The Queen of Everything
One of the Christmas gifts from my spouse was a code for 50 free song downloads at the iTunes store. What to get? Instead of downloading full albums, I ended up using many credits on miscellaneous songs needed to fill out albums — including Aretha Franklin’s Soul ’69. This was an unusually bluesy/jazzy collaboration between Aretha and her usual Atlantic producers Jerry Wexler and Tom Dowd. The fact that the album didn’t spawn much in the way of hit singles (only her exquisite take on Smokey & The Miracles’ “The Tracks Of My Tears” charted) actually works in its favor. Listening to it is like sitting in on a casual late night session with ‘Ree and band playing around, undoubtely puffing lots of Kool cigarettes to boot. Aretha’s voice is in top form as usual, but I also dug her piano playing in this hot, early Atlantic era (I always wondered why she abandoned playing piano on her records, starting in the mid-’70s). Here’s a nice little video summary of Soul ’69 from another appreciative Aretha fan:
On a similar note, here’s another video from the same YouTube user/Aretha fan. On their recent reunion album History Of Modern, Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark did a cool remix using vocals from Aretha’s ’67 track “Save Me.” This self-penned tune was a perennial fave of mine, if only for the stanza “Call in the Caped Crusader/Green Hornet, Kato too.” OMD’s treatment adds electro-funk synths to the original’s gritty vocal and guitar — it cooks!
The Girl from Ipanema from the CD from Goodwill
The 1996 CD Nova Bossa: Red Hot On Verve originally came out as a companion piece to the “current artists covering Brazilian music” benefit project Red Hot + Rio. Although I bought the latter (which is okay, if lacking in truly memorable covers) when it first came out, Nova Bossa never entered my mind until I spied it in the stacks at the local Goodwill. It’s actually a cool little compilation. Even though it contains frequently anthologized stuff like “The Girl from Ipanema,” the tracks are nicely sequenced with atmospheric interludes suggesting a walk through the streets of Rio de Janero with random songs piping out of apartments and shops. There are even a few tracks that take a delightful turn away from the usual Bossa Nova sound, such as the kitschy “Bicho Do Mato” by organist Walter Wanderley, or Caetano Veloso’s garage rock/bubblegum freakout “Superbacana.” In the great scheme of ’60s-’70s Brazilian music it merely scratches the surface — but one can never have too many comps of this type, eh?
Speaking of “Girl from Ipanema,” how about a clip of Astrud Gilberto and Stan Getz performing their hit in a wintry lodge (?) in the teen flick Get Yourself A College Girl? That Astrud really knows how to stay perfectly still.
And here is Elis Regina and Antonio Carlos Jobim doing their ’74 classic “Aguas De Marco” on some unknown variety show. It seems like every song I’ve heard with Ms. Regina finds her laughing and having a good time, and this is no exception:
Weekly Mishmash I: December 12-18
Earth II (1971). Our first sampling of the made-to-order DVDs from Warner Archive (we bought a bundle in the site’s 5-for-$50 Black Friday sale). This quasi-2001 TV movie was Christopher’s choice, since he fondly remembered viewing it as a kid. In the film, Earthlings have set up a utopian space colony in which wars/conflicts don’t exist and every issue is voted on amongst its citizens via interactive televised discussions. When a Chinese satellite containing a nuclear bomb drifts into their orbit, the people of Earth II risk everything – including the onset of World War III – to diffuse it. This film was interesting, if poky paced and talky. I enjoyed watching it if only to see how the filmmakers adapted the style of 2001: A Space Odyssey (its obvious influence) within a made-for-TV milieu. For criminy’s sake, the cast is even headed by 2001 star Gary Lockwood! Other players include Mariette Hartley in her pre-Kodak commercial phase, Lew Ayres, Gary Merrill (sporting a bad comb-over) and even Benson‘s lovable housekeeper, Inga Swensen. Too plodding to be a complete success, but the production design is nice and Lalo Schifrin’s grand scoring gives the film some needed gravity, so to speak. Warner’s DVD edition has a crisp, nicely presented picture.
Going My Way (1943). Another notch in my effort to watch all the Best Picture Oscar Winners, this Bing Crosby/Barry Fitzgerald feel-good opus pushed all the right buttons for a war-weary public in ’43, but does it hold up today? I’d say no. The picture meanders and contains a few too many subplots, but Crosby and Fitzgerald are both charming and they are matched by an attractive supporting cast which includes Warner Bros. fave Frank McHugh, pretty opera star Risë Stevens (who is apparently still with us, bless her heart) and Our Gang‘s Alfalfa, Carl Switzer. I know, hating on something like Going My Way is like spitting on your mother, but I’ll say it — this was far from being a worthy Best Picture Oscar winner. Overwhelming mawkishness aside, part of my resistance to this film lies in how Crosby’s very type (the earnest Man of the Cloth who can also hang with the homeboys) has become such a boring cliché. The casting is good and there are several sweet musical numbers, but overall I found it very blah and non-compelling (not to mention long, long, long). Double Indemnity so should have won that year!
Happy-Go-Lucky (2008). Actress Sally Hawkins got good notices (even a Golden Globe nomination, for what it’s worth) for this Mike Leigh film a few years back. Good enough reasons for me to check it out, but the film was a disappointment. The slight plot concerns Hawkins’ guileless schoolteacher as her cheery disposition either enlightens or infuriates those around her. A British Pollyanna, or perhaps the female Forrest Gump? Hawkins is at first very engaging, with a casual manner that is very unusual to behold. As the film goes along and we witness her character giggling through driving lessons, a tango class, and otherwise serious repartee with her siblings, however, the woman becomes simply annoying. Having not watched many Mike Leigh films (I vaguely remember seeing 1991′s Life Is Sweet and being similarly underwhelmed), this trifle does absolutely nothing to arouse my curiosity.
The Medicine Man (1930). Shoddily made comedy-drama produced by the z-grade Tiffany studio is notable for being the first starring vehicle for Jack Benny. Previously known as the funnyman emcee of stuff like Hollywood Revue of 1929 (another Warner Archive offering!), Benny takes on a more subtle turn here as a medicine man with a small time traveling carnival. His character becomes the savior of poor Betty Bronson and Billy Butts, children of an abusive shopkeeper played by E. Alyn Warren. Benny and Bronson fall for each other, but can they marry before the show leaves town? Story is pure hokum befitting of a D.W. Griffith melodrama, and the comedy doesn’t work in this poorly paced story. Even worse, Warren’s nasty character is so cruel it throws everything else off. This is a cruddy movie all the way; even Bronson’s somewhat nuanced performance can’t save it.
Smoke Signals (1998). A brooding Native American (Adam Beach) needs to travel to another state to retrieve the body of his recently deceased father. In order to do so, he must take a long road trip with the nerdy young man (Evan Adams) who was saved from a burning building as a baby. Laid back indie is noted for its all Native cast. The acting is actually very good all around, even if the so-so story fails to accomplish much. I liked how the director presents an unvarnished view of Native life in which even the smaller characters have a depth and humor. The film’s latter half gets seriously derailed by Beach’s horrible wig, however. This was recommended by Leonard Maltin and my mom, both of whom have strikingly similar tastes in (rather facile) feel-good entertainment.
I’ve watched so many movies this week, I’m splitting them in two (again). More tomorrow, folks!
Weekly Mishmash: November 28 – December 4
The Last Mile (1959). The instant watching options on Netflix are still somewhat spotty at this point, but things have been improving over the last few months with a large dump of lesser-known, older flicks that never got a DVD release — including this intense little prison break drama. The film is set almost entirely in a single prison room as several death row inmates ponder their fates and the shabby treatment they’re getting from the guards. The clever use of limited sets, luminous black and white photography, and a soundtrack that is the very epitome of Crime Jazz all work in the picture’s favor, but mostly what elevates this otherwise routine movie is Mickey Rooney chewing the scenery like nobody’s business as a feisty fireplug of an inmate. The better Rooney performances always had an unhinged quality, going back as far as his hyper Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This one is no exception: even when the film gets too draggy and overly religious in its second half, the ever hammy Mickey remains at its fascinating center. TCM will be running this one on December 30th as part of their month-long Rooney tribute.
Palooka (1934). Another offering on my 50 public domain comedies DVD set. As I make way through these films in chronological order, 1934′s Palooka arrives at the tail end of the pre-Code era. While this boxing drama based on a popular comic strip doesn’t win any awards for originality, it is pleasantly jazzy and reminiscent of the Warner Bros. product of the time. The film follows nebbishy Stuart Erwin as he goes from country bumpkin to boxing star. His success is due somewhat to good genes (parents are boxing champ Robert Armstrong and spitfire ex-showgirl Marjorie Rambeau), but mostly it’s a result of underhanded doings by gangsters and his manager, played by Jimmy Durante. Also on hand is Lupe Velez as Irwin’s gold-digging hussy of a girlfriend, whose impossibly low-cut gown is the first clue that this is pre-Code stuff. The film gets draggy at times, and Irwin is seriously miscast, but it’s also a good opportunity to see Durante and Velez at their most dynamic. The two share the movie’s closing gag, which is priceless.
The Partridge Family — Up To Date. As far as TV’s made-up musical groups go, the Partridge Family have never truly gotten their due. Their 1971 album Sound Magazine is, no joke, friggin’ fantastic. Total bubblegum for sure, but the elements that made them special (David Cassidy’s creamy voice, sharp production, white bread backup vocals and harpsichords galore) were at the top of their game on that particular platter. Up To Date, which preceded Sound Magazine by a season, isn’t quite as diverse or memorable but it does boast the dreamy hits “I’ll Meet You Halfway” and “Doesn’t Somebody Want To Be Wanted.” Other notable tracks include the guitar fuzzy “Lay It On The Line” and the delightful “That’ll Be The Day.” Written by frequent P.F. contributor Tony Romeo, it’s the one track that anticipates the wonderfulness of Sound Magazine. Another thing — Suzanne Crough rocks some good tambourine here.
Seventh Heaven (1927). Classic silent romance from director Frank Borzage and stars Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell. The epic story is set into motion when waifish Gaynor is thrown onto the street and taken in by kindly street cleaner Farrell. As the two share Farrell’s humble seventh-floor abode, they fall in love and marry — only to have the arrival of World War I separate them. First impression of this film is that it’s rather long and stodgy (and no match for F.W. Murnau’s contemporary Sunrise), but it’s also charming with a beautifully nuanced performance from Gaynor. Between this, Sunrise and Street Angel, it’s no wonder she was the recipient of the first Best Actress Oscar. I also enjoyed the charismatic Farrell and several of the supporting actors. The petite Gaynor and gangly Farrell always seemed like an odd physical match, but they do have an undeniable chemistry. I suppose this would be considered the 1927 edition of a Chick Flick. Borzage’s direction is assured and passionate, most notable for his still-impressive vertical pan up seven flights of stairs. What a set piece!
Waking Sleeping Beauty (2009). Absorbing documentary deals with Disney Animation’s journey from irrelevance and near-death in the early ’80s to its second golden age starting with 1989′s The Little Mermaid through 1994′s The Lion King. Surprisingly for a Disney-endorsed product, the film casts an admiring but not entirely flattering view of studio heads Michael Eisner and Jeffrey Katzenberg. It also generously uses contemporary news footage and shots of press clippings to show how the studio’s inner dealings were communicated to the outside world. Eisner and Katzenberg come across like canny Hollywood players who are willing to learn but constantly at odds with creatives. It’s a very old story, but the fact that it covers a relatively recent period and all the major players are on hand to speak works in the film’s favor. I was very suspicious that the film might come across as too cozy and complimentary of that era’s offerings (which are entertaining but a shade too Broadway-ish for my personal tastes), but that wasn’t the case at all. Despite all the executive-level turbulence, the film actually makes Disney look like a fantastic place to work!
Exploring the Billboard Hot 100
Recently our internet service provider sent us a holiday gift of three free song downloads. At first I envisioned an iTunes-like array of music to pick from, but the actual choices were restricted to this list of the current Billboard magazine’s Hot 100 chart. Hmm. Current pop music isn’t something I usually gravitate towards, but I sensed a challenge here and decided to at least sample the clips of all 96 songs they had available. Man, this made me feel old. It really says something that Pink (or more precisely, P!nk), whose jumpy #2 hit “Raise Your Glass” is one of the chart’s better entries, is considered one of the veteran pop performers in the Hot 100… her first album came out a mere 10 years ago. Other observations:
- The top 40 is filled with the usual teen-oriented, overly produced swill, but there were a few notable goodies. Cee-Lo Green’s “Forget You” is a certified smash with the kind of classic, Motown-inspired melody that will likely stay durable in the next 10 or 20 years (personally I prefer the bluntness of the radio unfriendly version). I get a similar vibe off Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream,” although her other charting single “Firework” did nothing for me. Both of these share chart space with their corresponding Glee cover versions. The Glee stuff is fun and all, but it comes across as too shrill outside the TV context.
- Below the top 40, bucketloads of Country. This surprised me. I would expect to find crossover-friendly artists like Taylor Swift in there, but many of the tunes were hardcore, intense, soul-searchin’ twangy stuff from people who would have never escaped the CMT ghetto only five years ago. What happened?
- Speaking of which, what very few veteran performers reside in the Hot 100 are said Country stars — Tim McGraw, Kenny Chesney, Brad Paisley (whose unborn baby narrative “Anything Like Me” might be the most cloying thing in the 100), Alan Jackson, Toby Keith, Reba McEntire (!) and George Strait (!!!). The only non-Country veteran to land on the chart is the ghost of Michael Jackson, whose collaboration with rapper Akon “Hold My Hand” appears at #84.
- And hip-hop. Lots of hip-hip, but it leaves the impression that the genre has changed little over the past decade. And when did Eminem get so damn depressing?
- A few songs from people you’d expect. Ke$ha? Annoying and bratty sounding as ever. Kanye West? Meh. Rihanna? No longer sings like a robot, but not terribly interesting either.
- Out of the singles ranked outside the top 40, the only ones that halfway appealed to me were the Plain White T’s “Rhythm of Love” at #66 and “Strip Me” by Brit songstress Natasha Bedingfield, which barely made it in at #100. Like I said, lots of dreadful Country/Hip-Hop to slog through.
That said, let’s move on to the three tracks I finally settled upon:
Bruno Mars — Just the Way You Are (#7). This one’s a bit on the mawkish side (I predict many wedding plays), but it boasts a killer hook and Mars’ voice is sweetly pure against a blessedly simple production. The charismatic Mars, who also co-wrote “Forget You,” certainly has the goods to have a long-lasting career.
Enrique Iglesias featuring Pitbull — I Like It (#21). A cheeseball party anthem that made its debut on MTV’s Jersey Shore, what’s not to like? It might be considered a desperate move to grab a mass audience on Iglesias’ part, but this one feels similar to Pink’s “Raise Your Glass” in having an immediate, appealing hook that grabs you from first listen and never lets go.
Edward Maya & Vika Jigulina — Stereo Love (#35). Probably the most unusual song in the Hot 100, this sinuous dance track (from Romania!) topped charts all over Europe last year. The synth-based groove is as cold and robotic as anything a U.S. artist could come up with (actually, it’s very reminiscent of Robin S’s ’90s dancefloor hit “Show Me Love”), only the results are somehow more organic and sexy. I’m loving this one. It’s gotta be the accordion. I guess Weird Al Yankovic isn’t the only one who knows that any pop song can be improved with accordion.
Weekly Mishmash: November 21-27
Belle and Sebastian — Write About Love. Given this album’s mixed reviews, I was leery but decided to give it compulsive download off eMusic (their label was leaving the site). Belle and Sebastian’s fans tend toward two camps: those who love the early, twee indie stuff and those who love the later, more polished sound. This new album seems to have alienated both. On first listen, the album seems pleasant if exceedingly safe and half-baked. Further exploration ought to reveal more depth to the songs, but mostly they come across as throwaways. I totally dug The Life Pursuit (2006) and Dear Catastrophe Waitress (2004), but it’s been nearly five years and I was expecting much more than a formless grab bag of folskiness and jumpy, ’60s tinged pop. This outing is a bit different in allowing guest performers: Norah Jones is her usual scintillating self on “Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John,” but she’s simply too unique to fit into the B&S universe. It’s a jarring presence and the fact that the song is underwhelming doesn’t help at all. At least the chipper singing voice of actress Carey Mulligan is more smoothly integrated on the title cut (one of the better tracks, actually). This isn’t a horrible album — three or four tracks would be a great addition to a “Best of B&S” mix — but it isn’t terribly distinctive or great, either.
Gold Diggers In Paris (1938). My second offering from the Busby Berkely vol. 2 DVD set is the last (and weakest) of the Warner Bros. Gold Digger musicals. Exchanging Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler/Joan Blondell for the considerably lower-wattage Rudy Vallee and Rosemary Lane is the first clue that we’re in for a more grounded, less glitzy time. The slight story opens on a South Seas-themed nightclub run by cash-strapped Vallee and the wonderful Allen Jenkins. When French emissary Hugh Herbert mistakenly visits the club and invites Vallee’s chorus girls to perform at that year’s Paris Exhibition, Vallee and Co. must hurredly get the troupe trained in classical ballet and hope that Herbert doesn’t notice. Meanwhile, Vallee deals with a chiseling ex-wife (Gloria Dickson) and falls for the elegant lady (Lane) who works at the ballet school. Silly nonsense, basically. There’s still some fun to be had, especially in the scenes with Jenkins and stocky Edward Brophy as a dim-witted gangster who tears up at the sight of beautifully performed ballet movements. The film also has goofy faced, mugging blonde Mabel Todd, an odd novelty jazz combo called The Schnickelfritz Band, and a subplot involving a talking dog — signs that this once-elegant series was taking a turn towards the lowest common denominator.
Mutiny on the Bounty (1935). Rented this for the simple reason that it was one of the few 1930s Best Picture Oscar winners I had yet to see. I don’t know why it was avoided so long; the picture is a swell maritime adventure and a good example of Hollywood studiocraft in its prime. As for the story, you know it by now — a British shipping vessel bound for Tahiti is commanded by the fierce Captain Bligh (Charles Laughton). As the voyage goes on, his increasingly tyrannical behavior causes first mate Fletcher Christian (Clark Gable) and midshipman Byam (Franchot Tone) to stage a revolt and stay on the tropical island. What’s interesting about this film is the pacing — the first and last fifths are dense and plot-heavy, while the middle part takes its time in showing both the escalating tension caused by Laughton and the idyllic paradise once the men land in Tahiti. I liked both that and the acting (especially Laughton, who is a formidable presence). The film also seemed refreshingly non-stagy. The boat scenes are as realistic as possible, and I don’t know where they filmed the tropical scenes but they put the viewer right there with the swaying palms and such. The only cheesiness came in one brief special effects shot when a crewman was dragged underneath the ship (it looked like a doll in an aquarium). As history it’s questionable, too, but when it comes to good old fashioned storytelling the film is tops.
Opening Night (1977). Searing John Cassavetes film about an actress (Gena Rowlands) whose boozy life spirals downward after witnessing the accidental death of one of her fans. This was typical Cassavetes/Rowlands territory, on the unpolished, long and meandering side but engrossing all the same. I had a similar reaction to A Woman Under The Influence in wondering how the actors held up after playing characters who are put through an emotional ringer scene after scene. Unlike Woman, this film spends a lot of time exploring the mechanics of the characters’ workplace — it is interesting (and cool) to watch various play scenes being acted out from both backstage and the audience’s point of view. On the acting side, Rowlands, Cassavetes (who plays a fellow actor) and Ben Gazzara (as Rowlands’ director) are all very good. I also relished seeing an older, matronly Joan Blondell in the cast and acquainting herself well with a casual ’70s indie milieu. This was a good film, with a notably uninhibited lead performance, but with more editing it could have been truly fantastic. One gets the feeling that Cassavetes was too invested in the footage to step back and trim at least a half hour from his own movie.
Suicide Squad (1935). Another poverty row Joyce Compton picture, and one of her worst (having sat through the likes of Escape To Paradise and King Kelly of the U.S.A., that’s saying a lot). This was a routine (boring) and modest (dirt cheap) fire fighting drama in which Compton co-stars with Norman Foster as an overly confident firefighting recruit. I have a more thorough writeup on the Joyce Compton News & Notes weblog.
Weekly Mishmash: November 14-20
Aelita, Queen Of Mars (1921). A Russian silent film that deals with a colony of martians and the comrades back home who are attempting to reach them. The lengthy terra firma portions of this film drag along in dogmatic Commie propaganda, but if anything this is a must see for the eye-popping martian sequences. These were designed by Yuri Zheliabovsky and Alexandra Exter in high Russian Constructivist style, with angular staircases, wild costumes and amazing theatricality. If nothing else, the boxy, contrasty 1921 version of robots must be seen. It’s Art Deco before Art Deco came along, and quite a visual feast. We watched this streamed on Netflix, too.
Billy the Kid (2008). Jennifer Venditti’s first documentary follows 15 year-old Billy, an awkward teen who lives in a Maine trailer with his single mom and toddler brother. We follow the boy as he philosophizes on life and attempts to make a crazy-eyed girl working at the local diner his first girlfriend. The camera’s presence makes things more uncomfortable, however. Billy seems like a bright kid, a bit weird but needing to find his way in a manner typical of boys his age. The camera’s presence is uncomfortable, however, and many scenes linger on way too long. I have nothing against Billy or his prosaic surroundings (school lockers, dingy store fronts, bicycles and message t-shirts abound), but the subject is much too banal for a feature length doc. Perhaps a more skilled filmmaker could have made this a nice “slice of life” episode of Independent Lens on PBS, but as it is this was a huge bore.
Encounters at the End of the World (2007). Werner Herzog’s recent documentary on the South Pole and the oddball scientists studying there was very highly regarded, but I can’t remember an instance where I was so let down by a doc. This was especially disappointing since I found Herzog’s Grizzly Man one of the most compelling things I’ve ever seen. For this project, Herzog journeyed to the pole with only the vague promise that he wouldn’t focus too hard on the penguins. He narrates throughout in his charming German-accented voice, hanging around a dingy settlement populated with a variety of likable, hippie-ish folk who are there to spelunk in freezing waters, study the shifting climate and discover new microscopic species daily. Worthy subjects to film, sure, but the end result could have used some added finesse and a lot more tight editing. Not necessarily MTV-style cutting, but Herzog seems to linger around these people to an uncomfortable degree. There’s also a lot of supposedly beautiful underwater footage oddly scored to chanting and droning violins (which prompted much turning down of the volume). In between, Herzog does lots of tiresome speculating about how mankind is doomed to extinction, mustn’t mess with nature’s force, etc., points he covered more concisely in Grizzly Man.
Exam (2009). Understated British indie that does wonders with a diabolically simple concept. At a pharmaceutical conglomerate headquarters set in an unspecified future, eight job applicants are locked in a windowless room with vague rules that they must answer a question within a specified time. The nature of the question is not given; they are only given strict instructions not to soil the papers they each have on separate tables, nor can they address the attending security guard or the company official (observing them from another room). They are given 80 minutes to find out the question (or questions). What follows is an increasingly tense test of wills in which the applicants cooperate, connive and eventually struggle for their own lives. The unusual premise is effectively handled; director Stuart Hazeldine gets several good performances out of a mostly unknown cast (I only recognized actor Jimi Mistry, playing a role very different from his affable gay man in Touch Of Pink). Some of it unfolded predictably, but overall both of us were very impressed. It reminded me of Moon in demonstrating what quality acting and a nice, tightly written script can achieve.
His Double Life (1933). Another offering from the Comedy Kings 50 Movie Pack set, this farce might be considered a pleasantly quaint relic if it weren’t for the two stars, Roland Young (Brit best known for the two Topper movies) and Lillian Gish. Young plays a famous, reclusive artist who winds up inadvertently assuming the identity of his own valet after the man dies. The artist’s passing sends shock waves through the community. Things are further complicated when Young meets spinster Gish, who had been having a romantic correspondence with the valet. This is a creaky property which gets fairly ridiculous in the final courtroom act, but it’s interesting if only to see Gish in an early talking role. She’s as luminous here as she ever was in silents, and the actress refreshingly plays the role as a strong, sensible woman. It’s no wonder Young falls for her.
Saint Etienne — Tales from Turnpike House. eMusic purchase. Retro pop trio Saint Etienne was one of my fave ’90s groups — but after the rudderless techno noodling on 2000′s Sound of Water and 2002′s Finistierre, they fell off my radar. When Tales from Turnpike House arrived in 2005, I honestly barely noticed. Even so, a Pandora station dedicated to the groovy trio seemed to favor several Turnpike tracks. I delighted in them in the same way Jacqueline Susann enjoyed a new Pucci print pantsuit. The tracks were light and effortlessly chic, harking back to the good old Saint Etienne and yet with a refinement suitable for a new era. The album itself is a suite revolving around the various goings-on in a typical British neighborhood, smartly observant and exactly what I’d expect of them. Much of it takes on a gentle, bossa nova influenced groove, only with bits of Beach Boysish harmonies and current electro-dance pulses (as on “Lightning Strikes Twice”) to liven up the proceedings. It’s fantastic. Why did I miss out on this for so long? This is the latest Etienne album to date, sadly, but all nine of their long players have recently undergone the deluxe reissue treatment in the U.K. Me want!
Weekly Mishmash I: October 31 – November 6
We’ve got more entertainment than usual in the past week, so once again I’m splitting the Mishmash in two:
Fireball 500 (1966) and Thunder Alley (1967). A double bill of AIP stock car racing flicks from the ’60s starring Annette Funicello and Fabian. These have been on DVD for a few years now, but I finally got to catch them when they got shown on our local This TV HD channel, which seems to be a haven for exploitation, action/adventure and cheesy TV movies from the ’60s-’80s (Beverly Hills Madam, anyone?). Just my style, in other words. Both of these movies are honestly pretty dull, but they’re interesting if only to check out how American International morphed from perky teens on the beach to motorcycle/rebel schlock over the course of the ’60s. The earlier Fireball 500 owes more to the Beach Party template, with Annette and Fabian joined by Frankie Avalon and Harvey Lembeck in a tale that uneasily mixes lowbrow yuks, campy songs and lots of stock footage of NASCAR crashes. The same footage seemingly popped up the follow year in Thunder Alley, a film that still wallows in action clichés but boasts a more cohesive story and an improved, appealing cast. A refinement, if you will. The film also has lovely Annette singing one of her best tunes, “When You Get What You Want”:
The House of the Devil (2008). Every Halloween, we have a tradition of turning off the porch light to ward off trick or treaters (why should a bunch of strange kids take our candy?), hide off in the back room, and watch a scary movie. This year’s offering was the recent indie The House of the Devil, writer/director Ti West’s modest yet affectionate tribute to early ’80s “babysitter in peril” flicks. The film concerns a cash-strapped college student (Jocelin Donahue) who accepts a job looking over an infirm old woman in a cavernous home while the woman’s creepy caretakers (Tom Noonan and Mary Woronov) are out for the night. The film initially sets up a nice, period-accurate vibe with grainy film stock, correct clothing and vehicles, and Donahue’s blank countenance which seems right in line with every ’80s horror actress from Jamie Lee Curtis on down. Unfortunately, the film isn’t very exciting or suspenseful with its never-ending scenes of Donahue padding around the house. Once the action does hit in the final 20 minutes, it’s also a huge, cliché filled letdown. Well intentioned, but a bore. I need to pick something better for next Halloween.
Various — Nippon Girls: Japanese Pop, Beat & Bossa Nova 1966-70. An import compilation CD of tasty girl-led Japanese pop from the ’60s as compiled and annotated by Sheila Burgel of Cha-Cha Charming magazine. This is a delightful set, all the more enjoyable since Japanese music in general is still something of an enigma to these ears. This set concentrates on the Group Sounds movement, an Asian response to the British and American rock scene of the era. On the whole it’s energetic, wonderfully kitschy music that would fit nicely into a go-go discotheque scene from a particularly groovy Godzilla flick. It’s surprising to hear so many women with strong, authoritative voices here, something that must have sounded mighty progressive in ’60s Japan. Highlights include Ayumi Ishida’s dramatic, harpsichord driven “Taiyou Wa Naite Iru” (a cousin to Procol Harum’s “Conquistador”) and Mari Atsumi’s sweepingly seductive “Suki Yo Ai Shite.”
Sunday Bloody Sunday (1971). Over the course of a week in tony London, a prickly divorcée (Glenda Jackson) and a Jewish doctor (Peter Finch) share both a party line and an artist lover (Murray Head) while trying hard not to acknowledge each others’ existence. I’ve always been curious about this acclaimed domestic drama from director John Schlesigner. It’s a shrill, confusing film with the leads seemingly thrown into a chaotic world against their will. The gay angle must have seemed shocking in 1971. It’s nicely handled, however, with Finch and Head delivering subtle, blessedly non-stereotypical work. As a matter of fact, luminous performances are the most timeless aspect of this film; Jackson and Finch especially come across as flawed, funny and above all human here. If ever a film rode on the work of its leads, it’s this one. The film is very hard-hitting and realistic, dealing with themes similar to that of a more durable musical of the era, Stephen Sondheim’s Company. It goes into strange territory in the second half with Finch seemingly having a revelatory moment at a family member’s bar mitzvah ceremony, then delivering an odd monologue directly to the camera. That seemed unnecessary and makes this effort more maddening than anything else.
Sketches of Dusty
I drew these sketches shortly after downloading a massive BitTorrent package containing basically everything Dusty Springfield recorded from 1961-1995. This will be an interesting project to digest slowly over time. It begins with Blossom Dearie’s sweet 1970 ode “Dusty Springfield,” followed by a trio of charming acetates the erstwhile Mary O’Brien recorded as a youngster. As of now I’m just getting into the material she did with her brother Tom as folkie trio The Springfields. This music is actually quite lively and shares a lot in common with the jumpier cuts Ms. Springfield would do later on in the ’60s. Anyhow, these pages are my little tribute to Dusty in all her magnificent blondness over the years.
Weekly Mishmash: October 17-23
George Benson — Give Me The Night. Downloaded this album along with an array of Mr. Benson’s hits from 1981-84. The Quincy Jones production Give Me The Night was Benson’s full fledged leap out of jazz guitar and into R&B stardom; the title track is one of those tunes that’s so distinct I recall the first time I heard it (in my mom’s car, going somewhere at night). The album has feet in both pop/R&B and jazz, with some tracks bringing on the funk like a sequel to Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall and others in a less commercial vein (his duet with Patti Austin on “Moody’s Mood,” for example). Burdened with a few too many lover-man ballads to be truly excellent, it’s still a good showcase Benson’s smooth voice and smoother guitar riffing. All in all, I actually prefer Benson’s pop stuff, but instrumentals “Off Broadway” and “Dinorah, Dinorah” are surprising highlights.
Bugs Bunny: Hare Extraordinaire (Looney Tunes Super Stars). A birthday gift from Christopher. Bugs Bunny: Hare Extraordinaire (along with companion Daffy Duck volume, Frustrated Fowl) represents Warner Home Video’s dip back into the Looney Tunes DVD game after the company announced it was ceasing the acclaimed Looney Tunes Golden Collection box sets. Unlike the grand Golden Collections, these sets contain a mere 15 cartoons each — all new to DVD but dating from the less than inspired 1950-64 period. Although it contains a few gems (Chuck Jones’ Lumber-Jack Rabbit was a sentimental fave), the blandness of Hare Extraordinaire is pretty familiar to anyone who noticed the quality of the Bugs discs in the Golden Collections going down with each successive volume. The DVD contains no commentaries or extras of any kind. Adding insult to injury is the fact that two thirds of the cartoons are presented in fake anamorphic widescreen, with the tops and bottoms of the picture lopped off. I’d definitely rather buy a Warner Archive set of scratched up Bosko cartoons than this shoddy product. Minor plus: nice cover design.
Children of a Lesser God (1986). William Hurt as an idealistic teacher at a small New England school for the deaf meets willful ex-student Marlee Matlin; Hurt attempts to teach Matlin how to speak while the two gradually become lovers. This was an interesting film; very well acted and not nearly as soapy as originally suspected. This film was adapted by director Randa Haines from Mark Medoff’s successful Broadway play; instead of feeling stagey, however, it nicely captures the atmosphere of a small town/workplace and its residents. Even the young deaf actors playing students were natural. I suppose Matlin’s Oscar was something of a P.C. gesture, but she’s startlingly good (especially playing pissed off, which comes often) and has a lot of screen presence. I was amused to see Linda Bove, best known as Linda the deaf lady on Sesame Street, in the cast. This film explores issues of the deaf community assimilating while retaining their own sense of specialness, a theme that’s even more resonant today with developments in cochleal implants, etc. It would be cool to see how the characters and situations would be handled in a contemporary setting.
The Small Back Room (1949). A minor Powell and Pressburger film, somewhat moribund and talky in spots but compelling nonetheless. In 1943 England, an embittered bomb diffusion expert (David Farrar) deals with alcoholism and a concerned girlfriend (Kathleen Byron) before being assigned to defuse a cutting edge bomb left on a pebbly beach. This is a low-key drama, at times nicely acted by the two stars of Black Narcissus. The alcohol angle seemed like a Lost Weekend ripoff to me, however, and other elements of the story didn’t have enough bite to truly keep us interested. The climax was well paced, however.
Temple Grandin (2010). Excellent movie on a woman of whom I’ve previously known very little (basically snippets of an NPR interview). Temple Grandin is a scientist and animal rights activist who overcame autism to develop innovative ways of immunizing and slaughtering cattle. The film chronicles Grandin’s life from childhood through her difficult college years and eventually making her mark in the male-centric cattle industry. Claire Danes as Grandin is nothing short of wonderful, and if you’d seen the two at the Emmy awards you’d notice that Danes’ somewhat mannered performance is actually a perfect mimicry of the real Grandin (which makes it all the more extraordinary). The film covers a lot of territory in a concise way, skillfully using special effects and overlaid animation to convey Grandin’s obsessive, detail oriented viewpoint. It’s an incredibly moving story, beautifully told. Danes has been getting most of the acclaim, but Julia Ormond, Catherine O’Hara and David Strathairn also contribute great work to this movie that needs to be seen. I’d even think that Ms. Grandin is one of the unsung heroes of our time.
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 26 – October 2
City for Conquest (1940). Hokey but enjoyable vintage Warner Bros. melodrama with the cracklin’ combo of James Cagney and Ann Sheridan. Viewed (again) this week, I posted a more thorough writeup of the film at the Joyce Compton News & Notes weblog.
It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955). Another week trawling the DVD bins at Big Lots (more precisely, Big Lots!), resulted in netting the special edition of this archetypal Giant Monster Flick for only five bucks. For the uninitiated, this is the film in which a gigantic octopus terrorizes San Francisco, one tentacle at a time. Leads Kenneth Tobey and Faith Domergue attempt to quell the oncoming horror (which builds up nicely in the film’s first half), all the while attempting to convince viewers that they are not the bargain basement version of Van Johnson and Hedy Lamarr. Once the creature finally arrives to wreak havoc, it’s impressively rendered via Ray Harryhausen’s stop motion animation.
Soundtrack – Revolutionary Girl Utena. I made another trip to the local Salvation Army this week and was surprised to find a decent amount of used Japanese anime soundtracks in the CD racks. Many of the CDs were swiped (what is it with thrift store shoppers refusing to pay a dollar for a dang CD?), but one intriguing selection with disc intact was this musical adaptation of the popular Revolutionary Girl Utena manga. Going by the “if the cover depicts someone with pink hair, buy it” rule, I plunked down two bucks. It’s actually a nice sounding disc, filled with lushly arranged instrumentals with a classical bent. For all I can divine, this might be the soundtrack for a TV series, feature film or stage show (or all three). The CD is bookended with two cool vocal numbers, Luca Yumi’s “Truth” and Masami Okui’s “Round Dance – Revolution” (video below), both stellar examples of fizzy ’90s J-pop.
Street Angel (1928). Late silent was one of three films that helped Janet Gaynor win the first Best Actress Academy Award (from back when they awarded for multiple performances by the same individual in a given year). Gaynor’s sensitive, nuanced performance as an Italian street waif is actually one of the few strong points in this otherwise flawed melodrama. The All-American Gaynor and frequent co-star Charles Farrell are oddly cast as simple Italian folk in a story that goes through a lot of effort to communicate the simple truism that Love Conquers All. Faced with an ailing mother, a desperate Gaynor takes to the streets of Napoli to prostitute herself (in these scenes, Gaynor is somehow both painful and hilarious to watch). Before she can get herself a john, the police take her into custody. She eventually escapes and befriends earnest painter Farrell in a traveling performing troupe. It doesn’t take long before her sordid past catches up with the duo, however. Although the film is sensitively directed by Frank Borzage, this routine romance is easily the lesser of the three award winning Gaynor vehicles (Seventh Heaven and the tremendous Sunrise were the other two). In addition to Gaynor’s performance, I loved the photography and the lavish street set. Farrell is a dull lead, however, and his one dimensionality is matched by the story.
Take Aim at the Police Van (1960). Part of Criterion’s “Nikkatsu Noir” Eclipse box set, this Seijun Suzuki whodunit is a stylish if very confusing venture. Opens impressively with a scene in which two men pull off an intricate heist of a bus transporting prisoners. That even spurs prison guard Michitaro Mizushima to investigate, pulling him into a mess of underworld double-crossers and shady ladies. To be honest, I got lost after the first half hour and didn’t know what the hell was going on. Mizushima and the rest of the cast are rather straightforward actors, so that left me to admire the wide screen photography, jazzy score, and little else.
White Dog (1982). Until Criterion recently released it on DVD, Sam Fuller’s final film was something that was more talked about than actually seen. Like Song of the South, its unsavory reputation tends to overwhelm what is basically a rather benign film. The movie concerns the title creature, a german shepherd adopted by a young woman (Kristy MacNichol) after she accidentally runs it over. After finding the dog is prone to sudden attacks on black people, she takes it to an animal sanctuary run by Burl Ives. There, trainer Paul Scofield Winfield makes an extraordinary effort to make the dog un-learn its horrible affliction. This film has a lot of good things going for it. Fuller creates a nice sense of dread as the film progresses and gets some notable work out of MacNichol and Winfield (not to mention the five or six well-trained white dogs). Ennio Morricone’s subtle and atmospheric score also goes a long way towards setting the mood. Despite all that, the movie on the whole came across like a dour if well-made TV drama. You have to wonder what the fuss was about – as explained in the very informative interviews included on the DVD, the film’s production was hobbled by NAACP protests, then the studio decided to dump it into only one U.S. theater before releasing it overseas (where it was a well regarded success, in France at least). At the very least, the unusual story and the dog itself makes the film worth a peek.
Weekly Mishmash: September 19-25
Basia – Clear Horizon: The Best of Basia. Basia was another one of those singers I’ve always been curious about but never truly checked out, a big part of her attraction coming from being part of the ’80s “sophisti-pop” movement and all. The 1998 comp Clear Horizon was a good introduction, with tracks that span her first three albums from 1987-94, a pair of casually sung live tracks, a 1996 single (“Angels Blush” b/w “Waters Of March”) and two then-new cuts. She certainly was an odd duck, at least when first arriving on the scene. I can vividly remember hearing “Time And Tide” for the first time — it was the Fall of ’87 and I was driving to classes my first semester in college. Despite running late that morning, I felt compelled to sit in the car and hear the entire song — who the heck is this nasal-voiced lady with the beautiful song? The combo of brittle synth production and bossa nova stylings seemed pretty bizarre back then, but it’s actually worked in Basia’s favor over the years as her voice has mellowed and she (along with collaborator Danny White) has settled into a more adult, jazzy groove. The most blatantly Bossa Nova tunes in this set are my favorites, 1994′s sweetly endearing “Third Time Lucky” and her version of the Brazilian standard “Waters of March.” Stevie Wonder cover “Until You Come Back To Me”, a semi-hit from 1990, is the only standout omission — the track’s badly dated, quasi hip-hop percussion would have really stood out in these surroundings, however. As a supplement, I also downloaded Basia’s appearances on Peter White’s gorgeous “Just Another Day” and Spyro Gyra’s “Springtime Laughter.” Sophisticated pop, indeed.
Food, Inc. (2008). An eye-opener, even if much of the info in this feature length exposé of the nefarious U.S. food industry has already been covered in other documentaries. What sets the Oscar-nominated Food, Inc. apart from the rest is its super-slick presentation. From the clever opening credits, with the film’s personnel incorporated into faux food labels in a supermarket, we knew we were in for Michael Moore-esque muckraking infotainment. But, despite the flashiness, does it truly get its point across? I’d say yes. The filmmakers included powerful (and stomach churning) footage that even our jaded eyes blanched at. It also covers myriad subjects in an eloquent way. Most Americans still live in blissful ignorance when it comes to subjects like the FDA’s uselessness or the evil ways of Monsanto. More importantly, these are issues that affect us directly in our own physical well-being. It truly is a fascinating look at how lax government standards and the incentive of producing vast quantities of cheap food have led to an epidemic. The feel-good text running prior to the end credits was something of a cop out (I had a similar reaction to An Inconvenient Truth). Other than that, this is a powerful film that especially resonates during these mid-term election days.
Nana (2005). Meandering but ultimately worthwhile Japanese drama, adapted from the popular manga of the same name. This film concerns two young women with the same name who meet by chance on a snowbound rail car. Nana Osaki (Mika Nakashima) is the sulky lead singer of a goth/punk band, while the über perky Nana Komatsu (Aoi Miyazaki) is trying to find a job — and herself — so she can marry her high school sweetheart. Although the two initially seem to share little in common, their differences bring out the best in each other when the pair become roommates. This is an appealing film which takes a refreshingly dry, realistic approach to a plot which might read “bad sitcom” on first perusal. Although it sags in the middle and contains a few extraneous song performances, the appealing leads and a satisfying conclusion put it slightly into the “winner” category. Unlike say, the Death Note movies, this isn’t a cut-and-dried manga adaptation. That works in this film’s favor.
The September Issue (2008). This was another wicked good documentary, chronicling famously icy Vogue editor Anna Wintour as she prepares the brick-like September 2007 issue for publication. Wintour is presented as a haughty yet somehow sweet and endearing woman, one having little in common with the cartoonish editrix played by Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada (although it’s amusing that the office layouts at Vogue and in Prada are virtually identical). She seems all business, coolly overseeing layouts and tossing out slaved-over photos like so many ashes from a cigarette. As always suspected, most of the real work is done by a phalanx of support staff. Cheif among whom is creative editor Grace Coddington, who gets almost as much screen time as Wintour. The filmmakers closely follow Coddington as she prepares an elaborate photo shoot of fashions inspired by Brassai’s images of Parisian women in the 1920s — in these scenes, the grind and occasional magic of magazine production comes alive. A flame haired former model, the straight-talking Coddington is a refreshing change from Wintour and editor at large André Leon Talley (who always seemed like a fakey schmoozer to me; this film didn’t change my opinion one iota). It’s interesting how she represents the old guard of fashion as pure visual spectacle, with no interest in the celebrity worshipping angle to fashion coverage that Wintour helped create. On the other hand, the process of how they managed to make the inelegant and sloppy actress Sienna Miller into a stunning cover girl was worth a feature length doc in itself. Great viewing.
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.
The ArchAndroid Sheds a Tear
I just downloaded The ArchAndroid from genre-defying (and hyped to the gills) artist Janelle Monáe. This concept album constitutes parts two and three of an epic story arc somehow involving oppressed yet sexy robots in the year 2719; one can’t fault the woman for being ambitious. While I don’t immediately get the concept, the album is a wildly inventive and eclectic suite. The project is anchored by clearly defined melodies and Monáe’s skilled, unadorned voice — thankfully she’s not buried under Auto Tune like other current divas (cough, Rihanna, cough). The music seems inspired by anything and everything yet somehow winds up being a cohesive whole; check the PopMatters review and comments to see her compared with everything from David Bowie to Vanessa Williams. The anthem-like “Cold War” with its touch of “Hey Ya” vibes (video below) is a highlight. Just the latest thing or a talent to be reckoned with?
