Is The Purge an example of the Bakhtinian carnivalesque?
So, as The Vision in the MCU, Paul Bettany has been thoroughly motion captured. Any other issues aside, his likeness could be used indefinitely, in a wide range of capacities. Meanwhile, there’s been talk that Wonder Man, another Marvel superhero, will eventually by introduced as played by Nathan Fillion.
In the comic plots, Vision possessed some portion of Wonder Man’s consciousness.
So, what if we were to eventually get a CGI rendering of Paul Bettany, but motion-controlled based on a performance by Nathan Fillion? Which performer would ‘own’ what part of that performance and how would it potentially impact our own impressions of those two actors and the characters they were portraying as independent/inter-related? How would the performers end up relating to one another? Would Fillion be playing Bettany just by looking like him, even if he were playing as Wonder Man?
Recently excised from the ‘What’s in a Name?’/’Identity Crisis’/??? subsection of Chapter 2. Clipped for being wordy, jargony, and too on-the-nose. The Derrida ref didn’t help, even though I’m a Derridean:
Superman is weird because he seems so cleanly iconic but has so many different names!
 Superman, in his mediated status as a current pop culture figure, is an example of psycho-socio-historical, imaginative, often explicitly narrativized discourse. But this is where naming becomes qualitatively distinct from categorization or even definition, for, despite all the complexity of that string of adjectives, what more contextualized material–such as feelings or prioritized memories that reinforce the trace of the character–do we call up for ourselves in the utterance of his name? ‘This looks like a job for Superman!’ Don’t you want to deepen your voice a bit as you say it?
Here’s something fun. You can actually do it if you want, but I think reading it’s probably just as effective for getting the idea across:
On a sheet of paper, with a pencil, write anything you want–something short, to keep this manageable; maybe something about how awesome your day’s going to be. Then, just to double down, write it all over again, just the same.
Now, erase the first version. Put the paper aside and go to your computer or phone. In some text field somewhere, type another message to yourself: maybe it’s different, though the possibilities for questioning seem exponentially increased if it’s the same as the message you originally wrote. At any rate, make sure you do it at the very beginning of the text field.
Whatever you’ve chosen to type out, skip a few lines and do it again. Don’t copy and paste, either; go through the motions again, pay attention to the fact that you’re doing what you’re doing.
Now, of course, erase the first version and all the spaces before the second. There should only be one version of the statement on your screen, at the very beginning of the text field.
So, now, what’s on your screen? Is it the ‘Second’ version of the message? If so, why? What, at this point, distinguishes what’s there now from what was there when you typed the message originally? You can clearly see that the two versions of the message you wrote are still two versions, despite the fact that one was ‘erased’ (its space, its impression maintained). And, if you typed the same message that you wrote, how many versions of that message exist now? Is it some different number than once existed? Does the difference matter?
Logocentrism: The pegging of metaphysical responsibility for the disappointments of material being.
Ce ne sont pas Mark Gruenwald
Mark Greunwald (1953-1996) was a writer and editor of numerous Marvel titles, including Captain America, What If?, and most relevantly here, a number of editions of The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe.
Mark Greunwald is the [psychoanalytic figure of] The Father of the Marvel Universe.
Grueny: Keepin’ it firmly away from The Real since at least ’78.
If we could, would we really want those we care about to care about the things we care about quite as much as we do, in the same ways we do? Because, if they did, couldn’t they become as much of an authority on those things as we are? And then, wouldn’t that change our relationships with them? Would we continue to be the sort of authority about that thing that we were, that we enjoyed being?