Easy Rider og drømmen om frihed

Søndag aften genså jeg Dennis Hoppers klassiker Easy Rider, der for over 40 år siden revolutionerede Hollywood. Filmen var et af de første eksempler på en billigt produceret “uafhængig” film (det vil sige produceret udenfor de store selskaber) og dens enorme indtjening fik de store producenter til at kaste håndklædet i ringen: De anede ikke længere, hvad publikum ville have. Men det vidste Dennis Hopper og kompagni, der tjente millioner på “Easy Rider’s” appel til hippiegenerationens tørst efter spejlbilleder, sansninger og film, der kan dvæle og gøre noget andet end bare at fortælle ramasjang. (Hvis man vil have hele historien, anbefales Peter Biskinds fremragende Easy Riders, Raging Bulls)

Filmen har en meget simpel struktur: Det er rejsen – filmen opfandt også road movie genren – både som fysisk og som mental vandring, og rejsen som et tidsportræt: To unge mænd, Captain America (Peter Fonda) og Billy (Dennis Hopper) drager fra Californien til New Orleans, hvor de skal sælge noget kokain og more sig. De er på vej til deres “big score”, der vil gøre dem rige, men på rejsen møder de både kollektivistiske, udflippende hippier, en gal advokat (Jack Nicholson i hans første glansrolle) og hippie-hadende rednecks. Turen maner til eftertanke, der formuleres ret klarsynet af Captain America i den ellers sparsomme dialog: “We blew it”. Selvom de fik pengene, fandt de ikke det, de virkelig søgte: Friheden.

Ved gensyn er det forbavsende, hvor præcist filmen kan fortælle historien (eller en af historierne) om 60’ernes kulturrevolution, hvor hippiernes modkultur blev mainstream. Det starter godt med fællesskab, kollektivt jordbrug og masser af joints, men efterhånden bliver følelserne mere ubehagelige: Hovedpersonerne møder meget modstand fra de reaktionære rednecks, der vil klippe deres hår og tæve dem for at give deres piger frække tanker, og til sidst bliver det rigtig voldeligt og ondt. Én streng i historien er således, at hippiernes frihedsoprør mislykkedes, fordi “samfundet” slog for stærkt igen, eller som Jack Nicholsons karakter formulerer det: “De taler meget om personlig frihed, men når de ser et rigtigt frit individ, så bliver de vrede, bange og voldelige.”

Men som en understrøm bag den lidt platte “systemets fascister vil slå os ihjel” historie ligger også en mere tragisk fortælling om den uhåndgribelige frihed, Captain America og Billy søger: De kan ikke holde sig selv fast noget sted, og de penge, de endelig finder, gør dem ikke lykkelige. Inden da har de været på et grimt syretrip, der på en kirkegård i New Orleans har afsløret deres indre dæmoner og had, angsten for døden, utilstrækkelighed og vanvid. Der, hvor de tror, at de finder befrielse og spirituel indsigt, der findes kun galskab og skræk. Der er ikke rigtig nogen vej tilbage herfra, og ligesom 60’erne endte i vold og drab ved rockfestivalen Altamont (Woodstocks modstykke), ender Easy Rider også med mord.

I grunden har jeg rigtig meget sympati for hippedrømmen om frihed, om at leve i nuet og være som et barn i hvert eneste øjeblik (de lykkeligste øjeblikke i filmen er netop sådan nogle lalleglade oplevelser) – eller som Peter Fonda siger anerkendende til en bonde: “You do your own thing in your own time” – og jeg elsker drømmen om rejsen, om den åbne landevej, hvor man kan søge friheden – men alt for sjældent finder den. “Easy Rider” byder på nogle helt fantastiske billeder og giver virkelig en lyst til at rejse i det sydvestlige USA, blandt de fantastiske klipper i Momument Valley. Hippiernes første fase har jeg stor respekt for, og “Easy Rider” står og vibrerer lige der, hvor hippiebevægelsen begynder at blive politisk og falder over i sit totalitære modstykke. Den politiske mobilisering ligger i logisk forlængelse af Captain Americas fiasko: For det er jo “The Man”, “Systemet” og “Markedet”, der ikke vil have, at vi er frie. Eller er det? Svaret på det spørgsmål er – også – en af de spændende ting ved “Easy Rider”.

Alt det bedste fra Italien

Er netop kommet hjem fra to uger på agriturismo i Lazio-provinsen. Sidder på altanen og drikker Lavazza Qualita Rossa fra den nyindkøbte Bialetti caffittiera. Det var de gode ting, der kunne tages med hjem. Men pastaen blev i Italien. Suk. Sikken en livskvalitet. Sikken en nydelse. Jeg kan aldrig spise ravioli igen, med mindre den er fra Sofias køkken…

Reagan’s Speech and the way to meet Manhattan

Danish Libertarian Peter Kurrild-Klitgaard in a warm portrait of his first encounter with The Land of the Free which coincided almost magically with Regan’s famous speech at Brandenburger Tor in 1987. It’s in Danish but the whole speech is there and it’s still very moving and powerful. Reagan continues to grow on me, I must admit. Truly a visionary and brave politician, even with all his faults.

I still remember my own first meeting with New York in the fall of 1999, when I was in a very special and transformative phase of my life. It was Indian Summer in November and I absolutely fell in love with the majestic city. I was there with a good friend and we were simply in extasy over the sounds and views and smells of the dirty and bustling and beautiful Big Apple. I remember that the Twin Towers made a particularly memorable impression (which I documented in a lot of photos) and I actually felt so at home that people soon started asking me for directions.

It’s not the same now when I go back, as I have a few times. The city is different, and I’m different, and the Towers are no longer there, which fills me with sadness every time. New York is still in my opinion an unsurpassed metropolis, but politics, terrorism and war have taken their toll. However, people still ask me for directions, which why I’ll always come back.

The Velvet Underground as airplane music

The times they are a-changing… as always. The Velvet Underground used to be the nastiest, sexiest and most scary music money could buy. But last week when I took the Air France Airbus home from Tehran, they played Femme Fatale on the speaker system, like it was just another piece by Vivaldi. Granted it’s among the velvets’ more accessible tracks, but still it wouldn’t exactly call Nico’s voice calming and reassuring, or the lyrics soothing and relaxing. As she sings, she really is a little tease…

What’s next? Merzbow in the elevator?

East and West: How to spot the difference

It’s a scorching day in Denmark. Summer is here at least a month too early and I’m thanking global warming. It’s a great day to think about a certain phenomenon that very clearly separates Western (I’m thinking particularly about North European) culture from Eastern. Is it the pietistic and protestantic background? No. Is it the long tradition for democracy, human rights and mindless egalitarianism? No. Then what about the fair skin and the long summer nights? No, no and no.

I’m thinking of course about the way we use our balconies. You know those little appendages we hang on the outside of buildings, especially apartment blocks, so people can get the illusion of being outside while they’re actually still in their apartment. You see, they way we use our balconies here in Denmark is vastly different from the way they use it in other places – Iran being one place, but also just on the other side of the Baltic in Poland, and even in Spain (which I here somehow confuse into the East category). So what is the difference? It is the difference between balconies as “extended living room” and balconies as “useful storage space”.

On a hot summer day when you walk around in Copenhagen, you’ll see every Dane who has acces to a balcony actually using it as a substitute for going to the park – they’ll be smoking, drinking coffee, having breakfast, sunbathing, reading a newspaper, whatever, and meanwhile enjoying the fresh air and the sun. Danes who have balconies almost live on them during the summer. But people here in Denmark of – for example – Middle Eastern decent (who are technically Danes but have a different cultural background) will not, never, ever use their balconies for pleasure. A balcony is to be used as a storage space – preferably for lots of coca-cola bottles or other soft drinks.

This essential difference was perfectly illustrated a few months back when me and my girlfriend happened into one of those silly home owner shows on Danish television. Here a young Danish couple of (I think) Pakistani decent (but I may be wrong) just had bought a new apartment, and the home-grown Danish television crew had followed them on their quest. The couple were young, recently married, happy, well integrated, spoke perfect Danish and was in all ways succesfully assimilated into Danish society. And yet, when the Danish interviewer admired the couple’s nice new balcony and said “this is so great: the lilttle baby carriage can stand out there on hot summer evenings” the girl were visibly horrified! There was no way she was putting her little yet-to-be-born baby out there! “No, I think we’ll use it for the coke bottles” she said and brushed the idea off. The guy nodded and agreed – I can extrapolate he was thinking: “this was going so well, but these Danes are really nuts”.

Now, the really funny thing is that here my girlfriend laughed and said: “It’s exactly the same in my familiy!”. You have to know here that she on her mother’s side is Polish-Jewish with that whole part of the family living in Denmark. And here it is exactly the same: no one goes out on the balcony. It is for storing stuff, not for putting out plants and a nice little table to drink coffee at in the morning. So apparently there is this storage-culture all the way from Poland and down (we can assume) at least to Iran, where I again observed the storage-phenomenon.

What’s the explanation? I don’t know. It could have something to do with the climate (which doesn’t explain Poland, though), because in Spain they were also using their balconies for storage – for eggs no less! And then they would make home-made mayonnaise from eggs that had been outside in the summer heat for days and never seen a fridge since they left the chicken. How gross is that?

Anyway: Some people think that the rows of sattelite dishes pointed towards Mecca indicate that a lot of immigrants live in a certain place. Maybe so, but an even better indication is the boxes on the balcony, filled with soft drinks or eggs or whatever. Just take a look the next time you’re passing by!

Iran 4: Islam everywhere and I just want to quit

Before I went to Iran, I was so tired of hearing about Islam all the time in Danish media. The debate on the Danes and the Muslims have been going on for almost ten years and have only intensified and intensified. Ever since the Cartoon Crises I had personally gotten more and more critical of Islam as a religion and more and more critical of persons with a Muslim background as a whole. And I was really tired of being confronted with this issue all the time, and this goes for both the Islam-bashing of Danish blogs and the Danish People’s Party as well as the all too sugar-coated multiculturalism of the Danish Broadcasting Cooperation. And yet, I couldn’t and can’t help writing about Islam all the time.

I won’t say that my trip to Iran changed my views so much as expanded them greatly. I’ve met so many different people with so many different views and although I have an even worse picture of islamism as a political project, I’ve seen the incredible complexities of what we in the West call the Islamic world – even though I’ve really only scratched the surface. I’ve met devout Muslims who were thorough democrats and against the hejab, I’ve met anti-muslim Persians who hated George Bush and 300, and I’ve met an Iranian who grew up in Denmark as a refugee from Khomeini, but simply couldn’t take the heat anymore and went back to Iran – because off the hostile climate in Denmark towards anyone of Middle Eastern decent. All this made me think, and the bottom line is:

Let’s all just shut up about Islam for a while and try to see people as individuals. Try to listen some more, please.

Iran 3: Good Omens

On the other hand: When we actually got to the airport the dark clouds seemed to clear up.

It started badly enough: My companion was beginning to get worried about the lenght of her coat/manteu, which is supposed to go to below the knee (and be square and ugly and not show the female form in any way). Maybe this coat wouldn’t even be useful in Iran? This was especially unfortunate, since she had spent most of the day before colouring the coat black to fit the cheerful Iranian colours. The mood worsened as she saw herself spending her whole time in Iran in her only other coat, which we fittingly called the Beppo street-cleaner coat.

But then, fortune smiled upon us: When the nice girl at the counter asked for our tickets and where we were going, and we told her Tehran, she said: “That’s funny. That’s where I’m from! I’ve just been there and its great!” We immidiately started relaxing and she told us that the weather was good and that she had a Danish boyfriend who had been to Iran several times, loved the country and the food.

Then my companion gathered the courage to ask about the coat. The girl glanced at it and said “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. No problem.”

Thanks, check-in-counter-girl!

Iran 2: Bad Omens

Departure: We took the taxi to the station to get to the airport. The taxidriver was a big and burly man, most likely a from refugee from war-torn Ex-Jugoslavia, a Bosnian, Serb or Croat. He looked at our bags and asked us where we were going. When we said “Iran” he laughed out loud, surprised and in disbelief:

“Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, I would never go to a place like that!”

“You guys live too interesting lives!”, he said and laughed even more. And right then I was inclined to agree with him. I mean, this was a guy who probably felt at home in the minefields around Sarajevo or in some bombed out village near Vukovar. And yet to him going to Iran seemed like the most outrageous idea anyone could have.

Were we really that naive? Were we really insisting on living too interesting lives? We had already crossed the Andes mountains in a 8-person airplane and sailed the Amazon in a fragile motorboat, but perhaps going to Iran was even more outlandish?

Anyway, we would soon find out… There was no turning back.