Forsaking All Others
Over the weekend, the spouse and I caught Married Life starring Chris Cooper, Pierce Brosnan and the wonderful Patricia Clarkson. While we both enjoyed this neo-Hitchcock period drama very much, I loved the opening credits sequence. This was created by the Venice, California based Prologue studio. Loverly:
Weekly Mishmash: August 22-28
Clash of the Titans (2010) and Repo Men (2010). Two DVD rentals that my spouse picked. As you can see, my spouse likes the special effects flicks. I like ‘em, too, as long as the special effects are supported by a good story and decent enough performances — two things that Clash of the Titans and Repo Men sadly lack. Repo Men is the more promising of the two, with Jude Law laying on the charm as a near-future bounty hunter type whose job entitles him to reclaim artificial organs from people who are unable to pay for them. This film plays on the current health care and financial crises in the same way the far superior Children of Men envisioned a future where George W. Bush-era foreign policy ran amok. On the plus side, the movie benefits from good work from Law, Forest Whitaker and Liev Schreiber. As the film played on, however, it devolves into Matrix-esque chases and fights, ultimately becoming an icky and pointless exercise. The Clash of the Titans remake doesn’t aspire to such bold statements, which can be a great thing if handled the right way. I remember going to see the 1981 original with a bunch of Junior High pals at the local mall-plex and having a blast. With whiz-bang CGI and action scenes galore, the remake appeals to the same popcorn mindset but I found this one strangely hollow and uninviting. Sam Worthington is a bland lead and his military buzzcut distracts to no end, the effects are overwhelming (and in 3D, no less), and the film’s many fight scenes seem to never end. Oh, and it gets worse: the brief appearance of 1981’s mechanical owl is probably the lamest celluloid sop to nostalgia since they brought back the original spaceship design in 1998’s Lost In Space (only to blow it up seconds later).
Celine Dion — The Colour of My Love. Found this for 50 cents in the markdown bin at the local Half Price Books store and it seemed to whisper “buy me” in a vaguely Franco-Canadian accent. The disc was actually well worth the two quarters it cost. On the whole, this 1993 effort is more diverse and likable than Dion’s self-titled 1991 album and not quite as dated/goofy as her English language debut, Unison. Lush ballads predominate, as epitomized by megahit “The Power Of Love,” but I found myself drawn to the lesser known tracks. The fluffy Tara Kemp-ish workout “Misled” hit the dance charts and even the top 40, odd considering I don’t remember it at all. Another beat-heavy track, “Refuse To Dance,” is notable for having Dion’s voice effectively blended in with the instrumentation, creating a moody and disarmingly experimental sojourn in the album’s second half. I also downloaded this album’s non-U.S. “Just Walk Away,” a florid Latin style ballad which fits squarely in Eurovision Song Contest territory. Most of these tracks have the same personnel she always works with. The prolific Diane Warren contributed two of the better tracks, both sweet if overlong, overproduced and vamped up like crazy. “Next Plane Out” is a typical big ballad, but the one I really dig is the Motownish “No Living Without You.” Perhaps I love it so for its similarity to another cheeseball neo-soul record from that period, Charles & Eddie’s “Would I Lie To You.” Hmmm, wonder if I could find a used Charles & Eddie CD at Half Price Books?
God’s Country (1986). Charming, thought provoking documentary on the American heartland by French director Louis Malle. It’s 1979 and Malle focuses his camera on the diverse residents of Glencoe, Minnesota, following farm families, law enforcement, bank employees and jus’ folk as they ramble about their lives and hopes for the future. In the most poignant scenes, he visits a nursing home and impartially films residents sitting glassy eyed in a room while a TV blares away. Things then turn celebratory as the film chronicles a tacky wedding ceremony in which the bride, groom and wedding party go bar hopping along the town’s main thoroughfare. In a bittersweet coda, Malle revisits the town in 1985 as residents come to grips with the disappearing ways of life caused by Reaganomics. This was completely fascinating in a personal way, having reminded this viewer of the times my family took trips to visit relatives in Nebraska. Malle not only knows how to allow his subjects to open up to the camera, he also trains his lens on interesting/quirky details such as an elaborately coiffed woman working at a slaughterhouse. In one scene, he visits a drugstore as the manager proudly shows off his establishment’s “Gay Nineties” decor theme. The place was a total trip, but it also had a personal resonance since my late grandfather once managed a very similar drugstore in a small midwestern town. It made me nostalgic, then somewhat sad as the realization hits that these places have been replaced by Wal-Marts (just as the quiet family farm has been largely co-opted by Monsanto). Sobering and well worth a look.
The Merry Widow (1925). Erich von Stroheim’s lush, long epic got a rare broadcast on Turner Classic Movies’ recent day long salute to John Gilbert. Although there were many Gilbert films from that day that piqued my interest, I ended up with this because I’ve always been curious about his Gilbert’s co-star, Mae Murray, and the extravagance of von Stroheim productions are always worth a look. Gilbert plays the prince of a mythical, quasi-European kingdom who is smitten with visiting dancer named Sally O’Hara (Murray). Though the two are in love, his family forbids him to marry a commoner. Extenuating circumstances caused by the prince’s weaselly cousin (Roy D’Arcy) force Sally to end up wedding a creepy old guy with a foot fetish (!) instead. The man drops dead on the wedding night and she becomes… The Merry Widow. This was a suitably overstuffed affair that seemed pretty typical of 1920s cinema — it’s overlong and the acting was too affected (especially from Murray). Despite weird touches like foot fetish man and a couple of blindfolded musicians, the story was too trite to carry such an overstuffed production. As far as von Stroheim epics go, I much prefer Greed but this one has a few things going for it. Gilbert is rather staid and bland, but Murray’s showiness as a performer is a hoot. When she laughs, it’s a lusty toss back of the head and convulsive body shakes. When she cries, she transforms herself into a life-sized wet hankie with puppy dog eyes. It’s method acting squared for our Mae.
Rio Bravo (1959). While I normally wouldn’t be attracted to a late period Western starring John Wayne, this particular one directed by Howard Hawks has such a great critical reputation that I had to check it out. It didn’t disappoint. Wayne plays the sheriff of a small Texan town who is keeping criminal Claude Akins in lockup. Akins’ brother and a bunch of other meanies are terrorizing the town trying to free the man, so Wayne enlists the help of a drunk but talented gunfighter (Dean Martin), an old coot (Walter Brennan) and a cocky teen (Ricky Nelson). This was conceived as Hawks’ answer to High Noon — but instead of wimpy Gary Cooper grovelling for help from the townspeople, here we have four flawed yet commanding men taking on a challenge in an adult, responsible way. Like many Hawks films, there’s also a strong female presence with Angie Dickinson as a traveling performer who has her eye on the Duke. Dickinson seems a bit modern for the part, but she’s alluring as all get out. Martin’s nuanced performance was a big surprise, and I enjoyed his odd duet with Nelson. The film is long, but made in such a casual, appealing way that one doesn’t notice it. I actually think it’s perfectly paced, building up to the exciting climactic gunfight.
Separate Lies (2005). IFC Channel recording. This was an intriguing but strangely unsatisfying domestic drama, written and directed by Julian Fellowes. The film concerns a well-heeled contemporary British couple played by Emily Watson and Tom Wilkinson. An accident in their plush neighborhood kills their housekeeper’s husband, which triggers the unraveling of the marriage when suspicion falls on Watson and her secret lover (Rupert Everett, looking weirdly gaunt). The first thing I noticed about this film is the wonderful acting, which is top-notch. I also enjoyed the precise, photogenic interiors, whether it’s a country estate or Wilkinson’s slick office. The story is serviceable enough at first, then it delves heavily into the leads’ shifting feelings towards each other until it becomes an implausible morass. Fellowes took on a similar tact for his Oscar winning Gosford Park screenplay, using a mystery as a springboard to explore the complex relationships of its characters. That film worked brilliantly, but for some reason this one doesn’t jell and it winds up a well-intentioned, beautifully acted but inert film.
You’re Turning Violet, Violet!
Doing some tweaking on the site design and decided to go all purple and violet with the color scheme. We also have a cleaner, sharper version of the header graphic. These colors come from the “eggplant” section of Adobe Illustrator’s vegetable color palette; I plan to keep it this way for a year before switching the colors out again.
Another thing I have to look into eventually is finding a wider Wordpress template. Having 500 pixels width for weblog entries used to be a great luxury, but now my weblog is starting to feel like Kate Moss in a world full of Kirstie Alleys. Skinny! Ideally I’d like to keep the current design, just rejigger the content area to add an extra 25% of girth. Having no talent for rejiggering things, however, this could be an insurmountable challenge.
Kodak Moment
This video has been passed around a lot, but I love Kodak’s precious test color footage from 1922 so much I want to share it here. It’s mesmerizing: the flicker, the color, the mannered posing. The weird looking woman in the clip’s last half is actress Mae Murray, one of the iconic silent film stars (her 1925 opus The Merry Widow just got DVR’d here at Chez Scrubbles). More info on the clip can be perused at Kodak’s A Thousand Words weblog. Now excuse me while I watch it again:
Weekly Mishmash: August 15-21
Seven flicks in seven days — the dog days of summer are upon us.
Bigger, Faster, Stronger (2008). Interesting documentary told in a Morgan Spurlock-like fashion, about the lure of steroids in sports and entertainment. Filmmaker Chris Bell starts it off as a fairly straightforward autobiographical tale of how his childhood obsession with Hulk Hogan, Arnold Schwarzenegger and other bulked-up action stars affected him and his two equally brawny brothers. The siblings have a healthy competitive spirit in their teen years, but as they enter adulthood the constant need to be “bigger, faster, stronger” and the hollow pursuit of the fame that goes with it leads them off into different paths. Using a healthy dose of film and TV footage and animated graphics, Bell examines the steroid debate in a funny, even-handed way. Although I don’t agree with the film’s stance that the threat of steroids and other performance enhancers are overblown, it’s Bell’s ambivalence toward the subject and the dynamic he shares with his family that really shines through. The film’s greater subject is that success in America is an illusion, a point that comes through glaringly when George W. Bush is shown giving one of his hackneyed “anyone can make it” speeches while file footage of his dad plays. Overall, the film is perhaps a bit sprawling and overlong, but very thought provoking and worth a look.
Dead Snow (2009). Another “Norwegian students trapped in the wilderness with a group of undead Nazis” movie. Christopher rented this after hearing Michael Moore recommend it on NPR. Although Moore praised it for being a top notch scarefest, the film is more of a comedy with horror elements a la Shaun of the Dead or the Scream movies. It follows a group of med students who are borrowing a friend’s cabin to have a snowy getaway, only to find that mysterious beings are hounding them at night. Eventually it’s discovered that the area was once a Nazi hideout with undead officers still patrolling the area looking for fresh human flesh to munch on. It is ludicrous, with characters doing all sorts of stupid things, but the cast was very appealing (I was sorry to see many of them offed so early) and the undead creatures are suitably frightening. Fair warning: towards the end, the film gets very bloody and gross. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
The Divorcee (1930). God help me, I’ve always like Norma Shearer. Despite the lady’s crossed eyes and fluttery demeanor, there’s something about her that keeps me coming back for more. I’ve surprisingly never seen Shearer in her Academy Award winning pre-Code melodrama The Divorcee. When it popped up on the TCM’s Summer Under the Stars schedule as part of an all Shearer day, I decided to finally see if her performance holds up. In short, it does. Shearer seems to relish playing a free-spirited “modern” woman who marries beau Chester Morris, only to find that when it comes to marital infidelity the old fashioned double standard still holds true. Although the settings are dated, that central theme actually keeps the film from becoming a relic of the times. Opening with a wild party, the film is unusually brisk for an early talkie. Shearer gets good support from Morris and Robert Montgomery (although Conrad Nagel as Norma’s ex-flame is a bit dull). Shearer from this period still seems somewhat flighty to me (I prefer the Marie Antoinette/The Women era), but her big tell-off speech to Morris is still lively and potent as ever. The fashions and various pre-Code techniques are a lot of fun, too.
The Hearst and Davies Affair (1985). Always on the lookout for intriguing stuff to watch on the basic satellite schedule, I stuck this mid-’80s made for TV biopic on the DVR when it bizarrely showed up on the Reelz channel schedule. I mean, what’s the appeal to Joe Channel Surfer of Robert Mitchum and Viginia Madsen playing William Randolph Hearst and Marion Davies? This film was long, badly acted and directed in an unexceptional TV style, but it kept me intrigued if only for the film’s lush and historically accurate period details (parts were even filmed in Hearst Castle). The biggest problem with this film is that it covers too much territory in too short a time, going from when the pair first meet circa 1912 all the way through Hearst’s bankruptcy in the late ’30s. Mitchum was decent enough, more he-man than the actual Hearst. There are shots when Madsen looks eerily similar to the young Marion Davies, despite the actress lacking the earthiness of the real Davies. She’s also too thin and pretty for the film’s later scenes, looking more like a Jean Harlow clone at a time when Davies was getting plump and matronly from heavy drinking. I’m nitpicking too much, but the film was diverting in an undemanding “retro Dynasty” sorta way.
The Sting (1973). Another effort in catching up with unseen Best Pictures of the past, The Sting nabbed the big prize in a year when the superior Exorcist and American Graffiti were also up for grabs. This was a well-made genre picture with Paul Newman and Robert Redford at their charismatic best as a pair of sophisticated grifters who undergo an insanely detailed plan to bilk a millionaire. Very enjoyable, even if the direction seemed a bit pat and the film’s flat lighting gives it an unfortunate TV movie look. The production design is pretty cool, with snazzy costuming and just about every shade of brown effectively conveying a Depression-era Chicago. I also thought the casting was excellent with some nifty work from Robert Shaw, Harold Gould, Ray Walston and Eileen Brennan. As fun as it was, it’s not a film that I’d eagerly revisit any time soon. It’s no Exorcist or American Graffiti, that’s for sure.
The Tarnished Angels (1957). Tawdry but fascinating Douglas Sirk melodrama which re-teams the main actors from the better-known (but not as enjoyable) Written on the Wind. Based on a William Faulkner story, this film tracks a trio of Depression era barnstorming pilots. Manly Robert Stack and Dorothy Malone are unhappily married, with a child that Malone may or may not have had with their haggard mechanic (Jack Carson). Things get stirred up when Malone falls for roving reporter Rock Hudson. Since I found Written on the Wind the campiest and dumbest of Sirk’s movies, I arrived at this one with trepidation. This one also has camp to spare, but at least the setting and story are more involving and there are some good-to-decent performances amongst the hokum. Sirk adds a lot of his unique touches to this film, including his usual mirror images and having extras appear wearing odd, creepy masks. Touches like that add to the film’s strange voyeuristic vibe, even if the central theme was more satisfyingly explored in later stuff like They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?. Malone’s va-va-voom bullet bras and come-hither hairstyle are far from ’30s, however. The barnstorming scenes themselves, with aircraft dangerously maneuvering around pylons, are very well done. Rock Hudson’s climactic speech, however passionately played by the actor, is a histrionic letdown. On the Sirk-O-Meter, this lies at the same level as Magnificent Obsession but well below All That Heaven Allows and Imitation of Life.
Wings for the Eagle (1942). Rather cruddy wartime propaganda-cum-domestic melodrama played on Ann Sheridan day during TCM’s Summer Under the Stars (check out their beautiful site, by the way). Sheridan, Jack Carson and Dennis Morgan headline as star-crossed lovers who are also vying for jobs at the Lockheed aircraft plant in Burbank, California. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this film are the scenes actually filmed at Lockheed with workers furiously aiming to build as many bombers as possible. Those shots are fascinating, but in between we must suffer through the most hokey and predictable plot known to man. The film is directed by Lloyd Bacon in a shrill way with the actors all speaking a decibel or two louder than normal, undoubtedly trying to compete with the movie’s bombastic score. Normally I like all three lead actors, but the characters they play here are so annoying you wouldn’t want to spend five minutes with them, much less 90 minutes. The supporting cast is generally filled with predictable stock types, the exception being a pint-sized worker played with gusto by Billy Gilbert (cruelly billed as “Midget” in the credits). This movie may have been onto something had it starred Gilbert instead of Sheridan et al.
Muscle Bunnies
Not surprisingly, I was having a real hard time coming up with an idea for this week’s Two Bunnies & A Duck cartoon. Instead of going through the mind-melting tedium of coloring yet another comic, I decided to stick Harold and Barney (and their star-nosed pal Larry) into one of those cheesy vintage magazine ads that involve cartoon panels. Leafing through a 1949 issue of Popular Mechanics, I found the perfect ad!
Excellent timing, since we recently watched the documentary Bigger, Stronger Faster (about one guy’s conflicted relationship with steroids and muscle building). The cartoon sans bunnies:
She’s Hot, She’s Sexy, She’s Dead
Today’s video is the opening of CBS’s tribute to their recently deceased comedy queen, Lucille Ball, broadcast April 26, 1989. I may have watched this when it originally aired. Lucy’s death was a huge deal that year, garnering the kind of media coverage usually reserved for world leaders and royalty.
On a related note, of late we’ve been watching a lot of I Love Lucy’s third season DVD set (a gift for Christopher’s birthday). This was the first season after Little Ricky was born. Although it contains a lot of hilarious episodes, the darn baby gets dragged out all the time and it stops the comedy dead in its tracks. Lucy and Desi Arnaz must have realized what negative impact Little Ricky had, since the following season they bounced back with a baby-free trip to Hollywood. I do believe the show hit its peak during seasons four (Hollywood) and five (European trip).
More of CBS’ Lucille Ball memorial tribute: Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4.
Weekly Mishmash: August 8-14
The Body Snatcher (1945) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943). Have you ever shopped at the retail dumping ground Big Lots!? One of my pleasures of the past year is finding out about their DVD section. We’ve gotten a lot of old movies and TV shows there — cheap! My latest find is this Val Lewton double bill on a single DVD for only three bucks. Re-watching them this week reveals that these are excellent b-movies, atmospheric and amazingly effective for such low budget ventures. All in all, the only fault I could find in both is their casting of bland leading men (James Ellison in Zombie and Russell Wade in Body Snatcher). The Body Snatcher is the better known of the two, thanks to Boris Karloff’s chilling performance as a 19th century corpse wrangler for a doctor (Henry Daniell, also good) who takes his job a wee bit too seriously. Horror icon Bela Lugosi is also in the cast, but he has a nothing role and doesn’t do much with what little screen time he has. Despite the flaws, the film has all the making of a classic chiller. True, some scenes are rather pat and unnecessary, but it does have atmosphere to spare and I was unprepared by the outright creepiness of the climax. I Walked with a Zombie is one of those special films that I have a long history with, having first heard of it via Danny Peary’s first Cult Movies volume from the early ’80s (anybody else own this unsung book?). When finally viewed on American Movie Classics channel, I fell in love. Revisiting it now, the film’s flaws become more apparent but it’s never lost its creepy luster. One of the highlights is Frances Dee’s subtle performance. She strikes the proper mix of curiosity and strength as a nurse who is shipped to a mysterious island to care for a rich man’s wife (who seems gripped by a zombie-like spell executed by the locals). Tom Conway as the husband is pretty good, but the film belongs to Dee and perhaps the seven-foot tall zombie whose presence says a lot for a guy who never utters a word. The photography in this film is magnificent. Jaw-dropping. This was directed by Jacques Tournier, who mined similar atmospheric territory in later stuff like Out of the Past. What Tournier and Lewton did on a limited budget ought to be studied by today’s filmmakers.
Dusty by Lucy O’Brien. For being such a well-regarded singer, there are actually few books written about the life and music of Dusty Springfield. With her biography Dusty, British music journalist Lucy O’Brien does an excellent job of tracking the peaks and valleys of the beehived diva’s incredible career. As a matter of fact, a more appropriate title for this book would also belong to one of Dusty’s albums — See All Her Faces. One of the great contradictions about Dusty is that she never truly reconciled her bejeweled and fabulous image as a white lady who could sing black with her inner Mary Catherine O’Brien, the insecure, secretly lesbian little cockney girl. It’s kind of a recurring theme throughout her career, and it’s to O’Brien’s credit that in addition to intricately covering the recording sessions of her albums that these white/black, gay/straight, image/reality themes are a constant. Even though it’s written in a straightforward style with a few errors, O’Brien writes with great detail, illuminating every phase of Dusty’s career with liberal interview quotes. It’s a nifty biography which covers a lot of stuff I previously knew little of (especially her “lost” years in the mid-’70s when she became a reclusive party gal in L.A.). The book also contains a nice discography collecting all her 1959-99 recordings.
Four Jills in a Jeep (1943). Pleasant WWII fluff, I rented this mostly because it was a late-period vehicle for Kay Francis (whom I find fascinating). This was based on the true story of Francis joining Carole Landis, Mitzi Mayfair and Martha Raye as they entertain troops overseas for the U.S.O. Alas, whatever promise the film has for a realistic portrayal of life on the front is tossed in favor of forgettable numbers starring guest Fox contractees Alice Faye, Betty Grable and Carmen Miranda. As for the main quartet of ladies, it’s a mixed bag. Martha Raye was always an obnoxious delight, even if she was getting somewhat cartoonish at this point (the denture commercials were still decades away). The obscure Mitzi Mayfair was toothy and bland, with a double-jointed dancing shtick that verges on circus sideshow weirdness. Smart, blonde Carole Landis was a surprise, earthy and completely radiant in a timeless way (unfortunately the actress committed suicide in 1948, cruelly cutting short what must have been a promising life). Kay Francis ably plays the group’s den mother with her usual restrained elegance. The scene in which she gets on the floor and scrubs away was the film’s only nod to the hardship these women must have endured. Interestingly, the making-of featurette on this DVD reveals that Francis unsuccessfully flirted with Landis during the ladies’ tour — oh, to be a fly on that wall.
Goldfrapp — Head First. I don’t delve into new music too often, but as soon as I heard the samples of the dreamy ’80s influenced soundscapes on Goldfrapp’s Head First, I had to download the entire thing. It’s seems as if Goldfrapp (whom I’ve heard only sporadically prior to this) is mining parts of the ’80s that might seem cheesy or unhip. The starting point might be the Xanadu soundtrack, both the Olivia Newton John and Electric Light Orchestra sides, perhaps the instrumental break in Air Supply’s “Lost in Love,” too, with bits of Princely funk and experimental synth lines thrown in. Although on paper it sounds like overkill, the album itself is suprisingly consistent and pleasureable with Alison Goldfrapp’s breathy voice at its center. First single “Rocket” is actually one of the weaker tunes, with “Alive” and the gentle title track being the peaks and “I Wanna Life” standing out as the most authentically ‘80 sounding tune (picture something off Steve Winwood’s Arc of a Diver album fronted by Berlin’s Teri Nunn). Metaphorically speaking, this album is akin to witnessing Kim Carnes and Laura Branigan getting it on atop a fluffy cloud with a bunch of drooling Care Bears watching — filthy yet fun!
Road to Utopia (1946). Having never seen a Hope/Crosby/Lamour movie, I jumped at the chance to DVR one when Turner Classic Movies played a marathon of “Road” movies during their Summer Under the Stars Bob Hope tribute. Since Utopia seems to be the best regarded of the series, I picked this wintry adventure. Hope and Bing Crosby play 1890s vaudevillians who come into possession of a valuable map and inevitably get caught up with saloon belle Dorothy Lamour in the Alaskan gold rush. Having (unfairly) written off both Hope and Crosby as impossibly smug actors, I was surprised at how appealing they both are here. The duo’s comfort with each other, and the impressive way they deliver their rapid-fire zingers contribute mightily to this film’s fun. There’s actually a lot of progressive stuff going on with a parade of sight gags, fourth wall breaking and self-referential humor (including Robert Benchley as the narrator who occasionally pops into the frame to opine on the proceedings). I also enjoyed the songs by Jimmy Van Heusen and Johnny Burke. The duo must have banged out something like “Personality” in a single afternoon, but the tune’s cleverness (and Lamour’s fetching performance) are a true delight:
We’re Not Married (1952). Inconsequential comedy in which several couples find out that their marriages by a frazzled old Justice of the Peace (Victor Moore) were not completely legit. The less said about this, the better, but at least the film had a glimmer of hope in the opening segment with Ginger Rogers and Fred Allen as a pair who fraudulently play a happily married couple on a radio program. The two host a cheery breakfast program which is actually nothing but gratuitous product placements, a concept which sounds promising but ends up somewhat flat and dull in execution. Come to think of it, I had a similar reaction to the rest of the film, in which several promising actors (Marilyn Monroe, Eve Arden and Paul Douglas among them) are basically wasted.
Paint Chips Ahoy
How often do you see a TV commercial that truly captures your eyes with beauty and subtlety? The Sherwin Williams campaign with animated paint chips does that for me. These play frequently on The Weather Channel; every time they come on, I sit and stare — they’re almost hypnotic. Wish I could say the same thing for other W.C. advertisers such as Newsmax or Crazy Critters.
Elegy for Chris Dedrick
I head today that Chris Dedrick, main creative force behind influential “sunshine pop” band The Free Design, died after battling cancer. That’s too sad. I hope he’s in a better place now. No one could write about kites, bubbles, umbrellas and pure unfettered joy like Dedrick.
Glorious Cinemascope and Stereophonic Sound
My spouse has written a cogent article on his weblog about Hollywood’s current obsession with 3D. Like color and wide screen, it’s all a matter of “been there, done that.”
On a related note, this image came off a vintage 1930 or so postcard folder of movie star homes which C. just bought. I spy Norma Shearer, Harold Lloyd, Will Rogers, Winnie Lightner, Joe E. Brown, Douglas Fairbanks and John Barrymore amongst the faces. See any others?
Weekly Mishmash: August 1-7
The Art of the Steal (2009). Clearly biased but nevertheless enthralling documentary tracking one of the most valuable art collections on earth. The film’s first half details Albert Barnes, a Pennsylvania doctor who made a fortune developing an infant eye drop solution, and his efforts to accumulate an impressive collection of Post-Impressionist and early Modern art. The class-averse, philanthropic Barnes set up his collection as an educational resource for art students, and it stayed that way until Barnes unexpectedly died in the ’50s. Barnes’ will specified that the collection stay intact and preserved in the same building with the paintings arranged in a quirky yet beautiful, Salon-style manner on the walls. In the years that follow, the struggle between good intentions and exploitation magnify as the art’s value balloons. By the time the collection falls into the hands of a small black college in 1988, the kind of people Barnes despised (society types and politicians) are circling like vultures; what follows is a power play that would do Gordon Gekko proud. An interesting if not too balanced watch, this proves with depressing finality that money and power trumps art and education every time. It was interesting, however, that I could see both sides of the coin and with all the kerfuffle nobody emerges as a true villain (except perhaps the conservative Philadelphia newspaper magnate who ironically specified in his will that his own art collection stay intact).
The Face of Another (1966). Talky, visually arresting Japanese thriller about a man (Tatsuya Nakadai) who is given a chance to wear a lifelike mask to disguise his horribly disfigured face. This plot device is a springboard for director Hiroshi Teshigahara to explore levels of psychological and personal control, somehow encompassing the subplot of a young woman who is similarly disfigured (as a result of an atom bomb blast, we infer). Although the film is slow paced and obtuse, the odd art direction and wild settings (including a somewhat tasteless German-themed watering hole) kept me intrigued. Teshigahara, who also helmed the better-regarded Woman in the Dunes, throws around every sort of cinematic trick here, making this a slapdash but agreeably weird and atmospheric affair. Actor Nakadai is perfectly chilling in a role that comes off as Dr. Frankenstein and his own monster rolled into one. Honestly, much of the film’s symbolism went past me, but the meaning of many of the images are nicely pointed out in the video essay included as an extra on Criterion’s DVD.
Heidi (1937). Beloved children’s classic rejiggered as high style Shirley Temple vehicle. Since I read Johanna Spyri’s Heidi earlier this year, it’s interesting to note how many liberties the filmmakers took. The book is a love letter to the Swiss countryside and the pious simplicity of its people, as epitomized by the cheery title character; Heidi the film is Hollywood adventure with what was a minor chapter in the book (in which Heidi stays with a rich family) taking up the bulk of the second half. The movie plays fast and loose as a literary adaptation, and Temple is a bit too cloying for this part, but it was entertaining nonetheless. I could even accept the oddly shoehorned musical number in which Temple plays a clog wearing Dutch girl and bewigged French royalty. Shirley and her dimples dominate here, but special mention should be made of actress Mary Nash, who plays Heidi’s evil governess. Temple and Nash were also memorably teamed in The Little Princess, a slightly better literary adaptation from a few years later.
The Monkees — More of the Monkees. My second helping of Monkeemania from eMusic. This second album contains the group’s biggest hit, the utterly fabulous “I’m A Believer,” which ultimately made it the biggest selling LP of 1967. Musically it’s something of a grab bag, with a haphazard array of gritty garage rock, novelty numbers and Brill Building pop vying for attention. Although many Monkees fans don’t favor the more commercial, bubblegum sounding music heard here, I kinda dig it. It’s fascinating to hear what Neil Diamond, Carole King, Gerry Goffin, Jeff Barry et al were coming up with at this point as the Girl Group and Doo Wop/R&B genres were falling to the wayside. Although I’ve read that Michael Nesmith, Davy Jones, Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork weren’t too happy with their lack of input on this album, it sure doesn’t show amongst the LP’s generally upbeat if scattered tracks. The album contains the rocking “(I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone” and “Mary, Mary,” the horrid “Your Auntie Grizelda,” and Jones’ “The Day We Fall In Love,” a piece of mush that only Marcia Brady could possibly love. An interesting snapshot of 1967 pop; I supplemented this album with “Apples, Peaches, Bananas and Pears,” a bubblegumeriffic track that the band recorded at the time but didn’t see fit to release until the ’80s.
Silent Running (1972). Crunchy granola sci-fi with a conservationist message! This is an intriguing bit of pre-Star Wars, post-2001 cerebral sci fi, a film that attempts the excitement of the former and the cerebral tone of the latter without quite accomplishing either. The tale of a transport ship full of rare plants and animals being hijacked from returning to a battle-scarred Earth by environmentalist Bruce Dern is still relevant today. This despite it being told in a completely dated way with quaint special effects and a few earnest Joan Baez songs on the soundtrack. The film ultimately rides on Dern’s thin shoulders; I found him his usually flaky self at the beginning, but he grew on me as the film progressed and in the end I was touched by his plight. Poor Dewey.
Unfaithfully Yours (1948). Personal experience with the films of Preston Sturges tells me his stuff is either brilliant or crappy; Unfaithfully Yours is one of the crappy ones. The film follows short-tempered, jealous conductor Rex Harrison as he becomes aware that a detective trailed his beautiful wife (Linda Darnell) who may be having an affair. Rehearsing with his orchestra, Harrison becomes consumed by several “what if” scenarios, each one more outlandish than the last. While some of the dialogue had the sparkle of earlier Sturges films, I absolutely hated the main character. The screechy Harrison (whom I never really enjoyed) does zero to make this man relatable or sympathetic. The film reaches an absolute low point with an interminable slapstick sequence in which Harrison tries (and fails) to execute one of his schemes. For a supposed light comedy, this film contains many uncomfortably bleak scenes — including one in which Harrison attempts to get Darnell and her alleged lover to join him in a round of Russian Roulette. Yuck. For peak Sturges, stick with Sullivan’s Travels or The Palm Beach Story.
New at LitKids – Heidi
Our favorite literary Swiss Miss, Heidi, makes her debut at LitKids this week. My first version of Heidi had her positioned over the seam where the two book pages overlap, which caused bleeding problems with the silk screening. That didn’t work out, so instead I moved the girl over to the right and put one of her pet goats (which figure prominently in the book) on the left. Cute!
This print is the last of the six designs I worked on before launching LitKids in April. Which character should I do next? So many possibilities, and it doesn’t even have to be a kid. Here’s the direct link to get a Heidi print.
Weekly Mishmash: July 25-31
American-Made: The Enduring Legacy of the WPA: When FDR Put the Nation to Work by Nick Taylor. The Works Progress Administration program (1933-43) was such a unique endeavor and a fantastic example of American government pulling together to help its citizens. Finishing up Nick Taylor’s exhaustive history, I was sadly struck by how something so big and comprehensive could never be attempted again; the Obama administration has accomplished a few infrastructure building projects that are vaguely WPAish, but they’re nothing compared with Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s sweeping reforms to get all unemployed Americans working towards recovery. Taylor’s history tracks the development of the WPA all the way back to the 1929 stock market crash, its introduction and setbacks (particularly with the arts and theater programs), criticisms, success stories, and finally the program’s quiet dissolving amidst World War II home front efforts in 1943. It’s a dense and somewhat dry read, a newspaper-like chronicle populated with a constantly shifting cast of characters (only FDR, his longtime WPA director Harry Hopkins, and fiery theater program head Hallie Flanagan stood out). I enjoyed reading it, however, mostly because it contained lots of details about the program that I never knew. One aspect about the WPA that Taylor brings to light is the fact that it was constantly challenged by Republicans. The opposition even went to such hysterical extremes that many believed the program was hatched by Communists, intending to turn the country into the United States of Russia. The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh?
A Cry in the Dark (1988). a.k.a the “dingo ate my baby!” movie. This was actually a potently arresting film about how gossip, innuendo and media imagery can royally screw up the facts. Meryl Streep and Sam Neill play a real-life Australian couple whose baby goes missing on a camping trip. The child’s body is never recovered, and the way the quirky, deeply religious couple deals with the tragedy is put under such public scrutiny that Streep eventually goes on trial for murder. This was such a stunningly well-made movie, not just for Streep’s chameleon-like performance but for Sam Neill as well. The film puts the viewer in another time and place (dig Meryl’s muumuus!), all the while addressing still relevant issues about media coerciveness and human gullibility. For all I know Streep’s abrasive but sympathetic Lindy Chamberlain might have no bearing on the real woman she played, but I was blown away by her and the film’s message.
Lions for Lambs (2007). A DVD that Christopher bought in a local retailer’s “3 for $10″ sale (this was the “full screen” version, so basically a quarter of the picture was chopped off). I vaguely remember this as part of the wave of series Gulf War films that flopped at the box office. It’s actually a very well made movie, expertly crafted by Robert Redford, who also stars along with Tom Cruise and Meryl Streep. I liked the angle of telling three stories that are happening simultaneously in California, Washington D.C. and Afghanistan. Unfortunately, Redford’s message is flamingly liberal and delivered in a heavy-handed “preaching to the choir” way. Redford’s performance as a jaded professor ironically fares the worst amongst a cast that seems disappointingly flat. On the plus side, Michael Peña and Derek Luke deliver some good acting as a pair of students turned soldiers.
Moving Midway (2007) and Young@Heart (2007). A good week for documentaries. We caught Moving Midway on the Netflix “Watch Instantly” function via our Nintendo Wii. It’s a moderately interesting, somewhat blandly produced look at Southern imagery and tradition as a palatial North Carolina estate (belonging to the director’s family) is painstakingly moved to escape encroaching suburbia. It’s thought provoking the way it’s gradually revealed that the family’s lineage contains white and African-American blood. Although the execution leaves something to be desired, the film certainly assembles an affable (and talkative) group of people to be around. I hate to sound stereotypical, but those Southern folk sure are nice. Young@Heart is another charmer, about a group of singing retirees who perform offbeat renditions of tunes by the likes of Radiohead and Sonic Youth. Mostly the film takes its leisurely time getting to know the various participants (all as sweet as pie and about as grandparentlike as people could possibly get) as they deal with punishing rehearsals and the loss of fellow choir members. I admire the patience of choir director Bob Cilman, seen in a constant state of worry and/or exhaustion. The film has the strange effect of emphasizing the performers’ lack of skill (lots of strange atonal singing going on here), made worse with a few goofy music videos. Despite that, I was enthralled by the main message here of living life for all its worth. Bravo to the Young@Heart performers, wherever they are.
Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief (2010). A tween Clash of the Titans, this muddled, CGI-heavy extravaganza seems to have “wannabe franchise” written all over it. A put-upon teen (Logan Lerman in Justin Beiber-style haircut) discovers that he’s half-God, descended from watery Poseidon, and his best friend (Brandon T. Jackson) is actually a satyr entrusted to protect him. The two journey to an X-Men style secret training camp for “special” kids, where they and another half-God (Alexandra Daddario) embark on a quest to find magic pearls and rescue the boy’s mortal ma (Catherine Keener, who shoulda known better). This movie actually had some potential, but much of it is squandered in the film’s rushed opening. Apparently this is based on a series of popular books. Having never heard of them, I can only divine that something went wrong during the production. The fact that it was overproduced was bad enough, but in the end the movie derails by never deciding if it wants to be a gee-whiz kiddie flick or a smutty and violent teen comedy. Chris Columbus also directed the first Harry Potter movie, coincidence or not?
Poor Little Rich Girl (1936). When it comes down to it, Shirley Temple’s saccharine vehicles were the first real “old movies” I ever saw. Our local independent TV station broadcast a Temple flick every weekend; I would make sure to watch (sometimes my mom joined in). Even the bad ones were fun; I suppose little Shirley was my gateway drug for everything you see here! Anyhow, I got reacquainted with Poor Little Rich Girl when it got a recent prime time spotlight on Turner Classic Movies. I can see why this is considered one of the quintessential Shirley flicks; she’s adorable and the direction and storyline are of such quality that even a Shirley-hater would enjoy it. Here she plays the title character, a pampered yet friendly and curious tyke who takes it upon herself to make her own “vacation” in the big, mean city. Instead of being raped and killed, little Shirley is adopted by a down on their luck song-and-dance duo (Jack Haley and Alice Faye). The couple absorb the creepily talented tyke into their act and eventually wind up on a radio show, one which happens to be sponsored by the soap company rivaling the one owned by — Shirley’s dad! Pure Depression-era hokum, for sure, but I loved it. Keep an eye out for the tap dance number at film’s climax, a thing so long and complex I can’t fathom Faye and Haley mastering it, much less the 7 year-old Temple.
The Truth About Youth (1930). Typically creaky early talkie melodrama which takes some unusual turns. Dewy fresh Loretta Young stars as a housekeeper’s daughter who is engaged to the master of the house’s loaded son, David Manners. Manners, however, has a thing for hosty-totsy singer Myrna Loy — a situation that becomes more complicated when the guy’s dad (Conway Tearle) attempts to hide the relationship from the innocent Young. Interesting film, not especially good with some wooden performances by Young and Manners (although his deer in the headlights look is perfect for this role). Conway Tearle was a big matinee idol of the silent era and it’s interesting to see him here as an older man, one who is still potent as we find out. Mostly the film’s appeal lies with Myrna Loy in one of her earlier, sexier roles. Her vitality enlivens this otherwise standard fare.
Lulu’s Back in Town
I’m going for an all-’60s month on eMusic, with Lulu’s To Sir With Love the latest acquisition. This brief (32 minutes) album was given punchy production and arrangements by, respectively, Mickie Most and future Led Zepplener John Paul Jones. Lulu has a throaty voice with the kind of carefully enunciated phrasing that seems better suited to musical theater than peppy ’60s music (witness the LP’s goofy closer, “You And I”). Despite that, she’s adorable and the album is a good showcase for her versatility. Everybody knows the beautiful title cut, of course, but there are a few other tracks worth noting, including the jumpy Neil Diamond-penned “The Boat That I Row” and “Best Of Both Worlds,” a plush ballad in the Dusty Springfield mold. Honestly, the thought of somebody else covering stuff like “Day Tripper” and “To Love Somebody” fills me with dread, but Lulu (along with those brassy arrangements) manages to make them her own. This album also contains the oft-sampled “Love Loves To Love Love” and “Take Me In Your Arms and Love Me,” a cover of a somewhat obscure Gladys Knight & The Pips tune. Merely a notch better than the typical album of 1967, perhaps, but real cute all the same — Lulu knows how to bring the groovy.
