“Koyaanisqatsi” (1982) stands the test of time

The release of “An Inconvenient Truth” in 2006 helped initiate a string of powerful new documentaries about the existential threat of climate change and the countless sustainability crises we face. I’m thinking of films like “Chasing Ice,” “Chasing Coral,” Leonardo DiCaprio’s “Ice on Fire,” “Before the Flood” and, of course, Al Gore’s follow-up, “An Inconvenient Sequel.”

All of these documentaries are equal parts fascinating and frightening. They each have strong political messages and are not shy about making explicit calls for action. There’s nothing wrong with taking a strong stance on the issue of climate change, which calls upon our need to divest from fossil fuels and implement radical changes to our economy as a whole. Some nature documentaries have controversially failed to take a strong enough stance on climate change. As good as these more overtly political nature documentaries are, they often become overly political. While supremely informative, they are often just preaching to the choir, failing to reach an audience beyond those who are already convinced of climate change’s urgency.

This is why the most compelling environmental film is not one of the more recent films that blaringly sounds the alarm but Godfrey Reggio’s 1982 experimental film, “Koyaanisqatsi.” The film is comprised of nothing but time lapse and slow motion photography of nature and modern excess, complemented by the minimalist score of Philip Glass. No narration, no talking, no interviews. Just stunning imagery and mesmerizing music. Yet the film urgently conveys the sheer scale of our ruthless exploitation and vandalism of the Earth, critiquing our failure to live in balance with nature. It’s the story of man’s domination and destruction of his surroundings, told with stark, simplistic beauty and the clarity of the wordiest documentaries out there. 

The lasting impact and relevance of “Koyaanisqatsi” is not only a testament to its prescience, but a necessary reminder of our collective failure to act. It would be difficult to convince most people that the movie is older than a decade, much less three. Perhaps a viewing or twelve of this beautifully subtle film, which quite refreshingly lacks the partisan filter of today’s media, could help instill in people a stronger sense of purpose to reevaluate our abusive relationship with the planet.

It’s not just the beauty of the images that makes the film so engrossing but also the progression and juxtaposition of images, composition of the shots and shifting moods of Glass’s music. In the first section of the film, the music bubbles and simmers softly, like raw ingredients ready to be transformed, while the viewer is hypnotized by gorgeous images of pristine nature — sand blown by desert winds, endless ocean waves, millenia of erosion in canyons, layers upon layers of clouds. This makes it even more jarring and disturbing when the sinister, industrial sound of the orchestra’s low strings usher in imagery of irrigated agriculture, explosions, oil refineries and big ass trucks spewing fumes, massive mines, power lines and pipelines. The camera flies above Lake Powell, which infamously flooded some of the most beautiful valleys in the world in order to harness the immense electricity-generating capacity of the Colorado River at the Glen Canyon Dam. Next is my favorite shot of the film: the camera slowly pans from some happy beachgoers to reveal the massive San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant looming over them in the background. Chant-like singing gives the image divine significance, as if the nuclear reactors are demanding worship.

We then get faster transitions to mark our rapid societal and technological development. Cars are built. Cars wind through highways and interchanges in LA. Cars are stored in lots by the thousands as unused derelicts. Tanks are built by the thousands. Commercial planes. Fighter jets. Fighter jets ready for battle on a massive aircraft carrier that ironically says “E=mc²” on the runway. Nukes explode. We innovate so much but don’t hesitate to destroy even our own creations.

A crucial aspect of the film links a lack of environmental sustainability with war, poverty, the mundanity of modern life and general unhappiness. A fascinating sequence begins by showing glistening American cities from afar, with the glass of corporate skyscrapers reflecting the clouds, as if to protect the corrupt people inside from the consequences of their sins. The camera then zooms into the cities to reveal extreme urban decay, with people showering in the streets. We see the planned demolition of the massive Pruit Igoe housing project in St. Louis, which was created to house urban workers but fell into extreme disrepair and squalor. This is accompanied by destruction of countless more buildings and bridges. Reggio then presents images of ordinary people as they endure the drudgery and tedium of modern life. A moving sequence composed solely of people’s faces on the street reveals a pervasive melancholy.

At the end, after the final images of an exploding rocket fade away, Reggio finally gives a few small textual clues as to what viewers should make of his idiosyncratic film. Leaving this until the end is an important choice because it allows the viewer to absorb the images and not try to superimpose too much meaning on the film. Reggio provides translations of the three Hopi prophecies sung by the chorus in the score, but he first provides five definitions of “koyaanisqatsi,” the titular Hopi word: “1. crazy life, 2. life in turmoil, 3. life out of balance, 4. life disintegrating, 5. a state of life that calls for another way of living.” 

I am most intrigued by the final definition, which has a certain optimism that Forbes Magazine says implies a “good faith in what humanity is able to accomplish” — an important message for the climate change era.

Roger Ebert commented on the film’s interesting contradictions, with civilization simultaneously going “out of control” while making incredible innovations. I can’t help but see similarities with “2001: A Space Odyssey,” an even older but equally thought-provoking film, which can be interpreted as either a celebration of, or warning about, the power of technology. Reggio hinted at this in a 2002 interview about “Koyaanisqatsi.”

“For some people, it’s an environmental film,” Reggio said. “For some, it’s an ode to technology. For some people, it’s a piece of shit. Or it moves people deeply. It depends on who you ask. It is the journey that is the objective.”

Written by: Benjamin Porter— bbporter@ucdavis.edu 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Chancellor May responds to The California Aggie’s editorial voicing concerns about the 2020 commencement

To the Editor: 

Re: “Students deserve a commencement that celebrates them, not a high-profile speaker” by the Editorial Board (editorial, Oct. 24):

With regard to your Oct. 24 editorial, one portion of the headline is worth repeating: “Students deserve a commencement that celebrates them.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  UC Davis’ graduating students deserve the best possible commencement experience. They’ve earned it. Changes to 2020 Spring Commencement ceremonies were made with this in mind. We want to create a more meaningful, prestigious and memorable celebration for UC Davis students.

I was disheartened to read that The Aggie editors believe otherwise. I’d like to provide some insight about these decisions and answer the questions you raised.

  Commencement ceremonies are one way that we recognize and celebrate students who have worked hard to earn a degree from UC Davis. Many hours are devoted to creating a commencement experience that students, their families and friends will enjoy and remember for many years to come.

  We sought feedback from students when discussions about 2020 Spring Commencement first began. Students shared their input during the decision-making process. They’ve been involved with planning and have assisted with speaker selection. 

  Next year, instead of having seven smaller, college-specific undergraduate ceremonies, the university will hold three combined ceremonies, each with about 2,500 students. These larger events will celebrate all of UC Davis, rather than focusing on one particular college. In this way, we hope to inspire that which unites all UC Davis students — our Aggie pride.

  Of course, departments and other constituencies will still be welcome to hold their own, more personal graduation celebrations. 

  You raised some specific questions about spring commencement and I’d like to provide the answers here. 

1.    Will students’ names still be read at the ceremonies? Yes. UC Davis commencements will include reading the name of each graduate as they walk across the stage. We will continue this time-honored tradition that recognizes the achievements of each individual. 

2.    Can students petition for more tickets? Yes, students may petition for additional tickets. However, these will be handled on a case-by-case basis and cannot be guaranteed. Each student will receive four tickets. In an effort to allow additional family and friends to take part in this special day, we will open the Pavilion with overflow seating and live-streaming of commencement ceremonies.  

3.    Can students with multiple majors pick the major they wish to walk with? Yes. Students who graduate with more than one major will have the option to choose.  

  UC Davis continues to grow and excel. We’re now home to about 39,000 students. College rankings consistently place UC Davis among the nation’s top public universities. 

  It’s true that larger UC Davis commencement ceremonies may help us to secure new and noteworthy speakers. While that’s not our primary goal, it’s a good thing. It gives us an opportunity to host the type of commencement celebration that students will cherish — and one you might expect from one of our nation’s top public universities.

UC Davis students deserve nothing less. 

CHANCELLOR GARY S. MAY, DAVIS, CA 

To submit a letter to the editor, please email opinion@theaggie.org. 

Judging kids for what they read discourages them from exploring their interests

I’ve talked a bit about how I’ve personally felt disgruntled with the reading curriculum throughout my middle school and high school experience. That isn’t to say that I didn’t appreciate the work and effort that my English teachers put into my education, I just didn’t particularly enjoy the selection of books or the monotonous work that went with it. 

Reading is one of the few activities in which I find joy, exhilaration and an immense amount of satisfaction. There’s a satisfaction in not only seeing the daily progress I make but also in realizing the number of stories and ideas I’ve accumulated just by opening my books. 

I volunteered at my local public library for all four years of high school, and one of my favorite activities of the year was the summer reading game. The summer reading game was an annual program the library put on for patrons of all ages but with a special focus on children. The goal was to encourage patrons to spend time in the summer reading something — anything. Once they hit the target number of hours, they got a prize. But when the librarians said read anything, they meant anything. This list included not just books, but magazines, cereal boxes, emails, websites and more. As long as there was some reading happening, you were participating in the summer reading game. 

As I continued volunteering at the library, I noticed it was a place that truly committed itself to creating an inclusive and welcoming environment for all its members to read. And one way in which they accomplished this was by encouraging visitors to read without judgment. 

The library was the last place to impose value judgements on books, especially children’s books. This initially puzzled me since I had grown up with a sense that some books are worth reading whereas others offer little literary value and shouldn’t be encouraged. When I was in elementary school, my teachers weren’t too keen to see their students reading graphic novels. In middle school, one of my English teachers wasn’t very enthusiastic to see her daughter reading “Junie B. Jones” because of Junie’s bad grammar.

For much of high school, I didn’t express great interest in graphic novels and often imposed my own judgments on those books. Like many other adults, I felt like graphic novels could hardly count as books; although they might be great stepping stones for getting kids to read, they should quickly move on to other, more “valuable” books. 

Adults try to ensure that kids grow up with strong literary skills, which might be why they place a large emphasis on reading certain books. It’s understandable that parents and teachers want children to grow up with strong critical thinking skills and an appropriate knowledge of grammar and vocabulary. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t value in children picking up a book about a silly eight-year-old who, like many other eight-year-olds, doesn’t have the best grammar. It also doesn’t mean that a book filled with mostly images and little text should be viewed negatively. 

Not only is giving children the choice to choose their books a great mechanism in fostering a genuine appreciation for reading, but the choice in and of itself is empowering. I’m not an expert, but I can confidently say that letting children read what they like, given the content is suitable and appropriate, affords the freedom to find the stories that matter to them.

I love to hear my six-year-old cousin talk excitedly about his beloved characters and scenes from his favorite series “Captain Underpants” — the silliest and craziest children’s book around. At the library this summer, I listened to other kids tell me all about their favorite books and why they loved them so much. 

I enjoy hearing this because childhood curiosity made me fall in love with the world of reading. When I read books in elementary school, I wasn’t looking for how to become the most efficient and capable reader, although that is what most teachers and other adults hope their students turn out to be. I read because I was a seven-year-old who wanted to independently travel to another country and see the most breathtaking sights from the comfort of my home. I also wanted to read silly stories in which I could see Baby Mouse stumble and grumble through her school hallways. 

Graphic novels and “silly” books are fun, creative and exciting stories with which children can fall in love, and they should be encouraged to explore what they love without being judged.  

Written by: Simran Kalkat — skkalkat@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.