Book by Antonio Mendez. Film directed by Ben Affleck.
A book review and a movie review, all at the same time!
I saw Argo (the movie) last October when I was visiting my friends Brandy and John in Colorado. Brandy and I had planned to go and visit some mountains and some snow, but it rained instead. Everybody knows that rainy mountains aren’t nearly as much fun as snowy mountains, so we opted for a movie day instead. I am embarrassed to admit that I knew little to nothing about the Iran hostages prior to seeing Argo, so it was even more of a learning experience for me than it might have been to a more knowledgeable viewer.
I agree with the reviewers who thought that the manufactured tension at the end of the movie was a little bit tiresome, but overall, I loved Argo. The casting was perfect – especially Alan Arkin and John Goodman – and I agree with all those people who were dumbfounded that Ben Affleck didn’t receive a Director nod at the Oscars. I’m not generally able to pinpoint good directing as the reason I enjoy a film, but Argo is an exception to that. I suppose that Best Picture is a pretty good consolation prize, but in all honesty, I thought Zero Dark Thirty deserved Best Picture just as much as Argo deserved Best Director. Oh, well – I’m not in charge of either decision.
My mom and I were in DC last weekend, and while we were there we visited the International Spy Museum, which is across the street from the National Portrait Gallery. We weren’t able to go when we were in the District last summer, but we’d been told that it was a fun museum. At some point during the lead-up to awards season, I read that Antonio Mendez and his wife, both former CIA operatives, were on the board of the museum, which further intrigued me. In all honesty, I can’t say that I was all that impressed with the museum itself; I chalk it up to an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia, my absolute inability to figure out the preferred direction of travel inside the museum, and the fact that way too many people (and too many children, in particular) were there. I eventually started following every exit sign I found and made my way to the gift store (I do love a gift store, y’all), where I found autographed copies of Mendez’s book Argo: How the CIA and Hollywood Pulled Off the Most Audacious Rescue in History. I bought one for myself and one for my dad, who loved the movie as much as I did.
This isn’t the book that the film is based on. That’s The Master of Disguise, which was written after the operation was declassified in 1997. Mendez wrote Argo in 2012, after the film had already been completed. As anticipated, the book fills in all the details that the film glosses over. It’s an easy read, albeit lengthier than necessary (I found myself wondering whether Mendez had an ineffective editor or a page number quota that he couldn’t reach without pages and pages and pages of backstory). In any case, I loved learning about how CIA operatives are trained in forgery and disguises; it’s like Mission Impossible, only real.
In a nutshell, here’s what we learn from both the book and the film versions of Argo: the CIA is crazy smart; you can’t hide from them, but they can very effectively hide from you.
Showing posts with label Non-Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Non-Fiction. Show all posts
09 April 2013
20 November 2012
Night
by Elie Wiesel
I scarcely have words to describe this book. It’s short – about 115 pages if you skip the introduction and the foreword (don’t skip them, or if you do, take the time to go back and read them). I think it took me about an hour and a half to get through it, mostly because I was rushing and just wanted it to be over. I’ve still got some guilt about that, actually. Part of me feels obligated to read it every single day, as a reminder of what humans are capable of when we don’t honor and respect one another’s humanity.
As a child, Wiesel’s family was incarcerated in Auschwitz. I say incarcerated because really, what other verb works here? Wiesel could easily and justifiably have written a lengthy, melodramatic, lecturing tome, but instead “Night” is simple, straightforward, and easily one of the most heartbreaking, nauseating, soul-crushing pieces of literature I’ve ever read. Ever.
It would take me far more than 115 pages to describe how vividly Wiesel talks of torment, starvation, death, and human nature. I’ll skip all of that and settle on telling you all to read it. Right this minute.
“For the survivor who chooses to testify, it is clear: his duty is to bear witness for the dead and for the living. He has no right to deprive future generations of a past that belongs to our collective memory. To forget would be not only dangerous but offensive; to forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.”
“I am not so naïve as to believe that this slim volume will change the course of history or shake the conscience of the world. Books no longer have the power they once did. Those who kept silent yesterday will remain silent tomorrow.”
I scarcely have words to describe this book. It’s short – about 115 pages if you skip the introduction and the foreword (don’t skip them, or if you do, take the time to go back and read them). I think it took me about an hour and a half to get through it, mostly because I was rushing and just wanted it to be over. I’ve still got some guilt about that, actually. Part of me feels obligated to read it every single day, as a reminder of what humans are capable of when we don’t honor and respect one another’s humanity.
As a child, Wiesel’s family was incarcerated in Auschwitz. I say incarcerated because really, what other verb works here? Wiesel could easily and justifiably have written a lengthy, melodramatic, lecturing tome, but instead “Night” is simple, straightforward, and easily one of the most heartbreaking, nauseating, soul-crushing pieces of literature I’ve ever read. Ever.
It would take me far more than 115 pages to describe how vividly Wiesel talks of torment, starvation, death, and human nature. I’ll skip all of that and settle on telling you all to read it. Right this minute.
“For the survivor who chooses to testify, it is clear: his duty is to bear witness for the dead and for the living. He has no right to deprive future generations of a past that belongs to our collective memory. To forget would be not only dangerous but offensive; to forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.”
“I am not so naïve as to believe that this slim volume will change the course of history or shake the conscience of the world. Books no longer have the power they once did. Those who kept silent yesterday will remain silent tomorrow.”
01 January 2009
A-Quiver with Significance: Marianne Moore, 1932-1936
edited by Heather Cass White (!)
I was lucky enough to be gifted a copy of this book by its author/editor while I was home for Christmas. Perusing it has reminded me of how much I love Marianne Moore, and of how much I miss my English classes.
I was lucky enough to be gifted a copy of this book by its author/editor while I was home for Christmas. Perusing it has reminded me of how much I love Marianne Moore, and of how much I miss my English classes.
Hystories
by Elaine Showalter
Non-fiction, which I almost never read, but this one's good. She discusses recent hysterical phenomena (such as chronic fatigue syndrome, recovered memories of childhood abuse, and alien abduction) and gives reasons for their rising popularity. She seems to conclude that repressed or unconscious feelings/fixations/psychoses/whatever tend to manifest themselves differently depending on what's happening socially, and that an increase in the diagnosis of these medical and psychological disorders is due, at least partially, to media coverage of new and interesting syndromes. A very good read, mostly because it's informative but not judgmental or flippant.
Non-fiction, which I almost never read, but this one's good. She discusses recent hysterical phenomena (such as chronic fatigue syndrome, recovered memories of childhood abuse, and alien abduction) and gives reasons for their rising popularity. She seems to conclude that repressed or unconscious feelings/fixations/psychoses/whatever tend to manifest themselves differently depending on what's happening socially, and that an increase in the diagnosis of these medical and psychological disorders is due, at least partially, to media coverage of new and interesting syndromes. A very good read, mostly because it's informative but not judgmental or flippant.
17 August 2008
My Sister, My Love
by Joyce Carol Oates
Along the same lines as Black Water and Blonde. It's a roman à clé (Dr. Voss would be so proud of me for retaining that term of art!), so basically, I believe that this just means that Ms. Oates has something to say about this particular subject matter, and she'd just as soon not get sued for libel or defamation, or whatever.
So anyway, the plot is about the fall-out of the Christmastime murder of a child ice-skating prodigy, and is told from the point of view of her older brother, who, because of the attention his sister attracted, was largely ignored by parents and schoolmates alike, both before and after the murder, and was briefly a suspect in her death. Perhaps this sounds familiar (subtract ice skating and insert childhood beauty pagents and ta-da! JonBenet Ramsey, anyone?).
The book is fairly raw and holds very little back. It's a satisfying read, but you feel a little squirmy and voyeuristic as you're reading it (this is true of every Oates novel I've read, though). And it maybe goes on a little long. But all in all, it's a fantastic book...truthfully, I've never been dissatisfied with anything I've read by Joyce Carol Oates.
Along the same lines as Black Water and Blonde. It's a roman à clé (Dr. Voss would be so proud of me for retaining that term of art!), so basically, I believe that this just means that Ms. Oates has something to say about this particular subject matter, and she'd just as soon not get sued for libel or defamation, or whatever.
So anyway, the plot is about the fall-out of the Christmastime murder of a child ice-skating prodigy, and is told from the point of view of her older brother, who, because of the attention his sister attracted, was largely ignored by parents and schoolmates alike, both before and after the murder, and was briefly a suspect in her death. Perhaps this sounds familiar (subtract ice skating and insert childhood beauty pagents and ta-da! JonBenet Ramsey, anyone?).
The book is fairly raw and holds very little back. It's a satisfying read, but you feel a little squirmy and voyeuristic as you're reading it (this is true of every Oates novel I've read, though). And it maybe goes on a little long. But all in all, it's a fantastic book...truthfully, I've never been dissatisfied with anything I've read by Joyce Carol Oates.
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