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.
Weekly Mishmash: November 29-December 5
The Days Of Wine and Roses (1962). Jack Lemmon introduces his best pal, Hootch, to a pretty young miss (Lee Remick) and the pair descend into alcoholism. This is a beautifully made film, sensitively directed by Blake Edwards with powerful performances by the two leads. The film trods a path similar to The Lost Weekend and I’ll Cry Tomorrow, but the fact that it involves an attractive young couple living in a swanky San Francisco apartment dilutes the message a bit. Still, an affecting film.
The Dolly Sisters (1945). Escapist fun with Betty Grable and June Haver as a real-life sister act that took Paris by storm in the teens and ’20s, with a pancake-covered John Payne on hand as Grable’s songwriter beau. It surprised me a bit how enjoyable this movie was. Apparently Grable was jealous of her younger co-star and didn’t enjoy doing this, but her unease certainly doesn’t show onscreen. Typically, the story is whitewashed and glammed up beyond belief (dig Orry-Kelly’s costumes, more midcentury Vogue than anything else). By and large, the songs are unmemorable but presented with a campy, eye-popping panache. The oddball salute to the cosmetic industry below is a good example. Max Factor would be proud:
Frank Lloyd Wright (1998). Did you ever rent something, then after watching a few minutes realize that you’ve already seen it? This happened with us on this PBS documentary. The second helping reveals a few things that have since become clichés for these Ken Burns biodocs (”important” narration, slow panning across b&w photos with ambient sounds on the soundtrack), but it was still good.
Gomorrah (2008). Ambitious film chronicles how the mob affects people of varied social status in a dingy Italian slum. Some were put off by the film’s meandering pace and documentary-style approach; I found it riveting (if a bit overlong). Seemingly random violence and natural performances from an unknown cast upped the realism factor for me.
Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography by David Michaelis. I was a bit leery about this book, hearing how the Schulz family felt betrayed when Michaelis decided to paint Charles M. Schulz as a depressed, unfulfilled soul with a Charlie Brown complex. Most biographers have an agenda, however, and I went into it with an open mind. That said, it is a penetrating, interesting book. Michaelis has such an evocative way of describing I found myself caught up with empathy for Schulz’s early years of being confident in his own abilities, yet feeling alienated from everyone around him. One can fault Michaelis for emphasizing certain things over others (his extramarital affair gets an entire paragraph, while the last 25 years of Schulz’s life gets relatively glossed over), but overall you get a well-rounded and sympathetic portrait of the man within these pages. My favorite sections deal with how his life directly influenced Peanuts, with strips included amongst the text. I never realized how much his first wife Joyce was mirrored in Lucy Van Pelt, for example. This book has been out long enough to hit the remainder bins and can be gotten cheaply — even for casual Snoopy fans I’d recommend it.
Snoopy Come Home (1972). Speaking of Peanuts — I haven’t seen this, the second animated feature film with Charlie Brown and co., since the ’70s and was delighted to find it recently shown on the Family Channel. As a child I remember it being morose and depressing, and feeling upset that Snoopy would uncharacteristically run away like he did. The movie still seems overwhelmingly sad, a slight story padded out to feature length with lots of unnecessary scenes and a shrill score by Richard and Robert Sherman (sorry guys, you’re no Vince Guaraldi). It was an entertaining watch, however, with the same feel as the classic TV specials.
Deliver de Letter
A set of Vintage Christmas Seals got added to the Scrubbles flickr photostream this morning. I vaguely remember our family getting these from the Red Cross American Lung Association every year in the ’70s and ’80s — are they still making them?
Update — they are still being made.
Mama Cat v.2
Good news — a revised and updated version of our 2003 children’s book, Mama Cat, is now available at lulu.com. This was the book that Christopher wrote and I illustrated based on our beloved cat Eames. For this new edition, I went back and re-scanned all of the original artwork, touched them up, and saved them as high quality 1200 dpi bitmap files. The new art is a huge improvement over the old. Although the paper quality in this Lulu edition is slightly thinner and less textured, the higher quality printing makes the text and graphics really pop and look sharp. We’ve had a lot of compliments on this book from cat lovers and those who have undergone the loss of a pet; they are very appreciative of something that addresses their unique situation in an intimate and caring way.
By the way, the original self-published edition is still for sale at Amazon.com.
Weekly Mishmash: October 11-17
Day for Night (1973). I saw this François Truffaut film a long, long time ago, but didn’t remember much about it except for the precarious balcony set used in one of the filming-within-a-film scenes. A re-viewing reveals that while there’s a lot about this film that is dated and clumsy, it’s actually compelling and truly a love letter to how film captivates us. Truffaut does double duty as he directs and plays a director making a fictional film. The fact that the film they’re working on is a mediocre romantic drama is beside the point as the viewer follows the various overlapping stories of those both in front and behind the camera. It reminded me of what Robert Altman was doing at the same time. Truffaut has a gift for conveying depth-filled characters in not much screen time. I enjoyed it.
Doris Day: Her Own Story by A.E. Hotchner. I was somewhat leery about this autobiography. It seemed too bland and Pollyannaish, but now that I’ve finished it I can understand why it was a best seller upon its publication in 1975. Doris Day writes about her life, films, marriages and affairs with a candidness that helped dispel her virgin-next-door image, but it’s her engaging optimism and good cheer in facing life’s problems that comes to the fore throughout these pages. She does dwell too much on her religious beliefs and the bankruptcy court case following the death of third husband Marty Melcher (who comes across as a complete user and a slimebag). I like her earthy attitude towards working and movie stardom, and her love of animals is something to admire. Even the housewifey tips on beauty and fashion she includes in the book’s coda are fun.
Every Little Step (2008), Herb & Dorothy (2008) and Inventing L.A.: The Chandlers and Their Times (2009). A good week for documentaries! Every Little Step chronicles the audition process for the recent revival of A Chorus Line, drawing parallels between the actors and the characters they’re vying for. Along the way, we hear about the original Chorus Line and Michael Bennett’s efforts to get it onstage. I wish the film had focused more on the original and not the remake, but overall it was very good. Mostly what stood out here is that young performers of today are more polished and hard-bodied, but no less enthusiastic, than their counterparts in the mid-’70s. Don’t know if that’s a bad thing or not. Herb & Dorothy was an installment of PBS’s Independent Lens about a couple who, despite limited means, became a powerhouse in the art collecting world. They hobnob with minimalist and conceptual artists, piling up pieces of art in their shoebox-sized apartment in scenes that are both touching and a little scary. Luckily their collection found a good home in Washington D.C.’s National Gallery. From a personal standpoint, watching Inventing L.A.: The Chandlers and Their Times proved fascinating because we were just in Los Angeles and had a good look at many places seen there. This doc basically follows the explosive growth of L.A. in the 20th century through the family that arguably was most responsible for those changes. The angles covering the Los Angeles Times and its varying editorial viewpoints over the decades were so neat and slickly told. The film also uses a lot of great vintage footage of downtown L.A. and landmarks such as Angels Point and City Hall. Perfect.
Girls of the Road (1940). Grimy b-movie from Columbia studios is surprisingly brisk and fun. The luminous Ann Dvorak headlines as a governor’s daughter who decides to investigate her state’s problem with female hoboes by becoming one herself. Dvorak befriends a hardened traveler (Helen Mack, wonderful), gets involved in a police roundup, and discovers a secret all-female hideout in the woods. Nothing earth shattering here, but I enjoyed the interplay between the mostly female cast. There’s a lot of quasi-lesbian subtext here, especially with the tough, uninhibited performance of Lola Lane as the self appointed leader of a gang of women. I had previously known Lane in nothing roles alongside her sisters Rosemary and Priscilla; here she’s a revelation and totally fascinating to watch.
Home from the Hill (1960). Overlong manly melodrama oddly directed by Vincente Minnelli. This is a long-winded tale of a dysfunctional Texas family consisting of parents Robert Mitchum and Eleanor Parker and their tormented wimp of a son, George Hamilton. A hunky George Peppard is also on hand as Mitchum’s illegitimate son. The film had a few interesting scenes, and I love the woodsy look of Mitchum’s hunting lair (it reminded me of the basement in my grandparents’ house). Mostly, however, the film was beyond dull. I actually got more entertainment out of reading about this film’s production in Stephen Harvey’s Directed by Vincente Minnelli book (Harvey seems to have liked it better than me).
Weekly Mishmash: September 6-12
Big Bad Mama (1974). Trashy, sloppily made but endearing seventiesploitation flick made better by star Angie Dickinson (who seems to be having a ball). As Depression-era ma Wilma McClatchie, Dickinson only wants the best for her two teen daughters. So she turns to a life of crime, picking up Tom Skerritt and William Shatner along the way. It’s Bonnie and Her Two Boyfriends, basically. All told, this is a stupid movie filled with a bevy of cliché dumb hicks, but it does have a few interesting elements. One is the quasi-Democratic tilt of the screenplay, with bad guys bellyaching about taxes on the rich and encroaching Socialism (gee, that sounds familiar). Another is the amount of playful sex and nudity on display. Not only does Dickinson expose lots of flesh, looking great for a gal in her forties, but Skerritt and Shatner drop trou as well. A definite time capsule of its era, worth a peek for those who enjoy campy trash.
The Last Good Time: Skinny D’Amato, the Notorious 500 Club & the Rise and Fall of Atlantic City by Jonathan Van Meter. A fascinating book that Christopher bought earlier this year, then passed on to me. This chronicles the rise and fall of Atlantic City in the mid-twentieth century through the person of Skinny D’Amato — who ran the city’s most popular hot spot, the 500 Club. D’Amato’s hard rolling career included teaming Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin for the first time, befriending Frank Sinatra, and being involved with the Mob. An interesting book — more a bio of the city itself than of D’Amato, who survived long enough to witness legalized gambling and megacasinos in his town. I had no idea there was so much corruption going on back then, with surreptitious police and politician payoffs, secret gambling rooms, prostitutes, etc.
No Questions Asked (1951). Bland Barry Sullivan stars as an insurance agent who becomes a go-between in some shady dealings with big city thugs. He also gets caught in a love triangle with sweet co-worker Jean Hagen and fiery Arlene Dahl. Despite having the novelty of a pair of cross-dressing jewel thieves, this was a thoroughly okay noir with very little to distinguish it. Hagen’s performance as Sullivan’s world-weary onetime flame is the best thing going here. Aside from her, the film desperately needed to be better cast. Sullivan is a genial but bland lead, and having the white bread George Murphy as his cop adversary doesn’t help matters at all (Edward G. Robinson would’ve been perfect in that part!). I liked the atmosphere and a few of the smaller players were great, but as a whole this film didn’t jell. Ivan at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear also saw this movie recently; his review is here.
The Real Joyce Compton: Behind the Dumb Blonde Movie Image by Joyce Compton and Michael Ankerich. A brief but fascinating read on one of my personal fave classic movie actresses. Author Michael Ankerich befriended Joyce Compton later on in her life and encouraged her to write her memories down. Although he couldn’t find a publisher at the time for her memoirs, luckily he persisted and The Real Joyce Compton is the satisfying result. Although Compton doesn’t go into a lot of detail with individual films, she writes extensively on the workaday existence of being a supporting player in ’30s and ’40s Hollywood. This non-glamorous side of the movie business isn’t covered often in books, and it’s fascinating to read. Throughout the book, she has a straightforward, non-sugarcoating attitude toward her career that is refreshing to behold. This carries over to her reflections on her personal life. For me, it was most insteresting to find out about the close ties she had with her parents and how they affected her many failed attempts at finding romance (including one short-lived marriage in the early ’50s). Most of all, she comes across like a fun person who lives life to the fullest. Ankerich used a lot of images from The Joyce Compton Shrine here (with my permission) — it’s pretty neat to see my name in print within these pages.
Sleep Dealer (2008). Mexican indie with a sci-fi bent asks a thought-provoking question: namely, what effect will future advances in telecommuting and robotic technology have on the current Mexican-U.S. labor problem? In a not too distant future, water shortages force a young laborer (Luis Fernando Peña) to a Tijuana firm that employs specially equipped people to virtually control robots in menial U.S. jobs. While searching for the implanted nodes that will enable him to work this way, he befriends a woman (Leonor Varela) who sells their visualized memories (unbeknownst to him) on a computer network. Although suffering from one subplot too many and borderline cheesy CGI effects, it’s the human element that drives this film. I liked the way it blends a current issue into a science fiction framework. Nicely acted and directed, too — seek this out.
Book Review: The Handy Book of Artistic Printing
Doug Clouse and Angela Voulangas’ book The Handy Book of Artistic Printing: A Collection of Letterpress Examples with Specimens of Type, Ornament, Corner Fills, Borders, Twisters, Wrinklers, and other Freaks of Fancy is a long-titled exploration of a relatively short-lived trend in graphic design history. This beautifully designed volume covers a roughly two decade-long design fad from the late 19th-century that has previously been given scant attention by historians. With the emergence of letterpress and other new methods in the 1870s and ’80s, printers of the era showed off their wares and attracted clients in the form of promotional specimens. These particular specimens came emblazoned with the typically Victorian visual traits of excess ornamentation, strange color combinations, eclectic typefaces, and randomly jumbled layouts. Artistic Printing delves into every possible aspect of this phenomenon — how it came to be, a representative look at sixty different printers’ samples, and the movement’s ignoble fall in the juggernaut of 20th century modernist dogma.
This was such a cool book to page through, and oddly comforting in a way. Its centerpiece is the sixty printer’s specimens, each generally getting its own page with a nifty paragraph or two of background info on the opposite page. The specimens cover a gamut from the best of their kind to the run-of-the-mill and tacky. Many have a masturbatory “look at what I can do” bravado (in graphic design, some things never change), but the finest examples leave me breathless as to the care and craftsmanship good letter press printing requires. Sure, they may be as subtle as a lady’s hat festooned with a dead bird, but even the worst samples have a giddy exuberance. This book is the kind of effort that has inspiration on every page, right down to the weird and wonderful 1800s fonts reprinted in the back. One small complaint: in contrast to the lively and informative specimen descriptions, the text in the opening and closing chapters is very dryly written and academic (interesting and comprehensive, but still dry).
The odd thing about this particular trend is that it never fully disappeared. Printers’ ornaments of the era fell into the public domain, eventually getting re-published by the likes of Dover for new generations of designers to explore. As noted in Artistic Printing’s concluding chapter, this style is no more immune from other graphic styles for revival, preferably with a postmodern twist. For a good example, check out the cover story layout in the paper edition of the August 2009 Wired magazine — retro ornamentation everywhere!
The Handy Book of Artistic Printing comes from Princeton Architectural Press. Buy at Amazon.com here.
Weekly Mishmash: July 25-August 1
Broken Arrow (1950). James Stewart’s return to Westerns after a long layoff, a film notable for its sympathetic portrayal of Native Americans. The principal Indian roles are played by white actors in brownface, including a scowling Jeff Chandler as Cochise. Reliable as always, Stewart plays the only man in an Arizona town who wants to peaceably mend things with the Apache tribe who has been ruthlessly slaughtering the settlers. There’s also a rather hokey romantic subplot with Deborah Paget as an Indian maiden, but it doesn’t detract from the powerful main plot. Beautifully photographed in and around Sedona, Arizona, too.
Elizabeth by J. Randy Taraborrelli. Brick-like but breezy biography of Elizabeth Taylor. This didn’t tell me too much I didn’t already know, but it was a fascinating read nonetheless. Taraborrelli does a lot of things I don’t like in biographers, making up conversations and such, but he does present Taylor’s life in an inspiring way — as a series of struggles which ultimately make her stronger as the years go by. Through all her problems with drugs, weight, celebrity, etc., she ends up coming across like a normal woman who just happened to have been a gorgeous movie star.
Grey Gardens (2009). When I first read about this movie, with Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange recreating the life stories of “Little Edie” Beale and Edith Bouvier Beale, I was extremely suspicious. On paper, it sounds too cheesy to be believed. Now that I’ve seen it, however, I totally stand corrected. This was a beautifully done movie that fills in a lot of the unanswered questions from the famed documentary. Sure, it does slide into overly dramatic territory, but I couldn’t help but be impressed with everything about this movie. Chief among them are Lang and Barrymore. The two actors play the Beales at various ages from 1936 through just after the doc was filmed. Sounds gimmicky, but it’s actually fascinating to watch. Barrymore in particular is a revelation. If she wins an Emmy for this, it will be well deserved.
The Looney Tunes Golden Collection, Volume 6. We finally finished going through this, sadly the very last Looney Tunes Golden Collection. Out of all these sets, strangely enough I prefer volumes 3-6 to the first two. The reason why is that I prefer the discs that are dedicated to a theme or director, as opposed to a character (really, who wants to watch an hour plus of Tweety cartoons?). Also, the first two volumes contain all the classic cartoons that everybody has seen a million times over. Whenever I revisit these sets, inevitably I’ll pull out the later ones to view a Frank Tashlin or Robert Clampett obscurity. Volume six was pretty cool, with discs dedicated to wartime cartoons, 1930-35 treasures, and fan-picked cartoons starring an assortment of one shot characters. As much as I wish Warners would continue making these, however, it seems like they’re starting to run dry on this set. Many fans disliked the Foxy and Bosko cartoons, but I enjoyed seeing them just to check out what rival studios were offering to compete with Mickey Mouse. On the other hand, the two or three Buddy cartoons here are terrible — bland and badly animated. One has to wonder what WB was thinking when they dreamed up those. This set also has a respectful (if overlong and obsequious) tribute to Mel Blanc. I’m hoping some more Warner cartoons eventually see release, especially the ultra-saccharine musical ones from the ’30s (I can’t be the only one who wants to see Beauty and the Beast again!).
Presenting Lily Mars (1943). Lesser-known Judy Garland musical, not especially noteworthy but worth a look-see for whenever TCM needs filler for its next Garland fest. Judy is 19 and looking gorgeous as the title character, a hyper wannabe actress who would give anything to be in Van Heflin’s next show. Predictable shenanigans ensue, but MGM’s gloss make things smooth and watchable. Although Judy doesn’t sing often in this film, she does have a great little number with character actress Connie Gilchrist as a nostalgic theatre charwoman. She’s also incredibly cute and has terrific comic timing for such a young woman. The film wraps up satisfactorily enough, but then a huge production number (implying that Lily Mars became a successful actress) blasts its way in like a stampeding elephant, ending the film on a bizarre note.
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?
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).
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!
Book Review: Seymour
Surely you must know the name of Seymour Chwast, right? As the co-founder of legendary graphic design studio Push Pin, he was a prime mover in deflating the pomposity of modernism and ushering in the freer, more whimsical visual styles that defined the ’60s and ’70s. On a personal note, he was also one of the first artists whose work I noticed in books such as American Illustration 1982-83. One look at Chwast’s charming yet sophisticated imagery made me say “I want to do that” (side note: I’m still attempting to do that). Several decades of Chwast’s art, both commercial and personal, have been assembled in a handsome new book titled Seymour: The Obsessive Images Of Seymour Chwast.
This is one cool book. Most of its 262 pages are just what the title says: images, one to a page or spread, with annotations confined to the back few pages. Everything is grouped thematically in topics such as war, food, fashion and sex. There’s also the occasional oddball subject, such as a series of Mexican Wrestler pieces Chwast did in 2002. Although the art dates from as early as the 1960s and encompasses a wide variety of media (dig the cut sheet metal plates of food), certain things have remained constant in his work. A sense of whimsy is first and foremost. The re-purposing of various early 20th century design styles is also ever-present. Chwast also seems to have a constant fascination with exploring humankind’s frailties in a lighthearted way. The uselessness of war and the attraction of consumption are themes that come up over and over again in his work. The biggest impression I get here is that the man is a non-stop art machine. The introductory essay by famed Push Pin designer (and Mrs. Chwast) Paula Scher confirms it. I wonder if he ever has times when he turns the creativity switch “off.”
Seymour: The Obsessive Images Of Seymour Chwast is published by Chronicle. Buy at Amazon.com here.
Weekly Mishmash: June 14-20
Before we begin the mishmash, let me direct you to the new look at Web-Goddess.org. I designed the banner and drew the cartoon portrait of Kris a few months back. It was a fun challenge and she nicely integrated the banner design with the rest of her site. Cool beans.
A Cast of Friends by Bill Hanna with Tom Ito. Used book sale purchase. Along with longtime partner Joe Barbera, William Hanna created The Flintstones, Yogi Bear and about a million interchangeable cartoons (remember Captain Caveman and the Teen Angels?) that sucked many a Saturday morning for the kiddie me. This book was a short, sometimes interesting look into the animation biz as he and Barbera adapted it to the TV age. Hanna was more of a businessman than a true creative, however, and it shows in the way he approaches this memoir. At times, his bland affirmations come across like a CEO addressing a stockholder meeting. The best segments are his early memories of working at Warner Bros. and MGM in the ’30s, developing a scruffy cat and mouse who would evolve into Tom & Jerry. By the time he gets to his time as a TV titan forty years on, he seems more content to rhapsodise about his boat or offer banal observations on family and aging. I wonder if Chuck Jones ever got this doddery in his twilight years?
From Here To Eternity (1953) and High Noon (1952). Strangely enough, I’ve never seen either of these until they popped up as part of the Fred Zinneman director salute on Turner Classic Movies. I loved From Here To Eternity. The film might look hokey and overacted by today’s standards, but in 1953 this was potent stuff delivered by a surprisingly diverse cast. Montgomery Clift, Burt Lancaster and Frank Sinatra head a cast that actually comes across as refreshingly low-key and realistic for a vintage melodrama. Deborah Kerr attempting to stifle her British accent probably fares the worst, but she’s okay enough. Given its pedigree, High Noon was something of a disappointment. I wouldn’t rank it as one of the best ever, but I enjoyed the mounting sense of dread as Gary Cooper faces the most trying hour of his life. Westerns aren’t a genre that I normally gravitate towards (I live in a desert; deserts are boring), but this one had a strong enough story to keep me intrigued. Like Eternity, it has an excellent supporting cast of pros who give it their all.
Ghandi (1982). Is this epic as ponderous and boring as they say? Yes. Did it steal the Best Picture Oscar away from E.T.? I’d say no. Though overlong by at least a half hour, Ben Kingsley created a magnificent Mahatma Ghandi, and the film’s pacifist message holds up better over the years than Spielberg’s “find your inner child” granola. This film is very meditative in spirit, and I dug it.
Painters On Painting (1973). Dull documentary explores the New York art scene as it was moving past Abstract Expressionism and Pop into Minimalism and Conceptual art. Contrasting gritty black and white interview footage with color shots of various paintings, the film really ought to be titled Painters Talking. They talk and talk, revealing mostly that they only know how to express themselves through their art. Robert Rauchenberg and Andy Warhol are the most entertaining simply because of their quirky personalities. It is interesting to see many painters at this midpoint juncture in their careers. Many, such as Frank Stella, would go on to make better stuff later on than when this was filmed.
Various – The Casablanca Records Story. Out of print box set from 1994, nabbed off eBay for a song. Primarily known as a disco label, Casablanca actually had a diverse lineup that fully embodied the hedonistic “do it till you’re satisfied” ethos of the ’70s. Opening with the seductive 14 minute album-length version of Donna Summer’s “Love To Love You Baby,” this set captures the full spectrum of its 1976-83 heyday. The label’s flagship rock act KISS is M.I.A., but lots of disco in rare and unusual 12″ mixes kept me hypnotically entertained with their repetitive beats. A few overlooked gems stand out, such as Teri DeSario’s terrific Barry Gibb production “Ain’t Nothin’ Gonna Keep Me From You.” There’s also lots of tasty funk jams from Parliament and Cameo, and… the Captain & Tennille? A personal fave would be the 7-1/2 minute album version of Meco’s immortal “Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band,” which includes bits of Princess Leia’s musical motif. Geek heaven, I tell ya.
