At several points he touches upon the paradoxes
of modern urbanism and the tragic
ironies of our cultural attitude toward cities: although we now have more individual freedom, technical ability, and, arguably, social equity, we do not live in places as hospitable to human beings as were our cities
of the past; we are pragmatists who build shoddily; our current obsession with historic preservation is the flip side
of our
utter lack
of confidence in our ability to build well; while cultures with shared ascetic ideals and transcendent orientation built great cities and produced great landscapes, modern culture's expressive ideals, dogmatic public secularism, and privatized religiosity produce for us, even with our vast wealth, only private luxury, a spoiled countryside, and a public realm that is both venal and incoherent; above all, we simultaneously idolize nature and ruin it.
Every time you turn on the TV or open a film magazine he's asserting that this movie is «Raymond Carver soup»; worse still, in the pages
of the New York Times Book Review last month, he actually remarked, in an attempt at self - disparagement, «I agree that real art is without
irony,» one
of the dumbest statements a director
of his distinction has ever
uttered.