I am now reading "Henry V - the Scourge of God" by Desmond Seward. Excellent book. If everything you know about Henry V is from Shakespeare (who was writing for effective drama, not historical accuracy) or Kenneth Branaugh, you'd think he was wonderful. But Seward makes the point that he was one of the biggest bastards of the Middle Ages. The French hate and resent him for some very compelling reasons. Read this excerpt about Henry's siege of Caen, Normandy, in 1417.
Of course, you can buy a nice Royal Doulton figurine of Henry V at Harrod's in London for $25,000. He doesn't seem to be crying "Havoc!" in it, though, and I don't see any headless mothers...
The neat thing about being from Los Angeles is that you frequently get to see places you know in movies. Last night I watched a couple of J.D. films where this was the case.
The first was "Teen-Age Crime Wave" (1955) - Yes, that's actually the name of this movie. A bit overwrought considering that the total number of J.D.s in this was three, but it was still an effective film. An alternative title was "Jail Bait," so the producers were clearly going for shock value with the title. The story: a couple of teens (who, as usual, look like they're really in their mid-twenties - which they were) hold a gentle old Bible-reading couple hostage in their own homes while on the lam. That story line always pushes my buttons and makes me tense - I keep looking for opportunities for somebody to plunge a kitchen knife into somebody's ribs or something. The climax of the story takes place at Griffith Observatory (just as in "Rebel Without a Cause," filmed that same year), a place I know well. I was there last November, in fact. Anyway, not a bad film, but not in my mental list of the Top Ten J.D. Films.
The other was something of a multi-tiered teenage opera, with the high school dance, Duane Eddy and his twangy guitar, James Darren, sex, armed robbery, a negligent and trashy mother, an abusive father, football, a strict principal, an earnest young teacher with an unfortunate past (Dick Clark!), homework and gangs with switchblades all lumped together in one Brylcreem-slicked, adenoidal brew. Whew. I'm talking about "Because They're Young" (1960), where there are so many things going on you'll miss a major plot point if you blink. The high school in this - Harrison High - was really Hoover High in Glendale, but I'm reasonably sure that the football field used in a couple of shots was the one at Burbank High, where I attended. (Burbank and Glendale are neighboring cities in Southern California.) There'a an unmistakable church across the street that was immediately familiar to me; I jogged past it many times during PE on that field.
Dick "The World's Oldest Teenager" Clark plays the ultimate cool teacher in this, popular and over-involved in the lives of his students. He's just as adept in managing dangerous gang standoffs as he is in teaching American history or reforming a former thug. Of course he announces the school dance musical performances with his suave, trained radio voice. ("I give it an 8, Mr. Clark, it has a good beat that you can dance to.") Was there ever such an awesome teacher?
He and I have two things in common: we both lived in Burbank and we're both married to a Cari Clark.
Baand Staaaaand.
Watched "The Delinquents" (1957) last night. As TCM promised, it's a cult film. It was a brisk little 72 minute film which I quite enjoyed. In fact, my daughter liked it, too.
Clearly out of the Hollywood mainstream, it's possibly the earliest film I have ever seen to admit that humans have bodily waste elimination functions. There's a surprising scene: the J.D.s drive up to a gas station, where one of them yells out to the attendant, "Hey, where's the can?" The attendant gestures that it's inside, and the J.D. goes there and uses the restroom. Until a toilet flush could be heard in a 1971 episode of "All in the Family," the bathroom was taboo in the film and TV arts due to the Hays Code and various television standards and practices.
Nowadays producers and directors venture into the restroom all the time, and I cannot assert that this has been a good thing. But I digress.
The Delinquents was also out of the mainstream due to a fleeting depiction of head trauma... the gas station attendant is hit in the head with a gas pump nozzle, and a shot is shown of his head in a pool of blood, his hair all wet. Very unusual for a 1950's film, where bloodshed was kept to an absolute minimum.
This film was also the film debut for character actor Richard Bakalyan, who began his career playing J.D.s. Convincingly, as this IMDb bio states: "He and fellow actor Dickie Jones were arrested in Kansas City for "vagrancy" while shooting The Cool and the Crazy (1958) on location in that city. The pair were standing on the sidewalk between takes, in full "JD" getup, when they were noticed by police who thought they actually were teenage gang members and hauled them in. It took several hours for the film company to straighten things out and get the two released from jail."
The Delinquents was an early film of Tom "Billy Jack" Laughlin. He's good in this - can't say that for any of the Billy Jack films, which I rank among the silliest and most tedious films ever made... And finally, it was the directorial debut of Robert Altman, who went on to much bigger things.
So it gets added to my growing list of recommended J.D. flicks. Oh, yeah, note: nobody wears leather jackets in this one, either.
TCM also broadcast a British J.D. film, "Violent Playground" (1958); set in Liverpool (were the young Beatles familiar with these locations, one wonders), this one has a 1950's British coolness factor going for it. It's always great to watch old Britmovies because there are fascinating shots of streets, store fronts, advertisements, funny-looking cars, trucks and rowhouses. The kids play in areas which look like bombed out remnants of the Blitz - perhaps they were. David McCallum, who later achieved international stardom playing Illya Kuryakin in "the Man from U.N.C.L.E." is excellent as the anguished young gang leader. Good flick, and it's interesting to see how the Brits interpreted the whole J.D. movement. (Not content to use a mere switchblade, at the end of this one McCallum is provided with an automatic weapon, and in one scene he fires it at a elementary school girl!)
No leather jackets here, either.
One last note... yesterday I mentioned the Flamingos hit song "I Only Have Eyes for You" from 1959. I have the oddest memory of this song. At one point in my young life, and I'm sure this would have been prior to about 1962 when I was six, my parents and I were driving somewhere at night. It was out in the desert, I think, or in some other isolated place. The radio was on, and this song came on. My parents were silent all through its playing. We made a stop at a country crossroads, where I could see a Chevron station's neon sign (in those days neon signs were quite gaudy and bright, the designs being composed on tubes of light rather than flat plastic surfaces). When we got past the glare of the sign, I could see the stars, as described in the song. We drove on, and I had the notion that out "there" - in the night - everyone was listening to this song, with its dreamy sh-bop/sh-bop arrangement, at the same time along with me. It was a magical moment, and this became a favorite song immediately, on the first hearing. As with the first time I heard it, I'm convinced that it is best listened to at night.
I must have been a precocious child.
The following year the Flamingos came out with a far lesser-known copy cat follow-up song, "Till the End of Time." Same arrangement, same meter, same tempo, same production - it could darn near be the same song. This drives my wife nuts, and she thinks this is crass. But I don't care... I like them both. Can't get enough of those dreamy Flamingos songs.
So, my wife does Jazzercise. Nothing wrong with that except that in addition to the other 468 catalogs we get in the mail, we get one from them for sports wear. In it is the woman who my wife claims is the president of the company; she models the clothes. My wife assures me that she looks good for whatever age she is - I don't know, 93 perhaps - but what bugs me about her is her hair. It's arranged so that it makes her head look pointed, like a bullet. How weird. And this woman ensures that her face and hairstyle is on the cover of every catalog we get. It gets annoying. But recently, she has begun to remind me of something else that I couldn't place in my head until I looked through the Battle of Bosworth book I just finished, and there it was. That hairstyle makes her head look like she's wearing a Fifteenth century sallet (helmet). See for yourself.
She ought to get a perm.
Over the weekend I saw Earth vs. The Flying Saucers (1956), one of those Ray Harryhausen special effects films. 1950's Science Fiction used to scare the crap out of me when I was a little boy - Invasion of the Body Snatchers was especially creepy. In this one, flying saucers wreck D.C. until scientists discover that aiming guns of high frequency energy at the saucers cause them to freak out and crash. The aliens are a lot like teenagers, apparently.
That concert Friday was perfect; I liked every piece. I was sitting way, way up in the nosebleed section of the concert hall, but the sound was still great. When they rolled out that Steinway concert grand I could hear every note on the soundboard clear as a bell. The conductor, Hugh Wolff, arranged the NSO in an unusual way - he lined up the basses on a podium in the back and put the violas where the violins usually go and vice versa. As I wasn't sitting front row center I couldn't hear a difference, but it was cool seeing the basses taking center stage.
On Saturday my pal Don and I stopped at a place called "Fleming's Ultimate Garage" on the Rockville Pike, which specializes in old cars. It's much more than a simple dealership - they should charge admission. A '56 Chevy Belair will set you back $35K; the fuzzy dice will cost but a bit more. What classic American style! I was especially impressed with this amazing '58 Impala convertible... but it will set you back $120K! I immediately recognized it as Ron Howard's car in American Graffiti; that is, he drove a '58 Impala in the film. And here's the very car, now in Spokane, Washington.
Shoo wop sh-bop/Shoo wop sh-bop/Are the stars out tonight?/I don't know if it's cloudy or bright/'Cause I only have eyes/For you/Dear... I love that Flamingos song. It was used in the film when Toad was up on Inspiration Point, making out with Candy Clark in the Impala. I once had a bet with a musician friend at work that it was original to the 1959 Flamingos version. Nay. It was originally a dance number by Harry Warren, used in "Dames" (1934). Listen to the original verison sung by Dick Powell in 1934 - considerably different than that perfect moody doo-wop nocturne of 1959. Sometimes rewrites are better than the originals...
More about those disruptive, destructive, troubled teens...
Last night I watched "Over the Edge" (1979), Matt Dillon's first film. A work with a promising premise (what happens when you build a modern planned community but fail to take into account teenagers' needs?) and credible acting that degenerates into a very unlikely, over-blown (literally - stuff gets blown up) conclusion. Summary: The middle-school age kids are restless and bored, and get into drugs and crime. Their recreation center is removed. By the end of the film the parents are locked into the middle school, where the teens blow up the cars and generally reenact The Lord of the Flies in the parking lot. Incredibly, the police and adults are powerless to act. As is often the case, Roger Ebert has an accurate take on the film.
One interesting feature of this film is that it inspired Kurt Cobain's well-known song "Smells Like Teen Spirit." You know, the one with the line, "Life is stupid/And contagious..." - my son drove us nuts singing that refrain over and over when he was about eleven. Well, that is it inspired the song or the video for the song, I'm not sure. (And really don't care.)
Another interesting feature of this film is that it was based on an actual event. But I am very suspicious. I cannot believe that things got as badly out of hand as depicted in the film: a cop (named Doberman!) killed, teens blasting cars with shotguns and handguns, colossal explosions, etc. What little research I have done suprises me... an actual account seems not to be posted on the Internet anywhere. What, for a film that inspired Kurt Cobain's most famous song? A notable pop culture shortcoming.
The question is, what actually happened with middle school age kids in Foster City, California, in 1974? Apparently it made headlines, but I don't remember ever reading about it. I have the e-mail address of a person who is supposed to be the real life main protagonist portrayed in the film; I'll ask him!
I had an interesting conversation with a 69 year-old coworker yesterday, discussing high school gangs. He got beaten up by one in 1955. And no, they weren't wearing leather jackets.
I am now back to late Fifteenth Century England, reading "The Battle of Bosworth" by Michael Bennett. Given that this battle is one of the most important in English history, as it ended the 331 year reign of the Plantagenets and ushered in the age of the Tudors, it's surprising that we don't know a lot about it. But I'll be better informed when I'm done. (It is not a thick book.)
I turn 52 on Sunday, and as a treat to myself I'm going to hear a concert at the Kennedy Center this afternoon by my favorite musical instrument, the National Symphony Orchestra. The program is interesting, with a piece by an modern French composer, Henri Dutilleux, that I don't know and orchestrations of Debussy piano etudes that I do know. Also, Debussy's "La Mer," a famous and splendid symphonic piece which will probably cause me to wish that I was at the beach. I always get the cheap seats for these occasional Friday afternoon performances, and find myself one of the youngest people in the concert hall, which becomes a sea of white hair. Smells like Geriatric Spirit. Some day, wearing white hair myself, I hope to have a season ticket with a better seat - but that's in the future, possibly.
Have a great weekend!
Watched "The Lord's of Flatbush" (1974) last night. It's an early Henry Winker and Sylvester Stallone film. Boy, did it suck. It's so lame it even incorporates a grammatical error in the title. (IMDb trivia: "The title on screen is actually a shot of the back of the jacket of one of the gang members, and the ungrammatical "The Lord's of Flatbush" is exactly how it is rendered, to show that these guys may be lords of Flatbush, but they're not lords of English grammar." Ha ha, hilarious.)
What is it with Brooklyn, anyway? (Flatbush is in Brooklyn, if you didn't know.) A decidedly interesting place. My father was from there - specifically, Greenpoint, the northernmost part of the Borough. He said that during World War II he never had to buy himself a drink if he mentioned that he was from Brooklyn. (This didn't work in Brooklyn, of course.) Two celebrities once bought him drinks, Nigel Bruce and Alfonso Bedoya. Bruce played Dr. Watson to Basil Rathbone's Sherlock Holmes in the Holmes movies of the 1940's. Alfonso Bedoya played the Mexican bandit in "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre," who gave us the immortal line, "Badges? We don't need no steenkin' badges!" Anyway, during the war Brooklyn was viewed as being the uber-American city, the place where characteristically American Americans were from. And there always seems to be a G.I. from Brooklyn in war films. (And he usually gets killed, for added pathos.)
Dad had a mild New Yawker dialect, but didn't utter the deese, dems and doeses of the stereotypical Brooklyner. He had some funny, memorable phrases, however: (about a singer he didn't think was talented) "He can't sing for sour owl shit!" (About my frugality): "You're tighter than a frog's ass stretched over a rainbarrel." Watching TV and seeing some politician he disapproved of: "What a rat bastard!" Dad had a great sense of humor, which I have captured here.
Doing some Brooklyn research, I came across
this article that, unbelievably, begins with the phrase "As a convert to Brooklyn's charms..." Oh, look, it has a photo of the "Lord's" of Flatbush in it.
I watched an excellent film noir last night: Blast of Silence (1961). Spare (77 minutes) and elegant, it describes a hit man's contracted job, the murder of a gangster. Naturally, that's not all there is to it, and it has a suitably bleak ending. Most of the action is told in narrative and it has many wonderful period shots of New York City in evocative black and white. This is considered a rediscovered classic; I think people viewing it in 1961 probably figured, "good little film" and that's it. Nowadays we see it as it fits in the tail end of a long film noir cycle (1940-1961). In fact, this may just be the very last true noir of the classic period. The Criterion DVD has a neat little features section showing the locations as they looked in 1961 and now; it's surprising just how much the look of the places has changed. NYC in the 1950's and 1960's has a very different look than the city of today...
I also watched a movie by a director described as "the Walt Disney of the Soviet Union," Alexander Ptushko: "Ilya Muromets" (1956). To us, it looks somewhat cheesy, 1950's and foreign. To a Russian in 1956 it was a prestige epic. I have to admit liking these commie sword and sorcery flicks... they have a certain degree of charm. I own two other films by Ptushko: "Sadko" (1953) and "Viy" (1967). I have a word of advice, however... if you should ever desire to own a Russian DVD and order one online, do not give an e-mail address that you use frequently. You will get put on every Russian junk mail list in existence. I get at least twenty junk e-mails in Cyrillic every day from .ru domains. (Oh, look, here's one even as I write.)
My survey of J.D. films is leading me to a conclusion. The idea we have in our heads about J.D.s and ordinary high schoolers wearing black leather jackets (as in the musical "Grease") isn't borne out by the visual depictions of them in period films. The J.D.s in 1950's and early 1960's films are usually wearing what appear to be cotton jackets, often with the gang names spelled out on the backs in sewn-on letters. Some of these look incredibly dorky; for instance, one gang in one period film called the Scepters had jackets with cloth scepters sewn on the backs. Intimidating, it wasn't. I think we're confusing the biker movies and biker gangs - who did appear to wear leather jackets - with the street gangs.
I may be able to confirm my suspicion by watching the eight film run of J.D. flicks to be aired on Turner Movie Classics next week. Of course the best thing would be to interview somebody who lived during those times. I would be looking for a guy who was about eighteen in about 1959, or a man who is about 67 now. The question would be, "Did the gang members in your high school wear black leather jackets?"
Or perhaps a viewing of this might provide an answer (from a wikipedia article): "Bronx filmmaker James Hannon is currently working on a documentary series on Bronx Gangs of 1950s & 1960s. The first in the series will be about the Ducky Boys Gang -- A real 1960s gang that was portrayed in the fictional movie The Wanderers. This documentary is slated to be released in early 2008. The 2nd in the series after that will be the Fordham Baldies - another real 1950's gang in the Bronx featured in the The Wanderers."
Somehow or another we also formed a mistaken idea of what Civil War soldiers looked like... I have yet to figure out why Americans think they wore sideburns. Even a quick glance at period photographs will demonstrate that they didn't. Many book and magazine article illustrations from the 1960s show soldiers with sideburns. And I remember ads for art schools in the backs of early 1960's magazines, "Draw the Reb" or "Draw the Yank," showing soldiers with sideburns. I think what happened was that Americans remembered Elvis Presley (famous for more or less introducing sideburns to 1950's male grooming) appeared as a Reb in "Love Me Tender" (1956) and knew that a general named Burnside gave his name to sideburns, and drew the conclusion that Civil War soldiers wore sideburns. Well, that's my explanation.
By the way, how many of you were aware that Elvis' hit "Love Me Tender" is an rewrite of a Civil War song entitled "Aura Lea?"
Ha ha ha! I've read S.E. Hinton's "the Outsiders" before, I just forgot I did! Somewhere in the middle of the third chapter it occured to me that the book was familiar... jumping ahead to the end I realized that I had read this a few years ago. So, how can I describe a novel I read and forgot I read until I started reading it again? "Unforgettable" wouldn't be the word.
I am now reading another paperback I bought at yard sale, "Seventeen" by Booth Tarkington. Tarkington also wrote "Penrod," which is a favorite work; Tom Sawyer put into the early 20th century might describe it. Seventeen is summarized on wikipedia thus: "'Seventeen: A Tale of Youth and Summer Time and the Baxter Family Especially William' is a humorous novel by Booth Tarkington that gently satirizes first love, in the person of a callow 17-year-old, William Sylvanus Baxter. Seventeen takes place in a small city in the pre-World War I Midwestern United States." I'm about half way through; it's amusing. The object of the young man's affections speaks baby-talk to a little dog named Flopit. Frankly, I can't imagine a world where a young woman speaking baby talk would be considered enchanting, which means that I have something in common with a frustrated middle-aged man who has to listen to it endlessly spoken on his front porch, where the young woman entertains besotted young men.
I handled a minor crisis over the weekend: my VHS player kept malfunctioning and popping out videotapes. Thinking that perhaps it's time to replace the device, I went out and priced replacement equipment, combination VHS players/DVD recorders. The one I want is $275 at COSTCO. For some reason having the tuner circuitry in the unit raises the cost unreasonably - geez, it's just a chip or a chip set extra, why the premium? Feeling irritated and somewhat victimized by our buy-it-and-throw-it-out economy, I decided to take the VHS machine apart to see if I could fix it. What I found was that a folded Post-it note (how did that get in there?) had somehow jammed the works. I had also found an odd plastic and metal part sliding around free in the unit. Anyway, I reassembled the thing and delightedly discovered that the unit once again works just fine - without the plastic and metal part, which I could not place in the mechanism. I'm sure that somehow, something isn't going to work because that part isn't in there, but I don't what, yet.
So I staved off having to replace my VHS unit. Corporate America, screw you!
I'm not planning to get rid of my VHS tapes any more than I'm planning to unload my Lp's ("vinyl") or cassettes, by the way. For one thing, it's too convienient and cheap a means of recording broadcast TV. For another, I can get perfectly good media at yard sales for next to nothing. On Saturday I paid fifty cents for two VHS tapes - four hours - of WWII veterans discussing their experiences during D-Day. I didn't go out to yard sales knowing that I wanted to see this, but I was pleased to find it when I did. My philosophies about media are largely driven by yard sale economics...
Also, as the Video Vault guy will readily confirm, there are many movies and media that have never made the transition from VHS to DVD. For instance, I have 20+ tapes of original Little Rascals shorts (lovingly remastered in 1996 with the original title cards, etc.) that still exist on VHS only. They look great and are vastly entertaining. Does it matter if the source material is a tape rather than a digital delivery format?
The most important consideration is that I have about fifty hours of camcorder VHS tapes of my kids growing up from 1986 on. Priceless, irreplacable media. Sure, I can (and have) transfered it to DVD, but it's important to be able to play the tapes in the original format. And the DVD transfer quality just isn't the same... I need a DVD recorder, I think. The PC-based means I use isn't very good. So I'll always need to have a VHS machine to play those family tapes.
I agree with the philosophy of the people who still collect eight track cartridges: State of the art is in the eye of the beholder. The VHS format is perfectly good for the way I use it. DVDs are a pain in the butt in many ways, and really aren't the perfect media that they were claimed to be. Rental disks often have digital drop outs and seem very sensitive to smudges and mishandling; they're much less robust than VHS tapes seem to be. (The Video Vault guy, who is in the business, agrees with me.) And, frankly, I don't often care to listen to hours of "extras" comments by the actors, director, wardrobe master, title font designer, etc. Some of these are interesting but many are a waste of time. Games and web link extras? Please. And easter eggs are just annoying; when I want information I want it readily available, I don't have the time to bother searching a DVD for it.
Last but not least, I refuse to put myself at the mercy of the media marketers. I will not invest in thousands of dollars of expensive electronic equipment that have built-in obsolescence dates. Blu-ray? No thanks, not until it becomes an inexpensive, reliable, commodity standard. Crummy old conventional resolution scan, two channel stereo (Dolby 5.1 multi-channel is a pain) and VHS tapes are fine for me, thank you. It suits film noir and the stuff I usually find myself watching and listening to. When producers and directors make new media that is as good as the old stuff, maybe I'll start investing - but I won't be holding my breath.
Viacom, Time-Warner, Corporate America... to quote my daughter in a video she did about dumpster diving, screw you!
Ugh. The only thing that could make a Monday morning worse is gray, dreary weather. And we have that.
I watched some J.D. films over the weekend. (Executive summary: they all sucked.)
The Black Rebels (1960) - a.k.a. "This Rebel Breed." The premise is jaw-droppingly stupid: the LAPD, in order to work from the inside on a high school narcotics job, use an obviously white-looking detective (who is supposed to be half-Mexican) to attempt to infiltrate a black gang. The actor looks like he has a coat of shoe polish on his face! What really puts this over the top on the stupid meter, however, is an occasional gratuitous scene, inserted for a re-release in 1965, of some topless women cavorting about. Oh, and the teenagers look like they're pushing thirty. An early film/embarrassment of Rita Moreno, an actress who has won a Tony, an Emmy, a Grammy and an Oscar. (But not for this one.)
Curfew Breakers (1957) - Originally titled "Narcotics Squad," I think this one was hastily repackaged with a quick frame with the words "Curfew Breakers" to fit with the J.D. film craze. Only they left the original "Narcotics Squad" title sequence in. Incredibly boring. In fact, I fell asleep during it.
Naked Youth (1960) - THERE ARE NO UNDRESSED YOUTHS IN THIS FILM. It may not be apparent from the films I'm reporting on here, but I do have standards... The title is "naked" as in "Naked City." In other words, the real, unvarnished story. One IMDb reviewer wrote, "Unfortunately, there isn't enough kitsch to make this a 'so bad it's good' classic. It remains reasonably amusing for fans of this type of junk." Wrong! It wasn't even reasonably amusing. It just sucked.
Juke Box Rhythm (1959) - Okay, not a J.D. film. It's an early rock and roll film. I normally find those amusing ("Bop Girl Goes Calypso" is a good one), but this one was just way too prissy. In fact, I quit watching nearly half-way through.
Turner Movie Classics is airing an eight film run of J.D. flicks next week; I shall put tapes into the VHS recorder and let her run! I see one of them is The Delinquents (1957), which has been recommended to me. Looks sort of promising.
Whenever TCM airs cult films they have a little promo spot featuring directors commenting about cult films in general. One quote is apt: "A director cannot make a cult film. The audience does." True enough!
I am now reading S.E. Hinton's teen classic "the Outsiders," which I somehow missed reading during my own youth. (My high school pal Mike recommended it.) After I finish it it'll be back to Fifteenth Century England. I got it for a quarter from what looked like a ten year-old girl at a yard sale! I refrained from asking if she had any novelizations of "Naked Youth."
I started by saying the only thing thing that could make a Monday morning worse was gray weather. I was wrong! Here's Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers as performed by the Portsmouth Sinfonia. That ought to do it.
Teens! Crime!
I watched two more J.D. flicks last night. The first was an entry from 1979; in that year two similar films were released with similar titles, "The Warriors" and "The Wanderers." The first is the better-known film which I've seen and like. (How could I not? It's based on Xenophon's Anabasis.) Last night I watched the second one. Found in the comedy section of Video Vault (not the right place for it), The Wanderers was quite good. In fact, I think I'll watch it again! It takes place in 1963 and is a mix of elements also found in American Graffiti, Grease and the Warriors. It's not as surreal as the Warriors, more true to life than Grease, and not as true to life as American Graffiti. Interesting how filmmakers can come up with four takes on what is essentially the same material.
(And for those of you who object that 1963 was not the 1950's, I will agree but make the observation that the Sixties didn't really get started until the JFK assassination and the arrival of the Beatles. Indeed, there's an interesting scene where a prototypical, oily-haired 1950's teen stares into the window of a coffee shop and sees Bob Dylan - or a wanna-be Bob Dylan, I wasn't sure which - singing "The Times They Are A-Changin'" and realizes that a whole new world is beginning out of his reach or understanding.)
It surprises me that this film isn't better known than it is; it could almost be classified as a cult film. Anyway, it's recommended and is a happy discovery of my current cinematic interest. A perceptive review is here.
The second film I watched was one of Roger Corman's exploitation classics: Teenage Doll (1957). The IMDb has this one listed as a film noir, and I can't argue. The plot, a teenage girl involved in a death is pursued by a Deb gang, is noirish. It fits into a J.D. noir sub-category along with High School Big Shot (1959), a personal favorite. The first five minutes or so have undeniable impact: an expressionist title sequence leads into a basin of dirty dishwater thrown on the body of a young woman laying dead in an alley. Whew! I guess it goes without saying this is a black and white film. The most accurate summary I can give is that it's 71 minutes of bleak sleeze, shaky acting, attitude and outrage thrown up on the screen in the finest Roger Corman tradition. I loved it.
Director Roger Corman is legendary in Hollywood for never making a film using his own money and never losing a dime. For this film, the IMDb has the following trivia item: "While shooting an exterior scene in a suburban neighborhood, one of the neighbors turned on their sprinkler system in hopes that director Roger Corman would pay them to turn it off. Instead, Corman used the free special effect to make it a rain scene which worked out better for the shoot." Ha!
While there are male gangs in this film, Teenage Doll is essentially the story of a Deb gang. (Debs, debutantes: Females attached to a male gang. In this one, the male gang, the Tarantulas, have the Black Widows as the associated Deb gang.) It's grimy. Even the hapless pretty blonde runs around with blood on her clothing (which a blind beggar can smell). The rumble sequence at the end is effectively staged in a junkyard. And a notable sequence shows the semi-feral and hungry kid sister of the head Deb living alone in a squalid, darkened kitchen, eating cardboard and crackers. When Roger Corman goes for outrage, he lays it on thick!
And it has Bruno VeSota! He appears in all the best worst films: Daddy-O, Dementia, Female Jungle. His bio is here. For me, VeSota's most impressive scene is a nightmarish sequence in Dementia where he eats a chicken, the camera coming in close to show the chicken fat on his lips and chin.
You can't find that kind of thing in mainstream Hollywood product, by golly.
In fifteenth century England, teens like Edward IV and his brother the Duke of Gloucester (later Richard III) were involved in the dynastic rumble known as the War of the Roses. Here's a passage in my current book on that subject about the capture of their hapless enemy Henry VI; it jumped off the page for me due to the oddness of the names: "Betrayed by a monk and chased from his dinner at the house of a sympathizer not far from Clitheroe, he was caught in a wood near a ford through the Ribble called Bungerly Hippinstones, deserted by all save two priests and a groom." A ford through the Ribble called Bungerly Hippinstones. And people think J.K. Rowling makes stuff like this up. Only in England.
Have a great weekend! I've got "Curfew Breakers" (1957) to watch.
Last night I watched the latest installment in my survey of 1950's teen films, "I Was A Teenage Werewolf" (1957), which is a better film that the title would suggest. (It would almost have to be.) While I liked it, I think I might pass on its stablemate, "I Was a Teenage Frankenstein" (1957). It's not quite what I'm looking for, which is the great Leather Jackets and Switchblades movie of all time. I was talking to Jim McCabe, the Video Vault guy, about it yesterday; he drew a mental blank. We sort of agreed that it must be "Blackboard Jungle" from 1955. We also speculated that the best film of this type wasn't made in the 1950's, but later.
I also watched "Teenage Wolfpack" (1956), which was an oddity from West Germany. I found this one to be pretty slow-moving. It perks up at the end with a few gunshots, but otherwise, eh. What's more, it's hard to take JD's named "Gunter" seriously. Sounds too art house, or like something featured on Dieter's "Sprockets" show.
Personally, I think the two greatest teenage crime films are Luis Bunuel's "Los Olvidados" (1950) and William Wyler's "Dead End" (1937). While both are personal favorites, neither are what I'm looking for. The first film takes place in Mexico City, and the second is a work about crime in Depression era slums.
If you ever get a chance to see Los Olvidados, you should. It is truly excellent, and one of those films that you find yourself thinking about the next day.
Dead End was billed as a Humphrey Bogart-Joel McCrea film, but the Dead End Kids steal the show. They became so popular that this film was followed by no less than six other Dead End Kids films before the kids turned into the Bowery Boys and had yet another run of films (which were no where as good as the originals). Read about them here. As a personal note I will add that Bernard "Milty" Punsly later became my mother-in-law's doctor. He was the last suriving Dead End Kid, and died in 2004. My father-in-law bitterly complaining about him one Christmas Eve is a memory I'll always cherish.
Reading my personal account of juvenile delinquency in yesterday's entry, my pal Don writes, "When I was about ten and got thinking of hitting the big one three, my big fear re: juvenile delinquency was that on becoming a 'teenager' one automatically became a J.D." He's absolutely right... I recall a feeling of inevitability about it as well. Perhaps it's born out of a fear for being taken as something that you really aren't.
Here's something interesting; my friend Chris points out that the Earth hums. What's it humming? I know: "Duke, duke, duke/Duke of Earl, earl, earl/Duke of Earl, earl, earl/Duke of Earl, earl, earl..."
An interesting quote for you to ponder, from my desk calendar: "Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives." - Dr. William C. Dement. Funny last name, huh? (Dement, dementia...)
Continuing with the 1950's juvenile delinquency movie theme, last night I watched "High School Hellcats" (1958). Note that the reviewer in the link came up with a better name for Dagmars - "rocket bras," which neatly describes this 1950's fashion fad.
Alas! The film was disappointing. Way too tame - not at all what I'm looking for. And that poster at left doesn't accurately represent what the film was like, as was often the case with what we now call "exploitation" films. So... what is the great leather jacket and switchblades film from the 1950's, I wonder? I've seen "Blackboard Jungle" (1955) and I can't believe that's it. I thought "Rebel Without a Cause" (1955) was pretty unimpressive, too. It's out there, somewhere.
I distinctly remember being afraid of juvenile delinquency when I was, I'm not sure, five or six. Before I started kindergarten, I think. I recall seeing some news report about the rise of teenage gangs, and became apprehensive about stepping foot in an elementary school for fear of being beaten up or threatened by big kids in leather jackets who carried switch blades - as seen in the news report. While I got through kindergarten without incident (save embarrassingly wetting my pants in class one day), I did have a couple of nasty encounters with big kids later on. "Big" being defined as, say, twelve or thirteen.
Let's see... when I was about seven or so some kids - who happened to be black - grouped around and threatened me one day while I was playing in a supermarket parking lot. One held a switchblade (or was it really something else like a comb?) to my neck and threatened to "cut me open."
As I recall, the incident fell along the usual lines of predictable dialogue:
Big kid: You think you can beat me up?
After terrorizing me for awhile they got bored and left. Not surprisingly, I remembered that little encounter for the rest of my life. About a year or so later some big kids - who happened to be white - waylaid me while walking home from school and forced me to walk to their house where they let me go. I guess leading a little kid astray was that afternoon's sport. I was consequently about an hour late to get home. Mom demanded to know why, and I told her. She packed me into the car and angrily drove to the house, where she gave the big kid's trashy mother holy hell as only an angry, big-boned French-Canadian woman could.
Nowadays I'm fairly confident the school and the police would have gotten involved.
All this took place in the Silverlake District of Los Angeles, which was, in the early to mid Sixties, declining (as they say). Nowadays the area has become chic, except around where the supermarket parking lot was. I visited the site (now a parking lot for a moving company) when I was in L.A. last November, and felt an odd apprehension in my belly. Mentally I'm over it, but physiologically I'm not, I guess.
Anyway, it was the catalyst for Mom and Dad to move out to the San Fernando Valley, to Burbank, which was deemed safer. (It was.)
Funny thing, though. I was nearly nine when we moved out of Silverlake. At the time I was a junior member of a gang of older kids led by a twelve year-old; we were beginning to be engaged in petty crime (breaking windows, lighting match fires, trespassing, etc.) and it makes me wonder how I would have turned out had we stayed in L.A. Perhaps I would have morphed into what I feared.
Or not. After all, the mid-Sixties were considerably different than the late-Fifties/early-Sixties. Violence trended out and drug use trended in.
Still reading my book about the War of the Roses. It has Henry Payne's dramatic "Choosing the Red and White Roses" on the cover; you can't read about the war without encountering that painting over and over again. Good write-up on that linked page...
30 April 2008
29 April 2008
28 April 2008
25 April 2008
24 April 2008
23 April 2008
22 April 2008
21 April 2008
18 April 2008
17 April 2008
16 April 2008
Me: No!
Big kid: You want me to cut you open?
Me: No!
Big kid: You gonna tell the police on me if I let you go?
Me: No!
et cetera...
Mad magazine fold-ins cleverly rendered into HTML. Normally I don't bother with the New York Times, but here I think they're found a niche, presenting the work of a superior publication.
I watched a notable relic of the 1950's pop culture last night: "Daddy-O" (1959). You know you're in Elvis territory when there's a scene where the protagonist is in a nightclub eating and the saxophone player from the house band demands that he get up and perform a song. ("Sweeter than cherry/Boysenberry!/Sweeter than coffee/English toffee!/Sweeter than jam is candied yams/Rock candy, baby, you're mine!") Well, okay, maybe you're in wanna-be Elvis territory; that's where Daddy-O is at. And yes, there's a Mystery Science Theater 3000 version of this film. But I don't watch those... noooo. I watch the original released versions.
The lead in this is Dick Contino, who in real life played the accordion and was billed as "the World's Greatest Accordion Player." His signature piece was a truly horrible song entitled "Lady of Spain" that I used to hear frequently in the Sixties, causing me to dry heave. And I have nothing more to say about that wretched instrument save that my father used to call them "stomach Steinways."
In Daddy-O Contino wears his pants way, way too high.
This film was specifically recommended to me by the owner of Video Vault ("Guaranteed Worst Movies in Town!" - my wife calls this place "Eccentricity Central"). What he failed to mention was that the title theme was written by what must have been a very young John Williams; this is his first film score. Nice to know that he went on to better things.
One last thing: the female lead, a dishy platinum blonde with Dagmar breasts drives a white Thunderbird. I wonder if she provided the inspiration for Suzanne Somers' mysterious character in "American Graffiti?"
Anyway, I am now on a 1950's juvenile delinquent/rock and roll film kick. I plan to rent films this week from the section of Video Vault called "Troubled Teens." A lingering Grease influence, I suppose.
However, my current reading material couldn't be further removed. I have now started the book I've been avoiding for eight years: "The War of the Roses" by Desmond Seward. So far I'm finding it a good read and not at all as difficult as I had feared. Watching all those Shakespeare plays is helping me to sort out the characters in my head. Here's an image of one, Louis de Gruuthuyse of Burgundy. And once again I wonder, is this what he really looked like? Geez. Nice Sonny Bono hair...
Some -ologies, from my desk calendar. "Ripperology": I've always had an interest in the Ripper crimes, and, like many others, have always wondered who Jack the Ripper could have been. Donald Rumbelow, a former City of London detective, wrote my favorite book on the subject, and said the following: "I have always had the feeling that on the Day of Judgment, when all things shall be known, when I and the other generations of 'Ripperologists' ask for Jack the Ripper to step forward and call out his true name, we shall turn and look with blank astonishment at one another as he does so and say 'Who?'"
From all the reading I've done, I think the most likely suspect was Montague John Druitt; that's where I'd put my bets, were I a betting man. Popular writer Patricia Cornwell opined that he was Walter Sickert - mainly because she says so. And the debate continues... But I'm inclined to agree with Rumbelow - it was "Who?"
By the way, have you ever seen the photographs of Ripper's victims? Most people haven't. Mary Kelly's - his last victim - is truly ghastly. (Warning: I'm not kidding.) Now that you have a picture of Ripper victim in your head he's a slightly different character, isn't he?
Another desk calendar page: "Perfect women." And the score stands Jews 1 (or 2), Christians 1, Muslims 2.
My daughter did her last high school mainstage performance (Rizzo in Grease) on Saturday night, which means that something my wife and I have been involved in since 2002 (activity as drama booster parents) is drawing to a close. I'll miss the hectic preparations that went into the performances, seeing those kids act their little hearts out, selling sodas and candy to the audiences, the cast parties, the backstage work, the photography, etc. Being around teens makes for a lively experience, that's for sure.
It's funny, as I get older and my hearing and eyesight deteriorate, my sense of smell seems to be improving. At one point in the play the kids come in through the back doors. I can smell the leather, sweat and Brylcreem before I actually see or hear them. That - and cigarette smoke - must have been what the Fifties smelled like.
At one point during a cast party I realized with a jolt that I was one of the few people there who could actually remember the Fifites. I was three in 1959, and recall watching a television show called "Discovery '59." Also, looking at family films dated that year, I recall the toys I played with, etc. Yes, my rugby club is right, I'm afraid.
From what I've seen, Grease (the original 1972 off-Broadway musical) is an interesting play, and is quite a bit different from the John Travolta movie everyone is familiar with. For one thing, it's a lot raunchier. Anyway, I'll have to take a break from my current obsession with English history and read it.
But until then I'm still reading my book about London. See this illustration; I'd like to see this play, "The Roaring Girle, or Moll Cut-Purfe." Looks like a hoot.
I took over 600 photos of last night's production of "Grease"; as I mentioned, my daughter played Rizzo. Now to sort through them all. I'm guessing I'll delete about 100 of them for being out of focus, poorly composed or badly exposed. I should end up with about fifty good ones.
One thing that didn't help was that the student lighting director chose to not throw much light on the stage a lot of the time, making it hard for my camera not to blur, even at high ASA settings. And then, when I got the settings more or less adjusted for a character in dim lighting, he or she would walk under a spot light and burn out... In my experience, trying to capture good shots of a stage production is much more difficult than shooting the fast action on a rugby pitch. At least rugby is (normally) played in the daylight, where there's sufficient light to freeze action at fast shutter speeds.
Getting back to Grease, funny thing is, some of those boys look a lot better with greasy Fifties hair and leather jackets than they do in the current high school style. It must be me, just being used to what might be called historic style. I recall noticing at one point when I was doing Revolutionary War reenacting that pointed hats, regimental coats, stockings and shoes with buckles seemed to finally make sense and no longer looked odd. In fact, it suits some guys quite well. Historical looks take a while to get used to, but when you do you just sort of accept them they way you do greasy hair and leather jackets.
Likewise, Civil War era dress and grooming. I got used to looking at goatees long before they came back into fashion. (Doesn't mean I like 'em. Frankly, I'm sick of looking at guys with goatees.) I suppose at some point shaved heads, tattoos, piercings and goatees - what I call "the inmate look" - will being to look stale and tame.
I suppose that's what drives the fashion industry: the brain's willingness to accept new looks. Indeed, there may even be a desire on the part of the brain for novel visual stimulation in the way of clothing and grooming.
I always find it interesting to look at some actor whose looks I get used to from some historical film; after an hour or two, his or her looks begin to fit the period. Then you see a shot of her in current dress and a sort of surprise or mental confusion takes place. For instance, Cate Blanchett. The only films I've seen with her are the two Elizabeth I films. Okay, vibrantly red wig, pasty white makeup and excessive clothing. After a while it kind of suits her. Then you see this and think, Whoa. (Frankly, I think she looked better in the Elizabethan freak show get up than here.)
While we're on the subject of London women... from Trease's book I'm reading, London kissing - commented upon (favorably) by medieval male visitors. Whether or not one would look forward to being kissed by Blanchett would depend upon what she looks like that day, I guess.
Have a great weekend!
Henry VIII: Worst Shakespeare play, ever. After boring you to tears for more than two hours, the final scene has the Archbishop of Canterbury holding the infant Elizabeth in his hands, making all sorts of rosy and gushing prophecies regarding the wonderful future reign of this child. I mean, could Shakespeare have written a more obvious Tudor suck-up?
Okay, I exaggerate. Even second-rate Shakespeare has its high points, and these include the speeches given by Catherine of Aragon refusing to knuckle under as Henry demands an annulment. But other than this, this is a pretty dreary play and, as I wrote, my least favorite.
In 1613 a fire destroyed the Globe Theatre during a performance... while I wouldn't take this drastic a step to end it, I can understand why somebody would.
I am now reading "London - A Concise History" by Geoffrey Trease, another one of my books waiting on the shelf for a reawakening of my interest in English history. In my readings I keep looking for the site of the oldest part of London - where is it now? - and reading between the lines I see that it must have been around where St. Paul's Church is now, and where the present day London Bridge is, on the north bank of the Thames. However the book also notes that prehistoric man lived in today's Kensington and Wimbledon, outside of what is known as The City.
Being an old movie buff (than is, liking old films) I am usually uncaring about new films coming out - I find that when I see them I often am disappointed - but I must confess to being intrigued about two new ones. The first is Iron Man, which has a promising trailer. Okay, make that a very promising trailer. But Hollywood has long since mastered the art of making great promotional shorts out of films that suck, so who knows? I always liked the comic book character when I was a kid; so much so that I created my own rip-off character: Captain Tin. (Read it and you'll see why I suspect Hollywood won't be approaching me for filming rights.) Iron Man premieres next month.
The other film is Forever Strong, about rugby - specifically Utah rugby. I confess to having an interest because I once interviewed Larry Gelwix, the coach of the Highland High club profiled in the film, and... well... it's about Mormons. Or should be, at least partially (as my interview makes clear). We shall see. To be released in fall. Here's the official site which begins, as a lot of good rugby does, with a haka.
As I mentioned yesterday, I've been digitizing some Monkees Lps - music, clicks, pops and vinyl noise all contributing to the sonic image and the Sixties ambiance. Some of these tracks are even monophonic! But as I learned from my record collector friend Vern, who plays his Lps on a cheap, circa 1967 portable record player, what's important is the music, not the medium. Taking this to heart, I have recently decided that two channel stereo is my preferred audio delivery mode. Screw Dolby 5.1, DTS and complex digital sound field creations. They're a bother to implement. And, as the 8-Track cartridge enthusiasts maintain, "State of the Art is in the Eye of the Beholder." But I digress.
I must confess a recently-acquired fondness for the Monkees. Their management sensibly obtained the services of some of the best pop song writers of the day (Neil Diamond, Carole King, Boyce and Hart, etc.), and it shows. Their music sounds fresh and yet familiar to my jaded ears. It's a mix of a circa 1966 Beatles band production with an American pop lyrical approach, with some manic antics from the TV show thrown in. So what I've been doing is recording the songs not usually found on their "greatest hits" CDs and listening to them.
Hey, I can't listen to the Portsmouth Sinfonia all the time.
Despite the fact that they were a music industry assembled band, the Monkees had some impressive accomplishments (as listed on wikipedia): They were the first band to use a Moog synthesizer in a top-10 album ("Star Collector"), they gave the Jimi Hendrix Experience their first U.S. concert appearances, they compelled another David Jones to change his surname to Bowie to avoid being confused with Davy Jones, the Monkees reunion tour was the largest grossing tour of 1986, the Monkees outsold the Beatles and Elvis combined in 1967, they were the first music artist to win two Emmy awards, the first actual live concert footage to be featured in a motion picture was in their "Head" (1968), they had no less than seven albums on the Billboard top 200 chart at the same time (six were re-issues during 1986/87), their Lp "More of The Monkees" spent an amazing 70 weeks on the Billboard charts becoming the 12th biggest selling album of all time (Billboard.com), and, finally, they had no less than four number one albums in a year span. Not too shabby.
And, frankly, right now I'd rather listen to them than Led Zeppelin, who have been relentlessly overplayed since the early Seventies.
So let's have some respect for Mike, Peter, Davy and Mickey. Click here to listen to the strangely endearing throwaway song "I'm Gonna Buy Me A Dog."
I'm finishing up my Shakespearian English kings chronicle with a viewing of his Henry VIII. It's not good. Like King John, it's dull. They can't all be Hamlet, I guess. But what's even worse, it soft-pedals what a thorough monster and tyrant Henry VIII was. Why? Probably because he was the father of Shakespeare's patron, Elizabeth I. I'm pretty sure that horny blob is my least favorite English monarch; whenever I read an English history book my bile starts to rise when I get to the chapters dealing with his misrule. Certainly he kept a steady flow of people imprisoned in the Tower and sent to Tower Hill, where the executions took place. It's one of the ironies of history that his reign, which caused the deaths of so many to maintain Tudor power via a male heir, resulted instead in a legacy based on a daughter (Elizabeth). And that that daughter would remain childless, ending the dynasty.
This is Tech Week (a.k.a. Hell Week) in the Brigham Household. My daughter Meredith appears this weekend as Rizzo (yes, the bad girl) in the high school production of "Grease," and this week is set aside for final rehearsals, stage building, light and sound design and music coordination. Since my wife is the Drama Boosters president (coordinating dinners and microphones, etc.) and I am the drama dogsbody and photographer, it's hectic. However, this being the last school production involving my last child, I suspect I'll miss it in the future. Certainly, the acting bug is contagious. I watch these shows, think, "It looks like fun and I can do that," and want to take part. Perhaps that's the Next Thing, theatre.
I mentioned that I was at the Smithsonian American Art Museum last week; here's something that impressed me.
Last night I was playing around with a turntable I once bought at a yard sale, digitizing some Lps I haven't gotten around to. (Namely, Monkees Lps.) I came across one of the odder records in my collection, the notorious 101 Strings "Sounds of Love" Lp, perhaps their biggest lapse in taste. (101 Strings was a budget "easy listening/beautiful music" format orchestra who specialized in theme records available at grocery stores. A wikipedia article is here.) Just for kicks I digitized the jazz/big band classic "I've Got it Bad (And That Ain't Good)" track for you, "vocals by Bebe Bardon." I'm not sure what employment Bebe found in the 1960's, with her moaning and gasping talent... a precursor to the 1980's telephone call-in singles lines, I suppose. Anyway, see if you can listen to this without laughing or feeling uncomfortable.
(By the way, a far, far better recording of this venerable torch song is by Julie London, my favorite chanteuse. Here. It also has a truly first class old school jazz guitar break.)
Oh, wait... doing a google search on Bebe Bardon, I see the Mystic Moods Orchestra also did an easy listening/erotic crossover masterpiece - click here. I'm telling you, the Sixties and Seventies were not only stranger than you think, they were stranger than you can think!
Some kitschy 101 Strings theme record covers:
The Soul of England
...you get the idea. My dad, no doubt attracted to the Sixties babes on the album covers, used to pick these up in the local Ralphs (grocery store chain in Southern California) for $1.99. I grew up listening to them on the family stereo.
What do you call it when the government is run by...?
In reading that book about the Tower of London that I'm reading, I've come across a reference to a cell that was supposedly within the Tower precincts, the "Little Ease." It is called this because it's a cell so small that a man cannot stand up, sit down or lie down in it. Problem is, however, that the location is lost; this cell cannot be found anywhere within the Tower complex. The location was supposedly in the White Tower - the big square main part - but no space answers to that description. So where is it? I have an answer: a economy class seat on a British Airways flight to London.
BBC's April Fool's video. I like the shot of the penguins lifting off, watched by the other penguins.
Over the weekend a friend of mine begged for another Portsmouth Sinfonia piece, so here it is. Rossini's William Tell Overture. Well, an approximation thereof. Play it LOUD.
I am now reading "The Tower - The Tumultuous History of the Tower of London from 1078" by Derek Wilson. From this you might think there is one tower, but in fact the Tower complex includes no less than twenty: the Bloody Tower (or the Garden Tower), Bell Tower, Beauchamp Tower (pronounced 'Beecham'), Deveraux Tower, Flint Tower, Bowyer Tower, Brick Tower, Martin Tower, Constable Tower, Broad Arrow Tower, Salt Tower, Lanthorn Tower, Wakefield Tower, Byward Tower,
St Thomas's Tower, Cradle Tower, Develin Tower, Middle Tower, Well Tower and, of couse, the White Tower, which is the notable big part that sticks above all the rest on the London skyline. Next to the White Tower, I found the Beauchamp Tower to be the most interesting, as it has been turned into a political prisoners' museum of sorts.
My Tower of London page, copiously illustrated with photos, is here. A fascinating place, like a Disneyland for those interested in English history.
I'm sure you heard that one of the greats, Charlton Heston, died over the weekend. He was my favorite actor ever since I was a kid watching repeated showings of "The Ten Commandments" with my friend Jimmy; Hollywood has nothing remotely like him. Everyone knows about his roles in historical epics and science-fiction, but the one Heston film I really want to see, but haven't, is a film noir: Dark City (1950). It's usually panned, but I want to see it anyway as I like Liz Scott, one of noir's great femme-fatales.
Finally, on a personal note, I recently did the last of my "blue chair photos," this time with Meredith, my youngest child. (Her brother and sister Ethan and Julie.) A tradition begun in 1984 thus ends.
I watched a great old film the other night: The Great Train Robbery (1903). Yes, 1903. That's 105 years ago. It's considered to be the very first narrative film, and clocks in at only ten minutes or so. The plot and action are pretty forgettable; what makes it interesting has to do with what makes it historic. First of all, it's in color! Sort of. Some things in it are colored by tints applied to the surface of the film. Gunsmoke appears as a weird, orange-red cloud - it looks like they're firing paprika at one another. And one woman wears a yellow dress that seems to move independently of her.
The interior sets are pretty funny. Three dimensional details, like a pot-belly stove, are painted on flat surfaces and still appear flat. The door to the train station doesn't seem to close properly. And what looks like a projection shot of an arriving train can be seen through a window, which is perhaps the film's oddest-looking effect since it's out of scale with the interior (the train looks like it's an inch or two away from the building).
But, of course, this film is considered a landmark because of what it does well, which is tell a story. Prior to 1903, films didn't do that; at least not to the extent that this one does. And it's also the first film where somebody is made to dance when somebody else fires a revolver at his feet. That cliche is so old that I don't think we've seen it since the 1940's, but it got its start in 1903.
The most celebrated scene is the one everyone knows, where a cowboy (pictured above) - the first in a long, long line of cinema cowboys - points a six-shooter at the audience and fires. Turner Movie Classic film critic Robert Osborne says that people in the audience actually ducked! Those were different times, to be sure. Nowadays teenagers watch epics made for hundreds of millions of dollars and dissect the flaws with the CGI.
I mentioned that I was at the National Portrait Gallery the other day. While there I saw the celebrated portrait of Stephen Colbert between the doors to the restrooms. Uhhhh... okay. From what little I've caught of the Colbert Report, I suspect this fellow isn't as funny as he thinks he is.
I also once again saw a favorite work that I am somewhat conflicted about, Ole Peter Hanson Balling's "Grant and his Generals." On one hand, the Union patriotism of the piece appeals to me. What drama! (Never mind that fact that a Reb shell exploded overhead would take out the entire executive corps of the Union war effort.) And it's the most unique serious art depiction of U.S. Grant there is. On the other hand, I think the notion of portraiture while astride a fiercely galloping horse is pretty ridiculous. See how dignified my pose and the look on my face are whilst I control this rampaging steed. Grant was a legendary horseman, but come on. The silliness is magnified by having all those other posing generals tossed in for good measure. An impossible snapshot in time.
This time I noticed the discarded canteen at the bottom of the canvas. Some Reb, seeing all that Union brass galloping his way, dropped it and fled.
Anyway, Balling's work reminds me of Gilbert Stuart's "The Skater." I find the whole notion of athletic setting portraiture to be odd. If you're going to have your face recorded formally for posterity, sit still (and try to look intelligent).
Have a great weekend!
I normally wouldn’t take this blog into the men’s room with me, but I’m a curious guy and, the other day, I was wondering.
I’m sure you’ve noticed that in public restrooms, the stalls and other fixtures are attached with one-way and security screws. (What’s a one-way screw?) The question is, why? Are men’s room stalls in any great danger of being stolen? Does this happen often?
Being a believer in Occam’s Razor (“The simplest answer is usually the correct one”) it must be that facility managers are having problems with theft and vandalism. Why else invest in specialty screws and screwdrivers to combat a non-existent problem?
Doing some Internet research, I turned up a place where somebody wondered the same thing I did, and got answers on a place called askville.com.
Note the rather surprising third answer about theft and vandalism in the ladies’ room. This reminds me of something my father once told me. He had a job at Lockheed aircraft as a maintenance painter – and sometimes found himself having to paint facility restrooms. He told me that he observed over the years that the ladies rooms are invariably messier and more damaged than the men’s rooms. (I have heard this elsewhere from a credible source, but I forget where.) Now, this flew in the face of the notion that females are generally well-behaved and insist upon civilization, order and manners. For instance, name one male etiquette column writer. But the reality within the tiled walls argues otherwise!
Women can be real she-beasts. A Confederate soldier once famously wrote in his diary, "This war would be over if not for the women."
...which ties in with Shakespeare. Part of the fun of watching the three Henry VI plays I just watched was seeing Julia Foster wail, roar, howl and rage as Margaret of Anjou (Henry VI’s dominant wife) – perhaps Shakespeare’s greatest hellion, and a real stall-breaker if ever there was one. She has a plum scene at the end of Richard III: Sitting atop a big pile of bleeding bodies (a result of the War of the Roses) she cackles and laughs insanely, while cradling her enemy Richard’s battered corpse. It’s not Shakespeare but it’s memorable!
But... being male I’d rather think about an idealized sort of female and not the ones who rage, shriek, scream, demand, badger, harp, etc. and sit atop small mountains of bleeding corpses. Which brings me to... Ginevra.
I was in the National Portrait Gallery the other day – which is attached to the Smithsonian American Art Museum – and came across a truly stunning female. One so beautiful, with ideal features and expression, that I had to stand and gaze. Here she is, Ginevra, by Hiram Powers. I cannot describe how lovely this sculpture is – you have to see it. It is beauty and perfection in cold, smooth, 166 year-old marble.
The story behind the name is interesting, too. I read Rogers’ poem cited in the Smithsonian plaque; it’s provocative. Was Ginevra the bride murdered? No... she crept into the chest for reasons of her own (she was described as a lover of pranks) and a latch caught, locking her in. On her wedding day. For some reason nobody heard her banging away to get free; I guess they were all at the wedding party. Nobody smelled a decomposing body, either. Incredible.
I've read tragic things like that happening with children in discarded refrigerators (Ginevra being only fifteen was but a child), but nobody wrote poetry about it.
Victorians. Sheesh.
(Today's blog entry was one of my occasional forays into sexual politics, an area most men fear to tread. Another little essay from March 2002 is here: The Weaker Sex. Hope I don't sound too boorish.)
Finished watching Henry VI part three last night. Wow. I'm going to take a night or two to sponge the blood and muck off myself and wade into Richard III later this week, where I will be further embloodied. I've seen it before, years ago, but I need to see it again to appreciate it in light of all the chronicle plays that preceded it. So... two left to go: Richard III and Henry VIII.
I've seen Shakespeare's King John before (the BBC version), but it's something of a yawner and doesn't really fit into the chronicle canon.
I am now reading "A Guide to Royal London," by Christopher Hibbert, a book I probably should have read before visiting the place! Here's an excerpt that we can call the Coronation Follies. I'm sure King Charles' coronation will come off better than some of these, when it happens.
By the way, Prince Charles could be crowned as Charles III, but he doesn't have to be. He can pick out a different regnal name. From wikipedia, that wonderful resource: "It is rumoured that Charles, Prince of Wales (Charles Philip Arthur George Mountbatten-Windsor) would wish to assume the regnal name of "George VII" upon his accession to the throne as opposed to "Charles III" in light of the perceived unpopularity of both previous British kings who reigned using the name Charles. Charles I was beheaded for treason during the English Civil War (1642-1660) following his trial. His rule remains controversial; his son, Charles II, while in many ways popular, was nonetheless regarded with suspicion for his Catholic sympathies—suspicions borne out by his deathbed conversion—and for allowing the succession of his outwardly Catholic brother, James II. The regnal name George is dynastically acceptable to the Windsor family. Another possibility would be the double-barrelled Charles George."
You read it here first!
But what's in a name? A lot, apparently. I have a bunch of French-Canadian ancestors who had "dit" names. "Dit" in French in this context means "called," and is used when a person named, say, Isaac Aucoin (my maternal grandfather) wants to be known as Isaac Wedge. So he would be Isaac Aucoin dit Wedge. "Aucoin" in French means, roughly, "in the corner." So an Anglicizing of it might be "Wedge." Or even "Conners" (corners), which I have also seen. Why on earth would they want to do that? Because, years ago, the French in Canada were something like second-class citizens and some wanted to fit in with the (Anglophone) crowd. Those days are gone, now, and the French-Canadians celebrate their heritage. Are very forward about it, in fact. I was considering attending the CONGRÈS MONDIAL ACADIEN in 2004, but didn't. Maybe next time.
Personally, I think my French-Canadian ancestors came up with dit names to make my genealogical research more difficult. If my mother is any indication, they were a difficult bunch.
Every now and then you come across a news piece that just warms your heart and tells you, yes, all is right in the world, and it's a fair place after all. Here is an example of one of those: 84-year-old ex-marine kicks robber. (Proofreading note: The word "Marine," when applied to one of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children, is properly capitalized.)
Last night I watched nearly half of Shakespeare's Henry VI, part three - the BBC production. I am really, really enjoying these. I don't believe I ever read these plays when I was a teen; I tended to avoid the War of the Roses because it's so complicated. Also, I didn't like Henry VI and found him generally uninteresting. But in the hands of The Bard, this stuff is fodder for fascinating drama. (Probably not accurate history in many ways, but fascinating drama.) In fact, I'm enjoying these productions a lot more than the much, much bigger budget Lord of the Rings films. (Oh, by the way, Bernard Hill, who plays the Richard of York in this, also played Theoden in the third Rings movie. Good actor.)
I like the director's approach to the trilogy: the first installment started light-hearted, almost comic, and got progressively darker and somewhat more bloody. The second installment is darker (the sets becoming worn and tatty looking, reflecting the effect that the wars have upon England) and the costumes become grayer. The color palette begins to shift to black, white, gray and blood red. More heads on pikes are seen - in the rebel Jack Cade sequence from part two, Cade has two heads, spitted upon pikes, kissing each other! (Which historically happened.)
Part III is darkest and bloodiest of all, with revenge and hate becoming a major part of the dramatic motivation. The production begins with a camera sweep of dead, bloody bodies heaped upon one another - the battlefield result of a Yorkist victory. And Peter Benson's portrayal of Henry VI (see yesterday's entry) is really growing on me. Nuanced and sympathetic, he emerges as a really interesting character after all. While nearly everyone in these plays grows consumed by hatred and bloodlust, King Henry, a spiritual doddard badly out of place, remains holy. Whenever I think of Henry VI, I shall see Benson's unmistakable features and hear his measured cadences in my head. A wonderful performance.
As dark and bloody as Henry VI, part three is, however, it serves as the prelude for the chronicle play with Shakespeare's untoppable villain: Richard III. The deaths really mount up in that one. I've seen the BBC production of this before, years ago, but without having seen the Henry VI trilogy which precedes it. Now I have a much better appreciation for Richard III as the last chapter in an entire cycle of works. What is Shakespeare doing, other than creating great art? Arguably, creating propaganda. For Shakespeare, the Tudor family (Henry Tudor - Henry VII - topples Richard III) can be seen as the welcome end to the incessant bloodshed of the previous kings. Henry Tudor was, after all, the grandfather of Elizabeth I, his Queen.
Anyway... I am really enjoying seeing all these plays in chronicle order. Should have done this years ago...
Monday... the morning breaks, the shadows flee. The dawning of a brighter day majestic rises on the world. Spring is here and the little birdies are all a-twitter. What we need is some morning music! Here's an approximation of Edvard Grieg's well-known "Morning Mood" from his Peer Gynt Suite. The players are, of course, the Portsmouth Sinfonia. (By the way, I wrote a short review of the album from whence this came for amazon.com.)
Because it was written by Edvard Grieg, and people know he's Norwegian, they think this piece depicts sunrise somewhere in Scandinavia, over a fjord. It doesn't. This was incidental music for sunrise in the Sahara desert. Hey, sunrise looks pretty much the same the world over. Have you read Ibsen's Peer Gynt? Interesting work. My favorite part is where, towards the end of his life, he peels a metaphorical onion, layer after layer. The nothing at the core of it reflects the nothingness at his core. What a dreadful fate! I once read an account by a mad man about staring into a mirror and seeing nothing staring back, like an existence-vampire.
(You know, like how vampires can't see their own reflections? Oh, never mind.)
I watched the BBC Henry VI parts one and two over the weekend - about six hours of Shakespeare. After that you begin to hear period phrases in your head: "How now, sweet coz?" "He shall attend your majesty presently." "Be it not so, my lord! I was ever a faithful servant to the King!" etc. The BBC productions I'm watching are distinguished by their casts, Britons who know what they are saying. (Which is a pleasant change from high school Shakespearians.) The actor playing the foolish but devout Henry VI - Peter Benson, see image above - was born for the role. He can certainly act, I think a given with a BBC production of Shakespeare, and with his beakish nose and heavily-lidded eyes, he has a face that looks like it came right out of a period painting... which brings up a topic...
A question I sometimes ask myself when I look at old paintings is, "Do people look like that anymore? Did people really look like that then?" It's hard for me to give a general case since there are so many old images, but let's take the doddering and simplistic King Henry VI (Henry V's only child) as an example. Here are a bunch of images gleaned from the Internet. What did he really look like? I suspect the casting of Benson as Henry VI had more to do with the fact that he's a gifted actor with convincingly medieval-looking features rather than being a likeness of the real thing - because the real thing is elusive.
When I was on the London Underground I spent a lot of time looking at the faces of Londoners, and I came to a few conclusions:
Back to the BBC productions... Brenda Blethyn, who played Joan of Arc in part one (with a broad English dialect I found kind of odd), is supposedly born with an extra finger. But look as I did, I couldn't see it. Also, Trevor Peacock, a favorite of mine who appears in a bunch of these productions, plays the hero Lord Talbot and the rogue Jack Cade. Not only does he act Shakespeare, but, during the Sixties, wrote pop songs for the likes of Herman's Hermits (he wrote "Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter.")
I greatly prefer British actors to American ones... they're nowhere as annoying - and they can act.
My latest book is "The Princes in the Tower" by Elizabeth Jenkins. It's about Edward V and his brother Richard of Shrewsbury, executed by... somebody. Nobody knows who. Now, *I* think it was Henry VII, but most people think it was Richard III. I'm keeping an open mind, however. One encouraging aspect of a life after death that I look forward to is interviewing these people and finding out for myself:
Brigham: Ed, everyone knows about your unfortunate demise at the hands of... who? Who did it? It's one of the great mysteries attached to English history. Do tell.
The whole thing is one, well, two of many murders in a hoary bit of extended business known to history as the War of the Roses - the great English dynastic blood-letting that can be a real bear to keep straight. For instance, check out this passage from the book. Got all that? I came across it at 6:45 AM this morning. And they say rugby is hard.
I'm suddenly remembering why this book has been sitting unread on my shelf for the last eight years. Comparatively speaking, trying to figure out whose Division of the Army of the Potomac was advanced under a withering fire against whose Division in the Army of Northern Virginia, is a breeze. But! Onward and upward with the Beauforts, Yorks and the murderous Margaret of Anjou. It's what I'm into now.
Here's some fun! Last night I was doing some digitizing of Lps, and, just for kicks, I digitized a section of a Charles Ives piece for a piano tuned for quarter-tones. (That is, a piano tuned for the tones between the cracks in the keys - sort of.) Check it out. Sounds weird, huh? Ives was an interesting guy; his father was a Civil War bandmaster who used to have his wife and kids "stretch" their ears by putting on family recitals in which each member sang the same melody - in different keys. Needless to say, when Ives grew up he had some peculiar notions regarding tonality. As usual, wikipedia has a useful quarter tones article, if you've a mind to it. The whole subject of music tonality is fodder for a big blog entry. For instance there's equal temperament, Just intonation, Pythagorean tuning, etc. I can't pretend to understand it all... it's too mathematical for my poor head. I'm the liberal arts type.
Speaking of music that doesn't sound quite right, last night I also digitized the landmark 1974 Portsmouth Sinfonia Lp. You will of course recall that musical ensemble; it's the orchestra of non-musicians who do "approximations" of well-known classical pieces. (I've been using their rendition of Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" on giveaway Christmas CDs for years.) Click here for the wikipedia article. I found their album "Portsmouth Sinfonia Plays the Popular Classics" at a library sale - I held it up and gave an involuntary shout of "Yes!" when I saw it. Fifty cents, that's all I paid. And some might say I was ripped off at that. Nonetheless I have, for you, their "approximation" of the opening to Richard Strauss' "Also Sprach Zarathustra," aka the Theme from 2001. Enjoy.
Had some fun last night removing a big holly stump from near my garage. As the bush has had perhaps twenty years to put down roots, it required the use of my friend Luben and his Tahoe with chains. It was apparent to me that he was gleeful at the prospect of using horsepower to tear something out of the ground. The actual event, however, was anticlimactic as I had sawn the spreading roots apart with my Saws-All - the thing pulled out with nary a struggle.
...and thereby we may discern a great social verity. If you want to dismantle civilization as a whole, begin with the roots. (The roots being, of course, the family.) Attack families individually and you will see society wither and die. You may then easily uproot it whole, should you have a mind to do something so evil.
And here I end my sermon, Amen. Have a splendid weekend!
I am now finishing up a book entitled "Crispin's Day - The Glory of Agincourt," which, with a title like that, was obviously not written by a Frenchman. In fact, it was written by an Englishwoman, Rosemary Hawley Jarman. It's a book that has been sitting on my shelf for eight years, waiting for my return from a place like London and the inevitable reawakening of my longtime (but dormant) interest in medieval English history.
(I have a library book waiting to be read, "Voices of the Civil War: The Wilderness" that I suspect I won't be getting around to.)
For completeness' sake it has in it what I regard as the all-time worst contemporary depiction of Henry V. He looks like a crowned Ichabod Crane. The standard of artistic depiction in the early 15th century was pretty bad (as seen by the this frequently-used portrait of Henry V). However, look at this contemporary drawing of Henry V's brother, Humphrey, the Duke of Gloucester. That's more like it! A pity this artist didn't draw a similar portrait of the king.
Humphrey was an interesting guy. Another interesting fact (to me), was that in visiting the Greenwich Observatory earlier this month I also visited the site of his estate and Tower.
Okay, here's some Henry V/Agincourt-related fun: I have digitized some music for you. Click here to hear an mp3 of the Agincourt Carol by John Lydgate, performed in authentic 15th C. style by the Musica Reservata. (I bought this Lp when I was in my early twenties.) It was played for Henry as he rode in victorious procession through London. Here's what the sheet music looks like, in medieval notation. You can just make out the lyrics. What are they singing? A combination of Latin and Middle English, described here.
In 1944 William Walton (now Sir William) took this 15th C. melody and orchestrated it for Olivier's production of Henry V. And here it is. The brasses play the original carol melody and the strings go up and down in embellishment. There's a brief middle section, the music is modulated up and... well... if you don't find this stirring you must not have any English blood in you, that's all.
Here's Walton's music for the Agincourt battle sequence - the charge of the French knights. I've been listening to this and the Agincourt music since I was sixteen. Great favorites. Here's a youtube link to the Olivier version battle sequence. That arrow storm is great! Jarman makes the case that it was the repeated commands to the archers Notch! Aim! Release! that essentially won the battle for Harry.
Finally, here's Jarman's account of what happened on the battlefield in later days. It begins with a description of the mass trench dug to bury the French dead. Curious that the site of a great medieval slaughter of French by the English would form a World War II resistance site against the Germans, but there it is...
Okay. No more. I'm Agincourted out.
Just for kicks I extended the line of kings from my 25th great-grandfather Geoffrey Plantagenet (Henry II's father) to Henry V in my genealogical software; it tells me that I am his 8th cousin 18 times removed. But I'm sure I can find a better connection than that - I was lazy. Something to do in my idle hours, I guess.
From my desk calendar: English public school slang. So you can understand the next Harry Potter film.
I did something this morning I have never ever done before: fried a thumb drive. I had today's update all ready to go on the drive, but when I plugged it into the PC I felt a static shock in my finger. Now I can't read the drive at all.
I hesitate to admit this, but last night my wife and I watched the recent Nancy Drew movie. Yes, Nancy Drew. My wife used to read the books as a girl, and I was looking forward to something lighter than Shakespeare, deep history documentaries, blood, murder and warfare - which is my usual movie subject matter.
Also, I placed a library hold on the Henry VI part one videotape; it hasn't come in yet.
Anyway, parts of the Nancy Drew movie were filmed in the Chinatown district of Los Angeles, an area I'm somewhat familiar with. So I was watching a car chase scene in slow-mo, scanning the backgrounds. (In point of fact, I was looking for a factory sign which reawakened some creepy childhood memories I saw there on a trip last November, but that's a long story.) Have you ever done that before? If you do, you'll notice something interesting: they reuse locations and set-ups a lot. For instance, in the Drew movie, there's a scene where they take a couple of tight curves. The way it's edited looks like they're different curves. But slow it down and look at the store signs in the backgrounds and you'll see that they are, in fact, repeating the same turn.
Next time you watch the celebrated car chase sequence in Bullitt (1968), run it in slow motion and look at it carefully. You'll see the same thing: a shot of one intersection edited to look like it's a different part of the chase. In fact, in Bullitt a green Volkswagen (the same green VW) keeps getting in the shot! But don't take my word for it - the chase sequence is described carefully here, in the IMDb trivia section.
Being from Burbank, California is kind of fun in that movie producers use Burbank streets I recognize a lot. (Warner Brothers, Disney and Columbia all have facilities in Burbank.) For instance, in "Back to the Future" (1985), when Michael J. Fox is shown hanging onto a car and being pulled on his skateboard on his way to the professor's house, he goes by a restaurant my dad and I used to frequent all the time. And at the end of "Blazing Saddles" (1974) when a crowd bursts out of the Warner Brothers studios they cross Barham Boulevard - which intersection my pal Mike and I used to drive through all the time to get to Tower Records in Hollywood. There are many other examples.
The Nancy Drew film was okay, by the way. Nice escapist fare. By the way, the last time I was in Burbank her "sleuth kit" and costume was on display in the main Burbank public library. (I was there to do additional research on the Second Battle of Cahuenga Pass.) An incentive to get kids to read, I guess.
I watched all 2 hours and 45 minutes of the uncut BBC 1979 production of Henry V yesterday. It's interesting to see how it varies from the 1989 Kenneth Branaugh and the 1944 Laurence Olivier versions. For instance, in the uncut BBC version, when the boy (guarding the baggage during the Agincourt battle) is killed by some marauding French, Captain Fluellen has a little speech about how wrong it is and contrary to the accepted practice of war (which Branaugh keeps) - and then goes into a ridiculous and semi-comic, out of place discourse about Alexander the Great. The King then arrives, sees what happens and describes his anger. In the 1989 version, Kenneth Branaugh cuts the Alexander middle part, sensibly retaining outrage and drama.
In the BBC version, fearing a counterattack during the battle, Henry is shown giving the order to have the throats of the French prisoners cut - this is missing in both the Olivier and Branaugh versions as it lessens the laudable character of the king for a modern audience. (Henry actually did give that order to his men; it made him very unpopular. The common men went into battle in large part to enrich themselves with the randoms for noblemen taken during battle. Dead noblemen fetch no ransom.)
Another sensible cut Kenneth Branaugh made concerns a quarrel one of Henry's men had with Henry as he roamed about his camp the night before the battle; one of his men - not recognizing him as the king - challenged him to combat after the battle with the French. In the uncut version, this silly bit of business is concluded after the Agincourt battle, and takes away considerably from the importance of the battle in the play.
Most interestingly of all, the gritty speech Kenneth Branaugh's Henry gives before the walled city of Harfleur about how his men will run loose and sack the town, commiting all sort of outrages against the women and children unless the town council surrenders, is missing from the Olivier version. Why? I strongly suspect it's because Oliver produced his version in 1944, during the Second World War when such horrible atrocities actually were happening. He probably felt that it came way too close for comfort for a wartime movie audience.
Having seen these three versions I have to conclude that the Kenneth Branaugh one works best in terms of sensible drama for a modern audience. Having said this, though, I still greatly like the Olivier version. The charge of the French knights to the William Walton score is thrilling, and I like the way the play moves from the Globe Theatre to small medieval sets to the open fields of Agincourt and back to the Globe again. Very clever.
What the heck? See them all! There are certainly bigger ways to waste your time. (Like seeing 10,000 B.C.)
NOTE: It seems that most critics agree that the most successful film adaptation of a Shakespeare play is the 1968 Romeo and Juliet, and I agree. Still, Branaugh and Olivier come pretty close...
I'm at home out sick today; I caught a cold over the weekend and am sneezing my head off. I feel like crap. So... there's nothing to do other than read a book and watch TV.
Still under the influence of having visited London, I've decided to watch the local library's set of BBC Shakespeare tapes from Richard II to Henry VIII; his kingly chronicles (for lack of a better name). Richard II, Henry IV part one, Henry IV part two, Henry V, Henry VI part one, Henry VI part two, Henry VI part three, Richard III, Henry VIII. These were filmed in the late Seventies/early Eighties with excellent British casts and are staged just as I like to see them: set in the proper time with the appropriate clothing. (I dont like it when directors set Shakespeare in Kabuki, say, or Napoleonic times.)
Last week I saw Richard II; over the weekend I watched Henry IV, parts 1 and 2. Funny thing, Henry IV is barely in 'em. They're mostly about the mostly wayward Prince Hal and Sir John Falstaff. I know Falstaff is claimed to be one of the great characters in English literature, but I don't like him much. I don't find Shakespeare's humor all that funny (mainly because I barely understand the jokes) and he seems to impede the flow of the action.
So today it's one of my favorite Shakespeare plays: Henry V. I've seen and like both of the filmed versions - Olivier's of 1944 and Branaugh's of 1989 - but I've never seen the BBC's staged version.
Now if you'll pardon me I'm going back to bed.
Oh, if you're interested in seeing 10,000 B.C. - don't. My daughter saw it and said it sucks out loud. At one point a woman is killed, and a woolly mammoth walks along, stops, looks at her, and restores her to life. This caused a guy in the audience to yell, "I WANT MY MONEY BACK!" According to my daughter, the audience laughter and participation were the fun parts of the film - which is never a good thing.
Happy Easter!
I added some photos from Buckingham Palace, Carnaby Street, the London Eye and horrible new architecture to my London page - which is now finished. Whew.
Last night I watched a pretty lame film entitled The Attack of the Puppet People (1958). No Goofers to redeem it. As bad as it was, however, it wasn't as bad as a film I started watching but quickly abandoned: Hair (1979), after the Broadway play but about a decade too late. No wonder it flopped. Another stinker I started watching but quit was The Colossus of Rhodes (1961), a sword and sandal epic with Rory Calhoun! (One reviewer wrote, "Alas, movies such as this just aren't made anymore," to which I say, "Good.") And, finally, I started to watch the well-regarded Brit flick "Look Back in Anger" (1958), but found Richard Burton's personality too annoyingly nasty, so I gave that up as well.
So there, despite what you may think it's not true that I'll watch just anything.
I am now reading "The Story the Soldiers Wouldn't Tell - Sex in the Civil War" by Thomas P. Lowry, M.D. As our Civil War took place in Victorian America, ferreting out the sexual aspects of it took some detective work; as Lowry says, it wasn't written home about. In the opening chapters I am learning the details of the not so astonishing fact that prostitution invariably followed the armies, north and south. Well, duh. Group tens of thousands of healthy young men together and that's what you get in response to the usual economic forces of supply and demand. Not to mention biology.
Speaking about biology, isn't it odd that nature more or less balances out the numbers of males and females born in society? I've always considered that interesting. The small-scale view is that a male and a female get married and have kids, some couples having all boys, some all girls and most a mix. The larger scale view is that the aggregrate number of sexes in society more or less equals. It's like the man asking about how a Thermos flask keeps hot liquids hot and cold liquids cold: how does it know when to do that?
I understand that in China - where boys are favored over girls and female babies are often aborted or abandoned - they're flirting with social disaster due to unhappy young men unable to find enough females in society. I have also read about poor Eastern European communities where the females head West due to financial pressures, leaving young men in society unable to find wives. Sounds like it would make a fascinating documentary or a film. What happens in a world where there aren't enough young women to go around and the usual customs about marriage and social stability no longer apply? Simple answer: we turn into savages, probably. But how, exactly? Is this the basis for a film? If so, I'm unaware of it.
Well. This weekend couldn't arrive fast enough to suit me. Returning to work after a nice vacation is always a culture shock. Have a great weekend!
I added some photos from the Victoria and Albert Museum and the British Museum to my London page. What a fabulous collection of stuff! I especially got a kick out of seeing the famous Rosetta Stone. You've got to love the Brits: they travel the world, nicking other nations' riches and art treasures and bringing them back home for Londoners to view at leisure.
Famous last words. My favorite is Oscar Wilde's: "That wallpaper is atrocious. Either it goes or I do." And of course there's Robert E. Lee's "Strike the tent," which neo-Rebs get all weepy about. I think what he actually said was something more along the lines of "Aaarrrgggh. (Gurgle.)"
I saw an unusual movie last night: "Bop Girl Goes Calypso" (1957), one of the stranger entries in the early days of rock and roll film genre. It's something of a cult film, I learned. The plot is curious: Two academic types investigate the phenomena of mass hysteria - using sound pressure meters in clubs - and whether or not rock and roll is fading from popularity in favor of calypso music. Yes, calypso music. A young man ("Calypso has tremendous potential for excitement!") convinces a female rock and roll singer, the "bop girl" of the title, that rock and roll's days are numbered, and she converts. Her final number, where she performs a calypso song wearing two small straw hats pinned to her boobs and a larger one pinned to her butt, is memorable.
What really sends this one over the top, however, is the manic presence of the Goofers (shown above). They do a rock and roll song where a trapeze is lowered down, and first the bassist (with a double bass, yet) and then the trombonist play their instruments upside down while swinging frantically from the trapeze. Their next song, "I Want To Rock and Roll 'Till The Day I Die," is performed by them while lying in coffins, wearing ghoul makeup. Here's one of their zany publicity photos. I get the impression these guys went over in polite society like a wet fart at the Ritz.
More Goofers photos. My new favorite band! (Hey... there's a youtube video of them...)
Still, my all-time favorite youtube video remains Reg Kehoe and His Marimba Queens. It's mesmerizing. That bassist may not be hanging from a trapeze but he's still tearing it up!
The Tower of London gets its own write-up, here. There are text and photos - much better than the Tower's own online virtual tour, I think. I still have write-ups to do for the Victoria and Albert Museum and the British Museum; both were excellent, and we saw a lot of interesting stuff. That's later this week.
I am now watching Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004), a library rental, which I am finding unexpectedly fun and interesting. Roger Ebert is right: it reminds me of the joy I felt when I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark for the first time. And I very much like the retro science-fiction 1930's look of this film... it's like thumbing through the pages of a glorious old comic book. If you like giant robot films, this one is much, much, MUCH better than Transformers (which I thought was a real watch-glancer).
I made the great mistake of checking out Edward II, which was originally a play by Christopher Marlowe, a contemporary of Shakespeare. This filmed version, however, is nothing more than 20th C. political propaganda - and I hate when directors do that with old material. The Variety review is spot on: "(Director Derek) Jarman fails to make the film accessible to heterosexual male audiences. Pic seems to be provoking straight viewers while celebrating the play's homosexual theme." 'Nuff said about this stinker.
Speaking of English homosexual kings, I am still plowing through Shakespeare's Richard II. The play sets up the action for the following three plays (the "Henriad": Henry IV part 1, Henry IV part 2, and Henry V) and describes how the perplexing War of the Roses got started.
And no, it wasn't called that in the 15th century.
I have a confession to make: since my teenage years I have read many books about English history and the War of the Roses, but I must admit that keeping track of which Lancastrian Duke of Where killed the Yorkist Earl of What, perpetuating the whole bloody thing, is a major challenge. I have had a book sitting on my bookshelf about the War of the Roses that I have avoided reading for eight years, now. I've not pitched it out because I know someday the time will be right to read it, but I keep putting it off. Perhaps, having visited London and getting turned on to English history again, that time draws near...
By nature I always take sides, and when it comes to the Wars of the Roses I tend to be a Yorkist. Who killed the princes in the Tower? I expressed my opinion in the Tower of London here - I think Henry VII did it. Richard III has had a bad rap - thanks mainly to Shakespeare, who I think was biased.
I added a bunch of captioned photo links to my London page; check 'em out. The Tower of London and the British Museum will require pages of their own... those come later this week.
I WANNA GO BACK TO LONDON - WAAAHHHHH...
I am now reading another little blast from my past, "Arturo's Island," by Elsa Morante. It was adapted into a movie of the Italian neo-realism school which my father and I watched one night, when I was about fourteen. I have never forgotten it. At the risk of sounding pretentious, it's one of those works with a deep psycho-sexual subtext, as this summary suggests. Like Bartok's opera "Bluebeard's Castle," where the action is only a part of what's going on, or is representative of something else.
Heather Mills McCartney - a real class act. I hereby bestow upon her honorary American entertainment celebrity status. So Paulie is worth "only" 800 million dollars. Whew. There's one guy who can shop at Harrod's without concern.
On our last evening in London my wife and I strolled over to where a couple of Metropolitan Police were guarding the street across from Kensington Palace (the Embassy of Israel is there); they were happy to talk. Mick Jagger has a luxury flat near where we stayed off Kensington High Street, not far from Hyde Park. So do a lot of other rich Brits. They're there infrequently. The cops were telling us about their own situation... we think it's expensive here in the D.C. suburbs. It's really bad around London. One cop makes a 80 mile commute twice a day - and he's still paying an arm and a leg for his smallish detached home.
Now I know why Brits live here...
Happy St. Pat's!
I'm back from vacation! My wife Cari and I had a week in London, England. It was WONDERFUL. My new favorite city. I now have photos and stories to bore you with for the next month or so... Here is a page I put together as a start. I'll be adding links to it as I go along; I start with an account of a visit to Greenwich.
I still have London in my head. When I left I was deeply into the Civil War battle of the Wilderness. That has now been supplanted by English history. (Yesterday I went to the library and checked out a VHS tape of Shakespeare's Richard II, which I am watching.) I am blown about by too many winds of influence...
I am now reading a fondly-regarded book from my youth, "Me and Caleb" by Franklin E. Meyer. I read it when I was eleven, and found it to be a lot of fun. It still is - I love it when that happens, when something that was great as a kid is still great as an adult. Anyway, it is apparently something of a classic among people in my generation. So much so that old copies were selling on e-Bay for some pretty steep prices. Now it has been republished - brought back by popular demand.
It's a book about boyhood near the Ozarks, and it is refreshingly not PC. For instance, there's a chapter about all sorts of tricks being played on people on Halloween night with no text about how it's wrong. It's just understood that boys will do things like rub bacon grease on doorknobs, open fire hydrants, etc. I plan to read this one to my grandkids. They ought to love it. It belongs on a bookshelf next to Twain's Tom Sawyer, Booth Tarkington's Penrod and the now-forgotten Peck's Bad Boy. (I own a copy. When I was a kid my dad and I visited a family friend, who took one look at my torn jeans and somewhat dirty appearance and said, "You look like Peck's Bad Boy." I recall thinking, "Who?" and resolved to find out.)
I watched two horrible Ray Dennis Steckler films: "Rat Pfink A Boo Boo" (1966) and "The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!?" (1964). And yet, when I say they're horrible that's not quite the same as saying they're unwatchable. To use a well-worn analogy, watching a Steckler film is like seeing a car wreck: it's hideous but you can't turn away.
The first starts out as a reasonably promising stalker film (with interesting Los Angeles locations that I recognize as a boy), then, mid-way through, the tone completely changes and it becomes a terrible Batman and Robin parody. The story is that the filmmaker, Steckler, got bored and decided to change the film without worrying about mundane things like thematic continuity.
The second stars Steckler with his way cooler acting persona name Cash Flagg; this was one of the "Fifty Worst Films of all Time" according to a documentary I rented last week, but I disagree. I can think of far worse films. This one has interestng footage from the Long Beach Pier amusement park and also the Angel's Flight, which my Mom took me on when I was four or five. The story? Eh. Who cares?
It's kind of funny... when I was watching TISCWSLABMUZ!!? I was interrupted by a phone call. It was a movie industry researcher. When I responded to his question about the film I had seen last ("Rat Pfink a Boo Boo") he quickly said "thank you" and hung up on me. Guess he only wanted to talk to people well within the Hollywood mainstream.
Notice: I am off on leave next week and will certainly not be providing any updates to this page. So... go here in the meantime; James Lileks will take care of your browsing needs.
Last night I watched a library VHS tape about Gettysburg, which included acting by reenactors - never a good thing. In general, the acting was more wooden than the trees in the scenery.
Tubby bearded guy rides up on a horse: "General, what are your dispositions?"
After about a half hour of this I cried "Enough!" and popped it out.
Still, I have to admit that my old pal 
15 April 2008
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East of Suez
Sounds and Songs of the Jet Set
Sounds of Today
Que Mango!
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31 March 2008
1.) There are a lot of natives from foreign lands (that comprised the former British Empire) in London nowadays. The Anglo-Saxon capital doesn't look heavily Anglo-Saxon to me. And while watching TV at night I came across a news spot about London "white flight."
2.) The English (or British - I can't be sure who is a Welshman or a Scot, etc.) are, generally speaking, a handsome bunch. I saw a lot of women who I can only call "dishy"; blondes with startling blue eyes. Almost like California Girls without the tans. A lot of the men looked like rugby players (no surprise there).
3.) I saw quite a few faces that looked like the faces in medieval paintings: large noses, thin lips, heavily-lidded eyes, etc. Far more so than among Americans. So it kind of answered my question - yes, they must have looked like that back then.
4.) There is a subtle difference in looks between an American of Anglo-Saxon heritage and an Englishman. I can't quite pin it down, but the English don't look like Anglo-Saxon Americans (perhaps it's the racial "mutt" factor of an American mixing bowl).
5.) That whole bad teeth thing isn't really in evidence in London, from what I could see.
28 March 2008
Edward V: I'm not certain, fair cousin. I was asleep in the Tower one night and I awoke feeling a pillow come down 'round my head. Then I was here. I know my good uncle Gloucester (Richard III) is blamed, but, faith, 'tis Henry Tudor (Henry VII) wot ordered it.
Brigham (a bit put out over the use of plebe slang): That's what I always thought! Well, see ya. I have to move on and find out who Jack the Ripper was. Good luck with the harp lessons.
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7 March 2008
Another tubby bearded guy: "(Pause - awkward salute) We have men coming up the Emmitsburg Pike (looking at the camera) who will do their duty, sir."
TBG: "(Pause) Excellent. (Long pause.) If they hold firm we shall (pause) prevail."