Tuesday Miscellany
Different things on the last Tuesday in March … swellorama design blog Grain Edit has an interview with Andy Cruz of House Industries on their Alexander Girard products. They’re also having a giveaway on the same stuff. At least Cruz did a good job of explaining why it’s so pricey!
Have you seen the vintage photography at Life.com? I don’t think everything within originally came from the magazine’s archives (I know they’re missing at least one famous photo of ’40s starlet Chili Williams in an early bikini that appeared within their pages), but it is a neat place to explore. I found this fascinating behind-the-scenes pic from Love on a Budget, a 1938 b-picture starring Russell Gleason and … Joyce Compton.
Finally, my pal Patrick has compiled some mixes of mellow ’70s/’80s soft rock and is sharing it with the world at large. Among the 45 songs on Soft Rock for Soft Cocks (creative title, no?) is songwriter Carole Bayer Sager’s “It’s the Falling in Love.” I have a bit of a fixation on that song right now. Michael Jackson’s rendition from Off the Wall is the best known, of course, but the tune was also recorded by Dionne Warwick and Dee Dee Bridgewater. There’s even footage of Marie Osmond performing it on YouTube. Who knew?
Weekly Mishmash: March 22-28
Al Green — Let’s Stay Together. Downloaded from Amazon for $1.99. Although I’m a huge ’70s soul fan, strangely enough I’ve never owned anything by Al Green — not even a greatest hits collection. This LP was a good introduction. Everybody knows the title track, of course, and the rest of the LP follows in the same mellow (though not as memorable) groove. Another highlight on this album is Green’s anguished, 6-1/2 minute take on the Bee Gees’ “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart.” I always believed (incorrectly) that this tune was a hit single; apparently it’s survived this long on being merely a killer album track.
The Lives and Loves of Daisy and Violet Hilton: A True Story of Conjoined Twins by Dean Jensen. Excellent bio, touching on a lot of broader subjects — the fickleness of fame, the search for love and companionship — all through the story of conjoined twins who led an eventful life through just about every sphere of the mid-20th century entertainment world. As a biographer, Dean Jensen is a bit fanciful. He fills this book with conversations that obviously weren’t documented, along with iffy details that nevertheless give a terrifically evocative sense of place and time. Usually I hate this style of writing, but I actually found it absorbing here and totally befitting its subject. From the beginning all the way to the twins’ humble final years, dutifully working as produce weighers in a North Carolina grocery store, this was a “page turner” that kept me captivated.
Match Point (2005). Although I’m a fan of Woody Allen’s movies, until Match Point I hadn’t seen anything of his since 1994’s Bullets Over Broadway. Maybe I just thought his best films were behind him as it were. This was a surprisingly good thriller, playing somewhat like the “serious” half of Crimes and Misdemeanors. Woody Allen’s version of upper class London life is just as hermetically sealed and squeaky clean as his New York-set stuff from the ’80s. Aside from the odd soundtrack featuring early opera recordings, however, there aren’t a lot of Allen-like touches here — which is a relief. The script is pretty good, enlivened with some great locations (like that to-die-for apartment on the Thames). Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Scarlett Johansson sure are pretty to look at — too bad they’re no great shakes in the acting department.
Pandora’s Box (1929). It’s been about ten years since we last saw this — and it’s as potent as ever. G.W. Pabst made the perfect choice of Louise Brooks to play Lulu, in an iconic performance. Lulu is a frivolous, complex woman given depth by the gorgeous, helmet-haired actress. Even the scene with her staring at a lit candle is mesmerizing. Still one of my favorite silent movies. Criterion’s DVD is surprising; I kept thinking it had deleted scenes, but in actuality the film’s speed got slowed down to a more naturalistic pace. As with the cleaned up image, it’s a huge improvement. The DVD also has a choice of four different scores, which I didn’t know at the time. The one we heard, composed by Gillian Anderson (not the X-Files star), was terrible — bombastic, stereotypically “German” music that never attempted to match the mood of the scenes it underscored. That was a huge disappointment, but on the other hand there’s a cool bonus disc with documentaries and interviews with the enigmatic Miss Brooks. It’s frustrating that Brooks grew tired of the movies and retired early on; had she stuck it out and not been so feisty, she could’ve been an even bigger celluloid legend.
Shack Out on 101 (1955). This tawdry little melodrama got onto the TiFaux after reading enthusiastic comments about it from both Ivan and Vince. Well, I can say that it is different. Lee Marvin displays unimaginable amounts of uninhibitedness as a cook at a seaside hash house where shady goings-on are happening. I also enjoyed Keenan Wynn as the dive’s proprietor and Terry Moore as a slutty yet patriotic waitress. Most of the action on this bargain basement potboiler takes place on a set that looks like a Red Lobster outlet gone to seed. Honestly, it’s kind of a dull, grimy little affair, but the curious amongst you might want to check it out.
They Might Be Giants — Flood. I went to the record store last week wanting to get a new CD. How very 1990s, eh? Anyhow, after spending close to an hour looking through all the racks, I only wound up with an extremely safe choice in They Might Be Giants’ Flood. I already knew it was pretty good, having owned the gatefold sleeved vinyl edition since the album’s 1990 release (I remember this well, since that was the very last year the major record labels were still producing LPs in large numbers). Revisiting these 19 tracks reveals an album that has actually held up admiringly well. TMBG’s nerdy chic ethos has proven to be prescient these days, and Flood catches them brimming over with creativity. “Birdhouse In Your Soul” is the kick-assiest, of course, but I also dig the cajun-like “We Want A Rock” and the danceable “Twisting.” The first half gets a solid A+; the more routine second half grades more of a B-.
Vinyl Toy? Yes, Sir.
Earlier this week, I went to my fave local indie record store. At the check out register, they had a tempting display of boxed Simpsons figurines made by Kid Robot. Of course, I had to get one; this isn’t the first time I’ve been captivated by collector vinyl toys. Like the Kubrick series, these Simpsons figurines are “blind boxed” and have all the series’ characters pictured on the packaging, alongside your odds of getting them. This particular series has 24 different characters, including three mystery characters (Googling reveals them to be Devil Flanders, Snake and Krusty’s monkey assistant). Most common are the Simpson family not counting Maggie; least common are Funzo and the Channel Ocho Bee. There was a lot of anticipation when I opened my box and found… Smithers! Although these Kid Robot toys aren’t as well-made as the Kubricks or the Todd McFarlane figurines, they are pretty cool with adorable, baby-like proportions. I love how mini Smithers has his own little Malibu Stacy doll. A doll holding a doll … how wonderfully meta.
P.S. A new Two Bunnies & A Duck has been unleashed today.
Artists Only
Today’s video serves as a reminder that, a long time ago, PBS used to show something besides Britcom repeats and Doo Wop concerts. During its 1984-87 run, Alive From Off Center served as a venue for a variety of experimental short films, dance pieces and performance art. This clip is the opening from earlier in the show’s run (setting the edgy yet mainstream, very ’80s tone of the show), and a sequence with photographer William Wegman and a very patient Weimaraner.
Margaret Sullavan in Your Hands
Warner Home Video has finally gotten with the program and made many films from their chin-deep classic film library available on made-to-order DVDs. At WarnerArchive.com, they already have a good quantity of obscure goodies with the promise of more to come, along with (a nice feature) previews of the good-to-great picture quality each title holds. The bad news is that the DVDs are $19.99 a pop and extras-wise contain little more than a theatrical trailer. Warner also hints that the prices may go down depending on how popular this venture turns out.
P.S. — I titled this post after the fact that no less than three of the scintillating Ms. Sullavan’s films — The Shopworn Angel, Three Comrades and The Shining Hour — are available through the site.
Weekly Mishmash: March 15-21
Jeez, I saw a lot of movies in the past week.
Blindness (2008). Considering its pedigree, something of a disappointment. Julianne Moore (great as always) leads the cast as the sole sighted woman after an unnamed metropolis is gripped in a mysterious blindness epidemic. Had a lot of potential going in, but the story gets tripped up with one implausibility after another. The direction came across as too “artsy fartsy,” especially considering that the film veers into predictable Lord of the Flies-style territory. It’s a shame, since there are many good, small performances in this one.
Chained for Life (1951). Fascinating, at times downright awful vehicle for conjoined twins Violet and Daisy Hilton. The Hiltons were minor celebrities in the ’20s and ’30s — famous for being charismatic and beautiful entertainers who just happened to be permanently joined in their rear quarters. They even netted small roles in the notorious Freaks (1932); the poverty row production Chained for Life was their one attempt at leading ladydom. By this time they were in their forties and looking a bit haggard; although stilted actresses (Violet was pretty decent, Daisy awful), the ladies are charming nonetheless in this rote story of unrequited love gone bad on the vaudeville circuit. The twins sing a few cute numbers; strangely, I never noticed their condition until they started walking around. This film has a strange ending and the DVD’s blurry print is a pain to sit through, but it’s worth a watch for the morbidly curious.
Coraline (2009). We finally caught this last Thursday — at a showing in which we were the only patrons in the entire theater! What can I say, it’s excellent — although I did find Dakota Fanning’s voice shrill at times. Christopher found it underwhelming, but I was captivated by the creepy atmosphere and the fantastic attention to detail (e.g., bug-themed wallpaper in the bug room). I hope whoever already saw this stuck it out through the very end — the post-credits bit was an extra special treat.
The Doll Squad (1973). Was Ted V. Mikels the Ed Wood of the ’70s? After seeing this kitsch classic, I’d have to say hell yeah. The Doll Squad is best known for having so many similarities to Charlie’s Angels that the filmmakers sued. Where Aaron Spelling’s TV hit was all jiggle and fluff, though, this movie is violent, sleazy and tackier than a roomful of olive green shag carpeting. This movie is about a team of beautiful undercover female agents, with a surprisingly competent Francine York as the head Doll who knows how to kick a baddie’s ass without mussing up a single auburn hair. The first half is frenetically paced and campy, filled with weird moments like the scene where two Dolls off a pair of guards with poisoned vodka and cookies (?). However, the film’s dull second act is proof positive that Mikels was a big hack. Actually, my favorite thing about this movie is Nicholas Carras’ “cop show” style soundtrack, energetic and hilariously inappropriate in some spots (really, ’70s wacka wacka guitars for shots of people walking across the room?).
Harakiri (1962). This well-acted, beautifully told samurai film has danced in and out of the IMDb Top 250 for some time now. While overlong and talky, the film does explore an angle not usually covered in films of this ilk. Namely, what happens to an old samurai warrior after he’s outlived his usefulness? Most of the action takes place in the austere but huge home of a 17th century feudal lord in Edo, Japan. A flashback-filled tale unfolds in beautiful black and white. The wide screen cinematography, neatly presented on Criterion’s DVD, is some of the most beautiful I’ve seen.
They All Laughed (1981). Peter Bogdanovich loves this movie. I do not. The plot was thin, the women were vacuous, and — except for some fabulous street footage of New York in 1980 — I was bored.
Wife, Husband and Friend (1939). Plodding fluff about a socialite who desperately wants to be an opera singer, despite having no singing talent. She is further vexed when her husband actually becomes a famous opera singer without even trying. This was, oddly, based on a James M. Cain story, which kinda made me wish the characters plotted to murder each other. It would have been a lot more interesting that way. Loretta Young is miscast in the lead; she’s too young and lovely and her singing voice is obviously dubbed (and not incompetent enough to be believable). Obviously the part should have been played by a saucy Verree Teasdale type, an actress who would have been infinitely better matched with Warner Baxter as the husband.
Something Fishy
Although I’m categorically opposed to religious books geared toward children, Jim Roberts’ illustrations for The Man Caught By A Fish are so charming that I scanned a few spreads and uploaded them to my Kiddie Korner flickr set. This was an attempt to make the Biblical tale of Jonah and the whale appealing to the small fry of 1967. Christopher remembers liking this book as a kid — because of the fish, not the religious content (thank goodness).
Space: 1977
The commercial heralding the opening of Disneyland’s Space Mountain holds a special memory for me. Growing up in suburban Phoenix, I felt fortunate because Disneyland was located close enough for the family to visit regularly, yet far enough away that the place had acquired a fabulous mystique. Especially to an eight year-old boy. That shot of the Space Mountain vehicle hurtling away into an endless field of stars was pure manna to me back then. “Mom, Dad, we’ve gotta go to Disneyland!!”
Postscript: once the family got to the ride, I was so scared off by the numerous warning signs that I took off and waited at the end of the queue. A few years would pass before I felt brave enough to conquer the Mountain.
Mistresses-in-Chief
Portraits of presidential dalliances throughout U.S. history from British painter Annie Kevan (via Quiddity). These have an intriguing, unfinished quality. Among the thirty portraits is one male — William Rufus DeVane King, who was alleged to have shared more than living quarters with James Buchanan.
Weekly Mishmash: March 8-14
House of Cards (1990). British actor Ian Richardson is the whole show as a scheming House of Parliament member in this 1990 BBC miniseries. Christopher saw this back in the day; it was a first time viewing for me. Absorbing and surprisingly not too dated; Richardson’s soliloquies to the camera and the constant establishing shots of rats crawling around London are highlights in this twisty tale.
Juke Girl (1942). Gritty and well-meaning, if unmemorable, tale of Florida farm workers fits snugly amongst the cycle of Warner Bros. “plight of the common man” melodramas. Ronald Reagan is the picture of blandness in the lead (strange seeing him starring in such a liberal-minded film), playing a drifting farm worker facing off against an exploitative produce distributor. Although the film is titled after Ann Sheridan’s saucy dance hall dame, her character is actually pretty incidental here. What really made this movie worth watching is the supporting cast — Richard Whorf, Gene Lockhart, George Tobias, Alan Hale, and Howard Da Silva. Individually, all of those guys were the kind of undervalued meat-and-potatoes actors that added spice to otherwise standard ’40s b-movies. They’re all great here. Oh, and like a lot of WB films of this era, the cinematography is moody and nice all around. Lots of barroom fights here, too.
The Mirror Crack’d (1980). Those all-star Agatha Christie adaptations from the ’70s and ’80s are guilty pleasures of mine. The Mirror Crack’d came third in line chronologically; after Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Death on the Nile (1979), preceding Evil Under the Sun (1982, still haven’t seen this although the film’s tie-in paperback was the first “grown up” book I remember reading). Here Angela Lansbury plays Miss Marple, with Elizabeth Taylor and Kim Novak hamming it up as aging movie stars. Rock Hudson and Tony Curtis play the men in their lives. Hands down, Taylor and Novak’s one scene together forms the catty highlight. The rest of the film is somewhat flat and TV movie-like, the kind of thing you’d pick out of the library bins when nothing else looks interesting (which, coincidentally, is how I came across this!). It appears that Christie based her story on a real-life incident involving actress Gene Tierney.
Third Man on the Mountain (1960). James MacArthur plays a young Swiss lad who yearns to climb the same dangerous mountain peak his father died on, in this colorful Disney adventure. It’s a strictly okay production with a few exciting mountain climbing scenes sprinkled amongst the blah drama. MacArthur’s mom, Helen Hayes, has an amusing cameo as a tourist. Ironically, this forgotten movie’s main claim to fame is that it inspired the Matterhorn Bobsleds attraction at Disneyland — making it one of the few cases where the cash-in ride is better than the movie.
Turning Trix
So cool: General Mills is rolling out a series of retro cereal boxes in certain stores. Look at the side-by-side comparison of the ’60s-era Trix box with a new one; those old boxes are so much simpler and more appealing. We looked for these in our local Safeway and couldn’t find them. Guess I’ll have to check out Target next. TheDieline.com is a weblog devoted to package design and re-designs (thanks to Eric for pointing me there).
Book Review: This Is For You
Here’s something I should have written about around Valentine’s Day, but that’s all right. Here at scrubbles, we do not strictly observe time tables. This Is For You comes from the fertile mind of the amazing British artist Rob Ryan. Here Ryan uses his paper cutting skills to tell the story of a young man seeking to fill the void in his heart. The narrative is nicely told, if a bit hackneyed, but the real star here is the intricate handiwork pictured on every page. Although the silhouetted imagery looks as if it were computer generated, they are in fact paper cutouts photographed against white backgrounds (one can even see shadows here and there). Aesthetically, the resulting works lie halfway between Victorian froufrou and the obsessive-compulsive artwork produced by the mentally challenged. I can’t imagine the man hours Ryan put into this, a slim and lovely source of inspiration.
This is for You was originally published in England back in 2007; this recent edition comes from Chronicle. Buy at Amazon.com here.
Algo Mais Em Sua Vida
Betcha didn’t know that that wacky and weird Tropicália trio Os Mutantes did a bunch of Shell Oil commercials in the ’60s. Until earlier this evening, I sure didn’t. These have a strong Monkees feel.
100% Cotton
Kirk Demarais of Secret Fun Spot takes a journey through his life in t-shirts. Astonishing!
Linked here previously, but it bears repeating: The Glen Mullaly Super-Terrific Licensed Television and Motion Picture Shirts & T-Shirts of the 1970s Razzle Dazzle Retrospective Spectacular Pt.1! .
Weekly Mishmash: March 1-7
Various Artists — The Complete Motown Singles, Volume 9: 1969. These lavish, limited edition box sets from Hip-O Select are the only splurges I make for myself. Scrubbles readers might remember that I got the excellent 1966 volume a year ago, then I treated myself to the ‘65 and ‘67 volumes last October. Those three years were the prime era of classic Motown. Although I next wanted to move onward to 1968 (the year I was born!), the fact that the 1969 set has already gone out of print necessitated getting it next. With Holland Dozier Holland gone and the “classic” Motown sound giving way to grittier soul, I often thought that 1969 was an “off” year for the label. Now that I’ve heard all 148 tracks in this set, however, I find that I was wrong. Although it doesn’t have as many big hits as previous years, this was an brilliant, very eclectic set — probably my second favorite to the all killer, no filler ‘66 set (which is now fetching hundreds of bucks on the resale market, I might add). After a time of concentrating on his sure-fire hit acts, this was a year in which Berry Gordy diversified his labels to capture audiences in rock, jazz, deep soul, even novelty records (Soupy Sales recorded for Motown?). These are interesting detours, but the real meat of the set are groovy a- and b-sides by Diana Ross & The Supremes, The Temptations, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight et. al. Presented chronologically, the singles hum along nicely with rarely a misstep (I’d say the horrid Supremes/Temptations cover of “The Weight” is the absolute nadir). By the time we get to October 1969 and the electrifying debut of the Jackson 5, things hit a delirious peak. It must have been a thrill hearing something as dynamic and forward-sounding as “I Want You Back” in ‘69. With a handful of other singles, Motown was moving into similar uncharted territory. The Temptations’ “I Can’t Get Next To You,” Junior Walker’s smooth “What Does It Take,” Edwin Starr’s hoppin’ “Twenty Five Miles,” and the Supremes’ “Someday We’ll Be Together” — all new and different, yet not sounding very much alike at all. I’m overjoyed that I spent the bucks on this baby.
The Complete Peanuts 1963-64 by Charles M. Schulz. Speaking of a classic time. I’m continuing to play catch-up with these Complete Peanuts books. This particular volume is highlighted with a warm introduction by the late Bill Melendez, who animated all of the Schulz-era Peanuts specials (which debuted in the period that this book covers). Even if it’s a bit heavy on the baseball strips, which I enjoy but don’t particularly love, this was a stellar volume. Everything that people love about the strip was in place at this time, and Schulz was at the top of his game. Here we have Charlie Brown and his insecurities with the Little Red-Haired Girl, Linus running for class president, Lucy being the eternal fussbudget, and Snoopy dealing with a pesky flock of birds (who would eventually evolve into one bird, Woodstock). On the odd side, Schulz introduced a boy named “5″ and his sisters “3″ and “4.” These siblings would eventually join Shermy and Charlotte Braun in the annals of obscure Peanuts characters, but they can be seen dancing in A Charlie Brown Christmas. One thing I noticed here is how smartly Schulz references various famous figures of the time — how often does one find Rachel Carson or Willie Mays name dropped in a comic strip?
The Hoax (2006). I never thought Richard Gere was much of an actor, but playing author Clifford Irving seemed to be a natural fit for his smarmy charm. In the early ’70s, Irving rose to fame by co-authoring an autobiography with the reclusive Howard Hughes — an effort that turned out to be completely made up. I enjoyed Gere as Irving, along with Alfred Molina as Irving’s perpetually nervous assistant and Hope Davis as his editor (although I found it unnerving that Davis, dolled up in chichi makeup and hairstyle, looks exactly like Flo — that annoying Progressive Insurance chick!). Good as the cast is, however, this movie was a bit lacking for me. It reminded me too much of Catch Me If You Can, another recent ’70s-period movie about a charlatan. Both had stories that seemed interesting on paper, but in execution they wound up being bland and draggy. Perhaps because it’s too inevitable that the protagonists will eventually get caught?
New Years Sacrifice (1956). Picturesque melodrama about a woman trying to find her way in the early 20th century Chinese countryside after she becomes a widow. Attempting to find work and a home, she is indicted and beaten down by the superstitious townspeople around her. This somewhat obscure movie seems a bit smug on the surface (it fairly screams “look how far we’ve come!”), but it is absorbing and entertaining in its own modest way. The color photography and authentic Chinese music are both pleasant, and the actress in the lead suffered admirably.
The Squid and the Whale (2006). Divorce, ’80s New York intellectual style. I believe this was actually one of the better acted movies in recent memory. Not just with Laura Linney (brilliant as usual) and Jeff Daniels, but the actors playing their children managed to pull off appearing smart without veering into precociousness. Director-screenwriter Noah Baumbach based this story on his own childhood, which gives this movie a bit more heft and authority than the usual indie fare. Strangely, for such a downbeat subject, it has a lot of laugh out loud moments — like the girl auditioning for the school talent show by singing “Kyrie” by Mr. Mister, f’rinstance. Filled with sensitive and obscure folk tunes, the otherwise appealing soundtrack suffers from the “listen to my cool record collection” curse commonly heard in Wes Anderson’s work (no surprise, since Anderson co-produced this film). Since the family cat in this movie is constantly referred to as “the cat,” I can only assume that Noah Baumbach doesn’t like cats.
Vicki (1953). When a model dies, a creepy, stalker-like police inspector goes after the dead woman’s sister and boyfriend until somebody cracks. The killer’s identity is blatantly obvious from the start, so basically this whole movie is nothing but preposterous malarkey. I swear, the people in this film are so passive and stupid that I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle them.
