The Fabric of Our Hip, Happenin’ Lives
Hey people, it’s been over two weeks since we’ve gotten a comment at scrubbles.net. I’m not going to get too sad about it, but… where is everybody? Please come out from that sun scorched rock you’re under and tell me what’s going on.
Onward to the latest semi-forgotten industrial film of the past. 1969’s R.F.D. Greenwich Village is a tranquil ode to the bohemian youth of NYC and their seemingly endless supply of wide wale corduroy fashions. This sort of cinema vérité documentary-cum-advertisement shares a lot of similarities with Every Girl’s Dream, another short produced by the Cotton Producers Association a few years earlier. In that film, a young woman (Nancy Bernard, 1966’s Maid of Cotton) tours a run-down, deserted MGM studio lot while wearing an assortment of fresh cotton daytime wear. The short also contains some great wardrobe tests of Doris Day modeling costumes from The Glass Bottom Boat. This priceless short isn’t viewable online, but whoever programs Turner Classic Movies seems to enjoy playing it in the gaps between features.
Weekly Mishmash: June 13-19
Anita Baker — Rapture. Anita Baker’s “Quiet Storm” breakthrough Rapture is one of those albums that was critically acclaimed in its time (1986) but seems to have unjustly fallen under the radar in recent years. Which is a shame, since the album is a lushly produced charmer; seductive and consistent without sounding samey, and never falling into the bathetic realm of a “smooth jazz” radio station. Like Patti Austin, Baker approaches the material with a jazz singer’s finesse that many of her followers never picked up on. She’s a great singer, and the fact that she wrote much of this album is all the more impressive. For only eight tracks there sure are a lot of hits to enjoy. “Sweet Love” was the biggest, joined by “Caught Up in the Rapture,” “Same Old Love” and the mellowlicious “No One in the World” (a fourth track, “Watch Your Step,” also made waves on the R&B chart). This is an album for my inner Claire Huxtable to groove on.
Come Drink with Me (1966). An early Hong Kong action flick whose influence can be seen in many subsequent films, chief among them Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The film is beautifully photographed, lushly produced, but rather blah in the storytelling department. Probably the biggest appeal it has to modern audiences lies in spotting the elements that Crouching Tiger paid homage to, including a kick-butt heroine (effectively played by Pei-Pei Cheng) that serves as a prototype for the Michelle Yeohs that came along afterward. I enjoyed the many fight scenes, too, even if they have hoards of men stupidly standing idle just waiting to get a kung fu sock in the gut. The film is actually very well made; director King Hu deliberately frames the scenes like an artist carefully composing a canvas. For that element alone, I bestow this film a (very slight) recommendation.
Flashdance (1983). One of many ’80s blockbusters that I hadn’t previously seen, even though I find the soundtrack album one of the best of its time (really!). This was, in all honesty, a pretty stupid movie. But I found it utterly fascinating as a relic of that period, and I love the ingenious way director Adrian Lyne got around the obviously cheap production by shooting the film like an ultra glossy, seductive TV commercial (similar to Foxes. And 9-1/2 Weeks. And that Jovan musk “what is sexy” ad). A good example is the scene set in a gym with Jennifer Beals and pals working out in front of harsh white back lighting (scored to Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ‘n Roll,” no less). Have you ever seen a gym that looks like that? And yet it fits into this film’s weird alternate universe in which Beals’ winsome welder by day, stripper by night seems to passively waft through. Adding to the inanity is a Joe Eszterhas penned script which drops f-bombs to signify character development. Jennifer Beals with all her poise and inner serenity is probably the best thing about this flick — next to the still kickin’ soundtrack, of course. Corny as it seems, I often think about Irene Cara’s “take your passion and make it happen” line while making screen prints. It might sound silly, but it’s true!
Judgement at Nuremberg (1961). Whoa, I heard this was an effective film but I didn’t expect something this powerful. Somehow I got into my mind that this was a pretentious snoozer (who wants to watch three hours of courtroom testimony?), but luckily the film turned out better and filled with considerably more depth than that. It really examines the depths of humanity’s responsibility to itself, using the famed Nuremberg trials of surviving Nazi war criminals as a backdrop. Spencer Tracy is the presiding American judge, presented as the wise voice of reason while also allowing him to have his own quirky personality. It’s a terrific role and Tracy is great. I also enjoyed Maxmillian Schell as the German attorney, but some of the best performances went to actors in smaller roles. Montgomery Clift and Judy Garland are both amazing, and Marlene Dietrich surprises as a German officer’s wife who not so convincingly pleads ignorance to Tracy’s character on the horrors her spouse is accused of committing. I was also surprised that director Stanley Cramer used actual footage of WWII concentration camp victims in the film. The images still pack a wallop; I can’t imagine what it must have been like in 1961 when the horrors were still fresh in moviegoers’ minds.
Shutter Island (2010). In their fourth collaboration, Martin Scorsese directs Leonardo DiCaprio in this ’50s period thriller. As a police detective investigating a murder case in an insane asylum, DiCaprio essays an okay if somewhat hammy performance. To his credit, Scorsese does deliver some effectively creepy scenes at the asylum, a place filled with the stock forbidding doctors and spasmodic patients. This could have been a fun little throwback to the pulpy thrillers of yesteryear, but in the end the film is as bloated and overproduced as The Aviator. It takes to long to get from here to there — and once we arrive at a major plot point (the supposedly shocking “twist” scene, for example), it comes with a whimper instead of a shout. I suggest Scorsese needs to watch more old movies, since even the hackiest of ’40s/’50s directors knew how to be concise and to the point.
My First Modem
I recently came across a true artifact of its time while cleaning out the garage. This Hayes Accura 1140 modem was purchased after I moved into my first apartment in 1994. Armed with it, a Macintosh IIci, and a new America Online membership, I was ready to blaze the Information Superhighway — at 56K per second! Listen, I even had my place equipped with a separate phone line to enable websurfing and talking on the phone simultaneously (considering my pathetic social life at the time, not really necessary). I’m also not afraid to admit that the AOL membership was mostly used to find dates and look at porn. This was back when it took 15-20 minutes to download one photo, mind you. Thank our lucky stars that the internet has grown up since then, and so have I.
Dig this early AOL commercial from 1995. “A friend of mine told me ‘Try America Online.’ I said ‘Why? I’ve got a computer.’” That line always seemed so bizarre to me, even back then. What, were they selling to complete idiots?
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.
Treasure Island’s Jim Hawkins at LitKids
I spent the last few mornings doing up a run of neato keen-o Jim Hawkins of Treasure Island prints. These came out pretty nice; Christopher even told me they were the best yet. Although the drawing has thinner lines (meaning less likely to come out in the printing stage), the screen prints ended up having a quality where the figure looks like it’s fading into the page. I also tried a neat dot pattern for the background shape. The source book was a “Fireside Series For Boys” copy of Treasure Island that has a great antique quality. I swear the book must be at least 100 years old.
Come on and check it out at LitKids!
Twinkle Twinkle Little Box
Here’s a vintage ’60s commercial for General Mills’ Twinkles, the cereal with a storybook embedded in the box. Christopher actually saved an old Twinkles box from when he was a child (one instance where hoarding pays off!). I posted scans of the box’s front, side and back to flickr a few years ago. Cute stuff!
Silent Stash Found!
Did you hear about the recently found stash of previously thought “lost” silent films unearthed in New Zealand? The contents include features from John Ford and pioneering female director Lois Weber, but I also love that it contains ephemeral films on how to make hats and tractors. Speaking of which, here’s a new interview with Rick Prelinger of The Prelinger Archives that sheds new light on their archiving methods.
Christopher also wrote about the found silent film stash on Just Ask Christopher.
Weekly Mishmash: May 30-June 5
Haunted Gold (1932). Haunted Gold is a lively little early b-movie Western starring a lean and green John Wayne. Actually it’s about three parts Western to one part Haunted House Movie, which is enough to make me enjoy it despite the silly plot and stilted acting. Wayne plays a man coming back to his childhood town to stake his claim on an abandoned gold mine, a spot that a gang of meanies and a lovely young woman (Sheila Terry) are vying for as well. Somehow the story also involves a creaky old house filled with assorted creeps and the regrettable stereotypical scared black guy (Blue Washington) who serves as the hero’s right hand man. At film’s climax, Wayne’s white horse “Duke” comes to the rescue doing something impressive even by celluloid animal prodigy standards. This was lots of fun, efficiently covering a lot of ground in just under an hour. Wayne was at an interesting stage where one can tell he’s not the greatest actor, but he has that indefinable “it” factor that the biggest movie stars possess. This was also an odd live action production by Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies producer Leon Schlesinger (check out the animated owls over the opening credits!).
Prince & The Revolution — Purple Rain. Since eMusic is adding Prince’s back catalog in stages, I decided to toss a spare nine credits their way for Purple Rain, arguably his most enduring work. I used to own this on vinyl as a teen. The album still sounds good with a excellent flow that doesn’t make the hit singles stick out, unlike other megahit albums of the day. The only tune I didn’t originally remember was “Computer Love,” a funky semi-instrumental. Several of the other non-hits are so good they could have been released as singles; the salacious “Darling Nikki” is Hendryx brought into the ’80s, and “The Beautiful Ones” is one of his best-ever ballads. Now I’m itching to get into the Purple One’s other stuff dating from his self-titled ‘79 album up through the 1992 “unpronounceable symbol” album.
Swing It, Sailor! (1938). When I think of actor Wallace Ford, I don’t think comedian. I might think “only normal person in Freaks” or “hearty noir supporting character.” Nevertheless, the 50 comedy movie DVD pack we have contains no less than three comedies starring the doughy Ford. This forgettable maritime yuckfest is one of ‘em. With Ford and Ray Mayer as two gobs tussling over a hard-edged blonde (Isabel Jewel), this film isn’t very distinctive but it’s a breezy enough way to kill an hour. What interested me the most was Mary Treen as the leading lady’s plain roommate. The versatile Ms. Treen was one of those “hey, I know that lady” comic actresses who seemingly appeared in everything produced by Hollywood from the ’30s to the ’70s. I remember her best as Kay, the dull woman who briefly replaced Alice as the family housekeeper in one Brady Bunch episode. It’s true, everything in my existence ultimately relates to The Brady Bunch.
The River (1951). Late period Jean Renoir film is pretty to look at, but ultimately undone with stock characters and situations. The film concerns a British family in colonial India, particularly the brood’s two blossoming daughters who become entranced by a dashing Army captain visiting their neighbor. This film is rightly considered one of the best examples of Technicolor photography, and in that respect it particularly shines in opening segments depicting India as a mystical rural paradise. When it comes to the plot and acting, however, this was a total misfire. I didn’t find anything compelling about the two girls and their petty arguments (granted, the narration was nice) and the way the drama plays out. Even the subject of death is treated with a disarming callousness in Renoir’s hands. The best thing I can say about this is that it’s not flat out horrible like Renoir’s follow-up, The Golden Coach, my vote for the worst film the otherwise peerless Criterion ever put out. As long as I’m on the subject, what’s your least favorite Criterion DVD?
The Thief of Bagdad (1940). Colorful and fun kiddie adventure from producer Alexander Korda. This is the Arabian Nights told with plushness and visual flair in stunning Technicolor. The special effects might seem cheesy to our jaded CGI overloaded eyes, but I think the cheesiness has its own appeal. The most laudable thing about this film is that it leaves the impression of having spared no expense, yet it never seems like it’s trying too hard. I enjoyed all the characters, especially Conrad Veidt’s menacing Jaffar and Sabu’s industrious thief Abu. Some scenes take on a heady, psychedelic quality, such as when Abu ventures into a massive Hindu temple to retrieve a magic crystal. As with The River, the Technicolor photography has that strange muted quality unique to British productions — dreamy, a little tacky but lovely all the same.
Sunflower Saturday
Every Spring in our backyard, we get a lot of plants randomly growing here and there from the birdseed we throw out every weekend — milo, millet and beautiful sunflowers. I don’t know how it happens (from undigested seeds in bird poo, perhaps?), but we enjoy it a lot. Heavy rains this year have produced a bumper crop of sunflowers, including a couple of massive seven foot tall plants sprouting atop our compost heap. I took some photos last weekend when they were attracting plenty of bees and other flying insects (one of which was caught midflight in the pic below).
In other backyard news, our victory garden is coming along well. We’ve already gotten lots of lettuce which I never anticipated would grow so well in our soil. Carrots and green onions are growing nicely as well. Time to make carrot cookies! We also grew a half row of tomatoes from seeds. I wasn’t expecting much (again, desert ≠ verdant gardening), but the tomato plants have gotten so huge that they’re taking over neighboring crops. Having the garden located in a space that doesn’t get our killer afternoon sun might be helping. At any rate, I’m looking forward to having bunches of tomatoes to go with our lettuce, carrots and onions.
They Got Rhythm
During a break from a busy week drawing cartoons (for a client, even!), I spent a few minutes watching clips from an obscure variety show called What’s It All About, World?. The program aired on ABC in the Spring of 1969, a satirical revue with all the edges sanded clean for mass consumption. Yet another example of something that tries so hard to be “hip” that it ends up being painfully unhip. At least this performance of Sweet Charity’s “Rhythm of Life” with Dean Jones, Ricardo Montalban and a troupe of monochromatically garbed dancers is kitschy fun.
Weekly Mishmash: May 23-29
Bananarama – Collectables Classics. Bananarama was one of those ’80s groups that I’ve always enjoyed, but not enough to buy their albums back when they were popular. Collectibles Classics is the trio’s first four albums — Deep Sea Skiving, Bananarama, True Confessions and Wow! — packaged with a tacky cardboard sleeve. All of these albums have their share of glossy filler, but I enjoyed hearing them back to back and tracking the evolution of Siobahn Fahey, Sara Dallin and Keren Woodward from shaggy, overall clad popsters to full-on dance divas. Sure, the ladies sing indistinctly with no harmony whatsoever, but they did write much of their own material and have a certain spunky charm that’s not easy to resist. One often thinks of them in terms of “fun” stuff like “Venus,” and yet I’m surprised at how dark a lot of their songs were. Take “A Trick of the Night” from True Confessions, for example, a tale of a boy prostitute with glossy yet hard hitting production straight outta Miami Vice. The tune is typical of the professional Tony Swain and Steve Jolley-produced material from LPs #2 and #3, but the lighthearted, d.i.y. inspired Deep Sea Skiving is the most purely enjoyable they ever got. I also have a soft spot for the fizzy, Stock Aitken Waterman produced Wow! Even if the album is heavy on brain dead beats which got better served in concise single-length remixes, I pretty much worship at the S.A.W. throne and this is a good one. Surprisingly enough, Bananarama is still going strong with Dallin and Woodward working in a more club-oriented mode as a duo. Girl power at its finest!
For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943). This is a film that is practically dripping with prestige: Hemingway adaptation, top-rank stars, opulent production. No wonder that it is a crashing bore as well. Though it does have a few great moments (the climactic battle and chase), mostly the film is ponderous and talky, never letting you forget that fact over the course of nearly three butt numbing hours. As an American everyman aiding a band of Spanish freedom fighters, Gary Cooper is pretty much the same as in every other film he’s done. Ingrid Bergman delivers an uncharacteristically hysterical performance as Cooper’s clingy love interest. Both are terribly miscast, although I can’t say the same of the generally fine supporting actors — highlighted by the indomitable Spaniard played by Katina Paxinou (who nabbed an Oscar for her work, then disappeared from sight). Mostly taking place high in the Spanish mountains, the filmmakers gave this film a sense of heightened reality with dramatic lighting and fake looking sets offset by more straightforward outdoor scenes. Totally schizo, in other words, but very indicative of this film’s lack of focus.
Meet the Mayor (1932). This scrappy b-movie served as a vehicle for vaudeville actor Frank Fay, and an interesting little diversion on our 50 public domain comedies DVD set. Prior to viewing this, the only thing I knew about Fay was that he was Barbra Stanwyck’s first husband and he treated her badly when it became apparent that she had the goods he lacked to become a movie star. Whatever douchebag-like behavior Fay had privately isn’t evident in this film (originally released as A Fool’s Advice), in which he plays a simple elevator operator who helps invent a recording device that he uses to dethrone the corrupt mayor of his town. Fay generally comes across as a second rate Will Rogers type, genial but lacking in magnetism. The film is pretty typical early talkie stuff, somewhat leaden but watchable with a few familiar faces in support. Nat Pendleton plays a menacing heavy (big surprise) and Franklin Pangborn is on hand essaying his patented Flustered Hotel Clerk.
Sally, Irene and Mary (1938). This was our week of having free previews of a bunch of satellite stations, including the Fox Movie Channel (which DirecTV cruelly upgraded to the “bunch of movie channels we don’t want” tier a few years back). This fluffy musical was the only thing I recorded from them, mostly because it’s otherwise unavailable. This was a remake of the old silent-era story of three girls pursuing show biz careers in the big, bad city. Despite the title, it mostly revolves around Alice Faye’s Sally, with Joan Davis’ Irene as able comic relief and Margery Weaver’s Mary merely serving as pretty wallpaper. Radio star Fred Allen, underutilized Jimmy Durante and a young Tony Martin round out the cast. Standard stuff overall, I’d say, and yet musicals from this period can always be counted on to have at least one amazing number. In this case it’s the tinkly “Minuet In Jazz” performed by Raymond Scott’s Quintette with dozens of chorus girls dressed in shiny 18th century-inspired garb. I so wished it was on YouTube, but unfortunately you’ll have to tune in the Fox Movie Channel to check it out.
In the Garage
Last week, I went into the little studio we’ve set up for printing LitKids and took some photos to share. I have a nifty little corner of the garage set up with an old drafting table and a few inspirational things hung up on the walls. Things have been moving along okay, if a bit slowly for my tastes. There is so much trial and error involved in home screen printing, especially the method I’m using with photo sensitive goo and light exposures. I won’t bore you by going into too much detail; just want to mention that last Thursday I made the most perfect screen yet — a five minute sunlight exposure with four sharply defined images ready for printing.
Anyway, the photos below show some of the stuff I’ve been working on lately — a screen stretched with a cherished old silk shirt with a comic book pattern (which didn’t stretch right, soaked up too much liquid, and eventually got ripped), a piece with pages from a circa 1900 copy of Treasure Island pasted on, inks, papers, and all that good stuff. Enjoy!
You Need a Montage
One of my favorite YouTube people, bobtwcatlanta, has taken the time to upload a gem of an awards show — the 1978 Emmys. This was the 30th anniversary program, filled with more back patting than usual (and a neat set design). The first segment contains montages aplenty and Cicely Tyson wearing a weird quasi-Egyptian gold headpiece.
Weekly Mishmash: May 16-22
Code Two (1953). Fun, documentary style flick about L.A.’s motorcycle cops. This film follows three men (Ralph Meeker, Robert Horton and Jeff Richards) as they go through arduous boot camp at the police academy (look fast for the same roadway from the Charlie’s Angels opening credits), make their way through office gruntwork, and finally earn their badges as motorcycle patrolmen. This film is awfully backward in its portrayal of manly men and their worried wives and girlfriends, and the many straightforward shots of people driving hogs around might make you reach for the nearest gun. It’s still fascinating from a historical point of view, however, with plenty of gritty footage straight out of an industrial training short. The film picks up a bit once the dramatic stuff gets under way, with rogue cop Meeker chasing down an underground cattle thieving ring. There’s also a scene where the hunky leads relax in bathing wear — nice!
Dead Again (1991). This is the third time I’ve seen this Kenneth Branagh/Emma Thompson thriller (it’s one of Christopher’s all time faves). It is one of those films that people either love or hate. Despite the film’s ludicrousness, I always fall for it, even to the point of not seeing the many “twist” plot points that get thrown at you like so many ham-handed scissor references. I think it’s because Branagh and Thompson are so committed to their characters, and they seem to be having a grand time playing both 1940s lovers and a contemporary pair who are not at all freaked that they physically resemble said 1940s couple.
Niagara Falls (1941). This breezy Hal Roach production was the latest offering in our cheap-o public domain comedy film fest. The print on our DVD was surprisingly crisp and clean looking, matched by comedy that was actually quite enjoyable on its own modest terms. The plot concerns a pair of young strangers (Marjorie Woodworth and Tom Brown) thrown together under unpleasant circumstances. When the two seek lodging at a Niagra Falls hotel, they are mistaken for newlyweds and booked in the same room. Although the two seem to have an easy way out (why don’t they just say they’re not married?), they are forced together via a zealous country hick (Slim Summerville) — much to the dismay of his long-suffering bride (ZaSu Pitts in full-on “oh dear” mode). A short, silly farce made watchable by a pleasant cast and slick production which could almost be mistaken for an MGM b-movie. The falls themselves appear through the magic of rear screen projection, by the way.
Night of the Comet (1984). I rented this expecting some good ’80s cheese; well, it’s cheesy alright but not so good. A comet hits earth, turning most of humanity to rust colored dust save for two vapid L.A. teens. The girls (Catherine Mary Stewart and Kelli Maroney) make their way to a neon-lit radio station, where they and a handsome stranger (Robert Beltran of Star Trek: Voyager) must elude zombies and mysterious agents who are coldly monitoring the trio. Interesting concept, but the production’s cheapness and plodding pace are a huge bummer. The film couldn’t decide whether the comet made people into dust or zombies, so they went with both and apparently hoped no one would notice. On the plus side I dug the ’80s shopping montage and the many shots of an empty downtown L.A. (shot at 5 a.m., perhaps?), and Stewart made for a nice, level-headed heroine.
The One and Only, Genuine, Original Family Band (1968). Another relic of Disney live action musical cheeriness from the ’60s. I find these flicks fascinating, but this 1880s-set opus left me puzzled. For one, the movie doesn’t really revolve much around the title band, preferring to stick with crusty grampa Walter Brennan’s political convictions (he’s a Democrat and Grover Cleveland supporter; son Buddy Ebsen is a Republican). Much time is also devoted to a romantic subplot with Lesley Ann Warren and John Davidson serenading each other to indistinct Sherman brothers songs. The family itself has too many kids who don’t have enough screen time to make an impression (even 14 year-old Kurt Russel gets lost in the shuffle) — a symbol of this pleasant yet overlong production. The one thing I did enjoy was the crafty “Ten Feet Off The Ground,” which can be better heard here on the great Café Apres Midi Meets Disney compilation.
Barbra Streisand — The Essential Barbra Streisand. Being a proper music loving queer, I decided to explore the rich catalog of Barbra Streisand on eMusic. At first I only wanted to get her first two “Greatest Hits” albums from 1970 and ‘78, but then I realized that the same credits could be used on this 2002 compilation with twice as many tracks. This set covers her first forty years in the biz in an even-handed fashion. Babs’ earliest stuff is the highlight, of course. From the opener “A Sleepin’ Bee” one can tell what a breath of fresh air she was, and old style singer’s singer with uniqueness and vitality. I’m delighted they put in the wonderfully sung “Don’t Rain On My Parade” and “On A Clear Day You Can See Forever,” but my favorite tune of hers is the rendition of Laura Nyro’s “Stoney End” — a song that by all rights could have been a hippie-dippy mistake, but Barbra’s enthusiasm makes it a joyous romp. From there on out, her music got more formulaic and overproduced as ironically her singing improved. I can admire the virtuosity in a “Papa Can You Hear Me?” from Yentl, but it’s missing the spark of something like “Lover, Come Back to Me” from 1963. Whoever compiled this tended to pick vocal virtuosity over hits (a nice tactic), which means entire albums are sometimes omitted. For example, I kinda wish they included something off 1984’s pop-oriented Emotion, but then again it would have destroyed the flow between the Yentl and Broadway Album selections. And there’s also the matter of everything post-’85 being such a crashing bore. It really says something that even when doing a snoozy ballad, though, the woman is like buttah.
Doggies Need Haircuts, Too
Something we fished out of the trash: an Oster electric dog clipper in its original box. It was missing a few parts, but I did manage to scan these swell illustrations from the instruction booklet. Who knew small animal grooming was so complex? I love the very ’60s character of the drawing on the bottom.
