Roast chicken from Chow with mashed potatoes, broccoli, roasted red peppers, and green beans. We drank Navarro Chardonnay. (One of our all-time favorite wines.)
"No, you were my favorite favorite!"
We also watched Two for the Road, dir by Stanley Donen, starring Audrey Hepburn and Albert Finney. (I thought this was appropriate just returning from a trip and also because one of our best friends had included it on her Top Ten ballot.)
Even though the film is so dopily romantic in places, so sentimental, and has a treacly overbearing score by Henry Mancini I love the damn thing, a lot.
Maybe it is because Two for the Road nearly punctures all that goo by unabashedly forming an argument against marriage? (Still today a fairly risky proposition for a major Hollywood film.) Maybe I just love all of Hepburn and Finney's fight scenes? (There are a bunch of them.) Maybe I love the sultry English Eleanor Bron's version of the loud, ugly American? (Except, let's face it, Eleanor Bron could read my tax forms to me out loud and I would love it.) I know I love the final lines of the film. (I will not repeat them here. You should see the movie yourself if you have not.)
Hepburn has never been one of my faves. She is way too skinny and her voice drives me up the wall. Plus, she is certainly pretty but she is not earthy enough to even remotely count as an object of sexual attraction. (I know I know, it is prob just me.) But here she does a fine job, espec with her comedy bits, and has one great dramatic moment right before the denouement.
(The whole passport business is great, too. Before every major trip I always have a dreadful nightmare about losing my passport or not having it when I need it. And right now I just checked my cigar box where I keep it. Whew! It is there.)
Well, the call went out, hunh? Murdoch, Fox News, and the rest of the petty, mean, hateful little GOP minions and soldiers are plenty butt hurt over Newt's big win last Saturday, and they are bloody well determined to make sure that there will be no Newtmentum here in Florida. You know the conservatives are truly desperate when Ann flipping Coulter is bashing Newt and singing for the Mittens Tabernacle every morning, noon, and night on The Channel of Hate, i.e. Fox News. I guess Ms Coulter is buying all that, "I came to Mormon Jesus re a woman's right to choose" that Mittens is blathering these days. And, of course, to Ms Coulter, Mittens' Massachusetts Health Care program looks nothing like the ACA. Heck, Mittens kind of sorta looks like Reagan, so that is good enough for her, and all the other yahoos on Fox.
There is a great John Sayles movie called Sunshine State. Highly recommended.
It is a rout today: Mittens with 43 per cent, Newt with 31 per cent, Santorum and Paul with seventeen and six per cent each respectively.
(And, Santorum, your time is almost up. So, not only do you not get to be Senator anymore, you do not get to be President, either. Sorry, buddy. You'll get a show on Fox. It will be alright.)
Remember that this is my personal ballot and not the final compiled ballot that will be posted in this space on 2/29/12.
I knew that my ballot would have to contain either Cabaret or All That Jazz. And in some sense you can consider Cabaret to be section B of this ballot choice. In order to make the decision I naturally watched both films again recently. (Not back to back! That might be too intense a double feature.) And in the end, I am going with All That Jazz. Despite Joel Grey's stunning, Oscar-winning performance; the absolutely ravishing Marisa Berenson; Bob Fosse's typically sexy perfect choreography and his stellar direction (Fosse beat Coppola for Best Director at the Oscars that year!) and editing genius; and the legendary Kander and Ebb songs; there are still very shaky moments with some of the acting performances and the script in Cabaret. It is a tough call, though. (The story goes that Stanley Kubrick saw an advance screening of Cabaret in London and was heard to mutter on his way out the cinema, "I have just seen the perfect film.")
I have a deeply intimate and passionate relationship with both of these motion pictures. One of my earliest childhood memories is waking up in a theater, next to my Mum, after the credits had rolled on Cabaret and the house lights had come back on. I was probably around four years old. And I loved the Cabaret movie soundtrack. I would play it over and over again. My favorite songs were Two Ladies, Willkommen, and The Money Song. And there has never been a time in my life where I have re-watched Cabaret and not thought it absolute genius.
I saw All That Jazz upon its release in a theater, as well. With my parents. And even for a ten-year old All That Jazz fit so snugly in to my wheelhouse that its stock has not dropped even a mite in all these years. Let us face it, I was on track at that age to be a great theatre actor. I was even acting in a Broadway-styled musical at the Dallas Theater Center at the time. (The musical was called The Illusion, and was a World Premiere. It was a flop. The review headline for the Dallas Times-Herald 11/30/79: "Few wonders are worked in Theater Center's 'Illusion'". The Dallas Morning News was kinder: "'Illusion' shows a bit of magic". I did receive my first 'notice' ever in the Times-Herald review, though, " ... an adoring Newsboy, Michael Tankersley.") And considering that nearly all child actors have to dance and sing as well as act (I was a decent to good singer --still am! -- but never got very good at dancing despite lots of lessons and classes) All That Jazz seemed to me a spot-on reflection of what my life already was like. And what my adult life would be like, too.
And, Wow, what a life! Full of rejection, politics, back-stabbing peers, infidelity, partying, promiscuity, chain-smoking, lots of casual sex, recreational drugs, applause, awards, heart disease, fame, first growth bordeaux, champagne, intense massively rewarding friendships, vile hateful directors and producers, heartbreak, flops, failure, fan mail, wretched notices, media scorn, a fickle public, the complete loss of personal privacy, First Class, Michelin-starred restaurants, my personal table at Elaine's or The Russian Tea Room, loneliness, a "star on my door", etc, ... Yeah, give me that! Give me all of that and more, please!
Look, theatre and show business folks see this movie completely differently than other folks do. (Yet, the film is so rich and moving and amazing that you can still be touched without a theatre background.) If you have seen the film, you know the scene where Roy Scheider humiliates the dancer, Victoria, making her do the dance routine repeatedly, embarrassing her in front of her cast mates? I was not even out of Junior High yet, and could already identify with what that kind of experience was like. (My director was not a dick, like Fosse, but, once, I simply could not get a line right from a scene of a television program I was working on and I had a complete meltdown and stormed off the set. My wonderful director talked to me as I sobbed in the bathroom. I returned, nailed it in one take, and the cast and crew burst in to applause.)
The immensely moving ballet rehearsal scene between Scheider and Erzsebet Foldi (her performance has been criminally under-rated all these years)? I know what that is like. The perhaps even more touching "Movie Premiere Dance Present" sequence with Ms Foldi and the beautiful Ann Reinking? Been there, done that. The brilliant Cattle Call scenes? I've lived that numerous times.
Even though "An Actor's Life for Me" was ultimately not in the cards (I was not nearly dedicated enough in school or in my life) all that theatre and show biz are absolute part and parcel of my essential self. They can not be separated. That theatre life influences, on some level, no matter how minute sometimes, every single thing I do.
There is a game Renee, who has seen much more of the world than I have, likes to play with me sometimes. Whenever a place, spot, famous work of art or architecture shows up on our teevee screen or at the movies, Renee nudges me and says, "I've been there," knowing full well that I have not. Well, my answer to that is All That Jazz. Scene by scene I can go through All That Jazz and proclaim, "I've been there." And there are a lot more people who have seen the Statue of David than can lay claim to what I have done here. That is very special.
Still, even if you watch the film without any background or interest in the theatre, like I said, it still works. Those who panned it and still pan it speak of its self-indulgence; Fosse putting his fucked-up, womanizing, pill-popping, workaholic life on screen for all too see, yet, still somehow portraying himself as a lovable person. I have no problem with that. He is lovable. And that is not something that is exclusive to show biz lifestyles. We are so many of us deeply flawed, insensitive, wretched human beings, who are yet also capable of expressing and sharing love, and are worthy of receiving love. I do not see that as a fault of the film. I see it as exquisitely tapping in to one of the most important themes of our wonderful human experience. (And for what it is worth, All That Jazz is a much much much better film than Fellini's 8 1/2 -- which All That Jazz was loosely based on.)
Top 4 quotes, moments from All That Jazz:
1. "You're lying to me." "Yes."
2. "Fuck him! He never picks me." "Honey, I did fuck him and he never picks me, either!"
3. Cattle Call scene. Like the late Roy Scheider said in his commentary for the previous dvd edition of All That Jazz, "Bob Fosse put the entire Broadway Musical, A Chorus Line, in to this one sequence."
4. The "Movie Premiere Present" dance sequence.
Like Gold Diggers before it, I can not pick just one clip. There will be a few. Enjoy!
For the Wife and I this weekend. Back to our favorite restaurants, Bouchon and Market, tasting Lail Vineyards and others at Ma(i)sonry, checking out Hendry Ranch, and Renee can hit all her foodie stores, repeatedly.
(Hey, Annie S, if you are reading this: We're staying at Hotel St Helena. What do you know about this place? They did not send us an email confirmation, they sent us confirmation by letter! How old-fashioned.)
Came back today, to shop (his hand basket containing prosciutto, si certo) and just say, Hi. I pointed out to him that I had just brought in the Lacrima di Morro d'Alba. I ordered it last week. And re-filled on a few other of his skus.
He had no idea. Apparently, our direct ordering system does not get back to him immediately when our orders are placed. He lamented that fact but got over it v quickly. He really was there to invite me to The Golden Glass, which is part of the Slow Food Festival.
The Golden Glass is on February 3 and I hope the Wife and I can attend. Michele also told me that he would bring me a bottle of the Lacrima di Morro d'Alba Reserva, just to taste, next time he saw me, even though it is not approved for the Food Hole NorCal and I can not order it or sell it.
I asked him if he was working Tre Bicchieri this year. Michele said he was. I had no intention of going this time but now I am starting to reconsider. If I could just spend time with Michele, Oliver McCrum, and Julian I would most def go.
(Right now I am drinking an Australian Shiraz. Yawn. I just can not get in to Oz Shiraz.)
Then I asked Michele where he was from. Rome, he said. I told him my DiCesare roots were from the Abruzzo and he said, All the best chefs were from Abruzzo. I protested and he said (in his delectable Italian accent), "No, it is not my opinion. It is the truth."
Apparently the best cooking school in the region is in the Abruzzo and every serious Michelin starred chef has trained there, no matter where they are from in Italy.
Then Michele said he wanted to take me to a Producer's Dinner after Slow Food or Tre Bicchieri.
Gosh, I love this guy. And he is local. And shops at my store.
Cannot wait to taste that Lacrima di Morro d'Alba Reserva!
Why anyone would have a vodka martini is beyond me.
Last night, drinking Martinis (Renee with Hanger One Vodka and olives, dirty. Nick C and I with Anchor Gin and a twist.)
We ate pizza from Pizza Antica in Lafayette. Nick C and the Wife enjoyed caesar salads, too.
We watched the Baba O'Riley sequence from Fever Pitch, which I will give you a taste of, and then the Blind Banker episode of Sherlock, and then a brill episode of Jeeves and Wooster.
Fiesta ware is the best.
Great Jeeves and Wooster quote? "It's like Shakespeare. It sounds really good, but it doesn't really mean anything."
Remember that this is my own personal ballot and not the final compiled ballot that will be posted in this space on 2/29/12.
(And, by the way, we are now eight days from the deadline and I have still not received ballots from many of you. The deadline is the 31st. Please get a ballot in to me if you have not already. You do not have to do it on facebook if you do not want to. Send your ballot to me at my email, mavis.mike@gmail.com. Thanks.)
Some years back, Renee and I wanted to see some films from the Pacific Film Archive's Pre-Code Festival, notably, Baby Face. But on that day we had trouble finding parking (Trouble finding parking on the Cal campus? Go figure, right?) and arrived too late to get tickets. No big deal. We got a bite to eat and saw Night Nurse, which played later, instead. But whilst there I picked up a festival program and noticed that they were showing Gold Diggers of 1933 later in the week.
So we went back to Berkeley a few days later to see it. I do not know how many of you folks have seen movies at the Pacific Film Archive (PFA) but it is not at all like going to a Movieplex. The screens are smallish, there is no popcorn or soda, and the chairs are hard with swinging writing desks attached. It is a scholastic environment. Not the ideal setting for watching a lavish musical-comedy.
But that is how good Gold Diggers of 1933 is, it plays brilliantly in any theater space. I can not tell you how many musical-comedies I have seen where all the emphasis and talent ends up on the musical side and the comedy part is an afterthought, or just not funny. Not here. Director, Mervyn LeRoy, the screenwriters, and the fabulous cast (notably Joan Blondell, Aline MacMahon, Guy Kibbee, and Ginger Rogers) all do a masterful job at making this an extremely funny movie.
But this movie hits on all cylinders. Gold Diggers came out during the height of the Depression, so not only was the aim to entertain audiences with stunning intricate dance sequences, great songs, naughty sexuality, and laughs, it was also to remind folks out there that times are hard and that we all need to pitch in together, look out for our fellow man, and get our country back on track. (Warner Brothers, who produced the picture, were massive FDR boosters, even including a giant plug for him and the New Deal in another Busby Berkeley musical, Footlight Parade.)
Still, the absolute genius masterstroke of this "musical-comedy" is the ending. After the traditional Double Wedding resolution has been achieved they show one last musical number, "My Forgotten Man". All the musical numbers were directed and choreographed by the cinematic legend, Busby Berkeley. The "My Forgotten Man" sequence starts with Joan Blondell giving a homeless veteran a smoke. Then lamenting the plight of all the soldiers returning from the Great War, who are mostly homeless, jobless, of ill health and/or debilitated, with no hope for the future. The superb Etta Moten takes over the song from here in an heart-rending bluesy style (Ms Moten sang "My Forgotten Man" at the White House in 1934, at FDR's personal request) before Berkeley hauls his soldier "dancers" out. The soldiers leave for war on one treadmill, confetti everywhere, and people cheering. But soon we see soldiers coming from the other direction on another treadmill. The confetti and crowds are all gone and the soldiers are all bloodied, bandaged, and wrecked from the War. The number wraps up with Blondell and the soldier's chorus reprising the song. Then a dolly to a close-up of Blondell as she finishes the song and then the title card, The End. That is it. No return to the Double Wedding characters. The End. It is like a giant, heavy door being slammed shut.
I have seen a lot of Depression-era Pre-Code movies. It is prob my fave period for films. There is nothing that even comes close, in my eyes, to Gold Diggers of 1933 for being the absolute perfect, entertaining, yet thoughtful and serious, motion picture entertainment for those times. (Make Way For Tomorrow comes closest, I would say.)
And hell! The way things are in this country right now, I contend that Gold Diggers of 1933 plays just as good today as it did seventy-nine years ago.
Top 5 quotes, moments from Gold Diggers of 1933:
1. "My Forgotten Man" number
2. Aline MacMahon, Guy Kibbee, and Ginger Rogers' hilarious night club scene
3. "Petting in the Park" number
4. Ginger Rogers singing "We're in the Money" in pig latin
5. "Shadow Waltz" number
(Honestly, I do not know what clip to show here. Should I go with My Forgotten Man? The naughty, sexy Petting in the Park? The lovely Shadow Waltz? We're in the Money? I have posted so many sexy things lately I will skip Petting in the Park. You can watch it on You Tube yourself. But I am going to include the other three. A movie clip bonanza!)
With the Wife. It is still playing in the City, at the last stop Art House Cinema, the Opera on Van Ness.
And it is going to take a few days for me to get my head wrapped around this thing. And I am still ambivalent about the ending.
Do you think Marcus Mumford is jealous?
I had warned Renee that the film is extremely, gruesomely violent. It is. Renee did not like the violence, at all, and I blanched a fair bit, too. Still, we talked about the film for a very long time after we saw it. And Renee obviously liked the film, in spite of the blood, knives, and guns. I liked it, too. There are a lot of things to like: The composed set-ups early in the film, many w/ no dialogue; the elliptical eschewing of period; the phenomenal 80s synth-band soundtrack; the apartment and apartment hallway sets; the opening get-away sequence; Ryan Gosling's silent noble samurai performance; Bryan Cranston; Carey Mulligan; the driving scenes, of course; the "picnic" scene; the whole picture dripping with style; the desperate nerve-wracking intensity, in which I was literally glued to my seat, not daring to move; the silk jacket; the use of slow motion, so often abused and mishandled in other films; Blanche; the lengthy kiss in the elevator; and I could still prob go on.
This film is so heavy on style, that I would not be surprised that if in a few years (or few months) the film looks completely weird and dated. I could even see myself making a complete about face sometime in the future, hating this film. It is up in the air, and I will be thinking about Drive a lot the next few days.
Remember that this is my personal ballot and not the final compiled ballot that will be published in this space on 2/29/12.
(Before I get started: The rain rain rain finally came came came and I am sitting here on our red sofa, writing out this post in longhand. Mavis, old oldest cat, is sleeping on my lap and Annie Hall is playing as I write this. Carol Kane just said, "No, that's wonderful. I love being reduced to a cultural stereotype." This is the only way I can enjoy Bay Area rain: when I am inside, windows slightly opened, and I am absorbing the crackling electrical atmosphere in peaceful quiet.)
I have already discussed Annie Hall a fair bit in this post, so I will not talk too much about the film here right now. I will say that Allen and Marshall Brickman's "kitchen sink" approach, i.e. breaking the fourth wall numerous times, the use of animation, subtitles, jerking us around in time repeatedly, certain documentary-style flourishes, etc, ... was absolutely magical to behold as a nine year old in 1977. And still holds up enormously well today. As a child I was quite convinced that the film was a documentary, the life story of comedian Alvy Singer, I suppose. My mother had to explain to me that Woody Allen was not a comedian, he was a writer and a director.
April 3, 1978 was a big night in our little household, a town house on Abrams Ave, in Dallas, Texas. It was Oscars Night and Oscars Night has always been a big deal to our family. (David Mamet has an excellent essay in his book, Writing in Restaurants, that proposes that the two biggest American Holidays now are Super Bowl Sunday and Oscar Night. And as much as our family loves sports, we are def an Oscar Night family more than a Super Bowl Sunday one.)
The three of us were huddled, downstairs, sitting at our dining room table (our cat, Layla, was prob sulking somewhere, acting aloof), watching the show unfold on our modest black and white television. I do not remember this but I did some research, natch, and Bob Hope was the host that night. It was the eighteenth time he had hosted the Oscars, and his last. Also, the next day was a school day for me, so I did not see the entire show. I trudged upstairs, prob throwing a fit the whole while, went to bed, and missed (I think) the Best Director and Best Picture presentations. And this was an especially big Oscar Night for the three of us because we had v serious rooting interests: Star Wars had the most nominations and the conventional wisdom was that it would be the big big winner that night.
Do not get me wrong. We all saw Star Wars together in the theater upon its release. Andy (my Da) and I even liked it a good deal. Donna (my Mum) could take Star Wars or leave it, as best as I can remember. Still, I also remember telling my friend, Ricky Minor (at our lockers), that Star Wars was good but Close Encounters of the Third Kind was even better after I had seen that, too. I had seen Annie Hall before both of those blockbusters, and even at that age, I was nearly ten years old, it was Woody Allen's masterpiece that I enjoyed far more than Star Wars or Close Encounters.
Plus, my mother had another big rooting interest, in addition to Annie Hall, a film she still adores: Julia. I do not remember it at all but apparently Vanessa Redgrave gave a v controversial, political acceptance speech when she claimed her Best Supporting Actress Award.
The night went v well for the Spitlers in the end. Star Wars won a bushel full of Oscars but only for technical categories. Julia and Annie Hall swept both the Screenwriting Awards, and nearly swept all four of the Acting categories, Richard Dreyfuss won for The Goodbye Girl. And, of course, Woody Allen won for Best Director and Annie Hall won Best Picture. Allen was not there to accept his Oscar. He always plays with his jazz band on Monday nights in Manhattan. It was the closest ever, and likely always will be, that the Academy's taste matched with ours. Yeah, forget likely, I will never see such a triumphant Oscar Night like that again, which is what makes this memory so special.
Top Six quotes, moments from Annie Hall:
1. "Don't worry. We can walk to the curb from here."
2. "Yeah, grass, right? The illusion that it will make a white woman more like Billie Holiday."
3. "Hey, don't knock masturbation. It's sex with someone I love."
4. " 'The food here is terrible.' 'I know, and such small portions.' "
5. The spider in the bathroom sequence is one of the most touching and realistic things I have ever seen in a cinema, so poignant and lovely.
6. The brilliant New Wave pastiche: the subtitled sequence on Annie's patio.
Of the landmark US Supreme Court decision, Roe v Wade.
It seems unlikely that even a conservative majority in the Supreme Court would reverse this decision, at least in our lifetimes. The anti-choice forces have recognized this and changed their tack accordingly: They are taking a state by state strategy now, making the laws so intrusive as to essentially "outlaw" a woman's right to choose, whilst the law stays on the books. Pretty clever, hunh? Their main "National Strategy" is to abolish Planned Parenthood altogether by defunding it.
That is why we must remain vigilant. And make sure our elected leaders stand up for a woman's right to choose, unapologetically, and with conviction.
It finally got a little more contentious, if not neccessarily nasty. Newt earned a standing ovation for blowing a dogwhistle, and then got another standing O last night railing against the evil librul Lame Stream Media, Gubner Haircut thumbed his nose at Mittens by dropping out, Santorum actually won Iowa, Mittens got booed for the whole income tax flap, and nobody gives a shit what Ron Paul has to say.
Tomorrow I see it going this way: Newtmentum continues and he wins w/ about 30 per cent of the vote. Mittens finishes second w/ 25 per cent, Santorum third, w/ 20%, and Paul last, hot on Santorum's heels.
************
Also, in another political note:
Before the sad news about the majestic Etta James, the big video today was Obama singing Al Green at the Apollo last night. I first saw the video on Fox and Friends this morning (Fox and Friends is arguably the worst of all the Fox programs) and their take was initially positive until they slipped in a teleprompter crack and then skirted dangerously w/ a dogwhistle of their own, talking about how Obama can obviously dance and sing. Then they got in to a knock-down drag out fight w/ the great Debbie Wasserman Schultz about Mittens, Obama, and Bain.
Ciao!
UPDATE! (1/22/12): I am still doing v well, so far. I got the order right and was somewhat close on Santorum and Mittens' percentages. My biggest mistake was underestimating Newtmentum, I missed his total by ten per cent! I also overestimated for Ron Paul.
Newt's speech was particularly offensive, it included a Jimmy Carter crack, and he is still going on about food stamps (on practically his home turf, albeit.) Nick C and I really need to get going on our "Jimmy Carter" t-shirts! The shirt would have a cut-out of Carter's head on the front and say simply, "Jimmy Carter was right" on the back. (If you get a chance, check out Carter's so-called, "malaise" speech -- the word malaise was never used -- again on YouTube. Carter really was right and it was the 1980 election -- think about if Anderson had not run! -- that really fucked this country up.)
This is still Mittens' race to lose, though. And he is releasing two years of tax returns on Tuesday. It does not look good for Santorum. I think he is the next to drop out. Paul will stay in this thing at least until Texas, I am sure.
Out there, based upon John Guare's amazing Broadway play, Six Degrees of Separation (and Guare wrote the screenplay, too), that addresses the tragic misuse of the word, "imagination."
I am beginning to feel the same way about the word, "decadent."
When did the word, decadent, become a synonym for luxury, or the phrase, "guilty pleasure"? Decadent means something that is characterizing or reflecting moral or social decline. For me personally, it also should include something close to nihilism or atheism.
Decadent is not a chocolate cake w/ salt on top at A16.
Decadent is The Berlin Stories, Weimar Germany, the party scene from Darling, the nightclub scene I just posted from Les Bonnes Femmes.
Decadence implies the death or near death of a culture, or an idea held dear for a v long time. Not the extra olive in a Martini, or an expensive piece of furniture.
Six Degrees of Separation did not make my list (or any one else's ballot, for that matter) but I wish it had.
Sweetie made us these wonderful pot pies Sunday. Yum!
Some quick random thoughts:
Man, I thought it was going to be much nastier this week down in South Carolina. The GOP Clown Car loses the only member who could be called even remotely sane (Huntsman) and now he is plugging Mittens. The GOP always picks the same old, boring white dudes, don't they? Good grief, unless Santorum and/or Newt drop an absolute bombshell this week, this thing is over. ... Saw Little Voice for the first time, and I liked it but it def was not what I expected it to be. I thought it was going to be a light comedy. It is not. Brenda Blethyn was great, Caine and Broadbent not so much, and Ewen McGregor's talents were completely wasted. The impeccable Jane Horrocks was perfect, as always. (That is Bubble to you AbFab groupies.) And is it not great to get three more AbFabs recently? AbFab is still just as good as ever, maybe better. ... Also saw Les Bonnes Femmes last night. It had been a couple of years. Gosh, it is gooood, creepy, sexy, fun, and so fantastic looking. I think I need to own it, put it with my modest New Wave section of dvds, next to Bob Le Flambeur, Army of Shadows, Diabolique, and Claire's Knee. I might watch Pauline at the Beach tonight on NetFlix. Rohmer was forever my fave New Wave director, but now I think I like Melville better. ... Downtown Abbey is great, natch, but it kind of sneaks up on you, doesn't it? At first you are looking at it like it yet another Britsh Masterpiece thing-y, and then a few weeks later when it is over, you are upset, wanting more episodes. I love the vicious little Edith. Good addicting stuff.
Remember that this is my personal ballot, and not the final compiled ballot that will be published in this space on 2/29/12.
As discussed in my previous entry on this list, No. 8: All About Eve (Mankiewicz), I have made a conscious decision to eschew what might be called, "show offy" or "artsy fartsy" picks for my ballot. Still, sitting here today, and getting further through my list, I am getting just the teensiest bit worried that my ballot is boring, too traditional.
Whatever. How can I say no to Casablanca, perhaps the finest distillation of Hollywood commerce and American art ever produced? Plus, like many of my other ballot choices the script is fantastic and infinitely quotable. And, the perfect Ms Ingrid Bergman is in it. This also allows me to finish including all three of my personal, "Holy Trinity" of movie stars: Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis, And Ms Bergman.
It is a miracle Casablanca was finished, at all, much less turn out a Masterpiece. There was so much meddling by the producers, the script was constantly doctored, and the actors themselves had no idea how the film would end until right up to shooting. But the Epstein Brothers, Julius and Phillip, somehow navigated every hair pin turn with their script, and got the thing brilliantly home at the finish line, apparently dreaming up the famous, "Round up the usual suspects," line simultaneously whilst driving to the lot. (The "beautiful friendship" line is believed to have been written by producer, Hal Wallis, and was dubbed by Bogart after the film had been wrapped.)
(It is a bit corny, and dated, but the Lauren Bacall hosted, making of documentary, You Must Remember This, is essential viewing for Casablanca zealots.)
We have to give due credit to director, Michael Curtiz, as well. Generally, whenever a bunch of old Hollywood studio types get together and talk about Curtiz, they can not seem to get past Curtiz' accent (he was born in Budapest) and his halting English. Curtiz is woefully under rated as a director, still. Curtiz did a masterful job of holding Casablanca together, too, and with cinematographer, Arthur Edeson, created a superb world of shadows and light that was perfect for the story and Bogart and Bergman's romance.
Honorable Mention, Michael Curtiz division: Captain Blood, Angels With Dirty Faces, The Adventures of Robin Hood, The Sea Hawk, and Mildred Pierce.
Top Seven moments, quotes, from Casablanca:
1. The La Marseillaise sequence, naturally. I still crank the sound up when this plays and still get goose bumps.
2. "I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!" followed by, "Your winnings, Sir." This quote is a staple now for every single political blog in existence.
3. The almost one-hundred per cent European cast, including Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, Peter Lorre, Claude Rains, Conrad Veidt, Sydney Greenstreet, Madeleine LeBeau, and the marvelous Marcel Dalio (star of two of Renoir's masterpieces: The Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion.) Dalio and LeBeau, both French, were briefly married.
4. The fact that this film and Bogart's legend have inspired two other v good films that I treasure: Play It Again Sam and Looking for Eric.
5. Ingrid Bergman's perfectly sculpted, exquisite, magical face.
6. "Are my eyes really brown?"
7. The sure-fire crowd applause moment that always happens right after "Round up the usual suspects."
Honorable Mention, Ingrid Bergman division: Under Capricorn, Notorious, Walpurgis Night, Swedenhielms Family, Intermezzo, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Gaslight, Spellbound, Stromboli, Indiscreet, Murder on the Orient Express, and Autumn Sonata. Despite being essentially blacklisted from working in Hollywood at the peak of her career, Ms Bergman still managed to be nominated for seven Oscars and won three. (Gaslight, Anastasia, and Murder on the Orient Express.)
A few days ago I discussed what an Austim pre-fade might be like. I would be pleased to elaborate what that scene entails:
Kate, my housemate, is sitting on the floor, before a full-length mirror. We are listening to her record player from the back room, Kate's room, which is playing, at volume eleven, Anything Goes, the Broadway Soundtrack, starring Hal Linden (from Barney Miller, natch.) Kate is wearing a skirt and a brassiere and applying makeup.
Meanwhile, I am in the shower, and using every last drop of Dr Bronner's peppermint soap that I can. I did not dilute. The whole house back then reeked of peppermint. It was as if Christmas had appeared in November, or February, or April, you get the idea.
Good grief. Kate and Allison are such knockouts, in their push-up brassieres and their vintage cocktail dresses. I must have looked like an absolute fool in my jeans and t-shirt deal.
A very splendid (yet esoteric) Italian wine: It was a 2009 Lacrima di Morro d'Alba D.O.C. (The Italians, jeez. The wine is not from the Alba region, even. You know, they have had a significant wine industry in Italy since Roman times -- did you know that when Pompeii was destroyed that it caused havoc in the Roman wine trade and that prices rose to astronomical heights? -- you would think that they could sort out their wine classification system by now.)
Anyhoo, this is a red wine that reminds me slightly of Bandol. It is fruity for sure, but v meaty, smoky, and gamey. Fantastic stuff. It was offered to me by my Vinity rep, Michele.
(True story: I first met Michele about a year ago. He came in, shook my hand, found out my name and said -- the accent I am about to unveil in phonetics is not an exaggeration, it is how the superb Michele speaks -- "We have-a the same-a name!" He is Italian, natch, so this last year I have met his wife and his son, and yes, he did the seven fishes Xmas deal, and he is just the sweetest, greatest rep I have right now.)
I am mos def bringing the wine in. Look for it wherever you live, Lacrima di Morro d'Alba (do not worry about the producer. Americans are so hung up on wine brands. It is the terroir you should care about, the region.)
This particular bottle that I will hand-sell (for sure, and it will be tough in my market) is not cheap. It will retail at about twenty bucks.
That she did every single thing Fred Astaire did, but in heels and backwards.
That is how I feel about PJ Harvey oftentimes.
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When I first moved out to California in 1992 I fell in to the fabulous company of many fantastic dykes. We used to go to shows, bars, and house parties all the time. And I did not really know much about dykes. Back in Austim my exposure to the gay world was nearly strictly male.
(One of my fondest memories is of two male gay friends rolling around kissing each other on my friend, Allison's bed, whilst we were getting our pre-fade on before yet another notorious Drama Dept House Party. It was the first time I had seen guys like that, so unfettered and playful. I was not appalled, at all. In fact, I remember, feeling a wee bit envious of them. Prob partly because I did not even have a girlfriend at the time, but also mostly because I so rarely saw -- or had experienced -- that kind of joy or exuberance in the straight world.)
Right before I left Austim, after I had dropped out of college, I finally started hanging out with dykes more (mainly thanks to one of my co-workers at Martin Bros), even hanging out a fair bit at the dyke bar, Chances. I saw the great Austim band, Moist Fist, at Chances quite a few times.
But up here in the East Bay, circa 1993-4, everything was a little bit different.
And one thing I remember is that around this period every single dyke house party I went to, they played PJ Harvey's monster album, Rid of Me, loudly and repeatedly. (They also played Annie Lennox's, Diva, a fair amount, too.) It was fantastic hearing Rid of Me over and over again. Rid of Me was an earth-shattering blues record then, and still is today.
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A few random personal memories, related to PJ Harvey:
Back in the day when I worked as a "Breaker" (they are called "Supervisors" now) at the Berkeley Food Hole, whenever I opened the store I would make copies of the Front End schedule for other Breakers and "Floaters" that would show up later. And I would always put on the schedule some show-offy song lyric that everyone could see. (It is similar to the Michael David Spitler sings thing I do now on facebook. Some things never change for hammy Aries' folk like me.) On this day I put a song lyric from Liz Phair's, Exile in Guyville (prob from Fuck and Run, Divorce Song, or Flower) on the schedule. My friend, Isaac (who might have still been on the Front End back then) saw this, leaned close and said to me, "PJ Harvey eats Liz Phair for breakfast." He was right, though I still like Exile in Guyville.
My Da's favorite part of the old Beavis and Butthead program was when they would make fun of PJ Harvey videos.
PJ Harvey swore off playing guitar for a while. Said she was bored with it, and wanted to play different instruments, do different things Thank goodness she has recanted, she is a phenomenal guitar player.
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I am ten years older than The Wife and as we live and work in the same town she grew up in, Walnut Creek, many of her friends are now my closest friends. They are, naturally, around her age, not mine. And one thing I have noticed regarding musical taste with these Born in 78ers is how much they hate so much of the great music of the early 90s. Which is absolutely flabbergasting to me because to my eye that period was absolutely glorious. And so rich. There were so many great bands and artists back then. The Pixies? Hate 'em. Sonic Youth? Their eyes roll. Pavement? What a bunch of pretentious low-fi knuckleheads. (The Wife does like Pavement. Of course, there are exceptions. Many of the Born in 78ers like Nirvana, too, but they prefer Pearl Jam. Go figure.) Throwing Muses? Who? My Bloody Valentine? Fey shoegazers. Jesus Lizard? Is not that the guy who gets wasted and naked at every show? Stereolab? Weird and boring. (The Wife likes Stereolab, as well.) PJ Harvey? Scary and bizarre.
You know, I get it. This stuff happens all the time, over and over again. I am sure the Born in 78ers were so tired of having to hear some pretentious anorak wearing college dropout talk about that great Babes in Toyland/Dinosaur Jr/My Bloody Valentine show at Liberty Lunch in 1992. That was like the Bronze Age, right? Of course, they wanted something of their own to hold on to, did not want somebody else's second helpings or misty eyed memories. Most, in this area at least, signed on to suburban punk in high school, I am guessing. Some did like my Wife, and reach backwards for The Smiths. But Renee also likes the period directly after the Nirvana/Pixies years: the Oasis/Blur wars, Britpop.
(One thing about The Pixies, Nirvana, and PJ Harvey, though: All three of those groups were famous for their "loud/quiet" rock dynamics. Which, to be fair, maybe the Born in 78ers thought was a cheap, pretentious gimmick. Plus, many of these early 90s groups were produced by Steve Albini. Maybe they do not like Albini's "famous" drum sound? The Born in 78ers are crazy if that is the case! But, oh well. Kids today, right?)
The Wife cannot stand PJ Harvey. She has not really expressed it to me well why this is. There is no cd (I miss mix tapes. *sigh*) I could make for her that would change her mind and this very lengthy post is absolutely not an endeavor to accomplish any such thing. I am guessing it is a generational thing, like discussed above. And I am fine with that.
But I think there is another reason so many folks (mostly men) do not like Polly Jean Harvey. Because she scares the daylights out of them.
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We learn from the v solid and good, This Film is Not Yet Rated documentary, dir by Kirby Dick, just what really makes the Movie Ratings folks squirm uneasily in their chairs. It is not tittie shots or gratuitous violence that sets them on edge and makes them reach for the NC17 stamp. The thing that they can not get comfortable with is gay sex (natch) and the woman's orgasm.
It is a sad state of affairs that it seems the woman's orgasm has still not completely come out of the closet, yet. But, there it is.
And women artists like PJ Harvey, who are completely in tune with their bodies, and their sexuality, still freak our mass culture out.
Here are some song titles from PJ Harvey's first three records, Dry (1992); Rid of Me (1993); and To Bring You My Love (1995): Dress, Happy and Bleeding, Sheela-Na-Gig (Sheela-na-gigs are very old fertility statues that have been found all over Ireland and the British Isles), Hair, Rid of Me, Legs, Rub 'til It Bleeds, 50ft Queenie, Man-Size, Dry, Me-Jane, Snake, Ecstasy, Long Snake Moan, and Harder.
Ms Harvey's first two records are nearly obsessed with the human body, body parts, bodily fluids, sexuality, the sexual act, impotence, ecstasy, clothes, the external and internal perception of women, size, etc, ... and on and on.
She's from Dorset.
To me, these are themes that invigorate; that excite; that put me in closer harmony with my own sexuality; that remove the 1930s Paramount Studios glossy haze over women, relationships, and love. It is earthy and humiliating (in a good way) to listen to these records. And it is a wonder to behold such a fiercely independent, iconoclastic (Ms Harvey to this day refuses to refer to herself as a Feminist), titan (Man-Sized, if you will) of what has become a pretty tired medium, Rock music.
Finally, I love PJ Harvey because watching her strength of character empowers me to be a stronger, better person. And should not that be one of the many gleanings of great art?
Today, Mittens will win in a landslide, garnering around 40% of the vote. There will be a group of four men all between eleven and fifteen per cent, fighting for second.
I like the order for those four to be: Paul, Huntsman, Santorum, and Newt. Perry will finish in low single digits, but no one will drop out.
Remember, next is South Carolina, and that is where things always get nasty with GOP primaries, when the knives truly come out.
UPDATE (1/11/12): Gosh, I did v well, indeed. Got the order right except I shoulda flipped Newt and Santorum, and Paul got more of the vote than I expected. On to South Carolina! The 21st.
Apple Television that is going to happen (or will never happen) will be the elusive "One Box" system that I crave.
I want One Box to watch cable, web browse, listen to iTunes, watch bluRay and dvds (I'm willing to forget about VHS), and listen to cds. I want one power cord to plug in to the wall. And of course there would have to be a cable/internet cord to go in to the wall, as well. I would prefer for my Dream Box to come with fantastic internal speakers, but if it did not, I would be willing to add one more box (a receiver) for external speakers. So, at most, that would be two power cords, an internet/cable cord, an audio cord connecting the One Box to the receiver, and only two remotes.
I have a friend at work who has never seen any of the six Star Wars movies. She said, She has seen Spaceballs and figures she has got the gist of the series, already. She also says that whenever Star Wars has been playing in a family setting she usually plays Solitaire. Apparently she likes to play Solitaire during movies.
So brilliant!
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I love my Apple TV! I just started watching Sports Night in its entirety last night. I am halfway through Season One and it is so good. I love Aaron Sorkin.
What is Peter Krause doing these days? I hope it is not "theater", as The Wife and I like to say.
Of course, there are numerous fabulous quotables but my fave from last night was, "He became a writer for the same reason a man does anything, to impress women."
Give it another look if you have not seen it, or seen it in a while. It is streaming on NetFlix.
Remember, that this is my personal ballot, not the final compiled ballot from all of you -- the deadline is January 31, 2012 -- that will be published in this space on 2/29/12.
At first, my list, my ballot, was composed of a number of, shall I say, for lack of a better term, artsy-fartsy selections. The Wife would call them show off picks. And I will list them as an Honorable Mention category down below. But I thought better of it. I decided my list should be emblematic of those types of films that mean the most to me on a v personal level, as opposed to films that may stand out as better films but do not resonate with me as much. Sure, Le Règle du jeu is probably a better film than the seedy, cynical Double Indemnity, but, when push comes to shove, as much as I admire, adore, and respect The Rules of the Game, it just does not mean as much to me as the moment when Missy is sitting in the front seat of her car as Fred MacMurray is murdering her husband. I guess it is just me, right?
And what my personal ballot reveals (minus the Bunuel films, or Melville picks, etc, ... ) is something that I have known about myself all my life! Something v important about me and my relationship with art in general, but movie art, in particular: That I love the written word; that I love smart, snappy dialogue; that I am much more comfortable around something like His Girl Friday than I ever would be with something like The Tree of Life. The incredibly profane and rude script of In the Loop is a much better friend to me than say, the screenplay for The Seventh Seal. Not to say that I do not appreciate visual beauty on the silver screen (I love The Red Shoes, for instance, and Peter Greenaway's work, and Wes Anderson's meticulously framed paintings and inserts) or bravura tracking shots or cunning camera tricks and angles (Welles and Hitchcock come to mind here) but what stays with me the longest after all the English Technicolor has faded, and the bells and whistles are forgotten, is the script and the actors' performances. So, in retrospect, I have come to notice that my list is chock full of stellar, marvelous script writing, and I have a number of comedies, as well. And even the "dramas" on my list all have many many v funny moments in them.
Take, All About Eve, for instance: This is considered a "drama", yes? Well, if so, it is perhaps the wittiest and most side-splitting "drama" out there, then. I could not even begin to put in to words what a smashing, perfect, pithy, eminently quotable, erudite script Mankiewicz has crafted here. And I am sure there a million term papers and books, already, that do better justice to him.
The scene that plays above is also supremely crucial to my personal aesthetic, and I am grateful that Mankiewicz got this sentiment in to his splendid film about "the theatre" The moment I am speaking of is not at the beginning of this clip but the end. It is Bill Sampson's tour de force monologue to Eve Harrington re What the Theatre Really Is. This has been my philosophy on art for decades; that the walls between popular culture and art culture must be obliterated. Art is art, plain and simple: Mozart and The Beatles, Evil Dead 2 and Citizen Kane, Warhol and Van Gogh, Sin City graphic novels and Ulysses, it is all art to "somebody, somewhere".
Top Eight quotes, moments from All About Eve
1. "You're too short for that gesture."
2. "The cynicism you refer to, I acquired the day I discovered I was different from little boys!"
3. "That's all television is, my dear, nothing but auditions."
4. The stunning Ms Marilyn Monroe's entrance at the party. (I like her better in black and white, I think.)
5. The aforementioned Bill Sampson speech (see above)
6. "Many of your guests have been wondering when they may be permitted to view the body. Where has it been laid out?"
7. The whole Margo Channing/furious playwright exchange, speaking of stars and authors, and Beaumont and Fletcher.
and of course,
8. "Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night."
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Honorable Mention, show off-y, artsy fartsy division: The Rules of the Games, Bob le Flambeur, L'Age D'Or, L'Atalante, Belle de Jour, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, Army of Shadows.
Today, I like Ron Paul (much to the GOP's chagrin) to win in Iowa today, followed by Mittens, with Santorum coming in third.
I expect Bachman will be tearfully bowing out of this race within the next forty-eight hours, or so. Gubner Haircut will have to do some soul-searching, too.
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UPDATE, 1/4/12:
Well, I did not do too badly in my predictions. I got the top three right (in the wrong order, though) and Bachmann is suspending as we speak, whilst Gubner Haircut is "reassessing", back in Texas.
Meanwhile, with Newt out to destroy Mittens, running cover for Santorum for the next month, Rick gets new life and gets his turn at the top of the not Mittens mountain.
