Sweatin’ to the Oldies
This year marks Motown Records’ 50th anniversary, and the Detroit Free Press is making 50 short videos to mark the occasion. Motown is also producing a series of podcasts to be rolled out gradually over the year. The first one, a new interview with Smokey Robinson, is pretty standard stuff. The second one, however, is a real gem of an archival interview with Berry Gordy from the summer of 1963. Interesting to hear Gordy sounding so young and talking about what was then a small, family-owned business. (both via the Soulful Detroit forums)
Eddie My Love
I was going to post a blog entry today about how I rarely visit the pop culture blog Pop Candy because the author’s “look at me, I’m hip” photo makes me want to hurl, but this is a much more worthwhile subject. My Edward R. Hamilton, Bookseller order arrived today. ERH has a delightfully low-tech way of selling remaindered books. Yes, they have a comprehensive website, but after all these years they still only accept orders written down on paper and sent through snail mail with a personal check (no credit cards, no money orders, and forget about PayPal, pal). Falls Village, Connecticut must be a nutty kinda town.
It’s been a good four or five years since I’ve ordered from them, so I made sure to make the uniform $3.95 shipping cost count. The haul may become part of a mishmash in the future:
- The Complete Peanuts: 1963-1964 by Charles M. Schulz ($12.99). Fills in an important gap, since I actually got the 1965-66 volume for Christmas. Yes, it really made me uncomfortable that I had one volume while missing the earlier one, so sue me.
- Considering Doris Day by Tom Santopietro ($6.95). Although ravaged by Amazon.com customers, this critical overview looks fascinating. Every Day movie, TV appearance and recording gets a thorough appraisal. Potentially toothache-inducing yet marvy!
- The Lives and Loves of Daisy and Violet Hilton by Dean Jensen ($5.95). The conjoined twins of Freaks and Chained for Life fame get their own sympathetic bio. Another fascinating looking portrait (which got a much better reception on Amazon).
- Penguin Special: The Story of Allen Lane, the Founder of Penguin Books and the Man Who Changed Publishing Forever by Jeremy Lewis ($4.95). Good companion to the Penguin By Design book.
- Pirates of the Caribbean: From the Magic Kingdom to the Movies by Jason Surrell ($6.95). Deals comprehensively with creating both the Pirates theme park attraction and the first Johnny Depp movie. Luckily the latter subject, of which I care not a whit, takes up only about a quarter of the pages. The rest is filled with wonderful concept art and rare photos of the Disneyland classic. Surrell’s similar book on the Haunted Mansion (ride and film) is equally nifty.
3:42 Magazine
This demo reel from a company called Calico Creations reeks of Eighties. It appears that they specialized in editing together still photos to look like rapid-fire animation, synced to the kind of diabolically cheery music you don’t hear on TV anymore. The Hour Magazine open is a gem. I remember watching that show regularly, wondering how the skanky looking José Eber could create such beautiful hairstyles.
Pressure Point
Ron Rosenbaum: The awfulness of Billy Joel, explained. Snooty but rip-roaring piece from Slate. When I was in the 7th grade, for homeroom class we had to do a survey outlining our favorite music, movies, etc. I listed “My Life” as my favorite song, simply because it was used in the opening of Bosom Buddies and I remember sort of liking it back then. Joel has done a few other okay tunes like “An Innocent Man,” “Uptown Girl” and “Say Goodbye To Hollywood” (although Bette Midler’s cover of the latter far exceeds the original), but he really is the Kraft American Cheese of musicians.
Weekly Mishmash: January 18-24
Congo Maisie (1940). My second dose of Ann Southern’s bubbly b-movie series was a big improvement over Swing Shift Maisie. This was a fun and silly trifle which doesn’t hold a candle to the movie it remade, Red Dust. Instead of going on any further, I will direct you to Ivan Shreve’s scarily comprehensive run-through of all the Maisie movies. Does Ivan ever get any sleep?
k.d. lang — Ingénue. I’d like to thank the Savers store on Bethany Home Road in Phoenix for having a pristine copy of this CD in their bins for a cheap price. This was a good, mellow, consistent album which makes me want to seek out the other works of the talented Ms. lang (whom Christopher now refers to as my lesbian girlfriend).
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986; neato poster art by Bob Peak). A confession: I’m not much of a Trekkie and never saw a Trek film until The Undiscovered Country in 1991 — so seeing these earlier movies on DVD has been a bit of an education. This one, the “crew time travels back to ’80s San Francisco to Save the Whales” edition, might be my very favorite of the bunch. The cast is obviously having a ball, which casts an infectious spirit over the entire enterprise (or, in this case, the repurposed Klingon ship). The story seems appreciably more human and approachable than any of the other Trek movies, which makes it a lot more appealing to someone like me who enjoys the occasional Trek foray but never gets all fanboyish about it. On a personal note, I loved the scenes filmed at the Monterey Bay Aquarium and couldn’t resist saying “we’ve been there!” every time one popped up.
Super Sleuth (1937). Somebody at TCM just can’t get enough of Ann Southern, since they played an entire morning of her movies this week. Never one to pass up any vintage Hollywood-set film, I recorded this one with Southern a bit wasted playing second fiddle to Jack Oakie’s conceited movie detective. The first half was breezy and light, with a lot of fun scenes of vintage moviemaking in action (it may sound strange, but both Christopher and I have a fetish for anything Old Hollywood). The second half becomes plodding and predictable with Willie Best’s offensive pop-eyed business taking over things. It should be noted that this film was produced by RKO and contains a gorgeous Art Deco office set courtesy of that studio’s legendary designer, Van Nest Polglase.
Stevie Wonder — Signed, Sealed and Delivered. Amazon timed a special deal for the download of this 1970 LP with Obama’s inaguration, and it seemed like a perfect fit for that joyous day (not coincidentally, Obama used “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” in his campaign). Don’t let the crappy cover art fool you, this is actually an excellent album which catches Wonder at a transitional time for him, and Motown in general. Here you still have some assembly-line tracks recorded with the Funk Brothers and the Andantes trilling away in the background — but the LP is dominated by the kind of funky self-produced material that would define him in the ’70s. Not the least of which is the title tune, which would even make Dick Cheney do the Funky Chicken. Digging deeper, I always loved the underrated country-tinged single “Never Had A Dream Come True,” the gospel workout “Heaven Help Us All” never fails to put a chill down my spine, and his version of “We Can Work It Out” trumps the Beatles any day.
The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008). After ten years, you would think a new X-Files movie would be a bit less blah than this, no? Although it contains a lot of nice moments, both of us were underwhelmed by the plot (which seems more appropriate for a campy ’50s flick). Didn’t it seem strange that this Summer movie was set in the frigid American Northeast?
That Was Ten Years Ago?
What were you doing ten years ago? I was busy at The Arizona Republic, mostly designing special sections but also writing a bit on the side. Mostly I did pieces on travel, movies and music for my own department (which uncomfortably existed between the marketing and editorial areas of the paper), but for a short while I was allowed to do regular music reviews for the newsroom. This year-end list was published in the December 28, 1998 issue of The Rep (the paper’s now-defunct weekly entertainment tabloid):
Kind of reads like a Scrubbles.net weblog entry, huh? Writing was a new and thrilling thing for me back then. Basically I was just flying blind and attempting to counterpoint all the bone dry AP-style reportage so prevalent throughout the paper. Although I absolutely loved music and writing about it, the experience was difficult. Most of the newsroom people were apathetic towards the idea of a marketing guy (much less an artist!) contributing to their domain. I got no guidance and very little support from them. Whenever I’d request of the music editor a new CD to review, the response was either “oh, I was planning to review that” (consequently, nothing would appear) or complete silence. It was logical that most of the music I wrote about wound up being lesser-known releases that I wrangled myself.
Being a wannabe music critic was fun while it lasted — but after two years of regular weekly contributions, I got fed up and put a halt to doing anything at all for the newsroom. It was the Spring of 2000, and The Rep was on what must have been their fifth or sixth music editor. En route to meet him, I thought “if this guy doesn’t acknowledge me or even volunteer a halfhearted smile, I will never do anything for them again.” He never smiled.
Please Don’t Ask About Barbara
In honor of awards show season, let’s look at a clip of Barbara Bain winning her third and final Best Actress Emmy for Mission: Impossible in 1969. The victory came in a weak season — against Peggy Lipton and Joan Blondell, really? — but even facing tougher competition she deserved it. Bain and then husband Martin Landau had just left the show after they tried and failed to get a raise, and one can sense a lot of bottled up bitterness surfacing in her acceptance speech. Although the couple would eventually lead another series (Space: 1999), their stormy exit from Mission gave them a difficult reputation in Hollywood from which they’d never recover.
Contrast that with Barbara’s Best Actress Emmy acceptance speech from the previous year. What a classy lady, and what a thoughtful little speech (a refreshing change from the interminable ego-fests on today’s awards shows):
Book Faire
On the sidebar I added an Amazon link spotlighting a few products that yer humble host recommends, stuff that I’ve come across in the last few months. This will be updated throughout the year, but I want to go into a couple of books in more detail, right here.
Penguin by Design: A Cover Story 1935-2005 by Phil Baines. This volume, published in 2006, was a Christmas gift from some friends of ours (who happened to be attending the inauguration today). Started by Allen Lane in mid-’30s England, Penguin was the first publishing house to bring affordable and handy paperbacks to the masses. Phil Baines’ text forms a too dry yet serviceable history, but the real star of this book are the covers themselves — arranged chronologically and grouped by series (classics, poetry, contemporary affairs, etc.). Paging through the book, one gets a sense that from the very beginning quality was Penguin’s main m.o. It’s interesting to note that many of these cover designs are quaint and even somewhat dull in and of themselves — but when they are presented here, usually four to a page and surrounded by thematically similar designs from around the same time period, it makes me appreciate the thoughtfulness that went into them. I love the covers’ crafty use of color, the grids, the judicious use of type (mostly Helvetica), and the audacity of the more recent ones. The book contains plenty of gorgeous covers from the classical ’40s up through the freewheeling ’60s and ’70s, and the compilers don’t shy away from including some plainly hideous examples of Penguin’s detour into mass market tastes in the ’80s. It’s a well-rounded and beautifully designed book which I’ve already gotten a lot of inspiration from.
Art & Sole: Contemporary Sneaker Art & Design, written and designed by Intercity. This book reminds me of the Entourage episode in which the character of Turtle goes out of his way to acquire a pair of very pricey designer sneaks. Divided equally in two parts, the first half explores the too-hip arena of limited issue designer Nikes, Adidases, Converses and other brands that Turtle would likely covet. The second half delves into artwork inspired by sneaker culture. There’s a lot of overlap between the two, and part of the fun of this book is seeing how the cultures of fine art, Hip Hop, extreme sports, and hipster collecting intersect with each other. To be honest, I actually liked the first half of this book better than the second. It’s strange to think of a shoe as a work of art — but when a real artist applies his or her handiwork to these babies, they really are more worthy of being displayed on a shelf in pristine condition than worn on the feet. The second part also contains plenty of neat stuff (including some Nike Be@rbricks!). One of the coolest pieces of art in the book is the giant LED-lit shoe created by Finnish design firm Freedom of Creation. I first saw this on, of all places, Kanye West’s weblog. Behold:
Weekly Mishmash: January 11-17
Allegro Non Troppo (1977). Like Fantasia, only with an adult, European sensibility (boobies!) and a funky ’70s aesthetic. Animation in a wide variety of styles is bridged with live action scenes with a dictatorial conductor, a harried animator and an orchestra full of old biddies. These black and white scenes are silly and overplayed, but I enjoyed the lack of pretension in these and the animated segments. The real treasure here is Bruno Bozzetto’s whimsical animation and the eye-popping background paintings. My favorite segment is Valse Triste, a Little Match Girl-type story starring a pathetic stray kitty:
Downstairs (1932). John Gilbert was a huge silent star, and the early talkie melodrama Downstairs represented a last gasp for his career. Gilbert himself wrote the story for this one, an intrigue-filled yarn revolving around a European upper class household and its servants in a way that anticipates stuff like Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park. Fascinating and beautifully acted (Gilbert is great as the heel chauffeur), I actually think it’s an undiscovered gem amongst movies from this period. It’s interesting seeing Olga Baclanova in a non-Freaks role, and the ethereal Virginia Bruce has one excellent rant in which she defends her sexual freedom to her new husband (Paul Lukas). No wonder that scene was used in the recent documentary on pre-Code women, although in this context one can appreciate it better. The movie is smoothly directed and fast paced, unusual for this early talkie era. It’s too bad Mr. Gilbert became a self-pitying alcoholic and died a few years later.
Pretty Poison (1968). I first heard about this overlooked dark comedy in Danny Peary’s seminal book Cult Movies. Although I wouldn’t label it a Cult Classic, the film is bolstered by its frankness and the enthusiasm of the two lead actors. In Norman Bates mode, Anthony Perkins plays a damaged former criminal who takes shelter in a small town. Soon he befriends high school girl Tuesday Weld, a deceptively innocent young lady who proves to be even more screwy in the head than Perkins ever imagined. This film suffers from weirdly looped dialogue and a bland, made-for-TV look, but the story kept me intrigued all the way through (certainly the second half improves over the first). Weld and Perkins give their all and elevate an otherwise routine film into something worth watching.
Susan Slade (1961). One thing I gleaned from this camp-ola melodrama — Connie Stevens should have stuck to TV. She was cute as a button in this pre-nosejob incarnation, sure, but also so out of depth it makes watching this a sometimes painful experience. Coming off like a combination of Tippi Hedren and a Skipper doll, Stevens plays an unwed teenage mother who must choose between two guys who aren’t worthy of her. Lloyd Nolan and Dorothy McGuire are both good as her parents, and Troy Donahue glowers competently enough as the bad stable boy who isn’t quite “bad” enough to steal Connie’s heart. This movie was actually pretty well-done at times, bolstered by beautiful photography and a particularly droolworthy home located on the bluffs of Monterey, California. The house is decorated in high Asian chic — that is until busybody Natalie Shaefer redecorates the whole place in Early American Puke. The film plays itself out in very predictable fashion, but stick around for the burning baby — totally worth it.
Swing Shift Maisie (1943). TCM had a morning of Maisie movies this week; I recorded films #2 (Congo Maisie) and #7 (this one) out of sheer curiosity. Based on Swing Shift, these were little more than program-filling vehicles for the effervescent charm of Ann Southern. Here, her brassy showgirl Maisie takes a job at an aircraft plant while wooing a hunky airman (James Craig, sigh) and keeping her bitchy roommate (Jean Rogers) at bay. Movies like this reveal a lot of interesting stuff about the period they were made in, but I couldn’t take the script’s stupid view of women as harpies who are guided by their silly, selfish emotions and little else. It drove me up a wall!
Syriana (2005). I don’t have much to add here except that this was a good, tough film — at times hard to follow, but the cast underplays nicely and the complicated storyline threads itself out satisfyingly in the end. Preaching to the choir, it didn’t change my mind much about why the U.S. government has to involve itself in things it shouldn’t. The film does reflect the Bush-era zeitgeist so well that it makes me wonder how it will be perceived later on. Future classic or not? Time will decide.
Playing with the Queen of Hearts
Normally I don’t go for sexy cartoon art, but Amy Mebberson’s Disney Retro Pinups are a gorgeous exception. They have a lot of flair and go well beyond the realm of (it gags me to type this) “fan art.” Check out more of Mebberson’s work at her weblog. (via the comments on this Cartoon Brew post)
The Lady with the Gorgeous Gams
Bugle beads a-swingin’, today we have a clip from the new DVD Mitzi Gaynor: Razzle Dazzle! The Special Years. It’s Mitzi and her boy dancers giving their all with “Let Go” from her second variety special in 1969. Fabulous stuff! A tiny YouTube clip doesn’t do this one justice … can’t wait to check out the DVD.
Mini Plasticy Goodness
When Christopher’s co-worker Kaori recently went back to her hometown in Japan, she was nice enough to take some requests from both of us. C. wanted her to bring him back a piece of Hamtaro merchandise. You remember Hamtaro, right? The Cartoon Network showed the anime series a few years ago, but the character never caught on in the U.S. My request was for a Kubrick toy. Although I’m not a big toy/action figure collector, I’ve dug the Kubricks ever since first seeing them at the Giant Robot store in San Francisco some years ago.
At first, Kaori had a hard time fulfilling both of our requests. Apparently Hamtaro is one of those things that is no longer popular among the kiddie set. As for the Kubricks, I figured they were everywhere in Japan — preferably sold in those ubiquitous vending machines they have for everything over there. Well, she called around a few places and couldn’t find any. Luckily, this lady was persistent and for that we thank her. She did find one Hamtaro thing — a lovely printed scarf (?). And she managed to locate three toys for me, doubling my desktop plastic figurine menagerie to six! Pictured above, left to right, are a Todd McFarlane Bart Simpson, a Japanese vintage Tony the Tiger figurine, a Kubrick Blythe doll with creepy orange eyes (which I already had), and the new Kubrick toy flanked by two Be@rbricks (also made my Medicom, the company that does Kubricks). Thanks, Kaori!
These Kubrick toys are usually based on characters in movies, comic books, animation or even advertising (they once did a set of Kellogg’s mascot figurines). They come in series of six characters apiece. What’s really cool about them is that they’re “blind boxed,” meaning you don’t know which of the six characters you’ll get until the box is opened. This particular one I just got is “Lefty” from the Japan-only manga Tokyo Tribe2.
Kaori also managed to snag off her own brother two really cool Be@rbricks which were available for a short time last year in Japan. In a promotion with Fox, Pepsi included a limited run of special TV and movie-themed Be@rbricks with bottles of their Pepsi Nex soda (why can’t American Pepsi do something like this?). They also did a series of Star Wars bears last summer. The two that I got are based on The Omen (black with red Omen logo on chest) and Prison Break (dressed in prisoner garb). Medicom makes a wide variety of these things, apparently, from mass market to highly collectible limited editions. Check out the weblog Be@rbrick Love for more. I love my plastic toys.
Weekly Mishmash: January 4-10
Jaws (1975). Back in the summer of ‘75, I was too young to see Jaws. I distinctly remember my dad, older brother and uncle going to see it while my mom, aunt, younger brother and I had a fun filled dinner at the local Farrell’s ice cream parlour. I finally got to see it a few years later and was blown away. A recent re-viewing confirms that it’s an extremely well made suspense thriller that maybe has been tainted a bit by the “blockbuster” mentality it subsequently spawned in the industry. The movie actually boasts a flawless cast (even the nepotistic Lorraine Gary does a good job in the wifey role), and Spielberg perfectly evokes a ramshackle seaside town dependent on the summer tourist trade. It didn’t make us want to avoid swimming in the ocean, but we had a blast nonetheless.
The Last Mogul (2005). A blah documentary on a fascinating figure deeply entrenched in Hollywood history. Lew Wasserman was a powerful (and shady) agent turned mogul whose encyclopedic career peaked when he was appointed studio head at Universal in its ’70s and ’80s heyday (the film even touches on the making of Jaws). I suppose one could fashion an interesting documentary on this enigmatic fellow, a la Robert Evans with The Kid Stays In The Picture. If only it were half as slickly entertaining as Kid… Alas this one plays a bit like a static old A&E Biography episode, complete with stodgy narration and the same blurry photos used repeatedly. Although only produced four years ago, I noticed that most of the people who knew Wasserman best are now dead (coincidence?).
Looney Tunes New Years Day Marathon (Cartoon Network). With our Ti-Faux running overtime, we recorded 12 hours of this — and, as of yesterday, we’re only halfway through. Sure, these are the faded and “dubbed” mid-’90s prints, but I’ll take any Looney Tunes I can get. Why don’t they show this stuff more often? Better yet, wouldn’t it be cool if Warners, Disney and all the other studios got together and started an all retro cartoon network? I’d never leave the house if that happened.
The Love Bug (1968). This dated yet charming vehicle (there, I had to say it) closed out my Disney live action film viewing marathon. I saw this as a wee tyke and thought it was fun. Now it seems too talky and slow-going in the first half, but by the climactic race’s end I was won over by how the filmmakers endowed delightful personality on a mass of metal and rubber (the title VW, sillies). By this time I was so Disneyed out that the sequel, 1974’s Herbie Rides Again, went unwatched on the DVR.
Mommie Dearest (1981) and Disco Dancer (1983). Observations on re-watching Dearest: 1. In kabuki-ish makeup, Faye Dunaway doesn’t really look or act like Joan Crawford at all. She’s so over the top, in fact, I’m not surprised this was a career-crippling role for her. 2. Dunaway’s costumes by Irene Sharaff are absolutely stunning. 3. The many scenes with Dunaway abusing little Mara Hobel are admittedly difficult to watch. I know it’s acting, but they’re almost too effective. 4. Christina Crawford seems like a spoiled brat who deserved it all and more. This and Disco Dancer made for a very kitschy week. Both revolve around entertainers, and both are about as subtle as Paris Hilton in a thong. On the latter, I’ve already said what needs to be said — dorky to the extreme!
Paranoid Park (2007; added 1/12). After the greatness of Milk, director Gus Van Sant’s previous effort comes across as average and “been there, done that” to me. The thin plot follows a disaffected Portland teen in shifting time perspectives as he accidentally causes a death. Van Sant uses a lot of slow-mo or long takes of skating kids, or the back of someone’s head as they’re walking — but where those techniques were effectively used in 2003’s Elephant, here it just seems self-indulgent (and, given Van Sant’s fascination with high school boys, more than a bit pervy). The film does have its share of good scenes, but overall it suffered from too much padding and a familiar story not strong enough to hang a feature length film upon.
Manifesto for 2009
Although I’m not the New Years Resolution type, there are several things in my life that I want to give a kick start this year. To that end, the first thing I’ve done is having my Illustration/Design Portfolio undergo a much-needed redo. This isn’t a simple update — I’ve expanded the width from the previous 2000-era dimensions and completely replaced three quarters of the content. Now it contains only projects that I’ve done in the last five years. In 2008, most of my workload was manga, manga and more manga for Viz. Several cover design examples, some just coming out this month, are included in the portfolio (and, no, I didn’t draw any of the artwork). Back, front and spine — it’s all there.
My next mission is to get a postcard campaign going advertising my services to book publishers. Although I launched a vague postcard campaign in early 2006, it only landed me two small jobs (one of which was canceled when the client flaked out on me). Hopefully with more book publishing experience under my belt, this next one will go much better. Although I totally dig Viz and working with all their beautifully strange manga artwork, I would also love the opportunity to do many other kinds of books. A friend recently sent me a link to The Book Cover Archive — now that’s the kind of stuff I’d eventually like to do. I want to produce work like Chip Kidd’s or Penguin UK’s David Pearson (but for now I’m happy being Mr. Pearson’s Flickr contact).
One Night in Bangalor
And now something from the 1982 Bollywood camp classic Disco Dancer, which I’m currently wading through on DVD. In a scene that plays like an overlong Solid Gold number with way too much silvery fabric, dancers writhe to a blatant ripoff of the Buggles’ “Video Killed The Radio Star.” No further explanation is needed. Bang bang!
