Runnin’ from the Fuzz
Deborah Harry of Blondie performs “One Way Or Another” on The Muppet Show, from a later season that really needs to come out on DVD. Right now. Meantime, I’m happy to listen to all of Parallel Lines over and over.
Spin Me Right Round
Jonah Weiner of Slate.com: Three biggest reasons music magazines are dying. This was such an interesting read, since it came a few days after we spent some time in our local Borders looking at the magazines (music and otherwise). It was pathetic. Rolling Stone is but a shadow of what it was in the ’80s. The larger format that made it so distinctive is gone. I was also shocked at the slim issue of Entertainment Weekly I perused. The thing is like a pamphlet now. The article’s observations on the lessening need for music critics in today’s culture spot-on. Read it.
P.S. Of all the mags we looked at, one of the few that left a favorable impression was Illustration Magazine. Perhaps expensive is the wave of the future?
Golden Anniversary
A “happy 50th birthday” shout out today goes out to Christopher. Cutest AARP inductee ever!
Weekly Mishmash: July 19-25
The Firebird (1934). I was intrigued by this melodrama on the Turner Classic Movies schedule, noting that this was a rare starring vehicle for the obscure but fabulous Verree Teasdale. Teasdale was great in wry comedic parts, usually as the leading lady’s sardonic gal pal; here she gets to emote aplenty as a Viennese society woman who emerges as a suspect in the murder of a sleazy actor (played by who else but Ricardo Cortez). This was a rather ridiculous movie — set in Europe, but with a cast speaking in all sorts of accents — but it did have enough interesting touches to place it above the ordinary. It certainly was a treat seeing Teasdale doing something different. Here’s a publicity photo of Teasdale and hubby Lionel Atwill, looking appropriately concerned:
On Moonlight Bay (1951). Nostalgic, soufflé light and corny Doris Day musical. With Doris as a tomboy pining after handsome Gordon MacRae in an idyllic 1910s town, this is a bit of a Meet Me In St. Louis ripoff, right down to casting actor Leon Ames as Doris’ dad. Once you overlook the commercial-ness of the whole thing, however, the film winds up being a lot of undemanding fun, pretty sharply written, nicely photographed in glorious Technicolor. Best of all, the star gets to sing often and her transformation from bratty teen to lovely young lady is nice. Mary Wickes as the family maid gets the “best supporting cast member” award. I don’t have any great desire to check out the sequel, By The Light Of The Silvery Moon, however.
Sweet Land (2005). Unusual, critically acclaimed indie follows a mail order bride as she and her groom-to-be struggle for acceptance in an uptight 1920s community. I applaud the filmmakers for trying something contemplative in nature, but overall I just never took to this. In the beginning, the film shifts around in time, with the lead as an old lady looking back. An interesting touch, but it deflates all the drama that follows as to whether she’ll be deported or not. There are a few effective scenes, but on the whole it was too dull and dreary. On a shallow note, actress Elizabeth Reaser’s contemporary red curls and wardrobe was too distracting to be credibly ’20s. I did enjoy Alan Cumming as the couple’s cheery neighbor, but he was a rare bright spot in an otherwise blah film.
Torchwood: Children of Earth (BBC America). Best. Torchwood. Ever. Although I don’t usually take to TV sci-fi, Christopher helped turn me on to Torchwood. The show has an interesting, quirky sensibility. I loved the cast, headed by dreamy John Barrowman as the ageless Captain Jack Harkness. Although a few actors are missing from this epic final miniseries (Where were Owen and Tosh? Oh yeah, they’re dead.), it was a fascinating ride. This one revolved around mysterious aliens who communicate through Earth’s children. You would think that would take less than five nights to resolve, but all sorts of intriguing stuff happens over all that time. And it never came across as overextended. Jolly good show.
Watchmen (2009). The 2009 movie that everybody anticipated, then turned against after opening weekend. Right? Having never read the comic, I believe that this was a fanboy’s faithful rendition of a movie, which wound up being its undoing. It seemed wayyyy overproduced to me, padded out with one too many fight scenes, weighed down with an oppressive soundtrack. Some of the special effects were excellent, however, and I think there was a lot of potential with individual characters such as Dr. Manhattan and the Nite Owl. Christopher said he would have rather followed a film that only told Dr. Manhattan’s story. I totally agree. Now I’d like to check out the original comic.
Welcome to the Sixties. Let’s Bowl.
Those with a keen eye for the corners of Turner Classic Movies‘ schedule will have noticed that the channel has been playing ephemeral short films in the wee hours every Friday night. I never fail to record these babies, they are so bizarre and cool. Last Friday’s selection was The Golden Years, an early ’60s industrial film by Brunswick intended to showcase their shiny new bowling lane designs. Similar to what car manufacturers were promoting at the time, this film boasts angularity, optimism and lots of chrome. Part one:
Surprisingly, one can still find many of these fixtures in bowling alleys all over. And part two:
Budding Art Collector
I found the very ’60s, very pink painting below hanging in the bathroom of a Cottonwood, Arizona antique mall. It had a price tag of ninety-five dollars. I hemmed and hawed, but the artwork was so charming — and so obviously professional — that I decided to snatch it up (at a discount, no less).
This zaftig Lady Godiva immediately looked to be some kind of illustration art, perhaps for a greeting card company or Playboy type magazine. The name signed on the painting, Strejan, wasn’t a familiar sounding one to me, however. A little research uncovered an artist named John Strejan, who died in 2003. Strejan made his name as a preeminent pop-up book craftsman in the ’80s and ’90s. This painting looks to date from much earlier, but all I can find on him relates to his pop-up book career (perhaps the painting was by a different Strejan?). According to his New York Times obit, he had earlier worked as an art director for Teen magazine and Bullocks department store. I’m going to attempt contacting Mr. Strejan’s loved ones to see if they can shed some light on this enigmatic gal.
Weekly Mishmash: July 12-18
Note: out of a lack of good images to use with this week’s Mishmash, I’m going with this poodle playing card from my flickr photo stream. For no good reason, actually, except that it’s colorful and cute.
The Good Bad Girl (1931). My second Mae Clarke pre-Coder from TCM was a disappointment. This was a standard melodrama all the way, with Mae as a former gangster’s moll attempting to go straight with a high society guy. Watching it, I couldn’t help but think this “good girl trying to prove herself” script must have been offered to Barbara Stanwyck first (both Clarke and Stanwyck were Columbia studios contractees at this time, I believe). Unlike last week’s Final Edition, which benefited from snappy Pat O’Brien and the newsroom setting, this one plodded in a manner typical of early talkies. Come to think of it, the only thing I truly enjoyed here was the plump ‘n sassy Marie Prevost as Clarke’s best pal.
The Haunted Strangler (1958). It’s strange that this routine British potboiler was released on a spiffy Criterion DVD, but it is a competently done thriller that generates whatever steam it has from Boris Karloff. As a scientist investigating a long-ago string of murders in not-so merrie olde England, he delivers a subtle and good performance. Karloff seems like one of those workhorse actors whose intelligence elevated whatever tripe came his way, and this was no exception. What we’re dealing with here is strict Jekyll and Hyde territory, but the plotline does pick up nicely in the film’s closing scenes. Amongst a remaining cast of Brit nobodies, I personally enjoyed seeing ’30s MGM contractee Elizabeth Allan making an appearance as Karloff’s wife.
Ma and Pa Kettle Back on the Farm (1951). Over the weekend, Christopher and I stayed at my parents’ secluded cabin in Northern Arizona. Luckily they get TCM at the cabin, otherwise our entertainment options would have been limited. We settled in to watch this entry in the channel’s night-long salute to Ma & Pa Kettle, purely by chance (it happened to come on when we were ready to watch). I’ve never experienced the Kettle comedies before. Although I don’t have any great desire to see another one (rural humor is not my cup of moonshine), I can see why these were some of the most popular movies of their time. This particular entry was jam-packed with gags; smoothly directed to the point of being a bit flat and sitcommy in spots. Although the acting was decent enough all around, the film was dominated by the marvelous Marjorie Main as Ma Kettle. What a gal!
[Rec] (2007). Otherwise known as the Spanish thriller that was given an American shot-for-shot remake as 2008’s Quarantine. Comparing the two is a moot point, but I’ll do it anyway. Quarantine was slicker, better shot, more competently played by a better looking cast (at times, [Rec]’s histrionic actors feel like telenova outcasts), and somewhat less scary. On the other hand, the actions in [Rec] unspool in a more immediate fashion, the setting (urban apartment building with a textile factory on the ground floor) is more authentically Spanish than American, and the unpolished camera work made the film’s last half appreciatively more terrifying than expected. Overall, I give [Rec] the slight upper hand.
The Wire: Season Five. This it it. We finished watching The Wire. I’ve heard fans call the fifth season slightly less satisfying than the others, but both of us thought it was among the best in an unforgettable series. Since each season vaguely focuses on another aspect of Baltimore’s war on drugs, this particular year brought the news media into the mix. The way this show introduced more and more characters every year without losing focus was a source of wonder for me. And, having worked at a newspaper for a time, I can tell you that the newsroom depicted here was just as desperate and bizarre as it was when I was part of it (albeit 8-12 years ago, in Phoenix). Most news people are arrogant and insecure at the same time, behaving exactly like the Baltimore Sun reporters in this show. Another unrelated thing I admired about The Wire is that they had a lot of gay and lesbian characters whose sexuality wasn’t that big a deal in the great scheme of things. With even the smallest parts heavy with character, I feel like I got to know all these people pretty well. Unfortunately, it’s now all over and I’m feeling the void.
Joyce in Print
Finally, I have an excuse to update the semi-dormant Joyce Compton Shrine. Twelve years after leaving us, Miss Compton is coming out with an autobiography. The Real Joyce Compton: Behind the Dumb Blonde Movie Image is being released this Fall. Author Michael Ankerich used several images from my tribute site in the book. I’m jazzed. Starting now, I’ve also relaunched the J.C. News & Notes page as a blogspot blog. I’ll be using this forum to post new photos of Joyce (much easier than dealing with pesky html code).
Another World
A promo for CBS’s 1968 daytime soap opera lineup (thanks to Dan for the heads up!). This is fascinating for many reasons. No hard bodies or ultra pretty faces, for one. They made a big deal out of shows getting expanding to a half hour from 15 minutes (imagine that, a 15-minute soap). There’s also a peek at The Guiding Light, which will be ending its historic 72-year radio and TV run in September.
In a Panic
I had a panic attack last night. What an ordeal. This was the second time I’ve had one. The first time was in 1995, when I had a lot of emotional issues to deal with. This one from last night was comparatively mild, but I still wouldn’t wish it on anyone. What frightened me the most is that, as of recently, I haven’t been going through that much stress. It was just the thought of having a million little things that were left undone or unfinished that made me temporarily unglued.
It started early in the evening. I was going through a vague feeling of tension as the night went on. Christopher decided to put on a National Geographic special on Africa that he recorded. The show was hosted by Lisa Ling. I know it sounds funny, but I started thinking to myself, “Lisa Ling shouldn’t be hosting this piddly little show about Africa, she needs to try and free her sister in North Korea.” Then I was thinking about what Lisa Ling must be thinking about, what Christopher must be thinking about, then about the millions of little things in my life that were going on. I was quickly becoming overstimulated, and that sent me into a spiral of fright. I told Christopher that I needed to take a break, and that I might be having a panic episode (luckily I had enough sense and experience to at least somewhat know what was happening).
Christopher suggested taking a walk. Not knowing what to do, I agreed. It was actually a good thing. C. kept pointing out little things along our street, which kept me distracted. I was still feeling weird, however. When C. wanted to know if we should continue, I thought “If I can make it to the next corner and back, everything will be all right.” When we did make it to the corner, I felt some relief.
After returning home, I was still feeling anxious, so I went into my bedroom and lied down in the dark. The worst of the panic attack came on. I was sweating, my heart was pounding, and my limbs felt numb and heavy. Suicidal thoughts, thoughts of “am I going crazy?” came to me. Anybody who has gone through this can tell you that it’s the worst possible experience anyone can imagine. It was an oppressive feeling of hopelessness, but in the back of my mind I knew that if I stayed still and waited it out, those feelings would subside. After an hour or so, they did subside. I was still feeling groggy and disoriented, but at least we could enjoy Kathy Griffin together later that evening.
I’m feeling a lot better today, and even accomplished a few of those little things that previously worried me. One just has to take it one day at a time. Having a supportive sweetie helps. Also, I have to lay off having cereal for dinner!
Weekly Mishmash: July 5-11
Final Edition (1932). One of the thousand reasons to cherish Turner Classic Movies: they quietly played a trio of pre-Code Mae Clarke vehicles last Friday. Mae who? The lady best known for being at the receiving end of James Cagney’s breakfast in The Public Enemy, that’s who. With her sharp nose and inky dark eyes, she wasn’t a great beauty (strangely, she looks a lot like current actress Laura Dern). As evidenced by the snappy newspaper yarn Final Edition, however, she was an interesting enough presence in her own right. At first this feels like a Front Page ripoff, with Pat O’Brien repeating his amazing motor mouth skills as Clarke’s editor. Then the story detours into crime drama territory with Clarke’s perky reporter getting in over her head with the pencil-mustachioed crime syndicate bigwig she’s trailing. Although there’s nothing particularly outstanding about this spartan little thing, it’s a brisk and fun way to spend slightly more than an hour.
The French Lieutenant’s Woman (1981). Jeremy Irons and Meryl Streep as actors whose illicit affair mirrors the star-crossed 19th century couple they are playing in a film-within-a-film. This movie was like a luxurious, exquisitely wrapped package with nothing inside. The cross-generational back and forth only points out the weaknesses in both the boring contemporary scenes and the airless period scenes (which play like Merchant Ivory without the social commentary). Jeremy Irons’ excellent performance is the best reason to see this. Meryl Steep, although looking sensational, seemed disoriented in a role that was beyond her abilities at this stage in her career. A big “blah” for me.
Knowing (2009). Oh dear. Nicolas Cage figures out the end of the world with the help of a few telepathic kiddies. Christopher enjoyed this one, I didn’t. I don’t know if it was Cage’s laconic line recitations (the guy seems like he just learned his lines the night before filming) or plot holes big enough to drive through, but I gave up on this long before the hokey, Left Behind-style Christian parable at windup. The only parts I liked were the spectacular plane and subway crashes seen in the film’s trailer. Advanced CGI and mass destruction are an unbeatable combination, but two good scenes do not a decent movie make.
Mahogany (1975). “Do you know where you’re going to?” Somebody should have asked Diana Ross and Berry Gordy that very question before they decided to undertake this massive ego-fest cum romance movie. I always heard this was a camp classic, but mostly it’s trash — badly directed (what gave Gordy the idea that he could direct?) and with no redeeming characters whatsoever. As a fashion designer turned world famous model, Diana Ross does nada as an actress to give her role any humanity or balance. The woman starts off the film as a selfish brat and winds up a selfish brat at the end. And she delivers her climactic scene covered in candle wax. In the middle, we’re treated to Billy Dee Williams as her earnest, grounded suitor and a typecast Anthony Perkins as the smarmy photographer who makes her a star. Adding to the stench is the fact that the Oriental-meets-Glam-Rock fashions (designed by Ross herself!) are hideous creations that must have taken the applauding extras all their esophageal muscle control not to vomit over. There’s only one scene that I absolutely loved (and it’s not on YouTube, drat) — that’s the montage with Perkins photographing Ross in various exotic looks while Michael Masser’s wonderfully drippy score plays in the background. Oozing with fabulousness, it is the scene that must’ve launched a thousand drag queens.
Birthday Greetings
A milestone is coming our way, and for once I can make note of it before it arrives. As of tomorrow, Scrubbles the weblog will have been on the www for nine years (the Scrubbles.net domain was registered later that Fall). It’s hard to believe that I’m still scribbling away at this thing for that long. A kid born the same day as this weblog will now be nine years old. Huh.
Well, what can I say? Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me throughout the years. I’m a veteran enough to remember when the community was a loose free-for-all of ideas. I read a lot of different blogs, noted and linked to what I liked, and others linked to me in return. It was fun. Then a movement arose to make weblogs be “about” something (remember warblogging?), and I stubbornly stuck to just writing about whatever old crap took my fancy. Now we have insular segments of bloggers who stick to one subject and only link to other bloggers sharing the same m.o. I salute anyone who can do one thing and do it brilliantly and with passion — but having never gained a foothold in that world, I miss the old community.
Sorry to be a bummer, and I apologize if this weblog isn’t quite the exciting hive of activity it once was. There is a bright side. As long as there are quirky old cookbook illustrations or forgotten movies to write about, I vow to keep plugging away here.
Auto Fixation
Years ago, I remember seeing a Morrissey music video that was filmed along Van Buren Street here in Phoenix. Lo and behold, here’s “My Love Life.” I can understand Van Buren’s appeal for a foreign-born someone like Morrissey. Filled with sun-baked old motels with ginormous signage, the stretches of road along either side of downtown are pure examples of kitsch Americana. Sadly, many of the motels in this video have either decayed further or gotten torn down since the video was filmed. The brief shot of the Kon Tiki hotel and lounge was particularly bittersweet. The dramatic, Polynesian-style landmark was leveled in the mid-’90s to make way for — a used car lot.
Also noticed: the YMCA building at left in the mid-point screen shot is actually the gym where I work out twice a week!
Weekly Mishmash: June 28-July 4
The Group (1966). I always wanted to see this filming of Mary McCarthy’s popular “dirty book” from the ’60s, and was delighted when it showed up on TCM’s schedule saluting director Sidney Lumet. The film follows a clique of 1933 graduates from a women’s college as they get jobs, fall in love, marry, gossip, etc. An interesting film enlivened by a young and attractive cast, many of whom (Candice Bergen) were making their film debuts. Some of the then-shocking topics dealt with haven’t aged very well, though, and the film completely fails at capturing the feel of the ’30s. I also thought the film came across as shrill when it needed a more naturalistic touch. There are a few noteworthy performances in its favor, however. Jessica Walter as the Group’s gossip was the best. I also enjoyed Joan Hackett as the modern one, Elizabeth Hartman as the political one, and Shirley Knight as the traditional one. Not quite as campy as I though it would be, which in this case is a good thing.
Dusty Springfield — Reputation And Rarities. A treat. Released in 1990, Reputation was Dusty Springfield’s first album in eight years and her umpteenth comeback attempt. Although it spawned several hits in the U.K., it frustratingly wasn’t released in the U.S. until this expanded version came out in 1997. The first single was the beautiful Pet Shop Boys collaboration “Nothing Has Been Proved” from the film Scandal. With lush arrangements by Twin Peaks composer Angelo Badalamenti, I remember being wowed by the tune and its video when it got (infrequently) shown on VH1 in 1989. Being associated with a British art film didn’t help its fortunes, however. I believe the song was just too sophisticated for U.S. consumption. Luckily, it was successful enough in the U.K. to warrant a full side of Dusty/Pet Shop Boys collaborations for Reputation. Their five tunes are all brilliant, probably because Dusty seems game enough to do anything. Second single “In Private” is a retro-flavored delight, as is her cover of the vintage Goffin-King tune “I Want To Stay Here.” Album closer “Occupy Your Mind” takes her into the kind of electro-experimental territory that Madonna would later take on with Ray Of Light. She even raps on “Daydreaming” — and pretty well, too! The album is fleshed out with an a-side of nice contemporary pop produced by Dan Hartman and others. Recommended. Below, the stylish video for “In Private”:
When A Woman Ascends The Stairs (1960). Poignant Japanese melodrama about an aging prostitute (aren’t all Japanese melodramas about prostitutes?) played with understated grace by Hideko Takamine. Fearing that her career as a bar hostess may be coming to an end, Takamine desires to open up her own bar. She doesn’t have the money, however, which causes her to weigh the option of marriage with one of her clients. She also has to deal with family members taking advantage of her. This film sometimes played itself out like a soap opera, albeit a bleak and absorbing one. It also boasts a nifty, jazzy score and lots of lovely night scenes of a city in transition.
The Life and Career of Abner Graboff
Among modern children’s book illustrators from the ’50s and ’60s, Abner Graboff ranks as one of my personal favorites. Strangely enough, he’s not as well-known as some of his contemporaries, however. Wanting to shed some light on the now deceased man, the indefatigable Ward Jenkins contacted the artist’s son, Jon, and published an insightful interview on his weblog. Here’s part one and part two. Read and be inspired by all the artwork (like the spread from 1961’s I Know An Old Lady, below).
Incidentally, Ward’s first illustrated children’s book has just been published — How to Train with a T. Rex and Win 8 Gold Medals by Michael Phelps and Alan Abrahamson. Congrats to him!
