It was ever so wonderful

To see the SF Ballet's production of The Nutcracker on Boxing Day.

To see all the little girls in their party frocks or tutus, splashes of red, gold, and pink. To having cocktails at Absinthe right before, right next door. To hear the Program guy's busking.  To be in the City at night, City Hall -- where we got married -- across the street, dressed up as an Xmas present.  To settle in to our seats and hear the orchestra warming up.  To have a quick glass of cheap "Champers" as the time grew near to find said seats.

I thought the production very good on the whole, if not quite up to the whole Experience of just seeing The Nutcracker.  The Nutcracker, itself, for me does not really get going until the Snowflakes sequence right at the end of the first act.  This production did a v lovely job with that. I also loved the Arabian sequence and Waltz of the Flowers, in particular.  The Sugar Plum Fairy, Sasha DeSola, gave my favorite performances of the evening.

The other crazy astonishing thing to me about The Nutcracker is Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's music.  Here, he is given a libretto, based on a story, and the tempos he needs for each dance, and is asked to write, basically, a songbook.

Well, what a songbook, right? It is as if he said, "Alright.  Here is your ballet.  By the way, I have included a half dozen of the greatest melodies of all-time for your production.  So, I hope you like it."

That kind of genius always stuns me, to near the point of supine adoration.








Mwah, ... 

After Chabrol's slightly sinister

Les Bonnes Femmes, I watched Eric Rohmer's absolutely delightful & magical Pauline at the Beach while wrapping presents.  I love Truffaut, and Godard, and Melville, and Chabrol, but when it comes right down to it, Rohmer beats them all.

How on earth did he get that performance from Amanda Langlet? How absurdly perfect and simple is his formula, Rohmer? Let's get some beautiful french people, and have them talk about love (endlessly) in absolutely gorgeous richly colored settings in the South of France.

Perfect!
















Mwah, 
Merry Xmas to you all!












Michael

Yes, I really love this song

(And:  No Linda jokes, folks!)





Mwah, ... 
Merry Xmas!

Massive Movie Roundup (Part One)

Or, What I Have Watched Since the Election

Or -- for Nick C -- tldr:  I Watch Way More Films than Anyone You Know

Let us begin:

NOTE:  I am going to be using a star system for these films, something I am not usually fond of, but feel is appropriate for the purposes of this post.  The star system I will be using will be similar to the Michelin Restaurant Guide.  Most films made would receive no stars in my book, but then again, I do not often see films that I would not recommend to folks.  "*" is a Recommended Film.  "**" is a Highly Recommended Film.  And, "***" is considered a Classic or a Masterpiece.  There are no halfsies, either.  

Balletomane

Considering that the Wife and I are going to see The SF Ballet's The Nutcracker on Boxing Day, we must have ballet on the brain.  Renee picked First Position (*) for us to watch last night after dinner.  First Position is a documentary about six young dancers preparing for the Youth American Grand Prix (YAGP) competition.  Renee and I probably liked Michaela's story the best.  And, I am convinced that Aran is going to be an absolutely massive star of the ballet stage.  Miko and Jules' Da seemed amiable enough, but their Mother really set us on edge.  Plus, Miko and Jules were rehearsing for the competition up here in Walnut Creek! (The family lives in Palo Alto.)  Perhaps they shopped at my store? That Mom does look familiar.  First Position is good, but prob could stand to be a little tougher on some of these parents and on the brutal nature of the business these children are endeavoring to enter.  First Position occasionally toes the line as an advertisement for the YAGP.  Still -- especially for balletomanes -- it is a touching document of the fact that dance and the ballet are still powerful and magical art forms in this nation (and across the globe) that can still enchant and inspire cultures obsessed with iToys, video games, and sport.  

Anyhoo, the Wife fell asleep on my lap, and I kept the balletomane theme en pointe by watching a documentary I had been wanting to see for ages, but, for whatever reason had not:  Ballet Russes (**).  I must say that I am a bit embarrassed for a couple of things.  One, that I was mistaken what the film would be about in the first place -- I thought it was about a great Soviet ballet company locked behind the Iron Curtain -- and, two, that this proud Oklahoman apparently never knew that some of the greatest ballerinas of the twentieth century were Native Americans born in Oklahoma in the Twenties.  

Clockwise from top left: Maria Tallchief, Marjorie Tallchief, Yvonne Chouteau, Moscelyne Larkin, and Rosella Hightower.

Maria Tallchief, who is considered one of the greatest ballerinas ever, was married to Balanchine for a while, and helped create the New York City Ballet, and founded a ballet company in Chicago. Marjorie Tallchief became the artistic director for the Dallas Ballet after her retirement from dance. Ms Chouteau and her husband, Miguel Terekhov, founded the University of Oklahoma's School of Dance, and for a time directed the Oklahoma City Ballet. Ms Larkin and her husband founded the Tulsa Ballet Theater, which is one of one of the most respected civic companies in the world. And, Ms Hightower, after dancing and directing some of the leading companies in Europe eventually started a ballet school in Cannes, which is now named after her.

Ballet Russes, despite having very few "outside" and/or critical witnesses; and, generally having a PBS-like touchy-feely air about it, is still quite good.  It is the amazing story of two great ballet companies, and all the great choreographers, designers, and dancers that captivate you while you are watching it.  The "home movies", as they were -- especially the ones in color -- are mesmerizing to watch. And, the dancers' stories are juicy, gossipy, and very sweet and touching all at the same time.  You get the notion that those performers would have done it all for free. Many of them practically were.

It is a lovely story about the people that basically created the ballet art form as we know it.  Good stuff.

Godard

Now, I get it.  It took me a long time, but I get it now.  I was watching the wrong films! I had seen the Stones film (a boring waste); Weekend (which I have always liked); Alphaville; and, natch, Breathless.  

Honestly, I just can not understand all the hullabaloo and fervor for Breathless and Alphaville, especially the former.  Maybe I just do not like Jean Seberg.  Perhaps the nod of debt Godard had for Jean-Pierre Melville by name checking Bob le Flambeur and including the great director in Breathless only reinforced the film's shortcomings to me, as compared to Melville's great films.  I just do not think Breathless or Alphaville go far enough in deconstructing or exploding the genres they are supposedly critiquing.  Alphaville, in particular, is a crashing bore to me, still.

Then, a couple of days ago I saw Une Femme Est une Femme (***)  and Pierrot le Fou (***) back to back.  The first thing that jumped out at me was the brilliant use of color.  The films are saturated with delicious blocks of vibrant primary colors.  Then, I noticed the ingenious mischievous deconstruction of soundtrack in the films; songs stop abruptly, and then start again; and certain "sounds" of what is on screen will be isolated and be the only thing you hear, for instance.  

And then there is Godard's muse:  Anna Karina.  She is intoxicating on screen.  She is like the old Hollywood stars in that she is not acting so much as creating a magical larger than life presence to witness.  She goes beyond acting.  She just is.  And her force is powerful enough to leave you wanting more forever.  (Much can be said for Jean-Paul Belmondo, too, in these two films, at least.  Belmondo certainly was an actor, though, as can be seen in his other film roles away from Godard.) 

I also realized that Godard should be a natural love of mine due to his obsession with text and words in all forms of art.  It is an obsession I share with him, personally.  Text is constantly interrupting or superseding the films.  The characters are always reading books, magazines, or newspapers no matter what the action of the film contains.  Two of the most enchanting and wonderful scenes I ever seen in a romantic comedy are in Une Femme when the lovers, Karina and Jean-Claude Brialy, drop dialogue altogether for their bedtime rows, and "speak" to each other using only the titles of books straight off their shelves.  

The other great thing about these films is how joyful and playful they are.  Even a film like Pierrot, which is a road movie about a couple of terrorists wreaking (sort-of) destruction and death through a gorgeous technicolor 60s version of the south of France, is witty and charming.  The films are never boring or pedantic or preachy.  Godard seems to be illustrating the famous Situationist slogan:  "Beneath the paving stones, the beach!" That underneath this history and these old established cinema genres the magic is already there. The beauty and magic is built in to us.  We just have to shed all our shabby outer selves to reveal it.  

It also strikes me how compelling and perfect these two films are for young adults today.  This slice and dice, playful, bells and whistles style should be a natural fit for our iToys/cellphone/reality show modern day sensibility.

Both of these films are true masterpieces, which is not a term I throw around liberally, and come highly recommended by me.  Une Femme is streaming on Netflix, and you can rent Pierrot on iTunes.

(And I have not even seen Le Mepris yet!)

Part Two soon.

All my love, 

Mwah, ... 

I get it now

Mwah, ... 

Enough is Enough!

Right?

Or, you would like to think that would be the case.  That this most recent incident would be the one.  The one that would be the tipping point, the one that would finally make this nation face itself honestly and thoughtfully in the mirror, and make it change its ways at last.

Except that is not what is going to happen here.  Despite these outrageous tragedies coming even more fast and furious these past couple of years, I -- and we -- should expect even more senselessness and blood in the future.

Of course, gun control would help the situation.  But, there will be no new legislation as a result of the Newtown shooting.  Your "public servants" -- on both sides of the aisle -- know which side of their bread is buttered on.

Hell, there was a time when Dems used to use gun control cynically as an issue to get elected, and then would promptly forget about it, sitting in Washington.  Those were the days.  Now a vast majority of Democrats do not even do that anymore.  Instead, we hear about how much they love shooting Bambi, and is not it great, and peachy keen that in this frightfully young and obscenely wealthy and spoiled rotten nation of ours that we have the constitutional right to amass as large a personal arsenal as we think we deserve.

Significant serious gun control will not happen in my lifetime.  I know it.  I have read Robert Sherrill's cynical and frightening and honest book on the subject.  

And I know Nick C and I on Friday last certainly said some incredibly cynical things, ourselves. We were assuming the positions of Right Wing Fundie Zealots and Fox News' Pundits and Hosts. Except, how cynical were we, really? When most of what we said has already been said since then by the very same folks.

More guns.  If the teachers had been armed.  (Or, perhaps, the children?) Prayer in school would have prevented this, for sure.  Gay marriage is to blame, obviously.  No Jesus No Peace! The War on Christmas.  Obama wants your guns, etc, and on and on and on and on, etc, and on ...

(You know, as recently as four years ago, I used to think of Mike Huckabee as the affable -- moderately -- compassionate Conservative GOP alternative. But, now I see just what a messed-up devious savvy jerk he really is.)

Look, Fox News is already salting their ever so respectful coverage of this most recent horrific tragedy with arguments like those mentioned above.  And the rest of the Courtier Press is nearly as bad, so as to appear unbiased.

What a crock.

What is it about guns and this nation? How disgustingly sick is it that Public Servants and the Traditional Media continue to use tragedies such as these as a blade in their ideological wars? Instead of fucking facing the fact that this nation has a serious gun problem that needs to addressed full-on right flipping now?

Enough is enough.

All my love,
Hug your kids and your sweeties,
Pay it forward,
Choose love over fear,

Michael David Spitler

The Small Faces - Song Of A Baker - "Colour Me Pop" (1968)

(This will prob get taken down, too.  Enjoy it while you can Nick C)





Mwah, ... 

For Nick C and Me

"Hey, you! You're such a pedant/You got as much brain as a dead ant/As much imagination as a caravan site/But I still love/Still love you"

It is funny.

I totally have wanted to do a piece like this on fauxluxe for a while now.  I even attempted it around this time last year, but abandoned it because I just could not get the tone right, or could not capture the theme beneath the text.  Psst, for fun, here is a great quote from Whit Stillman's film, Barcelona (about text and subtext):

Fred: Maybe you can clarify something for me. Since I've been, you know, waiting for the fleet to show up, I've read a lot, and... 

Ted: Really? 

Fred: And one of the things that keeps popping up is this about "subtext." Plays, novels, songs - they all have a "subtext," which I take to mean a hidden message or import of some kind. So subtext we know. But what do you call the message or meaning that's right there on the surface, completely open and obvious? They never talk about that. What do you call what's above the subtext? 

Ted: The text. 

Fred: OK, that's right, but they never talk about that.

Plus, the platform for my post would have been different.  mistermix is talking about the film, High Fidelity, Elvis Costello, and YouTube.  I was going to talk about MGMT, their song, Song for Dan Treacy; Dan Treacy's band, Television Personalities; and YouTube.

But, the main thrust of his post would have been the same as mine:  The internets truly are spectacular.

I used to get all my knowledge about new and exciting bands, books, films, art, etc, ... from word of mouth and reading magazines and books.  I guess I am an old fusty, but the convenience of the internets, while spectacular, is also, finally, disheartening and dehumanizing to me, as well. I am not crazy about the trade-off.  (He said on his blog.  I know I know, ... )

Anyhoo, mistermix beat me to it.  Good for him.  Great post on Balloon Juice.





Ardent








P.S.  I love the Nick Hornby novel, High Fidelity, and used to love Stephen Frears' film of the book, but now think it has aged poorly, and is not very good.  The song High Fidelity by Elvis Costello is still an absolute Monster of Angst, from his splendid cracking album Get Happy!

A couple of days ago

I was reminded, while watching Ruby Sparks with the Wife -- by the way, Ruby Sparks was probably even better at home the second time around, and I think the film is going to age supremely well.  Zoe Kazan and her directors have made a great little romcom -- just how tiny JD Salinger's oeuvre really is.

"I don't know.  I just don't feel like writing today."

Here is the complete list of his published works:

A slim novel.
Two longish short stories stuck together to make a "novel".
A collection of short stories.
And, another collection of longish short stories put together to make a sort-of "novel".
And, that is it.

What a frickin' genius, right?

I love Salinger.  I probably always will.  But, talk about "leaving them wanting more", yes?

He managed his career perfectly, even if he only realized that he just did not have anything else good to say, and flat-out quit.  Brilliant.










Ardent

The last time I saw a film

Made this way was a very long time ago.  It was Dark Passage, starring Bogie and Bacall, and I got supremely annoyed about a quarter of an hour through and stopped watching.

Our very bad bad Noir Girl.

Dark Passage and the film I watched last night on TCM, The Lady in the Lake, are shot almost exclusively from the protagonist's point of view.  The only time we see Robert Montgomery (who also directed The Lady in the Lake) is when he is facing a mirror.  M-G-M (who were not crazy about Montgomery's idea, and also forced him to shoot a number of shots of him at a table, guiding us through the story) advertised the film as not only starring Montgomery and Audrey Totter, but YOU! , as well.

But, for whatever reason, this time I enjoyed it tremendously, savoring every last little minute. Actually, I think I know the reason why I liked this film and style so much this time, and it was not because of the English show, Peep Show, or the computer game, Facade.

It was because of Audrey Totter.

When you do a film like this it gives enormous freedom and flexibility to the actors with their performances.  And, Ms Totter -- who plays every scene directly to the camera as if she is speaking to Montgomery -- runs wild with it.  She camps and mugs and purrs and whispers and flirts and shows off that dynamite figure of hers (Irene did the costumes, and there are some spectacular collarless frocks with tiny cut outs at the neckline, including one lined with lace that runs down the center of her chest to the the skirt, that are to die for) and completely steals the picture.  I would also like to mention here my "Lilith (from Cheers) Complex".  Oftentimes, I prefer actresses with their hair up or pulled back in elaborate or severe sets, than their hair down or loose.  Which goes against the whole pulp/noir ethos.  Marlowe/Spade/Nick Charles will not even notice a woman unless her hair is down.

The story is your typical noir detective thing-y.  It is based on a Raymond Chandler book, a Philip Marlowe tale from Southern California.  And, it is not the reason to see the film.

Go see Totter -- fantastic name! -- do her thing.  It is a Camp Treat! Delicious.






Mwah, ... 

P.S. Facade gang, when is The Party coming out?

Could I have that with a side of Self-loathing and Misanthropy, please?

Young Adult was just about as I expected.  Except that it was more like Juno in that it was not too offensive and awful until you got near the end of the film.  (Up in the Air is just awful pretty much all the way through.) I can not stand this filmmaker, Jason Reitman, and I refuse to actually "pay" to see his films these days.  (Renee and I did see Juno in the theater.) So, finally Young Adult popped up on netflix, streaming for "free" -- or free enough for my purposes.

Why do I keep torturing myself with these crappy movies? 

Why does Reitman seem to hate himself and his generation so much?  Why does Reitman seem to hate everyone, in general? Are people that like Sonic Youth and Teenage Fanclub all jerks?

I like a lot of films with despicable protagonists, or films, in which there are no likable characters, at all.  I just saw Fritz Lang's Scarlet Street.  It was absolutely seedy and splendid at the same time, repellent and rewarding.  Young Adult, honestly, is not the worst thing I have ever seen, until the last two reels.


And, what about the drunken kiss from the hometown hubby? It is implausible, barely commented on, and works as cover for Cody and Reitman's flimsy story. There is no way Mavis sleeps with that other guy, either.  There is no way.  And the other guy's sister? And the pep talk she gives Mavis? That has to be one of worst instances of deus ex machina I have ever seen, a complete cop-out.  Diablo Cody and Reitman should have ended the film at the party.  What a grim, perfect way to end their little misanthropic exercise.  The joke is on Mavis! Leave town humiliated, with red wine all down your fancy frock!

I am tempted to think the point of their crappy ending is:  The cool kids always win, and just getting out of the small town is enough.  But, it does not play.  It simply was not written well-enough, or performed well enough to get that message across.

Young Adult truly stinks.  And, I still hate Reitman's work.  And, I am sure I will keep seeing his films -- for "free" -- and writing about them.  Maybe he will surprise me one day.  I strongly doubt it.

(And poor, awesome Teenage Fanclub deserve much better.)








Ardent

Bobby Short - I'm In Love Again

Sorry, Nick C. This, too, is prob tldr.

Ever since the election ended I have dedicated myself wholeheartedly and obsessively to the cinema.  I am trying to watch at least one film (or quality television program) a day, and often I am watching more than one.  Yesterday, I watched the second episode of season two of The Hour; Fritz Lang's seamy, cheap, gut wrenching film, Scarlet Street; and started -- which I will finish today.  Gosh! Capra used to be good! -- Ladies of Leisure, directed by Frank Capra, which features the debut of Barbara Stanwyck.  ("Have you got a cigarette?" is the first clearly audible speech of her career.) And, I have got a lot on my plate for today, too.  I would like to watch Gloria Grahame's first film, Blonde Fever; Crossfire; The Woman in the Window; The Bitter Tea of General Yen, etc, ...

"Missy", Barbara Stanwyck

And, then there all the films (and "films") recently I have seen, that my (healthy) obsession is such that I can barely keep up writing about them in this space:  Ullmer's Detour and Ruthless; Elena; Flame and Citron; Treme; Young Adult (It is a fucking joke, just as I expected); Kiss Me Deadly; Ninotchka; Peep Show; Side by Side; The Rockford Files (I swear I am going to do a post on this series.  It is unbelievably solid, perfect, and a force for good); The Naked City (awful); Mid-August Lunch and The Salt of Life (both so touching and special), etc, ...

I am hopelessly what David Thomson would call a cinephile, and part of the blame has all to do with him.  But, I was before what I am now, only much larger and louder re the cinema.

It was both exhilarating and a little scary to read these words by Thomson, in a blog post for The New Republic re the 2012 Sight and Sound Greatest Films Poll:

The cunning thing about modern movie technology is that if you want to be a cinephile, instead of a moviegoer, it can be arranged. Cinephile is a classy word, one that suggests a careful superiority and the unquestioned notion that film or cinema is an art, to be preserved and enjoyed in the way Alistair Cooke once ushered in what was really “Masterpiece Television.” (Of course, the true energy of TV, like movies, was interested in sensation, not in masterpieces. “Laugh-In” and “Monty Python” were strokes of genius, but they were also manifestations of the remote control device, that wand of the urchin gods.)
So as the movies are dying, you can choose to ignore the awkward stink. Cinephiles watch Turner Classic Movies and subscribe to Netflix. They swear by Criterion. They may be within reach of a film museum, and even a repertory house. They go to silent screen festivals, and revel in the club-like mood of their packed houses. Cinephiles have their rows of DVDs, and we can watch our best Blu-Rays of the golden oldies, and nod in agreement to the admission in Ozu’s Tokyo Story (1953, third place) that “life is disappointing, isn’t it?” In the directors’ poll that ran alongside the critics’ poll, directors said Tokyo Story was the best film ever made, leaving us to wonder why more directors don’t try to make sad, quiet, restrained films about family life instead of The Hunger Games or Killer Joe.
It is to avoid the vulgarity and the violence of those films (to say nothing of the chatty young audience) that older cinephiles stay at home nursing their Criterion securities. They have never had it so good, or so misleading. But they need to know that the investment in their Blu-Rays is allowing the companies that hold the negatives and the prints to treat those things with mounting disdain. That’s how digital projection is taking over, and why good projectors and projectionists are hard to find. Inevitably, this will lead to foreclosure for most theaters. But don’t worry: new movies will be released on any Pad you have, streaming, screaming, and available for interruptions of all sorts. “Moviegoing” may become as quaint a term as “home theatricals.”

It is frightening, indeed, to be called out so plainly on the interwebs.  Called out, yet, still so proud of my cinephile status.

I also masochistically love Lena Dunham's statement in the great doc, Side by Side -- I am paraphrasing -- "I don't know anyone who goes to the movies anymore as a date.  Now, it is, 'Would you like to come over to my house and watch Netflix on my computer?' Which is really just an excuse for a twenty-four year old guy to get his date on his bed."

Here is Thomson's article for The New Republic in full.  The finest thing he has written in years, perhaps even greater than his most recent book, The Big Screen.  (Though, I have not finished it yet.)  And, he (and the Sight and Sound critics) are right:  The Man with a Movie Camera is an absolute magical, majestical delight of filmmaking.  I do wish so that Thomson is right, and that our new technologies, and tiny screens, will lead to filmmaking like this.

************

But, a large portion of this post, and what I would like to speak of today is the 2012 General, the OEE (Orchestrated Electoral Extravaganza), if you will.  And, how I did with my November 4th predictions.  And, if I do dare say so myself, I did spectacularly well.

Here is the link to the post in full.  Below, I will dissect the post for you, and inform you on how I did.




I am not going to bury the lede.

The good guys are going to win this thing on Tuesday.  And, we will know that the good guys have won on Tuesday evening.  I am guessing that Obama will break the two-hundred and seventy electoral vote threshold at about a quarter after eight PM PST.

... With Nick C and my Wife as my witness, the networks called Ohio for Obama at 8:18 PM PST.  Ohio was the state that put Obama over the two-hundred and seventy electoral vote threshold and also had the bonus effect of making Karl Rove's head explode on national teevee ... 

All the shenanigans in Ohio and Florida, and the True the Vote douchewackets will not be able to steal this election for the GOP.  Women, all across this nation, are going to come out in full force on Tuesday and nail this thing down for Obama/Biden.

... Women made up fifty-four per cent of the 2012 OEE electorate, and went for Obama over Romney fifty-five to forty-four ... 

Here is what the map will look like.  Obama will win the Electoral College 332-206.

... I, and many others, including Nate Silver and kos, were one-hundred per cent right on this.  Obama won every state we said he would and the final electoral college vote was 332-206 ... 

Obama will win the National Popular vote fifty to forty-seven.

... According to kos, updated just two days ago, the current 2012 OEE popular vote stands at (rounding up) fifty-one to forty-seven, Obama over Romney ... 

Democrats will maintain control of the Senate, with a fifty-three to forty-six edge.  No one knows what that crazy guy in Maine is going to do, who he will caucus with, whatever, ...

... The crazy guy in Maine won, and no one still REALLY knows which party he will caucus with, but the new Senate line-up in January will be fifty-four D and forty-five R ...

Obama will still have to deal with an intransigent GOP House of Representatives, of which the GOP will have a majority of 238-197.  As much as I would like to see loony tunes Michele Bachmann ousted in Minnesota, I do not think it will happen.

... Bachmann won, but Allen West was defeated in Florida.  The new House will be 234 R and 201 D ... 

Claire McCaskill will defeat Todd Akin; Professor -- boy, did that strategy backfire -- Elizabeth Warren will become Senator Warren; Joe Donnelly will defeat Dick Mourdock; Tester will win in Montana; Kaine will win in Virginia; Heitkamp will lose in North Dakota; and Tammy Baldwin will win in Wisconsin.

... I was right about every single one of these predictions except for Heidi Heitkamp in North Dakota.  AND, right around the time I wrote this post, days before the election, I had a dream that Ms Heitkamp was at my store with her husband, and I commiserated with her about losing the election.  In the dream she was very upset with me and stormed off.  So there is that ... 

And, Joe Walsh will be thrown out on his ear, and will become a whackjob Fox News contributor.

... Joe Walsh WAS thrown out on his ear, but there is no news on whether Fox News has hired him yet ... 

************

This is kind of an odd post, right? What was up with all that stuff about my cinema habits and the David Thomson cinephile stuff? Why did I bury the lede, quoting an old post that was titled:  I am not going to bury the lede?

My point is that I did so well with my predictions because of my naturally addictive, obsessive nature.  I do not have any insider friends, or secret knowledge of the political game.  I did so well with my predictions because I read a lot.  (Or, as Chloe Sevigny says in Whit Stillman's excellent Last Days of Disco, "I read a lot.") I completely immersed myself in to the OEE horserace, like I do with everything that I deeply care about.

I did so well with my predictions because of my passionate nature.  Whatever it is that I am interested in is something that I will throw myself in to (sometimes recklessly) with every last ounce of my spiritual and physical energy.  Of course, some of my friends and lovers have questioned these directions of energies, that perhaps they are wasted on frivolous things, instead of something more productive or rewarding.  And, they have a point.

To wit, the last three times my "teams" have won major titles -- the Sooners and Stars at the turn of the most recent century and the Mavericks in 2011 -- I was horribly sick right after they had won.  See here.  Basically, what was happening is that my body had to shut down, it could not cope anymore with the psychic/spiritual demands laid upon it.

I was not sick after Obama's reelection, but was confronted with a couple of much more serious vulnerabilities of my character.  Serious things that I need to work on to become a better person.

I am confident that I can do the things I need to do to insure a rich rewarding rest of my life with Renee and all my closest friends without stifling my passionate spirit.

All my love,
kisses on the bottom,
Michael

I love the story Howard Zinn tells

In the spectacular documentary, The Most Dangerous Man in America Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers:  That Ellsberg, a former Marine Corps Troop Commander directed Zinn and his other Cambridge buddy, Noam Chomsky, on how to successfully conduct a non-violent protest on May Day, 1971, instructing them on when to move, when to lay down, when to get arrested, etc, ...

Ellsberg and his wife when they turned themselves in.

And, I also love that before wikileaks and Anonymous, Ellsberg and Tony Russo took on the establishment, the Nixon administration, and all the lies of the previous four administrations, and beat them in court so emphatically that whistle blowers like Julian Assange are now attacked through the media, and on trumped-up unrelated charges.

And, I love that Ellsberg and his wife, Patricia, are still out on the front lines every day, fighting for peace, and making sure we hold our Public Servants truly accountable.  A great great man.  And, an absolute must-see doc.

It was on PBS last night.  And, it is likely they will repeat it again soon.  Please watch.

All my love,


Michael David Spitler

I already have two of the names for musicians

In the new band that Nick C and I are going to manage, Les Bonnes Femmes.  The guitarist and singer will be named Toby Wing.  (She is not in this particular Berkeley "number", but she was in many, and also the Stanwyck pre-code gem, Baby Face.)  The lead guitarist will be named Connie Bennett.  We will use old pre-code movie actress names for the entire band.  I will keep you posted.

Enjoy this Berkeley genius in the meantime.

(And, I have got to tell you all about the Archie comic thing-y, too.  Soon.)







Mwah, ... 

Toby Wing

Connie Bennett

"Got Your Money" Fan Video - Touchez pas a grisbi mix

Normally I do not like videos like this, but this one is a hoot, and I know my buddy, Nick C, might appreciate it.  Old Dirty Bastard meets Jacques Becker and Tochez pas au grisbi.





Ardent

Touchez pas au grisbi is not

A masterpiece, or anything.  It is not even as good as Bob le Flambeur, or any of the other Jean-Pierre Melville gangster/heist flicks of roughly the same period.

"Lino, wait until you see me do the Mermaid Dance."

But it sure makes for a smashing great time.

The cast list, for starters, is immensely impressive:  Jean Gabin is our star, playing a master thief, trying to complete his last (natch) job, surrounded by duplicitous dames, a jealous love-struck partner, and a whole host of incompetent bit players; an extremely hot and handsome young Lino Ventura plays our villain; Jeanne Moreau plays the very naughty nightclub dancer, Josy, who will turn a trick occasionally if necessary, and uses the powder room for a different type of powder; while Daniel Cauchy -- who starred in Bob le flambeur a few years later -- plays a young cheap hood.

Plus, the film practically seethes with smoking hot French and Italian actresses.  Notably Dora Doll, Marilyn Bufferd, Lucilla Solivani, and Delia Scalia.  Scalia is the one that stands out to me. Her impeccable French and kittenish voice, along with the absolute knock-out outfit and shoes she wears in her scene with Gabin are sexy as all get out.  Their kiss and sexy banter practically fog up the windows.

But, there is nothing original about this story.  It was based on a pulpy French novel that was probably meant to be provocative about the seamy underworld of Paris.  The film can really be summed up by the question -- and my buddy, Nick C, would appreciate this -- "Who is running this program, anyway?"

Gabin, our hero, just needs to sell the gold ingots so he can retire, but nearly every single person in a position to help him is either weak, stupid, uncooperative, or double crossing him.  There is one scene in which he has to get the scoop about his kidnapped partner, and Gabin literally slaps every other person in the room numerous times.  That scene now, fifty years later, plays like a Camp Treat.  And, that is one of the reasons why Touchez pas is more a compelling entertainment than a rich witty insightful motion picture like Bob le Flambeur or Le Doulos or Le Deuxieme Souffle.

The director of Touchez pas was Jacques Becker, and he was a protege of the great Jean Renoir, working on a number of his pictures.  But Becker, here, seems content to deal with the surface elements of this film.  Plus, Becker has none of the style or wit to add a dash of irony or theatricality that makes Melville's films so special and rewarding.  Becker appears satisfied with creating a sexy gritty hit, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.  Like I said, it is great fun.  And comes very highly recommended by me, Touchez pas au grisby.

But, if you do enjoy it, and you have not seen any of Melville's films, seek those out, too, because they are even better.








All my love,
Ardent

Yup, this is the day the Wife

And I decided we would go up to Yountville and eat at Bouchon.  My Bay Area friends understand.  It is rainy and bleak right now.

But, first we decided we would see a movie.  And, it is really slim pickins right now.

The Wife suggested Twilight, and even jokingly threatened to cancel our reservation if we did not see the Vampire Perils of Pauline Part Whatever.  I shot that down right away.

We narrowed it down to Skyfall and Lincoln.  I told her that her choices were hot skinny chicks in bikinis and lingerie with lots of explosions, or a bunch of old white dudes wearing wigs and arguing about state's rights and the Emancipation Proclamation.

We are going with the chicks and car chases.  She does not want to see Tommy Lee Jones in a wig.

We will be listening to a lot of High Llamas on the drive up.

Everyone have a fab rainy (or not rainy, depending where you are) Sunday!







Mwah, ... 

The Wife and I saw the remake

Last year. And Renee liked the film more than I did.  Here is what I thought about the remake then. I have not seen the 2011 edition since then, but it has not aged well for me, at all.

"You want me to say, 'I love you.'"

But, a couple of nights ago TCM showed the original 1947 Brighton Rock film, starring Richard Attenborough, and I was absolutely blown away.

The original Brighton Rock, produced by The Boulting Brothers, is a thoroughly gripping little British noir picture that is about as perfect as a film can be.

From the opening title card -- which proclaims (with just the teensiest bit of irony?) that the lovely English seaside resort town of Brighton is once again safe and perfect for tourism -- to one of the greatest endings in cinema history, Brighton Rock delivers on all levels.

Of course, one has to start any discussion of this film with Attenborough's performance as Pinky, the teen hoodlum.  It is legitimately one of the finest performances I have seen on any screen, dripping with malice, a bizarre religious fervor and guilt, and the kind of bitter cynicism you would only expect from a much older actor.  Attenborough was twenty-four when he made the picture.

I imagine that British audiences were horrified in 1947, probably creating a mild media panic re juvenile delinquents and youth gangs.  Pinky is genuinely frightening to watch, a teenager who understands that his fate is sealed, the end is near, and that murder is the only way out for the slimmest chance of freedom.  Pinky thinks love is for fools, all types of love, but he most certainly believes in Hell.  Hell is where he will end up, burning in eternity for all his grievous sins and hatred.  Pinky is fatalistic.  You believe that his actions are played or performed, as if he were God's remote actor.  You believe him when he suggests that God's alternate plan for him most likely would have been in the Church.  The only time you see Pinky's faith fail him, naturally, is when he is confronted with his own mortality, at last.  This thrilling religious theme -- both Pinky and his eventual wife, Rose are Catholics in CoE England -- was obviously baked in to Graham Greene and Terrence Rattigan's sterling script, but it is rare indeed to see a performance illuminate so masterfully the authors' intentions.  (Greene, himself, was a Catholic with serious doubts.  I suspect he was reflecting these doubts on to this work, based upon his novel of the same name.)

But, that is just Attenborough.  Who the heck is Carol Marsh? What the heck happened to her? Ms Marsh plays Rose, the equally fatalistic devout Catholic waitress, who tragically gets caught up in Pinky's web.  Rose falls hopelessly in love with Pinky.  It is all part of God's  master plan that she should commit herself so unconditionally to such a nasty human being. Ms Marsh is expertly cast here.  She is pretty enough to be a late 40s British cinema love interest, but not too pretty for Rose.  Ms Marsh also delivers a stellar performance, unquestioningly besotted with Pinky, willing to do just about anything and everything for him, in complete submission to his soul. Ms Marsh's face radiantly glows whenever she is in Attenborough's orbit, revealing a deep spirituality.  Her performance is naturalistic only in the sense that it seems artless.  Normally that would be the type of magical performance that sometimes amateurs can give, but, despite only being seventeen years old, Ms Marsh was not an amateur.  Checking on her career at IMDb, Ms Marsh really did not do much, or anything of note, after Brighton Rock.  I wonder why.

Brighton Rock is also directed and shot expertly by John Boulting and Harry Waxman respectively.  Unlike most noir films of this time, Boulting and Waxman move the camera with an elegant fluidity that really envelope the audience in to this seamy underworld of a seaside tourist town.  They also use close-ups judiciously and supremely effectively to get in to the souls of these gangsters.  Hermione Baddeley and William Hartnell give wonderful performances, as well. Heck, even Hans May's score is excellent.

An absolute must-see, folks.  I will be buying this on dvd very soon.  Brighton Rock is a top-notch noir thriller that is not just an entertainment, but a tragic morality tale, as well.










Mwah, ...

The Megatron

Thanks, Pnut!

"Mark, beggars can't be choosers. She's an actual woman."














Ardent

Always always always remember

That the vast majority of Sports Owners -- oh gosh! Look, the NHL is still in another lockout -- are swine.  I will repeat that:  Sports Owners are swine.

Watch big Union man Socialist John Sayles' film, Eight Men Out.  That'll learn ya.

Thank gosh for folks like Marvin Miller, then, who passed away today at ninety-five years of age.  Peace out brother.  Goodbye, baby, and amen.

See, even Texas legend Nolan Ryan is a Union Man!


















All my love,
Michael

I know that David Mamet has become

A right-wing reactionary asshole but all three of these films below are infinitely better than The Game, directed by David Fincher.  See these instead if you love films about the Long Con.

Mwah, ... 

I would like to give David Fincher

Credit for the obvious irony behind his truly crappy film, The Game.  By which, I mean that he, as a filmmaker, has spent a godawful amount of cash, hiring actors and technicians to produce a "game" for the audience to witness and (sort of, not really) participate in.  Much like the "game", an insanely extravagant wasteful in poor taste birthday present for Michael Douglas, in said film.

Really? What do you get for the man has everything?

Apparently, it is this awful film.  I was okay with the film for a while, until the guns starting shooting, and there were car chases.  Then, when I learned it was a con, I could not help but think how many dozens of films there are out there about the Long Con that are way way way better than this piece of shit.  Then the ending happened, and I was totally done.  What a joke.  What a complete waste of talent and money.  What a complete waste of two hours of my time.

Maybe the clown can explain it all to me.

What is it with Fincher? He seems to only make good films or absolute disasters.

The Wife asked me after it was over -- I had bought it for half price (Thank God!) on Criterion bluray -- who I should give the film to? But, then Renee had a much better idea:  We are keeping the bluray, and we are going to treat it as a Camp Artifact, and foist it on our friends when they come over for a dinner party, laughing at it throughout, and pointing out to everyone what a disgustingly awful film it is.

(The Wife and I are mean, hunh? We are so pissed off about losing two hours of our life to this joke of a movie that all of our friends have to suffer, too, apparently.)

Not recommended.  Do not see it.  Do not buy it.  But, if you are looking for a good larf, and a fantastic dinner, made by Chef Renee, come on over to Club Villas some evening, and we will treat you well.

Bring some wine.










xxxoooxxx,
Ardent.

No one was better with slogans

Than Spacemen 3:

"Taking drugs to make music to take drugs to"

"For all the fucked-up children of this world we give you Spacemen 3"

"PURITY * LOVE * SUICIDE * ACCURACY * REVOLUTION"

And, really there are not many groups better than Spacemen 3.  Purity and accuracy are the crucial words to describe their ethos, their raison d'être.  Their version of minimalism was all about distilling the very essence of Rock down to its most organic infant forms.  They were a band that oftentimes you must feel would record majestic symphonies, and then like a sculptor, would chisel off layer after layer until they had revealed the bones glowing and humming through the flesh. Only the essential is shown or heard.  They were a Rock group that rarely used a drummer. A Rock group that used guitar to express every tone, mood, or color in the Classic Crayola 64 Crayon Box.  A Rock group that was not afraid of new technology.  A rock group that was never afraid to ask the difficult questions.  A Rock group that could get you through devastating moments of pain or sorrow.  A Rock group that could enrich your soul and take you to places of contentment and peace of mind that you had never experienced before.  A Rock group that was not so much a "Soundtrack for your life", as an annotated roadmap for (all) Life.

Spacemen 3's purity is also what makes their music timeless.  The records they recorded in the 1980s still sound as fresh today, or even better, as they did a generation ago.  The two men -- from Rugby, England -- J Spaceman and Sonic Boom have neither achieved anything near as magical or crucial or important on their own since the band broke up.  Perhaps part of the special elixir to produce such astounding works of art was the tension between these two men, two men that ended up bitterly hating each other, recording their final album like two solo records, Sonic's songs on side one and J's on side two.  

There was a funny moment in my life when I was nearly homeless, looking for a new place with two male housemates.  They were house sitting, and had the normal male bachelor twentysomething set staged:  Watching videos, the bong on the front table, beer bottles all over, pizza boxes, etc, ... But, the family came home early, late at night.  I received a distress call at my apartment in Berkeley, "Can we come over and stay the night? We got busted, big time." 

They came over, and we all found a place to sleep in the bedroom.  I put on The Perfect Prescription by Spacemen 3 and we smoked a J.

The next morning, one of my potential housemates, Michael K, told me how perfect that record was, what a balm it was to his soul and psyche.  

I know, I know.  Being caught-out on a house sit is not like going through a divorce or the death of a loved one, or anything as heavy as that.  But, it is still a great story.

Spacemen 3 ask the tough questions and do the bad shit, so as to make it easier for you.  

Michael

xxxoooxxx

And, Quilty is dancing

With Vivian Darkbloom, which is an anagram for Vladmir Nabokov.  How broad-minded are you?

Sellers, James Mason, and Kubrick, and Nabokov? Genius.

Anyone else up here in the Bay Area

Seen that  slightly creepy teevee ad for Merritt Bakery and Restaurant? (It is entirely possible that it is just me.  I saw it early this morning, watching an old -- In color! Guest starring Ronny Howard! -- episode of Daniel Boone on MeTV.)

More on Daniel Boone in a minute -- he's a big man! So, the Merritt ad starts with a couple arguing by Lake Merritt at dusk.  It is probably shot in color, but it is all washed out and dark, and plays as black and white.  The man leaves in a huff, throwing his arms down near his waist in disgust, and tromps off along the lake path.  Then we get a long shot of the man walking soulfully, and dejectedly, hands in his pockets, with the Oakland skyline as the backdrop.  Cut to the woman at a window booth at the Merritt Bakery and Restaurant, receiving a cup of coffee, placing her order with her server.  It is night now.  The woman stares directly in to the camera because she has obviously seen someone she knows.  New shot, the woman's POV:  It is her Sweetie! The dejected man has spotted her.  He is looking at her through the window, his palms on the glass. The commercial ends with the lovers reunited, sharing coffee and a meal, talking their problems out.

I should not quibble, I suppose.  It is nice that it is an unusual subject matter for a commercial, and it is also nice that it is for a local Oakland dining institution.  (I had many a late-night meal at the Merritt last I lived in Oaktown.  I like the Merritt.) But, the execution of the commercial, and the tone still gives me the willies.

As for Fess Parker, Ron Howard, and Daniel Boone, honestly, I had never seen an episode all the way through.  Ugh.  What a god-fearing, reactionary, freedom-loving, freedom-fighting little abomination of a television program it is.  And, the episode I saw with Ron Howard as a guest star (Howard plays Luke, whose thieving lying Pa is killed by Boone's cohort, Ben) was particularly awful.  I did like Claire Wilcox as Mary, though.

************

How is everyone doing? Getting excited for the holidays, yet? I watched The Good Wife in real-time last night (I like the program -- Renee can not stand it) and was exposed to dozens of hideous odious Black Friday shopping commercials.  Sometimes I hate my country, my country's culture, my culture altogether.  Generally, the only television I watch with commercials is live sports, and, I hardly do that even.  Most sports I watch is dvr'd, or, the Red Zone, which is a whip-around seven hour Sunday program with no commercials whatsoever! Heaven!

Seeing all those awful konsumterror commercials last night really made a dent in my soul, so naturally, after The Good Wife, I decided I would watch Ken Burns' The Dust Bowl! (At least there were not any commercials, right?)

I recognize Ken Burns' flaws, yet, I still enjoy his films.  And, the amazing body of work that he will ultimately leave behind, his history of this youthful complicated ambitious prideful sometimes hateful nation in which we live, begs to be respected.

Actually, I must admit that my favorite part of The Dust Bowl is that we already have two witnesses named Pauline, and a third Pauline is remembered for dying of "dust pneumonia".
Pauline was my Oklahoma Grandmother's name. (There is also a Lewis witness, too.  Lewis is my Mother's maiden name.) It is also delightful to hear the Oklahoma accents.

It is not so delightful, and definitely soul-crushing, to learn about the way my Southern Plains ancestors foolishly and greedily raped the land the Native Americans had lived on for centuries, all for lucre.  Wheat millionaires these Next Year Folks aspired to be.  And, they, and thousands of others all over the Plains suffered as a result.

I had no idea about the penetrating awesome power of static electricity that would precede and be part of the fearsome awe-inspiring Black Blizzards.  Dust storms that would completely block out the sun, and turn day in to night.  Folks back then would attach a metal bar to the back bumper of their car, so as to ground the static electric charge that would consume the air and land.  Scary, fascinating stuff.

Burns ended part one last night with a Woody Guthrie song, and tonight's conclusion will talk about the famous Okie exodus to California and other parts.  That could be even tougher to watch than last night's installment.  But, I will be there.

All my love, Angels, 

xxxoooxxx

So many wonderful things,

Stories, lines, etc, ... about the 1939 Lubitsch/Garbo masterpiece, Ninotchka:

Garbo asking Hungarian playwright, Melchior Lengyel, for a movie idea that could fit M-G-M's new sales tag for her, "Garbo Laughs."  Lengyel thinks about it, comes up with an idea, reports to Garbo's house to share it with her, and finds her swimming naked in her backyard pool.

Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett writing a hilarious, gently cynical screenplay that reveals the immense power of flirtation, a power so great (and believable) that one suspects it could overwhelm the State, no matter its ideology.

Lubitsch, directing with all his usual panache, aplomb, and wit; using his minor characters to supreme effect, creating a rich flaky scrumptious french galette on Hollywood's back lot version of Paris -- in many ways probably finer than the real Paris.

Garbo's radiant, luxurious slim beauty.

Adrian's fantastic gowns, and his Soviet commissar's costume for Garbo.  And, the magnificent story that Adrian, one of Hollywood's finest costumers, who designed nearly everything Garbo ever wore in the movies, how he retired when Garbo retired, "What's the point?" you can imagine him asking.

So many wonderful lines:


Count Leon D'Algout: Do you like me just a little bit?
Ninotchka: Your general appearance is not distasteful

Leon: A Russian! I love Russians! Comrade, I've been fascinated by your five-year plan for the last fifteen years.

Ninotchka: I should hate to see our country endangered by my underwear.

Leon: A radio's a little box that you buy on the installment plan, and before you tune it in, they tell you there's a new model out.

Prologue: This picture takes place in Paris in those wonderful days when a siren was a brunette and not an alarm - and if a Frenchman turned out the light it was not on account of an air raid!


Ninotchka: Must you flirt?
Count Leon d'Algout: Well, I don't have to, but I find it natural.
Ninotchka: Suppress it.

And, of course:


Ninotchka: The last mass trials were a great success. There are going to be fewer but better Russians.









One of the finest films ever made, and, an absolute must-see.  I own it, but it is possible it is streaming on netflix.

All my Sunday love,
Ardent.

Todd is God

"You don't need a weatherman, ... "

This is too brilliant for words!

(And I watched Adam's Rib for the umpteenth time last night, and it is still fantastic:  "It's okay, Jules.  The more we pay in taxes, the more we like it.")

Election Day Thoughts

Here is the greatest liberal progressive blogger of all-time, digby, with your drinking schedule for tonight.  She is much more pessimistic than me, so, that should tell you something.

(And, what the fuck? My parents were lucky enough to live in Switzerland from October 2001 until Obama was elected -- although my Da is still working in CH until he retires, and my Mum lives in Tulsa, OK now -- but, what does it say about our nation, that this thing, this General, this OEE, is this close?)

It is the media, dummy.

Unfortunately, after Obama has wrapped this thing up tonight, no media maven/pundit/expert will be held to bare.  The whole myth of a Liberal/Progressive media will only be; mistakenly, and righteously upheld.  

It was fixed, screams the Right.  Therefore, it must be so, says the media.

Read driftglass.  No one does better at exposing the false equivalency media circus than our Man in Chicago.  

The media are desperate to portray this OEE (Orchestrated Electoral Extravaganza) as a tight race.  Well, it is a tight race, as far as the national numbers are concerned, but, it is not a close race as far as the Electoral College is concerned.  (This is one of the main reasons Nate Silver's own employers, and others in the TradMedia hate him so much.  Plus, he is slender, talks in a high voice, and likes fine restaurants.) 

Why are the supposedly LeftTradMedia so willing to suck up to Mittens, and declare this a toss-up? Because, they have bills to pay, and Masters to serve.

Marx was fucking right, even if you are immediately turned off by my using his name.  

It is not race, or gender that ultimately differentiate between citizens of a culture, it is CLASS.  

Okay, enough lecturing, how about another great video, one of my all-time faves:

xxxoooxxx