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We Finally Have Proof That the Internet Is Worse - The Atlantic   

High-profile lawsuits against Google and Amazon have revealed Silicon Valley’s vise grip on our lives.Living online means never quite understanding what’s happening to you at a given moment. Why these search results? Why this product recommendation? There is a feeling—often warranted, sometimes conspiracy-minded—that we are constantly manipulated by platforms and websites.So-called dark patterns, deceptive bits of web design that can trick people into certain choices online, make it harder to unsubscribe from a scammy or unwanted newsletter; they nudge us into purchases. Algorithms optimized for engagement shape what we see on social media and can goad us into participation by showing us things that are likely to provoke strong emotional responses. But although we know that all of this is happening in aggregate, it’s hard to know specifically how large technology companies exert their influence over our lives.Continued here



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“Stop Making Sense” and the Transformative Power of Collaboration - The New Yorker   

Talking pictures began with a musical—"The Jazz Singer," in 1927—and the filming of musical performance has been an artistic battleground ever since. With great performers, unadorned recording is a virtue; film plays an archival role in preserving onstage singing and dancing that would otherwise have been lost to history. But movies are an art in themselves, and, when performances are filmed without an aesthetic, the result is numbing, as the up-and-down fortunes of early movie musicals reflect. In the wake of the success of "The Jazz Singer," the genre was overused and underthought, and soon became box-office poison, until Busby Berkeley reimagined and revitalized it, with the artistry of his highly stylized numbers in "42nd Street" (1933). The conflict endures, especially in the subgenre of concert movies, in which a director's limited control of the action and of camera placement makes it hard to produce a stylishly cinematic work. One of the few directors to overcome these obstacles and create a concert movie artistically equal to his fiction features is the late Jonathan Demme—with "Stop Making Sense," his 1984 film of the band Talking Heads in performance. (It is now having a theatrical rerelease, in a new restoration.)

Demme—whether in his previous movies, such as "Citizens Band" and "Melvin and Howard," or his later and more famous ones, including "The Silence of the Lambs," "Philadelphia," and "Rachel Getting Married"—excelled at tracking the complex interactions of ensemble casts. The same artistic impulse is at the heart of "Stop Making Sense," which stitches together parts of three Talking Heads performances from December, 1983, at the Hollywood Pantages Theatre, to evoke a single concert. With Demme's dramatic features, the creation of the ensemble was a product of his actor-focussed directorial ethic, but in "Stop Making Sense" he achieves this feeling by creating a distinctive image repertory that emphasizes the band members' interplay and offers a clear visual manifestation of their connections, both practical and intangible.

The concert begins with the band's front man, David Byrne, onstage alone, in a light suit and white sneakers, strumming an acoustic guitar and singing "Psycho Killer" over prerecorded beats coming from a boom box beside him. He's not literally alone (the crew is visible behind him), but, performing by himself with wit and focus, he seems like a piece that fell out of a puzzle. It's a pregnant performance, highlighting the inadequacy of his solitude, and the movie bursts into life only in the next number, "Heaven," for which the band's bassist, Tina Weymouth, joins him. Demme frames the two musicians together: Byrne, emoting in the foreground, and Weymouth in the background, clad in a jumpsuit and keeping an eye on Byrne as she plays.

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