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.

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.

Related: Justin Jorgensen’s memories of working with Hench.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Update — they are still being made.

By the way, the original self-published edition is still for sale at Amazon.com.