When I was 15, I joined an exchange student program and moved from Italy to the U.S., to live there with an American family. The randomly selected state of my exchange year was Michigan. The very first day I arrived, my brain had the following striking sensation: “Ohhhh, things finally make sense to me! THIS is how the world is supposed to look like. This is how houses, yards, streets and stores are actually supposed to look like! I am WHOLE again.”
Crazy, right? Especially coming from Italy. And who did I have to thank for that munch-scream twisted perspective, as a young Italian boy?
But Hollywood, of course. And, more broadly, California, even if the two have a very blurred dividing line.
California is responsible for a cultural colonization of the brains of everyone around the world (I would submit, even in the most remote places, where they often can watch tv). Whether we like it or not, this is a fact. Especially true of the pre-internet generation, although this phenomenon is still going on, big time.
Mick Lasalle has written a powerful book where he examines California - as a place, as an idea and as a cultural aspiration - in its cinema representations.
First, I love Lasalle’s style. His voice is, at the same time, colloquial and precise. He reminds me a bit of the DeLillo of White Noise: the intensity is often found more in the individual sentence rather than the paragraph or chapter. And that’s understandable, coming from a very celebrated cinema critic: his work must often hit the reader’s mind with the quickest possible means.
Second reason why I loved this book: it’s written by a New Yorker. I’m so sorry, Californians, but you guys just don’t do depth. Here is a critic who can use the word “deep” while actually knowing what he’s talking about, and I’m sure that, in part, that’s because he is from the East Coast.
Third reason: as an immigrant (from Italy, as I live in L.A.) this book helped me make some sense of the surreal place where I’ve been spending the last years.
Fourth reason: despite showing no compassion for the worst side of California - the spiritual emptiness, the stunning selfishness, the having taken relativism to never-reached-before heights, and the general superficiality - Lasalle writes with a clear love for the place. His conclusion is a heart-felt one, where he says:
“ I feel an imprecise yet distinct desire to thank California itself - the people for welcoming me, the artists who distilled and implanted the California idea into the world’s consciousness, and even the politicians [note of the reviewer: ok, maybe not those ones!!] for making CA a remarkably livable, beautiful and humane place… at least most of the time.”
And this is something that, whether in my future I’ll stay or leave, I feel like I can share with the author.