Harry Hope's Saloon

This blog takes it's name from the setting for O'Neill's The Iceman Cometh -- a lousy gin-mill; a smoked-out, greasy dive where the habitues have all landed, it seems, permanently. Their lives, in each case, are paralyzed by fear and laziness. Like my own.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Artists and Criminals

This, attributed to Stanley Kubrick, film maker non pareil, obsessive craftsman, and genuine eccentric:

I've got a peculiar weakness for criminals and artists. Neither takes life as it is.

I'm presuming he means "peculiar weakness" the way most people do when they confess a weakness for chocolate or nicotine or long legs (all of which can be very bad for you) - that is to say, he rates them highly. To say "I love you" is to surrender, to admit weakness, to give up freely because you are worth so much (or because I need something to exist that is worth so much or my life won't mean anything).

[Hey, where the hell am I going with this?]

Anyway ... yes. So I'm presuming Kubrick doesn't just mean that criminals and artists are interesting subjects for film. That artists and criminals are valuable forms of life ... somehow higher: like Nietzsche's artisits and saints and philosophers.

Artists and criminals. Criminals and artists. I like that.

Wish I could be one.


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