Faber & Faber

Video Slut: How I Shoved Madonna Off an Olympic High Dive, Got Prince into a Pair of Tiny Purple Woolen Underpants, Ran Away ...

admin — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Sharon Oreck has the career that any child of the ‘80s would envy. She has produced over 600 music videos, many of which defined the monolithic “MTV generation.” She has been nominated for Oscars, Grammys, Women in Film awards, and of course, MTV Music Awards (twenty total!). From 1984 to 2000, Oreck’s work was a model for the visual repertoire that shaped the collective imagination of teens around the globe. Her role in popular culture is so far-reaching that she has been included in a film alongside such figures as Hillary Rodham Clinton (14 Women).

The majority of Oreck’s memoir relates events that occurred while shooting Sheila E.’s "The Glamorous Life," Aha’s "Take on Me," Madonna’s "Like a Prayer," and my personal favorite, Chris Isaak’s "Wicked Game." Upon viewing the videos, Oreck’s talent is immediately obvious. But what was she thinking when she was shooting? Apparently, she was thinking about a lot.

Reproductive rights, feminism, beauty—these are just a few of the topics that Oreck contemplates in Video Slut. Her most empowering moments as a writer occur during the introspective climax, which pairs her decision as a pregnant teen to keep her baby with the demise of her first production company, NO Pictures.

Oreck’s book is written in a tips-from-your-cool-older-sister style. Oreck spares no details and even offers pointers for making it in the scantily clad rock video world—most importantly, don’t make fun of executives until after they’ve left the room. More notably, this narrative updates the classic format for celebrity memoirs by exchanging the contexts of alternating chapters between a video career and an early pregnancy at sixteen. Video Slut puts the spotlight on the largely undocumented moments during video’s heyday—overqualified assistants, moonlighting pot dealers, egotistical bigwigs, and pop stars are the mediums through which Oreck relates her professional and personal milestones.

This is one of the most likable new books that I have read, and I look forward to more of Oreck’s outstanding work; her experiences combine elements of after-hours stand-up comedy, frank confessionals, and visionary strategies for survival when the odds don’t look so good. After all, that’s what petty cash is for, right?

Written by: Maria Guzman, August 24th 2010

The Hypochondriacs: Nine Tormented Lives

admin — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Brian Dillon

Faber & Faber

Almost everyone knows someone they would describe as a hypochondriac—a friend or relative who is obsessed with ambiguous symptoms, or who hears about a disease and immediately fears they have contracted it. In contemporary pop culture, “hypochondriac” is frequently a pejorative term, and one who suffers from “health phobia” is commonly an object of mockery. The condition is sometimes confused in media portrayals with malingering or deliberate “faking.”

But hypochondria has not always been thought of as a mental problem. To the ancient Greeks, the hypochondrium was the region of the abdomen below the ribs. Ulcers and abdominal problems were once considered part of the “hypochondriac syndrome.” As the actual causes of such disorders were discovered, physical complaints without a clear cause continued to be labeled “hypochondriasis.”

The Hypochondriacs: Nine Tormented Lives documents nine well-known “hypochondriacs” throughout history, and creates a narrative about how the diagnosis has evolved. A wide variety of medically recognized physical and mental issues have at one time been labeled hypochondria. What was labeled hypochondria in Daniel Paul Schreber might today be described as Cotard’s syndrome, or schizophrenia. The symptoms Andy Warhol experienced might now be called body dysmorphic disorder, a fascination with perceived flaws in one’s appearance.

Some of the nine individuals are more well-known than others. Most readers will probably be familiar with Charlotte Bronte, Charles Darwin, Florence Nightingale, Alice James, Marcel Proust, and Andy Warhol. But I had to Google James Boswell to learn that he is credited with reinventing the biography genre. Daniel Paul Schreber was a German jurist whose memoir of his mental illness became well-known after being analyzed by Sigmund Freud. Glenn Gould was a celebrated classical pianist, conductor, and broadcaster. Each individual viewed their “disease” differently, in accordance or in defiance of contemporary thinking.

Hypochondria was at one time considered the male counterpart to “female hysteria” (madness caused by the uterus). This may explain why hypochondria is frequently stereotyped as a problem affecting females. (In modern medicine, however, an equal number of men and woman are diagnosed with this condition.) The story of Charlotte Bronte implies that her troubling symptoms, and her resulting anxiety, may be connected to her frustration with the confinements of contemporary gender roles. Bronte was repeatedly discouraged from developing literary ambitions because of her sex, and this caused her considerable anguish. It is easy to see a parallel between hypochondria—symptoms with no clear cause—the “problem with no name” that Betty Friedan described in The Feminine Mystique.

The Hypochondriacs: Nine Tormented Lives is best suited for readers who have personal experience with hypochondria. In the introduction, the author mentions that he has experienced some degree of hypochondria in his own life, but this is never elaborated upon. His fascination with the condition is apparent, and the diagnosis is explored in detail. The book is analytical, but does not advocate a particular approach to the disease or its treatment.

Written by: Kellie Powell, December 16th 2009

Ad Nauseam: A Survivor's Guide to American Consumer Culture

admin — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 16:00:00 +0000

Edited by Carrie McLaren, Jason Torchinsky

Faber & Faber

Ad Nauseam: A Survivor's Guide to American Consumer Culture is an anthology of articles (plus some new material) from ‘90s ad-busting zine Stay Free!. Since I write a zine that deconstructs feminine hygiene advertising, I couldn’t have represented more of their target demographic if I’d tried. So when I saw that it was up for review, I immediately requested it.

I was a little miffed when only a cursory mention of the industry that lent its name to Stay Free! was covered in Ad Nauseam, but I was not disappointed in any other regard. This book is ace. And it’s funny.

In a series of short, sharp essays written over the past fifteen years or so (and the older articles are, revealingly, still very relevant to current marketing trends), the editors and other contributors cleverly debunk, deconstruct and delight in the many ways that advertisers try to put several over on us. There is something for you here whether you are completely new to the topic or have studied it before. Subjects include (but are not limited to) television’s influence on the U.S. legal system, the ins and outs of subliminal advertising, brand loyalty taken to almost unbelievable extremes, and the techniques magazines use to sell ad space by marketing, well, us.

Spoof multiple-choice quizzes at the end of each chapter reveal creepy tidbits you can use to impress your friends. (This worked well for me at the pub last week.) There’s also a brief history of the advertising industry that will catch up anyone new to it, and refreshingly refresh those who've already got the basics down.

The final section is my favorite part—a chronicle of the merry ad-busting japes undertaken by the editors and others, followed by an encouraging word—and a few resources—for any potential japesters out there. Carrie McLaren and Jason Torchinsky acknowledge that although one small prank can’t combat the financial might of major corporations, it can still raise awareness and educate on a small scale, forging personal connections. McLaren continues this with a blog and Brooklyn-based alternative lecture series.

Does this book pass the feminist test? Yep. Historically, most of the advertisers were men, and most of the shoppers they targeted were women. Again and again, Ad Nauseam chronicles in detail and handily exemplifies that old traditions die hard. It’s an excellent tool kit for any feminist, male or female. At $18 in paperback, it's also an expensive toolkit, but its 335 pages are stuffed full of wittily presented stats and examples—all backed up with extensive references and notes, so it is actually very good value for money.

Ad Nauseam would make an accessible companion to a high school or undergraduate module on advertising or media studies, and I’d even go ahead and recommend some of the shorter segments that illustrate each chapter (easy to find on gray background pages throughout the book) for middle school students. Read it all in one sitting like I tried to at first, and your world may be so deconstructed that you can’t put it back together again. As a zine anthology, it’s made for dipping into, and I plan to keep mine on my bathroom bookshelf. (It’s the modern coffee table. You know it is.)

Props to Faber and Faber for allowing Torchinsky to design the cover, which sports a lovingly rendered airsickness bag emblazoned with the book's title on a fetching field of blue. Can a barf bag be beautiful? Scarily, yes. It’s great to know that Torchinsky and his co-editor understand the industry well enough to manipulate it to their advantage, and that they’ve chosen to use their powers for good.

Written by: Chella Quint, October 31st 2009