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Ah, we’re three weeks into NFL Training Camp Season. Rosters are being shaped, we’re starting to get an idea of what our teams’ weaknesses will be (in Buffalo, guess what? It’s the offensive line….) as well as their strengths, and most importantly, the Tuesday Morning Quarterback has returned.

TMQ is the name of the weekly column by writer Gregg Easterbrook, who is a witty and knowledgable football observer. He is also brings a surprising amount of erudition to the table: this is a guy who composes haiku about football and peppers his columns with all manner of literary allusions. For a different slant on the sport of American Football, check his column out. (Fans of the Washington Redskins who are new to TMQ should check out next week’s installment, when Easterbrook says he will outline just why he calls them the Chesapeake Watershed Region Indigenous Persons.)

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I’ve linked to Steven Den Beste almost since I started this site, not because I agree with his viewpoints — more often than not, I don’t — but because even when I disagree with him I find him very thought-provoking, and generally enjoyable to read. It’s not uncommon for me to finish reading one of his posts and think, “He’s wrong”; but not until the last few days have I read a post of his — two, in this case, here and here — have I said afterwards, “How disappointing.”

Den Beste’s strength is almost always in the formulation of his arguments. He presents his viewpoints with a great deal of logical rigor; he shows that he has carefully considered his premises and frequently he’ll provide extensive justification for them alone before proceeding with his conclusion. This can lead to some very long posts indeed, but that’s fine with me. (For the most part, anyway. His recent epic analysis of the scientific plausibility of the film Reign of Fire went over the top, but even he admitted so.) I find it sad, then, that he so eagerly employs rhetorical misdirection, non sequitur, and argumentum ad hominem in a recent flap with Demosthenes.

He recently announced that he was planning to search for “an intellectually honest antiwar voice in the blogosphere”. Judging by the post in which this announcement appears, he considers “intellectual honesty” to consist of logical argumentation, presentation of alternative courses of action, and avoidance of fallacious reasoning and fuzzy thinking. And judging by the two posts that disappointed me, he has not found those things in Demosthenes. The problem is, he does not demonstrate this. Instead, he goes another route: he questions Demosthenes’s sincerity and background, now basically insisting that because Demosthenes does not post under his real name, nothing can be known of his background and thus his arguments cannot properly be evaluated. But more than that, he ascribes certain motivations to Demosthenes for wishing to remain pseudonymous, motivations that he creates out of whole cloth. Steven says the following:

When someone won’t even reveal his name, it should set off alarm bells unless he provides a legitimate reason for keeping it secret. If someone is confident about what they’re saying, they should be willing to own up in public to holding those opinions. A person who debates anonymously may not be wrong, but you should certainly be far more skeptical about anything they say.

All of this is, though, totally irrelevant. A logical argument is a logical argument, regardless of who advances it or why. I am disturbed that Steven, who is normally so stringent in his own logic and insistent on similar rigor in his opponents’ arguments, has drawn the line here. It seems to me that I should be equally skeptical of Steven and Demosthenes; not because one posts under his own name and one doesn’t, or because one uses a quality commercial program to update his blog on a server that he himself owns and one uses a free (if temperamental) blogging tool to update his blog that is hosted on a free server, or for any other reason. I should be equally skeptical of both because both are advancing arguments. That is the only reason for skepticism.

Now, knowing someone’s background can certainly illuminate their motives. Knowing the business background of George W. Bush, for example, I am skeptical of his motives for wishing to drill for oil in ANWR and for his general ambivalence about conservation strategies. But that still has no bearing on the actual question of whether we should drill there. Likewise, I am skeptical about President Clinton’s decision to launch a military strike on the very day that the impeachment vote was to be held — but that does not imply, in itself, that the military strike in question was unnecessary.

Secondly, Steven interprets Demosthenes’s decision to use a pseudonym as “shame”, as in, “D. is ashamed of what he writes”. This is simply not borne out by what D. has written of his pseudonymity. It could be true; but then, I could also think of any number of other possible motivations based on what he has said on the subject. Thus, in the absence of a definitive word on D.’s motivations, Steven employs a Strawman. (And as he demonstrates here, he is quite aware of what a Strawman is.) And still, it has no bearing whatsoever on the logical validity of his arguments or, more importantly, the moral authority of his arguments. This seems to be Steven’s real sticking point: he provides no analysis at all of D.’s arguments as logical constructs (at least, not in these posts; he has done so in the past and now I must wonder why he has suddenly stopped). Instead, he questions D.’s moral authority. This is a red herring. As Plato argued in the Euthyphro: “What is moral is not moral because the Gods love it; rather, the Gods love what is moral because it is moral.” Or, put another way:

Moral authority does not come from whether or not one uses one’s real name. Moral authority comes from advancing a view that is morally correct.

If D.’s position is the moral one, then that is all the moral authority that he needs. To insist that he provide background information, to properly demonstrate his moral authority, is to ignore the logic and instead focus on the person. This is utterly fallacious. In Steven’s words: Demosthenes would, I suspect, respond to that: “Listen to the arguments, not to the arguer.” But if the arguments are convincing, then why doesn’t the voice who presents them act as if he believes them? Well, consider the reverse: if the arguments are not convincing, then why does it matter in the slightest how the voice who presents them acts? If a token of sincerity is to be demanded before an argument will even be listened to, then I wonder how Steven can justify disregarding what might be the ultimate form of sincerity: the willingness of the Palestinians to blow themselves up, as long as they take some Jews with them. But, as Steven adroitly points out here, logic has little to do with sincerity. Or some illusory standard of “moral authority”.

Finally, I must ask one more thing: what would knowing D.’s real name actually prove? What would it establish? You don’t really know anything about D. right now, and knowing his real name wouldn’t change that (unless, of course, he happens to be someone famous — but then that would probably fall under Steven’s qualifier of “a legitimate reason” for pseudonymity). Steven says, By posting under a pseudonym, Demosthenes in his person is accountable to no-one. He can lie, cheat, distort, deliberately deceive, or libel with impunity, because there are no potential consequences for him in doing so. But all of this is true of people who use their own real names; witness some of the invective spouted by such shoddy thinkers as Jerry Falwell or Ann Coulter. A real name no more implies “truth” than a false one suggests the possibility of “falsehood”. In fact, this is something that Steven once even admitted in this post, in which he writes in part: You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. You can’t tell what kind of person I am from what I write here. I only show you what I want to show you, and some of what I show you is deliberately faked. You can’t judge my behavior by what you see here, because you don’t know what I do in real life. Steven, it appears, wishes to have it both ways: when convenient, he can claim, “You know nothing about me because I make some it up”; and when convenient, he can ignore an opponent on the exact same grounds.

And finally: I myself post under a pseudonym, which I assume is OK with Steven because I rarely if ever delve into the political world. But even so, I feel I should perhaps say why I do so. It’s not out of embarrassment, shame, or anything else. I use this journal to explore my own ideas about art — mainly books, music and film. Just about all of my close friends know about the blog, and they know who I am. My pseudonym is taken from a comic book from the 1980s called Six From Sirius; I started using it as an AOL screenname and I’ve grown used to it. I don’t conceal my background, but I don’t include a bio, either; perhaps I should. Suffice it to say, though, a casual reader of my blog knows that I write fantasy and horror (although I am as yet unpublished) stories and am working on a novel; that I live in Buffalo, NY; that I am a fan of the Buffalo Bills an the Pittsburgh Pirates; that I love figure skating; that Berlioz is my favorite classical composer; that I adore film music; that my favorite author is Guy Gavriel Kay; that my favorite movie is Star Wars (and that I consider The Phantom Menace a good movie); that I attended college in Iowa (specifically, at Wartburg College; that I majored in Philosophy and minored in Music; and that I am married with a daughter who is three. I’ve probably revealed even more than that about myself, and I’m sure I will reveal more as time goes on. I’m not “concealing” my name; I just don’t find it terribly relevant to what I have to say here. Of course, that will change when I finally break into print, because I plan to publish under my real name — at least to start with, because there are vagaries of the publishing world that make pseudonyms necessary for business. (To assume that writers use pseudonyms as a means of “avoiding the pressures of fame” is, quite frankly, an example of ignorance of realities in the publishing world. Many authors use pseudonyms because their early works, published under their own names, didn’t sell and therefore publishers won’t take the chance on publishing more under that name. It’s an effect of the “blockbusterization” of publishing, where the backlist is nearly dead and the midlist is shrinking ever faster, and where authors used to be given six or seven books to get into best-seller territory, now they have to do it in two or three.) When that happens I will, of course, plaster a gigantic announcement to that effect here. And now, on with The Show.

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A hearty “Welcome!” to people arriving by way of Demosthenes‘s link. As he points out, mine is not a political blog. I’ve outlined my reasons for avoiding politics in the past; although I am a fairly solid liberal, I choose to leave the political discussions in the hands of people like Demosthenes (and, from a different standpoint, Steven Den Beste) in favor of other pursuits. Mainly, I talk about books, music, films, sports, and the culture and future of my city (Buffalo, NY). I only dabble in political discussion on a very sporadic basis, and even then mainly when I read something that strikes me as particularly wrongheaded.

(Thanks to Demosthenes for the plug!)

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Every ten years, a British magazine called Sight & Sound (the official magazine of the British film institute) polls a number of directors and critics to determine the greatest films of all time. Two lists are generated for each group, and it is interesting to compare the lists, note where the directors and the critics diverged, and realize that neither group lists a film made since 1980. Both lists name Citizen Kane as the top film of all time. For the complete lists, plus additional commentary and some samples of the lists given by the critics and directors polled, read Roger Ebert’s column on the subject.

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It’s always a bit surprising to find an idea that one has had also occurring to someone else. It’s particularly surprising to encounter it somewhere in the Blogosphere — well, maybe not “surprising” per se, but rather “interesting” or “eerie”. I’m tempted to ascribe it to the old canard that “Great minds think alike”, but I’ve only discovered Terminus‘s blog today, and thus any such statement would be premature. Anyway, Terminus has started his own cycle of James Bond reviews. He’s doing it one film at a time though, leading up to Die Another Day, as opposed to plowing through them all at once, as I did. He is also discovering, as I did in college when some friends and I decided to try watching the entire series in order, that it’s hard to actually find them all at the video store.

(And apparently someone named Ed is doing a Bond retrospective. Hmmmm….)

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Ah, the wonderful world of Buffalo politics. Current Mayor Anthony Masiello, who is in the first year of his third term as Mayor, has a new problem to deal with: his predecessor, James Griffin (who held the office of Mayor for four terms and was at the helm during the implosion of the Buffalo economy starting in the late 1970s) has produced a petition calling for Mayor Masiello’s removal from office and the holding of a new election. Presumably this is because Masiello has, for the most part, been unable to stimulate any real economic development in the city. While Masiello’s performance is far from admirable (and is barely adequate, if even that), it’s laughable to see the former Mayor, a man whose administration was marked by all manner of cronyism and corruption, shilling for his ouster. It’s yet another distraction that the city doesn’t need.

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James Bond Redux, conclusion.

Parts I, II, III, and IV.

:: The Living Daylights. After Roger Moore’s departure from the role of James Bond, a casting search was begun for the next film in the series. Pierce Brosnan almost won the role at that point, but he was unable to escape his contractual obligation to NBC for the Remington Steele television series (which, incidentally, was cancelled soon afterwards). The role went to Timothy Dalton, who decided to base his portrayal of Bond more on the character as described in Ian Fleming’s novels than as portrayed by Connery, Lazenby, and Moore. Dalton’s Bond smirks less, and is a much more serious person in general. I greatly enjoyed his concept of Bond, and it would have been nice had he been able to do it in more than two films. In any event, once again the producers of the series decided to “dial it down a bit” after a pretty excessive installment. A View To A Kill had been roundly panned by critics and fans alike, and thus The Living Daylights was written to be a more streamlined espionage thriller, which it succeeds in being. This film is another high point in the series, presenting a story in which there is no villain bent on world domination but rather a trio of villains who are involved in a scheme involving diamond smuggling, gunrunning to Afghanistan, and disinforming British intelligence. The plot twists and turns more than is typical in a Bond film, which is rather refreshing. Bond is kept guessing throughout, and at times he has to trust his own instincts to get him through a certain tough spot. The heroine here is a lovely blonde cellist from Bratislava named Kara, who just happens to be the girlfriend of a Russian official who wishes to defect (or so he says). Bond is actually supposed to kill her early in the film, but he refuses to do so, and eventually she is drawn into his efforts to find out what is going on. (In a particularly charming scene, Bond and Kara are about to flee the KGB, when she realizes that she has forgotten her cello and insists on getting it. No real musician would ever leave their instrument behind — especially when it later turns out that the instrument is a Stradivarius. This, of course, is revealed only after Bond has managed to put a bullet hole in the cello.) Her character is quite strong, as evidenced when she talks back to a Mujaheddin commander. Instead of a single villain, here there is a team of three: an American arms dealer named Whitaker, the defectee named Koskov, and an assassin named Necros. All are interesting and menacing characters — particularly Whitaker, with his encyclopedic knowledge of war and weaponry and his hallway filled with statues of folks like Hitler and Genghis Khan. There is also a Russian general, played by the wonderful John Rhys Davies (Sallah in Raiders of the Lost Ark and Gimli in Lord of the Rings) who is caught in something of a crossfire. The action sequences are first-rate, including a teaser sequence featuring a trio of agents parachuting onto the Rock of Gibraltar and some amazing stuntwork involving a cargo-plane during the climax. John Barry’s music score is one of the best in the series. The Living Daylights is one of the very best Bonds. (The Gadgets: Bond drives the Aston-Martin again, although its weapons have been upgraded. Instead of whirling tire-spikes, the wheelhubs fire lasers which cut through the chassis of a car alongside Bond. The car also fires missiles and carries outboard skis for snow-driving. Bond’s other gadget is a key-ring finder equipped with lockpicks, an explosive charge that detonates at the sound of a wolf-whistle, and a stun-gas pellet that discharges if he whistles the opening notes of “Rule Brittania”. This is everything a Bond gadget should be: simple, elegant, and when used cleverly, totally lethal.)

:: Licence to Kill. In my view, this is the most underrated of all the Bond films. It performed poorly at the box office when it was released in 1989, backed by a lackadaisical advertising campaign and tough competition from films like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Lethal Weapon II, and even Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. The film takes place entirely in the Caribbean and in Latin America, and it marks a stark deviation from the standard Bond formula. He is on no sanctioned mission for Her Majesty’s Secret Service this time; in fact, he is acting totally on his own, at one point running from a meeting with M who has personally come to chew him out for his vigilante behavior. The reason for his actions is a druglord named Franz Sanchez, who has escaped US custody (Bond had helped put him there in the teaser sequence), killed Felix Leiter’s young newlywed wife, and seriously maimed Felix himself. (The manner of Felix’s maiming is actually taken from Ian Fleming’s novel of Live and Let Die.) Bond goes after Sanchez, destroying parts of his operation before ultimately infiltrating it with the help of the beautiful CIA agent Pam Bouvier, played with terrific sass by Carey Lowell. (“Are you armed?” she asks Bond at one point. He shows her his Walther PPK, at which she shakes her head sadly and shows him her sawed-off shotgun.) Miss Bouvier is the strongest of all the Bond heroines; she is tough, fearless, and she gets to save Bond a number of times. There is palpable chemistry between her and Dalton; there is also great chemisty between Dalton and Robert Davi, who plays the evil Sanchez to the hilt. Davi’s Sanchez isn’t merely evil; there is a sense of honor behind the things he does. “This isn’t personal; it’s just business,” he says to Felix Leiter before having him horribly injured. The film’s closing action sequence, a gonzo chase scene down a series of dusty mountain roads involving a series of tanker trucks, is one the most exhilarating action set-pieces in any Bond film. The music is provided by Michael Kamen, and it’s a surprisingly effective mix of Latin elements and Kamenesque action writing. (Kamen also did the music for the Lethal Weapon and Die Hard films.) Licence To Kill should be more popular than it is. (The Gadgets: Here Bond works with a rifle that responds to his palmprint alone, a tube of toothpaste that actually dispenses plastic explosive, and a lighter that is really a flamethrower. Q has his beefiest role in the series in this film; he comes to equip Bond after a worried Moneypenny begs him to, and he actually helps out in the field. He has two especially nice moments: one where he tries to console Pam Bouvier when Bond has gone off with Sanchez’s stunning concubine, and one where he dresses as a farmer along the road as Sanchez drives by on the way to his hideout. In this latter scene, Q speaks into the broom he’s holding, which is really a microphone, alerting Pam that Sanchez is on his way. Then, that accomplished, he tosses the broom aside and walks away — a wonderfully funny character moment after all the times that Q has chided Bond over the years for never returning his equipment. Of course, I’ve always wondered: if he always wants it back, why does he almost always set it up so it explodes?)

:: GoldenEye, Tomorrow Never Dies, The World Is Not Enough. (Given that these films are the most recent, I’m lumping them together into a single capsule.) Due to legal wrangling there was a six-year gap between Licence To Kill and the next Bond film, GoldenEye. In that time Timothy Dalton decided to move on, and thus Pierce Brosnan finally took over the role, and he’s had it ever since. As far as I am concerned, he’s welcome to it until he’s too old or he simply doesn’t want it anymore. He brings to the part a blend of Dalton’s seriousness, Moore’s playfulness, Lazenby’s emotion, and Connery’s toughness. Some feel that Brosnan doesn’t have the physical gravitas to really be convincing as Bond, but I don’t agree. In fact, I think he’s getting better — his performance in TWINE was his best Bond yet. We’ll know more in a few months, when Die Another Day is released.

As for the films themselves, I’ve enjoyed all three, although each has its faults. GoldenEye is quite good, although its setup takes too long, its music (by Eric Serra) alternates between merely functional and utterly horrid, and at several points it meditates on deeper aspects of Bond’s character in a way that reminds me of the psychological baggage that has been pumped into the Batman character ever since Frank Miller’s Dark Knight series came out. The heroine, a Russian computer operator played by Izabella Scorupco, is lovely and strong; Sean Bean’s villain is excellent. His scheme, though, is a bit hard to swallow.

Tomorrow Never Dies is one of the most relentlessly paced Bond films; its emphasis is most definitely on action over plot. Bond is less a spy here than an action hero, and although the film works I’m not sure if that change is a good one. I’m of the opinion that James Bond should do more spying than heroics, but TND is chock-full of action set-pieces and the effect is generally overwhelming. Nevertheless, there is a lot to like in the film; Michelle Yeoh’s heroine could be an action-star in her own right; Jonathan Pryce’s media-mogul villain is in the best tradition of Bond-baddie-megalomania; David Arnold’s score is a tremendously fun listen. TND is not a bad film, but pedal-to-the-metal really isn’t the proper pace of a Bond film.

The World Is Not Enough. The title is an allusion to On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Part of that film’s plot deals with heraldry, and “The world is not enough” turns out to be the ancestral motto of the Bond family. I found this film a mixed bag. Robert Carlyle’s villain, a terrorist who is dying from a bullet in his skull that also has rendered him impervious to pain, is one of the creepiest of Bond baddies. Sophie Marceau may be the best femme fatale of the entire series. In this film, M actually figures in the action, giving Judi Dench something to do other than tell Pierce Brosnan what to do. Desmond Llewelyn plays Q for the last time, before his role is taken over by John Cleese, a perfect bit of casting if ever I’ve seen one. “Ah, there’s the famed 007 wit,” Cleese says. “Half of it, at any rate.” (Tragically, Llewelyn himself died in a car crash shortly after the film’s release. He was 85 at the time.) The film involves more espionage than Tomorrow Never Dies, but there are also some incredibly loud and over-the-top action sequences — particularly a boat-chase on the Thames and the climax on a submarine that looks strangely like the Nautilus from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The plot’s twists and turns are sometimes hard to follow, and at times Bond’s actions are unexplainable. The worst thing in the film, though, is its heroine: Denise Richards has less charisma than any other leading lady in any other Bond film, by far. From the first moment she appears — when the film tells us that she is a nuclear scientist, and her name is “Christmas Jones” — her character is completely unbelievable. The World Is Not Enough gives me the impression of a film that needed one more draft of screenplay done, and one key role re-cast entirely. (Special note: this film would be an excellent instructive example for people who don’t believe that letterboxing for home video is desirable. In the fullscreen video release, some of TWINE‘s action sequences — most notably a fight and chase in a nuclear missile silo — are all but impossible to follow. I don’t know if the film is out on Widescreen DVD, but that would be the way to see it.)

:: Die Another Day. See you this winter. View the trailer here.

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This week I read a nifty murder mystery/police thriller by Barbara Paul called Kill Fee. (It’s out-of-print, hence the Alibris link instead of my usual Amazon link.) The story presents a neat twist on the idea of “murder for hire”: a killer only known as Pluto identifies a person who would greatly benefit by the untimely death of another person. Pluto then waits until the “client” has an undeniable alibi, at which point he kills the victim. Then, once the client has benefitted by the unexpected slaying of their nemesis, Pluto sends them a bill: “For Services Rendered: One Murder, timed to your trip to ______. Balance Due: $100,000.” And Pluto always collects his fee. This is an exciting page-turner, a fascinating game of cat-and-mouse with sharply drawn characters and a brisk pace. I did find the novel’s ending too rushed and a bit of a let-down, but the trip to that point is amazingly enjoyable.

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Congratulations to Barry Bonds, who hit his 600th home run yesterday and became only the fourth player to ever reach that milestone. He isn’t only the greatest player of his generation; he is one of the greatest players of all time. (And, most importantly, a former Pittsburgh Pirate.)

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