Weekly Mishmash: January 24-30
Big Trouble in Little China (1986). Following They Live in my exploration of ’80s John Carpenter movies, Big Trouble in Little China seems to have a big following amongst action kitsch lovers. Like Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, though, I sense that a big chunk of the people who adore this film were impressionable young boys when they first viewed it. This jaded fortysomething didn’t get as much of a kick out it, but the movie is still fast-paced and fun with an over-the-top sensibility that the director and star Kurt Russel run with for all it’s worth. Although the story is nothing to write home about, I enjoyed the appealing cast, the fighting scenes, and the Asian weirdness of it all. When it comes down to it, however, real Asian action flicks are exponentially weirder (see below).
It’s Tough to Be Famous (1932). Intriguing early talkie supposedly inspired by the rise of Charles Lindbergh. Lanky and elegant Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. stars as Navy officer Scotty McClenahan. When his submarine is bombed, McClenahan gallantly chooses to save his crew over himself. Returning to land, he gets a hero’s welcome and becomes a national celebrity. This film covers ground similar to Crooner with David Manners; unlike that tale, however, this one treats fame with a healthy dose of cynicism. Fairbanks doesn’t want to be famous at all and resents that the adulation has changed his relationship with girlfriend (Mary Brian) and prevents the now-retired officer from getting a decent job. Although the film is a bit poky and unfocused, it’s interesting to watch in today’s celebrity craving climate.
Latitude Zero (1969). Wild and campy sci-fi action monster flick from Toho studios and Godzilla director Ishirô Honda. Actually, this plays a bit like a Godzilla flick, only with Joseph Cotten and a hammy Cesar Romero standing in for the big green scaly guy. In this film, a submarine containing three scientists loses its way and crash lands deep undersea. The vessel’s crew is rescued by an advanced sub piloted by well preserved 204 year-old scientist Cotten, a man who introduces them to his utopian underwater community (shades of Lost Horizon’s Shangri-La) — a society whose peaceful existence is under threat from a maniacal geneticist (Romero) who lives on a nearby rocky island populated with giant rats. Yeah, I didn’t make that up. Don’t expect anything great here (not even cheesy great), but there are plenty of detailed miniature special effects, Austin Powers-esque silver and gold outfits, futuristic Op Art decor, and an international cast of youngsters and vets seemingly trying to out-ham each other. We watched the U.S. dubbed version, which conjured up memories of being a kid and watching monster movies every Saturday on our local outlet for cheesy old sci-fi, World Beyond broadcast on Phoenix’s KPHO (locals: remember that?). ’60s camp aficionados: don’t miss this!
Paris, je t’aime (2006). Twenty short films by a host of acclaimed directors, all relating to love and life in and around Paris. Some segments suffer from being too short (Gus Van Sant’s part, the only story involving gay men), too pointless (Alfonso Cuarón’s single take of Nick Nolte yammering away to a French dolly), or too weird (a courtship told in stylized mime). The good parts greatly outweigh the bad overall, however. The beauty of a film like this is that each viewer can come away with their own favorites to savor. My own were Alexander Payne’s segment, narrated by a plain looking middle aged American tourist, and the segment with two transplanted Nigerians whose paths cross in remarkable ways.
Surrogates (2009). Bruce Willis copes with a near future in which American society is populated with “surrogates,” lifelike robot avatars controlled by humans who have become too sedentary to experience fresh air and nice walks for themselves. This had a lot of potential to be an involving thriller with a deep message a la Spielberg’s Minority Report, but the end result is a disappointing mishmash with plot holes galore. It’s not horribly done, and entertaining in its own modest way. Whatever you do, don’t watch the previews, which give away too many essential plot points.
Swing Out Sister — Shapes and Patterns and Chris Isaak — Best of Chris Isaak. Swing Out Sister and Chris Isaak are two performers with deeply retro sensibilities and strangely durable careers; these releases also serve as interesting reminders of how record companies handle performers that don’t fit in one readily identified musical niche. 1997’s Shapes and Patterns was Mercury’s last-ditch attempt to market the sophisticated pop of Corrine Drewery and Andy Connell to the U.S. (the duo remains popular in Japan). By this time the duo had expanded their striking brand of Bacharach-esque pop to include bits of ’70s funk and even chilly electro (”Icy Cold As Winter”). It didn’t translate to big sales, but this album is still a pleasure to hear. Although the album doesn’t hit the peaks of ’89’s Kaleidoscope World (sheer perfection, in my opinion), this is a good vehicle for Drewery’s expressive but never show-offy voice and Connell’s candy sweet arrangements. Who’da thunk that these two would still be around today? I’ve also harbored a liking for Chris Isaak (and not just for his hot looks), but I’ve never actually gotten any of his stuff until recently coming across his best-of on eMusic. His schtick is a singer-songwriter’s take on ’50s/early ’60s Roy Orbison style crooning, but with a dose of modern grit that elevates it above mere retro pastiche. Listening to this collection, what strikes me most is how consistent his sound has been. The tracks range from “Dancin’” off his 1985 debut to a handful of 2006 tunes, all versed in laid back California cool with simple arrangements and echo-laden vocals. That sound is best epitomized on the sexy “Wicked Game” (his only top 10 hit), but just about everything he’s done is worth looking into.
Binder, Maurice Binder
I’ve been checking out a lot of favorite 1960s movie title sequences lately. Today’s neat discovery: a YouTube user has strung together all of the James Bond franchise title sequences so you can see how they developed over time. The first group below includes titles from Dr. No, From Russia with Love and Goldfinger — all designed by Maurice Binder (not true, actually; see comments). Binder designed the credits on all 007 franchise films released up to his death in 1991. Even the more recent Bond titles owe a huge debt to his seductive imagery.
The Plastic Conundrum
Could you live for a day without plastic? How about a week? Last August, Readymade magazine’s online editor Katherine Sharpe tried forgoing plastic for seven days. Here’s the conclusion of her report. It really makes you think about how much plastics invade our lives, and how one can take simple steps to eliminate the stuff in certain areas (even if you can’t totally avoid it). For example, it always makes me cringe when we put bananas in a plastic bag at the supermarket. Why bag bananas?
In the comments of that blog entry, there’s a link to the site of Chris Jordan, an artist-photographer who visualizes what we humans consume in thought provoking ways. Worth a look!
Weekly Mishmash II: January 17-23
The Monkees — The Monkees [Deluxe Edition]. Though I’ve only been subscribing to mp3 download site eMusic for a few months, they’ve already hit upon a treasure trove of new albums from the Warner Music Group just added this month. This move doesn’t sit well with the indie-lovin’ eMusic faithful, but it’s a-okay with me. The first thing I decided to sample was the Monkees’ first album from 1966, as reissued with bonus tracks by Rhino in 2006. Despite having only one hit (”Last Train to Clarksville”), this was a groovy little album. The affable voice of Micky Dolenz can be heard on most of the tracks, with a few vocals going to Davy Jones and Mike Nesmith (Peter Tork is nowhere to be heard). Naysayers find the Monkees to be a fake Beatles, but mostly what I get off this LP is a smoothed out version of the L.A. garage rock popular at that time. Although most of these tracks are written by Tommy Boyce-Bobby Hart or Gerry Goffin-Carole King, Nesmith’s winsome “Papa Gene’s Blues” proves the band had at least one talented songwriter within its ranks. Nifty vintage commercials and early demoes of tunes that wound up on later Monkees albums make up the bonus tracks.
My Bill (1938). TCM last week celebrated the birthday of actress Kay Francis with a morning-long slate of her soapy vehicles, of which this particular one got caught via the TiFaux. This was apparently the first film the fabulous Francis made after she made a stink with Warner Bros. over the terms of her contract. As a result, the Warners brass started casting her in lower budget b-movies (they even gave her scripts that highlighted her Elmer Fuddlike speech impediment — ouch!). My Bill is a heartwarming family melodrama with the glamorous Kay miscast as cash strapped widow and mother of four children in a small, judgemental town. It’s a very simplistic and predictable film, but I actually enjoyed the way Francis interacted with the actors playing her children — particularly Dickie Moore as the only child who sticks with his ma after his bratty siblings decide to stay with their rich aunt. Moore is cute without being cloying, providing the emotional anchor to this admittedly slight tale. Read more about this film (and the rest of Miss Francis’ oeuvre) at the Kay Francis’ Life and Career weblog.
Pandorum (2009). A “been there, done that” sci fi horror film set on a spacecraft with crew members emerging from hypersleep to find themselves lost in space and outnumbered by grungy, mysterious creatures. Ben Foster and Dennis Quaid do decent enough jobs heading up a quirky cast, but there’s nothing novel to be found in a familiar story populated with characters from the action/horror playbook. Tough chick? Check. Ethnic dude who meets an early end? Check. Batshit crazy guy? Check. Drinking game: take a swig each time Foster takes a tumble.
They Live (1988). “I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass… and I’m all out of bubblegum.” Pulpy fun from director John Carpenter and bemulleted, surprisingly hunky leading man Roddy Piper. This is a rather obvious anti-conformity screed, but it’s pretty enjoyable once you turn your brain off. Piper’s five minute long fistfight with actor Keith David was an interesting sight, but what stood out for me was the homo-subtext between the two actors (that couldn’t have been done on purpose, could it?). I like the idea that aliens live among us, beings which can only be seen through special sunglasses, but Piper must have been a fool to think glassy-eyed Meg Foster was a human. Abrupt ending was a disappointment.
Weekly Mishmash I: January 17-23
Chinese Box (1997). IFC showing. A very serious drama documenting a British photojournalist (Jeremy Irons) living in Hong Kong when the city underwent their historic transfer of power to the Chinese in 1997. The tumult of these events is mirrored in Irons’ personal life, in which he deals with his girlfriend (Gong Li), a barkeeper who is also involved with a wealthy Chinese businessman, and a feisty street vendor (Maggie Cheung) who captures his attention. We recorded this for the cast, since Irons is always good, Li never fails to look gorgeous, and the versatile Cheung is watchable in just about anything. Despite them, though, this film is a big bore overloaded with too many obvious metaphors. The characters never really connected with me — Irons is too remote, Li (in her first English speaking role) looks uncomfortable, and Cheung can’t do much with her obnoxious, underwritten character.
Crooner (1932). Fun early Warner Bros. talkie starring handsome David Manners as a big band leader who finds swift stardom after emulating a Rudy Vallee style of soft singing. He gets a swelled head, however, finding that fame is more fleeting than the latest hemline length. Manners is too bland a personality to carry a film, and the songs are beyond unmemorable, but the film moves along nicely thanks to Lloyd Bacon’s crisp direction, and the marvelous Ann Dvorak is on hand as Manners’ girlfriend. I like that the ultimate indignity of Manners’ conceited singer comes when he hits a “cripple” (a WWI vet with one missing leg). How shameful!
The Girl Next Door (1953). Another musical hobbled by forgettable songs, but almost redeemed through its charming cast. This Technicolor Fox opus stars effervescent June Haver as a stage star who retires to a (fabulously decorated) suburban home. All is cozy until Haver finds herself drawn to the slovenly cartoonist (Dan Dailey) living next door, a widower raising a young son (Billy Gray). For some reason, I find myself drawn to June Haver and her generic perkiness, and she’s a good match in the dancing department with the athletic Dailey. I enjoyed the unusual domestic setting here, too, and there are several interestingly staged numbers (such as the one below, with Dailey and Gray doing some intricate moves with a bunch of Lifetime plastic dinnerware). This film even contains two fantasy sequences animated by the UPA studio. These scenes are cool to watch and very ’50s modern looking, but like the rest of the film they don’t quite jell. Overall the film is a diverting curio for ’50s musical fans, über perky and unmemorable.
The rest of the Mishmash continues tomorrow — betcha just can’t wait!
Miracles from Molecules
Posting our Wednesday video on Thursday (the mind is the first thing to go, doncha know), we have a short film from ClassicThemeParks.com on one of Disneyland’s best-ever attractions — Monsanto’s Adventure Thru Inner Space. This was the ride where, riding in a capsule-shaped buggy, one got shrunk down to explore the molecular structure of a common snowflake. The thrills began in the ride’s queue, with a giant microscope and that super-cool rainbow hued snowflake on the wall (seen at 2:07 in the video). Sadly, the guest shrinkage ceased in 1986 and things were never quite the same in Tomorrowland. Star Tours swallowed up the same space in the park, not a good substitute in my opinion. Pee Wee Herman replacing Paul Frees? Phhhtt.
Wheels on Fire, Burning Down the Road
Welcome to our latest acquisition (Price Is Right voice) — a new car! This 2005 Pontiac Grand Prix was among the fleet of company cars for the place where Christopher works. When they came up for sale, we thought long and hard and decided to go for it. I loved my trusty old ‘97 Geo Metro (a hand-me-down from Christopher), but it was getting to the point where it was rattling, the AC didn’t work right, etc. So it was with a heavy heart that we donated the old vehicle to a local charity for the blind. This Pontiac is nice and sturdy, bigger than what I’m usually used to but very nimble and smooth on the road. Design-wise, I had this impression that Pontiacs were the cars made for dudes who think a framed Nagel print was the height of cool. This particular model is not too bad looking, however. Stylish, even.
Weekly Mishmash: January 10-16
Leif Garrett – The Leif Garrett Collection. I thought it might be kitschy and fun to make this 12-track collection my last download for the month at eMusic. Listening to it from start to finish, it’s pretty apparent that Leif was only put on this earth to look dreamy on album covers and posters (preferably in skintight jeans) — but some of it bears further exploration. His biggest hit “I Was Made for Dancin’” still sounds goofy yet incredibly potent, an artifact of the time when disco and rock could mix without a blink. There are a few goodies in his later, lesser-known stuff — “Memorize Your Number,” a Knackish power pop gem from 1979, the breezy California soft rock number “You Had to Go and Change On Me,” and the ’50s flavored “Runaway Rita” (his last charting single from late ‘81). The rest is bubblegum dreck, but the little girls understand.
The Hospital (1971). Bleak, savagely funny satirical drama set in a beleaguered hospital run by a suicidal administrator (George C. Scott). This was directed by Arthur Hiller and written by Paddy Chayefsky in a startlingly contemporary manner that would foreshadow Chayefsky’s own Network from a few years later. The dialogue is whip-smart and expertly played by a great cast that includes Scott, Diana Rigg, and a host of actors that would later become better known in a variety of later TV shows. Although many elements are strained and dated (the protesters, for example), I was surprised at how timely and enjoyable this was. And, yes, I can totally imagine today’s hospitals being run this incompetently.
For the Thrill Of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Jazz Age Chicago by Simon Baatz. Frustrating, absorbing at times account of the “trial of the century” for Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold Jr., affluent 1920s college students who brutally murdered an 11 year-old boy as an exercise for their own demented enjoyment. Baatz’s approach is incredibly detailed and comprehensive, which works well on the sections dealing with the crime itself, and what happened later on with the two men after they were sentenced to lifelong jail terms. He does tend to get too detailed, however, and it seriously hobbles the book when Baatz decides we need to know the complete backstories of the two attorneys (I skipped those chapters). The account of Leopold and Loeb’s trial, with page after page of medical experts debating the boys’ sanity, was mind-bendingly dull. The good parts of this book were very well done, however, adding much needed perspective to a crime that was fictionalized in movies such as Alfred Hitchock’s Rope and Tom Kalin’s Swoon.
The Lucy Show: The Official First Season. An interesting watch, since all I’d known of Lucille Ball’s first venture after I Love Lucy were the later color seasons in which her daffy Lucy Carmichael character works at a bank under Gale Gordon as the imperious Mr. Mooney. This first season was a different animal altogether, and not just for the crisp black and white photography. Lucy plays a widow raising two children under the same roof with her best friend Vivian Bagley (Vivian Vance, of course), a divorcée with her own boy. Ball throws herself into the role with aplomb, and she has excellent chemistry with Vance (who seems to relish playing a sexier, less matronly character than Ethel Mertz). The domestic setting provides a lot of good situations; I just wish it worked a bit better. The kids are shrill and don’t really add anything to the show, and many of the plots are so Lucy-centric that it makes one realize that she worked best in an ensemble. Finally, the writing is just so stupid and silly with one preposterous situation after another. Despite its faults, it was fun watching this DVD set with a host of nifty extras (such as the credits sequence with commercial insert below). Bring on season two and Mr. Mooney!
Man Hunt (1941). Interesting, somewhat ridiculous WWII propaganda film directed by Fritz Lang. Given the cast and director, I was expecting more than the hokey dramatics presented in this yarn with Walter Pidgeon portraying an Englishman who nearly assassinates Hitler. The film begins as a relatively low-key affair when Pidgeon is chased across Europe by Nazi official George Sanders and his verminlike minion (John Carradine). Then things turn bizarre with the appearance of Joan Bennett as a poor Londonite sporting the worst cockney accent ever committed to film (trust me, it’s dinner theater My Fair Lady production awful). The gullible Bennett falls for Pidgeon, a point that is hammered home by Alfred Newman’s overly obvious musical score. I won’t spoil the rest, but things unspool in a way that makes this more an interesting, hokey beyond belief curio than the lost classic that many fans insist it is.
Moon (2009) and Clonus (1979). Two low budget sci-fi indies which took on cloning as its subject, coincidentally seen in the same week here at chez scrubbles. It goes without saying that Moon is the better of the two, although Clonus has its own interest once you get past the kitschy ’70s trappings. The former concerns an astronaut (Sam Rockwell) who is the sole operator of a mining colony on the dark side of the moon. Readying to complete his three year mission, he is shocked to find a visitor who looks like his exact double. This film does wonders with a small budget, impressively creating a world with one set and several expertly done miniatures. I also liked how they filmed Rockwell playing against himself, which makes up for the implausible story (one guy running an entire moon colony?) and an imposing robot ripped off of 2001. Not an earth shattering film, but thought provoking nonetheless. I’d previously seen Clonus as a Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode, but watching it without the riffing reveals it to be an interesting story brought down by a miniscule budget. I will say this — it kept our attention. The DVD’s added interview with director Robert Fiveson had one anecdote which revealed something I hadn’t noticed in the movie.: he had instructed the actors playing the lobotomized clones to blink a beat longer than usual. It’s a subtle touch that adds a lot to their ’70s blow-dried creepiness.
The Silent Partner (1978). Overlooked crime thriller starring Elliot Gould as a mild-mannered teller who gets into trouble when he secretly absconds with part of a fortune missed by a psychotic bank robber (Christopher Plummer). This was kind of a cool story, well-played with a few scenes of shocking violence which called to mind Dressed to Kill. I enjoyed Susannah York as Gould’s sensible co-worker and love interest, which made up for the weirdly dubbed Céline Lomez as the other woman in his life. This was made in Canada, which has its own strange appeal, but the best part was that much of the film was shot in a brand new shopping mall. These scenes were a gas, and they totally reminded me of the local mall I once knew and loved that also opened around 1978 (yes, I’m a weirdo who loves it when a Swensen’s ice cream parlor pops up in the background of a movie). Add in unknown John Candy doing a non-comedic role and you have something that is worth a peek for the curious.
Return to Joy
A vintage To Tell the Truth segment with silent film actress Leatrice Joy. Although we’re probably the only people on the planet with a framed picture of Miss Joy hanging in our kitchen, this was a tough one to guess. The one I suspected most from the opening remarks ended up being the real Leatrice, however.
Jeez, I miss the old b&w game shows on GSN.
Silent Saturday
You oughta know this by now, but we can’t get enough old movies — on DVD, on Turner Classic Movies, anywhere we can find them. With all the old movies we get to see, however, it’s a shame that we rarely get the chance to see them as they were originally shown. This past weekend, Christopher, some friends and I got the privilege to experience a silent film the way it would have been shown back in the ’20s, on a big screen with live musical accompaniment. The film was Safety Last! starring Harold Lloyd, presented as part of a series of silent film screenings shown at the beautifully restored Orpheum Theatre in downtown Phoenix.
The film itself was so much fun, and there is a lot more to it than Lloyd’s famous “hanging off a clock” scene. Lloyd plays one of his usual cheerful small town boys here, one that must find a job in the big city so that he can afford to marry his best girl (Mildred Davis, who later became the real Mrs. Harold Lloyd). Although he finds employment as a department store clerk, Lloyd finds that he has to exaggerate his position so his girl won’t leave him. Eventually he devises a promotional scheme to have a “human fly” climb outside the huge department store, a plan that goes awry when Lloyd has to sub for his stuntman pal. This fast-paced romp was a great vehicle for Lloyd’s gift for perfect physical comedy, and the film is brimming with several clever bits that utilize it (Lloyd and his roommate turning themselves into hanging coats to avoid their landlady, for instance). The scenes of Lloyd climbing up that building are beautifully done, and what’s more you get a lot of breathtaking aerial views of downtown Los Angeles streets with their trolley cars and lack of crosswalks or stoplights. The showing had live accompaniment on the huge pipe organ that was part of the Orpheum restoration. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill organ — it’s huge! The score was magnificently played by local legend Ron Rhode, whom I remember playing a similarly gigantic instrument at Organ Stop Pizza not far from where I grew up. His presence made the evening doubly nostalgic for this whippersnapper.
Although the showing we attended was fun, it was also sparsely attended with only about 20% of the theatre’s seats filled. What’s more, the audience was, well, old. I only saw a few dozen people who looked under 40, and precious few children (which is a shame, since I think young kids would get a big kick out of this particular movie). The presentation was hosted by a local community college professor who lacked the gravity of a Robert Osborne. I was also disappointed with the lack of accompanying vintage shorts which were at the last showing we attended. Despite all that, it was a fun evening. The Orpheum really needs to get better p.r. people so the younger generation (and trust me, they’re out there) can enjoy vintage movies the way they ought to be seen.
Weekly Mishmash: January 3-9
If I Had A Million (1932). When this Depression-era anthology showed up on the TCM schedule, I was so delighted. For one, it’s one of Joyce Compton’s earlier films that I’d never seen. For another, I’ve always heard that this was one of the better films of its kind (different directors contributing short bits on a central theme) ever made. I wasn’t disappointed. The film opens with an eccentric dying multi-millionaire (Richard Bennett), fed up with his greedy family, deciding to leave his fortune to a bunch of randomly picked New Yorkers. Several vignettes then explore how a sudden flush of money affects everyone from a henpecked store clerk to a criminal on the lam. While it’s true that some segments were more successfully pulled off than others, overall I felt the film captures the tone of that time better than almost anything else. The segment with W.C. Fields and Alison Skipworth as a pair of crusty vaudevillians who take revenge on “road hogs” gets the most attention; mostly I enjoyed that part for the priceless street views of 1932 L.A. The segment with Wynne Gibson as a prostitute with a simple desire to sleep in a plush bed by herself was a marvel of economy. The very best part, however, was the closing segment with May Robson delivering a wonderful performance as a feisty resident in a stifling home for elderly women. It’s a revenge tale like the Fields/Skipworth segment, only twice as sweet.
Jennifer’s Body (2009). Pretty awful teen horror comedy with Megan Fox as a stuck-up girl who gets transformed into a flesh-hungry demon by a touring emo band, much to the dismay of her nerdy best friend (not-bad Amanda Seyfried). This is notable for being Diablo Cody’s first produced screenplay after Juno rocketed her into the a-list. I’ve never seen that film, but based on this one Cody’s slangy, painfully straining-for-hipness screenwriting style is not for me. At one point Megan Fox even says “MoveOn.org, girl!” — something that might look cute in a twitter post, but plays like an incredibly lame joke onscreen. It doesn’t help that her story makes little sense, and Fox further proves that she’s a smokin’ hot chick with little else in the talent department.
The Namesake (2006). Mira Nair’s ambitious feature on cultural clashes within an Indian-American family is earnest and well acted, but ultimately the film winds up an overlong example of biting off more than one can chew. The early scenes, depicting the arranged marriage and awkward early years of a young couple (Irrfan Khan and Tabu, both fine), are nicely done and poignant. I also enjoyed the appealing Kal Penn as the couple’s Americanized son, whose differing views on life from his own father’s form the backbone of the film. As soon as the story detours into soap opera-ish territory in the film’s second half, however, things get dicey. There were a few points at which the movie could have satisfyingly concluded, but then another wrinkle develops and the story continues — and this happens several times! Somewhat worthy if you’re into Indian cuture; otherwise beware.
The Stranger (1946). TCM included this suspenser on a morning-long salute to actress Loretta Young this week. Although Young frets nicely as a small town newlywed who slowly discovers her new hubby is a Nazi, this film really belongs to Orson Welles (in the title role) and Edward G. Robinson (as a government inspector tracking Welles down). Wells also directs, and this film does have a stylistic similarity to Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons, albeit in a watered-down fashion. The flourishes are enough to make it stand out over the somewhat routine script, and the three main actors are a joy to watch. Fun viewing that reminds me of how great black and white movies can be (even the silly ones) — and you can’t beat that clock tower climax.
Tipsy — Buzzz. eMusic download. Tipsy is known for seductive instrumental mashups that incorporate tasty samples from weird old easy listening records (or at least that’s what it sounds like to these ears). 2008’s Buzzz was his first album in a few years, a subtle departure from the more overtly kitschy sound he’s known for. Some fans don’t favor this “chillout” approach as much, but as far as swanky background music goes this album is tops. It sets a relaxed mood overall, but there is enough variety in individual tracks to keep things interesting. Some tracks even live up to the very descriptive titles they’ve been given — “Kitty’s Daydream” is a highlight. The only thing missing here is a cocktail festooned with a tiny umbrella.
Wee Willie Winkie (1937). Shirley Temple plays a girl named Priscilla who is sent with her mother to live in a British army outpost in early 1900s India. Unlike many of her other flicks, this film comes with a pedigree — it was based on a Rudyard Kipling story, John Ford directed (I can’t really picture the macho Ford growling “Play this scene cuter, will ya Shirley,” can you?), and co-heading with Shirley was recent Oscar winner Victor McLaglen. All those ingredients make this kiddie adventure a little less grating than usual, even somewhat touching at times. Sure, Shirley seems to be laying on the adorableness a bit thickly here, but that girl had such incredible poise and presence for someone so young. She is really kind of fascinating to watch, and the quality on display throughout makes Winkie one of her better starring efforts (1939’s The Little Princess will always be my fave Temple movie, however).
Learning the Facts of Life
Nice: remember the YouTube user that I’ve written about before who did those montages of opening credits from forgotten ’80s/’90s TV shows? The one that was taken off YouTube? He’s back. Better hurry up and watch invaluable stuff like this before it disappears again:
Whitest People You Know
Nino Tempo, April Stevens and a bevy of go-go dancers perform “Land of 1,000 Dances” in a Scopitone clip. I wish the quality was better so we could better appreciate those pastel colors.
Those Are People Who Died, Died
I was in the middle of reading about the fascinating people profiled in the annual Lives They Lived issue of the New York Times Magazine when I heard shocking news about the passing of another fascinating person. One that I knew, actually: Brad Graham of Bradlands.com. It appears that he died in his sleep of natural causes on December 31st, at the young age of 41. Yeah, I don’t believe it, either.
Brad was one of the earliest bloggers I knew of, and pretty much the kingpin of the (small) community of gay bloggers around in the early ’00s. Back then it was such a thrill to be writing on the net, and having someone else noticing what you were doing was an even bigger thrill — especially when that someone was as friendly and witty as Brad. His August 3, 2001 post, using the first Scrubbles redesign to explore childhood fear of Dow Scrubbing Bubbles, was typical Brad. We weren’t close friends or anything, but his warmth and humor was something I treasured over the years (we even briefly bonded over the ’70s kiddie-com Big John, Little John on twitter last year). I’ll miss you, Brad.
