it works on the stage. I confess to having little patience for contact improv or works in which dancers dreamingly meander across our line of vision, and Bausch did a lot of that. This, of course, is a matter of taste and preference; if this is your cup of tea, fine. As a film, though, I’d say this one works about half the time. It may be that Wenders, who also wrote the screenplay, was simply too close to his subject to think beyond his camera and how the things that inspired him might look to those without insider knowledge. Unless you already know, Wenders’ film will probably strike you as impressionistic rather than revealing. --Rob Weir

PS--A 3-D version of the film is in select theaters, but mine wasn’t one of them, so I cannot comment on whether that enhances or detracts from the visuals. 

Don't Vote for Mitt or Trust Best Buy

Indulge me in a story that explains why I’ll never vote for Mitt Romney or trust Best Buy. Back when I taught public high school I had an eighth-grade kid whom I watched take the paper from a (much brighter) student and copy answers onto his own exam. When I confronted him, he remarked, “I didn’t no nuthin…” “Really?” I asked. “You didn’t just take Randy’s paper off his desk?” “Nope,” said he. “Dude! I just watched you do it.” “No, you didn’t” he insisted, even as I held Randy’s paper aloft. He continued to hold onto his lie, even as I explained to him that his major accomplishment was to make one problem (cheating) into two (+ lying), and then a third (+ calling me a liar). His arrogance led to a fourth and fifth—a trip to the principal’s office and a parent/teacher conference.

Moral of the story: If you do something you regret, have the courage to own up to it and never compound your woes by lying about it. We’ve all done things we wish we hadn’t, so I’m not making a plea for sainthood, but I will appeal to Socrates and what philosophers call “virtue ethics.” Back in my high school teaching days I took (for fun no less!) an ethics course at St. Michael’s College from a wise and kind man named Peter Tumulty. We read (among others) Socrates, who insisted that it’s never virtuous to do something that you know is wrong. Professor Tumulty took us through opposing viewpoints and exceptions, but he held no truck with branches of modern thought known as “situational ethics” and “moral relativism.” One might, Professor Tumulty insisted, be able to argue that a lie is necessary if it prevented a greater evil, but one should never deceive oneself into thinking that made lying ethical or virtuous; above all, one should never confuse lying in pursuit of self-interest with virtue.

This is why I wouldn’t consider voting for Romney; he is, in my estimation, a person of low moral character who is short on honor and virtue. He reminds me a lot of my naughty, haughty eighth-grader. To say he’s no Socrates doesn’t even begin to get at it. If I might hazard an off-color analogy, Mitt’s like a with his pants to his knees man and a hooker in the back seat who insists the two of them were just doing a tick check. Mitt can spin it from here to Salt Lake City, but Obama’s healthcare plan is Romney’s plan—the very one in place here in Massachusetts where I live. (Disclosure: I’m a single-payer supporter who’d gladly socialize healthcare, but as private plans go, the Massachusetts system is about as good as these get.) Now comes the revelation that Romney left Bain—it should have been spelled Bane—Capital in 2002, not 1999 as he’s been insisting for the past 13 years. Romney continues to lie about this even though the paper trail is clear. It’s not some smear tactic by his political enemies; the evidence—much of in his own words and those of his wife—is overwhelming. Gee, Mitt, how did those papers end up on your desk? I suppose some hypothetical Randy must have planted them there.

Mitt can spin it like an eighth-grader, but the bottom line is that he’s lying and his motive is pure self-interest. His spin is unethical, lacks virtue, and is without honor. I can almost hear the anti-Obama crowd chant, “All politicians lie and Obama lies worse.” And this would be a defense of what exactly? If I know anything from observing politics it is that it never ends well when a politician lies. Ask Bill Clinton. Or Larry Craig. Or Newt Gingrich. Or Henry Hyde. Or Eliot Spitzer. Or Richard Nixon. Or even (conservative saint) Ronald Reagan. (Iran Contra didn’t end so well, did it?) Maybe Obama does lie, but thus far no one has caught him with his pants to his knees. (If someone does, he should be held accountable.)

 

My problem with the all-politicians-lie argument brings me to Best Buy. Americans have become too comfortable allowing lies told in naked self interest to go forth without question or accountability. A recent Best Buy flyer came with this assertion that all of its Apple products were “on sale.” Except… that’s a big deception. Apple discounts only for educators, military personnel, and employees. An Airbook, iPhone, or iPad is supposed to cost the same everywhere unless the item is discontinued, the store is in liquidation, the retailer strikes a sweetheart deal with Apple, or the merchant is violating an agreement with Apple. The latter two scenarios happen, but neither was the case with Best Buy; it merely advertised Apple’s own promotions as if they were uniquely its own. In truth, you’ll get the same deal whether you buy at the Apple Store, Best Buy, or Shifty Mitt’s Fly-By-Night Electronics. In other words, Best Buy became Best Lie out of self-interest. Just like Mitt Romney. And that’s a good reason to avoid them both. If you lie to me before I’ve even purchased the product, why should I believe you’d honor your warranty?      

Moonrise Kingdom: They Hype Surpasses the Product

MOONRISE KINGDOM (2012)

Directed by Wes Anderson

Focus Films, PG-13, 94 mins.

* * 1/2 

 

Everyone keeps waiting for director Wes Anderson to make his masterpiece. He already has–Rushmore (1998). That explains why he’s been remaking it ever since. Just as surely as a Fox News broadcast will contain a screed against “Obamacare,” a Woody Allen film will center on a hopeless neurotic played by the director (or a surrogate), and a John Irving novel will contain a bear, Vienna, and wrestling, so do all Wes Anderson films have standard elements. These include:

·      A main character (either a child or a perpetual adolescent) that is odd and misunderstood.

·      A period of trial in which the protagonist is ridiculed and presumed mentally damaged.

·      The revelation that the outcast is actually quirky, but brilliant.

·      A central dilemma that children resolve by outwitting stupid adults. A host of secondary characters whose motives and behaviors are inexplicable and improbable.

·      Bill Murray playing a droll but ineffectual character.

Some critics have hailed Moonrise Kingdom as the film we’ve been waiting for Anderson to make, but from where I sit there’s not reason to cast aside his unofficial nickname: “Mess” Anderson. Those who have been charmed by Moonrise Kingdom do have one point in their favor–it has a coherent narrative that carries us from start to finish rather than the helter-skelter randomness that made some of his other efforts feel like a Saturday Night Live sketch that got carried away. This time the setting is 1965 and we get two brilliant-but-misunderstood misfits, the pre-Goth Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward) and an orphaned geek scout Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman). Both kids are as out of place among their peers as Mormons in a beer tent, and each is either ignored by adults and peers or endlessly harassed by them. Naturally, they gravitate to each other.

 The setting is an isolated New England island with few permanent residents, though Suzy’s family–three oblivious brothers and la-de-da parents played by Murray and Frances McDormand–is among them. Not much happens on an island with no paved roads and a smattering of adults only slightly brighter than fireflies, though everyone is smart enough to know that Laura Bishop (the frumpy McDormand) is having it off with Captain Sharp (Bruce Willis), the island’s dimwitted chief of police. The island’s only other excitement occurs in the summer, when it is inundated by Khaki Scouts holding their encampment there, and on several adjacent islands. Unbeknown to the adults–who never seem to know much of anything–Suzy and Sam have previously met and have, for a year, been plotting to run away with each other once Sam’s Khaki Scout encampment convenes. When Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton) and Walt Bishop (Murray) discover their charges are missing, they, the scouts, Sharp, and others set off to track them down before an impending hurricane lashes the island. Sam proves a better scout and cartographer than his pursuers, so he and Suzy get some time alone in twelve-year-old paradise before their quarry hones in on them. Once that happens, the film turns into a bizarre caper film that rapidly adds cameo characters of uncertain motives to the cast: Cousin Ben, a Milo Minderbinder for scouts (played by Jason Schwartzman, who starred in Rushmore), Head Scout Master Commander Pierce (Harvey Keitel, who thinks he’s playing a WWII RAF officer), and an angular, icy woman called Social Services (Tilda Swinton) who doesn’t necessarily have Sam’s best interests in mind. I not sure anyone knows who or what Bob Balaban is playing; he simply appears on occasion, makes a remark that plugs a plot hole, and disappears.

The film has its charms, and both Hayward and Gilman are terrific. The humor is offbeat and unexpected, but mostly in its small details. (There aren’t many laugh-out-loud moments.) And, yes, its narrative is way tighter than Anderson meanderings such as Darjeeling Limited (2007) or The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), though the latter is much funnier. (Darjeeling, on the other hand, is certainly among the worst films of the 21^st century.) To be frank, though, Anderson’s coherence is ham-handed. He telegraphs everything and, just in case you don’t get it, his camera lingers on everything prefigured for so long that even the intellectually halt and lame will proclaim “Doh!” I wanted to love this film, but the best I can offer is “meh.” I’m still waiting for Anderson to live up to the promise shown in Rushmore and suspect he may be like Quentin Tarantino before he made Kill Bill–in desperate need of changing his entire focus before he becomes a parody of himself.--Rob Weir

New Bedford Folk Festival Ranks Among the Best

Newport… Winnipeg… Big Muddy… Old Songs…. Fine folk music festivals each (though Newport is way too pricey), but ask me to list my favorite and the old Massachusetts seaport town of New Bedford goes straight to the top. Held each year on the weekend of (or just after) the Fourth of July, New Bedford is a bargain extraordinaire. Tell me where else you could see Garnet Rogers and Patty Larkin for two and a half days for $30. (A one-day pass is just $20.) Rogers and Larkin were 2012 headliners, sort of. One of the glories of New Bedford is that everybody gets a star turn or two. Plus your armband gets you access to seven stages. As always, it means you’ll hear some folks whose work you didn’t know very well but will be sure to check out in the future.

 

Here are some of my impressions from the weekend of July 6-8. Fell free to post your own comments on the forum if you were lucky enough to attend this year’s events.

Let’s start with this: Patty Larkin is a goddess. She looks amazing at age 61, sounds fabulous, and plays guitar like her hands are on fire. The Custom House tent was packed with hundreds of folks for her headline show and each had that mix of amazement and ecstasy on their face as Larkin made her way through some old and future favorites.  Garnet Rogers, on the other hand, was very subdued and was content to be more of a storyteller. The material, to be honest, sounded a bit mailed in, though his wit and irreverence were fine-tuned.

Watch out for Annalivia, a Boston-based quintet that blends Irish, traditional, and Appalachian material. They’ve seemed a bit tepid in the past, but they were clicking on all cylinders at Summerfest and made a lot of new fans. Here’s hoping they build off that energy.

If anyone doesn’t know the pure joie de vivre of Benoit Bourque, check him out immediately. Benoit has been playing, clogging, singing, and joking his way in every heart he touches between Quebec and New Bedford since the first Summerfest 16 years ago; this time he showed up with his son, Antoine, a peach of an accordionist who didn’t fall very far from the family tree.

It was wonderful to see so many younger performers like Antoine in New Bedford. It’s not fair to hold them to the same standards as seasoned vets, but keep your eyes peeled for the Cape Breton sisters Cassie and Maggie MacDonald. Another Canadian act on the rise is the duo Dala. In keeping with the youth theme, there’s Seth Glier, he of a falsetto/tenor voice reminiscent of a cross between Ellis Paul and young Billy Joel. At age 22 he already has a Grammy nomination under his belt. Think he might have a promising future? (My advice: Lose a few syrupy love songs and add some more grit.)

Pete and Maura Kennedy delivered my favorite performances of the weekend. Pete is a virtuoso guitar player and Maura an accomplished vocalist. Their mix of straight-up folk, rockabilly, country, and urban folk rock offers something for every taste. I was especially enamored by how well Pete orchestrated the workshops he headed. These folks are always on when they take the stage, but even though you have trouble not looking at them, they play without ego and seek to involve everyone.

It’s always hard to take in everything at a festival. Although I didn’t get to hear tons of their stuff, I enjoyed dipping into performances by squeeze box demon John Whelan, the eclectic blues, etc. of Pumpkin Head Ted, the dynamic folk of Peter Mulvey, the plaintive Appalachian music of Molly Andrews, the booming voice of shanty singer Ian Robb, and the songwriting prowess of Andrew Calhoun and Rod MacDonald. Another nice find was the Quebecois band Raz de Marée. That translates “Tidal Wave,” but the lineup actually favors subtle tunes and complex arrangements over kitchen dance tempos.

Every year I discover someone whose music was unfamiliar to me. This year it was Zoë Lewis, an offbeat woman from England who now resides in Provincetown. Some reviewers use the term “vaudeville” to describe her act, and it’s apt. You never know what Ms. Lewis will do–sing a poignant café-jazz-flavored homage to her mother, burst into scat, do a wacky ukulele-backed comic song, pick up the guitar for some folk, or sit down at the keyboards for some classic jazz.  She speaks in soft English accents; she sings in gutsy gusts. I was charmed.

 Apologies to other fine musicians I simply didn’t have time to check out, but thanks to the organizers, volunteers, and sponsors for allowing me to dip into so many amazing performances.  --Rob Weir

MLB Predictions at All-Star Break

July 10 is that annual meaningless event known as the All-Star Game, this year appropriately played in a meaningless place: Kansas City. It’s time to check on my spring predictions and see how I’m doing, plus venture out on a few more thin limbs.

American League:

East:  As predicted, it’s the Yankees’ division to win or lose. It’s time to give Joe Girardi a break; he’s done a better job of juggling injuries than anyone in baseball, and don’t feed me the “Yankees have more money” line–when 60% of your starters go down and you’re in first, it’s good managing. And it’s also time for the Derek Jeter haters to crawl under a rock; he’s having the kind of year that befits one of the five greatest shortstops of all time. Even better is Robbie Cano, MLB’s best second baseman. The Yanks will be hard-pressed to maintain the pace if Sabathia doesn’t come back strong, but the Yankees should be in the postseason. Downside: The albatross contract of the grossly overrated Alex Rodriquez (now the 5^th best 3^rd baseman in the AL) makes it hard to add pieces.

            As predicted, the Rays offense is woeful. Can someone explain the attraction of Carlos Pena? The pitching is very good, but I continue to think the Rays will come up short. The Blue Jays are the opposite–their pitching has been terrible and it’s time to hang the “bust” label on Kyle Drabek, who is at AAA where he belongs. I had them for second, but I don’t think so anymore. Do we believe in the Orioles? I do not; I think they’ll gravitate toward the bottom of the division in the second half.

            This leaves the Red Sox and I confess I’m as puzzled by them now as in April. I correctly predicted the Daniel Bard meltdown, shortstop woes, and a monster year for the sublime David Ortiz. The Sox are mixing in some nice young players and, if it was my team, I’d write off 2012 and go for flesh blood. If the Sox are committed to Bobby Valentine, make it his team. This would entail cleaning house and the obvious route would be to dump the poisonous Josh Beckett, the fragile-as-glass Jacoby Ellsbury, and admit that Adrian Gonzalez needs to be in a small market. No one will take Carl Crawford; so find a permanent spot on the DL for him. Then again, this roster has enough potential to win the division. I simply have no idea what this bunch will do, though if the past is an indication, they’ll finish out of the money.

Central: I think this will come down to a two-team race between the Tigers and White Sox, though the Indians keep lurking within striking distance. Miguel Cabrera has been a beast in Motown and Prince Fielder shows signs of waking up. As I predicted, though, Justin Verlander has been mortal this year, albeit a very strong mortal. The Tigers’ problem is simple, though: no one beyond Verlander is better than mediocre, and that’s a charitable assessment. The Tigers look like their teams from the mid-1980s: good enough to mash their way to the postseason, but lacking the arms to seal the deal.

            The White Sox, as I predicted, are thriving now that Loudmouth Ozzie Guillen is gone. The Sox are a no-big-stars outfit, but they pitch well, they’re playing solid baseball, and they stole Kevin Youkilis from Boston, who will provide leadership. Don’t be surprised to see them take one of the wild card slots. The Indians will be entertaining but lack staying power. As predicted, both the Royals and Twins are awful.

West: I called it a two-team race between the Rangers and the Angels; whoever doesn’t win the division gets a wild card. The Rangers are, on paper, the best team in MLB. Yu Darvish has lived up to his billing thus far, though Matt Harrison’s emergence has been more important. Josh Hamilton shows signs of matching maturity to ability, which is bad news for pitchers everywhere. The rest of the lineup is fearsome as well. Are they an arm short? I suspect we’ll find out–in the World Series.

            That is, unless the Angels upset them, which could happen. I certainly didn’t think Albert Pujols would be an average player, but the Youth Squad (Trout, Morales, Trumbo, Bourjos) has been even better than advertised. I don’t think the pitching is good enough to win the Big Halo, but we’ll see. The Athletics and the Mariners? Neither is interesting enough to warrant an after thought.

National League:

East: The Phillies have shocked me by how bad they’ve been, and the Nationals by how good they’ve been. I said the Phils’ offense would be challenged, but my God! The problems goes beyond Ryan Howard’s injury woes. The Phils will be better now that Roy Halladay and Chase Utley are off the DL, but this looks like a lost year.

            So can the Nats actually win it? Maybe. Bryce Harper and Jordan Zimmerman have matured faster than I predicted, and Stephen Strasburg looks stronger than I imagined after arm surgery. I still think they’re too young, but I’m starting to believe. On paper, the Braves should contend for the division or a wild card, but they remain as inconsistent as last year’s meltdown. I give Fredi Gonzalez until August 1 to have this team in contention, or you’ll see a new skipper in Atlanta to give Chipper Jones his final send-off.

            The Marlins have underachieved, just as I predicted. Gaby Sanchez was supposed to be a stud; now he’s in the minors, another victim of Guillen’s head games. I hate this team and revel in its misfortunes! The Mets, on the other hand, are among MLB’s pleasant surprises. Name a player on this team who isn’t David Wright. What a year R. A. Dickey and Jonathan Niese are having. I said in April that if the Mets didn’t lose 100 games, Terry Collins should be Manager of the Year. Wrap it! The Mets won’t make the postseason, but they’ll be fun and there hasn’t been much of that in Queens in the past few years.

Central: The Pirates are in first, which means you can start the Dusty Baker Death Watch in Cincinnati, where the Reds are again underachieving. The Reds ought to walk way with this division, but since they refuse to win this is a wide-open prairie of mediocrity, except for the Astros and Cubs, who are execrable. The Brewers simply lost too much to free agency and don’t have the personnel to win; they will dump salaries at the trade deadline. The reigning champion Cardinals lost Chris Carpenter for the season and without Pujols are offensively challenged, but can still be a factor. So could the Pirates actually win the Central? Nah! The competition is so poor that they might have a shot at .500, but the Reds should prevail in the end, though Baker might not be at the helm. Whoever comes out of the Central is first-round playoff fodder.

West: As predicted, it’s the Dodgers and Giants at the head of the pack. What we’ve learned about the Dodgers, though, is that Don Mattingly is no Joe Girardi; after a torrid start, the Dodgers have been unable to sustain injury challenges. Granted it’s hard to replace Matt Kemp, but a good manager finds ways to compensate and Mattingly has not yet proved his mettle. The door has opened for the Giants, whose pitching is formidable and its offense risible. These two should be 1-2 for the rest of the summer.

            The dark horse is last year’s division-winning Diamondbacks. Thus far, though, they have sustained my April comment that 2011 was a fluke built upon career years that won’t be duplicated. The Rockies are chronically short several pieces and so it shall be again this year. The Padres? No one cares and no one should.

World Series: I’m clueless about the NL champ. I’ll go out on a limb and say the Dodgers, but I do so with little conviction. In the end, though, I think this is the year the Rangers wear the bright, shinning badge. Second choice: the Yankees with Jeter as Series MVP. All of this means smart money is on the Pirates in a Cinderella upset witnessed by the 12,403 spectators who care in Pittsburgh.   

A Lazy Worker is a Productive Worker

Could this be the seminal economic text of our time? 

In 1880, Paul Lafargue wrote a 40-page pamphlet that defended the “right to be lazy.” If his name doesn’t ring any bells, he was the Cuban-born son-in-law of Karl Marx. Lafargue’s slogan was later picked up by members of the Industrial Workers of the World (“Wobblies”), especially in Australia. Aussie Wobs reprinted Lafargue’s pamphlet in 1917, and the right to be lazy soon became an IWW catch phrase. As the Wobblies saw it, humans were not born to toil. The ultimate goal of labor is to produce more free time; in fact, a life devoted to work was simply slavery under a different guise.

It turns out that Lafargue and the Wobblies were on to something. In a recent Chronicle of Higher Education article, Edward and Robert Skidelsky reveal that obsession with hard work played a big role in precipitating the current financial crisis. They’ve looked at the emphasis capitalist economists from Adam Smith (conservative) through John Maynard Keynes (liberal) placed on leisure, and argue that theories of economic growth without a corresponding focus on leisure trap economic systems into endless cycles of boom and bust. They also found a historical correlation between healthy economies and leisurely workers–GDP rises hand-in-hand with increased leisure time. This is because mere growth divorced from purpose is inherently alienating–we don’t know why we’re working. Ultimately, labor separated from leisure becomes irrational. We might work harder, accumulate more material objects, and (in theory) create greater social and cultural opportunities, but we don’t have the time or the ethos that allows us to enjoy them. Without time off or a leisure mentality, we drive ourselves in the purposeless task of seeking wealth, a pursuit that leads us to attempt to increase output long after it is useful or possible to do so. In other words, we work until we break the system! The Skidelskys’ remedy for boom-and-bust cycles isn’t likely to taught at the Wharton School of Business in the near future, but maybe it should be: demand less of workers and channel them into more leisure opportunities. When workers know why they work–to gain access to leisure and the fruits of their labor–they become more productive and efficient on the job.

So there you have it–listen to the Wobblies instead of the capitalists. You’ve got a right to be lazy and asserting that right will make you happier and more productive when you do work. The next time the economy starts to falter, prop your feet up and take a snooze. When you wake up, head for the beach. You’ve got better data on your side than the venture capitalists, so do your bit for the Dow Jones by basking in the sun.