Scholars console themselves with the notion that calamitous acts of death and destruction such as The Holocaust, the Bengal famine, and the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are freak, singular aberrations. Psychologically, it’s reassuring to pigeonhole these as exotic historical events for academic study and push them away.
Consider the political thrillerThe Eagle Has Landed. There’s a scene where Col. Radl discusses Jung’s concept of synchronicity. For example, a man checking out drops a coin near the register and searches for it momentarily before giving up. Years later, he is at the same store and finds a similar coin. He rationalizes this with a mundane story, not some cosmic notion of fairness.
…Jung was working, in collaboration with Pauli, on his treatise on Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle, which was published together with Pauli’s essay on Kepler in one volume. This was evidently meant as a symbolic act: one of the greatest physicists of the century joining forces with one of its greatest psychologists. The result was a stimulating exercise in unorthodox speculation, but at the same time sadly disappointing. It did not amount to a theory in the proper sense, but rather to a universal schema, both very bold and very vague.
Jung’s treatise hinges on his concept of “Synchronicity”. He defines it as “the simultaneous occurrence of two meaningfully but not causally connected events”;1 or alternatively as “a coincidence in time of two or more causally unrelated events which have the same or similar meaning2…equal in rank to causality as a principle of explanation”.3 This is an almost verbatim repetition of Kammerer’s definition of “Seriality” as “a recurrence of the same or similar things or events in time or space”—events which, as far as can be ascertained; “are not connected by the same acting cause”. The main difference appears to be that Kammerer emphasises serial happenings in time (though, of course, he includes contemporaneous coincidences in space), whereas Jung’s concept of synchronicity seems to refer only to simultaneous events—although he includes precognitivedreams which occurred sometimes several days before the events. He tried to get around the time paradox by saying that the unconscious mind functions outside of the physical framework of space-time; thus precognitive experiences are “evidently not synchronous but are synchronistic since they are experienced as psychic images in the present as though the objective event already existed”.4 One wonders why Jung created these unnecessary complications by coining a term which implies simultaneity, and then explaining that it does not mean what it means. But this kind of obscurity combined with verbosity runs through much of Jung’s writing.
Although Kammerer’s “Seriality” and Jung’s “Synchronicity” are as similar as a pair of gloves, each fits one hand only. Kammerer confined himself to analogies in naive physical terms, rejecting ESP and mentalistic explanations. Jung went to the opposite extreme and tried to explain all phenomena which could not be accounted for in terms of physical causality, as manifestations of the unconscious mind: “Synchronicity is a phenomenon that seems to be primarily connected with psychic conditions, that is to say with processes in the unconscious.”5 Its deepest strata, according to Jungian terminology, are formed by the “collective unconscious”, potentially shared by all members of the race. The “decisive factors” in the collective unconscious are the archetypes which “constitute its structure”.6 They are, as it were, the distilled memories of the human species, but cannot be represented in verbal terms, only in elusive symbols, shared by all mythologies. They also provide “patterns of behaviour”7 for all human beings in archetypal situations—confrontations with death, danger, love, conflict, etc. In such situations the unconsciousarchetypes invade consciousness, carrying strong emotions and—owing perhaps to the archetype’s indifference to physical space and time—facilitate the occurrence of “synchronistic” events. The appearance of the scarab while the patient was telling her archetypaldream is considered by Jung as an illustration of this nexus. The same applies to the detonations in Freud’s bookcase during Jung’s visit, indicating the explosive nature of their father-son relationship: “Meaningful coincidences which are to be distinguished from meaningless chance-groupings—therefore seem to rest on an archetypal foundation. At least all the cases in my experience and there is a large number of them—show this characteristic?”8
Elsewhere in the essay he writes:
Synchronistic events rest on the simultaneous occurrence of two different psychic states. One of them is the normal, probable state (i.e., the one that is causally explicable), and the other, the critical experience, is the one that cannot be derived causally from the first. In the case of sudden death, the critical experience cannot be recognised immediately as “extra-sensory perception” but can only be verified as such afterwards. …In all these cases, whether it is a question of spatial or of temporal ESP, we find a simultaneity of the normal or ordinary state with another state or experience which is not causally derivable from it, and whose objective existence can only be verified afterwards. …An unexpected [mental] content which is directly or indirectly connected with some objective external event coincides with the ordinary psychic state: this is what I call synchronicity.”9
Can a movie trigger an unexpected intellectual adventure?
Usually, when considering this question, you might see a film on a specific subject, then perhaps read an article or try to find a book about it.
In his essay on Synchronicity (Jung’s term for meaningful coincidences of events separated in space and/or in time,1Jung examined some of the beliefs surrounding apparently related incidents which seem to have no causal connection. These incidents could be, for example, the coinciding of a patient’s dream with an actual event corresponding to its occurring at the same time some distance away, it could be ESP phenomena—response to some event that does not become known through any sense; it could be a horoscope reading which corresponds to the observed character of the individual or his self-image, or an astrological prediction which seems to be borne out in subsequent events. The possibility of finding meaning in these correspondences had tantalized Jung for many years. The beginning of his serious study goes back to the days when Albert Einstein was developing his first theory of relativity. During this time he was a guest on several occasions for dinner in Jung’s home. In a letter on Einstein and synchronicity, Jung wrote: “It was Einstein who first started me off thinking about a possible relativity of time as well as space, and their psychic synchronicity.”2
In The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche, C. W. 8, pp. 417-531. [ref]
Letter to Dr. Selig dated 25 February, 1953, in Spring, 1971, p. 127. [ref]
Anime (アニメ) director KON Satoshi (今 敏) died in 2010 at the age of 46, but his works remain highly influential. His final filmPaprika, released 20 years ago, highlights his preoccupations with the divided self and the blurring of the lines between dreams and reality.
Dream Analysis
After starting out as a manga artist in 1985, KON Satoshi [今 敏] honed his skills in the anime production teams of OSHII Mamoru [押井 守] and ŌTOMO Katsuhiro [大友 克洋], and then made his feature-length direction debut with Perfect Blue, which was released in Japan in 1998. His fourth feature, the 2006Paprika, is an adaptation of the novel of the same name by TSUTSUI Yasutaka [筒井 康隆]. Kon was public in his admiration of the book and he is said to have aimed to produce “something like the novel Paprika” in his previous anime. Indeed, Kon’s Paprika adaptation has many factors in common with his earlier works.
Paprika is set in a near-future Japan, where it is possible to monitor other people’s dreams on a screen. The main character is a therapist called Chiba Atsuko, who provides treatment via her alter ego Paprika, a dream detective. The technology is abused, however, forcing people to experience nightmares, and eventually these flood into the real world.
While Kon follows the broad outline of the original work, his adaptation incorporates numerous changes. The biggest of these is the chaotic parade of electronic goods, beckoning cats (“maneki-neko” [招き猫]), Buddhist statues, torii gates [鳥居], and other marching objects. This symbolizes nightmares spilling out of control, but there is nothing like it in Tsutsui’s book. Kon explained that the parade is made up of old-fashioned appliances and forgotten religious and traditional elements.
In Freud’s The Uncanny, he describes the titular subject as something familiar that has been estranged through repression. In the film, the members of the parade have become estranged from the conscious minds of people today, but are resurrected, and symbolize the uncanny nature of nightmares.
Alongside its Freudian elements, Kon’s Paprika shows Jungian influences. Carl Jung did not think that it was best to bring repressed aspects of the psyche under control, instead emphasizing the importance of integrating them into the self. This integration process can be seen in several of the characters.
While Konakawa, a character suffering from anxiety issues, searches through his dreams together with Paprika, he realizes that a mysterious person he repeatedly encounters is an old friend with whom he once shared the ambition of becoming a film director. This friend, who died of illness, appears in Konakawa’s dreams as his other self—the one who wanted to be a director. Konakawa overcomes his anxiety by recognizing and reconciliating with the repressed and forgotten self, represented by his old friend.
The division and antagonism between Chiba Atsuko and her alter ego Paprika are similar to those seen between Konakawa and his old friend. In the original book, Paprika was Chiba in disguise as a dream detective, but in Kon’s anime, they are like entirely different characters. In the finale, when dreams are flooding into the real world, they divide completely, existing at the same time in the same space. After this split, Chiba comes together again temporarily with the uninhibited Paprika when she no longer holds back her suppressed love for her colleague Tokita Kōsaku.
Chiba and Paprika do not divide in Tsutsui’s novel, and Konakawa’s old friend does not represent another self. This aspect of the divided self, added by Kon during the adaptation process, can be taken as a Jungian motif.
Books by the late KAWAI Hayao [河合 隼雄], renowned as a Jungianpsychologist, were widely read in Japan from the 1980s until the 1990s, and Kon was among his readers. He is said to have become an avid reader of the psychologist for a time because he wanted to understand the music and lyrics of HIRASAWA Susumu (平沢 進), the former vocalist of the techno-pop band P-Model, who was influenced by Kawai. Hirasawa later created soundtracks for anime by Kon, including Paprika.
Kon also stated that he was influenced by the novels of MURAKAMI Haruki (村上 春樹), who himself developed a friendly relationship with Kawai through interviews and other encounters. Kon is said to have claimed that he was the only person who could adapt A Wild Sheep Chase [羊をめぐる冒険] and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle [ねじまき鳥クロニクル] to anime.
Kon’s Themes
The animePaprika could be seen as a later stage in the Kawai-led Jungian psychology boom in Japan, as well as a culmination of Kon’s characteristic themes. For example, the following aspects regularly appear in Kon’s work.
First, there is the depiction of another self. These include Chiba and Paprika in Paprika, Chiyoko and the old woman who appears at key moments and symbolizes Chiyoko’s future self in Millennium Actress (2002), and idol-turned-actress Mima and the apparition of her former pop star self in Perfect Blue.
Second, there are departures from heterosexual norms. In Paprika, the title character announces the wedding of Tokita and Chiba, which maintains the existence of this free-spirited “dream detective,” so that the film deviates subtly from the typical closed ending of heterosexual marriage. The ending of Millennium Actress suggests that Chiyoko’s long search for an artist she meets in her youth is her goal in itself, rather than a romantic relationship with him. In Tokyo Godfathers [東京ゴッドファーザーズ] (2003), alongside a caricatured depiction of a transgender character, we see the struggles of heterosexual couples and their families.
The third aspect is how media and technology blur the lines between reality and the unreal world. In Paprika, the DC Mini device erodes the boundary between reality and the dreams it is used to view, while Mima’s double in Perfect Blue appears in mirrors, PC monitors, and internet browsers. In Millennium Actress, Chiyoko’s acting roles are intertwined with her real life. In Kon’s anime series Paranoia Agent [妄想代理人] (2004), rumors transform into reality through the actions of the mass media and the characters, who in themselves are a kind of media commodity.
While there are clearly repeating themes in Kon’s works, Dreaming Machine [夢みる機械], which remains unfinished due to his sudden death from cancer, shows signs of an apparent major change of course. At one point it was announced that another director would complete the movie, but the producer later backtracked, saying that there was no director capable of realizing Kon’s vision.
Based on the remaining materials, this appeared set to be an action-adventure story about robots hunting down precious electricity in a near-future setting when humans are extinct. Paprika was also set in the near future, but Dreaming Machine features more overtly futuristic urban landscapes. The main characters are smaller, cartoonish robots, compared with the relatively tall humans of Kon’s other films. While it seems to have been aiming for a different kind of movie in terms of both content and visuals, was this really going to be a standard adventure story, without any twists?
Kon said that one of his influences was the manga [漫画] creator MOROHOSHI Daijirō (諸星 大二郎). In a short 1974 work by Morohoshi, also called “Dreaming Machine” (“Yume miru kikai [夢みる機械]”), robots go about their daily lives in the place of humans, who dream in a form of suspended animation. Kon’s unpublished 1984manga Toriko covered similar ground. Can it be simple coincidence that his unfinished work has the same title as Morohoshi’s manga?
Beyond what looks on the surface like a robot action adventure, in Dreaming Machine, Kon may have planned to depict a world of cryofrozen, dreaming humans. Or perhaps the robots were intended to be controlled consciously or subconsciously by humans. This is pure speculation, but I cannot help thinking that Kon may have intended to continue his theme of technology blurring the boundaries between dreams, or fantasy, and reality.
This gives us the theme of anxiety over national destiny and trajectory, which currently preoccupies the American mind.
In the second book, this antagonism question involves real and imaginary threats, and all of these anxieties and antagonisms are related. The masterpiece series, Downton Abbey, depicts a scene that takes place in the garden, where the Lord announces that they are at war with Germany, and his audience is perplexed, thinking, “How can we be at war? Germany is our biggest trading partner.” This teaches us that wars and the antagonisms that precede them are not solely based on rational factors like trade volumes.
Let us turn our attention to China. We are all aware, however vaguely, of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. In the recent PBS television series, American Masters, the episode “Tyrus” (season 31, episode 7, aired September 8, 2017) has the artist Tyrus Wong recounting the story of his father, with whom he immigrated to California in 1920 at the age of 9. It is hard for us to believe that, as people of Chinese descent, they were forbidden from owning property outside of Chinatown. He describes his struggle with the hassles of overt racism. He did not gain his American citizenship until 1946, after the act was repealed. He came to fame with Disney’s Bambi, where he was the film’s lead artist.
“…But all the people who live in the little shipping and trading towns along the coast are immigrants from far away, who care little about the Kashubian hinterland because there’s nothing there for them, their concerns are elsewhere. What concerns them is where their trade is, and since they trade with the whole world and are in communication with the whole world, you find people among them from all corners of the globe. Which goes for Kessin too, backwater though it is.”
“But this is delightful, Geert. You keep calling it a backwater, but now, if you haven’t been exaggerating, I find that it’s a completely new world. All sorts of exotic things. Isn’t that right? That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“A whole world, I say, with perhaps a Negro or a Turk, or perhaps even a Chinaman.”
“A Chinaman too. What a good guess. We may still have one, we certainly did have; he’s dead now, buried in a little plot with a railing round it next to the churchyard. If you’re not afraid I’ll show you his grave sometime. It’s in the dunes with just some marram grass round it and a little immortelle here and there, and the sound of the sea all the time. It’s very beautiful and very eerie.”
“Yes, eerie — I would like to know more about it. Or maybe rather not, I invariably start imagining things and then I have dreams, and I don’t want to see a Chinaman approaching my bed tonight when I hope I’ll be sleeping soundly.”
“Well, he won’t.”
“Well, he won’t. Listen to that. How odd it sounds, as if it were somehow possible. You’re trying to make Kessin interesting for me, but you’re rather overdoing it. Are there many foreigners like that in Kessin?”
“A great many. The whole town consists of foreigners like that, people whose parents or grandparents lived somewhere else altogether.”
“How very peculiar. Tell me more, please. But nothing sinister. A Chinaman, I think, is always a bit sinister.”
Notice the quote, “…I don’t want to see a Chinaman approaching my bed tonight when I hope I’ll be sleeping soundly.” This character echoes similar sentiments several more times above.
This “othering” of the Chinese in the novel continues:
Innstetten laughed. “We’re seventy miles further north than Hohen-Cremmen here and you have to wait a while for the first polar bear. I think you’re feeling the strain of the long journey, what with the St. Privat panorama and the story of the Chinaman and everything?”
“You didn’t tell me any story.”
“No, I just referred to him. But the mere mention of a Chinaman is a story in itself…”
“Oh, some nonsense: an old ship’s captain with a granddaughter or a niece who disappeared one fine day, and then a Chinaman, who may have been her lover, and in the hallway there was a little shark and a crocodile, both suspended on strings and always in motion. Makes a marvellous story, but not now. There are all kinds of other things flitting through my mind.”
All of this global antagonism-watching and paranoia is disconcertingly related to our current situation. Donald Trump and the Republicans are essentially entrepreneurs of hatred. As is widely misattributed to Mark Twain, “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”
The classic Hollywood film, How Green Was My Valley, is set in a Welshcoal-mining community over a hundred years ago. The spiritual head of the community, played by Walter Pidgeon, is walking along a hillside with a young boy who was traumatized after being injured in an accident. After some small talk, Pidgeon’s character tells the boy that prayer will help him heal. He explains that this isn’t mumbling in a church; what he means by prayer is the deepest possible communication with oneself, thus existentializing it.
By ethical, Kierkegaard is not describing a great concern for morality. He means, rather, the sense of camaraderie felt by someone for their fellows. A strong example of this occurs in the film, The Third Man. Trevor Howard plays a conscientious Royal Military Police officer, whose mission is to catch the elusive criminal played by Orson Welles. Howard’s officer’s entire existence is characterized by his desire to protect the public and his men. One could says this protectiveness is his bottom line.
To understand what Kierkegaard means by the religious, we quote, “Existence constitutes the highest interest of the existing individual, and his interest in his existence constitutes his reality. What reality is, cannot be expressed in the language of abstraction.” In The Third Man, the criminal’s girlfriend embodies the religious sphere. Her every task in daily life can be described by the previous quote.
Kierkegaard also has a very penetrating analysis of humor and irony, given his spheres of existence. Think of a comedian like Woody Allen, who has the intelligence to glimpse the profundity of existence but this wavelength makes him intensely anxious, provoking humor. These jokes are escapist, attempting to flee the tension of existence.
Finally, there are existence-watchers like the great American author Walker Percy. In his masterpiece, The Moviegoer, he depicts a current world so fragmented, adrift and soul-crushing that the protagonist tries to find his salvation in going to movies. He sees the experience of viewing the movie as being part of a congregation. Kierkegaard writes, “In our age it is believed that knowledge settles everything, and that if a man only acquires a knowledge of the truth, the more briefly and the more quickly the better, he is helped. But to exist and to know are two very different things.”
We then notice that one recurrent topic in various movie versions of the E. M. ForsternovelHowards End (1910, set in those years) is the “horrifying” trend where great mansions and stately estates (Howards End and Wickham Place, say, in the novel) are all being demolished and replaced by ugly “flats.”
There must be, one thinks, a direct link between all the massive migrations into London at the time and all the proliferating flats at the “expense” of beautiful and historical villas. (This “demolish” trend is also part of the story of the classic novelA Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh, 1934)
We see from this simple example how students should learn to “jump” between books and movies and TVminiseries to get a stronger focus on what’s being depicted on screens and pages and not just “swim along” at the surface level without any “drilling down.”
Education is largely the struggle or habit where students learn to bring pattern and structure out of “chaos,” thus giving narratives some overall shape.
“How is it possible to bring order out of memory? I should like to begin at the beginning, patiently, like a weaver at his loom. I should like to say, ‘This is the place to start; there can be no other.’ ”
Louise Brooks is a rebellious 15-year-old schoolgirl who dreams of fame and fortune in the early 1920s. She soon gets her chance when she travels to New York to study with a leading dance troupe for the summer—accompanied by a watchful chaperone.
Upon Louise’s “induction” into the school, one of the founders says to the girls, “Remember you are not in your body, your body is in you.”
The listener wonders: What could this possibly mean?
The answer is this: In one sense you have a body, but in another, you are your body. The first body is the “thing” you weigh on the bathroom scale. This is your interaction with gravity, as measured in conventions like pounds. On the other hand, you are also “somebody” (i.e., some body). To have and to be are entwined here. In philosophy, say in the writings of Gabriel Marcel during the fifties, the body you weigh is “corporeal” and the body you are is “existential.”
Very roughly, the first body is objectively weighed, the second subjectively sensed as your experience of yourself.
The student will see that a moment in a movie—in this case The Chaperone—can open a door to a whole set of domains, realms and phenomena. Education at its best comes from learning how to go from such instantaneous accidents on the street or screen to a larger canvas.
Thus the declaration, “Remember you are not in your body, your body is in you” explains that biomechanics is an infrastructure, while the artistry of the dance is an art form (i.e., a kind of “communicative action,” to use a Habermas phrase).
Seen in “deep time,” the movie is not about colorful personalities only but on a larger scale, the transition from the Roman Republic to the Roman Empire. This covers approximately one thousand years with some five centuries for each form of government, republic and empire.
The movie has as its background internecine power struggles in both Rome and Egypt.
The upshot of these struggles is the transition from the Roman Republic to the Roman Empire. This transition is “punctuated” by two momentous battles:
Cleopatra convinces Caesar to restore her throne from her younger brother. Caesar, in effective control of the kingdom, sentences Pothinus to death for arranging an assassination attempt on Cleopatra, and banishes Ptolemy to the eastern desert, where he and his outnumbered army would face certain death against Mithridates.
Cleopatra is crowned queen of Egypt and begins to develop megalomaniacal dreams of ruling the world with Caesar, who in turn desires to become king of Rome.
They marry, and when their son Caesarion is born, Caesar accepts him publicly, which becomes the talk of Rome and the Senate.
After he is made dictator for life, Caesar sends for Cleopatra. She arrives in Rome in a lavish procession and wins the adulation of the Roman people. The Senate grows increasingly discontented amid rumors that Caesar wishes to be made king, which is anathema to the Romans. On the Ides of March in 44 BC, a group of conspirators assassinatedCaesar and fled the city, starting a rebellion. An alliance among Octavian (Caesar’s adopted son), Mark Antony (Caesar’s right-hand man and general) and Marcus Aemelius Lepidus puts down the rebellion and splits the republic. Cleopatra is angered after Caesar’s will recognizes Octavian, rather than Caesarion, as his official heir, and she returns to Egypt.
While planning a campaign against Parthia in the east, Antony realizes that he needs money and supplies that only Egypt can sufficiently provide. After refusing several times to leave Egypt, Cleopatra acquiesces and meets him on her royal barge in Tarsus. The two begin a love affair, and Cleopatra assures Antony that he is much more than a pale reflection of Caesar. Octavian’s removal of Lepidus forces Antony to return to Rome, where he marries Octavian’s sister Octavia to prevent political conflict. This upsets and enrages Cleopatra. Antony and Cleopatra reconcile and marry, with Antony divorcing Octavia. Octavian, incensed, reads Antony’s will to the Roman Senate, revealing that Antony wishes to be buried in Egypt. Rome turns against Antony, and Octavian’s call for war against Egypt receives a rapturous response.
The war is decided at the naval Battle of Actium on September 2, 31 BC, where Octavian’s fleet, under the command of Agrippa, defeats the lead ships of the Antony–Egyptian fleet. Cleopatra assumes that Antony is dead and orders the Egyptian forces home. Antony follows her, leaving the rest of his fleet leaderless and soon defeated.
Several months later, Cleopatra sends Caesarion under disguise out of Alexandria. She manages to convince Antony to resume command of his troops and fight Octavian’s advancing army. However, Antony’s soldiers abandon him during the night. Rufio, the last man loyal to Antony, kills himself. Antony tries to goad Octavian into single combat but is finally forced to flee into the city. When Antony returns to the palace, Apollodorus, in love with Cleopatra himself, tells him she is in her tomb as she had instructed, and lets Antony believe she is dead. Antony falls on his own sword. Apollodorus then confesses that he misled Antony and assists him to the tomb where Cleopatra and two servants have taken refuge. Antony dies in Cleopatra’s arms.
Octavian and his army march into Alexandria with Caesarion’s dead body in a wagon. He discovers the dead body of Apollodorus, who had poisoned himself. Octavian receives word that Antony is dead and that Cleopatra is holed up in a tomb. There he offers to allow her to rule Egypt as a Roman province if she will accompany him to Rome. Cleopatra, knowing that her son is dead, agrees to Octavian’s terms, including an empty pledge on the life of her son not to harm herself. After Octavian departs, she orders her servants in coded language to assist with her suicide. Octavian discovers that she is going to kill herself and he and his guards burst into Cleopatra’s chamber to find her dead, dressed in gold, along with her servants and the asp that killed her.
Trapped on both land and sea, portions of Antony’s army deserted and fled to Octavian’s side (daily), and Octavian’s forces became comfortable enough to make preparations for battle. Antony’s fleet sailed through the bay of Actium on the western coast of Greece, in a desperate attempt to break free of the naval blockade. It was there that Antony’s fleet faced the much larger fleet of smaller, more maneuverable ships under commanders Gaius Sosius and Agrippa. Antony and his remaining forces were spared only due to a last-ditch effort by Cleopatra’s fleet that had been waiting nearby. Octavian pursued them and defeated their forces in Alexandria on 1 August 30 BC—after which Antony and Cleopatra committed suicide.
Octavian’s victory enabled him to consolidate his power over Rome and its dominions. He adopted the title of Princeps (“first citizen”), and in 27 BC was awarded the title of Augustus (“revered”) by the Roman Senate. This became the name by which he was known in later times.
As Augustus, he retained the trappings of a restored Republican leader, but historians generally view his consolidation of power and the adoption of these honorifics as the end of the Roman Republic and the beginning of the Roman Empire.
An industrial accident has severely burned the face of an unnamed plasticsscientist. His wife is repulsed by his disfigurement and refuses to have sexual contact with him. To regain the affection of his wife, he attempts to create a prosthetic mask in a rented apartment. With this new “face,” the protagonist sees the world in a new way and begins a clandestine affair with his estranged wife. Although the mask gives the man newfound freedom, at the end of the story, it becomes difficult to determine if the mask has taken ownership of the man or the man has taken ownership of the face.[1][2][4]
There is also a subplot following a hibakusha woman who has suffered burns to the right side of her face. In the novel, the protagonist sees this character in a film; in the film version, this is deliberately obscured.
Several movies give you an “enchanting” back door or window into chemistry so that you can “beat” the tediousness of regular education and come into the field and its topics via these movies:
I.
The Man in the White Suit is a 1951 British comedy classic with Alec Guinness as a genius research chemist. He fiddles with his flasks and polymer and textile chemistry experiments until he invents a fabric that shows no wear and tear “forever.” This would seem like a great boon to humanity in its clothing needs but the chemist (“Sidney Stratton”) finds that both labor and management reject his discovery violently as it threatens jobs and profits. Textile or fabric polymer chemistry is at the heart of the plot.
RDX was used by both sides in World War II. The U.S. produced about 15,000 long tons per month during WWII and Germany about 7,000 long tons per month. RDX had the major advantages of possessing greater explosive force than TNT, used in World War I and requiring no additional raw materials for its manufacture.
Semtex was developed and manufactured in Czechoslovakia, originally under the name B 1 and then under the “Semtex” designation since 1964, labeled as SEMTEX 1A, since 1967 as SEMTEX H, and since 1987 as SEMTEX 10. Originally developed for Czechoslovakmilitary use and export, Semtex eventually became popular with paramilitary groups and rebels or terrorists because prior to 2000 it was extremely difficult to detect, as in the case of Pan Am Flight 103.
A suspicious device resembling those used in the bombings was found and defused in an apartment block in the Russian city of Ryazan on 22 September. On 23 September, Vladimir Putin praised the vigilance of the inhabitants of Ryazan and ordered the air bombing of Grozny, which marked the beginning of the Second Chechen War. Three FSB agents who had planted the devices at Ryazan were arrested by the local police, with the devices containing a sugar-like substance resembling RDX.
We are told that on an evening in 1889, Mr. Holmes was seated in 221B Baker Street at the deal table loaded with retorts and test tubes. He was settling down to one of those all-night chemical researches in which he frequently indulged.
The research work was interrupted by a message of distress from Violet Hunter. Watson found that there was a train the next morning, and Holmes tells Watson:
“That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my analysis of the acetones as we may need to be at our best in the morning.”
“In the fractional distillation of coal-tar, the distillate separates into five distinct groups or layers, depending upon the stage of the process and the amount of heat applied. Category-one of the five includes benzene, toluene, xylenes and cumenes.
![KON Satoshi [今 敏]](https://metaintelligence.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/08/paprika-2-1024x683.jpg)
