Jimmy... Dead.
contemplative curmudgeon
Now that we have our own thread let's get really serious. Let's talk about McAdams describing a big dick
I suppose, if I wanted to rationalize it, I would say that his entire character is a performance. That is, his actual character is always performing a tougher, intellectual version of himself in order to compensate for some kind of lack.
The problem is, it's tough to tell whether the character is actually that complex, or whether Vaughn's acting is just that stilted and transparent.
Ein ya pretty much nailed it on a level I never could. Season 1 truly was phenomenal
this is great:
No Exit From Darkness: A twelve piece series of articles by academic philosophers that examine the philosophical ideas present in the first season
http://www.thecritique.com/exclusive/no-exit-from-darkness-the-philosophy-of-true-detective/
and fuck what anyone says Lost was a great show. I've never been so infatuated by a show before. Breaking Bad did the same thing.
As far as comedy goes yea Seinfeld is king. The American version of The Office was excellent too, just some great comedic writing. Especially the early seasons
I don't look for human voices. I'm looking for a voice that breaches the liminal realm of the corpse.
For us, defined as living beings, death is our imaginary. So, all the disjunctions on which the different structures of the real are based (this is not in the least abstract: it is also what separates the teacher from the taught, and on which the reality principle of their relation is based; the same goes for all the social relations we know) have their archetype in the fundamental disjunction of life and death. This is why, in whatever field of 'reality,' every separate term for which the other is its imaginary is haunted by the latter as its own death.
I would lie by him in the dark, hearing the dark land talking of God's love and His beauty and His sin; hearing the dark voicelessness in which the words are the deeds, and the other words that are not deeds, that are just the gaps in people's lacks, coming down like the cries of the geese out of the wild darkness in the old terrible nights, fumbling at the deeds like orphans to whom are pointed out in a crowd two faces and told, That is your father, your mother.