Here and Now
Today’s video is the 1991 short film Here, based on the Richard McGuire comic first published in Raw Vol. 2, No. 1 in 1989. McGuire’s influential comic explores a home’s various occupants while staying focused on one living room corner. It jumps around in time (often multiple times within a single panel), depicting the various, sometimes banal events that happen in that space. The film nicely captures some of the poignancy of the graphic version. Color me gobsmacked that somebody attempted filming it in the first place! Via Robot 6, who gives more background on the original comic’s awesomeness.
What Shall We Eat?
General Foods’ Home Meal Planner from 1961 was a booklet that Christopher found on the Free pile at his workplace. It outlines how to plan your meals smartly and efficiently — involving lots of General Foods products, of course. Amongst the tips and recipes are some wonderful typography and illustrations depicting a perfect housewife preparing meals for her nuclear family. For dealing with something as mundane as meal planning, the whole thing is incredibly elegant and Betty Draperish. Several images from the booklet were scanned and posted in my Cool Vintage Illustration flickr set.
Speaking of Betty Draper, we’re finally getting into Mad Men. Seemingly everyone I know was raving about the show when it first premiered, and I subsequently checked out an episode. It was … just okay. Beautifully crafted with a committed cast, but also cold, excessively dour and (worst of all) having a smug, revisionist attitude about the ’60s. I decided to give it another try when Amazon had a sale on the DVDs last year. Although the first few episodes still have that annoyingly smug tone, both of us were soon wrapped up in the drama and storylines. There were still a few so-so episodes from that year, but now we’re halfway through the second season DVDs and there’s a noticeable improvement in the acting and plot development. Can’t wait to check out the following two seasons — what an enthralling drama.
Anyhow, let’s indulge in something that Betty Draper would obviously find quite handy (whenever she isn’t fretting about her heel of a hubby):
Book Review: America’s Doll House
I had just about given up with the idea of reviewing books here until America’s Doll House: The Miniature World of Faith Bradford arrived from Princeton Architectural Press. This was a fascinating little book on a historic doll house that still attracts admirers at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. The first half consists of author William L. Bird’s chronicle of dollhouse enthusiast Faith Bradford and her efforts to find permanent homes for her intricate (and rarely played with) creations. Although the narrative deals plenty with the life and eccentricity of archetypal spinster Bradford, it takes an interesting and more worthwhile detour in detailing the Smithsonian’s growing pains in the ’50s and ’60s. “The Nation’s Attic,” it seemed, had an ambivalent attitude towards Bradford’s popular yet historically suspect flights of fancy.
Turn to the book’s second half and you get to see what the fuss was about: close-up images of the rooms in Bradford’s magnum opus, The Dolls’ House. The four-story, 20 room Dolls’ House is a nostalgic early 20th century manor inhabited by Peter and Rose Doll, ten children, two grandparents, five household staff, and twenty assorted pets. Bradford’s charming handiwork extended beyond the home’s walls, as she also gave each family member a back story and cataloged tiny swatches of curtains, rugs, wallpapers and such in neatly typed notebooks (pages from which are also shown in the book). In our instant age of internet-fueled, out-of-context idiocy, such meticulousness is to be admired.
Buy America’s Doll House: The Miniature World of Faith Bradford at Amazon.com here.
Cheap Thrill: Junior Deluxe Editions
For years I’ve seen these colorful ’50s hardbacks known as Junior Deluxe Editions in antique and thrift stores, but I’ve never given them much thought before coming across the beautiful Flickr group devoted to them. Though the books are not particularly rare or collectible, the covers have a charming, folk-meets-modern sensibility — and they look dynamite sitting on a shelf. From what I’ve gathered, the Junior Deluxe Editions were a mail-order based program from Doubleday in which customers signed on to receive new volumes on a monthly basis. In a plan similar to the Columbia House record club, the highlighted book of the month was automatically shipped to customers unless they specifically asked to opt out. There were about 90 titles in all, issued from the mid ’40s up to 1962 or thereabouts.
My official quest began a year ago at our local VNSA used book saleorama. Surely they would have a few Junior Deluxe Editions. I didn’t find any, however, until this year’s sale on February 12th. For fifty cents to a dollar apiece, I managed to snag nice copies of National Velvet, Sherlock Holmes, Tales from Shakespeare, Swiss Family Robinson and Robinson Crusoe. Even the volunteer lady who helped me check out was impressed. Coincidentally I also got a rather beat-up library copy of Bible Stories for Young Readers this week at a Wickenberg, Arizona thrift for two quarters. Score!
I set up a little Flickr set for my collection, adding to it as it grows. I suppose they’ve been an inspiration for LitKids as well (and, who knows, might serve as the background for future prints). Enjoy!
No Country For Small Men
I love miniature dioramas, especially when they’re photographed well — Gizmodo spotlighted one such collection recently. Florian Tremp’s flickr set with insanely detailed recreations of scenes from No Country for Old Men (the book, apparently) is full of wonderfully evocative images. Check it out!
An Arty, Smarty Holiday
How was your holiday? Hope you had a good one. Ours was filled with more art than usual, since both Christopher and I gifted each other with some great framed lovelies that we hung throughout the house.
Every year in my family, we draw names to get one big gift for whichever family member’s name gets drawn (it’s much simpler that way). This year I ended up getting my own spouse… so in addition to the normal gifts I usually buy, a bigger, secret gift had to be purchased. Mine was this wonderful “Little Owls” print created by a British Etsy seller by the name of Roddy & Ginger. I had it framed in a dark Mission-style wood frame — and it looks fantastic!
I love having new art in the home. Christopher also gave some swell stuff by famous ’60s/’70s print artist David Weidman. Weidman sold his work pre-framed, in both original screen prints and high quality reproductions (sort of an Etsy seller before his time, actually). This cat print is one of the repros, but it looks great above my dresser:
And here’s an original Weidman framed screen print of three quail executed in very ’60s shades of harvest gold, burnt orange and brown. Looks wonderful on the blue bedroom wall:
In addition to the two pieces of fab art, Christopher gifted me with a couple of books off my Amazon wish list — Dan Nadel’s Art In Time: Comic Book Adventures 1940-1980 and Chris Nichols’ The Leisure Architecture of Wayne McAllister.
C. also needed some books to read. I gave him a couple of things NOT on his wish list (but perfect for him), Anthony Slide’s Inside The Hollywood Fan Magazine and the Images of America photo collection Early Warner Bros. Studios. Good background info for our next Burbank trip.
Finally I also gave the spouse some DVD sets picked up at Big Lots and Target — Star Trek Fan Collective: Klingon, Perry Mason Season 3, Vol. 1 and a Fox film collection containing Fantastic Voyage, The Lost World, The Towering Inferno and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. Hours of viewing fun from those hauls!
Weekly Mishmash: December 19-25
Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin: Writers Running Wild in the 1920s by Marian Meade. Brisk read examines four female writers — Dorothy Parker, Zelda Fitzgerald, Edna St. Vincent Millay and Edna Ferber — as they came to find their voices over the course of the 1920s. The book takes on a novel structure, with chapters organized by year detailing what each woman was up to from 1920 through the close of 1930. It throws the reader right into the action, dispensing with the usual (boring) background details in the subjects’ lives. It’s a rather superficial approach to take, but I enjoyed it and Meade’s breezy writing style sweeps you right along. Although the ladies all had their unique voices as writers, it’s interesting to note how many scenes and people (mostly Manhattan-based) overlapped with each person’s narrative. They all dealt with being writerly and intelligent in an era when women were grappling with having careers vs. more traditional roles. After reading this book, I’d say Edna Ferber is the one I’d most want to sit down for a chat with coffee. Dorothy Parker is a towering figure, quite modern and ahead of her time. Edna St. Vincent Millay was a bundle of contradictions and quirks (who knew of her obsession with bowel movements?), and poor Zelda Fitzgerald seemed like a fragile if shallow soul. Bland title aside, this was a thrilling read. I could easily enjoy something similar on writers in the ’30s, ’40s and beyond.
Fog Island (1945). Junky b-movie about eccentric millionaire George Zucco, who gathers all the people he believed helped kill his wife for a rendezvous at his island castle (built by pirates, no less!). Soggy revenge tale with a confusing mystery and tacked-on “young love” subplot. This film seems awfully familiar to anyone who has seen the contemporary version of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. The only spark in the cast came from character actress Jacqueline deWit, playing a clairvoyant. She was a lot more memorable opposite Joan Crawford in The Damned Don’t Cry and Jane Wyman in All That Heaven Allows, however.
Frogs (1972). Another timeless classic recorded on our local This TV affiliate. I came to this one believing it was about a bunch of giant frogs taking revenge on people. I must have had it confused with the giant rabbit opus Night of the Lepus, however, since this film shows a horde of normally proportioned frogs wreaking havoc on a Southern mansion — along with lizards, spiders, alligators and other creepy things. No, the only grossly proportioned thing here is Ray Milland’s mugging as a plantation owner whose decision to pollute the local waters is what triggers this whole mess. A tight-pantsed Sam Elliott and Joan Van Ark are the main protagonists in a cast that includes every Southern sterotype known to humankind, including the Sexy Black Chick. The animal attacks themselves are laughably lame, of course, but you might want to give this a peek just to witness how common lizards actually know which chemicals combine to form lethal gasses. Lesson learned — don’t piss off a lizard.
Miami Blues (1990). Slipped this on my Netflix queue after having a yen to explore some early ’90s thrillers I missed out on. This particular one is a sleeper of the genre since it was made by ailing Orion Films and dumped into release in early 1990 with little notice. Alec Baldwin is well-known as a comedic performer, but I was surprised at how funny, charming and sexy he is this early on as an ex-con who goes on a one man crime wave, wooing a naive prostitute (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and even stealing the identity of the cop (Fred Ward) who is pursuing him throughout sun-baked Miami. Filled with tons of quirky touches, this film heaps up the comedy and jarring violence in equal measure. The script is very smart, but mostly what makes it sing are Baldwin and Leigh (who oughta have gotten an Oscar nom for this role).
Sleep, My Love (1948). This one was a bit of a surprise when it showed up on Netflix’s Watch Instantly offerings, since it stars Claudette Colbert and I’d never heard of it. An independent production from a company headed by Mary Pickford and Charles “Buddy” Rogers, this shadowy thriller opens coolly with a disoriented Colbert on a passenger train wondering how she got there. Reunited with husband Don Ameche, she’s informed that she accidentally shot the man in his arm and needs to be under constant surveillance by the protective husband. It’s only through the efforts of sympathetic friend Robert Cummings that we find out what’s really going on. Since the contrived Gaslight-style plot is nothing special, one can see why director Douglas Sirk disdained this effort — but it is enjoyable in its own hokey “woman in danger” way. Colbert plays the melodrama to the hilt, and I enjoyed voluptuous Hazel Brooks in the classic femme fatale role of Ameche’s secret lover. There’s also a young Raymond Burr and Keye Luke, who participates in the film’s most unusual scene depicting a traditional Chinese wedding. No great shakes, but worthwhile watching for the ’40s film junkie with a Netflix account.
The Social Network (2010). We decided to make this our Christmas Eve special viewing before the film left the theaters. No need to go into detail about the plot or anything, but this was an excellent film. How could it go wrong with David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin involved? Not to diminish Fincher’s contributions, but it is Sorkin’s literary, intelligent (if weirdly mannered and not very true-to-life) dialogue that makes this film. And the casting is fantastic, starting with Jesse Eisenberg’s note-perfect blend of genius and misfit as Mark Zuckerberg, a man who (according to this film) co-founded a website that thrives on personal interaction based on an appalling lack of basic face-to-face people skills. The film has a lot of atmosphere, and the storytelling is so strong that, as C. put it, the film could go on for another hour or two and still remain enthralling.
Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989). Another in my endeavor to watch all the Trek films in the order they came out. In the words of Comic Book Guy, “Worst Star Trek movie ever.” But it’s not due to William Shatner (who directed and co-scripted), as many believe. This lazy effort begins with Spock’s half-brother Sylock as he goes to a dusty, Mad Maxesque planet and takes three ambassadors hostage in an effort to meet the Supreme Being. The paunchy, aging Captain Kirk and crew must save the besieged planet, all the while dealing with Klingons who are completely in awe of Kirk’s fighting ability and all-around awesomeness. The film moves pretty quickly and the old Enterprise gang has a wonderful camaraderie that goes well beyond the roles the actors are playing. Those are about the only good things in a film which stumbles through one implausibility after another in a series of bad calls. Probably the low point came when 50ish actress Nichelle Nichols did an undignified “sexy” fan dance — no, Uhura, no! Next in line will be Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, which I actually remember seeing in the movie theater with my parents.
Weekly Mishmash II: October 31 – November 6
Gold Diggers of 1937 (1936). I’ll say it now: I buy too many cheap DVDs. Another Big Lots! markdown find was the Busby Berkeley vol. 2 set, four 1930s musicals for a cool nine dollars. These honestly aren’t the greatest movies ever made, but they are fun and brimming with fizzy vitality. Gold Diggers of 1937 was a new discovery for me; the film is actually a slight improvement over the mediocre ’35 edition. Although the songs were getting a bit stale and unmemorable at this point, director Lloyd Bacon lends a lively touch and the plot retains a bit of the Depression-era grit that the classic early ’30s flicks had. The plot deals with sassy chorines Joan Blondell and Glenda Farrell teaming up with insurance salesman Dick Powell to write a policy on a flighty millionaire (Victor Moore) that will net them the huge landfall they need to mount a Broadway show. The only catch is that the man needs to die to get the money. Somewhat routine overall, but Blondell sparkles in the lead (and she has great chemistry with then-hubby Powell), and Berkeley’s climactic “All Is Fair In Love And War” number is suitably huge and impressive. The DVD also contains two cute Merrie Melodies cartoons based on the film’s tunes and some fascinating early color footage from 1929′s Gold Diggers On Broadway.
Luther: The Life and Longing of Luther Vandross by Craig Seymour. This biography was a cheap find at the grocery store (free with a charity donation). Since it was written just prior to Vandross’ death in 2005, the hopeful note it strikes at the end seems a bit off, but otherwise it was a good examination of one of contemporary R&B’s finest performers. Seymour recounts the singer’s life from his years as a shy and overweight but music crazy kid to being a consummate arranger and backup singer in the ’70s New York music scene to solo stardom and his never fulfilled quest for lasting companionship. The subject of Vandross’ covert gayness is constantly alluded to but never dwelt upon, which oddly comes out in the book’s favor. Even if his writing style tends towards the pat and simple, I liked Seymour’s restraint and his admiration of the subject is obvious. A sense of total professionalism defined Luther’s career, and yet I also found myself identifying with the man consuming himself with work as a way of avoiding personal relationships. Another thing he yearned for and never got was a number one pop hit single, which surprised me at first. After listening to a greatest hits package covering his 1981-94 output, though, clues emerged as to why that chart topper eluded him. Although his voice is smooth and among the best of that era, his arrangements lacked a certain spark. Probably the most valuable part of this book is the discography of not only everything Vandross recorded, but his production, arranging and backup singing duties for other artists as well (this continued well after he found success in his own right).
Splice (2009). Creepy, ultimately unsatisfying sci-fi scare tale with Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley as a pair of rogue scientists who create a new lifeform. Brody and Polley work at a firm splicing together animal DNA to make creatures that would aid in medical research; when they secretly decide to make something using their own DNA, a tiny reptilian emerges. The horrified Brody wants to kill it, but Polley sees it as their surrogate child and decides to wait and see how it develops. It rapidly matures into a weird woman/reptile hybrid, and that’s where the fun begins. Director Vincenzo Natali sets up an effectively moody atmosphere at the start, placing the characters in an underlit, grungy world similar to David Fincher’s work. Also working in the film’s favor are the two leads, whom I’ve liked in earlier stuff and are perfectly fine here. Unfortunately, the film takes a bizarre/creepy turn midway through and subsequently bogs down in cliché-ridden dialogue. Not to mention an ending that defines ridiculousness. At least the Brody/Polley apartment had some nice decor:
Weekly Mishmash: October 10-16
Esquire magazine iPad app. Needing something to read for the long plane trip back home from Hawaii, I decided to spring for Esquire‘s grab at the burgeoning magazine app field. This was the October issue, opening with a subtle title card and footage of cover subject Javier Bardem fading into an image of that issue’s cover. Color me impressed: instead of magazine pages merely transferred to digital, each article is designed to fit with the iPad. The app is organized around a interface that brings the issue’s contents to the fore with one tap. The editors include just enough interactive content to be snazzy yet not obnoxious. I ended up reading the entire issue (save the long, long Philip Roth profile) on that plane trip.
Everything But The Girl — Worldwide. Everything But The Girl is one of my fave groups. Part of the appeal of Ben Watt and Tracey Thorn’s back catalog is that it’s so eclectic, ranging from quasi-Smiths jangle to mellow jazz-pop to techno. 1991′s Worldwide dates from the duo’s maligned Adult Contemporary period, and since it spawned zero hit singles it remains the only EBTG album not currently available for download. Despite the sometimes dated production styles, it’s actually a nifty little album which generally sticks with the pensive acoustic pop of classic EBGT. As usual Watt and Thorn contribute songs both as a duo and separately, with Watt’s material tending towards the sentimental and Thorn’s writing being diamonds in the rough (her two tracks, “You Lift Me Up” and “One Place” are highlights). Opener “Old Friends” is awash in mawkish synths reminiscent of something like the Force M.D.’s “Tender Love,” but the song itself is a lovely paean to the power of friendship. Typical of an album that grows on you with each successive listen.
Last Tango in Paris (1972). Controversial in its time, this is the film that inspired Pauline Kael to write a rapturous New Yorker review proclaiming it a cinematic game changer. After finally seeing it this week, I have to wonder what the fuss was about. It does boast a powerful, uninhibited performance by Marlon Brando as an American expatriate who is grieving his Parisian wife’s suicide. While squatting in an empty apartment, he meets a pretty college-aged girl (Maria Schneider) and the two have a torrid affair which over time turns into an unpleasant power struggle. This was directed and scripted by Bernado Bertolucci, coming out two years after his superior WWII drama The Conformist. Although the film does have a few interesting scenes (particularly those between Schneider and her filmmaker boyfriend, played by Jean-Pierre Léaud), mostly it seemed like some random skeevy straight guy’s fantasy put to film. It’s awfully disjointed and not very sexy (to be fair, it wasn’t meant to be), and I kept feeling sorry for Schneider, who was the ultimate victim of this chauvinistic enterprise. I actually looked up Kael’s review after viewing this, and although I can see her point about it being revelatory for the era the film generally doesn’t hold up. Forty years on, the main reasons for viewing would be the luminous cinematography and Brando’s still surprising acting chops.
1959: The Year Everything Changed by Peter Kaplan. A brisk, fascinating read about the varied achievements of a single year — 1959. Grandiose subtitle notwithstanding, this book proves its point with easily digestible chapters covering advances in civil rights, Cuba/Communism, jazz, Vietnam, the Beats, envelope pushing comedy and literature, Motown, the space race and much more. Although the chapters are on the shortish side, they contain a lot of detail. Some of the areas covered illuminated subjects completely new to me — the making of John Howard Griffin’s race study Black Like Me and Margaret Sanger’s tireless campaign for female reproductive rights, for instance. I suppose Kaplan could have written a book like this on any given year, but 1959 served as a catalyst for the complex ’60s and the book is as good an argument for that as anything else available.
Unholy Partners (1941). One of the nice byproducts of our Maui trip is that our hotel room television had Turner Classic Movies. Good old TCM, how I missed you so! We had a few extra hours one morning, so I stuck it on TCM’s birthday tribute to actress Laraine Day. Unholy Partners is a routine MGM drama in which Day has one of her usual lovesick lady roles, this time opposite the dynamic Edward G. Robinson. In this overheated yarn, returning WWI vet/newspaper editor Robinson is itching to try something new and exciting, so he hooks up with the well-connected and powerful Edward Arnold to start up a juicy, sensational tabloid, a move that introduces him to New York’s shady underworld while alienating his loyal cronies. I enjoyed the interplay between Robinson and Arnold, but mostly this was a standard drama filled with anachronistic touches and bland supporting players. The film climaxes with Day’s earnest and wildly inaccurate speech declaring that “the tabloid age is over.” I suppose this gal never watched the Fox News channel.
Weekly Mishmash: September 12-18
Funny Face (1957). I first saw Funny Face at the impressionable age of sixteen or so; it was literally one of the movies that made me fall in love with old movies. To a shy gay kid in Tempe, Arizona, the combined sight of elegant Audrey Hepburn, Fred Astaire, chi-chi fashions and Paris served as a window into another, nicer world. It is the kind of film that one stops to check out if it’s on somewhere, revisiting it occasionally like a warm old friend. It must have been a sign, therefore, when the DVD for my old friend popped up in the bargain bins at Ross, Dress for Less™. At the very least I could check it out again to see if it still holds up. My feelings were summed up in a tweet: “S’wonderful, but Audrey Hepburn is something of an asshat in that movie, huh?” It’s true. Hepburn is still utterly adorable as a mousy bookstore clerk turned famous model, but her character does the most obnoxious things from beginning to end. First, after reluctantly agreeing to accompany Astaire’s photographer and Kay Thompson’s magazine editor to Paris, she forgets her very first modeling appointment. Then she ruins her debut press conference by arguing with Astaire (for whom she fell with improbable rapidity) over some silly issue. She’s uppity and pretentious throughout, climaxing with the scene where she bolts a triumphant fashion show to track down Astaire. That kind of behavior is simply inexcusable — especially when it relates to her being smitten with the appealing yet old Astaire — and yet I still love this movie. Maybe it’s director Stanley Donen’s light and airy, never studio-bound touch, or Thompson’s fabulousness as the driven Maggie Prescott (“Think Pink” is a highlight). Perhaps this is the filmic equivalent of an old friend who has done some crap that one doesn’t approve of, yet one feels close to anyhow. Yeah, that’s it.
Joseph P. Kennedy Presents: His Hollywood Years by Cari Beauchamp. A few years back, author Cari Beauchamp wrote an absorbing book called Without Lying Down: Frances Marion and the Powerful Women of Early Hollywood. This was a great narrative about female empowerment in the growing industry of motion pictures, but it did have an intriguing minor player in Joseph P. Kennedy, better known as the patriarch of the Kennedy dynasty but here portrayed as an early mover and shaker and one of the few non-Jewish movie moguls. With this later book, Beauchamp focuses entirely on Kennedy and his thorny Hollywood career. Kennedy put another feather in his “self made man” cap as head of FBO, a company that made a tidy profit with cheapie Westerns in the 1920s. His most notorious effort of that era, however, was the doomed Queen Kelly, a costly Erich von Stroheim epic starring Kennedy’s mistress, Gloria Swanson. The tangled production of that film made for some of the more interesting chapters in this book, along with the areas that dealt with Kennedy’s complex home life (I didn’t know he had an institutionalized daughter, for one). The bulk of the book deals with Kennedy’s wheelings and dealings, which is where it falters. Unlike screenwriter Francis Marion, who was a genuinely appealing and interesting person, Kennedy comes across as, well, a big douchebag. His ambition was admirable, but the man seems like the ultimate glad-handler whose all consuming desire for success left a lot of ruined lives in his path (including that of Marion’s husband, cowboy actor Fred Thomson, who met a tragic fate when Kennedy froze him out of work). It is to Beauchamp’s credit that she can write about such a reprehensible person and make it work, but I was relieved to find him dead in the end.
The Legend of Bloody Mary (2008). Terribly acted, supposedly scary flick about a popular scary kid’s game. Like Candyman, this film uses the old apparition of Bloody Mary in the mirror as a starting point. In the film, a nerve-wracked college student is haunted by his sister’s disappearance when the two were kids. It seems she and her friends unwittingly resurrected the spirit of a vengeful 1800s spirit; it’s up to this guy and a priest/archeologist (!) to will the upset ghoulie back to the afterlife. This film appears to have been shot on a camcorder with community college acting class students. A sure sign of its classiness is the scene in which the priest consults a weathered 17th century document typeset in the computer age font ITC Blackadder. Christopher rented this with the hopes of seeing Glee‘s Cory Monteith in the nude; as it turns out, it’s the similarly titled Bloody Mary (2006) that contains Cory’s butt cheeks in a bloody death scene that likely cost three times as much as this opus.
Janelle Monae — The ArchAndroid. Still a fantastic album. Mind-blowing, actually. A second listen reveals the weird quasi-psychedelic touches in the album’s second half. It isn’t often that R&B/Hip Hop artists call to mind the likes of Donovan, but there it is in the trippy “Mushrooms & Roses.” When “Make the Bus” came on I thought “this sounds exactly like Of Montreal” — sure enough, this is a full-fledged collaboration with the funky indie group (apparently the two are currently touring together). Monae may not have the powerful pipes of a Beyoncé, but her vision and commitment is something to behold. The delightful psych-pop of “Wondaland” (which was included on a recent mix CD from a pal) is likely my favorite tune, and a good one to sample for the curious.
Retro Television Network (RTV). A nice surprise byproduct of cutting the satellite dish was finding a local feed for the fledgling Retro Television Network, an enterprise that aims to bring back the TV classics that TV Land so carelessly pissed away (along with its most loyal viewers) a few years back. A sampling of what we’ve seen in the past week: Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, Kraft Suspense Theater, The Jack Benny Show, Emergency, Marcus Welby M.D., It Takes A Thief, Run for Your Life, The Rifleman, Peter Gunn. Much of RTV’s lineup consists of hour long ’60s-’70s vintage drama and action series (many produced by Universal Studios). Sure, a lot of it is slow-paced and cheesy, but I loves me some good cheese. Behold: a 1970 episode of Marcus Welby M.D. with guest star Michele Lee as a hypochondriac spoiled rich girl who lived in a house with the ugliest avocado green and yellow living room. I dig it. Our DVR is going to be busy with this channel, which is much more than we can say for 99% of DirecTV’s offerings.
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.
