Weekly Mishmash: August 8-14
The Body Snatcher (1945) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943). Have you ever shopped at the retail dumping ground Big Lots!? One of my pleasures of the past year is finding out about their DVD section. We’ve gotten a lot of old movies and TV shows there — cheap! My latest find is this Val Lewton double bill on a single DVD for only three bucks. Re-watching them this week reveals that these are excellent b-movies, atmospheric and amazingly effective for such low budget ventures. All in all, the only fault I could find in both is their casting of bland leading men (James Ellison in Zombie and Russell Wade in Body Snatcher). The Body Snatcher is the better known of the two, thanks to Boris Karloff’s chilling performance as a 19th century corpse wrangler for a doctor (Henry Daniell, also good) who takes his job a wee bit too seriously. Horror icon Bela Lugosi is also in the cast, but he has a nothing role and doesn’t do much with what little screen time he has. Despite the flaws, the film has all the making of a classic chiller. True, some scenes are rather pat and unnecessary, but it does have atmosphere to spare and I was unprepared by the outright creepiness of the climax. I Walked with a Zombie is one of those special films that I have a long history with, having first heard of it via Danny Peary’s first Cult Movies volume from the early ’80s (anybody else own this unsung book?). When finally viewed on American Movie Classics channel, I fell in love. Revisiting it now, the film’s flaws become more apparent but it’s never lost its creepy luster. One of the highlights is Frances Dee’s subtle performance. She strikes the proper mix of curiosity and strength as a nurse who is shipped to a mysterious island to care for a rich man’s wife (who seems gripped by a zombie-like spell executed by the locals). Tom Conway as the husband is pretty good, but the film belongs to Dee and perhaps the seven-foot tall zombie whose presence says a lot for a guy who never utters a word. The photography in this film is magnificent. Jaw-dropping. This was directed by Jacques Tournier, who mined similar atmospheric territory in later stuff like Out of the Past. What Tournier and Lewton did on a limited budget ought to be studied by today’s filmmakers.
Dusty by Lucy O’Brien. For being such a well-regarded singer, there are actually few books written about the life and music of Dusty Springfield. With her biography Dusty, British music journalist Lucy O’Brien does an excellent job of tracking the peaks and valleys of the beehived diva’s incredible career. As a matter of fact, a more appropriate title for this book would also belong to one of Dusty’s albums — See All Her Faces. One of the great contradictions about Dusty is that she never truly reconciled her bejeweled and fabulous image as a white lady who could sing black with her inner Mary Catherine O’Brien, the insecure, secretly lesbian little cockney girl. It’s kind of a recurring theme throughout her career, and it’s to O’Brien’s credit that in addition to intricately covering the recording sessions of her albums that these white/black, gay/straight, image/reality themes are a constant. Even though it’s written in a straightforward style with a few errors, O’Brien writes with great detail, illuminating every phase of Dusty’s career with liberal interview quotes. It’s a nifty biography which covers a lot of stuff I previously knew little of (especially her “lost” years in the mid-’70s when she became a reclusive party gal in L.A.). The book also contains a nice discography collecting all her 1959-99 recordings.
Four Jills in a Jeep (1943). Pleasant WWII fluff, I rented this mostly because it was a late-period vehicle for Kay Francis (whom I find fascinating). This was based on the true story of Francis joining Carole Landis, Mitzi Mayfair and Martha Raye as they entertain troops overseas for the U.S.O. Alas, whatever promise the film has for a realistic portrayal of life on the front is tossed in favor of forgettable numbers starring guest Fox contractees Alice Faye, Betty Grable and Carmen Miranda. As for the main quartet of ladies, it’s a mixed bag. Martha Raye was always an obnoxious delight, even if she was getting somewhat cartoonish at this point (the denture commercials were still decades away). The obscure Mitzi Mayfair was toothy and bland, with a double-jointed dancing shtick that verges on circus sideshow weirdness. Smart, blonde Carole Landis was a surprise, earthy and completely radiant in a timeless way (unfortunately the actress committed suicide in 1948, cruelly cutting short what must have been a promising life). Kay Francis ably plays the group’s den mother with her usual restrained elegance. The scene in which she gets on the floor and scrubs away was the film’s only nod to the hardship these women must have endured. Interestingly, the making-of featurette on this DVD reveals that Francis unsuccessfully flirted with Landis during the ladies’ tour — oh, to be a fly on that wall.
Goldfrapp — Head First. I don’t delve into new music too often, but as soon as I heard the samples of the dreamy ’80s influenced soundscapes on Goldfrapp’s Head First, I had to download the entire thing. It’s seems as if Goldfrapp (whom I’ve heard only sporadically prior to this) is mining parts of the ’80s that might seem cheesy or unhip. The starting point might be the Xanadu soundtrack, both the Olivia Newton John and Electric Light Orchestra sides, perhaps the instrumental break in Air Supply’s “Lost in Love,” too, with bits of Princely funk and experimental synth lines thrown in. Although on paper it sounds like overkill, the album itself is suprisingly consistent and pleasureable with Alison Goldfrapp’s breathy voice at its center. First single “Rocket” is actually one of the weaker tunes, with “Alive” and the gentle title track being the peaks and “I Wanna Life” standing out as the most authentically ‘80 sounding tune (picture something off Steve Winwood’s Arc of a Diver album fronted by Berlin’s Teri Nunn). Metaphorically speaking, this album is akin to witnessing Kim Carnes and Laura Branigan getting it on atop a fluffy cloud with a bunch of drooling Care Bears watching — filthy yet fun!
Road to Utopia (1946). Having never seen a Hope/Crosby/Lamour movie, I jumped at the chance to DVR one when Turner Classic Movies played a marathon of “Road” movies during their Summer Under the Stars Bob Hope tribute. Since Utopia seems to be the best regarded of the series, I picked this wintry adventure. Hope and Bing Crosby play 1890s vaudevillians who come into possession of a valuable map and inevitably get caught up with saloon belle Dorothy Lamour in the Alaskan gold rush. Having (unfairly) written off both Hope and Crosby as impossibly smug actors, I was surprised at how appealing they both are here. The duo’s comfort with each other, and the impressive way they deliver their rapid-fire zingers contribute mightily to this film’s fun. There’s actually a lot of progressive stuff going on with a parade of sight gags, fourth wall breaking and self-referential humor (including Robert Benchley as the narrator who occasionally pops into the frame to opine on the proceedings). I also enjoyed the songs by Jimmy Van Heusen and Johnny Burke. The duo must have banged out something like “Personality” in a single afternoon, but the tune’s cleverness (and Lamour’s fetching performance) are a true delight:
We’re Not Married (1952). Inconsequential comedy in which several couples find out that their marriages by a frazzled old Justice of the Peace (Victor Moore) were not completely legit. The less said about this, the better, but at least the film had a glimmer of hope in the opening segment with Ginger Rogers and Fred Allen as a pair who fraudulently play a happily married couple on a radio program. The two host a cheery breakfast program which is actually nothing but gratuitous product placements, a concept which sounds promising but ends up somewhat flat and dull in execution. Come to think of it, I had a similar reaction to the rest of the film, in which several promising actors (Marilyn Monroe, Eve Arden and Paul Douglas among them) are basically wasted.
Weekly Mishmash: July 25-31
American-Made: The Enduring Legacy of the WPA: When FDR Put the Nation to Work by Nick Taylor. The Works Progress Administration program (1933-43) was such a unique endeavor and a fantastic example of American government pulling together to help its citizens. Finishing up Nick Taylor’s exhaustive history, I was sadly struck by how something so big and comprehensive could never be attempted again; the Obama administration has accomplished a few infrastructure building projects that are vaguely WPAish, but they’re nothing compared with Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s sweeping reforms to get all unemployed Americans working towards recovery. Taylor’s history tracks the development of the WPA all the way back to the 1929 stock market crash, its introduction and setbacks (particularly with the arts and theater programs), criticisms, success stories, and finally the program’s quiet dissolving amidst World War II home front efforts in 1943. It’s a dense and somewhat dry read, a newspaper-like chronicle populated with a constantly shifting cast of characters (only FDR, his longtime WPA director Harry Hopkins, and fiery theater program head Hallie Flanagan stood out). I enjoyed reading it, however, mostly because it contained lots of details about the program that I never knew. One aspect about the WPA that Taylor brings to light is the fact that it was constantly challenged by Republicans. The opposition even went to such hysterical extremes that many believed the program was hatched by Communists, intending to turn the country into the United States of Russia. The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh?
A Cry in the Dark (1988). a.k.a the “dingo ate my baby!” movie. This was actually a potently arresting film about how gossip, innuendo and media imagery can royally screw up the facts. Meryl Streep and Sam Neill play a real-life Australian couple whose baby goes missing on a camping trip. The child’s body is never recovered, and the way the quirky, deeply religious couple deals with the tragedy is put under such public scrutiny that Streep eventually goes on trial for murder. This was such a stunningly well-made movie, not just for Streep’s chameleon-like performance but for Sam Neill as well. The film puts the viewer in another time and place (dig Meryl’s muumuus!), all the while addressing still relevant issues about media coerciveness and human gullibility. For all I know Streep’s abrasive but sympathetic Lindy Chamberlain might have no bearing on the real woman she played, but I was blown away by her and the film’s message.
Lions for Lambs (2007). A DVD that Christopher bought in a local retailer’s “3 for $10″ sale (this was the “full screen” version, so basically a quarter of the picture was chopped off). I vaguely remember this as part of the wave of series Gulf War films that flopped at the box office. It’s actually a very well made movie, expertly crafted by Robert Redford, who also stars along with Tom Cruise and Meryl Streep. I liked the angle of telling three stories that are happening simultaneously in California, Washington D.C. and Afghanistan. Unfortunately, Redford’s message is flamingly liberal and delivered in a heavy-handed “preaching to the choir” way. Redford’s performance as a jaded professor ironically fares the worst amongst a cast that seems disappointingly flat. On the plus side, Michael Peña and Derek Luke deliver some good acting as a pair of students turned soldiers.
Moving Midway (2007) and Young@Heart (2007). A good week for documentaries. We caught Moving Midway on the Netflix “Watch Instantly” function via our Nintendo Wii. It’s a moderately interesting, somewhat blandly produced look at Southern imagery and tradition as a palatial North Carolina estate (belonging to the director’s family) is painstakingly moved to escape encroaching suburbia. It’s thought provoking the way it’s gradually revealed that the family’s lineage contains white and African-American blood. Although the execution leaves something to be desired, the film certainly assembles an affable (and talkative) group of people to be around. I hate to sound stereotypical, but those Southern folk sure are nice. Young@Heart is another charmer, about a group of singing retirees who perform offbeat renditions of tunes by the likes of Radiohead and Sonic Youth. Mostly the film takes its leisurely time getting to know the various participants (all as sweet as pie and about as grandparentlike as people could possibly get) as they deal with punishing rehearsals and the loss of fellow choir members. I admire the patience of choir director Bob Cilman, seen in a constant state of worry and/or exhaustion. The film has the strange effect of emphasizing the performers’ lack of skill (lots of strange atonal singing going on here), made worse with a few goofy music videos. Despite that, I was enthralled by the main message here of living life for all its worth. Bravo to the Young@Heart performers, wherever they are.
Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief (2010). A tween Clash of the Titans, this muddled, CGI-heavy extravaganza seems to have “wannabe franchise” written all over it. A put-upon teen (Logan Lerman in Justin Beiber-style haircut) discovers that he’s half-God, descended from watery Poseidon, and his best friend (Brandon T. Jackson) is actually a satyr entrusted to protect him. The two journey to an X-Men style secret training camp for “special” kids, where they and another half-God (Alexandra Daddario) embark on a quest to find magic pearls and rescue the boy’s mortal ma (Catherine Keener, who shoulda known better). This movie actually had some potential, but much of it is squandered in the film’s rushed opening. Apparently this is based on a series of popular books. Having never heard of them, I can only divine that something went wrong during the production. The fact that it was overproduced was bad enough, but in the end the movie derails by never deciding if it wants to be a gee-whiz kiddie flick or a smutty and violent teen comedy. Chris Columbus also directed the first Harry Potter movie, coincidence or not?
Poor Little Rich Girl (1936). When it comes down to it, Shirley Temple’s saccharine vehicles were the first real “old movies” I ever saw. Our local independent TV station broadcast a Temple flick every weekend; I would make sure to watch (sometimes my mom joined in). Even the bad ones were fun; I suppose little Shirley was my gateway drug for everything you see here! Anyhow, I got reacquainted with Poor Little Rich Girl when it got a recent prime time spotlight on Turner Classic Movies. I can see why this is considered one of the quintessential Shirley flicks; she’s adorable and the direction and storyline are of such quality that even a Shirley-hater would enjoy it. Here she plays the title character, a pampered yet friendly and curious tyke who takes it upon herself to make her own “vacation” in the big, mean city. Instead of being raped and killed, little Shirley is adopted by a down on their luck song-and-dance duo (Jack Haley and Alice Faye). The couple absorb the creepily talented tyke into their act and eventually wind up on a radio show, one which happens to be sponsored by the soap company rivaling the one owned by — Shirley’s dad! Pure Depression-era hokum, for sure, but I loved it. Keep an eye out for the tap dance number at film’s climax, a thing so long and complex I can’t fathom Faye and Haley mastering it, much less the 7 year-old Temple.
The Truth About Youth (1930). Typically creaky early talkie melodrama which takes some unusual turns. Dewy fresh Loretta Young stars as a housekeeper’s daughter who is engaged to the master of the house’s loaded son, David Manners. Manners, however, has a thing for hosty-totsy singer Myrna Loy — a situation that becomes more complicated when the guy’s dad (Conway Tearle) attempts to hide the relationship from the innocent Young. Interesting film, not especially good with some wooden performances by Young and Manners (although his deer in the headlights look is perfect for this role). Conway Tearle was a big matinee idol of the silent era and it’s interesting to see him here as an older man, one who is still potent as we find out. Mostly the film’s appeal lies with Myrna Loy in one of her earlier, sexier roles. Her vitality enlivens this otherwise standard fare.
Child Life, 1959 Style
Here are a few scans of the May 1959 issue of an obscure ’50s kiddie magazine called Child Life. All three are nice examples of stylish child-oriented book illustration of the era, but the magazine didn’t credit any of the artists — so any help on the IDs would be appreciated! This mag was a birthday gift for Christopher, my 1959 baby.
Weekly Mishmash: June 6-12
Belle and Sebastian – Dear Catastrophe Waitress. Yearning for something newish, light and fun on eMusic, I honed in on this gem from one of my fave indie pop acts. I thought Belle and Sebastian’s The Life Pursuit was the best album of 2006, and this earlier collaboration with producer Trevor Horn is very much in the same paisley printed bag. Like Life Pursuit, this album puts a smile on my face with its summery charm. Much of the album has a startling, vaguely retro sheen (”Step Into My Office, Baby”), while other tunes (”Piazza, New York Catcher”) hark back to the twee folk that characterized their earliest work. Many purists find this stuff too sweet and sugary, but I find the band’s commitment to real melodies totally refreshing and a distinct step above the atonal posturing that most indie acts indulge in. This also made me want to explore Trevor Horn’s work; I even went to the trouble of making a list of everything Horn produced that’s on eMusic. Peruse his official discography — now that’s a body of work!
Hit Men: Power Brokers and Fast Money Inside the Music Business by Fredric Dannen. Despite being published 20 years ago, this paperback edition of Dannen’s explosive music industry exposé is an enthralling read. Dannen casts a wide net in detailing the shady practice of goosing record airplay and sales — going back to the payola scandal of the ’50s and earlier — but mostly the book focuses on a ring of sleazy “independent promoters” who racked up millions in the freewheeling late ’70s and early ’80s. The book has a large cast of colorful characters (too large, to be honest), and everyone from thuggish bodyguards to pampered label execs gets a vivid portrait. The main thing I got from this book is that a good old boy mentality pervades the entire industry, and even the highest of label heads have the double-dealing oiliness of mob bosses. Dannen reserves his sharpest barbs for ’80s CBS Records head Irving Azoff, who here seems like the ultimate gladhanding sleazebag. A real eye-opener, and I wonder if it would be all that different for today’s music climate. Given what currently hits the charts, payola must continue being an essential part of the biz. The chapter on disco label Casablanca alone is worth its weight in gold.
Hoosiers (1986). I always wanted to see this, supposedly the template for every inspirational “come from behind” sports story committed to film in the last twenty or so years. Indeed, Hoosiers indulges in just about every sports movie cliché in the book, but Gene Hackman’s commanding presence and the wonderfully authentic, somewhat corny ’50s midwestern atmosphere pulled me over. Actually, the moody photography and faithful period detail were the film’s strongest elements in my opinion. Good performances are delivered by Hackman, Dennis Hopper (r.i.p.) and Barbara Hershey despite the fact that their characters are too stock to be truly believable. The only outright awful element would be Jerry Goldsmith’s score, weaving truly unfortunate ’80s synths into the mix that take the viewer out of the moment. Unbelievably, Goldsmith received an Oscar nom for this. What was the Academy thinking? The climactic game is pretty fantastically staged. I was stirred despite knowing what the outcome would be; if that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.
Manic (2001). Troubled teens argue, fistfight, argue, fistfight, the end.
Reprise (2006). Norwegian film with an intriguing concept, following two young men as they submit their first novels for publication. One becomes an immediate success, leading to a nervous breakdown; the other has his novel rejected but keeps plugging away and hoping to grab the attention of the reclusive older writer he admires. The film is structured in a freeform way, bouncing back and forth in time and dense with dialogue. While the technique is interesting, I found the two main characters somewhat bland and their slackerish lifestyle (mostly concertgoing and hanging out with friends, not much writing) wasn’t all that compelling.
Book Review: Designing Disney
Reading John Hench’s Designing Disney: Imagineering and the Art of the Show reminded me a bit of my trip to Las Vegas last December. Although we usually think of Imagineering in terms of Disney theme parks, the core ideas of the job apply to most anywhere people gather to relax and have fun. In that respect, Vegas must be the biggest example of Imagineering on Earth. While exploring the various casinos, I was very aware of how everything was designed in a way to create a world away from the world, preferably to get patrons plopped down at the slots. While some casinos treat this idea as an afterthought, the immersive themeing of places like New York New York or Paris, Las Vegas (where even the men’s bathrooms have a quaint “Paris in 1900″ aura) never failed to impress. It made me wish that everything in my life was Imagineered.
Which brings me to this book! Amongst Disney Imagineers, John Hench had the most durability (having served at Disney for an astonishing 65 years) and was the one whose ambition and scope most resembled Walt Disney’s own. He’s the one responsible for conceptualizing much of Disneyland’s Tomorrowland (original and 1967 remodel), the Enchanted Tiki Room and Main Street U.S.A. Beautiful achievements all, and all the more impressive when one realizes the work encompasses architecture, signage, interior design, costumes and even the floors below guests’ feet. The proof of this is displayed throughout the book in fabulous renderings that called to mind the work of Syd Mead. Check out the costume designs below — wonderful!
The renderings are really what makes this book special. Unfortunately the great imagery is offset with lousy, unprofessional looking fonts. Hench’s text itself (co-authored with Peggy Van Pelt) is rather rudimentary and textbook-like; I would picture the ideal audience for this book as young would-be Imagineers in their teens. Despite those disappointments, there are a lot of great anecdotes in here. I was especially fascinated with how Hench and his fellow Imagineers explored color possibilities for a hotel exterior in Disneyland Paris by factoring in the area’s climate and lack of sunlight at various times of the day. Tiny details like that are something that an ordinary theme park guest would never consider, but added together they complete the immersive experience. All in a day’s work for Mr. Hench.
Weekly Mishmash: April 18-24
Caprice (1967). I can definitely see why Doris Day and Richard Harris’ mod ’60s spy spoof was a flop in ‘67; it’s unfocused — swerving violently from comedy hijinks to romantic drama — frustrating to follow, badly edited, and suffering from serious lack of chemistry between the leads. As broadly directed by Frank Tashlin, the comedy pushes beyond pointlessness. Doris is game, but she’s miscast as an international spy investigating a cosmetics empire. In a way, this film played like a less bloated, lower wattage Casino Royale. There are a couple of elements that make this worth a peek for those into high ’60s visuals. Day is outfitted in a dated yet stunning wardrobe of Op Art minis and checkerboard sunglasses thanks to designer Ray Aghayan, and Leon Shamroy’s widescreen photography has a breathtaking lushness, even when the set designs are not (I’d describe the interiors as Rococo Puke). The climactic scene, filmed in L.A.’s classic Bradbury Building, gave us a little thrill — as it did when the historic site showed up in a recent FlashForward episode. That elevator, those tiles — we were there!
Marshall Crenshaw – The Best Of Marshall Crenshaw: This Is Easy. Could “Someday Someway” be the coolest pop hit from the ’80s? My first eMusic download of the month was a byproduct of the site’s recent acquisition of the huge Rhino/Warner Bros. catalog. The official download edition of this 2000 CD, unfortunately, is missing a few songs — a fact that Rhino conveniently neglects to mention on the site (gee, and they wonder why illegal downloading is so popular?). That quibble aside, this was an excellent power pop compilation which drives much of its affable energy from a good dosage of Crenshaw’s first two albums (1982’s Marshall Crenshaw and 1983’s Field Day). With ’85’s Downtown, Crenshaw went for a more rootsy sound and kicked off a less accessible but equally worthwhile period. What strikes me about his later stuff is that it sounds nearly identical to mainstream Country music as it became more pop-oriented in the ’00s. “Someplace Where Love Can’t Find Me” would be perfectly at home between Carrie Underwood and Kenny Chesney on any current C&W radio station.
Divorce, Italian Style (1961). Shrill but entertaining Italian sex comedy with mustachioed Marcello Mastroianni as a beleaguered man given to fantasizing about ways to off his pinhead wife so he can take up with his flirty cousin. Briskly paced, creatively made, and Mastroianni is an excellent heel, but did I mention it’s shrill? Everybody talks loudly, the soundtrack is annoying, and after a while it gets to be too much. The first half contains some great comedy, however.
Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009). This one took me by surprise — mostly because it came from Wes Anderson, whose films I absolutely loathe (okay, I’ve only seen The Royal Tennenbaums — but that was such a turd of a movie that I’m too scared to see any of his other efforts). This is an adaptation of a Roald Dahl story about a cunning fox (voiced by a somewhat too recognizable George Clooney) who has to give up his foxy ways to raise a family. When the brood moves back to his old stomping grounds, he can’t resist going back to performing elaborate heists on the three food factories nearby. This was such a sweet, adorable movie with a stunning visual design heavy on the gold tones. I loved the variety used in the character designs, from the elongated foxes to the corpulent factory owner. The animation, which I originally thought looked too jerky in the previews, flows beautifully throughout. I even loved the film’s snarky but not too contemporary sense of humor. Actually, everything about this movie was pitch-perfect; I even enjoyed it more than 2009’s other animated critical darling Up. Wes Anderson outdoing Pixar, who’da thunk it.
It’s a Wonderful World (1939). A movie that I’ve always been curious about; I finally got to catch it on TCM one recent morning. A big budget MGM production starring Claudette Colbert and James Stewart, it’s surprising that this “on the lam” comedy rarely registers with fans of either star. Having seen it, however, I can see why. This is your basic It Happened One Night rehash, only the sparks Colbert had with Clark Gable settles into a mere flicker with Stewart. Both actors give it a valiant try, and they certainly are charming here individually with a script that plays up their respective strengths (befuddlement for Jimmy, determination for Claudette). The plot, about police investigator Stewart trying to nab a criminal while being unlawfully pursued with daffy poetess Colbert in tow, is too lightweight — and the characters spend too much time pointlessly arguing — for me to care.
Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir by Kathy Griffin. An anniversary gift, Christopher enjoyed this one so much he lent it to me with his endorsement — sure enough, it is a dishy and surprisingly candid treat. We’re huge Kathy fans going back before her My Life on the D-List success, and seeing her live (sitting in front of her then-hubby Matt!) was such a blast. This book is pretty much what I expected, with Kathy breezing through her boisterous childhood, her early, lean years in Hollywood, her short-lived marriage, the struggle of being imperfect in a business that only accepts perfect bodies and faces, and finally success on her own fabulous terms. What I like best about her is that she’s a straight talker and totally self-deprecating in an endearing way. This book reads exactly as if Kathy were right there dishing with you, and in that respect she (and/or her ghost-writer?) deserves the celeb memoir A-list award.
Three Husbands (1951). This was a nice gem hidden in our “50 cheap old comedies” DVD set — a sex-inversed Letter to Three Wives tribute with a bit of All About Eve sophistication thrown in. Though it doesn’t approach the artistry of either, it’s still an intriguing look at the mores of 1950s marriage with a decent cast including the marvelous Eve Arden, Howard da Silva, Emlyn Williams and Ruth Warrick. Like Letter, this is told mostly in flashback with Williams posthumously informing his three best friends that he cheated with all of their wives. Interesting film, mostly for the way it treats male/female roles in the context of the early ’50s, but entertaining as well.
Heidi Heidi Heidi Ho
Just finished doing another round of Lit Kids prints featuring a different character. These came out even better than the Anne of Green Gables one. Slowly, I’m learning this screen printing stuff.
One of the characters I have coming up is Heidi from Johanna Spyri’s novel of the same name. I designed the character first, then read the book. Interesting … more religious than I anticipated, but Spryri nicely conveys the atmosphere of a quaint, rustic Swiss village and its humble inhabitants (mostly kids and old people, oddly enough). I do think I aptly captured the impish, nature loving quality of Heidi herself in my design.
The copy of Heidi I just read is a nice “Rainbow Edition” from the 1940s with illustrations by Leonard Weisgard, much admired in artist circles for his modern approach to kid’s books. This edition also has some great binding with a pine and acorn pattern. Yeah, I can’t wait to rip this thing up for printing! That’ll have to wait for a later print run, however, since the first book I’m using is a different vintage edition published by Grossett & Dunlap. Its binding looks like it’s from about 1950, but the inside pages appear to be designed 20-30 years earlier with beautiful typography and ornaments of flowers, butterflies and the like (see the bottom three photos). Those pages laid underneath my modern-looking illustration should be a neat combination.
Good Humor Man
On the occasion of his dad’s 80th birthday, illustrator Drew Friedman shares a batch of vintage book covers from the man in question, Bruce Jay Friedman. I remember enjoying the elder Friedman’s The Lonely Guy’s Book Of Life in college, and I’ve always been a fan of Drew’s stippled portraits of borscht belt comedians and b-movie actors of yore (and now we’re Facebook friends!). It wasn’t until recently that I discovered the two were related. Happy birthday.
Weekly Mishmash: March 14-20
The Bad Sleep Well (1960). Another week, another Kurosawa. 1960’s The Bad Sleep Well is a contemporary melodrama with Toshiro Mifune as a man who worms his way into a corrupt company to take revenge on the men who killed his father. The film opens with an elaborate wedding ceremony which brilliantly introduces each character and their place in the story; from there on it’s a deliriously overdone ride with double crossing, death threats and fake ghosts aplenty (which also falls apart and goes on too long, but that’s a common Kurosawa problem). I’m not sure if this film is supposed to be tongue-in-cheek and over the top, but I like to think of it as Kurosawa’s version of an Douglas Sirk potboiler or a silly but absorbing Warner Bros. melodrama from the ’40s. High and Low is a much better movie from the same period, but I completely enjoyed this one as well.
Departures (2008). This slick, sentimental Japanese drama is probably best known for being a surprise recipient of the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar last year. In it, a cellist (Masahiro Motoki) finds himself adrift when his orchestra disbands. He stumbles into a new position helping to prepare the recently deceased for cremation, a move that alienates his wife and friends. Picture a Japanese Six Feet Under with a bit of Field of Dreams father-son bonding porn and you’re somewhat there — an odd amalgam of comedy and heart-tugging drama that somehow works. It was most interesting to me as a demonstration of how the Japanese view death and the mourning process. In that respect, the film was an eye-opener. The film also has a huge asset in leading man Motoki, who is very appealing (handsome, too). His perplexed curiosity drives the film, and us, to a satisfying conclusion.
Ella Cinders (1926). Last night, Christopher and I gathered up some friends and caught the latest in a series of silent films playing locally in a grand 1920s theater with live organ accompaniment (see also Scrubbles.net: Silent Saturday). Last night’s selection was the charming rags-to-riches tale Ella Cinders starring the unjustly forgotten Colleen Moore. Both of us love old movies with a Hollywood/moviemaking setting and this one is no exception. It’s typical of its era, with a simple, pat storyline and upbeat ending. With her black bob hairstyle, Miss Moore comes across like a perky hybrid of Lillian Gish and Louise Brooks. She’s no match for either in the acting department, but she certainly has the charm and panache to carry a film on her own. This is the fist vehicle of hers I’ve seen and I’m looking forward to more of Moore (her talkie version of The Scarlet Letter is on the ‘ol Netflix queue).
Fargo (1996). Another ’90s classic that I haven’t seen until now, Fargo is a pretty universally praised dark comedy but I have read a few grumblings that it’s too dark and violent and that Joel and Ethan Coen treat the characters in an overly cartoonish, condescending manner. I could see that a little, but mostly I was too wrapped up in that absorbing story to care. The acting was across the board terrific, and I loved the washed out cinematography of a chilly, desolate North Dakota. The only quibble I have with this film is its opening “based on a true story” text. It turns out the disclaimer is completely false, but why even have it in the first place? I also admire films like this that take on the challenge of being set in a recent past. Fargo takes place in the year 1987, less than a decade before it was filmed. It’s always interesting to watch the details (sweaters, cars, etc.) to see how accurately they captured the era; in this case, they got it right.
Homer’s Odyssey by Gwen Cooper. This book was a holiday gift from one of Christopher’s co-workers; C. enjoyed it so much he handed it off to me. Homer’s Odyssey is about author Gwen Cooper’s amazing cat Homer, midnight black and blind since birth. Instead of being an object of sympathy, Homer’s fearless and playful attitude toward life becomes a source of inspiration to Cooper, her friends and family, and finally the rest of us. It’s a sweet tale, one that probably wouldn’t convert any non-cat lovers but ideal light reading for those of us with special bonds with our feline friends. The most compelling section of the book deals with the aftermath of 9/11, with Homer and Cooper’s two other cats trapped in an apartment located not far from the World Trade Center. Needless to say the cats were shaken but made it out okay, but the account adds a new, small dimension to that terrible day. Read more about Homer at Gwen Cooper’s official site.
They’re Fantastic, Made ‘o Plastic
Just finished scanning and uploading a bunch of random imagery for my Ephemera, Ads Ads Ads and Cool Vintage Illustration flickr sets. A few came from a Modern Plastics magazine annual from 1966 that C. recently acquired — including this lovely ad for Plexiglas (one ’s’ thank you). These also went into the Vintage Industry flickr group. Ephemeral fun for all!
Bill, When Are You Coming Back?
In Looking for Calvin and Hobbes: The Unconventional Story of Bill Watterson and His Revolutionary Comic Strip, Nevin Martell sets himself up with the impossible task of tracking down someone notorious for being more fame-averse than Greta Garbo and J.D. Salinger combined. I won’t spoil the ending, but I will tell you that I had a fun time reading this book. It’s equal parts memoir, history, and trying to understand an enigma. The tales about Bill Watterson and the genesis of his legendary Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, trying to get his career off the ground after years of frustration, and his love/hate relationship with success are fascinating. Watterson’s well known resistance to any and all merchandising of his characters is also fully explored here, and it adds another dimension to this complex man. It’s a frustrating tact to take, but I can understand it. It called to mind how much I cherished the Peanuts characters as a child, when what I really loved was the ancillary stuff (dolls, TV specials). Indeed, I didn’t fully appreciate Schulz’s comic itself until the Fantagraphics Complete Peanuts volumes came out. The result of Watterson’s stance is letting the comic strip speak for itself, revealing it to be one of the most brilliant explorations of childhood imagination ever committed to ink and paper. Martell shares a similarly glowing view of the strip throughout this book, ruminating in an appealing, leisurely style that oftentimes comes across not so flatteringly like magazine writing. Overall, it’s not a very substantial book (at times I wish Martell didn’t inject so much of himself in the content), but the journey he takes is an enjoyable one to tag along with.
The Geekiest Book on Earth
Chris Strodder’s book The Disneyland Encyclopedia: The Unofficial, Unauthorized, and Unprecedented History of Every Land, Attraction, Restaurant, Shop, and Event in the Original Magic Kingdom (whew) was a holiday gift from my spouse that I just finished reading — cover to cover. What Strodder has done here is compile every attraction, restaurant, and shop that has ever existed within Anaheim Disneyland’s perimeter berm (even the berm itself gets an entry!). Also included are profiles of notable people involved in the park’s history and tantalizing glimpses at lands and attractions that were planned, but never built. This book contained a lot of fascinating info that even a Disneyland History geek like me didn’t know. Stoddard’s writing style is enthusiastic and well-informed, full of delicious factoids — and blessedly different from the upbeat blathering that characterizes most Disney fansites. Just read his little bio of Walt Disney himself to get a feel of the even-handed but fun tone present throughout this book. Want to know more about Aunt Jemima’s Pancake House, the Main Street Electrical Parade, Princess Fantasy Faire, the Monsanto Hall of Chemistry, or even the expertly themed restrooms? It’s all in here.
Funny postscript — one of the first things I checked in this book was the Wizard of Bras shop (did you know one could shop for ladies’ unmentionables on Main Street?). Sure enough, it’s listed in here. I mistakenly thought the shop itself was called Wizard of Bras, but that was actually the name of a display that was housed inside the more humbly monikered Intimate Apparel store which only operated during the first two years of Disneyland’s existence. You learn something new every day.
Weekly Mishmash: January 31-February 6
AKA (2002). Cheap but engaging film about a poor bloke (boyishly handsome Matthew Leitch) who worms his way into British upper crust society by pretending to be someone he isn’t. This gay-themed drama doesn’t do much to hide its meager budget, and straight-to-video camerwork and clumsy direction doesn’t help matters either. Also, given the talent on display (Diana Quick, Bill Nighy), the acting can be startlingly amateurish. I found it interesting despite all that; Christopher liked it much more than I did. Probably the coolest feature of the DVD is the option to watch the film in triptych form, with three takes of the same scenes playing simultaneously. It helped make this unexceptional flick a bit more watchable.
All American Ads 1900-1919, edited by Jim Heimann. Having a bulging shelf full of the other All American Ads books, I jumped at the chance when Taschen recently had this volume on discount. You would think that advertising in these early 20th century years would be visually stuffy and filled with conservative Victorian values, but I was actually disarmed by how subtle and lovely many of these ads were. Since printing methods weren’t yet advanced enough to take advantage of photography, most ads of the era depended heavily on illustration to the point where the entire ad, text and all, were rendered on the artist’s canvas. And what gorgeous illustrations they are! Apparently having little more than a sumptuous rendering of a happy customer was enough of a “hard sell” back then. Some of the best pages here are campaigns by familiar brands like Coca-Cola, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, Cream of Wheat and Old Dutch Cleanser. I also enjoyed spotting the work of well-known illustrators such as J.C. Leyendecker and Coles Phillips, whose “fade away ladies” were as much an icon of their era as the Gibson Girl (1890s) or the Vargas pinup (1940s) were for theirs. Pretty nifty visual resource, and it’s already given me inspiration for my next (top secret for the moment) project.
Bright Star (2009). Gorgeous to look at but strangely static film, about the brief but passionate romance between penniless poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw) and his well-dressed lady love, Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish). I though Jane Campion did a pretty good job directing this story, aided by some wonderful cinematography that paints various sparsely decorated interiors with the delicacy of a Vermeer painting. I also liked the historically accurate costume design, which was the only area in which this film was honored with an Oscar nomination (the photography ought to have made the cut as well). Unfortunately, the film is deadly slow at times, and the blandness of the two leads makes it play more like a BBC America time-filler than it needed to be. Normally I don’t favor star power in a film like this, but here I feel like it was desperately needed (as a matter of fact, probably the only cast member I truly liked was the precocious little red haired girl).
City of God (2002). Rented this Brazilian drug running epic after noticing that it placed in the IMDb top 250. For a film that I’d never heard of, I was surprised to see it ranked up in the top twenty. This is an audaciously filmed, fast paced romp that fits squarely within the tastes of IMDb voters (which don’t necessarily overlap with mine, but that’s a different entry). Described as a Brazilian Goodfellas, this film tracks the fortunes of a group of young men who turn to drug dealing, gangs and hoodlumlike behavior as a way to escape the Cidade de Deus (City of God), a stifling 1960s housing project for the poor. Moving into the ’70s, the film focuses on two young products of that desperate environment who took on different paths — one as a photographer and the other as the kingpin of a drug dealing network. At times I felt like this film was too ambitious and I wish it had been reigned in a bit, perhaps by ditching the ’60s prologue. The story is also somewhat “been there, done that” in the way it unfurls, but there are so many outstanding sequences along the way that the average viewer is likely to forget that stuff. If at least a few scenes don’t elicit a “wow,” then … you must be dead. If anything, the film is very evocative of its place/time and the wild allure of Rio and Brazilian culture in general.
Erasure – Total Pop! Deluxe Box. A lesson in the dangers of letting nostalgia affect one’s purchases, I downloaded this box set despite already owning half the tracks on it. But I didn’t mind because I love Erasure, a group that has had a surprisingly longevity for the kind of sweet synth pop they purvey (only the Pet Shop Boys can match them). This set supplements their 1992 best-of Pop! The First 20 Hits with 20 more tracks covering Vince Clarke and Andy Bell’s underappreciated 1994-2007 work, along with 14 okay live recordings covering their entire career. If anything, this set proves the duo’s solid commitment to melodic synth-based dance pop — regardless of whether the genre is trendy or not (anyone remember how weird “Chorus” sounded coming out amidst the grunge explosion of 1991?). The big surprise for me was their more recent stuff, such as several charming cuts from their covers album Other People’s Songs (2003). Selections from 2007’s Light at the End of the World trend toward distressingly boring dance music, but the beauty of Erasure is that they will always have something new and intriguing to show for their next venture.
Mayor of the Sunset Strip (2004). I caught this documentary about Los Angeles quasi-celebrity Rodney Bingenheimer on the Fuse network. Totally fascinating! This film follows the impish but strangely sad Bingenheimer, famous more for befriending various musicians and promoting the L.A. music scene than for any inherent talent the guy himself possesses. The filmmakers use Rodney’s story to explore fame and the hollow pursuit of it. I still don’t know if that was a genius move or not (for all I know Rodney is truly a happy fellow and not the sad, vacant soul who comes across here), but this aspect makes for absorbing viewing. Best part: the montage of Rodney bopping away in the background of various vintage performance clips (Mamas & the Papas, Beach Boys, etc.).
Creepy Cookbook Kids
It’s been a while since I’ve shared some weird ephemera from the past. The illustration below comes from the back cover of Ground Beef Cookbook, published by Favorite Recipes Press in 1967. An enterprising indie band ought to make these two their mascots.
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.
